28 May 2012

A Case of The Have Nots

What has two thumbs, types with one hand and is guilty of falling head-on into a vat of first world problems?

This girl.

Lately I've been fixated on what I don't have. It's ridiculous, and I know that. I really, really know that. I scold myself every time it happens. Because the reality is, my life is wonderful; it's literally full of wonder. I have things I want, but don't need. I have family. I have friends. I am loved. I have options. I have opportunities. There is nothing significant for me to lament. Still, just before the Memorial Day weekend, I started brooding over missing minutia.

That's not entirely accurate. (I am often derailed by alliteration.) It's not that what's missing is in some way small or insignificant. Obviously the universe is bringing me to some greater truth about the course my life should take. But it's difficult to say my life is not exactly what I want it to be, when there are so many good things in my life.

All of this started because I wanted to go camping.

I love camping. I love nature. I love loading up the car, driving off the grid, setting up a tent and eating grilled deliciousness. I love hiking and being humbled by the majesty that's just out there. I started thinking about camping -- about what it would really take to organize an excursion -- and I realized I don't have those people anymore. I'd have to go it alone. I exist in this space where career is important and thriving is essential. I'm caught up in being hyper-focused. But in staying hip and current and metro, I've fallen out of balance. I suppose that awareness made it easier for me to see myself as "not having."

I don't have camping buddies. And I don't have my best friends at my disposal. I don't have anyone calling me over for a holiday barbeque. I don't have anyone having casual dinners, where the guards are down and there is absolutely nothing to prove. I don't have the luxury of sitting around a fire pit and comfortably talking about nothing. I'm always on. It's exhausting.

Pirates Cove
However I am pleased to report I am on my way to a solution, thanks to a lunch appointment with The MMJ. She and I met way back in 2002, when we got our first jobs at the same TV station. Oodles of life lessons later, and we're now both in San Francisco. I talked to her about living here and friends and no backyard barbeques. She understood -- which made me feel better. And she offered a remedy; we went hiking.

Our time along the coast did not fix everything, but it was very nearly what the doctor ordered. I don't know who I'll eventually rope into camping but in the interim, I'll take small escapes to the life I used to have.

21 May 2012

The Reasons

I always say "later."
I always say "when the ducks are in a row," "the stars aligned," and "when the poop is in its proper group."

I always have a reason why I can't, even though there are so many reasons  I should.
Even now -- in these moments I'm taking between that thing that's overdue and that other thing I want to start -- it feels good. It feels right. It feels cathartic.

As The Musician loves to quip: "you know you're a writer, right?"

I am. It's what I like to do, and I can't explain why I don't do it.

I'll never get to tell the tales I've been meaning to tell, especially if I don't make any effort to try. My hesitation (as always) comes from a self-imposed set of rules I am loathe to break.  I feel it's my obligation -- for your visit to my Internet Living Room -- to be a proper hostess. I want to pour you a drink, offer a homemade snack, and ease your mind into the adventure that is my life. But I don't really have time for company. At best I can meet you at a bar, where we huddle at a table while I rant and you try to keep up.

My life is not where I thought it would be. It's better. I can't exactly tell you why. I definitely have more stresses and less free time. I'm more frustrated and my future is more muddled. I have thrice as many gray hairs as I did last year. At least. Still, I wake up smiling. I swear I can taste excitement in the air. I giggle a lot. I compliment strangers. I cannot be bothered by the small stuff and... things are just great. You guys were there when I was (what my mom calls) snake-belly low, so I'm obligated (by me) to share with you now that I'm not.

I'm inviting you to my Internet bar. And the first round is on me
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