^ My roomie said this title to me, but in reverse. Hi, Jas!
For me, "home" has often been synonymous with commotion. In looking back, pockets of quiet time still seem oddly disruptive--like the time I moved into relative wilderness for undergrad. I had trouble sleeping for months. I missed the sirens, the white noise and loud people, and I was unsure about (*disgusted by*) foreign bugs in the woods.
"Where are my pigeons?" I probably wondered, a girl stuck in Pennsylvania with unshakeable New Yorker tendencies.
^ More on that eventually ;p
'Twas the end of July. After a week of trudging through 90-some degree weather (and four sweaty flights later 😒 ), I plopped my booty down into a new apartment. This moment felt like pure satisfaction. Lol. I was in a new neighborhood and somewhat closer to Manhattan! I got to decorating and got to being poorer! You know, being poorer felt great. Now the CC debt is kickin' me.
(Aaaand I'm living with someone who listens to my blabber, equally loves to eat, and she shares her rosé. I'm incredibly happy 😂 )
In fact, it's beyond satisfaction. It's the newness of never wanting to leave.
That ol' lifelong commotion is null. No more excuses or hanging onto a closing Starbucks. No more strategic nighttime calls to distract me from the train and dismal commute. No more taking the longer way.
*sings "Let It Go"*
Here she is. I've dreamt of being woken by the sun like this:
So what's wrong?I'm reveling in the new room feels, still overwhelmingly clear three months post-arrival. My bedroom is always clean (not uncomfortably perfect, but lived in, warm, and relaxing). Yet, my roomie said this post's title to me last week, referring to the random stuff that's gone missing in the past two weeks.
She's right. In all this "cleanliness," wassup with all this losing-of-things?! Where did my incense go, or that seasoning I swore I bought for the chicken? Did I leave it at the register? Did a ghost wanna cook?! Am I crazy?!!
All of our brains are so strange, eh? The exterior might fall into place, but we know damn well what the interior looks like! It might be shaky post-breakup, or confused after adjusting to another sort of major change. No matter how clean we keep the outside parts, some of the inside junk still gets lost in the mix.
Our brains, our bodies -- they're home, too, and it's pretty easy to lose sight of these things. How does losing stuff feel to you?
Like a gut punch. To me, losing anything feels like a gut punch.
Post-punch, some of us compensate by neatening things, or we'll express ourselves more directly by hardly cleaning. My roomie asked me this question -- "How do you lose everything?" -- and sparked a thought bubble for why this is happening:
I've been digging, magnifying, uncovering, and resurfacing all this "inside junk" every day for three months. Yikes. 😲 It's been incredible, but I'm exhausted, as evidenced by the yummy blackouts that sneak up on me when it comes time for a massage (job perk! 😜).
I'm losing things because I need to catch up with what's amuck in my rattled, repressed brain. We all do.
Today, I want ya'll to do this:
I want ya'll to magnify the ugly stuff, or at least start fumbling with the knots. Have you lost something recently, tangible or intangible? Explore what that felt like and why it felt that way. Are you feeling cool on the outside but a mess within? That's ok. Remember -- it's all ok. But it ain't ok if you're not investigating.
Thank you for reading and for being awesome! Let us know if you dug this post, or if you've made any new discoveries. And while you're at it, here's our first entry.