It was the best of times...

The problem with literary phrases is that sometimes you wish they were true. "You can never go home again," is one that always echoes through my mind. Probably because it's a cliche and that is in the nature of cliches.

I went "home" this weekend, and on the drive out there I could feel my insides unhook, untangle, and I could begin to breathe. I didn't realize I was holding my breath. Just like when you discover you've fallen in love. A long awaited exhale you didn't know you were waiting for. This feeling of relief brought along an anxiety -- this is a place I've moved away from, and that I have to continue to pull myself away from as I grow and expand and as those people who make it home leave (in one way or another).

I'm grateful for the arms around my shoulder, the acceptance that I felt, the knowledge that though change happens in my life, there are those who knew me before who accept it along with me.

I hope that I can build a new home. And I mourn the slow loss of this old.

I went blonde and on a date...

You'd be surprised which one was the harder to accomplish.

My question is, does change have to be a conspicuous event?

I really get a thrill from chopping my hair in a drastic way, of seeing a sudden difference, picking up and moving, even buying a new outfit. But the changes that are REAL. How do they happen? I look at myself a year ago, six months ago, and am so glad I am no longer that person (though some may not see that difference) and I can not pinpoint where the change was made. On a trip home? During a funeral? In a hostel during a road trip?

I'm sure these landmark moments in my life impact who I am in some ways. But I think that it's those quiet moments where life is still. I can breathe in and out. Those resolute moments. That have contributed the most to who I've become, and who I am becoming. I'm grateful for age and experience, for the peace-of-heart that I currently am clinging to.

The Help

I am not comparing my situation in anyway to this movie. However it did cause me to reflect.

Changing is terrifying. Not all of us are in danger, not all of us are even trying to make a change in the world. But in our own worlds within the space between eyebrows and cranium we sometimes do set out to make changes in those places.

Facing opposition and going headlong into confrontation is necessary to effect real change. No one is going to step aside and take it gracefully. Heck, I can't even accept change on my favorite social network let alone in other aspects of my life. But I accept and move on. Just like those oppositions I face will do... eventually.

Side note on change...

When I was young I would see others crying in movies and think "well that's embarrasing" and sit with a stony cold stare. Now I cry at just about everything. I believe, maybe not for everyone, but definitely for me, I believe I've had to experience real pain (which is relative and may vary from person to person) to appreciate others' more fully. And the pain that I've had in my life is nothing compared with so many others. I cannot imagine how they cope, but am grateful for that example.

Catching a glimpse...

Setting goals can be easy. You write lists on a piece of paper. You forget about the piece of paper, or the goal, and you get wrapped up in your life, in putting foot in front of foot. Then some time, you have the urge to look back, and see what you have already accomplished, and you look forward and you catch a clearer glimpse at where you are going.

I've been seeing glimpses of goals becoming reality. Of the change in myself. I like it. And I am more determined that it is possible. Reinvention is doable without feeling a loss... but feeling a growth. Reinvention is a weird word, one of too much intention and forethought. But if you notice that you make one small goal, and move forward in accomplishing it, other things fall into place, backs straighten, shoulders square, knees forget to wobble.

I am so woefully behind in everything I want to do yet. Today is a weird day to be typing this since I've just been wading in my own inadequacies and I need to remember to hold onto that thought. That I can become what I envision, and I am capable of doing what I want. Regardless of expectation.

Settling in...

Why do people move? What makes them uproot and leave everything they've known for a great unknown beyond the horizon? Why climb this Mount Everest of formalities that makes you feel like a beggar? Why enter this jungle of foreignness where everything is new, strange and difficult?
The answer is the same the world over: people move in the hope of a better life.

Life of Pi pg. 77

I've slipped into a routine of wake-up, put on clothes, train, internship, train, shave-them-legs-at-a-public-bathroom, work, ride, sleep. Being so busy forces me to cram productivity in the few minutes I have to be unproductive and I do not miss that down time. Though I do miss my own place, almonds (I should buy those this weekend), and Sundays at Jeffy's and Dan's.

I was raised with this fear of public transportation, this rule of anyone who takes it is a bum, druggy, crazy, don't-talk-to-them-or-make-eye-contact. You will be raped, murdered, molested, and accosted. So it takes a moment for me to realize that the creeper/bum with brown eyes isn't trying to find out my schedule so he can  jump out of the dark on my way home. He just wants to talk about the book I'm reading. He caught me on the train ride between internship and shave-them-legs-at-a-public-bathroom so I twisted and contorted so he wouldn't notice.

It was nice to know that not everyone is a creeper. But I'll take my chances so next time a balding 60-something asks when I get off work and laughs when he says "Yeah, I guess you could say I work here," I will continue with my vague answers and walk in the opposite direction of work, instead of introducing myself and making direct eye contact with a guy named Marco Fox.