positively painfully honestly strange.

Strange would an appropriate way to describe theme and feel of my week. It's been unnerving at times. There have been multiple monumental life marker moments. It's almost been too much. I say almost, as it all fits appropriately inside the knob that I've been using to turn up the volume. But sometimes, when you turn it up louder than it's ever been, these sounds and tones and notes come out that you haven't ever heard before, and the loudness makes you feel a little strange. This week, the last week of March in the year two-thousand and ten, I have felt a lot of strange.

My week of strangeness follows a week of revelations, which is another reason why it has only been almost too much, instead of all the way.

I had a friend post a link on facebook today questioning the argument of stability over movement. The link led to an article about a Duke divinity grad that had written a book touting the goodness of rooting oneself in one place, instead of moving on to different or more.

I am not doing this - choosing stability. I am moving on. I haven't read his book, and don't know the root of his perspective, but I would venture to say that the argument over moving on or staying put is unique to the individual and the individual's situation.

Last week I asked myself these questions, more heavily than usual. I am going, and I am confident with my decision. There is a line in "The Drifter and the Gypsy", the song that Meagan gifted to me, that says, "The train is almost here, this decision seems so clear...". Yep. That almost sums it up. Today, and for a while now, I have not craved or needed stability. It hasn't been on my list of priorities, or a factor I consider when making any kind of decision about my future. Since this isn't the norm among individuals, my thought is that I should ride this unstable wave while it's here. If I am comfortable with movement and change, I should embrace it while it lasts, and experience much while the specifics of my circumstance encourage this adventure that I crave.

Following that was my next revelation, that pesky pest, desired companionship. This has been a word I try to avoid and a thought I try not to indulge. I proactively allot more space in my head for other things. But while spending added time last week asking myself, honestly, what is at the root of my inclination to go and my choice to see and experience more, this usually diluted desire kept bouncing back to the surface of my thoughts. I labeled it a bad guy long ago, and have, for a long time, treated it as a weakness. During one season of my life, post being hurt by other people, I fully grasped how important it is for people to not depend on others to know themselves. Defining oneself through others can be exceptionally unhealthy, and it's my belief that the more you are okay with just yourself, the more you welcome healthy and functional relationships into your life. Because of my self-sufficient soap box, I mistakingly crammed the desire for companionship, instead of just the need for companionship, into the box shameful things.

Last week, I gave myself permission to embrace what's natural, healthy, and for most people, human. Since I am a bit of a drifter, adventurer, I must go. But I realized that a really really big part the the decision to leave, and not just think about leaving, is this innate desire to find companionship, and someone to share all of this adventuring with. I have realized that if this is the way that I want to do life, to see and experience more, it's unlikely that I will find a like-minded person that's here in this place, staying put. Possible, but unlikely. And so, it makes sense to go and adventure for myself, which also increases the possibility that someone will come along somewhere along the way of change, someone that's adventuring in the same sort of way.

Two-thousand and ten isn't just about taking more risks. It's also about living honestly. I don't want to spend emotional energy suppressing natural and healthy tendencies, as that seems unhealthy and dishonest. I want to walk forward, look ahead, and feel everything that comes, fully, even if what comes is rooted in a disappointment that's stems from what hasn't.

Post revelations, a more open version of myself passed through. It's a me that's choosing to embrace the positive aspect of things, while still fully feeling the negative. And I truly think I believe that this openness opens one up to so much more life. The painfully positive is opening me up, even more, to the wonderfully strange.

underneath.

Privy to many amplified sounds unheard by the average ear makes up the life of a basement dweller. Some are welcome: The sounds of love in conversation and laughter from the unaware couple to the left, and the unaware couple to the right, spring rain hitting and bouncing from the window right above my head, and footsteps above me when I am feeling alone. Others are less inviting, like the can't-be-good ticking that comes from our ancient washing machine in the damp dark room that neighbors mine, the cat that meows as if it's being murdered in the early morning hours each time it saunters by my ground level window, and footsteps above me when I am trying to sleep.

The footsteps above overlap categories, and serve as anomalies. They bring me peace, and unrest. Tonight, I will fall asleep with footsteps overhead, and in my head, a basement dweller in so many ways.

shared wisdom.

My friend Mary Beth...She is lovely and wise. She is also a light, and has taken risks with her life that have not only been beneficial for her, but also, all of the things and people involved in the full life she lives. She said this the other day:

"If you don't try there is a chance it may never happen."

And, of course, duh. Right? But for some reason the statement carries more weight coming from someone that I know has, in fact, tried.

And when I say this statement to myself, it gets me excited for the possibilities that gain a glimpse of visibility. I don't, as a habit, make resolutions when the new year begins, on the principal that if something in my life needs to change, I want to be as aware of needed change on August the twenty-sixth as I am on December 31st. But sometimes, an awareness of needed change happens to fall at the turn of a new year, and in this case, decade.

Right before the old year turned new, a friend so eloquently informed me that "you love change and excitement, but you are not a true risk taker". Oh the joy of having honest friends. This statement, and the remainder of the email that accompanied it, helped open my head to some of the things in my habits and thinking that truly did need to change. Appropriately and timely, my "new year's resolution" for two-thousand-and-ten was officially to "take more risks".

I referenced my friend Bruce in my last post. We are at completely different places in life, came from completely different decades and upbringings and have very little in common on a practical level, but there is a kindredness that cannot be denied. During one conversation, I drew a picture of a thought with very little words to explain the issue and he just nodded in understanding. Bruce has lived in Italy, killed sharks on the coast of Miami for bounty, and is currently going through chemo-therapy for lung cancer. He has sported a classy silver ponytail for years, but cut it all off before the effects of radiation did it for him. When I told him of the goings on in my life, he gave me a loud amen, and then said, so appropriately..."Let me tell you something," as he turned to me with body language that informed me what he was about to say needed more weight than a slouched posture would provide..."I have lived a lot of years and done a lot of things and the one thing I have learned: turn up the volume".

Try, take more risks, turn up the volume. I get it, I get it. I am trying. The rest of my friend's statement in the revealing email: "a risk is only a risk if its something you personally fear losing". So that's the rest of it. The excitement that accompanies added possibilities that come from trying, taking more risks, and turning up the volume, is also joined by a greater possibility for things lost, foolishness felt, and pain experienced.

And so, I raise my imaginary glass to Mary-Beth, Amelia, and Bruce, for their shared experiences and offerings of wisdom to inspire needed change, and the guarantee that though my two-thousand-and-ten will certainly not be pain free, it will be full.

to Bruce, and to Pam.

Have been feeling a bit apprehensive about the impact I will have on the lives of the family I will be staying with in DC. I have also began to mentally rush myself out of the city before I even arrive. I may fall in love with the place, and stay indefinitely. Why would I plan my exit before I even enter?

Emailed my concerns to my cousin...The incredible woman that is helping to make all of this wonderful change in my life happen, and this is how she so graciously responded:

"Dahling! Please do not think of yourself as anything other than an adored 'found' family member whose life i feel as if I must interrupt before she becomes so depressed at having not spread her wings she actually stays in a place unsuited to her and regrets it for the rest of her life!!!"

To come across a relative at such a late point in life that understands so much so well, and to be cared about by her?! I have so much to look forward to.

The excitement is escalating, and the ease behind the idea of going has returned, thanks to her effortless encouragement. Dear Bruce: Turning up the volume as I type this...

sololessons.

I remember the day I had my solo revelation, and the truth that there are things in life I will miss out on if I am not willing to do them alone. I was living in Florida at the time, and after getting off of work in the evenings, I had gotten in the habit of making for myself dairy free pancakes with fat free butter and sugar free syrup. Ugh. What an abundant life. Not. When I didn't have this delightful half-life-breakfast-for-dinner concoction, I would get Panera to-go; Key phrase from that sentence would be "to go". I had become accustomed to going to book stores alone and reading, or movies alone, and enjoying film, but those places were much more safe. It's easier to hide, or be discreet, and the actions add to the ease. One doesn't have to read or watch film. It's a hobby, and some people like solo hobbies. Less people stare, or feel the pang of sadness for your situation. But eating, it's much more personal. It's something we must do to continue living, and in so many places and cultures, it's innately social, or familial. Even if you are quite at ease with a meal out alone, others around you revel in the uncomfortableness. But I realized that I may go crazy if I eat all of my meals inside the stark white walls of the apartment I shared with my messy brother, and since I find a lot of pleasure in the ambience and atmosphere of a place, I would be living a less full existence if I didn't find a way to push past the lingering fears of misunderstanding or my distaste of the "oh, poor her" look and dine confidently "all by my own self", as my nephew would say.

And so I did just that, letting go, eventually, of the need to say, "It's okay! I am fine with this! I find enjoyment from alone moments!" as I have learned that in life if I choose to engage with people, it's inevitable that I will be misunderstood.

I have grown out of the necessity for such solo outings in my Tulsa season because there's, most often, someone to eat with when it's time to eat. I also eat a lot of my meals at work, as there's an abundance of food around and much of it's free. This is what I had planned to do this evening. I went into work with every intention of eating a bowl of the senate bean soup that I have fallen for, post bean breakthrough. I walked in the door on a most beautiful day and my co-workers and boss ushered me out. It was going to be a slow night, I wouldn't make any money, which left no point in me being there, they told me.

I gladly walked back out into the beautiful day, curled up in the recliner on our front porch, attempted to seek out an eating buddy, and eventually fell asleep while waiting for replies. I began to feel hunger pangs around six, the evening was approaching seven, and I was no longer able to wait. I had been craving a cheese burger, but tried to talk myself into a veggie Subway sandwich. And then I grew uncomfortable with the fact that I was trying to talk myself into something I didn't want, which felt a little like settling for the left-overs, and even more uncomfortable with the fact that one thing that was deterring me from getting my burger and beer was the fact that I would be eating it alone. "Wait a second here Meredith! You have already resolved this! You just go somewhere, be friendly and cordial, and create the meal experience you want, instead of going to sleep with vegetable onion breath still hungry and unsatisfied!"

I passed Liz on my way out of the house, and she asked me what I was doing. "I am going to get a burger and a beer at McNellie's," I replied, also inviting her to join. She had somewhere else to be. While approaching my destination, I received a reply to my previous dinner invitation...She had been in a meeting, and was going to have a late dinner with her fiance, which meant a few hours, and I was welcome to join...I declined.

I went to the upstairs bar, which was the less crowded of the two, and I ordered what I had been wanting. The beer was on tap (something Subway didn't offer), the burger met my craving (and then some) and the sweet potato fries were cooked to (crispy) perfection. I ran into some people that I knew while I was there, and though it was nice to see friendly faces, it wasn't necessary. That hadn't been the point of my endeavor, and when a waitress made the comment, "oh good, now you have friends," when I went to join them for a bit, I had to quiet my verbal inclination...And refrain from defending myself or my solo moment.

I left there with a renewed sense of satisfaction from solo adventures, post conversation with a kind stranger, and laughter from the lady that served me my beer. I decided to keep up my solo task, and try a dessert place I had failed to actually enter. I let the ladies at the counter know of my evening's theme, which brought smiles to their faces, and I picked the corner table that, it felt like, had been reserved for me. I sat and observed the lively tables before me, enjoying the laughter of others, and my lemon tart. I sipped my coffee slowly, and reminded myself to savor the moment, and the tarts shortbread crust.

I had woken this morning with a six-ish mile run before me. I wasn't going to complete it so early because I wanted to, but because I didn't think I would have the time later in the afternoon, as I would be working. And then, a run that happened out of necessity set the pace for a most wonderful day. I had marveled at this little blessing earlier, when it was light outside...That sometimes the things we are forced into bring the most unexpected joy. And as I drove home in the darkness, full and happy, I related my morning's blessing to my evening's, as well. I hadn't intended to eat alone, as I sought company before leaving my house. The decines had been out of my control, and since I wanted that burger and that beer and didn't feel like compromising, my solo meal happened out of necessity. It led to solo dessert and solo confidence, and the most unexpected joy.

And this is all good and timely because, friends and readers, I am preparing to embark upon a much more substantial solo journey very soon from now. March is coming to an end, which leaves but two months before I move to a place where I am almost completely unknown. I needed my evening's adventure to remind me of what I am capable of, and prepare me for what will likely be a much more common occurrence.

I decided in the darkness of my evening drive home to make this solo action happen more frequently while I am here, when it's not necessary, so that it doesn't feel so foreign when it is.

looking past.

Looking back on my previous years gives me so much to be thankful for in the present. There were so many off seasons, like when it's supposed to be spring but winter refuses to leave, and snow continues to fall with fervor in March.

I was riding my bicycle to my new home in the midst of a truly springlike season a few days ago and thankfulness struck me; I was reminded, with a chill, of the many winters passed.

Looking back is a funny thing. It's tainted, and often, the negative stands out so much more clearly than what was good. I remember a snow a few years ago at my parents' house. It's true country and trees take up most of the space in the yard. There was white snow covering bleak surfaces, white topped branches of leafless trees up against a gray sky; Walking outside felt like walking into a black and white photograph. I ventured off of the porch and into the yard, and there on the branch of a tree was the reddest red bird in the record of my memory. Each time I looked up into the otherwise blank canvas, my eyes went strait for it's crimson feathers. When I look back on my years passed, the bad stands out in my mind like the red red bird.

Yesterday was a day in stark contrast to the day I mentioned above. It's that time of year when winter is trying to make its way out, and the beautiful days are appreciated so much more because of the weather they follow. I had only been outside in the dewey morning, when the sun hadn't been out long enough to warm the day. I was stuck inside for a few hours, as the sun did its job, and when I opened the door for the first time, I was literally enveloped in its warmth. I felt it on my skin, I breathed it in, and I was reminded of the goodness from my past that I too often overlook.

The red bird that stood out to me from my day's black and white photograph was too picturesque to represent the less than ideal memories and seasons from my past. The bird was the color, joy and consistency, like the beautiful people coloring my memories, filling them with joy and being so very there, always and in all seasons. The beauty of spring - the budding dogwood in my front yard, the greening grass, and relentless presence of the redbirds - reminds to look past the clouds of disappointment from the previous years, and instead, at the lasting and abundant friendships perched atop my history's trees.

clean money.

I ran out of gas for the second time this week on Saturday evening.

I ran out right in front of my house.

I forgot the following morning, as I was leaving for work. When I tried to start the Stratus, she just rumbled and rejected.

So I rode my bicycle instead. On the way home, I clutched my little purse in one hand, letting my cash tips make the ride in my right pocket.

I went to leave the house that evening to get some necessities at Walgreen's, not getting far, as I couldn't find the cash I had made.

The clothes were in the wash, and it was my hope that the cash was too.

I rolled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and stuck my hands in the soapy water, fishing for cash. I didn't feel anything.

I went upstairs, sat, and ate some potatoes.

Either my money was on the road between my work and my home, in the pocket of a lucky stranger that happened upon it while walking between my work and my home, or getting really clean with the rest of my clothing.

I sat on the couch, at a loss, with no control over my potential loss. I had to wait until the water drained. I waited, feeling the weight of no control.

I sauntered down the stairs a half an hour later, to the sound of silence in the laundry room. The cycle had finished, literally.

I opened the lid, fumbled through clean wet clothes, and eventually came to a soaking wet wad of cash.

Cheers to happy endings, post lack of control enveloped in ambiguity.