here's to today

i realized last night that i had no notebooks, no binders, nothing of the sort. i had bought no textbooks. i did not even know which classes i had today (!). "excitement" is not the word i would use to describe the overall sentiment. but in a last ditch attempt to at least look somewhat prepared in class today, i stopped at walgreens to pick up a notebook. a little book that said "find joy in the journey" stared me right in the face when i walked down the aisle. 2 years isn't forever, but it sure feels long here at the start of it. i just wanted it to be over, before it had even started, and i hated that i did. it's not that i had never heard that quote before. it's not that i am now 100% thrilled about these next 2 years. it's not that i hadn't already told myself this. i guess it's just that it cut through my thoughts in that very moment, and seemed a little bit possible. so, here's to the journey, and the joy and the possibility.

good night world.

first day blues

well they're back. and i remember them all too well.

so well, in fact, that my brain is trying to convince me that i know how this goes. i know what it's like. and i'm not being cynical to have prepared myself for mostly pointless classes and annoying group projects.

it's even trying to convince me that i am "better than" those students who came right into the MSW program from their BSW. that i don't need or want more friends. i just have to grit my teeth and get through it. two years. just do it. just do it for the degree.

but you know what? that all just makes me so sad. why is my brain so proud? why is it so quick to judge? why oh why won't it let this be a new place? a new time. a new people. a new brain connection.

okay. maybe some days will be boring. maybe some days will be frustrating. maybe some days i will miss the friends i'm used to having around at school.

but maybe some days that peppy girl who is so excited by the world will say the just the right thing to me when i walk into class. maybe some days my professor will tell a story that i can't get out of my head. one that will stay there, and inform so many interactions of mine that follow that moment. maybe some days the professor i had placed into a neat and tidy box, and had determined that i would learn nothing valuable from, would assign a paper that made me think-- made me organize the jumble of words in my head and spit them out in a logical fashion. 

maybe, maybe i'll learn some humility. some patience. and catch my breath before i plow in there, dig myself into a bitter hole and confine myself to that awful hole for two whole years.

i need these people. i need this school. and i need this time. 

but i am so tired of working to convince myself. i just want to feel it. 

soon, i hope. soon.

hot hot hot

well, since it is clearly my duty to impart my vast wisdom from my many and varied life experiences to you folk, let me give you a few hints for the next time you are trapped in a heat box in 90-some degree weather, plus humidity.

1. assemble any and all fans that may be in your apartment or anywhere in the vicinity. do so, preferably, in the breeze of another fan.

2. take an ice cold shower and ignore your chattering teeth. oh, and don't forget to carry the fan(s) with you into every room you go in, including the bathroom.

3. don't open the refrigerator (especially when and if you would stupidly decide to make a warm dinner for yourself and even warm up your rolls before you realized anything warm touching your lips would be repulsive). YOU WILL WANT TO CLIMB INTO IT AND NEVER LEAVE.

4. continue to carry the fans around with you throughout the night, and when you decide to try to sleep, lay down with no less than three fans pointed directly on you.

good luck.

p.s. what? what's that you say? you remember me mentioning that my parents live only 15 minutes away? in an air conditioned paradise? with a big comfy bed to spare? STOP TRYING TO MAKE THIS LESS DRAMATIC. sheesh.

for amy

no, i didn't have her phone number.
no, i have no idea what she had been doing since graduating from lafollette.
no, we didn't talk. not really.
we weren't even facebook friends.

but yes, i have distinct memories of her sitting in science classes with me. i remember her dancing in Poms. i remember her being on Prom, or was it Homecoming court? i remember walking by her in the hallway, always with a group of friends, usually laughing. i remember her dark hair and her freckles and her cute clothes.
and then, i remember seeing her at The Studio-- where i practice yoga-- just a few short months ago. immediately i recognized and placed her: lafollette, one year younger, "popular." ugh. my first thought: ugh.
i hate it when i run into people i know here, especially people from high school. i told myself: avoid eye contact. don't worry anna, you are better at yoga than her. she must have only just started coming here. it's ok- don't let it get to you.
amy showed up again, a few more times. and one time i must have let loose of my plot to ensure we made no contact, because we were standing next to each other in the hallway after class. she was chatting with the guy who came with her. we walked toward the door, and i held it open for her. after a few moments, she said: did you go to lafollette? i feel like i recognize you. what year did you graduate? what's your name again? a sincere voice and interest emanating from her, i put on my smile and said: oh! yes, i did go to lafollette...and we talked for a minute or two making our way down the staircase and into the cool winter air. i honestly can't quite remember what else we said. maybe that it was nice to see each other? maybe we laughed at the randomness of seeing each other? maybe we said we'd see each other around, then? i think she asked me if i had graduated, but i can't quite remember what she said. i'm trying desperately, and i can't. but i can remember that i was shocked. my ego was a bit offended-- i was feeling a little ashamed. and i was thinking that wasn't so bad, anna. she even remembered you. she made it a point to say hello. but still a small part of me thought i had taken the correct "position." i had done no wrong in waiting for her to say hello- in being skeptical of her presence.

this morning i read that amy lost her battle with depression. all i can think about is that meeting, those moments, her bright, expectant face. and how many things about that picture just seem so wrong. and mortifying. i like to think of myself as a kind person. but this person-- that person-- who was too scared and insecure to think anything kind when i saw her again after so many years, that person is me, too. i may hate that part of me. but it is still there. and i know- i know- people with depression smile. i know that depression doesn't mean you are never "happy," but i also know that the mask of brightness that some exude is eerily real. she was going to yoga. and with a friend! she was, in fact, feeling so good that she reached out to someone who could not have been sending the most welcoming vibes her way. she was trying. she was doing so many things that one would say to do to pull oneself out of that devastatingly deep and encompassing hole. and maybe she was doing well for a while there. maybe she was never doing well, and just got so entirely exhausted from all the pretending. i don't know. and i will not know.

but this has rattled me in more ways than one. depression terrifies me. i want to call it the nastiest names i can think of. but also, i terrify me. the way i can make an offhand judgement and hold onto prejudice. i don't go to high school reunions and try to avoid most meetings of the sort. i have always told myself it's because everyone would be the same. maybe it's because i am the same. the same insecure little girl who walked around those halls, mostly scared, about what others thought about her, and probably what she thought about her, too.

all i know is that i feel small. so, so small. and in my memory, amy is a bright, bright light-- the rays of which were so strong that even her depression could not contain them.

all i know is that i am here. and she is not.

all i know is that i always loved the quote "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." (plato)

all i know is that i seem to have learned to whom i choose to apply that quote, and to whom i deem unworthy of it.

all i know is i don't want to be like this.

no, i didn't have her phone number.
no, i have no idea what she had been doing since graduating from lafollette.
no, we didn't talk. not really.
we weren't even facebook friends.
but i wish she were here. i wish i had another chance.



i do, and i will, but i will not have another chance with her, here.

one more thought. after i talked to leah this morning, i opened up my computer to find this:

we have all hurt someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. it is an intrinsic human trait, and a deep responsibility, i think, to be an organ and a blade. but, learning to forgive ourselves and others because we have not chosen wisely is what makes us most human. we make horrible mistakes. it's how we learn. we breathe love. it's how we learn. and it is inevitable. ~nayirrah waheed

so i breathe love. it's how i learn. and it is inevitable.

on words

i find little else quite as powerful and settling (& unsettling at the same time) as words. sometimes the words of little clara, only 3 years old. and sometimes the words of f. scott fitzgerald. sometimes the words of a stranger, and sometimes the words of my mom, the same ones i have heard for the past 25 years. what a treasure. one to have and to hold- whether you hold them on a piece of paper, or a computer screen, or just in the subconscious memory of the brain, recognized only when those familiar patterns of speech cross the air waves and somewhere deep in your reptilian brain, a connection fires.

this is why i write. this is why i read. this is why i listen. a collector of words- my own, and yours, and his, and hers, and theirs. it never gets old.

wouldn't it

wouldn't it make life easier if we could just somehow channel the energy of another being into our own bodies, and see and feel and endure for them, just for a bit? i mean, truly, why can't we do this? wouldn't it stop any sort of conflict- i'm talking world wars here, and also a simple turn-taking dispute- in its tracks? wouldn't we be just exactly the kind of people and the kind of place that many of us are striving to be? and for those of us who aren't-- well, wouldn't it convince them?

you see, i don't understand that if we were meant for harmony and connection and if we are meant to take care of each other, wouldn't this be the answer?

but, but it isn't. 

is it because connection and harmony would have no meaning if we knew nothing different? is it because connection and harmony are a path, not a place?

maybe it's because we all have pain. and we all endure it. and there is no need to endure others' pain- it wouldn't change the "amount" of pain in the world. maybe it's because taking someone else's pain away lessens our belief in them and our perception of their strength. maybe it's because it's frankly quite conceited to think we could handle pain better than anyone else. maybe it's because pain comes in waves. it reaches you, and it drags you down, sometimes only for a little while, other times for longer. but it reaches everyone. every. one. and when we're not in it, it's OK. we aren't supposed to be. we can wait our turn. in fact, we want to wait our turn.

maybe it's because we learn more about connection and harmony, and taking care when we sit by someone's pain than when we take it. 

............................................................

i'm sitting by you, sweet, sweet friend. and i am not going anywhere.

falling in love

nearly one year ago, i wrote my last blog post. it's strange to read those lines. "everything is about to change." and change, it did. again, and again, and again. and here i am 354 days later. a new apartment. a new job. a new schedule in a few short weeks.

i love my new place. it is light. it is windows open all night. it is old, creaky and quirky. it is balconies and french doors. it is shiny wood floors and old black & white tile in the bathroom. it is clear glass doorknobs. it is friends next door and friends above and sweet landlords below. it is plants. and fresh flowers (as often as i can afford.) most everyone who has stepped foot in the place has admired it and commented it that it is just. so. me.

but, until tonight, i just admired it, too. it was technically my "home," but it wasn't my home. my home was 15 minutes away. in my sister's old room. in the four poster bed. on the porches- front and back. with my parents in the other room. i liked to look at my apartment, and i liked to show it off, but if i was honest, i would have rather stayed at that little white house 15 minutes away. in molly's bed.

tonight i thought about sleeping at that little white house-- after all, i had a perfectly good excuse. i am leaving tomorrow morning at 7 AM, meeting a friend there so we can borrow the Prius from my mom for the long drive. but i just wasn't sure. the allure of a TV and company and movies to watch and free food to eat was strong. but after yoga i came home. i opened the fridge and determined to use that last bit of kale before it went bad. what to make? aha! sweet potatoes and kale. now we're onto something. (sweet potatoes have also been sitting in my fridge for a few weeks now.) sweet potatoes, kale and black beans (with a little plain greek yogurt to top it off). simple enough. and so i chopped sweet potatoes and browned them and did a little dance with the olive oil and some cumin and dumped in a can of black beans, and somewhere in between the black beans and the kale, i fell in love. i am not kidding you-- in a moment's time. soothing voices were singing to me, sweet smells filled the kitchen and things felt right. i was awash with love. solitude does not equal loneliness. sure, it can, but those two words are not synonymous. and solitude is not forever, either. but my god, if i can't enjoy my own company, then who can?

and you know what? i knew this feeling because i have felt it before and it is one of the most delightfully overwhelming and reassuring feelings in existence. well, in my existence. i know it because i suddenly want to tell everyone i love them. and everything will be OK and every (truly-- every) thing that irked me two minutes ago is no more. if i were ever to have this feeling in public, who knows what i would do or say to those innocent strangers in my midst. it's a pretty empowering feeling. and i love it.

so here i am, falling in love, and imagining it will stay forever- but knowing logically it won't- but i guess that's part of its charm- when you're in it, you're in it. and it's all you know. so i soak it up and write and let myself breathe a sigh of relief that this place can be home.