Turning 30: I'll Cry If I Want To

I lay on the lawn chair like a sack. My head was heavy from a happy-birthday cold and a few too many last-night-to-be-29 drinks the evening before. Was this really my 30th birthday? Shouldn't I have been feeling at the pinnacle of health and vibrancy on this day of days? Could the day have snuck up so quickly, and why couldn't it wait until I had time to shake this stupid cold?

The morning sun twinkled against the white plastic chair slats as I smashed my cheek against them, staring languidly down through them to the grass below. At least it was warm in the sun, and I didn't have to accomplish anything in particular today. I had grown accustomed to this feeling of listlessness over the past several days; I barely had the brain power to contemplate my passage into 30-dome.

I suppose the old and wise would tell me that this is exactly how life is going to be from now on. They would say, "Life is full of disappointments. Just accept that things aren't always going to turn out how you want." I tell you, no matter how many times I turn that adage over in my mind, it still remains unacceptable to me. There has got to be more to life than surrendering helplessly to every disappointment.

I never planned to be anywhere else than the lake for my 30th birthday weekend. And despite my cold, and the fact that several people who planned to come to my party had to back out, I (underneath the gloom) was utterly content to be there surrounded by my family. I had had more than a few moments of feeling sorry for myself during the week preceding the big day, and my family members, in their undying effervescence, cheered me greatly. After all, wasn't 30 when you stopped crying over people not coming to your birthday party?

The next day, at my party, my husband surprised me with a sparkling, retro, baby blue and cream reissue 1950s electric guitar. In the midst of my wallowing, I had almost forgot that there was going to be celebration - and presents - with my family and friends surrounding me. There was no longer any room, or time, to feel despondent. When I pulled the wrapper off that shiny guitar, I wept into my hands, completely taken by surprise. Everyone had stopped what they were doing when they saw the large, wrapped package emerge from the cottage. And now, as tears streamed down my cheeks and a big smile began to form on my face, they watched expectantly and then applauded as I held the guitar up exultantly for all to see. I gave my husband his well-deserved hug and stepped out of the gloom.

Perhaps this is exactly how life is going to be from now on (and always has been). Just when you think life has completely trashed the party, through the mess come the most beautiful moments in the shape of shiny electric guitars, elderflower liqueur, tears of surprise, those darling faces of your family around you, or a friend driving through the dark for 5 hours to see you in the last hours of your birthday. We must never take these things for granted. Luckily for us, life will never let us.

For your enjoyment, here is the series of photographs of me opening my guitar (taken by Ricky MacPherson):

Ryan gets his hug

My Danelectro

Ryan even made me a sweet card with my face superimposed!

Good Life Project: where does my blog stand?

Dear Readers,

I have been thinking about this blog as of late, and how I see it fitting into my life at the moment. Sometimes I wonder if I should dissolve it; my priorities have shifted and I find I have less time to really sit down and write. I originally started the blog (in April 2007) as a creative outlet for myself during the time when my husband and I first started our photography business. He was the photographer, and I was the manager, so I wanted to make sure I was able to have a way to express my self as well. Now I have a band, which has been one of my dreams for a long time, and has thus taken a higher rung on the ladder than my writing.

When I look back on my first several posts, I am reminded of the inspirations for starting the Good Life Project:

"New Beginnings": this introductory post highlighted my simple goal of living a good life and what it might mean to do so (it means something different to everyone).

Over the past 2 years (wow, my blog is 2 years old!), I have discussed everything from fears:
"What I am afraid of admitting I'm afraid of"

to celebrations:
"Today I find Inspiration in Everything"

to more existential narratives:
"I Want to Matter (The Anthropology of Living)"

I feel that I have consistently stayed on course with my theme of living a good life, and writing this blog has given me many peaceful moments of introspection, as well as the chance to make some new friends!

So the big question now is, what does this blog mean to you?
Should I keep writing, or should I dissolve it? Are we all too busy to connect via blogs anymore?

Please, if you have never or rarely commented, now is your time to let me know what you think about the Good Life Project. I would like to get an idea about the role my blog plays in your lives. After all, why else do people post their thoughts on the internet except to connect with other people and get feedback (well, that's why I do it anyway)?

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Here's to a good life,
Larissa

I Want To Matter (The Anthropology of Living)

In the woods, just off the C&O Canal,

a derelict house stands like an old tree about to fall.

My friends enter and climb the steep and dark staircase;

I stay outside (too many fears in there).

Signs of an old life are found in a strip of wallpaper.

Pink roses on yellow with a white lattice,

once brilliant on a sturdy wall, sun shining on it

through the window pane - a lovely room for someone.

The wallpaper is brought down the stairs to me

and I look at it in the stark winter forest light.

For these brief moments, the mystery

of the inhabitants' lives mean something to us.

We form their ghosts in our minds, and I lay the wallpaper

back in the house with a nod of respect.

What remnants will remain of me?

Who will I matter to when my wallpaper peels off the walls?

I Want To Matter

In 200 years when none of this matters, I want it to matter

My young life in full swing, no kids and a rock band

I can hear a Divine voice in my creativity; I know it is good.

Am I wrong for not wanting these days to ever end?

I want everything I experience to count for something.

Like the ache in my heart when I watch

the birds at the kitchen window feeder.

Little robot heads looking side to side,

their daily business an important matter.

Or crying over finding my dog

after her second time ever running away, spooked by a firework

The comfort of my life broken for those twenty minutes of hunting for her,

such unadulterated relief in my tears when she returns,

which she licks excitedly from my face.

Like listening to an old friend from Austin

sing on a CD in West Virginia, the miles and time between us

spilling out onto the table in front of the stereo.

Everything I do is important, even the simplest of things.

This year, I will pay close attention to the messages and lessons in every experience, good or bad, big or small.

What are you thinking about differently in the New Year?

30th Year

I am writing this on my 29th birthday, heading straight on into my 30th year on earth. It is hard to ignore the swift passing of time when you are nearing 30. But it is, after all, just a number, so I will enjoy this day just as I do each day, noticing as many wonderful details as possible.

This morning I jogged with my dog along the back side of the Mercersburg Academy campus, my favorite place to run.

I passed by and said hello to my 1st grade teacher, who was walking along the road, enjoying the beautiful morning sunshine. I am still reminded in so many ways of my childhood, living in my hometown.

I continued on my run and watched Sadie chase a few little creatures, her tail spinning with delight.

Upon returning home, I was served a lovely breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and coffee, by my husband. I enjoyed every morsel.

Ryan's Mother called to wish me a happy birthday, then his Grandmother stopped by with a card and sang to me in my kitchen. I smiled the whole time.

Tonight is sushi and sake with friends and family.

I look forward to another great year, filled with all the great details of life. And I look forward to sharing it with you.

Cheers!

My sisters and I, having a chuckle.
Being goofy with family is one of my favorite things!

Allston Revisited

We as humans are always moving forward, on a linear path toward the "bigger and better." We look to the past on occasion for nostalgia and comfort, but we also use the past as a reference for how much we've developed as individuals. We look back and thank the heavens that we no longer live that life, or with that person, or in that place.

Have you ever returned to a place that represents a darker time in your life?
I did just this past weekend.

When I was a sophomore attending Berklee College of Music in Boston, MA, I moved from my inner-city dorm on Massachusetts Ave to the community of Allston, just West of downtown. I moved with my roommate from freshman year, along with a friend of hers, into the third-story apartment of a house on Harvard Terrace, just off of Harvard Avenue. I only lasted a semester there before I reached an all-time low, which resulted in my taking a semester off from school that Spring.

Even during my freshman year, I never felt that I was nurturing any permanent or long-lasting friendships, and that I was almost falling into groups of people by default, just happy to be hanging out instead of searching for people I truly connected with. Though my friends were fun, they didn't embody the kind of lifestyle that suited me (and they weren't always kind); I partied more than I created or exercised, and rarely found occasions to escape the "pit" of my apartment and Allston (being car-less and without much expendable income). I was busy with my cool city life, socializing, singing, and trying to ignore my increasing unhappiness.

A very urban district, Allston seemed, and still seems today, like a pothole of sorts. I am sure my impression of it has much to do with my associations and memories of my life back then: being so young, vulnerable, and naive. To its merit, Allston is a very ethnically diverse, young neighborhood, with a plethora of good eateries and interesting shops. It teems with activity, a throughway for the "T" light-rail line, and a major intersection between Boston and points West. Until this past weekend, I had not returned to this neighborhood, or Boston for that matter, since 2001.

A friend of mine recently moved to Allston. His first time living in Boston, he arrived in the neighborhood with no prior associations. I made a point not to talk too much about my negative ones with him before he moved. Ironically, he happens to live a few short blocks from my old apartment. Since I was in the Worchester area for a wedding this past weekend, I made the trip into Boston with my husband and sister.

As we drove into my old neighborhood and found a place to park, I reflected on the adult version of myself that stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk that I had so often walked almost 10 years ago. I am almost 29 now; I was 19 then. Everything I have done since then was stamped onto my identity in that moment, and I viewed my old neighborhood, and house, with a strange sense of awe, coupled with insouciance. Living there seems to me now like it did then - some sort of "boot camp for life." Live unhappily in a trench for several months and you'll come out wiser for the wear. The bruises will fade, but the lessons never will. To this day, I'm not sure if it was worth it.

Ryan, Brechyn, and I walked the streets on our way to meet up with our friend, Fred, as I recounted various stories about businesses along the way that I frequented during my séjour there. "This is the building where I took Ninjutsu;" or, "This is the bar where I sang with the reggae band every week." It was amusing to see that it was all still there. When we entered Fred's apartment, I was struck by the similarities between his Allston abode and others in that area that I recalled frequenting, including my own. The worn, hardwood floors; trim painted twenty times over with white paint; old, tall windows wafting in the musty Allston air - the thick smell of city life almost knocked me over as I stared out the window into the alley below. My feet were glue for a moment as waves of heady nostalgia hit me. An old familiar knot formed in my stomach, and I carried it with me to lunch.

(Aside: We had a delightful time with Fred. I don't mean to imply that the day was all gloom and doom. We ate at a wonderful organic sushi restaurant in Coolidge Corner, just next to Allston. One of many great eateries in the district, these are the opportunities I miss out on by living in the country. I will admit that.)

The sooty memories from that era still haunt me. I have not completely made amends; perhaps I never will. Boot camp left scars, not bruises.

I wonder now if these "dark times" are naturally imbricated in the experience of transitioning from teen-hood to adulthood. Must we all go through the boot camp of life in order to be truly happy as adults? How can we squelch the residual negativity from those bygone eras that continues to ring in our ears?

What was your darkest time? Or, are you in it now? Do tell!

Me, in front of my old apartment building, trying to make amends as a young adult in Allston

Happy Birthday, Blog!

It was exactly a year ago today that I started the Good Life Project with my post "New Beginnings." In it, I pondered what it means to have a good life. If you've been following along with me since then, or even more recently, you'll know that striving for a good life involves process, focus, patience, forgiveness, and perseverance. And it's a choice we all have the ability to make if we desire it.

A lot has happened in my life since April 17, 2007. I am sure the same goes for you, my noble reader. This morning, I awoke to the sound of springtime birds and a clear blue April sky. A soft morning glow filled my room as I peeked over my downy covers. "I have arrived," I thought, thinking on the steps I took to get where I am now - in this house, in this life.

Giving up our life in Austin and making the bold decision to move home to Mercersburg wasn't easy. Likewise, building a new life here has been an interesting process to observe and experience. As you saw in my last post, living in a small town does not necessarily mean that life is going to be as simple and free as I thought it would be. But frankly, it is up to me to create the life I want and that is what this blog has always been about. It is up to me to create that simple and free life, if that is what I want. Easier said than done, this goal is something I still employ patience (as much as I can) and perseverance to obtain. Sometimes, life just gets away from us and we often need a reminder (like my episode with the voice lessons last week) that we have stretched ourselves to the limit or have headed down the wrong path.

In the year ahead, I know this process will continue, and I plan on enjoying it. Looking back on a year is an interesting way to observe the steps and processes of my life's adventure. Looking ahead allows me to learn from that process and prepare to take new steps toward greener pastures. But really, folks, what is more important than right now? The Good Life is right here and right now. So let's raise a glass to the birthday blog!

Thank you all for your support, comments, concerns, and thoughts. I look forward to another good year with you!

Cheers!
Larissa