Bliss

I've been baking for a couple years now, not really seriously, but enough that I've invested in a ton of equipment: dedicated pans, a cookie dough scoop, two flour sifters, several ramekins, a massive bag of active dry yeast. I bake often enough and have such a small sweet tooth that I find fault in every recipe that I make. Cookies are always too dry, too crumbly, too soft, too hard, too floury, too sweet. Cakes taste off, frosting gets overly sweet, icing doesn't set....the list goes on. I'm my own harshest critic, and I rarely stumble upon recipes that seem worthy enough to add to my personal recipe box.

But today I came across a fudgy brownie recipe that baked up so wonderful that I have to reconsider my life. I always thought I preferred cakey brownies, so the recipes I would make usually ended up having three or four eggs, lots of flour, and a small amount of butter or oil. But I gambled and this recipe paid off.

This isn't a baking blog, so I won't get in depth about the experience, but producing such an excellent product is invigorating, and I feel suddenly supremely confident about my baking abilities (my last batch of cookies had a bad brown-granulated sugar ratio and turned out too dry and crumbly). If one recipe can turn out this good, think of what else is out there just waiting to be made!

Now if only I can replicate this kind of success in my writing...

Weekend Countdown: 2

I've only got today and one more weekend left before I go--things are getting very real. As weird as it might sound, I already have a long list of things I want to do when I get to NC, but my list of things to finish up here is fairly short. Just Olvera Street and a couple restaurants downtown, then there are friends I need to see, lunches I need to go to, and work I need to finish up.

While I was writing last night I sat with one of my brother's pet rats, Selina. She's a hyper one, but for a minute or two she sat on my lap cleaning her face and whiskers while I typed. It was incredibly adorable. I'm going to miss these guys.

Cookies

I spent the day napping and feeling incredibly dehydrated. This morning I went on a walk without sufficient water and felt very overheated by the end. I didn't think it would get this warm so late in the year, but I suppose that's just California.

The neighborhood donut shop owner lied to me the other day--I asked about pumpkin donuts and he promised me that they would have some by today. No luck. That's okay, I can't pass up their double chocolate donut or regular old fashioned.

Attempted to pack my larger belongings in my car this afternoon, just to see how things would fit. It's definitely a tight squeeze, as I drive with my seat almost all the way back, so there's little room in the back for the large paintings that I own. I'm crossing my fingers that they'll all fit! Compact cars are way smaller than I thought--but I'm pretty glad now that I decided on a sedan rather than a coupe!

I'll be visiting a friend in Hollywood and then seeing the relatives on my dad's side, including my grandparents who are 84 and 94 years old. This could be the last time I see them, so I'll have to make the most of it. It'll be good to see everyone, but as I'm not particularly close with any of them, it's going to be odd to relay so many of the decisions that I've made in the past few months without feeling the vast distance between us.

It reminds me of what my Dad lamented a few months ago--since my brother and I left the house, he feels like he no longer knows what kind of people we are, what we like to do, and how we act. He only knows what we tell him, which is decidedly not very much. This is partially why I feel that it would be beneficial to my relationship with my parents to spend some time with them as an adult, to forge a human relationship with them (rather than a simple parental one).

I ended the night by making cookies, which I'll bringing with me on my visits this weekend. I probably should have made the cookie dough truffle recipe while I had the butter out and soft, but I forgot. Eh, I've got enough laundry to do.

I've had the "I've got a golden ticket" song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie stuck in my head for the past couple hours but it never gets old singing the song to my brother while he rolls his eyes. He's going to miss me so much.

Mixed Feelings

I feel very good about what I am about to do. But I am incredibly sad that I will no longer live near my aunt.

Worrying

I inherited a terrible habit from my father: worry.

As a child I felt anxious about a lot of things: whether or not I was as smart as I thought myself to be, whether I would pass my classes or ace a test, whether I would ever gather the courage to talk to the cute guy in my English class, what I wanted to study in college and where I wanted to go, whether I would figure out my life before it started, and whether I'm doing things wrong.

I would also worry about things that were outside my control like: what if the other third-graders make fun of my clothes? what will happen in the Middle East (I was a strange middle-schooler)? what if my parents aren't happy ever again? what if my siblings aren't successful in life?

I still worry constantly. What if the job I'm currently in is where I still am in six years? What if I get married young and then regret it? What if I get pregnant and don't want the child? What if I end up living in a terrible neighborhood? What if I change jobs and the new job is worse that the old one? What if I'll never become a writer because I'm just not good enough?

I also still worry about things outside my control. What if my young cousins forget who I am or we grow apart and I don't see them often enough to soothe my guilty conscience? What if I try to become friends with my parents and for one reason or another it doesn't help our relationship? What if I do this move across country and it turns out to have been the wrong decision.

There's the fear of making mistakes, and then there's the fear of others making mistakes.

I had a conversation this evening with my roommate about worry and our relationships to others when we are trying to give them advice or guide them or teach them from our mistakes. She does it with her teenage sisters, hoping to keep them from making the same mistakes that she did as a young adult. I reminded her that the best thing she can do for them is to be a role model to them, not offer unsolicited advice except in the most non-judgmental way, and to listen listen listen to them, treat them like equals and not children, and allow them to come to you with their mistakes, their concerns, and their problems so that they can feel that there is a non-parent in their life who cares about them enough to want to see them succeed.

Of course, I finished telling her my feelings on things, and I immediately wondered what the hell I'm doing with my brother. He's becoming independent and finding his way in life and here I am in the same boat as my parents and aunt feeling like I need to do all I can to guide him and ensure that he doesn't sink. It's the worry that I feel, and I wouldn't say that it's misplace, but it's misguided. Yes, I should worry about him as much as I worry about everyone else, but no, I can't change the course of his life just by giving him unsolicited advice that encourages him to do things the way I did (or wish I did). He will need to learn on his own how he wants to live his life and if he makes mistakes on the way, better to learn now than later. By worrying and guiding and helping for the past two years (the guiding didn't affect much), all I've done is ensure that I will be more worried that I was in the first place because now I feel like my interference was a key to his success, when really all it may have done was hinder it. At least hinder independence.

I'm probably rambling, I don't even have my contacts in. But this is something that has been bothering me for a while--I spent so much energy worrying about other people that I would displace well-founded worry about my own life and situation.

Fear

My aunt gave me the book The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker, and so far it's fascinating. I was a little worried in the beginning that the book would attempt to justify irrational fear on the basis that fear is a good survival instinct. However, it's much more nuanced than that, and includes a lot of scary stories about people being victimized and how the victim was able to read their intuition after the fact--the author laments that if only people could learn to trust their intuition in the moment rather than attempting to rationalize away sudden fears or concerns, they may be more likely to come to correct predictions about a person or a behavior that unnerves them.

There's a lot about understanding your body and your actions in context of things: my favorite example was one of a man who avoided getting into bed with his wife while she was still awake. He asked his wife if he was unconsciously avoiding sex with her. His therapist responded, "What is unconscious about that?" Looking at the man's actions in the context of the situation, it was clear what he was doing, but it was much harder for him to recognize it.

I've always been of the opinion that logic and rationality are far superior than emotion and gut feelings. This book is starting to make me wonder, and I'm thinking back to all those times I spent around people who made me feel slightly uncomfortable, and I'm suddenly able to understand why I acted in ways I did, due to feeling threatened or fearful or just plain uncomfortable.

I don't know why I never trusted my gut. It's sad really. I had lunch a couple weeks back with a good friend and she listened quietly to my rationalizations and arguments about whether or not I should leave everything behind and go to North Carolina on a whim, then informed me that sometimes it really is best to follow your gut. Looking back, I see that I was speaking from a place of pain, where a lot of things in my life were changing and I'd just realized how unhappy I and how much I felt that I needed a blank slate and a new start. I have no question that my gut feeling was right and that I eventually made the right decision to leave. But it's scary how much I haven't listened to my gut in the past several years. Terrifying, really. It's like going through the world attempting to be a computer, weighing pros and cons of everything and making the decision that is expected, the decision that is logical, not the decision that will make me happy.

Making an emotional decision is often considered wrong. Only logic should prevail. But why is that?

I don't really know. I'll probably be exploring that for the next few days.

Biscuits

I just completely tore apart a biscuit recipe and made them the only way I know how to make them: mix the dry and wet ingredients just enough to combine, place on baking sheet, and bake.

They actually came out quite well, which was a little surprising.

For about five minutes I tried to come up with an analogy about baking and life, but it got away from me. Tonight I get to go help my aunt look for whatever wild animal is climbing around in her attic. Spooky.

Being Alone

For the past few days I've been mulling over the wisdom of Louis CK on Conan O'Brien's show last week. To sum up this point, he believes that smartphones help people to never be alone, and thus suppress extreme emotions like sadness and happiness. It's an interesting take on the problem that most of us acknowledge, that of the attention that the smartphone demands. I can't count how many times I've been in a waiting room, a cafeteria, or just people-watching and see people in social situations with their face buried in their phones. Now, it's unfair to say that they just can't be bored for a moment as you can never tell exactly what they're doing. I often write on my phone's notepad, some people play games, some read books, and others text sixty people in the hopes that one will respond and give them someone to talk to.

I felt punched in the gut when Louis CK explained the feeling that he gets sometimes of feeling utterly alone and the immediate reaction of grabbing the phone to text, tweet, or facebook your feelings to the world. It really is a fear of being alone, a fear of being no one's judgments or expectations or relation, it's being that person that you are when you are completely alone.

Not an hour after starting to ponder these rather existential questions, I went to lunch and sat in my car afterwards, staring at the trees. I felt a pang of sadness, of loneliness, and I had a thought about the weather or something that I want to do next month. Immediately I reached for my phone....and stopped.

I don't find it that hard to be away from my phone. I often lose it in my room or forget it in my purse and while there's sometimes a moment of panic if I want the security that it offers or I realize I didn't have it when I thought I did, but I rarely go back for it. But I know the exact feeling of being cut-off from everyone, from feeling utterly alone.

I used to get that feeling when I would sign-off of instant messenger when I was in high school. It would be evening and I'd be chatting with someone (sometimes of little consequence, it was just a fun distraction), then have to log off in order to go finish homework or go to bed, and the second that I clicked the button to log off, even if I was going to continue to sit on the computer working on something, I would get this intense feeling of loneliness. I was alone in the room with a piece of machinery, unwillingly and uncomfortably alone with just me, a person that I often hated.

Since then, I've lost that feeling and now I revel in the time that I spend on my own and away from technology. Logging off means I get to be alone, not have to be alone.

I think Louis CK hit things on the head--it's fear, fear of being alone, fear of being just a person, no more and no less.

Weekend Countdown: 3

Got to see a couple friends in Pasadena on Saturday night and may have hit my social stimulation quota for the weekend. I couldn't wait to spend all of Sunday holed up in my room packing things and watching TV. I even found some leftover yarn and started knitting a scarf. I forgot how much it hurts my left hand! Totally worth it though. I just wish I could wear wool.

Last week I spoke with a woman with a university counseling program (they offer cheap counseling sessions) and she informed me that due to the fact that I'm leaving relatively soon, they won't be able to fit me in for even a couple sessions. I figured it was no problem, and I'll just try to see someone when I get back to NC.

Today definitely threw me though. Maybe it's the first weekend-day I haven't had plans, and it really hit me how much my life is changing. I used to have plans every weekend--not always specific ones, but at least I knew who I would be around and had a general sense of what I'd spend my days doing. But now I feel like I'm back to what I used to do two years ago; that is, waste time and hide in my room all day. There's nothing really wrong with that, but it's not the life that I want to go back to. I like feeling productive, and I like knowing that I did something with my weekend (especially when work is busy). I did do some packing and managed to clear a few more items out of my room, which was good, but not nearly up to par with what I expect of myself on a lazy Sunday.

It's like I'm realizing what kind of person I am when I'm alone, how I work, and how I don't live up to my own expectations. It's a little disconcerting, but I have to remind myself that if I don't get a handle on things now, I could end up in my late twenties in a dead-end job just praying for the weekends when I can do whatever I want but usually end up doing nothing. I mean, that's kind of what I've spent my early twenties doing...

In more exciting news, I successfully removed my oversized chair from my room with minimal damage to the door frame and walls. Did end up busting a chair leg when I set it down in the living room, but I already knew it was broken and did my best to align it with the dowel, hammer it back in, and tighten the screws. That things going to suck to get rid of. Ugh.

I also macguyvered a bottle of Shout out from behind the washing machine using a piece of cardboard and an auxiliary cable. I feel so proud.

Moving Update #1

So apparently saving a draft doesn't quite work the day I thought it did. Ah well, I did post something last night, but I wrote it a few days ago.

I've been wanting to draft something about being alone, but I'm still working out something good, so perhaps tomorrow.

Today will just be an update about my packing. Fascinating, I know.

As I have mentioned before, I'll be moving across the country (back to NC) mid-October, and I've already begun packing most of my things now so as not to find myself freaking out during my last few days here. I have multiple times made the mistake of packing and disposing of items hours before a flight leaves and it always turns into an incredibly stressful day. I intend for my last few nights in LA to be relaxing and happy, since I'll be leaving so much behind.

I spent last night watching Mulan and wrapping up my paintings. They're really going to take up much less room than I'd anticipated, which is great news. I just hope that the glass doesn't break on any of the pieces. My brother helped wrap up the pottery and sculptures that I own, and I packed everything away in boxes and placed it all in a pile in the living room so I can get a sense of whether or not it's all going to fit in my car. I will not be getting a trailer, so a lot will have to be sold. Downsizing will be nice. I have a few nice things that remind me of my family and I'll be keeping those items, but I don't want to be a slave to my possessions.

This morning I walked out to the soccer field to see my cousin's soccer game (which I should know doesn't last that long, I mean, the kids are 7 and 8). The 8-year old clung to my leg and wailed about how she doesn't want me to go. I feel so guilty moving so far away from my aunt and her two kids, but I feel it's a necessary step. I've already planned how I'll keep in touch with them, but we'll see how it goes. After all, I missed my aunt a lot when I was a kid and she visited yearly--it still didn't feel like enough.

Weather's still trying to change here. I hope I didn't make a mistake packing all of my long-sleeved clothes already. It doesn't get that cold in October out here, right? I can't remember anymore.

Half-Assing It

This post has been saved until such a time as I am physically unable to write a post in a given evening.

Damn, used it the evening I wanted to get to bed before 1am. Ah well.
--

I've been noticing lately that when I write this blog post as the last thing I do in a day, I tend to write as little as I possibly can. Part of it is due to an inability to think of a good topic or theme, or sometimes because I just plain don't feel like it at the moment.

Writing is hard. Getting the motivation to write is harder, at least for me.

I'm particularly good at half-assing things. I multitask, which means that at any given time I have three different things going on in my brain, and while one is pushing to get done, the other are taking up valuable brain space and hindering me from getting anything done at all. It's like being pulled in multiple directions all the time.

It's nice when I can focus on doing one thing at a time. It's a rare but wonderful feeling, where I get the satisfaction of being productive while feeling personally fulfilled that I'm able to dedicate myself (with full attention) to one thing in particular.

Sometimes I feel that the only times I'm able to focus so single-mindedly on things is when I am busy. I think a lot of people feel the same way, because I've observed exceptionally busy people get five times as much done in a week as someone who has absolutely nothing to do. Being busy encourages you to get things done efficiently, no procrastinating or dilly-dallying allowed.

The only deadline that I am currently working under (other than the date I will be leaving Los Angeles) is when I go to bed. I've started telling myself that I absolutely cannot go to bed without writing a blog post (however short) and writing for at least 10 minutes, be it on paper, on my phone, or on my laptop. I'm a little over ten days in, and it's working exceptionally well. Now I just have to work on getting myself to full-assing the blog posts and fiction writing so that it's not at the back of my mind right up until all I want to do is fall asleep.

I'll get there.

Perfectionism

The other day I read a very excellent article on how to overcome perfectionism in your creative pursuits; the key is to learn to accept less than perfect results. Sounds pretty easy. I'll be focusing on writing simply because that is what I like and understand.

I'm a fan of the suggestions, that is, giving yourself a handicap (extreme time constraints, unusual criteria, or a more tangible handicap) when producing your work, which will help you to appreciate what you produce under these circumstances.

You want to hold yourself to much lower standards in order to push yourself to actually follow through with your creative endeavors.  It doesn't matter if it's bad, nobody (including yourself) is expecting perfection from you under these circumstances. - Mark Mahoney

This reminds me of National Novel Writing Month* (NaNo) which encourages the goal of producing a 50,000 word novel in only 30 days. I've participated for the past three years, mostly willingly, though it's slowly becoming more of a ritual. For most people, it's a large goal set within a small time constraint, and one of the most commonly heard suggestions to reach your goal is to write without editing, which is something that lots of people find very difficult.

It can be hard to see yourself as a writer of a specific caliber and then for 30 days produce work that feels so far below your usual standard that your first inclination upon finishing a sentence, a paragraph, or a chapter is to throw the whole thing away and never do it again.

It's the same as the feeling that I get when I try out a recipe I'm really excited about (like double chocolate m&m cookies) and enjoy everything about the process, then get to the very end, pull the cookies out and they're nothing like what I was expecting. They're misshapen and crumbly, not at all like the gooey, chewy, shiny cookies in the picture on the recipe. They don't even live up to the taste expectation, and I find that I can't eat more than half due to extreme disappointment. I end up leaving them in the kitchen for my roommates or taking them into work (if they're not embarrassingly bad).

Same with writing, but as there's less need to share, it's much easier to hide away writing that you hate and ensure it never sees the light of day. I have three half-written first-draft NaNovels on my hard drive, and only four people have seen them because I'm so embarrassed by the hastily constructed metaphors, overly flowery description (hey, I was trying to hit my daily word counts and needed to come up with something), meandering plots, and weak characters.

But...

But the goal of NaNo is to get you, as a writer, to finish your goddamned project. That's the first step. Finish a first draft, take a break, then rework your plot, rework your characters, rework your story, and write the second draft. Not everyone does things this way, but it allows you a second chance to tackle that imperfect draft you tossed aside at the end of November.

Maybe that's the way to quell that terrible perfectionism: constant improvement.

*National Novel Writing Month takes place in November, and more information can be found here. I highly recommend the challenge--you might go insane, but it's a ton of fun.

Routine

I've noticed in the past week that my body is starting to get onto a schedule. I have an alarm set every morning at 7:30 am, and while this has been a standing alarm for the past year or so, my body is finally starting to adapt to it. Rather than hitting snooze and rolling over, I've started feeling more awake when the alarm goes off, and the few times that I've rolled over and wanted to go back to bed, my body won't let me. This morning I woke up four minutes before the alarm was set to go off. This used to happen back when I was in high school and had a set wake-up time every day, but the weekends would always throw everything off.

My mind is developing an evening routine as well, partially due to the fact that I have a standing order to produce a blog post daily and wish to do so before I go to bed, and partially because I've (surprise surprise) been able to keep my promise to myself that I'd accept the challenge and do just that, no matter how stupid or incoherent the post.

What's really weird, is that feeling my body and mind fall into a routine is one of the most freeing feelings I've had in a long time. For the past three years of adulthood, I've blundered along, making lots of mistakes and just barely learning from them. One of those mistakes, I found, was allowing myself to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. If I told myself I wanted to get up early to make breakfast, the next morning I would have no qualms hitting snooze 47 times then rolling out of bed and rushing to get to work on time. If I told myself that I would definitely be finishing a particular project by Friday, I had no problem letting the deadline past and deciding that since it was already too late, I might as well do something else.

Lazy-me didn't hold myself accountable to not-lazy-me. It was frustrating, because as months passed, seasons passed, and holidays passed, I realized that the project I'd thought about 8 months ago could be nearly complete if I'd started immediately and held myself accountable to my vision. Instead, I wasted my time away. I wasted three years away.

I feel like I've been asleep, or at least in a fog. It sounds stupid, but things seem to be finally falling into place for me.

I should beat lazy-me with a crow-bar.

Things

I've come to the conclusion that I have too many things. It's disconcerting.

Daydreaming

Daydreaming has gotten me into trouble more than once. As a kid, a teacher tripped over me while carrying paint and blamed my inattentiveness and daydreaming for the accident. As an adult, I've lived with my fantasies but done very little to make them come true.

When I moved to Los Angeles I used to fantasize about what my life would be like living out here. I thought I'd love the city and I'd find a big fancy job where I would dress up every day and be surrounded by creative people who were pursuing their dreams. 

When I went off to school I used to dream about what life would be like in college. I'd work hard all day and party all night surrounded by the most intelligent people I'd ever met, make great friends, have fantastic romances, and discover myself.

When I was in grade school I used to imagine who I might be when I became a teenager. My goal was to be anyone other than who I currently was. Everyone seemed exotic and the possibilities were endless.

The possibilities are still endless, but it's becoming clearer to me that hard word is just as important as having the dream if I want to make it happen. I wanted to be a pianist--I needed to practice. I wanted to be likable--I needed to be a friend to others.  I wanted to be successful--I needed to work hard. I wanted to be a writer--I needed to write. 

I achieved some of these but not others. I have expectations for myself but the daydreaming (that I seem to do constantly) isn't useful in the least when it comes to doing those things that I need to do in order to achieve the success I crave.

It's sad really. I'll miss the daydreams about being a big-shot editor who drives a sports car and wears fancy outfits every day. I'll miss dreaming about how I'd furnish my mansion or designing my ideal library. This is not to say that I'll never do these things again. But never again can I allow these fantasies to take over the time I should be spending doing.

There's a book called The Reality Bug (within the Pendragon series by DJ MacHale) that depicts a place where a vivid virtual reality machine is developed and everyone can live within their own imagined reality where everything goes their way all the time and anything can happen. Of course, the problem was that no one saw the need to live in the real world with its ups and downs when they could jump into a fantasy world where everything is always up, never down. 

It's a dangerous thing, to become so infatuated with an imaginary reality and never to strive to change your true reality.

Family, Part 1

My 8-year-old cousin and I baked challah bread this afternoon. I taught her how to do a six-strand braid and she picked it up very easily. It was fun getting to describe how yeast works (I'm sure I messed up that explanation but it'll be years before she figures it out) and attempting to explain balance within an ecosystem and why manipulation (from man or otherwise) can throw things out of whack. She didn't get it.

I've spent the last seven years in Los Angeles living somewhat close to my aunt and her two kids, who are just getting to the really fun ages where we can have truly engaging conversations and play with chemicals together. Silence no longer means potential disaster (though it can) if I leave the room. It's going to be incredibly sad to leave these relationships where they are, and I'm depressed at the prospect of not getting a chance to play Santa or enjoy seeing the wonder on their faces when they discover something for the first time. Holidays are just so much fun with them.

My aunt reminds me of the time when she and her late-husband (boyfriend at the time) broke up for a two year period right when his niece and nephew were around 8 years old. When they got back together, the kids barely remembered her, though she'd known them since they were very young. It's heartbreaking for me to imagine my cousins not remembering who I am if I don't get out to visit them often enough while I'm living far away.

I have a hard drive full of pictures of my aunt and her kids. My goal in the next couple weeks is to go through all of them and give them to my aunt. Single moms don't often get pictures of themselves and their children and in the past couple years I've done what I can to take pictures for her to look back on.

I'll be emailing the kids weekly when I go.

A New Chapter Begins

My life is changing and I couldn't be more excited. In early October I'll be moving out of Los Angeles and back home to North Carolina. I could technically call this running away since I have nothing lined up and no concrete plans once I get out there, but it doesn't bother me at all.

I've realized in the past few days that there's nothing I fear most than complacency, which is exactly where I've been. Lost after graduating, I took a job that I needed but didn't particularly want and for three years I watched myself grow older while my dreams grew farther and farther away. Eventually I began to crave change but by that point change seemed so difficult, so complicated, and the easy thing to do would have been to plug away, searching for the fleeting happiness that a good weekend or a fun trip would bring while tolerating the drudgery that the week would bring.

What I fear most is living in continual anticipation of the weekend and dread of the workweek. There's more to life than that and it's what I need to find right now.

In less than a month I'll be on the road headed to a place without a plan. Maybe I'll find something soon and settle in North Carolina, or maybe I'll itch to leave again and continue to pursue something I can't quite place. In either case, I intend to enjoy the journey.

Sober

I haven't tasted alcohol in over a week, and I'm not sure when I'll be interested in drinking again.

I recently went through a breakup and I'm trying to mark the difference between in and out. We've not spoken since, not truly, and while the initial change was difficult, a week later I feel mainly an overwhelming sense of relief peppered with the occasional tear and nostalgia for days past. But forging forward is less difficult than I thought it would be. It is the closing of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. While I haven't always welcomed change, I am not one to assume the worst. Optimism can be a hard trait to learn, but I much prefer it over the simpler pessimism and cynicism I used to favor.

Decision

I have made a decision to no longer be vague about things....because I have made a decision about my life.

I've been feeling an incredible amount of relief about things lately. In a day or two I'll sit down and detail all of it.

Thoughts on Crisis

I've spent the evening doing meaningless internet research on quarter-life crises and the people who have them. Hands-down my favorite article was written by a twenty-something who felt that only entitled and privileged young people were stupid enough to call their struggle with life, with growing up a proper crisis. It's true, growing up is difficult and what I (and others) would consider to be a personal life crisis is only difficulty accepting and making important life decisions. However, I see no harm in using dramatic language to legitimize the feelings. There's nothing worse that feeling as though your feelings are minimized because you should "suck it up" because "everyone feels the same way".

While everyone experiences difficulty in life, particularly when making and accepting important life decisions. I think it's important to remember that there is no set path to follow. There's no one solution to a problem--everyone needs to find their own and make sure that they're making decisions that are right for them. It's okay to make mistakes, and I for one would rather make them and learn from them sooner rather than later.

Rest

It's surprising how much mental stress can manifest itself in physical ways.

Storms

It's trying to be autumn in Southern California. For the first time in a couple weeks I was able to venture outside comfortably in a sweater and hear the sound of feet crunching dry leaves in the gutter. I like the change, but it's miniscule.

I remember driving up to Ohio one September about ten years ago to see the burial of my great-aunt in her childhood home. The trip was largely uneventful, a good opportunity to say my last goodbyes to an aunt I barely knew, and to get away for a bit with my mother. We drove through the Appalachian Mountains, and while I remember very little of the actual drive up, I remember the colors. The autumn leaves in western North Carolina and Virginia were the most beautiful I've ever seen in my life. At one point we drove up a mountain out in the boonies, going around and around the tight curves until we got to the top, where we were greeted with the most beautiful sight--a sea of treetops, and a variety of color that I've not seen since.

It was glorious and I miss it so much. Southern California has its perks, but I prefer the forest to the beach, and while it's nice to see mountains in the distance, it's also nice to drive through country roads and see the trees go from lush and green to orange, yellow, and brown, then bare sticks waving in the wind.

I think it's time to leave.

Re-reading can be bliss

I just reread the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in what amounts to a single sitting. It was nice getting the alone time, allowing myself to become immersed in a book and a world that I love. It was comforting and calming in a way that I was desperately craving.

Mania

Energy needs to be focused to be properly utilized. Without a conduit and a direction, it is liable to leak everywhere and eventually disappear. This is why some people who excel in school find themselves completely lost once they graduate, if their next step is not clear.

I spent a good chunk of the day reveling in air conditioning on a very hot day and watching my brother's pet rats run through their cage with manic energy. It's exhausting to watch, especially when I'm trying my best to conserve energy so as not to warm myself to an unbearable temperature.

Sometimes I feel that same mania coursing through my mind. It's largely a product of anxiety mixed with optimism. I could go to Switzerland, or maybe British Columbia might be nice; I should clean the entire house and hang the curtains that've sat in the corner for months; I want to bake all the things; it'd be nice to be a concert pianist, maybe I should do that: the world is out there ready for me to take what I can and be all that I can and what do you mean I have to calm down and go to work tomorrow in order to pay my bills?

It's manic energy and sometimes I suspect that it's the opposite of motivation. Motivation is more stable, it's more focused, and it's more effective. That mania isn't even motivation to the extreme--it seems to be a mental reaction that I have to freedom.

Being caged sucks. It's very restricting to have barriers and limits, to want and need to push against them with all your might in order to feel some semblance of freedom. But think back to the pet rats. Their cage is a safe place that they crave, especially when they feel overstimulated and just want to go home. If we take them from their cage and place them onto the floor of a wide-open living room, the opportunities are endless. Yes, they still have limits, as they can't very well fly around the room, a piece of cardboard or solid furniture stops them, and sudden movements are terrifying, but the choices are endless. Should I go this way or that? Do I want to hide under the couch or sit out in the open? Do I want to be in this box or in that box? I want my cage back!

There's a phenomenon called the Paradox of Choice (which itself is being disputed by scientists about whether or not it exists, but plenty of anecdotes certainly support the theory), that asserts that if there are too many options, it becomes increasingly difficult to choose among them. I experienced this earlier today in the deodorant aisle of the store: Dove, Mitchum, Secret, Toms, unscented, blueberry blackberry, fresh, revive,  etc, etc, etc. It was, quite frankly, overwhelming, and I got the same kind I just ran out of, despite the fact that it wasn't my favorite. The choices were simply too much--it was easier to stick with what I know.

In my mania, I recognize this same paradox. If I'm free, I can go anywhere and do anything, tethered only by my financial and intellectual limitations (not to mention workplace skills). If I'm caged, say, in Los Angeles, or in a specific industry, my options are more limited, but I am able to focus so much more clearly. This is not to say that the end-result or goal is necessarily more or less appealing than what it would be were I to be fully free, but, that focus is there. The energy is focused, and I am not as manic.

This focus is important and I am currently searching for it. I need to escape my mania.

The Negative Side of Negativity

Everyone complains.

I caught myself complaining about difficulty I was having with a project at work by saying that the day was terrible and the project was terrible and everything was going wrong. After I'd made my case, I realized that it wasn't just the frustration talking. Actually, I quite enjoy a challenge, and I'd only become upset with my inability to solve the problem quickly. I wasn't having a bad day, but I was in the habit of having bad days, and framed my current complaint in that same language. All in all, I'd actually had quite a good day, all things considered, but I wasn't used to looking on thinking of my day that way.

I'd fallen into the habit of complaining.

But I'm not that far gone. My preferred adjective of choice is awesome, and I'm a big fan of happy emoticons, particularly ones that seem to confuse other people :_D <@:_D

I have a couple friends who have fallen into the habit of complaining to such an extreme that I cannot remember the last time that I heard a positive (non-sarcastic) word from them.

Blind optimism can be as annoying as perpetual pessimism, but it's striking how much your approach to life can influence your mood and the way you relate to others.

Probably the saddest story that I know is the way my Grandmother cannot go five minutes without criticizing or complaining about someone or something. I can't count the number of times that I've gone to a restaurant with her only for her to ask to be moved because the vent is blowing on her (this happens every time without fail), or hear how the hostess sat us too close to the kitchen, etc. I once watched her loudly berate her 92 year old husband for improperly recalling his own age.

I complain a good deal. But I recognize the pessimism within myself, and I strive to overcome it. The positives in life are everywhere, and I never want to be too blind to see them.

Adding yet another potentially unhealthy habit

If I decide I want to fix a habit, there are numerous places I can start. I can stop biting my fingernails, thus depriving myself of germs and satisfaction that my brain so desperately craves. I can stop procrastinating, reading useless articles on the internet and taking inane quizzes about whether I am truly an introvert or have an anxiety disorder (do I??). I can stop using internet speak when I talk to specific friends, which just looks strange amid manicured and correctly capitalized and punctuated sentences.

HOWEVER

It is paramount that rather than dwelling on the negative in my life, I begin introducing positive. Those same evenings that I lurk on Reddit or skim internet forums, in the back of my mind I know that I ought to be writing. Three years ago I told myself that I would start writing a novel a quarter, or a short story a month, or a flash fiction piece a week, or even a couple sentences a day. For three years, I failed to convince myself to follow through, and all I have to show for it now are a couple unfinished (and restarted) novels, portions of short stories, multiple scenes without context, and a number of languishing story ideas that cry in the corners of my Google Drive and look up expectantly when I open my idea file and throw another half-baked on in there to waste away with the rest. 

For the next month (that is, 30 days) intend to start fresh, and commit to writing 10 minutes of fiction a day. That's every day, including weekends. I've had the hardest time committing myself to a routine habit, even one as mundane as writing daily. I'll spend weekend days lounging around in bed, watching five movies, going out to eat, and half-heartedly attending parties. But there's no excuse--10 minutes a day is nothing. I probably spend that much time preparing for bed (on the days I don't pass out in my clothes).

So that's it. Write fiction for 10 minutes a day. Let's see if I can do it.

The Hero's Journey

I've been having the hardest time coming to grips with my adulthood. I've more than a little trepidation about my future, and I can't tell if it's regular anxiety or equally regular panic. Nearly three years in a dead-end job, seven years in a no-longer inspiring locale, and a perpetual fear that I'm fooling everyone but myself--I think it's time that I begin anew.

And thus I shall embark on a personal journey to quote-unquote find myself, or at least find what it is inside me that I most want to come out. Maybe I'll find happiness, maybe I'll find contentment, but if I can at least find inspiration, well then...

That's what it's all about.