Being an Adult Means Always Changing Plans

A little over three months ago my boyfriend and I packed everything up and moved across the country to my hometown in rural California. Our plan was to stay here for the summer, get jobs, save money, and move to Flagstaff. But with this economy things like that are easier said than done. So we’re still here. Indefinitely.

But I love being home. I’m not complaining. My life has always been up in the air, and I’ve never really known where I was going next until I was on my way. So I’m reapplying for school to finish my masters and seeing what sticks.
I have a good job that I like a lot. Bobby has a good job that he likes enough.

I’m incapable of having a five year plan, because every year my five year plan changes completely. We thought we’d live out our days in Arizona. Before that I thought we’d be in Alabama for a long time. Before I started applying for masters programs the first time around, we didn’t know where we’d end up because Bobby was applying for jobs all over the country. Before I moved to Alabama I thought I’d be in Mammoth for much longer. Before I moved to Mammoth I had plans to live in Portland. I once thought I’d live in England someday for a while.

I’m just not good at making plans. And I used to hate it. Because when I say I’m going to do something and then I don’t do it, I feel like a fraud. But life means always changing plans. At least for me it does.

So if you don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing, it’s okay to keep going. If you feel like your plans have all failed, they haven’t. They’ve just changed. Because there’s no way for us to actually see the future and see what option is best. Just know that life can still be good, no matter what your plans are.

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Out of the Present

I find myself often dreaming about the future.  Keeping it in the front of my mind.  Daydreaming; focusing all my attention.  Because the present isn’t something that I like to live in.  

I find myself often remembering the past.  I tell stories about the good times, how good it used to be.  Because it used to be so damn good.  And I took it so for granted.  

My heart carries all of the bad times.  My heart carries all of the hard times.  My heart dwells in its own pain, even when I try not to.  

I have a confession

I have a confession.  I’m sometimes mean to aaa agents on the phone.  It’s definitely because my original agent messed up so bad and frustrates me so much.  I just found out that he registered my car as having 25,000 more miles on it than it did when I bought it.  So I have to fix that whole mess.  But maybe I’m mean to them because I work in customer service, and people are mean to me all day.  Maybe I’m a hypocrite.  Or maybe I’m just a horrible person.

I also have to confess that I don’t write like I used to.  I’m not as interesting.  Or I’m too busy.  Or maybe I just can’t write anymore.  I haven’t worked on my book, which doesn’t even exist anymore.  I hardly write poetry.  All my writing is complaining.   And I don’t complain that much anymore.  Or maybe it’s all I do.

Another confession.  I’m learning that it’d be significantly easier to find a new house to rent if I didn’t had a dog.  But I love my dog.  And having a dog is one of favorite new things about myself.  She’s basically my best friend.  And she has more personality and anxiety than most people.
I really want to fast forward to when I have my own house, where I can put my own touch.  And have more dogs.

I don’t love the rain as much as I used to.  It’s starting to inhibit more than rejuvenate.  Walking my dog, biking, driving.  It’s all more difficult.  But I still have a dream of living even more in the rain.  Portland still is a dream sometimes.

I have a confession.  I don’t hate Valentine’s Day like I once did.  But I don’t love it either.  But I do love Bobby.  I never knew love could be so easy.  I never knew love could be like this.  After more than a year, I still get excited about spending time with him.  He’s my best friend, if Roxy isn’t.  My best friend even likes him.  He has been approved for life.  I love him love him love him.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

On Santa and Christmas Traditions

Working in customer service has taught me that people get meaner during the holidays.

I’m almost positive that I’ve never taken a picture with Santa.  My parents didn’t really teach the Santa thing.  I don’t remember ever really believing, but maybe I stopped before my memories began.  I vaguely remember logical conversations with my dad about how Santa wouldn’t fit down our chimney, but I’m pretty sure I knew it was always pretty much a fairy tale.
We focused more on the original Christmas story.  Yes, we did the tree for most of my life, but we opened at least one gift on Christmas Eve, and as my brother and I got older, we started to follow my dad’s family tradition of opening all the gifts on Christmas Eve, which pretty much takes Santa out of the equation entirely.
Sometimes my mom would write “from Santa” on certain gifts, but we always knew it was from her, plus, those gifts were under the tree days, if not a couple weeks, before Christmas.  Thus, it was really hard to actually believe in Santa.  And that’s okay.  I don’t really feel like I missed out.

Every year since I can remember, apart from the random years we were spending the holidays out of town, my family has gone to a Christmas Eve service at the church I grew up in.  Even after I moved away and my parents stopped going to that church, we still went to the service.  It was tradition.  Afterward, my parents would drive around and look at Christmas lights.  As I got older, I kinda got over that tradition, and started going home to wait for them.
The four of us would gather in the living room and usually eat a dessert or something and then give gifts.  It was nice.  It was pretty anticlimactic.
This year, I’ll be away from family for the first time.  I’m okay with it, I’m not complaining.  It’s just different, like almost every aspect of my life in the south.  I was expecting to work on Christmas, like I usually do, but this year I have it off.  So I’m going to cook and spend the evening with one of my favorite people.  I’m going to drink champagne.  Maybe I’ll start a new tradition.

 

I’m Out of Ideas

I’m tired.  I’m running out of energy, and I know that this is only a temporary thing, but sloth mode is not really my favorite.

I’m really excited about things happening in the future, and really I’m more than content with things happening in my present, but it’s like I have nothing to talk about.  It’s  like I have nothing to write about.  Though I am writing a lot.  I’m just not writing the things that I used to be so excited about.  I’m not stagnant, but I’m something?

I’ve pulled away again.  But I’ve pulled into who I want to.  It’s just really hard to express these things without being heard.  I cannot be heard.  Not yet.  Not now.

So I’m out of ideas.  My life is so good, but also, I feel so rough.  It feels so hard to celebrate.  It feels so hard to go on living a normal life, as if nothing is missing.  Everything might be missing.  Or maybe not.

I wish there was a way for me to share who I am.  I wish there was a way to be genuinely known.  I think I want to learn more than vulnerability.  I think I want to learn how not to have walls.  Yes, protection is important.  But intimacy can be so secure in safety.  I want to find that safety.  I want to know what safe really is.

Flow

In her persecution she loses herself
Forgetting all that made her sanctuary
All that kept her pure
For something that could never keep her here

Desperate for recognition
Searching for love in too many places
Using and being used until there is nothing left
She is dried up

A river bed
Crying out for its stream
A trickle of distant past
Can she remember?

She once flowed freely
Never expecting to be captured
Bottled up
With no clue as to what is actually being held

Yet she’ll hold on
Not sure how she plans on letting go
Though her waterfall escape is inevitable
She’ll remember herself again

Stars, Like Dreams

Stars, like dreams, are something quite different than they might seem
They come out at night, pinholes in the sky
They promise to lead us toward the truth
Yet constantly distract us with little, white lies

Because stars aren’t pinholes
They are a million miles away
Unreachable
Unattainable
Flaming balls of fire that we find oh so beautiful
That we’ll never stop trying

Stars are always present
Pictures of the past
Promises of the future
Though they often go unseen
As the city lights around us drown out the stories above the skyline
While our dreams get lost somewhere in the byline
In chasing them we forget to read all of the guidelines
So here we are, on our knees again

Stars, like dreams, are larger than life
We pick our favorite to keep us warm in the morning
Looking for meaning in the smallest details
Keeping us up at night

Stars, like dreams, give us something to wish on
As we lose sight of the vision
Forgetting to keep moving our feet
Thinking we’ll get there if we just keep our eyes open

But sometimes, on summer nights
Stars, like dreams, are something to look forward to
So grab your blanket
I’ll go stargazing with you