...but before you go, let me thank you for kicking in the new year with such awesome friends and partying greatness.
February, you have some big shoes to fill.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
worn out contentment
"Sorrow is nothing more than worn out joy."
- Will Oldham, Old Joy
Thursday and Friday last week turned out to be nearly 12-hour workdays. I'd reached a level of fatigue I haven't experienced in a long while. My friend once told me, shortly after the birth of his daughter, how he'd never known such a level of exhaustion. But it was a happy sort of tired, since there was the joy and fascination surrounding the presence of this little human who was new to the world and had half his DNA. I imagined he was feeling that giddy type of delirium that occurs when you haven't slept for days but have good reason to be happy... you're with friends, someone tells a joke or just says something stupid, and you start laughing and cannot stop yourself from cracking your ass up into a delightfully silly fit of hysteria (times 17 probably, if you add the birth of your first child).
I can't say I'm feeling any transcendental kind of joy, but I will say that it feels good sometimes to work yourself to the point of utter exhaustion. Even if you feel like you've been run over by a truck. Even if the workday has you running around like crazy, rushing to take care of all the people who have flooded your clinic, worrying that you're making them wait too long. Even if upon your return home, you feel a bit crumpled and want nothing more than to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling (or alternatively, chill on the couch with three key items: a glass of wine, a bar of dark chocolate, and a kitty curled up in the crook of your arm). It feels good to get all listless because you spent the day doing something. Especially if that something is useful and valuable.
On the way to work Friday morning, still feeling the effects of the long day before, and not yet knowing the extent of the day to come, I had a tiny yet glorious revelation that started to perk me up out of my morning fog: I like my life. Where I'm at, what I'm doing, who I'm spending my time with. And it sure didn't hurt that minutes later, as I passed downtown Seattle and came upon that telling first curve on I-5 which reveals whether or not I'll get to stare at Mount Rainier or a blanket of cloud cover on that morning's commute, my eyes feasted upon not only a clear sky with the mountain in plain view, but a remarkable sunrise over the Cascades, gray and yellow with thick cloudy tinges of blue and purple, which gave me a mysterious burst of energy and made me grin, jaw dropping at the beauty before me, at how wonderful it feels to live in the midst of such natural splendor. I feel so grateful to have happened upon this corner of the country, and of all the places I could have lived, to have picked a place where morning after morning the sunrises make me smile in disbelief and shriek aloud and where the job rewards me with sighs of relief from people who have been helped out of their painful ruts and where the hard work makes me aware of my body and my strength and my limits, and challenges me every day.
Yes, indeed, I really like my life.
- Will Oldham, Old Joy
Thursday and Friday last week turned out to be nearly 12-hour workdays. I'd reached a level of fatigue I haven't experienced in a long while. My friend once told me, shortly after the birth of his daughter, how he'd never known such a level of exhaustion. But it was a happy sort of tired, since there was the joy and fascination surrounding the presence of this little human who was new to the world and had half his DNA. I imagined he was feeling that giddy type of delirium that occurs when you haven't slept for days but have good reason to be happy... you're with friends, someone tells a joke or just says something stupid, and you start laughing and cannot stop yourself from cracking your ass up into a delightfully silly fit of hysteria (times 17 probably, if you add the birth of your first child).
I can't say I'm feeling any transcendental kind of joy, but I will say that it feels good sometimes to work yourself to the point of utter exhaustion. Even if you feel like you've been run over by a truck. Even if the workday has you running around like crazy, rushing to take care of all the people who have flooded your clinic, worrying that you're making them wait too long. Even if upon your return home, you feel a bit crumpled and want nothing more than to lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling (or alternatively, chill on the couch with three key items: a glass of wine, a bar of dark chocolate, and a kitty curled up in the crook of your arm). It feels good to get all listless because you spent the day doing something. Especially if that something is useful and valuable.
On the way to work Friday morning, still feeling the effects of the long day before, and not yet knowing the extent of the day to come, I had a tiny yet glorious revelation that started to perk me up out of my morning fog: I like my life. Where I'm at, what I'm doing, who I'm spending my time with. And it sure didn't hurt that minutes later, as I passed downtown Seattle and came upon that telling first curve on I-5 which reveals whether or not I'll get to stare at Mount Rainier or a blanket of cloud cover on that morning's commute, my eyes feasted upon not only a clear sky with the mountain in plain view, but a remarkable sunrise over the Cascades, gray and yellow with thick cloudy tinges of blue and purple, which gave me a mysterious burst of energy and made me grin, jaw dropping at the beauty before me, at how wonderful it feels to live in the midst of such natural splendor. I feel so grateful to have happened upon this corner of the country, and of all the places I could have lived, to have picked a place where morning after morning the sunrises make me smile in disbelief and shriek aloud and where the job rewards me with sighs of relief from people who have been helped out of their painful ruts and where the hard work makes me aware of my body and my strength and my limits, and challenges me every day.
Yes, indeed, I really like my life.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
tuesday morning slow down
"Find stillness. When you keep moving around, you can't feel as much."
-Yoga Instructor
"When you stop controlling, things take care of themselves."
-Yoga Instructor
"Take it easy."
-Dad
-Yoga Instructor
"When you stop controlling, things take care of themselves."
-Yoga Instructor
"Take it easy."
-Dad
Sunday, January 17, 2010
current obsessions
- My Morning Jacket. I seriously want to touch them, or I might scream.
- Kurt Vonnegut. It's been years since I read one of his novels, but this book makes me nod in agreement a lot and laugh out loud, and lately it's been making me a happier individual in general.
- Yoga. Six years since my last Bikram yoga class and I'm remembering why I went so much as a college student. It's nice to engage in an activity that both challenges you and makes you feel successful. And makes you sweat bullets.
- Seattle Public Library. I cannot speak highly enough of free music and movie rentals. I just added about $300 worth of freebies to my music collection. (I know, piracy is a crime and I'm going to hell. But at least my trip there will be full of ipod awesomeness.)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
turn-around
I've been in and out of an impatient little rut lately. Last night it culminated when I realized I missed my old best friend, whom I haven't spoken with in over a year. It didn't help that I'd just gotten a bad haircut and a bill for a student loan that I have to start paying next month. Add to that an overwhelming feeling of loneliness after being the last one to leave the cafe before closing, right when the sky opened up and starting crying all over me.
This morning, I vented to a pair of understanding, girly ears, and then walked to the library to check out some movies. And like a treat from the sky (or maybe an apology for it blubbering on me yesterday), the clouds opened up and the sun shone through for the better part of an hour. I stopped by the Crumpet Shop and grabbed myself a pesto-tomato-English cheese treat. Isn't that such a fun word to say? Crumpet.
crumpet crumpet crumpet.
And then I read a quote by Kurt Vonnegut:
"We are dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go out and do something. We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different."
As I walked back home with my post-crumpet tea in hand, having done nothing majorly productive, but having gotten out, accomplished something, and chased a little bit of that elusive sunlight, I agreed.
I don't know if it was the crumpet or the Vonnegut or the farting around, but I felt exponentially better.
This morning, I vented to a pair of understanding, girly ears, and then walked to the library to check out some movies. And like a treat from the sky (or maybe an apology for it blubbering on me yesterday), the clouds opened up and the sun shone through for the better part of an hour. I stopped by the Crumpet Shop and grabbed myself a pesto-tomato-English cheese treat. Isn't that such a fun word to say? Crumpet.
crumpet crumpet crumpet.
And then I read a quote by Kurt Vonnegut:
"We are dancing animals. How beautiful it is to get up and go out and do something. We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different."
As I walked back home with my post-crumpet tea in hand, having done nothing majorly productive, but having gotten out, accomplished something, and chased a little bit of that elusive sunlight, I agreed.
I don't know if it was the crumpet or the Vonnegut or the farting around, but I felt exponentially better.
Friday, January 1, 2010
i told you so
It feels good to start the new year off with the feeling of being so right about something... 2009 and I were most definitely friends, as I'd predicted. Travel buddies. Love buddies. Career-starting homies. New cities, fun times, and a whole lotta changes took place. Yeah, we were totally BFFs, me and 2009.
And now The Year During Which I Will Turn 30 is here. If you were to ask me as a spritely, naive young 21-year-old, I would have told you that's just sooo far away, and omg, I'll be so old! But surprisingly, I feel great about it. Almost every 40-plus-year-old I know has expressed that life begins at 30, or the prime of their lives took place during that decade. So I say to 2010 and its upcoming December: BRING IT.
Welcome, two-thousand win. I'm excited for this new decade. How bout y'all?
And now The Year During Which I Will Turn 30 is here. If you were to ask me as a spritely, naive young 21-year-old, I would have told you that's just sooo far away, and omg, I'll be so old! But surprisingly, I feel great about it. Almost every 40-plus-year-old I know has expressed that life begins at 30, or the prime of their lives took place during that decade. So I say to 2010 and its upcoming December: BRING IT.
Welcome, two-thousand win. I'm excited for this new decade. How bout y'all?
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