Evening

 Getting older is different than I thought it would be. When I was single, I was so in tune with me. Every day I had time and energy to reflect, to feel what I was feeling and think through what that meant to me. I explored the deepness of my imagination, of my dreams and all the little things that sat on the edge of my mind. Those things were noticed, nurtured even. That time was about me, and I cherished it. 

As I've gotten older things are just different. It's as though I've grown up. And not just in the obvious ways, where I've learned what a mortgage is and how to advance my career, but in that I am less child-like. I spend less time playing, just being. I also have less of an appetite for it. I wonder why. Am I that different? Here I sit, Friday night, tired of tv. My mind is busy, with all the changes happening in my life right now. Changes I've planned for, worked for, hoped and dreamed for. Things I, objectively speaking, want. Things I, subjectively speaking, always wanted. Things that now feel like things I spent my life dreaming of, writing of, hoping for, talking about, feeling peace that I knew what I wanted. Things that are here, now. And I, occasionally, feel scared. That things are moving so fast that I won't savor it the way I'd like. That I will have lived something without living it. But that I don't even know how to live it while living. Or rather, what I really know to be true is that living it means it passes as fast, or faster, than it happens. 

I think it's important that no matter what, I always take time to check-in with me. 

Oh how I've missed this head of mine, always trailing down some deep forest I didn't know was there and never knowing where it goes. 

It has been quite some time since I've been here. I don't entirely know why. I've certainly thought of it from time to time. I don't know if I've just been living the life and haven't been reflecting on it, or if I just don't know what I think. A little of both probably. One thing I do know is that on some level I want to be here. Part of that, being honest, is fear of leaving the person I was, the person I felt I knew so well, to the person I am becoming. Is the person I am becoming not a writer? Or is the person I'm becoming not paying attention to the parts of me that make me a writer? I don't know which I like least.

But I do know, in this time of uncertainty, not knowing who you are becoming doesn't help. So here I am, reconnecting.

I spoke with an old friend a couple weeks ago. We were talking about books we enjoy and writing we've done, and I shared with him that I once started writing and ended up with 20,000 words down (a quarter of a book??) and then all of a sudden just stopped and I never came back to it. He, as someone who may not know a lot about me but I think gets the essence of who I am really well, made 2 really good points. The first - maybe I just wasn't ready to write the next portion because, well, it just hadn't happened yet. And second, I spend a lot of time dedicated to my career which really reduces the amount of not only time but head space to write and explore writing.

The first made so much sense, it was so simple and yet I either hadn't thought of it or if I had, I brushed it off as an excuse. But he's right and it brought truth to awareness.

He was also right about the second, and when he said it I immediately knew it was right on and part of me was really proud of my work and the other part wondered how much I had denied other parts of me. So many choices we have in life. So interesting that he, knowing little about it, knew that my career was important. One thing I have struggled with my whole life is understanding how I compare with others. For example - I work hard, but how much harder do I actually work compared with most people? I can't know how they feel, and the people who experience their hard work have relative opinions based on their experience. I know how I feel, and I know the outcomes I see - and that's it. I see a lot of people with "better" results than me - does that mean that they work harder? Anyway so that's how my mind sort of never is able to reconcile things and why I just base myself off of... myself. Which usually starts at a place of not being enough, doing enough, experienced enough, etc. So hearing this from someone I trust, who seemingly has an outside perspective, carries weight. And now being away from Ohio, being quarantined, I suddenly have the space to think about these things. And I'm grateful for that.

Life is so different now. Things keep on moving and so do I.

Been thinking about this a bit lately. This fascination, obsession, people have with this idea that without some preordained meaning or destiny, life is somehow less meaningful. When in fact, for me, it was the moment that I understood that life is just... life... that it became the most meaningful to me than it had ever before. Coming into the recognition that we are born, live, and die and that each breath we take is precious because there is but one life (that we are conscious of), not only made life feel like a true gift, but also gave me such a sense of freedom to let go. A sigh of letting go, if you will, into the true meaning of life. That is, inherently nothing. Not only is that not depressing to me, it is instead the most beautiful perspective and acknowledgement of life itself.

The best kind of gift is the unconditional kind. The best kind of love to give or receive is that which is given or received unconditionally. What is more unconditional, more free, than this life? The ability to make choices, without the ability to control the outcome. Truly anything can happen. And what is more freeing than knowing you don't have control, while also knowing you have the ability to navigate the whole way.

My least favorite saying is "this happened for a reason." No, it didn't. It happened because something else happened. And what is more beautiful, more satisfying, more fulfilling than that?

I understand the desire to attach meaning to life. We all give meaning to many aspects of life, we need it to feel ourselves grow and be connected and give life and feel feelings. But to assume that life itself inherently has a specific meaning, that is to grow the 'kingdom of god', is damning to the beauty and sacredness of life, of the soul. I accept and encourage each person to find their own meaning that enables them to live their most fulfilled life. But I will never accept those people who place their meaning on someone else's life.

Doesn't anyone ever wonder why it is that people 'come to god' when they are most down? When they have no one else to turn to? In their most desperate of times? Because it is in our most desperate of times when we have no one else to turn to, when we cannot explain the things that have happened, and we cannot rationalize the way we feel. It is at that point that something beyond us must take over, must give us a reason, must create a bridge to "rationalize" that which we cannot do on our own. That is the nature of life. I cannot say I will never get to that point. I cannot blame or shame those who get to that point. But I will never accept those people who place their meaning on someone else's life.

I am happy. Happier than I've ever been. Not because I feel fulfilled and satisfied every moment of my life, not because I've reached all the goals I've wanted to, and not because I've chosen a life of meaning that rests of the knowledge of an unconditional-loving being that is always by my side. Because I chose to be. Because I've reckoned with the way that things are and the dreams I have and the things I am able to control. I know what makes my soul sing, and I try make that happen as often as possible while finding new ways to make it happen, and surround myself with people who will do the same for themselves and for me.

It's quiet.
Except for the bang of my neighbor's shoes as they're chucked against the ground, in a rush,
Like she hates they exist. Rattling the floors above my head.
The orange front door squeaks as unknown faces pass through with urgency, anticipating the moments to come that feel just the same as these.
This windless evening. Humid with unending chatter.
And yet so still.
The cling-clang of nearby firecrackers dance through the sky as I sink deeper into my mind.
Why is the duplicity of life both unfair and everything we need it to be, abundant and yet cursory with every ignored breath.
How does the stillness slip beneath my skin so simply, so hastily, like I could be anywhere.
Sometimes I need to be far away from anything I know to be true, just to know what is true.
Tell me, why am I accursed with such chatter, such cling-clang humming about my mind.
Honking, even.
I'm not one of those girls, those bodies, that move through time with such ease. I require muscle.
I require force, if you will, a bit of conscious. And yet I wish not, sometimes.
A bit of reason and yet none at all, if I could.
If only you knew, felt even, why I need to be atop the mountain, to feel the quiet.
To feel the wind as it breathes stillness, solitude even, through my head, far above the land of honking chatter and forced breath that seemingly no longer exists.
Beyond the life that exists in me, the escape of everything I've built, to something else I've built.
An escape, from me.
To me.
Without the quiet, nothing feels like the last.

Summer really crept up. Beneath the hours and hours of rain, the heat was brewing and now I find myself lazing in the warm, still evening air. It could be April and I wouldn't know the difference.

I feel a little misplaced lately. Perhaps it's the weather, which now that I think about it, has also been misplaced. Raining and 60 in June. I feel like I'm looking at my life, not living it. I exaggerate. My period always makes me moody.

The truth, though, is that I do feel like I'm in an odd space. Not yet the next thing, but hardly here. I can only partially see what could be out there, but it's not time yet. And time will move so fast that I'll be saying these same words about the next thing in only a matter of moments. I'm scared. Of making choices that don't bring me happiness. Of foolishly living in idealism. Of not knowing myself, or rather, trusting myself, as I change. Because I feel myself changing and that scares me too. I want things to change, I feel antsy for them. For all the things I want to do, feel, achieve, and be. But as they do, I see this picture of myself, the person I once knew so well, getting further and further away. I'm scared to change so much that I don't know myself, and yet I'm scared to not change at all.

I miss yoga. I feel like there are just things that I miss, and I don't even know what they are. Some days I just long for stillness. For space to sit with all the thoughts and fears and excitements running amok in my brain so they don't hit me all at once so blindly and so my brain can just... wander.

2019 goals

1) Financial:
 - $10k in rainy day savings
 - <$2k in outstanding debt (does not include car)
 - Increase 401k deferral by 2%

2) Move to a new city with Tyler - make a new home <3 p="">
3) Yosemite... however with Kate's wedding & the move, may wait until 2020

4) Choose a cause to support - volunteer and/or financial support

5) Write (creative outlet)

6) Work - transition fully to marketing & begin mastery

7) Get a dog

8) Health - cook regularly, healthy meals
 - Maintain weight
 - Continue activities regularly

be brave.

I love my boyfriend. At 31, I've never said that so honestly to myself nor to anyone else. I've been thinking about it the last few weeks - love. Not really feeling like I was there yet. Close, perhaps, but not there. I was just happy to be where I was. And then this weekend happened. I don't even know what happened, it doesn't really seem like anything. But when he walked into our friend's house with that red button up and his hat on backwards and a big smile on his face - I just fell in love. I've seen him probably 125 days in the last 5 months and am almost always excited to see him, but something about it was just different. We usually go places together but he had a wake to attend after work so we decided to meet later. I saw him there, separate from me, and I was just so happy that he was my person. And later that night, when I got regrettably too drunk, he took care of me. In a way that I hadn't seen him do before. I was so vulnerable in that moment, drunk and needing him. And the next day I just saw him in a way that felt so loving and I looked at him in the morning and that was it for me. So happy to be with him, and also so terrified that I had something so big to lose.

And now it feels so real to me in a different way than it had before. I just love him. And I've never felt that before. And it's so great to feel it and to know it. But I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing!!!

I haven't written in so long. I can't tell what that's a product of. I think, partially, I'm just less in my head overall. Occasionally Ashanti comes to mind, in a distant sort of way. In the way that makes you think what your life could have been, the things you would have done if things had been different. I don't know what those things are, but the options are seemingly endless. The way that things happen, gosh, is such an intricate result of small decisions made over and over again. Tuesdays really are the worst. And yet today, so blue and bright. I'm so distracted, by nothing really. I just want to be distracted.

I'm so happy right now, I wouldn't change anything. Everything has been so unexpected. For the first time in a long time I have something that I could lose. I'm really fucking freaked out. But also feel so good about it. So good.

I met someone, and he makes me really happy.