45 Ways to Cheer Yourself Up
We all have days when we feel blue or frustrated. Whatever the reason, I think it's important not to wallow in such negativity, but rather to make an effort to cheer yourself up. Read through the list, take the things you like, ignore the things you don't, and if you have suggestions of your own, share them in the comments.
1. Watch your favorite dance music video. Learn the dance. Perform endlessly. If you have a partner-in-crime, all the better. (Bradshaw, my college roommate, and I learned Fergie's dance in the "My Humps" video. There was much hilarity. To this day, when I hear the song on the radio, I catch myself doing the dance. While driving. It's incredible.)
2. Write a letter to your future-self. If it's handwritten, hide it somewhere that it will stay hidden for a while (the bottom of the sweater drawer, inside a pair of shoes you never wear, behind a framed photo). Alternatively, use
futureme.org and have the letter emailed in the distant future.
3. Try a kitschy-fun new-to-you workout: yoga for the first time, strippercise, hula hooping. If you feel silly, you're doing it right.
4. Bake something. Sugar cookies, chocolate cupcakes, an elaborate layer cake - whatever tickles your fancy. Bonus points for sharing with others.
5. Watch your favorite movie from when you were a kid.
6. Celebrate your favorite holiday regardless of what the calendar says. Set off firecrackers and play with sparklers in October. Make yourself sick on a mound of candy in May. String up lights and watch
The Santa Clause and
Love Actually in March. Get creative!
7. Have friends over for dinner. Make something you cook like an expert or order your favorite takeout.
8. Search your wardrobe for work-appropriate clothes that are as close to pajamas as possible. That's not to say that you should look like a slob. My go-to for day when I feel less-than-stellar but must work: a knee-length denim skirt, tank top, and long cardigan with ballet flats. Add accessories as desired.
9. Drink a smoothie. Satisfying and healthy.
10. Browse the childrens section of a bookstore, best done when there aren't strange children present.
11. Make and eat a grilled cheese sandwich. Whether you go for the classic white-bread-and-American or something a bit fancier (mozzarella and tomato jam, cheddar and apple), there's something wonderful about toasty bread and oozy, melty cheese.
12. Sit outside and appreciate what the season has to offer. Even (especially) if it isn't your favorite season. Bundle up or strip down accordingly and keep your eyes open to the things that are always there.
13. Wear a face mask.
14. Do something touristy. Even my boring little town has a slightly touristy quirk. If you live in a city with lots of things to choose from, pick the cheesiest or most stereotypical (Gateway Arch, Space Needle, Liberty Bell, I'm looking at you).
15. Read your favorite book from when you were a little kid.
Where the Wild Things Are,
Green Eggs and Ham,
The Monster at the End of This Book. Remember why it was your favorite.
16. Celebrate a funny holiday, even if you have to make one up. There's a silly holiday for every day of the year, I swear. Use
Holidays for Everyday to find one you like and celebrate it to the extreme.
17. Call a friend. Laugh until your stomach hurts.
18. Plant something. If you live in an apartment, go for a kitchen herb or a hard-to-kill houseplant like a philodendron or an orchid. If you have a yard, choose whatever is seasonally-appropriate that catches your eye at the nursery.
19. Watch a movie that makes you laugh every time. (
The Hangover, anyone?)
20. Change your scenery. Go to a different neighborhood or a new town. Changing your environment can change your state of mind as well.
21. Feng Shui your books by lining them up with the front edge of the shelf. Bonus: Less surface to dust.
22. Do a small part of a larger task you hate. Just wash the plates in that sink full of dishes, only vacuum your living room, weed half of the flowerbeds, give one of the cats her bath. You get the idea.
23. Spend time with a little kid. The only thing to take seriously is safety (seatbelts, please, and always keep little ones where you can see them). Really, guys, spending time with little kids is one of the most freeing and rewarding things in the world, even when it's your job.
24. Watch a musical. Sing along.
25. Do something for someone else. It's true that doing for others makes you feel better about yourself.
26. Listen to music too loud. Sing along. Dance the way you only dance when no one is looking. (Limit time spent here if you live in an apartment. Otherwise, keep it up until your ears ring and you can't catch your breath.)
27. Have a picnic, as simple or elaborate as you like. If it's cold or raining, make it a living room picnic.
28. Wear extra eyeliner.
29. Indulge the negativity, then move on. Record yourself or write it out, then crumple it up or dump it in the recycle bin. Let go of the emotion along with the evidence of it.
30. Cuddle something fluffy, even if it's a teddy bear.
31. Play a game. I'm fond of Scrabble and Monopoly: Here and Now (which are on my computer).
32. Have an orgasm by whatever means are convenient.
33. Go for a drive. I do some of my best thinking when I'm driving. Rolling down the windows is optional.
34. Paint your nails.
35. Wear something sparkly. Buy sparkly undies for occasions such as this.
36. Take a long, hot bath. Have a beverage while you soak. Listen to music, watch a movie on your laptop (on a safe, stable, water-free counter, please), read a book, or just lie there.
37. Sleep naked, preferably between crisp, freshly washed sheets.
38. Hand-write a letter to your bestie. Decorate it. Add confetti to the envelope and mail it.
39. Concentrate on learning about someone interesting:
John Lennon,
Audrey Hepburn,
Al Capone,
Princess Diana,
Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis,
Nelson Mandela,
Mohondas Gandhi.
40. Fantasize about something radical. Be a movie star, a Greek god, a princess, an Olympic gold medalist - whatever makes you feel amazing and powerful.
41. Be selfish. Ignore everyone else's problems and dramatics and just be you.
42. Curl up with a warm blanket, your favorite book, and a tasty hot beverage - hot cocoa, coffee, tea - that makes you feel cozy from the inside out.
43. Have a drink. Just one, and make it worthwhile.
44. Go people watching. Make up stories in your head to go with the people you see.
45. Smile. The classic fake-it-till-you-make-it. The act of smiling makes you feel better, even if it starts as a grimace.
Labels: inspiration, lists, personal growth
Sixth Grade
I've never been in a relationship. You know, a mutual, let's-hold-hands, I have a boyfriend relationship. I've only gone on two dates - both of which made me feel really awkward. Instead of relationships, I have liaisons, often overcomplicated by yours truly. I've done this with two different men with varying levels of interaction and insanity. I've decided (or convinced myself) that this is how I like it for a whole host of reasons that could be an entire series of posts. (Potential title: Nic's Justification for Life as a Spinster)
But in sixth grade for approximately two weeks, I did have a boyfriend.
I'm absolutely certain that sixth grade "relationships" don't count, but I caught myself thinking about this particular situation in the shower somewhere between the raspberry sorbet body wash and underarm shaving. The details are more than a little sketchy in my memory, but I've done my best.
We had social studies together, and our teacher was not a good one, meaning that it was more than easy to chatter to your neighbors for the entire hour. Unfortunately, he also made his seating charts alphabetically and with a weird arrangement of desks. This put me and the boy in a two-desk row between the wall and a row that had an empty desk and the requisite class "weird kid." We became chatting buddies because everyone else was too far away to talk to without getting in trouble, and somehow he ended up asking me to be his girlfriend. I think I would have said yes to anyone who asked me that (unless it was that weird kid).
I remember lying on the bed in my grandma's room (now my room) and chatting on the phone with him one day after school, though I have zero recollection of any conversation we ever had. And at some point in the next week, he ceased to be my boyfriend, though I don't recall having a conversation or officially "breaking up." It just ended. I knew at the time that it was the result of teasing by his friends.
See, I wasn't particularly cute at twelve. I still had prepubescent chubbiness, my hair was nearly long enough to sit on, and I was pre-braces. I've always believed that this meant that his interest in me was actually based on my personality, which I suppose is flattering. That, of course, is the adult view of the situation. The adolescent view was to be quietly mortified and hurt. I'm not sure if he and I continued to talk during class after that; I seem to think that we didn't. I was still a pretty soft heart back then.
I never told anyone about it, never discussed it after that. That's the sort of quiet embarrassment that I'm not sure you completely outgrow. Yes, it still makes me the teensiest bit twisty in the stomach. When something really hurts my feelings, I tend not to talk about it at all - apparently even after a decade and the recognition that the situation was laughable. I do wonder how much I internalized that and even now behave based on that foundation, the idea that someone wouldn't want to be with me because of what his friends thought.
I don't remember having another class with him in the next six years of school, strange given how small our school was. I'm fairly certain the last time I saw him was my freshman year of college when my roommate met another guy I went to high school with and we all ended up at the same party, and then I think all that was said was hello.
This is the sort of thing that makes me wonder if everyone remembers the sorts of things that I do. Does he even remember? Part of me hopes he doesn't because of that lingering embarrassment, and part of me would be sad if he didn't because it would make me feel insignificant.
No one wants to be forgotten.
Labels: boys, personal growth
Let Them Be Choos
My junior year of high school, I had an amazing English teacher, Mrs. W. Her class was specifically designed for college-bound students, so she was the first teacher who really asked us what we wanted to
be. That year, I thought I wanted to be a psychologist (thank heavens I reconsidered). She taught my senior English class as well, and I was her student aide. She'd been teaching for nearly thirtyyears and was one of a small handful of teachers at my school who could be called a great teacher. She did everything that held any measure of notice or prestige in our school: senior class adviser, National Honor Society adviser, teaching the two most difficult classes for college-bound students.
For years, when someone asked what I was going to be when I grew up, my answer was always, "I'll end up being a teacher whether I like it or not." It's a marginalized profession, and for a while I bought into the hype while apparently also accepting my fate - or something. Mrs. W made me realize that I could be a teacher and have a real influence, because I knew what sort of influence she had on me and everyone else in my high school. I decided that I wanted to be an English teacher; I wanted to be the next Mrs. W.
I know that, from the outside, it didn't look like I spent much time making my decision. I think that's probably the case with most decisions that I make. The truth is, I just run through all of the potential scenarios really quickly. After I decided which school I was going to, my chemistry teacher, who had been teaching for about fifteen years and had a son my age, asked if I knew I was going to study. I told her, naively, the truth: That I wanted to be the next Mrs. W.
I remember everything about her reaction. The inflection, the expression on her face, and the fact that she didn't really think anything of it before or after she spoke. She said, "Those are big shoes to fill." A very true statement, absolutely. But the way she said it...it felt like she didn't think I was capable of living up to my own expectation.
It was strange. Never before in my life had someone reacted with anything but positivity and enthusiasm when I'd set out to do something. Perhaps because my pursuits before had always been relatively inconsequential. But that doubt, or my perception that she doubted me, was completely foreign. From then on, I stopped saying that I wanted to be the next Mrs. W. I minimized it, watered it down: "If I can be half the teacher Mrs. W was, I'll consider myself a success."
You know what? Bullshit. I call bullshit on myself.
No woman ever did great things when her goal was to be half as good as her idol. Will I be as good as Mrs. W in the first few years that I teach? Of course not, because Mrs. W had thirty-plus years of experience. But to tell myself that being half as good is good enough - not fair. It's unfair to expect so little of myself, especially when I know that I'm capable of greatness.
So here's my declaration: Not only will I be the next Mrs. W, I will be a better teacher than Mrs. W was.
Those are big shoes to fill.
Labels: personal growth, teaching
It's Like Squishing a Spider Under a Book
I didn't have particularly high hopes for meeting Project this weekend. I'm young enough that not seeing someone for a "long time" is rarely measured in years with double digits, and even so, I try not to let people slip out of my life unless I want them to go away.
Late Friday evening, after giant Qdoba burritos, I invited Project to come watch episodes of
The Office with Bradshaw and me. I proceeded to get more antsy and more awkward. I think, if forced to put a name to the feeling in my stomach, it was dread. The moment I invited him, it felt like a bad idea. After Bradshaw gave him directions, I realized that another part of what I felt was embarrassment. I was embarrassed of him, a bit, and of myself for having been "with" him - or whatever it was that we were. I suddenly didn't want Bradshaw, who knows me better than most anyone and from whom I keep very few secrets, to even meet him.
It was very uncomfortable and he hadn't even arrived.
When he arrived, I felt more relaxed. It was immediately clear that I'm no longer attracted to him (in fact, I had that moment of 'what did I ever see in you?'). I caught myself comparing him to my Quasi-Fiancee, who had been there before - and Project was not coming out ahead in any of my vague internal categories.
I caught myself putting physical barriers between myself and him, first taking a seat on the couch next to Bradshaw and later pulling my feet up to the side between us. I was sleepy, and every time an episode ended, I wished fervently that it was the last on the disc. Eventually, that was the case and I basically told him to go home. Given the former nature of our relationship, I made it very clear a few weeks ago that if we did meet up when I was in the city, nothing physical would happen between us. I think he thought I was kidding, because he seemed a little miffed when I said I wanted to sleep; he asked if he did something wrong. I explained that I'd been up for a while and I was worried about disturbing Bradshaw who I knew had gotten up earlier than I had. There was an incredibly awkward side-hug, he left, and I paced through the apartment for thirty minutes trying to unravel the weird in my brain.
At one point, he looked over and asked if I thought he had changed. I answered, honestly, "not really that I can tell." He considered me for a moment, then said, "yeah, I don't think you have either."
And all I could think was
I have I have I have!
I've grown and changed and matured. I'm more intelligent, more positive, more jaded. I approach situations and people with different attitudes and standards. Project seems exactly the same as he did five years ago, and the person I am now finds that more than a little off-putting, to be frank. The person I am now can't seem to help judging him for being exactly the same. I kind of wish I'd left well enough alone.
Labels: boys, personal growth, updates
Journey
I never started blogging for other people to read. My goal at the beginning wasn't for anyone to discover my writing and suddenly become wildly interested in me and what I had to say.
That sounds strange, and for an attention whore like me, unlikely, but it's true. My very first blog post was on livejournal in the summer of 2006. I was mourning and lost and depressed and I didn't feel like I could talk about it. What I could do was write, but somehow it wasn't enough to write in a journal and put it away. So I wrote and posted it online. I think there was something in the idea that someone could read it that was appealing, and something in the fact that it was unlikely to be read that was comforting.
I think forcing myself to tell my story made a difference. And at some point, I decided to move to blogspot and begin writing in the hopes that someone would read it. I wanted to step away from the soul searching introspection and just put myself out there. And for a long time, it seemed like no one read it at all. Maybe no one did.
Eventually I decided that Bradshaw was, in fact, trustworthy, and I gave up a little piece of my anonymity. Part of the motivation to keep the blog a secret from those in my day-to-day life was the freedom to write not-so-nice things about them if I felt compelled. I finally realized that it was extremely unlikely that I would ever feel the need to write not-so-nice things about Bradshaw. I wanted to share this part of myself with her, so I did. I've never regretted that, and in fact I've shared the blog with a handful of other people who matter to me.
But now that I've worked through most of the issues that first prompted me to begin blogging, what is the point of writing now? What is the purpose of my blog? It's more than a place to blow off steam or ramble - handwritten journals are far superior to the internet for that. I want it to be more than a place to share gratitude and quotations and pretty images and my kitchen adventures- though I think those things have a certain value of their own.
It was about two years ago that I started working deliberately to pull myself away from those difficult things that were hanging over my head when I started writing. I began to actively avoid writing negatively to take the power away from those days and those emotions. If we assume that I've "conquered" my grief and negativity, why am I still writing at all?
I don't think the internet needs another make yourself happy/be positive/you're awesome/hooray for gratitude blog. It's been done to death and by people who do it better than I can. There aren't a lot of things I know or do better than anyone else. Maybe the only thing that I know better than you, kitten, is how to teach Romeo and Juliet to a classroom of high school freshmen. I'm still trying to be a better person. Not a poised, self-actualized, perfectly positive karmic goddess: I just want to be happy. I think that maybe the first step on that road is really learning who I am to begin with. Then I can embrace what is good and beautiful, work towards changing what's less-than-fantastic, and learn to love even the unattractive.
This blog is my journey toward being that person. I want to explore and think and read and try different things. I want to experiment and to grow, to learn what works and what doesn't - for me. I want to own my quirks, conquer my fears, and revel in the things that make me happy. I'll stumble and fail and probably get hurt, but I think I'll also succeed and triumph and become a better person for my efforts. Here, I want to share my journey with you and maybe, if you're game, drag you along for the ride.
I'm so glad that you've joined me.
Labels: personal growth
Loneliness. Solitude.
Recently, and through a rather strange series of events, Project reentered my life. That, and all of the stuff that goes with it, is another post in itself, and I've not quite sorted out the way I feel about all of it. It's for another day.
Since we hadn't spoken in over four years, we had a bit of catching up to do. Given our quasi-romantic history, the subject of relationships came up, and my lack of relationships seemed to surprise him. When I explained that I had accepted and was embracing a solitary life as the way that I'm meant to live, he seemed almost upset. Since, like so many other people, he's apparently been in a serious, committed relationship (mind-bending as that is), his reaction didn't surprise me. In our society it seems unthinkable that someone would choose and actually enjoy being alone and not having a "significant other." He asked me if I didn't think that choosing that sort of life would be lonely.
I've always been a little judgmental of people who seem unable to spend any time alone, particularly those girls when I was in college who would complain about how they wanted someone to share their bed because they wanted company. While I realize that people enjoy companionship, I can't understand how someone can't entertain herself and learn to enjoy solitude. I don't understand people who are bored when they're alone, who seek the company of another simply because they can't enjoy the company they provide for themselves. I know those people exist, and if that's how you want to live I'm not going to judge, but I don't
get it.
No, I'm not lonely. No one steals the covers or crowds my space in bed, there isn't anyone expecting me to make polite conversation before coffee, no one to compromise with when choosing what to watch on television, no one expecting me to make dinner or complaining about what I choose. When I choose to spend my whole day at home - which is more days than not - I get to spend time sans-makeup, something I couldn't do if there was a man in my house (my pride wouldn't allow it). There isn't anyone talking when I'm engrossed in a book, no one judging when I get sappy movies from Netflix or choose to spend my weekend in a
Gossip Girl marathon, and food I put in the fridge never disappears.
I'm the opposite of lonely; I revel in my solitude. When I do want company I know where to find it. And sure, I have moments when it would be nice to have someone around, but those moments of want rarely come from inside myself. I watch a silly romantic comedy and catch myself wanting someone to look at me like that, to kiss me like that. Then I remember that romantic comedies omit the hard parts of sharing yourself with someone. I crawl in bed and catch a bit of a chill and think of how nice it would be to have someone to snuggle up against. Then I remember that I've never been able to sleep peacefully with another person in bed with me. I pour my first cup of coffee and think how nice it would be if someone else made it just the way I like it before I woke up.
Then I remember that the coffee pot has a timer.
Labels: boys, personal growth
High-Maintenance
Bradshaw and I are excellent at talking on the phone. From five-minute chats after important life events (last hurrahs, surprise kisses, quarter-life crises) to the marathon calls that last longer than we've realized, this is something that we have down to a science. We could say that it's because we've been living in different cities for the last two years, but I think this was a skill that we brought to the friendship (I remember having some weirdly long phone calls when we were going to see each other just a few hours later).
Last night, we had something in the middle, and she mentioned something that set my mind working. At a baseball game, the men sitting next to her mentioned that she seemed like a low maintenance kind of girl, which, of course, made me wonder if I'm a high maintenance kind of girl. It forced me to attempt to define what that means, and I'm not entirely sure.
The example the boys used was the jacket that she wore in lieu of something fussier, and I don't really follow. Does the fact that I don't even own a jacket (but do own a trench, a purple military-style wool coat, and a houndstooth wool coat) mean that I'm high maintenance? Somehow, I think that's too general. It's been suggested that my propensity for skirts might make me high maintenance, but I can do anything in a skirt that I can do in jeans - unless you ask me to stand on my head, but I can't do that at all.
Cosmetically, I am most certainly high maintenance. I don't go out without makeup on, my preferred hairstyle takes at least twenty minutes (though I'm not always willing to work that hard), I'm a fan of the half-hour shower, my skincare routine is very involved, and last night I spent an entire episode of
The Rachel Zoe Project* painting my toe- and fingernails. I sometimes wear extremely precise liquid eyeliner, I do a twice-weekly clay mask, I would have my hair cut and colored every six weeks if I could manage to keep up with it, and I have eight different pots of eyeshadow in my bathroom (at $18 a pop, that's pretty bad).
I alphabetize my DVDs and books and I tend to hate loaning them out. I wash my whites, delicates, and other clothing separately. My computer folders are arranged to exacting specifications. I can tell when things in my bathroom have been moved - and I can tell the different between things people have moved and things nudged by nosy cats. My makeup brushes have their own little bag separate from the actual makeup, and all of the bristles must be facing the same way.
Having said all of that, I'm not sure that describing me as high-maintenance is true. I need alone time far more than I need to spend time with other people. I am more than capable of feeding myself, cleaning up after myself, and entertaining myself. There is no one in my life that I feel the need to speak to every day. I live alone - and I love it. I can figure out how to open the most stubborn jar, kill spiders, find flashlights and candles when the electricity goes out with minimal anxiety, talk myself down from a nightmare, go to the movies alone, and choose outfits without asking anyone's opinion.
Maybe I am high maintenance. In pondering this, I've realized something a lot more interesting: I like who I am, whatever that means. And if there are people - and I do know some of those people - who love me for being this person, that's fantastic. I am constantly being reminded that I would much rather have fewer friends who love the girl I am than more friends who either don't know me or don't care. And those people, who think I am too high maintenance, aren't the sort of people that I need in my life.
*The fact that I'm watching The Rachel Zoe Project is probably a red flag, huh?Labels: everyday musings, personal growth
This Week I've Learned...
...that telling my father, "I have a fridge full of naked lemons," will garner an amusing reaction.
...that sometimes, if you give someone the benefit of the doubt, you will be pleasantly surprised.
...that animal stories will, without fail, make me cry.
...that my body knows it's supposed to be up before 6 am on Tuesdays.
...how rarely appearance matters when considering an animal, neither yours nor theirs.
...that the way to have your expectations met is to lower them - even when you know you shouldn't have to.
...that there truly is nowhere else in the world where I am as comfortable as in my Grandma's home.
...that wish fulfillment has its place in my growth as a person.
...that roasted garlic is one of the world's perfect foods.
...how glorious a day that starts next to a purring cat can be (and how much better they've been, for me, than waking up next to a man).
...that often when I question myself, I come back to the knowledge that I've been right all along.
Labels: lists, personal growth
Change for the Better
So, yes, for the last month or so, Nic has fallen off the face of the blogger planet. I would apologize, but I try not to say that I'm sorry unless I truly am - and I think the break was a good idea. I was starting to be an exceptionally negative person, and since I made a vow back in February to stop being negative on the blog, that meant simply not writing. It took a few more weeks to realize exactly why I was so unhappy, but I think I've gotten there, and now I'm taking steps to rectify the situation.
Three weeks from now, I will be moved back to Small Town. Part of my unhappiness was rooted in this feeling of stagnation. I took a year off after I graduated to figure out exactly what it was that I wanted; it was important to me to make sure that I was going to miss teaching if I wasn't there and to make sure that the place, geographically, that I was would make me happy long-term. I spent the last six months resting on my laurels far too much, and the second I realized that I couldn't do this for another year, I realized that it was too late to feasibly do anything about it. I decided that this school year, I would focus on substituting instead of working at Giant Bookstore. Then the problems with that started to make themselves apparent.
First, I cannot live with the Roommate and attempt to be awake at six every day; our schedules would be too much at odds, and since staying up late is my body's natural rhythm, fighting that natural rhythm while also trying to live with someone else was unrealistic. So, I decided that I needed to live alone again. I cannot afford to live in an apartment by myself on what I make at Giant Bookstore, and to substitute - which is, by nature, unreliable - I would have to reduce those hours. Meaning that I couldn't live alone here in College Town. I felt stuck, so I called my mom. In tears. She reminded me of a very simple option.
Move back to Small Town.
Since my grandmother died two years ago, her house has been sitting empty and untouched. I can live there rent-free and pay only for gas and electric - which will be far more economical in the little house with just me and the felines. There are several nearby districts where I can apply to substitute, including the one that I graduated from and in which I have several former teachers who would write lovely recommendations for me. I'll have free evenings and weekends to maintain a social life . With consistent work, I'll be able to save money. It was a simple, perfect solution that I can carry through in a few short weeks.
And so, I am happy and hopeful again.
The handful of drawbacks that I came up with were nearly all trivial and things that I can work around. The list of benefits was so large that I'm still coming up with new ones, both small and large. Proximity to my parents, more space for Puck and Marilyn to be undisturbed, more free time, less stress, more future career opportunities and time to hone my management skills, more time and space to cook, fewer fast food options that will lead to me being healthier, proximity to cheeseburgers at my parents' restaurant, time to devote to writing (to get some of these ideas out of my head), as much noise or quiet as I want, setting the schedule in my own home, not having to share (remember, I am an only child), cooking on a gas stove, and having satellite television again!
Put simply, I am a very happy girl right now. I keep reminding myself to live in the moment instead of just anticipating what's to come, but that anticipation is so wonderful that it's difficult. I moved some things this weekend, and the strongest thing that I felt when I went into the house was a sense of peace. There is a teensy bit of me that mourns her every time I walk in the door; knowing that my own scent will take over hers and that necessary changes will be made to the space for maintenance and to suit my needs hurts a little. But the larger part knows that if I didn't take this opportunity for those reasons, she would be so dissapointed in me. I cannot imagine ever loving anyone else as much as I loved her, which is a thought that both hurts and is incredible.
Any time that something begins to drive me crazy - an angry customer, disappearing tea, or guilt-tripping - I remind myself that it's just for three more weeks. In three weeks I'll be little more than a glorified baby sitter for mouthy children, a diversifying cook, a dedicated writer, and a spinster cat lady in Small Town.
It sounds gloriously sweet.
Labels: personal growth, updates
Proust Questionnaire
Every month, the last page of Vanity Fair is the Proust Questionnaire as completed by someone of note. I usually can't think of my own answers to the questions - they are deeper than they seem - but when I received my last issue, it was suddenly incredibly easy. I thought I would share my answers with you.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?At the moment, drinking a perfect cup of coffee in my nightgown.
What is your greatest fear?Never again experiencing love.
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?Impatience, which leads to short-temperedness.
What trait do you most deplore in others?Willful ignorance.
Which living person do you most admire?My mother for being apologetically herself.
What is your current state of mind?Slightly introspective mixed with "mmm, coffee."
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?Chastity.
On what occasion do you lie?On occasions when I prefer not to be honest, nearly always about myself.
What do you dislike most about your appearance?My skin.
What is the quality you most like in a man?Honesty.
What is the quality you most admire in a woman?Honesty.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?Probably the verbal tick, "you know." Also, "dirty."
What or who is the greatest love of your life?My late great-grandmother.
Which talent would you most like to have?To write beautifully.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?I would be more patient.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?Getting from nineteen to twenty-one.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?A very pampered cat or a lovingly abused book.
What is your most treasured possession?My memories.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?Being forced to live with "what if."
What is your favorite occupation?Reading.
What is your most marked characteristic?My height, physically. Probably my candor.
Who are your favorite writers?I could list for days; different authors, different styles, different moods.
Who is your favorite hero of fiction?Albus Dumbledore.
What historical figure do you most identify with?Someone like Greta Garbo who craved attention, then hid from it.
Who are your heroes in real life?My great-grandmother and my parents.
What is it that you most dislike?Being ignored, liars, and spinelessness.
What is your greatest regret?Not telling someone how important they were.
How would you like to die?In my sleep.
What is your motto?If you don't want the truth, don't ask my opinion.
There we have it, kittens. If you feel compelled, I urge you to complete the questionnaire for yourself, then let me know so I can read it!
Labels: everyday amusements, personal growth
Five Years Later
This weekend, I went to my five-year high school reunion. There wasn't nearly enough alcohol to warrant any excellent stories, but I did have a few observations.
First, apparently five years does change some people. I admit, the nasty, schadenfreude-seeking part of me was thrilled to see that several people have visibly gained weight, particularly the my image obsessed, pseudo-vegetarian ("I don't eat pepperoni, just chicken.") once-upon-a-time Meals on Wheels partner. I've seen a lot of my former classmates in the last few years - I spent my first three years of college going home every few weekends to work at my parents' restaurant - but others I probably haven't seen since the night we graduated. The first thing I heard when I walked through the door was, "Wow, I barely recognized you," from a guy I've known since...well, probably forever. I found this strange. While I'm aware that we rarely notice changes in ourselves because they are gradual and we look in the mirror every day, I feel like most of the changes in me are superficial. I've lost braces and gained bangs. I am three pounds heavier at this moment than I was when I started college. Whatever, I was also complimented, so if there are changes, at least they're for the better.
Seeing my classmates run around with their significant others was strange. Living in a small town always feels a bit incestuous, and the rules about never dating your best friend's ex tend to count for a lot less; it was bizarre to walk into a room where a third of the people, who I didn't know at all, were dating people that I've known for as long as I can remember.
Stranger than husbands and girlfriends and bed buddies were the children. A few babies, several toddlers, and a handful of four- and five-year-olds. Some of the most selfish girls I've ever known are now responsible for raising small people, and that's terrifying. And I realized, watching a bunch of little kids whose parents I've seen in seven different states of disarray running around, just how happy I am that I'm not there.
I always knew that college was next. I always knew that I was destined to do more than stay in Small Town my whole life; I needed to get out and learn more and see...something. Of course, when I graduated, I was completely infatuated with Iris and hated the idea of leaving him. I had it in my head that after four years, everything would work itself out. He and I would finally move beyond our chronic bad timing and get together. I was going to get my teaching certificate, move back home to be with Iris, and be known for my triumphant return. We would get married and have adorable little kids, hopefully with his eyes. I would teach at the same high school that I attended, coach cheerleading, and be the reincarnation of the excellent English teacher that I was blessed with. Between my tiny family and his huge one, we would have an amazing support system and I would never feel like I was missing anything.
But when Iris died, my future became extremely foggy. I suddenly knew that going back to Small Town wasn't what I wanted, not just because he wasn't there, but because his memory was. Now, it feels much too small for both of us. I'm so incredibly glad that, at twenty-three, I'm single and free to do whatever I please, however selfish it may be. I'm not ready for the compromises that come with marriage or the sacrifices that come with having children. I'm absolutely content to worry about myself and my cats and know that whatever I decide to do will be perfect.
Labels: personal growth, Small Town, updates
Being Self-Centered
A month or so ago, I decided that I wasn't satisfied with being alone. I wanted someone to share my time and, at a very basic level, to care. I know that people care about me; I know that there are a handful of people who care deeply about me. Despite that, the people who care cannot always be right there when you want them (though I have been remarkably blessed with people who will be right there when I need them). And, for those moments, I decided that I wanted someone else around. Also, I'll be honest, for the very basic fact that I often crave physical contact with another that cannot be satisfied by the likes of the lovely Bradshaw or Spark - much as I adore them.
I mentioned this desire to find someone casually to the Roommate, who followed right along by setting me up with the roommate of one of her coworkers. I didn't feel a spark at the initial meeting, but I didn't want to read too much into it. We went on a date - a breakfast date that was a lot of fun - and it still wasn't there. Despite the fact that he is extremely nice, very intelligent, and attractive (one of my coworkers who saw us at breakfast has berated me for not dating "the hot guy"), it simply wasn't there. I told him so, and have since moved on without looking back. I don't second-guess my decision, which is how I know that I made the right one. As I'm sure you've noticed, I second-guess everything that may have emotional repercussions (although I never, ever second-guess my answers on tests).
After this experience, I realized that part of my reluctance was in changing my routines. Not even my routines, exactly, but the fact that I am not answerable to anyone. Perhaps there was no one who cared what I spent my Sunday doing, but it also meant that there was no one to judge me for going to the library and watching eight episodes of
Gossip Girl on my computer, and no one questioning whether my solitude was a sign of my displeasure with them or with my own life. And it wasn't.
I am very content to be alone right now. I am filling my days with books - trips to the library and to bookstores and sitting in coffee shops reading the books that I acquire. I have Netflix movies to watch and an endless supply of television shows that I can find online. I have blogging projects and writing projects and I'm challenging myself to improve my photography skills. I get to take up the entire bed if I like, and if I do feel the need to snuggle with someone, I have two cats who are usually happy to oblige. I can stay up until 5 am watching
Mulan or reading an article on the scandal at an all girls' school in
Vanity Fair. I can spend all day getting ready just to go to the store or I can decide that I'm ready to run errands in fifteen minutes. This aloneness gives me a freedom that I'm not ready to trade away; no one has given me a good enough reason to let go of myself in that way.
I haven't been terribly happy for the last several weeks, and that is unacceptable. I did very well earlier this year and I want very much to get back to that place. So that, now, is my goal: My own complete and utter happiness. And, as I am still learning, I am the happiest when my time is as full or as open as I want it; when the decision to stay at home cleaning the kitchen and dancing around to "Stripper" by the Soho Dolls isn't something that I'm made to feel guilty about. The freedom to choose all of these things isn't something that I can count on having forever, so I intend to make the most of it now.
I am, from this moment, rededicating myself to my own happiness. I am going to surround myself with things that are beautiful to read and to hear and to look at and to taste. I am going to surround myself with people who make me laugh and feel loved, and who I love in return. I am going to take control of situations that are making me uneasy - speaking up may not affect change, but not speaking up certainly won't. I am going to write down the things that make me happy and I am going to do my damndest to let go of things that don't. And when I begin to feel unhappy, I will remind myself that no one can make me feel any way without my consent - even as I gag at myself for thinking such a sappy cliché.
And everything will be beautiful.
Labels: personal growth
"You Look Great Naked"
It's one thing to be comfortable with your body. It's another thing to hear someone compliment your body, particularly when they know that they can't get you into bed. It's quite different when you then hear that the person who complimented you spoke about you to a third party.
I believe this is what's known as validation.
It's also one of the most superficially fabulous feelings I've ever experienced.
Labels: everyday amusements, personal growth
Saying It Aloud
I am a writer.
This was an exercise that I did in a class a few years back, and the entire point was to say aloud to someone - and believe - that I was a writer. Not someone who knew a lot about writing, not someone who wrote sometimes, not someone who taught writing, but a writer. I said it to Bradshaw, who looked at me and simply said, "I know."
I've been writing as long as I can remember. When I was very young, I remember a story about a bunny, though I'm not sure what the bunny did. Most of what I've written has been inconsequential, first-person drivel that basically amounted to wish fulfillment. I took a short story class that helped me to grow as a writer through revision and showing my work to other people. I've journaled inconsistently for years, and I clearly have a blog.
Sometimes, I fear that the old cliché of "those who can't, teach" will be true of me. My mother has been saying for years that if I don't write a book she will be surprised and that I will have wasted a ridiculous amount of paper; others, getting to know me, have agreed. Maybe it's that expectation that keeps me from writing, which is ridiculous since, if nothing else, I always live up to others' expectations for me.
It's been months since I've written anything substantial, but finding the 1000 Words blog linked in TILT inspired me. It reminded me of a book of writing prompts that I own and the fact that, while I loved the book so much that I recommended it to a friend who also loved it, I've never actually carried through with an entire prompt.
Part of me is inspired to write. I don't have a good excuse not to; I have only good excuses to take the time to do it. I think, perhaps, that is the best thing.
Labels: my insanity, personal growth
Separating Myself
I learned something today. I find it very difficult to separate myself emotionally from a situation when I cannot separate myself from it physically. Work was making me crazy, and I was upset until I got out of the store for lunch. I need to figure out how to separate my emotions from my physical presence.
Maybe this is why it's a good idea to avoid people who are bad for me rather than simply trying to control myself. Or, when I am arguing with myself intellectually about someone that I am physically attracted to, perhaps I should put myself near them.
That's the dirty version of what I learned in action though. Thoughts?
Labels: everyday musings, personal growth
Knees and Toes
As an exercise in confidence, I am going to list every physical attribute about myself that I love. I spend an awful lot of time being critical of myself and not focusing on what I like, which is silly when you stop to think about it.
- the red in my hair - both natural and chemically-enhanced
- my long eyelashes
- the changing colors of my eyes - ranging from gray-blue to green-blue to an almost-true blue
- my earlobes
- the tattoo behind my ear
- my cheekbones
- the angles of my clavicles
- my forearms, particularly my wrists
- my fingers
- the narrow point on my waist
- the curve from the small of my back down to my derriere
- my ankles
- the tops of my feet
A longer list than expected, but worth writing. I challenge you to list at least five things about your own body that you love.
Labels: lists, personal growth
Learning to Live
I've never been a lonely person. As an only child, I learned early how to entertain myself. I read, watch movies, write, browse the internet, cook or bake, go for drives. I am far more likely to become restless when I spend time alone than I am to become lonely. And while there are some moments when I do feel lonely - because I am human, after all - they are few and far between. Perhaps it is judgmental of me, but I've always felt that people who feel the urge to constantly be surrounded by people are somehow lacking, as if they don't know how to enjoy their own company enough to be happy alone.
I have been known to use the word damaged to describe myself, and I think that, for a time, that was an accurate expression of the way that I felt. I felt like something was fundamentally wrong after Iris died, and I wasn't sure how to fix it. I can now see that it wasn't something that I needed to fix, but something that I needed to learn how to live with. I think
I have, and that I can now call myself a happy person. I'm content with who I am and happy with my life.
That I am not lonely, however, does not mean that I always enjoy being alone or that I always want to be alone. In fact, I've been thinking lately that it might be nice to have some company, some attention, some affection. Someone to be my guinea pig when I try a new recipe or to run to the store when I forget the eggs for the cupcakes. Someone to share the pizza and beer. Someone to watch movies in bed on Sunday morning. Someone to give me a hug when I need it and a kiss when I want it.
I am realizing that I am ready to move on, to allow someone to get to know me. I'm lowering the shield, just a tiny bit for now, and I'm hoping that it's enough and that I don't end up hurting because of it. I want to be open to taking chances, this time with my mind, or maybe my heart, instead of just my body. I want to encourage someone who finds me charming. I want a chance to get used to sharing my bed with someone besides Bradshaw. I want to feel my heart flutter at the touch of someone's hand on my arm again.
I suppose some might call be superstitious. I use reverse psychology on the Universe, I make wishes at 11:11, and if I really feel something, I often keep it to myself until I simply can't stand it. But right now, I think it will be helpful to say it out loud, so to speak, to let it be known to at least someone that I am willing to open myself to the possibility. I am ready.
Labels: personal growth
Losing Control
When is it time to give up? When is it time to realize that there isn't anything else that you can do in a situation and walk away? How do you know that you have done all that you can and see that it is no longer in your hands? At what point does putting in the effort become not just superfluous but damaging?
I suppose, in most situations, the devil is truly in the details, tied up with what is being done and how it is being attempted. For example, there are only so many ways that you can present yourself and your interest to a potential employer before you become the overeager applicant and get passed over.
But when a girl, a brash, unaffected girl who isn't always so forthcoming with what she wants, comes out and says that she doesn't need anything from you but desires your friendship, what reason is there not to respond? And what is that girl to do? At what point does the "what if" leave her control and become something that she can no longer affect? At what point does doing something about it stop being proactive and start being overzealous and, perhaps, bordering on insane?
And even when she recognizes it is out of her control - an uncomfortable place to be, certainly - how does she reconcile herself with this new "what if"? How does she make herself realize that there is nothing more that she can do and that, sometimes, uncertainty is a part of life that you cannot take responsibility for?
Labels: personal growth, rambling
Curve
Sunday night, I was called into work a music shift at Giant Bookstore. Our store recently had security cameras installed, along with monitors in the managers' office and one back in the music department. For whatever reason, the view on the music monitor is of the person standing behind the register - rather than on a place in the department that someone standing at the register would have trouble seeing, because that would be far too logical - and I found myself watching...myself.
Egocentric, yes, but six hours spent in the slowest part of the store with nothing interesting to look at but myself meant that I spent a good bit of time doing just that; the way that my skirt fell across my hips, my shiny new hair color, the shape of my calves in kitten heels. And even as I attempted to dissect parts of myself, I kept coming back to the same thought: I'm pretty happy with that girl. I am fairly thin, and though I'm not perfect, I like my shape from most angles. My legs are long in proportion to the rest of my body, my waist is narrow, the curve of my back is pronounced in a way that I tend to envy in starlets (who knew my back did that?), and my behind is kind of cute. I even like the pale tone of my skin and the slight flush I could see on my cheeks.
And this, I found myself thinking, is a proper perspective. To be able to overlook the things I don't love as much in favor of the things that are lovely about me. To think that, push to shove, I am attractive. Eventually, I got tired of looking at myself. Then I read the new issue of
In Style.
Straight back to reality.
Labels: personal growth, work
Take the Things You Like; Love the Things You Took
We're aware, by now, that trips back to Small Town tend to make me nostalgic. Holidays usually offer a reprieve from this, simply because I am busy and have other things on my mind. It's the trips home where there are no grand plans (beyond doing as little as possible and eating cheeseburgers) when I really begin to think, to remember, to wallow.
It was almost six months ago when I last had one of those trips home, back in September. That monotony was broken up by a bit of back and forth to Kansas City, but there were plenty of moments to wander through Grandma's house and miss her. There was time to drive along all of those old back roads and to simply remember what was and to think about what might have been. It's a melancholy sort of thing that I was, apparently, content to splash around in.
It always made going home bittersweet. But this time...it wasn't so difficult. I remember the exact way that it felt the day that Iris died. The simultaneous sharpness in my heart with the unimaginable space that was leftover; it was a combination of what was lost and losing what might have been, all smushed together with the thought that I may never have done anything. I may never have told him how I felt, because until I lost him, it was still muddled. His death brought it into incredibly sharp focus, the kind of focus I may - probably - never would have had without it.
I've been living with the empty space for three years. The sharpness only comes at certain moments, but it's still there. In the six months since that last trip home, I've managed to fill some of that space. Not with someone or something else. Wait, there is someone else. There's me. I'm filling the hole in myself with myself, and it feels wonderful. I don't find myself falling into that sadness nearly as often - though it of course still there - and the sharpness is less frequent and somewhat less intense.
I feel better. I'm happier, and I don't feel like I'm so far from figuring out who I am and what I want. In fact, I think I actually know.
Labels: personal growth, Small Town
