Things About Change

 
I wasn't going to post in this blog anymore. I feel like it's time to shift gears and move into a new space. But I have been a little bit emotional lately and sometimes my feelings feel better when I give them words. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s that I’ve been to Mexico, Washington DC, Denver, celebrated Christmas with The Whole Family, bought a house and moved, had hip surgery and commuted over 5,000 miles in the last month and a half. Who can say exactly why I burst into tears at random intervals or the minute I hear anything by REO Speedwagon. It’s a mystery for sure.

All I know is that I feel awfully fragile, and not in a completely bad way. Just… RAW. Ready to feel all the feels and work through them. The sadness of moving away from the town where I have lived for the better part of 20 years and (mostly) raised my kids. The excitement of starting fresh, on my own, as a homeowner. The struggle of trying to decide whether to let my old Truck dog go be with Jesus or watch his frustration over a new life in a new house with limitations that I never enforced on him back in Northport, much to frustration of the baseball coaches and custodians of the school next door.

I am feeling all the tearing of the transition of my kids from children to adult, weighing out how much I can and should help them in the fight to become responsible humans. Sorting through how much is My Fault and what I have to let go for them to figure out. I am riding the waves of happiness and uncertainty that a fairly new relationship pushes toward the shores of my heart. Most moments I feel lost. Some moments I feel joy. All moments lately, I feel fear.

But what I do know is that all of these feelings, the good ones and the bad ones, are meant to bring me to the place where I belong, wherever that is. Fear and uncertainty protect me from wandering recklessly off course, bringing caution along as a guiding light of stability. Sadness and grief remind me of how very much I have been given in the happy years I have had at my old place and with my old dog. Glimpses of joy give me hope that the steps I am taking are the right ones, headed in the right direction. And stress and anxiety, well, they give me gray hair, and I guess I am about due.

For every time my heart cries out silently to the universe for help, I turn back to face the battle and the help I need is there. Not always in the form I expect in. Not always in a surprise check for thousands of dollars or an army of strong backs, although those things have happened for me, but sometimes in the showing up of a friend with a story, or in the plight of another friend who has much larger hurdles to face than I do, and a way that I can help them with the flood that is drowning them.

Amor Fati. I am in love with the fate that I am given. It is not always beautiful, but it is always mine. And while I question my decisions every. single. day. I feel overwhelmingly blessed that I have decisions to make, and they are mine entirely. There is no wrong that cannot be made right. There is no obstacle that cannot become the path, and even now while I can’t lift my arm, I can say that there is no pain without purpose, even if that purpose is a speedbump.

I will slow down. I will take only the responsibilities that are mine to bear, and no more. I will listen to MMMBop on repeat and cry wantonly if it gets me closer to peace. I will write the stories to pay the bills to make the life that I have chosen. And I will always be thankful that I can do that with a beer in one hand.

Things About Therapy

Because I am a spoiled white girl living in a developed country, I have been having a little bit of a rough time lately. Because I am a spoiled white girl living in a developed country I also have an entire library of self-help books, feel-good movies, meditation strategies and plenty of alcohol. Even so, I have been having a little bit of a rough time lately. I think it's because things are TOO good. Too many jobs, too many kids, too many friends and dogs and obligations and opportunities and decisions and options and responsibilities and priorities. There are too many things going right, these days, and it's wearing me thin. Also, as the Best People in my life like to point out: self pity.

I am usually pretty good about talking myself off of the emotional ledge that threatens to heave me into a sobbing heap at the foot of a Very Tall liquor cabinet. I am usually pretty good at rationalizing all the reasons why I have no excuse to feel sorry for myself at all and how to pull myself up by the bootstraps of my newest pair of Fryes. I am usually pretty good about developing a mantra to chant silently as I drive the 7,896th mile of the week without crying or getting really mad at the 1987 Lincoln Town Car going the speed limit in front of me. Granted, sometimes my mantra is something like: "It doesn't matter. Nobody cares." Which helps in that it keeps me from spewing my spoiled-white-girl-living-in-a-developed-country-self-pity everywhere.

But an emotional last night carried over into a torrential this morning that none of my self-talking or mantra-chanting seemed to be helping. So I moved into the next phase of auto-therapy (it's auto therapy both because I am in my car AND because I am practicing it on myself): music. This is the stage of therapy wherein I let the Universe speak to me by putting my entire music library on shuffle and see what messages it produces.

I should have known I was screwed when the first random offering was Nat King Cole singing Silent Night. Don't get me wrong. I love me some Nat - and we're all aware of my die-hard Christmas Music fandom - but seriously? I skipped it. Then I skipped a Matt Kearney song because I feel like Matt Kearney just isn't connected enough with the Universe to be speaking to me. And then the real therapy began. It was Sinead O'Conner. Because Nothing (ever) Compares To You and it was exactly the mournful fist shaking song that I needed to finish a cry that had started in the HellMart parking lot.

Once I had gotten All Of the Tears out and snotted all over the steering wheel, the Universe sent Garbage to cheer me up. Because what better than a reminder of how not-together your life is than When I Grow Up. Thank you, Universe. Thank you, Garbage. Luckily, this was immediately followed by James Taylor You've Got a Friend. I hate James Taylor. Also more crying - apparently not all of the tears were out. Nothing is worse than crying to music you hate. But I was brave and didn't skip it. I did reach out to one of my besties for a tell-me-everything-is-gonna-be-ok text. Just testing that unconditionality thing. It worked.

The last few minutes of my drive/autotherapy were a combination of Usher (go ahead and judge me) and The Killers. Because there is no better note on which to end a therapy session than Mr. Brightside. Now I am home. I am whole. I am well. I am a spoiled white girl in a developed country writing a blog on a brand new mac with a brand new job and a series of amazing things that have happened in my life in the last few weeks. I am rich in ways that nobody can count or quantify and I have even more amazing things to look forward to in the next few weeks. And best of all - I can handle ALL of it.

P.S. you're welcome for the Garbage. <3

Things Coming Up

I am inordinately excited about The Holidays this year. I have no idea why. But I am. I have been eyeing my Christmas Baldies (Chuck Taylors) for a couple of weeks now, anticipating their seasonal release. I have resisted the temptation to break out the Christmas music. Ok fine. I snuck one "winter" song into a playlist. It's supposed to be 18 degrees on Tuesday, so I feel totally justified.

In the spirit of all of the upcoming Holiday goodness, all of the people are selling all of the things. For instance, I am selling Scentsy. If you didn't know that, are pleasantly surprised and relieved since you have been looking for a consultant, or have a bunch of friends and want to have a party, mostly just to hang out with me, here is my website: Liv's Scentsy Website. Now is absolutely the best time to get stuff because they have winter/holiday scents like Goody Goody Gumdrop and Everything Nice, which make me want to eat the air in my house. Which is kind of gross if you've ever been in my house.

After that shameless pitch, somebody else, namely my friend Susan, is having a Jamberry Nails party.  (My friend Andrea also sells these I think, in case you know her or don't like Susan. But who doesn't like Susan, for Heaven's sake.) Someday I will write an entire blog about fingernails and why mine will always look like crap, but I accidentally/on purpose clicked on a link to these:

I have heard several people say that Jamberry is awesome. I haven't tried them because it's already been established that my nails will always look like crap. But reindeer? I mean come on. And especially when they are surrounded by little piles of poop. I can't resist. So I am taking the plunge. If my nails don't look like crap for a minute and have cute reindeers with poop on them because I have been successful, I will send you a picture. I am curious to get some Jamberry feedback from other users. But since my heart is somewhat set on the reindeers/poop, please hold your horror stories until after I experience my own to tell you. I am very disappointed that they don't have the "Gobble Me Up" turkey ones in grown up sizes, because, seriously? (As a disclaimer, I inherited my kitschy holiday-all-of-the-things ridiculousness from my Aunt Tracey.) 

So, I am off to order my  reindeer/poop nail sticker thingies, and believe in good success. And take on this holiday season, because I AM READY!

Things That Excite Me

I cannot begin to describe the fits of giddiness that I was thrown into this morning when The Punch Brothers posted THIS on Facebook.

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If there's two things I love it's Holiday Music and All of These Bands. Which is more than two things, but who is counting? ME! But mostly just the days until this thing is released. And yes, I already preordered on Amazon. Go check out Holidays Rule and be cool like me. I can't freaking wait. I should pre-apologize to Josh right away for already boring him this holiday season. What is it with these people and their need for more variety than one multi-artist album can provide? I mean really. 

In other, less exciting news, I got the job at the Pendleton Outlet. Now I have to learn how to dress like a grown up and conduct myself in a manner befitting a retail clothing salesperson. Tips, anyone? I hope they play good holiday music there. Really, it's a part time seasonal position, and already the 15 hours a week is making me claustrophobic. But then there is that dangling, shiny carrot of an employee discount. Visions of throw pillows dance in my head. 

I went for my first in a series of facials with Clare at Luna Healing Studios yesterday. Really it was my second facial with her since she did a test drive Jessner Peel on me a couple weeks ago, but we decided to start a whole thingy to try to fix my face for real. After she got done giving me a "microderm abrasion" I asked her what it was. Turns out, it's pretty much what it sounds like - she sandblasted my face with tiny little crystals and a really sucky vacuum thing. All I kept thinking of as she ran it over my cheeks again and again was Will Ferrel in the mail room in Elf sticking his face to the mail tube. Again, you can tell it's getting close to holiday season when I have the uncontrollable urge to watch Elf. I will wait until after Halloween. I will. I will. Obviously Halloween calls for scary movies like Gaslight with Charles Boyer, or Charade, one of Audrey Hepburn's all time greats - or the ultimate murder mystery - Laura with Gene Tierney and Dana Andrews (*swoon). Or, in the case of this Halloween, Snow White and The Huntsman, since Josh is leaving overnight and he refuses to watch anything with Kristen Stewart in it. I really don't blame him, but I have this morbid curiosity to watch her not-act in the movie that was her demise. Or at least a great launch into celebrity villiany. But back to my facial: After Clare got done sandblasting my face, she decided to do another Jessner on me. Ok, I thought. The last one wasn't too bad. It only stung a little and my face didn't totally Frankenstein out like I expected. In fact, I was pretty happy with the results. Turns out, if you sandblast the first 12 layers or so of your facial skin off BEFORE you put the Jessner acids on it, it burns like a sonofablender. I cried like a little girl, but kept telling Clare that I just had something in my eyes which she furiously tried to dab out. I am hoping next time she just takes a blowtorch to my face to save time. My face is still a little burny today, but I am hoping we timed it just right for it to blister over and peel off for Halloween. Mask Schmask. I just slough off my own skin for my zombie costume. That's real commitment. No, in all seriousness though, I am pretty excited to see the results and trust Clare almost implicity. Almost. She really is great at what she does. I am a little curious if she has a facial that's a little more cuddly for the next round. Not that I am a wimp or anything....

Speaking of cuddly - even though I know you all have the impression that I live in my sweatpants under my Smokey Bear Pendleton Blanket (soon to be accessorized by new throw pillows), I generally am up and going at least by lunch time, and since I have to be at High School Cross Country Districts this afternoon, and provide the weekend commute for the cello, and try to vacuum at least a quarter of the Truck hair off the couch before we have a big "end of summer" (what? so we're slow!) BBQ tomorrow with like 4 whole friends, I should probably go take a shower. Plus I am hoping the water will quell the burning of my face for a minute. But first I am gonna listen to all the demos for Holidays Rule again. At least three times. 

Things That (cool) Moms Listen To

On September 11, which is an unfortunate day in the US for anything happy to occur, something very happy does occur. The Avett Brother's release their second studio album, The Carpenter. Contrary to the popular but misguided opinion that I am a music snob, I have no idea what differentiates a studio album from a non-studio album, other than some big shot named Rick Rubin, who worked with even bigger shots like Madonna and stuff, produced it. None of that impresses me nearly as much as the album itself, which I have been streaming almost constantly since it was put up on NPR's first listen ((listen here). In my absolutely untrained but highly subjective opinion, this album is awesome. My favorite track is called February 7, and in my mind it speaks to the second chances that we would all be proverbially screwed without. I like that this album has horns, and so does my Eclectic Man. The album still speaks plenty of banjo, which is my favorite sound in the world, but I also really love that Joe Kwon's cello really feels like it comes of age in these songs. My (true music snob) cousin has always said that he felt Joe didn't quite fit, or at least his cello didn't. My cousin also wears sweat bands and considers beards the status symbol of hipster ideology, so I feel safe in calling his critique into question.

But as to the idea that I am a music snob, I must confess a deep rooted weakness for mainstream trash, especially from the 80s and 90s, that would make my indie friends blush. I mean, would a real music snob tear up watching the infomercial for Power Ballads of the 90s? I think not. At this point the hipsters and indie music snobs are becoming so mainstream that my cousin's Hall & Oates fetish is actually more of an indie movement. (You have to admit, Brent, the girls aren't lining up at the door.) My studly guy wisely hid his proclivity for 80s hair music from me until AFTER the nuptials, and I will never admit to him that I secretly adore it. Unfortunately he reads this blog, so now I need to find a new superiority complex to develop.

So let me talk about my favorite music, the good, the bad, the indie.

It's hard for me to really categorize my musical preferences. It's kind of like food preferences for me: yes - I prefer it. All.

Anyone who knows me even slightly has been exposed to my slightly embarrassing groupieism for The Avett Brothers. I would be more ashamed except I really believe that they are THAT GOOD. As artists and as people. As much as My Boy expects me to leave him any second for Scott Avett, the day that man gets a divorce is the day I quit listening to their music and face the reality of Total Disillusionment. I have even talked to their dad, about child rearing, no less, and how to get around the harsh realities of parenting fails. Jim Avett seems like a kind soul. And makes great music as well. But enough about them. In chasing TAB around the country, I have discovered a handful of other great bands that you may or may not have heard of, depending on how cool you are. At the top of this list is Langhorne Slim and The Law (Langhorne's Website), Sally Ford and the Sound Outside (Sallie Ford), Sasparilla, Lone Madrone, Thao and The Get Down Stay Down, and probably more that I don't remember. As The Avett Brothers began to circulate, bands with that banjo-ridden americana sound all started surfacing in my consciousness. Great bands like Old Crow Medicine Show, Mumford and Sons (incidentally not American at all), Dawes, Blind Pilot, Blitzen Trapper, Trampled by Turtles... and then I started to cross over to other cool "indie" music like Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, The Black Keys, The Decemberists, and recently The Lumineers, Fun, the Mynabirds (I'm really throwing them in because I got to ride on a shuttle to Pickathon with them)(and they're good) and many many more. If you have any questions about these bands, I probably can't help you, but I can try!

Truth be told however, I spent the entire day today listening to a stream of 90s pop hits. Nothing gets to me quite like some good Ace of Base or Spindoctors. Wow. FLASHBACK. And speaking of flashbacks - this has nothing whatsover to do with music, but if you grew up in the 90s you obviously knew about Revlon's Outrageous Shampoo, which smelled exactly like you imagined dating would feel, if you were a homeschooled teenager. Anyway, it's not available in the US anymore, but I just found it on eBay, and it smells the exact same. I'd still like to know if dating feels that way. Outrageous on eBay Wow. That was a rabbit trail. Spindoctors and Outrageous. It's like oreos and milk.

I have quite a bit more to say about music, but can't remember any of it right now, so check back for more. After you listen to The Carpenter 37 times.