"Perfect" is the Scariest Word in the English Language

This week has been good, very good. It has been ever so slightly scary.

I have been watching the pieces come together, found answers and clarity. The cynic in me says it's too good to be true.

My father wrote me an e-mail today:

I have been praying for you a lot and sense God’s favor is resting on you right now. As you move out in faith, the Lord is going to give you the land your foot rests upon. I’m not sure what that all means, but He longs intensely for you and desires your attention. So, give heed to His voice whenever you sense it and ask Him where you are to step, so that His grace goes before you into the land. I think some things are breaking loose, so be ready for some positive changes and walk boldly into them. Faith is spelled R-I-S-K

I wonder if this means I should "risk" believing that it is possible. I wonder when believing in the good in life became so hard to do.

I know life is not perfect, so when it feels like it's getting too close, I pull myself back. I don't want to be disappointed. Not in people, not in life, not in God. I would say I take the coward's way out by just dismissing any desire I cannot acquire for myself. I think it is more of a survival technique than cowardice though.

It may be time for me to stop surviving and just live fearlessly. Love and dream and hope without inhibition. I'm learning. Aren't I always?

Today has been hard. Despite the beautiful life around me, my brother's struggles brought out an unexpected rage in me. The anger made me start questioning all the good, believing the easier version of the truth where everything falls apart.

Thing is, nothing is made to last forever and that's okay. Things could be beautiful forever without them being the same. I think if they did stay the same, they would lose their wonder.

Yes. I am going to try to believe that life can be perfectly, divinely beautiful. I am going to try to believe that God is willing to give that to me. By now I should know that he gives me gifts I could not have imagined for myself. I once read that desire and longing are the lifeblood of the soul. I want to live, even if it hurts sometimes. Life is too long to hold onto pain and too short not to risk it.

Hearts heal, regrets last forever: here goes nothing!

The Dead Zone

I found myself asking a familiar question today as I drudged down the gloomy gray staircase at the hospital, "How the hell did I get here?"

Yes, I have asked this question many times over the last few years. Today it was spurred-on by a meeting with my boss, a meeting that confirmed my paranoia was well placed and left me angry and deflated. Basically, I am doing a great job, but I need to do more menial work so other people in my department don't get jealous. Politics. She tried to reassure me by saying, "Don't worry, you have a great career ahead of you here, the rest of them are not going to go any farther." Wow, that might actually matter to me if I wanted a career in a government hospital!

Trudging back down the stairs to my shitty office (that I was told is not actually mine and will be recouped as soon as they can find another hole for me), I began to bitterly ask that tired old question. Immediately I heard my mother's voice in my head: "You wanted to live in New York. You are living the dream and this is just how you a paying for it!" My mother is not big on pity parties. But really, when am I going to start working in a field I actually want to grow in? When am I going to be able to answer the question, "what do you do", without giving a "but soon I'll be...." at the end of my job title? I hate to put all my eggs in one basket, but that seems to be precisely what I am doing with NYU. I just pray I get in, that my eggs don't all scatter and crack.

I signed-up to be a mystery-eater. It pays a whopping $15 per article plus the cost of the meal, but hell, if it turns out that it isn't a scam, it is a great way to practice my writing. Perhaps it can be a good preview of what life as a restaurant critic would be like. I am not sure if it will appeal to me at all, but as with most things, you won't know until you try.

Other than that little project, the rest of my day went by as usual. I left the hospital feeling utterly exhausted and dead inside. The government, or any uninspired work I suppose, can truly gnaw at your soul. I wandered down 1st Avenue to my CSA's Meet Your Farmer's event. There I heard two people talk about their food and their passion. It was nice to see pictures of fresh vegetables that made my mouth water. I began to feel a bit livelier.

See, when I get in "The Dead Zone", all I want to do is lye down and phase out. Bring on the coffin! I have to force myself out into the world where the pretty things I love, like food and friends and New York herself, can nurse me back to health. Spring seems to be here, but there are still some icy winds blowing through me.

One day I hope that my job, my day to day pursuits, will bring me to life instead of forcing me to fight-off spiritual death. I don't know what that will look like, but I am going to keep searching and experimenting until I do. For now I will cling to the remedies of gastronomical dreams and fanciful friends, for now I will bring myself back from the brink as best I can.

Novocaine

As I navigate this difficult time, the familiar bleak curtain has draped itself over my city, my passions, my life. It is a grotesque feeling, like the numb yet uncomfortable sensation that takes over your mouth after a trip to the dentist.

There are moments when I feel a twinge of pain, like today looking at my finances and thinking about how close we came to getting ahead for once, but mostly it is just a groggy uncomfortable numbness.

I hate feeling this way. No one can touch me when I am in this place, there is no arm long enough to reach through the darkness and comfort me. It is a storm that is weathered in total isolation. That is the part I forgot about, the absolute loneliness in this grief. Ugh! When do I get to start feeling alive again? When will I stop seeing the world through the eyes of the undead?

I am going through the motions: job, club, gym (ok, sometimes gym), but nothing takes the edge off, nothing feels good. I suppose after surgery people feel this way, just part of the recovery process. That thought helps a little. Makes it feel like there is a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. On the other hand, just like post-op, there is no rushing recovery, and that thought is much less comforting!

Oh, how I loath this pathetic dribble! I want to write about cheese and vintage hunting and silly adventures! I want to bask in my sunshine, in my hope and passion. This is what I was running from. I hate wasting all these precious moments in the dark, rotting prison of death. Nothing is silly right now though, nothing is sunny, nothing is pleasurable. I hate these words even more as write them, even my words have turned on me. As usual, it feels as though the sun will never shine again. This sentiment, these feelings, they disgust me. Yet, I am helpless at this moment to change them. Again, I will brave a broken smile and pray, pray, pray for the sun to come out again.