John Mayer is wise. He tells us:
One day our generation
Is gonna rule the population
So we keep on waiting (waiting)
Waiting on the world to change.
Why are we waiting? What are we waiting for? I bet my father-in-law, a Vietnam veteran, never thought he would see a President lead us into another war making such similarly huge blunders along the way. I have high hopes for our generation, too, John Mayer, but I bet the Boomers thought they would bring peace and save the world back in their idealistic phase. They haven't. And it's getting to be too late for them as the Me Generation starts taking over the reigns. I bet every generation thinks they will be the Ones. How can we go wrong, with all that we've seen and lived - with all that we know, now, that our parents did not know?
And I kind of understand why there are so many very, very angry old hippies out there. I know that if I saw people my age, of my hopeful, beautiful, generation making such huge errors of leadership and judgment, I would be full of rage. And disappointment.
I hope there's something worth waiting for.
Posted at 10:15 pm by klo
I lived alone for just one year of my life. It was June of 2003 through June of 2004. I lived in a very tiny, old and beautiful studio apartment in St. Paul, Minnesota. I made the move into the new place at the very end of May - I only moved a few blocks down from my old place, but it was truly one of those life transitions. It was the last time I'd live with any of my old college roommates - including one of my best friends who was getting married that summer, hence, totally cutting off any possibility of us ever living together again (barring crazy circumstances, of course). My ex-boyfriend of 2 years helped me move in his parents' van. It was the wrap-up to a crazy year of depression, anxiety, unemployment, taking the GRE and applying to grad school, deciding what was next, partying enthusiastically, working 2 part-time jobs and making a messes I wasn't nearly responsible enough to clean up.
I loved my new apartment. It was the perfect size for me with the perfect amount of character. I hung my artwork on the walls and bought curtains. It was the first place I ever lived that I tried to decorate. I never cared about the state of the spaces around me until this place. It wasn't "my room" anymore. It was "my home." My first attempt at making a home for myself - one built only of the things I had to offer and not a collection of other people's things. I didn't have much in the way of household goods and decor, but what I had I loved and used well.
I don't know when I really started rocking out in my car to 3 Doors Down's "When you're gone," but every time I hear this song it reminds me painfully of the first three months I lived alone. It was summer in the Cities and it should have been a lot of fun. But I didn't know how to live by myself. I had always had others around to offer potential entertainment. And what I remember most from those three months was being completely and desperately alone. I know there must have been people around me - I know I went out with friends on the weekends and sometimes on weeknights. I know I dated a few guys that summer. But what I remember most are endless nights sitting at my hand-me-down desk, hoping at the internet for it to bring me something that would make me stop twitching around in my chair with restless sadness. I was so sad and angry. And something about that 3 Doors Down song said it all so well - hold me when I'm scared...love me when I'm gone.
I don't think I thought, then, that anyone would love me when I was gone. I think that's what I wanted so much - I wanted to be sure that people would love me when I was gone. And, of course, I also wanted to be held when I was scared, which was not happening. I was really scared and I felt very, very alone.
I started seeing the therapist who saved my life in late August. That's also when I started seeing D, for the second time. The time that stuck. I was stuck, and D knew that about me, too. It wasn't very hard to see. He worried for quite awhile that I was with him just to avoid my chronic and scary lonliness. And I can understand that, now. But I knew that I loved him. Even if I could not love him very well back then. It so appropriate, in retrospect, that our second first date was a 3 Doors Down concert. Another reason that song just rips into me every time.
It hurts a lot to think about how much damaging chaos I brought down on my own head, for years of my young life. I cry for that poor lost girl. She just didn't know. How could she?
I wanted to fill the time with things, I didn't want to be alone and unloved and unremembered.
It comes up in my mind a lot - what would I do if suddenly D was not in my life anymore? It's hypothetical, of course, but I just wonder. My life has changed so entirely since that summer. I am content, stable, sane - I want things for myself that are truly fulfilling and not just substitutes for emptiness. I am so in love that sometimes I feel cross-eyed with it. I live in circumstance where I am reminded often, both by D and by good friends all around us, that I am loved very much.
What if all of that went away? What if it was just me in a big city in a one-room apartment again? It's a question that I think about pretty often, but one I can't answer. I can't change the past and there is nothing that I would change that has given me this incomparable life. But I wonder if I am really strong within myself, now. Would I be sane enough to keep from hurting myself even if nobody was watching?
I don't think I could have gotten here without D and the decisions I've made (and risks I've taken!) that have changed my setting and my status. So, I guess that if I had to go back, after all of this, I would not be the same. I am almost sure of it. It would be impossible to ignore everything I've learned.
But for some reason, the image of that girl (me) sitting at her desk at night, alone, hangs with me - like she's still there, wondering what will become of her, even though I've moved on. Maybe it's just part of forgiving her, mourning her and letting her go, already. Letting her be. Or maybe it's just a little string on my psyche to help me remember how buried I can get in the dark side of my own self - and to remind me to be grateful every single day for the light I do have.
Posted at 4:34 pm by klo
So, I had a totally exciting thing happen to me this morning! You are going to think I'm crazy (the excitement part) but I found my very first gray hair!!
Being quite blond, grays would have blended in, had I had any before. I never noticed even a tell-tale shimmer or strange texture until this morning. I was giving myself one last look in the mirror before heading to work and noticed what looked like a tiny white paint chip stuck in my hair - in my bangs, to be exact. We just installed new windows and have been painting the trim and sills, so I thought it likely that a little bit could have stuck in my hair. But when I looked closely, I saw that this lonely white spot was part of a larger issue - and I excitedly plucked it from my head for examination.
My hair is kind of weird right now - I had it temporarily dyed dark in May and the dyed color didn't fade entirely. So my roots (about 1.5 inches of them) are very blond and the rest of my hair has a bit of a brunette/reddish sheen to it. The contrast isn't huge, so I've put off paying what it takes to look like a non-skunk. This gray hair, then, was actually mostly brownish - there were only about 1.5 inches of gray. But it was beautiful! It was sort of mottled silver and black with just that one fleck of white that had made me notice it. And I thought how nice it would be to have silvery salt-and-pepper hair when I'm old. That's why I think it made me happy. Ridiculous, I know!
But I think aging, and fears about getting old, are pretty universal. I look very forward to the years of my life that lie ahead - what will happen? Who will I be? What will end up making me happy that I never predicted for myself? It's all a really great journey. And I think as I've gotten a little older, age has also become more relative. I know more very cool people in their 60s and 70s and even 80s and getting "old" seems less daunting. Nobody wants to picture themselves crumpled up in a wheel chair, winning bananas at bingo the highlight of their day.
At the same time, nobody wants to lose their life prematurely, die tragically, leave the people they love much too soon. I have talked before, here, about my obsession with death, how often it haunts me, how sure I have often felt that I wasn't going to make it as far as the nursing home.
Something about this beautiful silver hair spoke to both of those fears - laughed at them both. Perhaps I will be old and glowing and beautiful. Perhaps I will live long enough to be old after all. Something about silver hair at 26 is so hopeful and beautiful and perspective-giving for me. Label me loopy, (I am!) but it's made my day.
Posted at 9:28 am by klo
in¡Eti¡Ema¡Ecy [in-tuh-muh-see] ¡Vnoun, plural -cies
||the state of being intimate. |
||a close, familiar, and usually affectionate or loving personal relationship with another person or group. |
||a close association with or detailed knowledge or deep understanding of a place, subject, period of history, etc.: an intimacy with Japan. |
||an act or expression serving as a token of familiarity, affection, or the like: to allow the intimacy of using first names. |
||an amorously familiar act; liberty. |
the quality of being comfortable, warm, or familiar:
the intimacy of the room.
||privacy, esp. as suitable to the telling of a secret: |
in the intimacy of his studio.
Credit to Dictionary.com for the above definition - copied and pasted, to be exact. I wish intimacy was so easy to grasp and move in real life.
The concept keeps brushing the back of my brain like a little whisper. It's a whispery word:
It also doesn't belong capitalized, I don't think. It's too quiet and vulnerable to make a loud, self-important statement like capitalization would.
Two questions quietly fill my whole body: is intimacy desirable? Is it achievable? If I read those questions written by another person, it's possible I might roll my eyes at how obviously the answer to both is "yes." But I'm lonely. And because I'm still figuring out what my inner parent tells my inner child about this feeling, I have to think it through. Welcome to one of my daily existential deliberations.
I feel very self-sufficient about my life right now and excited about my goals. I've started another blog to write about energy/environmental issues. I'm working on submitting some freelance stuff to magazines. I'm training for a 6-mile cross country race in November. And I feel like those are sufficient commitments to keep me working, passionate and occupied without being overwhelmed. The new projects have helped me become more centered - get back to my basic passions as well as challenging myself with new experiences. I am taking good and careful care of myself and it feels really amazing.
I know myself much better now than I did two years ago, or even one year. And as I've worked through the self-discovery, I've also found out that there are so many complexities there that no one will ever be able to just look at me and understand, not even if they know me for 50 years, because it is hard for even me to sometimes know what's going on in there. But as well as I will get to know myself, someday, no one else will ever know me as well as I do. I used to always want someone to know me even better than I did. I'm not saying that hasn't happened sometimes - I've definitely had therapists and friends who could see right through the things I was denying about myself. But one consequence of telling myself the truth (or trying to) is that you can tell me something shocking about myself, but I probably already know it somewhere. And I can probably already tell you that I'm working on it.
There's a paradox: I have to become self-sufficient to preserve my own sanity. Relying on others to know me better than I do, to love me more than I do, to give me something to live for, is unhealthy. It was an unhealthy way to live and I don't want to - I couldn't - go back to that. So in that sense, intimacy as I used to understand it is off-limits to me. No one can know all my cobwebbed mind corners, no one can read my mind. A certain part of me will always be alone.
I guess the problem lies in how I've defined intimacy and what my expectations are when it comes to scale and duration. Intimacy cannot happen in a constant stream of existence - it's not something we can hope to have in every moment, even with just one person. Intimacy is built over time, yes, but it is built in small moments you may not even notice and is noticed, often, only in moments of shared beauty, laughter, grief and pain, accomplishment, romance. And intimacy can be sacrificed to time, just like any other aspect of a relationship. Knowing me like I do has to be enough for me in the non-intimate moments and it has to be enough in the moments of intimacy, too.
"You work on self-sufficient emotional stability during your time alone so that when you do experience the intimacy that exists in your life, it feels like a warm rain instead of like a knife or a lost opportunity. You make yourself sane so your relationships can have real intimacy instead of some cheap imitation. So you can be there for the people you love, so they are allowed to love you back. Intimacy does not mean someone holds you up because you're too weak; it means you hold hands, for strength with those who temporarily surround you and look often around to show your appreciation for the help. And others do the same."
That is, ultimately, what the mom in me is telling the lonely little girl. And though I still sigh, I think maybe she's onto something.
Posted at 11:46 am by klo
I wonder how many people have dreamt about being famous. When I was a younger lass, I used to dream about it. You know, being a movie star or something. Having everyone love me. Now that I'm a little more aged, I mostly just dream about having a really good airbush artist at my disposal since it seems like that's the real secret behind Hollywood beauty. The rest of the shit that goes with fame? NO THANKS!
But, if you're still interested, there are lots of ways to be famous in America today. You could be:
A movie star
A prominent politician
A horrendous criminal
An unscrupulous CEO
The child of any of the above
The illicit lover of any of the above
A petty criminal who undertakes an incredibly ironic/stupid/socially resonant crime
The leader of a Country with oil
The American Idol
The host of a cooking/talk/comedy/ show
I could probably go on and on...and please feel free to go on and on in the comments. I know, it's weird, but brainstorming ways to be famous in America is actually quite an amusing way to pass the time.
I'm not that familiar with famous people. We don't really hang out. I don't know anyone, personally, who fits into the categories above and I've only ever met one person who does (reference Ragbrai post) and he sucked. But, and I have to be honest, I have actually had a few daydreams about what it would be like if I did happen to run into some celebrity randomly some time. Usually these scenarios involve some hot lead singer or actor who instantly falls for me and my cool sarcastic wit. You KNOW you have had that fantasy! Don't look at me like that!
Now that I've thoroughly embarassed myself, let me go on. In the recent past, I went and got myself addicted to celebrity gossip blogs. It bothered me, this obsession. I was embarassed about it and even had a heart-to-heart with a friend who harbors a similar habit. Her theory was that, because our lives are so boring, we read this stuff so we can live vicariously through the drama of the beautiful people. I think that's part of it. But for me, I think that I was partially using these people as substitute friends. Oh my god.
I don't really have friends who are in on my day-to-day life. My hubby knows what's going on with me all the time, of course, but that's about it. And ditto with me knowing what's going with others' day-to-day. Was I using the celebs' grocery shopping trips as an emotional fix for the part of me that wants to feel close to people? What a horrible thought. What a bad, bad excuse for having real relationships. This thought didn't really hit me until after I experienced Lance on Ragbrai.
So, like I said, I've always envisioned myself being cool in the face of fame. Some other people, I don't know. Maybe their fantasy was more like "I will be the person who breaks my leg running into a barricade trying to jump in front of Lance as he rides by and he'll stop to see if I'm okay and we'll fall in love!" Okay, so maybe that's it. And I'm not judging because, you know, life is SO subjective. But as I was witnessing this total and utter mania, I got very, very uncomfortable. There was something bigger and scarier happening here than I had ever witnessed before. It was a little bit of insanity. And it was some mob mentality and some leaving of rationality behind. And I made a decision, after that, that I don't want to be part of it. Not even a little bit. So I swore off the celebrity websites altogether.
I just couldn't accept being a part of something that was so disturbing to me. And I felt that by supporting these papparazzi/celeb fashion websites that I was using up my time and brain space on something that I just can't agree is important. I don't want to be part of the manic crowd. To think of myself as such makes me feel a little ill.
But I have to admit that I do miss my "friends." And every day I have to fight the urge to check up them. Such is the weird struggle.
Posted at 10:58 am by klo
Posted at 8:56 am by klo
I keep meaning to write. There is a lot that I could say - a lot that's been bouncing around my head lately. A lot that's been happening in life and such. But I can't really decide what to write about first. I've been kind of a downer lately, so maybe what this blog needs is a slap of Ragbrai debauchery. Wanna hear about the bike ride? It was more fun than Brits in a barrell!
Team No-Name in Sergeant Bluff - ready for the first day's ride!
Day One: Sergeant Bluff to Ida Grove - 54 miles
This day would have been a lot harder if we hadn't had a tail wind going West. The Southern jaunts were difficult, but it was a short day. We got in at about 2:00 or so and had a very long and lazy afternoon. I got a sad face for forgetting my ID and giving up on the beer tent without trying. Apparently they weren't even checking. Trav got a sad face for getting a flat tire half a mile from the end and then wiping out in the driveway of the place where we were staying. Some of the other guys get happy faces for teaching the dogs to sail rafts in the pool in order to retrieve corn cobs. Smartest dogs EVER!
Day Two: Ida Grove to Audobon - 75.2 miles
Oh my lord. The South wind is the devil. You may think it brings warmth and other ...nice things or something. BUT when there are hills and then more hills and then, oh my god, more hills, it is not so friendly. Rumored to be one of the top-10 worst days ever on Ragbrai, I was so sick with exhaustion at the end of the day that I could hardly eat. I cried during the ride. Twice. But I made it. Other people were crying, too, but not in our group. So I get a sad face for being kind of a wimp. D helped me muscle through it. He is good to have around in adversity. Sorry I was "that wife," honey. You're the best! We stayed with some folks pretty far from the actual overnight town on their lovely farm. We all needed the rest after that sucky day
Part way there, trying to look happy...or not.
Day 3: Audobon to Waukee - 68 miles (But I only did about 40)
I volunteered to drive the bus to Waukee since we had no driver for this day. It was a nightmare. I didn't really know where I was going and the map I had was wrong. Driving a bus around in circles is hard. As is driving a bus through a trailer park with ginormous speed bumps. Yikes. But this day also turned out to be a lot of fun. I rode my bike up a trail that just happened to lead to a town that was on the route and had lunch with the team. We commenced one town further to a rowdy beer garden and, after spending long hours outdoors I was quickly feeling the effects of the alcohol. In college, when I'd been drinking, I could run home from the party house on the other side of town and be barely out of breath when I got there. This was me speed-racing to the final town 7 miles away. I think I averaged about 20 miles an hour. It was sweet. I was fast. It was good that we got our partying in early, beacuse it stormed that night, raining out all the town activities, and we slept in the basement of D's aunt's house.
Debauchery in Adel - what fun!
Day 4: Waukee to Newton - 69.3 miles
OMG!!! Did you see Lance?!?! He's riding today! Wait - here he comes!!! AHHHHH!!!! Lance!!!! Let me lick your face!!! SIGN MY NIPPLES!!!! LAAAANCE!
I think you get it. I was innocently reclining under a nice cool shade tree when the great one and the mob of scary Lance-mad tramplers rolled through town. I'm not saying that I didn't take a picture of him with my cell phone, okay? And I'm not saying that I didn't text message my husband (who was working that day) to tell him about my sighting. I'm just saying that I did it all from a safe distance while restraning myself from diving beneath his tires. And that, my friend, is much, much more than I can say for some others. But that is another post entirely. I wish I could post the picture I took - it is horrible - but I don't know how to get it off my cell phone.
The riding on this day was very easy and the overnight in Newton a blast. ScottyB hosted us right near downtown. We went to join the festivities around 10:00, wearing name tags. ScottyB was "Hello my name is Lance Armstrong" and, by the end of the evening, was hilariously shouting, "I'm Lance Armstrong! You wouldn't understand!" Maybe it's not appropriate to tell other people's drunk stories on my blog, sorry Scotty, I just giggle every time I think about it. Maybe the funniest part was how receptive everyone was to the man with a name tag stuck to his bare chest. Women were taking pictures with him and drawing on him with marker. He was definitely the star of the evening, in my mind.
Live strong and stay away from cancer!
Day 5: Newton to Marengo - 76.6 miles
If I seem to be talking less about the actual riding and more about the extra-curriculars, it is because, after Monday's hell, the rest of the riding kind of blends together as a blur of "not even fucking close to as hard." So it was fun and good, for the most part. And just got stronger as the week went on, so it was easier still! And now I'm trying to remember highlights from this day...and having trouble seperating it all out. I think the only cool thing that happened was seeing jello wrestling. Though "seeing" is sort of an exaggeration since everyone was taller than me. Glimpsing? I do remember that I ate WAY too much Catholic Church spagghetti for supper and couldn't sleep because it was HOTTER THAN HELL, there were BUGS CRAWLING ALL OVER ME, my TUMMY WAS ABOUT TO BURST and the band in town was so loud that our tent was vibrating even though we were TWO MILES AWAY! Oh and I guess today was also the day of my second Lance sighting. Ride for your fucking life, man.
Day 6: Marengo to Coralville - 47.8 miles
This was probably the most action-packed ride of any on our journey. Even though it was a very short day, we took our sweet time. Our first pit-stop was a truck set up in a random farm driveway giving away beer and vodka lemonades. Donations accepted, of course, but holy White Eagle, those drinks were strong! Our whole team rested here for quite some time. Nothing like drinks at 10:30 on a Friday morning to really get your ride off right. Actually, we were over half-way done by then so our worries were even less than they might have been. We met a nice fellow name Phil from Philidelphia whom we invited to hang out with us in Coralville since he was hanging out with two families with kids, but he never showed. Ah well.
The next little bout of excitement happened at our lunch stop, not too far from the end town. A blast from the past that I sort of hate showed up.
Me and a former Presidential candidate who shall remain nameless
Then AFTER the lunch and meeting, right outside of town, we saw our mecca - a free beer tent with water slide, complete with lots of naked dudes. Ooooh yeah! There was one very brave naked girl as well, but mostly dudes. Our guys were such good sports, though, and just gave in to the spirit of the day with a rousing chant for more naked dudes.
Day 7: Coralville to Muscatine - 49.3 miles, baby! You made it!
This was another really short day and shockingly flat. Usually the roads that close the the Mississippi are a total nightmare with hills the likes of which...something or other. But this was just mostly a nice cruise to the finish line where there was tire-dipping and happy embracing. And then, the hours-long journey home. Phew. We's all worn out!
Posted at 10:57 am by klo
I'm much less angsty today, a good thing in general. I mean, mama said there'd be days like this. And all that. And sometimes I think the good days aren't as good for me as the bad days. Life is not as pressurized. But they give me a respite from the bigger traveling side show that is my psycho-emotional life. I can use that rest from the drama. The questions are still there, ya know, but they're not insisting on spewing from my eyes in salt-water form. So, okay.
It is what it is.
Mostly what has been on my mind lately is my career. There is a lot to think about. I do like my job - when it's the most stressful it is also the most interesting. Not everyone gets that extra bonus. But I feel restless in health care and welfare. I want to be working in energy policy. And I want to be doing something tangible there. But imagining switching to that area in my current job makes me feel bored. So I've been considering....gulp...going back to school. I know, it's totally insane, but I have this feeling that perhaps academia really is where I belong. And not teaching at a liberal arts school, but working at a research university. Researching, writing, discussing, publishing, teaching, and learning. Iowa does not offer me many options in my current career. I have seen most of what the State government has to offer. Bleh. It's true that this place comes politically alive every four years, but that's not enough to keep me entertained. And D and I talk about leaving here for a few years, going out to D.C., going overseas, but we have no real direction. And anything would be hard with the way his job is. So I'm seriously considering a Ph.D. in Economics. I'm not sure at all that it's something I would be capable of doing, but I guess that's why they have an admissions process.
So there's been that - just my entire future. And there've been world events, which I inevitably take too personally. And there've been relationship issues going on as well. Trying to check out of my own personal power struggle with those and leave it to the fairies to take care of it. It's tough to do. The relationship struggles seem the biggest and baddest, usually. It magnifies everything else when stuff's not good in that area. Codependent? Yes. Lay off. I'm working on it.
So if you were concerned or confused by my water post yesterday, here's the cold hard reality. Not nearly as romantic, is it? I was right about taking romance out of the equation. That water does feel much smaller today.
Do you think they call psychiatrists "shrinks" because they shrink how large your problems feel and make them more manageable?
Posted at 8:49 am by klo
Hey. I don't know who or where you are or what. I'm not sure I think that you're a listener. I'm not sure I'm talking.
I'm confused, God. I don't know what the hell is up. The world around me is a giant digital drive-in, but the world inside of me is more of a big piece of water. Not ever really still - it's empty, though. I don't know if that makes any sense, but it scares me. It's so fucking huge. And I feel like I've come in a little in the past few years, but there is so much damn water. And if I'm only a little in, then where the hell have I been for the 24 years before? That's a lot of time on dry land.
Why is the world so anger-making, God? Why did you do it like that? Why did you have me feel all of it, all the time? The water inside of me is more than I could possibly swim in my lifetime. I can probably swim further than I can see, God, but I can't swim endlessly, okay? I know I sound desperate and I'm sorry. I'll try to ask you more nicely later, but I'm kind of pissed about it right now.
I have questions, okay, God?
What the hell is up with childhood, anyway? Does everyone grow up and feel like the whole thing was a dream? Can it really be true that we show up here with so little? We knew almost nothing about the world - it was as strange to us as the one where we fall off of cliffs in our sleep. It may as well have been. It is not at all like this "adult" place. I feel like I wake from it every. single. day. God. From my career to my bank account to my sex life - is it too late to wake up to something else? And what the hell is the point of doing it like that? Do we start off so vulnerable so that we ultimately need one another? Can I blame evolution?
While we're talking about the basics, I'd also like some answers on Death. I fucking hate it. I hate thinking about it. I don't trust you, God. It scares me. Why the mystery? Why are you holding out? It pisses me off.
I'm not going to ask you about love, God. I think I get it. But what is the deal with romance? It totally screws up easy things. That big pool I was bitching about earlier is 3/4 romance, God. Not just the traditional, lovey-dovey kind but the dream kind, the worry kind, the fantasy kind. The kind that makes you reminisce and the kind that leads you on. Makes you think you're bigger than you are. The kind that is made of stirring but senseless speeches, epics, and absolutely enormous realities - too big to be understood by a highly sentimental human brain. If I could eliminate even half of the romance, I think my water would be much less daunting. Can I blame you? I don't know. I've always taken it for granted that the romance is part of me. But what the hell am I supposed to do with it? It just doesn't seem useful at all right now, God. What do you want me to do with it?
I'm worried that I'll never understand where you're coming from, God. I admit that I often rebel against the truth - it just sucks sometimes. And anybody can say that they're open-minded and I'd like to say that, too, but what the hell. It doesn't mean anything. Besides, maybe what I need is to be more closed-minded. Maybe some of the water is made of a mind open to too fucking much.
Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think I'm listening, but I've just misheard you or you spoke too quietly. But, just like in real life, I'm probably not. So I'm not going to tell you that I am. I don't want to make you mad. Can you tell me, then, how to listen? I think if I could learn that trick then maybe the edges of the pool wouldn't come in, but maybe it wouldn't be about getting across without drowning. Maybe it could be more about growing gills or something.
Posted at 10:18 am by klo
So I'm doing the Self (TM) Challenge (TM). It's this whole 3-month eating exercising extravaganza for those of us who haven't been the most dedicated.
One of the features is an online food diary where you record what you eat, when and where and how you felt at the time. And today my biggest revelation is that most of the time I've got "relaxed" down as my emotion but the past few have been "happy" instead. I'm happy. I'm so happy - yes,
Crying at work again.
I remember sitting in my car in St. Paul, maybe 2 years ago, and feeling absolutely nothing, or just little bits of bad things. Just worry and pain. That day, there, I was reminiscing about how amazing it used to feel in high school to jump in my car on a summer day and take off to go watch a baseball game. Or in college heading to Seven Mile on an amazing Spring afternoon. I pressed my forehead into the steering wheel and I mourned the little thrills of joy that told me that the world was just right and so was my life. I thought I would never feel that again. I thought it was lost to me. I was trying to accept that "even keel" (though better than manic) was just my given track. I couldn't have it back.
And now I have it, damn it. I do. It almost doesn't seem fair to me, to be so in love with everything. I am healthy. I am home. I am protected. I am independent. I am loved. I am so open to the future. I am not afraid anymore of being someone's mother, someday. The cynic in me complains that I have too much to lose, but the sun is shining and my heart is beating too hard to listen.
I don't know why this is my life. I don't know why one day I decided to wake up to what was waiting for me...I don't know what will happen tomorrow. I don't believe in God, but at the same time I've become some sort of true believer. I don't want to talk about it. But the fieriness of my happiness makes me feel almost like standing up to Testify. "Of course this is right," I think, and I think then that I start to understand faith.
Posted at 3:00 pm by klo