8/05/15
Ha! Yeah - that was weird right?! I totally acted like I was going TO WRITE and BE INSPIRED and INSPIRE. That was rather ambitious of me, I will say. You want to know a little secret? I have 17 draft blog posts. SEVENTEEN. So, maybe the 18th is the damn charm. Maybe with the 18th, I've finally hit a river of creative juice and THIS time I'll make it through to the end of the post. THIS time I'll feel I have something worth saying. Perhaps. Possibly. We'll see. I'm gonna try. I already like the feel of this one so far and I'm pretty hopped up on espresso.
I've been commuting into New York City and working 9-5 (which I acknowledge is rather cushy) for almost 7 months now. AND WHOA, do I feel the 7 months. God, I miss that 10 hours of sleep schedule thing I had going on for about 4 years, I mean that shit was glorious. GLORIOUS. Not to mention countless hours (countless I tell you!), hours of unregimented time. I used to do things like, I don't know, take pictures and then spend time editing them, pretend I was an artist with an expensive set of watercolors gifted to me, write long letters to friends and lovers (some of which got burnt instead of sent), plan and stew, spend hours talking to friends exploring our different histories and how they interacted with present experiences in the wildly disparate, yet parallel universe we shared.
I used to cry. My god, the tears I shed. I don't know that I've ever felt so free to cry without abandon. There is a liberation in having a community of peers that truly, and I mean truly, allow you to have all of your feelings - the good, the bad, the ugly. I miss it. I fucking miss that.
My time since I've been home this last year was split right down the middle, 6 months of unemployment, 6 months of working full time. It's pretty incredible that they are an equal amount of time. The 6 months of unemployment was, in its entirety, a chaotic readjustment. I spent the first half trying to get a relationship off the ground that ultimately ended up not working out. In the midst of calling it quits, my body was revolting in the form of an autoimmune disease (? never exactly sure how to label it) and my vision was impaired for six weeks. The future I'd been projecting onto a screen in my head went POOF! in an instant and it took time to put all the pieces back together. The truth of the matter is, my Aunt Therese's sudden and unexpected death was a huge wake up call. The sense that time was ticking and I could at any moment run out of it, in any of my relationships but particularly the one I have with myself, was hugely motivating. My response to it was to stop fucking around. Stop carelessly and needlessly smoking cigarettes. Stop engaging in unhealthy connections with men. And for godsakes, stop feeling so damn sorry for myself. I had a LIFE to live.
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8/23/15
Ok, I have a renewed spirit to sit down and write this. Perhaps sitting in front of a computer 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, has left me weary of sitting down at my own mac screen and pushing this baby out. My friend Jenny, who co-organized the National Poetry Contest in Armenia with me during Peace Corps, just left my house (edit: parent's house) a little while ago after a lovely weekend visit. Jenny has always encouraged my writing, my journey of healing, and my true self. We spoke a lot about the curiosities of human life, Americans, and lovers. We laughed quite a lot. I felt like my self - something that's eclipsed me as of late.
Jenny was one of the close confidants who supported the birth of this new blog and gave me the feeling that I really had something to say and share with the world wide web. In missing my Peace Corps community, I crave the unwavering support of all creative adventures, of my true self - not some predated version of me. One of the things that most RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) will struggle with is the articulation of the deep, transformative change that happened during their time away from friends and family, to those exact people. How can I tell you who I am now? It's almost identical to those first few weeks in Armenia when we were reduced to baby-talk for lack of language. "No", "Yes", "Hungry", "Sleepy", etc. The great thing about spending any length of time with those you severed with is the sort of auto-finish of all the gaps in the things not being said. Ok, let me try to simplify that. We are so connected to one another, and know the experience so well - having lived it ourselves, there's so much that doesn't need saying. It's similar to having a close sibling, those relationships are forged through many ups and downs, and for the rest of your life you will have a certain fundamental understanding of one another.
I guess I could just stop here and say "One post down!". It's kind of like getting back into the gym, can't get too crazy on the first day.
9/24/15
Maybe I'll just wrap up by saying, I finally feel grounded and like myself in a way I don't believe I have sinceeee likkeeee I was 18? I will explore/elaborate more on that later in this blog as I continue forcing myself to write, to peel back layer by layer on this journey of healing and I don't give a goddamn who and who doesn't read this. It's for me. And it's for anyone struggling through and pursuing their own happiness. Don't let go of the pursuit. That small voice in your head wondering if there's something more is what you should be listening to. Continue to seek. Continue to grow. I'll keep on sharing my experience with you and hope you'll find some morsel of encouragement, intrigue or insight.
Ta-ta for now babies!
