Faelina's Reads - 2018 Top 10(ish)

This year, more than any other in my adult life, I made reading a priority. Perhaps THE priority would be the more accurate way to phrase it. In the mornings before work, during work breaks, while eating dinner, and in the precious last minutes before falling asleep, I have been reading. I've done little else. I have also - thanks to some nudging from a favorite podcast - begun listening to audiobooks once more. For years, I'd been unable to focus on stories spoken unless I'd already read the books themselves before. Thankfully that problem has passed.

All told, adding up every novel, novella, audiobook and middle grade chapter story I have read 212 books this year. Mostly it's been fiction, and usually the story is seeped in either sci-fi or fantasy though there have been a decent number of memoirs and random other non-fictions sprinkled in. I tend to read books dipped - if not drenched - in darkness, but every once in awhile I sought out something light. The longest book I've read was 746 pages, the shortest about 130. Michelle Obama's 'Becoming' was the audiobook that logged in the most hours at just over 19, and the shortest audio story didn't even reach three. I have loved many, enjoyed dozens more, and disliked others so much that I really should have just stopped reading them. I even managed to sneak in a few re-reads: 'Tithe' by Holly Black, 'Furiously Happy' by the wonderful Jenny Lawson, the impossibly beautiful 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' by Betty Smith, and a childhood favorite 'The Boggart' by Susan Cooper.

One of the few regrets I do have for 2018 is that I didn't write about more of them here on this blog. Sure I did with a couple, but there were so, so many others that I would have loved to let people know about. I feel almost like I've let those stories down by not spreading word of their greatness! So I've started a new Faelina's Reads Instagram account which will hopefully spur me into more writing next year. As for 2018, I've narrowed it down to my Top 10(ish) favorites of the year (re-reads not considered):

1. Some Kind of Fairy Tale - Graham Joyce

It’s Christmas night and a daughter appears on her parent’s doorstep after having been missing for 20 years.  She was with the faeries, she says, and for her only 6 months had. An impossible truth, yet her family cannot deny that she does not look a day older than 16. I read this book at the beginning of of the year and I still think of it almost every day. It’s filled with sadness, heartache, the deep relentless longing that exists in the hearts of us who so desperately search for magic around each and every corner. I spend every day hoping I will find this tale's forest of bluebells.

2. The Power - Naomi Alderman

This held the place of my favorite book of 2018 for most of the year, and it definitely is my favorite audio book out of the 100 I’ve listened too. Set in a near-ish future; women and girls everywhere suddenly develop the ability to cause physical pain to men, the result of a new muscle that is wrapped around every female’s collar bone. It is a vast and shocking story about what happens when the rules are abruptly changed and women rule the world. How quickly cruel women can be toward their old oppressors, have angry and hateful men become against their usurpers. A very rich and dark tale, the narrator does a phenomenal job of giving a voice to each character – whether they be from America, England, Africa or Russia. I love, love, loved this book and think everyone should read it.  

3. Hunger - Roxanne Gay
Hunger is one of those books that I think every person on the planet should read, but most especially every woman. It’s a memoir, the story of Gay’s lifelong battle with food and obesity; of how her war began after she was gang raped at the age of 12. Most of her life has been different from mine in every possible way. I haven’t experienced her trauma, I’ve never been obese, and she has a relationship with food that gives my anorexic mind nightmares. But even so, there were so many lines of the book I would swear had been ripped straight from my mind. We as a culture need more books like these, so that hopefully, one day, we will can truly start seeing souls instead of bodies. Definite trigger warnings for rape and eating disorders.  

4. Into the Drowning Deep/Feed - Mira Grant
Try as I might I just cannot figure out which of these two books I love more. Into the Drowning Deep has a rich luscious horror that lurks around the edges of each page, and drags you swimming down into the ocean depths where carnivorous mermaids sing. It’s beautiful and terrifying and I want so badly for it all to be true. Feed (the first of the NewsFlesh trilogy) is a story I shouldn’t like because it’s about zombies, and I hate the whole zombie genre. But it is SO GOOD; absorbing, fast paced, and full of surprises that will make you sit back stunned. I became a bit of a zombie myself with this trilogy, constantly wanting more, more, more of the story and characters within the pages. I am so grateful I discovered Mira Grant's works this year, and for any fans of the horror/fantasy genre I cannot recommend these books enough!

5. Every Heart a Doorway - Seanan McGuire

Sometimes in our world, there are doors that appear in the most inexplicable ways and impossible places. They appear to the children who know deep in their souls that they don’t belong on this earth. By daring to step through the door in front of them, that child then enters the world that speaks to the deepest dreams and desires of their heart. A world that is logic or nonsense, virtue or wicked. If the child is lucky they stay there forever, but sometimes, sometimes the child is forced to return to our world. This book – and subsequent series – is about those children. The ones who bereft and lost, spend every single second of their existence searching and hoping for their door to once more appear. For some it does. For others it never will. I loved this story with my entire heart.  

6. Welcome to Borderland - Multiple Authors

This book is the latest in a series of publications dating back to 1986, thanks to the wondrous minds of Mark Alan Arnold and Terri Windling, In this crazy magical reality, the border to Elfland has returned and lives in clear view with the world as we know it. Only the presence of that much magic has created a rift in the scientific rules and laws that govern planet earth. A certain part of the land can't handle technology; it can't always manage magic either. Bordertown comes out of it. A precarious magical city surrounded by the even more unpredictable Borderlands. Elfs and humans live and interact with either. Music creates dancing colors in the sky. Curses will turn men into wolves. Coffee is treasured more than gold. I am addicted to reading these stories. Captivated while lost inside them, I become shaky and desperate for more the second the last sentence ends. There are 8 books in the series. I've been lucky enough to lay my hands on 5. Unfortunately, the first three books are no longer in print. I've found one, but if anyone out there happens to run across a copy of Bordertown and/or Life on the Border please buy it for me. I will pay you back!

7. The Library at Mount Char -- Scott Hawkins

This is one of the darkest books I've read this year, but out from it's midnight home shines a brilliantly crafted tale. Carolyn is our telescope into the world, and right from the start we learn that things are not all sunshine and roses. There's blood on her dress, one of her brother's is the embodiment of war, another sister is dead - though not for long, and the man they call Father is missing. In all there are 12; children they were when Father rescued them from a disaster in which all their parents and family were killed. To each young child he assigned a Library catalog, one in which they were to study and become and never, ever share with anyone. War, Language, Mathematics, Animal, Possible Futures, Healing, the Land Beyond Death. To ensure their strict adherence to his tutelage he inflicts some of the cruelest lessons and punishments imaginable. But then one day he's gone missing and the 12 now adults are anxious to learn why. So they embark on a quest. One that brings the quiet normal  outside world their Library doors. One that almost destroys a universe. There are trigger warnings for just about every possible imaginable thing in this book, but if you think you can handle that then I highly recommend it. I did not want to leave this story behind.

8. The Art of Asking - Amanda Palmer

I wrote about this memoir shortly upon arriving in Washington. Since this post is already too long, I won't go into much detail about it again. Suffice it to say, that I loved listening to Amanda's story. I now listen to her music regularly, follow her on Instagram, and became a supporting member of her patreon (something I've never done for anyone/thing else before). She's amazing, wild, free, and fierce in her desire to create a better world through her art. Go listen to it now!

9. Beartown/Us Against You - Fredrik Backman

This was a last minute list maker. Originally this spot had been allotted to A Man Called Ove, Backman's incredibly sweet, heartening story of an old man whose inability to tolerate fools is about to face his biggest fool invasion yet. But then I decided to close out the year with Us Against You, the sequel to Backman's Beartown, and I realized that Beartown is truly the book that holds my heart. The tale of a frozen town whose heart and dreams are focused entirely on it's hockey club, Beartown and it's inhabitants wrecked me; gutted me so completely, I felt destroyed. Emotionally devastated. But I loved them so deeply. In the past when a book has made me cry, it has always only been when the book was directly in front of me; not when I was driving down the highway, nor too walking through the rain soaked woods. I did just that with theses ones though. Twenty years from now I know I will still be thinking of the characters; wondering what happened to them, what else they've been through, hoping against hope that they found happiness. I will always be rooting for Beartown.        

10. Lilith's Brood - Octavia Butler

Without a shadow of a doubt my number one favorite book of 2018. Before January I'd never even heard of Octavia Bulter. Now in December, I've devoured 6 of her books and she is one of my most beloved authors. Technically Lilith's Brood is made of of three novels Butler published back in the 1980's - Dawn, Adulthood Rights, and Imago. I don't even really know how to describe it. There are aliens, other planets, living spaceships, the knowledge that the earth as we know it today no longer exists (though we never get the complete story as to why). Weird is an understatement. Magnificent is too. Her world building is phenomenal and the creation of characters inspiring. When I reached the final page I looked up and knew something in me had forever changed. This book will change you too.

*~*

So that's it. There truly are so many others. Colson Whitehead and the shockingly real way he depicts the world. Victor Lavalle whose writing is so crisp and sharp you'd think it would contrast horribly with the impossible magic of his stories - only it doesn't. Franny Billingsly and her tinkling delightful way with words. Margaret Atwood - the writer I think I'd most aspire to be - with her stories that are ageless pearls, clear cut diamonds. Gillian Flynn's cutthroat depictions of the darker side of our souls. And the voice of Toni Morrison narrate her story 'Home' in a voice that sounds like hot maple syrup being poured over fresh pancakes on a Sunday morning.

If anyone wants to know more about the other books I've read this year, and what I thought about them, you can check out my Goodreads page here. If anyone has read the books I've listed, I would love to get your thoughts/opinions. If there is one thing I love as much as reading books, it's talking about them with fellow readers! Also, let me know if there are certain books you think I should read. Ok, that's all for now; thank you to anyone who lasted all the way through this post. I'm off to go read, and hopefully you are too!

*~*~*

Sunset Healing

Sunsets. Bellingham - like all places - has them, and since my arrival I have been graced with many that bordered on re-defining beautiful. There is one though, perhaps a month back, that gave me greater notice than all others. It was as though the sky and the bay waters aligned, grasping the day's wane as close to their chests as possible in the hopes of postponing the inevitable twilight; the way a person approaching the end of the best day of their life struggles to avoid midnight.The result was the changing of bay waters to shimmering purples, pinks and blues so rich I saw dragon scales. And if the waters were dragons, the red ranging sky was their fire. Shadows of darkest blue rippled through the waters, swimming and swirling themselves into such magnificent patterns, my breath almost forgot itself.

That night, long after the sunset had fallen to night's forceful power and I myself had fallen into dreams, I woke. It was pre-dawn. The sky and water were a dark black ink. Had the weather or hour been different, this particular waking might have fled permanent memory. But the it was almost as though the universe had  itself whispered for me to wake, because the air was clear and the full moon the only thing reigning. I saw it, right before me, bright and shimmering like a pearl that had just been dipped in gold. It's magnificent light poured out into the water, turning the soft waves into stories of deepest mystery. My breath forgot itself again, and when it returned that was when I realized - I am healing.

~*~

I shut down in Utah. I didn't realize it at the time of course. I knew I wasn't super happy, but I got to work everyday, laughed with my coworkers, had fun with Steph when our schedules allowed for it, and read a lot of incredible books. I knew from therapy that I had some minor depression, and greater than minor but not massive anxiety, but I'd had that in Maine as well (a place I achingly love) so I didn't connect those emotions with my geographical location. Now I know better.

I may have functioned like a semi-responsible adult, but I had no thirst for adventure and spontaneity was a stranger to my world. Any attempt I made to pull myself out of melancholy evaporated quicker than a desert's morning dew. When I left Maine, I wanted a place out west with mountains, and there is no denying that Utah met both those requirements. But I learned the hard way that they were not enough; I also need a place that doesn't confine thoughts to a boxed set of rules; I need a place that is wild.

~*~

I've said it before and will again - I don't regret moving to Utah. Nor am I saying that now I've moved my life is perfect. Far, far from it. I still have anxiety. I'm still living with an eating disordered voice in my head. I didn't land my dream job, nor is my current living situation ideal (though the view is hard to beat). The city I'm in isn't flawless, nor do I envision myself ever finding it so. I could go on but I think I've made my point.

What I am saying, is I'm back in a place which provides me freedom to think in magic, and that, combined with what I've learned about myself by moving here has shifted the balance of my spirit. It is no longer shrinking, but blooming, dissolving the deep wounds it's suffered these past years.  I'm better able to breath in joy and jump at possibility of adventure. I've still a long way to go to get back to myself, but I'm headed in the right direction and it is a wondrous path to be on!

~*~*~

Rain Writings

Perhaps I wrote this, inspired by the water drenched, gray windows I woke up to this morning. Or perhaps this was told to me, word for word, by someone I met in a doorway where no doorway should have been. I'll let you decided.

~*~

The fae be angry today.

Raindrops scatter against my window, racing each other t'wards a finish line only they can see. Together they paint over the outside world, leavin' me only witness whispers of the white capped waves just past the pane. It be better that way.

Safe inside, I wonder what 'tis that's riled the old ones so; throwing down dark clouds to smash against our world the way they do. We, too busy hiding inside 'neath our dry, warm blankets or scurryin' about 'neath muddy umbrella caps, aren't looking up. Let me tell you, it ain't no coincidence those plastic caps be shaped like mushrooms. No. We not meant to see the white wings flutterin' crazy like a hurricane's scream. An' our ears be formed so as not to know the gusts of wind for what they truly be, bellows of rage. So foolish we are, an' always have been.

What has happened, I wonder. Be it a rift in their court or a cut in the earth? Either one will set them stormin'; anger so hot in their blood the world must turn to icen mist less we all taste flames. They will settle, I be sure like the thousands wars afore this one. Without even a pinprick of awareness on our mortal skins o'course. Yet my heart can't help but lie with the cold, wrapped 'round the knowledge that, dagger like, our fates are held in their hands an' all lives could cease should they choose to continue this destruction.

Perhaps it be best we don't. Know the reason for the drops I mean. Human souls lack strength enough to bear the weight of such wild magic. We like our worlds to be packaged, bundled 'round safe beliefs an' ideals. We cling an' clasp to the concept of truth an' cannot grasp that what truth be lacking is existence. Our world is a spirit of a different sort. Chaos; unbridled an' entire. Truth be a false word.

The fae know this. The fae are this. Gallant are they for taken up their swords an' armor an' power to clash against each other, sos we do not 'ave to. They 'ave chosen to allow our shelter of lies to remain an' per'aps this be the greatest mystery of them all.

So I sit an' watch the raindrops glisten like flattened diamonds upon the glass. I be grateful for the wind gusts that sing to me only of air. Happy that the waves seem to bow by their will alone and not the sirens I know be lurking 'neath the blue. I turn from the shadows, for it be inside them that mine eyes will see other dark eyes of stone staring back. I don't want that an' you shouldn't neither. There be some myths that are meant to stay swirling in smoke.

~*~*~

Two Weeks In - Bellingham Update

Two weeks I've been in Bellingham. I've stayed busy, seen as much as possible. I've begun to feel a little more comfortable. Do I love it yet? No. However...

I do love the trees here. Tall, silent watchers, guardians of the land. Each one covered in an intricate pattern of green moss and spiderwebs, the two battling for their spots like dancers on a palace floor.

I do love the Saturday market. The bustle of vendors and visitors combine to create an invigorating aroma of joy and community.

I do love the bookstores. There's the well known Barnes & Noble, the local staple Village Books and the delightful used bookshops Eclipse and Hendersons.

I do love all the parks, lakes, ponds and footpaths I've happened upon to date. All have a beauty of their own, that blends into the overall splendor of this area of Washington.

I do love the wild blackberries. The way the sunlight flickers like memories along the ground. How the sunrise gives way to a sky that looks like soft, gray pillows of cashmere.

And I do love that, without warning, I'm hit with a sound, sight or smell that makes me feel - for a second - like I'm in Alaska or Maine or Norway. That's amazing.

I may not yet love Bellingham butI love enough of it's parts to stay awhile.

Last week I accepted an employment offer and I Monday is my first day. Finding a place to live that is simultaneously affordable and pet friendly has proven tricky, so I've made an arrangement with my AirBnB host to stay through December. The monthly cost is more than I can afford long term but I have enough to manage until the end of the year, and I prefer to do this versus jumping into a situation that I don't feel comfortable with. I feel safe here, Faelina is safe here, the house is quiet and I have a stunning view. Plus, I can actually walk to work (a first for me), thereby saving me some money on gas.

It is my hope that things will only fly upward from there. That I'll enjoy my new job and coworkers, that December will bring me into an new home, that friendships will form and new hikes will continue to awe. They might not and I'm still experiencing fears and nerves about that, deep enough to rattle my core. On top of that anxiety though is excitement, and a path that is leading me back to the person I want to be. I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time. It's a good way to be.

*~*~*

Trains

Trains.

Bellingham has them. Tracks snake throughout town. You can be just about anywhere and hear them call. They run right by my AirBnB, passing at any hour of the day and nigh, rattling the house and sending a thunderous roar through it's rooms. Some might find that tiresome and disruptive. I don't. I like the trains.

Years ago, before I was even born, my dad was an engine driver. He didn't speak about that time often, but when he did it was always with happy nostalgia. For years, Christmas decorations were not complete without dad setting up our mini-train village. My sisters and I would often find new tiny trains under the Christmas tree to add to our collection. At the time, I wasn't able to muster quite the same level of enthusiasm as my dad did, but they were fun. Now it is I who smile with sweet recollections any time I see toy trains chugging through a Christmas village. The same goes for the sight of real trains cutting their way through the country. Trains remind me of my dad.

There is another reason I love trains. I am not quite sure I'll be able to adequately transform the emotions I feel into words but I'll try.

Trains have a mystery. They are full of secrets they'll never share. Their tracks lay a path in which it's possible to step into another time; where once they were only means to 'quickly' get from New York to California, or filled with luxury they pushed their way through the snow laden mountains of Europe. Circuses were possible because of trains. Their miles of cars - making up the tightrope walkers nest, the clowns reprise, the homes (albeit horrid ones) of the show's lions, tigers and bears - the only way they were able to jump from town to town.

Trains saw the world. They still do; roaming steadily amidst cities, cutting through mountain tunnels, crossing roaring rivers and trickling streams. For decades they've tasted some of our most exciting stories and felt the sorrow of some of our deepest tears. They were hope to all the runaways who risked their lives by jumping aboard, counting on the train to carry them into a better life.

The trains running past my window aren't bringing people closer to adventure, but there is still in their depths something that calls to my wandering soul. I can't help but listen for them and, one day, I just might answer their call.

~*~*~

The Art of Asking

I am 40 minutes away from finishing the audio version of The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer, and I have to write about it.

~*~

Until March of this year, the entirety of my knowledge regarding Amanda Palmer was that she a) was married to Neil Gaiman and b) did something with music. Then in March, she interviewed on one of
my favorite podcasts (Reading Glasses) and I was intrigued, extremely, by everything she said. I decided I needed to read her book, but couldn't get access to it until now.

As the title suggests, it's about learning to let yourself ask for and receive help; whether that is in the form of a couch to crash on for the night, funding for a new album, or a tampon in a public bathroom (all examples in the book). She talks about the need to disband the stigma that asking for help is shameful and/or a sign of weakness, and instead frame it with the view that it's a way to collaborate with the rests of the world. There is a gift, she says, in the act of one asking and another helping.

She shares examples of how this philosophy has worked for her time and time and time again. The years she spent busking as a Bride Statue in New York. The countless fans who offered up their couches and spare beds for her band The Dresden Dolls so they could afford to go touring. She's a big fan of Twitter and often tweets out pleas for help - for herself or others - and they are almost always answered. Many people - reporters, artists, musicians - ask her all the time how she's acquired such generous fans. Her response; - it is because in return for their help she has given herself to them completely, and not just with her songs. She's held dozens of free, impromptu concerts all around the world, sending out a tweet announcing the time and place and that all are welcome. She's sat in closets, bedrooms and out in fields listening to the secrets and heartaches of any person who wants to tell her. She's bared her whole body and offered up paintbrushes or markers, allowing her fans to draw whatever they want on her skin.

~*~

I encourage everyone to read this book and by read I mean listen because the audiobook is incredible. Amanda Palmer narrates it herself and I feel like the listener can more deeply understand the emotions and delivery of all the conversations she relays versus reading silent words on a page. Plus, interspersed through the words are songs sung by Amanda. I don't love them all but others are magnificent, I almost cried by the end of one of them. And I sensed the love she carries for each of her fans, her friends and her family. In away she sees them all as one in the same. Listening to her speak doesn't make me feel as though I'm merely taking in a book, but rather deep in conversation with a friend.

I've mostly listened while walking the footpaths in Bellingham, pausing at times to pick a few delicious, wild blackberries. About halfway through the book it occurred to me that perhaps it came into my life at the exact right moment. I am not good at asking for help. In fact I suck at it. I have stuck deep in my psyche the strong conviction that to ask for assistance of any kind, particularly on a large level, is to admit that I am weak, lazy, and not enough. It's one of of the reasons my eating disorder was so able to flourish so vibrantly. I came to Bellingham largely to prove to myself that I was strong enough to figure life out completely alone.

Perhaps I need to rethink that philosophy.

Not to the degree that I throw myself to the mercy of the world and expect people to provide for me. I fully understand that I am ultimately always responsible for landing on my feet. Maybe though, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to sometimes ask if anyone knows/has the best spot for my feet to touch the ground.

~*~

I don't see me completely changing. Learning to ask for help will likely be a lifelong process but here's a small beginning: If anyone has, or knows someone who does, a tiny place they'd be willing to rent fairly inexpensively to a quiet person and inquisitive (but well-behaved) cat in the Whatcom County area, I'd love to speak with them. If not no worries; I'll figure it out (or I won't and go home), and as I'm doing that I'll keep reading, writing and - now - listening to the music of Amanda Palmer. 

First Impressions

I've been in Bellingham three days now. I've visited the Saturday Farmer's Market, Fairhaven Historic District, Boulevard Park, Whatcom Falls Park, Bloedel-Donovan Park, and Woods Coffee (one of several locations). I've nailed down locations for grocery stores, the post office, my bank and the public library. So far I like Bellingham. Still I don't quite feel comfortable.

I'm fairly certain that has to do with my situation and not the setting. Unemployed, temporary living arrangements, knowing no one, unsure when or if any of that will change, etc... It's unpleasant to think about. Actually living it has given me a mildly nauseous sort of sensation. Only instead of settling into my stomach it trickles slowly throughout my body in an attepmt to induce full blown panic. I'm trying not to let it derail me; reminding myself that I did choose this massive life upheaval. I'm giving my level best to instead focus upon the discoveries I've delighted upon so far.

There are wild blackberries along all the walking paths. I love blackberries, but almost never buy them, so being free to step off a trail and randomly grab a few is lovely.
Without even trying, I've found four Little Free Libraries. I know there are some in Utah but I never saw one, so the fact that I've stumbled upon this many already is very exciting.
I can smell the ocean again. While I am forever and always a mountain girl, it wasn't until I moved to  Utah that I realized I had grown to rely on the oceans close presence. I didn't regularly visit the beaches in Alaska or Maine, but they were always there whenever I woke up from dreams of the waves. It's comforting to be close to it's wild mystery again.
Plastic bags aren't available in the groceries stores. There are only paper ones, and those you have to pay for. Some people might find that irritating but one of the things that drew me to Washington was the more eco-conscious culture, and so far Bellingham hasn't let me down on that front.
Gray skies and cooler air. Today was actually a blue sky, sunshine kind of day, but the temperatures never rose above the mid-seventies. And the past two days were full of clouds and the delicate drizzle of rain. After three summers dehydrating in the unforgiving Utah sun, the weather here feels incredible. Also, I love seeing the clear magic of raindrops gracing all the tree leaves, flower petals and ripe blackberries.

I feel very overwhelmed right now and there is a wicked fear lacing itself through my veins. Yet it is my hope that as more days pass I will become settled in my new city. Or that an exciting opportunity elsewhere presents itself. Until then, I will wrap my thoughts and fingers around the wisdom of these words: Do not expect your life to return to normal. That is not what you had in mind when you entered on this odyssey. Normal is a conduct that has no frame of reference in the realities for which you are preparing. 

Safe and Easy

There are people, everywhere and in all walks of life, who are not happy with  their life. I'm not talking about the daily grumbles and small stresses, nor the outside cannon balls that are impossible to avoid no matter what and who you are. This also isn't about those individuals suffering from clinical depression. Instead, I mean individuals who carry in their hearts a deep sense of discontent, and possible regret over their current life path and the decisions that led to it. They are souls who dream of something different. And yet...when the moment comes for them to take the scary and fear-riddled actions needed to find satisfying change, they choose to let things as they are, and they do so because it is safe and easy.

Except that it's not. 

I firmly believe that if you're unsatisfied you are uncomfortable. That no matter how much you might tell yourself it's easier to leave and let lie, the truth is that you face a daily battle to wake up and face the world. It is a fight that will get harder every single day. And the more effort and willpower you're forced to pour into your chink-riddled, echo-less routine, the less comfortable - and therefore less safe - you feel. Keep this up and you'll one day to catch the realization that your decision to stick with what was 'safe and easy' was really the road to numb life, dangerously un-lived.

You have to seek change. You have to face the fears you know cloak the taste of your dreams. You have to be ok with not being ok for a little while. It's the only way to close your eyes each night knowing you've done all you can to dance the life you've dreamed of.

~*~

Those were the thoughts I kept in a running stream this morning, as I pulled out of my drive in the early pre-dawn hours leaving my 'safe and easy' behind. For a long time the sky was a black nothing and I shared the roads only with semis and miles upon miles of construction signs and materials that had been temporarily sidelined for the night. I hit the Idaho state line at 5:25am and when I pulled into Boise just past nine, the sky had shivered the night fully away giving way to the creamy gray that only comes with wildfires.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Faelina stayed at a vet clinic until I was able to check into my AirBnB. I drove around checking out the cities offerings. Smoke aside, Boise seems like a fun place, one that I can see myself someday returning to. Tomorrow is the real challenge though. The weather forecasts shows high temperatures and many of you know, I'm extremely worried about how Faelina will manage. Even I am willing to admit that the amount of tears I've cried over this fear, and this move overall, borders on the ridiculous.

Still I am choosing bravery. I am choosing change and adventure. I am choosing a life free of regrets, and (as long as Faelina makes it through unscathed) it will all bring me true safety and ease. It will all be worth it in the end.

Picking the Scarier Path

Two dirt paths, each exciting in their own way. They began at my feet, but ran off in completely different directions. Both disappeared into clouds of mist. Unsure of which way to go, I was lost in that mist for a very long time.

One trail took me home to Alaska; bringing me to the place I love more than life and where I can find the only two things I love more than Alaska – my nephews. I would finally be home.

The second way led me somewhere new; a place I’d never been before and where I knew no one. It would mean the lack of a safety net and the very unlikely reality of success.

~*~

Put starkly like that on (virtual) paper, the answer seems obvious. I should go home, where I could actually be part of my family. I could witness my nephews’ lives and they could know me. I would have a safe space at my mom’s that would allow me time to get a good job and start creating a more solid, permanent life. Most of all, I miss Alaska. It is the only place I feel complete and I want to be there every single day.

Still, I just could not shake the knowing that I would be returning home without proving what I set first out to prove (to myself) when I left Alaska seven years ago. I can’t quite put into words exactly what that is, but it falls somewhere along the line of bravery and adventure and taking risks. It meant never having to wonder ‘What if…’.

I went round, upside down and sideways in my head for months trying to work out which path should become my road, and it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I really listened to what my heart was saying. Then I did, and I had to admit that it didn’t matter how many good, real reasons I had for Alaska. There could be hundreds, together equaling 99% of the driving force behind my decision, but that remaining 1% would be because just going home was easier, safer and less scary. I would have gone home because of fear and I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.

~*~

So I’m going to Washington. I know people who live there, but not any (to my knowledge) in the city I’ve picked. Bellingham is about 1 ½ hours north of Seattle. It’s right on the water, near mountains and has clean air. There is a ton of hiking trails, many waterfalls, and three independent bookstores. Also, it has a lot of coffee shops. I’m going to try to make it my new home.

I have enough money to get me there and afford a place for five weeks. I’ll give my absolute best to find a job and a more permanent place to live, but I know I face the very strong likelihood that my best might not be enough. 

Fear and terror do not even begin to describe the swirling tornado that’s existed inside me the past couple weeks. I am nervous about my car making the trip. I've been worried to tears over how Faelina will do. I'm terrified that I will end this journey with no money left in my bank account. I am facing the very real possibility of failure, and of the people in my life knowing that I failed. About once a day I get the sensation that the safe, solid ground I’m standing upon has not only become Kjeragbolten (that big rock in Norway), but the rock has finally slipped from the mountain’s grasp and is taking me with it. It's a hard sensation to come back from. And yet...

“…Every choice feeds every choice that comes after, whether we want those choices or no…”

I read this line in ‘Every Heart a Doorway’, the first of the fantastic Wayward Children’s series by Seanan McGuire. My mind and body gave an electric jolt when I first read them, because they so simply expressed what I was afraid of most.

~*~

Three years ago, I was confused and so unsure of what I wanted. When my best friend offered me the chance to come live with her I agreed. In part, it was because I loved the idea of being able to see Stephanie more than a couple times year (if that), but it was also the easier, less frightening alternative to picking a state where I knew no one. I don’t regret that decision but I also didn’t want to continue down a path wherein I always chose the easier option. Doing that turns a decision into a pattern and then a habit, one that becomes increasingly hard to break with each successive choice. Washington my not work out, but I'll at least know that was brave enough and capable enough to go for it and doing so will feed into future opportunites to chase after new adventures as they arise.

If I can't find work, I should have just barely enough cash to get me and Faelina home. I'm ok with that alternative. Like I said earlier I miss Alaska. I miss my nephews, and there is a big part of me that despises myself for choosing me over them. I have to do it this way though, because I can't live with myself forever wondering and I will not live a life driven by fear.

*~*~*

Change, Adventure, Dreams - Round Two

"Don't get me wrong, I am very nervous about being unemployed. I’ll still have rent to pay, student loans, and all the other miscellaneous bills that come with being an adult. But if I go through life making choices based solely on fear of how I’ll pay bills then I know I will wake up 20-30 years from now to a life that hasn’t truly been lived. And isn't that kind of what life's about - to seek out the tumbling dance of your dreams and laugh at fear if it tries to stop you? ... It's been too long since I've left everything completely up to chance, so accustomed I've grown to my normal habits and routine, pulling it on each day like a comfortable old sweater. It's time for me to take that off for good, to say hello to the unknown."

~*~*~

I wrote those words just over three years ago for a different post. Much has happened since then; a tremendous amount of good, a decent share of bad, and somewhere along the way I forgot what I had written. Instead I began clinging, not to an old comfy sweater but a threadbare rag; one that lulled me into a daze and promised a few shreds of security. I have an income that allows me to support myself. I have a little home that I love. I have my best friend. These three things fed my worst fears and overshadowed the aspects of myself I love most - my free spirit, my love of adventure, my belief in bravery.

Thankfully, my mind has decided to snap into clarity. Ultimately it comes down to this: I am not happy in Utah, nor have I been. There is a great deal of beauty and wonder in this state, as well as some phenomenal people, but it is not the place I am meant to be. So I've given notice - to my work, to my landlord, to myself. A new kind of journey has long been calling, and while I'm scared I'll find it a Siren's song, I finally see I have no choice but to answer. I must be brave. Three years ago I set out "to find my dragon". This time around I searching for a different creature, say a mermaid or perhaps a selkie.

Stay tuned...

*~*~*

Tell the Truth.......and zombies

“The difference between the truth and a lie is that both of them can hurt, but only one will take the time to heal you afterward”

The world is ending. The zombie apocalypse is actually going to take place. I say this because I am not only reading a book about zombies, but I’m loving it! For years, I have dismissed the zombie craze. I found nothing even remotely appealing about the reanimated dead hell bent on nothing but taking a bite out of living flesh. I have refused to watch movies and TV shows, and turned away from any book on the topic. I just did not get the excitement. All of those things remain true, and I think it still fairly unlikely that I will now start devouring zombie stories with the same fervor that they do flesh. But sometimes two completely conflicting truths decide to set up camp together and the person whose brain they’re using as a campsite will just have to deal with it. This happens to me all the time.

The book in question is ‘Feed’ by Mira Grant (aka Seanan McGuire), and it’s the first in her Newsflesh Trilogy. I did not set out to read a book about zombies, rather I wanted to read more by Mira Grant. A few months back, I picked up “Into the Drowning Deep” and it all but turned my world upside down – in a good way. Then I went to Barnes & Noble and saw ‘Feed’ on the shelves, and bought it without even glancing at the description on the cover. I’m about two-thirds of the way through and am completely obsessed. Grant has a way of creating worlds and characters that seem wonderfully possible in the most horrific of ways.

The purpose of this post however is not to wax poetic about my (high) level of excitement over this book. It has to do with the sentence I found buried deep inside it’s pages. It began this post and I’ll type again here:

“The difference between the truth and a lie is that both of them can hurt, but only one will take the time to heal you afterward”.

I wish I could say that I have never uttered or acted out a lie, but that of course would be another lie. When I was young, I didn’t get the damage that lies could cause to others, or myself, and I regrettably acted accordingly. Over the years though I saw, and felt, the pain lies cause. I’ve worked hard to better myself and do my level best to never speak an untruth. While I am not perfect (and never will be) I know I’m improved and will only aspire to continue to.

Still, I know not everyone shares that same goal. Each day I am forced to face the cold reality that some people are deceptive to their very core and, even worse, a few of those actually take pleasure in hurting people with their dishonesties. Sometimes I hear those stories on the news or read them in a book. Other times I experience it first hand in my own life and it hurts like hell every single time.

It is partly because of this and partly due to other life experiences (that I still don’t fully understand) that I’ve come to realize I have some serious trust issues. The older I get, the more I place increasing emphasis on the importance of truth and honesty, but there are very few people I would say have my true trust. I value those select few more than I would their weight in gold. Most people though, I take all they say with a grain of salt knowing there’s likely an ulterior motive beneath each word.

So I have a favor to ask. Be honest. At the very least let people know where they stand. I’m not necessarily recommending total brutal honesty (I'm definitely not advocating for you to cuss your boss out), but don’t pretend to befriend someone only to stab them in the back. Don’t say you’ll do something when you have zero intention of actually doing so. Don’t act like you’re 100% behind a plan or project and then do your level best to undermine and promote it’s failure. Be true to yourself too. Don’t be afraid to embrace your interests and passions and weirdness. Don’t invent a false image for the world to see. It not only hurts you in the long run, it can also create a sense of betrayal in those you’ve lied to once the truth comes out (and it always does). It's hard to do sometimes, and I'll say again that I'm definitely not perfect in this, but try.

There are some individuals I know personally, who lie and cheat and deceive with the best of them. I walk away from every encounter second guessing each word that came out of their mouth, and I hate it.  I would so much rather be around people who I know disagree with me politically, or tell my I’m nuts for liking Harry Potter so much, or who simply say they’re not my biggest fan. Because then I know I can trust them when they do agree with me on other issues.

 Grant’s words are true. Someone walking up to me to say they think I’m stupid or I’m horrible at my job or that I’m a complete utter failure will definitely sting. But at least I know my place in their world, which will allow me to adjust their place in mine and heal.

~*~*~

p.s. If you like zombies definitely check out ‘Feed’ and if you like mermaids – and think you could handle a little horror entwined with the myth – go get a copy of Into the Drowning Deep. I cannot recommend it enough!

*~*

Poem

I put this together for a project a Benchmark teacher initiated in honer of National Poetry Month. Since it's been a minute since my last post I decided to share it here. Make of it what you will...

I drift through this world

Fighting for balance between

Veiled mist and mediocre visibility

Searching for …. what?

                        Euphoria?

                Serenity?

                           Understanding?

I find only elusion; stumble instead upon

the serendipitous buzzing of bees

the anemic clang of forgotten bells

the realization that I am nothing

but an innocuous

Disaster

*~*~*

Simply Sitting

It was early and a layer of frost threatened to show itself, as I climbed into my car this past Sunday and pulled out of my driveway. Arriving at my destination a few minutes later, I parked and carefully zipped a thermos of coffee into my purse before walking inside the large building. I handed my purchased ticket to the taker and a minute later, was comfortably ensconced in the seat of my selection. As the lights of the vast room darkened, I leaned back, raised my newly freed cup of coffee to my hands for a sip, and spent the next 134 minutes blissfully content.  

~*~

Last January, I went to the theaters and saw a movie. I was fresh returned from a visit home and desperate for anything that would curb my mind away from the homesick sadness threatening to devour my wellbeing. When a a co-worker told me I just had to see La La Land I thought Why not?. I'd never gone to the movies alone before; I really enjoyed it. A week later I saw another movie but went to a different theater, one with those luxury recliner seats. I fell in love with those seats.

I've made many more visits to my local cinemas over the year, almost always with a contraband cup of coffee stowed inside my purse. Usually, I'll visit the Kaysville Theatre; it features films already out on DVD meaning cheaper tickets for me, but sometimes a movie looks too good to wait months for so I treat myself to a big-name theater with luxury seats. I've decided it's a fabulous way to kill a couple hours, with certain movies especially, but I've uncovered something else, a deeper benefit lurking beneath the fun.

Sitting is a struggle for me. I’ve shared that before. Since my eating disorder so graciously decided to call my brain was home, I have lived with a constant, ceaseless stream of orders that I stand all the time and move every single second of every single day. I fell prey to the lie that Relaxation = Bad, and spent so many years believing that to be true I have an incredibly hard time thinking otherwise.

I have made progress since going to Mercy. I sit more often at work. I can curl up in my home library and read for hours. I am able to spend a day in the car without dissolving into a full-blown panic attack. I still though, cannot dispense with the whisper; the hiss that underlies all those restful actions commanding me to ‘get up and walk around for fucks sake!’. (apologies for the language) It is so strongly compelling that more often than not I listen and any sitting hours are interspersed with frequent breaks to wash dishes or reorganize cabinets or even go out for a walk.

Going to the movies does wonders in helping to me to not hear those words, to discount the vicious ruse they so strongly promote. I'm not sure why, perhaps the speakers are too loud for me to hear anything else, or the fact that I know moving will disrupt others fun. It has become one of my favorite forms of self-care. A therapy of sorts,  slowly but surely helping me to re-discover how much joy can be found by simply sitting and doing nothing. That it's actually ok to sit in one position for more than 20 minutes at a time without hating yourself. That Relaxation = Wonderful = Important = Good for you!  Who knew.

So I will keep going to the movies. Not every week, perhaps not even every month, but often enough that I don't lose sight of this new (re)found knowledge. That there is peace to be found by watching a movie, simply sitting.

*~*

Parentheses Between Lies

You are sick. You’re not sure with what (yes you do) so you go to the doctor. The nice nurse takes you in the back, checks your vitals, takes a weight. Depending on what kind of day you’re having you either stare obsessively at the number on the scale or look resolutely away. The doctor enters the exam room, notes down all your symptoms. Finally they set your chart aside, look you in the eyes. ‘You are very sick’, they state, ‘if this continues there could be serious damage to your health’. They proceed to list some of the more severe outcomes: substantial bone density loss leading to early onset osteoporosis, body muscle being eaten away – muscle that includes the kidneys, brain and heart, and heart issues. “You could”, the doc goes on to say, “Fall asleep one night and never wake up. Or drop dead from a heart attack in the middle of crossing a crowded street”.

 You’re scared (petrified), understandably so, and ask the doctor about a cure. “Eat”, is their reply, “and not just fruits and vegetables. High protein is important and a lot of desserts. Initially you’re excited (so excited). I mean who doesn’t want to be told – by a doctor no less – to eat more ‘unhealthy’ foods. You leave the office, heading for home you make a quick stop at the grocery store. You grab a basket and pile it high with yogurts and peanut butter and your favorite cookies. Back at home, you take special care to put everything away, almost like it’s a ritual (your deep mind knows it is). Finally, the moment has come; you reach for your favorite plate, split open the papery package, and pull out a cookie. You set the remaining cookies in the cupboard for later then, turn to eat.

 Except you can’t. You stand by the counter. You stare at the plate. The cookie looks amazing; as big as your palm, thick, a bit of a crunch round its edges but soft and chewy closer to the middle. Chocolate chunks galore sprout from all surfaces and you know – from experience – that no other can best it in taste. Yet you can’t bring yourself to take a single bite, not even the edge of that chunk of chocolate sticking up higher than all the others.

 More time passes, minutes or possibly hours, and you ultimately decide that you just don’t feel like eating a cookie right now (a lie). You wrap it up carefully, put it back with the others. Decision made, you devote yourself to easier actions like jumping out of a plane or running barefoot across shards of glass. You’ll eat the cookie later, after you’ve earned the right to do so (you don’t need to earn it).

You never do. It never seems like the right time (it’s always the right time). After a few days you throw all of the treats into the dumpster. After all, you don’t really deserve them (yes you do) and you were probably misremembering how delicious they were (you’re not). The yogurts you bought too disappear, only down the sink drain instead of your throat. The peanut butter is saved, but you’re only allowed it once a week and only after you’ve exercised an entire day and not swallowed any food – or water come to that.

You recall, almost hourly, what the doctor told you. It does make you nervous, truly, because you love your life. You don’t want to die. There are nights you lie in bed for hours afraid to fall asleep, so worried you are that your heart will decide it has had enough and simply stop forever. The fear eats away at your already starved stomach.

The terror always fades in the morning (no, just hides). It’s replaced by dancing elation because you have felt a fluttering of heart pain or spotted a blue glimmer of veins shining through too thin skin. You shouldn’t be able to see those veins or glimpse bones protruding where they weren’t before. You know it’s bad (so bad), but you can’t help but feel a sick, twistful glee. Your body is crumbling. You might have a heart attack. Both are good things (both are terrible).

Some people notice but you discount their comments, evade all questions. You respond; half-lies and sliced-truths tumbling out of your mouth in such chaotic confusion you’re able to refocus their gaze, change what they see. You laugh at this victory and decide to skip your weekly peanut butter in celebration. You are in control, you are shrinking, you are winning (you are dying).

The day comes though when you’re not given a choice. You’re so weak you can’t think straight and you can barely rise from bed to workout (you shouldn’t, your body needs to rest). Someone comes and suddenly it’s no longer just the doctor who knows the truth. Suddenly, another’s strength overpowers your own (finally). You’re forced into a cage (you step into a car) and driven to a dungeon (hospital). Strange people (doctors, nurses) are talking to you, poking and prodding in all the wrong places of your mind. They say they want to help you get better; you tell them they’re nothing but deceptions (they’re not, they are good). They have you sit at a table and set a plate in front of you. A single chocolate chip cookie rests on top. It’s different from the first but still looks incredible, you can almost feel the crumbles melting in your mouth.

 The strange people speak, “You have to eat this. You have to choose to fight” (you’ve known this all along).

“This is dumb”, you yell, “I’m perfectly fine and eating a stupid cookie isn’t going to prove anything. Besides, even if I was sick, I wouldn't want to get better” (false, you have never been more scared). You would shove the plate off the table but you just don't have the energy.

 The people are used to this. They have seen the parentheses between your lies, have heard the suppressed wishes in your heart. They wait. More time passes, minutes become hours. You’re tired and so full of terror it’s hard to transform feelings into thought. That is when it happens. That is when you realize how sick you have become (yes). It wasn’t the yellow brick road you followed; it was a rabbit hole and it dropped you straight into hell (Yes). You decide to stop listening to the evil voice in your head and instead pay attention to the words of your heart (YES!). You reach out your hand. Each finger trembling, from fear or anticipation? (both) You pick up the cookie, bring it to your lips and take a bite. It tastes incredible (it tastes like freedom).

~~~

I started writing this last year. I was at the height a fairly serious rough patch and writing always helped, but for some reason I couldn’t seem to get words to form themselves into the appropriate order.  I took a break and life began to smooth out, but I always intended to finish. An idea came to me recently. A way to reframe this whole piece entirely and I returned to it with new vigor. The words came easy this time. For those who’ve read the first post I shared about my disorder, you’ll know this is not a chronologically exact account of what happened. However, on a deeper level it is just as real and true as anything else I’ve ever written.

~*~*~