One of those days.

Today did not start out well.

I forgot to take dinner out of the freezer to defrost for tonight.
I had to stand out in the cold rain for far too long this morning.
I had to walk around with a wet foot due to said rain.
(Maybe also because I need new work shoes.)
I apparently put my underwear on inside-out this morning.
And didn't realize that until the second time I used the bathroom.
Later, I walked in to a door while I was opening it.
(Good luck figuring out the logistics on that one.)

But everyone has had a day like that, right?

No? Just me?

Love.

What's next?

By way of explanation, I feel compelled to let you know that if a blog only shows post summaries in Google Reader, I'll typically open any posts I'm interested in in a new browser tab with the intent of reading them. I frequently get distracted, and therefore, I find that I typically have ten or more tabs open. As a result, it may take me days to get around to reading something that's caught my interest. So please, never look to this blog for up-to-date commentary on anything.

But I digress.

The point of that story was, that there was a post on Pocketmint that I had started reading last week and just finished today. And I absolutely loved the conclusion:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” ignores the fact that our minds never stop growing. Instead of trying to map out our whole lives at once, maybe we should just be asking,

“What should I do next?”

But, of course I would love someone else eloquently validating my own aimless wandering through life. Aimless, not because I don't know what I want to do, but because there are so many things that I want to do. My interests and passions are so far varied that it seems impossible to pursue all of them, which can be frustrating.

This was a good reminder to chill. The fuck. Out. Because I don't have to do everything Right Now. I can't. But that doesn't mean I won't get a chance to write, read, walk two very well-trained dogs, rock a belly dance routine because I've been exercising the appropriate muscles in order to do so, contribute time to a cause that's important to me, actually complete one of the many projects I've conceived of, cook an amazing meal from food that I've grown, share said meal with my family and friends, and enjoy it in my beautiful home, which was designed with sustainability in mind. Maybe I can't do all of these things at the same time, but it doesn't mean that I can't do all of them some time.

A new name for everything.

When the bus-shelter windows and napkin-dispensers surprise
with distorted reflections, it's never the someone you're hoping to recognize.
And the rent is too high living here between reasons to live,
where you can't sleep alone, and your memories groan, and the borders of night start to give.
When you can't save
cash or conviction; you're broke and you're breaking - a tired shoelace or a wave.
So long past, past-due. A new name for everything.
When the one-ways collude with the map that you folded wrong,
and the route you abandoned is always the path that you probably should be upon.
When the bottle-cap ashtrays and intimate's ears are all full
with results of your breath
and the threads of your fear are unfurled with the tiniest pull.
One more time, try.
Stand with your hands in your pockets and stare at the smudge on a newspaper sky,
and ask it to rain a new name for everything.
Fire every phrase.
They don't want to work
for us anymore.
Dot and dash our days.
Make your face the flag
of a semaphore.
All you won't show.
The boxes you brought here and never unpacked are still patiently waiting to go.
So put on those clothes you never grew in to,
and smile like you mean it for once.
If you come back, bring
a new name for everything.

- John K. Samson and The Weakerthans

Almost thirty.

About two weeks ago, I turned twenty-eight, also known as "almost thirty". I'd been absolutely dreading this birthday, but it passed rather uneventfully - producing nowhere near the emotional turmoil that birthday number twenty-seven did.

I put sincere effort into denying my twenty-seventh birthday. If no one acknowledged it, it'd be like it didn't happen and I could continue on being (a much younger-sounding) twenty-six for as long as I felt necessary. Logic! Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get my family or my boyfriend, Sean, on board with this line of reasoning and I was forced to become twenty-seven.

I'm not really sure what the difference between the two birthdays has been. Maybe at twenty-seven, I passed the threshold for caring about how much older I get. Maybe only odd-numbered birthdays have such an effect. Or maybe because I have a life that seems more appropriately adult-like for my age, creeping up on the undeniably adult age of Thirty Years Old, doesn't seem so horrifying.

Last year, my dog, my cat, and myself were cohabitating with my mom; I was living in her basement*. Sean and I had to drive about half an hour to see each other whenever we were so inclined, which included an extra-long drive to work extra-early in the morning for one or the other of us multiple times a week. I still had a lot of debt (car and credit cards). I felt like, no matter how much I tried, I was stuck, never making any forward progress. I was dealing with an intense amount of frustration.

This time around, I found myself sharing a small, but charming apartment with Sean, the cat, the dog, and a new addition to the family, our puppy. I managed to dig my way out of all of the debt, except for the new furniture purchased for the apartment**. I still enjoy my job, possibly more than ever, and I've started feeling much more comfortable in my managerial role. Most of the time I still don't think I feel like as much of an adult as I should. And no, life isn't what I thought it would be by this time, and it's not quite where I now hope it will go, but to be honest, life is pretty fucking fantastic.

* Granted, the house had been purchased in my name and legally, I am a Home Owner, but that's a story for another time.

** I realize this sounds like a poor choice from a personal finance perspective, but I'll elaborate in the future.

How life is best lived.

This post was originally published over the summer. Yes, I'm a cheater!

To be honest, I don't remember what caused me to click on a link from here to here, but I'm glad I did. I don't typically entertain ideas of my ever becoming a Blogger, by which I mean maintaining a blog as a professional (or even semi-professional) venture. A lot of the time I do enjoy blogging; others I wonder why I bother with it.

But, this. This I really liked.

"[...] at least when you die you'll have literally thousands of essays, comments, and photos about how you thought life is best lived. And that's pretty awesome."

Perhaps I'm putting a bit of my own interpretation in to this, but what I'm taking away is: Write. And keep writing. Over time, your writing and whatever else you incorporate in to your blog will evolve in to a Compilation of Life in General, at least as you perceive it. If there are other people who take some interest in your perspective and want to participate and create a discussion, that is great. If not, you've still created something fantastic.

Oh for four.

My original intent (as with every year) was to participate in National Blog Posting Month, a community based around the challenge of writing a blog post for each day in the month of November.

Until just about a minute and a half ago, I'd hit the fourth day of the month with no posts whatsoever. Ideas abound, but only in their most basic forms. And that, only because I just haven't set aside time to write anything down.

So here's to trying. Maybe at some point this month I can make up for those three posts that I'm behind.