Thursday, February 14, 2013

landing gear down

I do this sometimes, sit here and turn my old chair so it faces away from my desk and computer and work and instead toward my wall of windows. I fell in love with this view when we moved into this office two years ago, even then and now at its dullest February bare. Once or twice there have been storms that scared me to the other side of my office, away from it all; mostly it's all afternoon sunshine and the occasional helicopter. 

Sometimes people sit at the patio at my feet, smoking or having team meetings in warmer weather. People pass from cars through doors. A man lets out his small, happy dogs. I never watch them because I think maybe they can see me, legs for days reflected in the window, the occasional wardrobe adjustment or tooth-picking; all the things I do when I'm alone in this square of mostly drywall and one opening to the world, behind me. I try to respect their open-air privacy in the hope they respect my window privacy.

There is a person outside of the building next to my building, the side of it. I can't tell if it's a he or a she, here, from my third-floor window, but I know I do not exist to them. I think The Person might be talking to other people but there is a tree in the way, bare yet obscuring the picture. The Person is walking along the brick wall, dragging a hand along the mortar. The fire hydrant. The pipe. A full palm onto the tan brick, using it as support. Two more steps, then a turn, then leaning against the wall, playing with something in hands. Pulling away from the wall, smoothing a hand up to long hair because brick pulls hair. The Person walks toward a doorway, stops in the shadows. Other people come by. They smoke. Cars pass and clouds pass and people go inside and come outside and I can't tell who is The Person anymore. They all seem sad and angry.

I wasn't sure how to approach today. I have a lot of friends who are sad and angry. I try to respect that in the hope they respect my ridiculously happy-go-lucky, hopeful attitude. If you've ever talked to me you probably know that I believe that everything happens for a reason. I do my best to put positivity out to the universe in all situations. I try not to hold any ill will toward anyone. I focus on the good things in life, in their many forms. Usually I'm pretty good at it. I've created an authentic self, nurtured my incredible tribe, and I'm happy. I recognize these are not goals to check off a list, but each their one lifelong journey, and I'm good with that.

But sometimes? That's really hard to do. Sometimes I have really bad days. I make bad decisions. I freak out. I get caught up in outside influences, mired in haters hating, hearing only my inner critic and not seeing any of the light. Sometimes I'm angry, sad, insecure. Sometimes I see a stupid commercialized holiday and freak out, because for the first time in more than a decade I'm single and I don't get the tickle of knowing a crafted surprise from a crafty boyfriend is coming to me at some point.

Then I take a step back and say, that? That's not authentically me.

I never cared much for this tradition even when I was in relationships -- except for the one in 2002, which I'll tell you about sometime -- so why should I care about it now? I have an overwhelming amount of love in my life, among my family and friends and wonderful people who tell me nice things, and it truly is awesome in the purest definition of the word; the awe of it brings me to tears of happiness often enough that I giggle about it.

What I've figured out is that when I'm feeling something because of an outside influence, something that I feel isn't truly me, I need to let go of it. I need to say it, think it, feel it, and consciously let it go. So I told R this morning, "being on the single side of Valentine's Day feels weird." Not bad, not good, not bitter, not joyous. Just weird. And that's okay! R listened to what I had to say and then our conversation devolved into all caps and Archer quotes and other things, like always, and we got on with our days. Happy happy!

Our UPS guy came in and was calling down the hallway before I realized I was the only one in the office, and when he walked into my little square with a flower box, he asked my name. "Lucky you!" ... the hell?! I opened the box of fragrant greenery and the card inside, that read "I'M EATIN' FUN DIP RIGHT NOW." Yep. That would be from R. For the hell of it. Because he's awesome and all my friends are awesome and my life is awesome and full of love.

This is the best stupid holiday ever. I stayed up far too late, woke up and got ready while listening to Master of Puppets, sang my way into a quiet and productive day at work, got an awesome card from my kid brother, talked to wonderful friends... And it's not even over! Tonight I'm going to see Die Hard and spend some time with my Mom! Hope your day has been and continues to be lovely, friends! Happy happy happy love love love love.


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