4 years later & I still Love

I'm having a bit of a dilemma right now, and I feel the need to write, even if I don't end up even publishing this post. In fact, if my knuckles on my right hand weren't bruised from smashing them with my fire swings last night, making it painful to physically hold a pen and write, I would probably simply go to one of my many, many journals to find my best friend in the world. Well, the best friend I have constant access to, anyway (being myself and all).

What is it about vocal harmonies - any harmony really - that rips my heart half out of my chest and stretches my being out to infinity? Seriously - because it would definitely be a LOT easier to focus and write, maybe even work on the memoir that I've been neglecting lately, if I could just hit the "stop" button. Just when I think I can do that though......*sigh*.............it inevitably changes key or another song I must listen to is on next. Or maybe not even that much - maybe I just have to hit the "back" key just one more time, I swear. Uh huh. That's what you said an hour ago, Q.....

So what's the big dilemma, lady? Oh - it really doesn't go any deeper than that tonight for me, I don't think. Writing now vs. music now. Although, now that I'm thinking and typing.............. I continue to wait patiently for the fear to set in, to rob the present happiness I'm wallowing in, as it always has in the past. I used to be extremely uncomfortable whenever I would even catch a glimpse of life not sucking-ass for me. Lately though - I don't know what happened to me, and I want to figure it out, if only so I could tell other people in the hopes that it could be repeated for someone else. I am just so............content. It's weird, but in that very great way. The fear just isn't there.

I was rummaging through old writings from several years ago, and I came across this description of one night in my old apartment in South Minneapolis, in 2005. This was almost exactly four years ago for me now - November 18, 2005, to be exact. Wow - four years to the day. I didn't even plan that. Huh. I wasn't attempting to write in any sort of form at all - I was just in agony - I remember this night. My arms were on fire that night and I didn't call anyone - maybe because there was nobody I felt comfortable calling, maybe because it was super late at night, or maybe because I was being stubborn - that I don't remember anymore. I was sitting in my brown chair in the corner of my apartment with one of my notebooks, just........god that was a shitty time in my life. Anyways - please don't snicker at me, even under your breath or to yourself, because - well. Just please don't. Here's what I wrote exactly four years ago tonight:

So deliberate it can't be called an accident
So painful it couldn't be deliberate
but it was.
153 red lines marking a semi-decent night
that ended
Right
where the day began.
Alone.


I hear the hiss of the steam radiator
and the persistent tic of a kitchen clock otherwise known as a leaky faucet
into week-old dirty bowls and plates.
I see sixteen inches of paperwork to be filed,
an empty bottle of Premium beer,
and the bloody razor blades from last night's escapade.
I feel the warmth of sterile cotton sleeves,
taped on either end to hide
the violent map of repressed emotion sliced up both arms.
I smell a year's worth of animal life
that the occasional cleaning can't mask
and faint lingerings of opium incense and smoked resin.
I taste organic cheese ravioli,
my last Diet Mt. Dew,
and unbrushed teeth.
I am with pets in a human's world
inexplicably sad and existentially tired.


Hm. Maybe that doesn't make you want to cry when you read it, but that was a pretty accurate description of way too many nights for me at that point in my life. I don't ache to cry anymore when I read something like this, but I do want to somehow get to her, the girl who wrote these things that night, and assure her that it IS going to eventually be worth all the pain. Eventually, my love, you will no longer question your existence, curse your parents for bringing you into this eff'd up world, swear that having children is pure evil knowing how reality is, and you will smile - for real. Unfortunately, she still has to wade through several more years of hell and it's only going to get uglier before the nightmare ends. But it is worth it - I promise.

This is exactly why I want to write and talk with others and do everything in my sphere of influence to help. I owe it to her. I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't off myself if it would just stop hurting SO bad - just sometime, please. I didn't even demand immediacy or, shit - I didn't even specify "soon". Just - it can't be like this forever. Please take it away someday. Even when I compiled a document outlining my desired funeral plans, down to what I wanted to wear, what food I wanted to be there, and who got my beloved pets and music (Emily got the CDs - I think the pets went to my parents) and what music (including the all important lyrics) I wanted played during the service - even at that point, which was admittedly pretty low - that can't all be for no reason. I can't believe that - I need to believe that good, beauty and love can grow from where I've been and what I've survived, and what others have survived as well.

I do believe it. I'm living proof that healing is possible and that life is what you make of it. I've been asked by several people "what happened to you? what made you change so drastically? How did you get the strength to leave?" I think that trying to define this in one answer is a ridiculous undertaking, but not being one to shy away from the ridiculous - I'm going to go with this: I gave up control. I stopped believing that I could man-handle my life into fitting into how I thought I needed it to go. Giving up seems to insinuate something sad, negative or depressing, but I've found it to be just the opposite. I stopped lying to myself - I stopped pretending that reality was something that it wasn't - and I stopped pretending I knew how the rest of my life would unfold. I still don't know, and I don't really even want to know. I have a few vague ideas of what I'd like to work towards, but I prefer the future to more or less take care of itself, to keep myself surrounded in possibilities for the time being. I'm not saying that I won't make any decisions anytime soon. Hell - I decided to start selling lefse just 3 days ago, and now an entirely new avenue is opening up in front of me that I have never even considered, and I'm running with it.

Anyway - if any of you are in that shit place right now - oh honey child.....I've been somewhere in that neighborhood before, and I promise, I promise, I promise - this too shall pass and it WILL be worth all that you're going through right now. Oh - and you CAN write an entire post with great music playing at the same time. ;) I just did.

Much love,

~Q~

I *heart* Mankato

Dearest Mankato,

Why was I so adamant that I never move back to my hometown? In my heart of hearts, I've always known I'm a Minnesotan - in all the states I've lived in, I never did change my residency, my driver's license or my license plates for my car. Every year I filed taxes in another state - Missouri, Vermont, Nebraska or Kentucky - I filed as a "non-resident".

Still, after fiance #2 dumped me and foiled my plans to move to Savannah, Georgia, to live happily ever after with a man I barely knew, I was dead-set against moving home. It took a road-trip to Florida with Ro, Tyra and my old car, Big H to change my course. I actually ran into a guy I went to high school with at an Against Me! show in Gainesville (or actually - in front of the venue - it was sold out and none of us got in) and ended up talking for hours with RoRo and Jake before I figured it out. I didn't even know Jake in high school. He's a few years younger than me, but we had mutual friends and both went to the same punk shows for several years. Actually, when I first thought I recognized him on the sidewalk, I disregarded it because the only people I thought I knew in Florida were old horse people from my job. When he passed by me again, however, I had to say something. Turns out, he WAS indeed from Minnesota, he DID indeed go to my high school, and I DID know who he was. The three of us went to coffee and he invited us to crash at his and his girlfriend's place for the night. We did that, and the next morning, after waking up to coffee brewing and breakfast cooking, the three of us sat around for several more hours and just talked, talked, talked, talked. (His girlfriend had to go to work early that morning.)

I will never forget what he said to me towards the end of that morning conversation. He said, "you know Sarah? I know I really don't know you all that well, but the more we keep talking, the more it seems like you really just want to go home. So.........why don't you go home?"

Huh. Good question Jake. Up until he said that to me, it hadn't even occurred to me that this was a possibility. Yes, I have a fantastic family. Of course I would have somewhere to go in my hometown. Yeah, my dad did have fairly serious heart issues in the recent past. Of course I missed out on a lot of family gatherings - watching Adam play in his various bands, going to watch the Twins, watching great movies with Emily, and even though I emailed with Mom quite frequently, it's not quite the same as sitting in the same room as her and talking shit to each other, or watching as she goes breathless from the "wind-up laugh" that Emily is so good at provoking in her.

I couldn't acknowledge it to myself back then, but of course I was afraid to come home because of what I had waiting for me here, emotionally. Ye ol' geographic fix does NOT work, by the way. Years of drugs doesn't help either. Trying to gloss over an infected wound and JUST BE HAPPY, DAMMIT is also pointless. At this point, I wasn't even really riding anymore - I was so bitter about choosing the horses over my life in Mankato (and the ex-boyfriend) and then being completely let down by the world as I had imagined it - I didn't even WANT to ride anymore. That's very unlike me, the girl who read every single horse book in my middle school library - twice - and didn't buy a car in high school, but did work two jobs to buy a horse and take riding lessons.

I did come home though. I took the insanely obvious hint from the Universe (I went to Florida to check out a free apartment I was offered in a barn; it didn't feel right and that very night I run into Mankato, MN - in Florida, for crying out loud.) I moved back in with my parents for 8 months and attempted to pry the scar tissue off over my deepest wound so I could clean the infection out and let it heal properly. I left Mankato in 1997. I moved back in 2004. Seven years of running, basically. Eight months later, I decided that I wanted to teach English instead of working with horses (still bitter), so I enrolled in grad school at Augsburg up in Minneapolis to get my Master's in Education and my teaching license for secondary school. Almost half-way through the year, I remembered how much I really didn't LIKE high school, and....well........it ceased to be interesting to me, so I stopped going. I was working full-time for the American Heart Association at this time as well, and I was also getting acclimated to living in a new city. I was freakin' miserable.

By May 2005, I had started cutting myself to deal with the emotional pain that just would NOT leave me alone. That's an entire book's worth of stories in and of itself, so I won't get too into it at this point. Suffice it to say, I once again found the drugs and I was really, really unhappy. Really unhappy. By the Fall of that same year, I started going in and out of the psych ward at Abbott NW. Station 48 became my second home, somewhere I felt safe and comfortable, when I wasn't safe or comfortable anywhere in the world. By January of 2006, AHA let me go because I couldn't stay out of the hospital and they felt I needed to take the time to truly heal. I was put on short-term disability through the company and a whole new chapter of my life started.

Anyway - I'm not at all in the mood to talk about that chapter right now, so let's just jump to August 20, 2009, when I moved out of where I was living with my husband, and once again came home. This time around, I'm not looking at Mankato through my high school eyes. I no longer see ghosts on every corner, in every park, or driving down familiar streets. I see a town that has exactly what I'm looking for. There's a great vibe in this little city, and I'm excited to be discovering all the nooks and crannies that fit me NOW, not me at 17. No, I do not intend to live with my parents forever. I'm pretty sure we'll all be excited when I'm sturdy enough on my own two feet again to get my own space in my hometown. I absolutely adore seeing my mom and dad every day, and I do realize how very blessed I am to be in this situation right now, but dude. I'm 30. And I live with my parents.

A great friend of mine, Mooshey, sent me a link to a job she thought I would be interested in last week sometime. I WAS super interested in it, and extremely qualified for it as well. It was for a barn manager job at a therapeutic riding stable. It's not PRECISELY what I plan on doing, as this facility dealt almost exclusively with physical disabilities and I'm looking to have a facility focused primarily with equine facilitated mental health services, but still......a wonderful experience, no doubt. I was very, very excited when she sent it to me (do I not have the best friends? They think to do things like send me job postings they know I'd love....) but something in my gut stopped me from calling them immediately to find out more information. And then it stopped me from making that phone call the next day as well. Finally, on day 3, while sitting in the waiting room of the clinic while my mom had an appointment, I figured it out.

I keep a small, felt-covered journal in my purse at all times, so wherever I am, I can write when the mood strikes. There often ends up being like 4 books in there as well, a few CDs, and sometimes even my laptop. It's ridiculous, really. :) Anyway - as I'm writing in this little journal of mine, I realize that I have no desire to leave this bend of the MN river. The job I was interested in is southeast of Kansas City. Nothing against Missouri, but I've already lived there, and it just doesn't DO it for me like Minnesota does.

As far as MN goes, I tried being a "City person", but I'm just not. I hate having to be in the car for at least an hour to get to the countryside. I really, really like visiting Minneapolis (and even St. Paul is finally warming up to me) and I'm glad I lived there for awhile but...........I just don't belong up there. I tried, I really did. I tried to be "hip" and live near all the wonderful coffee shops and music and interesting people to watch. I'm just not. There are fantastic coffee shops in Mankato (where I almost ALWAYS run into at least one person I know and like, if not more) and just tonight I was at an open mic at this place called Professor's, where yet again, I ran into someone I vaguely know from mutual friends, and I was seriously just blown away by the talent I witnessed. Two hours of beautiful souls sharing their art with us - it was so fantastic. So fantastic.

So, dearest Mankato - I'll stick around indefinitely and see what the Universe brings to me, or perhaps what the Universe brings me to. There's such good juju in this town - certain neighborhoods and streets being even more appealing to me than others. I dig it. I certainly do. :)

Love,

~Q~

I'm going with....Moth......

One of my very best friends in the world took this photo just this past weekend. Her name is Heather Handyside and even though I already know she's a great photographer, I'm always pleasantly surprised when I see her latest images. I'm told this is a moth, because she had to wait forEVER for it to open up it's wings for a good photo. I briefly looked for what it's name is, but I was quickly overwhelmed and obviously in over my head, so let's just say it's a Moth. With a capital M.

We'll (hopefully) return to Moth down the page. I don't think these posts out ahead of time. I just start typing and go with it. This photo struck me when I first saw it (and when I look at it again) and I actually said "holy shit" out loud when I got to it in the online photo album. So - let's see where we go, shall we?

You know you're on the right track when things in your life are flowing so smoothly, it's hard to keep all your loved ones updated on the latest and greatest. :) That's my way of apologizing for not writing a post for over a week, by the way.

Since I was blown away by the Monsters of Folk show in Minneapolis, life just continues on getting better and better. The very next day, I met with the woman who is leading this - I don't even know what it's called - this class about self-growth, basically. We took the STRONG inventory several weeks ago, and she had each of us come in to go over the results one-to-one. The STRONG inventory, if you are unaware of this (as I was) asks you a bunch of questions to see what you're interested in and then it matches you up with possible career paths that you would probably enjoy. It's based on comparing your answers with the answers of others who are happy in each of these fields. The woman who I met with, the group facilitator, I also happened to graduate from high school with. We weren't friends over there at West. We ran in entirely different circles and if you had told me that we'd end up having SO much in common, I wouldn't have believed it. Not for a second.

Since I've actually figured out what I want to do with my career, we compared the results of this assessment with what I'm looking at (which is Equine Facilitated Mental Health) and lo and behold - it fits. :)

We spent the next hour or so just talking about everything else that is important in life. Although I'm enjoying the 10 week class she facilitates, I'm really looking forward to the end of it so she and I can actually be friends. Right now, that's an obvious conflict of interest, so we just don't go there. Anyway - this woman (who I will not name at this point) - she told me about this place in town here that I had never heard of before. It's called the Hope Interfaith Center and already - I'm madly in love with the place. I don't even know how to explain how cool this place is, or how at home I felt being there. If I wasn't fairly used to surreal experiences, it might've even freaked me out a bit, going to my first service this morning. Not even taking into account the vibe in the room that was so warm and inviting, friendly and - well - logical, to me - the service itself somehow managed to address the issues I've always had with the Christian church that I've always known (and I mean all Christian churches here - not the specific church I grew up in, which I still quite adore) - but without me giving any input, here was the type of service that addressed these unspoken issues. Apparently I'm not the only one who has taken similar issues before.

For example: Communion. It has always irked me in just the slightest way that we needed an ordained intermediary to "be forgiven" by God. Not only do I have issues with the concept of "sin", but I also have problems with the idea of not being to talk it through with God without someone with a degree coaching me along, telling me what God says. Isn't it supposed to be a personal relationship? Ok - well, anyway. I realize that I'm probably offending at least half of my friends and family, if not because they're Christians, then because they're atheists or at least agnostic. I can't honestly apologize for that and mean it, however, because this is my authentic journey. It doesn't have to be something you agree with for it be valid to me. And these are all real, honest thoughts and emotions. If you've known me for any amount of time, you already know that I have no filter on my words, so none of this should really be that shocking to you.

Anyway - communion at the Hope Interfaith Center was totally different. We ALL blessed, or consecrated, the bread. There was no talk of it becoming the body of Jesus, but there was room for that interpretation, should that be your belief. Once the prayer was said, we passed the baskets of bread along each row, each taking a piece and then passing it on to our neighbor. I liked that. A lot. It was like partaking in a family feast and feeling grateful for all that Earth gives to us. Awesome. There was no wine and it wasn't needed.

So that's just one example of the differences I noticed. Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I talked about how no language could possibly encapsulate the feeling you get inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them? That's what this was like. It was like walking into a crowd of maybe 50-60 people (I didn't count - the chapel place was full though) and immediately feeling... at home. I had to leave directly after the service was over, because my mom's choir was singing at our own church today, along with a visiting choir, so I wanted to see that. I'm glad I did - they did a fantastic job. :) Still - my gut was not wanting to leave when I did, and I had to silence my instincts and remind myself that I could go back again, and that it wasn't cool of me to be selfish. My family is very important to me and I wanted to be there to support both Mom and Dad. Dad was playing in the band. He also did a fantastic job. Great job parents, great job. :)

So what does this all have to do with Moth up there? Good question. Maybe it has to do with trying to classify what Moth really is. I saw it and instantly thought it was a butterfly. Heather informed me otherwise, and when I went online to find The Truth about Moth, I faced so many choices - all with similarities and obvious differences, but none quite fitting my Moth here. Perhaps it doesn't matter how you classify the Spirit or God or what have you in the Universe. It's still beautiful and it can still cause your heart to swell with Love in an instant. That's good stuff. I'm excited for the future and yet I'm entirely content right here, sitting on the couch with my little laptop, good music streaming, my cats hanging out with me, and that darn caffeine keeping me up too late, yet again. :) It doesn't get much better than this.

much love,

~Q~