I'm at loose ends lately, literally and figuratively. At this very moment about a third of my belongings are packed into cardboard boxes neatly stacked by the front door, another third in bags awaiting transport to Goodwill and the final third deemed too necessary for my everyday quality of life to be rounded up just yet.
I find it hard to determine whether I prefer moving or not moving. At least with moving there's the distraction of the magical, perfect life that awaits in the new house. There's always a magical, perfect life waiting. But it comes at a cost. I have to delicately pry my white-knuckled fingers away from the things I hold onto, the sense of home, the place of belonging I've created for myself. It's terrifying. Every time it's terrifying, and yet I do it anyway.
I relish it, truth be told, because as scary as it is, there's always something more interesting in the churning sea of unknown that waits below. I guess that makes me some kind of adrenaline junkie. I'll admit it, I've had my share of love affairs with the new and different and exciting. It never works out for long because there's always a sexier new out there, but in the moment I'm always sure that this time...this is the one that'll stick. This is the place I'll stay, this is the me I'll be. This is the lie I'll tell myself.
I'm buying the house this time, you know. Buying. I'm making a commitment to a mortgage company that's intended to last longer than any relationship I've ever had...yes, even that one. It's madness. It goes against at least 60 percent of the fibers of my being. What happens, I ask myself, when the urge to move again starts its determined creep up the length of my spine? What happens when I get tired of being this me, of living in this place, of being practical?
Or worse yet...what happens if I don't? What if I "settle down" and become complacent in this incarnation? What if, at the tender age of 34, my promising life becomes something akin to a tired gray wad of chewing gum that's long since lost its flavor?
No, I don't like the sound of that. But it could happen.
Of course some of me is excited about the settling down. After all, it's something I've never really done before. It's unknown. It's interesting. And maybe if I can find some way to stop moving all the time I can use that cash for other new things, like books, or a new bike, or a mind-blowing writer's retreat in a faraway land. Maybe if I can commit to just this one little thing I can see what happens when the world stops spinning. Maybe, I tell myself. Maybe this is the one that'll stick.
xo,
C
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Say Uncle (or...Aunt?)
My brother's wife had a baby a few weeks ago, and from what I can gather, parenthood seems to be a very humbling experience. No matter how well-prepared you are, there are going to be moments when you have no earthly idea what to do. Your baby will be screaming his head off and nothing you can try will work, nothing will make it better. I think this is what makes parenthood such a challenge. Sure, it's expensive and messy and loud and hard to manage, but the thing about parenting that really takes guts is the willingness to submit to the experience of not knowing what to do.
I guess not everyone who becomes a parent really has the wherewithal to do that. It takes courage to admit that we don't know how to fix something. It's something I in particular really don't like to do. But considering my new nephew and the challenges that face his parents, I have started to reconsider how I handle these sorts of situations. I encounter the experience of not knowing way more often than I would like, mostly because in my job I assert myself as someone who will have the answers. When I don't have them, especially answers I should have, the result is highly uncomfortable. What good, you may ask, is a help desk analyst who can't actually help?
But there's no way around it. It's simply impossible for me to know all the things. Despite my fear, there will always be things I don't know, questions I can't answer. Things I can't control.
I'm in the process of buying this house in a tiny town north of Portland. Homebuying is undoubtedly one of those situations where you want to know what you're doing. You can't just wing it, you have to know. But circumstances have arisen which make it impossible for me to know what's going to happen next. Maybe the contractors will give me reasonable estimates and the seller will be willing to take on the expense of fixing the house's foundation and plumbing. Maybe the repairs will go as planned and maybe I'll be able to close and move in on schedule. Maybe the little movie of my life in that house that's been playing on an infinite loop in my head for the past two weeks will finally come true. Aaaand... maybe it won't.
I expected to be freaking out about this right now, but for some reason my subconscious has chosen to go another way. Maybe there's just been a lot of stuff happening lately that's entirely out of my control. Work has been crazy (corporate restructuring is a very unsettling phrase), relationship didn't work out, friendships have been uneven and weird, body weight has been creeping up despite my best intentions, my family has a new member in it, and now this house business. If ever there were an argument for going with the flow and letting life happen, it would be this moment. So I'm going to try to not fight it. Dear life, have your way with me. I humbly submit to the not knowing.
Funny thing...when you submit to it, not knowing feels a lot like peace.
I guess not everyone who becomes a parent really has the wherewithal to do that. It takes courage to admit that we don't know how to fix something. It's something I in particular really don't like to do. But considering my new nephew and the challenges that face his parents, I have started to reconsider how I handle these sorts of situations. I encounter the experience of not knowing way more often than I would like, mostly because in my job I assert myself as someone who will have the answers. When I don't have them, especially answers I should have, the result is highly uncomfortable. What good, you may ask, is a help desk analyst who can't actually help?
But there's no way around it. It's simply impossible for me to know all the things. Despite my fear, there will always be things I don't know, questions I can't answer. Things I can't control.
I'm in the process of buying this house in a tiny town north of Portland. Homebuying is undoubtedly one of those situations where you want to know what you're doing. You can't just wing it, you have to know. But circumstances have arisen which make it impossible for me to know what's going to happen next. Maybe the contractors will give me reasonable estimates and the seller will be willing to take on the expense of fixing the house's foundation and plumbing. Maybe the repairs will go as planned and maybe I'll be able to close and move in on schedule. Maybe the little movie of my life in that house that's been playing on an infinite loop in my head for the past two weeks will finally come true. Aaaand... maybe it won't.
I expected to be freaking out about this right now, but for some reason my subconscious has chosen to go another way. Maybe there's just been a lot of stuff happening lately that's entirely out of my control. Work has been crazy (corporate restructuring is a very unsettling phrase), relationship didn't work out, friendships have been uneven and weird, body weight has been creeping up despite my best intentions, my family has a new member in it, and now this house business. If ever there were an argument for going with the flow and letting life happen, it would be this moment. So I'm going to try to not fight it. Dear life, have your way with me. I humbly submit to the not knowing.
Funny thing...when you submit to it, not knowing feels a lot like peace.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Join the club
I've been thinking about Apple products lately, specifically iPads. I've been considering getting an iPad, presumably to use for writing though it is clear that its usefulness as a writing computer is questionable at best. So it makes me curious...why do I really want one? What would I even use it for? As far as I can tell, an iPad would serve no function my laptop isn't already handling, so then my buying one can only be about one (or both) of the following: base consumerism or the desire to belong.
Apple has been artfully exploiting our social human urge to be part of a community for years now, presenting themselves as the cool kid alternative to PC's mainstream boringness and keeping price points unreasonably high on purpose, a reassurance that there's no shortcut for entry and that everyone who becomes a part of this exalted Apple products club has literally paid their dues to be there. It's a brilliant marketing concept, one that's been used by high-end manufacturers of anything, from fancy cars to high-limit credit cards to designer shoes. With purchase comes the promise of membership, of being on the inside.
People like me, for whom the search for belonging has always been a deep, resonant urge, are particularly vulnerable to this kind of approach. We want to be in, and we want it so badly we'll spend hundreds more dollars on products that promise this kind of belonging, even if we logically know deep down it won't really work. Even though I can discern no practical benefit to spending $600 on an iPad I don't need, that promise of belonging still tugs my hand toward my wallet and engages my brain to try and think of some justifiable reason for why I really must have it.
As strong as this impulse is (and hoo boy, is it ever), something keeps stopping me from making the purchase. And the more I hold out, the more I'm seeing the framework behind the desire. More than that, I'm starting to see how misleading the promise actually is, for as anyone who has purchased an Apple product knows, being "on the inside" of the Apple club only lasts as long as it takes them to start talking about the next generation of products. It is impossible to get inside and stay there without continually doling out wads of cash to upgrade your equipment. Now I don't know about you, but I haven't got money to spend on endless upgrades. Even if I did, it seems a fairly selfish, pointless and shallow thing to do when that kind of money could do so much good elsewhere.
So alas, I think I'm going to have to give up on the idea of belonging, or at least fitting in with the Apple elite. Maybe I'll start my own club, full of quasi-luddites who CAN wait to get their hands on the latest thing, who prefer a pen and a yellow legal pad to fancy writing apps, who find contentment in making do with what they have and saving their money for life experiences rather than stuff. Maybe.
But boy, that iPad sure is something, eh?
Apple has been artfully exploiting our social human urge to be part of a community for years now, presenting themselves as the cool kid alternative to PC's mainstream boringness and keeping price points unreasonably high on purpose, a reassurance that there's no shortcut for entry and that everyone who becomes a part of this exalted Apple products club has literally paid their dues to be there. It's a brilliant marketing concept, one that's been used by high-end manufacturers of anything, from fancy cars to high-limit credit cards to designer shoes. With purchase comes the promise of membership, of being on the inside.
People like me, for whom the search for belonging has always been a deep, resonant urge, are particularly vulnerable to this kind of approach. We want to be in, and we want it so badly we'll spend hundreds more dollars on products that promise this kind of belonging, even if we logically know deep down it won't really work. Even though I can discern no practical benefit to spending $600 on an iPad I don't need, that promise of belonging still tugs my hand toward my wallet and engages my brain to try and think of some justifiable reason for why I really must have it.
As strong as this impulse is (and hoo boy, is it ever), something keeps stopping me from making the purchase. And the more I hold out, the more I'm seeing the framework behind the desire. More than that, I'm starting to see how misleading the promise actually is, for as anyone who has purchased an Apple product knows, being "on the inside" of the Apple club only lasts as long as it takes them to start talking about the next generation of products. It is impossible to get inside and stay there without continually doling out wads of cash to upgrade your equipment. Now I don't know about you, but I haven't got money to spend on endless upgrades. Even if I did, it seems a fairly selfish, pointless and shallow thing to do when that kind of money could do so much good elsewhere.
So alas, I think I'm going to have to give up on the idea of belonging, or at least fitting in with the Apple elite. Maybe I'll start my own club, full of quasi-luddites who CAN wait to get their hands on the latest thing, who prefer a pen and a yellow legal pad to fancy writing apps, who find contentment in making do with what they have and saving their money for life experiences rather than stuff. Maybe.
But boy, that iPad sure is something, eh?
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