Sometimes I think my writing would be much more interesting if I were still a wandering soul.
I used to decry that as a confused early twenty-something my stresses prevented me from thinking creatively. Between the ages of 20 and 25 that I lived in Los Angeles, I did little to release my artistic passions. I was drowning in my self-made cocktail of existentialism and narcissism. Sick of hearing myself talk about my petty, but nonetheless troubling issues caused me to move to another city to “find myself”.
Which I did.
Now I’m boring.
I work from home, forget to change out of my pajamas and garden poorly.
I wouldn’t say that “I’ve figured it all out” though. Who ever does? In many ways, we’re ambling spirtis our entire lives; always searching, always learning and always changing.
However, I’m a far cry from the girl I was five years ago.
The girl at 23 didn’t know what she wanted in a career or in love. She thought she always knew herself, but for the first
As of today, I officially moved into Geoff’s house.
When I tell friends this, they usually respond with, “Wow! Taking the big step! Are you excited or nervous?”
Because I feel neither, it confuses me when my friends ask this, but I guess it is a legitimate question. Moving into a boyfriend’s house is a big step, but for some reason I don’t view it that way. It just seems natural.
Considering I’ve been staying here almost every day since we first met, there is no fanfare for my official arrival into the house. Instead I have a pile of crap that needs to find a home in its new home.
As I sit here on his couch, a long, green mid-century couch that was oddly in the film Tree of Life, I look around and see very little that is mine because this is not my house. It is Geoff’s. He designed the house himself with his former long term girlfriend. The design and decor of the house doesn’t scream, “Geoff and former girlfriend!”, nor does it scream, “Just Geoff!” The design
I always knew that 28 was going to be a pivotal age for me.
When I still worked in Hollywood, 25 would be the age that the ball really started rolling career-wise, and 28 would be the age that I, for the lack of a lesser cheesy phrase, “made the big time”. I wasn’t sure what “making the big time” exactly entailed, but I knew it involved financial freedom and a certain amount of career notoriety that would prevent me from drinking at home alone and writing emo music lyrics on my mirror in marker.
Of course I never accounted for the fact that I would soon view my career path as repugnant as a public restroom on Venice Beach.
Well, both 25 and 28 were important ages, but not in the ways that I imagined they would be. At 25 I left the film business and moved to Austin and at 28 I left working 9-5 and went freelance. I also fell in love with an amazing person. I also started growing this cool Rogue-esque white patch in the front of my hair.
I’m halfway through my 28th year
2012 marks the last year of my twenties.
Previously, saying that made me collapse into a fit of inconsolable defeat. Once, on the phone with my father about my car being paid off when I’m 30, I fell to the floor during the middle of the conversation. All it took was me saying, “Well, when I’m 30…” and my brain processed that as someone taking a bat to the back of my knees. My father heard heaving gasps on the other line and waited for my two minute bawl fest to conclude before daring to continue the topic at hand.
I never thought I’d make it past 29. Not because I have a craving for horse tranquilizers or a death wish obsession with Kurt Cobain, but because it seemed nearly impossible to imagine a life past that. My brain simply would shut down when thinking about my 30s. Or maybe, much like the Mayans, my internal calendar simply stops on 2012. Being an only child of divorce, I never planned out my future to include things like marriage and children, so a life after 30 seemed
Yesterday I took a big chance. I wrote an article about my boyfriend on CultureMap- which gets way more traffic than my blog does. I often find it difficult to write long posts, but I found myself able to nearly write a book about my boyfriend. The post, titled “Do You Believe in All the Cliches? A Sappy Relationship Story”, is about how I used to date douchebags and then one day I stopped. I met the most wonderful person and it made me believe that all those cheesy cliches about love might be true. I nervously watched as my boyfriend read the piece once it was posted. The more he read the more my stomach twisted in knots. He loved the piece and when he was done reading I went and gave him a tear-filled hug.
Enjoy the sap…
I used to date douchebags, then one day I stopped.
I’m not sure what made me stop acting this way. Maybe I finally grew up. Maybe I became more confident in who I was. Maybe I met the right person.
Or maybe it was all of those things combined.
I switched my blog over to WordPress a little over a month ago and I love it. Well, actually my wonderful web designer did because I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I mean, I could have maybe figured it out but I resorted back to that illogical fear that I’ll somehow make my blog implode by pushing the wrong button.
I love the options, the freedom I feel in writing multiple posts and the ability to respond to individual comments that the new blog brings. I still need to add some design work, but all-in-all, I’m very happy with the change.
One thing that stinks is that my traffic took a plummet. I’m still trying to figure out why and trying to correct the problem- if that’s possible. It kind of stressed me out. More than I care to admit. A lot of aspects of my writing have stressed me out lately and I hate to say it, but they’re for fairly superficial reasons.
Writing online is both extremely rewarding and mind-f’ing. One post you get a bunch of feedback or shares or
I was telling a friend the other day that my blog was stressing me out. He asked why. I told him that I didn’t have a freakin’ clue. And that’s totally not true. It’s just that I didn’t want to
I don’t know about you, but I have debt.
Car loan debt, credit card debt, and school loan debt.
The car is almost paid off and I’m two years into a four year plan of paying off my credit card debt.
Tonight I saw Arcade Fire, a band I affixed great emotional significance to a long time ago. I recall lonely nights of drinking to, jerking off to, or crying to their first album Funeral. Of thinking
There comes a point in every young person’s life where they have to make the jump.
Have to because they can’t kid themselves that they’re happy with the safe route anymore. Working jobs that mean