detour

I recently got lost amidst a mess of perceived expectations, future (and present) uncertainties, unnecessary and incompatible comparisons, and a slew of unmade decisions, forgetting the fun in my frenzied attempts to “become.” Become what, exactly? I’m not sure. And that’s been the problem. I’ve been feeling (self-imposed) pressure to follow a certain path, be a certain person, and live a certain life, but I’ve failed to ask myself if I’m actually ready for a commitment in any of these areas. Almost inadvertently, I’ve been taking inventory of the lives around me, making note of everyone else’s every accomplishment and feeling inadequate for having failed to match their achievements. I sensed I was falling behind somehow, ignoring the fact that working my (seemingly insignificant) coffeeshop job probably makes me happier than a lot of the alternatives (grad school, marriage, babies) for which others have opted. I abandoned the pursuit of my own happiness in an effort to appease (my perception of) outside expectations. I even quit said coffeeshop job in the name of (supposed) progress.

Well, after a brief and unfulfilling stint at a new place of employment, I’m now back at my old gig, brewing the same brew for the same crew of coffee cravers, but with a renewed love for the latte labor. I’m trying to pace myself more appropriately for me, and appreciate the process instead of feeling compelled to become NOW. I’m taking pleasure in the present moment, finding the fun to be had, and having it. I sing stupidly (songs and sentences alike), laugh (probably too loudly) at my own jokes, proudly don my stripperific scarf (a post-worthy story, note to self), sometimes “forget” to wear underwear, drink deliciously-alcoholic and silly-story-spawning drinks, reveal too much, flirt shamelessly and often, kiss, cry, and breathe freely (among other endeavors)—all while staying uncomfortable enough to keep searching but content enough to stay (somewhat) sane. After all, (moderately) crazy and chaotic are part of my appeal.

the truth
(for you, Leah)

Apparently I was premature in my proud rejection of the recently heart-shaped holiday. My plan to avoid altogether any acknowledgment of Valentine's Day was foiled by a certain (non)boyfriend, who had sushi-eating, plant-presenting plans of his own. And so ends my uninterrupted streak of dateless hallmark holidays, a bittersweet moment for a so-often single someone like me.

Thanks go out to my V-day companion, for the food and the foliage, for not bringing flowers, and for being my first on the 14th of February.