photo synthesizing without pictures
The first piece of paper I noticed upon arrival to my past creative nonfiction professor's office depicted writers as plants. It noted that we need sunlight and water, and it indicated that we lean toward what helps us grow. No corner of the internet that I've visited hosts this metaphor, which leads me to wonder if I imagined it on the end of her desk.
Regardless of its existence elsewhere, I live that reality. I think we all do: everyone needs simple self care and health practices to live at our best. Sometimes we forget. When I remember, I almost feel individual cells waking up and wondering what we will do next--wondering what we will lean toward to help us grow.
This past weekend I visited home, and I spent a majority of my time there thinking back to who I was when I first arrived there. I moved to Cedar Rapids on a whim with the hopes that an expensive liberal arts college in a new city with new people would provide me with what I needed, despite not knowing what that was. I rarely think about that, or how I felt in the beginning, because I now hold my home dearly in my heart. It's the place I feel most comfortable. I know I belong.
Despite that, and what some may think, the first couple of months after my move weren't easy. I struggled to live with a roommate with whom I didn't like. I struggled to live with a guy across the hall who harassed me whenever my door was open, each time he saw me walking to the shower, and often when I was outside alone at night. I struggled to live with professors who made me work harder for A's than I was used to while I worked more hours each week than ever before--in and out of the classroom and at a new job. However, I pushed through.
Looking through old pictures and blog posts, I see only happiness and adventure. That's for any new experience and every new place. I think that's because I've worked through enough therapy to have learned how to emphasize positive memories. I also think it's because although I write and talk about the negative aspects of life, I don't usually photograph them. One time stands alone and only as a memory.
When I lived in DC, I had one especially tough day. I felt that "too much" feeling that far too many of us know. I'd called therapy offices only to have them refer me to someone else, claiming that they couldn't "best help" me. I felt like nobody understood that I just needed something. I wasn't asking to be cured of anything except my constant inescapable desire to lay in bed and avoid living. That day, I took a picture of myself crying. I sat on the left side of what doubled as a kitchen table and my desk, looking out the window at the top of the Capitol. I filtered it in grayscale tones.
I found that picture in late December, a couple weeks after leaving the city. The shock of seeing myself so vulnerable forced an impulsive click of the delete button. Now, I wish I still had it as proof that I have been there and that I made it here instead.
Regardless of its existence elsewhere, I live that reality. I think we all do: everyone needs simple self care and health practices to live at our best. Sometimes we forget. When I remember, I almost feel individual cells waking up and wondering what we will do next--wondering what we will lean toward to help us grow.
This past weekend I visited home, and I spent a majority of my time there thinking back to who I was when I first arrived there. I moved to Cedar Rapids on a whim with the hopes that an expensive liberal arts college in a new city with new people would provide me with what I needed, despite not knowing what that was. I rarely think about that, or how I felt in the beginning, because I now hold my home dearly in my heart. It's the place I feel most comfortable. I know I belong.
Despite that, and what some may think, the first couple of months after my move weren't easy. I struggled to live with a roommate with whom I didn't like. I struggled to live with a guy across the hall who harassed me whenever my door was open, each time he saw me walking to the shower, and often when I was outside alone at night. I struggled to live with professors who made me work harder for A's than I was used to while I worked more hours each week than ever before--in and out of the classroom and at a new job. However, I pushed through.
---
Looking through old pictures and blog posts, I see only happiness and adventure. That's for any new experience and every new place. I think that's because I've worked through enough therapy to have learned how to emphasize positive memories. I also think it's because although I write and talk about the negative aspects of life, I don't usually photograph them. One time stands alone and only as a memory.
When I lived in DC, I had one especially tough day. I felt that "too much" feeling that far too many of us know. I'd called therapy offices only to have them refer me to someone else, claiming that they couldn't "best help" me. I felt like nobody understood that I just needed something. I wasn't asking to be cured of anything except my constant inescapable desire to lay in bed and avoid living. That day, I took a picture of myself crying. I sat on the left side of what doubled as a kitchen table and my desk, looking out the window at the top of the Capitol. I filtered it in grayscale tones.
I found that picture in late December, a couple weeks after leaving the city. The shock of seeing myself so vulnerable forced an impulsive click of the delete button. Now, I wish I still had it as proof that I have been there and that I made it here instead.
Making it here, both emotionally and physically, has been more than a journey. It's been lonely at times, but support-filled at others. I've had times that I took food home from a food pantry that I volunteered at, but I've also had a decent budget that allowed me to treat friends to dinner. I've had relationships crash and burn, but I've also found a family and circle of friends I wouldn't trade for the world. I've survived some of my worst days, but I've also thrived on some of my best.
That last part is what I forget unless I have a good day. This past weekend reset my mind. I realized that I no longer speak to the people I was closest to when I first moved to Cedar Rapids. I realized that I no longer visit most of the places that I spent much of my time when I first moved. I realized that I no longer am that person--and that is largely because I kept pushing through whatever problems I faced.
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After my initial post on this blog, many people reached out to me with comments or questions about whether I was "okay" or if I felt "scared" or had any "fear." Those words in quotation marks felt like part of a script. Don't get me wrong: I appreciate when people reach out to check on me. However, they made me realize that where I'm at now is a much better place than any other confusing place in my life. I felt like it was all too much and too late.
While pondering my last 21 years over the weekend, I had a poetic thought (hooray for the mind of a writer). It correlates to words that others have said previously, but it's something that I started to live the moment I thought it:
Meet yourself where you are.
Yes, I am unemployed--instead of dwelling on the negativity associated with that (or the people who have said unkind words), I'm meeting myself every single day with job applications, emails, and phone calls. Yes, I am not at the weight or strength level that I confidently loved my body at--instead of feeling sorry for changing, I'm meeting myself every single day with the focus to eat healthy and be active. Yes, I am in a new place without any of my old friends--instead of constantly staying in alone, I'm meeting myself everyday at new places with new people and actively connecting with other people who recently moved here on an app created just for that. Yes, I feel more lost than ever about who I am and what I want from life--instead of crying about it yet again, I'm meeting myself with goal setting and brainstorming how to figure that out.
For now, that last part looks like reading a lot, writing even more, and trying countless new things. This weekend that will include attending Pride for the first time (I am pumped) and going to a service on Sunday that's affiliated with a community aligned with the LGBTQ+ community and Black Lives Matter movement. The little things matter too, so because of that, I'll also be trying new recipes--after all, I've always found happiness in the kitchen. That's one thing I know for sure, just like I know that everything will come together with effort and patience.
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thoughts? feelings? questions? send away. I might not have an answer, but I'll always read.