Tuesday, June 30, 2009
After eating a breakfast of hearty cereal with a hot mug of coffee and cream, I made words for the book and then moseyed on down to the local farmer's market--it's every Tuesday in my neighborhood!
Oh the food, the food, the fresh colorful tasty food! A rainbow of tents sold local organic fruits and vegetables, fresh honey and hummus, jams and juices, herbs and flowers. I cash-exchanged for bags of yummy colors and strawberries that remind me of my childhood (the strawberry fields near Fargo...follow the gravel road, grab your basket...pluck them off the vines).
It's pure laziness what I do! Or convenience. We are going so fast. Today, this experience of getting so close to the source of my food reminds me how far away we normally ARE from the source of our food. Grocery stores are huge and fluorescent and how long HOW LONG did it take to get there?
At night, after yoga and the back-to-home stunning sunset drive, I chopped vegetables and boiled wild rice, while popping strawberries in my mouth. I felt utterly fulfilled.
What I need to know, need to remember, is that I always have access to this amount of happiness. It's a choice. I think back to only three short weeks ago; I'm in a funk, anxiety-filled and couch-bound, wondering what the next move was. And I want to slap that girl--'Wake up! You are lucky and blessed and the world is beautiful!'
I know I still have work to do...
But Today, oh Today,
how you loved me.
Monday, June 29, 2009
The craving reminds me of cigarettes. I want to pump the drug into my system; I need it to relax. I need it to forget. I need it so my body can disengage from my mind. Sink into the couch, numbed by the habit. Knowing better. Junkie, junkie, there you are...
Eating copious amounts of white sugar surely isn't bagged on as much as puffing on cigs, but it's almost equally destructive. And I am a bread lover. And a pizza lover. And a chip lover. And a Cheetos lover. And a chocolate lover. And french fries make my world go round.
And of course, I'm addicted to the high of these salty snacky comfort foods. Their dense sedation lures me on every menu. Sure, I look at the salads and think yum, but by the time the waitress comes, I'm ordering my taste buds a heaping plate of stuffyourface. Bacon cheeseburger with fries...oh heck yeah.
And I have to admit, I'm a very lucky girl, insomuch as I've been able to really eat whatever I want my entire life without much consequence. I've been blessed with a very good metabolism. I have a body I'm happy with, which I know, is a gift. Most people who do have to work at staying thin, probably want to punch me in the face--'it just ain't fair' they say.
And I agree. Mostly because there's reasons beyond vanity to eat well. While it might not show on the outside, it surely wrecks havoc on the inside, and on my mood, my emotions, and on my ability to see and feel clearly. And while right now I have youth on my side, in the long-term, I just won't be so lucky.
But that's not to say I'm not without specific motivations. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with a mild case of Hashimoto's thyroiditis, which is an autoimmune disease that basically eats your thyroid gland alive. It's not serious they say, but to me it is. And eating like shit surely's got something to do with the fact that my body wants to attack itself to save me.
They prescribed me a pill and said 'take this every single day for the rest of your life.' I asked them if diet and health would affect something like this and they said 'no no no. No one's sure how/why it starts and it's irreversible.'
I never even filled the prescription. But for the next three months I did three things: quit smoking, ate better, and exercised. When I went back, they checked my levels again and said 'Well Darcy, looks like the medication is working well!' Needless to say, I wasn't shocked.
Since then, I have obviously went back to my bad habit ways, and god knows where these levels are at now--I'm scared to find out. But I gottagottagotta know because I can't be laissez faire or righteous about this medication if I really truly need it, especially if Dave and I decide to grow a little Kaushagen in the next couple years. But I HATE medication, synthetics in my system. So before I go in to check levels, I gottagottagottagottagotta give it my best shot. For good. No really, 'for good.'
Sunday, June 28, 2009
And on Sunday, although staying home and sleeping all day into night enticed, Dave and I and Remy, a friend of ours visiting from Phoenix, loaded up three bikes in my now pristine purple pick-up, and we booked it to Pacific Beach--Remy's old stomping ground. The vibe resonates part college/part tourist/part like totally awesome. I dug it for sure. Lots of funky colorful odd-shaped houses, meandering beach cruisers (yea!), beefy dogs on leashes, ice cream shops, mosiac tile art, and open air bars and living rooms like altars facing the ocean.
All in all, I am feeling more and more at home here. And by home, I mean, like I belong here. Roots down in the ground, Branches reaching into the sky.
Saturday, pics of my neighborhood...
(right outside of my garage :-))
Sunday, Pacific Beach boardwalk...
Saturday, June 27, 2009
At work, the people weave in and out of aisles. I follow them, recommending walnut or honey frames, green and blue this or that, and oil paintings brushing out magenta Mediterraneans. When the power goes out, midday in bright yellow sunshine, my whole body relaxes. The actual color of the world is calming, and the actual sound of silence generates an immediate reflex--sigh of relief. We're quiet and real. Let's leave them off for now...
And the world won't.
At home, I think about my sister. It's her birthday today. I try to follow her birthday plans in my head with the clock. Picturing where she is and what she's doing. I make myself a video in my imagination of her laughing; I'm happy to see she's having fun. I am hoping and not hoping Nova will turn herself over today, as my sister wishes via her Facebook post. Can't she wait Stac, can't she wait?
Friday, June 26, 2009
All is well on the change front. I am surprised I'm still craving cigarettes. My mind is so over them, but sometimes my body does not comply. Hopefully in the next week I'll be able to forget.
Getting terrified about upcoming diet changes, stuffing myself silly. Even worse cause I still feel withdrawals acutely.
Waiting to hear back on volunteering...why why why? I told you I'd work for FREE, I don't know why I'm not hearing responses yet. I'm begging people to work for free and not even able to get a "job." Wowser, economy really does blow.
Exercise: I'm in danger of being short this week, especially after today. Gunna hafta work out Sat. and Sun.
P.S. Have I introduced you to my cats? Maybe their charming faces will distract you from the uselessness of this post. Love, D
Name & Age: Diego, 10 months old
Backstory: found abandoned by mother at 3 weeks old (he was the size of my palm!), grew up in a vent in the back of a California motel. Near death, had fleas and a fungus overgrown on foot. Drove him home to Phoenix, bottle-fed, rid fleas and fungus. Now a healthy happy little dude. Real Story: He's happy to be back in Cali, although his name is not nearly as clever here. Personality: Playful, charming, social
O.k. I might have to change this blog to Cat Fancy part deux if I don't stop here. In case you're worried, no more cats for us, full capacity. And two, yes, I do, I adore them.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
But alas, I simply got sucked into a Google wormhole of Jacko gossip and half-juicy tidbits of not-even-close-to-the-truth. (Would somebody please please please pen a tell-all?)
But seriously, doesn't it just irk you about you when you waste hours on (by "waste" I mean "secretly enjoy") something so truly inconsequential to your own life? But you kind of know you should stop even while you're doing it? Like why don't I stop watching this "Real Housewives of Orange County" marathon on Bravo? I am doubting Oprah wastes complete days on guilty pleasures.
Doesn't it chip away at ACTION or better yet, the BRAIN? And what does that say about a person, that this is something I enjoy? During this year, as I'm all enlightened-up by my lifestyle-enlightenment-ways, will I naturally renounce my reality T.V. watching?
Hmmm....to be continued....
Sooo....luckily, my 5x/week exercise goal was screaming in my face and I had to leave my surly den. Went to a hippie-dippy dance class in nearby La Jolla. It smelled like patchouli and dank sweat in the small, cramped room, lit with hot pink and green-covered flourescent lights. As we "free danced" to the latest 80's tunes, I might have smiled aloud just a couple of times as our instructor instructed us to "use the floor" as he twirled on his buttocks in half-circles.
Lest you find me unnecessarily close-minded to my new bright-eyed and welcoming friends and their uncoordinated rain dances, I leave you with this: After class, the instructor came up to me and said, "I'm glad you liked the class; I noticed you in the back there, totally into yourself."
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Then it hit me. Why was I so anxiously stuffing myself? Oh yes, that's right...I was on Day Ten of not smoking, and to replace my lung-rusting addiction, I've decided instead to kill myself via complete artery clognation. Hurray!
And soooo...it reminds me that I got only a short leash left on the white sugar carb train. My healthy eating foray begins on Monday. I gave myself two weeks of shoveling face after quitting smoking to ease the pain of letting go. Right now, I can definitely say, as Monday sprints at me, I am questioning my sanity.
However, in the spirit of trial-by-fire human research, I am starting to notice a very defined pattern in all this goal-setting business. It seems before every new implementation, there's always wild internal mind resistance. Lots of reasons why not. Can'ts and won't works.
And while this particular goal actually might deserve the largest amount of real fear, considering it will probably be hands-down the hardest to maintain/sustain, I do believe, I am starting to not give a flying fuck.
To the future and beyond! (o.k. I might've had too much sugar today AND perhaps I'm guilty of mock bravado here AND I'll post the more specifics of my healthy eating tenents as I inch closer to the edge...)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Talked to some friends and my mom today on the phone. My mom ran into an airline sale for tickets to San Diego from Minnesota; she is buying a ticket for the fall. I can't even express how much I miss her here, there are not enough words. My sister and her new little perfect baby, Nova, my new little perfect niece, I can barely think about without getting teary-eyed.
Moving to California has been a blessing. No doubt. And moving to Phoenix right after high school, I believe, was the right thing to do, life-wise at that time. But when we do things then, at tender ages, like in my case, 18 years old, you can't really quite understand the long-term effects at the time. Twelve years later, at 30, when your baby niece is learning how to crawl and you can't see her--that's when the tears start to choke you.
That's you realize the gravity of your decisions (driveway goodbyes in Fargo, the city still breathes in me) on your future--arms consoling your family with one arm, waving good-bye with the other.
It's when the old and familiar moving pictures of your memories start to change their meanings for you. What was always a carefree and bright moment becomes a harsh definitive moment, suddenly taking the blame for why you can't hang out with your loved ones right now. But i know i know it's obsession and unhealthy to go back there, and worse, by its very nature, negates all the goodness of your relationships now.
But just let me--for today it breaks my heart.
I wish I could stop by my sister's on the weekends, help with garage sales and put my niece to bed. I wish I could meet my mother for lunch or help her paint anything in the house. I wish I could drink twelve-packs in the basement with my brother as we laugh and watch too many DVR'd shows in a row of our fave humor and Discovery shows.
And I don't want to do it on vacation, or in some small span of manicured and planned time frame. I want to do it spontaneous-like, like tomorrow or next weekend. I want it to not have to be meaningful or "spending time" together cause I'm on a plane tomorrow. I just want it to be. Natural. Just cause we want to, when we want to.
I think if they were around, I wouldn't feel so lonely, or better yet, dependent on Dave. And I don't mean I'm missing them in San Diego because I don't have any friends yet, because I felt that loneliness for them in Phoenix too. I have friends in Phoenix I adore, and love spending time with. And I have my dad there, and my step-family. All of which, I have excellent relationships with, fulfilling. But I grew up with/bond with/became best friends with my mom and siblings, and as I get older, my heart/my mind/my entire being crave their companionship above all others (not including husband of course).
I have no idea what the future holds. I have outrageously giddy hopes (not completely fanciful as they've been slightly encouraged and supported by these very family members), that there might be a gradual migration to my part of the country over the years. I am planted here. I know that. It's the right place for me. I know that. And as I wait for them (god willing, god willing), I will go to them as often as my pocketbook can stand it. Because that's what you have to do. When you can't have it all, you have to be there anyway. I want Nova to know me. Dear God, I want Nova to know me.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Worked today, and pleased to say I felt lovely and light. Customers and co-workers: smiling gentle people that I like. The art and color absolutely eases my transition back to work. As do my favorite ballet slippers.
As for exercise. Dave and I took our bikes out tonight! We rode, grinning and giggling like schoolchildren, to the aforementioned rattlesnake and mountain-lion infested canyon preserve near our house. With Dave and fast bikes, I felt much safer ;-).
Some pics of our first official California bike ride...
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The rest of the night, Dave and I talked to nearby party passerbys, but mostly, we made our own little circle of humor and fun near the food, or the cocktails, or the hot tub. It was relaxing to just enjoy his company, feet in the warm hot tub, ocean-salty California night, soft yellow globes in the lawn. By midnight, we were too many drinks deep, and I knew I was one drink away from bumming a cigarette. Dave suggested departure. Thanks to him, I'm still 100% smokeless.
After party smokey smoking thoughts...
I tend to gravitate towards smokers. Why? I mean really, aren't they just more interesting, fun, and free? Perhaps. Or perchance it's my adoration of dysfunction--no joke--from mild to heart-breaking; there's a special place in my heart.
But really, it's probably because I have smoked nearly all of my adult life, and know that these folks and I--we share a secret. Like a rebel gang of misfits, our dirty little habit tells others and each other, "Oh I don't give a shit what they say. I do what I want." Walking into a party of strangers, you meet fellow smokers in the smoker's area (there's always an area), and you have insta-friends.
After you've smoked for so long....when you quit.....it's like a part of your identity is gone. Which is probably one of the most unsung reasons why so many people fail in their quit pursuits. The romanticized version of your former smoker-self beckons. You covet her dreamy artsy aloofness, her i don't give a damn. She taunts you for your squareness. You're stripped of your instant smoker friend pass. Nothing to ease your social nervousness, or to short-cut meet your intense human need for love and acceptane.
Worst of all, when you see the smokers, you feel as if you betrayed them. By quitting the pack, you're really saying, "It was wrong all along." It makes you sick to think you're now administering judgement upon your former fellowship. The guilt alone is enough to make you sit down, light a cigarette, breathe deeply, and say "It's o.k. See? I'm one of you."
Most never-smoked non-smokers look at smokers in disbelief--they just don't get it. I'm not saying "getting it" is a virtue. And I'm definitely not saying smoking is cool or yummy. I'm just saying, it's not a simple thing. Quitting is an intense task--not only physical but mental--it's all tied up with identity and loss, guilt and self-medication. So's alls I'ms sayings is...tread kindly with the addicted, and genuinely congratulate the formers ;-)
O.k.o.k.o.k. enough philosophy of smoke, smokers, and smoking. Last but not least, Dave and I bought our bikes today!!! Hurray! To the mountain (more like bike paths) we go.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
I'm on day six of not smoking, and the physical withdrawals are pretty calm, no violent uprising. The new screw is the mental aspect, that swoops in after the physical. I can't even count on my fingers how many times I've envisioned myself on the back porch today, looking off in the distance, cigarette in hand. The vision is alluring and lethal. I reach for more coffee.
My body has decided I've done enough for now. Congratulating me on my accomplishments thus far. But today the visions of putting down everything are vivid. A little lazy voice in me says, "Do you realize the kind of commitment it takes to be happy? You don't have it in you..."
I finished my "page a day" goal for today, but I think that's the kicker. I can't see beyond it. The thing with the writing is that I really really care. I kind of sort of believe it might just be all that I have left. Which for some reason, registers any kind of action as purely terrifying.
Some people, I believe, are afraid of failure. And therefore never try. However, others are actually more paralyzed by the idea of success. I've decided that I can't decide which one I fear more: success or failure. I'm convinced it's a healthy dose of both.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tomorrow I'm going to start writing my "page a day." I've always wanted to write a book, but never followed through on it. Many started, many abandoned. I love to leave my hopes and dreams at about the 20-page mark. Right about the time I realize that---*gasp*---there's no f ' ing plot. Minor detail. BUT this time will be different! Plot or not plot, I'm powering through ;-) Full speed ahead, she says with feigned gusto. And cries herself to sleep. Why am I so afraid of this one?
Went to a hilly nearby town called Poway for a belly-dancing class as my exercise today. Felt sexy and slightly harem-esque. Imagined myself full-garb, dancing in unison, jingle-jangle jewerly looped around exposed midsection, in some seedy Mideastern backalley bar full of gold and fuschia pillows. Then I looked in the mirror, and sadly realized I didn't have the grace (yet) to make it. Dreams dashed.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Hung out with Dave tonight, celebrating our two-month anniversary of marriage with pizza, beer, and bookstore. I talked too much I thought, battered him with words. When I mention this, he thinks I'm silly. He likes what I talk about, he assures me.
I feel desperate for his companionship, maybe that's why I berage him...as we inch closer to home, I want to talk about everything. Sometimes I think he works too hard, which makes it hard to reach him. And I don't mean by telephone.
Either way, he tells me he's happy. So we have to adjust, make time for each other in other ways--more meaningful ways---besides the after-work and before-bed nighttime rituals. After much discussion, we decide we both like biking and Disneyland. We commit to buying bikes and a road trip north to Mickey in the fall. I am heartened by our date and our future date plans.
Earlier today I went for a long walk for my daily exercise commitment, camera in tow. I am enamored by the California landscape, the trees and flowers of my neighborhood. The color green makes me happy; it's a noticeably absent tone in the desert. I remember that I'm grateful to be here.
Walked to the Rancho Penasquitos Canyon Preserve near my house, proud of my decision. Eager for the silent trails. Arrive and am greeted by two large signs: 1) Watch for rattlesnakes and 2) Mountain lions are abundant, followed by numbered instructions as to what to do in the case of a sighting. Deflated, I (very) quickly turned back towards home. Here's a sampling of some of my walk pics...
pretty much sums up how I feel right now...
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I somehow made it through work feeling light and nice. Stumbling through customer questions, remembering not so much, feeling satisfied.
A few hours, and it's yoga. I think thank goodness. We'll see. It's the beginning of it, haven't exercised this much since college perhaps. Can't remember what it feels like to be full of health. If ever there was...
Wondering if my personality hinges on my downfalls, my negative selfs. Or worse, wonder if this chasing perfection is just an American obsession that is actually pure narcissism? Have I fallen victim to a cliche?
So why want this, I ask myself. And the answer is many-fold. First, just to follow a nagging feeling. Secondly, I feel like I have a real opportunity and genuine perspective right now to actually try and see what happens. Perhaps nothing does, and I simply feel better. I want to know what that means--to feel better.
Also, I have this annoying tug that tells me 'Most people do way more than you.' And it makes me feel guilty. Because I'm able-bodied and smart. I didn't have a tragic childhood, and people tend to like me (debatable, I know). Shouldn't I have done more by now?
And so, I figure, now's a great time, as good as any, to tackle the things I've always thought I wanted to do, small or large. Even if I don't think they add up to any one thing, or career, atleast I'm doing something. I'm very much hoping this attempt will atleast remove the low-grade discontent and restlessness. It's pretty much the only good idea I have left.
I'm not sure if it's good enough, or even hits the mark. But I really have a sneaking suspicion that it really was this easy all along. Do what you know will make you feel good. And you do know what it is, I'll betcha. Most people don't do that (me included) because it's just too scary or time-consuming, and deep-down, we're afraid to win.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Junkie, junkie. You're a maniac. A down right slovenly f@&#. If I could see you I'd punch you in the nose. A mirror? No, no--it's not me, it's him.
Quitting smoking is a little like an exorcism. Screaming ghost, go away. When does the pain peak? Oh tomorrow and the next; this isn't the worst of it. It's physical for days. Then it's weeks of mental.
The Dalai Lama thinks change is facilitated more readily by a sense of urgency. If we only knew the potential of our body and soul to bring about goodness, then we might adopt habits and goals quickly. 'Think about death' is his kind of advice. You won't be here forever, so every moment is precious. These thoughts might catapult us to change.
And so I think about it, as I look to my next tasks. Eating well...exercise....out of debt...work on 'the book'...a piece of art. Am I supposed to do this right NOW? With urgency. I beg myself to wait, wait, wait.
I want to keep pushing myself, because I want real change. I pick yoga/pilates/exercise as next task. Starting tomorrow, five days a week. This is one of those even harder more continuous goals. A job is a one-time thing: get one. Quitting smoking is a one-time thing: just quit. The pain of these wears off. I'm better at goals like that. Much better.
But exercising five days a week, that means fighting your inner complaints and lethargy five times a week. Stuffing a sock in the mouth of Lazy, another funny friend. Lazy and Junkie love each other. BFF's, two peas in a pod. What if I don't even recognize myself? I'm afraid. Of real change.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Morning sounds an alarm. Get up. Shower. Iron outfit. Pour coffee. And then, like a soldier mindfully preparing for battle, carefully cut open "the patch" and apply it to my hidden skin. It's right under my heart and I start to worry. Rip it off. Re-apply to the side. What organ gets poisoned now? It starts to itch.
Work is easy. First day paperwork filled out in the back room. Nothing to fret for, lose sleep for...I think about yesterday and scribble a note to my ego: 'See? Dumbass...' Right after leaving, I tear off the clear plastic nicotine bandage in my car. I don't need it. Work is weak this week (only one more day); so I'm free to feel the Junkie scream as I smother him. There's no better way to quit than cold turkey--cold sweats and crawling skin, make me feel alive.
Thinking all day about that book from last night. Trying hard to find the narrow edge of Now, the razor slit of time wedged between the open-wound Past and the healed Future. Tolle insists that's where bliss is; it's the only place where things get done. The Now presents a moment2moment inner purpose of ours; that is, to access the Now right Now, which in essence, is always.
Don't let the present be a means to an end. That doesn't mean not having goals. Goals are essential for your "outer purpose." But make sure you FEEL and BE in your present. Own it completely. It relieves one of the ego attachment to the future, which doesn't exist.
All spiritual jive aside, these thoughts guide me today. Stay grounded. Don't think, "you'll be better when..." Perfection is now, which is what this journey is all about. Finding that space and feeling good there.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The last thought makes me feel like a warrior. I will overcome and defeat the enemy, no matter what the conditions. This is a challenge; I'll meet it head on! And non-smokers cheer.
Yet almost any self-respecting smoker or prior smoker will read this and know--quitting smoking on your first day of work is a big no-no. According to most quitting smoking help guides, cessation is stressful and should be done at a time of relative normalcy. For example, not on your first day at your new job.
Compounding my fears is my fear of jobs in general. Always a star employee, always valued. Suddenly expendable. My smart self tells me I was "saved" from those jobs. But now with this job, my scarred subconscious warns, "you're not safe, you never know, you just never know." What if in my withdrawals (which paralyze in the first few weeks), they deem me flighty and unteachable? My ego pleads with me, 'you can't lose this job, you'll crumble to bits.'
But isn't it powerful to be brave? Yes. It is. And that's what this year is about. And so I pause. Read this here. Sense my fears. Choke them. And compromise: instead of my normal cold turkey, I'll settle on the patch. Sixty dollars later and I have a plastic bag with the goods, a few hours left to smoke until tomorrow, and a thick tight knot in my chest.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Before that, I was writing for she-devils and warlords at a glossy magazine. Pained me every day just driving to work, then listen to the click-clack-clack of heels, the screaming nothing of blahblahblah. It was a blessing when I got economically-faulted "laid off," a gynormous relief not to belong.
To get what I thought I wanted all along--a job there--peeled open my eyes. This is it? This is what I wanted all these years of writing/writing/writing in my living room for thismagazine here and thatmagazine there, holding titles (while suffocating) to beef my resume so I could finally land something worthwhile down the line--something practical, something for my future, my almighty career?
At the end, awarded with misery and despair. Now my badges of honor. A source of pride that give me pure and unquestionable knowledge: I don't want that life. I gotta back up. Think again. Or don't think. Don't worry about what it looks like from the outside, if people deem me "successful" or not. Forget your "future," what's silent and beautiful "right now"? Feed your soul.
And so, this new job...it's part-time. But it gives me the giggles, I'm so happy. I'm back to selling art supplies and framing pictures. Remniscient of something I did in college, and loved it. No desk. Surrounded by color. Conversations with artists. Discount supplies for my own work. A part-time gig of not-so-early hours that still allows me the time (and energy) to work on words and art. The real creative kind, the little lovelies I love. The ones I have shoved in the back of my journals and sketchbooks, under the category: unsellable therefore useless.
So Day Three is full of sunshine. One goal down, already feeling a bit transformed and liberated. Letting go of that belief system that caused me to act as if my job was the whole of it. Maybe this is a form of enlightment (I'm reaching here). But this checked goal is definitely the background color for the next year. I believe it's yellow.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Gearing up mentally for Monday--it's quit day. Stage one of multiple complex goals that lead to, who knows. For now, I'm enjoying my cigarettes. Relishing them actually. Thinking that maybe, perhaps, days won't be the same without them. The interior junkie is obnoxious, a sometimes friend. This junkie also likes pizza and pepperoni and won't go down without a fight. It's a weak day--a day without enlightment. Thoughts are small and repetitive. I need more coffee. Cheers to you, Junkie, I'll think of you in the quiet moments before bed.
Waiting for a call for a j.o.b. This is another portion of the 'do this first, then do that,' goal matrix I now own in my head. Normally, these things can be patterned out, portioned into an outline...1, then 2, and 3. But logically, I can't find the timeline. Do them all simultaneously? Or one by one? I hear the words of smart others, "don't have too many goals at one time." Recipe for failure, they say. But I'm afraid not to.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
And now I'm here. I'm lonely. I miss my friends. I miss the hot sun. And most of all, I miss Dave. He's working so much, and since I'm not working at all, it seems like days are long and quiet. But it's all part of the master plan--the key to our journey in this ocean town.
For now, it's the ticking of the clock. The long string of Pandora songs filling the all-beige apartment. The cats laying around, vying for attention. I am left alone with my thoughts, the aftermath of the string of parties and celebrations. I am picking out paint colors and furniture, thinking this is enough for me, for right now. Walk slowly, notice your breath.
Since college, I've wanted to leave Phoenix. It isn't the place for me--I felt that. I've thought of things that move me, like my future children. Where do I want them? What landscape do I want them to breathe? And, for some reason, if only a gut feeling, an intuition, whispered 'go, just go.'
But as it often is with love, you stay--because sometimes that's bigger than what you want RIGHT NOW. I even resigned myself to stay, forever if I had to, to feel the love I share with Dave. But my now husband must have heard me, in my nighttime pleading, that geography mattered to me, dreams were waiting for me--somewhere else. And in his desire to love me, to care about what matters to me, he manifested a solution. I consider it a wedding present.
There's something here for me. And with my post-wedding 'what the hell now?' feelings, I am energized as never before. I realize after its all said and done, that I still struggle with many of the same perceived shortcomings I felt in myself before all the hoopla. What if I tried/did/accomplished my "life to-dos"? That misty list....Wouldn't I be a better person? Wouldn't I somehow be drastically changed?
These things I've always shelved to do someday, but not today...there's not enough time. But this year, is a year of transformation. I desperately want to see what's on the other side of this.