Rebuilding my web

Having a birthday in July is great; it’s like celebrating a second New Year’s Day halfway through the year. It gives me a chance to evaluate where I am and where I’m going.

My 23rd year was not my best. Worse things could have happened, yes, but for me, it was rough. So, understandably, I am thrilled to move on to 24. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a good feeling about this year. I don’t think I’ll solve all (if any) of my issues, but something tells me this year is going to take me places – good places. I look back at the distance I’ve traveled from my last birthday, and I only now fully realize that you can never possibly plan or predict what could happen in a year’s time. All you can do is push yourself forward.

THIS is Charlotte. Photo by HKM

I have a new friend in Danville. Sort of. Her name is Charlotte and she lives outside my apartment, in a web in my back doorway that she rebuilds pretty much every day. At first she creeped me out. Now, her diligence and consistency never cease to amaze me when I duck below the nearly invisible strands of her sturdy web as I leave for work every morning. I realize the relationship I have created (in my head) with a spider is not normal. But I only hope that I can be as committed to something someday as Charlotte is to building that dang web every day. Minus the feasting on bugs part.

I think 24 is a good age. I haven’t hit my quarter-century mark yet, but I’ve also graduated from the “just out of college” phase and established myself as an independent (for the most part) professional. My friends in their late 20s and early 30s are probably rolling their eyes at that – I know, I know. I’m still young. And I’m thankful for that. Last week I was on vacation with my family and made more than a few comments about my current life status, which in my mind is quite up in the air. Meaning, I have absolutely no idea where the hell my life is going. And my mom was very quick to remind me that I need not worry about silly things like that.

“Your life is right on track,” she said. “You are doing exactly what is right for you. People envy where you are right now.” And although it’s easy to forget, she’s right.

A few weeks ago, two friends and I packed up a minivan and headed to Eden, N.C. for a viewing of the new Harry Potter movie at a drive-in. Somehow, I had never been to drive-in theater, ever. We parked and set up camp on the cool grass with blankets, leaning against the rear bumper of the minivan. As the evening light faded and the stars appeared, Harry Potter and his cohorts embarked on their adventures. The movie was fun enough, but it was the drive-in experience that I enjoyed the most. My girlfriends and I snuggled together to stay warm (in July… crazy), snacking on popcorn and fresh cherries, as the temperature dropped a good 15 or so degrees.

There is simply something magical about being outdoors on cool summer nights. The rhythm of the crickets faded into the background of the movie’s score as the smoky scent of grilled burgers wafted across the lawn. Something about the three of us — giggling about how unfortunate it is that the actor playing Draco has not grown more attractive as he ages — sitting on the grass out in rural North Carolina made me feel like a kid again. It was like I was away at summer camp, bonding with two great friends who I really haven’t known very long but can already tell they’ll stick with me for a while.

It’s so easy to look waaaay too far into the future – believe me, I’m guilty of it on a daily basis – and freak yourself out about what you should be doing, what path you should be on, whether you’re on the right one and where it might take you. Frankly, it’s exhausting. Even my daily Google alerts stress me out, making me realizing there is so much more I could be covering at work, if only I had more time.

But we don’t have more time. We have what we have. And at work, it’s 40 hours a week, that’s it. (At least for my job it is; we’re under a no-overtime policy…) The key is to focus on what’s important and not get bogged down with the mundane. I can’t keep stressing out about “shoulda, coulda, woulda.” You simply can’t play that game. You have what you’ve been given and you’ve to go make the most of it. If you don’t like it, fix it.

Since my last post about feeling suffocated in Danville, I’ve made a few changes in my life, determined to regain control. I remember telling The Musician last month that I’d been pretty homesick. Not really homesick for North Carolina, but for good friends. There’s always a period of time when you’re in a new place that you wish for the friends you left behind. I can safely say I don’t feel that way anymore.

"c" items: card, clutch, cigarette (not mine), cell phone, catalog, corona, cold drink

If the beginning of my 24th year is any indication of its remainder, I’m in for a treat. My Danville friends threw me a spectacular C-themed bash (costumes required), which positively overwhelmed me seeing as how I’ve only known them for about three months. Three months that have honestly flown by because I try my best to make the most of the current chapter of my life, whether it’s spent watching movies with the girls, working on stressful stories at work or befriending the bugs in my apartment.

Face it: it’s easy to get worn out, burned out, beaten down from the day-to-day. But keep an eye on that bigger picture. Not for planning purposes, of course – that’s impossible – but for your on sanity and happiness. If something tears down your web, just rebuild it. And know that despite whatever crap you may encounter today, this week, this month, your life is headed in a certain direction.

It’s just up to you which direction that is.

Living up to my own philosophies

“Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?”

-Stephen Kellogg

I’ve been in Danville for a little more than two months. And when people ask me how it’s going, I find myself taking a deep breath and exhaling a wistful, “oh, it’s fiiine.” I really can’t complain. It is fine. I’m not unhappy. But I’m not particularly ecstatic, either.

I guess it’s hard to compare my current situation with my last, which was simply exquisite if only because of the pure novelty of that place. It was my first home, outside of my parents’ and college. It was a place and experience that was new and refreshing, and it was all mine. I made it for myself. So it’s hard for me to fall completely in love with Danville the way I did with Culpeper, because I’ve already done it. It’s sort of like I’m “just not that into” Danville.

photo by Declan McCullagh

For the Fourth of July, I visited my best friend (CB the law student) in New York, where she’s spending the summer. Walking through the hipster-chic streets in the Village and Chelsea, through the quiet beauty in Central Park, through the insane crowds in Midtown, I longed to live in a city. A real city. I did that once, in Spain. I spent four months in Valencia and I did things while living abroad that would terrify me in the United States. Things like traveling completely alone, like relying on an unfamiliar public transit system, like really living without restraints. The smells of New York City streets — that slightly sour, almost dirty smell — made me miss Valencia and my semester there as if it were a best friend I’d lost touch with.

I think that’s what appeals to me so much about Richmond, a city so rich with history and architecture. When I’m downtown, or walking through the Fan — I feel almost like I’m back in Europe, where I felt such exuberance and independence from my own intimidation. New York reminded me of that, and seeing CB navigate her way flawlessly through the metropolitan maze reminded me that I was once so able.

To be blunt, Danville suffocates me a little. To explore, I have to drive aimlessly. Downtown is definitley within walking distance, but most of it is vacant and empty. Driving around the city bores me, and I find myself falling into an inconvenient rut. I get to work late enough that I could accomplish things in the morning if I woke up earlier, but I don’t. I work late enough that I can’t really accomplish anything after work because I’m exausted. I go out of town nearly every weekend and simply don’t make time for myself. Even this blog is getting painfully neglected.

And because of my self-inflicted schedule, I’ve let my once-dutiful workout regimen fall by the wayside. For a while I relied on the “my life fell apart” excuse, but it’s been four months and I’ve outworn it. My life is now back together. For the most part.

I really hate to sound like such a Debbie Downer, because it’s so out of character for me. But I guess we all have our moments, right? Wrong. Maybe that’s an OK excuse for you, but not for me. It seems I’m forgetting one of the pillars of my life philosophy: whatever you’ve got, make the most of it. Like Stephen Kellogg croons, “Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?” In short, quit whining and make some changes. Or at least be thankful for what you’ve got.

Sometimes I cringe at the thought of making the effort to exercise, but the truth is, I miss running. I really do. I miss that exhilarating feeling of accomplishment when I surpassed one, two, three miles. Or when I dropped 5, 10, 15 pounds. That’s a high you can’t find anywhere else. I go on almost-daily walks with my friends, but I need to make time to run again.

And speaking of friends, I have made some seriously awesome ones in Danville who I miss when I’m gone on the weekends. And thankfully, they miss me too. They even told me so. When I mentioned last night that my birthday was next week, I got a resounding, “we know,” from my two girlfriends. I forget how lucky I am that I make friends so quickly.

This is your one chance at life. All you can do is make the most of it. Don’t spend your days wishing you were somewhere — or someone — else. And if you’re not happy, ask yourself why.

The times they are a-changin’

I know that phrase is probably really overused. Sorry, Bob Dylan. But it’s just so darned true. In this case, I am referring to the fact that as of January 2010, my generation within my family will never be the same.

I am so elated to say that my sister-in-law is preggers and I will officially be an aunt come January. I am so excited I can’t even stand it.

But when I found out last month, I also had a realization: we have officially entered adulthood. Well, they have, at least. Never mind graduating college, or living on your own or getting married. But now? Damn. Now there’s going to be a new generation of my family and we are no longer the kids.

As we horsed around in the sound at Kill Devil Hills, laughing at each other and acting like a bunch of goofy kids, I almost got a little sad. Never again will we be this group of carefree siblings and in-laws, with little more than money or work to worry us. My brother will soon be a dad, and one day I’ll be telling my little niece or nephew about the happy-go-lucky times we used to have.

Don’t misunderstand me – I don’t mean to say that all fun will end when the baby is born. Quite the opposite, I’m sure. I simply mean that things will change, priorities will change. A while ago I came across some pictures of my aunt and uncle before they got married and I was still a toddler. And it’s so strange to think of them as carefree twenty-somethings, before the rest of their lives began. It’s strange because that’s where I am now, and I have no idea where the heck my life is going. And they probably didn’t either. It’s hard to put your aunts’, uncles’ or parents’ lives into perspective until you get to that point yourself.

I’m about to turn 24. When my mom was 24, she’d been married two years and had just given birth to my brother. That scares the shit out of me, to put it bluntly. Needless to say I am positively thrilled for my brother and his wife, but the truth is I am so grateful to be single and unattached. That may be the first time I’ve said that and actually meant it.

Because even though everyone always says it – “enjoy this time in your life because you’ll never have it again” – I always rolled my eyes. That was just their pity at my singleness. But they’re right.

With freedom may come loneliness, but with companionship comes restrictions. I am unattached, and this probably is the only time in my life I will be that free. I had this same realization a few months ago when I got laid off, but now I realize it even more. The problem is figuring out what to do with all this freedom and learning to really appreciate it while I have it.

For starters, I’m going to keep thinking of fun aunt names. Because who doesn’t adore their awesome Aunt ____?

I’m a big kid now

I am almost 24 years old. And for about 22 of those years (well, basically since I left the crib), I have slept in a twin bed. And not just any twin bed — a pretty kickass four-poster twin bed with a damn fine mattress. For being a kid-sized bed, it’s super comfy and has been good to me, which is why I brought it with me when I moved out of my parents’ house after college. My dad said, “You can have your bed for free, or you can buy yourself a bed.” Not exactly a brainteaser.

OK mine isn't this bad, but it's close.

Most of my friends have had full or queen size beds since they outgrew their twins, but not me. I’ve stayed loyal to that sucker for 22 long years. (Not like I had much choice in the matter.) The tiny beds in college didn’t even bother me; I was used to sleeping in a bed for one. Although, the plastic mattresses were crappy and I always looked forward to visiting home and sinking into the heavenly comfort of my own bed. I loved that bed.

However, once I moved out of my parents’ house and into an apartment of my own, I realized just how ridiculous it was that I still slept in a twin bed. Giving people tours of my apartment always led to me explaining my sleeping situation. “You see, I brought this from my parents’ house and I’m saving up to buy a new bed. When I do, this will go in the guestroom.” The guestroom where my guests slept on an air mattress on the floor. Real classy, I know.

But I never bought one, never upgraded to a “big girl bed.” The one time I actually had some money saved, I bought a new laptop when my old one died. “Sorry bed, you’ll have to wait,” I said. Then right after Christmas, I came really close. I even went shopping with the guy I was dating at the time, which made dad real happy. “This only means one thing,” he told my mom after I’d called for mattress-buying advice.

But the thing is, it wasn’t about that. At all. It was about being an actual adult, and making grownup purchases for my grownup life. The four-poster twin may be comfy, but it kept me feeling like a kid. Feeling like I didn’t even fit into my own adult life. Like for some reason I didn’t deserve the life I’d made for myself. I know that’s reading a lot into my bed size, but your home says a lot about who you are and how you live your life. I still didn’t end up buying a mattress, though. I soon found out that I would be getting a slight pay cut at work, making a new bed completely out of the question. Then I got laid off, and well, you know the rest.

I’ve now moved to a new place and into a new apartment, and I was determined. My credit card isn’t happy with me, but I finally bought the big girl bed of my dreams, with a gorgeous new comforter and 400 thread count sheets to boot. I knew that if I didn’t just go for it, I never would. For those of you who can’t remember the last time you slept in a twin bed – and simply cannot appreciate the luxury of your current sleeping arrangement because you take it for granted – let me tell you how I feel. Have you ever gone to a really fancy hotel and just collapsed onto the giant bed of cushy pillows and bliss? And you spread your body across the entire bed just because you can? And giggle? (OK maybe that last one is just me.) THAT is how I feel. Every. Night.

my new bedding

It’s like I’ve finally graduated from the kiddie table and can sit with the grownups at Thanksgiving. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s almost empowering. I sit on my big girl bed and think: “This is mine. I bought it. I made this happen for myself.” With a little help from my parents in actually getting it here from Charlotte, of course. I’ve wanted a big girl bed for probably 15 years, and I finally have one. All. To. Myself. It’s glorious.

But I won’t lie… every time I walk through my (now) guestroom, I feel a little guilty. It’s like I’ve hurt the four-poster’s feelings. I’ve abandoned it. It looks so lonely in there, without me. And then I walk into my incredibly gigantic bedroom, with an incredibly gigantic bed, and I forget all about that pathetic twin.