Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Seven.

Lesson Seven: Don't get stuck in the moment. This too shall pass. 

Remember how I said earlier this year that I'm cutting all the chatter? Well, sometimes the chatter will all but scream at you. I have learned, however, that you don't have to listen to it or let it effect you. Seems like everyone I run into these days (acquaintance, friend, stranger, you name it!) has an opinion on my love life. My everyday life seems to be in order, according to everyone with a mouth, but my love life is clearly in arrears.

Strangers have told me not to give up on love. The other day my chiropractor announced out of nowhere that he's getting me ready for matrimony by correcting my posture. (Nobody loves a hunchback!) Friends from all corners of the world have told me that I need to start dating men, not boys. (As if I'd known those other guys would turn out to be emotionally stunted jerkfaces.) My mother thinks the last guy could still pull it together and morph into my happily ever after. And others think my Prince Charming is just 'round the bend. (If this is true, I'm worried he's a little stupid and can't figure how to make right turns. He should be here by now!)

The only chatter I've heard lately that makes sense to me, the only words that have resonated in my very being, have been these: This too shall pass. 

I was plagued for days this week with a feeling that made me want to crawl under the covers of my bed and not come out until someone checked my closet for The Boogeyman. The feeling was awful. I felt like I was being chased by it. And I couldn't figure out what it was or why it was haunting me until I met up with a friend for one of our Skype dates. As we were talking, the truth, that unidentified feeling, came to the surface. I was sad. I was sad about getting repeatedly kicked in the teeth by love. And I had been hiding it under layers of optimism and big ideas for the business and other parts of my life in hopes that it would eventually dissipate. I was also tired. Tired of dating idiots, boys, whatever you wanna call them. I was tired of feeling bad about myself. I was tired of still caring about these guys who don't really care about me as much as they care about themselves. I was tired of apologizing for feeling the way I do and not having it all together as per my usual. And, lastly, I was tired of waiting for Mr. Right.

The thing about feelings is they don't go away until you confront them, head on, grab them by the horns and stare them straight in the eyes. And so she let me cry big crocodile tears with her via Skype. (Not too unlike a few nights before when I sobbed to my best friend for reasons I wasn't entirely sure of yet.) And while she said a lot of things that night, the advice that stuck with me was to not get stuck in the moment, because as awful as it was it would pass. And while I'm still living out the last bits of this moment, I know in my heart my friend is right. I can't get stuck here. It will pass...

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Six.

Lesson Six: He said. She said. Cut the chatter.

When I was a little girl I liked to pretend that I was the CEO of a company on the verge of a hostile take-over. I would hold multiple conference calls all day, shouting orders to lower level employees about how "this" was a rush and "that" had to get done by the end of the work day. My favorite part of the fantasy was the conference calls with multiple people where we all dispensed our wisdom on the subject at hand. I had watched my dad hold a number of professional phone calls as a kid, memorizing his every gesture. So, I knew exactly what to say to my imaginary conversational counterparts. Ah yes, conference calls were the best!

Now, however, my life has become one giant conference call. All day long my phone lights up while simultaneously making noise notifying me of the hundreds of people waiting to have a conversation in about fifty different ways. And I have no one to blame but myself for the constant barrage of communication. I wanted it. I was convinced that I needed it. My daily dose of advice, input, the constant clicking of tongues.

I realized this week that my childhood fantasy of talking all day long had become a nightmare. There was no light at the end of the tunnel that constantly reverberated with the hum of a million voices. No peaceful land in sight away from the white noise of conversing. And while my dad taught me the art of making a well delivered phone call, he also gave me good advice last year: "Stop listening to what everyone else has to say and just do whatever it is that YOU wanna do. Cut out the constant chatter, kid." 

So, I finally decided to take his advice this week. One year later, but I'm taking it nonetheless! I've ruthlessly stopped returning phone calls. I answer only the necessary emails in short and concise sentences that don't signal a reply. I've banished my phone to silent mode and have started leaving it in other rooms of the house, out of earshot. I've turned off. I've shut down. I've cut it all out. And I've come to a conclusion: I've known what to do all along, but stubbornly insisted on hearing everyone else out first. I don't need to have endless phone calls day and night in order to make the right decisions for me. But I do need to take a serious break from all the chatter.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Four.

Lesson 4: Worrying is not resting.

I just wrote an article as a guest blogger for another writer out in The Second City today and used some of the lyrics from a song by Rocko: You just do you, Umma do me. Love that song. Speaks volumes about having confidence in who you are. And it falls right in line with a conversation I had with a friend the other night about breaking out of that 9-5 box.

The conversation went on and on about our both feeling like we've broken out of the corporate societal box and ended with, "Who cares what they think? And who is 'they' anyway?!"

Good question, no?

As much as I don't want to admit that I allow other people's expectations to influence what I do, it does. Being newly self-employed I have been feeling a little stressed lately about the hours I keep and how and when I get work done. My schedule looks nothing like other people's schedules. I sleep in. A lot. I also stay up all hours of the night taking care of business. Late at night is my muse. Late at night is when the light bulb in my head starts to turn on and the magic begins. Late at night is what has been bringing me new clients at a steady and increasing pace.

I've always wanted to be the sort of person that gets up early in the morning and gets all kinds of things done before noon. I have never once been that person and I can see now that I probably never will be.

I really admire morning people. I hate them when they try to talk to me before 9am, but still....I admire them.

Anyway, during this year long sabbatical I seem to have been on since last spring, I've learned a few things about resting. And I feel like I might be learning the final lesson: worrying about what others think/where I am headed/how I live my life/when I'll finally get to move again is not resting. It's draining like a slow tire leak until there's nothing left and you pass out at the dinner table.

I would say that I can't believe that it's taken me a year to learn how to truly slow down and rest, but I can believe it.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part Three.

Lesson 3: The art of being alone.

It seems I got a little sidetracked in my Lessons in Learning How to Rest. This year went from epic meltdown to abrupt stop to putting my life back into hyperspeed mode, but with a hint of appreciation for the little things. And things were at least moving forward, but not at the highest quality of life. In other words, there was always somebody to check in with, talk to, be around, hold hands with, snuggle up next to, kiss. There was never a time without a boy. And while there isn't anything necessarily wrong with that, it maybe hasn't been the best thing for this city girl since most of these relationships have ended in heartbreak one way or the other.


So, now, having cut ties with all men, I am learning the art of being alone. Truthfully, it sucks. Optimistically, it's going to be really good for me since I can barely remember the last time that I was the only one who had say in what I do or where I go. In reality, I have no idea how to master this. I've finally come across a challenge that I have no idea how to tackle. However, in an effort to take a stab at it, I've been pushing myself to find or rediscover the things that I like to do no matter how girly or country bumpkinish, which include (but are not limited to): sewing, baking, cooking, watching endless episodes of Gilmore Girls, shopping, getting massages, painting my nails, writing/journaling, reading, lots of library visits, hiking, running, spur of the moment trips with the SB girls...

In theory, this all sounds great, right? Doing stuff that you like to do without having to consult anyone. But I got used to having someone else have an opinion that would sway whether I turned left or right and I miss it. I miss it more than I thought I would. The uber-independent girl who never liked being told what to do now finds herself lost and lonely without a dictating boyfriend. Oh the irony.

My life in ruins...er...Roseville.

It was the beginning of the end. Only I just figured it to be a weekend away. I went out to Roseville for a quick visit and a much needed break from my life last weekend and ended up hitting a wall of exhaustion so ugly and so mean it landed me flat on my friends' couch for three days straight. No drinks. No happy hours. No staying up late and laughing until all hours of the night, reminiscing about the old days. No fun. Just an abrupt halt. I didn't see it coming, but I had hit the end of myself. I'll spare you the dirty details, but let's just say that I have never felt this tired in my whole life.

I should have known there was a reason for my adapting to the slower pace of country life so quickly!

The day before I moved up here I had inadvertently forgotten to put any jewelry on. I know, I know...this seems trivial and completely unimportant to most people, but for this city girl jewelry is not only a must before leaving the house it's a crime against fashion. But I was in a hurry to get on the road and figured anyone I would see that day would be forgiving of my lack of fashion sense and that I would remember the next day. But then I forgot again. And again. And before I knew it I couldn't even remember where I had put my bundle of bobbles. In my family, the women always leave the house with what we call necessities. And if we don't remember to bring them along we label ourselves naked. The mishap of not remembering is usually a sign of tiredness. A sign I managed to miss entirely!

Technically, I've been naked for weeks. WEEKS!


Since the weekend of ruin, I have slept at least 11 hours every night. (One night I slept 14 hours.) I was starting to wonder if this was a sign of depression given my lack of interest in anything and the fact that I just uprooted myself from Paradise and planted my behind in the depths of The Sticks. But I soon realized that after 10 years of going full speed, non-stop, exhaustion and everything that comes with it had finally caught up with me. So, I recounted all the things I had done in the last 8 1/2 years and here is the aftermath: 3 years of college, 8 years of treating and finally beating an incurable disease, 12 jobs (At one point, I worked 5 at a time for a full year. Needless to say, I worked 7 days a week that entire year.), 2 different apartments, 14 different room/house mates, traveled to 4 countries and all over The States, at least 25 road trips, 10 trips to Disneyland, 5 boyfriends (I lost count of the number of dates in between that I've been on...), and countless parties. Of course, this doesn't include all the other day to day stuff that will make you tear your hair out, but you get the picture!

Ha Ha! Those years getting tutored in math have finally paid off!

So, now my biggest (and let's face it) only goal is to learn how to rest. I've never been good at this. As a go-getter, I am always determined to be the best at whatever I try and I almost never stop until I've won. And so far I'm giving myself the grade of D+ (at best!) in the Taking It Easy department. (It's an embarrassing fact, but I once went on a job interview and date (not in the same day) while sick with the flu.) So, for now I've temporarily packed myself up and relocated to a place far enough away from the everyday stress for a little R&R.