Dear readers,
For the first time in years, I'm attempting to put pen to paper, when I'm not being paid for it. Or being threatened into it.
Don't ask me why. Perhaps because it's a quiet autumn night and Bear is out of town. I have the house to myself, and a room of my own. All perfect conditions to watch TV, cheat on him with McDonalds and drink coke. After having done all of these -- I'd gone to bed but a tempest of thoughts swirled around in my head and so here I am, trying to air it out, see what I make out of it.
For anyone who's kept a blog during their youth, I suspect it's an awakening to revisit it now and see how much they've changed in their adulthood. I know I have.
I'm more cautious, less precocious. I live as a greyscale version of myself most days, only catching a glimpse of me in colour on a rare day (when I do something new, or meet someone from the past) and then feel a pang of wistfulness wrap around my heart for the girl that used to be.
I make it sound all bad - it's not, not all of it. There are things I'm happy about - like building a home and a life that's calm and peaceful. I've found a tribe of girl friends who are smart, funny, capable, and confident - and when I'm with them, I feel very grown up and very Sex-in-the-City like even though we never talk about sex, and don't even live in the same cities.
I'm learning something from each of them. From 8, I've seen what it means to curate yourself a good life - focused entirely on self-care and happy things. With M, I'm learning what it means to be unflinchingly practical and measured at work, and be an absolutely warm and delightfully funny bunny outside. Nana is my beautiful yoga-teaching, French-speaking, gazelle that's an indie-brand in the making and has a face to whom you'll confess your soul. Gaugan and I are bound by grief for the parents we lost, she makes me believe that while the world may say we're difficult, we're actually the good, no, the best girls. Jojo rabbit is the one that makes me feel like the most colourful me - always telling me the longest, most pointless stories but making me laugh with her adorable voice notes and her witty texts.
Being surrounded by these incredible women has been, hands down, the best thing about the job. A job for which I only felt regret for the longest time but now have begun to slowly be grateful for.
When I'd see people like Chimalgi (who has not aged in 15 years) or Akkalah (who keeps getting bumped to business class) or Smurfette (who is now a rich hot-shot in NY through a ridiculous twist of fate), I'd always plot for months - if there was just a way to bottle that Dust.
Then there's me – I'm aging like cold-pressed olive oil. I am routinely bumped off flights I've paid for. The best I've been able to do is $1 pizza in Manhattan and watch Broadway for free. Last year, I took a paycut coming to one of the world's most valuable companies.
I digress – I was trying to tell you about how I've not exactly had it bad either.
I landed with some amazing bosses who became mentors that then became friends. I manifested stock splits which added some zeros to my portfolio. An outstanding record of service to follow.
Now, I have a place of work that's within the circle I drew when I first moved to this city. I go when I want (to drink spa water and stare at the beautiful woods or tabebuia blossoms that surround it). I've reclaimed my evenings (to then promptly squander away and avoid the gym). From time to time, they give me pocket money to buy books. So all things considered, it could be a lot worse.
Touchwood.
Okay, obviously I have so much more that I suddenly want to tell you about. Now that I know I can manage a sentence beyond a subject line, I'm highly encouraged. That and knowing you're all imaginary. The chances of you finding your way to read this I'd say are the same as me coming back to write a new post.
But let's see and hope and hope. Okay? Okay.
