Being a person with a roommate who works on a cruise ship makes for a decent amount of alone time. Being a person who is constantly thinking and thinking with a roommate who works on a cruise ship makes for an obscene amount of thinking time. And all that thinking time can really take over a persons mental and emotional being.

With all that in mind, it would only make sense when I tell you that something’s been bugging me. A few somethings that equal one larger something, I’ve come to realize.

I have trouble moving on. 

A couple weeks ago I spent some time trashing the slew of old emails that was plaguing my inbox. They were out of control. As I got to the oldest of emails, I saw one from 2011 that quickly put a knot in my stomach. I knew exactly what is was, without opening it, and was immediately taken to the actions that led to that email.

In high school, there was this guy {please hold all eye rolls}. We’ll call him G. I met G when I joined a local track team and was just coming out of a relationship. G happened to be friends with my ex, who was also involved with this team, but that didn’t stop us from becoming friends. Needless to say, things progressed. G was a catch. He was an amazing athlete (obviously there were multi-points involved there), he made me laugh,he was a gentleman, and to top it all off, he was probably one of the sweetest guys I’d ever met. He was the type of guy who had the whole package but didn’t know it. We liked each other a lot, but life is no fairy tale. He lived about 45-50 minutes away from me, a drive that parents aren’t too thrilled about their teenagers making at night, and I wasn’t exactly in a place to jump right into another relationship. It was my senior year and I was going to Florida for college. Bad timing. But that didn’t stop us from hanging out when we could and using good ol’ AIM to talk. We stayed in touch for a couple years in college and his parents even made a point to stop and visit when they were vacationing in Florida,  but as it usually goes, we grew apart.

Fast forward to 2011. I was living at home and somehow found out that so was G. Things picked up right where they had left off. We went on a real date, started talking regularly, and it seemed like things could actually go somewhere this time. I was hopeful but wanted to take things slowly. I had made some decisions about my approach to dating and was very honest with G about them. He was his sweet, respectful self and I was very appreciative of that. After all, I had known this guy for years. There was a history and trust there. If there was any guy I didn’t have to be cautious of, it was G. Until it wasn’t. Without going into detail, while hanging out one day, G crossed a line. I left and didn’t look back. I couldn’t believe it. I was hurt. I was confused. I couldn’t comprehend what had happened and the fact that it was G. Looking back I still don’t know if maybe I was partly to blame or not. Maybe I didn’t make the line as clear as I thought I had? I don’t know. Later that day I received the email. It was a deep, heartfelt apology. He said all the right things and none of it seemed fake or disingenuous. He was truly regretful and asked for my forgiveness in time.

I never responded.

I knew he was sorry. I knew he meant every word. He wasn’t a monster. He was a guy who made a mistake, a really big mistake, that I didn’t know how to deal with. I didn’t know what to do so I did nothing.

That was the last time I heard from G, yet I haven’t gotten rid of his email. I don’t know why. At times I see it and think, maybe I need to send a response, even if it’s been almost 4 years. Other times I think I made the right choice by cutting ties and walking away. So why do I still have the email?  I honestly have no idea. What is it that I’m holding on to by keeping it in my inbox?

Maybe I need to feel the pain of the situation from time to time (as messed up as that sounds)

Maybe I like to be reminded that someone felt s0mething for me…even if it was years ago

Maybe a part of me isn’t willing to truly close that door

It could be all of those things at once. I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s time to start figuring these things out. I find myself dwelling on the past more than I’d like to admit. Even if it’s not in an angry or vengeful way, I think about people who have hurt me, loved me, and everything in between. The past is the past and I need to learn to move on. I need to let it go and look forward. It’s hard to admit and even harder to execute. I don’t know where to begin.

In the case of G….do I let sleeping dogs lay or do I reach out for some sense of closure? {Is closure even real??? Or did some clingy lady make it up to make herself feel better about needing “just 1 more talk” about an ended relationship?} Sometimes I really do feel like I’ve forgiven him so maybe I need to tell him that or it doesn’t count.

How do I move on?

That’s my number. The number that my scale tells me and makes me think “uh oh”. Now I know the lady-like thing is not to tell the world what your weight is…but  I never claimed to be lady-like…so there. A couple weeks ago I stepped onto the pesky scale and the number it told me was not 150. It was 153. This called for a bigger mental “uh oh”. I knew this wasn’t a ‘more muscular’ 153 either. This was an ‘I love to eat and can’t motivate myself to work out’ 153.

My first reaction of course was
“Well, now I really need to get down to business”
“Only vegetables and cardboard for me”
“A new iPod playlist will help”
“Sure I could get myself to look like (    fill in the actress’ name   )“
“This tbt photo of me from college will motivate me”

And that lasted for about a week.

Then some other thoughts came to mind
“Hey, this isn’t high school and you’re not an athlete anymore”
“Maybe this is my 27 year old body”
“My clothes still fit”

These were thoughts that had never really occurred to me before and how silly that they hadn’t. Where is it written that I still need to have my “track body”?? I haven’t run track in years!  But on the other side of that coin what exactly does a “knitting body” look like? It doesn’t sound great haha.

So I’m coming to terms with something in the middle. I don’t like eating well but it’s something that must be done, so while I’m not dieting, I will be more conscious of what I eat. I’ve also begun to go for small jogs in the morning. There’s something about seeing the sun come up over the East River that’s really pleasant.

I’m getting older and my body is changing and that’s life. And while it’s safe to say that I will not be pursuing a modelling career any time ever, I think it’s important to feel good in this body I’ve got and treat it right. So I will jog for as long or little as I feel like; I will make sure that I’m not eating noodles for every meal of my day, much to my shagrin; and most importantly I will be realistic in my expectations of what my body should look like.   

One of the blogs I follow is one that I constantly find myself wanting to copy and paste here. The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette “Bombshell” is written by Meg Fee, another 20-something living in NYC and the only way to describe her writing is, sensational. Over the summer she and some of her friends wrote a series of posts about wanting men, not needing men. Being a single gal for longer than I’d like to admit, these posts spoke to me. They describe exactly where I’m at when it comes to my single-dom at the moment. One particular post said everything I had been thinking lately so I thought it would be best to share it.

This is a guest post from Meg’s blog, written by her friend Laura Jane Williams, who has her own blog, Superlatively Rude. I encourage you to check both of them out. The link to Meg’s blog also has links to the other posts from this series. I highly recommend them.

The thing is, it’s about having a witness to my life.

I didn’t understand for such a very long time. I’d had my heart crumpled young – too young, really. I was too naïve to understand that he was the making of me, not the breaking—and that misunderstanding coloured my choices for days that became weeks that became, in the end, about five years of healing. It took many forms: promiscuity, celibacy, travel: searching so that I got my answers but was still puzzled as to the question.

But, you see, because of all that, I’m really fucking proud of who I am. And the woman I’ve become? She wants to share her life with a man. A husband.

It’s not a desperate kind of want. It isn’t sleeplessness nights and pints of ice-cream salted with the tears of singledom. It’s not the ticking of a biological clock, nor the irritatingly true knowledge that rent would be cheaper split by two. It’s not about sex. I’m not searching for my other half, the soulmate who will make me whole. I’m not incomplete.

I’m not incomplete.

The obvious, practical stuff aside – making my own money, being able to change the fuse on a lamp, backpacking solo and how to figure out interest rates and train timetables and reverse parking and the best way to mow the lawn – emotionally, I’m ripe.

Beyoncé said it best (because she always does): you have to have a life, before you can be somebody’s wife. Oh baby, have I had a life. I’ve cried tears enough to earn the right to be empathetic and strong with the man who will feel courage from standing by my side. I’ve laughed so much that I’ll be able to make the future father of my children see the funny side of our lost luggage, or the leak in the ceiling, or even, with enough time, the tragedy that’ll blindside us both one sunny Friday afternoon.
Make no mistake, I’ve experienced so much anger and frustration, that when he thinks he can’t take anymore – of work, of family, of the tiredness of life – well, I understand the difference between psychological space from words, and the closeness of my chin on his shoulder, just for a minute. I’ve known the aching for roots, so we can build a home together, somewhere in the world. And I’ve developed a taste for freedom, too.

I don’t need a yes man, and won’t be a yes woman, either.

This man, my husband, the one I’m ready for, he’ll have lived as well. He’ll be whole from experience. 

I don’t need a project, somebody to mother. He doesn’t have to be broken to be interesting (why do we always look for them to be broken?) but there’ll be cracks in us both that being together will help mend. He’ll know himself, and his self-kindness will teach me to go easier on myself. His manners will make me more accountable to those around me, and possibly his ambition will guide my own. I might be whole, but I’m not perfect; I still have more to learn, than has been learnt. But I’ll navigate those lessons eventually, with or without him. I don’t need him.

It’d be hella fun to do this next part of growing, of understanding, of learning and becoming together, though.

This want, it’s a want for watching how he talks to his parents over dinner, so that I get insight into how I engage with my own mum and dad. I want long and lazy Sunday afternoons wrapped around each other in bed, surprising myself with truths that feel safe to share in dappled, early evening light. I want blazing, heated rows in the aisle of Ikea over everything and nothing at all, friends over to our apartment for dinner, children who look like me and sound like him – everything it takes to unfold another human being so that I might unfold myself.

I want to love whole-heartedly and without restraint with a man who is there when I wake up, and knows when to leave me alone and when to take the small of my back with just the right amount of pressure. Doing so will make me better, will teach me – as will letting myself lose control enough to be loved. Because, of course, that’s harder than loving when we’re all waiting to get found out that somehow, we don’t deserve it.

We do. I do. My husband does, too. We all deserve a cheerleader, a champion, an equal.

I’ve taken it this far, and I’ve done it goddamn well. If this is life alone, then life in a partnership – a coupling where we make each other better, compensate for weaknesses and amplify strengths – well, shit. That’d be some life.

It was 4 years ago, today, that I arrived back home to move back in with my parents. At the time there was nothing I wanted less. The fact that I had been out in the world for 5 years really made me loathe that I was having to return home.

I felt like a failure.

I felt lost. 

My life wasn’t supposed to go that way. I was supposed to live in Florida, where my friends were, and work at a theatre and lay on the beach. Be one of the few who left my town and made something of herself. Instead I was going back to a summer job and retail. Besides my family, there wasn’t anything for me at home.

I was too busy being bitter to see the big picture. 

Less than a month later my aunt passed away suddenly. It was such a shock to our family. Yet, somehow through my sadness, a voice inside told me that this was 1 of the reasons that I had moved back home. She and I were able to spend time together. Time I wouldn’t have had if I were living in Florida. It was a great comfort to me.

Looking back over the past 4 years I can’t help but recognize the many many reasons there were for my moving home. The lessons I needed to learn. The people I needed to meet. The launchpad I needed to have in order to make a really scary decision that would become one of the best I’ve ever made. The me I needed to start getting reacquainted with.

It’s safe to say that I would not be here in NYC, where my friends are, working at a theatre and still not laying on a beach, if it weren’t for moving home. I think I would have settled with Florida and never made it to New York, which means I never would have fulfilled a lifelong dream.

Moving home 4 years ago was just a drop in the bucket. The ripple effect it had, and continues to have, was absolutely worth it and I couldn’t be more grateful.

My bucket is now overflowing because of that drop.

Last weekend my family was kind enough to help me out by driving me and some of my belongings from home back to NYC. Now that I have my own room I could decide what stuff I wanted  to have in it. Stuff like my queen sized bed, my sewing machine, my record player, and my dress form. Stuff that to some, sounds trivial or unnecessary or not worth dragging across the state of New York. But drag we did and over the last week it’s been a daily task of mine to get things organized and in their proper place. Sometimes I think things should look one way and the next day I’ve changed my mind entirely. Naturally.

Looking around my room as I type this now I see all my stuff. The stuff that made the cut. And I realize, it’s not just stuff. It’s who I am. Right now. It’s the things I’ve specifically chosen to speak on my behalf. It’s crafty and quirky and a little vintage. It’s everything I could want my room to be for the gal I am right now and the joy that brings me is slightly indescribable. Ya know, you don’t realize how important having your own little space is until you sleep in a lofted bed above your best friend for a period of time. It’s a real eye opener.

So, after a year and a half of living in this city, the last piece to the puzzle is in place. MY stuff. Some of the things that make me feel my most me. I can officially stake my claim on a little chunk of this town and really feel like it’s my own.

And it feels fabulous.

The last 2 months have been an absolute whirlwind. I’m only now starting to feel like the dust has settled enough for me to look around and see the results. First the big move at the yarn store. To call it an undertaking is a vast understatement. It was an overtaking. An overtaking of my time, my body, my life. I worked everyday for 2 weeks straight and while it was exhausting, it was really, really rewarding. Now that I’m full time at the store, being able to be totally hands on and involved in how it all came out made me feel like a little part of it was mine too. Gives me the sense of being a big girl, at my big girl job. I work full time! At 1 job! And it’s awesome.

Once the store re-opened it was on to the next big move. Finding a new apartment. Since one event occurred right after the other, I somehow managed to get out of being the one who stressed about finding a new place. Unfortunately my roommate did not. We looked at a few places, all of which were less than stellar. Then with 2 weeks to spare we found it. THE apartment. Our now home. And in the most ironic twist of fate, our new apartment is 2 blocks down from the store. Same side of the street and everything. Meant to be.

So for the second time in 2 months I packed, moved, and unpacked. While it wasn’t at quite the same scale as the store, it was still an exhausting couple of weeks. And while we’re officially in the new place, the work isn’t done quite yet. Next weekend I get to go home for Easter and my Dad, Poppop and Sister will be driving back to NYC with me and the rest of my things from home. Such things as my QUEEN sized bed and best of all, my sewing machine. It’s like having a limb returned to me. I just can’t wait to have it here. I already know where I want it to be in my room and have even commissioned my dad and poppop to make me a swell pegboard for the wall. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be awesome!

Amidst all the moving, I managed to turn a year older, meet a swell new gal pal and my roommate accepted a great new job on a cruise ship! While I’m so so happy for Karlin and her new job, it’s definitely going to be an adjustment being by myself for 6 weeks at a time. That’s a lot of Sarah time. But I think it will be good. A time to grow. And not wear pants!

So yeah, I’m not dead and I haven’t forgotten about this space. I’m slowing getting back to center and it feels really great. I’ve been knitting up a storm, managing to have a little fun, and today I even went for a jog. Life isn’t good….it’s great. And I can’t help but feel like it’s just going to keep getting better.

: to move to a place and make it your home

: to become fixed, resolved, or established

: to be content with

This word has been popping in my head a lot. Mostly in terms of my life lately and how it seems to pertain to more than one aspect of it. There seems to be a good deal of non-settling that has lead to other ways of settling. So settle in and hear me out.

In college I slid down the slippery slope of settling (5 points for alliteration!). I dated the wrong fellas and invested in maybe not the best friends. Finally, in my 26th year I’m feeling really clear from all that settling smog. I won’t settle for a jerk just because he’s cute or shows me a little attention. Deep down if he’s a jerk, he’s a jerk, and ain’t nobody got time for that! I’m feeling really great about the friends I have. They’re swell and I love them dearly and we’ve invested in each other.

Now you might be thinking to yourself “well good for you Sarah….but what’s the malfunction”? Oh it’s a great thing indeed, except for one simple fact. In my new found non-settling, I seemed to have back-lashed in the total opposite direction too. I’ve settled into a life of staying home, watching DVR’d television, knitting, and not spending time with my wonderful friends or meeting fellas to even determine whether they’re jerks or not. I’ve settled into being a hermit. You know I’ve lived in NYC for a little over a year now and I haven’t been on 1 date. Not 1. And I can’t even sit here and blame the men of the world for that. How could a man ask me out when we don’t even meet due to the fact that I’ve Rapunzel’d myself in my 5th story apartment?? 

I settled in NYC, am finally feeling settled in this place and the people in my life, and somehow settled on just that. Nothing more. It’s a real problem.

So, as they say, admitting the problem is the first step. Right? Right. I can only assume that taking action is the next step then. So that’s what I’m resolving to do. Time to remain settled in some things and shake things up in others. Find the balance. (I did some yoga last night for the first time in longer than I’d like to admit….so much balance to find) This city is overflowing with great things to do and stellar people to do them with and now that I’ve been here for a year I have no excuse not to take full advantage. 

Here’s to an unsettled settling!! Does the word settle sound and look as odd to you as it does to me now?

I’m in one. And I don’t really mind being in one. And that worries me a little.

I do the same thing every day. I wake up and knit. I go to work. I come home and knit. I go to bed.
NYC is expensive and Christmas is coming so it doesn’t really bother me that this is my habit lately. That being said I do feel a small restlessness inside.

I miss my sewing machine. Some days I think about how great it would be to spend a whole day sewing. I have quilts I’d love to finish, projects I’d like to make but I have to keep telling myself “Apartment #2. Apartment #2 will be bigger. Apartment #2 will have room for my sewing machine”. I can only hope it’s true.

I think about college times a lot lately. How carefree life was and how much fun I had. My biggest worry (other than classes of course) was trying to find a parking spot near my dorm. I was surrounded by a great group of friends, I was involved in things that were really fulfilling, and I lived in St Pete! It was wonderful. Maybe I used up all my fun in college and now in my late-ish 20s I’m paying my dues for it. I’m certainly paying the loans for it.

There’s a hole in my heart that only the theatre can fill. It’s coming up on a year since I moved to the city and I know it’s about time I start really pursuing my career again. No more excuses. No more “I just need to get through X,Y,Z”. The time is now; even if I have to hold 2 jobs and volunteer as an usher. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again if it means getting my foot in the door. I need theatre.

I don’t spend enough time here. I look at how many posts I’ve written in years past and I can’t believe how much they’ve tapered off. I love having this blog! I love being inspired by other blogs! It’s such a wonderful online community. Just the other day I was riding the subway and I recognized a woman as she got on. It was Cara from Maskcara! I couldn’t believe that of all the subways, here she was on mine. She lives in Utah for crying out loud! I mustered up the courage to say hello and she was amazingly friendly of course. For a blogger it’s celebrity status when you see the person who’s words you read on a regular basis. It was awesome to say the least.

It’s become clear to me that I’m not the best at staying in touch with the people I care about. I talk to my immediate family on a regular basis but I have some really wonderful people in my life that I don’t talk to nearly as often as I should. And that makes me feel like a real shmuck. What kind of friend can I expect others to be to me if I don’t put some effort in on my end too? Distance is no excuse in these times. With facebook, skype, and even a good ol’ fashion telephone there’s no reason to not stay in touch better. It’s shameful really.

I didn’t mean for this post to get so down! I’m not depressed or anything, just introspective lately, and maybe that’s the silver lining of this holding pattern. It’s giving me the time to step back and evaluate the things that I want to change so when the pattern has run its course maybe just maybe I’ll be a better me.

Does this mean I’m an adult or something?? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

The other night I was on the phone with my mom when I felt the need to tell her how I’ve been feeling lately.

“I just feel less……..less.”

And that’s all there was. I searched for the word to come after the less but there seemed to be too many to pin one down.

less rested             less happy
less qualified       less talented
less attractive    less social
less young             less bright
less ambitious    less fit

Just a lot of less. And I’m not really sure why. Sure some things have happened in my life lately that weren’t very ideal but I felt that I had worked through them. I certainly didn’t think they were events that would effect me to a point that I can’t figure out how to fix the way I feel. The usual chocolates and happy TV hasn’t worked. I’ve been trying to really make myself enjoy the simple things every day like drinking my morning tea and feeding my fish but the joy of those doesn’t really last as long as I need it to lately. I don’t expect anyone to come along and “make” me feel better either. I do know one thing and that is that I really don’t like this. This isn’t me. It feels like I’m wearing 3 winter coats at the same time….it doesn’t hurt, it’s just uncomfortable.

Maybe this thing will work itself out on its own. Maybe I need a solid cry. Maybe just writing it down and getting it all out will help it along. I don’t know.

In the meantime please excuse my blue-ness.

bleh