I don’t have any hang-ups about getting older or being closer to thirty – most of the time – but I’ll tell you what, that extra syllable is a real doozie.

And in non-birth-anniversary related news, I FINALLY have a .com! It’s up and I’ve even imported all my posts to it, but it’s so plain and dorky looking (think the early days of myspace page customization…egh) that I’m not sure if I’m ready to unveil it yet. But let me say I am so excited about it that I smile to myself every time I look at it – plain dorkiness and all. It’s on blog-world, oh it’s on.

I hope spring is in full swing for all of you because I don’t know about you, but I’ve been dying for the sunshine.

Stuck inside these walls.

Stuck with a sponge in one hand and a vacuum in the other.

Stuck not knowing what I want or what I need or what to do.

Just stuck, in an ugly place that left me feeling exhausted and had me at the edge of tears more often than is characteristic for me. It wasn’t pleasant for me or Eric, and I could sense the growing impatience for me, from the both of us, and I could feel a perpetual knot of discomfort and fear and awkwardness in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t what I wanted.

And so I wrote and cried to myself and reread it and read your words of comfort and understanding and encouragement and I realized it…

This is completely my choice.

I’m choosing to look at certain circumstances of my current lifestyle as bad, uncomfortable, not what I want, instead of taking full advantage of them and living loud and proud and sucking up as much life as I can.

Why?

Because it’s so different. It’s outside of the realm of the practical, the normal, the standard – all invisible bars which I have always denounced. Expectations that I said I would never subscribe to living by; only living up to my own expectations count in this life.

My own.

And my expectations?

To choose to wake up in a good mood and keep that mood throughout the day.

To laugh as much in one day as is humanly possible.

To create things with written words, paints, pencils, seeds, spoken word (or the sung word – even if I’m not at all good at it), and daydreams.

To stop choosing to be sad and miserable and lonely and realize that there is a world at my fingertips, outside my door, inside my heart, mind and soul.

To know that there is absolutely no reason for me to be bored or feel unproductive – I have a laptop, paper, huge piles of art media, books and my imagination, personality and feelings; a world that is endlessly inspiring.

To realize that the writers I admire, the ones that are turning their typed words into new lives, jobs, dreams come true aren’t just lucky; they fought to make this happen. They braved the looks, the disapproval, the confusion, the potential to fall on their faces and they acted anyway. They acted on passion and courage and love, and I can too.

To remember to learn everyday; the mind is as important a muscle as any other.

To stay aware of and start acting on my wants, desires, needs and stop acting on fear, insecurity and the need to please others before myself.

To love myself, inside and out, and to recognize all the beauty in me and not shy away from it, dull it down, or be afraid of it.

To grasp the fact that what I have to give, however unpractical, abnormal, or as far from the standard as is possible, is valuable and worthwhile and meaningful.

To live life as a major player, the star, and not some sidelined extra. I’m the only person I have to answer to and I will forever wake up and go to sleep with me, and it matters that I lived large, and boldly, and authentically, hungry for all that life has to give.

And how much would it take to live up to these expectations? I mean really?

All I can think of is just being myself; boldly, wildly, authentically, without apologies but with all the hunger and passion and sparkle that I can. Just being the person that I know I am, the person that I hide, and dumb down, and put after so many other people and things.

And I have all that I need – here – and I don’t need to come up with anymore excuses, or bad moods, or expectations that aren’t my own to keep me from living the life I want; right now, right here.

So here’s to spring cleaning out the negative and putting the most important things first – myself.

What is the issue for me is the physical alone; the kind of alone that leaves you looking around at an empty house, hearing the words you spoke out loud to yourself echo off the walls. That is the issue.

I’ve never been the person who wanted to be alone. I like looking at peoples’ eyes, and hearing them laugh, and touching their arms, and feeling their warmth. I like being with those that I love. I like them surrounding me with who they are; no words need to be exchanged, just having them there is enough.

I do enjoy my mental alone time, I think most people do. Sometimes I need to just be separated from the people and the noise and the whirlwind that life sometimes becomes and just be with my thoughts, in my head; alone. But never in my life did I ever want being alone to be a full time job, and that’s what it is right now. A full time job that pays me nothing, and takes from me so much sparkle.

I don’t like being alone for too long. I don’t like watching the clock to see just how many more minutes I will have to be.

Maybe it’s about choice though. Maybe it has more to do with that I have no real choice but to spend time alone for now, for the most immediate future. Maybe if I had the full feeling of people in my life right now, people that are a phone call, a quick drive away, the full time job of being alone would be different. But right now the choice isn’t my luxury.

And I realize that there are so many things that I could be doing to fill my time: writing, reading, drawing, exercising, building, cleaning, streamlining, creating, thinking, preparing. A million things that I could do that could keep me from watching the minutes slowly tick by until I see a car pull up.

But I would still be alone.

And I just don’t know when I’ll be okay with that; when it won’t be chore and thief of my sparkle.

Hopefully soon. Hopefully.

You can thank me later.

- Read “The War of Art,” by Steven Pressfield. I read it in one sitting, neglecting everything on my To-Do list that day and you know what? I didn’t even feel a teensy bit guilty about it. It’s a great book, especially for those with an art they love to pursue. Read it. Then read it again. Then tell me how much you love it.

- Watch this video by Ok Go and try not to laugh. No seriously. I giggled so much the first time I had to watch it again. Now, watch this one. Entertainment factor = immense. The Husb and I enjoyed them so much that we bought their album – not too shabby.

- The West Wing. That’s all I need to say. Lah-huv.

- Don’t trip up stairs (especially marble ones!) holding a glass bottle. Just don’t do it. Aside from the nasty, glittery, all-too-dangerous mess you’ll have to clean up, you will suffer cuts – many of them. And as if almost slicing your digits off weren’t enough, 5 days later you’ll find out that a tiny piece of glass had silently and painlessly been taking up residence in the palm of your hand. And you know how you’ll find out it was there? Because, very conveniently, it will pop to the surface just as you’re rubbing your face. It will be so un-awesome you’ll need to break down and make chocolate chip cookies with Andes mint chunks.

- Help me come up with a domain/blog name so I can buy it and make it mine and have LiLu design it. Think of it as an early birthday present to me (March 21st, if you’re wondering). C’mon, I just know your brains are bubbling with something that can help me out.

I’m going to go get myself a carton of milk and put my face in a plate of cookies now.

PS: Thanks to everyone who responded to my recent post, The Reluctantly Domesticated. Your words felt like warm hugs and it was just what I needed. I feel much better <3

And after months and months of a lifestyle that bears absolutely no similarities to the one I lived prior, I finally get it. It’s not the domesticity that kills me – it’s not the staying home, or the cleaning, or the not working – it’s the fact that I feel like I am helping no one. That’s my hang-up; that’s what has been making it hard to call myself a Stay-at-Homer.

I have always felt an enormous sense of pride when I’ve helped someone. No matter how small the gesture, how unappreciated it may have been; it was important to me. Even at my ho-hum jobs that I knew were never going to go anywhere, that didn’t do much for me except give me a paycheck, I found I could enjoy the job as long as I could feel like I was helping someone.

You don’t know where the sprinkler timers are? Well right this way. or The invoice is missing a part number? Let me get that for you. or Just a straight deposit? I would love to help you.

I felt like I was a part of something bigger; like I was a part of the axis of the earth and I was helping this big, crazy, sometimes totally messed up world spin a little smoother. And that made me feel good. It made me feel worthwhile. It made me feel like I was doing something. And that is all I’ve ever wanted.

To make the world a better place – that’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of when it comes to what I want to do with my life. And from the confines of my walls, and responsibilities, and lack of people that can seek my help, I’ve felt like I’m falling so short of the only thing I was so sure about; so passionate about. And that dims the sparkles in my eyes and muffles the songs in my heart. That’s what makes it so hard for me to be a woman domesticated.

So maybe I need a bigger picture, a reality check, or some reassuring words to help me understand that despite my domesticated lifestyle, I am making the world spin a little smoother. That this, right now, will only lead to bigger and better, grander and greater ways to make a difference, to help, to give what I have and want to give.

And while I’ll never truly enjoy not always being out and about or washing dishes or clothes or the fact that my job doesn’t come with a paycheck for the time being, maybe I can feel a little better about this whole staying home thing…

And stop feeling like an animal in a cage.

That being said, it’s time to get over it. I could blame the funks on a million things: the weather, my lack of social life, the frustrations of living abroad, the never ending pile of clothes that need to be washed, my incessant need for things to be “perfect” that is immediately followed by the realization that perfection is impossible sowhyevenbother, the fact that I haven’t had a hair cut in a year and am too afraid to have someone here cut it because of the language barrier AND the bajillion hair-cut horror stories I’ve heard. And like I said, I could blame the funks on all of the above, and in fact I may have already, but it’s time to just suck it up and make life magic happen. Who’s with me?

I’ve got plans people, and no bout of the funks should hold me back.

Time to get busy.

But there are two things on my “Things I’ll Never Do” list that cause a little bit of frustration – for me and others: running (unless my life depends on it, for which there is a general understanding that if that is the case, then I’m probably going to die) and camping outside in a TENT (heebies – cue mental visions of my maimed and bloody guest appearance on “When Animals Attack 435287″).

I have carried these two around for years – and for years I have passionately preached the words, “I WILL NEVER!” in any instance that it be recommended that I do either.

But I’m at a different place in my life these days. A place where I can stand and look at all the different things that have crossed my path. Things that in the past I’ve said, not so passionately and maybe a lot more regretfully, “I will never…”

Things like -
Visit Europe
Drink wine
Move away from California
Get Married
Move out of country
Hone my domestic skills
Be a “Stay-at-home”
Write for pleasure AND business

I’ve accomplished almost all of these now, but more importantly, I love that they’ve crossed my path, and became a part of my life. A life that had the potential to not know what a perfect fit all of these would be.

And to know that I spent the first 20-something years thinking, “I will never…” What a loss that could have been – what a list of regrets to have lay in bed next to you.

So maybe I don’t love running for fun, and still grossly fear the idea of sleeping outside – but are those reasons enough to say, “I will never”? Are those reasons enough to just cut them from my life now without ever really knowing if they could be the perfect fit?

No.

Running and camping could be heinous – or they could be things that bring me a joy I’ve never known and always hungered – and that is reason enough to give them a chance.

So maybe I should erase my, “Things I’ll Never Do” list and write just one thing – one important thing.

Things I’ll Never Do:
Close myself off to a well-lived life

Unfortunately it seems that the majority of the population is rarely any combination of those; even rarer it is to find someone that is all three.

Let me clear something up quick – this is not an “I am so great,” story. Promises. This is an, “Asking why” story.

WHY is it so rare to find genuinely kind people? People that smile when a stranger passes, say, “Excuse me,” when they bump into another, let another driver into your lane.

WHY is it so hard to find considerate people? People that say, “Thank you,” hold doors open for strangers behind them, remember not to take their anger out on an innocent stranger.

WHY is it so difficult to find aware people? People that pay attention to the speed of foot traffic, don’t block an aisle with their cart while they’re talking, not go into the “Express” lane with a cart full of groceries.

I don’t think these things are asking too much; in fact, I think it’s the very least I could ask of others. And this is where it gets tricky for me. I am that person. The person that says, “Excuse me,” and “Thank you,” and pays attention to my cart when stopped in an aisle. I can attest – it is not difficult. In fact it’s easier than dealing with a grimace, or a snippy remark, or a dirty look. And it makes me feel good – it feels so good – to show that I care, even about the strangers I will never see again.

So with that I just wonder, “WHY?” Why do those things make me special, when it really should just be the lowest rung on the ladder of being human? Why is asking for kindness, consideration, and awareness so difficult? Why are they things that so many even lack the desire to try and strive for?

This is me not understanding. This is me a whole lot of heart broken at the state of the people in this world. I just can’t understand why asking so little, is asking so much.

Too much, apparently.

To describe the past year of my life would be impossible; no words I could string together could ever do any of it justice. The path we have taken has been one of the most fulfilling things I could ever imagine – part of it went like this…

On a Sunday night in February 2009 we were friends discussing our broken relationship. The next day we affirmed the feelings we still had for each other; the feelings that were always a silent presence. The words “I love you,” filtered back into our conversations. By Tuesday the words, “get married” had danced on the edges of my ear. By Wednesday he was on a plane to come to California and we were “engaged.” On Thursday I watched him walk towards me at the airport and it was all I could do to remember to breathe. Friday saw us driving hours in snow; destination, Lake Tahoe, goal, get married. And the next day, Saturday February 14, 2009, we were married. Married.

In two feet of snow, just him and me and Lake Tahoe sparkling in the background, we were married. And I didn’t know until I heard myself say, “I do,” just how much I had wanted this. So much. It was a dream coming true; a dream I hadn’t known I harbored until that very moment. It was, it is, one of the most perfect memories I’ll ever have.

And now I have celebrated my first wedding anniversary to a man that I was in love with before I even knew that I was in love with him. To a man that has made me laugh more in the past 3 years than I ever did in the years leading up to him. To a man whose beautiful eyes can lift my heart, give me butterflies, and say, “I love you,” in the most perfect way.

Nothing seems impossible anymore.

I love you.