passive consumption.

The edge is lost, quickly. For me, it is lost on any good habit, but especially writing and running. Falling behind, or failing to practice, generates a sense of hopelessness. Why bother now? It also lets the fear creep back in. The fears sound like: it’s hard, I don’t have time, I suck, no one cares. So, without any time to decide otherwise, I’ve pulled out my computer and started to type.

I slept in because we stayed up until 2am watching the second season of this show (and shamefully eating a frozen pizza. Even as an adult, I can’t seem to remember that no good ever comes from eating after midnight.) So now I’m up and its warm in the apartment, because the sun beats through the all east-facing windows in the morning. I’m drinking coffee, but not eating breakfast. Jacob has left for a meeting and the gym. I’m listening to this because it’s beautiful and so epic-sounding and good for introspection.

I’ve talked myself out of my long run this morning, because there isn’t enough time before a friend comes into town. I have a list of things to do. I’m feeling guilty about the things I won’t do. I’m feeling scared that I won’t be able to finish the half marathon in a month if I skip another long run. But this is all real.

Yesterday, Jacob and I drove up to Politics & Prose (which I so desperately wish was nearer by. Driving across town is no small feat in this town).  We went to hear a reading by Steve Almond and Gregg Easterbrook from their books on football. I know little to nothing about football, and generally don’t care. We mostly went because I’ve been a nerdy-fan of Steve Almond for awhile, and I still think about his Week in Greed series two years after he wrote it. At any rate, it was just what I wanted/needed, although disappointing to see the empty seats in the room (and frankly, the ratio of older white women to….everyone else who was there).

the drop.

Last night, after my birthday dinner of a dozen oysters + hushpuppies + mac/n/cheese + one pulled pork taco, Jacob had to run into CVS to pick up a prescription. We both had our bikes, and he had brought me flowers, so I stood outside and waited, holding both of our bikes and the flowers. I stood in front of the automatic doors and listened to them open and close over and over, whether people were walking by, or I was twitching, or no one was making a move.

It took longer than he thought it would. It was dark outside. Right as he ran in, a crowd was dispersing. It was a crowd that was begging cigarettes off of strangers, pulling luggage with all of their possessions, drinking or drunk. A woman walked, stumbled, slowly past me, so close. I heard her mumble, and then clear as day, I don’t stand in front of the CVS and steal no more. I DON’T! She was holding a cup.

I'm not sure how long Jacob was in CVS. It felt like a long time, but I think it was mostly because of the people I saw, so many wild stories walking around on two legs. I can’t even remember the pieces of conversation I heard because they were overwhelming, like standing on the shore as a storm rolls in, and the wind is filling your ears and nearly pushing you over. I felt that rush of human life on the corner in front of CVS.

and this.

It's really strange to think that this is my third birthday in this city. I've belonged to this place, but not in the same way that I've belonged to other places. It's also strange to be facing the last year of my twenties. Life feels full, and hopeful, and exciting. I'm not sure that I ever imagined what my life would be like at this age. But if I had imagined something, I'm doubtful that it looked like this. I'm not sorry. I wouldn't change a single of the unexpected chain of events that brought me here.

And now, here's what last year looked like:

1-strength train regularly (even though I quit the gym, which was the best.decision.ever)
2-read at least one book in a day (a marathon reading session)
3-start buying ethically made investment clothing
4-become informed on the production of chocolate and coffee
5-watch one documentary each month
6-blog regularly (and define what that means for me) (like I do every year)
7-knit a sweater (just do it!)
8-take a spin class
9-stop nitpicking, nagging, and expecting perfection from others
10-cut back on TV
11-go on urban hikes
12-run a half marathon
13-send birthday cards
14-write some fiction
15-make handmade gifts
16-go to book readings and other literary events in my city
17-call people more often
18-make one writer friend
19-go camping in Shenandoah National Park
20-submit one essay somewhere anywhere
21-re-conquer my fear of city biking (on my new bike)
22-learn to use our fancy camera and start taking pictures
23-buy more local produce via the farmer’s market or a CSA
24-use less plastic (especially: produce bags, ziploc bags, and saran wrap)
25-practice positive self-talk
26-eliminate most/all bad chemicals that I put on my body
27-take a real vacation/trip somewhere with Jake (other than visiting family)
28-put compassion and love into the world

this is hard.

On Saturday, we went on a hike. It wasn’t too long or too far, but for about a mile and a half, it was steep. We were puffing and sweating and looking up and only seeing more to climb. It was well worth it, but there was a few moments on that ascent when I felt myself thinking: am I doing this for fun?

For some reason, in the midst of that slow climb, this blog post came back to me. I remembered to be present for all of my this-is-hard feelings, to accept them, to acknowledge that yes it’s hard and uncomfortable, but that isn’t always bad.

Don’t let yourself run. Your mind will want to run from the hard thing, because you have an ideal in your head that life will be comfortable and easy and pleasant. This ideal obviously isn’t reality, because putting off the hard things by focusing on the easy and pleasant only makes your life harder and more uncomfortable over time. So focus on the hard thing, see your mind wanting to run, then don’t run.

Climbing mountains isn’t the only thing that feels hard to me. There are so many things that scare me, and as a person prone to anxiety and fear, facing any of those fears is hard.

But, for what it’s worth, I’m stronger than I often give myself credit for. We are stronger.

The hike was hard, but it wasn’t that hard.

the anti-to-do-list.

I didn’t write last night because:
-I went on a long run
-I had a load of CSA veggies to unpack and clean
-I needed to get ready for a weekend camping trip

I was tired last night, and I was still up until 10:30pm doing my chores. I can be pretty terrible at relaxing, especially on weeknights, because I always see all the things that need to be done (dishes, laundry, cleaning, organizing, food prep, and so on). It’s sort of ridiculous - a simple life for two people in a tiny apartment shouldn’t be that chore-laden.

A friend (HI LADYFRIEND!) has started setting aside one weeknight each week as her putter-around-the-house night. She doesn’t make plans, doesn’t go out, and gives herself time to catch up on whatever needs catching up on.

I’m less prone to doing things on weeknights, meaning most often, I’m going for a run, maybe a quick errand or two, and then I’m home. But in turn, I self-impose a huge amount of stress, because my mental list of chores and things to do always feels urgent. Like things I need to do. They all carry the same weight, which is the weight of guilt, which is the weight of I can’t enjoy doing other things while there are chores that need to be done.

I know its wacky. I’m something of a control-freak, and I impose it most on myself. Writing it down here is making me realize just how wacky it is.

All this to say that I’ve been thinking about giving myself one night each week (or maybe one each month?) where there is nothing on the to do list. There aren’t veggies that need to be washed and prepped. I don’t need to make something for dinner (or something for lunch the next day). I don’t need to worry about dishes or the ever-growing layer of dust on top of the bookshelf. I don’t need to sort and file the random collection of papers piling up on the table. I don’t need to write or feel guilty about not writing.

It would take a little more planning on my part to clear a night like that, but just imagine the beauty of a space where you never have to think I really should be doing...

Of course I don’t mean that I want a life of leisure, bon-bons on the sofa, etc. etc. But it would be wonderful (and I think good for me) to ease up a bit on the self-inflicted stress, and to give myself a little bit of creative wiggle room.

This weekend, I’m camping. And getting mentally ready for the last year of my twenties (truly). And spending quality time with the dude I love. And not doing any chores, because in camping-life, there are no chores.

p.s. I’m working on my birthday list right now.

p.p.s *spoiler alert* A weekly/monthly anti-to-do list day might end up on my birthday list.

p.p.p.s HELL YES I can write two blogs posts in one day if I want to. And HELL YES I can put a big X through yesterday on the calendar, because the first blog post counted for yesterday. Because HELL YES I make the rules.