Get Up and Get Down and Get Outside

So- after the hazy, hopeful opening, I find myself unsure about what to share here.

Growth is a tricky thing for me. It is often nonexistent, with mind-numbing spurts of change and insight... which makes it a strange thing to properly acknowledge, or pursue. For all of the glorious failures that I hope to make, in pursuit of one or two successes- the most basic one is getting out into my new city.

I moved to Chicago a few months ago, and promptly set up shop in the living room. A combination of depression-rooted agoraphobia and touch-&-go social anxiety left me nearly incapable of getting out of the apartment for a while. Fortunately, there was company. And Netflix. When all else fails, sitting with a friend and watching reruns of Supernatural or [insert appropriate TV show here] is an excellent way to bypass uncertain days. Granted, the goal is to wrestle those uncertain days into submission... but sometimes, you look a day in the eye, and know that it will have you pinned before you even roll out of bed. That was pretty much March and April, for me.

Currently, getting out is happening every day- if only to clean other peoples' homes. The weather has been amazing- cool, refreshing, bright. My car is running well for a beater with 217,000 miles. Chicago traffic is gradually making sense to me- and I'm slowly beginning to know where I am (geographically). For all that cleaning other peoples' things can be odd, sometimes, I can't really think of a better way for me to familiarize myself with my new world, on my own. There's also an added bonus (?) of being forced to interact with others. Curling up into myself is extremely easy and natural- particularly in stressful or uncertain circumstances. In this unique series of situations, I get the alone time while driving around looking for new addresses (learning my way around!) and also some forced socialization when discussing jobs and payment options with clients (interaction!).

After two months of hoping to atomize and drift away on the current from the living room vents, I am now driving around Chicago with few-to-no issues. There haven't even been any tickets on my windshield, the last few weeks! The small victories feel bigger than they are, of course- hitting a street that I know, and remembering which way is home, still feels like a superpower... which I'm okay with, since I'm the only person in my car to judge me, and we are willing to overlook the indulgence so long as we don't stall there.

Also, I went to a social engagement, this week, that wasn't in Central Illinois. Please, please- no parades- I'll just get awkward and hide in my room.

So this is my second small success, in my new city. On a daily basis, I roll out of bed and wrestle the day into submission. I think the day is letting me win, sometimes- but I'm not too proud to accept it...

Not Everyone Grows Up to Be an Astronaut

I am not an astronaut. Nor am I a doctor, a lawyer, a maker of useful things. At this point in my life, I am cleaning other people's things. They call, we schedule, and I arrive on their doorstep, vacuum and mop in hand- with an intense desire to make their world shinier, so that they will have me back.

When I was five, I wanted to be a parent. At eight, married. By middle school, I wanted to be a teacher. In high school, an author (with closet daydreams of space travel). Come college, I threw caution to the wind, and decided to study performance theatre and philosophy, with some extensive dabbling in writing and improvisation. After a late graduation (yeah, depressive episodes!), I meandered until I found myself working at a pharmaceutical company- eventually becoming a supervisor. I was good at my job, they paid me well, it was something my family was proud of, and there was a good chance I was going to buy a home in the next year or two... but I couldn't make it stick. In the world of job-dating, we'd gone as far as we could- we'd discussed the future, ignoring the big question for as long as we could- and while we'd made that little 401k together, I wasn't going to be able to stick around and watch it grow up.

There are defining moments in all of our lives- I'm sure you've noticed a few of them,. They aren't always big moments, nor particularly loud. If we aren't paying attention, some of the more significant ones can slip right by us, their importance lost in the haze of day-to-day life. In my time in pharmaceuticals, I had several big moments that I ignored, for the sake of steadiness. Moments that I'm not sure about- odd mixtures of pride, shame, and regret- which I understand are a few of the hallmark signs of making choices. In those moments that I ignored, I was making choices away from the ephemeral maybes in my life, toward the tangible world of home-ownership and increasing debt (okay, that one not-so-tangible). But choices they were... whether I consciously acknowledged them, or not.

At this point in my life, I am not a single one of the things I desired to be when I was younger. Unlike Frank Turner, the artist behind the title of this blog, I am not a bad ass singer/songwriter, either. But there is a misfit in here, craving acknowledgement and a few chances to fail gloriously. I'm hoping to use this blog to document such attempts... and maybe a glorious success.