an old friend

lately, i've been reacquainting myself with myself.    

hello, julia, how are you?  good, but i'm tired.  i can't even form sentences anymore.  

i discovered this was a problem about two weeks ago when a friend of a friend said, "that was the most vague sentence i've ever heard."  how embarrassing.  i can't blame them, my mind is mush.  i'm busy these days.  so many facts, words, and topics swell in my head that i am experiencing a significant information overload and the first thing to succumb is my speech.  losing the ability to communicate is never favorable, and it is causing self doubt like no one's business.   so, in an effort to cleanse the head, i've been shedding and it feels very good.  

it all started about a year ago.  

i contracted something called who am I and where am i going, i'm almost 25 and i'm scared to death that i haven't figured all of this out yet disease.  instead of making decisions and moving toward something (the next step, the next place, etc) i've been wallowing in a safety net of sorts.  wallowing is nice for a while but then 12 months later you're in the same place you were when the mess started and you're no less uncertain.  

two months ago i decided that i needed to dedicate more time to myself.  two years out of college and i spend no more than one night every two weeks to myself.  i admit that i'm a person who loved interaction, but i recently realized exactly how draining it is.  committing so much of my time and energy to other people has left me totally void of any knowledge of myself.  last july, last november, last february i was not able to write a description of myself that didn't involve significant discussion of my relationship to other people as opposed to my relationship to myself.  

this is significant because in the last year i've grown more than i realized and did not stop long enough to understand the significance of that growth and how it has affected me.   so, in june i decided that there are things i want to do daily, weekly, monthly to help me get to know myself again, and without making it a priority it would not happen.  so, i decided to engage in activities in a time frame i designed for myself surrounded by the people who (without fail) support and encourage me in the direction i want to go.  i bought a new computer, a new camera, rented a new apartment, wrote a list of things i want to accomplish in the short and long-term, and i'm using these tools to enhance myself and sharing them with people i love.

the 25 before 25 is still ongoing, and i am happy to report that it has both inspired and motivated me to concentrate on the things that matter most to me.  i'm consistently photographing, i strive to say one good thing about myself or my surroundings every morning or evening, i am trying to cook more and be more inventive and imaginative in the kitchen and share the fruits of my labor with friends, i'm learning to let go and share more, i am engaging in creative endeavors, i'm diversifying the scope of people i interact with, i'm applying to graduate school, deciding the next steps in my life, and most importantly i am rediscovering the characteristics and qualities i love in people and things.  and all of this feels great.

i guess what i'm saying here is that i am happier than i have been in the last year; i'm the best version of myself I can be right now and for that i am incredibly grateful.  shedding all the muck from my mind will hopefully allow me to improve communication with others eventually, as for now i'm quite content communicating with myself.  

25 things to do before i turn twenty-five

i am making this list because i operate best with direction. i'm almost 25, there are a lot of things i want to do before then, not because i have to, but because i want to. i've got the resources so why not. so, therefore, i present, a list, of 25 things i want to do before i turn twenty-five.

1. apply to grad-school

2. live on my own

3. take a photography class

4. go to the pacific north west coast (oregon, or washington)

5. visit a new state

6. participate in a collective project or exchange

7. run a 5-k

8. visit another country

9. attend one cultural community event a month

10. buy a new computer

11. take one photo a day

12. perfect the skill of roasting chicken

13. teach myself to bind books

14. spend one day every two weeks entirely alone

15. say yes to the things i am interested in; say no to things I don't want to do

16. purchase produce at all of Seattle's farmers markets and make a dish from those ingredients

17. prepare, at least, four recipes from my gastronomic publications per month

18. go on a road trip without a specific destination

19. develop a green thumb by growing an amaryllis

20. write a letter to every person I admire letting them know why

21. draw a map of my favorite places in Seattle

22. amend my outlook; say one good thing about myself/my surroundings every day

23. conquer my fear of open water, start by swimming in lake Washington

24. improve my written communication

25. Vote.

a man's boots

My grandfather is 92 years old and wears cowboy boots every day. His boots always come to mind when I think of him. He is a man that I always enjoy hearing talk about his life. His stories are about hard-work and the joy and pain that come with it. He has lived through the advent of the telephone, the great influenza epidemic of 1918 that killed his mother and many other Americans, the Great Depression, and several year-long labor strikes. But his stories are always up-beat with mentions of community dances and parties so people could share food during what he calls the hard times, he talks fondly of meeting my grandmother when, on a break from cattle herding, he rode up to her at a well and she offered him water, honing his talent as a miner, and meeting people that have become life long friends in those moments. I relish these stories and the insights he has because of these experiences. Believe me, I could talk for days about all of the collected memories we share, but now that the time I spend with him is less frequent I call upon my memory to remind me of them. When I do so, one image rushes to the forefront of my mind. That image is his boots.

As far as I know, his boots have made the rounds with him for about the last quarter century of his life—all the years of my life or maybe longer. The steps he takes in those shoes are the steps that are part of who I am. When I was little I watched him pull galoshes over them to shovel snow during the harsh Butte winters, I watched him leave paths of smushed grass when he watered the summer-length lawn, I watched him give my brother and sister “horsy rides” on the end of his leg when they were babies, I watched him take long morning walks in those after breakfast, and smash pop can’s under his feet on the concrete in the garage. I gather comfort from knowing that there is something as simple as a pair of shoes that make my grandfather make sense to me.

I like that the things I love so much today are pieces of my grandparent’s and parents lives before I knew them. My grandmothers’ earrings, pins, and plates, my grandfathers’ jeans, boots, and hats, my mother’s books, camera, and photos, and my father’s records, belt buckles, and t-shirts; I like that when I hold these things or wear these things I come to know them in a different way. I like how I get a better sense of them as an individual. I like that these things were loved by them and have become important to me and also hold the potential to become something special to someone else in the future. For me, the handing down of objects is part of the intergenerational fabric of my life, it keeps their history (and somewhat my own) current and alive. I like that. I like that history isn’t just the past because for me it as present as the boots on my grandfather’s feet.

dancing on smoke stacks

Twenty-six miles from my hometown is a little town called Anaconda, and in between the two is another little town called Opportunity. My grandfather likes to make this joke that goes, “what lies between Butte and Anaconda?” I reply, “What?” He delivers, “Opportunity.”

Way back in the day, we’re talking in the days before American Industry had to outsource portions of industrial procedure to China, Anaconda was home of the largest smelter works in the world. The stack itself is about 500 ft. tall and is one of the more remarkable structures in southwest Montana, and is the tallest masonry structure in the world. What is important about this stack is not its design or how remarkable the engineering of the structure is, but rather what once happened on top of it.

In 1919 a celebration was held to dedicate the smoke stack before the smelter operations began thus turning the stack into a glorified chimney. In the days before the scaffolding was removed a group of men and women climbed to the top of the stack and had a party. My great-grandmother was one of them. At the age of 19 she climbed a unbelievable 500 ft. and danced on top of the smoke stack, a story she relished telling until late in her life. This is what women of Butte did; this is what Julia Rafferty had done. She was a gilded-age flapper, a dancer, a college graduate, a teacher who drank Manhattans with dinner, a woman who never once wore pants, and perhaps most importantly a woman who so greatly feared growing old out of fear for missing an experience that she lived her life for the feelings of youth. I gather that she was one of my mother’s strongest influences--a feminist before the feminist age, yet a woman of tradition, insight and progress.

I think about my grammie today because my newest thing is to savor my time and live a life less rushed. I am realizing that I am incredibly young and still have so much to learn. Do you remember being young, I’m thinking of those post-adolescent college years here, and thinking that you know everything there ever was to know about life? Then one day you are surprised to find yourself in a car accident or keying your neighbor’s car or ruining your friendships over small disagreements and then all of a sudden realized you know nothing at all. Well, I have been there and I should not have been so naive to think they would stop once I graduate from college or got a real job because these moments just keep on presenting themselves. Yesterday I was discussing a few things with my mother and she got all “are you even thinking?” She started in telling me how much time there is in life, how many goals I have yet to attain, how many things I have yet to experience and I kind of had to stop and agree.

I mean, I want to think I know everything, but I don’t. I have so much yet to learn. And for the first time ever it felt good to make that realization. It felt good to realize exactly how young I am and how much I have ahead of myself. And it makes me sad to think about how little I’ve been expressing myself and how limited my experiences have been and how rushed I let myself feel. And how important it is to slow down and savor my youth.

I’m so wildly, deliciously young!! And I’ve got all sorts of things ahead of me. Good things. Things I think will be the most defining, wonderful moments of my life.

I think all I really needed was a friendly reminder and some calm encouragement from the mom department telling me that it’s okay to climb high walls and dance on buildings and try to see the things others will not ever see—to take advantage of the opportunities that come my way. And that it is okay to take risks and have experiences because I’m young and I have to learn it sometime. And in the long run it is those youthful adventures that will keep us young beyond our years.

on my own two feet

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.