From the top of the years

This was written on January 5th of 2018.I am not sure I am any closer to this life that I dream of. But What an interesting moment to look back on, within my sorrow such clarity.

“In the quiet moments of my day I often daydream about so much more than I have. I don’t mean that in the material way. In this daydream my life is much simpler, much more streamlined. The reality of my life is that I have too much stuff and not enough courage to dispose of any of it.

I think part of this fear is because my things are connected to people and moments that I no longer have. If I keep ‘the stuff’, I keep those people and moments with me too. If I let the stuff go, won’t I also be turning my back on my memories?

But what is so great about memories anyway? Coloring a time in your life with a watercolor brush, softening the edges that pressed against my backbone and my heart space as equally as any do now. Perhaps memories aren’t the best thing to keep around?

Perhaps I should throw it all away and boldly move forward mirroring externally what I feel I have internally: nothing.

Sure, a slight sense of self and experience. Lessons, morals, beliefs. But what good are those? What good am I bringing to the world with them?

I live a strange life, completely out of tune with what I want. What dream is this…to want someone on the other side of a table to tell me I’m worthy of working? And working mediocre job after terrible job after random job to pay bills that are absurd and expensive. In a city I hardly experience because I am tired. Because I am poor. Because I am lonely, incorrectly dress, bored, restless…the list goes on. I have no anchor, no ritual except sadness. No hopefulness that one day all of this will be different. That I can “make it”. My god, what does that mean? What does it mean to “make it”? And wouldn’t you say two degrees, two cities, friends, passions, hobbies and some failed relationships are indeed “making it”? But I can’t hold it in my hands. I can only feel it. The ache of losing yet again. The hunger for a job in my field. I live my life starving. I feed myself scraps. I am tired.

So what do I want:

I want to live in a house with a front porch and a porch swing to nap in before a storm blows in.
I want the house to be full of beautiful things, things I love, and I don’t want it to be too crowded. Photographs adorn the walls. Flowers on every table in pretty vases or antique tea pots.
I want a garden out back to grow flowers and tomatoes in and a window basket to grow basil, ready for picking. And a kitchen to cook in for other people. To holler at someone “Hey, come taste this!” or “Dinner is ready in 15 minutes!”.
I long to have someone waiting for me in the other room. Not because he just happens to be there, but because he wants to be. And when he looks at me—he sees me.
I want rugs soft beneath bare feet for dancing and furniture easily moved out of the way for parties with dear friends and beloved family.
I want lamps bright enough to read by and windows with sunshine that makes shapes on the floors.
I want neighbors I get to know, who bring me a cup of sugar when I call over the back fence. And someone I can bake Christmas cookies for, wrapping them all up in a little boxes.
I want a post office and a bakery and library and a bar and a coffee shop and a hardware store and an art gallery and a restaurant all in walking distance.
I want the streets to reflect the seasons.
I want twinkle lights in the back yard to match the fireflies.
I want cotton nightgowns and a cozy robe and warming up hot milk in the middle of the night and testing it on my wrist to make sure it isn’t too warm for the tiny mouth it is for.
I want a studio to do my creative work in and a library to read a new book in.
I would like a tub, deep and wide with a window to the outside world above it.
I want birds and crickets.
I want a soft dog laying on the landing of the stairs.
I want to be excited to go to work every day.
I want to feel part of the world and part of a community and glad to be bringing goodness to someone else.
I want music and singing.

I want a partner who lets me in, who becomes a team with me and a family.
I want someone who is crazy about me and unable to compromise that.
Someone who will change a lightbulb, build a deck, kiss a stubbed toe and listen, truly listen, with the same amount of care and patience he would have holding a baby bird that fell from a tree. I want someone who is kind and funny. Who holds my rough edges with tenderness and doesn’t pull away when I get close. Who allows us to grow in all ways.
Someone who believes in music and god and the pleasure of space and time.
Someone to take care of me so that I can take care of him back and we can move into the world as one united front.
I want to be a team with someone.
I want someone who thinks I am spectacular, who isn’t afraid to tell me how much, and who is all in. Someone who will aid me when I’m wrong, who wants me not just when I am beautiful but when I’m sick and ugly, crying, jealous and upset.
I want someone to love me without conditions.
I want to love someone back that way too.”

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