[letsnottalkabouttime]

Somewhere along the line I forgot to create my life

Somewhere along the line I forgot to create my life. I was just moving through it, waiting for things to happen. And.. sometimes they did.

But I had forgotten that I had the wonderful gift, to fill my life with whatever I wanted. I think, well I think I wasn’t even thinking about it; I figured I knew how to live a life. Isn’t it just something we’re born knowing how to do?

It didn’t help I was always relying on someone else to create my life. I’d follow around a significant other and adopt their life-- like a cuckoo bird stealing a nest.

Now that I’m finally on my own, I was able to look around, and saw my half-baked life. I realized the mistake I made in the process of waiting and leaving my life empty, was using the mindless act of scrolling through social media to fill my days outside of work. It sounds almost idiotic to admit. What did I expect? Of course you’ll feel empty, you haven’t done anything to fill yourself.

I’m not saying I haven’t done anything with my life until now. I have had fun, I’ve created fond memories. I’m not saying I didn’t make decisions or take chances.

But I forgot that the spaces in between matter too. How you spend your evenings after work. What you do on a day off. Who you choose to spend your time with. Deciding to dance, making art, singing, listening to music, reading a book, playing with your pet, talking to a friend vs… sitting alone on your phone. I felt so exhausted, it’s like that’s all I had the energy to do, just sit there. Sure sometimes I laughed. And sure I would send messages to my friends, but I wasn’t living.

I guess that’s why I started writing. Even if no one reads it, I’m putting my feelings into words, and gently and quietly sending them out into the universe.

[letsnottalkabouttime]

Musings

I feel so often a worry that I don’t have all I need within me. I guess that’s true for all living things. But I mean in a less physically way. I feel I need others to inspire me- to live and to create. It’s almost as if I can’t do either on my own, only some half-assed version of them. I’m not sure if anyone else feels like this.

For a long time I wouldn’t cook for myself, it seemed like so much effort, just to eat for a few minutes, and then have to wash the dishes after. But I realized later that, there was a deeper message I was telling myself in that. That I’m not worth cooking for if it’s just me. And that is harmful, and sad. I still need to fight against that feeling, almost daily actually. I’d been calling myself lazy, but really it wasn’t laziness, I would’ve cooked if someone else was there with me, it was a weird form of self-hatred. Why is living so much effort when I’m alone? It’s because I thought for so long: life was only worth living for/with another. Geez, I wonder where I got that idea? Maybe it was the rom coms I watched growing up. Or just the general narrative that gets told to young girls. Even now, the topic of my single life is often retorted with “You’ll find someone new”, not “You’ll learn to make a life for yourself”, the only exception being my therapist and other older women.

I’ve always been in long term relationships, they felt comfortable and homey. Every since I was 15, I think I’ve been single for maybe a year and a half at the very most. I’m going to be 30 this year, and I’m single again. It’s going to be a year soon. Boy has it been strange. Rediscovering yourself. What do I like to do? I know some of those things that bring me joy and I try to do them, but it feels like there’s still more to discover. I try to remember who I was before all my romantic relationships, but that’s tough to do. I wasn’t really even fully formed then, just a child. I also have an awful memory, so that doesn’t help matters. I know I like being outdoors, in nature, in the sunshine. I like to move my body and dance around. I try to do both of those things now, although the latter is usually confined to yoga or dancing when I’m out drinking. I want to do more things that aren’t just consuming media. I want to create, but then I’m back to the beginning of this writing, I feel like I can’t do it alone, or if I do it’s not fully formed. Maybe I just need to keep going…

[letsnottalkabouttime]

3 Separate Musings That Aren't So Separate At All

It started a long time ago, when I was a teen. If the sex wasn’t based on love, I would be gone by the morning.

Maybe it was a way of protecting myself. Keeping the mornings to myself.  

The mornings were to be filled with love; to be spent in each other’s arms. With nothing much to say, but maybe talking about our dreams. I couldn’t give that to them—that’s where I draw the line. The sex they could have, but the slow mornings were for me.

I was thinking about why I usually feel uncomfortable in skirts. The exception being if I’m drunk or if they’re long. I could never quite articulate it. I would just tell people I didn’t “feel in my power” in them.

But it’s deeper than that. Unconsciously I feel like if I wear pants or baggy clothes, they’ll protect me. That I’m safe. I can be more of a person. Less of a woman. Not just legs.

I want to tuck all my friends in at night. And tell them that the hard parts are hard, but they are doing so well. To say that even the ugly parts of themselves, the ones they try to keep hidden, are still loveable when seen.

[letsnottalkabouttime]

The mornings are for lovebirds

The mornings are for lovebirds

That’s why I can’t stay, because we’re not in love.

Well not in that way.

[letsnottalkabouttime]

Things Aren't As They Were

I was thinking about my mindset as a child the other day, how present I was in the moments I lived. Seeing the dappled light through the trees, watching fireflies in the summer nights, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, hearing the sound of winter wind blowing in the night.

Now I’m so very often taken out of the moment by my adult thoughts. Thinking of things I need to do or of the terrible events transpiring in the world. Is there a way to escape those thoughts? I do yoga and workout out, it seems only when my body is doing something so taxing I can’t help but focus on that instead.

My therapist said I should try meditating, it’s just hard for me to make it a routine.

Time is a funny thing. You cut your nails one day, the next they’ve already grown back. The passage of time is faster now. The weeks pass so much quicker than ever before. You realize it’s been months since you’ve seen a certain friend once you get together again. It’s been years since you’ve seen your childhood best friend. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve already seen someone for the last time without even knowing it.

I want to disconnect from social media at times, but the sole reason I can’t is in the name – “Social”. I need little glimpses into my friends lives. Except social media contains more than just that...

[letsnottalkabouttime]

Document1 - AutoRecovered

Japanese has a lot of onomamotepias, I’ve always liked that about the language. They have multiple about the rain too. Shito-shito (しとしと) is the one the describes the weather now.

I watched a new movie last night, “The Night is Short, So Walk on Girl”. I enjoyed it a lot, it felt nostalgic in its coloring. I have this rule where if it’s a new show or movie I’ll watch it in Japanese (if it's the original langauge), but if it’s something I watched as a child in English, I’ll keep watching it in English. I have a lot of little things like that. We all do. You don’t really realize your small quirks until you’re around someone else. I’ve heard that one of the weird parts of breaking up is that you have all this information on someone, all this data, and now nothing to do with it. It’s true, in a way, like studying and getting a degree in something, and then not using it…

Anyways, do you keep your closet door open or closed? I try to close it, but it always seems to want to stay a little bit open…

I’ve been playing around with the idea of moving away. I tend to do that every few years. This has been the longest I’ve lived anywhere in my adult life. I’ve built a whole life here. Almost all of my friends are here (although I have a handful of others scattered across the U.S.), and my parents moved here as well. I’ve never been scared to leave anywhere; I’ve always been deeply wanting to go. I’ve always just woken up and gotten this feeling like it was time, and then I would pick up and leave. That’s how I got here. I finished my Masters and then I came here. I just booked a flight, and packed up my stuff, and then never went back. It's never been personal. It was easy. But leaving here isn’t easy. I’ve grown attached. It's deeply personal. It’s like I’m both the plant starting to put down roots and the hand slowly pulling me out. I have other friends who are thinking about leaving, they said I could go with them, to where they are going. But I don’t think that’s where I need to be  (I think it would be fun, but it wouldn’t be right).

I’ve always been very certain, of what I want, and what I don’t want. It’s a blessing because I can make decisions pretty quickly that way. But it’s a burden, because when I’m uncertain, I’m paralyzed. I can’t make a decision one way or the other. But not every decision needs to be made quickly. That’s something I’ve learnt in my 29 years of life. Learnt? Learned? I guess I still haven’t figured that out though.

[letsnottalkabouttime]

Flood watch advisory in effect

It’s rainy season. It surely fits the mood I’ve been in. A little melancholy.

I’ve decided I’m going to try to write every day, even if I don’t have anything especially important or interesting to say. I’ve heard that’s good for writing, just to write.

There’s been a smell in my house lately (I have a sensitive nose), I can’t seem to get rid of it no matter how much I clean or light candles. It’s slowly driving me crazy. I’ve had friends and family over and they say they don’t smell much of anything. Lucky them. We wear the chains we’ve forged in life. We smell the chains we’ve forged in life? I don’t know. Is this a metaphor? (Everything is a metaphor if you’re creative enough)

Sundays are rough for some reason. And not just for the Sunday scaries reason, but that can’t be discounted either. I feel most alone on Sundays, even if I see friends. I’m not sure why that is.

Should I make a goal for a page? Or is just any writing enough? Do we think that how I feel about my own writing is purely dependent on my mood in the moment I’m reading it? Or does my mood actually effect my writing as I’m writing it? Maybe both? There’s a concept known as “Yes. And..”. It’s important for me to remember it. To get out of my black and white thinking. Something can be true, and… something else can be true at the same time.

I got my cartilage re-pierced months ago. I had forgotten how long my piercings take to heal. But it’s important to do this, get more piercings. I’m almost 30, and my teenage self would expect me to look a lot cooler by now. I’m not sure why or when I stopped trying to look cool. I was busy I suppose, and I didn’t have the money. But those are excuses, you can look cool when you’re busy and broke. I just didn’t prioritize it or think it was important. Getting old has made me realize that self-expression is important to me. When I have really rough days I like to dress up, because even if I feel like shit at least I look good.

[letsnottalkabouttime]

My cat is chewing on my laptop screen

I was asked what medium for creativity I have recently. I was taken aback.

Taken ahead, taken aback. Hmm, English is funny.

Regardless, I struggled, I consider myself a creative person but I realized I have no outlet. I’ve played around with coloring (and I have a coloring app on my phone, which has really been helping me scratch an itch without my perfectionistic tendencies coming up). I think I’d really stopped pursuing creative activities due to wanting the outcome to be perfect. I used to draw and paint in high school, but after college I really let that fall away. I figured why spend all this money on paint if I wasn’t going to be happy with any of my paintings anyways. I have an unfinished painting somewhere in my house now, which I almost liked. But now it feels too old to finish. The paints I had used had dried up and been thrown out years ago. How would I even find color matches again? Are these just excuses? Maybe. Creative writing too. In 5th grade I was told by a terrible teacher that I didn’t have a knack for creative writing. That obviously really put me off to it. I can’t imagine trying to write a novel, and I think in my own mind that was the only type of writing there was. A novel or poetry.

I tend to think rather black and whitely.

I tried to do poetry. It never felt right once it was out. The choosing of the right words was at times frustrating instead of freeing. So how come I’m writing this? I’m not sure. I renewed my yearly auto subscription of Microsoft Office. That’s what I’m typing this on. It’s an old remnant from my college days that I haven’t been able to let go of. What if I need to open a word document? I like that Word isn’t in a browser, and that it’s looked relatively the same since I was a child.

I like nostalgic things. More on that later.

Word doesn’t have any distractions. I used to love writing research papers. That, I felt I was good at. Concisely and comprehensively conveying information. That, I can do well. I’m out of school now. I have a Master’s thanks to my skill of paper writing. Now that I’m out in the world, you find there isn’t a reason to write a paper unless you’re working in academia, which I am not. What am I doing you ask? Something with my degree in psychology perhaps? No. HR, recruiting/talent acquisition to be precise. And I like it. But there are certainly no papers to write, and my brain isn’t being used in the same way. It’s easy. My coworkers are great. It’s flexible and I get joy from helping people get jobs. My company is a non-profit so it feels meaningful too, I’m helping my community. Which is important to me. But sometimes I feel my brain turning to mush. I started learning Japanese again. Another thing I had left in my college days. I’ve been sticking with it, and it does work my brain, and makes me feel good that I’m improving at and working towards something. But it’s once a week. Studying used to be my whole life. I’m not sure why I’m reflecting on this now, I’ve been out of school since 2020. It’s been 6 years at the end of this month.

I used to have dreams I was lost and late on my first day of school. That is what we call Anxiety. Those dreams have stopped, but sometimes I’m still that girl. Lost and late, for something I don’t remember signing up for.