In 2012, there is really only one place I want to go.
I want to visit the Italian island of Capri.
I want to go to the Blue Grotto.
I want to take a gondola into the Grotto.
I don't care if I get to eat pizza from Napoli.
I don't care if I get to peruse the designer shoppes.
All I want to see is that azure water, shining bizarrely against those cave walls.
In reality...the farthest I'll probably get this year is Oklahoma.
http://www.travelbelles.com/2012/01/11/2012-where-to-travel/
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Resolutions
I'm not making any resolutions for 2012. Know why? Because that's just setting yourself up for failure. My goals may be low and this may be rather self-deprecating, but I feel like it's the only way to go.
Sure, I can hope for things----a 3.8 GPA, a stellar job in GR for the summer, a perfect day for skydiving on my 21st: but I can't hang my hat on anything. Nothing in this life is guaranteed, and CERTAINLY nothing I personally desire is inevitable.
So you go on and strive to work out 4 times a week and eat 700 calories or less a day.
You challenge yourself to show your wife more love with cute notes and crap like that.
Go ahead and plan to get a raise and buy a house in the suburbs.
I'm going to save myself a lot of heart ache and make no such self-undermining and useless resolutions. When the year's over, let's compare.
Sure, I can hope for things----a 3.8 GPA, a stellar job in GR for the summer, a perfect day for skydiving on my 21st: but I can't hang my hat on anything. Nothing in this life is guaranteed, and CERTAINLY nothing I personally desire is inevitable.
So you go on and strive to work out 4 times a week and eat 700 calories or less a day.
You challenge yourself to show your wife more love with cute notes and crap like that.
Go ahead and plan to get a raise and buy a house in the suburbs.
I'm going to save myself a lot of heart ache and make no such self-undermining and useless resolutions. When the year's over, let's compare.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Happy? Content...
I'm currently reading a book. About marriage so far, (which is totally beside the point of this post). And though I'm only 55 pages in, so far it's about this chick who enters marriage hoping for a strawberries and cream life, where everything's rosy and idyllic; moonlit sonnets on the balcony and lovin' in the garden. But she is completely disappointed and thus far spends her time dreaming of being elsewhere, all the while trying to convince herself she's content and that her life could be in perfect harmony with her dreams if only she thinks it to be as such. It ain't happening for her, big surprise.
I'm forced to analyze such emotions and can only hope in complete futility that the number of people living this way is fewer than I know it to be. Too many people romanticize life. They still cling to the idea that their childhood dreams are going to come true; they will be wealthy and in love and live in a castle on a lake, and they will never be discontent and fury and uneasiness will never knock at their door, and god forbid these things enter into their soul. It's a rather happy little scenario and theoretically a gorgeous little fantasy...and in a way I envy the people who think this very way, because somewhere in the 20 years of my life, I threw this ridiculous possibility out the kitchen window.
And for that I am actually pretty glad, because while they may enjoy fooling themselves now, these people are going to wake up 5, 10, 37 years from now and realize that this dream fizzled out a long time ago. That their life didn't go as planned---they saw strife and they felt grief and they felt anger and disappointment and hate. And they fell out of love and learned to detest the world. They were led to settle, dashing their dreams to broken bits of glass akin to Kristallnacht. They work a 9-5 job, drink the same dull cup of coffee every morning, skimp on luxury to pay the daycare bills, live in a suburb, and never have sex anymore. Which happens to a lot of people, let's face it. But it's far worse when you hoped for so much more.
There are two things that could have happened along the way to this disappointing life: they fully acknowledged they were losing their lovely mirage of a life as it was happening, which would be devastating. Or---they literally wake up and recall that dream existence, one they had forgotten due to all the shit in their life. This is equally dismal of a revelation. What a drag.
But here I propose a third happening: how about you come to your senses early in life, don't make unrealistic dumb plans that are set up for failure, let come what may, and thus guarantee a happier end result? I retract that....happier, no (at best, maybe). More content, though---now, you can hang your hat on that for sure. And isn't contentment better than a fleeting happiness, which is a shallow emotion as it is? Stop grasping for things that aren't going to happen for anyone. Even the people who seem to have it all rarely do. Don't strive for anything---keep it simple. Enjoy the journey, good and bad. Love and lose, live and grieve, laugh and cry. Just don't build up hopes or lies in your brain that are going to be the end to your contentment. Even lives stricken with the worst happenings imaginable can be fulfilling---most of the time they prove to be more satisfying!
I know, I know....I'm just soooo depressing. But quite honestly, life isn't a pristine and sentimental manufactured Hallmark card sitting in a store, all white and shiny, with a bouquet of flowers on it...a card that's never been touched and yet the heart-warming message inside is predictable by even a blind man; and I personally wouldn't want it to be. I'd rather have a hand-made, imperfect, stained-with-tears card, one that's been put through a lot and is from someone who traveled that journey with me. I'd rather not know what the card is going to say, and I'd rather it be something that doesn't sound like it came from a Disney movie. In my life's card....I hope the message is in hand-written scrawl and I hope it's lopsided and it's cheery and sarcastic and sad all at the same time. Most of all, I want the card to be something totally unpredictable, something I had never thought of or seen and am therefore completely content with. Satisfaction.
I'm forced to analyze such emotions and can only hope in complete futility that the number of people living this way is fewer than I know it to be. Too many people romanticize life. They still cling to the idea that their childhood dreams are going to come true; they will be wealthy and in love and live in a castle on a lake, and they will never be discontent and fury and uneasiness will never knock at their door, and god forbid these things enter into their soul. It's a rather happy little scenario and theoretically a gorgeous little fantasy...and in a way I envy the people who think this very way, because somewhere in the 20 years of my life, I threw this ridiculous possibility out the kitchen window.
And for that I am actually pretty glad, because while they may enjoy fooling themselves now, these people are going to wake up 5, 10, 37 years from now and realize that this dream fizzled out a long time ago. That their life didn't go as planned---they saw strife and they felt grief and they felt anger and disappointment and hate. And they fell out of love and learned to detest the world. They were led to settle, dashing their dreams to broken bits of glass akin to Kristallnacht. They work a 9-5 job, drink the same dull cup of coffee every morning, skimp on luxury to pay the daycare bills, live in a suburb, and never have sex anymore. Which happens to a lot of people, let's face it. But it's far worse when you hoped for so much more.
There are two things that could have happened along the way to this disappointing life: they fully acknowledged they were losing their lovely mirage of a life as it was happening, which would be devastating. Or---they literally wake up and recall that dream existence, one they had forgotten due to all the shit in their life. This is equally dismal of a revelation. What a drag.
But here I propose a third happening: how about you come to your senses early in life, don't make unrealistic dumb plans that are set up for failure, let come what may, and thus guarantee a happier end result? I retract that....happier, no (at best, maybe). More content, though---now, you can hang your hat on that for sure. And isn't contentment better than a fleeting happiness, which is a shallow emotion as it is? Stop grasping for things that aren't going to happen for anyone. Even the people who seem to have it all rarely do. Don't strive for anything---keep it simple. Enjoy the journey, good and bad. Love and lose, live and grieve, laugh and cry. Just don't build up hopes or lies in your brain that are going to be the end to your contentment. Even lives stricken with the worst happenings imaginable can be fulfilling---most of the time they prove to be more satisfying!
I know, I know....I'm just soooo depressing. But quite honestly, life isn't a pristine and sentimental manufactured Hallmark card sitting in a store, all white and shiny, with a bouquet of flowers on it...a card that's never been touched and yet the heart-warming message inside is predictable by even a blind man; and I personally wouldn't want it to be. I'd rather have a hand-made, imperfect, stained-with-tears card, one that's been put through a lot and is from someone who traveled that journey with me. I'd rather not know what the card is going to say, and I'd rather it be something that doesn't sound like it came from a Disney movie. In my life's card....I hope the message is in hand-written scrawl and I hope it's lopsided and it's cheery and sarcastic and sad all at the same time. Most of all, I want the card to be something totally unpredictable, something I had never thought of or seen and am therefore completely content with. Satisfaction.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Normality
I find it peculiar when mundane things define my life. When the crossword is replaced by a stupid SuDoku in the newspaper...when I have to stoop to eating plain English muffins because the plaza cafe closed before I could get butter or peanut butter or jam...when the lack of notifications on facebook infuriates me...
BUT THEN: when something exciting happens, such as putting on a animal print dress to attend a ritzy event by default, getting picked up over tomato cheese soup in a cup, and thought of something less that straight for the third time in one week, then I am happy.
I hate to be forced to ponder the lame-ness of my life. This over-analysis is such a flaw in myself; but I find I only ponder the lame-ness when my life is indeed lame, and actually, when a broader perspective is taken, my life is not lame at all. So as long as semi-entertaining things happen, or as long as I make them happen (i.e. frequenting a parlor on West Leonard, buying a Woodstock T-shirt, pretending to be British...) I'm a pretty damn content person.
On the ironic flip side...when these 'exciting' events do occur, sometimes I miss the routine things. I miss my morning coffee from the Keurig, I miss my large double bed all to myself, I long for a day full of nothing. And visa versa. It's this horrible circular pattern that I maintain: either catastrophic events or simple pleasures make life all worth it to me. I don't know if this is due to my particular frame of mind and mood on any given day. But.
There are days I want to lie in a bed that's not my own; to have a totally irregular weekend, full of both nothing and everything, back and forth; where I eat at strange times and sleep at even more odd intervals; where I meet people I don't know, and can say and do whatever I want.
And then there are days when I want to wake up at 7:35am, dry off from the steamy shower with my yellow towels, wear the jeans I've had since sophomore year of high school, go to work and do absolutely nothing productive, not pay attention in class, and then go home, eat a toasted cheese, fiddle around of stumbleupon, hardly talk to anyone, and go to bed between the green jersey sheets of my double bed, the venice canal poster not even catching my eye.
And then there are days when I want to GO out and DO things and SEE things and be someone totally new; someone full of hot air, vibrant and self secure and strangely friendly yet standoffish...and I want to be alone and with others all at the same time.
I think. I might be like....tri-polar.
BUT THEN: when something exciting happens, such as putting on a animal print dress to attend a ritzy event by default, getting picked up over tomato cheese soup in a cup, and thought of something less that straight for the third time in one week, then I am happy.
I hate to be forced to ponder the lame-ness of my life. This over-analysis is such a flaw in myself; but I find I only ponder the lame-ness when my life is indeed lame, and actually, when a broader perspective is taken, my life is not lame at all. So as long as semi-entertaining things happen, or as long as I make them happen (i.e. frequenting a parlor on West Leonard, buying a Woodstock T-shirt, pretending to be British...) I'm a pretty damn content person.
On the ironic flip side...when these 'exciting' events do occur, sometimes I miss the routine things. I miss my morning coffee from the Keurig, I miss my large double bed all to myself, I long for a day full of nothing. And visa versa. It's this horrible circular pattern that I maintain: either catastrophic events or simple pleasures make life all worth it to me. I don't know if this is due to my particular frame of mind and mood on any given day. But.
There are days I want to lie in a bed that's not my own; to have a totally irregular weekend, full of both nothing and everything, back and forth; where I eat at strange times and sleep at even more odd intervals; where I meet people I don't know, and can say and do whatever I want.
And then there are days when I want to wake up at 7:35am, dry off from the steamy shower with my yellow towels, wear the jeans I've had since sophomore year of high school, go to work and do absolutely nothing productive, not pay attention in class, and then go home, eat a toasted cheese, fiddle around of stumbleupon, hardly talk to anyone, and go to bed between the green jersey sheets of my double bed, the venice canal poster not even catching my eye.
And then there are days when I want to GO out and DO things and SEE things and be someone totally new; someone full of hot air, vibrant and self secure and strangely friendly yet standoffish...and I want to be alone and with others all at the same time.
I think. I might be like....tri-polar.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Well this is new
Grand Rapids. It's been a hypothetical eye sore imposing on my life all the time I've lived here. The dread that ensued when school started back up again, or even just returning after a weekend from home...dirty, corporate, dull. So many times I've said "I'll be ok as long as I don't end up in Grand Rapids..."
But..............
Artists preparing for Art Prize in the crispy autumnal atmosphere. Hispanic Festivals where man-ish Che Guevara bracelets were purchased. Parking garages and steam curling out of man holes, the homeless man who smokes and holds a conversation with the friend only he can see; the white-haired parking lot attendant who knows and waves at me every day with a jolly smile but I've never talked to; chalk art under the bridge; swing dancing in Rosa Parks, amidst the beams of light that pop out from the Circle's holes; a man in the river creating a heart out of mere rocks; a man smoking a pipe, blazered and be-wrinkled, watching the man in the river; a indistinguishable figure playing guitar on the side of the river; profs at the janky Burger King who know the burger-flippers; bus drivers who hit on the cashier girls at said BK; the Varnum building, the shiny DeVos Perfromance Hall; Sanchez tapas and MoJos dueling piano bar; crosswalks and irate drivers; rows of hot cars parked along the side of the road; college kids who look like they're lost in Costco, trying to find their mother without looking like losers; women who take their lunch break to walk together, wearing tennis shoes with their business casual attire; the 1913 room waiter, debonair as hell, giving directions to a smiling middle aged blonde, who's obviously late for something; a random band and potential birthday party gone sour at Rosa Parks; couples dressed to the 9s, holding hands, in love beneath the brick and glass sided sky; never-ending Fulton street, loitered by white trash bag-holding pedestrians; the Bitter End manager, black and rotund, kicking out unwanted customers at 2am; the run-down gas stations converted into free parking; the austerity of the river....the bridges....the buildings......
The distaste that's festered in my very soul for you, Grand Rapids, somehow is being pushed aside. It's been replaced by a black hole of adoration and appreciation for you---something that must have been there alongside the hate for you all along, but is only now surfacing, coming on stronger than anticipated, arising as the most surprising of feelings.
Somewhere along the way, I've fallen into deep like with you.
But..............
Artists preparing for Art Prize in the crispy autumnal atmosphere. Hispanic Festivals where man-ish Che Guevara bracelets were purchased. Parking garages and steam curling out of man holes, the homeless man who smokes and holds a conversation with the friend only he can see; the white-haired parking lot attendant who knows and waves at me every day with a jolly smile but I've never talked to; chalk art under the bridge; swing dancing in Rosa Parks, amidst the beams of light that pop out from the Circle's holes; a man in the river creating a heart out of mere rocks; a man smoking a pipe, blazered and be-wrinkled, watching the man in the river; a indistinguishable figure playing guitar on the side of the river; profs at the janky Burger King who know the burger-flippers; bus drivers who hit on the cashier girls at said BK; the Varnum building, the shiny DeVos Perfromance Hall; Sanchez tapas and MoJos dueling piano bar; crosswalks and irate drivers; rows of hot cars parked along the side of the road; college kids who look like they're lost in Costco, trying to find their mother without looking like losers; women who take their lunch break to walk together, wearing tennis shoes with their business casual attire; the 1913 room waiter, debonair as hell, giving directions to a smiling middle aged blonde, who's obviously late for something; a random band and potential birthday party gone sour at Rosa Parks; couples dressed to the 9s, holding hands, in love beneath the brick and glass sided sky; never-ending Fulton street, loitered by white trash bag-holding pedestrians; the Bitter End manager, black and rotund, kicking out unwanted customers at 2am; the run-down gas stations converted into free parking; the austerity of the river....the bridges....the buildings......
The distaste that's festered in my very soul for you, Grand Rapids, somehow is being pushed aside. It's been replaced by a black hole of adoration and appreciation for you---something that must have been there alongside the hate for you all along, but is only now surfacing, coming on stronger than anticipated, arising as the most surprising of feelings.
Somewhere along the way, I've fallen into deep like with you.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
There's a lake here? What?
I went to the beach the other day. Never in my life have I lived somewhere in which I had to drive 2 horrible hours to get to a beach, where said beach is only accessed by descending a flight of 100 jankity stairs.
Living in Leelanau county nearly my whole life, beaches are on the same level as the rest of the world. You can park and walk directly onto sand. There's no risk of falling on to the beach from a cliff above; there isn't the wind tunnel created by the barren surroundings.
You drive along and look out at eye level and AHHHH there's a beach! A wavy watery entity skid upon by Hobie Cats and water skiers and seagulls. There's a downtown directly across from many beaches, complete with speedo-wearers and ice cream eaters. You can't get this when you gotta travel ages to get to the middle of nowhere before going to the beach.........
I prefer my northern Michigan beaches to your Western Michigan ones any day....
Living in Leelanau county nearly my whole life, beaches are on the same level as the rest of the world. You can park and walk directly onto sand. There's no risk of falling on to the beach from a cliff above; there isn't the wind tunnel created by the barren surroundings.
You drive along and look out at eye level and AHHHH there's a beach! A wavy watery entity skid upon by Hobie Cats and water skiers and seagulls. There's a downtown directly across from many beaches, complete with speedo-wearers and ice cream eaters. You can't get this when you gotta travel ages to get to the middle of nowhere before going to the beach.........
I prefer my northern Michigan beaches to your Western Michigan ones any day....
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
You'd think working in a spa, I'd have exquisitely manicured hands and feet, smell like lavender and mint all the time, and just really really love the simplicity of the job.
Apparently, this romantic picture of the spa atmosphere is a crock to the highest extreme. No, not apparently. It IS. That one day of spa management study in Commercial Recreation really screwed me over. Sure, a spa is idyllic if you're the once participating, and not the one running the damn thing. It offers relaxation and pampering solely if you're the one putting up the insane amounts of cash to do it.
Don't get me wrong...this summer hasn't been ruined by the spa...the stupid stupid spa. But it sure opened my eyes to what I DON'T want to do with my life. The artificiality, the customer service, the monotony and the upset customers---get me outta there.
I want to sit in a room. Preferably alone, or with maybe one person, since I might get lonely, but that person would have to be really really really quiet...like a sleeping ninja. A room with chic furniture that no one ever sees but me and the ninja, and stacks and stacks of papers that need editing and proofreading. Stacks that I can liberally throw on the cutting room floor; things I can mutate and criticize and change as I wish. Then when the bloodbath of words is over, I can go home to my quiet house in the middle of nowhere but next to somewhere, with a lake view and gorgeous sunsets and a heated infinity pool...and not think about my job at all, except when I see my finished work in publication.
So long spa. We had a good run, but it's time for me to break up with you.
Apparently, this romantic picture of the spa atmosphere is a crock to the highest extreme. No, not apparently. It IS. That one day of spa management study in Commercial Recreation really screwed me over. Sure, a spa is idyllic if you're the once participating, and not the one running the damn thing. It offers relaxation and pampering solely if you're the one putting up the insane amounts of cash to do it.
Don't get me wrong...this summer hasn't been ruined by the spa...the stupid stupid spa. But it sure opened my eyes to what I DON'T want to do with my life. The artificiality, the customer service, the monotony and the upset customers---get me outta there.
I want to sit in a room. Preferably alone, or with maybe one person, since I might get lonely, but that person would have to be really really really quiet...like a sleeping ninja. A room with chic furniture that no one ever sees but me and the ninja, and stacks and stacks of papers that need editing and proofreading. Stacks that I can liberally throw on the cutting room floor; things I can mutate and criticize and change as I wish. Then when the bloodbath of words is over, I can go home to my quiet house in the middle of nowhere but next to somewhere, with a lake view and gorgeous sunsets and a heated infinity pool...and not think about my job at all, except when I see my finished work in publication.
So long spa. We had a good run, but it's time for me to break up with you.
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