Monday, October 17, 2011

Element Transition

Ever present is the threat of progress – or complete lack thereof – sitting at her desk it feels static, stagnant. The world around her changes, her family grows and shrinks: people die and others bore.

I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave.

I grew up in the country. I always wanted to live in a city. I have and it has been enjoyable and I spend time wavering if I want to stay or if I want to go on some days, but I fall back to my heart telling me it’s time to go. It is time to move on. It is time for a new phase. At some point, I need to put my light on.

I feel like when I go, I’m transitioning to an adult (-ish; I’ll always buy shirts with a panda holding a heart). This city has been my playground. My time to have my light off; no one to answer to but me; to date a guy I knew I’d never end up with; to fool around with boys I’d never have any interest in; and to sit in cabs with young foreign drivers for hours until the cops come accuse me of prostitution. (Please, I’d have a much nicer car.) My family moves along without me and I continue to collect my stories, unsure of when I want to stop, but aware that I am not willing to set up shop in DC. Aware that my husband (assuming he exists) would never be found here; and aware that while this city is fun to play in, it’s no place to grow up old. I know it’s time to go and I am so nervous to go alone and leave all the friends I’ve made, but this year has pushed me to look past time in just days and understand life in the future as years.

It has both fulfilled and drained me. It has given me stories of romance, intrigue and horror. I love balance, I seek it, and within the confines of the city I find myself, at times, balanced internally and missing the beauty of nature juxtaposed with the manmade; and other times enjoying the set while wavering between independence and a desire to love again. I want the combination of city and country. I want the balance of beauty and honor. I want to find both love and independence. I want a job that pays the bills and fuels my passion(s). I want to be a vagabond and a rooted homebody.

I plan to move to Nashville. I’m not sure why. The first time I visited nearly two years ago, I felt a pull; a pull I’d never experienced before. I stayed here because of my nervous nature and my uncertainty that I was finished in my playground. I’m still not sure I’m done, but I know it’s time to leave. If I have learned anything from this difficult year, it is to trust my gut, instinct, intuition and heart – it has not been wrong. Not once. Even ignored, or excused, or argued against my mind, it hasn’t missed a beat and, in hindsight, has been correct every time. I have to go because it’s time to listen. My life isn’t here. It’s somewhere else happening without me now. I wanted this time in my life to be selfish and collect my stories. I found the strength to stop a love story gone awry to do just that. But won’t stop collecting myself stories; I’ll keep shoveling them up and putting them in my proverbial pockets. I found the strength to live alone, now the scene requires change. No one wants to look at the same set for an entire play.

I moved here. I graduated with an MA. I broke up with my boyfriend. I moved in with a stranger; then three strangers. I made mistakes. I made friends. I collected stories. I have survived with just me. I learned a lot: About work; about life; about myself. I have grown. I have strengthened. Any more time and I fear I’ll be draining the well. I have loved it here; I have. It has been all I have wanted – all the good and bad and intriguing and horrific. And I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave. With seven months to go, let the (terrifying) preparations begin…


Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Beautiful Sound of Waves

I was asked to write this, (without much to say). People are moved by your majestically worded blogging wonders?! No, they’re just bored in warehouses and the rats stopped being entertaining.

Ratatouille where are youuuu?!

Not much of a fan of the animated film. That’s right, I don’t enjoy watching A Toy Story. I also don’t care much for cheese. Or bacon. Even Kevin. Although put me in a room with The Lion King, or Finding Nemo, or Pete’s Dragon and I’m like a rat stuck to a glue trap.

Two items stem from this previous statement: One: Pete’s Dragon; though only partially animated, it counts because it should count, is my feel good movie galore. How my sisters and I ever even ended up watching a half live action, half animated movie from the 70s starring Mickey Rooney, an animated dragon and unidentifiable broadway people is beyond me. It probably has something to do with Angela Lansbury. 

Note: Land Before Time and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks: What do these have in common you ask? My sister liked them, and as the youngest I got the bottom backwash of a shared can of coke and whatever movies my sisters wanted to watch. Land Before Time? Excellent choice. Bed Knobs and Broomsticks? I’d rather watch Murder She Wrote…

And two: Don’t use glue traps. I once used a glue trap and did you know mice scream? Because they do. And it is a heart wrenching noise, particularly when 1. You have cute little fuzzy ferrets, like overgrown mice that poop in a box, that attracted them in the first place and 2. You can’t do a damn thing to help them. You can’t free them from the glue. So what do you do? Throw the mouse, glue trap and all, in a shoebox – in a garbage bag – in the back yard. Also, the smell of rotting mice in your kitchen is gross. Also, when a potential landlord tells you the front door of the house is “over 100 years old”, while that may be interesting tidbit, read it as: 100 years ago people didn’t worry about drafts and holes mice can get in. Also: Old plumbing. Old  plumbing that falls through you kitchen ceiling. I digress, having since moved. 

Did this strike you as a free write yet? 

This past weekend I went to Savannah on another free trip. (<3) I learned that when the option is available and you are the slightest bit wavering, ALWAYS stay the extra day – and figure the rest out later. In life, there will never be enough days off; take them anyway and deal with it later. The story is always better when you stay for one more drink.

“Always stay for one more drink”, says Joe Odem in “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”, which I decided to start reading the day before visiting the infamous Mercer House in downtown Savannah this past weekend. That’s when the stories start; when you pull back on being responsible, say “motherfuck it” and take the time to live a little – even if you don’t have the time off. Luckily, the next day, I unwillingly forced myself to go on a training run Monday night. Unintentionally, my run spanned sunset. It was beautiful and I didn’t want it to end. So in addition to staying a little after when you “should” leave, I learned to do the things you know you should do – and told yourself you would - but don’t want to; it ends up a beautiful sunset.

Also, during the trip, I found myself caught up in moments and idiosyncrasies and appreciating things moments after the fact. I learned I need to slow down, back up and breathe it in. There is a lot of shit going on in life, mine and yours and even Oprah’s, and it’s easier to let the whistling of someone’s breathing get to you than ignore what’s not perfect, but it is oh so stupid to focus on that when the beautiful sound of waves is crashing just behind it.

Besides, Pete's Dragon will always be there...just in case it goes awry.