Sunday, September 21, 2008
People who know me well have noticed by now that my memory is often driven by distinct smells, that the smell of a blanket or a certain food can take me back instantly to a particular moment. Suddenly it smells like fall again, and the smell of fall reminds me of the beginning of each year of college, of the beauty of central New York, of marching on football fields and walking with friends at night. They are nice memories, but it's strange how everything I do these days is shadowed by this or that bit of past.
As I was unpacking my books in my new apartment I rediscovered Mary and O'Neil by Justin Cronin, a remnant of my freshman seminar in college. I was struck by the fact that I remember liking it, but I can't remember what happened at all. I imagine it's because I read it a long time ago, while I was reading lots and lots of other books, while I was highly sleep deprived that my retention is so bad. But anyway I thought I'd start reading it again.
But only a few pages in the book became a nesting doll of memories -- the story begins in central New York, in the fall -- I last read this book in central New York, in the fall -- and here I sit in my living room in the crisp air and slanty light of a New England fall -- it all made my heart twist up in the strangest way. Images from my life floated through my mind and I couldn't focus on the story. I put the book down.
Fall has always been my favorite season, and I won't spend it dwelling in the past. Right now I am pretty sure I have everything -- a big if slightly chilly apartment all my own, the smell of seitan, shallots, and garlic I've just prepared for the slow-cooker, a wide variety of cozy chairs to read in. Tonight I and some friends are going to RiverSing on the Charles, an event which seemingly combines my love of water, autumn, and singing, and which I've been meaning to go to ever since I moved to the city three years ago.
In the past, I had everything, and I remember that sometimes. In the present, I still have everything -- it's just a different everything. There is nothing to regret.
As I was unpacking my books in my new apartment I rediscovered Mary and O'Neil by Justin Cronin, a remnant of my freshman seminar in college. I was struck by the fact that I remember liking it, but I can't remember what happened at all. I imagine it's because I read it a long time ago, while I was reading lots and lots of other books, while I was highly sleep deprived that my retention is so bad. But anyway I thought I'd start reading it again.
But only a few pages in the book became a nesting doll of memories -- the story begins in central New York, in the fall -- I last read this book in central New York, in the fall -- and here I sit in my living room in the crisp air and slanty light of a New England fall -- it all made my heart twist up in the strangest way. Images from my life floated through my mind and I couldn't focus on the story. I put the book down.
Fall has always been my favorite season, and I won't spend it dwelling in the past. Right now I am pretty sure I have everything -- a big if slightly chilly apartment all my own, the smell of seitan, shallots, and garlic I've just prepared for the slow-cooker, a wide variety of cozy chairs to read in. Tonight I and some friends are going to RiverSing on the Charles, an event which seemingly combines my love of water, autumn, and singing, and which I've been meaning to go to ever since I moved to the city three years ago.
In the past, I had everything, and I remember that sometimes. In the present, I still have everything -- it's just a different everything. There is nothing to regret.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
It's not that I haven't had anything to say lately, it's just that whenever I'm thinking about what I'd like to say, I'm nowhere near a computer. And then eventually I feel like I cannot possibly catch up with everything going on in my life and head. I have a mental backlog.
Right now half my life is in boxes, and the other half needs to be. I'll be back soon, I hope.
Right now half my life is in boxes, and the other half needs to be. I'll be back soon, I hope.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
I am twenty-five today. It's a nice symbolic time to be going through several transitions.
I have a new job. I have been there for two weeks and I love it. The people are really awesome. I am excelling at the work, and people are already thrilled with how productive I've been. It is a permanent position, so I can stay as long as I like (this was not the case with my last job.) I am making more money. It's in the same department I was in before, just a different division, so I am still working under the same department head, who is really enthusiastic about helping me with my career. Individuals who turned me into an anxious rabbitlike creature are no longer an integral part of my life. At the same time, my favorite former co-workers are still near enough that we can go get a slice of pizza together over lunch break.
The new job has enabled my next transition, which is: if everything goes the way it looks like it's going to go, I will be moving at the end of the summer. Into my own apartment. Meaning, without roommates. It is a lucky windfall of a place, better than what I should be able to afford, bequeathed to me by a friend who is leaving town at the end of the summer. I find myself dreamily imagining things like: storing spare toiletries in a closet instead of a box. Always having enough space for my food in the fridge. Having guests over without worrying about other people commandeering the kitchen or the television. Things that most people probably take for granted, and which I will probably take for granted before long, too. I am already sort of nesting in my head.
There will be downsides: No laundry in the building. I will probably forgo cable and maybe even internet (the horror!) I will keep the place on the chilly side during the winter so as to keep the heat vaguely affordable. The subway and groceries will be farther away than they are now. But it will be worth it. I am going to try not to whine too much about it, because this is my choice. I take responsibility. This is my life and it's gonna be good. Don't you know?
Life these days has involved a lot of this taking-responsibility business. For years I've gotten more and more fed up with people who lament their situations when there were simple steps they could have taken to avoid them. Mind you, we all need to vent sometimes about whatever frustrations there are in our lives, regardless of whether we anticipated them or would have avoided them, given the opportunity. But the woe-is-me attitude about solvable or avoidable problems is something I try not to indulge in most of the time.
For instance: poetry workshop runs incredibly late on Monday nights. If I go, I will be exhausted the next day. But I'd rather go and be exhausted than not go and be well-rested. Then, if I have coffee the next day I'll be twitchy. If I don't I'll start to fall asleep at my desk at work. I'll take the coffee. If I run around the whole of Boston and the North Shore on public transportation to see my friends, I'll have hardly any quiet time at home. But I'd rather keep in touch with people. My choices these days exhaust me, but keep me going, too. My life has become the definition of burning the candle at both ends.
The advantage of being a pessimist: the things about my life and my choices that surprise me are usually the startlingly wonderful things. Somehow I never see those coming.
Yesterday, as a birthday outing, my entire family and several friends went to the Braintree 4th of July celebration, which, mysteriously, does not occur on the 4th of July. Their live entertainment was provided by my favorite folk band, the Woods Tea Company, so as per tradition we baked them pies and sang and danced and looked silly in public. Or at least, some of us did that, and others watched the rest of us look silly in public.
Conveniently, there seems to be a consensus that it is perfectly reasonable to dance around all silly-like if you're being forced to by a two-year-old.
It is always kind of wonderful and astonishing to get a bunch of people together from different parts of my life, and as usual I felt very happy, and very loved.
I have a new job. I have been there for two weeks and I love it. The people are really awesome. I am excelling at the work, and people are already thrilled with how productive I've been. It is a permanent position, so I can stay as long as I like (this was not the case with my last job.) I am making more money. It's in the same department I was in before, just a different division, so I am still working under the same department head, who is really enthusiastic about helping me with my career. Individuals who turned me into an anxious rabbitlike creature are no longer an integral part of my life. At the same time, my favorite former co-workers are still near enough that we can go get a slice of pizza together over lunch break.
The new job has enabled my next transition, which is: if everything goes the way it looks like it's going to go, I will be moving at the end of the summer. Into my own apartment. Meaning, without roommates. It is a lucky windfall of a place, better than what I should be able to afford, bequeathed to me by a friend who is leaving town at the end of the summer. I find myself dreamily imagining things like: storing spare toiletries in a closet instead of a box. Always having enough space for my food in the fridge. Having guests over without worrying about other people commandeering the kitchen or the television. Things that most people probably take for granted, and which I will probably take for granted before long, too. I am already sort of nesting in my head.
There will be downsides: No laundry in the building. I will probably forgo cable and maybe even internet (the horror!) I will keep the place on the chilly side during the winter so as to keep the heat vaguely affordable. The subway and groceries will be farther away than they are now. But it will be worth it. I am going to try not to whine too much about it, because this is my choice. I take responsibility. This is my life and it's gonna be good. Don't you know?
***
Life these days has involved a lot of this taking-responsibility business. For years I've gotten more and more fed up with people who lament their situations when there were simple steps they could have taken to avoid them. Mind you, we all need to vent sometimes about whatever frustrations there are in our lives, regardless of whether we anticipated them or would have avoided them, given the opportunity. But the woe-is-me attitude about solvable or avoidable problems is something I try not to indulge in most of the time.
For instance: poetry workshop runs incredibly late on Monday nights. If I go, I will be exhausted the next day. But I'd rather go and be exhausted than not go and be well-rested. Then, if I have coffee the next day I'll be twitchy. If I don't I'll start to fall asleep at my desk at work. I'll take the coffee. If I run around the whole of Boston and the North Shore on public transportation to see my friends, I'll have hardly any quiet time at home. But I'd rather keep in touch with people. My choices these days exhaust me, but keep me going, too. My life has become the definition of burning the candle at both ends.
The advantage of being a pessimist: the things about my life and my choices that surprise me are usually the startlingly wonderful things. Somehow I never see those coming.
***
Yesterday, as a birthday outing, my entire family and several friends went to the Braintree 4th of July celebration, which, mysteriously, does not occur on the 4th of July. Their live entertainment was provided by my favorite folk band, the Woods Tea Company, so as per tradition we baked them pies and sang and danced and looked silly in public. Or at least, some of us did that, and others watched the rest of us look silly in public.
Conveniently, there seems to be a consensus that it is perfectly reasonable to dance around all silly-like if you're being forced to by a two-year-old.
It is always kind of wonderful and astonishing to get a bunch of people together from different parts of my life, and as usual I felt very happy, and very loved.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
I don't have a lot to say these days, but I have to tell you: sometimes I feel kind of unstoppable.
More details later, maybe.
More details later, maybe.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Everything in my life seems to be up in the air at the moment. It's a bit like standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump, without knowing whether you can fly. Right now a constant low-level anxiety permeates my life, and I keep telling myself that soon, if everything falls into place, I could be happy. But of course, everything might not fall into place, and I may or may not be terribly happy with the result.
It has crossed my mind that maybe this is when the happiness happens: right now, when I don't know how anything will turn out, but I can peer into this almost-world and hope and believe. The year since I got out of school has really been a transitional time, and I have been trying to figure out what I want, and what it means to have a good life. Sometimes the dream-future in my head surprises even me.
It has crossed my mind that maybe this is when the happiness happens: right now, when I don't know how anything will turn out, but I can peer into this almost-world and hope and believe. The year since I got out of school has really been a transitional time, and I have been trying to figure out what I want, and what it means to have a good life. Sometimes the dream-future in my head surprises even me.