"Happy" Holidays

I generally look forward to Christmas.  I like the lights, the gift giving, the traditions, but this year - for the past few years, actually - I've had a little trouble getting into the holiday spirit. 

I remember Christmas at my house when I was growing up - it was more than just a holiday, it was an event.  In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I would send out "the list," a somewhat ridiculous and extremely detailed holiday wish list distributed to my immediate family.  My parent's would drop my brother, sister, and I off at Target (or the mall in our later years), and I would carefully select items for each of my family members.It was fun to sneak through the store, leaping into aisles to avoid potential gifts being seen by my siblings.  Following the shopping trip was days of wanting to spill secrets, but holding them in instead.  Sometimes my brother and I would get in a fight, and threaten to withhold presents, but they'd always end up under the tree come Christmas morning.

The night before Christmas was spent making cooking and cakes for Santa and the neighbors.  My sister and I would make dozens of cookies and my mother would put the finishing touches on her rum and fruit cakes.  We'd leave cookies and milk for Santa, and a side of carrots for the reindeer, then I'd head off to bed, surprised by how easy it was to fall asleep.

I'd spring awake early in Christmas morning, and run into my parents room: 1) to wish them a merry Christmas, and 2) to let them know that I was awake, and that it was time to get this show on the road. Next I'd make sure my sister was up, and then together we'd begin the long process of waking up our brother.  Anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour later, we'd all head downstairs to the tree and one by one we'd open our presents.  Inevitably, "Santa" would have run out of time to wrap the last presents for the three of us, and they would end up in the trunk of my dad's car... Santa was funny like that, but it always made for a nice climactic moment.

After presents came Christmas breakfast - eggs. pancakes, bacon, potatoes,french toast and fresh-squeezed orange juice... the only time the juicer came out all year.  It felt like such a special occasion drinking orange juice from the fancy glasses.  After the breakfast dishes were clean we put on our snow boots, hats, and gloves and deliver the cakes and cookies to the neighbors, then play with our toys, watch our movies, or listen to our tapes for the rest of the day.

I miss those days.  Slowly over the years with divorces, marriages, babies, jobs, moves, the traditions have changed...well, they've disappeared really.  No more early mornings, no more cookies or cakes, no more carrot sticks, no more juice in fancy glasses.  This didn't happen over night.  It was a slow progression, but for some reason this year it feels like that band-aid just got ripped right off.

I think I've just been craving home.  I feel displaced.  New York is where I love, but it certainly doesn't feel like home, and then to come here wanting what I had, but it just being off.  I guess you can say I'm suffering from a case of the holiday blues.... or maybe I've just got the blues... and it happens to be the holidays.

All this change, I know it's for the best, but sometimes...

Maybe I'll just pour myself a glass of fancy orange juice in the morning... for old time's sake.

The perfect pair.

I'm a bit of a jumper.

I jump around and try things on, looking for something that fits.  I think some would describe me as a wanderer.  I think I would call myself more of a searcher.  Wanderers are just out and about exploring.  Searchers are actively trying to find something. I'm actively looking - "the what" often eludes me, but I know I'll know what it is I was looking for once I've found it.

I quit my new job.  It's been a while since I've popped around employment wise, but this was like walking around in a pair of jeans that just didn't quite fit.  They look good from the front left, but every other angle was king of a mess.  And, it wasn't the jeans fault, I just have awkward measurements and this was a sample size.  In honesty, I would have walked around in these ill-fitting jeans for some time - it's better than being pant less - but I found a new pair of jeans.  Mind you, these jeans haven't been road-tested, but the view from within the store looked really good, and I'm excited to slip them on and go walking around in them.

I'm not going to tell you anything about the new jeans/new job, but to say that they're definitely more my color, and the cuts are more suited to my frame.

This quest has me wondering, though.  New city, new job...new job.  When does the searching end, and the finding begin.  I'd love to say that this search started when I moved to New York, but I'm not sure I know a time when I wasn't looking.  It was this search that brought me to New York in the first place... no stone left unturned.  I wonder if it ever goes away? I wonder if I would even want it to.  How boring things might be, if I could categorically say that I'd found what I was looking for.

I guess enjoying it, would just be a bit too easy.

...but then, trends are always changing.  So maybe it's not the search for the one perfect pair, but instead the perfect pair for the season.

Welcome back.

It's' been a long time since I've visited my blog let alone taken the time to write anything down. My life has taken a great many twists since my last "year in review," especially given that they review was more than two years ago.

I don't really know why I haven't written. There has been plenty of random thoughts popping into my mind - some more profound than others. I've had my share of highs and lows. I think that maybe I just wasn't ready to commit anything to paper. I wasn't ready to put myself out into the ether for the near six, seven people who read/read (reed/red) this blog. But, the truth is, I like this collection of memories. I like looking back, seeing where I was, and sharing where I am.

Today, I am in New York. I am in the middle of my fourth month as a resident of the isle of Manhattan. An impromptu decision, that was twenty years in the making. On July 16, I decided I was moving to New York, and on September 2 I arrived in the city with two suitcases, a job, and no place to live. I won't go into detail about the the horrific experience that is finding a place to live in Manhattan, but my month-long foray into homelessness is not something I would wish on anyone. It's not so bad though - I'm not homeless anymore. I have an address - and a roommate, but an address nonetheless.

They say "leap, and the net will appear." Well, I leapt, and though I haven't hit the ground, I'm still waiting for that elusive net to show up. That's really what these last couple years have been about for me, searching, taking risks, and making the leap when the wind is right. It doesn't always go so well and some days I'm tempted to revoke my own decision making privileges, but other days I get a flash - a glimpse of what could be in front of me, and so I stay...uncomfortable, jumping, looking... leaping.

Free fall can be a scary thing, but there's also something liberating about it.

So, I'm back. Ready to commit this journey to the page.