Tonight in birth class, I came up with my “peaceful place,” and my darling babydaddy came up with the band name “Rectal Pressure.”
We are so ready for you, little lady.
Today, adulthood looks like this: hand-stitching, hot-glueing, smoothie-drinking, Crosby Stills and Nash’s “Our House”-singing.
Okay, blog. I’m here now. I’m sorry I neglected you; I’ve been busy with shows. I know, lame excuse.
How is it that busy-ness leads to extreme laziness? The evidence: piles of clothing, sequined and otherwise, accumulating in the corners of our bedroom; unprepared lunches; un-sewn costumes; un-filed taxes. I took over 1,400 photos in one day, but our internet was down, my Photoshop trial ran out, and now they’re all sitting there. Oh, and then I broke my lens! All these obstacles just made me want to crawl into bed and hibernate.
And how is it that suddenly you wake up one day an adult, with adult problems? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was worried about homework, about writing papers? Now I’m trying to figure out money, marriage, future (un-conceived) babies. When did that happen? I guess I’m belaboring the point of this whole blog: growing up is weird, and it sneaks up on you.
(I think Rebecca Woolf said it better in this post than I can.)
However, I woke up today (after a really bizarre dream about hunting Michael Meyers from the Halloween movies) feeling good. Walking to the T this morning, the air this morning felt undeniably springlike. A very small boy sat in his stroller across from me on the train, reading aloud, joyfully, from a children’s book written in French. And the “check file” bus was out in my neighborhood! Oh, how I love the “check file” bus. Bostonians, have you seen those buses? The light-up sign out front that usually displays the bus’s route information simply says “CHECK FILE.”
I guess I can relate to you, check file bus. Clearly, you’re distracted. Something’s gone wonky in your inner workings, and even though it’s pretty apparent that you’re not quite sure what you’re doing, you just keep driving along, following whatever route you’re supposed to be on. People may not fully understand you all the time, check file bus, and for that, I appreciate you. You will get where you’re going! And so will I!
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this need to always have something to look forward to. There have been times, when I can’t sleep, that I’ll concoct elaborate, cinematic scenes of the future to lull myself to sleep. In my early adolescence, it was the moment when that boy finally notices me and we kiss! Later in high school it was college when my future would begin. I was going to go to a free-spirited, bohemian college, where I would wear long flowing skirts with thrifted boys’ t-shirts, with my hair in a haphazard pile on the top of my head. And then, of course, my future daydreams took the shape of a wedding. It wasn’t so much about embracing the Wedding Industrial Complex (as the daughter of two wedding photographers, I knew better) as it was about this magical, glowing day, where every last detail was creative and interesting and beautiful and mine.*
And while I know I have certainly not grown out of this looking forward (now it’s babies, naturally), there’s another feeling along with it too. In between daydreams of having an interesting, fulfilling, creative career, and imagining how freaking awesome our kids will be, I have these moments of sheer contentment. I’m finding joy in things like coming home to someone I love, in the home we made for ourselves. We have a home, full of things that reflect who we are, where we’ve been, and who we love. We have a circle of creative, talented friends who are here to support us. We’ve made a life, pieced together with bits and pieces of this and that, like a nest.
And when I do find my thoughts drifting to that dreamy future, I actually feel like maybe I can just go and make it happen. And I think this is the first time in my fledgling adulthood I’ve really felt that way.
So, yeah. It’s pretty damn cool.
*my wedding was actually rather magical, but that’s another story for another day.