I haven’t been getting around too much lately. I spend a good majority of my time in a select few neighborhoods and sadly my stomping grounds seem unusually un-stomped. There is barely a venture—not even on Saturday mornings—beyond the few blocks surrounding me in those areas. I can’t figure out if this is because I’m tired or if it is just natural winter hibernation. Recognizing a need to get out, last weekend I took the initiative and boarded a fully-packed Greyhound bus for a trip north to Bellingham, the “city of subdued excitement.” Normally I would feel bad about such a sad city moniker, but in this case it seems apt. Bellingham has a pace that is slower and, well, frankly, more subdued than Seattle. For some reason, it is just easier for me to relax there. I spent last weekend lounging with Anne and her parents. Their home is one of the most peaceful places on earth. It is quiet and serene; through the west-facing windows is the most striking panoramic view of tree-tops and the San Juan Islands and it just begs you to wrap yourself in a blanket and lay on the couch, which I did with several cups of peppermint tea and a new book.
In the meantime, Anne and I did a lot of talking while trying to restore our tired-out selves. Her dad mentioned something about the Thanksgiving where we spent five straight days doing homework and washing “piles” of clothes. And we both got to thinking about how exhausted we were during senior year and how for some reason that student-leaden-with-homework-exhaustion was somehow more worthwhile than the sit-at-a-desk-50-hours-a-week kind. We decided the answer must be because we are growing up. What is the deal with adulthood? I now completely grasp my mother’s need for a nightly bath behind a locked door. Seriously, things come in the mail with your name on them and you have to pay attention to them. You have to choose healthcare plans and retirement plans and set up accounts to manage money. You have to choose whether or not your relationships are healthy. You have to be responsible enough to manage the day to day as well as navigate the uncertain waters of realizing that despite what I think in the end no one else will take care of me but myself. Ugh. Is this why my new favorite place is home? Am I longing for the sanctity of my parent’s house, a place that represents the comforts of my childhood and all of the good, free-for-all memories I associate with that time in life? I think growing up is realizing that the answer to this is yes.
The phases of life are interesting. I am maneuvering myself through a number of tricky things—learning how to assert myself professionally, while maintaining a balance with outside life, learning more about relationships and the time and compromise they require and that they too are susceptible to growth. Earlier today I read an article commenting on the new sex and the city movie being filmed in new york and there was a comment made about the role the city will play in the film and I found appropriate for today, “for me the whole movie is the streets…because that’s where all the promise and potential is. That’s the romance. That’s the hope. That’s where single women walk out the door every day, and they just don’t know what is two steps away.”
No matter what, I have to embrace the inevitable and grow up. I must realize that home will always feel like home, but it will not ever be home again. I can’t put time on hold to wander in hours of childhood whimsy; I can only briefly put it on pause. For now, I must accept that my future is in my own hands. Well, perhaps not my hands, but under my feet.
In the meantime, Anne and I did a lot of talking while trying to restore our tired-out selves. Her dad mentioned something about the Thanksgiving where we spent five straight days doing homework and washing “piles” of clothes. And we both got to thinking about how exhausted we were during senior year and how for some reason that student-leaden-with-homework-exhaustion was somehow more worthwhile than the sit-at-a-desk-50-hours-a-week kind. We decided the answer must be because we are growing up. What is the deal with adulthood? I now completely grasp my mother’s need for a nightly bath behind a locked door. Seriously, things come in the mail with your name on them and you have to pay attention to them. You have to choose healthcare plans and retirement plans and set up accounts to manage money. You have to choose whether or not your relationships are healthy. You have to be responsible enough to manage the day to day as well as navigate the uncertain waters of realizing that despite what I think in the end no one else will take care of me but myself. Ugh. Is this why my new favorite place is home? Am I longing for the sanctity of my parent’s house, a place that represents the comforts of my childhood and all of the good, free-for-all memories I associate with that time in life? I think growing up is realizing that the answer to this is yes.
The phases of life are interesting. I am maneuvering myself through a number of tricky things—learning how to assert myself professionally, while maintaining a balance with outside life, learning more about relationships and the time and compromise they require and that they too are susceptible to growth. Earlier today I read an article commenting on the new sex and the city movie being filmed in new york and there was a comment made about the role the city will play in the film and I found appropriate for today, “for me the whole movie is the streets…because that’s where all the promise and potential is. That’s the romance. That’s the hope. That’s where single women walk out the door every day, and they just don’t know what is two steps away.”
No matter what, I have to embrace the inevitable and grow up. I must realize that home will always feel like home, but it will not ever be home again. I can’t put time on hold to wander in hours of childhood whimsy; I can only briefly put it on pause. For now, I must accept that my future is in my own hands. Well, perhaps not my hands, but under my feet.
