Monthly Archives: September 2015

Life’s Little Reminders (a/k/a existential crises?)

Well, then, since I’m up (thanks, lack of cool air and loud ambulances), I’m giving myself permission to go back into my head one more time. Then I will get on with my busy week and I will be in Philadelphia before I know it and then it will be next Monday.

I haven’t slept much, so I’m not even sure any of my words will make sense. I’m at odds with myself, and I wonder if maybe I’m always going to be. Regardless, I’m reminded of my venture through honesty last fall, around this time, actually. I swore to be honest–with myself, and with others. I swore not to let what other people wanted dictate what I chose to do. I swore to have my own opinions, to decide what I really wanted and do it, or seek it, or work towards it. And to be fair, I think I’ve done a relatively good job with that. It may have slipped my mind at times, but I do more, I fear less, and I try to force myself to think about what I really, truly want at times.

I think this has been easy because I haven’t wanted for much. For the better part of a year I’ve wanted only to clear the hurdles of graduate school…and, of course, my friends/supports. I realize I was so busy living (and loving) my life that I didn’t stop to write about it, or what I was thinking. After rereading much of what I’d written last year, I realized my view had changed so drastically–on life, love, the pursuit of happiness–all of it. Ironically enough (someone tell GT), I stopped believing in monogamy. Sure, I still sought out the five qualities I was seeking in another individual I would want to involve myself with in any way, but when I thought long and hard about what it was I was really looking for, I came up empty-handed. I came up with only one word: freedom.

Perhaps it’s the sharp contrast between living a handful of years wanting one thing and doing another versus being able to see wants and desires clearly and just doing whatever, whenever. Or it could be the simplicity to it: there are no other things to consider, no one to coordinate with, no one to fight with. Or maybe it’s the idea of giving someone else control…not only over choices, but feelings. Once we let someone else in, we give them the chance to hurt us, and after we’ve been hurt in a way that feels like it can’t possibly get better, we build a metal cage around our hearts.

So what do you do when you remember all of this, when you’re reminded of all of this just by simply explaining it to someone new, and the other thoughts–the naggy little ones in the back of the mind–are trying to scream at you from the place where you were convinced you’d buried them deep down below?

I once wrote “you miss 100% of the chances you don’t take,” and I was right. (I was also really contradictory in that post, and realized later than my “friendship” with one said stand-up comedian was not, in fact, aligned with what I really wanted, but alas, we spoke only a few times and never really became friends anyway.) I’m just not sure which are the chances I’m okay with missing and which ones I’d hate myself for missing. I became so focused on determining what I want and being honest with myself about it that I never stopped to consider what I might do if I wanted two completely opposing things from two completely different places in my head/heart.

So I guess stay tuned. If history is any indication, I’ll figure it out eventually and likely write about it soon enough.


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Windy Wachusett Supermoon

It’s too dark to take out my notebook, so I shall try to find my solace here. It’s not the same, but at this rate of texting speed, it’s close enough. I’m sitting atop Wachusett Mountain (summit: 2006 ft.) with a host of other astrological enthusiasts. Some have telescopes, some cameras, some dogs, some kids, but all share one thing: the desire to be right here, right now. It’s likely that we are all vastly different, with our own lives and our own tastes, and yet we are here, to share in this one thing, likely for different reasons. I wonder what my own is and I can’t answer it in words. I can only look up at the bright light shining above me and feel it’s power. Something spiritual without religion, something strong and yet so weak. I’m reminded that this is also a metaphor for myself. I am spiritual but not religious, strong and yet so weak. I had every intention of coming here to be sad, to try to find some meaning in those questions I’m reminded today that continue to dominate many of my thought processes. What I found instead was peace. A calmness and reassuring sense that “no doubt, the universe is unfolding as it should.” And I will do the only thing that I can and trust that feeling, trust the pull of something bigger than myself, something to trust and believe in, whether its existence is real or not. Welcome to the next hour of my life. I have found some people to chat with and I have a decent amount of scotch in the flask to help quell the chill up here. It’s a bit of a way back, but it’s all downhill from here. And I wonder in a very fleeting moment if that…is also a metaphor.

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Dear Mr. Wonderful…

I pretend  I know what I’m *supposed* to get from this experience, because that’s what everyone is, right?–some sort of support for our individual life growth. I can easily understand what my supervisors, and mentors, and colleagues, and even best friends are meant to do for me (well, most of the time), but you–you threw me for a loop. You gave me warm, fuzzy feelings, and you also gave (give) me completely inadequate feelings. You make me want to know everything about you and nothing about you. Because the more I learn about you, the less I want to know myself.

I’m drunk, Mr. Wonderful, so the words that are about to explode from the depths of my soul are fake. But they’re also real, and they’re screaming for you–no, for someone–to, as Lindsey Stirling terms it, “make me feel alive and shatter me.” Do you know how long it’s been since my world has been shattered? It’s been at *least* five years, if not more, and while it was shattered then, it was then demolished shortly thereafter. I spent 150 of the 180 minutes I was present at that poetry slam tonight in some introspective whirlwind– wondering just why I would never support my ex-boyfriend’s poetry slam events, or why it’s so meaningful to me now but never on anyone else’s terms, or why I took so much offense to the poet who assumed that I couldn’t feel pain because I grew up middle class. I don’t know any of these answers, but I know my next move is to write a poem about it.

But I digress, because, really, that has nothing to do with you, Mr. Wonderful. Well, it does to a degree. You see, whether you decide to stay or go, whether you support your oldest friend or not, I will be there. For the minimum of one year I will be consistent. I will dedicate my Monday nights, and I will attempt to build the self-confidence to maybe sing a song, or maybe write a poem, but I will do that with or without your help. Maybe you’re the conduit to this lifestyle, perhaps this permanent residency in a life of building something for youth with one or two of your friends, but honestly, I wish it was something else. I wish your purpose was some stupid romantic bullshit that I never really believed in in the first place.

Do you know I gave up, Mr. Wonderful? Do you know I thought it was me and me alone, destined to be me and me alone, forever? So really, the answer is really quite clear: you were (are?) supposed to represent hope. You are the short-term, unattainable goal. You are the only other other person to sneak in and steal the second-to-last glass of the expensive scotch, and then proceed to buy me the last one. You are the only person to make me feel empowered and completely unintelligent just by an exchange of words. You are the only person in a very long time to make me instantaneously want more and yet respect our dynamic just enough not to do more.

You are, in the most concise explanation possible, amazing. You call me “too kind,” but I hear avoidance. I can easily tell you that the source of this response falls in one of two most likely categories: I am either defending myself from something scary, or I am incredibly intuitive. You are, also, either defending yourself from something scary or “just not that into me.” I don’t know what the truth is. I probably never will. There are so many factors to consider and so many emotions I’m just not comfortable feeling again. I know I have to run away from you, and I sit and swear that I will do that very thing in this drunken moment. But I’m not sure I really can, or will, keep that promise to myself. Sure, I have “hope,” or whatever I’m supposed to find from this heart-wrenching merry-go-round, but each time my “hope” is made and broken, I lose that much more of it. I’m ready, Mr. Wonderful, to lose hope again. So please stop building it up just to let me down.

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New Adventures

I have spent almost a full month in Worcester, save for a week in the middle where I went back to NY for fun times and hard work selling a small selection of my accrued belongings. A lot has happened since I moved here…and I can say with some significant degree of certainty that I enjoyed the shit out of my few weeks off between the end of work and the start of internship. I actually spent a portion of the middle of this week mourning the loss of that time.

I’ve decided to document some of the highlights, mostly because I’m actually concerned I won’t remember it. First of all, beaches. I found the time to make it to two of them out on the east coast, Salisbury and Revere. Both interesting and very different from one another. I had my first lobster roll on my trip to Salisbury, at a place called The Happy Traveler. It was expensive…but delicious. Revere was more like chillin’ in the BK…city on one side of the street, beach on the other.

Having a roommate has been awesome so far. He dragged me out for bumper boats, mini golf, and ice cream at Kimball Farm in Westford, which I really appreciated and enjoyed. We also had a night out a few weeks back and decided to go to LGBT night at a bar/club around here called Electric Haze after stopping for a drink at Compass Tavern first. There I met a few friends of his, including a dude I called Barney Stinson all night because…well, because if he didn’t have a Playbook, he’ll probably eventually create one. Barney was potentially the world’s worst dancer, but had absolutely zero shame. He tried to get me to come out the following week, asking three times in a row before finally accepting that I was going to have an intimate evening with my couch and Sense8. I don’t expect him to ask me out again.

Maintenance had to come by a few days in row for various reasons, until eventually it seemed like they were breaking things just to come back. I asked [dude whose name is now Maintenance] if that was the case, but he continues to claim it wasn’t. He asked me out and I said yes, but I think I only said yes because saying, “how about Netflix and chill?” isn’t really socially acceptable yet, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have known what the hell I was talking about. He took me on a mini tour of the neighborhood and fed me sushi, so there was a little more than the basics.

The first week of work was absolutely an amalgam of experiences and emotions. I met a fellow intern two days prior to the start of the job for a poetry slam, where we served as judges and also met an interesting gentleman who appreciates decent scotch and can engage in intelligent banter. That was a pleasant and unexpected change for my life. The following night the two of us met a third intern at her place for a wine and cheese night and then BAM! immediately immersed in internship. (Sorry, I’m a sucker for alliteration.)

HR day is a blur, as was the first day, at which point I was completely overwhelmed with information. I did manage to go on a sunset hike with the other cohort ladies on Wednesday after the complete burnout from information overload, which was fantastic and incredibly difficult. I really need to do more squats. Sigh. Thursday I went to a kundalini yoga session with one of the other interns, which was very different, but actually really interesting. And that brings us to today, the end of the week, where I ate wings and beers with Roomie and settled in to continue my Sense8 marathon until Mr. Witty Banter wound up being local and inquiring about my availability. So goodbye, blog world. I have a pseudo-date to get to. Peace. ❤

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