Lost On My Always

These are the flowers I should stop and smell.

In February of 2007, my husband and I took a train from our home of two years to our new home in Austin, TX. My brother picked us up at the station and drove us to his apartment on East Riverside, which at that point was not a notably nice or safe part of town. Pit bulls and chickens roamed the busy streets, empty lots featured small tent cities, and the HEB sold large bags of rice and fresh-chopped cactus.

Darling and I lived there for about two weeks before finding our own place on a slightly (and increasingly) more trendy neighborhood. We were priced out within the year and eventually landed what may actually be my forever home in one of the trendier neighborhoods in the city (at, miraculously, an even lower rent than I was paying in 2007).

In 2012, I landed a night job exactly across the street from where my brother's apartment was once located. The building had been knocked down to be replaced by luxury condos. There were still empty lots, chickens, countless stray cats, and dirty mobile homeless communities that I passed every evening and morning on my way to and from work. 

I was overjoyed when the 24-hour coffee shop opened a block from my job. It meant so much to have a cup of coffee, write in my journal, and watch the sun come up after a long shift at work.

I am at that coffee shop this evening for the first time in at least six months, if not a year. I took a wrong turn getting here, distracted by the Pho joint, Starbucks, Chipotle, Walgreens, and other business that seemed to have sprouted spontaneously out of thin air. My city has grown and expanded, leaving me strangely lost on one of the most familiar streets of my life. Despite having name mostly cruddy box stores, this isn't an indictment of that growth so much as an expression pure amazement. I understand the sorrow of my parents, the appalled wonder at hearing someone say, "yeah, I'm old Austin. I've been here since '96." It shouldn't be bad, it isn't bad, to see a city that has been tilled up, re-seeded, and thriving with a strange new crop of students and techies and musicians and families. At the same time, my home is unfamiliar territory, which is a feeling both crowded and lonely.

How long were my eyes closed, to not see this happening?

And how much of this experience is an extension of my self-relationship? The face that stares back at me every morning, laugh lines that much more defined than the day before. Another gray hair, eyes shifting from golden brown to grey-green. Looking more like my mother every day even as I settle into a strong sense of being me. Who is this lonely woman? When did she get here, with her calloused hands and soft chin?

Between my face and my city I find the changing territory of my home. My house, my room, the walls painted over and still stained with the past. Everywhere I look I see what used to be. I see Him. The way He climbed nimbly onto the roof to sweep off the leaves, scaring the crap out of me. His maddening habit of washing dishes so rapidly that water soaked through his shirt and dripped onto the floor. The fact that he was the only one who would properly scrub the toilet, that he at least tried to keep up with the laundry, his constant presence so much more comforting than stifling. His complete lack of self-awareness at times, an apparent inability to control the volume of his voice. The way he watched, constantly, to be of service, leaping across the room to open a door for someone, noticing if someone was running late or missing. 

He haunts me. So do the chickens, the pit bulls, the temporary homes. The Familiar is gone. Good or bad, for better or for worse. I sleep in the same bed, journal in the same coffee shop, and get lost on these streets I have known all of my life.

Feeling The Berm

Loving the recent influx of dragonflies.

I hope everyone is enjoying a beautiful weekend and holiday! I spent some time in the garden yesterday rigging up a fence to protect the corn patch from squirrels, planting English Ivy cuttings in the front yard, and turning the berm.

Our house is situated on the slope of a hill, so we have a wall of leaves, branches, and other such material alongside the bottom fence to catch water and soil on during heavy rains. It's a pretty awesome set-up, preventing erosion, providing wildlife habitat, and turning hundreds of pounds of oak leaves into beautiful soil. We very rarely give it much attention, but it's definitely time to do so now. I'll probably spend several weeks attending the 20'x4' stretch for a few hours at a time, carting plenty of fresh soil back up to the top of the hill to nurture our spring veggies.

Balancing The Closet

Weeding and watering the garden.

Yesterday morning I pulled everything out of my closet. I went through my clothing, item by item, and put about half of the things I like in a suitcase. I figure that setting them aside for six months will renew their novelty, extend their life, and make me enjoy them even more over a longer period of time. I also created a give-away bag, mostly stuffed with extra metal hangers. I went through my socks and undergarments, tossing out those that no longer have value and re-affirming my need to hit up a sale at JC Penny. Finally, I pulled out a number of borrowed items that have been taking up physical and emotional space, and put the items in the car to be returned that evening. 

Of course, somehow, the rest of my room is now trashed and will need to be addressed today. But my closet, safe behind its closed door, is pristine. 

When Darling first left the house, the majority of items in our shared space, including the bed and desk, were "his." I was easily able to fit everything that was my own into the closet while I boxed up his property. After delivering those boxes to his new home (unloading them together, chatting gently, agonizingly reminiscent of a couple unpacking into their new home), the closet was the easiest part of the room to arrange. That compact space, with its clear sense of duty and natural order, became my refuge. I didn't have a bed, my handful of books and personal possessions were scattered across the bedroom floor, and my Dad's possessions flooded the newly-emptied space as I cleared out his apartment. But the closet was totally orderly.

Taming that clutter clears my head and invites clarity. Purchasing the car and discussing travel arrangements for the workshop in Ohio made for an emotionally overwhelming week. I wanted to sit at my computer and re-asses my spending, my saving, my budget...but no good would come of it. Anxiety would turn to depression, and hour at the desk would turn into a weekend eating chips in bed. Instead, I cleaned and organized and created a safe space. I invited feelings of comfort and security. Maybe the correlation between a clean closet and a balanced check book isn't obvious to everyone. For me, it's vital.

Mature Mobility

Shopping for the apocalypse co-op

My new car affords me a freedom I never imagined. Sure, I drove the truck for a few years. But most of those years were spent juggling multiple jobs, struggling to meet overwhelming family obligations, and a sharing time and space with another individual whose every whim I placed at higher priority than any of my own needs. The truck was also in itself rather demanding: gas was close to $4 a gallon at that time, making every fuel-heavy trip a pricey investment. 

The shift from driving my mother's truck primarily to meet others' needs to buying my own fuel-efficient car to make my own life easier is one of the more obvious physical manifestations of my personal development and maturity. Owning the car does not make me any more responsible or adult, but my reasons for owning a car are born of a budding maturity.

It's the maturity rather than mobility that evokes the feeling of freedom. Had this car been handed to me eight months ago, I might still be driving around like a mad woman, trying to fix everyone and everything while my own life continued to decay from the inside out. I wouldn't have been forced to center and focus and cope with the quiet daily struggle of meeting my own needs.

Being better able to control my time is also a responsibility I hadn't realized I was refusing. I liked the restrictions of bus schedules, the enforced putting-off of things that need to be wrapped up in order to move on with my life. I'm ready to face these things now, I'm ready for that phase of healing. 

I Bought A Car

Her name is Tempest.

Yesterday I made some calls, sat behind some wheels, filled out some paperwork, and drove home a 2010 Toyota Prius.

Yesterday I accrued roughly $16,000 worth of debt. As of May I will owe a payment. And insurance.

For the first time, my lack of credit was a problem.

I've decided not to get a car every time in my life I felt capable of purchasing a car. Last week I wrote a blog post about how my Real Hourly Wage is affected by the length of my commute. Thanks to having completed my actual (unpublished) calculations, I know that the car technically pays for itself thanks to the amount of time it will save me.

That's not why I took the plunge. I would have purchased a cheap Craigslist vehicle if that was the case, a car that would have actually paid for itself in a much shorter period of time even if its expiration date was more rapidly forthcoming.

I bought a good car because my career demands it. There are many routes I can take with my training and development. I could travel the world, travel the country, live in New York or Chicago, go back to school...I have spent the past year weighing these options while also testing my own commitment to the trade that basically fell into my lap. After very meticulous calculation and no small amount of agonizing, I determined that the absolute best way to improve my life and advance my career would be rapid, affordable, dependable mobility. Not simply for me, but for tools, coworkers, and projects. Being accepted into the bass workshop was the final push I needed. I can get to and from work easily enough by bike or bus. I can not get to or from northern Ohio with a me-sized instrument by obvious or affordable means.

I can fit TWO double basses in the back of this car, by the way. That is a very, very big deal. It took over an hour exploring the car lot to find the hatchback that would comfortably and without-a-doubt accommodate one double bass without pulling the passenger seat forward or whatever. I very nearly gave up to explore the SUV crossover abominations. What a great coincidence that it also gets the highest mpg of all the hatchbacks I looked at!

Change. This is such a big change. Such a wonderful and scary and terrible change.

In Defense of The List

I think we just had the best harvest of cabbage I've ever seen at the house. And I still really just don't cook much cabbage.

"I distrust lists," a friend responded to my list-of-demands story, "I've been told by people before that I check off every item on their list, and they still left me."

"Yeah, but did they actually write the list?" I pressed. There's a difference between having a list (you know, in my head) and having actually created a list.

Humans are funny creatures. We adjust amazingly to circumstances and context. If I meet an amazing mate, or land a great job, or sign on a fantastic lease, what I "want" or even "have always wanted" will almost certainly mutate into a reflection of what I've just gained. In part because I probably had to do some work to achieve the mate or job or living situation, work that already required some emotional attachment to inspire. However, the fact remains that having achieved something good and worthwhile is not the same as having achieved one's dreams or goals.

Humans are always seeking to improve. Once comfortable with what we have gained, the individual or situation who "checked every item" on the unwritten list, we will start looking for the next thing that "checks every item." In many cases there is only one item: we seek people and places that make us feel good about ourselves, that give us a sense of accomplishment. And as such we crave novelty, change, and admiration.

When we find a time, place, and mindset that allows us to record our wants as truthfully as possible, we find ourselves describing a stable situation. A mature and healthy situation. It can be challenging because the sit-down-and-put-this-on-paper list probably contains items that won't be found in a job search field. A written description of the perfect mate might describe an individual who does not look like those you dated in the past.

"People like this do not exist," I found myself thinking as my words spilled onto the page. Yet I've met similar people across the country. Reflecting on the belief, it was impossible to ignore the fact that I simply don't feel worthy of the person I described. And, perhaps more importantly, I've actively pursued relationships that involved very desirable mates with opposite characteristics. Mates who checked every item on my short list that might as well be entitled: "Best I Can Get," or perhaps even "Next Thing That Came Along."

It's also very important to sit down and write down what you want because you don't know what you want. There is a very good chance that after you sit down and write down your list of qualities sought in a mate (or whatever), you will realize that you will never show this list to anyone ever because it reflects an individual who you aren't terribly proud of being. Maybe size does matter. Maybe high pay trumps noble ideals. Maybe your deepest desire is to live as far away from your mother as physically possible. Maybe not. Or maybe this is okay. Maybe writing down these guilty secrets is the path to removing their ugly power, the belief that lets you accept what you're offered because what you really want is inherently "bad."

Once the list is written, it only has as much power as you give it. You don't have to quit your job or relationship because it's not perfect. Likely as not, you can request changes to make your current situation match your dream. More important, the roots of your dissatisfaction can be more accurately traced. If you determine that you want to work for yourself, or to be at the top of a hierarchy, this might explain current feelings of hatred towards your immediate supervisor. "I hate my boss," is impossible to fix. However, if you realize you hate your boss because you feel disrespected and powerless, there are actually things YOU can do to improve your situation without changing jobs. A therapist or coach can guide you through assertiveness exercises, for example. Maybe you can't realistically quit your job to work for yourself, but at least you know that accepting a job with another boss isn't a solution, either. No more job hunting to find the same exact lame situation everywhere you go.

Most important: having a list of your own means not focusing primarily - and helplessly - on meeting their requirements. My response to my friend could have been so much better. "You deserve someone mature enough to know what they want. If they somehow don't want to be with someone they describe as the perfect partner, they're lying to themselves. When you write your list, be sure to include 'honest and self-aware.'"

Did you ever write a list of demands? Did you make any surprising or enlightening discoveries?

Dental Update and Good News

My little windowsill garden. The two on the right are grown from clippings of friends' houseplants.

My dentist appointment was yesterday, from which I walked home with a prescription for antibiotics and a referral for an $800+ procedure.

On the brights side, my pain really has subsided since the events described in my previous blog post and it seems likely that the antibiotics will knock out the rest of the pain. I'll still need the procedure, because the wrongs of a dentist past (circa 2009) left me with a serious vulnerability. But it's basically on par with my other medical procedure. It causes mild discomfort and the risk for complications, but isn't exactly new.

On another note entirely: I got accepted into a two-week long training workshop taking place in June! Even applying for this workshop was a huge leap of faith for me: it required taking a long hard look at what direction I want to take my career and which risks are worthwhile. Bringing it up to my employers was especially difficult, because I need them to cover the potential expense. Facing that rejection was way worse than the expected nonacceptance into the program. Even now I have anxiety about approaching them and saying, "Hey, yeah, you know that thing I said we probably wouldn't have to worry about but I filled out the application for anyway and wanted you to know about 'just in case?' Well..."

Let that be a lesson to me about selling myself short, which I have steadily been doing since starting this job in 2014. I'm used to feigning humble naivete while my accomplishments are noticed and praised extensively, which has not been as, um, organic a process at this company as others. It's time to grow up and start standing up for myself. Thus applying for a somewhat prestigious program and worrying myself sick about sharing that information with my employers and never actually imagining that I'd have to face the logistics of actually attending the workshop itself!

Intention Tension

I caught this little bean sprout waking up yesterday afternoon. The little leaf babies on either side of it are beet seedlings.

Two weeks ago I woke up to agonizing facial pain. TMD (often referred to as TMJ), perhaps, but also likely some infection or other terrible nerve irritation in my gum or jaw. Sometimes it feels like an ear infection, as though the ear drum is about to burst. Sometimes I can barely open my mouth, other times I can't press my teeth together. Occasionally the sting even makes its way down to my chin, and for a day or so a migraine tore through my neck and back and slammed mercilessly against the back of my eyes.

I should have gone directly to the dentist, but IB Profun and denial exist. I'm going Friday. It makes me very, very grumpy to do so. Having just had a medical expense approved by my insurance that already basically cleans me out for the rest of the year, and having already agonized over whether or not I should still purchase a desperately wanted bicycle, having "one more thing" to deal with - a thing very directly exasperated by stress - was...stressful.

My depression came back with such full force I wondered if making an emergency psychiatric appointment might trump the emergency dental appointment. The agony of clenching my jaw was waking me up every couple of hours every night, a terrible juxtaposition to my typical (and only recently managed) fatigue. The two disorders blended together in my mind until I wondered just what the Hell I have to do to get some relief. My psyche was holding my face - and my ability to eat, speak, and sleep - hostage. Negotiation was the only option. I opened my eyes last night at one a.m. and demanded, "What is it? What can I do?"

I thought I'd never ask. I'd been determined not to ask, to never ever ask, what would make me happy ever again. But I did last night because my face hurt and I was tired and really, what do I possibly have to lose?

I needed a pen. I grabbed my notebook and started writing. God help me, I wrote down the requirements for a life partner. The one thing I never want to hope for or depend on again, and that's the relief my pain demanded. It felt like writing a horrible confession: I want a partner who wants children as much as I do, someone who loves their job as much as I love mine, someone who loves live music, camping, playing games, living in community, serving others...

I don't remember going to sleep. I woke up from a dreamless rest at dawn, pen still clenched in my hand. My face...I mean, it's sore. I don't want to make this something it isn't. I'm excited to go to the dentist on Friday still. But it's incredibly bearable. I only notice the discomfort when yawning. And today was the first day in many that tears haven't stung my eyes. I'm...I'm fine. I've even picked up the list a couple of times, added to it: Someone who likes to travel, Someone who is spiritual.  A vegetarian.

It's not that I suddenly want to start dating. I have since my divorce. It's lovely. I don't intend to search for such an individual as described in my list. I don't especially mind whether or not they exist. There is simply powerful relief in writing the list, in admitting to my own cravings and hopes that exist outside of circumstance and availability. It's really a list of traits I want to be celebrated for myself. It's a list of lifestyle choices, a list of dreams and behaviors and pursuits that would be so wonderful to share with another person. It's a list of areas in which I would like to grow.

It's a wish list, that's all, after years of refusing to dare to dream again. It's a promise. I will let myself be vulnerable again, but I am wary now. My heart might be broken again (impossible though it is to imagine), but whoever does it is going to be absolutely amazing and chosen with the greatest care and self-protection and admiration.

The Cost of My Commute

Lizzie recently wondered why I track my time spent at work and commuting. I developed the habit after reading "Your Money or Your Life," which introduces the concept of Real Hourly Wage. Real Hourly Wage is determined by accounting for the amount of time and money devoted to one's employment that one isn't actually being reimbursed for, and then deducting that from your official income.

Let's say that last week I got a check for $600. I was on the clock for 40 hours last week, so it doesn't take a Google Search to work out that I earn $15/hour.

My commute to work, however, is an hour both ways. That means that I actually devoted 50 hours to my employer. When I take that into account, my Real Hourly Wage is only $12/hour.

Never mind the mixed blessing of having a couple of hours to read and relax every day before and after my shift. I would absolutely NOT be sitting on a public bus for ten hours a week if it weren't for my job. It is a direct and literal cost of my employment that comes out of my pocket and my life. Facing this fact enables to me to come up with solutions, if one need be found, and recognize a good solution vs. a bad solution. It even gives me a budget for solution hunting!

A solution that eliminates my commute entirely but costs as much as $120/week to implement would negate any benefit it provides. If I move across the street from my workplace, increasing my rent by $480, my Real hourly wage will still max out at $12/hour. I could save 5 hours a week by driving (and not purchasing a $62 monthly bus pass), so to solve this problem with a vehicle I could only justify spending $302 a month...at a net zero gain. In order to actually see even a $.50/hour increase in real hourly wage, I couldn't spend more than $212/month on a vehicle ($150+$62 monthly bus pass I would no longer purchase).

The hassles of car ownership is big price to pay for a fifty-cent-per-hour raise, especially compared to another potential lifestyle change which would reap the exact same savings: I could work fewer days a week. By shifting my schedule to work 4 10-hour days instead of 5 8-hour days, I could save two hours a week without changing a single other thing in my life. I could have the same financial benefit of owning a car without any of the consequences AND enjoy an extra full day off of work a week!

Life is complex. I could theoretically move, purchase a car, work four days a week, AND ask my boss for a raise. Knowing my Real Hourly Wage creates a baseline against which to predict and measure the effects of many lifestyle choices.

My Real Hourly Wage is very simple. Your formula may include the cost of childcare, housecleaning, car maintenance, lawn care, restaurants, and any other self-care you pay for due to a lack of time and energy after work. You may pay for special training, tools, and uniforms. You could quite possibly risk a negative Real Hourly Wage! Let me know if you do the math and find yourself surprised by the number :)

A Savings Plan: Operation Don't Fail

The good news is that, after many weeks of hemming and hawing on the part of my health insurance company, they've agreed that I do in fact qualify for a certain medical procedure.

The frustrating news is that the procedure will still cost me about $1,300. That is, the first half of the two-part procedure will cost $1,300. The second half, which is to be scheduled either one month after the first or whenever I can pay for it, is some mysterious amount of money only to be divulged when and if the insurance company chooses to share their opinion on the matter. I'll have met my deductible, so reason suggests that the second procedure should be cheaper. Reason has nothing to do with American healthcare, though, so who can say?

Thanks to health insurance, an affordable living situation, and an overall good job, I can afford this procedure. That's the excellent news. It's also given me an excellent incentive to pull up my big girl pants and really look at my financial situation and think about what new habits I'd like to establish.

My spending patterns have always been entirely subject to whim, weather, circumstance, and compromise. The only thing consistent about my saving and spending was a sense of urgency. Emergencies were my primary motivation, followed immediately by guilt.

I no longer allow these forces to drive me, which leaves me...well, strangely stalled. Fortunately, my health-related expenses came in bite-sized portions up until now. My cash hasn't been going to waste, it just hasn't been going to savings, either. Now I get to learn how to make that change.

My main goal is to not fail. This is a learning experience that can later be perfected. So I looked over my spending from the past three weeks, my regular monthly expenses, my projected plans for the next three months, and made an educated guess as to what I could realistically save without really impacting my quality of life. Monday I'll call and schedule the procedure for June. My hope is to have a reasonable cushion in the bank account after the doctor cashes the check. An even bigger hope is that this is such a reasonable amount of money to save that I continue to do so even when my short-term financial needs have been met!

Tracking Again

I have resolved time and time again to resume tracking my daily income and expenses. Around the time I turned twenty-seven and paid off the last of my student debt, the habit I'd cultivated for several years seemed suddenly impossible. I'd force myself into obedience for a couple of weeks only to let myself slide one day, then two, and then decide to start over next month.

Two weeks ago I opened my notebook to the back page (as was once my long-standing process), marked out familiar columns, and recorded the day's information. The act seemed to come out of nowhere. I even sort of resisted the impulse, feeling that mid-month is a silly time to start this record. I figured it would be good practice for "really" starting at the start of March, and I wouldn't be hard on myself in a day or two when my devotion petered out.

Instead, I've kept up the daily log with thoughtless ease and compulsively recorded every penny earned and spent. I also track every hour spent commuting and working. It is as though part of me had slipped out the back door for a quick coffee break, back in 2013, and practically three years to the day got back to work as though nothing had happened. "What are you talking about? I've been here the whole time...I was just, you know, away from my desk for a minute."

I wonder about the "whys." Why did I stop, why couldn't I start again for so long, and why is it so easy now? Is this a symptom of my recovery from depression, or a quality of my new routine-oriented life, or tied to the Pisces waxing moon? Will it go away as suddenly as it came, or can I hold on tight forever?

Although I wonder, I'm not worried. It feels right. I can't really imagine stopping again for any reason. I love the meticulous care of recording my expenses, of having data to track and share. I even love the things I used to hate, marking up the "bad" choices: beers with friends, snacks at work, forgotten bus passes. I love the power of facing reality again.