Sometimes I think being sane just isn't enough. Just because we're not wrapped in dozens of blankets wearing a bucket as a hat and licking the windows doesn't mean we're "okay". There's just so much in my head at this moment of life that sometimes it literally feels like I'm in kindergarten again, carrying one of those dixie cups of water filled way too high, trying so hard to keep it all in as I wobble back to my seat, inevitably spilling most of it out along the way.
Among all the good that is going on in my life right now (a very special guy, TONS of career possibilities in the very near future, being 26, etc.) is the ever-hovering cloud that I am not in New York. I am sure when I leave this place I will find a new appreciation for it that I wish I could have seen while I was actually here. Kind of like Boston. I remember those times, when me, Anya and Amanda would prance around town in sleek black outfits, tall boots and shiny jewelery, toying with boys and messing with men, ending the night with pizza (yes it was good--I'm a pizza whore, I don't discriminate), and running it all off the next day along the Charles River, making big plans to change our lives and little ones to rule the night.
That running route was fantastic, the way the Harvard bridge seemed to stretch on forever, finally spitting us out onto the river's edge where we'd run aaaalllll the way around some other bridge, until finally we'd finish, totally out of breath, high fiving each other, and already talking about where we would meet up next. To think I spent a lot of that time wishing I was somewhere else makes me sad, but I'm so happy to have fond memories of it.
Speaking of memories, they've been alluding me lately. Two nights in a row I had terrible dreams that I remembered clear as day. Literally I woke having to talk myself out of them actually happening. What is the difference between dreams like that and real memories? I mean obviously real memories happened. But when people we love are gone, or are far away from us, all we have is their memories. I don't need dreams messing up my memories.
* * * *
This week at work we had an icebreaker for a required class that will teach me all about the media I'm not working with (I only work in digital). The icebreaker asked people to find others who could sign off on something they had done on a list of about 35 activities. The three I ended up signing most were "Bites nails", "Plays piano" and "Still has natural hair color".
It got me thinking of my vices, my talents, and my intrinsic self. For the life of me, I can't stop biting my nails, kind of like no matter how hard I work out, and how disciplined I am in terms of not eating meat or dairy, I cannot resist a god damned chocolate chip cookie. And as for the latter, my mom never let me dye my hair. It's amazing how grateful I am for the things I wasn't allowed to do as a kid. All the girls with bad highlights and belly button rings at 15 probably never got to appreciate growing into their own selves without the influence of these social crutches. I learned how to be gracefully insecure as a result. I may be a little neurotic now but at least I know who I am.
I am learning to be happy in each moment.
I am learning to thank the Universe for all my body does for me each and every day.
I am learning to be the best person I can be all the time, whether I'm in New York or LA, at a job I hate or one I love, single or in a relationship--kindness, positivity and gratitude is my goal.
I guess this was two entries, but there are many more to come as more and more water spills out of my dixie cup--I want to call out to my kindergarten self, Careful! There are memories in there.
XO
me
P.s. This is where I belong. But I'm learning that the journey there is what it's all about.
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