Does failing make you a failure?

Original Framed Oil on Canvas Painting

Today I am considering the idea that failing does not inherently make me a failure. I'm a person who wants to make everything right, do everything well. I don't consider myself a perfectionist. I am capable of letting little things go, and not agonizing over little trifles, but in the great land of "Being an Adult", I am finding that these skills only need to be amplified, strengthened, continually over time. It's not like a plateau we reach, where everything after that is straight ahead without potholes.

Perhaps I never would have identified this as a characteristic in myself, but I have been acting as though I'm finished as a person, that everything should be perfect now that I'm a fully functioning adult. I've been living in an imperfect body, with an imperfect mind, and wearing clothing that is imperfect, even selling things that are imperfect. Yet I have been expecting more from myself than I expect from anyone, or anything, else.

Now I'm going to sit in a pile of my own imperfection and hope it melds with my thrifty self. See you later :)

Megan's Thrift Hotline :)

Vintage Better Homes & Gardens Magazine: Fun Outdoor Play Structures :)

Wouldn't it be great if there were a thrift store hotline for your city/area? You could call it if you were looking for something specific, and then make a more direct route to your goal. Some places are just not good "vintage" places. Some places have no jewelry. My hotline will be popular because it will save people time and it will make secondhand goods more accessible because they'll be easier to find. Or I'll just say "check eBay". Sometimes that really is your best bet. Thrifting is a consummate art.

I was thinking of this today whilst thrifting, and some cops came looking for watches. I pointed them in a better direction only to find a farmer (i.e. overalls) looking for "a 1920s suit" ten minutes later. He also needed pointing in the right direction, but in that instance, I didn't want to intervene, reminding myself that sometimes I need to mind my own business. Well, most of the time.

I've been acting like a turd lately, a real ass hat, a tool. I'm trying to stop doing that, to stop apologizing for it, and to just keep being better in general. I fail a lot, fall down a lot, and generally just get into ruts and feel stuck. I keep thinking that I've reached some state of adulthood where I stop making stupid mistakes, saying the absolute wrong thing, and pressing send when I'm angry. But being 30 does not an adult make. Being an adult requires hard work, determination, and a hell of a lot of humility. Unfortunately, I'm oftentimes missing the latter.

Peace out.

Regroup, keep movin'...*

Vintage I. Magnin Pottery - Pretty neat, huh?

I am currently sitting in a whole house, looking onto a rain-spattered patio, two needy poodles by my side, French Toast and coffee in my belly, and listening to talk radio, ensuring that my extreme liberalism is mediated a bit by the other side.

What is it about me and the fall that makes me such a mess? What is it about me that makes me such a mess? At this time last year, I was working through my final year of grad school, and it felt like agony. It felt neverending, like every day was scheduled to the minute, and I had no room to move. This is different. This is emotional exhaustion, and I'm going to sit in this chair until I figure out what to do about it.

How did this happen? Well, it was a confluence of events, really: I haven't been doing so well on reaching my goal of no more freak-outs and no more chasing men (I know - I'm sorry), and I'm dirt poor and constantly worrying about money and blaming myself for my own choice to work in a field that will never help me leave the garage, and I'm in a weird spot where my support system has changed pretty drastically and I'm still trying to restructure and rebuild.

And then there is the reality of being a grown-up, that relationships are difficult, work is everyday, and sometimes low blood sugar becomes life threatening. Sometimes I want to scream at my friends who don't see that the answers are right in front of them, but right now I'm on the other side, unsure that there are any answers or solutions to what are really pretty small problems that I have allowed to overwhelm me.

I don't believe in "God's lessons" or that somehow I'm in a complicated play where in the end, I will be wiser because everything has worked out perfectly for the best. I believe in choice, and human nature, and this morning I am really, really stuck.

I'm taking some time off from life, gonna regroup, try to make sense of it all. Peace out :)

*The title is part of a lyric from a math album I sang on in elementary school. The full lyric goes, Regroup, keep movin', don't let the numbers get you down. Classic.

Delusion.

Pewter and Turquoise - pewter is a funny word.

I'm attempting to sort out some things in my brain at the moment. I use the word attempting loosely. I've been doing it for a couple days, but mostly I'm left just staring at the ceiling, in a daze. I think I've written some poems, and I'll probably write some more, but I don't know if that's even sufficient.

I like to have control. It's a safe feeling. It's a delusional feeling, but safe all the same. But these past two months have been completely out of my control, bringing things into my life that seriously seemed previously unthinkable and impossible. When I was in school, there was a rhythm. Predictable things happened. I worked all the time, and I was exhausted most of the time, and my brain was tired with all of the neurotransmitters being connected. But in the midst of exhaustion was a sense of certainty, that there was a goal at the end of every road, even an ultimate goal. But now there is no ultimate goal, just lots of learning new things and falling down, and standing back up and continuing on. There are no grades, no end to projects, no certainty about the future (again, delusional thinking).

I wonder how much most people fear stability, the quiet of the present moment, the constant unknown and lack of control. My insides get twisted up, and have to be untwisted, and that takes a little while, and a lot of staring at the ceiling.

Peace out :)

Victorian Romance

Vintage Fire King Milk-Glass Tulip Saucer :)

I'm still listening to Taylor Swift. Whatever. My mom thinks my life is a Victorian romance novel, but I know better. Pathological delusional thinking does not a romantic life make. My life is below-the-fold material.

I think my love life makes me look like a little kid who doesn't know anything about life or commitment. It makes me look like a stupid single girl who thinks she knows things she could never know. Maybe those things are absolutely true. Maybe I am stupid and silly and immature. Maybe I'm seriously emotionally disabled and operating at a 13 year-old level. I think I'm okay with those things being true right now, mostly because who I am is who I am, and there's nothing I can do about it.

So maybe I'm a hopeless romantic, combing the landfills of love, looking for something salvageable. Maybe you've heard this all a hundred times, and thinking, "What the hell is this blog about anyway, and when is it going to get interesting?" Well, sorry. I'm just a poor little orphan girl, looking for a home, and trying to make sure that people stop looking at the new, and start looking at the old.

Online dating update (it sucks)

Frye Boots, baby! This model is no longer made.

So when I started setting stuff up for the flea market, organizing and such, I realized that I have a lot more than I could have imagined, and my booth should look really nice and full on Saturday. I'm a little bit concerned about my own energy level, and my ability to get through the day, but I'm committed and will do what needs to be done.

The online dating thing is lame. I hate it. I want a refund. All I think when I look at it is, "This is not what I want". I don't know at what point it's appropriate to do something I don't want in the interest of having sex a meaningful relationship sometime soon. I don't know how far to push myself in this area, when nothing else has been fruitful, so I don't have other, better, options.

I want a man I'm deeply attracted to. I want a man who's at least as strong as me. Those are the two hardest things to find. All of the other stuff is way easier. My therapist and I talked today about how capable I am. I have quality friendships with men. I've had intimate relationships with men. All I have to do is put the two together, and I'll be in business! I told her she was being too positive; she said she wasn't trying to be.

I'm tired of it being so hard.

[That's what she said :)]

Did you know I love dogs?

I saved a dog's life this week. It was a big black Labrador, late at night. He was standing in the middle of a dark street. I was also walking a black lab, which was strange, so I let them sniff eachother. Then the male dog ran into the street and got hit by a car.

I screamed. The dog walked away like nothing had happened, but the sound of the impact convinced me that he had some sort of internal injuries. I figured if I left him behind on the canal, he'd run into the street again and get killed (he insisted on running in front of the cars-so scary), so I hooked him to my leash and tried to walk the two beasts together. That lasted less than a minute, so I just hollered at him every time he went near the street and he walked home with us. It was awful. Walking one beast is enough of a job. Worrying about the other dog just made my heart race faster. I was exhausted when I got them both home in one piece.

The dog slept with me, so as only to keep him from being shot by an exasperated neighbor in the backyard after he howled with sorrow from 12 to 5am. I didn't get much sleep, between the howling, and the sleeping with a beast. But it was all worth it. In the morning, my mom called animal control and thirty minutes later, the owner was at the front door.

I know it's a simple silly story, but I felt like a hero that night, and saving a life is good for the soul.

An addiction to thrift?

 

So I read a blog post this morning that talked about thrift addiction (i.e. the addiction to thrift store shopping). I've been wondering lately if I have such an addiction, and this blog post really hit me hard. I resonated with the idea that I thrift for therapy. I go thrifting at the end of a long day: I walk the aisles; I comb through racks; I talk to my crazy thrift store friends. I freely admit it. I know I do it. I do it intentionally. And I haven't run the numbers, but I think I'm in the black overall.

Here's my take on this, if we're going to use the word addiction to describe the things we use to define us, that consume our time and energy, and give us purpose in life. The word addiction has a negative connotation, yet we all use it freely. People say they're addicted to their Diet Cola of choice, but I don't stress about that. People say they're addicted to running, to a particular sport, to a place they like to go (e.g. Yosemite), but I say that if it isn't harming anyone, then it isn't a real addiction.

Thrifting can be an addiction if it comes between you and people, if it distances you from those you love. I mentioned once that I feared that someone I loved would ask me to give up thrift entirely, and that I would be challenged to let go of something I didn't think I could live without, because it permeated every part of my life. Honestly, I don't know if I could, and that scares me. I wouldn't define it as an addiction, but I have allowed it to become something I depend on to the point of dependence.

Scary, but is it wrong?

Looking ahead, somehow...

"If we really think that home is elsewhere and that this life is a 'wandering to find home', why should we not look forward to the arrival?"

 C.S. Lewis

How can there be punishment for life on earth, when life on earth is so hard, every day? It never ends. There is no rest, no peace; there is only more pain, and suffering, and death, and sickness. Even at our very best, we are imperfect, flawed, and broken. We walk around in weakened bodies and poisoned minds. We may hope for better, but no one knows what "better" even is. We're told to be happy, but we aren't. We're told to be strong, but we aren't.

I am an extravagant hoper, yet I still fail. You read it here, as I hash out my own life on this blog. I talk big, and act small. I strive for the best. I want so much, and end up with so little. I am human, and impatient, and these past five days, although I have tried desperately to put a brave face forward, have been so very painful for me.

Please hug your dog for me, or your cat, or someone else's dog. If I could somehow spread a little dog love with this post, I think I could stop crying and eat some dinner.

Thank you :)