Goodnight rainy night. Today I drove through the rain to commemorate another year older, Redbeard and his dad have birthdays in the same week. We did that age-old sit around and eat and drink and tell the stories that become us, or that slowly we become. As I drove through the rain I tried to be grateful and mindful, rain pattering, wipers wiping.
And on the way home that familiar stretch of Walnut street when you first see the skyline of the city headed east back in, I was overcome with a wave of something like nostalgia, like a tenderness or a kindness toward Redbeard and myself, how we grapple and hang on, try to untangle the knots and move forward and make some of this progress you hear so much about. What then, once we make it? Do we think there will be no more progress after that? Do we hope to reach a state of perfection after which there is no more problems, no more struggle? And yet every morning we wake up, fight it out, soaring victories, crushing defeats, and then the middle times that are like a march or a trudge or walk across a lawn on a summer night sweeping your flashlight from left to right.
That skyline. Seen me through so many chapters, so many phases, hard to even keep track of them all. Sometimes it reminds me of the bigness of things, of the view from the uppermost floors, from which all my days and cares and most earnest most fervent thoughts, memories, feelings, wishes, desires, plans seem impossibly, laughably small.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Super Fucked-Up Squared Times A Million
In two days it will be one year since my cousin Alfred died. I hate that, because a year sounds like a long time, but it doesn't feel like a long time. The wound is fresh. And I hate it because after one year comes two years, three, and four, and on an on, and that is too long to live without him. One year has already been too long.
After his death I decided I needed to do something with my life. I needed to try to make my own life worthwhile. A year later I've been accepted to grad school to learn what I hope will be a profession where I can be of service.
It has been a year of being brave and soldiering on and life going on even after you're convinced it can't and won't, and not wanting it to.
But now I'm tired. I don't want to be brave anymore, I can't fathom a life of having to be this brave. I want to go back to the way it was, back when everything was a normal amount of fucked-up, not super fucked-up squared times a million.
I'm tired of keeping the faith, telling myself that life is precious and worth living. Life is barbaric, people are awful, corporations are slowly going to squeeze us until we die penurious in the street, probably of drinking tainted fracking water or eating unregulated meat juice or the terrorists winning.
After his death I decided I needed to do something with my life. I needed to try to make my own life worthwhile. A year later I've been accepted to grad school to learn what I hope will be a profession where I can be of service.
It has been a year of being brave and soldiering on and life going on even after you're convinced it can't and won't, and not wanting it to.
But now I'm tired. I don't want to be brave anymore, I can't fathom a life of having to be this brave. I want to go back to the way it was, back when everything was a normal amount of fucked-up, not super fucked-up squared times a million.
I'm tired of keeping the faith, telling myself that life is precious and worth living. Life is barbaric, people are awful, corporations are slowly going to squeeze us until we die penurious in the street, probably of drinking tainted fracking water or eating unregulated meat juice or the terrorists winning.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
On Patience
I've been impatient. Tulips are shooting up all over the place, the daffodils and forsythia blooms are almost past their prime. I'm ready for promising shoots to come bursting up in my life, too. I am waiting to hear back from the Top Choice School about my interview, waiting to hear from Second Choice School Which I Would Happily and Gratefully Attend about whether or not they have any graduate assistant monies for me; waiting to hear from some part time jobs I applied for to see if any of those time parts are for me; waiting to tell my landlord whether or not we will be able to afford this apartment next year; waiting to see if Redbeard gets a job offer; waiting for money to come in; waiting, waiting, waiting.
Last night all the waiting broke me down and I called my wise aunt who listened and murmured sympathetically, which was just exactly what I wanted. And she reminded me that often eventually the universe or the cosmos or whatever eventually makes clear what the course will be. So here I am, waiting for paperwork to go through, waiting for a sign, waiting for them to open the velvet barricades surrounding my next step.
It is frustrating, of course. I want to CONTROL, I want to MANAGE, I want to HANDLE things. I want assurance, I want certainty, I want direction, I want answers!
But these things are doggedly, determinedly, annoyingly unfolding in their own time. And that skill, the skill of waiting, letting go, letting things unfold...is not one that I could say I've mastered yet. I cling to the illusion that there is such a thing as certainty in life, that a certain email or a certain letter will guarantee the things I want: security, stability, a sense of peacefulness about the future, assurance that everything's going to be OK.
On the other hand, that shit probably doesn't actually come via email. It's not something you order off Amazon and track via UPS feverishly until it lands on your doorstep. It's not a letter, it's not a package, it's not a thing at all, and you don't receive it with your eyes or hands.
It arrives without warning (and sometimes goes just as quickly as it came.) But I think there are ways to put yourself in a more receptive mood. Example given: I went for a jog-walk this morning. The sky was an epic blue. All those bulbs planted in fall have fearlessly shot up through people's front yards. The song "I'm Alive" by The Hooters came on the ipod - reminding me that wherever I go it's amazing to know I'm alive.
And I had that familiar feeling where I wake up to the place and time where I actually am, look around and say to myself, "You know what? This is nice."
Peacefulness, a feeling that everything's going to be OK, those don't come from Admissions offices. They comes from within, from knowing thyself and knowing that you can trust yourself to "fall down seven times, stand up eight." Knowing that you can cultivate those activities and thoughts and situations and even people in your life that give you a sense of well-being and rightness in the world...regardless of where you are in your life, where you've been, where you're headed, where you want to go.
These moments come in flashes, and being ready for them and inviting them requires some footwork of us, and it doesn't always work perfectly. But when they do come, they are a gift, and it behooves us to say thank you: Thank you!
PS - While I was typing this post, one of those external, temporary answers did come in over email - I have an interview next Thursday. Go figure.
Last night all the waiting broke me down and I called my wise aunt who listened and murmured sympathetically, which was just exactly what I wanted. And she reminded me that often eventually the universe or the cosmos or whatever eventually makes clear what the course will be. So here I am, waiting for paperwork to go through, waiting for a sign, waiting for them to open the velvet barricades surrounding my next step.
It is frustrating, of course. I want to CONTROL, I want to MANAGE, I want to HANDLE things. I want assurance, I want certainty, I want direction, I want answers!
But these things are doggedly, determinedly, annoyingly unfolding in their own time. And that skill, the skill of waiting, letting go, letting things unfold...is not one that I could say I've mastered yet. I cling to the illusion that there is such a thing as certainty in life, that a certain email or a certain letter will guarantee the things I want: security, stability, a sense of peacefulness about the future, assurance that everything's going to be OK.
On the other hand, that shit probably doesn't actually come via email. It's not something you order off Amazon and track via UPS feverishly until it lands on your doorstep. It's not a letter, it's not a package, it's not a thing at all, and you don't receive it with your eyes or hands.
It arrives without warning (and sometimes goes just as quickly as it came.) But I think there are ways to put yourself in a more receptive mood. Example given: I went for a jog-walk this morning. The sky was an epic blue. All those bulbs planted in fall have fearlessly shot up through people's front yards. The song "I'm Alive" by The Hooters came on the ipod - reminding me that wherever I go it's amazing to know I'm alive.
And I had that familiar feeling where I wake up to the place and time where I actually am, look around and say to myself, "You know what? This is nice."
Peacefulness, a feeling that everything's going to be OK, those don't come from Admissions offices. They comes from within, from knowing thyself and knowing that you can trust yourself to "fall down seven times, stand up eight." Knowing that you can cultivate those activities and thoughts and situations and even people in your life that give you a sense of well-being and rightness in the world...regardless of where you are in your life, where you've been, where you're headed, where you want to go.
These moments come in flashes, and being ready for them and inviting them requires some footwork of us, and it doesn't always work perfectly. But when they do come, they are a gift, and it behooves us to say thank you: Thank you!
PS - While I was typing this post, one of those external, temporary answers did come in over email - I have an interview next Thursday. Go figure.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
In which, briefly, life is totally perfect
I spent Saturday sleeping in and doing crafts. Redbeard tinkered with his bike in the backyard all afternoon. We decided to grill and some friends in the neighborhood strolled over. Today, same thing: sleeping, crafts, and we decided to grill again, because we loved it so much last night.
Oh did I mention I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL? Which lent the whole weekend an air of relaxation that I haven't had in a long long time. What's better than warm weather, the smell of charcoal smoke, the crack of a beer can, the flicker of a candle as the sky gets darker and the living sounds of the neighborhood?
Nothing, I tell ya, that's what.
Oh did I mention I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL? Which lent the whole weekend an air of relaxation that I haven't had in a long long time. What's better than warm weather, the smell of charcoal smoke, the crack of a beer can, the flicker of a candle as the sky gets darker and the living sounds of the neighborhood?
Nothing, I tell ya, that's what.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
In which I tell what I've been up to, consider the merits of boredom, remember to give thanks
It's been all quiet on the blogging front for a little while. I got a gnarly stomach bug, the takeaway from which was holy shit, it feels so good to be healthy and alive after you finally bounce back from something like that. Tonight Redbeard and I got pork bowls and as I devoured my slightly spicy sweet meat-strips like a ravenous movie dinosaur I thought, oh hell yes, thank god for this.
It's been a quiet few weeks, going through the routines, but actually incremental progresses have been made. I've been making greeting cards on a regular basis that I intend to sell at some future point. I started a Couch25K routine after my subconscious finally tugged at my sleeve enough times about my basically-sedentary lifestyle. I continued to show up for The Kid, the gal I nanny for. Struggled with procrastination on the other job, in which there is a decided lack of flaming, in-my-face deadlines, which tends to be tricky for me.
I saw The Secret World of Arietty, which was magical and inspiring. Redbeard and I are starting to get a team together to create a kinetic sculpture to participate in the Kensington Kinetic Sculpture Derby, which, once completed, will fulfill a longtime dream of mine.
And then there is the almost overwhelming tidal wave of projects, classes, and adventures I want to partake of. There's the list of ten goals for the year I started last September that I am still working on, 5-7 of which I am totally kicking ass on. There's my intention to end the day doing something relaxing, the same way I've made a habit (I just typed habitat, that fits too I think) of a period of quiet reflection in the morning. There's emailing with my friend C, we go back and forth about our struggles and triumphs in the realm of the good life. There's garden season coming up. There's the community group I want to continue to be involved with. And oh right there's grad school and financial aid applications and all that.
And then of course there's the sleeping, which is key for me, and the trying to not eat too much of things that will prematurely put me in the grave, and trying to do this in a way that will not put Redbeard and me into insolvency (I'm looking at you, fresh produce and lean proteins). And then there's the cat poop to scoop and the dishes to be done.
It all sounds so quotidian written out here like that. After several years of overall life-upheaval, I can't forget to be grateful for peacefulness, stability, routine, things going as planned. If there is a vague sense of boredom, maybe I can try to be kind of zen into that, see that beneath the boredom there is maybe just maybe the seeds of a stable, rooted, grounded life. Maybe I can see the germination happening, promising shootings bursting up out of the ground, like the crocuses and daffodils this year, lured early from the earth by the mild weather we're having.
Oh! And something both ordinary and spectacular: the doctor said I could go off the medicine for ulcerative colitis. It happened in such a routine and unspectacular way - after a rainy morning in the waiting room leafing through a withered magazine - that it's easy to overlook what a victory, what a blessing this is. Three years after the original diagnosis - and, truthfully, three years of hard work at turning my life around and tuning in to the wisdom - yeah, I said it - the wisdom of my own darn body - and it's easy to forget what it was like when I basically couldn't live my life due to the spasms of pain and the necessity of being within three minutes of a bathroom at all times.
So now, as my life chugs merrily along, I have to remember not to get too blase about this slow locomotion down the tracks. Having been derailed, and having fought to get to where I am...a peaceful journey through the countryside is a gift the likes of which I did not before have the sense to appreciate.
So fine, I'm overwhelmed by all the things I want to do and see and accomplish in my life. So, fine. Great! I am in love with the possibilities, the chances, the opportunities, the excitement. Better that than the dull gray film of depression, where nothing interests and nothing excites. Better that than the utter misery of illness, in which the world shrinks to focus only on the pain and its interludes.
If only I can remember not to tie every ribbon to this splendid and spectacular future, and give thanks for that which is before me now. A quiet Sunday night. Redbeard sighing in and out of the rooms. The dryer in the basement beneath me churning rhythmically like a beating heart. Now Redbeard is trying to do a Vulcan Mind-meld with the cat, holding it to his forehead, attempting to know the inner workings. Everything working properly, humming along, the household machines, the car, the body. The night now coming to a close, pajamas, a reigning in of those things finished and unfinished. The promise of a night of rest, another day, say thank you, and thank you, and thank you.
It's been a quiet few weeks, going through the routines, but actually incremental progresses have been made. I've been making greeting cards on a regular basis that I intend to sell at some future point. I started a Couch25K routine after my subconscious finally tugged at my sleeve enough times about my basically-sedentary lifestyle. I continued to show up for The Kid, the gal I nanny for. Struggled with procrastination on the other job, in which there is a decided lack of flaming, in-my-face deadlines, which tends to be tricky for me.
I saw The Secret World of Arietty, which was magical and inspiring. Redbeard and I are starting to get a team together to create a kinetic sculpture to participate in the Kensington Kinetic Sculpture Derby, which, once completed, will fulfill a longtime dream of mine.
And then there is the almost overwhelming tidal wave of projects, classes, and adventures I want to partake of. There's the list of ten goals for the year I started last September that I am still working on, 5-7 of which I am totally kicking ass on. There's my intention to end the day doing something relaxing, the same way I've made a habit (I just typed habitat, that fits too I think) of a period of quiet reflection in the morning. There's emailing with my friend C, we go back and forth about our struggles and triumphs in the realm of the good life. There's garden season coming up. There's the community group I want to continue to be involved with. And oh right there's grad school and financial aid applications and all that.
And then of course there's the sleeping, which is key for me, and the trying to not eat too much of things that will prematurely put me in the grave, and trying to do this in a way that will not put Redbeard and me into insolvency (I'm looking at you, fresh produce and lean proteins). And then there's the cat poop to scoop and the dishes to be done.
It all sounds so quotidian written out here like that. After several years of overall life-upheaval, I can't forget to be grateful for peacefulness, stability, routine, things going as planned. If there is a vague sense of boredom, maybe I can try to be kind of zen into that, see that beneath the boredom there is maybe just maybe the seeds of a stable, rooted, grounded life. Maybe I can see the germination happening, promising shootings bursting up out of the ground, like the crocuses and daffodils this year, lured early from the earth by the mild weather we're having.
Oh! And something both ordinary and spectacular: the doctor said I could go off the medicine for ulcerative colitis. It happened in such a routine and unspectacular way - after a rainy morning in the waiting room leafing through a withered magazine - that it's easy to overlook what a victory, what a blessing this is. Three years after the original diagnosis - and, truthfully, three years of hard work at turning my life around and tuning in to the wisdom - yeah, I said it - the wisdom of my own darn body - and it's easy to forget what it was like when I basically couldn't live my life due to the spasms of pain and the necessity of being within three minutes of a bathroom at all times.
So now, as my life chugs merrily along, I have to remember not to get too blase about this slow locomotion down the tracks. Having been derailed, and having fought to get to where I am...a peaceful journey through the countryside is a gift the likes of which I did not before have the sense to appreciate.
So fine, I'm overwhelmed by all the things I want to do and see and accomplish in my life. So, fine. Great! I am in love with the possibilities, the chances, the opportunities, the excitement. Better that than the dull gray film of depression, where nothing interests and nothing excites. Better that than the utter misery of illness, in which the world shrinks to focus only on the pain and its interludes.
If only I can remember not to tie every ribbon to this splendid and spectacular future, and give thanks for that which is before me now. A quiet Sunday night. Redbeard sighing in and out of the rooms. The dryer in the basement beneath me churning rhythmically like a beating heart. Now Redbeard is trying to do a Vulcan Mind-meld with the cat, holding it to his forehead, attempting to know the inner workings. Everything working properly, humming along, the household machines, the car, the body. The night now coming to a close, pajamas, a reigning in of those things finished and unfinished. The promise of a night of rest, another day, say thank you, and thank you, and thank you.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Look What I Did!
Let the record show that, two weekends in a row, I defied the forces of entropy, sloth, and internet-stasis to do fun, engaging activities that I'm proud of and glad I did!
Exhibit A: 18-mile hike on the Appalachian Trail including overnight in a possibly haunted former boardinghouse!
A great victory for the good life! Rejoice!
Exhibit A: 18-mile hike on the Appalachian Trail including overnight in a possibly haunted former boardinghouse!
Exhibit B: Made a date with my friend Michele to make stuff! See hand-made valentines, below!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Face Mauling, Doomsday Prepping, and a Picture of City Birds
The latest New Yorker has an article about a man whose face got burned off in an accident and eventually got a face transplant. I felt sick and scared and fascinated all at once, and immediately set to imagining myself in a wrong-end-of-a-powerline scenario having to have my features removed one by one in surgery in order to preserve what was left alive of my flesh. Would I be brave and stoic, hailed for my courage? Become embittered, angry? Depressed and never leave the house? What if my sense of taste was harmed and I couldn't even count on drowning my sorrows with E.L. Fudges?
Why do I read this disturbing stuff? And what does this have to do with the good, happy, positive life I supposedly write about here on the old electric rectangle?
Maybe just, a thing about trust. I am good at bracing for the worst, picking at scabs, waiting for the other shoe to drop, preparing let's-stick-this-out-together inspirational speeches that go undelivered. Redbeard points out a new TV show called Doomsday Preppers - people stockpiling for all sorts of apocolypses, a diverse array of worst-case scenarios. Bracing for the worst somehow makes it easier to entertain the thought. Helps you tolerate the fear.
Take these never-ending, godforsaken grad school applications. I finally screwed my courage to the sticking place enough to send in the one to the school that I care about. It's so easy to brace for rejection and disappointment, prepare for inevitable waste-laying to my dreams, plan your escape route for the zombie invasions. I'm all about motivational speeches and not giving up and hard knocks and what a loser Abe Lincoln was for so long. I'm comfortable in comeback mode, scrappy, scrambling for a foothold.
Much harder to actually admit that I want something, that I hope for something, that I want something, because that is risking disappointment. A scarier question is, what if everything goes right? At least if I plan for disappointment I will have already arranged my face to make it appear that I don't care.
Anyway, about trust. How can I trust fate, the universe, a higher power, destiny, whatever, when it so frequently deals out such bullshit to people? Like, really? This lady took too many sleeping pills on purpose and then while passed out her Labrador mauled her face? And wasn't there a face-mauling exacted by a pet monkey, too? And wasn't it not even the woman's pet monkey, wasn't it like her friend's monkey? Is a universe to be trusted that would allow this kind of thing?
I'm sorry, I'm all over the place tonight, I'm looking for a thread here. Maybe something to do with the question of whether there is something bigger and better and more vast than monkeys and faces and fear of the future.
Here: in lieu of neat, coherent wrap-up conclusion I will leave you with a picture of birds I saw on my walk back from yoga on a spring-like day in winter:
Can you see them on the branches? They were loud, then quiet when I passed.
What's been mauling you lately?
Why do I read this disturbing stuff? And what does this have to do with the good, happy, positive life I supposedly write about here on the old electric rectangle?
Maybe just, a thing about trust. I am good at bracing for the worst, picking at scabs, waiting for the other shoe to drop, preparing let's-stick-this-out-together inspirational speeches that go undelivered. Redbeard points out a new TV show called Doomsday Preppers - people stockpiling for all sorts of apocolypses, a diverse array of worst-case scenarios. Bracing for the worst somehow makes it easier to entertain the thought. Helps you tolerate the fear.
Take these never-ending, godforsaken grad school applications. I finally screwed my courage to the sticking place enough to send in the one to the school that I care about. It's so easy to brace for rejection and disappointment, prepare for inevitable waste-laying to my dreams, plan your escape route for the zombie invasions. I'm all about motivational speeches and not giving up and hard knocks and what a loser Abe Lincoln was for so long. I'm comfortable in comeback mode, scrappy, scrambling for a foothold.
Much harder to actually admit that I want something, that I hope for something, that I want something, because that is risking disappointment. A scarier question is, what if everything goes right? At least if I plan for disappointment I will have already arranged my face to make it appear that I don't care.
Anyway, about trust. How can I trust fate, the universe, a higher power, destiny, whatever, when it so frequently deals out such bullshit to people? Like, really? This lady took too many sleeping pills on purpose and then while passed out her Labrador mauled her face? And wasn't there a face-mauling exacted by a pet monkey, too? And wasn't it not even the woman's pet monkey, wasn't it like her friend's monkey? Is a universe to be trusted that would allow this kind of thing?
I'm sorry, I'm all over the place tonight, I'm looking for a thread here. Maybe something to do with the question of whether there is something bigger and better and more vast than monkeys and faces and fear of the future.
Here: in lieu of neat, coherent wrap-up conclusion I will leave you with a picture of birds I saw on my walk back from yoga on a spring-like day in winter:
What's been mauling you lately?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)