Not Settling, Not Dwelling

Winter is a good time for contemplation. Being cozied up in a warm apartment, secluded from the crisp, cold world, it's easy to become a bit preoccupied with your life and the path down which you're headed. John and I have always been consciously self-aware, but lately, being kept indoors by brutal January weather and having an anxious clarity that comes from easing off the evening wine consumption - well, we've just been thinking and chatting quite a bit more than usual.

Earlier this week, in his blog, John wrote about how we are "thinking about the next thing." Like clockwork, time has proven that usually around six months after we've moved to a new place we begin to think about the next step. And coming upon our sixth month in Glens Falls, we're assessing the situation and curious about where this path is leading us.

Coincidentally, today we are heading to a House Warming party for a couple that we've become great friends with during our short time upstate. We were fortunate to attend their wedding this past summer and we were psyched when they bought a house just across town. It's gorgeous - with hard wood floors, fresh, modern paint, a back patio and lawn and open, spacious rooms.

My heart swells with happiness for them; they are hard-working, wonderful people and they have found a home together that completes them. And lately, I've been hanging out with a lot of people like them; People who have beautiful homes and adorable children and families full of love and energy.

And part of me is a little jealous. Not jealous of the houses or the the kids; I know that if I really wanted that, I could have it, too. But envious of the satisfaction that comes along with that life - the feeling of fulfillment and success that I see in their faces.

My adult life thus far has been a continual cycle of learning, growing, experiencing and above all - wondering what will bring me - and us - that contentment. Our conversations revolve around a truth that, at times, makes us feel alien in this place - be it Glens Falls, New York, America, or just this world in general. That truth is that we are seeking some sort of life adventure of which there is no clear path - but settling is really not in the cards. At least not yet.

I can imagine someday, years from now, perhaps finding a place that I can call home and feel fulfillment at just being there. But as of now, I have yet to live in a place that I want to stay for more than a few years. I have no interest in acquiring any more things, but instead enjoy the lightness of knowing my life can be boxed up and relocated in a matter of days. No strings attached, no complications.

I also can imagine someday choosing to have a family. Although right now it is incomprehensible, I am not foolish enough to believe that time won't change me.

I am swirling around my point, which is that I am learning to come to terms with the fact that I - that we - are different. And that's OK. I've written in the past about a fear of settling, a concern for being an endless drifter that approaches middle age with no real roots and a head-full of regrets. But this winter, I'm moving on. I'm focusing on accepting who I am and not dwelling on who I am not.

My biggest weakness - clearly inherited from my father - is my proneness to worry. I stress. I wonder. I dwell. But by realizing this trait about myself I'm accepting that I'll be doomed to a life of regret and uncertainty if I don't embrace who I am and stop feeling bad about it!

I'm not really sure where life is taking me - but I have to admit, so far it's been a damn good ride. I follow my gut. I do what I love. I try my best to be a good person, be honest, work hard, and leave behind me a trail blazing with great memories, admirable people, and work I can be proud of. I am not settling just yet because I know, intuitively, that it's not the time nor place. And I'm not dwelling on it any longer. When the time comes to take the next leap - be it in a year, be it in three - I'll know it, and will do it gracefully, carefully, with much thought and consideration. Regardless, I am accepting that we are seekers, accepting that everyone has a role in this mysterious world, and embracing the beautiful complexity of discovering where each of us fits.

And for the first time ever, I'm feeling excited about it.

Hibernation

Ah, it's that time of the year. Again.

I just returned this afternoon from a wonderful weekend jaunt at Dartbrook Lodge in Keene, NY - a gorgeous, rustic-modern, cozy, sit-by-the-fire-in-your-own-personal-cabin retreat in the middle of the Adirondacks. John and I were fortunate to spend Friday and Saturday night there as the weekend was a Trampoline Design pow-wow. We had a wonderfully relaxing few days nestled in the Mountains, all snug in our toasty lodges with good food and good company.

When we arrived at the Lodge on Friday it had been raining steadily all day, and the sky was grey overcast, the ground muddy as April. But over the course of our brief stay there, winter slowly made it's undeniable return. The puddles of rain froze along with the softening earth, and the ground was dusted by a Saturday evening flurry. Today when we loaded up the car and headed home, the air was crisp and icy, and the sun made the ground sparkle and my eyes squinty, watching the gleaming light patch across the tree-covered mountains. It was a stunning sight, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it wrapped in my wool coat, scarf, and boots with the heat cranking the entire way.

See, I really don't like winter.

It's beautiful, I know. Especially on a day like today, when the sun glimmers off of everything and the pure white stuff blankets everything in purity and calm. But while I can appreciate the intrinsic beauty of winter, the cold hits me in the core and I prefer to stay inside where it's warm, hibernating until spring.

This has been a fact of my life since childhood. Despite an occasional attempt at sledding or ice skating, I spend 99% of every winter indoors. I read. I write. I work on the computer. I watch movies. I listen to music or play guitar or cook or drink. But I do not go outside unless I am in transit to another heated building.

Whenever I tell people this they usually laugh and say, "So why do you live in Upsate New York?"

Well, anyone that knows me would also know that I've spent much of my adult life trying to escape from New York, but money, family, and circumstance has always brought me back.

I've also been told to take up some sort of winter activity so that I have something to look forward to and associate with snow. Try skiing or snow-shoeing, people say. But honestly, the thought of any voluntary extended stay in the cold makes me shiver at the thought.

Born on the hottest day of the year - the last day of July - I have always been a summer baby. Give me 85 degrees, flip flops, sunscreen, and a clear lake and I'm in heaven. Windows down, music blasting, barbeques, ice cold beers, frisbee, softball, sitting on the porch till sunset...

There's nothing I hate more than the feeling of wishing my life away, but it seems that every year - from January until May - I am counting down the days. I get wicked SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and yearn for the sun, for warmth. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate all of the four seasons, can't imagine Christmas without snow, and love the transistion of winter to spring especially. I just wish that it didn't take so goddamn long.

After a lovely weekend - the kind that makes winter bearable - I'm hunkering down and bundling up. Three months to go... I can get through this.

Keeping Resolutions

Nine days into 2008 and I'm feeling that What-the-hell-was-I-thinking? thud in the back of my head... Somewhere between making the list of uber-ambitious goals for the new year and taking baby steps to begin accomplishing them I forgot to ask myself what was actually feasible, whether or not I could handle such a hiccup in daily life, and how I would tackle a day like today when the cumulative effects of my baby steps start taking a physical toll.

I've always been ambitious, which - most people would agree - is a good thing. However, couple ridiculous ambition with a personality that teeter-totters between obsessively-compulsively stressed and guilt-laden and it's a recipe for disaster. If I'm not running around like a maniac completing tasks like a tea-kettle whistling into your eardrums, I'm sitting around lethargic and exhausted feeling bad about everything I'm not doing. Ah, it's a lose-lose situation that I've managed to somehow make work for much of my life... before the kettle bursts I tend to kick back and relax, and before the guilt is crippling I pick up pace again.

Tonight I'm coming down from atop Mount Psychotic Over-Achiever to find myself wiped and bummed out. I forgot to take this cycle into consideration when creating these goals for 2008:

Learn French
Learn advanced CSS development
Yoga twice (or more) a week
Drink less - only weekends and/or special occasions
Work on new web projects
Consider/research grad school for 2009
Get more physically active (ideas I've listed include rock climbing, skiing, and ballroom dancing)

The over-arching goal of this year? Healthier body, healthier mind. Good goals, yes... and I've already scouted the path for success: I've been doing online CSS courses daily, adhering to my yoga goals, not drinking, eating well, working on some web projects, and have plans to get cracking on the French Language CD-ROM Mom got me for Christmas. Things are going well.

But today I feel wiped.

Honestly, I've been go-go-going at work and at home and even though I've paused to watch a few movies and - hypothetically - yoga is relaxing, too, the sudden shortage of cookies and chocolate as well as wine and... well, more wine... is definitely affecting me. Tonight I drove home from work daydreaming about the bottle of Bailey's in the fridge and how lovely an ounce or two on the rocks would be...

Tonight is my yoga class. There's no reason I can't go. But every bit of me wants to crash on the couch with a glass of wine and hunk of Ghiradelli dark chocolate. Ugh.

On the bright side, what this experience is teaching me is that I am not at all an alcoholic, as I have casually wondered. An alcoholic would have crashed this sober-train several days ago and the bottle of Bailey's would be long gone. However, I am realizing that I use alcohol as a crutch because, for me, it's the most enjoyable and convenient way of relaxing and powering-down. The challenge is to find other ways to do so that are calorie free.

Well, it's all a work-in-progress. Things are going well and this certainly isn't a precursor to throwing in the towel. Quite the opposite actually: After I publish this post I'm grabbing my yoga bag and forcing myself out the door. And when I get home? I just might have a sip of Irish Cream. Who says I can't have my cake and eat it too?

Besides, the real lesson to learn about resolutions is to be realistic in the first place!

A New Year

Before we left town for New Year's I wrote briefly about our record of fabulous New Year's festivities, reminiscing about fireworks in London, New York, Rochester, Montreal.

But this New Year's Eve was different. I learned a simple but important lesson: it's not necessarily your surroundings, but the company you keep.

We cruised down to the city on the morning of the 31st expecting an evening similar to the one we celebrated in 2006: a few random house parties where we reconnected with old RIT alums, cracked open PBRs on the subway, and watched fireworks across the city from a Brooklyn rooftop.

But you can't recreate nights like that. People grow, things change, friends and circumstances come and go.

The evening began at Randall's apartment, where we accomplished our main task of the trip: recording the Director's Commentary for John's film, EVERY GOOD THING to RUST, soon to be distributed via online DVD at IndiePix.net. I wasn't expecting to participate, but at the last minute John pulled up a chair for me, too, and Randall, Holland, John and I watched the entire film while cracking open beers and shootin' the shit. It was too much fun, and I suspect the Commentary might be more fun to watch than the film itself, given its seriousness.

But we were off to a good start, and the boys reported that there were oodles of parties to choose from. Bri - Holland's girl and my dear friend and former boss - knew of one in particular.

We parted ways with Randall, heading down to Park Slope to meet Bri for dinner. Despite the hugs and kisses, upon meeting up with her I could immediately tell something was wrong. She was tired, not planning on drinking (perhaps too much indulgence over the holidays) and appeared to have had a rough day at work. The two of them walked ahead of us and seemed to have their own issues to sort out. We went to a delicious dinner at Anthony's where I welcomed a plate of homemade Gnocchi to my gut, but even then conversation was slim. The two of them were quiet, and John - being his buzzed, jovial self - drove the chatter.

When we returned to Holland's apartment to meet up with the rest of the gang and get ready to go out, even there things seemed strange. Friends were standing around awkwardly, others were eager to leave, and most people were watching a rerun of Family Guy. It felt like a family reunion... everyone fond of memories past, but now standing side by side and wondering what to say to each other.

Half of the group went to one party, and three of us couples, including Holland and Bri, went to the party Bri had heard about - supposedly a house party with live bands. The group was quiet: our friends seemed to be in a funk, I was feeling weighed down and tired from the mountain of Italian food, and only John was still in good spirits... but soon his non-stop jokes and caffeinated chatter were grating on all of our nerves.

When we arrived at the party at 11:30pm to find a trashy houseful of strangers and loud, ear-searing noise-rock, we all gathered outside, defeated.

John tried to make everyone laugh, but no one would have it. We called Marianne, our friend who'd gone to the other party, and got directions. If we hurried we could make it before midnight.

So grumpily, we rushed back to the subway. One person in our group lost his ticket, so we missed the first train. Now it was 11:45. Only three stops, but each one seemed to be miles away. We deboarded and rushed down the street, now no one talking but each us checking our watches and phones to see the minutes tick by. Somewhere three blocks before we reached the party, we heard the sound: the faint pop and crack, followed by flashing light and more pops, cracks... it was 2008. The New Year had come, ready or not, as we power-walked down some side street in Brooklyn. Our friends barely flinched, but John - not to be brought down - scooped me up on a street corner for a smooch. And he continued down the street happily, proclaiming "Happy New Year!" to strangers we passed, all of whom returned the greeting with smiles.

I wish I'd realized it then, but there was still more to learn for me as my sour mood hadn't quite dissolved. We arrived at the doorstep of the party, fireworks still sounding around us, to find that the door buzzer was broken. Holland rang Marianne, but there was no answer: clearly, they were celebrating upstairs and couldn't hear the phone. We all stood on the doorstep, looking at each other, again defeated. Now what?

And suddenly it didn't matter. On a rooftop, in a subway, on a street corner... it was New Year's Eve. And we were all together.

"I'm opening a beer." Holland said decidedly.

And we pulled out the six-pack of Stellas we'd been carrying and distributed them, each taking a swig and marveling at the reflection of fireworks in the apartment windows around us. John bellowed, "MARIANNE!!!" up at the third floor apartment, and finally she realized we were outside.

And with that, the night changed for us. Our friends were waiting upstairs and this party was more our pace: intimate, chilled, with good music, food, and drinks. We stayed here for a few hours... catching up, dancing, no longer checking our watches. We left sometime around 2 or 3, and went to a bar in Brooklyn Heights before heading home, not ready for the night to end.

When we finally returned to Holland's apartment, and I curled up with a plate of leftovers and a Heineken in our friend's living room, the conversation now not dying until sometime around 6am... I realized it. It doesn't matter if you're drinking wine in a bathrobe overlooking the Montreal party district, or listening to bagpipes at a London pub, or toasting under the fireworks and stars. While all of that is lovely, what really matters is the people around you, the spirit inside you, and the faith that this year will be better than the last.