It's hard for me to believe it's been over a month since I've written here. But in the world I find myself currently living in, all things, even time and space, seem untethered, unconnected. I wrote 2012 on a form at work last week. I have to check my calendar multiple times a day to see if it's a day in which I pick up my daughter or a day in which she goes to her dad's.
I've always been a bit of an overachiever in life. Instead of the freshman 15, I gained the freshman 60. Rather than get in shape by signing up for a spin class, I bought a $500 bike and signed up for a 150-mile ride. And apparently the past year has been an exercise in Extreme Transition.
Consider this. Last Memorial Day weekend I took a couple of days off from my job and went on vacation with my husband. This Memorial Day weekend I don't have a husband, I live in a new house, and I just turned in my resignation at that job. My hair looks different. My body looks different. I look in the mirror and more often than not, I don't recognize who I see.
When I've done any of my long-distance run/walks or bike rides, I'm always amazed that even with careful training, it takes my body so long to recover from the exertion. In fact, I sort of abandoned the idea of using half-marathons and century rides as a gambit to help me get into shape, because even if I am in great shape, they take so much out of me that I often don't get off the couch for weeks or months afterwards.
That's sort of where I am now, as this period of transitions (hopefully) begins drawing to a close. I'm walking around in sort of Zombie/Survival mode. I read back through the things I used to write and I'm amazed I was able to put together coherent sentences. (Those of you reading this now may be thinking the same thing.) I ache with exhaustion, and I am just keeping all my fingers and toes crossed that these trying times are worth the effort. I think they are. I just have to be strong long enough to see the fruits of my labor.
I've missed being here, even if no one reads. Words have always been my salvation, and I have no doubt they will continue to be, even as I reboot to this very new operating system.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Edge of seventeen
I'm driving down Leestown Road, going 70 in a 55, windows down, the cold spring air filling my lungs. It's dark out, almost midnight, no one on the road to notice my speed, the fact that I have one headlight out, the singing out the windows into the world.
...in the web that is my own, I begin again...said to my friend, nothing else matters...
I think I'm mostly out of the Dark Place this time. I've been in it for so long now. I removed myself from society because all around me were signs of spring and I couldn't handle spring coming for everyone else but me. And when no one noticed I was gone... well, that was silent confirmation that the loudest voice was right.
...I see you doing what I try to do for me with the words from a poet and the voice from a choir and a melody...
But it wasn't right, and it never is. And I'll be back in that Place again, just as sure as the air against my face bites. I've been in and out of it since I was a kid, maybe even since I can remember, and no amount of Better Living Through Chemistry has ever been able to ward it off completely. But oh, the sweetness when I'm sprung free. I might not get rid of it for good, even if I could, because this? This is like heaven on earth, every sensation like the first time, every breath a gift.
...the clouds never expect it when it rains, but the sea changes color, but the sea does not change...
Today is a new day. It's my day. I'm ready to take it.
I'm back. Ooh, baby, ooh, say ooh.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Starting and finishing
"The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy." --John Galsworthy
Here's something I've learned about myself recently. I'm very good at writing about sad. (I bet you hadn't noticed.) I'm also very good at writing about unsure, afraid, depressed, and worried.
I have no idea how to write about hope.
This upcoming week is a big one for me. I have four tax returns left to file (which are all done, just waiting on confirmations) and then I am officially closing my consulting business down. This move has been coming for a while, and I probably would have done it back in January had it not meant that I'd have to leave lots of people in the lurch for taxes this year. Why am I closing it down? Because when I thought about the work, I felt heavy in the pit of my stomach. I dreaded it. I would get emails or calls from clients and procrastinate returning them. And, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I really got joy from in the work was the act of simply setting up my own business, being free to write my own web copy and choose the clients I wanted to work with. I liked marketing, interacting, writing business plans. Once I had my client base, I lost the magic.
The thing is, it's more and more clear to me that accounting is not my calling. I want it to be so badly, and it just isn't. If I never did another journal entry again, I wouldn't miss it. If I never ran another financial report and wrote an executive summary, I'd be just fine. I'm good at accounting... in fact, I might be better at it than anything else in my life currently. But being good at something does not mean it's good for you.
The other big thing going on is that, on Friday at 9 am, I will become a homeowner again. MY home. I've spent the past few days picking out hardwood floors and furniture and paint colors in preparation for the post-closing frenzy of work that will need to be done before I officially move in, in May. As anxiety-inducing as it is to think about the added responsibility, I can't stop myself from breaking into wide, goofy smiles at random moments. I'm finally getting the space I've longed to have.
Yesterday I was with my friend Trisha at the furniture store, picking out some things, and I noticed a vanity in the clearance aisle (it had a couple of minor scratches on the finish, so it was half-off). I told her how, ever since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of having a vanity where I could sit and put on my makeup in the mornings. And as we wandered around the store, for hours (I have very patient friends), I kept coming back to the vanity, until finally Trisha said, "Holli, get the damn thing already."
It's being delivered in two weeks.
Today I'm a business owner without a house. Next Sunday I'll be a homeowner without a business. It's a good trade. It's messy work, unraveling what lights you up, what brings you down, where you're supposed to be at any particular place and time. It's uncomfortable. It sets your teeth on edge.
But oh my God, it's so worth it.
Here's something I've learned about myself recently. I'm very good at writing about sad. (I bet you hadn't noticed.) I'm also very good at writing about unsure, afraid, depressed, and worried.
I have no idea how to write about hope.
This upcoming week is a big one for me. I have four tax returns left to file (which are all done, just waiting on confirmations) and then I am officially closing my consulting business down. This move has been coming for a while, and I probably would have done it back in January had it not meant that I'd have to leave lots of people in the lurch for taxes this year. Why am I closing it down? Because when I thought about the work, I felt heavy in the pit of my stomach. I dreaded it. I would get emails or calls from clients and procrastinate returning them. And, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I really got joy from in the work was the act of simply setting up my own business, being free to write my own web copy and choose the clients I wanted to work with. I liked marketing, interacting, writing business plans. Once I had my client base, I lost the magic.
The thing is, it's more and more clear to me that accounting is not my calling. I want it to be so badly, and it just isn't. If I never did another journal entry again, I wouldn't miss it. If I never ran another financial report and wrote an executive summary, I'd be just fine. I'm good at accounting... in fact, I might be better at it than anything else in my life currently. But being good at something does not mean it's good for you.
The other big thing going on is that, on Friday at 9 am, I will become a homeowner again. MY home. I've spent the past few days picking out hardwood floors and furniture and paint colors in preparation for the post-closing frenzy of work that will need to be done before I officially move in, in May. As anxiety-inducing as it is to think about the added responsibility, I can't stop myself from breaking into wide, goofy smiles at random moments. I'm finally getting the space I've longed to have.
Yesterday I was with my friend Trisha at the furniture store, picking out some things, and I noticed a vanity in the clearance aisle (it had a couple of minor scratches on the finish, so it was half-off). I told her how, ever since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of having a vanity where I could sit and put on my makeup in the mornings. And as we wandered around the store, for hours (I have very patient friends), I kept coming back to the vanity, until finally Trisha said, "Holli, get the damn thing already."
It's being delivered in two weeks.
Today I'm a business owner without a house. Next Sunday I'll be a homeowner without a business. It's a good trade. It's messy work, unraveling what lights you up, what brings you down, where you're supposed to be at any particular place and time. It's uncomfortable. It sets your teeth on edge.
But oh my God, it's so worth it.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Where I've been
My attempt at Just Writing this week. Go visit Heather. She's the cooooolest.
She wants pancakes for the second night in a row. I can't exactly fault her for it--she comes by her love of carby breakfast foods honestly. But I don't feel like cooking, and I don't have time to make them because I need to run some more errands for the new house I'm buying that I don't know how to tell her about. And as we sit at the restaurant, me scolding her about using so much syrup, she hops up in my lap and starts showering my left cheek with tiny kisses. "You make me crack up, Mommy." (She learned the phrase "crack up" over the weekend and has been telling everyone they either do or do not make her crack up.)
I have a meeting at my new home with a contractor. There are some repairs and renovations I'd like to do before I move in, and I've been assured this is the guy that will help me organize all of the work and do it well and cheaply. He immediately starts asking me questions about styles of sub-flooring and joist placement and other things I don't know how to answer. I feel my cheeks start to flush. If there's one thing I don't do well, it's admit ignorance. It flies in the face of the only thing I've ever really felt secure in. The meeting ends and I'm flustered, confused, realizing I'm going to have to make some hard choices about the work I can or can't do. But I'm the last one in the house, and the realtor tells me to lock up when I leave, and I spend about 20 minutes just sitting in the house, wandering through the rooms. This is my new bedroom. This is my new office. I'll see each sunrise through these windows. I'll open this garage door every day coming home from work.
I receive a packet in the mail from my attorney. When I open it, photocopies of stamps and signatures and forms scatter across my countertop. Getting married only requires one piece of paper; getting divorced apparently takes around two hundred. The cost, both literal and emotional, of where I've been threatens to overwhelm me as I stack the papers in a neat stack on the kitchen table. A phrase from the cover letter catches my eye. "You are officially a single woman."
I sit in the airport, heading for a long-awaited and, quite frankly, well-deserved vacation to my favorite place on Earth. It's early, and I'm cranky, and getting annoyed at the people next to me eating some sort of delightful-smelling breakfast something-or-other. I shouldn't be going out of town (even though the ticket was frequent-flyer miles and the apartment is free)--I should be saving every penny I have to change out light fixtures and buy paint. But as I sit here, I feel lighter already. Earlier this week I saw a bumper sticker on my morning commute. It was black, with three words in white writing. Don't postpone joy. I've never heard that phrase before. Don't postpone joy. And then they call my flight and I stand up, ready for an adventure.
She wants pancakes for the second night in a row. I can't exactly fault her for it--she comes by her love of carby breakfast foods honestly. But I don't feel like cooking, and I don't have time to make them because I need to run some more errands for the new house I'm buying that I don't know how to tell her about. And as we sit at the restaurant, me scolding her about using so much syrup, she hops up in my lap and starts showering my left cheek with tiny kisses. "You make me crack up, Mommy." (She learned the phrase "crack up" over the weekend and has been telling everyone they either do or do not make her crack up.)
I have a meeting at my new home with a contractor. There are some repairs and renovations I'd like to do before I move in, and I've been assured this is the guy that will help me organize all of the work and do it well and cheaply. He immediately starts asking me questions about styles of sub-flooring and joist placement and other things I don't know how to answer. I feel my cheeks start to flush. If there's one thing I don't do well, it's admit ignorance. It flies in the face of the only thing I've ever really felt secure in. The meeting ends and I'm flustered, confused, realizing I'm going to have to make some hard choices about the work I can or can't do. But I'm the last one in the house, and the realtor tells me to lock up when I leave, and I spend about 20 minutes just sitting in the house, wandering through the rooms. This is my new bedroom. This is my new office. I'll see each sunrise through these windows. I'll open this garage door every day coming home from work.
I receive a packet in the mail from my attorney. When I open it, photocopies of stamps and signatures and forms scatter across my countertop. Getting married only requires one piece of paper; getting divorced apparently takes around two hundred. The cost, both literal and emotional, of where I've been threatens to overwhelm me as I stack the papers in a neat stack on the kitchen table. A phrase from the cover letter catches my eye. "You are officially a single woman."
I sit in the airport, heading for a long-awaited and, quite frankly, well-deserved vacation to my favorite place on Earth. It's early, and I'm cranky, and getting annoyed at the people next to me eating some sort of delightful-smelling breakfast something-or-other. I shouldn't be going out of town (even though the ticket was frequent-flyer miles and the apartment is free)--I should be saving every penny I have to change out light fixtures and buy paint. But as I sit here, I feel lighter already. Earlier this week I saw a bumper sticker on my morning commute. It was black, with three words in white writing. Don't postpone joy. I've never heard that phrase before. Don't postpone joy. And then they call my flight and I stand up, ready for an adventure.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Me and moving and Minted
So, I'm going to lighten things up around here a little bit (sigh of relief) because... well... I need your help. I'm moving into a new home in the next couple of months. It's small-ish (it seems very small to me because it's half the size of my current house), but it's going to be perfect for me and 50% of my kid. And this means... I have to decorate. That's where you guys come in, because y'all know I'm indecisive.
Minted is an online paper goods store (business cards, wedding invitations, stationery, party decor, and more) featuring independent designers and artists. Do you know how I feel about paper goods, people? Some of you do. It's a problem. Anyway...the cool thing about their approach is that they hold design challenges monthly, and the best of the challenge submissions are added to the store. The designers then get the exposure, a cash prize, and commission on the sales.
I was approached by Minted to feature some of their products on my site, which I'm pretty excited about because they also offer art prints. (Before I get into the art prints though, seriously, how cute are these party decorations for my daughter's next birthday? DEAD OF ADORABLENESS.) Seriously.
I will be taking lots of framed stuff with me to the new home, all of which falls into one of two categories: photography (mostly stuff I've taken, like pictures from my travels, but also some of the kiddo), and words. Typography. It makes sense that these things draw me in because, well, words are the way I express myself. But I have decided I probably need to mix it up a little bit with some graphic art.
One of the great features of Minted's website is the ability to make a Pinterest-esque "board" with their products. I like this because I can't deal with Pinterest anymore--it always made me feel so inadequate with all the craftiness and the cooking and the cute clothes. So, without further ado, here's my board of art for my great room. (For reference's sake, my entire downstairs is one large room--living room, dining room, kitchen. Hardwood floors, fireplace, Mad Cute.)
So here's something weird. In my head I had always seen my great room as being decorated in cool colors and earth tones (think violet and taupe). But when I started looking at art, I was immediately drawn to the warmer colors. Guess that's something to think about before I start slapping paint on the walls. Which ones of these prints do you like the best for my new place? (And yeah, the Empire State one is a bit of an anomaly. I just love it so much I couldn't not put it in there.)
Here's something else cool: if you visit Minted using this link, you'll get $25 off your first order of $50 or more. (If you're a first-time shopper, that is--and yes, this is an affiliate link.)
Stay tuned for more styling stuff as I start to figure out what I want my new space to look like. This is the first time I've ever decorated without having to take anyone else's preferences into account, and it's EXHILARATING.
And don't be surprised when you get one of these from me. #squee
Disclosure: I was asked by Minted to review their products on my site, and have been compensated to provide my opinion. Even though I received compensation for this post, I always give my honest opinion on the products in question, and all views and opinions expressed are purely my own. Of course.
Minted is an online paper goods store (business cards, wedding invitations, stationery, party decor, and more) featuring independent designers and artists. Do you know how I feel about paper goods, people? Some of you do. It's a problem. Anyway...the cool thing about their approach is that they hold design challenges monthly, and the best of the challenge submissions are added to the store. The designers then get the exposure, a cash prize, and commission on the sales.
I was approached by Minted to feature some of their products on my site, which I'm pretty excited about because they also offer art prints. (Before I get into the art prints though, seriously, how cute are these party decorations for my daughter's next birthday? DEAD OF ADORABLENESS.) Seriously.
I will be taking lots of framed stuff with me to the new home, all of which falls into one of two categories: photography (mostly stuff I've taken, like pictures from my travels, but also some of the kiddo), and words. Typography. It makes sense that these things draw me in because, well, words are the way I express myself. But I have decided I probably need to mix it up a little bit with some graphic art.
One of the great features of Minted's website is the ability to make a Pinterest-esque "board" with their products. I like this because I can't deal with Pinterest anymore--it always made me feel so inadequate with all the craftiness and the cooking and the cute clothes. So, without further ado, here's my board of art for my great room. (For reference's sake, my entire downstairs is one large room--living room, dining room, kitchen. Hardwood floors, fireplace, Mad Cute.)
So here's something weird. In my head I had always seen my great room as being decorated in cool colors and earth tones (think violet and taupe). But when I started looking at art, I was immediately drawn to the warmer colors. Guess that's something to think about before I start slapping paint on the walls. Which ones of these prints do you like the best for my new place? (And yeah, the Empire State one is a bit of an anomaly. I just love it so much I couldn't not put it in there.)
Here's something else cool: if you visit Minted using this link, you'll get $25 off your first order of $50 or more. (If you're a first-time shopper, that is--and yes, this is an affiliate link.)
Stay tuned for more styling stuff as I start to figure out what I want my new space to look like. This is the first time I've ever decorated without having to take anyone else's preferences into account, and it's EXHILARATING.
And don't be surprised when you get one of these from me. #squee
Disclosure: I was asked by Minted to review their products on my site, and have been compensated to provide my opinion. Even though I received compensation for this post, I always give my honest opinion on the products in question, and all views and opinions expressed are purely my own. Of course.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Other people's words: #justwrite
When I sit down to write, all that comes out is other people's words.
Why don't you wanna win me now? Why don't you wanna show me off? Tell me why you couldn't try, couldn't try to keep me here.*
Why don't you wanna win me now? Why don't you wanna show me off? Tell me why you couldn't try, couldn't try to keep me here.*
I flip back through my journal and can't figure out how I was spending so much time trying to figure out what I wanted, who I was, what my DESIRED OUTCOMES were.
Where there's desire, there's gonna be a flame. Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned. But just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die. You gotta get up and try, try, try.**
The only thing I'm focusing on right now is getting through to the end of every day. I'm trying not to think about anything. When I open those gates everything floods in. And I never learned how to swim.
And just when we believed we could be great, reality, it permeates and conquers from within again. These days we go to waste like wine that's turned to turpentine....***
I'm doing something out of character and admitting two things. One, that I'm lost. Two, that I'm not yet ready to be found. My whole life I've been jumping from one thing to the next, knowing that this thing, no, THIS THING, will be the thing that saves me. That fixes me. As soon as this happens. After I get here.
Time to realize I'm here. This has happened. I'm going to dog-paddle my way out of this, and I know that, but for right now I'm just floating. I'll be ready to swim soon.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Worth
This started out as a #justwrite post and ended up as... well, a mostly free-written poem. So. There's that.
funny how a nearly perfect day can look so ominous
in the rearview mirror,
how the laughter sounds hollow
when it echoes in your brain,
how the things that seemed so okay
make so little sense
when you're no longer there.
i unlock my feelings with a pen and paper,
several days after the fact,
leaving me wrung-out, empty,
and inexplicably content.
i sleep the sleep of the dead,
wake up hoping it's not true,
knowing it is.
thumbing through my journal,
i find my writing entitled
"when i'm strong enough to say
what needs to be said".
the list goes on and on,
and i know i may never be that strong.
i'm just a little proud that i said
"when" instead of "if."
where i am is enough, i think.
not for all time, but for today.
a work in progress, excavating
through years of pain covered up with
layers upon layers of need and fear and
just wanting y'all to like me.
i know there's going to be something
underneath all this
worth finding.
funny how a nearly perfect day can look so ominous
in the rearview mirror,
how the laughter sounds hollow
when it echoes in your brain,
how the things that seemed so okay
make so little sense
when you're no longer there.
i unlock my feelings with a pen and paper,
several days after the fact,
leaving me wrung-out, empty,
and inexplicably content.
i sleep the sleep of the dead,
wake up hoping it's not true,
knowing it is.
thumbing through my journal,
i find my writing entitled
"when i'm strong enough to say
what needs to be said".
the list goes on and on,
and i know i may never be that strong.
i'm just a little proud that i said
"when" instead of "if."
where i am is enough, i think.
not for all time, but for today.
a work in progress, excavating
through years of pain covered up with
layers upon layers of need and fear and
just wanting y'all to like me.
i know there's going to be something
underneath all this
worth finding.
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