see as i saw

Some days make you feel like you just aren't meant to win.  The skies are gray, the clouds are full of rain, nothing works, and everything feels like it's piercing that ache in your head.  If there is anyone who can claim to never have experienced a day like this, I don't believe it.

The challenge is to help yourself come out of these days unscathed, not letting the effects linger.  I wasn't born with a predisposition for optimism, so this is effortful.  Yet, when I look back at my day objectively, I can see the cracks where a little light shone through.

Visiting my great aunt was rougher than I can describe, but there was a half hour of solitude that I spent in quiet reflection of memorable times.  The front room of her house has always been an indoor garden, complete with plants, stone, wood chips, fountains and critters (albeit, fake ones).

As kids, we found endless hours of entertainment playing in her garden.  Despite the number of years it has been since I last bathed ceramic frogs in the cupid fountain, I saw them today and it felt like time had barely shifted.  The memories are that vivid and fond.

I also took the time to really witness and appreciate the stoicism, love and care that my mom displays effortlessly and daily for her aunt.  When we start to consider ourselves adults, sometimes we forget that our parents can still teach us things.  Unintentionally, my mom led by example today.

As I started to rifle through these positive thoughts, it became easier to see even more: the love of my grandma with her fresh-baked cookies, the thoughfulness of my dad, the supportive presence of my best friend, the simple expression of gratitude from someone that I helped.

Gray days happen, they always will.  My new goal is to treat them with a version of the age-old advice to couples: never go to bed angry.  Instead of falling asleep with resentment for my gray day, I'll look for the bits of color that are surely hiding there.  I feel like it increases my odds of waking up on the right side of the bed tomorrow.

This is going to be short and to the point. And I'll tell you why. You know how people will say they need a vacation to recover from their vacation? I bet there's a high likelihood that anyone reading has said or thought the same thing. (Maybe it was a wish for more weekend to recover from your weekend.)

That's how I feel after the past four days. It wasn't really a vacation, but it was still an event. With my brother and his girlfriend in town from Texas, activities and gatherings never ceased. We had plentiful food, drink and fun...but I think we would all like to hibernate for a couple of days now. Does this mean we're all old?

Words that I would not use to describe my family's gatherings: quiet, dull, mundane, proper.  Despite having to yell to be heard and the occasional need to escape to another room and recalibrate my hearing, there's a certain comfort in the chaos.  It keeps things interesting.  Today's individual topics of conversation ranged from cars and Elvis to toilet paper and my aunt's scarring episode with an unrelenting clown at the circus.

In the traditional sense, the heat chased us from a lot of the Fourth of July fanfare.  Our picnic was indoors with the air conditioning, we watched some fireworks from the living room window, and no one brought sparklers.  But the American flag flew from the back patio all day and we celebrated the independence of our nation through the togetherness of our family.

I can't even imagine being an outside individual (i.e. boyfriend or girlfriend) showing up to one of these gatherings for the first time.  Even being born into this family, I find it difficult to get a word in edgewise most days.

Honestly, I have nothing insightful, sage or deep to express today.  When most people say that they're taking a mental health day, they mean they're using one of their paid time off days to relax.  Since employment is a little more of a fluid concept in my life currently, I changed the definition.  Today I took a mental health day, a day of letting my overanalytical processes rest.  They've been in hyperspeed for several months, practically 24/7, and enough to interrupt a few good nights' sleeps recently.

I spent part of my mindless day watching Wimbledon, another chunk at the beach, packed for tomorrow's trip to Michigan, then dinner and the most mindless movie of all for ladies' night.  It's always good to go into a movie about male "dancers" with low expectations; I'm glad that I held to that rule.  But, hey, the joke's on us.  It doesn't matter how bad the movie is, they're making a tidy little profit off of it and I can't imagine production costs were all that high.

Decluttering, unpacking, setting up and breaking down.  It's been an active week helping out other folks.  My body is starting to argue with me about it, requesting a day of lounging around.  Things always seem to be go, go, go when I'm home for the weekend though.  Maybe I'll reserving an upcoming weekday for reading and napping in the park.

Spending the day at my cousin's graduation party brought me in contact with the extended network of family friends, those people who make a cameo every few years.  They all wanted to know two things: how I like living in Chicago and what I'm doing with my career.  I like Chicago just fine and I'm taking the latter day by day.  The open-ended response appeased some and perplexed others.

Today was one of those days where I almost just wanted to pick a direction, any direction, because not knowing felt so taxing.  Then I reminded myself that my reaction was elicited from a collection of external forces.  In reality, I have purposefully chosen the path that I'm taking and there are reasons for it.  I'll find the appropriate next step in my journey.  I still believe that.

The way that some girls like to walk through a clothing store and run their hands over a silk dress or a leather handbag, or how some guys walk through a car lot tracing the curves of a luxury automobile, I like to walk through art supply stores. Paint brushes and canvases practically beg for a swish of my hand. My eyes are alert and hungry as I pass through every aisle; it doesn't matter that I have no idea how to etch or sculpt, I still want to look. Without self-restraint, I could spend a small fortune.

This has always been my relationship with art supplies. As much as I love perusing, creative daydreaming, and bringing those daydreams to fruition, I don't think it's a passion that I want to turn into a monetary enterprise. This kind of creativity is highly personal to me. It's a thoughtful process and usually a rather effortful one. I love to create for myself and for people I love, people that I know well enough to use their personalities as creative inspiration. When I was five or ten years old, my mom was hanging my artwork on the refrigerator or at her desk. Never would I have thought that at the age of 28, she would still be hanging my art on her walls and I would still be delivering handmade birthday, Christmas and Mother's Day cards every year.

So, I don't want to make a career out of my art passion in a direct way (i.e. selling art). Maybe what I should be taking from this little reverie is that I could excel at something that channels my creative urges in some other way. Even without formal education in graphic or web design, there have to be job choices infused with creative needs.

Back in 1980-something, at a ripe young age between four and six, I formed a habit.  One night a week, I stayed up past my bed time and watched a TV show that was completely over my head.  Dallas.  Why my parents let me do this, I still don't know.  Besides getting to stay up late, I can still remember inexplicable joy in the ritual of watching something that I was completely incapable of grasping.

I knew the characters' names, I could vaguely summarize a dramatic scene, but my crowning achievement was memorizing the tune of the theme song.  And every week, about five or ten minutes before show time, I would bound into whatever room my parents were occupying and regale them with my rendition of the song...on my plastic Fisher Price kazoo.

Starting tonight, TNT is reintroducing Dallas to the TV-viewing public.  I have my DVR set for two reasons: nostalgia compels me (even though I no longer have the aforementioned kazoo to usher the show in each week) and my favorite childhood babysitter's younger brother has a role in the show. So, tonight history repeats itself in a way.  We'll see if I'm a Dallas fan or if I should just go back to fondly remembering the kazoo days.

In an effort to delay turning on my money-sucking AC unit, the best option seemed to be leaving my apartment.  A dousing of sunscreen and swimsuit later, I started making forward progress toward the beach while steeling myself for the mass of humanity that I would encounter.  At noon, there were already enough people making noise and kicking sand around to spoil that tranquil feeling that I hoped against hope to find.  An hour later, when a couple plopped their party down about nine inches from my towel, not even my iPod could help me drift away.  In an act of pure stubborn perseverance, I dragged out my stay for another hour.

Since I wasn't ready to go back to my hotbox, I wandered into a slice of park and found a shady spot under a tree.  I alternated between reading and closing my eyes, until a group of couples decided to bust out a game of bocce on the lawn around me.  Time to admit defeat and call it quits.

I started dawdling home at a pace that was fitting for the temperature, passing a young girl selling lemonade en route.  She didn't even try to convince me to buy a cup as I passed by, just stared at the ground.  That was my first thought, quickly followed by the completely hypothetical scenario of me having a kid with a lemonade stand.  Without a doubt, I'd have them one step shy of writing out a business plan.  Requirements would include defining their unique selling proposition, developing signage/attention grabbers, a rehearsed sales pitch, and an understanding of customer service.  Obviously this would all be pared down to a comprehensible level for a young child.  But if you're going to let them run a money-making endeavor, you might as well teach them a little bit about business.  Plus, just think about how much better they'll feel about the enterprise if it's a success!  I'm only thinking of the kids.

There are some days when my lens doesn't quite capture the awe-inducing subjects that I hope for.  At first, I feel a little guilty and lazy about it.  Then I remember that I have posted at least one photo every day for five months.  My Droid is bogged down with over 1,000 photos at this point.  My eyes roam constantly now, staying alert for colors, angles, opportunities.

Today's possibility for inspiration was squelched by the return of nearly winter weather.  Despite the fact that I thoroughly enjoy getting outside for at least a walk every day, today felt more suited for house arrest.  I made it as far as my mailbox, then detoured to the bike room for this exceptionally uninspired photo.  So, it was an off day.  I'll attempt to do better tomorrow.

Disclaimer: Instagram makes this photo look way more ominous than it really is.

After sweeping myself away to the great outdoors for a couple quick days, I'm back to my urban dwelling.  This photo felt like an emphatic way to stamp where I've returned to, a direct juxtaposition to where I was.

Sometimes I feel like I tap into an entirely differently side of my mind when I cross that state border.  I would liken it to the way that a Southern drawl might soften after living in the north.  Then that individual returns to their roots for a visit and suddenly they're laying it on thick again.  Only my inner Michiganian manifests itself through country radio stations and a strong inclination to drive down dirt roads.

Therein lies most of the reason that my ultimate job would allow me a wide berth in terms of flexibility.  I feel like there are so many places in not only this region or country that I belong, but in the world.  Although I could attempt to keep a job for nine months, then travel for three, it seems more logical to create a foundation with a career that allows me geographic flexibility.  Maybe someday I'll be ready to own a house and call one city my own, but right now I'm still in the midst of a wanderlust phase.

Today's "yes" activity: judging figure skating.  Why do I call this a "yes" activity?  Because it's something completely unfamiliar to me, something you could feasibly assert that I'm unqualified to do (since I've never been a skater).  Instead of using this as rationale to practice avoidance and stay rooted to my comfortable, well-worn path, I said...yes.  Instead of stressing over the shift out of equilibrium, I'm figuring a lot of it out as I go.

During the course of my day, I had an interesting conversation with an older woman also taking part in the judging festivities.  She asked me about my job, so I unraveled the abridged version of my recent life story.  She brought it up again during our next break.  First, she said, "You're going to go back to Costa Rica; I know it.  And you'll go for at least six months.  I think you'll end up in a beach town and the opportunity you're looking for will be there waiting for you."  For good measure, she then informed me that she has some psychic abilities.  Odds are that I just have way more light in my eyes when I say "Costa Rica" than when I mention "cubicles".  But, hey, who am I to say that she didn't catch a glimpse of my future? :)

Also, I may have eaten about two tons of food, graciously provided by the lovely skater parents.  Unfortunately, that makes me ready to crawl into a food coma for the next three days.  Thus, I bid you adieu.

In my head, I know that ebooks and shopping for standard bound books online are efficient and convenient.  In my heart, I tend to have a difficult time letting go of the bricks and mortar bookstore.  When I know exactly which title I'm trying to buy, Amazon.com is my friend.  When I'm sitting on a CTA bus in traffic, I love that there's a book sitting on my phone's memory card.  But when I want to lose myself in that far-reaching and multi-faceted world of literature, I want to be surrounded by shelves and stacks.

There's no doubt that I judge a book by its cover, as well as it's title and thickness.  After all, there has to be some sort of heuristic employed to keep me from picking every book off the shelf one at a time.  Side note: that doesn't sound like a bad way to spend a day.  For me, the bookstore isn't just a purchasing domain, it's an experience.  The smell of the printed word.  Getting lost in my own world as I peruse a few pages; sometimes that has a tendency to lead to a few chapters.  Hearing the hushed tones of other book mongers around me.

My family used to drive a half hour to the nearest Borders store (may it rest in peace) when I was a kid.  We would all walk in and out of the front door together, but that was the only interaction I would have with them for hours.  There was no sense of urgency in these trips.  We left when the last person was ready to make a purchasing decision.  Until then, you contented yourself with your surroundings.  Clearly that was not an issue for me.  I've had my nose stuck in books for my entire life, and until the past couple of years they weren't digital.  So, yes, I have bookstore nostalgia.  And you'll never find me giving up on stocking my bookshelves.

Another day on the set of Hoarders.  A little less sifting and lot more sprucing.  We weren't privy to the reveal and the family's reactions, so I find myself impatient for the episode to air.  Unfortunately, there's no real estimate of when that will be.  Maybe a month...or two...or three.  At the end of two days, my eyelids are struggling to stay awake while I type this.  That's my excuse for the premature truncation of my typical daily blathering.  I also think I'm going to let the alarm clock rest tomorrow morning; two pre-6:00am wake up calls this weekend should earn me a reprieve.