One year later

On the day of my last post, Feb 13, 2009 (which I've deleted because it's no longer relevant) I met the man I am going to marry. It makes me smile that this year has been so kind to both of us. 2008 was crap, 2009 was transitional, and 2010 has been stable. In a wonderful way.

I am sitting here in our living room, two states away from where we started in a city on the edge of coming into it's own, and feeling like I'm exactly where I was always supposed to be. We've both had pretty miserable paths that we wouldn't trade for anything because a different route would not have taken us here. I never feel unfulfilled anymore. I used to feel like I was missing out on something, that extra spark that everyone else seemed to be able to muster in their lives. Now I have it. All these intangible, wonderful things have come together to make life a three dimensional experience. I am so grateful.

I still don't know a lot of the details of life, but I do know that we have an idea of what we want and what we're going to do to get us there. Direction is half the battle, and we continue to move forward.

ramblings

So, it's been a long while since I posted. I've been in my head a lot and am thinking that it is time to get some of it out in public forum.

To say that last year was "hard" seems a bit of an understatement, but I feel like sensationalizing it will erase all the good parts from the year as well. I'm not going to do a laundry list of all things fun about last year, but I do want to assert the fact that I had a lot of fun in between the stand out difficult times that made me question why I was on this earth.

Now that there is distance and perspective, I'm able to look at things in a whole different light. I can't say that I'm happy about the way things turned out per se, but I can't imagine it going any other way. It makes so much sense that it ended in such a fantastic and dramatic way, because at the end of the day, we were nothing if not showmen.

When something big and crazy happens, it is so hard to know what to do with yourself and who to believe. I was always told that divorce is bitter and hard. And it is. So hard. I've spent so much time wondering if things could have gone differently, but I know in my heart that I don't want it back.

I like myself so much better now that I know who I can become, and I sincerely hope he feels the same way. We both needed huge wake up calls that we could not continue our lives as we were living them, and we delivered.

Things are messy and sometimes they are hard, but I'm kind of loving every minute. I'm dating someone so amazing and trying to take it one day at a time. I don't know if this person is "the one" and I'm fine with not knowing. I hope I listen to myself and ask for what I need and know when it is time to walk away if I won't get it.

I also hope he's doing the same thing. I hope he is confident enough in himself to know that he is enough, and that the pretending and the lies are what I hated. I hope he learns, as I have, that he is worth all the good things that will come his way both as a result of his own initiative and the cosmic powers that have guided us all thus far.

I want to let go and move on and I want to give him permission to let go and move on because we have already become what might have been.

bah holidays

My family sucks at togetherness, and therefore, holidays.  If we don't dissolve into arguments every two hours, it's not an authentic experience.  A lot of it centers around my brother and his inability to care about anyone other than himself in any given situation.  

This is a kid you can't even count on to wash, dry, and put away a dish even though he's been doing it for literally 15 years.  Even without the decade and a half of practice, it is not something that takes a long time to master.  I hate coming home because the only things I can count on are good food (bonus), arguments, being called a bitch, and feeling a crushing sense of depression and helplessness while surrounded by the saddest collection of people I've ever met.  

This is where I come from.  And this is why I can't go home.

Getting there...

I'm just updating to let you know that I have both a job and an apartment. I'll be working for a wonderful family as a nanny. It sounds like such a pud job, but there is so much that goes into it. I'll be hanging out with a four and a half year old girl who already has more working knowledge than I do about the connectedness of our ecosystems to our daily life. I just hope I can keep up! She's passionate about saving the coral, and the sea turtles, and the earth in general. She told me about manatees on the way to school this morning and her facts are well researched and solid.

The family is so loving in their approach to everything, and it does my heart good to be around people who just bring light into the world in the way they do. I'm in training with the previous nanny who'se music career has taken off and will get to fly solo later this week.

I'm definitely suffering from an excess of homeless love, so I'm excited to have a unit to put some of that love and energy into on a daily basis. I'll also be cooking some. Hopefully they'll be as patient with as my own family was this summer as I stumble through new recipes.

There is still some paperwork that needs to get banged out for the apartment, but I get the keys October 1 and my stuff will follow at an undetermined time! I'm almost there...

Seattle!

So...I'm here. Physically in the city, referring to it as home, and calling it mine. I drove up. Spent two days in a car by myself with nothing but my iPod to depend on as reception is fuzzy in Utah, Idaho, and Oregon.

This will be short, just an announcement of my occupation of the city. Job and apartment are the next things to find. I'm sitting here with my fingers crossed and a ball of nervous excitement in my stomach.

Above all, I have faith that it will work out the way it is supposed to. And that it'll be good.

sigh

Sleep is not my forte.

I lie awake and think of all the things before me. I'm definitely not deluded into thinking that my life is so much more difficult than anyone else. I just have big things going on that alternately terrify and delight me.

I like to joke that I'm exactly where I planned on being at 24; homeless, jobless, and divorced. What little girl didn't grow up dreaming of a failed marriage without the ability to make it a solid year? Proof that your instincts know more than you ever give them credit for, I suppose. It sounds silly, but I always knew I was bigger than that marriage, I just thought I could carry it, see it through for a few more years.

A lot of people ask me what I've learned from the whole experience. I'm still sorting it out, but here are a few things I've been able to pinpoint.

I learned that I have never known myself. It sounds so cheesy, but twelve weeks ago, I couldn't tell you what I wanted to do with my life other than a general outline of vague goals. Part of that was me not letting myself want anything. I had a career and that was apparently enough. I was on the back burner. I hated who I was when I couldn't dream. I hated that I couldn't stand up and tell anyone what I needed. I hated that I couldn't tell myself.

I learned that I have never been completely loved. That is a sad, sad thing. I always held on to the illusion that I was. I believe he loved me as much as he could, but it was limited and unfulfilling. People who love each other don't lie. People who love each other don't do so many things...

I learned that both of us had failures leading up to this. I am definitely not blameless and it doesn't do to try to match it out blow for blow. I need to accept my shortcomings and take it in stride. I'll do it better from now on.

I learned we loved each other. But not enough. Not enough that we'd go crazy if the other wasn't in the world. Not enough that we'd give up whatever we wanted to make the other person happy. Not enough never to ask that the other person give up anything. Not enough that we felt safe with honesty.

I'm not bitter. I'm just sad about it all. And thankful in a strange way. I'm only 24 and already I'm starting my life over. I've been reborn and given a second chance to make good on what I've been given and what I've been sent to do.

There have been a few key operatives who've helped me see the way and I'm so thankful to them for their love, acceptance, advice, and strength through the whole damn messy business.

It is a terrible thing, but right now most of the time I'm really having fun. I'm in my element out here alone in space. And I've started to take care of things that will set me up to be successful the second time around.

I'm just taking it one day at a time with confidence that tomorrow will come.

A dichotomy

Every night before going to bed I go through a routine. Most of you can identify with this and those of you who can’t might be pagans on a different plane of existence. Not higher, different.

I wash my face, brush my teeth and take two pills. Normal and boring in every sense of the word. When I am honest with myself, I realize that I am much more domesticated than I ever planned on being at this age.

For example; I cook with an apron, and can’t imagine any other way. Aprons are so convenient, especially for people who dislike being beholden to a dish rag. I am a hands-on cook. I’m not afraid to say that if you’ve eaten anything I’ve cooked or baked in the last fifteen years, chances are my finger was in it at some point. Fingers are so sensitive to the nuances of temperature and consistency in a way that a thermometer and a bamboo spoon, while invaluable tools, just can’t emulate. Also, a dab of something is all my (self-taught) taste buds need to know what needs more salt or cumin or cinnamon. As a rule everything could always use an extra pinch of ginger. I’d eat ginger on a shoe.

So the apron is a perfect compromise for a mobile, dynamic cook with her finger on the pulse of the kitchen. Basically what I’m saying is that if I didn’t wear an apron, I’d wipe my hands on my pants.

They say it is important to get into a nightly routine because it will help you be able to know when it is time for bed. As a friend to many new mothers and a special education teacher, I’ve had extensive discussions about the importance of routine in a child’s life.

I like my routine. People in general are creatures of habit and this nightly routine is a portable comfort I can take with me no matter where I go. All I need is my giraffe print bag and a functional sink. A cup isn’t even necessary as I can use my hands to collect water.

Earlier this year, I decided that I should try to take a multivitamin. I’ve been borderline anemic for as long as I can remember and as a poor-ish worker of two jobs with a husband who was fundamentally opposed to all vegetables that weren’t baby carrots or fried potatoes, I didn’t invest much in leafy green iron rich additions to our meals. It is pretty hard to go through bag after bag of spinach and spring mix by yourself. Eventually the salad conquers you by going bad before you can possibly finish it, and ends up getting thrown out in a slimy, stinky mess a week later.

The first multivitamin I thought of was Flintstone’s chewables. But being a career woman of 24, I thought maybe it was time to take the next step. I remember my parents taking Centrum, but I refused on the basis that it was for old people and I’m still a spring chicken. I went to the drugstore and was waylaid by options. I tried to look casual and contemplative while I pulled bottle after bottle, read the labels, and tried not to be too astounded at the price.

I settled on Women’s Once-A-Day. It seemed safe since I had heard of it and it was relatively high in iron. The large bottle with the orange label had to last me quite a while, too. All pills should be taken with at least eight ounces of water to properly wash it down, but these pills are at least three times a normal size, so a larger glass was required. My father, incidentally, a physician, calls these horse pills. It’s an industry term.

I pride myself on my strong stomach. I have very rarely felt nauseous when confronted with overwhelming life situations or new food or drugs of any sort. I can take antibiotics with a glass of milk and have no problems. I’ve literally been taking medicine for over three quarters of my life. I’m a nerdy bookworm with asthma. It never crossed my mind that medicine might actually make me feel worse.

Day 1 of the experiment, I breakfasted on peanut butter toast and washed the pill down with a large glass of milk. To say it was a rough day is an understatement. About half an hour into school, my stomach just started to ache. Every time I moved, my whole midsection reminded me that it was there and oft ignored. I was cranky, which in turn made the kids cranky, and nobody had any fun.

I thought maybe I hadn’t eaten enough, so at lunchtime, I had an extra handful of crackers and made it a point to drink more water than usual. This just resulted in me having to visit the little girl’s room all afternoon to void my bladder. Thankfully, it was one of my slow days and there were breaks between kiddos. After school, I went straight home, lay down, and made the husband cook. Which meant he ordered pizza or made macaroni.

I thought maybe the breakfast meal wasn’t tough enough to buffer the effects of so many nutrients chorusing through my system, so Day 2 I took the multi-v at dinnertime. I made sure to cook something substantial; hamburgers ought to be solid enough to offset any ill effects. But by bedtime, I was curled up in a ball unable to sleep and whining to deaf ears that had to leave the house at 3:30 am.

After a few more days of similar experiences, I gave up on being properly fortified and went back to my previous state of malnourishment sans vitamin. It was a simple time.

I didn’t really give it another thought until one of the women who worked at the school mentioned prenatal vitamins. She is a forty-something mother of two who spent a lot of years working as a nurse. She takes a prenatal vitamin every day and highly recommends them to every woman she knows. Elixir of life or something.

Not wanting to go out and spend money on something else my body would soundly reject, she offered to give me a week’s supply and see how I fared. The next day she came in with seven nondescript yellow pills. They were quite a bit smaller than the others and looked almost friendly. I looked at those pills and believed they wanted me to be better.

I debated for a while, and decided that pm was a fine time to take the pills as I have already established the aforementioned nightly routine. The week went by without pill related incident and I’ve been taking them ever since. Like the nurse before me, I plug them to interested parties and have been known to push a few just to get you hooked.

It does not escape my highly developed sense of irony, however, that every night, this now single woman washes her face, brushes her teeth, and takes a birth control pill and a prenatal vitamin. I sometimes marvel at the conflicting messages I’m sending my own body and wonder how on earth I’ll ever be able to communicate clearly with anyone.

For now, I am contented with the ironic jumble that is life and do what I need to get through until tomorrow and for the long haul.