It's been an intense week. I'm sitting down for maybe the first time since the last time I wrote, definitely the first time I've sat down in front of a computer. Fortunately I don't get any emails anymore now that I've let my stolaf.edu password expire...
A week ago today I was taking a break from "packing" to have lunch and a much-needed nap with Eric. After having guests and a packed schedule for five or so days Ann and I were short on sleep, which is a precarious way to plunge into a cross-country road trip. On the other hand, I got almost nothing done the day before we left -- partially as a result of my afternoon-long break and partially as a result of my psychological hang-ups associated with packing and moving.
Let's talk about it. I hate moving as it is, despite my life-long history of 2-year engagements; and when we're talking a permanent departure from the site of one of the healthiest, happiest summers of my life, the issue doesn't really subside. I also inherited the legendary Swanson packing style, which basically consists of spreading all items around every square inch of house in order to best understand how each item will fit into the boxes, bins, and bags lining the periphery. Outsiders find this debacle quite baffling, and in this case there were more than a few outsiders hovering around wondering what I thought I was doing at midnight before an early departure spreading my belongings all over the house. In the end I fit my life (except a standing fan, a set of wire storage racks, and a decent amount of condiments and fresh produce) comfortably into the back of the Golf. My most debilitating hang-up was that my CD changer is in the trunk underneath my storage space, and anyone who knows anything knows that you can't set off on a road trip with an empty CD changer. Unfortunately I somehow had managed to deem this necessity "frivolous," so I kept on putting it off even though the fact that I had put together 0 out of 6 CD soundtracks was keeping me from putting any of my many items into boxes and bags... The moral of the story: be up-front with yourself. Unlike me, you might get out of the house less than 6 hours later than planned.
The moral of every story should be that one: be up-front with yourself. Because I've read plenty of stories with that moral and I've never read enough stories with that moral. And my failure to grasp this seemingly simple message has caused me endless amounts of pain and turmoil throughout my life. Including a recent and necessarily vague incident which has, ultimately, resulted in a couple of relationships being potentially threatened but ultimately strengthened due to positive communication with all involved parties. The only reason I bring it up, since I know you're probably mildly irritated at my evasiveness, is because (a) I'm in awe of the really deep, beautiful, and important relationships that I have, and the real possibility of working through big issues within those relationships; and (b) there is another moral to the story, namely that working through these issues is well worth it -- both for personal development and for the sake of those relationships.
This is very funny too, because Ann and I had one of the least mushy relationships of my life until sometime this summer when she was rolling her eyes at how I take cans of beans out of the cupboard, knowing she'll be needing them soon, before she's looked for them. She searches the cupboard for them for several minutes until a frustrated outburst, after which I show her that I've already set everything out on the counter. Anyway, she was laughing at how ridiculous she thinks it is that I do this, and it suddenly occurred to me that I do this because I love the absolute shit out of her. Because I never told her that I loved her, or even really hugged her, I expressed my love instead through these small, nonsensical gestures, so she would always know that I was attuned to even her more immaterial needs. And now we're mushy like soggy bread all the time, and working through our relationship like ballers.
Also, I'm pumped that she has now seen my home turf, met my high school crew. We had 36 or so jam-packed hours in my town doing things I spent my life doing at another time: going out on the Great Sacandaga Lake with Ahr & Co., making extravagant dinners Katya saw on the Food Channel, hanging by Joe's pool 'til all hours, cruising with Stellato with the top down (the convertible is new), going for a groggy breakfast after a night with the gang, and playing ultimate at the Four Diamonds. Even on our home turf, though, we need refreshers: during a water break at frisbee Earl suddenly said, "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen that view before. I've lived here how long...?" We all turned around to see the sun glittering over the valley spread out before us, lush vegetation and well-manicured houses and remnants of a booming colonial era standing solid and smiling up the hill toward our haunt. Despite the fact that a lot of places are closing down, and that our population is declining steadily, there is still beauty in the valley.
I'm becoming more and more convinced of an impending apocalypse. As Mike, Dan, Ann and I pulled out of the driveway to hit the Olympic (fondly and formerly known as the Windmill) Diner for breakfast, Dan noted my completely flat rear driver's side tire. Joy of joys. Still sleep-deprived, I was already on the verge of tears, but Mike laughed and said, "No problem. We'll just go to breakfast and deal with it afterwards. You'll be on the road in no time." After breakfast he forced Ann and I to take a nap in the darkened living room while he and Dan spent at least two hours running around town looking for advice and supplies to fix a tire with a nail in it on a Sunday afternoon. They eventually fixed it up well enough for us to make it down to Delaware, and we headed out.
Mere moments onto the Thruway, I had a panic attack and then got stuck in road work traffic -- so I pulled over and we switched drivers. Traffic held us up almost all the way to New Jersey, when a huge storm rolled in and worsened over the course of several hours. At one point Ann opened her window to look out and check on the status of our flat, hit her head on the windowframe the first time out and the second time out was suddenly caught in a deluge of rain dumped from the sky. "I guess it's fine..." she said, because she had to. The rain off and on covered the windshield with a layer of water like fun house mirrors or opaque poolhouse glass bricks -- mildly terrifying, and we saw none of the NJ Turnpike scenery. We prayed to Broseidon and just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge the weather cleared and we made it home without a hitch -- except one lost toll ticket. Lol.
I'm worried about what I'll do without my wingman, not knowing one single person my age in this unfamiliar and nonsensical city; who I'm supposed to bring to fun events and bars and fundraisers; how I'll meet new people and find places to hang. But I've decided that I'm going to take my summer vacation -- not that I haven't been having fun all summer, but I'm going to just let myself veg for a few days. Just long enough to gather steam but not long enough to lose it. I'm going to work hard to build a constructive and working cohabitation with my family while still maintaining enough independence to keep afloat. I'm going to work my charms on this city (which I'm already starting not to hate, maybe through accepting that I don't understand it) because apparently I have a gift of meeting a ridiculous number of people ridiculously quickly. After a jaunt out toward the U. in Newark, I already have met 3 people and thanks to Ann narrowly escaped a parking ticket. I guess I'll just have to embody both of us. I already have a bunch of great people and their great life lessons stashed away in my chest cavity... But there's always room for more.
A week ago today I was taking a break from "packing" to have lunch and a much-needed nap with Eric. After having guests and a packed schedule for five or so days Ann and I were short on sleep, which is a precarious way to plunge into a cross-country road trip. On the other hand, I got almost nothing done the day before we left -- partially as a result of my afternoon-long break and partially as a result of my psychological hang-ups associated with packing and moving.
Let's talk about it. I hate moving as it is, despite my life-long history of 2-year engagements; and when we're talking a permanent departure from the site of one of the healthiest, happiest summers of my life, the issue doesn't really subside. I also inherited the legendary Swanson packing style, which basically consists of spreading all items around every square inch of house in order to best understand how each item will fit into the boxes, bins, and bags lining the periphery. Outsiders find this debacle quite baffling, and in this case there were more than a few outsiders hovering around wondering what I thought I was doing at midnight before an early departure spreading my belongings all over the house. In the end I fit my life (except a standing fan, a set of wire storage racks, and a decent amount of condiments and fresh produce) comfortably into the back of the Golf. My most debilitating hang-up was that my CD changer is in the trunk underneath my storage space, and anyone who knows anything knows that you can't set off on a road trip with an empty CD changer. Unfortunately I somehow had managed to deem this necessity "frivolous," so I kept on putting it off even though the fact that I had put together 0 out of 6 CD soundtracks was keeping me from putting any of my many items into boxes and bags... The moral of the story: be up-front with yourself. Unlike me, you might get out of the house less than 6 hours later than planned.
The moral of every story should be that one: be up-front with yourself. Because I've read plenty of stories with that moral and I've never read enough stories with that moral. And my failure to grasp this seemingly simple message has caused me endless amounts of pain and turmoil throughout my life. Including a recent and necessarily vague incident which has, ultimately, resulted in a couple of relationships being potentially threatened but ultimately strengthened due to positive communication with all involved parties. The only reason I bring it up, since I know you're probably mildly irritated at my evasiveness, is because (a) I'm in awe of the really deep, beautiful, and important relationships that I have, and the real possibility of working through big issues within those relationships; and (b) there is another moral to the story, namely that working through these issues is well worth it -- both for personal development and for the sake of those relationships.
This is very funny too, because Ann and I had one of the least mushy relationships of my life until sometime this summer when she was rolling her eyes at how I take cans of beans out of the cupboard, knowing she'll be needing them soon, before she's looked for them. She searches the cupboard for them for several minutes until a frustrated outburst, after which I show her that I've already set everything out on the counter. Anyway, she was laughing at how ridiculous she thinks it is that I do this, and it suddenly occurred to me that I do this because I love the absolute shit out of her. Because I never told her that I loved her, or even really hugged her, I expressed my love instead through these small, nonsensical gestures, so she would always know that I was attuned to even her more immaterial needs. And now we're mushy like soggy bread all the time, and working through our relationship like ballers.
Also, I'm pumped that she has now seen my home turf, met my high school crew. We had 36 or so jam-packed hours in my town doing things I spent my life doing at another time: going out on the Great Sacandaga Lake with Ahr & Co., making extravagant dinners Katya saw on the Food Channel, hanging by Joe's pool 'til all hours, cruising with Stellato with the top down (the convertible is new), going for a groggy breakfast after a night with the gang, and playing ultimate at the Four Diamonds. Even on our home turf, though, we need refreshers: during a water break at frisbee Earl suddenly said, "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen that view before. I've lived here how long...?" We all turned around to see the sun glittering over the valley spread out before us, lush vegetation and well-manicured houses and remnants of a booming colonial era standing solid and smiling up the hill toward our haunt. Despite the fact that a lot of places are closing down, and that our population is declining steadily, there is still beauty in the valley.
I'm becoming more and more convinced of an impending apocalypse. As Mike, Dan, Ann and I pulled out of the driveway to hit the Olympic (fondly and formerly known as the Windmill) Diner for breakfast, Dan noted my completely flat rear driver's side tire. Joy of joys. Still sleep-deprived, I was already on the verge of tears, but Mike laughed and said, "No problem. We'll just go to breakfast and deal with it afterwards. You'll be on the road in no time." After breakfast he forced Ann and I to take a nap in the darkened living room while he and Dan spent at least two hours running around town looking for advice and supplies to fix a tire with a nail in it on a Sunday afternoon. They eventually fixed it up well enough for us to make it down to Delaware, and we headed out.
Mere moments onto the Thruway, I had a panic attack and then got stuck in road work traffic -- so I pulled over and we switched drivers. Traffic held us up almost all the way to New Jersey, when a huge storm rolled in and worsened over the course of several hours. At one point Ann opened her window to look out and check on the status of our flat, hit her head on the windowframe the first time out and the second time out was suddenly caught in a deluge of rain dumped from the sky. "I guess it's fine..." she said, because she had to. The rain off and on covered the windshield with a layer of water like fun house mirrors or opaque poolhouse glass bricks -- mildly terrifying, and we saw none of the NJ Turnpike scenery. We prayed to Broseidon and just before the Delaware Memorial Bridge the weather cleared and we made it home without a hitch -- except one lost toll ticket. Lol.
I'm worried about what I'll do without my wingman, not knowing one single person my age in this unfamiliar and nonsensical city; who I'm supposed to bring to fun events and bars and fundraisers; how I'll meet new people and find places to hang. But I've decided that I'm going to take my summer vacation -- not that I haven't been having fun all summer, but I'm going to just let myself veg for a few days. Just long enough to gather steam but not long enough to lose it. I'm going to work hard to build a constructive and working cohabitation with my family while still maintaining enough independence to keep afloat. I'm going to work my charms on this city (which I'm already starting not to hate, maybe through accepting that I don't understand it) because apparently I have a gift of meeting a ridiculous number of people ridiculously quickly. After a jaunt out toward the U. in Newark, I already have met 3 people and thanks to Ann narrowly escaped a parking ticket. I guess I'll just have to embody both of us. I already have a bunch of great people and their great life lessons stashed away in my chest cavity... But there's always room for more.
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