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One of my favorite aunts is about to undergo chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. Because I’m halfway across the world, there’s little I can do but send emails or occasionally catch her on Skype. Since I was a little, my Aunt Rita (the youngest of four on my mother’s side) has been the “wild” independent one. She was an international flight attendant, married and divorced young, had an abortion, and led the life of drinking, smoking and dating.
Now in her 50s and facing cancer, she admitted that she—like me—went through a lot of life confident in her independence and single fun. But at this point in her life, she regretted not finding someone, finding to be with her through this time and holding her hand. I protested that she wasn’t alone (my mom is there with her) and I certainly didn’t need a guy to take care of me.
“Of course you don’t, Jane, but take it from this old girl, stay OPEN to the possibility of love. That’s all I’m asking. You don’t want to end up like me.”
The part of me that is tired of being lonely completely agrees with her, but it seems to fight against the idea that I’m doing great on my own. I’ve been on a rampage of hobbies, traveling and hookups but still feel unfulfilled. No matter how hard or light I throw myself into things, I come up on the other side looking for an unknown something. Maybe that’s life? Maybe the unknown is what keeps pushing me forward to live life fully and completely.
Slow down, you crazy child
you’re so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you’re so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?
Oh, Kilimanjaro. How I both love and hate you. You challenged me in ways I never thought possible. You pushed every ounce of energy, emotion and life out of me and every time I thought I had reached that day’s destination, you presented another slope up and laughed.
And so what if I hiked 95% of the time alone as I watched people, including my own friends, run past me? I did it my way, slowly and surely. And yes, you may have knocked me down four hours from the top with your snobby altitude, but for a girl that grew up under sea level and has never climbed a mountain, I came and conquered.
2 weeks later, my mind is still mush. The memories of you are mashed together, leaving me confused and blurred, making me question if I ever experienced what I did. I feel removed, detached and almost emotionless about this grand journey. Images flash sometimes, but I still live with a heavy heart that I don’t understand.
Maybe I put too much stock in you changing my life. After all, Kilimanjaro, you are one of the 7 Summits, the roof of Africa and immortalized by Hemingway. Although the characters in The Snows of Kilimanjaro never actually try to climb the mountain, Harry goes on the safari to get his life back on track and views Kili as a symbol of truth, purity and goodness.
But did you change me? I still feel restless, unsure of the life I’m leading and the person I’m becoming. My fate is what I make of it, but I’ve found that often, no matter how hard I try, I still fall short. And that’s okay. That’s the part I need to learn. Life can’t be measured by the number of successes of grand goals, but small victories.
Kilimanjaro, I may not be back, but I’m going to continue to push as hard and make it to the top some day.
I leave with these great lyrics from Billy Joel. I need to learn from this song. I need to stop being consumed with this obsession of living my life to the fullest and cramming every adventure into every moment right NOW. And remember to enjoy the moments. The journey, not the destination.
Slow down, you’re doing fine
You can’t be everything you want to be
Before your time
Although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight,…
Too bad but it’s the life you leave
you’re so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you’re wrong, you know
You can’t always see when you’re right. you’re right
You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride
but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true
When will you realize,
Vienna waits for you?
-Billy Joel, Vienna
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- The view after going up a vertical Barraco Wall.
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- I can never get enough of these clouds.
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- I’m so sick of hiking at this point.
I may have lost my mind.
I’m going to NYC for Labor Day. This isn’t the smartest move, but the adventure carpe diem part of my heart is yelling at me, so I went ahead and did it. I’m worried, scared and excited to see old friends, but mostly to see Pen. Truthfully, he’s been so busy that there hasn’t been a truckload of enthusiasm from him, but I think I’m okay with it. If things go south there, I have many many friends to escape to. Better to regret something you did than did not do, right? I gave him an out and he didn’t take it, so looks like I’m about add another ridiculous thing on my list of crazy lately.
I’m also confused why I keep thinking money grows on trees. I’m generally a very frugal careful spender, but the older I get, the more I’ve been throwing it to travel. This year alone, I’ve been to Houston numerous times, St. Louis, New Orleans for Jazz Fest, California and Mississippi for weddings and now to NYC. A week and a half after I return, I head off to the adventure of a lifetime in Tanzania and Kilimanjaro. A week after that, I go back home for a wedding and then Houston again for a competition. Over Thanksgiving, I’m off to Puerto Rico for a week.
Whoever said “money doesn’t buy happiness” lied because if I had money, I could travel forever and travel brings my happiness. My old boss told me, “Have a fudgesicle and chill. You’re doing way too much math.” I don’t know how to quiet my mind down from the doubts, the worries, the “what ifs” of each decision I make. How do I find confidence in these choices?
Time to go play the lottery!
He’s finally engaged.
I have a variety of emotions thrown at me when I find out. Part of the chaos is from just getting off the phone with Pen (see previous entry; more on this later). Part of me is stunned. I knew it would happen sometime and soon, but it still stung a tiny bit. We had plans to get dinner and catch up when I was in St. Louis, but he chickened out via text message (although it was his idea). I called him on it and we never spoke again.
He is, for me, what I am to Pen. That #2 in your life that liberates you of what you thought was the norm and showing the way things could be. He was the one that showed me all the physical stuff didn’t have to be used as a tool for manipulation or lies or control. It could be fun and something I could own for myself.
The tiny tick that hurts is that I was never good enough for him to commit, but like Mel told me, “Sometimes I think we’re all girl scouts and instead of ‘leaving our campsites cleaner than when we found them,’ we leave our men better than when we found them. We help them understand women better and, in some cases, understand themselves. And what thanks do we get? They find great relationships after they’re done with us.”
The truth is, as much as he hurt me, he also contributed to making me who I am now. Despite the last year being rough, I AM pretty proud of how far I’ve come. And as one man walks permanently out of my life, another steps in.
As hard as I’ve tried to follow the 2-day rule, I’ve found that my mind still wanders to another man, Pen (see previous entry). He actually calls. So I may have told him straight up he better keep in touch, even if it as only friends or I wouldn’t let him kiss me. It’s a first and I’m unsure how to handle a guy who treats me the way he does. But it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? This is the way it’s supposed to be. I shouldn’t be so in awe of these actions. But the more I thought about it, the more I was sure I wasn’t being swept up by all the niceness. There’s been plenty of nice guys that I wasn’t attracted to and I promised to never settle even when I was lonely.
So what does this mean? I have an opportunity to go visit NYC for Labor Day due to a possible free mileage ticket. I have possibly one day off I can squeeze out of work. I have 50+ friends I need to see there, but I think I would be very happy staying in with him all weekend. That terrifies me. This entire situation freaks me out. I lose my cool when I’m around him, chatting nervously like a little bird to fill up the silences that I’m not used to yet. When he says nothing and just looks at me, I get butterflies and have to blink away because his gaze is so penetrating.
He frustrates me often with his stupid simple man logic (“Wait, why are you complaining about the lack of women boots? You just said there were so many options when you walked in!”) and he likes the wrong sports teams. He goes to bed at midnight and gets up at 7am daily while I find my best energy late at night. Yet, I still want to keep him around to see where it’s going.
Going to NY signifies so much more than just a fun jaunt to the city. After New Orleans, St. Louis and Austin, it’s another home although I never lived there. Going there when I could be going somewhere new (and with Africa soon after) is a giant step. On paper, it’s a horrible idea. Why get attached? Whey get more involved when this is clearly going nowhere with the distance? Like Kilimanjaro, there’s 1000 reasons not to do it and only a handful of good ones. But oh, are those handful really good ones! I promised I would stay open to the possibilities, but not pursue actively. Getting on that plane is breaking all the rules.
Logic or heart? Which?!
Summer: Ok. I, like being on my own. I think relationships are messy and people’s feelings get hurt. Who needs it? We’re young, we live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world; might as well have fun while we can and, save the serious stuff for later.
McKenzie: You’re a dude. [to Tom] She’s a dude!
Tom: Ok but wait–wait. What happens, if you fall in love?
Tom: What?
Summer: You don’t believe that, do you?
Tom: It’s love, it’s not Santa Claus.
Arthur Abbott: Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.
Iris: You’re so right. You’re supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for god’s sake!
- The Holiday
My good friend Roseanne recently told me she was diagnosed with HPV a few years ago. She got it from her ex (and only partner) and it wasn’t the easy curable type, but the kind that could turn into cancer (or just fade away on its own). So she started running and eating healthy to get her body in the best shape to fight it off.
And that got me thinking about how I’ve worked really hard the last 7 years at being single and being the strongest person I can be on my own. I attack hobbies, throw myself into everything and push myself to go beyond my comfort zone– all in hopes that when I get hurt again, I’ll be in the best emotional state to fight it off and not fall down again.
But it doesn’t really work that way, does it? Things never really get easier, things never really change. No matter how strong I am, no matter how many hobbies I surround myself with, I still get hurt. My reactions and experiences may not be as shattering as they used to because of the padding I’ve surrounded myself with, but when someone shuts you down, it still feels like a punch to the gut.
I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
- Iris, The Holiday
God, it feels good to be back here. After weeks of nervous anticipation, excitement and fear, I arrived back in STL and felt like I never left. Although I was running on no sleep from 9am Friday, I managed to forge ahead until 3am this morning.
It’s a strange mixture of “everything’s changed and yet everything’s still the same” feeling. It’s been so therapeutic seeing everyone again. Instant calmness, peace, comfort, familiarity washed over me at dinner as we attempted to sit 9 to a corner booth, even though the ENTIRETY of the restaurant was empty. Elbow to elbow, sharing food and laughing like I had never left. My heart felt FULL.
It was just so…good. I felt myself almost crying numerous times through the night and I can’t even explain why. Not because I was unhappy or miserable or angry or even sad, but just a feeling of “oh wow, I MISSED y’all SO much.” Because these people? They get me. Although they were only in my lives for my last year in St. Louis, they were the ones that really unknowingly tore me out of the depressing hole I was in.
When we go out, it’s not fake or dressed up or over-the-top. We go to funny unique little hole-in-the walls like Hide Away where 70-year olds dance and drink and it’s genuine and I LOVE it. We sat in this weird little place with red walls and half-naked Native American women paintings and watched them sit on stools with their perfectly coiled hair swaying to the music. Music, which by the way, is provided by an old man with a little white mustache playing a keyboard with sound effects and singing classics and standards. This is peace, I think. The comfort of being around people that don’t push me to party harder because I’m tired or run 5 miles because it’s shocking to them that I don’t. It leaves an ache in my chest and I wonder if I’ll ever find those kind of friendships in Austin.
I’ve been incredibly lucky in my life with the people I meet. I know that each group serves its different purpose and meaning in my life and they aren’t replacements for each other. But I just hope that I come across the same feeling of comfort and home again.
Summer always seems to bring change. The end of May into the beginning to June begs for it. After years of watching people leave me and go on their adventures, I finally go to go on my own last year. This time around, I watch my friends go off on their own version of “Jane Moneypenny’s Quarterlife Crisis” move.
In 2 weeks, I return to St. Louis for a much needed visit and relaxation. After 8 months away and almost a year to the date I moved, it’s going to be a mixture of emotions. Hope for the friends packing to move away, sadness to not see those that left, and excitement to feel that familiarity I’ve been missing. I want to return victorious and awesome, as if moving away was the best choice of my life and leaving was great for my soul, my heart, my perspective. But I’m not confident that’s the case.
A year ago, I was leaving for this great unknown adventure with so much potential. Now I’ll return with a lot of mental and emotional exhaustion and unsure of where I belong. I hate my job, still haven’t found the right group of friends and got hurt by guys I should have learned to stay away from.
In some twisted way to control my return, I signed up for a hellish 3 weeks of fitness boot camp. It’s grueling and my shin splints have stopped me from pushing myself all the way. While everyone runs, I have to sit on the sidelines doing modified leg exercises. I feel like a failure, even though I know the fact I’m even doing this boot camp is already its own success. So I keep pushing each day, biting back the pain and thinking of how good it will feel to look tan and toned when I return. Or at least that’s what I imagine in my head as happening, even though 3 weeks is not going to magically give me the body of my dreams.
After all, there ARE old crushes and exes to be seen. 
There are some days I wake up in the morning, stumble into the bathroom and sigh when I look into the mirror. Those are the days I hate my slight overbite (curses to me for not wearing my retainer enough when I was younger), hate my round face and chubby cheeks, hate that one breast is bigger than the other and wish my gut would magically eliminiate.
I never really had much a self-image or self-esteem issue until college when guys entered my life. Going to an all-girl Catholic high school actually boosted my confidence, never having to worry about how I looked or needing to impress someone. My high school boyfriend was the local all-boy high school standard and I rarely felt insecure.
But now, at the age of 25 (26 in a little more than a week!), I seem to feel these issues weighing on me. It’s not something I obsess about, but it’s in the back of my mind when I see pictures of myself or have to meet new people. People who meet me always comment that I seem confident, sure of myself and ready to take on the world. Why do I feel the opposite? Starting over in new city seems to have made me evaluate every part of my life – my career, my personality, my social life…
And I’m still struggling, trying desperately to find patience. I have mixed feelings about my first birthday in Austin; it feels strange and unfamiliar, like I’m an imposter. The people around me still don’t seem to fully understand me and I don’t think I’ll ever fully trust them. It feels wrong to spend it with them. Isn’t that a strange thought?
Too bad moving to a new city didn’t entail a full physical makeover. But I guess that probably wouldn’t fix the inner angst that has been sticking to my insides for the last 8 months.
There are some days (okay, most) that I really hate this job to my core. I knew it was going to be hard when I took this job, but this is pushing my every last bit of patience and soul. My boss got fired (not laid-off) a month ago, I’m still feeling like a producing hound and having to see Mr. Co-worker every day doesn’t help (although we’ve seen to established an ability to act like the other doesn’t exist). On top of that, the girls that I once trusted here seem to have lost their minds and abandoned and outcasted me.
But the economy is bad so I have to be grateful I have this job and a source of income. I feel guilty even thinking these hateful and negative thoughts, but it consumes me day in and day out. Would I have been happy if I had taken the other job in New Orleans? Maybe, but maybe not. There’s no way to ever know and it’s pointless to ever ask that.
It’s been 6 months and it’s been hard. So hard. There are moments or short-lived days where I feel happy, satisfaction and pride that I’ve come this far. But the majority of the time, I’m just drained from having to keep pushing forward with this much energy. I don’t really know how else to do it. If I just sit back and wait for life to happen, I go against every “life” rule of “fighting for what you want.” If I keep going at the rate I’m going, I’m destined for a complete shutdown (which is already happening). People keeps saying, “Give it time. It takes at least a year to feel IT when you move and make such a life change.”
I long ago stopped believing that “things happen for a reason.” Nowadays, I just feel like “Crap happens. Random. Bad luck.”
Apparently I need to learn patience.
I’ve never been great at staying mad for long. I may have a spectacular memory for events, incidents and fights, but I more often than not forgive the offending party and move on (indicated by how friendly I remain with exes, ex-flings, ex-crushes).
One thing I never have accomplished, however, is forgiving myself. More than enough times, friends have commented, “You’re too hard on yourself” and then shake their head and wish I would ease up. Even my parents have relayed their worries that I put too much unnecessary pressure on myself.
In regards to my career and successes, that may never change and I’m okay with that. With relationships and my personal life, it needs to change. As I’ve mentioned before, I was in an emotionally abusive on-and-off again relationship/friendship with an ex-boyfriend that spanned 6-something years. Although I’ve moved on from him and have started a new phase in my life, I’ve realized lately I haven’t gotten over the effects.
A year ago exactly this week is when I finally decided to move out of the emotional turmoil that had been St. Louis. And since then, I’ve been on an exhausting and enthralling adventure to really live my life. If I got a chance to travel, I took it. If there was a guy I felt a connection with, I put myself out there. If there was anything new worth trying (or even not worth trying), I signed up. If you asked me if I could be living life any differently, I would be confident in my answer that I’m living life just the way I should be.
But the anxiety doesn’t leave. I still haven’t forgiven myself for all the time wasted on him. And even though I fought back, I always ended up back in the vicious cycle that is abuse and feeling weak. Of course he’s at fault, but I feel like I knew better. I was never blind to the crap or the hurt or the abuse (although it took me years to finally put a name to it). So in some twisted way, all this carpe diem mentality is an attempt to make up for all the lost time because I just can’t seem to let it go that I put myself through that for so long.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s been exciting and fun and scary and memorable, but also incredibly exhausting. When I have a span of time that I’m not “grabbing life by the horns,” I feel guilt that I’m wasting time again, especially because I’m so young. So many people have told me that the fact I’m no longer around or with him is all the success I need, but each time I stumble a little and find myself hurting over a jerk, I return to being mad at myself for falling back. Not that all men will be abusive, of course, but apparently going through one horrible one doesn’t make it easier to run from the other jerks.
I’m not sure how to ease up on myself or this self-imposed pressure. More importantly, I clueless at how to forgive myself the way I forgive the ones that have hurt me.
