The more I feel like this place is my home, the more I seem to miss the other parts,
the politics and the relationships.
It’s like… In Limbo you don’t need to make any definitive choice,
so nothing’s ever completely out of reach.
Once you choose… You shut so many doors.
I don’t know how it happened, that I started to feel like I was home here in SoVA. I don’t know if it’s when I started working at the bar and made friends there, or my first road trip by myself, or if it only hit me when I realized I was willing to turn down opportunity outside of the Peninsula… But it’s happened. I feel home here. Home is walking into the club & the girls sweeping me up in their arms to make me up and teach me new things. Home is driving with my top down at sunrise. Home is a cigarette in the cold night just marveling at the world. Home is shaking & feeling dizzy with the happiness of it all. It’s mindblowing & humbling & surprising.
I’m again surrounded by music, taking my own time to do my own thing, and I feel so happy I said last night: “If I were a crier, this would be the happy-cry moment. This would definitely be the moment.”
I don’t even know how to put it to words, except that I woke up this morning, sat down, and started writing fiction again. Working on my Guardians stories. I haven’t really written – even wanted to – in years. It hasn’t felt right, it’s felt fake, off, whatever. Last night the flood gates opened and I’m terrified of that. What if I lose it again? What if I crumble again? I don’t know that I’d ever get it back if I fell apart this time. But… I want to write. I want to feel this way again.
It’s a tenuous hold that I have, this feeling, but I’m grasping it tightly and holding it close to my chest. I’m letting these feels wash me over and keeping my eye out for more definitive proof that I’m not insane in all of this. I never thought anywhere would feel like home like DC, like the family I have there and our cobbled together house in Petworth. But the world has always had a way of proving me wrong, and I’m glad to see it happen this time.
I feel like I’m slipping out of Limbo, moving onto more solid ground, and it’s been so long since I had that feeling, I don’t quite know what to do with it. Limbo has been me for so long, it’s hard to believe the crisis might be passing.
I love being on the road. This seems to a theme lately, I know, but I am once again comfortable on my parents’ couch, having decided last night to take my two days off from the bar and visit the beach. I think I’ve figured out what I enjoy so much about these little sojourns, though.
I’m not particularly good at being ‘inside’ my own head. Time in the quiet, meditation, yoga, vacation – none of these things have ever fit for me. My brain tends to go into overdrive with all the other things I should be doing rather than just sitting. However, when I’m driving, I am in my element. I am inside my own mind, thinking over life’s big and little decisions, singing loudly to music I’d probably be embarrassed to admit loving (my recent performance? Definitely Ke$ha). In this moment in my life, it’s exactly what I need, I’d say.
Life in SoVA, thus far, has been surprisingly good to me. I’ve found a job; slinging cocktails & tasty bar food at a club in Newport News. It’s different than anything I’ve ever done before, and for that I’m thankful, it’s also been good for me in other ways – the confidence it takes to survive in a club environment, the dress code of the place (my uniform in particular is a test for me!), learning a new industry from scratch. I’ve made friends in the community through it, enjoyed girls’ days and chilling out at 4am (because after a long shift it is simply impossible to sleep no matter the hour). I celebrated my birthday with the staff and new friends I’ve made in the area and have fully embraced being a car owner (a first for me).
And yet, you know me by now, I’m already concerned with “what’s next”. Today on my drive – a glorious, sunny, six hours down I95 South – I ruminated on the exact question: What’s Next? With the dust finally settling from the most recent move, it’s time to start planning the next – back to DC? My home, my heart? Spend more time here in the south with Mom & Pop Limbo? (Things are easy here, it’s comfortable, welcoming, stress-free). Do I head north to Maine, to watch my nephews grow up having missed the first years of their lives? Do I pick somewhere new? That’s the question I asked myself last time; job searches, friends across the States, a million possibilities every single day – do I throw a dart at a map? It’s hard to let pieces of your heart go whenever you pick somewhere new, start where no one knows your name, but there’s a thrill to it, too.
I don’t have answers to these questions, yet, and I don’t know that I will anytime soon. But let me as you this one: how do you decide? Wherever it is that you make your life – what made you pick that place? Was there a moment of clarity? A specific set of circumstances? A chance meeting on a street corner? Love? Money? When you look at the rest of your life, where do you see it playing out, and does the where really matter? Because, on that last one, I’m starting to think… Not so much.
Blogoverse! I need your help!
By the end of this October (most likely on 10/23/2010) I am planning to take my GRE (finally). I’m terrified and have quite literally procrastinated this for over five years. Five years. I’m only 26; let’s consider this… I’ve been putting off taking this exam for 1/5th of my life. I’m beyond anxious and petrified of this exam, even if I’m not totally sure why.
So here’s where the ‘OH EM GEE I NEED HELP!1!1!’ comes in. I have a study guide, I have the time, but I need the butt-whippings that only my lovely friends and tweeps can provide me over the next two and a half months. Anyone game to help me stay motivated?
I needed to face facts, to admit it. I’ve been in an awful funk lately. My move has not been the carefree experience I thought it would be. I mean, come on! Who wouldn’t assume that? Leaving the big, bad city, the stress-fueled jobs, the politics of every day life. Getting away from addictions and happy hours and large quantities of people who would simply rather not be bothered, no matter how close you consider them as friends. It seemed like moving was just the ticket. My mom has always called me a ‘runner’ after all. Get a new roommate, a new community, a new job, a new outlook – isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? It’s succeeded before. This time, though, as much as I’ve met some great people and have finally found a job, the move is just not working the way it was supposed to.
It’s time for drastic action.
I admitted the funk and yesterday I drove 300+ miles, chased down the east coast by heat lightning, Paramore & Lady Gaga mix tapes to keep me company. The top was down, the sun was setting, and I was free. This freedom? Exactly what I want in this world. I’ve been fighting Limbo for so long that I’m tired of the constant battle; I’d forgotten that the girl I used to be was one who embraced Limbo. I reveled in it. I’ve been trying for the last 2 years to figure out who I am, but I think I might have just been denying it rather than ignorant to it.
Today I’m taking it all in, sitting on my parents’ porch in South Carolina yet again (sometimes you just need to see your parents, and sometimes they just need to see you) with the family cat that hates me. I’m counting my blessings and working on a mental list of things that just make me happy right now, because a girl always needs it in her back pocket.
What’s on your list these days?
from drinkingupstream @ wordpress
I’m feeling much better these days than I was when I last posted. Thank you everyone for the words of encouragement and the birthday wishes yesterday! Yes, I survived 25. I remember last summer, coming up on the big Quarter Of A Century and feeling wrung out but hopeful. I was ready for 24 – an age that saw my personal life take turns I’d never expected nor welcomed – to be over with. I was curious as to what 25 would hold, what I would make of the next year of my life.
And here I am, post-25, officially 26. And I’ve come to a conclusion: the day before I turned 25 was just like the day before I turned 26, the only differences being the location and the players. Rather than my personal life falling apart during 25, it was my professional life as I knew it. I left the city I love, my home in this world, and over a month later I still don’t know if that was the best idea. I’ve got a job, which is something to cheer me up, but it’s not the sort of job I ever saw myself in, and I’m not even sure if it’ll pay my bills.
I thought, at almost-25 that heartbreak and loneliness and fear were the worst things that could happen to a girl. That turning 25 would solve all that drama and give me new strength to battle through the day. I was wrong. Limbo is difficult no matter your age, no matter your job, your place, your drama. Limbo is about not knowing who you are, and the struggles we go through to find that out.
I’m still working on it. I’m enjoying myself in the mix, serving drinks at a local club and making new friends everyday. It seems my grand plans for moving South have been adjusted; rather than grand, I’m feeling cautious, taking baby steps. I’m hoping to get more involved here – I’d love to meet the local Young Republicans, find a church, and spend time with the friends I’ve made – before I make any big decisions. Perhaps that’s the first step out of Limbo, just taking a deep breath and seeing where you are once you’re done with that.
I’m trying to remember this woman (she once defended her own honor at 12-years-old and was told by her great-grandmother not to bow to a church she didn’t believe in… She seemed fearless). She said once:
“I believe in books, politics, honesty, writing, sex, history, blogging, trust, choice, public displays of affection, God, the strength of a well chosen word, fantasy, pride, film, forever, hugs, shoes, the power of touch, possibility, hope, family, love, and music. I love intensely; I leave marks; I burn bright. I’m proud of the work I’ve done; I’m still young; I have so much more to do.”
Didn’t she once decide to move to Cuba, and then go and do it? I remember so well, when she first moved to D.C., sneaking downstairs at night to put on pointe shoes and dance on the stage of the amphitheater as if she owned it. The lights shining down, the warm air… She was someone who wore short skirts because she felt strong in them; who never wanted to sleep because it would mean missing out on whatever happened next.
Now it seems like she simply can’t sleep at night, for what reason she has no clue.
from wildfoxcouture.com
I was looking through some old blog entries tonight – from The View from Dupont, my first DC blog – and came across the following… How appropriate…
I moved to Dupont because it seemed to be the one place in this city that people can be themselves. As a community we’re generally professionals and doing well for ourselves, but there are art galleries and dance clubs and bars and a bustling creative community of people who enjoy all different groups and lifestyles. However, I’ve noticed more and more that even Dupont has this city’s sense of… propriety. I’m a writer, a dancer, a bohemian, and open to just about anything, and I find more and more that this city hates people like that. *sigh* If only I had started over in a different place years ago, would I still be feeling this way there? Where ever “there” might have been? I’m not sure, but now that my life and loves all are based here, I find it hard to imagine just leaving, which is something in my heart I wish I had the courage to do.
I have spent most of my life working in one way or another. A million extracurricular activities, varsity sports, summer study programs, internships, three jobs & two programs in college… I haven’t taken a real break – one that lasted longer than a week – since I was four years old (which is when I started dance school and competing in beauty pageants). I have always had something else on my mind, something that needs to be done. Sleep has never come easy. Anxiety disorder was a bit of a give in by the time I was diagnosed bipolar in high school. I have struggled with human relationships on every level because in my mind the work has always been far more important. How can people admire you, respect you, love you – if you haven’t done anything worthy of that love? If you haven’t put the work ahead of your own well-being, how can you hope to achieve anything that’s truly good?
Some people find faith and fulfillment through art, religion, family. I have always found it through the work.
Until now.
I’m leaving.
I’ve never pictured myself outside of D.C. Outside of the politics that I love so much. I never thought I wouldn’t have the Front Page to drown my sorrows, the Mall to sooth my aching heart in times of need, or a cab to bring me home when the night has gotten a little too late. I have been here my entire adult life and I don’t know where to begin saying goodbye.
I must though. The beach calls my name, and I’m moving in less than a week. I’m going to continue writing, though you’ll notice changes about the place – beach bum life will probably not come easy to me, and we’ll see how long it takes for me to shake D.C. off my boots, but I hope you’ll join me as I do it. After all, it’s still Limbo out there in the wide world, isn’t it?
I’m listening to Joni Mitchell today, because her bluesy, unorthodox perspectives on love, family, and life are just right for me right now. I find myself, more often than not, in a thoughtful mood as of late. This is not my Summer norm, or, really, any kind of norm for me, but I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m feeling out Limbo for all it’s possibility, trying to smile more and scrunch my forehead less.
In pursuit – or perhaps, practice? – of this new point of view, I took a couple days off from the campaign trail last week and spent them with visiting friends from the Rural North (where I spent my first 18 years). Seeing them for the first time in 5+ years was heart-stopping in itself, but having the wonderful time with them that I did? I don’t know that words will work, and so I’ll say it with pictures. First, my thoughts on the new ideal, and photos & lessons from my ‘vacation’ right here in D.C. after the jump.
Thing the First – There is so much more to life than work, first of all. I was happier & healthier for those 3 days than I have been in months. Not just work-wise but life-wise. I ate better (and without complaint!), slept soundly, laughed freely, walked miles upon miles and didn’t feel half dead thanks to it… I shed this stress that I’ve worn so heavily for so long, and all it took was a familiar smile.
I need to be healthy like this more often; not necessarily taking work off to do so, but I need to find that balance in life. I’ve never been particularly good at it, and D.C. certainly doesn’t lend itself any sort of work/life balance; but I’ve seen the light and I’m determined now.