Tag: growth

Autobiography

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Ruby Pipes16 Comments
“Library books” © faungg’s photos, 2014. CC BY-ND 2.0.

On Tuesday I made my way to the library. Walked up and down each aisle, not picking up anything, just absorbing the calm, the quiet, the smell.

I’m still in awe of the peacefulness here. How I can hear the neighbor’s child play tetherball across the yard. Amazed by all the green space, all the leaves. When Mason and I went for our first walk I tugged on his shirt sleeve and said, “Look! Mushrooms! Something someone didn’t plant is growing.”

Yesterday morning I went running again. I paid close attention to my feet scuffing across the concrete. Watched and plumes of breath escape my mouth and rise up in front of me. I was still. I was quiet. I was only listening.

The rain plummeted through the leaves and made a sound I hadn’t heard since I was a kid. A dampened thunder, a promise of renewal crashing down. I stopped running and stood there in the dark. Arms outstretched, rain water mixing with sweat on my bare face and chest.

Something is growing. I just don’t know what yet.

Autobiography

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Ruby Pipes14 Comments

October 2015.
October 2015.
It’s our last day in Seattle. Tomorrow morning we head south. I feel like I should deliver a eulogy to our time here. The city we first made our home, the apartments we shared, the streets we learned together. But just like any other time I’ve wanted to stand up at a funeral, the words just won’t come.

We awkwardly balance the heartbreak of leaving, of having known this city so intimately, with the excitement of what’s next. Try to hold close the memories, the leftovers, the echoes of these years. Over coffee Mason and I talk about all the things living in a smaller town will allow us to do. I imagine a small community, an apartment big enough for two offices, trees, space to breathe. The settling that can happen when your world is not so loud. He reaches under the table and laces his fingers in with mine, squeezing tight.

At night I stare at all the things we still need to pack. I think of the therapist I’ve been seeing for two years and my best friend. All the people I’ve met here flash through my head and I struggle to keep composure. I hold the heartbreak of leaving close to the love of forward motion. I try to imagine them as two parts of a multi-facetted piece of me. It is not all joy or sadness, it is too many feelings to go on listing. My mind pulls in several directions. My heart in as many. Straining across ventricles, a sharp ache and electric excitement fight for dominance, but neither are winning.

This hurts. This is thrilling.

Autobiography · Personal Development

Sine

Ruby Pipes18 Comments
October 2015.

They say to find your edge and hold it. Adjust to the water one half inch of skin at a time. It’s all about sustainability, finding a pace you can maintain for the long haul. Slow progress. Nothing spectacular. Just figure out little tasks you can do every day and then, after a couple years, look back and see how far you’ve come. But I am a bullet. An avalanche. I plow through with huge intentions and then splatter against the wall. I am a sine wave, all ups and downs.

I gently seek out my limit, toeing forward in the dark, arms outstretched. My fingertips find a concrete wall and fumble around for points of weakness. Where is there room to push through? And then I pummel until I reach exhaustion. Collapse into a heap. Get up again. Repeat. Logically, I know there must be a better way to achieve. I should chip away at it slowly. Be patient. Practice. They tell me this is how people burn out, wear down, give up and I know it’s true. I charge forward and then hurdle back. Have to fight twice as hard to gain a quarter of the distance. But I don’t know how to exist peacefully. I am all extremes.

When we first met he called me “wildfire”. Fierce and raging, unpredictable. He had me pegged within a week of exchanging messages. Knew I would throw back my head and cackle at the thought of hesitation. Deal with the fall out later. I wore the statement like a badge of honor. Wanted nothing more than to live the rest of my life aflame. But I’ve begun to wonder when I will be only scorched earth. What will grow after? Anything?