Well. It's 7:15am and Larry is passed back out on the floor and my eyes are showing signs of wanting the same. But alas, we welcomed the new year in this morning.
New Year's is an interesting holiday. Growing up it was this epic night simply because I got to stay up until midnight. That WAS the party. It was outside of any other night; there were noisemakers and maybe even games, and there were hugs and kisses. It was honestly almost perfect. It wasn't about what I wore. Or drank. Or how many people were invited where. It was innocently a genuine evening of celebration.
By my teenage years it clearly became about the party. It still didn't quite matter what I wore and all that jazz, but it was an excuse to celebrate health and good fortune by risking and mangling both of those.
And now, as an adult, it is somewhat like Valentine's Day. It exists, but it's a lot of built up expectations and hype - and that's a lot to follow through with for one small evening. It's oftentimes about wanting something, but cautiously trying to hold back your wishes for the inevitable disappointment. Have I ever had the BEST New Year's Eve of my life? TBD.
New Year's is about who you are with and who wants to be with you, and it's about your attitude as you enter the brand spanking new year. I think that would probably mean my blog post should be full of resolutions and positive reinforcement for my recovery, my life, and for those around me. I watched the sun come up this morning, and it was fantastic. The harbor became an endless silhouette of sailed cargo, and the cold weather made the water sparkle. So I sat down (with Larry of course), took in the beauty...and then faced some ugly truths.
I couldn't help it. That's what you do, right? You reflect, you resolve, you put your best foot forward. I do have resolutions. I'm not one of the people who doesn't believe in them. Come on - I write cheesy monologues about my beliefs and feelings - do you really think I skip out on listing betterment clauses for myself? I don't necessarily believe they need to come on the new year, but I do like to make intentions for myself. For example, remember the blender? And my push to have more vegetables every single day? That's a resolution. It just started 3 weeks before the New Year. I'm not going to tell you all of my resolutions though. Not because they're a secret, but because they just are. I am, however, going to share the ugly truths that I faced on this beautiful 2015 morning.
New Year's is an interesting holiday. Growing up it was this epic night simply because I got to stay up until midnight. That WAS the party. It was outside of any other night; there were noisemakers and maybe even games, and there were hugs and kisses. It was honestly almost perfect. It wasn't about what I wore. Or drank. Or how many people were invited where. It was innocently a genuine evening of celebration.
By my teenage years it clearly became about the party. It still didn't quite matter what I wore and all that jazz, but it was an excuse to celebrate health and good fortune by risking and mangling both of those.
And now, as an adult, it is somewhat like Valentine's Day. It exists, but it's a lot of built up expectations and hype - and that's a lot to follow through with for one small evening. It's oftentimes about wanting something, but cautiously trying to hold back your wishes for the inevitable disappointment. Have I ever had the BEST New Year's Eve of my life? TBD.
New Year's is about who you are with and who wants to be with you, and it's about your attitude as you enter the brand spanking new year. I think that would probably mean my blog post should be full of resolutions and positive reinforcement for my recovery, my life, and for those around me. I watched the sun come up this morning, and it was fantastic. The harbor became an endless silhouette of sailed cargo, and the cold weather made the water sparkle. So I sat down (with Larry of course), took in the beauty...and then faced some ugly truths.
I couldn't help it. That's what you do, right? You reflect, you resolve, you put your best foot forward. I do have resolutions. I'm not one of the people who doesn't believe in them. Come on - I write cheesy monologues about my beliefs and feelings - do you really think I skip out on listing betterment clauses for myself? I don't necessarily believe they need to come on the new year, but I do like to make intentions for myself. For example, remember the blender? And my push to have more vegetables every single day? That's a resolution. It just started 3 weeks before the New Year. I'm not going to tell you all of my resolutions though. Not because they're a secret, but because they just are. I am, however, going to share the ugly truths that I faced on this beautiful 2015 morning.
I've become socially lazy.
I think it would be unfair to not qualify the type of lazy I am, because I am a geterdone type person. When it comes to my social life, however, I've become lazy. And quite frankly, I've become a little fearful. I know hundreds of people my age (not an exaggeration), but have that "you don't know me" mentality a lot of the time. I'm weird. And as comfortable as I am around people, I tend to bundle up my weirdness and bask in it in the privacy of my own home. I like to do things while I sit on my couch or with my headphones in. I like to walk alone or write in the comfort of my bedroom. I like to go to movies or have coffee, but I have become more and more afraid of venturing out of my small comfort zone. I feel misunderstood and too "lazy" to explain myself. I feel comfortable with my "people," and I worry that there is a "Phantom" (read: blog post from 2 days ago) in too many of those I'm not as close with. I was minutes away from staying in last night and ringing in the New Year with netflix and a slobbery kiss. But I peeled myself off the couch, got sparkly, and spent the evening with people I really, really like. It was fun. So I'm not sure how valid my laziness in the social context is, but it is an ugly truth I've come to face.
People don't like me.
Not all people, just people. I mean, to some extent, we all know this, right? Or maybe you don't, who am I to say that? I think I've been pretty well-liked by people throughout my life, but how can I ever be sure right? Sit back, ladies and gentlemen, because there are some people out there who truly have a distaste for me. Last night, as I slurped down my diet coke and snagged some french fries at our resident brewing company before the countdown, we ran into a group of girls. A couple looked familiar, but nothing more than that. My face, however, seemed to jar deep-seeded emotions and feelings of disgust. YES! I couldn't believe it either. These girls ALL didn't like me! A couple of my friends said they were disappointed to see them hanging out with me, and I thought, me? What did I do? But it doesn't matter. They don't like me. And other people probably don't either. F*ck it. Another ugly truth.
I'm heartbroken.
Ugh. I really hesitate to use this phrase because it carries so much stigmatic stench to it. It stirs up pictures of being left at the altar and never finding "the one." A few months ago I told you that I wouldn't be blogging about certain things in my personal life because they're just that - personal. My heartbreak isn't a sad story. It isn't all-encompassing and it isn't grounds for a woeful, tear-jerking novel. But I stand by the statement that I am heartbroken. I'm heartbroken from big things and little things. I'm heartbroken for myself and for people who I care about. I'm heartbroken because I know there have been some tough times and, while the end is near, the journey sometimes hurts a little bit. One person did not break my heart. Let's not synonomize heartbreak with sadness. I think they have different meanings, and have a lot of awesome happiness, but the ugly truth is, I'm still a little heartbroken.
I think it would be unfair to not qualify the type of lazy I am, because I am a geterdone type person. When it comes to my social life, however, I've become lazy. And quite frankly, I've become a little fearful. I know hundreds of people my age (not an exaggeration), but have that "you don't know me" mentality a lot of the time. I'm weird. And as comfortable as I am around people, I tend to bundle up my weirdness and bask in it in the privacy of my own home. I like to do things while I sit on my couch or with my headphones in. I like to walk alone or write in the comfort of my bedroom. I like to go to movies or have coffee, but I have become more and more afraid of venturing out of my small comfort zone. I feel misunderstood and too "lazy" to explain myself. I feel comfortable with my "people," and I worry that there is a "Phantom" (read: blog post from 2 days ago) in too many of those I'm not as close with. I was minutes away from staying in last night and ringing in the New Year with netflix and a slobbery kiss. But I peeled myself off the couch, got sparkly, and spent the evening with people I really, really like. It was fun. So I'm not sure how valid my laziness in the social context is, but it is an ugly truth I've come to face.
People don't like me.
Not all people, just people. I mean, to some extent, we all know this, right? Or maybe you don't, who am I to say that? I think I've been pretty well-liked by people throughout my life, but how can I ever be sure right? Sit back, ladies and gentlemen, because there are some people out there who truly have a distaste for me. Last night, as I slurped down my diet coke and snagged some french fries at our resident brewing company before the countdown, we ran into a group of girls. A couple looked familiar, but nothing more than that. My face, however, seemed to jar deep-seeded emotions and feelings of disgust. YES! I couldn't believe it either. These girls ALL didn't like me! A couple of my friends said they were disappointed to see them hanging out with me, and I thought, me? What did I do? But it doesn't matter. They don't like me. And other people probably don't either. F*ck it. Another ugly truth.
I'm heartbroken.
Ugh. I really hesitate to use this phrase because it carries so much stigmatic stench to it. It stirs up pictures of being left at the altar and never finding "the one." A few months ago I told you that I wouldn't be blogging about certain things in my personal life because they're just that - personal. My heartbreak isn't a sad story. It isn't all-encompassing and it isn't grounds for a woeful, tear-jerking novel. But I stand by the statement that I am heartbroken. I'm heartbroken from big things and little things. I'm heartbroken for myself and for people who I care about. I'm heartbroken because I know there have been some tough times and, while the end is near, the journey sometimes hurts a little bit. One person did not break my heart. Let's not synonomize heartbreak with sadness. I think they have different meanings, and have a lot of awesome happiness, but the ugly truth is, I'm still a little heartbroken.
Sometimes I don't make my bed.
I try to. I mean in the scheme of sh*t that needs to get done every day, pulling up the covers, folding a sheet back, and fluffing some deco pillows shouldn't be so difficult. But sometimes, I don't do it. I also leave my dishes for more than a day at times. I don't own a vacuum cleaner, and instead of buying one, I borrow my neighbor's and roll it half a block and back. Sometimes I forget to eat leftovers. And then forget to throw them out. I have left the oven on over night. I sent out thank you cards way too late. The making the bed thing is really just the "it's simple, so do it" thing that just doesn't get done. It's an ugly truth. I am known to be very organized, and I think it's only fair that I admit there are many aspects in my life that are seemingly chaotic and messy. So ya. Sometimes I don't make my bed.
I'm not as smart as I think I am.
I am smart. I have an education, I'm quick-witted, and I get things - for the most part. I have had some self-recognition this year, however, and I'm just not as smart as I think I am. I play on a trivia team every week, and, alongside my "co-captain," organized the people who would "qualify" for the team to compete. I thought about all of the information I have stored in my brain, all of the things I have read, and watched, and seen, and I then self-declared being very eligible to run the team. We have been playing for a solid 4-5 months now, and one thing has become clear - I am the weakest link. My spelling gets called out weekly, many questions are so over my head I truly can't even come up with a guess, and I have apparently never seen a globe because I have absolutely NO idea where any geographical country, body of water, and historical sightings reside. I do, however, know the name of the dog in Peter Pan as well as the fictitious town in the show Gilmore Girls. Perhaps that knowledge is an ugly truth as well.
Sometimes I lose.
At games and sports and job applications, yes. Of course. I lose. I don't like to, and I never have, but I do. But I also lose other fights. I lose relationships that I swore I never would, and I lose myself to conversations that I have no right taking part in. I lose the ever-pressing battle of convincing people of truths that I know, and I lose respect every now and then. I lose sleep. I lose the backs of my earrings, the few tools I own, and all of my extra toothbrushes. I lose patience. Not often, but admittedly at times, I lose my temper. And finally, I lose sight of what's really important once in a while.
So yes. I have some ugly truths. I have some kinks and character flaws and faults. And today, as I start 2015, I am choosing to face the ugly truths, and I am also choosing to appreciate the beauty in each of them. It's cheesy, but it's true. I think the best resolution is just to be able to love myself for all that I am and the rest will come. Ugly truths and all.
2015. The year of the beautiful ugly truths.
...and no knee surgeries. Please. Please. No knee surgeries.
I try to. I mean in the scheme of sh*t that needs to get done every day, pulling up the covers, folding a sheet back, and fluffing some deco pillows shouldn't be so difficult. But sometimes, I don't do it. I also leave my dishes for more than a day at times. I don't own a vacuum cleaner, and instead of buying one, I borrow my neighbor's and roll it half a block and back. Sometimes I forget to eat leftovers. And then forget to throw them out. I have left the oven on over night. I sent out thank you cards way too late. The making the bed thing is really just the "it's simple, so do it" thing that just doesn't get done. It's an ugly truth. I am known to be very organized, and I think it's only fair that I admit there are many aspects in my life that are seemingly chaotic and messy. So ya. Sometimes I don't make my bed.
I'm not as smart as I think I am.
I am smart. I have an education, I'm quick-witted, and I get things - for the most part. I have had some self-recognition this year, however, and I'm just not as smart as I think I am. I play on a trivia team every week, and, alongside my "co-captain," organized the people who would "qualify" for the team to compete. I thought about all of the information I have stored in my brain, all of the things I have read, and watched, and seen, and I then self-declared being very eligible to run the team. We have been playing for a solid 4-5 months now, and one thing has become clear - I am the weakest link. My spelling gets called out weekly, many questions are so over my head I truly can't even come up with a guess, and I have apparently never seen a globe because I have absolutely NO idea where any geographical country, body of water, and historical sightings reside. I do, however, know the name of the dog in Peter Pan as well as the fictitious town in the show Gilmore Girls. Perhaps that knowledge is an ugly truth as well.
Sometimes I lose.
At games and sports and job applications, yes. Of course. I lose. I don't like to, and I never have, but I do. But I also lose other fights. I lose relationships that I swore I never would, and I lose myself to conversations that I have no right taking part in. I lose the ever-pressing battle of convincing people of truths that I know, and I lose respect every now and then. I lose sleep. I lose the backs of my earrings, the few tools I own, and all of my extra toothbrushes. I lose patience. Not often, but admittedly at times, I lose my temper. And finally, I lose sight of what's really important once in a while.
So yes. I have some ugly truths. I have some kinks and character flaws and faults. And today, as I start 2015, I am choosing to face the ugly truths, and I am also choosing to appreciate the beauty in each of them. It's cheesy, but it's true. I think the best resolution is just to be able to love myself for all that I am and the rest will come. Ugly truths and all.
2015. The year of the beautiful ugly truths.
...and no knee surgeries. Please. Please. No knee surgeries.