All my life, I've struggled against my inborn tendency to focus on the negative aspects of my life. My parents have called me a pessimist, and I've clung to the ideology that I'm a realist, whatever that is.
Even fighting against the huge stress headache that I've got going on right now, I can say quite simply that my life is wonderful. Life is hard, and I'm in a constant struggle to find out what I'm meant to do, but deep down I'm so so happy. I'm happy to sit on my couch on a Saturday morning and listen to the wind rage outside of my little apartment. I'm happy to get ready for the day, not knowing which ways the world will turn to surprise and confuse me. I'm happy to give room in my mind to the infinite possibilities of my life.
Yesterday, I planned a trip to New York. Later, I found out that said trip might not happen, and I was forced to readjust my thinking for a new set of plans. So, I think of Salt Lake - tiny town USA - and all the wonderful things that will happen there if I'm unable to make it to the Big Apple. I cherish unmade memories even more than ones that I've experienced, and tears well in my eyes when I think of all the beautiful things that will happen in my life.
Whether it's here or there, alone or with 8 million other people, I'll create a fantastic life where everything I've dreamed will happen.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I'm rather adept at living in the moment. It took me years to perfect, but I can honestly say that a ticking clock and a night without phone calls is just fine by me. (Well, almost fine. I'd still rather be with others than by myself.) I can pull out a book, watch a movie, or blog the night away, without any feelings of failure for a socially unproductive night. Then, there are times when all I can do is plan my life away. My head gets lost in some imaginary world, one where it's absolutely necessary to meet incredible people, eat fantastic meals, and be dressed in the greatest couture this world has ever seen.
I've come to realize that my life is rather boring. I am hardly without something fun to do, but that doesn't mean that the average passerby would take any interest in what I'm doing with my life. Why the blog, then? Who am I to post my random observations for whoever wants to read them? At the moment, I've regressed back into that hyper-planning stage that comes about when I have nowhere and no one to better fill my time.
Yep. That's my night tonight. I've planned out all the combinations of outfits that I might wear for my four-day jaunt in the Big Apple next week. I've thought about all the extraordinary meals I'll share whilst I wine and dine my way up and down the length of Manhattan island. Most of all, I imagine that somewhere in the middle of a gigantic crowd, I'll spot some wonderful person who will feel the same metropolitan rhythms that I feel. We'll dance the night away, and I'll turn my four-day escapade into a lifelong adventure, fueled by a magic which is only felt in the city that encompasses all of my dreams.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
As some sort of wicked November tradition, my voice decides to get all crack-y and manly. When I tried to say good morning to my roommate today, nothing came out. I've had laryngitis a couple of times in my life, and both times have been within the past few years. Amidst the frustrating fact of not being able to speak, I actually love losing my voice. I love the strain and the pubescent squeaks that emit from my tired vocal chords. I love those first few times that a scream comes out as a whisper, and I love the way I'm forced to use other forms of communication to get my point across.
I don't know if this instance will turn out to be full-blown voicelessness, but I will accept it if it happens. Searching for new ways to express myself is one of my favorite hobbies, so it's only natural that I'd take this moment as an opportunity to grow. I'll make my actions speak louder than my words, just like they usually do.
Monday, November 8, 2010
There's this thing that happens to me when the weather changes. I have an intrinsic desire to make my home warm and cozy, and so I start beautifying, baking, and burning candles, all in hopes of creating the warmth that all picturesque homes should have. I don't have a fireplace, but my two smoke-scented candles help to invoke the aroma of a log-burning stove in the middle of my little apartment.
I just checked the weather forecast for the next week, and where high temperatures in the 40s could get me down, I've managed to imagine all the fancy sweaters and colorful scarves I'll wear during the lengthy Logan winter. During the summer, I dream of bicycle baskets and picnic lunches, riding down the beaches of northern California and absorbing all of the rays of sunshine that my skin can possibly hold. When the seasons shift, my vision changes, and I begin seeing the world in a way such that knee-length stockings and fancy boots are all that I really need. I've managed to accessorize the world of my fantasy so that I appear to be the girl I dream of being.
So let the winter months come. With them I'll take my cocoa and my bright green coats. I'll hang lights in my window and eat soup three nights a week. I won't let the chill affect my ability to create a wonderful life for myself.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I am constantly amazed by the richness of my ordinary life. I feel the flux of good and bad, yet I'm able to find a constant source of goodness that helps me smile as I'm falling and asleep and awaken each morning with a hope for the day ahead. The last mile post of my all-too eventful evening came with a knock on my door around 11:45, just as I was preparing to get into bed. Although he may not ever know his perfect timing, this best friend of mine stood there as I unloaded my burdens onto his ever-willing shoulders.
I'm a talker. All of you readers should know that my words are seldom few, and I'm quite often found rambling about any number of meaningless subjects. Fewer of you know, however, just how important it is for me to release these things. Whether to a journal or to my best friend, through intense late-night porch conversations or over facebook chat, I'm always grateful for someone who is willing to listen to me. Furthermore, I strive to be that person who is willing to hear the story that my friends need to tell.
We all have something inside of us that we're just aching to release. Most often (at least for me) these things cannot be expressed in words, but it's a comfort to know that someone will wait while I struggle to express my intense string of emotions.
I end almost all of my conversations like I will end this post.
Thank you so much for listening to me.