nocturnal

Summer has arrived in Michigan, and I am starting to feel like my old self.  I'm a desert rat, and only feel at home in the heat.  As far as I am concerned cold weather is for polar bears, penguins and humpback whales, not for human beings.  I'm off kilter through out the winter months- cranky, cold, and constantly shivering- I typically struggle to put my best self forward.  But when the sun is shining and the warm air wraps around me like a favorite blanket, Davina returns.


It's been a wonderful spring in Michigan, and probably the first real spring since moving here.  For the last couple of years, the weather jumped  from sub zero temperatures to triple digit numbers on the thermometer.  It was one extreme to the next in a blink of an eye.  This year however, spring has matured slowly and its progression has been beautiful.  I've enjoyed watching the flowers bloom and the trees come back to life with all of the various pinks, reds, blues, purples and greens refreshing the landscape after a winter of dingy brown.  It has a revitalizing impact on my soul.  And although the days of glorious sunshine and vivid colors are amazing, spring is missing one important aspect - warm nights.  


There's something magical, and very romantic, about a warm, summer night.  It's always a little weird to be outside at night without a jacket - it feels as though you are privy to something special and unheard of.  I feel as if I am a member of a private club that only a select few people get to experience.  It's eerie because typically we associated darkness with cold, so it's an unexpected curve ball to embrace the warm temperatures.  Plus, it reminds me of my teenage years growing up in Vegas.  Vegas' summers are un-Godly hot and most people stay indoors, unless of course you are in a pool lathered in sunscreen.  The night is for the locals, when we come out of our air conditioned caves, and embrace the darkness.


I have fond memories of late nights spent on my parent's back patio with my teenage friends - without a care in the world, or a single jacket within the group - we would pass the time with jokes and laughter into the wee hours of the morning.  We were carefree and felt invincible.  Those were our nights filled with thoughts of love, change and uncertain futures.  We opened our hearts to each other during those late, midnight hours transforming ourselves into the adults we would later become.  And although this might sound cliche, the warm nights made expressing our feelings safer and easier.  My mind wasn't preoccupied with feeling uncomfortably cold, and my body wasn't working hard to keep itself warm, so I was free to focus on myself.  My thoughts, my feelings and my expectations - all of which were overwhelming and totally confusing during my fragile, teen years.  But those pleasant Vegas nights saw me through the turbulent high school phase.


Last night was reminiscent of those balmy, Vegas nights.  I spent the evening with my husband and two close friends at dinner.  Afterwards, we walked a couple of blocks to Washtenaw Dairy to get dessert.  Sitting outside on the wooden bench in the dusk hours enjoying a strawberry ice cream cone, I felt 16 again.  I was warm.  I wasn't wearing a coat.  And I felt safe.    
   

enriched soil

In the middle of a conversation with a friend, whining and complaining about life and the current state of affairs with my workweek, I blurted out that I needed more enrichment.  It came as a total surprise to me as I was unaware of needing, or lacking, said enrichment.  It sort of popped out of my mouth.  It was hovering in my subconscious for weeks, and before I had a chance to reflect on what I actually meant, I spilled "I just need more enrichment in my life"


And it sounds a little bourgeois.  Something I never considered myself to be, nor did I ever hope to discover about myself.  My life is actually quite fulfilling at the moment, and upon reflection, it sounds quite selfish, and dare I say pessimistic, to ask for more.
A pessimistic bourgeois - I shudder at the thought.


But it's true, my life is incredibly satisfying.  I have a wonderful husband with whom I share a very deep, respective and understanding relationship.  Through our (almost) 4 years of marriage, we have cultivated a partnership that goes beyond what I had originally hoped a marriage to be.  I have amazing friends that are supportive, interesting, comical and loyal - all of the major qualities I use when defining a friend.  As far as personal relationships go, I am well fulfilled and connected.  


I am in the middle of training for my first half-marathon race, and although this may sound crazy to all of you non-runners out there, as well as myself circa 2009 and before, I am thoroughly enjoying the process.  Sure, my knees are sore, and I have a blister larger than a Mexican cockroach on my left foot, but the overall training has been deeply rewarding.  It's an amazing feeling to push my body further and further each week and achieve milestones I never thought possible.  And the running itself is a release - a time for me and me only.  I commune with nature soaking in the different sights and smells of the great outdoors, and most of all, I let my mind relax.  My body is doing all of the work, so my mind goes on a temporary vacation.  It simply floats from thought to thought.  Rather than anxiously running (no pun intended) my to-do list for the week, month, life in general - I basically drift. It's my meditation.  


So, you might ask, and I have asked myself since this crazy enrichment statement, what is missing?  You, my dear blog.  You.  I miss writing.  I miss the creative passion within my soul, and writing has always been the best way to set it free.  It's my creative self that I have been shutting out for too long.  The part of me that gets shoved to the side by other "more important" and demanding requirements.  And I think it's only become more obvious now that I am in the workforce.  While in school, I was constantly using my creativity - whether to write an article for the school paper, layout a new page design, come up with a research paper - my creative self was constantly being put to the test.  Whereas my work place simply requires me to push paper and monitor customer accounts.  Although not always easy, it's much of the same day in and day out.  


But it's time for a change and no more excuses.   Embracing my optimistic side, which is getting much stronger as I get further into this blog, I challenge myself to find that enrichment. To set aside the time to unleash creative, not-at-all pessimistic, or bourgeois Davina.  

In review...

At one point during the NYE festivities last night, I asked everyone to give me their best "2011 in review" face for pictures. When it came to my turn, I put on my cheesiest smile, gave 2 very big thumbs up and emphasized as much excitement as possible. Although my silly behavior was largely due to the delicious beer that Corner Brewery was offering, I think my pose does summarize 2011 well.

It's been a whirlwind year. I experienced many new travels, including a transatlantic trip to Switzerland in October. It was a wonderful trip filled with amazing adventures and people. It was the vacation of a lifetime, and I feel so grateful to have had the opportunity to visit Claudine and Andrew. It wouldn't have been as memorable without them.

It's also been the year of love with quite a few of our friends exchanging marriage vows this year. I was a maid of honor in Monique and Brian's fabulous Temecula wedding. I was a bridesmaid in Molly and Seyth's fun-filled Corner Brewery wedding. I was a guest at Laura and Kreg's romantic and family oriented bash. Each wedding contained it's own unique experience, and I will carry those memories for the rest of my life.

Scott and I celebrated our 3 year wedding anniversary this year in Northern Michigan along the beautiful Torch Lake. It was an incredibly romantic weekend filled with wine tasting, delicious food, and "hotel room" time. We didn't let the unseasonably cold weather bring us down, and brought our own heat to the lakeside. Our relationship has grown to deeper levels of commitment, trust and love than I ever thought possible. I cannot wait to see how much further our relationship develops into 2012.

I didn't get to see my parents as much as I would have liked. But the time I was able to spend with them, I hold very close to my heart. It's a daily struggle to be over 2,000 miles away from them, so phone calls and skype chats help to keep me going. I am so thankful to be able to communicate as honestly and openly with my parents as I do. They have no idea how much I truly value our close relationship. Here's to 2012 holding much more face to face time.

As with life, 2011 also brought some hardships and very difficult events. Scott and I were struck by tragedy when his cousin, Nate, fell to his death during a rock climbing trip. Nate's death shook both of us to our core, and left us feeling very vulnerable and devastated. Although his funeral was exceptionally difficult and trying, I consider us fortunate to have been surrounded by Scott's loving family. It was an incredible experience to be around so many extraordinary people, and see how the power of love can truly initiate the healing process. The wounds are still open, and the pain can still cut very deep, but each day I try to carry on Nate's zest for life and openminded outlook.

I bought a new car. I developed relationships with clients at work. I backpacked on a beach. I climbed a mountain. I made new friends. I lost some friends. I re-connected with old friends. I attempted cooking. I crocheted a beanie. I took new risks. And I definitely made a couple of mistakes along the way. But it's been a learning year, and I feel as though I have grown and matured in a positive direction. I can only hope that 2012's path is just as interesting and exciting.

Resolved

I've neglected you lately. And I am sorry. There are times when life seems so overwhelming and challenging enough as it is, that the thought of trying to conquer the blank page seems terrifying. So, before the new year begins and making resolutions becomes decidedly trite, I am resolving to nurture my craft of writing. Even if it's just a paragraph or two, I will make the effort.

And so the exertion begins...

Similar to a training plan for a 10k race, the first mile is always the hardest. No increase will be as difficult as that initial mile. The jump from 2 miles to 3 miles wasn't nearly as physically trying as that very first mile. After months of laziness and distraction, this is my First Mile. I will work through the awkwardness of forced ideas, and hopefully stumble upon the familiar and comfortable rhythm. It's the perfect arrangement of words developing into a melody that keeps me coming back for more.

I will keep my excuses to a minimum and do my best to keep things interesting. I want to share my experiences, and hopefully communicate my feelings of wonderment and awe related to the roller coaster that is life. I plan to dissect my perspective on different issues, including the complications of human relations, and hopefully persuade others to take a step outside of their own box.

It's baby steps, and most of mine are probably smaller than a 1 year old's stride. I am comfortable in routine and feel most secure when I can anticipate what the future holds. It's time to break the pattern.

It's going to be bumpy, and I'm prepared for frustration and anxiety. But for once, I am not going to let anxiety dissuade me, and in the end hopefully recreate my love affair with writing.

Never Seen

While sitting in the kitchen with my husband discussing potential eye surgery for our dear puppy, Mea, I had an amazing feeling of déjà vu. I interrupted my husband and gasped "I've experienced this exact moment before!"

Everything about the moment was familiar. From the way we were sitting at the kitchen table in front of the laptop to the words Scott used to describe the logistics of the eye surgery. My inner emotions even felt repetitive.

And I was flabbergasted.

I have only experienced déjà vu a couple of times in my life, and whenever it occurs I feel breathless. There is something so odd about the déjà vu experience- it’s familiar, yet unsettling; comforting, yet awkward.

I have heard some people claim that déjà vu is simply a memory from our previous lives that has surfaced to our subconscious. I could buy into this theory and spend hours fantasizing about what I was in previous lives. I would love to picture my past life spent as an Arabian princess, a Japanese warrior, a lonely fisherman, or a famous Opera singer. It all sounds so thrilling.

But my cases of déjà vu are too specific to be a memory from a previous life. It is implausible to believe that in a past life I experienced that EXACT same situation. For one, computers and laptops haven’t been around long enough. And two, the emotional experience is also too precise.

Other déjà vu believers theorize it’s a spiritual experience. Our soul has left our body and experienced the moment before our body is given the opportunity. Once our soul re-enters the body and lives the moment in real-time the experience becomes déjà vu. That too, is fascinating. It also lends the question, what else is my soul capable of doing? Does my soul leave my body often? Perhaps when I am dreaming? Are these experiences buried somewhere in my mind?

Do I even have a soul?

Fictional Dialogue

In an effort to expand my writing style, this entry will be my first stab at fictional writing. I do well with non-fiction- my life’s experiences and the thought process of my mind. However, if I plan to write a novel one day, which I do in case you were wondering, I need to work on dialogue, developing the context and detailing the surrounding environment.

Here’s one for dialogue:

Entering my apartment door, I exhale the evening’s stresses and look forward to a relaxing evening on the couch sipping a glass of wine and watching the newest Shark Week on Discovery.

“Where have you been? Have you not received my calls? Why in the world didn’t you text me back?” Lucia, my roommate for more than three years, asks in bewilderment before I even finish pulling my keys out of the lock.

Frazzled and clearly desperate about a new dilemma in her life, she looks like hell standing in our apartment’s foyer. Disappointed about a missed opportunity for an easy night, I will myself to look concerned about Lu’s latest problems.

“My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger,” I say in a tone of convincing empathy and worry. “What’s wrong? You look frazzled!”

Hesitating for dramatic effect, which is something Lu has perfected over the years due to her on and off acting career, she murmurs “Yesterday evening I saw Kevin with another woman at the farmer’s market. They were holding hands,” she continues as self-pitying tears fill her eyes, “and he looked so happy and comfortable cuddled next to her.”

Kevin is the same guy who she broke up with two years ago. He was a bastard. Correction, is a bastard. Kevin was a cheating, two-timing, good for nothing, jobless fool who strung her along their lengthy five month relationship. She hasn’t been able to move on even after filling her evenings with other men, and much better looking men in my opinion, that she meets at various auditions around the city.

“Lu,” I begin trying to hide my irritation, “it’s been years since you and Kevin were together. You truly need to move on! He was useless when you were together and he’s still probably still just as awful. You know as well as I do that he is good at faking interest and is probably screwing around on her the same way he two-timed you!”

Flopping on our overstuffed red leather couch, which I can’t stand the sight of but gave in to Lu’s insistence on the importance of dramatic surroundings, she says “That’s not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“Meant, Lu , past tense. Can we move on? I know it sucks to see an ex, but it’s been over two years and you two didn’t date for that long,” I pause long enough for this information to sink in and continue to change the subject, “Have you even showered today? Your hair looks greasy! I thought you had an audition?”

There is no better way to get Lu interested in another topic than talking about her appearance. She prides herself on her long, curly, blonde hair and hates to think it is anything less than perfection.

“I couldn’t bring myself to even get dressed,” she responds pulling at her PJ pants. “After the incident I came straight home, changed into these and fell into bed. I’m so distraught I can barely eat and when you didn’t come home last night I only got worse,” she complains while putting her head in her hands to further illustrate her anxiety. “Where were you anyway?”

“Working late,” I respond. It’s a bold faced lie, but it’s not worth getting into with Lu. She doesn’t really know much about my real life and I think it’s much better that way because she’s too sensitive and chatty to deserve the truth. It sounds harsh, but it’s simply the way it goes. It’s not that I don’t like Lu, because I do; in fact, I adore her. She’s quite spunky and usually suggesting fun events for us to go to together so in that way is a great form of escapism for me.

“You work too hard. I think we need to find you another job because that PR Firm is slowly killing you,” she responds. She hesitates for a minute and with a serious look on her face suggests, “We’ll find another career opportunity for you once we figure out how to murder Kevin. Or make him love me again.”

Accepting the fact that my DVR’d Shark Week is no longer on the agenda tonight, defeated I walk over to the fridge, “We’re going to need a bottle of wine for this one.”

“Or two,” Lu responds with a giggle.

Carrots are good for you?

I’m prone to anxiety attacks. Ever since I was a little kid, I have had terrifying bouts of crying, hyperventilating, panicky breakdowns. When I was younger they were triggered by smaller things such as having to go to bed at a certain time or a test I was supposed to take the following day. As I have gotten older, the attacks come at about the same frequency but usually require tougher issues to push me to that breaking point.

On Sunday night I reached the edge. After seeing $25k in hospital bills from a “troubled appendix”, weeks of pain with my back, frustration at work, and days of more intense back pain from the cortisone shots – I lost it.

Blubbering about my issues to my exhausted husband, I felt as though the weight of the world was on my shoulders. The heaviness on my chest increased as I went down the list of all the things that were worrying me and the more I thought about my concerns the worse I became.

During my attack I couldn’t understand why life was so difficult. Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this? Why do I always feel like I am on a treadmill sprinting without any opportunity to press the emergency stop button? Why did the reward, or the figurative carrot, never come? Had I betrayed my younger self by settling down in a passionless job to simply pay the bills? What was the point of working my ASS off in college?

After letting me bitch for about 30 minutes, Scotty took a deep breath and explained that, as unfortunate as it may be, this is life. There are tough moments and there are glorious moments. He attempted to remind me of all of the good things in my life (of which there are plenty), but in my condition, I didn’t let him get too far down the happy road.

Exhausting the ‘life has moments of rainbows and butterflies too’ angle, Scott took a more realistic approach and offered some invaluable advice. He told me I needed to slow down. That everyone is chasing that damned stringed carrot, and in fact, it never goes away.

The reward is always changing and morphing into something bigger and better- the carrot gets juicier and fatter- and I always feel as though I am not reaching it. But I am reaching it! I am making progression toward my goals, but too concerned with the next step to take time to enjoy the smaller rewards.

He advised me that instead of running full speed after the carrot, I should take a leisurely stroll toward it. He encouraged me to stop to smell the flowers, take breaks once in awhile and cut myself some slack when I slip and fall along the path. The carrot is always going to be there, so what’s the point in exhausting yourself on the journey to get it?

His advice dried up my tears immediately (which for anyone who knows me well enough understands that this is no easy feat). I slept soundly that night and woke up the next morning with a more optimistic and fresh perspective.

I am still going to chase after the carrot, after all I am a driven and ambitious woman, but I am going to make an effort to enjoy the journey. And, of course, with my Scott’s hand in mine it should go a lot more smoothly.