In a three-folds effort to get my relatively inactive ass in shape, justify having the things I have, and saving some money I have started riding my bike to work. As much as I’d like you all to think of me as inexpiably hardcore I must confess it’s only about 3-4 miles from my apartment to work. It’s still a workout and my ass can tell you- it’s a brutal one.
The first stage of my biking commute began with me announcing to multiple people that I was considering it. The second stage consisted of internet research. I searched for bike routes, proper hand signals, rules of the road, etc. Plotted my course through the concrete jungle. Stage three took me on a walking tour of my proposed course. I investigated road conditions, amount of hills, traffic patterns. Stage four was an experiment in endurance. Stage five- execution.
I have always been fascinated by the elite group of “bikers” on the roads around Chicago. Diving in and around traffic. Disobeying all traffic laws. Seemingly having no care for their physical safety. I would love to say that I’m one of these daredevil speedsters on the road but alas this is me were talking about. I ride kind of slow with my powder blue helmet and cushioned gloves. My bike chain makes an awful grinding sound and only one brake works the way it should. If I can get this to become a habit I will invest in getting my bike fixed and maybe add a few accessories and such but for now my crooked handle bars and me will forge ahead through the concrete jungle and take on the world.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Strangers On A Train
Tonight was one of those nights that the air hits you like a wall after you step out of your freezing office for the day. The air was so thick it was hard to breath. I was instantly sweaty, instantly tired, and instantly annoyed. I slinked onto the platform bench and excitingly slipped my hand into my bag and produced my latest weakness… The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I fan out the pages and skim my fingers across the edges inhaling that wonderful fragrance paperback novels give off. I’m instantly unaware of everything around me and absorbed again in 1970’s Afghanistan. I look up when I feel the rush of air across my face as the Brown Line pulls into the station.
On board the train I rest my back against the windowed wall that divides the entryway from the sitting passengers. As any responsible city commuter does, I survey my fellow train passengers when my eyes come to rest on a familiar gray-green paperback tucked under an arm of a middle-aged man in a blue dress shirt. The man stands directly across from me and I’m filled with a mixture of childish excitement and reserve. I manage to fumble out something like “book-same” followed by a unnecessary nervous giggle. Seeing confusion spread across his face I instantly hold my book up and feel the smile stretch my cheeks. His face… priceless. Unadulterated excitement.
There was an explosion of animated, childlike enthusiasm between us. We started talking over each other, interrupting one another unable to contain our composure wanting to express our impressions of the book, how we couldn’t put it down, how it was one of the best novels we’d read in some time. He was much further into the novel than me and I could see the anguish on his face as he tried to edit himself. He kept repeating “I won’t give anything away… so much happens!”
After heated conversation and two stops on the train we smiled at each other and dove back into our books. When my stop came and I slowly reacquainted myself with where I was I glanced up at my fellow bookworm and we both whispered “enjoy” with a meaningful smile. I stepped off the train and reentered that sticky, hot air this time blissfully unaware.
On board the train I rest my back against the windowed wall that divides the entryway from the sitting passengers. As any responsible city commuter does, I survey my fellow train passengers when my eyes come to rest on a familiar gray-green paperback tucked under an arm of a middle-aged man in a blue dress shirt. The man stands directly across from me and I’m filled with a mixture of childish excitement and reserve. I manage to fumble out something like “book-same” followed by a unnecessary nervous giggle. Seeing confusion spread across his face I instantly hold my book up and feel the smile stretch my cheeks. His face… priceless. Unadulterated excitement.
There was an explosion of animated, childlike enthusiasm between us. We started talking over each other, interrupting one another unable to contain our composure wanting to express our impressions of the book, how we couldn’t put it down, how it was one of the best novels we’d read in some time. He was much further into the novel than me and I could see the anguish on his face as he tried to edit himself. He kept repeating “I won’t give anything away… so much happens!”
After heated conversation and two stops on the train we smiled at each other and dove back into our books. When my stop came and I slowly reacquainted myself with where I was I glanced up at my fellow bookworm and we both whispered “enjoy” with a meaningful smile. I stepped off the train and reentered that sticky, hot air this time blissfully unaware.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Confessions of a Packrat
One day I sat in my apartment and started to feel an over whelming feeling of claustrophobia. It slapped me across the face with a sting I can’t put into words. That day I found myself drenched in sweat as I rummaged almost in a possessed like trance through boxes and cabinets and drawers. I made five trips to the dumpster that day and yet my yearning for space and that horrible itch of claustrophobia still gnawed at me. Weeks went by… four garbage bags full of clothes to donate, a 75% reduction in holiday paraphernalia, unnecessary boxes for the computer/stereo flattened and taken to the trash, hours upon hours of relentless rummaging through boxes, countless trips to the dumpster. All-in-all about a 50% reduction in the amount of crap sitting in my apartment. You would think that I would be okay with this but the itch still gnaws at me.
I moved in to this open loft apartment a year and three months ago in an effort to assess what kind of crap I had been traveling with and what I needed and what I did not. I figured the open space would be an eyesore when I finally measured all of my worldly possessions in one open space but packrats know that despite the box we haven’t seemed to need to open in the last two years there COULD be something contained in that box that we NEED. I thought that I had done a rather satisfying job of downsizing prior to my move into this place. In fact I found myself on occasion tooting my own horn about it to my mother, the original packrat. Somehow the 28 years of comments like “I might need this some day” “This would be great if ----- ever happens” “I’ll get to this project soon” started to make my skin itch. I started to be embarrassed to have people in the apartment. I started dreaming about just picking up and leaving all my shit here and getting as far away as I could from it or just selling it all for whatever I could get for it.
The more I threw away the less liberated I felt. With every one trash bag I felt that there should be two. With every two I felt there should be three. I got angry and frustrated at myself that with all the work I was doing I wasn’t seeing progress, I still felt trapped by all this stuff. I’m being oppressed by my former self who used stuff to make her feel whole. I want to shake that person but she has a hold on me.
I drew up criteria in my head that would help me stick to basic rules when deciding whether to keep or get rid of things. Like If it doesn’t fit- get rid of it! If you haven’t used it in the last year- get rid of it! If it held sentimental value at the time but it doesn’t anymore- get rid of it! If you’ve never used it or worn it and you’ve had it for more than a year- get rid of it! If you are saving it for that one moment you have created in your head that’s never seems to happen- get rid of it! Months of this “editing” consumed my life. I whittled and whittled away at this monstrosity that I lived with. I was a crazy person throwing things down from the lofted area of the apartment in fits of rage and contempt. Scaring the cats who peacefully slept below. The apartment would take on the look of a war zone for days at a time while I sorted and filed and made piles (yes, no, maybe).
All-in-all I decreased my belongings by about 50%. I wish I could say that my satisfaction in that stayed with me for some time but it hasn’t. I am still flinging open cabinets and getting frustrated with myself with what I find hidden within their depths. Tonight it was two trips to the trash and I’m angry there wasn’t more. More angry that what I threw away tonight is officially filed under the second sweep as I had hoped that all the nonsensical things had made it out of here on the first run. I imagined that this would get harder and harder as the months passed and I was left with the things I must truly believe I should keep and I would have to do some sort of psychoanalysis on myself to truly understand what my attachment was but I am still finding things in which I say “Why the hell did I save this?”
I am a sentiment fool. I found the paper bags the wine came in from a vineyard a friend and I visited a couple years ago tucked behind some dusty VHS tapes I never planned to watch again. I have the photos and I have the memories of that trip- why would I need to keep a tattered old bag that I clearly never pull out?
I am making progress. The other day I went to throw out a wedding announcement card that had been on my refrigerator since the new year and it took someone off guard. He replied with a simple “I’m here to encourage you to de-clutter so I won’t say anything”. It was a big step for me. It sat beneath a magnet on my freezer door for six months while I fought an internal battle. In the end I knew I wouldn’t do anything with it. Despite my best intentions it would be piled with the wedding invitation from the first of us to walk down the aisle and the shower invitation of a couple I’ve known for years. I was never going to do anything with that stuff. I never did.
This de-cluttering is a work in progress. A step towards a new beginning for me. I’m well on my way but I’m not quite there. One thing is for certain- I will not allow material things to take over my life like this again. They do not make me who I am, I am not less of a person because I do not have them, I will not forget that moment without this, they are not me and I am not them….it’s just stuff after all.
I moved in to this open loft apartment a year and three months ago in an effort to assess what kind of crap I had been traveling with and what I needed and what I did not. I figured the open space would be an eyesore when I finally measured all of my worldly possessions in one open space but packrats know that despite the box we haven’t seemed to need to open in the last two years there COULD be something contained in that box that we NEED. I thought that I had done a rather satisfying job of downsizing prior to my move into this place. In fact I found myself on occasion tooting my own horn about it to my mother, the original packrat. Somehow the 28 years of comments like “I might need this some day” “This would be great if ----- ever happens” “I’ll get to this project soon” started to make my skin itch. I started to be embarrassed to have people in the apartment. I started dreaming about just picking up and leaving all my shit here and getting as far away as I could from it or just selling it all for whatever I could get for it.
The more I threw away the less liberated I felt. With every one trash bag I felt that there should be two. With every two I felt there should be three. I got angry and frustrated at myself that with all the work I was doing I wasn’t seeing progress, I still felt trapped by all this stuff. I’m being oppressed by my former self who used stuff to make her feel whole. I want to shake that person but she has a hold on me.
I drew up criteria in my head that would help me stick to basic rules when deciding whether to keep or get rid of things. Like If it doesn’t fit- get rid of it! If you haven’t used it in the last year- get rid of it! If it held sentimental value at the time but it doesn’t anymore- get rid of it! If you’ve never used it or worn it and you’ve had it for more than a year- get rid of it! If you are saving it for that one moment you have created in your head that’s never seems to happen- get rid of it! Months of this “editing” consumed my life. I whittled and whittled away at this monstrosity that I lived with. I was a crazy person throwing things down from the lofted area of the apartment in fits of rage and contempt. Scaring the cats who peacefully slept below. The apartment would take on the look of a war zone for days at a time while I sorted and filed and made piles (yes, no, maybe).
All-in-all I decreased my belongings by about 50%. I wish I could say that my satisfaction in that stayed with me for some time but it hasn’t. I am still flinging open cabinets and getting frustrated with myself with what I find hidden within their depths. Tonight it was two trips to the trash and I’m angry there wasn’t more. More angry that what I threw away tonight is officially filed under the second sweep as I had hoped that all the nonsensical things had made it out of here on the first run. I imagined that this would get harder and harder as the months passed and I was left with the things I must truly believe I should keep and I would have to do some sort of psychoanalysis on myself to truly understand what my attachment was but I am still finding things in which I say “Why the hell did I save this?”
I am a sentiment fool. I found the paper bags the wine came in from a vineyard a friend and I visited a couple years ago tucked behind some dusty VHS tapes I never planned to watch again. I have the photos and I have the memories of that trip- why would I need to keep a tattered old bag that I clearly never pull out?
I am making progress. The other day I went to throw out a wedding announcement card that had been on my refrigerator since the new year and it took someone off guard. He replied with a simple “I’m here to encourage you to de-clutter so I won’t say anything”. It was a big step for me. It sat beneath a magnet on my freezer door for six months while I fought an internal battle. In the end I knew I wouldn’t do anything with it. Despite my best intentions it would be piled with the wedding invitation from the first of us to walk down the aisle and the shower invitation of a couple I’ve known for years. I was never going to do anything with that stuff. I never did.
This de-cluttering is a work in progress. A step towards a new beginning for me. I’m well on my way but I’m not quite there. One thing is for certain- I will not allow material things to take over my life like this again. They do not make me who I am, I am not less of a person because I do not have them, I will not forget that moment without this, they are not me and I am not them….it’s just stuff after all.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
What I Desire
The thing I desire most out of a relationship is companionship. What that means to me is that the person I am with is someone I can talk to about anything and everything without fear of being judged. That we are in constant practice of trying to get to know one another. That we want to share our thoughts and feelings about the things that happened in our day whether they are of any significance or not.
My second most desire is communication. Without communication there is nothing. If I don’t know how you feel and you don’t know how I feel then how can we get anywhere? There are so many forms of communication that it seems absolutely absurd that none would take place. Tell your significant other how you feel. Show your partner how much you care in ways that they will understand. Write love notes to each other in ways that are significant to you. If you are standing there not speaking, touching, smiling at us we don’t know what you’re thinking. Just you being physically there means nothing to us because it communicates nothing.
My third most desire is passion. Passion, in my opinion, is the one thing that separates a friendship from a relationship. Passion to me is the strong desire to touch, be touched, be close to another person because it almost feels wrong not to. Undeniably this is strongest in new couples and after sometime there are couples that experience a lower level of it but it is still there. Passion is the easiest mechanism to express feelings to each other when words will not do. Passion is something that stays with you when you go off to work. Gives you that giddy feeling in you stomach when you think of the other person. Makes you blush internally. Keeps you going.
My second most desire is communication. Without communication there is nothing. If I don’t know how you feel and you don’t know how I feel then how can we get anywhere? There are so many forms of communication that it seems absolutely absurd that none would take place. Tell your significant other how you feel. Show your partner how much you care in ways that they will understand. Write love notes to each other in ways that are significant to you. If you are standing there not speaking, touching, smiling at us we don’t know what you’re thinking. Just you being physically there means nothing to us because it communicates nothing.
My third most desire is passion. Passion, in my opinion, is the one thing that separates a friendship from a relationship. Passion to me is the strong desire to touch, be touched, be close to another person because it almost feels wrong not to. Undeniably this is strongest in new couples and after sometime there are couples that experience a lower level of it but it is still there. Passion is the easiest mechanism to express feelings to each other when words will not do. Passion is something that stays with you when you go off to work. Gives you that giddy feeling in you stomach when you think of the other person. Makes you blush internally. Keeps you going.
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