On Ordinary

One of my favorite times with you was the Saturday morning you surprised me with coffee before work.  You told me you had heard of this really great place and even though I had no idea how significant a well-crafted latte would become to me, I was excited to be chauffeured to the office with a quick stop for caffeinated goodness on the way.

"What if I didn't work on Saturdays?" I mused as we walked back to the car.  I don't think you responded.

And so the morning drive continued without incident, you dropped me off right before the Farmer's Market vendors started unloading their trucks, preparing for the day's activities.

A few months later, I got Saturdays off and we both worked Monday through Friday like "normal" adults do.  This isn't super significant, except to say the surprise coffee trip only happened once.  And maybe it should have happened more, or maybe the novelty of it made it matter most to my aching yet hopeful heart.

And I am still trying to process these feelings and hurts and choices, but when is it enough?


I dreamed about you last night, so I figured this was the most appropriate form of response.

On Being Mean

I had a bad day yesterday.  Nothing was wrong, except I hated everything and took it out on someone I care very much about and traffic and to be honest, was legitimately lucky that I didn't get into a car accident. (Trust me, there was plenty of time for it to happen...)

I know that everyone has bad days now and then, for good reason or for none at all, but I am still sorry I haven't figured out how to manage all those things that inevitably start to snowball and end up exploding in an awkwardly guttural yell that leaves the back of my throat itchy and raw for days.

And I am still learning that people are good and true and reliable and all of the things that you don't realize you need until they're sitting in front of you being needed.

It's still hard for me to believe I'm deserving of all the "second chances" that inevitably make an appearance in this life, but maybe now I can slowly realize that I am.

On Want

I wanted to write about the nature of wanting and then I talked with a good friend last night about all different sorts of wants and decided I want to tell you about how most days I think I could be very happy on a ranch, running around with horses and dogs and maybe some cows or something.

I do not know why I think this.

Except for yes, mostly I do.  I like to think that I would be "good" at living the simple life.  Simple for me = less noise + more quiet + less electronic shit + more outdoors goodness.  I like to think that a big move, a change of scenery, a different pace equals simple.  I suppose it's not that easy, though, right?

When I reflect on my current state of affairs, sometimes this doesn't seem too far away.  A sense of an ending in this weird but achingly lovely city doesn't necessary seem imminent, but at the same time I can't rule it out entirely just yet.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that (you guessed it): I don't know.  Maybe the more I admit this the less terrifying it will become. Eh, probably not.

When the Rain Comes

The building I live in is old.  Also, there is a storm happening. (Right now!)  And I found myself tossing & turning in bed as the curtains flapped wildly against the screen, convincing myself I couldn't close the windows because I have never closed them since moving in and why would this morning be any different?

I will refrain from turning this into some sort of philosophical metaphor for old things and leaving things open or forcing them to close and just say this: I was able to shut the windows.

Everything was still okay.

On Not Knowing

One of the first things I will confess to you if we spend any amount of time together is that "mostly, I know that I do not know." Sure, I have my opinions and beliefs about why things work they way they do (or don't), but these are my opinions and if you want facts, maybe you should consult a book or Google or better yet go straight to the source (if/when possible).

I am also one of the more passive people you will meet and would go to great lengths to keep the peace versus actually addressing an issue I may have with someone. Chink in the armor? I suppose.

All that to say, the more people I meet, the more things I learn, the more I realize how little I know about my neighborhood, the city of Los Angeles, the Golden State, and I suppose life in general. It is a gentle, humbling reminder that I am a little piece of a great, big universe. "And that makes things right."

Even when it doesn't feel that way all the time.

On at Least Trying to Be

In the words of Hush Puppy: "I wanna be cohesive."

My painful realization of the day yesterday was this: I am obsessed with pursuing/being in a romantic relationship.

So...shit.  This self-awareness endeavor is no joke. 

Now what?

On Benefitting from Doubt

Remember that time I said I wanted to be taken advantage of? Scratch that. I definitely do not want that to happen.

I do still want to be kind and am trying to practice this skill daily. (Things tend to get easier the more you do them, good or bad...take that for what it's worth I suppose.)  I also realize that life for me is filled with far fewer wild adventures and many more quiet ones: interacting with humans, being outside, exploring.

Maybe re-learning how to be me is enough this year.  Maybe next year I get to re-learn how to be with others. Or maybe not.  Maybe I don't have holiday plans for the first time in my life and this is both terrifying and mildly okay.  Maybe being okay with the 'unknown' is an awkwardly small step in the direction of a much larger desire to be gracious in the art of letting go.

Whatever that means.

On Night Hikes and Why Being Alone in the Dark with Your Dog Isn't Always a Bad Idea

Because someone new
Because I am afraid
Because I am not in control
Because I am tired
Because the dark
Because I am nervous for the unknown
Because sometimes the things I desire are very far away
Because I am still hopeful
Because I am not easily charmed
Because I fall too quickly
Because she is one of my best friends
Because I still want to adopt
Because "I see that I'm a little piece in a big, big universe. And that makes things right."

Also, cohesion.

Diving into the Wreck

First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more permanent than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of myths in which our names do not appear. -Adrienne Rich

on what can be said (again)

I have a place to go Monday through Friday from 8:30am-5pm. So...why do I feel exactly the same?

Middlemarch

He had never liked the makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before entered into his prospects for himself; but he was beginning now to imagine how two creatures who loved each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common, might laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations how far they could afford butter and eggs. -George Eliot

cynic.

I guess mostly I am tired of trying to be relevant and cool and unusual in a world where I don't necessarily agree with every thing that happens most of the time. I don't want to have a kick-ass wedding where all the guests take home incredible souvenirs and we go on this amazing vacation and move to a beautiful city and I walk my dog down (mostly) safe streets to meet my new friends at some hidden, delicious coffee shop that turns into a bar after 8pm.
I want to live near my nieces or my mom and dad or my cool soon to be in-laws. I don't want Brian and I to have the same smile. Or clothes. I want to feel like I'm the most fashionable one in our trio. I can try.
I don't want to go to the opera or a movie or a play or a concert and pretend that I enjoyed it if I didn't. I don't really want to sit around and talk about your compost pile or sustainably sourced flooring or how your neighbor moved his entire apartment with only "bike power" either.

I still really like Starbucks chai tea lattes. I'm trying to not be embarrassed about this.

I am a normal, simple, ice water and beach-mornings kind of person. I have no intention of occupying wall street or anything else for that matter. I can't guarantee we'll have much to talk about or that you'll even find me a walk's-worh of interesting. But let's meet up and take one anyway. Unless you'd rather jog? Which, in that case, never mind.

all right?

I may have forgotten what it feels like to simply exist without an agenda beyond waking up, exercising, working, playing with Goose, and falling asleep.
It is a humbling process.

I never promised you a rose garden...or anything else for that matter.

Pardon my vulgarity, but being unemployed sucks. I have become painfully aware of how much of my self-worth comes from being able to live independently. That being said, I have already finished one book, spinned my legs off (they are still here), and slept 8 hours almost every night. It's not the best, but it's definitely not the worst. And even though Starbucks won't hire me, I'm hopeful that just means someone else will. Right?

on not having many plans

so you can have a day mostly focused on this.

happy easter

I woke up too early for a good enough reason, with good enough people, and found myself sitting on a picnic table at the beach. I have heard the minister's words so many times, that mostly I forget how good they are. Better than good and better than enough, but I guess not good enough to remember.
For the most part, I find myself wandering and full of questions. And not necessarily in a bad way, just in a "well, what about this?" sort of way. So, there's that.
But it was so nice to sit outside with friends, and eat food that I helped prepare, and, for a few hours, not have any questions to think about.
Indeed, He has risen.

trusting the process

Maybe I've stopped by the Read 'N Post too many times this past week, but I've found myself quoting those little square cards alot lately. There's this one that has the line "slow down, don't worry, trust the process," on it. I've told a couple people to "trust the process" even though I don't have any idea what it means. A few people I know are starting new jobs in the near future, so I think this is an applicable phrase for them. And just recently my Mom sent me a card that closed with, "don't try so hard, let things come to you," which, in essence, is trusting the process.
I don't quite know how I feel about the process, in general. It reminds me of meat. Processed meat. I don't trust that process in the least.
But when I think that I don't have any plans past the edge-of-my-nose-spring, trusting the process seems like a better choice than calling it a liar. Even if I still don't know how to not try so hard, because something taught me to fight tooth and nail for what I wanted. Even though a good Shepherd asked me to come to Him, and I didn't even have to try at all.
There is some thing so intriguing though about worry and doubt and comparison. They are hard habits to shake. One of my friends told me that it's hard to beat someone if you're not playing the same game. It's harder to compare your Full House to someone's Scrabble bingo and so on. I'm not sure which game I'm playing, but it would be simpler not to play at all.
It can be disheartening to know that I still struggle with the same shortcomings as I did when I was younger. I am trying not to make things happen as much as before. I'm trying to let little pieces of life fall into place, like water freezing in the ice cube trays. I'm trying to listen harder to His voice, above the other bleatings, because I know when the rest of the flock wanders off, He carries me back to the fold.

on frustrations

since when did 68.4 kilometers become so far?

re: feral cats

I guess I haven`t been giving myself much space or time to write lately. Mostly, I have been occupied with observations about people and animals and interactions. I am trying to have more grace with all these things.
Like some days this tattoo still looks very dark on my wrist, even though I can't remember the artist's name, I have d to remind me. And some times my heart feels very heavy, even though I really didn't know you that well.
I suppose it is recognizing that I am no better and no less than my neighbor, even if I do like walking dogs. And that it is okay to communicate slowly and more thoughtfully than some one else may think is normal.
I cannot speak for you or your family, animals, or friends. So I speak for myself when I say that if there was only one thing I could do infinitely well for the rest of my human existence, it would be to live with too much grace.
Yes, I am a cynic on many levels. But, I can still try!

on what cd asked me.

"so, why aren`t you engaged yet?"

rhetorical: a) of, relating to, or concerned with rhetoric b) employed for rhetorical effect; especially: asked merely for effect with no answer expected Ex: a rhetorical question