colored by nostalgia

Another week, same as the last. My roommate was gone this past weekend, the first time she’s left the house for any period of time since I moved in, and I felt myself relaxing into it more, trying to make it my own for two days at least, but mostly it still felt big and cold and echo-y. Justin stayed with me, the two of us making muffins in the morning, watching PBS documentaries at night, holding onto each other at night, listening to the rain beat down on the roof. And when Sunday night rolls around, it is getting late and he asks me if he should shut off the light. "Just a couple more minutes," I tell him, and he agrees. It always makes me sad to turn off the light and end our conversation, prevent me from staring into his eyes anymore, and he knows this. But in these last few minutes together, I am incredibly sad. He sees my face crumble, knows the weight of my anxiety about the week ahead, about all the weeks, about my job and my futile search to get out of it. He kisses my forehead, rubs my third eye. "I believe in you," he says. "You are good." I don’t believe him and it makes the tears spill out of my eyes. He kisses me, runs his hands through my hair, tells me I can do it, I am worthy, I am a hard worker and a great person. He tells me he loves me, over and over, kissing away my tears.

And so it goes. Life is up and down. I got rejected from the only job application I had out that I actually wanted, to lead writing workshops at schools and hospitals and prisons and the like. I knew I would be—they have a broad base of volunteers and people familiar with the organization that I suspected would be considered first—but the official rejection hurt more than I thought it would. They sent me a letter, which I received when Justin at my side, and knowing it was a rejection (they certainly wouldn’t’ve sent me a one-page thick letter to tell me I was being interviewed for the position) I slipped it into my purse before he noticed to read it alone. I have a hard time with rejection, with letting other people see me go through it. I remember when I was applying for colleges and I was deferred from early admission at my first choice college, and then I applied regular admission and I was waiting, waiting to hear back. I didn’t think I would get in, but my friends did, and I was walking into Bobby’s house with Lauren and Ross and Ross was encouraging me to call my parents house to see if I had gotten my letter yet, and I had, and my dad opened it on the other side of the phone, and I didn’t get in. Lauren and Ross could only hear one side of the conversation, but knew it wasn’t good news, and when I got off the phone, neither of them mentioned it again, just continued on with the day like nothing had happened, and I can’t tell you how relieving and sweet that was for me. That they just treated me the same as they had before, like nothing had changed. 

I know I really don’t have much to complain about. I have a well-paying job, much better paying than any of the jobs I am currently considering or applying for. And most of the people I know looking for work don’t have jobs, which is much more stressful than my situation. I did a guided meditation this weekend where I visualized a healing light shining down on the part of my body where my anxiety lives. The meditation also encouraged me to accept my situation, say yes to it. So I am trying. To say yes to this place where I am, while also doing what I can to change what I don’t like. It is hard. But really, I don’t have another choice. 

I was thinking yesterday about how I started drawing in my adult life at the beginning of February of last year, inspired by a blog post made by a friend of mine. I was thinking about that period of my life, where I would get stoned in the evening and sit on my futon-couch in my basement home, usually with some kind of dessert, and draw in my notebook while watching a documentary or episode upon episode of 30 Rock. The sharpness of my television, the serenity of my space. There is a feeling there, of course colored by nostalgia, of freedom and comfort and familiarity that I deeply miss. My life was so different then, and in some ways better. In me, there were seeds of change, but I was overall more content than I am now, when everything just feels so rocky and wrong. (Not everything. But my work and home situation, in particular.) 

But! There are things to look forward to. In the immediate future, I have a three-day weekend coming up because of MLK Day, and this week I booked my trip to go to Japan to see Kirsten. I will be leaving for two weeks at the end of March. I have plans every day this week with friends, as usual, and my strength training class starts on Tuesday. Justin keeps me close and nurtures my flame, even when it feels like a matchstick in the howling wind. It is OK. It will get better. This winter will pass.