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What’s in a Year?

Time flies by at such a rapid clip, it’s often hard to pinpoint exactly what’s happened in a given year.

Sometimes, you want to forget things that’ve happened.

But there’re also plenty of moments that demand to be remembered.

And this past year has been chocked-full of both.

So, kittens.

It’s time for a 1990’s-esque flashback.

*Cue the wavy screen*

***

A year ago tomorrow, I was looking a hot mess and prepping for OutRaleigh, the LGBT Center of Raleigh‘s annual fundraising event. There’re pictures to prove how messy and sweaty and generally gross I looked, and how apparent it was that I’d gotten approximately twenty minutes of sleep prior to running around and orchestrating the KidsZone.

Little did I know that I’d meet a particular mister that crazy, rain-filled day. And that a year to the day that we met, we’d be leaving to start our lives in Los Angeles.

Between the time we made it official and now, we’ve gone through a lot.

We negotiated the ever-stressful process of merging households, but were pretty happy with the result.

We suffered through ridiculously long commutes to horrific jobs.

We realized how much said jobs and their respective stressors filtered into our lives and jeopardized our happiness.

We made the decision for me to leave my job.

We traveled across the country to escape, and to entertain crazy plans of one day moving to the West Coast.

We made it there and back again, all the stronger and happier.

We started making strides to realize those crazy plans, and endured a long, agonizing process of job-searching and waiting.

We made the decision to go for it, even though we had no idea if job prospects would pan out.

We slashed our plans down to dollars and cents to make it work.

We screamed and cried and repeatedly questioned if it was all worth it.

And then we screamed and cried when we realized it was.

***

With our remaining car packed to the gills, and Andy’s last day of work upon us, we’re camping out on the hardwood floors of our Raleigh apartment one last night before we start to truly follow our gay, man-infested destiny to the “left coast.”

It’s been a crazy ride, and it’s certain to have even crazier moments as we learn our way around a massive, expansive city. But we’re ready to learn, and eager to explore.

So, kittens. Hold on to your hats.

Because we’re just getting started.

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Learning to Swim

There’s something jarring about seeing all of your stuff laid out, taken out of context, and shoved together like some sort of fallen, avant garde Jenga tower.

Moving tableau

There’s a bit of humor in it.

And sadness.

Plenty of mixed emotions you can’t quite pinpoint.

But your resolve to start over unites the amorphous piles. After all, why else is this stuff–the piecemeal, materialistic summary of your life thus far–scattered about?

***

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. And not just because our apartment looks like an episode of Hoarders. (Not really. I don’t think?)

Part of this whole starting over bit is reflecting on what’s instigated it. And since my congested self has been up since 2 AM, I figure it might be a good time to take stock of what’s been packed into the past year.

So, I just started sifting back through earlier posts, gaining perspective on how I’ve changed since starting this rambly little blog.

And I found this incomplete, unpublished post from 31 October 2012: “Drowning.”

Do you ever have those moments when you realize you’ve been slowly drowning, halfheartedly flailing about like some extra in Jaws? When you see that your attempts to stay afloat start dragging others down into the murky depths? And there’s no lifeguard on duty.

Then something clicks inside your head–tells you, Float, you fool!

So you stop fighting, calm down, reorient yourself, and start managing your new course with the current. Gently directing yourself in the direction you want to go, instead of splashing about and making a ruckus. Because, with your mind focused, you realize (1) You’re scaring the fish and (2) The water is only a foot or so deep. You’ve got this.

You just needed to experience that loss of control to realize that you can take the reins at any moment, right yourself, and stand up if you need to.

So it came as an odd surprise that during a recent paddle through tumultuous mental seas, an excerpt from a poem I wrote in seventh grade popped into my head.

“…He pulls me up

And I am relieved

To be saved

From the raging sea…”

Even while I was writing it back then, I wondered who exactly “he” was. My father? Some “He” I’d learned about in CCD? Some Jesse Bradford doppelganger patrolling the beaches, searching for someone to rescue?

But with life’s latest volley of social obligations, work stressors, and health-related issues, I read it with new eyes–some with a bit more experience behind them than the ones in that seventh grader’s body.

He is me.

I’m the author of my life.

I can always re-learn how to swim. Even in vast, stormy seas.

I can make it just fine. As long as I remember I’m my own life preserver.

Now, it’s pretty clear that I was trying to navigate the disgusting depths of my toxic job. I probably wrote this around 6:15 in the morning–about ten minutes after my hour and a half drive to work, and a few minutes after my bazillionth Starbucks mocha of the month jump-started my brain.

But there’re parts of this that still resonate, which is why I find it so interesting. Especially now, as Andy and I are closing up shop in North Carolina.

So much has happened since I wrote that blurb.

We’ve done a lot.

Realized the untenable nature of our jobs–how each has been a complete succubus, draining us of our fun-loving personalities.

Set out on a cross country journey to find what it is that we’re looking for, and ending up in Los Angeles–where we’ll be living in almost two weeks.

Made hard decisions, and took life by the reins.

Laughed and cried and wondered how in the world we were going to do it.

Known that we’ll do it somehow, despite our fears.

And acknowledged that our happiness is worth fighting for, and that apathy and complacency have no place in our lives.

Amid everything, we’ve had one another. And I know I couldn’t have done this without him. I’ve never had someone provide the specific kinds of support, love, and compassion he’s shown me, and I’m still sort of blown away by it all. Ultimately, though, I’m grateful.

So, I was wrong while “Drowning.”

The duo.

He’s my life preserver, keeping me afloat.

My swim instructor, advising me to stop splashing around.

And current, pushing me forward.