I bought my dress second-hand, paid for it in cash. $32.61. I knew as soon as I tried it on that it was the dress I would get married in. A winter wedding dress.
I once was lost, but now am found
So some people will say that 4 months is too soon. But look what a difference it makes. Look how far we’ve come. The sky has opened up, and with it our hearts and minds. The whole world has changed, for us, and because of us, and because of everything we’ve been through and everything we’ve promised to go through, together.
Four months ago I was an anxious girl in a strange place, shivering and conflicted.
Now I am somebody who makes Big Decisions and then sticks to them, who greets uncertainty with a smile and a straight back.
Somebody who is scared, yes, but nevertheless I ask “How can we have more fun?”
And if the answer is huge, and daunting, like a mountain rising up through the cold winter air, all sharp white peaks and electric blue sky…then I say “Okay?”
And then we laugh. We talk. We share the sunshine, and we hold hands and jump.
There is a certain quality of afternoon light this time of year. A warm, mellow, golden autumnal glow.
There is a way the light filters down through the trees, like all the energy and activity of a whole year stored in branches and roots and bark, suddenly burst forth in sunshine yellow brightness.
There is an excitement to this season of slow death. A vibrancy of newness and transformation.
* * *
Or hadn’t you noticed? Had you been too anxious, caught between a heavy past and an ambiguous future, limbs shaking and guts stripped bare? Had you been so nervously casting your wide net, trying to catch that glimmering, shimmering thing off in the distance, that you failed to see the gentle ripples you’d been making had turned to violent waves, arms thrashing, and you about to go under?
Me too, Friends. Me too.
Sometimes I heal myself through art, Friends. Well…art and a steady stream of To-Do lists. That is life. For me, at least.
This smattering of memorabilia counts as both–something I’ve been wanting to tackle for a long time and something that I thought would bring a better sense of self to my living space and my life.
I call it my “Anti-Anxiety Mural,” and–much like its predecessor–it works like a charm. Like some form of spiritual nesting.
In other news: my very favorite person went out of town, and I’ve spent the weekend at home, making crafts and drinking, or baking and catching up with old friends, or drinking cocoa and watching movies in bed.
Or, you know, reading myself bedtime stories. Because I can. Because I want to. Because this is what being good to myself and living the life I want to looks like right now.
Just don’t ask me what that may look like in the future. I have no idea, and the mural’s only good for so much.
After The Big Cut I went straight to a party in Sugar House, where some of my most favorite people were dressed up and drinking. I was so excited to surprise them and show them my new hair that I literally could not contain my grin on the bike ride over.
And then they were so excited to see me and there were hugs and kisses and giggles and just basically the best of everything.
Also glowy bracelets:
Anyways, what I mean to say is that I’m always excited to see my friends, even when I am so busy and crazy-anxious and unbalanced that I fall off the friendship wagon and go spinning out into space. That goes for you too, e-Friends. Reads of this blog. I am always delighted to know that you are reading, but I can’t always be a-posting daily.
I guess what I really mean to say is: I’m working on it. Finding balance. And you are important to me.
I sometimes feel insecure, fragmented, anxious, though I want to feel confident, composed and strong. I sometimes want to be gutsy, to chop off my hair, but somebody else beats me to it.
I sometimes develop an unhealthy obsession with a young woman who I think is better than me in most ways.
(Later, we become unlikely friends, and I see that she is just as awesome as I thought, and better. I remember that I am pretty awesome, too.)
by Julian Barnes
This was far and away the most English book I’ve ever read in my life. Just…I mean, there’s just no way this book was written by anyone other than a Brit. An American could not write in this way.
It reminded me of Eddie Izzard’s description of American versus English movies–how there’s not even enough action in an English movie to eat popcorn. This was like the book version of that, for me.
When I first moved to Spain my friend Laura was having boy troubles, caught between two guys that she was seeing at the same time without either of them knowing about the other. It wasn’t something she’d planned on, but like many things in life, the situation just sort of escalated.