birthday like this.

I meant to come back here last Friday to post this list, but the day/weekend got swept away into a last-minute trip and the craziness of life. My birthday came and went. Here I am now, trying my best, year after year, six years counting.

Last year, I decided to live valiantly (whatever that means), and it looked like this:

1. run my 3rd half marathon AND/OR a marathon
2. make a biking friend in Chicago
3. finish writing two essays and submit one (one essay completed)
4. build a freelance business
5. make homemade Christmas gifts
6. GET MARRIED
7. commit to meal planning & stick to the eating out budget (eek)
8. read 30 books
9. sew one piece of clothing (the fabric is sitting on my table right now)
10. practice meditation
11. assume the best in people (sometimes)
12. purchase five high-quality pieces of clothing (one down)
13. actively worry less (trying)
14. stick with YNAB for a full year
15. keep criticism to myself
16. join a book club and/or writer’s group
17. plan a month-long trip next summer
18. learn new things
19. help Jake’s family tap the maple trees
20. knit a new winter hat
21. go on a roadtrip
22. practice chit-chatting strangers
23. canning! to include: tomatoes, salsa, jam & apples (for now)
24. finish two courses towards a Nonprofit Management Certificate
25. stick to the ‘no phone in bed’ rule (sort of)
26. say what I think (or write it)
27. make a nature journal
28. make yogurt
29. find a place to volunteer
30. be confident (also, trying)

here are some things.

My cat is screaming in my face right now. SCREAMING. His hungry little eyes are staring deep into my soul, like maybe today will be the day that I don’t feed him. Even though, every day for many years now, I’ve always fed him.

Twice today I saw a big man with a small dog (different men, different dogs). I’ve been thinking about dogs a lot lately, because.........well, because both J and I are suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to have one. Isn’t it a strange but wonderful thing? We bring these furry tame little creatures into our homes and we love the shit out of them. They aren’t people, they don’t speak, who knows what they think or feel, but in their way, they love us back. And it’s kind of unconditional, or based on very simple demands (food!). I think it’s good to have that kind of love in your life.

It’s Thursday, which means two things: nachos and TV. I honestly can’t remember the last Thursday night that didn’t involve the magical, Thursdays-only fried chicken nachos. It’s a real weakness at this point in my life. Also, that show is reeeeeeeeeeeal good and tonight we’re watching the season finale.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I get weird about it, sometimes. I overthink--most days, but especially on my birthday. I mean, it’s just the day I WAS BORN. What’s the big deal?

I’ve been trying to incorporate more small luxuries into my life, ala The Artist’s Way. It’s surprisingly hard work for this Midwestern-hearty aesthete with loads of guilt. LUXURY?! WTF?! But it’s good. I’m trying to give some of it to myself for my birthday, a few small luxuries. It started with buying two books that I didn’t need, but wanted. Tomorrow, I’m intending to buy a ridiculously overpriced coffee drink. I’m going to march into Whole Foods and buy myself a treat--ANYTHING I WANT. In J’s words, I really know how to live. And I’ll be back tomorrow, birthday-list-style.

happy clam.

I’m taking this Saturday morning real slow. I have a bit of a head cold, but also it just feels nice to let my brain wander, to flit aimlessly from one task to the next, avoiding the to do list. I’m on my second cup of coffee and an empty stomach. I'm about to go eat some cold pizza from the fridge.

I have no obligations today--my favorite sort of day. I can work on whatever I want, in perfect solitude and silence. This is the sort of day that revives me, helps me feel like myself again.

This has been a good year, and my birthday is approaching, and I’m thinking about it a lot. I’m thinking about what I accomplished this year and what I’ll accomplish in the year to come. It was a good year and a challenging year. I worked very very hard. At times (many times), I felt an unmanageable amount of stress. But also, I married the best and most inspiring person I know. I took off from work and life for a MONTH and traveled my butt around Europe.

I spent 30 minutes this morning reading through some of the archives here (especially 2011 and 2014). I love the way that this space helps me track my own evolution of thought and personal growth. It’s like a journal, but in a completely different way. It makes me love myself. Is that strange to say? I read old entries, and I tell myself: you’re smart and interesting, Lisa, and I like who you are.

It’s not that hip to like yourself, especially as a woman. The thing to do is reject any compliments and then draw attention to some part of your body that you dislike. It’s such a fucking bummer. Ladies, can we not do that anymore? I really prefer loving myself.

So this place matters for that reason, even if that’s the only one.

Today, I’m going to:
--do some cleaning
--make a load of burritos to restock the freezer
--do some sewing (because: birthday list)

That’s all, and it’s good. I’m happy as a happy clam.

flashing.

Three weeks ago, I pulled up a blank page to start writing here. I remember that I started by writing, “I’ve been avoiding looking at this space.” Three weeks later, it’s still true.

In my mind, I’m still writing here, or not much time has passed, or not much has happened. In fact five months have passed, and I’ve gotten married, and written a lot, tested myself, traveled for a month, and generally lived life.

When I started this blog five (FIVE!) years ago, I felt such a pull to write, but didn’t know how to make myself do it. I struggled to write in a notebook, struggled and struggled, until wild writing would fly out of me and I’d throw the notebook away. It was such an accomplishment when I finished a notebook.

These days, I’m writing. I’m writing every morning, 30 minutes, sometimes an hour. I’m writing in the flimsy Moleskine cahier notebooks, finishing them in a month or less. I’m almost afraid to say it, because I don’t want to lose it. When you’ve spent years trying to tap into this stream, it feels quite precious--and what if it’s fleeting?

I started this blog to make myself write, and now I’m figuring out what else I can do here. As I have been all along. So much of life is constant adjustment. As soon as you find something that works, suddenly it doesn’t work anymore. Living means being flexible, building new systems each day, finding new ways each day. Life is one season after another after another. The life I’m living in now is so vastly different from my life even one year ago, there’s been a lot of this figuring out.

So you (if you’re there)--can you indulge me? I’ll promise to come back here, and while I’m here, I’ll figure out what I’m doing here. Once a week, at least. I’ll make sense of what I’m doing while I’m doing it. I’m full of ideas right now. So many ideas, so many starts, hot fire and flashing and wild eyes. I’m moving down the path, whatever it is, wherever it leads.

Tonight, I’m going to rest in this ambiguous and ridiculous place, big talk, short sentences, who knows what I’m saying or what I mean? I’m here, now. I’m writing these words, now. It’s a connection, a line straight through my body, my fingers, my eyes, and straight into you.

this tight knot.

All I want is to write something that says it all. One perfect sentence that describes the strange and winding emotions in my brain or heart or stomach (or wherever they live) that exist right now, in this moment. I want you to see me sitting here on my couch next to my sleeping cat, wearing my work dress covered by an enormous flannel shirt. I’m not wearing shoes. I’m drinking red wine. I’m listening to the wind (the crazy wind!) blow in gusts, over and over.

I can’t settle, can’t find the mark. Like always, I go too long without writing and this tight knot forms inside of me. How to loosen it? It’s slow work.

I ran 6 miles last weekend in a cold rain. I ran to Lake Michigan and back home again. When I got back, I took a shower, put on four layers of clothes, and then climbed into bed and put my head under the covers.

I’ve been having vivid dreams lately, the kind where you wake up and turn the images of the dream over and over in your head. It’s unusual for me. A few weeks ago, I dreamt I was in Washington DC when the cherry blossoms were blooming. In my dream, I was driving along a stretch of road, looking at the blooms, and crying at how beautiful it was and how much I missed it.

Strange, right? I never felt like I belonged in DC or like it was my place, but I have been caught off guard again and again over the past year at how much I miss it. Now it will join my catalog of places I used to be, which is quite a volume. I don’t belong to any of the places, but they live on in me. I think C.S. Lewis wrote something to this effect, something about how we don’t live life as if we’re passing through train stations. Something of each place, each person, and each experience becomes a part of us.