There was a man from Nantucket.
I've just returned from my traditional post-Christmas Holljis household visit. One of the most joyous customs of my winter break, by far. First I walk in, usually soggy from the rain and anxious because break is nearly over and I've gained weight from all the god damn holiday parties, and I admire the tree and lights. Then Laurie gives me a hug and leaves Brittney and I (dressed in warm, goofy looking ensembles, of course) to talk on the couch for hours and hours. And I always leave feeling less soggy. And with even more motivation to work out the next morning.
I love the things that have remined consistant in my life over the years. I guess that's an obvious statement; if I didn't love them I would have erradicated them from my routine. But, particularly in this time of change, change, everything change, I especially appreciate the aspects of my world that are seemingly permanent.
My friendships with Kaley, Claire, Brittney and Remy. My love of warmth and sun, and my bitter hatred of the gloomy rain. My need for beautiful things. My relentless analyzing. This LiveJournal.
These people and ideas and things and so many others are all rocks that I have perpetually been able to sharpen myself on.
And then there are the pebbles that, although at one point or another may have been solid, have slowly deteriorated into minute grains of sand over time. These are the people and ideas and things that having fallen through the cracks.
The way my mom and dad don't spoil me anymore, the way I'm no longer their Princess. The way I've all but forgotten the majority of people I once admired at TLHS. The way Marin County has very little potential left in my eyes.
I could never say that my life here is coming to an end. I will never stop loving the people I come home to for Thanksgiving- Rod, Vinney, Leesa- never. Never. They're here to stay. But there are twice as many people and experiences that I'm prepared to let sift through and fall away. A couple people dragging me down. A couple memories holding me back. Some places I just don't need to go back to.
So, as I sit listening to the rain, in a new house that still doesn't feel like home, I am commiting myself to not fearing the unknown. And instead, embracing it. Because each new person I meet has the potential to be a new best friend. Each new adventure I embark on has the hope of being the next fixture.
Even though I've gained a pound or two since I've been back in this cestpool of Christmas cookies and humbug weather, I feel lighter for the emotional baggage I'll be leaving in Marin when I fly back to Los Angeles on Saturday.
Pack light.
I love the things that have remined consistant in my life over the years. I guess that's an obvious statement; if I didn't love them I would have erradicated them from my routine. But, particularly in this time of change, change, everything change, I especially appreciate the aspects of my world that are seemingly permanent.
My friendships with Kaley, Claire, Brittney and Remy. My love of warmth and sun, and my bitter hatred of the gloomy rain. My need for beautiful things. My relentless analyzing. This LiveJournal.
These people and ideas and things and so many others are all rocks that I have perpetually been able to sharpen myself on.
And then there are the pebbles that, although at one point or another may have been solid, have slowly deteriorated into minute grains of sand over time. These are the people and ideas and things that having fallen through the cracks.
The way my mom and dad don't spoil me anymore, the way I'm no longer their Princess. The way I've all but forgotten the majority of people I once admired at TLHS. The way Marin County has very little potential left in my eyes.
I could never say that my life here is coming to an end. I will never stop loving the people I come home to for Thanksgiving- Rod, Vinney, Leesa- never. Never. They're here to stay. But there are twice as many people and experiences that I'm prepared to let sift through and fall away. A couple people dragging me down. A couple memories holding me back. Some places I just don't need to go back to.
So, as I sit listening to the rain, in a new house that still doesn't feel like home, I am commiting myself to not fearing the unknown. And instead, embracing it. Because each new person I meet has the potential to be a new best friend. Each new adventure I embark on has the hope of being the next fixture.
Even though I've gained a pound or two since I've been back in this cestpool of Christmas cookies and humbug weather, I feel lighter for the emotional baggage I'll be leaving in Marin when I fly back to Los Angeles on Saturday.
Pack light.