The little, mundane parts of life

I fall in love often. It happens suddenly and I’m all in. And it’s not just with people. I fall in love with the way my coffee tastes, I fall in love with the way the air smells in the springtime, I fall in love with the first snowfall of winter. I fell in love once with the way a boy smelled and from then on when I smelled that same smell, I thought of him. And I thought of love. I didn’t even love him, at least not at the time, but that’s a story for another day. I fell in love with the feeling of love. Of admiration. Of romanticizing little mundane parts of my day. I think that’s partly how I got over my depression. I fell in love with constants in my life, like the way the sunrise woke me up every morning, or how the rain sounded inside a car while music played softly, or even my own quirks. That was when I learned to love myself, when I learned to love my quirks. The things that made me, me.

And being a writer throughout all this, I would write about falling in love and it was never about another person. It was falling in love with learning to love. It was falling in love with these little, mundane parts of my life that I knew would never leave. It was falling in love with being genuinely happy for the first time since I was twelve.

Sure, I’d fallen in love with people before. But it never felt as pure as falling in love with the way sitting under a tree and reading feels in the middle of summer.  It never felt as hopeful as the first warm day of spring. And maybe I’m just saying this now because of what all my exes put me through, but doesn’t that just prove my point?

That my true happiness doesn’t come from another person, it comes from within me. And for so many years, I put all my self-worth into what my boyfriend thought of me and if we were happy and if I was in a relationship at all. And it was miserable. Life is about finding purpose, it’s about finding happiness through all that it throws at us, and I never felt that in a relationship. I always felt like I was drowning, or that I was fighting with some thing that would never see my way and it was miserable.

So, I took a step back and I thought about what makes me happy. Forests make me happy and the ocean and the way the early morning sun looks illuminating the grass in backyards. And I fell in love with all these little things, these constants that would never hurt me. And I realized I was terrified of being hurt and I thought to myself, “That’s a part of life and I know I’ll have to deal with it, but why? Why can’t I just be happy? Why do we have to feel pain, too?” but I knew the answer, I always knew the answer. It was because I had been hurt so many times that I could understand what it was like to truly be happy. It was because I had felt such brutal heartbreak that I could learn to love these little, mundane parts of life.

And then I fell in love with that fact, too.

The Mountains and All They Can Cure

I left the house in a rush. In one burst of manic energy, I packed for a couple days. I was at the point where I couldn’t think about anything but getting away. Anywhere was better than here. In a perfect world, I would’ve thought for months about this trip, but the fact that I didn’t have a plan made it more exciting.

It felt like everything that happened these last few months, all the pain and exhaustion, it was all leading up to my break anyway. This was bound to happen. I wouldn’t consider it a break, but my best friend called it that when I showed up at her door with a text, “Hey. You’re coming with me. We’re going to the mountains.”

“You’re crazy,” was her answer. I wouldn’t have expected any less. She packed her bags and was down in fifteen. From the driveway, she looked insane. More insane than I was. Her black hair was put into a messy ponytail with flyaways illuminated by the midday sun. She wore a gray sweatshirt and black leggings. Her backpack, stuffed full of clothes and camping equipment, was a forest green and held her sleeping bag atop it.

“I need this more than you do.”

She told me that as she threw her backpack in the backseat of my SUV.

“Hold on, do you have a tent?”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Uh, no. Don’t you?” I replied.

“My brother is using it this weekend.” She groaned. I rolled my eyes.

I wasn’t sure when it was that it set in that I was an insane, spontaneous person, but by the fourth hour of our road trip, it had crossed my mind a few times.  Emma loved me for it. She could always count on me for a last-minute mania induced trip in which we find ourselves, only to lose ourselves when we come back to work the following Monday.

We laughed. We laughed a lot. The entire drive was filled up with conversation, never a dull moment. Never a moment to think about just getting stood up or not getting that promotion I really could’ve used to fuel these trips. I didn’t think about the date I was supposed to go on until Emma had fallen asleep and as I laid on the hard ground, the only way to distract myself from the pain my back felt was by thinking about the pain my now-ex caused.

I realized a while ago that I shouldn’t let myself get wrapped up in someone like him, someone still obviously going through his partying college days even though he dropped out two years ago. I knew he was bad news, Emma tried to tell me, but I didn’t care. I liked the way he looked at me when I told a story, and I liked the way he laughed too long when I told a bad joke. I liked how his hair looked in the morning before he showered, and I liked how he’d cook breakfast for me.

I knew the mountains wouldn’t have an answer, and I didn’t care. It was a distraction at least and at most it would be another story to tell: two way-too-stressed 20-something’s go on another spontaneous trip in attempt to find themselves, only to find themselves with smaller bank accounts and bags under their eyes.

The Stars at Twilight

The gentle breeze, the streetlights illuminating my walk home at twilight, the eternal silence throughout the streets. I am grounded. I can think for what feels like the first time in years. I spent so much time feeling like I was drowning. Drowning in work, drowning in expectations, drowning in my relationships. And now, walking home at 2 am, I feel hopeful.

And it’s hard to feel hopeful when everyone around you is so different from you. When you hate where you live, it makes getting out and doing anything nearly impossible. And I try not to dwell on it, I’ll hopefully be able to get out of here once I get serious about my writing and finish this book or get a real job, but it gets hard. I sit at home most days wasting time and daydreaming. Writing feels like climbing a mountain sometimes. I sit by my computer with an empty Word document open with no clue where to go with it. Much to hard on myself and not enough coffee sends me spiraling.

But at 2 am, these problems feel a world away. All that matters now is getting home. I guess one upside to living here is I never feel nervous on these night walks. I can walk home and just worry about what’s in my head. And then I start to wonder which I’d prefer: safe streets or safe thoughts.

But the stars were always my favorite part of these night walks. The stars kept me hopeful. People say thinking of how small we are in the universe makes them feel insignificant. It makes me feel empowered. Because if the world really is that small and insignificant, why worry? I’ve spent so much time anxious about these little problems that don’t matter, and if there are aliens out there somewhere, they probably have more important things to worry about.

And I worry so much. I spend so much of my time worrying, looking at the stars is therapeutic. And on clear nights, when every star is visible, I can breathe again. Breathing felt impossible for a while. For a good portion of last year, life felt like treading water in the middle of the Atlantic with no clue when I’ll be rescued. And just because I live by the ocean doesn’t mean I know how to swim. When you’re out there all alone for so long, it gets hard to see when things will start to look up again. But then it’s summer and you’re walking home at twilight after a laughter-filled night with close friends and you don’t feel like you’re treading water, and you don’t feel like you’re climbing a mountain. You feel like you’re floating.

School vs. My Blog

I created this blog in February of last year to share my writing. I started being more serious about it last December after deciding I should write more. That led to me falling back in love with poetry and writing as a whole. It also led to me writing my own personal project in my spare time, as well as changing my major to fiction writing from business marketing. But let’s be real, that major was never going to last.

That being said, I may start posting less as my classes have officially started. By “less” I mean 20% less. Maybe I’ll be posting 4-5 days a week instead of the normal 6-7. I still want to keep up with writing, but knowing how school tends to take over my entire life, it might impact it.

THAT being said, I’ll still be active on here on the days I’m not posting. I do love seeing everyone else’s posts and being a part of such a creative community. I’ll be making an effort to be online more often.

So, long story short, I’ll be posting slightly less, but (hopefully) I’ll be online every day.


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Summer

I miss my carefree nature,

I miss the wind at my back,

I miss the way the sun beams glowed

early summer mornings.

I miss watching the sunrise

from my bedroom window,

and I miss watching the sunset

on the beach with the dog.

I miss the simplicity,

and how I knew it’d all be fine.

Sometimes winter gets so cold,

I fear I’ve gone as bitter as the wind.


Shipwrecked

There is a roaring ocean inside me.

It does let up from time to time,

but there are days I am left

shipwrecked and stranded.

It’s hard to see how it’ll all be okay

when I’m marooned on an island

in the ocean inside my chest,

but on I press

because what other option is there?


Tea and Nostalgia

Tea in the afternoon,

hard at work on this or that

and the sun shines through the window, cracked.

Tea on the windowsill,

a gentle breeze cools the drink.

It’s not as cold as it’s been lately

and the smell of fresh air

brings a sense of nostalgia

for when I had no troubles,

spending all my time running around outside.

I have this obsession with nostalgia

and I think it’s because I’m so eternally exhausted

and I miss the feeling

of optimism and pure delight

I only truly had as a child.

I’m only 22

but I’ve been through enough

to deserve this cup of tea

and a moment of clarity.