The ideal is not real.

This morning, whilst en route to an estate sale a hundred miles north, I heard an interview with Nicole Atkins on NPR. She talked about Marcel Proust, and how he had influenced one of her songs with the idea of "the ideal is not real". She talked about how we, as humans, try to idealize our romantic partners, but in the end, it's all chemical and we have no control over who we end up with; that felt empty to me.

Couples were everywhere at the estate sale: sixty-year old antique dealers beside me in line, a man who told me he had to find something for his wife so she'd forgive him for all the junk he bought, wives asking their husbands to bring the trucks around to haul their finds, a hot bearded man with his wife and son that I couldn't take my eyes off of. I wished I'd brought a person with me to hold stuff, haul junk around. save my place in line. I couldn't stop thinking about it as I was alone in that line of fifty people, pushing my box with my feet because it was so heavy.

I ask strangers to hold my place, to watch my stuff. There are dogs and kids, and workers moving around constantly. I love people-watching, but in that moment, I wanted to be share my awesome thrifting life with somebody. But I guess I haven't found that special smelly somebody yet ;)

Goodwill outlet!!!!

Painted fabric - Someday a quilted wall hanging

Last week I traveled to the coast with a friend. My friend had a conference to attend, and I had an ocean to look at from our hotel room. I've been so worn down that I had trouble figuring out what to do with myself with all kinds of free time, so I did a lot of puzzles in the newspaper, and walked on the beach. I'm finding lots of enjoyment lately in crosswords and sudokus. I'm a simple gal.

The first night, I wandered around a super cool vegan-friendly grocery store, looking for dinner, only to realize that our hotel room's sole cooking device was a microwave, so I got some tacos nearby instead. I'd never had vegan tacos before (with grilled veggies). They were just okay.

Vera Marai Nightgown

The next day, I woke up to a wonderfully bright sunny day with the ocean steadily crashing on the beach far down below us. There were a lot of gulls of various sizes near the hotel. I imagine they were flying around. Some of them made crazy weird noises around sundown. I lived with howling monkeys. If there were a contest between groups of animals for weird nighttime noises, the gulls definitely wouldn't win, but they'd have a decent showing.

Anyhow, after I did some newspaper puzzles (all whilst watching Law & Order), I decided that the thing that I would actually enjoy doing would be to go thrifting. So I got out the phone book and made a plan. Obviously there weren't descriptions, so I just had to go off names. I really wanted to dig, so I looked for really dirty places. I don't know what sounds especially dig-worthy in a thrift store moniker, but I suppose I knew it when I saw it.

Pflatzgraff Norway - Cruiseline pottery

The first store I went to was a fund-raising store for the Catholic school in town, staffed with who appeared to be mothers of students. It was trying to be boutiquey, but it didn't have the je ne sais quoi that I'm always looking for. I like people who just go for it. If they're a place for digging, they own it. If it's a place that's trying to be antiquey and appeal to a higher class of customer, they own it. Anything in between is unappealing to me. I'm picky that way. I know when someone is being authentic. I'm brilliant that way.

I don't know why I picked a Goodwill store to put on my list of three (the maximum number I was willing to travel to in a strange city before needing to return to home base and eat lunch). But after the first store, I wasn't feeling hopeful. All of the Goodwills in my city are whitewashed and boring. I go when I need a fix, perhaps like Diet Coke addicts with a generic brand. But I've heard, in online thrifting lore, that not all Goodwills are like this, that there may be different ones out there, so I was willing to look.

Old football trophy - Sadly unmarked :(

It was a strange "suite" address, so I wasn't sure what I would be looking for. I drove around a large shopping area looking for it, only to drive away after a single lap. Even though it didn't look like any retail stores were beyond that particular area, I trusted my trusty address/map discernment earlier in the morning, and turned towards the questionable industrial section.

After a quarter mile or so, there were a bunch of people milling about a particular parking lot. There were some construction workers, yes, but there also appeared to be some non-working folk. Suddenly, I saw it. The Goodwill Outlet sign. I may have screamed or cried out some version of "Hooray!"

For the hydroponic gardener in us all...

After parking, I was cautious. What does one do at a thrift outlet? Are there cultural norms? Should I have a box with me? Gloves? Hand sanitizer? What if there are no helpful signs? What will I do?!

Old Speed Ball Font Book from 1952

Well, as all carbon-based life forms have found (I think), I looked around to see what other people were doing, and I did likewise. It didn't feel like what I expected it to feel like. It was smaller than I had imagined. But as I began looking, and digging, it hit me that I could find any number of things, that I would really get to "find" things. It was a fun hour.

There were clearly regulars. Who knows what people do with all of the things they buy there. The woman in front of me at the cash register bought $180 worth of stuff. I paid $8. The load was as much as I could carry, and food needed to be in my near future. The guy at the register (totally cute), weighed the clothing that I had, but charged me for the other items individually.

It was a dirty venture. If I'd known where I'd end up, I'd have better tools in my car. I don't like to use "antibacterial" products in general, but I appreciate water-free-hands-cleaning post-thrifting. I need to get on that. Maybe I need a car toolbox. I know. I know. This is old hat for most people, but I'm a bit bad on the planning side, so I'm slow to plan ahead. But after it was all over, I was so happy and warm and fuzzy. I felt like I'd gotten a cosmic gift, just for me. And now I want more outlet adventures! I'll let you know...

So yeah, this is me.

Vintage Crewel Embroidery Kit :)

I feel alone right now. I feel alone in a way that is new, not terribly painful, but strange nonetheless. I have, for the past twenty-some odd years, sought to demand love from other people. I have done this in a variety of ways, and have failed, miserably, time and time again. I have wanted desperately to fill holes in my heart that were never filled, holes that make me feel weak and vulnerable, scared and crazy. I have tried to get other people to fill them for me. Let me be perfectly clear: this does not work.

Now, all that "love yourself first" and "self-love" bullshit is true. I believe it. I call it bullshit because I think people use it to avoid pain sometimes, to mask a carnal dependency we all have as human beings. We all need other people. We all need relationships. But we cannot make other people love us if they don't. We just can't. I can't. I want to, but I can't. I want the people who I love to love me back, to feel as deeply as I do, to cross that relational barrier that divides us all. But this doesn't always happen. It actually happens very rarely, and that's okay.

The answer to that is not to turn inward and avoid befriending, coffee time-ing, and generally reaching out to other people. It may be appropriate to take a moment to deconstruct the reasons why a relationship didn't work out. It may help to make stronger decisions in the future. But it doesn't mean that we quit loving others, ever, or that we avoid the intimacy that got us tangled up in the first place. I've fallen down so many times now in romantic relationships that I don't want to get back up again. I don't want to bother. I'm a big fat failure, and I want to turn in my "coupling" card. I want to stop pouring my heart out to people who don't love me. I want to stop loving people who can't love me back. I want to stop obsessing over things I have no control over.

I think loving yourself means filling up your own damn holes, and then reaching out again to find someone who honors them.

How long do I stay?

I tried to find some other reference to this topic in the archives, but I couldn't. I think it's something I've talked about with other people, but haven't discussed here. It's, eh, a vulnerable topic.

I didn't think I'd live in one place this long. I figured I'd be back in South America, or somewhere far more romantic and inspiring. But I've been here for five years, and my feet are firmly planted on solid nutrient-rich ground.

But then I think, is this what I want, for good? Do I want everything to stay the same, stay grounded in one place, of course not stuck, but committed?

It's not the most awesome city in the world, but it's my home, and my life is here. So many people that I love are here. The people in my everyday life are here. My thrift stores are here. The dogs I love are here. Whole Foods is here. My job is here, a job I love, with people I love, and each day filled with meaning and purpose.

But maybe I'd give it all up. Maybe I'd love something more than all that. Maybe.

I'm gonna eat some pizza now.

Vintage Barbie poster - hellz yeah!

When I was young, and something didn't go my way, I immediately felt like all was lost and nothing would ever get better. I would bask in my misery and cry myself to sleep. And that was okay.

But now, I don't have the emotional room to give to freak-outs the way I used to. Maybe I've trained myself to get through all the feelings speedily, or maybe I'm more patient and loving, which is just doubtful (I'm an imperfect person, after all). Maybe I'm well-medicated. Maybe when I prayed for ECT, it actually happened and I have no memory of it. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Sometimes it takes what feels like forever to get what I want. I want to sell the Rabbit, and yet it sits in my driveway, unsold, for over three months. I want my spine to be straighter, but it takes years of daily work to make it so. And finally, I want a proper immune system, but that's not gonna happen, like ever.

Yeah, so now the making of the pizza, but with marinara sauce, because I wasn't paying attention at the grocery store, and I'm just going with it :)

Rilke, as ever.

Books about the rain for an elementary school classroom :)

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me — the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods —

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house — , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
upon, —
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke

Edited and Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Goodbye false hopes...

So yeah, I am back in the mire of my own brain waves, trying to figure out how to be 30, how to be me, and how to accept the life that I am currently living (without hesitation).

The wonder of it all is that my life is better at this moment than it has ever been. I am happier, more content, and I have more pure joy than I ever did before. But with all of this extra awesomeness comes this new unsettled feeling of, "Is this it? Is this the terribly romantic life I'd planned for myself, full of angst and resolution?"

Maybe those dreams, those hopes, were all just necessary along the way, keeping me alive long enough to get to a place where I didn't need false hope anymore. The idea that somehow, I have to cast aside (throw away!) false hopes that no longer serve me, significantly darkens my countenance.

Lisbeth would have none of these concerns. She'd just be a bad ass.

BIKRAM #2 (and #3)

 

So Tuesday, I went back to the hot yoga studio. There was a different instructor, and she suggested that I sit out one set of each posture (they do two sets of everything), so I did. After an hour, I thought I was going to die from the heat and I couldn't slow my heart rate down, so I just laid on the ground for the last twenty minutes and willed my breath to keep me alive. I succeeded.

Wednesday (i.e. yesterday), I went again, this time not because I had something to prove to myself or anyone else, but because I really wanted to go back. My job can be stressful if I allow it to be, and it's really nice to look forward to a time where I can let out all the bad stuff that's hanging out in my body. I'm not a big believer in toxins and all that jazz. I'm not going to buy a cleansing kit that does horrible things, nor am I going to go crazy and do the cayenne/lemonade thing. But a regular thing that makes me feel good every day? I think I can get behind that.

I know. I know. Now I'm a crazy Bikram convert. But seriously, I need something to look forward to that is different from everything else. I need something that doesn't mess with my spine or my blood sugar. So, for the time being, this is going to be it. Deal with it haters.

On another note, I moved back home last night. At one point, I had dirty laundry, clean laundry, food, all my eBay stuff, my briefcase, toiletries, and my post-yoga mat and towels all in piles in my super small living room. If the lighting were better in my apartment, I would have taken a picture. It was scary stuff.

Then I cried about turning 30 and laughed while watching Bachelor Pad. All in a day's work.

The truth hurts.

1974 Vintage (Tattered) Holly Hobbie Doll

So I'm listening to Taylor Swift on repeat. It's a beautiful thing. I don't know why I get hooked on stuff, but she is definitely my current fave. I'm also hooked on having lots of thinking time. 108 degrees will do that to a person. Don't you wish that thinking actually helped a person? That somehow we could think our way out of problems? But no. It doesn't work that way. We have to talk, communicate with others. We have to be in relationships with other people, and that's where it gets tricky.

Yesterday, I received a lovely email from a relative telling me what a terrible person/daughter I am, etc, etc. Now, unless you begin to fret, I'll let you in on a secret: I've received at least a hundred of these things in my lifetime, and do not intend to have a freak-out on account of other people's misplaced anxiety. That being said, 100 of these nasty things can make a girl tired, and in 108 degrees, just done. So, even though I usually throw them away and move on with my day, this one stuck with me, as they tend to do every so often. And in a rare moment of clarity and temperance, I responded.

Nasty emails should not always be responded to. I find that filtering my email (along with various other accounts), allows me to completely avoid the nastiness that other people like to send my way. But sometimes the truth is necessary, and needs to be said. And you know what? Oftentimes the truth hurts, because the truth often just sucks. And that's just the truth.

But use with discretion, like alcohol.

Hope for better.

Vintage Christian Dior Eyeglasses - yeah buddy :)

There's a Lori McKenna song that I listened to on repeat last fall. I couldn't get enough of it. It made me feel like someone was speaking from my heart; someone understood how it felt to always be the most honest and vulnerable person in the room.

It seemed like I'd always been in a relationship with someone who cared enough to sleep with me, but not enough to be seen with me. And over and over I felt alone in my feelings, judged by my friends for staying with men who treated me badly, and judged by the significant (?) other for always being too much.

I suppose those experiences taught me to be less expectant, less dependent upon other people for supporting my emotional well-bring. And that's a good thing, no matter what. Today, I'm pretty glad I had a tough time after my first big heartbreak. It's been thirteen years, and I've learned so much about life and love and other people. It's difficult to be bitter when so much good has come out of so much pain. But I'd never tell that seventeen-year-old that her heartache was a good thing. I'd tell her that it was going to hurt more than she ever expected, but that many many years later, things would get better.

My heart is in the jungle.

 

For a moment today, I had an intense rush of longing for the jungle. I longed for simplicity, and candles, and the river. I saw my own bare feet, and the emptiness of the day. I saw myself alone, and it was lovely. To think of it makes my heart ache. To think more makes me want to cry. I left my heart in the jungle, but I really don't know why.