Still Like Me

 I have had the recurring thought, every time I look in the mirror today, that I still really like myself.  I feel like the past couple of weeks I have had a higher number of interactions that have made me question that.  I continually feel less than, where my responses have been questioned, and where I wonder what happened.  

I have been reflecting the past couple of days on who I am and how I'm doing.  I am not always doing great.  There are a lot of things I could do much better, whether it means not gossiping or less complaining or being kinder than necessary.  I don't need to stress so much about how things are going to turn out, and I know I can have a one track mind when it comes to my next steps.  

I haven't handled anything perfectly, and yet?  

I look in the mirror, and I still really like myself.  I'm proud of what I'm trying to do, and I'm proud of some of my best qualities.  I don't give up when I am frustrated or feel like things are falling apart.  I take time to reflect, and I give space for people to grieve.  I follow up with people and check in.  I pray often.  I support people so willingly, often without thought of how they will support me.  

Even when it feels like other people aren't as interested in liking me, I still really like me. 

Cooped Up

I am on the couch with my roommate right now, as we both peruse the internet post-work, trying to mostly pretend us sitting at home on a Friday night is normal, fine, and fun. 

I am feeling good today.  Yesterday, I felt completely overwhelmed, but today?  I am ok.  Part of it probably has something to do with fact that I wore a bright red dress to work today.  Part of it has something to do with going grocery shopping yesterday.  And part of it has something to do with adjusting to all of this and pretending it's fine.

It's bizarre, if I'm being honest.  This isn't fun for anyone, but I do feel particularly lucky that I get to be social distancing with my friends.  I feel lucky that I have a house with a yard.  I feel lucky that I have a job I can do from home.  My family is safe and doing well.  And I feel good about that. 

All of this is not ideal.  But I have been amazed at the resiliency of everyone.  We are doing the best we can. 

Open

I went to bed last night, at 2:30 am and just felt a wave of relief.  2019 was a year where I kept trying, and trying, and trying.  Part of me is hoping it was just a 2019 thing, but part of me is also still not convinced that it won’t be a forever thing.

I am glad that 2019 is done.  There were good parts and beautiful moments, but I am taking the good parts into 2020 and leaving everything else behind.  I woke up this morning feeling hopeful, and I realized that so much of last year I was coming from everything with fear.  I was so scared, worried, and surviving, that I could barely keep my head above the water.  I dealt with a lot of internal pain and heartache, something that I really dislike because I don’t like keeping things inside.  On the outside, and in reality, I had a beautiful year, but on the inside, it was an uphill climb. 

On the flipside of another decade and another year, I am feeling hopeful.  I feel like I can finally look up and out.  I can take in the view, and I’ve decided to come from a place of happiness.  I’m going to have faith this year—in myself and my God. 

A year ago

A year ago I didn't have a skincare routine or own a road bike or know how to brown butter.  I didn't know how clean Singapore would be or how to handle a red-eye flight and a hotel that wouldn't let me check in.  I had read the Harry Potter books or not had a boss for eight months.  I didn't actually know any of my current friends a year ago, a strange thought when I take a second to ponder that.  I was finally starting to understand my job, six months after I had started. 

Looking back now, I didn't know anything a year ago.  And I know in a year from now, I'm going to be thinking the same thing.  I have no concept of time right now.  I still have moments where I have to consciously wonder if we are heading into March or November, spring or fall.  I occasionally look up, surprised that my 23rd year is almost done, when I'm still not entirely sure I have ever felt like a 23 year old. 

I'm proud of all of it, and also exhausted when I think about this past year. It's been a lot, and there is a sense of melancholy that time continues to churn, even when I sometimes wish I could freeze it on that summer night in the pool or that fall day where the sky was explaining its story. 

Like a Duck

I was driving home yesterday, heading home to more work and ready to celebrate a friend and her promotion.  I have been feeling like a duck these days.  Wildly paddling my feet, and pretending I'm not exhausted.  I have been trying to feel serene and exude the confidence I'm trying to cultivate.  The happy news (?) is I think I'm fooling most people.  I'm at least making it look easy to do what I'm doing, even though I go home every night tired.

Most of my life has been working so hard behind the scenes and just trying to make it look easy.  I've been fortunate that my hard work has paid off throughout the years, quick and easy, like a Gold Rush that goes my way.  Now I'm in the long slog where I am just not sure anymore.  I'm not sure if I'm just madly paddling in a circle, waiting for someone to notice. 

To be frank, it's not feeling fun right now.  It's not fun anymore to push hard and to just keep going.  I'm not sure if it's worth it to be driving myself crazy for the future, the future I'm assuming where life will be bright and my goals will be achieved.  In my low moments it feels like other people are moving forward and accomplishing things, and it doesn't even seem like they are keeping up the frantic pace.   

Sometimes being a duck is just freaking overrated. 

Muted

I know that the perfect fall day was not created for me, but it just felt like that, since Mother Nature is a generous woman.  It seemed like the volume of the world was muted, while the sound of nature was turned up.  It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest, if I was invisible as I darted in between leaf piles and cracks in the road.  It was unexpectedly needed to run and not have any fear of being recognized by anyone, the first time that has ever really happened on my runs. 

I have felt neutral all day, a feeling that is foreign and unsettling, since neutrality has never been my strong point.  Yet, for 40 minutes today, the world was pure magic, and it was a feeling I wished would last forever. 

Crane

I had never asked to be stripped of my wings—flying was my goal long before I recognized the source of uplift. I thought I would love the path of the crane, exotic and purposeful. Instead, I found myself on my knees, begging for the feathers to be plucked. I wanted to be a woman, transformed every night from the wingspan that knocked into other people’s expectations. I once said, lightly and with a slight smile in the corner, that none of us were actually women, we were all cranes. And yet, I find that we are nearly extinct. As I make my trek down south, seeking warmer skies and fairer suns, I realize I am alone. I learn that flying is isolating and too difficult against the draft, something the rest of the flock forgot to share. It is easier to play the role of contortionist, changing the feathers to frocks and beaks to beads. I’m not sure when I decided it would be easier to walk than fly, but I’m grounded—relating to the ostrich with useless wings and head in the sand. Barely classifying as a bird, but woman enough to satisfy.