If you’re reading this, bear with me. This is some serious, but short, word vomit.
I am hesitant, and fretful. This space has not been put to very good use over the last few weeks, despite my best intentions. I am feeling particularly down on myself, frustrated that I have so little to offer the world. I feel anxious and, admittedly, short-tempered.
I feel like I am definitely not the best version of myself I could be, but I don’t know how to change that, or even if I have the spirit to do so. I’m tired a lot. I have a bunch of grand ideas, and despite having nothing but time on my hands, I lack the energy and talent to implement them. All I want to do is curl up on the couch. I recognize this is not the best method to improve one’s self. I get it. Getting out of the hole you dug for yourself is not an easy task.
I’m not a wordsmith. I don’t know. I’m just saying I’ve dug myself a warm cozy burrow, but it’s kind of gross and dark down here and I’d like to come up, now. Obviously I’m not the first person in the existence of mankind to feel this way.
I’d like to think another PURGE OF ALL THE MATERIAL THINGS might help. It’s possible. It’s also possible that being back in class will solve some of my anxiety issues. Schedules are good. I need a schedule. Change of diet? Sure. That definitely wouldn’t hurt anything. But I don’t know if these changes are just bandaids, or if that even matters. What’s wrong with a bandaid, really? Let’s patch this mess up so we can focus on more important things.
I haven’t posted in so long that I actually had to log in to WordPress.
I normally find myself coming to this space when I’m also busy with other things. Habit. It’s the battlecry of my generation, or something, that WE CAN MULTITASK ALL THE THINGS. I now find that idea exhausting. Do we always have to be doing a THING? Is it okay to just be for a moment? Can I put my phone away?
When I am not busy, though, is when the world seems its bleakest. When my brain is not occupied with ALL THE THINGS, melancholy tends to settle in.
So. I tend to choose the THINGS, but will occasionally turn off anything that requires to be turned on.
Spring’s appearance has been interrupted a handful of times now by snowfall, but I think it might finally be here. Most of the recent snow melted yesterday. I’ve got that anxious feeling I get when the air starts to smell a certain way and the days lengthen. The ground is still frozen, and the wind still has a bit of bite to it, but everything is slowly coming out of slumber.
I don’t think I will ever tire of sitting on this river bank. I am thankful to be here in this time and place, with the option to occasionally unplug.
It never hurts to take a little time to reflect and process.
June is going to be a big month, for me, one that will be (I hope) full of positive change. I recently left my job, which is as much of a relief as it is terrifying. While I feel like the word “toxic” is way overused (ugh), I 100% believe that retail, especially the weird secondhand corner of the retail world my former employer resides in, can be an extremely toxic environment. It certainly took its toll on me. After four and half years, it was time for a change. There were some great days, though, for sure. Treasured objects and people.
I worked hard on my college degree, learning about the things I loved, only to gently push it aside, waiting for “later.” Now that I’m fully dedicated to grad school, I realize that I’ve been missing out. A lot of that comes from insecurity and uncertainty, for sure, because I worry that maybe I waited too long, or that I didn’t look for the right opportunities. There are a lot of what ifs. I’ve never been a big risk-taker. I’m worried that younger, ballsier people will leave me in the dust. They probably will. I don’t know how to do my makeup, and I wear too much black, and I never know what to say, or what to do with my hands when people are talking to me. That being said, I guess I’d rather be trying and failing than just continuing to float semi-miserably along.
The difficult thing now is to transition. I’ve been working retail since undergrad, because it always paid the bills. That’s eight years under my belt in a world I really don’t want to be a part of any longer. So where to go from here?
That remains the question.
I’m cleaning out my desk drawer in preparation for moving. Things are slowly going into boxes. There’s a lot of clutter to get rid of, papers to sift through. I want to start fresh, but there are some things I will always take with me. I really don’t think you can ever just drop everything and go. Maybe some people can.
There is a dress in a box in my closet that I’ve had since I lived in Burlington. I bought it on clearance at Urban Outfitters, my second year at UVM. That knowledge is not special; I know where and when all my clothing has come from. There is nothing spectacular about this dress. Despite not currently being able to fit into it, or even wanting to be able to fit into it (it’s equivalent, I think, to a size 2, like no that is not happening), I haven’t been able to let it go. It doesn’t represent anything in particular, at least nothing I can put a finger on. At that point, I was still trying to figure things out. There is nothing about this dress that I even like. The colors aren’t me, the material makes me sweat, and the cut is not even remotely flattering. I finally managed to move it from a hanger to a donation box a few months ago. I haven’t looked at it since, I do not miss it, and yet for some reason I couldn’t be bothered to get that box of donations out the door.
That box is gone this week. The fact that it’s even occupying any part of my brain is seriously driving me batty.
This full moon means beautiful things are afoot. June is a month that has often left me feeling a little empty. There are memories here that will always be with me. If I can take even some of that sadness and turn it into something new and good, I will consider it a success.
The friends I used to drink cider and howl at the moon with are three hours and a mountain range or two away, but summer makes me think of them.
So, I turn 30 in like… two weeks. Cool. I had wanted to write a “Thirty Before 30” recap, but I’ve come to believe that the whole magic number bucket list concept is maybe kiiind of ageist. While I originally thought it was a fun idea (which I blame entirely on the young, hip upper-middle class blogging community), I now have a sneaking suspicion that the list implies that these things will be somehow be less fun or meaningful after turning 30. As if once you exit your twenties you are no longer a vibrant, adventurous, or useful person. 30 is somehow the new dead.
I have one life in front of me, a limited few years, during which I would like to experience so many things. Many of these I will never get to experience, either before or after turning 30.
I guess that was a little depressing? And, negative. Sorry. I don’t mean it that way. I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with prioritizing, but sometimes life just happens. And I’m sure a lot of people will read this post as a cop-out. We make choices that don’t always lead us to a place where we accomplish our goals in a timely manner, or at all. I don’t want my life to be a checklist. ‘X’ the boxes, check, check, then it’s done. I don’t want to feel sad that I didn’t accomplish a, b, and c, when maybe instead I chose d, j, and l. Or whatever. I want to take full responsibility for both my action and inaction. My list is fluid, and always on the table.
I am looking forward to turning 30. I am thankful I have survived. People have said that I am fragile (ps that is a really insulting label for a human being), and while I may be sensitive, that does not equate to fragility. I may not be a take-it-all-while-she-can powerhouse, but that’s just not my personality; I don’t want to be that person, and that certainly doesn’t mean I’m fragile. Fragile people are breakable.
Sensitive people sometimes have debilitating anxiety and depression. Sometimes we get caught up in putting the needs of others before our own. Sometimes we feel like breaking, but we power through. We become a little stronger. We realize the things we want are, after all, important. We recover. We may heal slowly, but we do not break.
We hike The Great Wall. We swim with sea turtles in the Caribbean. We climb mountains, read books, try new foods. We attend graduate school at Harvard. We stay in pajamas until 2:00 in the afternoon.
We turn goddamned thirty. And hopefully eighty. I like to think my chances of survival are pretty high.
T minus 12 days.
I have been reading a lot lately on how to be a better blogger. There are so many tips and tricks that I totally disagree with, because for the most part I think people are throwing around buzzwords for the sake of hits, but I do also think it’s possible that I’m simply a little bit anti-social. On the flip-side, some of these tips are just totally common sense, but maybe that’s because I have been an active user of message boards and blogging communities for so many years. Yes, you should leave comments on blogs you appreciate and yes, you should reply to comments when you receive them. If somebody on the street in my community gives me a friendly hello, I at least give a nod in their general direction even if I don’t know them.
What I’m trying to get to is that I haven’t actually found my blogging niche (another buzzword). I’m still not entirely sure what I’m trying to accomplish, here. The blogs that inspire me are literally all across the board as far as style and content is concerned. I do, thankfully, know the blogs that I do not want to be like, and the blogs I could never possibly be. Blogging tip: don’t ever be fooled into thinking that class and privilege is a non-factor simply because you’re on the internet. We’re not there yet.
Thank you for reading, and continuing to read. Thanks for saying hello. I simply want to continue sharing small pieces of myself. Proof of life.
Moving on, because dwelling on this particular subject is not what I want this space to be for, here are photos.
Of my basement.
I am not a creep. I am, however, an amateur at best, and I could use a tripod.
Old buildings speak to me (not literally). I find this a rather lovely space. It is where we do our laundry and where my roommate stores his golf clubs. I wanted to obtain record before I move away from here. Daylight, cobwebs, crumbling brick.
*This is a shared space; I made sure I was alone in the building and I did not include anything in storage or in active use.
Thanks for stopping by. My name is Naomi, and this space is made of girldust. This blog is a picture of my comfortably scattered life on the coast of Maine. I'm trying to be a slightly better version of myself every day. I like old houses, reading, the ocean, ghost stories, and museums. You can learn a little bit more about me here. Follow along elsewhere, or get in touch: