05 April 2016

It Doesn't Matter Anymore


The day after I wrote my previous post, I heard this Buddy Holly song for the first time. Well that's not entirely true. I'm sure I have listened to this album many many times, but never really heard this song. The lyrics, the upbeat intro, the not-giving-any-f's attitude of this tune, it's officially my inner mantra. My aforementioned anxiety and doubt-bouts come and go like waves. I have really stellar days and not-so-stellar days, which wash over me like a gurgling foamy shifting tide. But telling myself that some things don't matter anymore is definitely helpful. I've taken to saying things like, "Not my problem," and "The best revenge is living well," and "Whatever happens, happens" because right now I need that reassurance.

Also, this alone time thing I've been doing had been incredibly eye opening and rejuvenating. Sunday night I went for an epic neighborhood walk, listening to the saddest songs I could find on my phone, breathing in the moody pre-storm air. I walked and walked trying to sort something out, trying to walk away some jitters I couldn't shake. And it worked. I felt good. Yesterday, I took myself for a coffee and a cupcake, cracking open a book-for-pleasure for the first time in what felt like decades because I am inching ever closer to post-graduate freedom. I need this.

After submitting my first draft of my big big paper, I gifted to myself a few hours of closet clean-up. I know, what a goofy gift. But with every passing day, I'm more convinced that I will be moving a little further from Chicago - and I don't want my stuff to be a factor in making this move happen. I've spoken to a few friends who have recently made BIG moves, asking about their relationship to their stuff, trying to anticipate what I will want and what I will need. Funnily enough, the books are the first thing I readily parted with! I thought those would be the hardest for me, but after moving them from apartment to apartment, I sort of realized I don't need them. Only the ones I reread passages from are the ones that get to stay.

Deep into my get-rid-of-it haze I stumbled upon two pairs of socks that belong to someone who is no longer in my life. Without skipping a beat, I tossed them into the trash. Funny how a simple gesture like tossing socks into the garbage can be so liberating. Humming to myself, "It doesn't matter anymore," was just the icing on the cupcake.

03 April 2016

In All Honesty

Mossy soft wet passages to cross

I am a terrified, nervous, bundle of anxiety. Over-caffeinated, under-slept, constantly trying to picture what the next month, the next six months, the next year, the next two years will look like. I graduate from my beloved MUSE Program in 34 short days, I turn in my first draft of my Capstone Project tomorrow. My lease is up in October, I will be moving. I exited a relationship late in the fall. I entered into a new relationship early in the winter. To say that almost everything is different and nothing is certain would be an understatement. And yet... and yet! I am happy. I have my bouts of doubt (doubt-bouts?), I have my slumps into the bluer regions. I slip into my head more often than not, trying to envision what my next chapter looks like. Am I living in Chicago? Am I working in a museum? Am I able to support myself (financially and emotionally)? Will I be cooking more? Will I actually start working out like I keep saying I will? What book will I read first, once the dust has settled? What will happen to all of my furniture? If I get rid of a majority of what I own, really pair down, what will that look like? Who will hire me? And how will I make my money? What will my morning routine be and will there be a Trader Joe's where I live?

My dear friend Rose has been periodically posting her innermost thoughts and fears. I find it both humbling and comforting to know there is someone a mile from my house going through career shifts and relationship changes that I can relate to. That I'm not going through any of this on my own.

And better yet, I have radically broken from my hyper-regimented overly planned schedule in the last few months. Taking spontaneous trips to Detroit, driving rental cars that my name wasn't registered to, breaking into empty hotel dance halls, and abandoned post-offices. Only stopping to ask, "Could we get into trouble for this?" about half of the time. I have literally walked across rickety mossy logs in the woods, my new shoes dirtied by the soft mud of the early spring. I have watched scary movies I said I'd never watch, protested monsters I will never vote for, voted for candidates who uphold my ideals. I have gone to the movies alone, and eaten in restaurants alone, and made giant pots of meatballs and gravy for myself - myself alone.

I am terrified, I am hopeful. I am impatient, though I am ready. I turn 28 in a week. Two-eight. Something tells me that this year is going to be a big one. I heard somewhere that every seven years, our genetic makeup shifts, our insides change. Slightly and not so slightly. 27, the magic age when everyone's favorite musicians pass-too-soon. 28, the year that all of my older friends say was "a doozy." 28, come to me. Let's run away on this unknown journey, you and I. Let's see what tomorrow holds, and free up some time in our schedules, yeah?
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