Austin > Most Everywhere

This week marks the 2nd year I've managed to stay on alive the great planet of Texas. I've survived insane heat, one of the worst droughts in the history of the state, countless hangovers, immeasurable auditory overstimulation, one legislative session, one mortgage, and one broken heart. And I still think I'm going to stay.

Just as expected, music has become my boyfriend, my best friend, my happiness, my only dependable thing. I'm forever grateful and in constant awe of the musical talent in this town. I will never tire of it.

I continue to be head over heals for Texas men. They are handsome, furry, rowdy things that talk kinda funny. And I'm essentially helpless against their charms. I love their beards and their trucks and their pet names and their boots. Even things like meat and football seem somehow sexier when done by a Texan man. Most males from the Lonestar State are also trained to treat women very kindly...the good ones anyway. They are lovely (fortunately plentiful) creatures.

(DC friends...sit down before reading this next bit.) I've become outdoorsy. Moving even beyond drinking on patios and "hiking" to martini bars greater than 10 blocks away, I now enjoy such activities as boating, swimming, and exploring places without sidewalks. I have my own tent and I joined a kickball team. I sometimes wear flats. Gasp! Olive has also taken to sunbathing in the dust and hunting. It is remarkable, albiet truly, truly unexpected and strange.

I still struggle to feel at home here but it has gotten easier I suppose. Missing my people is the hardest. People in Texas don't leave Texas. For that reason, they all have the same people they've had since pre-school. Gypsies are often looked at with suspicion or ignored completely. Being a gypsy, this is tricky territory. Being a super-social gypsy that hates to be alone, it is downright rotten for me sometimes. I often find myself puzzled by the unfair perception of the cold, hard, dangerous streets of DC, which to me were the most open, reliable, and loving I've lived.

I moved here for a reason though and it remains the same...I belong here better than any other place. Not perfectly or effortlessly. But, better.

I'll celebrate my 2-year likely with the usual whiskey shots and almost riding the mechanical bull at Rebels. And there may be tears like last year. Hopefully a few fewer.

Solid Ground

Going home to Nebraska was incredible. I hadn't been back for a year which is the longest I've ever been away. For the first time in a long while I was I looking forward to it. When I go home, there is a ritual...sweet corn, breakfast and exploring barns with Grandma, boating, Kelly's Fish Market, boutique shopping (and, somehow, always Walmart) with Mum. It is a great time.

I had some strangely sentimental moments. I sat very quietly looking at the Missouri River go past me on the new boat thinking about how lucky I am to have this and them and it. Maybe it was those swigs out of the Fireball bottle Dad talked me into but I felt so grateful to call Nebraska home. The corn fields looked so beautiful. Just being on the farm calmed me and assured me that the rough time I've had in Austin lately doesn't matter. I have everything I'll ever need just a short trip away.

Not so long ago, someone told me after meeting my family that they wanted to be part of that. "That" meaning the fun, chaos, love, and closeness of my family. 

Further defining the "that" is difficult and entertaining. We have our shit, like any other family, but I've truly never met anyone like us before. We drink and dance and carry on all night. My folks have a beautiful farm and lots of cool stuff. We are unstoppable at Flip Cup and my parents kiss a lot. Sure, "that" is pretty awesome. But the "that" is so much more than one might see from the outside. It is protection, commitment, tradition, and solidarity. It is reliable. It is forever. It is the feeling you get when you lie down on soft green grass in the sun...held up by the most solid thing ever but comfortable, playful, and beautiful. It felt really, really good to be home surrounded by "that."

I was honored when the person said it a while back and I noticed the same sentiment on this trip a few times. Turns out, lots of people want to be part of our pack. When I paid attention to how people react to us, I saw sparkles of envy in more than one eye. That kinda feels good too.

To that end, applications are now being accepted for pack membership. Competition will be fierce but membership has quite a list of perks (sunburn and hangover notwithstanding). Thanks for all the fun you guys!! I'll be back again soon.

♫ Back Where I Come From by Kenny Chesney

The Impossible Question

As an Air-sign cowgirl, I struggle constantly with keeping one toe on the ground and my thoughts lassoed. That's why I'm so glad there are other people.

I was touched by a recent blog post by Robin Anderson, a friend and colleague who regularly awes me with mindfulness and insight. This chick may have one full foot on the ground, maybe more! With severe honesty and frightening rightness, she asks about the thing we are most unable to define: love.

There are lots of different sorts of love, none any more or less understandable. Romantic love, love of God, familial love, self love...we know them when we feel them but like so many things, the exact sensation cannot easily be put to words. As a very small child, I used to test my love by asking myself if I would care if the object of my affection died. If I would care, then, yes, I loved them. Now, of course, things are much more complex. I've even tried to simplify it to love is the absence of hate. Not so. Love can exist with hate, turns out. Love can exist in spite of hate even. Fucking bizarre world we live in!

The part about Robin's post that I liked the best was that a repeated broken heart has taught her to love and be loving. Personal failures may very well be my forte, but learning from them is a strong-suit as well. I don't just hurt, rinse, repeat. Analysis and self-reflection (of both sides, however forcibly) is no fun, but it must be done, just like drinking water and sending thank you notes.

The point of love for me is strength in numbers. It is propping each other up so we don't have to sleep with our heads in the mud. It is why I cried in Moonrise Kingdom when the boy tells the girl, "I'm on your side." Good things can happen alone, but great things can happen when we are together.

Erich Fromm also has amazing insight on the sociology and science of love. This isn't your typical fluffy "love is everywhere" bullshit. This is separating the molecules of love to their atomic level. Has it helped me answer Robin's question? A little. But what has and will help even more is to keep doing what I'm doing: trying (and sometimes failing), flaws, fears, and all.

♫ Flaws And All by Beyonce

Get 'er done

Being from the Midwest, there are a number of phrases used regularly that I interpret correctly but don't really understand. These are usually muttered by old people but because they are so frequently used, they creep into everyone's mental dictionary and even sometimes slip out, when lack of a better description exists. Much like Velveeta, when in doubt, the familiar reigns supreme.

Take "I don't know anything else," a phrase that indicates that the person would like to end the conversation they are having with you. It is used universally in Nebraska, usually at the end of a phone call. Not having anything else to say or simply just having to go, sure. But confessing to being completely cerebrally vacant, that's funny (and actually quite descriptive when you think about it). I once pointed it out to my parents and now we giggle together when we get off the phone since they can't help but continue to use it.

Another is "could've cared less." (pronounced kudha) This one really does befuddle me because it denotes that you could have cared less but you didn't, meaning you did care. My guess is that Midwesterns just got their contractions mixed up or perhaps they just shortened it since couldn't've is tricky to say. Also, it isn't a word.  

My favorite is "being beside one's self." It makes absolutely no sense which is why I like it best. We all know it means to be especially excited or upset. Being fascinated by these sorts of colloquialisms, I like to come up with my own, more literal meanings. For this one, think of yourself standing next to another you. Look over at them. Then say, "Damn! That's what I'm talking about!" (Add a bit of an LL Cool J head nod and a single eyebrow to really "drive it home.")

Is it a duck or a rabbit?

The issue of "perception" has been top of mind lately. Like so often, the universe has splintered my own ideas on the topic by dropping saws and axes on me. If it sounds painful, you may be right but such is life for an intelligent airhead.

Perception is, by definition, a bit amorphous. It is the state of being aware of something. That something can be anything and everything. It is just what is for an individual. Because reality simply cannot be objective, perception is reality. Since reality is inconsistent for everyone, it is easy to see how quickly differences in perception can occur and multiply. I'm nearly confusing myself about it as I write. Try smoking pot and thinking out it...you may start exhaling vowels.

I've known people who can only see or who only accept one reality, one perspective. Their perception is their reality, same as for everyone else. But, they lack the need/want/ability/concern to see, if not attempt to understand and even occasionally incorporate, another's perception. To not care what another person thinks or feels or experiences must be wildly liberating. I'm very jealous of these people even though I don't usually like them.

Unfortunately, I do care what people think and I want people to care about what I think. I also very much care how people experience me and I care that their perception of me, their reality, is positive. I'm not able to know someone has experienced me badly and brush it off because I don't care about their reality. It troubles me, even if I can't fix it. I also can't ignore that they have a reality outside my own. This can be problematic for me because seeing another perception of things is very difficult, especially if I flat out don't agree or don't like what I see. It is truly amazing how two individuals can experience the same thing so differently! Herein lies the tactile responses to differences in perception...curiosity, misunderstanding, confusion, even hate.

I can't help think of one of my favorite quotes by Maya Angelou:

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel.

To me, this is the truest testament of perception. When the details fall away, all that is left is your own perception of reality.

When you're getting over a troubled relationship like I am, this sensation is visceral. I can't remember the exact words that were yelled or which door was slammed. But I can very much remember the sick, anxious, insecure feeling I had almost every morning. I remember feeling afraid and alone. I remember feeling bullied. It is one person's perception to be sure. But, it is mine and it is real.

I attended a conflict resolution seminar recently (I'm a consultant so I regularly play a diplomatic role with conflicted clients. I don't attend cheesy seminars regularly, I promise.). It recommended eliminating the inconsistencies of perception and instead focusing on intention which can be better defined. Asking what someone's intention is and then declaring your own does seem far more concrete. Good plan, especially the next time I run into one of those "isolated reality" folks.

 Now, to come up with some intention to take my mind off reality...I'm thinking wine.

I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you.

My dog and I don't coexist in the traditional sense. I'm not the parent and her the child. I don't own her. It is more symbiotic...when I need her she is there and when she needs me, there I am. And we pretty much always need each other. She is my Samwise Gamgee. We have done it 3 times together in the last 8 years and she has proven to be exceptionally adaptable and helpful in a move. A pictorial memoir...

Deciding where our furniture should go
 
Unpacking (rats were in a high priority box)
 
Enjoying our new neighborhood, Zilker Park

Testing our new bed

Selecting paint colors at Home Depot

Posing for Martha Stewart in our newly decorated bedroom

Worn out from too many projects
 
I could not do this without her. Fact. 

Lessons from Moving Day

I'm thrilled to be out of the glorified dorm they call Park Terrace and into my beautiful new condo. I've spent countless hours and lots of money trying to sleep soundly in the apartment I shared with my man and turns out, while the most expensive thing I've tried, all I needed was home-ownership. I haven't slept more soundly in over a year.

I expected Olive and I to sense emptiness. After all, we're back to living alone. Instead, it is the most calm and happy we've felt in a long time. The anxiety of our former roommate's unpredictable treatment is gone along with night after night of tears and yelling. There is absolutely nothing empty about quiet rain coming down while I unpack, rinsing away the hurt of the past year. I may never tire of it.

Living with a lover is trying. I don't think anyone can challenge that statement. People argue and lose patience, say things they don't mean and things they do. Love is made and love is challenged. Lessons are learned too, good and bad, proud and shameful. I've learned something each time I've done it and am better for it. I look forward to doing it again even, more cautiously of course.

This time around I learned about commitment. I committed to one year and in that time my will and tolerance were tested to their limits. But, I didn't give up until the very last hour, just before I had to turn my old keys over. And at that moment I realized that my commitment was meaningless. I learned that commitment doesn't get you all that far every time. In fact, sometimes it gets you nowhere. It isn't always the good thing it is made out to be. I will take that lesson to my next relationship...commit if committed to. Share if shared with. Understand if understood. Love if loved. And if not, walk the other way.

I heard a repetitive shout again and again this year that has now became a mantra: Move on. My commitment didn't let me do that very comfortably before now. Luckily, I'm a fast learner.