In a moment so long ago that I crutch on memories, I can no longer remember the details of your stories, the intricacy of your expressions.  But I know they sparked mine and aligned so well that they impressed upon me something lasting.  I like the way you smell.  The way you crouch when you lean over your desk, to scribble something not to be forgotten.  The times when we drove through the snow, you distracting my novice navigating skills with your goofy rap-alongs to 95.5 KIIS FM.  When I told you something outlandish (word vomit, admittedly) and you smiled crookedly, saying you felt the same.

I have hopes and dreams like the rest of them.  And I don’t know if this is one that wisps away with the wind or more realistically, with time.  But.  But I do know it meant something.  And it doesn’t have to mean much more.  Because there are realities.  And distance.  And time.

Maybe in this moment you can read this and know.  Maybe realize, if you haven’t already.  That–that I am calling to you, in my side-stepping, arm-around-self way, to say that I want a chance.  It doesn’t have to be forever.  And we don’t have to echo the tales of fairytale splendor or e-harmony commercials.  But we can hang on to each other, just for a little bit.

I went on a business trip and was hit on (an attempted feel up) by a coworker.  Later found out he had a girlfriend.

My father told one of my friends that marriages have an expiration date, as you fall out of love with the other once years pass.

Boys, girls all over are cheating on their significant others.

My dating experience?  Good memories but rather treacherous.  Things don’t work and there are no explanations.  Just disenchantment.

I feel like a jaded, old soul.  You know that part in Peter Pan where Tinkerbell’s light is gradually fading?  I feel like that.  I know I’ll find someone eventually and I’m not going to die alone.  But I want it to be swoon-inducing.  I want it to be everlasting.

Is that too much to ask for?

I lack all the answers.

But this isn’t a “look at me, give me a high five, I’m awesome” post.

Something’s missing.

I set my mind to things and they usually happen.  More out of sheer luck than anything but still–they happen.  So I’ve done these things and now what?  Why do I find certain moments so unsettlingly lonely.  I was hanging up my clothes tonight and it was almost crippling, a sudden wash of nostalgia and melancholy all at once.

Hey there.  What happened?  I swear, you were just upstairs talking to your roommates and laughing about some funny event at work today.  When did you get so sad?

I don’t know what the missing piece is but it’d be nice to have it.

It was both uplifting and discouraging.  I’m twenty-two!  These kids on youtube are in their teens!  What am I doing!  I have no training!  I’m too embarrassed to take choreography!

I compromised and watched So You Think You Can Dance instead.  And then True Blood.  And then The Family Stone.

But, lack of productivity aside, I feel like I’m quite the jack of all trades, masters of none.  And, perhaps, this is due in part to my knee-jerk inspiration and then waning of interest shortly after.  Does this happen with others too?  I know it occurs a lot with people and dieting/exercise, but what else?  Have you ever been so all-consumed with inspiration that you live, breathe, eat a passion and then the fire dies out, leaving you to proceed to the next one?

I think I think too much.

Muddled thoughts aside, I’ve been really blessed with moments these days.  Moments and people.  I can’t tell if it’s me that has changed or my situation.  Either way, I’m thankful.

Hanson concert, screaming at the top of my lungs to Mmbop and then giddily walking home

Moving furniture with my new roommate for two hours and giggling hysterically

Meeting my first roommate and reminiscing; she saw me at my most vulnerable and helped to set me back straight.  She’s now engaged and I surprised myself with my enthusiasm.  If anyone deserves a good guy, it is her.

Oregon Symphony at the Waterfront

sunsets, sunsets, sunsets

Mississippi street fair

all the concerts.  so many.  finally, Portland, finally.  I am here.  let’s see live music.

hanging with my best friend/brother. happy hours, concerts, love.

potluck.

bar hopping with high school friends and twin

many max rides and remembering to smile on the bridge

visitor James

Nicholas with Bonoff

cheesiness and new conversations

Saturday market

It’s been an incredible summer.  It surprises me just how many wonderful people are in my life and I am so so thankful for them.  It’s a special thing to have people who know and get you.

It’s been a bit of a blur–lots of whirlwind ups and a few nosedives.  Sort of.  Overall the times have been great, fantastic, all-consuming.  But, there’s a nagging anxiety which ties into boys and money.  And it shouldn’t be there, right?  I shouldn’t care.  About either.

I met a boy and it took my breath away for a little bit.  And I’m trying to stray away from it and I’m trying to keep busy (and doing a damn good job of it overall) but there are pangs.  And you are always on my mind.  And I wonder if I should put forth the effort to try and to see.  To put myself out there.  What’s the worst that could happen?  What’s stopping me?  Why not?

Oh a stalemate.  I have experienced those many a time or two and in retrospect, I’m glad I never took those leaps.  There was a reason it didn’t happen.  Simultaneously, I live my life fearlessly.  Generally.  I quit jobs to travel the world.  I pursue what I love.

It’s funny how willing I am to sacrifice my lifestyle but not the vulnerability of my heart.  Emotional investment and ties.  I spew so much crap nowadays.  About little things and mannerisms.  And what’s the point if I never do anything?

Maybe it’s time to let go of excuses and just step up to the plate.

The seats were packed together.  I complained about the limited girth, though the extra inches of space wouldn’t have affected my five foot three self.  We made it before the last preview.  Before the feature presentation.  You handed me a Ziploc bag packed with trail mix and patted my arm affectionately.  With the bag.

At the start I would meet you at the stairway, acknowledging and anticipating your arrival.    I’d hear the buzzer and time it perfectly—in your arms outside of Apartment A.  Fancy meeting you here, you’d say with a wink.  As if this encounter was left entirely to chance.  I’d say something coy and nod towards the stairs.  Coming up?

That winter I retreated.  You never left.  A sticky, viscous presence had you, forcing me to stick inwards.  I felt you on my skin–in the kitchen, wafting to the den, clinging and wrenching towards the bedroom.  I don’t know, I told you.  I don’t know.  Space, I said.  I need space.  You’d slam doors but they were brittle and the walls were thin.  I could hear you shuffling around the room, agitated sounds in an effort for distraction.  I’d shrug to myself, in a sterile indifference.

I saw you on the street today.  I had takeout in my hand, from the Thai place behind the laundromat.  I saw your outline and the way your body always leaned left as you walked—the brown rain jacket, your favorite jeans.  I had things to say.  You saw me.  We closed the gap, you waiting while I crossed the street, hurrying before the light turned to red.  I saw the girl you then introduced.  My wife you said as I smiled and shook her hand.  Fancy that I said.

- Written to “My Life, My Swag” by the jj.  Endless repetition.

and you made me believe
there was nothing but dream teams
and you made me believe
there was nothing but street teams for us
nothing but sweet dreams

NYT Article: What Is It About Twenty-Somethings

Slate Article: What’s the Matter with Twenty-Somethings Today

Articles all over the nation….the world (?) are popping up about this recent development of twenty-something kids acting, well, like kids.  Refusing to “grow up” in pursuit of dream-chasing seems to be the main theme and besides creating a huge stirring, it’s caused increased stress on those twenty-somethings (even early thirties).  Yikes.  I belong to this.  I fully subscribe and receive my issue on a monthly basis. 

It seems like everywhere you turn nowadays nags you to insanity about finding happiness.  Find your passion!  Only pursue a job that satisfies your every need!  Find a prince who fully embraces gender-equality and be totally in love!  Pay off your loans while establishing yourself as an adequate member of society with a degree or two! 

Good grief.  It’s an exciting time, but I also think it can be detrimental.  Detrimental to the point that you are faced with so many options that you experience paralysis–too struck by the nonexistence of limits to keep moving, to keep making decisions.  I look back at my old blogs before I went off to Europe and they echo a lot of these articles.  And for some reason, I still think it’s a very specific issue I have, that others are still getting married at a young age and becoming perfectly content with their jobs and life.  But I guess not.  It’s omnipresent. 

So what now? 

Quarterlife Crisis advised making a five year plan.  Usually, this works for me.  I’ve set guidelines for myself and bit by bit, I’ve accomplished them.  So five years from now at the age of….Jesus Christ, 27? 

I am going to be:

With a serious partner.  I don’t necessarily have to be married, as I still grapple with the institution, but I’d like to have a companionship with someone I am very fond of.

I’d like to be financially secure.  To me, this means enough money to travel and do things on the side.  I want to not to have to worry about money, but I don’t need fancy things, just functional ones.  I got in an argument with my father about this and he said “Well, let’s see how you feel when you can’t afford shoes for your son!”  Which I thought was a tad melodramatic, but I guess true.  So enough in savings to get them some shoes and hey, maybe even a head start on their college education. 

Fit.  I want to make sure I do everything I can to be at my healthiest and most able.  If that means exercising regularly and eating healthy, then so be it (my body is hungrily eyeing the couch right now).

A job which I do not dread.  I want to feel like I genuinenly like what I do and that I’m being challenged.  I want to write on the side.

I want to be secure.  I want to have a better sense for what I’m doing.  I want to have the dedication to stick with hobbies. 

I want to have travelled enough to quell my wanderlust for a while.  Enough solo traveling, that is. 

I want to keep doing things that scare me.

This is all vague, isn’t it?  I guess I’ll have to give it more thought.  Basically, I want to be more settled and have more of an aim career wise. 

Another thing that struck me this week was something said by an Israeli couchsurfer I hosted.  I asked him straight out if he was happy with his life and without hesitation, he said yes.  There wasn’t anything in particular that caused this happiness, more so it was the fact that there was nothing holding him back from being happy.  So, why not be?

That, my friends, is a pithy statement.  I have my health, a job, friends, and the ability to make more friends and create opportunities.  I have my family.  I’m open-minded and I do things to try them.  For this I am grateful.  This quarterlife crisis doesn’t seem so bad after all.

This week was a whirlwind.  Visitors came and went, work sick days were taken, and well, that’s really all that occurred, but it zapped the energy out of me.  I familiarized myself with more of my current city, staking out spots at the boat dock (at the roots of bridges) and at peaks of latent volcanoes.  I finally feel oriented in Portland.  It’s a shame to leave it so soon, even though a return residency is inevitable.

Anyway.  I’ve realized that in spite of my increased ease with solitude, I haven’t fully embraced the idea of being alone and being still.  Still.  When was the last time I sat and did absolutely nothing?  I’ve been making an effort to meditate, even though my body and mind seem to plead for more exciting alternatives.  I’ve been compromising by meditating for ten minutes at a time, with hope for lengthier sessions in the future.  Here’s to hoping.

Agenda for today:

Listen to music.

Meditate.

Write.

Make headway in Guns, Germs, and Steel

Read a Lorrie Moore story

Work on my canvas of travel maps and ticket subs

Possibly possibly run (aka walk)

I’ve been under the weather for the past two days, which involved moping in bed (to the tune of seven episodes of Will & Grace)  with watery soup cans of mush.

But hey!  I’m back!  I mentioned feeling sick to my neighbor yesterday and he brought over six bottles of pills.  Harmless pills, of the zinc and vitamin c variety, but MAGICAL ones.  Or should I say, placebo ones.  Anyway, I woke up today at 6 am, an hour before my usual death sentence, and actually did a fist pump because I was stoked that I had extra sleeping time. 

My re-found health and energy was further propelled by the blasting of M.I.A. on my way to work.  Because really, how can you drag your feet to someone chanting BAMBOO BANGA GET CRACKIN’ GET GET CRACKIN’.  You just get can’t.  And so I didn’t.  And the whole time I imagined she was my kickass personal trainer (except she was in that polka dot outfit from the Grammy’s, see below), pushing me to only take one step in each cement square, rather than three miny ones. 

I think I’m a weird kid.

I wrote this blog at work so if anyone passed by the comp, I suspect that they suspect that I’m one of those creepers with a thing for pregnant people.