Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

32

Today I turn 32. It’s such an odd feeling. I’ve not been a fan of my birthday for a very long time, but I’m trying to change that. Every year I visit a state park where I live and spend some time in nature to remind myself the world is bigger than what keeps me up at night. My favorite time of year is fall. I love the colors of the earth, the rain (although it’s not particularly pleasant to hike in), the cool mornings and evenings, the holidays. I love getting to spend time with my family especially around my birthday. They keep me grounded and remind me it’s okay to be here. It’s more than okay.

I’m not sure what all I want to say today. I get to see my niece, which is something I’ve been looking forward to for a while. I get to spend time with my brother, and when she’s done working, my sister-in-law. Their house is one of my favorite places to be. It re-centers me and recharges my social battery, even if we just sit around and watch Goose entertain herself.

I think sometimes we put too much pressure on ourselves to be more than what we are, and while that sounds a bit . . . harsh? It’s enough to be who you are for the people who matter to you. I don’t know. I feel like I’m being rather vague and somewhat “self-help” book today, but it’s more just trying to figure out where I fit into it all. I really don’t need much to be content, and I think that’s something I’m going to keep striving for, contentment. Happiness is impossible to maintain, but keeping up with contentedness is far more achievable. I’m going to go make some tea, maybe hot chocolate, I don’t know, and then I’m going to get ready to go see the babiest baby who ever babied.

Be kind to yourself. You are worth it.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Car Calories Don’t Count

That’s the biggest lie I tell myself. Not the cliche “I’m fine” or whatever. I tell myself that all food consumed within the confines of the car doesn’t count toward a daily calorie limit. It’s a lie. Those calories do count. But I still stuff a cheese roll up in my mouth on the way home from Taco Bell all the same believing it won’t exist in my body the moment I leave the car.

Hi, my name is Carla, and welcome to my TED Talk.

Just kidding. This blog entry is gonna be somewhat unclear in terms of how we get to the point, but we’ll get there.

When I was a kid, I never understood the concept of aging, I think. I knew I got older, had that quintessential fight with my parents about how I was 16 and not a child anymore (yes, Ariel, you are, sit down and comb your hair with a fork), turned 21 and saw Riverdance with my mom, got blackout drunk when I was 25, loved, lost, all that happy nonsense we expect along the way as we grow up.

But tonight as I was changing out of my work clothes and into my “I’m a writer” chunky sweater and baggy sweatpants, I had the thought of how it’s so nice to find a pair of socks there when I reach for it in my drawer. This might not be revolutionary to you, but for me it was a small epiphany bomb going off in my head. Because if there’s anything I know about myself it’s how I am when I’m depressed. I’ve mentioned that my depression manifests itself with dirty dishes and unfolded laundry. Well, I’ve got the dishes taken care of, now I’m working on the laundry part, and I think–honestly and truly–I’ve cracked it. I like knowing there’s a pair of socks waiting in the drawer for me to put on after work. It sounds so damn stupid when I say it out loud, but the part of me that’s been trying to be proud of myself is throwing her hands into the air saying, “THIS IS WHAT WE’VE BEEN WORKING FOR FOR SO LONG, CALL YOUR THERAPIST AND TELL HER YOU GET IT!”

The happiness we seek is elusive because we want sustained happiness. Why not try for sustained contentment instead? Far more easily achieved.

And just so we’re clear, car calories do actually matter, and I really need to work on my relationship with food. But that’s for another day.

Salisbury.Fake Life

Friday Morning Ramble

We wrap ourselves up in what ifs and could have beens, but do we ever stop and just appreciate what we did get into? I recently got my piano back and I had the thought I wish I’d gone into music in school because I love playing the piano so much. But if I’d gone into music, I wouldn’t have the life I do now. Really. I met some of my best friends in the writing department at university, and I had some pretty amazing professors who changed my life–I wasn’t a very open minded person–and I wouldn’t have written thousands of pages for over ten years.

I did some basic math the other day at work while things were slow. I write three pages–or I try to–every day on my lunch break and I wanted to see how much that would be if I wrote three pages a day for a year. The number is just over a thousand. I could write a thousand pages in a year, which honestly isn’t a lot if you consider the people who write fourteen pages in a day for a year.

But it’s enough, right? What is the limit for being enough? We could quote Mean Girls here and say the limit does not exist, but do we really believe that? Are we capable of understanding how much of enough we are? This is something I struggle with personally and I know so many people who do, too. But when we look at ourselves, really truly look deeply at ourselves, are we sure we believe in the concept of enough?

Unless you’re a genuinely horrible person, you are quite capable of being enough. Even if it’s just for yourself. I can’t wrap my head around that concept. Being enough for myself. I’m working with my therapist on that, but it actually hurts me to see how I’ve been talking to myself for most of my life. We all joke about how we’re dumpster fires rolling down an alley, but to believe it? To believe I’m the scum on the bottom of the dumpster? There’s no way to pinpoint the moment I started believing that about myself, but there is a way to start unraveling that belief.

When I get like this, I find things to ground myself. To re-center my gps, so to speak. And I go back to the concert where I met my favorite singer/songwriter (Noah Gundersen, if you’re interested). I remember my brother asking me to be there when his daughter was born. I remember holding Goose for the first time and weeping immediately because she was so small, and she still is, but she is mighty. I think of the way that small child expands my heart to bursting and it’s all because she calls me Ca with all the enthusiasm of an almost 2 year old. I think of the loves I’ve had, the loss that comes with love sometimes, the books I read, the books I’m writing, my piano, my sister’s laugh and her drive to be there for everyone, my dad’s love of his garden and his smile, my stepmom’s quiet grace and speedy wit, my mother’s strength to be herself– all of it. All of it reminds me that I am not empty. I am not the scum on the dumpster. I am doing impossible things, and I will continue to do impossible things because I am enough.