Tuesday September 16, 2003: harvest moon
I was out and about tonight; I worked out, came home and changed, went to the library and Trader Joe's, and then to the drugstore to pick up a prescription. As I was waiting for them to fill my order, I walked over to Crate and Barrel and looked at all the shiny things that I could buy but didn't really want to.
It started to rain. My hands were tingling with the cold.
And as i walked back towards the drugstore, deciding against going to the bookstore, I had this sense of wonder sweep over me; I suddenly felt as if I were in the exact right place at the exact right moment, doing what I'm meant to be doing, whatever that may be. Raindrops sparkled in my bangs, catching the sodium light.
I could walk all night. Maybe I should go to the beach.
Maybe I should go home and curl up with books. Or do the dishes.
I ended up doing the dishes.
They seem so prosaic, the moments of happiness. It's easy for me to write about my sadness, but my happiness is much harder to capture.
I was at a ship party last Friday night, which took place on, yes, an actual ship. We went out on Elliott Bag, and the night was clear and calm.
I was kind of dreading it, as a couple of coworkers I'd been planning to hang out with weren't going to make it. But then M, who is a friend of a friend and who I'd met a couple of times before, swept in to save the day.
We spent three hours talking and laughing, and by the end I felt as if I'd made an friend. If nothing else, we both knew each other much better.
And as the boat rounded Alki Point, we went outside to watch a harvest moon rise over the city lights.
After a few minutes, M sighed. "We live in the best place on the planet, you know."
I told him I'd just been thinking the same thing.
I've come to the conclusion that I really rather like change.
I'm leaping into fall with enthusiasm; the cooler temperatures, the grey days, and the rain all seem like welcome respites from the endless sun we've had this summer. I know that by February, i'll be itching for sunshine, but for now it's all wonderful. I missed how rain tastes.
And it's easier to run when it's colder--I'm now up to running an entire mile without stopping! Soon, i'll be able to do a mile and a half, and at that point i'm going to need to find another route at work to run, because I'll need some more distance.
But everything is starting to work. Working out is starting to feel good. I'm starting to move just for the joy of moving. I actually look forward to running every day, amazingly enough.
I'm starting to be almost happy with myself.
And I can tell that it's fall because i'm starting to pull inwards again. This is one of Chris and I's basic incompatabilities--I draw inwards and down when winter comes, and I turn my attention inwards instead of outwards. People take too much of my energy in the wintertime, energy that I'm trying to use to work on things inside of myself.
Chris, on the other hand, senses the change in the air and clings to me ferociously. He needs more comfort, more people around him, more attention. And just when I want him at arm's reach, he wants to get closer and closer.
It's a problem that's not going to to away, but I think I may just be selfish this winter and retreat.
I need to learn how to say no to people who are in pain. That's something I've never been good at.
It started to rain. My hands were tingling with the cold.
And as i walked back towards the drugstore, deciding against going to the bookstore, I had this sense of wonder sweep over me; I suddenly felt as if I were in the exact right place at the exact right moment, doing what I'm meant to be doing, whatever that may be. Raindrops sparkled in my bangs, catching the sodium light.
I could walk all night. Maybe I should go to the beach.
Maybe I should go home and curl up with books. Or do the dishes.
I ended up doing the dishes.
They seem so prosaic, the moments of happiness. It's easy for me to write about my sadness, but my happiness is much harder to capture.
I was at a ship party last Friday night, which took place on, yes, an actual ship. We went out on Elliott Bag, and the night was clear and calm.
I was kind of dreading it, as a couple of coworkers I'd been planning to hang out with weren't going to make it. But then M, who is a friend of a friend and who I'd met a couple of times before, swept in to save the day.
We spent three hours talking and laughing, and by the end I felt as if I'd made an friend. If nothing else, we both knew each other much better.
And as the boat rounded Alki Point, we went outside to watch a harvest moon rise over the city lights.
After a few minutes, M sighed. "We live in the best place on the planet, you know."
I told him I'd just been thinking the same thing.
I've come to the conclusion that I really rather like change.
I'm leaping into fall with enthusiasm; the cooler temperatures, the grey days, and the rain all seem like welcome respites from the endless sun we've had this summer. I know that by February, i'll be itching for sunshine, but for now it's all wonderful. I missed how rain tastes.
And it's easier to run when it's colder--I'm now up to running an entire mile without stopping! Soon, i'll be able to do a mile and a half, and at that point i'm going to need to find another route at work to run, because I'll need some more distance.
But everything is starting to work. Working out is starting to feel good. I'm starting to move just for the joy of moving. I actually look forward to running every day, amazingly enough.
I'm starting to be almost happy with myself.
And I can tell that it's fall because i'm starting to pull inwards again. This is one of Chris and I's basic incompatabilities--I draw inwards and down when winter comes, and I turn my attention inwards instead of outwards. People take too much of my energy in the wintertime, energy that I'm trying to use to work on things inside of myself.
Chris, on the other hand, senses the change in the air and clings to me ferociously. He needs more comfort, more people around him, more attention. And just when I want him at arm's reach, he wants to get closer and closer.
It's a problem that's not going to to away, but I think I may just be selfish this winter and retreat.
I need to learn how to say no to people who are in pain. That's something I've never been good at.
