The World Is a Big Place

Photograph by Mary Lundin, submitted to My Shot via NatGeo

I've had my mind on travel lately, and not just because it's summer, though that's undoubtedly part of it. Somewhere beachy and photogenic sounds best--coastal Maine, California. Or somewhere historic and iconic, Washington DC, Chicago, Boston. I don't know if I'm getting stir-crazy (a strong possibility), or if I'm just feeling like I'm missing out on the world because the 9 to 5 grind has me in its death grip.

I'm not even full-time, so I feel like maybe I shouldn't (or others who are FT think I shouldn't) be complaining about not having had a vacation in two years. But we all wear out. We all lose sight of ourselves and what's important to us, and a vacation is sort of a mentally stabilizing factor that reminds us that the world isn't all spreadsheets and time cards.

Of course, vacation planning can be extremely stressful, mostly financially, but coordinating driving directions, flights, routes, public transportation on arrival, hotel reservations, campsite reservations, and figuring out what's legal to carry on a plane nowadays is a trip unto itself, and not a pleasant one. As if you're supposed to suffer before you get to let it all hang out.

I think mostly I want a vacation to have time to myself. I don't even have to travel out of the state (granted, I do live in a pretty cool one) to do that. Some time alone to read, I'm so behind on my reading, some time away from the Internet, some time to write, some time to think, some time off from the worries, fears, and frustrations of everyday 21st century life.

I've always wanted to travel--like EVERYWHERE. England, France, Italy, Russia, Australia, Thailand, Egypt, New Zealand, Israel, Greece, India, etc. etc. I've always been held back by money, and occasionally by priorities. The "someday" mentality firmly implanted in my mind, as it is in most minds.

There's always something, usually quite a rational something, that's going to hold you back from doing what you want to do, whether it's money, time, family, romance, or fear of air travel, but at some point, you have to decide what you want, and how far you're willing to go to get it. Sometimes, as we all learned well in Risky Business, "you have to say, what the fuck" and run with it.

As much as I'd like to be that person more of the time, I'm still the cautious person who plans everything out and considers everything carefully and thoroughly before making a decision. Maybe that's a good thing. My life overall is in pretty good shape, all things considered. But, it means I don't take risks very often, and while that has kept me out of danger for the most part, it has also kept me from experiencing some of the best things the world has to offer.

via AmericanSongwriter.com

Just a few ruminations on travel, vacations, and what's important.

Runnin' down a dream. 

Lonesome Town: Or, How I'm Learning to Stop Worrying and Live Alone

  Living alone is strange. It's been a while since I have lived alone, a little over two years. It takes a little getting used to. I'm also in a different situation than the last time I lived alone: I'm out of school, working full-time, and I have my cat living here. I'm trying to make it a home, not just a place where I keep my stuff, and that's different too. That is expensive, I've discovered. I had some money set aside specifically to help me get some of the essentials, the things that I would need to live here indefinitely. I'm operating under the assumption that I won't be moving out at the end of my lease, also somethign I've never done before. I still kind of feel like that's what people do, for whatever reason. College town, I guess.
    In any case, I've moved most of the stuff from my dad's house up here, and I've got furniture, my furniture that I don't have to give back to anyone after I move out. I am even working on hanging pictures, not just posters or magazine cut-outs, a hold-out habit from my high school days, but actual pictures with frames and everything. It's strange trying to be a real grown-up who pays bills, buys their own groceries, does laundry in the machines in the complex as opposed to at mom's or dad's, and has to cook for themselves because eating out all the time gets so expensive. I don't mind some of it, only I wish it didn't cost so much. I like having all my stuff in one place. I like having some of the responsibility, and I like that when I go home, I don't have to talk to anyone if I don't feel like it.
    The cat is getting used to being here--he's already found the ONE piece of furniture that I hadn't covered with something to prevent it from becoming a scratching post and turned it into a scratching post. But now that I've identified it, he will be SOL. I'll have to get him a scratching post, a real one, that he can do whatever he wants with. Boy, was he terrified today, though! His bowl was *gasp* almost empty when I got home! He sounded a little hoarse actually, like he'd been crying for a while for someone to feed him. I think he really believes that he will starve if he ever completely cleans the bowl, like no one will ever fill it again if he eats it all. I'd really like to get him on a schedule where he gets a proper serving size twice a day, but I have a feeling he might take out his frustration on the ottoman, aka scratching post.
    I mostly like being alone here, alone meaning without people, because while the cat speaks, it's not in English. I can watch whatever I want on TV, I can spend however long I want online, I can eat spaghetti four nights in a row without judgment, and I don't have to worry about anyone leaving the toilet seat up in the middle of the night. But there are times when I feel a little funny about being here by myself. I'm not particularly concerned about burglary being on the second floor and having so many neighbors around all the time, but I worry about getting trapped under a bookshelf with no one to come home and rescue me, or choking on a pretzel and having no one to thump me on the back to help me cough it up.
    This place even feels a little bit big, even with the cat. I wish I had more storage and closet space, but who doesn't? The rooms feel big, the bedroom in particular. I don't have enough stuff to fill the place, and yet I almost have too much. The living room is packed, two bookshelves, two small shelves for movies, the TV, a small kitchen table I'm using as a desk, a loveseat, and a chair. It's not crowded, but it's definitely full. I just don't want to buy something else for the bedroom unless I know I'll use it, and not just for table space.
    It's quiet here, and my plants seem to be enjoying the east and west windows instead of the overpowering sun from south facing windows like they're used to. I really should try to become a better cook, so I can do a little better than spaghetti and cheese for dinner occasionally. But in the meantime, I'll keep sleeping diagonally in my bed because I don't have to share it with anyone, and I'll keep watching TV and watching movies online because no one's going to tell me I should go outside or do something more productive, and I'll keep squirting the cat with the water bottle until he learns that the ottoman is not a scratching post. It's almost bedtime, as I have been a little sick since yesterday and I need to get a little extra rest.

At least it's whole wheat spaghetti, right?

What was your reaction to living by yourself for the first time? 

Fear? Independence? Homesickness? Freedom, at long last? Or something else entirely? 

Share in the comments. 

Yes, I'm now soliciting comments, dear readers. Kindly play along ;)

Rejection Can Be Good

    Rejection is hard--at first. You feel like you've been punched in the stomach, and the wind's been knocked out of you. Whether you submitted a story to a magazine and got a curt, succinct rejection letter, or asked someone new out on a date and they said they "aren't dating right now", or simply gave your poem to a friend to read and they hated it, I know that rejection is no fun. But it can be helpful. Maybe your story could use some more work. Maybe the person you asked out just got out of a bad relationship. And maybe your friend needs to learn how to give constructive criticism. That, or your poem really is bad.
    Learning to deal with rejection takes time, and it takes a lot of behavior modification. You have to learn that rejection isn't always personal. Sometimes it's just business. Other times, you can never know the whole story of what's going on in someone else's life to know whether their reasons for rejecting you are because of something having to do with them or something having to do with you.
    Dealing with rejection means you have to steel yourself, prepare for it. You have a 50-50 chance your story will be rejected; you have a 50-50 chance of getting the date, or not; and you have a 50-50 chance your friend will hate the poem. You have to recognize the situations in which you may possibly experience rejection as an outcome, and then prepare for it. Maybe it will turn out fine in the end, but knowing it may not, and preparing yourself for that, helps in coping with the rejection and not taking it personally (even if it is actually personal). 
    So, how is rejection good? It hurts. Steeled or not, it still hurts. It still shocks. It still sucks. But--you can learn from it. For anything that happens, if you can learn from it, then it wasn't completely pointless; it wasn't a complete waste of time; it wasn't all for nothing. What you may learn from that rejection will depend on the situation. You may learn you're a terrible poet, and you'll have to accept that. You could learn that you shouldn't ask people out who are of that personality type, no matter how much you like them.
    You could learn any number of things, but in order to do so, you cannot mope. You can't bitch and complain that nothing ever goes right. You can't beat yourself up about it. I've said it before, dear readers, and I'll say it again: shit happens. Rejection is just one of those shit things that happens sometimes.
    But if you never put yourself out there, if you never take some risks--you don't have to invest your life savings in the stock market or skydive out of an airplane at 20,000 feet to take risks--you'll never experience the rewards that do occasionally follow. Your story may get published. The person will say yes to dinner. Your friend thinks your poem is reminiscent of an early Robert Frost. Whatever the case may be, risks are a part of life, a part of humanity. Greatness was never achieved by playing it safe.

"Sometimes, you just have to say, 'What the fuck.' " (Joel-Risky Business)