Posts (page 2)

Oh man.  I'm moving again.  I'm standing in my half-packed, half-unpacked, half-still-packed-from-the-last-move apartment realizing that the countdown has moved into the "weeks" range and I'm doing what I swore to myself I wouldn't do again at least for two years.  Moving.  I hate it.  But the frequency with which I do it suggests there's something I love about it.  Perhaps it's time to unpack that...both the apartment and the "stuff" surrounding it.

Last year at this time Meghan (hi Meghan) graciously agreed to search for new apartments with me.  What a trooper.  But she joked that I have a commitment problem and it's stuck with me; I think she hit on something of a universal , running truth for my life.  It's clear to me that I have a problem "settling."  I've never thought about it literally before but it's true.  The possibility that there's something better out there haunts my dreams.  It motivates my every move (including apartments).  It suspends me in something of a web of anxiety.  Searching, searching, searching.

So, here's the beauty of this move: It's a chance for me to do something I've not done ever, really.  It's an opportunity for me to allow this new place to become home and not just my "Tent on the Beach." (Wow...the implications of this are far-reaching...I might have to do a blog overhaul.)  I think, possibly out of sheer exhaustion, I need to stop searching and just learn to settle here...as the first settling in a series of settlings that, I think, I've been putting off for a long time.

Yesterday I read an article about contentment...I always read these things like I would an instruction manual: "How do I get this Contentment?"  The point was really good.  It basically said it's a matter of choosing it.  Contentment is always there for the taking.  It's being appreciative for what you have and letting the reins loosen on what you want.  It's a living in the present, I guess. It's letting go of searching so fervently.  Already I feel better.

What a nice thought: to fully believe that, in 3 weeks, I'm going home.

[Sigh of relief.]

There is certainly something to be said for quiet.

I went home to Cleveland this weekend, a place not known for its quiet.  My brothers were home with their respective dogs in tow, so our house is not a place known for its quiet.  But, I ended up sleeping on the living room floor and I'll tell ya, when everyone had gone to bed and I was lying there, trying to fall asleep, there was quiet and somewhere in its folds was a little peace.

We somehow tend to assume that silence and quiet are the same.  They are not.  Since I've started writing again, I find that silence fills a lot of my days.  I spend long stretches of time in spaces designed to block out noise, other's conversations, and the sounds of life.  It's those places in which the buzzing of fluorescent lights starts to wear on me.  There is no peace in that kind of silence.  My attention-deficit mind yammers along barely stopping long enough to catch its breath before launching into four separate conversations simultaneously. The tap of the keyboard always pushes through. That silence can drown a person.  It gives me anxiety and makes me run from it.

Quiet, though.  Quiet is not the absence of noise, like silence is, but the absence of want.  Quiet is rest. Several moments of quiet strung together can be peace.  And several stretches of peace strung together can become contentment.  Quiet is calm.  Even when there's noise, there can be quiet.

I have to remember that.  I've been mistaking silence for quiet for too long and it's taken it's toll; I find myself getting angry and scared when those stretches of silence leave me agitated and edgy.  I have to remember that one is not the other.  And start to look more readily for the state made possible by resting.

I'm in search of some quietude.

There are some people who I really wonder about, made more interesting by the fact that I do not know them.  Oprah is one.  Rachael Ray is another. (Sandra Lee is also another but she gets her own post--and has on this blog already.) Back to Rachael. We've watched said perky, non-chef, cookery maid change already simple but lovable "American" cuisine for the worst by introducing the concept of 30-Minute Meals which allows us to revel in dishes like "Zangy* Hot Dog Nachos" (ugh...a conundrum for me because I shamelessly LOVE both components but love them for who they are separately...c'mon) or "Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Chili...which is regular chili with a completely asinine adjective attached.  I'm begging you not to get me started on the aforementioned adjectives that, upon reaching my ears, create such intense rage I feel the only way to deal with it is violence. (EVOO, GB, WTF...that last one's mine).

Of course, I blame Bob Tushman--who belongs in the 7th circle of Hell with fellow blood-traitors to the human race Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin (thrown in really just as a Cheney torture device)--who I firmly believe will get his in the end.  But back to Rachael.  Here's the shameless part.  After giving us 279082908374 episodes of meals full of carbs, saturated fat upon saturated fat (see "Zangy Hot Dog Nachos"), all the while calling them healthy because there's some vegetable presence, she's peddling a diet plan...on Facebook. AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!  As if I haven't seen enough of the cookbooks, the spices, the pots and pans, the television show, the magazine, the dog food (I'm not kidding).  Now we need a diet plan and why?  Because her original claim to this world, giving us healthy quick meals, has actually failed.  Turns out "rootin' tootin'" is just another way to say "McDonalds". So, does she admit that things didn't work out the way she thought?  No.  She saves us with her awesomely unique diet plan based on the brilliant principles of "eat less" and "exercise."  Thank God for RR. 

I'm beginning to wonder how to really respond to this phenomenon which is becoming a real issue.  Now that we've got all of these flash-in-the-pan celebrities who are famous only on personality without any discernable talent or skills...how do we stop it.  I say it's a two-prong attack.  Put the credit card away and turn off the tv.  Apathy, people.  The answer isn't anger and resistance.  I think it's apathy.  Maybe if we just don't care, she'll go away. This'd take care of Billy Mayes and the Luna people too. 

*Um, of course, "zangy" is a fun combo of the words "zesty" and "tangy"; one such linguistic device that has eaten away at our already sad grammar and vocabulary prowess in this country.  And it infuses an implied level of fun into this food that I find objectionable.       

Wow, it's been a long time.  I only realized this when Kaye, friend and Alto II extraordinaire, mentioned that her RSS feed hadn't lit up with my stunning and evocative discussions of real-life issues (see specifically any posts tagged "free floating crazy"...which I have to admit is my most favorite tag I've ever come up with...) This month has been a rough one and so my witty observations have taken a back seat to what I thought was more intense introspection which then, as it does, turned into brooding.  Eh...can't win 'em all.  But, I did have some deep down, essential conversations with myself on a couple key issues of existence and I'd like to share with you what I've learned.  In no particular order:

1. I love Kelly Clarkson.  Go ahead and judge. I cannot explain it.  I hate American Idol.  I hate other American Idols (excluding Carrie Underwood who I just mildly disdain).  But when this girl sings, so do I.  I have been belting out "I Do Not Hook Up" for DAYS and I intend to continue that trend.  I have really always loved her.  I'm just more comfortable saying it now.

2. Alternative titles for #1 could be "I Love Lady Gaga," "I Love Gwen Stefani," "I Love Pink," or "I Love Christina Aguilera." These I'm actually not ready to be judged for so they didn't get the nod, but it's true.  I can listen to "Hollaback Girl" 27 times in a row and never tire of it. I've talked about this before but I'm still working through it.

3. #s 1 and 2 are directly related to this: I can't believe I've lived without an Ipod for this long. Admittedly, I've been something of a Luddite when it's come to music.  I've always listened to the radio and when my last walkman broke I just never replaced it.  But this Ipod business has changed my life.  Not only can I have 4789372 songs with me at all times...but I can arrange them however I want.  And then rearrange them.  This is revolutionary to me.  However, with that power comes the need to choose.  When I was listening to the radio, I could blame them for Kelly Clarkson.  My Ipod, in all of its green wonder, has forced me to come to grips with my schizophrenic music tastes.  All on the same playlist I have Grayston Ives (contemporary choral), The Mamas and the Papas, Moby, and Beyonce.  I feel dirty about this.  But also soooo good. Mmmmm.

4. Bea Arthur is one of my heroes. I never wanted to admit it.  But it's true.  I've just rediscovered "The Golden Girls" because WE tv, god bless their hearts, are running these enormous GG marathons everyday.  She was the heart of the show and it was funny. And it still is.  Then, I caught Maude on ME tv and she was the heart of that show.  And it was funny. And it still is. I feel this same way about Elaine Stritch who's surfaced as Jack's mom on 30 Rock.  These baudy, bold, brassy broads--that's who I wanna be.

5. I do not hate Sociology. The lack of blogging can be directly attributed to the fact that I've begun to write in the first time in over a year.  It's always a relief to be revived by the ideas. What's even more rewarding is having taken this year to regroup, I can synthesize my experience and these ideas much more insightfully.  Wait, hear that? Oh, it's just me breathing again...I forgot how lovely fresh air can be.

6. I operate on a see-saw that swings between fear and fearlessness. Never before in my life have I been so aware of this dichotomy.  I'm either paralyzed by fear or shocking the hell out of myself in being bold. I've tried to change this for a long time.  That's a stupid struggle.  I will not change.  But what I can do is learn how to manage that transition better. I'd love to explore the world of moderation. That's my next big challenge.

7. If you allow them the chance, worthy people will surprise you in great ways. I'm always amazed by this. But I've become very aware of the importance of the first clause.  So much of our lives are about perception.  I'm now convinced more than ever that if we want change we have to allow for it.  The stage must be set.  Once that's done, amazing things can and often do happen.

8. Fuck Napanee. This one's for Kaye too.  But that trip deep into the wilds of Amishland in Indiana was a breath of fresh air.  Much like the Garage Mahal that I fully intend on swinging by next year.

I'd love to round this up to 10 but this is what I got for now.  Life's too short and I haven't laughed enough yet.  I'll get back to ya on the other two before too long, I'm sure.

Thanks Kaye for re-lighting this blog's spark just a little ;)  

I'm so predictable sometimes.  There are times that I do things that totally surprise me.  Today's not one of them.  It's Sunday which means 1) I'm totally restless, 2) I'm resistant to the new week, 3) I can't focus on anything, and 4) I also can't fall asleep.  Thank god I just found Lost on late night network tv, so that should help.  But I'm still trying to get to the heart of my restlessness.  Why does this happen?

I just read the last blog I did and I think it's related to this feeling right now.  I had a super week.  It was REALLY good, perhaps just because we're getting to a point in the year that I've been looking forward to for awhile.  And, to my surprise, my support system has just gone nutso in the best way possible this week.  They may know that and maybe not but I keep getting this horoscope that I'm loved and respected and I think it's not kidding.  That's exactly how I've felt all week long.  Every day was better than the next.  And then today happened and it was good.  Not awesome.  Not spectacular.  Just good. And (here's the crazy part), it seemed like a letdown.

So, maybe I'm not restless.  I'm just selfish.  I get too attached to the great things going on and when I have a "normal" Sunday, it seems sucky.  And, I'll be honest, some great things happened today too.  I think they just weren't what I wanted to happen.  And what would that be?  I don't know.   There it is.  That's the problem.  I just don't know what I want.  OR I know what I want and that I just can't have it. Or won't.

I generally never say this, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure it'll have some answers.

Usually on this blog I'm ranting about something.  Or complaining. Or whining.  I woeing.  Looking back at some of the archives, I come across as being really amazingly...well, frumpy.  But today I have a new kind of problem.  It's actually interesting that I even remotely find it a problem.  It's just that...well, I have this friend who just makes my life a little more worth living and I'm not sure what to do with it.

My friend, as so many do, just came out of nowhere.  Through the most random series of events, I found this person.  Actually, maybe this person found me.  I can never be sure exactly how to mark the beginning of a friendship.  Do you go back to the moment you met?  Was it that time you had that first conversation that, upon leaving, made you think, "Oh...I've got to get to know this person better."  Is it that first time that you weather a fight with each other together, that moment of return when you can feel that even though everything will not be the same ever again that what is to come will be just as good.  No, probably better?  I guess it doesn't really matter; I can trace the linear path of this friendship but I think that's a stupid game.  Life is not linear and neither are relationships. 

So anyway, over time this friend has made quite an impression, as so many friends do.  But not just the normal kind of impression.  It's an indentation, really.  There now exists a space that was not there before, that I usually do not recognize and have no idea how to tend.  Sometimes it's the most wonderful, beautiful indentation a girl could have.  Other times, it hurts, aches even, and I loathe it.  This space that once was solely mine now has an indentation that I've come to learn will exist as it will.  I only have so much control. And it will always be there now.  If something heads south, it will become a scar all shiny and leathery looking.  But it's there for good now.  And I love that.  And it scares me.

And maybe that's where "my problem" comes in.  I worry about this indentation.  I worry that it might take up too much room, that I've become too accustomed to it, that time will only warp it.  I'm not going to lie; it's a nicely appointed indentation.  I want to protect it, keep in tidy, maybe drape some nice plastic on it to avoid spillage and staining.  If I had a curio cabinet, it might be nice there.  That's how I feel.  But I know that won't ever work.  I have to let this space be what it will and know that there's only so much I can do to control it.  The rest is up to my friend who form-fitted it. Who I allowed to form fit it. And who really gave me no choice in the matter. And I love that.  And that scares me too.

So there's my problem.  At this moment, I feel too loved, too lucky, too unworthy.  I can feel the other shoe just hanging precariously somewhere,  It'll drop. And I fear that moment.  The one in which this will all end and I'm left with a shiny, leather scar of an indentation that will be empty and tinny sounding in there.  But I have to let this space be what it will.  And maybe, just maybe, it'll always ring clearly and sweetly. And that's what I hope for.  And I love that.

So who's the friend?
Probably you.

You ever been there?  Ever done something that seemed hilarious at the time but, given the ability to use the keen powers of hindsight, you realize that you just really looked like a huge ass? Yep.  That's where I'm sitting right at this very minute.  I'm always surprised at how novel or surprisingly new and uncomfortable this feeling is considering the fact that I'm comfortable knowing that I've become something of a clown in my almost middle age (and by almost I mean, my thinking  I'm middle-aged when in reality that's still a ways off...unless I'm destined to live only until I'm 66.  In that case, I'm right on target).  On a regular basis, I do things that cause my friends to turn to me and say, "Oh my god...aren't you so embarrassed?" I'm usually able to respond, "Um...no." There's a kind of freedom in embracing life in a bold, unconventional way.  I've grown completely used to laughing too loud or saying something completely true but with no tact whatsoever or exploring what can be a very zany, wildly creative side of myself.  All of this is done with a measure of my own moderation.  I decide who, I decide when, I decide...WHO! (That's a movie quote, by the way...if you can guess who said it I'll give ya...well, a well-deserved, validated feeling of accomplishing absolutely nothing...)  I think I feel dumb because I failed to moderate myself and know it.  So now I've left myself out there, hanging by a thinly veiled shroud of "Oh my god...I am so embarrassed."  These are the times when I wish that time itself was not forever etched in stone.  The past is done.  I'd like it not to be today, thanks very much.

Am I going to confess to you this most egregious social error?  Um...no.  The truth of the matter is that it doesn't matter.  I can almost guarantee that what you're thinking might have caused this feeling probably goes well above and beyond the actual event...probably.  What you're speculating happened most likely is not even remotely close...most likely. Truth be told, the details of the situation are immaterial at this point.  All you need to know is that I feel dumb.  And I think the only remedy is to try to forget it happened.

But since I can remember with pinpoint clarity the exact outfit I wore on my first day of school (that's right...kindergarten...) down to the socks I sported and how they felt on me (they were horizontal striped knee socks...the elastic band at the top was too tight...), I've got a long road ahead.

Ah well.  Se la vie. 

You should see what I'm wearing today.

I didn't intend to be the 67 inch Rainbow walking down Clinton Avenue this morning on may way to United Way.  But I realized well after I'd left the comforts of my little Rogers Park hovel that I was destined to be known as such for the rest of the day.  Here's how it happened:

I think I've pretty impressively and longitudinally documented my morning murkiness.  This is a chronic condition, always requiring some kind of caffeine to lift the fog.  This morning was one of those special days on which I absolutely knew I had to get downtown earlier than I have been.  So when 7:30 jangled, I shot out of bed and into the shower.  This action does not (DOES NOT!) mean that I am mentally awake.  It just means that for a short 30-40 minutes my body gets to run the show while my brain is still snoozing.  I put myself together and got out the door in time to catch the train I needed and as I sat down I felt pretty darn good about myself.  I even blew dry my hair this morning and remembered to brush my teeth (a rare coincidental pair). As I strode out of the train station and onto the sunny street I lightly remembered yesterday's melancholy and thought, "Huh...I knew today would be better."  And then I caught sight of myself in a massive pane glass window sported by one of the buildings on Clinton and now I knew exactly who I was going to actually be today: Johnny Depp in Willie Wonka. 

Allow me to paint you the picture.  Standing before me in the glass was a girl with longish blonde hair, black sunglasses, a red jacket with a brown lining covering up a partially buttoned egg-yolk yellow cardigan and an orange silk scarf.  Under the yellow sweater I have on a azure blue tank.  At this point, I thought I was wearing black pants which would have "grounded" the top portion of my outfit, but no.  My pants are a reddish brown color which somehow enhances the colors up top.  Oh, and I'm wearing khaki shoes.  I look like a bowl of Trix.

It was only yesterday that my friend Kristine told me that I'm one of two of her friends who has the potential to wear green pants to work.  I objected, challenging her to name the last time I worse anything that even resembled green pants.  I don't even own green pants.  Clearly, today, I see that's a good thing.

Because if I did, I'd surely be wearing them.

Man, today is going to be one of those days.  You know the kind.  I woke up and knew I didn't want to get out of bed. And I'm fairly sure nothing is going to make it right today.  I'm just not going to let it.  And that's okay, I think.  If in all things there is balance, I'm due for a couple melancholy days after the past six days that were just filled to the brim with joy and fulfillment.  Melancholy isn't ever bad for me and I never really see it as the effect of suffering or want.  It's just a sadness or, even better, a grayness.  Everything looks gray.  I feel gray.  The world smells gray today.  And that's cool.

But, the thing about melancholy lately is that I've been pairing it with "letting go."  I used to have sad days and assume the sadness was coming from something; that it was caused by an event or conditions that created it.  Letting go allows me to disassociate sadness with events; it becomes just an ambient feeling.  And I rejoice in it, actually.  In a world that wants nothing but pre-packaged, shiny happiness all the time, moodiness presents itself as a familiar, comfortable friend.  I don't have to try nearly so hard. And it's not a bad friend.  There's coziness in it somehow.  And I don't have to worry about fixing it.  I can just be with Sadness and welcome it like any conversation I have with a friend.  Sadness and I drink tea together and lay under the red down blanket and talk about how things could be different but not wish them to be that.

And one of the greatest effects of Sadness is that it always brings with it the realization of Love, I think because the two are often juxtaposed.  Love is an easy sell when things are happy; we allow the two to go hand in hand.  But the Love expressed when Sadness is at the table is much more recognizable.  It works harder and stands out on its own merits.  It's uncovered as the hidden "good" in Sadness which we always try to run from.

Today I'm hanging with Sadness but I don't mind it.  Having said that I look forward to Happy's (more specifically Guffawing Laughing's) return.

Well, I'm officially depressed.  It won't last long but this happens after any major holiday into which I've flung myself head-first.  The days afterward are just completely uninteresting in comparison.  Mundane, actually.  Days after holidays are mundane and gray and boring.  This, of course, always passes as I sink back into the usual cycle of the week and the predictability of the movements of everyone around me.  I return to counting the week in books read, tv consumed in some particularity to the day, and hours until I get to sing again.  Somehow that schedule works when I'm in marathon mode but the holidays are sprint mode...and once or twice a year every marathoner likes nothing else that to just run freely and unbound as fast as one can.  But there are always consequences.

This is not an original reflection nor is it even interesting.  I think this happens to everybody.  It's the inevitable flip side to anticipation.  This is the reason that I think having a wedding would destroy me: you wait and plan and wait and plan so long that when it's done, there's a little sense of your evolved "wait and plan" self that actually dies with it.  At least I know Easter will come back next year.  And, hey, before that Christmas will come...but not before Thanksgiving!  (You've just witnessed the rebirth of the "Wait and Plan" cycle...)  But in the same breath that I want these things to come quickly so that I can experience the joy and particular sense of "special" that any event brings, I can't hope for them to get here fast.  My life has to have time to evolve to that point.  And so, I wait.

That for me is the challenge of living in the present and not focusing on the future too much.  In waiting for the next "event" I will lose everything that's specifically NOT mundane about this day...or this moment.  And there are things that I can celebrate right now, even though I'll have to pack away the adrenaline rush of the "Hallelujah Chorus" until next year. Perhaps my challenge, as I'm understanding it now, becomes to accept the days and moments for what they are.  Every day cannot be a super-infused excitement fest; but every day does have something in it that can be celebrated for its own sense.  Maybe even its usual-ness.  Something tells me that celebration is much lower key in comparison.

Happy Tuesday.