So this is unemployment, Blog. It feels terrifying. I'm constantly at the edge of an abyss of time that I have no idea how to spend. And then there's the money thing. Oddly enough, that's not as pressing as my desire to find a direction in which to take my life. Opportunities come up and then I freak out. What if I end up hating what I do like that one time I got stuck in a desk job? But what if I can't find anything else besides a desk job because that's all I know how to do? What if I never find anything and end up one of those people on Nicollet Mall who wears a falling-apart neck brace for no noticeable reason and just looks really sad? Maybe that's what the bottom of that abyss of time looks like. Oh God.
The worst part is I don't know what I want to do. I just had a lot of fun traveling around and performing for a living. I want to keep doing that, but I want to stay in Minneapolis. But if I stay in Minneapolis, I'm going to have to find some kind of daily grind. But what kind of grind do I want to do? I don't know, Blog! Decisions are hard for me. I'm too afraid I'm going to make a mistake and end up doing something I hate.
Hmmm. But if I end up doing something I hate, I could always quit and try something else.
These are basic lessons that you learn when you're in middle school and are figuring out what sport you want to play, Blog. Why am I having such a hard time with this? Apparently I never progressed past the mental capabilities of a 13 year-old.
In other news, I bought a bike today and I'm both terrified and ecstatic about riding it home. Currently I'm downtown and it's rush hour. I'm wearing a dress, have a heavy bag of books with me, and no proficiency in riding road bikes that are slightly tall for me in cities. Things should go about as well as this job search has.
Well Blog, I'm a regular silver mine these days. My follicles are drying up at an incredible pace and I'm left with what are becoming more and more pronounced streaks of white at the roots of my hair. I get that I just turned 29, but can't this aging thing wait until at least 30?
Oddly enough (and despite the comment I just made), I've been ok with this visible sign of how long I've been around. I noticed my first gray a couple years ago and since then they have multiplied here and there. But lately, it seems that this trend has been going on at an accelerated pace. I color my hair anyway (because I like it red, dammit) so it's not like I can't mask the wisdom that is creeping from my scalp. However, over the last few months I've let the red grow out just so I can examine exactly how gray I'm going. Well, Blog, I'm going pretty gray. Not like Anderson Cooper gray, but more like Patrick Dempsey gray where you're all "he's not gray" and then you look at a picture of him and you realize "hey, he's a little gray".
But he's not... oh wait. There it is.
Meanwhile in Obviousville...
I clearly have a long way to go until I'm blending my hair into a white background like Anderson, but look how he rocks it with his steely gaze and media sensibility! Sure he's a dude, but I could rock the white if I had it. Hopefully. Plus I'm a lady, so if I ever get sick of it I can just cover it up with some other color that I'm into. Like red.
We'll see how long these mousy brown/blonde/gray roots can grow out before I can't handle them anymore. Part of me wants to see what I look like with my natural hair color since it's been years since I had no dye saturating my locks. It's going to be a long process if that's the case. By the time I've got everything grown out, I probably will be blending into white backgrounds. Because you know me, always standing in front of white walls and backdrops and such.
Trust me. They're there. Making me more distinguished every day.
Another year of life lived, Blog! I always try to post a little somethin' somethin' on my birthday, and this year is no different. I ended last year's entry with an optimistic "I'm going to try and make 28 the best I can make it." Even though I fell into a weird winter funk shortly after that, I feel like I eventually got my ass in gear and made some really scary but exciting decisions. I learned that when you say yes to stuff, you can end up in an elementary school with a bunch of 3rd and 4th graders singing happy birthday to you. And then you can end up at a Pizza Hut afterwards, gorging yourself on the lunch buffet. And then you can go on a lovely walk with your tour partner in the sunshine and point out how you happen to be wearing all black and standing in front of a high school taking a picture. Oops. And then you can spend the afternoon perusing Facebook and all the lovely people you know who took the time to wish you a happy birthday. And then you can talk on the phone with your friends. And after that you can go roller skating and not fall even once! But afterwards while you're watching The Bachelor special, your legs start feeling a little weird because roller skating is something that you don't really do... ever.
What I'm trying to say, Blog, is that I had a really great birthday today. And I didn't drink any alcohol whatsoever! That makes me sound like a lush, doesn't it. But let's face it, Blog. I'm usually going to have a drink of some sort when there is cause for celebration. Being an adult is fun, but doing kid things (like an impromptu foot race across a roller skating rink) can also be fun.
So now I'm in the last year of my twenties. Frankly, they've been all over the place. I've earned a bachelors degree, and have moved from what I once thought was a city (that would be Bemidji) to Minneapolis. I stumbled through three long-term relationships only to continue to stumble through dating. I've gotten stuck in an office job, yet traveled to more countries than I could have ever imagined (I've never imagined traveling to vast amounts of countries, for the record, it's been like 6). I've shunned playing music for years only to join a band within the last six months. I feel like I've figured it out over and over again and now am realizing I probably never will. I can only do what I want to do to the best of my abilities, which are growing because I've putzed around so much in my twenties. I guess that's what they're for. To one more year of putzing! Then shit gets real.
I have calluses on my fingers, Blog. I haven't had calluses like this in years. They are an achievement for me. They tell me that I've been diligent in playing music.
I can play for longer and longer periods of time each day. I've replaced conditioning my body by running two miles at a time with conditioning my left hand to twist and wrench itself in unnatural positions for half an hour at a time. A month ago it was painful and foreign. Tonight it was comfortable and satisfying.
Practice, practice, practice. Another thing my mom was right about.
I love that I once again have the ability to tap the hardened skin at the tips of my fingers on whatever hard surface that finds itself beneath them. I do it because I've never had the nails to make that sound. I do it to bask in the physical results of my accomplishments.
Oh man, Blog. I'm a little tipsy and therefore I'm a little poetic. I'm also a little bit happy. I really love this roommate thing. I am really loving this band thing. I am really loving my life for every moment that is given to me outside of the dull and monotonous corporate job that graces my daylight hours.
I want to punch myself for being so overly descriptive, Blog. That's it. I'm making a list.
1. I've spent a lot of money at Ikea over the past few weeks. This apartment I've moved into is actually a wonderful place. There are expansive windows that let incredible amounts of light to spill all over the hardwood floors. There is ample counter space in the kitchen. I have my own room with a reasonable closet and large window. The only thing that really sucks is the bathroom. There is no place for my toothbrush. My toiletries are often times lost behind the claw foot bath tub. There is a glass bottle reminiscent to a wine bottle lying underneath the tub. I don't know what's going on there.
2.I am getting old. I have gray hair. People don't believe me because I color it. But it's there, Blog. I am going gray. Big time.
3. Me going gray is an indicator that while I've inherited my mother's tone and demeanor, I've inherited my father's looks. I haven't seen a youthful picture of him since I was a child, but I'm hoping that he was a good looking guy back in the day. Please let him have been a good looking guy back in the day. I can't afford to be looking like this any time soon:
Though, I can afford that magnificent purple shirt.
3. Random thought: I've had to say goodbye to someone I've cared about immensely knowing that I would never see them again. That's the kind of thought that crosses my mind whenever I think of the Englishman. It's been over a year since I've seen him already. Crazy.
4. I want to make you fun again , Blog. I think the best way to do this is to write in you more often. That way I'll get sick of blanket blogging and will be forced to write about the stupid specific stuff that happens to me on a daily basis. Like today I was hugged by the Goblirsch Jr. as he told me he'd hug me until I starved to death. Unfortunately for everyone, I had just eaten. It would take him awhile. He gave up and left for Chicago instead.
I've drank a handsome amount of wine this evening Blog. I think I'm done. Until tomorrow... (because here's to hoping that I write tomorrow)
Every two years or so, I tend to pack up all my belongings and leave a place I've grown to love. It's a place where the secrets to opening cabinets and locking doors have all been told to me, but their tricks still leave me stumped from time to time. It's a place that has gathered a myriad of memories but still could hold many more. Every time I move, I feel like I'm doing so prematurely. Like there is something still waiting to happen within these walls and now I've only got 48 hours left to figure out what that something is. I have to remind myself that that something will happen to me, and not to the apartment I'm once again moving from.
The longest I've lived in any one place since I was 18 was my first apartment in Minneapolis and it was for a full two years. I documented the day I got keys to the place. I'm glad I did. I imagined what was then unknown to me happening there over the next year. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I'm certain whatever it was didn't actually come to fruition. It never does.
Maybe that's why I move so much. I'm a fan of new beginnings and seem to seek them out once every few years. Moving so much has kept my earthly belongings to a minimum. I for some reason need to shed my skin every once in awhile and make a fresh start. I wish I wasn't this way. There is a part of me that is jealous of settled friends who know what to expect and are satisfied with where they are. I wish I could just relax and resist the urge to pack up and try something new. Mainly because this packing up thing breaks my heart every time. The places we live are alive with us and leaving them is like leaving a comfortable and satisfying relationship for someone you're not quite sure you'll be happy with, but who you have to go for because otherwise you'll never know.
You'll just never know.
So that's why I keep moving. Because I'll never know what it's like if I don't. I'll only know where I am. Granted, the last time I moved was completely out of necessity and nowhere near my personal desire to do so. But now that I think of it, it usually is anyway. I love this apartment more than most of the places I've lived. It's got character, it's a great location, a decent price, and my landlord is wonderful. It helped me get over one of the most difficult break ups I've ever gone through and then served as an abode where I foolishly yet necessarily pined after an Englishman. The solitude here has helped me, has hurt me, and has let me grow. And while I feel like I could stay for another few years, I know I can't. It's time to go try something new. It's time to go after what I really want for once and since I was cursed with the desire for a completely un-lucrative career, I have to downsize in the residence department. I'm going to have roommates who I'm not dating for the first time in 7 years. I'm going to have to learn how to share a bathroom and a kitchen. I'm going to have to figure out how to split bills and what food is mine. Change is scary, but change is good.
I just have to remember that one day it will be ok to settle. Because even when you settle, you still can't accurately imagine what is going to happen to you in the next year. It could be anything. And even if it is the scariest thing in the world, there is another side to come out on.
I remember when I graduated high school, I had a thought that I've managed to keep with me since: "A year from now, who knows the people I'll know". I couldn't even fathom the thought of what turned out to be the most familiar faces in my life; one who is my soon-to-be roommate. It was petrifying and wonderful all at the same time.
A year ago I was leaving a long-running overseas relationship for someone I wasn't quite sure I'd be happy with, but who I went for because otherwise I would have never known. Well now I know. He wasn't for me. But a year ago, I also wasn't in this band. I also wasn't going on tour. I also wasn't going to take a leap of faith and leave this apartment I love so very much as a sacrifice so I could pursue something I've loved my entire life.
Blog, I didn't forget about you. No. In fact, I would have posted in you on Thursday night if the Amtrak ever got on the technology train (pun intended) and figured out a wifi connection onboard. I did the next best thing though. I opened up a good old word document and wrote the following as car #12 rocked its way down the rails...
Every time I’m on the train, I look at the people working on
the train and envy them for the cool job they have. In reality, it’s probably a
really lame and stupid job, but it seems novel. Living a life on the rails and
coming across all sorts of people young and old traveling across the country.
All of them at different points in their lives, with different backgrounds and
experiences. The train unites them together in a long line of cars bobbing down
the tracks in a slow and comforting rhythm.
But tonight I’m on the squeaky car. Luckily my music is
doing a good job of drowning it out.
Tonight I looked at the train employees and was content with
my place and theirs. I had no desire to quit my job and take up a life of
traveling across the country, catering to a variety of passengers. I think it’s
because I’ve landed my own job traveling across the country, catering to the
malleable minds of Appalachian youth. Out of context this sounds ridiculous. It
kind of is. A couple months ago I went out on a limb and auditioned for a
touring theater company that puts on educational shows for children across the
country. And I got cast.
I leave in January. It’s only for two months, which I’m
happy about. I know by March I’ll be missing Minneapolis something fierce and
will embrace my return to this city that I find myself loving more and more
with each time I leave it. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
What I’ll do when I’m back is beyond me. I’m working with
Courtney on figuring out a plan to get headshots and commercial work. It’s
something I feel completely incapable of doing. But she described the whole
process as breaking through tissues; daunting tissues that only turn out to be
tissues after you’ve discovered how easy they are to break through. Why am I
pursuing this sort of thing? Because my heart and my mind won’t rest until I
do. I’ve been so logical and responsible I’ve pushed what I really love aside
just so I could make the rent and pay the bills and have some left over to pay
for a good time.
But I realized I spend most of my time toiling away at a job
I’ve grown to hate, just so I can spend money on wine. Something has clicked in
me over the past few months. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but there
was a day when I realized that I could do whatever I want. Well, whatever I
want within reason and morals. I love performing. I love creating. It is
something I’ve known since I was a kid. Am I good at it? Who cares? I love it.
I should do it. If I’m not good at it now, I’ll get good at it by doing it.
So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take the
plunge. I’m going to go on tour. I’m in a band. I’m going to get headshots and
hopefully commercial work. I’m going to continue working with the amazing
Courtney McLean who is showing me that the tissues really are just tissues.
They may be scary, but they are easily broken.
I’m not envious of the train workers because I’m finally on
a path to doing something that I love. I’ve finally become ok with myself.
Thank God I figured it out before I hit 30.
So I was just looking at Facebook and noticed a childhood classmate of mine had a baby today. This particular classmate and I share the same name, so growing up we were always Samantha V. and Samantha D. We were never close friends, but we would share the flip bar on the playground and both had a penchant for gymnastics when we were in the first grade. I don't know about what she thinks of me, but I always felt a connection to her; probably because we were the only Samanthas in the whole school. We were variants of the same kind; our last initials the deciding factor between the two of us. So when I see what she's up to on Facebook, part of me feels that the similarities between our names should also exist in our lives.
For awhile there I was feeling like I was behind the times because everyone was getting married and having babies. I still kind of feel like I'm missing out, but I've come to accept that it's not in the cards for me right now. I figured out that I can put my energy elsewhere and be just as, if not more satisfied with what I'm up to right now.
And I have to remember that there is an inane desire in me to somehow stand out from the norm. Everyone is getting married and having babies. Everyone, but me.
Back to Sam. I feel like if I had had the 'D' for my last initial, I'd be the one holding the little bundle of joy who just entered this world. But I have the 'V'. It is my differentiating factor. And while she gave up her maiden 'D' to enter into a life of marriage and motherhood, I'm still holding on to my letter. I'm still Samantha V. And I'm doing my best to make whatever that is my own.
I had a bad day today, Blog. Only now am I starting to feel better. I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the Benedryl I took to lull my conscious to sleep last night amidst the heat and humidity that has settled into the hot pavement of the city. Maybe it is because everyone around me is turning monumental corners in both the career and family arenas while I continue to sit in this room plugging along at the same daily responsibilities that seem to have accompanied me since I moved here six years ago. Maybe it's because I'm realizing I'm just like my father in the sense that I can't finish what I start.
I don't finish what I start.
I'm totally capable of finishing what I start, but I don't because of this huge thing called fear. It revolves a lot around money, but also around my image and my comfort level around other people; friends and strangers alike. I want to take risks in both areas but I fear the regret that may happen after dropping a couple hundred dollars on a piece of furniture or by the simple notion of what others think. I have to somehow get past this, but I don't necessarily know how. I haven't achieved a goal in a long time. I think this has to do with the depression I've been feeling lately. That and the slight resurfacing of old love interests during a very lacking and disorienting dating dryspell have me sitting in this room that I've called home for going on two years contemplating what my next move is going to be.
Now I see why running away from this city has been so enticing to me lately. When I'm left to my own devices I end up having to face the fact that I haven't challenged myself in recent years with the things that pique my interests. It's an uncomfortable feeling and doing something like dropping $130 on a plane ticket to Chicago so I can look forward to hanging out with this guy is much more appealing than putting that money towards something like a laptop that doesn't take 8 minutes to link to a previous entry about your college boyfriend.
I feel like I'm doing life wrong.
So because of that, I'm going to open myself up to the potential opportunity to move in with an old college friend and theater confidant. If things work out in my favor, I'll be saving a couple hundred dollars a month and will no longer be coming home to an empty room that is cluttered with laundry and shoes. Instead I'll have two roommates who do the cluttering for me and I'll have someone to say goodnight to.
And maybe it's a juvenile move at my age, but I've proven to myself that I can live alone just fine. Now it's time to suck it up and save some money while I figure out what to do with my life besides be an academic advisor. I know I was meant to create, I just don't know how. Wine is involved though. I've got that much figured out. I should probably figure out how to make a living doing theater too. I'm so pissed right now that I was "blessed" with the desire and need to pursue a career in the arts. So not fair.
I'm still planning on dropping $130 on a plane ticket to Chicago over the Labor Day weekend. I love Chicago. It's a place I haven't been to in years and I would love to go back and visit with someone who knows their way around. And not only is that someone knowledgeable in the directions of the Chicago streets that will surround us, he is also one of the few people in this world around whom I feel completely comfortable and open. I was reminded of that over the 4th of July holiday. It was like discovering a new friend in one that I have known for almost 10 years.
It was still a bad day. But writing and wine can make any day's heartbreaks fade away.
I've been on a hiatus, Blog. I'm not going to make excuses. I'm not going to feel guilty. Instead I'm going to take the easy way out and make a list of thoughts. I guess you could call them updates. For your reading pleasure, let's put on this new favorite of mine:
Ok. Let's begin.
1. I have a tan. This hasn't happened in years. Last summer I made my way up to my grandma's for the Fourth of July and was reminded that having family that live on a lake can make for a pretty kickass summer holiday. This year, I managed to take more time off than I meant to, but as a result I spent nearly every day in a lake of some sort; toasting my skin to a pleasant golden brown that hasn't gone unnoticed. Even my legs are a shade darker than they have been in the past. Skirts are not a means of reflecting light anymore. I feel like a new woman.
2. I not only spent days (that's right days) with my extended family, but I also somehow fanagled a way to spend a few days (yes, days!) with my dear college friends Andy and Will. You may remember Will from my post about how I ran into him in April and was reminded about how he was my first love, and probably the most satisfying and healthy relationship I've had. I guess I haven't been blessed with a wonderful man to love and cherish me for the rest of my life, but at least I have a picture perfect first boyfriend and subsequent friend who has somehow defied all the ex-boyfriend stereotypes out there over the past 7 years. Add Andy to the mix and it was suddenly hours and hours filled with laughing turned to small talk turned to deep life conversations turned to silly games and scenarios leading to a myriad of inside jokes that only live between the three of us. I feel so special that they let me tag along with their boy time. I couldn't have enjoyed myself more.
3. This computer sucks. I know I didn't want to make excuses, but I'm going to categorize this as a reason for why I haven't written. This computer is slow. I type faster than it can process words. Do you know how frustrating it is to wait for a machine to catch up with the brilliance that spills from my fingertips, Blog? Of course you don't. You don't have hands. I was going to wait for another paycheck to go through before I buy a new one, but I might just bite the bullet and go in tomorrow. In to where, you ask? Good question. I've never bought a computer before, so I have no idea what I'm doing. But remember, there was a time when I had never bought an iPhone before either, and now I'm on my second one (unwillingly, but still) so I guess miracles do happen.
4. Kerin is leaving work. She is my best friend and confidant who I spend nearly every coffee and lunch break with. Now she's taking the leap to pursue a writing career. I'm excited and happy for her. I can't wait to see what she creates and experiences with this magnificent opportunity. It will be exciting to see her in this new light; one that is meant to shine on her. She's already noticibly happier and at ease even though she still has a week left of answering phones and making irritible people slightly less irritible. I know no one reads you, Blog, but if they did, and if they needed a writer for whatever things writers are needed, I would suggest that they hit me up for her contact information. I would also suggest that they hit me up just so I would know that someone actually reads this thing.
5. Over the last few days I've realized I am in the midst of the longest dating/hanky panky/boy attention dry spell of my adult life. I don't know what to do about it because the length of time that has passed since I last was "intimate" with someone has been so much so, that I've forgotten what it's like and am therefore slightly freaked out by the thought of a guy even being interested in me. It's like I'm 18 all over again. But even hanging out with my first boyfriend over the holiday weekend didn't really give me any insight into how to approach this... situation. I want to date boys. I want to be intimate with them. But at the same time I'm overwhelmed and grossed out. When did I become such a 4th grade girl about this? What do I do to regain the dating confidence I once yielded with the ferocity of 10,000 episodes of Sex in the City? My friend Trisha told me to rate boys on OkCupid to let them know I was interested in them. So I did. I have yet to hear a response. Confidence meter = Low. Very low. And thus another sip of wine is down the gullet.
6. Regardless of my current asexual state, I've found some solace in the fact that I'm going to be stage managing a Fringe show this year. I haven't stage managed since I learned how to do so in college, but I remember liking it even though it was stressful. This is a low key show though, so I figure it's a good opportunity to explore the position and see if there are other opportunities out there for me. Andy wants me to stage manage his production of Bash in September too. And while I want to continue auditioning for shows, it's nice to know I have something lined up over the next couple months that will be getting me back into the theater mode. I think once rehearsals are underway for both shows, I'll even consider myself happy with what I'm doing with my life. That'll be nice.
7. Chet Faker. New fave find on Triple J. Check it.
8. I was going to write something here, but since it took a good 8 minutes to hyperlink to Chet Faker's fun rendition of an old 90's favorite above, I lost my train of thought in frustration and dried out contacts. New computer. Tomorrow.
Good night, Blog. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Now that I've got this list under my belt, the rest of the summer should be smooth sailing for writing to you. So long and farewell until tomorrow or over the weekend or whatever. I've got tons to write about. I'll get it all out to you sooner or later. Hopefully.
I think the summer weather makes it less enticing to spend an evening drinking and writing in you, Blog. No offense to you, it's just the weather. Sunday evenings are probably the most consistent evenings I have these days. They are usually the evenings I have to myself. Where I cook, do laundry, catch up on my domestic duties...
I've decided I'm a commitment-phobe in the furniture department. For some reason I've ended up being a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress on the floor. I'll be the first to admit that I'm no homemaker, but this is ridiculous. Why don't I have a bed, Blog? I am able to spend thousands of dollars so I can go to Europe on a regular basis, but I can't spare a couple hundred for a simple bed frame? This needs to come to an end. Next weekend (if I don't end up going to Winona for some Great River Shakespeare Festival action) I'm going to Ikea to peruse beds. It's going to happen. It needs to happen.
Another grown-up thing I'm trying my hand at is having and using a credit card. I applied for one, Blog, and I was approved! I don't know why I was afraid of being denied. Maybe because the only other time in my life that I tried applying for a credit card I was denied because I didn't already have a credit card.
Yes, I get it. I'm a 28 year old woman who sleeps on a mattress and has never had a credit card. Really, we can make me sound like a pathetic failure at life it we really wanted to. While we're at it, I've never seen The Princess Bride. I even have a copy here in my apartment, but have no way of watching it because this computer is so old the DVD drive doesn't work. So close, yet so far. And in the end, I frankly don't give a shit.
That's the thing. Other people want me to see the Princess Bride. Society wants me to have a credit card and a bed. I'm perfectly happy without any of those things in my life, but at the same time outside pressures have brought me to a crux. If I'm not going to get married and have kids, I might as well have a fucking bed, right? I might as well commit to something besides a family, since that's just not happening for me right now. I might as well buy slabs of particle board and curse and swear for hours as I torque the shit out of the hardware that holds it all together... Just so that my mattress isn't lying directly on the ground. God it's so stupid.
I think I'm going to start a thing on Facebook, Blog. I'm going to post the following picture of my journal from my adolescence in hopes that others will follow so we can all share the ridiculousness that used to live in all of our minds. Also, it happened to come up during my high school reunion that the girls in my class thought Mr. Voigt was sexist; a memory I had completely forgotten about. But apparently I had shared my concerns about the whole debacle with Betsy, the pre-internet version of you, Blog. (I used to be fancier in my writing entity naming in those days.
Dear Betsy, I'm going to state!! In music that is. I love music. I just wrote a really emotional letter to Angela. I feel better now. I had to do it. I said all the things I love and stuff. It made me cry. Mother is going to make me turn off my radio and go to sleep so this might not be long. All the girls in my class (including me) want to get Mr. Voigt fired. He's sexist. Me and Tiff were doing cartwheels because the weights we needed were being taken so we were bored. And he made us run laps for 10 minutes. And then the boys would just sit around and they didn't run laps. I could talk forever on this but I have to go to sleep. Gotta go!! -Loving Sam
That's right Blog. I used to sign everything with the moniker "Loving Sam".
