It’s the middle of a pandemic and I figured that now is as good a time to write as any

I cannot seem to get ahold of my brain or my body.

I am tired. TIRED. Like, crawling from space to space weary bone soul tired. How do people have energy to do things like “work out”? Or “cook”?

I have an almost two year old now. Bet you didn’t see that coming. He’s the goofiest human and I love his little face. He’s so sweet. Such strong emotions and very passionate. Loves his alphabet and numbers. He’s 22 months old and can count 1-10. We’re working on 11-20, but he gets stuck in the beginning and jumps to his favorite, 18!

He knows all the letters of the alphabet by sight. He knows all the regular shapes. He knows all his primary colors. He’s got animals down, plus their sounds. He’s a little sponge. I mean, he’s like 95th% for height, so not little, but you know what I mean.

I just want to brag about him. If my mom were alive, I’d be texting her non-stop and bragging. I’d be whining, too, for sure, but I’d be bragging so hard. I’m so proud of him and of me and I feel lost without someone to spill that to. I can tell a lot of people, but there’s something so self interested in bragging and the bond between a parent and child seems to eradicate that self interest. Or makes it not matter. I miss that part, so much.

We’re in the middle of a pandemic and I want to go to the gym. Also something you didn’t see coming, I bet. I would love to drop Finley off at the gym childcare and go walk on a treadmill; I bet I would feel miles better. But I can’t because that would suck for me (walking in a mask sounds terrible) and would be a careless thing to do since Finn won’t keep a mask on.  I need to eat better, though. I feel like a shell of a human being because I haven’t figured out how to eat yet at almost 32 years old. I’m gaining weight for the first time in my life (I weigh more than when I had Finn) and I don’t know how to deal with it. I feel creaky and old and sore and I’ve been crying at just about everything.

Probably doesn’t help that we’re in an election year with a shit President who like, truly…truly. Sucks. Like, fate of the democracy sucks.

Everyone is angry. Everyone is divided. I’m at school currently, in an empty classroom, having just finished teaching to webcam. I don’t know how to help students when they have technical difficulties or when they just don’t know how to use a program. You know, I used to write to ground myself. And then I stopped writing because I felt like my life wasn’t dramatic enough or interesting enough to write about, maybe. I don’t know..things settled down and writing didn’t seem necessary, maybe? But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if writing isn’t what frees my brain and grounds my soul. I need a grounded soul. I need something to put my feet back on the ground, desperately. I keep getting lost in the cobweb of anxiety that is ever-present above my head and I just need something to tether me to reality.

I had a panic attack yesterday. Like, a real one. Shortness of breath. Racing heart. Couldn’t calm down. It was freaky. And what’s more freaky is that I know I can have them so the possibility that one could be hovering around the corner exists. I tried some breathing exercises today though and that helped immensely. I’ve also been reading a fair amount the past few days and that helps a lot. God, I miss books. I love books. Maybe I should find my way back to the things that I love love, deep in my soul, love. Books. Writing. Coffee. People. The word people is so strange.

I feel like we’re going to be for real drowning in debt. I don’t know how to fix it because I’m pretty sure we spend more than we make and I don’t know how to stop that considering all Shawn’s student loans. We’re not married yet, btw, but I do have a ring. It’s just hard to get married when you don’t have any money and you really want a wedding. That’s me. I’m the one who wants a wedding. I mostly want to spend the day with my friends and then see my honey and get lots of pictures and attention. We should probably elope.

I’m about to go into a meeting that I really don’t care about, nor do I have any inclination to give energy to. There are too many things clamoring for my attention right now, and I’m just now starting to realize why people say no to things. I never thought I was the person that needed to be reminded that no was a word, but here we are. My watch keeps telling me to walk around, but I honestly don’t have the energy for that, watch, so just leave me alone. Maybe I’ll read for the next 8 minutes before I have to face a webcam meeting that I want no part of.

I’m so crabby. heh.

Anyways, thanks for listening. See you in two years, maybe. Or maybe sooner? Who knows.

Well, Here We Are.

It’s been awhile.

Like, awhile awhile.

I thought about just starting a whole new blog. Starting over, trying again. Making it different.

But, really, it doesn’t matter. It’s just words following words on a trajectory of life that keeeeeeeps going. I mean, thank God it keeps going, but it’s been a really like time since I updated and I’m probably a different person now.

My mom died.

I’ve been preparing myself for the last 13 years (since my dad died) for her death. I’ve considered what will happen, where I’ll go, how I’ll survive. She wasn’t especially healthy and my dad was taken out of nowhere so..why not my mom? But I wasn’t really prepared, even though she did have cancer. They gave her two to four years to live, but she made it almost two months.

I miss my mom so much. It’s weird: when it first happened, I was pretty okay. I thought “Maybe it’s because I’m an adult, but I think I’m going to be fine.” Life kept going, I was faced with mountains of paperwork and things to do. I got enough sleep because I wasn’t working for that first week.

But holy shit does that change. I guess the more distance I put between the last time I spoke to her and now, the more I realize that was the last time I’ll ever speak to her. Or rather, hear her response. I’ve already been talking to her. Going through her old cards to my dad (I had no idea she was so eloquent), I had to chastise her for being so giddy girly in love. It was sweet and gross and really weird, considering I knew how it all ended.

I like..saw the end of the movie first and then dove back to the beginning, when everything was okay. Things were just starting and they called each other sweetheart a lot and there were apology cards (surprise! They fought a lot) and cards talking about spending the next 60 years together.

They divorced after 10 years of marriage and my dad died not too long afterwards.

It’s so weird.

As I’ve been getting older, I’ve been able to see my mother as an actual human person. She was a person with feelings and opinions (omg, did she have opinions) and quirks and she was a person. She tried often to hide herself from me so I wouldn’t see who she really was and “turn out like her.”

But I’m pretty perceptive, if we’re being honest.

She was full of pride and stubbornness, but she was also the hardest working person I know. She wanted to help everyone and was always going out of her way to take care of people. If she found out a friend of mine hadn’t really had a good Christmas growing up, she’d be on it with multiple Christmas presents for them. If I told her there were kids in my class who couldn’t afford pens and pencils, she’d show up at my house with bags of supplies. She brought me coffee and car wash soap when I had to put on a car wash for LINK crew and she ALWAYS bought me dinner (she was the mother, I was the child. She continued that mantra well into my late twenties).

I have no part of me that tells me “Hey, this is private, don’t share this with everyone.” My mom was the MOST private. I don’t know how that worked out. I’m sharing this in writing because maybe someone is struggling in a similar manor and reading this helps. I joined a facebook grief group for that purpose; something about talking to people experiencing similar problems makes things better. I know I should probably worry about being professional or something (be careful what you put on social media, kiddos), that sharing this is too personal. But, idk. I just don’t care right now. The death of someone so close puts things in perspective.

This month is probably going to suck with her celebration of life coming up and her birthday on the 19th. She would’ve been 62. I’m doggy-paddling my way through this shit storm of sadness. Sometimes I’m okay and sometimes I’m not.

I’m really grateful for the people in my life. I feel a bit like an orphan, but holy shit are people amazing. Thanks, guys.

 

 

Welcome back, self.

Well, it certainly has been awhile.

I tend to shirk off writing or journal when I am in the midst of an emotionally stagnant place, when I’m happy, or when I simply cannot face myself long enough to analyze the inner workings of my heart.

With this knowledge, I am grateful to say that I have begun journaling – just a little bit – and that I’m apparently adding to this blog that I started so long ago and haven’t quite decided to abandon.

It’s incredible to think of all the twists, turns, and changes that occur in one person’s life. And to that one person, those changes, turns, and twists can seem to be everything in the world. But the fact is, for most of us, those changes are only a sliver in that of our existence. That heart break is but a moment in time, forgotten not terribly long after.

We creatures are incredibly resilient, despite not often giving ourselves enough credit.

As I get older, I feel like I can find the heart of my passion less and less. That feeling of being touched by the universe or at one and communication with some other worldly element. I may be talking about God, but I also may just be talking about the feelings that occur when you delve deep into yourself.

This feeling used to occur when I would stay up late into the night talking on AIM about religion and love and darkness. Or when I would write, which I did often. When I’d get out of the shower and look at myself in the mirror, amazed by the human body – my human body – and all things contained inside my mind. I think I used to feel things more strongly, with more passion, and with a fervent intensity that now, in my more adult, responsibility ridden life, I find more difficult to connect with. I’m weighed down by trivialities and the mundane, which I’m coming to accept as normal.

It’s only recently that I’ve become more willing to trade on these things. I’m willing to trade some of the emotion packed moments for the simplicity of a room full of kids writing. I’m okay with having to get up early than I ever would have in college in order to greet my sleep deprived teenagers with a newly acquired morning cheeriness.

I had a migraine today so I laid in the basin of my tub with my legs in the air and let hot water hit the bottoms of my feet and thought “What a beautiful picture.” And it occurred to me that maybe one day, I’ll be a mother. And my kids will be right outside the door of my bathroom, pounding on the door with toy dinosaurs. And for all my desire to connect with some mysterious beauty hidden in the world, I’ll be exhausted. I’ll maybe be too concerned with the minutiae.

But I guess that’s kind of okay. I want to be a mom.

Anyways, I’m glad to be at least typing words onto a screen. I can talk about my feelings all day, but there is something solidifying about forming these thoughts into letters that don’t fade away when the conversation ends.

joy.joy.joy.joy.joy.

I know I just did a blog update, but I have some thoughts to get through and I’ve realized that, much like my ENFP peers, I tend to best think through things by taking my feelings and throwing them at the wall, Pollock-style. I’m completely okay with this, despite the fact that I have recognized that I often get redundant in an effort to really force the reader to understand my feeeeeeelings. Because forget facts, details, occurances…get how I’m feeeeeeeeeeeling. I know. It’s gross. But listen.

// Joy //

 

I need to focus on my perspectives. Over and over and over. Re-focus. Re-tune. Realign. I am in the present (breathe in), not the past (which does not exist any longer) or  my thought of future (which will not ever exist exactly as I perceive it and is thus, not real). I want to free myself of my need to find my life. I want to lose myself and…give myself over to purpose. This is a God thing. It’s hard to explain. I don’t even know fully how to go after it, or how to open myself up to it. But I know that it is what I desire to desire and that I will absolutely find strength.

I have never put this much on myself in such a short amount of time. I’m kind of thrilled by it. The “fly by the seat of your pants” side of me is jumping up and down in some masochistic fashion, goading me on and pressing me to procrastinate just a little bit longer. I’m moving soon. To a new apartment, with a newish friend, stuck between two mountains. I’ve been nervous, I’ve been anxious, I’ve tried to control the outcome of a future that does not exist. But here it is, and I have accepted and embraced this new embarking with a strange peace, to which I give thanks to God, and with a mindset of gratitude for the reading parties, coffee on the balconies, videogameries, and cooking extravaganza that will inevitably ensue.
We get the keys on Tuesday. However, I’m leaving for Connecticut to see my brother and sister-in-law and newwww baby nephew (Jackson) (for the first time) (YES, I AM EXCITED) and sister and big kid nephew (Micah-doodle) and the whole Italian family side of my brother and sister’s family (I’ve been binge watching the Sopranos so I’m ready.) You see, it’s my brother and sister’s cousin’s wedding, and I’m invited (despite not being family because my siblings are half siblings on my father’s side). However, they were not only nice enough to invite me, they are letting me bound around with the whole family. I’m so excited to be apart of a big gathering and see so many people I love and miss.
Okay, so I’m gonna go do that. But I gotta move! SO, when I get back from the wedding shinanigans, and taking a billion pictures of my darling little nephews, I’m moving. I have a solid couple days, I think. Actually, I’m wrapping up my days at Cartel (:,( ) too, and then? Korea.
Have I mentioned before that I have a recurring nightmare where I have to board a rocketship that one might think would take me to Mars but that is, in fact, just hopping over to Europe? Yes, I did say nightmare. I get sick to my stomach thinking about it. I have severe travel anxiety. I get terrified of being out of control. I grew up with acid reflux, puking on the side of the road EVERY time we went to Mexico. I developed a hypochondriac state of mind and continue to try to control my surroundings at every opportunity. And still, I bought a ticket. To Korea.
Korea, of all places. Mr. James is there. Kaydee says to go make memories. Talk about away from my comfort zone. I have no idea what to expect. This, like my trip to Louisiana and Texas, will be position of faith, an opportunity to grow trust in God and confidence in myself, and a time to enjoy exploration, companionship, and truthfully, being out of control.
You see, I got an “abnormal” reading on my doctor’s lab report. I’m supposed to find out Monday what the hell that means. Don’t you love how they make you wait? I don’t. That was sarcasm. I’ve been flipping my shit the last four days. Legitimately sobbing on and off, faced with the first time realization that I am a finite mortal and this life, this one very singular life, is beyond fragile. Sometimes I don’t know how to take this very seriously. Sometimes I don’t know how to lessen the seriousness with which I take this. I feel a little extreme and a little less even-tempered. I think I may want to start going to therapy.
I’m also starting teaching. Very soon. There will be plenty to say about that, I assure you.

Until then, good night friends.

Thunder Only Happens When it’s Raining – I wish it were raining.

I’m wondering currently, after skimming over a couple past blog posts, if I’m fated to always be discontent and if I’m, graciously or otherwise, also fated to always think well of the past.
This passed year has been a trip. I’ve made changes, as I’ve previously mentioned, and guess what? I keep making changes. Is that what these twenties are about? Endless changes? I think I’m okay with that, truthfully. Change makes way for hope. Stagnation leads to comfort but an inevitable desire for something more.

I’ve done that thing I’ve been saying I’ve been trying to do, you see. I finished my teaching certification. Well, almost. A couple loose ends must be tied up, but I finished student teaching. It was hell and it wasn’t. I was exhausted and emotionally tormented, but I learned how to adjust to an earlier waking schedule and it didn’t actually kill me as I was most certain that it would. I started eating healthier, which attributed to a much better mentality.
In fact, for the benefit of future Laura who will probably read her own writing at some point, YOU WILL NOT DIE FROM HAVING TO WAKE UP EARLY.

You’ll actually kind of like it a little bit.

Just maybe keep drinking coffee.

You guys, I got offered a teaching job. Teaching real life kiddos in a real life classroom. Like, an official “Hey, are you Miss Hirschey? I have you for sophomore English, right?” kind of situation. I took the job, though I haven’t signed a contract. But it’s split between two schools, which may very well kill me if we’re being honest. Truthfully, this is the closest I’ve ever felt to running away from responsibility. I am finally here, on the precipice, but really, I want to run away and hide because this truly seems undoable.

However, here I am Change, ready for you. I’m ready to move into a new apartment with a balcony overlooking the desert. I’m ready to bake cookies with new roommate Andie and play Cranium with my game night kids (This will happen, whether I’ve slept ever or not; teaching WILL NOT defeat me, damnit, I hope). I am hoping to God that I won’t drown, but I’ve already started having the teacher nightmares.

I guess this is just an update into my psyche. I love Cartel. I love the kids I work with at Cartel. Phoenix is okay. I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve had so far. Every time I sink into depression a little bit, I come out wondering how I could’ve possibly gotten there. It’s like a roller coaster of optimism and hopelessness; every couple of months, or sometimes days, I go from content and optimistic to downright overwhelmed, depressed, and sleeping off my sadness.

I think it comes down to being aware of blessings. Being aware of the positives. Being thankful for them, all of them, regularly. To be active in gratefulness. To make it a point to take actual actions (mine currently have been reading books while drinking coffee and reading my happier updates on my happier app (look it up if you have a smart phone and want to be inundated with people talking about things for which they’re grateful…which sounds awful, I admit, but it actually really helps to be apart of that positivity)

I’m going to be honest. I feel guilty and useless for having not written anything or done any art of made anything, and I’m going to take steps to force myself back in that direction because, by golly, it just needs to happen. I need to quit fearing growing up and learn how to integrate all the things I equate with youth, such as art and good music and friendship, into my daily life that is steadily maturing.

That’s really all this is.

Almost 25.

I keep comparing my present life to the past.

That’s what birthdays do to me. They make me think about where my life was last year and they make me judge myself. Am I progressing? Am I moving forward? Am I happy?

Selfish thoughts, undoubtedly. I can be pretty self centered. But I have to get these thoughts out because they’ve been boring on my mind.

This time last year, I was living in a gorgeous house with big windows that let sunlight fall comfortably through windswept leaves. I had a roommate whom I adored; we had a system. She worked nights, I worked days. I came home from work, made us some coffee, and together (in cozy, big sweater attire) we would sit on the back porch, holding our coffee cups between two hands, and regale each other with stories for hours.

I taught high schoolers, and I felt good about it. I felt productive, but I didn’t feel old. I went out to drink and dance and eat Lulu’s on the weekends, I rented movies and played board and card games. I saw friends regularly. I ran into people everywhere. I lived in Tucson.

I think that the biggest thing was that I didn’t feel lonely. I always had someone to talk to, whether it was my boyfriend or my friends or my roommate. We explored and I studied and I worked and I benefited.

I have made some changes now. Some pretty big ones. I moved home to Phoenix, but I’ve regressed. I left Tucson to find work. I left Tucson to move closer to my mom. I left Tucson because my friends seemed to be leaving. But I mostly left Tucson because I thought it was time to “grow up.” I thought “I’ll move to Phoenix, and then I’ll get a job in education and I’ll finally grow up. I’ll make my apartment a cohesive, Ikea showroom, unlike the scattered art mess that I’ve had up until now.” I thought “I’ll wear sensible clothing and spend time with sensible people; no more partying and friends with wild ambitions for extravagant debauchery, it’s time to settle down.” I thought I was too old to play college kid in a college town.

Now I’m in an apartment that feels empty. The walls are concrete and I haven’t figured out quite how to hang things. It feels incomplete. Forget cohesion, I just want something beautiful. But there is no roommate to leave me flowers outside my door on my birthday this time. I can’t leave my windows open because anyone in the complex’s courtyard can see in. I’m alone.

My friends are all grown up here. They have husbands and children. They have career jobs and responsibility. And it isn’t their fault that I feel detached from them in some way, but I do. I hate even admitting that out loud because I love my friends here in Phoenix and am beyond grateful for them. But there is a part of me that feels unable to relate to them. I’m not in a deeply committed, almost marital relationship. I’m spinning in circles trying to explain to my mom why I haven’t gotten my teaching certification yet. I work at a coffee shop that I adore and don’t want to leave simply because leaving moves me one step closer to that thing I came here to be.

I feel social anxiety sometimes. Despite my absolute need for human beings, being around them can be so difficult. I find it hard to leave my apartment at times because here, at least I know what to expect. However, in my house in Tucson, things were always moving, people were always over, there was rarely escape and that was GOOD. Now, I’m able to escape.

I escape too much.

I feel so torn, yet again. I want freedom, I want security. I want passion, I want peace. I want adventure, I want structure.

What do I do with these expectations? How do I find a way to live with the two people inside of me? Why do I see everything as so divided, as so finalized and so stark? When will I be able to see things as blended, ever changing and fluid?

It’s Okay to Be an Extrovert.

For a long time, I beat myself up emotionally. I asked myself why I wasn’t content, like other people, to take long, solitary walks. Or sit in a room without texting/facebooking/talking to someone else. Or what was so wrong with me that I was this needy of human interaction. As a child, I thought it was weird when people felt uncomfortable in silence, but that was because my silence was usually filled with AIM conversations. Real silence, today, is incredibly frustrating for me.

I believe that extroverts have a harder time than some people may think.

The biggest thing is this: I feel dependent on being around other people in some way to recharge my energy.

I cannot simply go take an hour to myself to sort things out, per se. Or to feel better. I have to try and text someone or meet up for coffee.

This isn’t to say that I don’t totally have social anxiety at times. I get so nervous at the thought of meeting a friend I don’t know well and a group of their friends at a concert. Or going to a party-just about any party. I hate not knowing what will happen and not having some control on things.

Another thing is that I want to know so much about you. You introverts and extroverts alike. But because my mind is racing a mile a minute, recharging in your presence with the excitement of having another human around, I cannot help but take over the conversation at times. For that, I apologize. I want to talk, I want to listen, I want to communicate. And it goes in a million different directions. I think that maybe introverts tend to choose their words more carefully, but I’m excited about the words – ALL THE WORDS! I am being energized by our interaction.

Furthermore, being alone in a room without communication, to me, is draining. Just as going to a crowded area, or party, can be exhausting for an introvert, I am drained by being alone. You may say I should just suck it up and deal with being lonely, but I’m starting to realize that that’s not exactly a thing. While you can tell an introvert to suck it up and deal with a crowd, they can do that for a period of time and eventually go somewhere to recharge. I have to depend on others to help replenish my energies.

 

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because I have just recently found myself in a position where I am completely alone in a room, in my apartment, by myself. I anticipate times like this. And truthfully, I am looking forward to it. Sure, with extreme trepidation and worry because, hey, I’m still me. But I think that there are good things. Good things ahead.

And for that, I am grateful.

I was commanded “BLOG” through a text message and, for that, I am grateful.

Does someone care that, if, I write? Other than me? Do I care if I write?

My blog, like my mind, is filled with questions of late. I guess with more questions comes more answers, which tend to lead to more questions. The more you delve into life considerations, the more questions splinter off. I mean about life and love and religion and purpose.

I can’t stop listening to “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac. I want you to know that this song is encapsulating everything I feel and want to feel at the moment. And for that, I am also grateful. There is little I love more than finding a song or a film or a book or a poem that touches me and makes me feel something.

I suppose an actual update is in order, considering the changes that are afoot. I have moved myself to the concrete wasteland that is Phoenix. I have started working at a specialty coffee shop that makes my heart happy and makes intelligent demands of me. I live by myself, for once in my life. Here it is, the beginning. How can I ever go back? I adore having my own space.

I miss poetry. I hate having my heart guarded and clouded in “comfort.” How can one expect to grow inside their comfort zone? I hate that I do this to myself constantly. I don’t want to quash my curiosity. I allow myself to cling to comfort and thus, sequester the creative side of me. I wish the two weren’t so regularly mutually exclusive.

Why is it such an effort to say “Yes, I would love to go to that party with you,” or “Sure, let’s go get coffee and chat”? Why are humans so frightening? How are other people so good at being a human among humans?

Here it is, the stagnant truth: This blog post has no theme because, despite the changes, I am still thinking the same things I am always thinking. Will I get married? Will I have children? Am I growing up the right way? Am I self-sufficient? How can I be closer to God? How can I be a more whole person? How can I be more creative?

Phoenix has, so far, allowed me to feel more comfortable with myself, despite the way it sounds. To feel more independent. To feel more grateful for friendships. To feel just a little bit more mature. It’s a process, I know.

But I haven’t once dreaded this summer, and for that I am grateful.

The Future at 1 am in a comfortable apartment.

I don’t know if you know this about me, but,

I don’t like to be stifled.

I can go for long periods of being dead inside without even knowing it.

I don’t like to be misunderstood.

She said, years ago, years years years ago, that I should stop singing in public.

But you don’t understand it so you stop talking about it, you look the other way.

Sometimes I get moments and glimpses, backwards, of when I laid on my bed naked and thought about bathwater and marble and being alone, and those moments are what drives me to more than monotony.

But I can do monotony. For apparently years, years years, at a time.

I forget this, because it’s time to grow up.

I forget this, because it seems too weird to deal with.

Where has my confidence fled that I’m willing to alter myself? For myself? To be what is expected and needed. To live in the real world. To try and save myself.

No one is responding and no one is joining.

Thoughts from panic born.

After only talking twice, he said I had all of the feelings. He could just tell.

Why do I try to veil and blend and restrain? Why do I stop reading poetry? Or writing?

Why am I content to do nothing but try to be normal?

For safety’s sake? For normalcy, for consistency, for stability?

 

On a Wire.

I CANNOT CREATE. I AM STAGNANT. I AM A WASTE. I AM WASTING. I AM DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Hah. I wrote the above in a fit of self loathing about a week ago in hopes of vanquishing the angry beasts that come to rage inside of me from time to time. I don’t remember if it worked, per se. I think things need to be said sometimes, though. Even if they’re not exactly true. Sometimes you need to get the words out, in sentences, in concrete syntax that exposes some of the abstract emotional clouds that swirl about in that complex, squishy brain of yours.

Today, I made my cover photo on facebook this:

 

I guess I sort of feel like that a little bit.

I slept too long again. Just to hide. I’m tired of decisions. This job with Cartel is a little more up in the air than I thought and now I’m just mad at myself for letting me get my hopes up. It was going to be my saving grace in the land of concrete Republicans. I was hoping to find hipsters there that would make being in Phoenix bearable. I’m whining, I’m aware, and I’m doing this to myself. But truthfully, I do not understand why God wants me to move to Phoenix sometimes.

I wander around Tucson and I feel “Here they are, the community I understand and love.” But they’re missing that one thing that has to mean more to me than everything – EVERYTHING – else: God. Tucson is the 12^th city in the US for post-Christians and 7^th for non-believers. I guess all this liberal schooling, community-oriented, hippy, artsy, sustainable living nonsense makes people not believe in God? Damn it, but I love this stuff.

I love all of this. Sigh

There is a reason. I know there is. I know this is about trusting God and moving forward at God’s insistence. I know that this is about taking away my own control. I know that I feel completely incapable of relinquishing control, though. What do you do with the desire to follow God when that desire seems impossible to make come to fruition?

I am trying to place myself in a position where I have less control and am forced to be alone, to be accountable to and for myself, to practice not needing humans around me all the time. Thus, the one bedroom apartment. I am trying to place myself in a city that will hopefully help me foster my relationship with God and other Christians.

I wish I could say I’m strong enough to be a strong Christian in Tucson, but as my good angelic darling friend Zac Compton told me, if that were the case, I’d be a strong Christian immersed in a Christian community by now.

Optimism. I need some of that. And less fear. More optimism, less fear. More practicing the things I fear. More finding ways to cope with the things I fear.

Okay. That sounds good.