Compare and Contrast: July 15, 2013 vs. July 15, 2014 in St. Louis

Do you remember where you were a year ago today?

A few days ago, I was struck by the contrast of July 15th, 2013 with July 15th of 2014.

Last year, everything seemed to hit the fan at the same time.
I was sitting on the back patio at MediaCross and received a call from my landlord.
Earlier that day, I'd called to tell him there was mold in my apartment and could he relocate me into another unit while the problem was addressed.

 

This was a proactive step for me and very unlike my first dire thought: that the situation was unsolvable.
The call was not the rosy one my friends and family had encouraged me to hope for.

Explaining there was mold and that was why I was calling, he challenged with, "Where's the mold.  Where? Where is it?"  He cut me off, crescendo-ed, and then declared, "All the apartments have mold!"


Oh.


Years before, I had asked, and he told me it was coal dust coming through the plaster. This year it spread more than it ever had. After it appeared in every room from floor to ceiling following the air ducts, I thought he was either wrong or lying.

This declaration told all: lying.

This was upsetting, indeed, but instead of losing composure, I proceeded to sit and listen to my landlord break up with me.  By that I mean, he used all the language of a typical breakup.

"I think we just want different things."

"I don't think I can provide the standard of living you want."

"We've had a lot of problems, none of them were your fault, but I am ready to have us part ways."


I did want different things.
I desired my car to not be towed by my inebriated neighbors...again.
I wanted my oven to work during all months of the year, including November and December.
I did not want my dishwasher and sink to require bailing with a bucket after a rain.
Lastly, I wanted mold to not be growing up every wall in the house impacting the air quality.

"This is the best for each of us."

But this impacted everything. First of all, it meant the death of a dream.
My whole childhood I dreamed to live in Tower Grove.  It's the only dream I remember articulating, beside saying that I wanted to marry with Elvis. (This was an ill-fated desire.)
I had to let go of living near the Botanical Gardens, the park and my daily walk to the library.

Also, I had to put my cat into a emergency care because of his panting and labored breathing.  (This behavior was what caused me to challenge the coal dust explanation in the first place.)

Then, I held a garage sale to purge belongings and was helped by very loving and attentive friends.
Finally and frantically, I moved furniture into friends' homes and moved myself into my parents'.

I continued interning at MediaCross and started preparing for a new school year.

I found a new apartment, moved everything in and then found...more mold.

By August, I had moved 3 times, and then needed to move all of my school materials, files, filing cabinet, etc to a new classroom before the first day of school. By August 15th, I had picked up and moved every object I own in the world at least once.

It was too much. I was buckling under the stress and strain. My life felt fragmented, working in the city and sleeping and commuting from Illinois.  I had a wonderful network of family and friends around me, but they were bewildered as to how to help. One friend confessed it felt like watching a multi-car pileup as it was happening.  You want to help, but how?
It felt just like that.

I won't go through the whole domino effect. Use your imagination and fast-forward one year. (Don't forget to add in being rear ended.) I recommend picturing a montage; it goes faster that way.

On the other side of that series of unfortunate events, I can breathe.

.

Also I can take pictures of my feet, which is a growing symbol for free time.

To my knowledge, I haven't taken for granted having a safe, warm, dry, apartment that would pass health inspections.
I cherish that I am healthy and that Captain is too.

I'm glad to know I have solid relationships and networks of people who want to pitch in even when they don't know where to begin, and there is the likelihood of an explosion or two.

I'm so glad to know that after bouts of stress, unknowns, and lack of direction, the mind can re-awaken:

to beauty,

Credit: Julie Johnson

to humor,

to laughter and playfulness, 

Credit: Photomaton

and to serving others.

Credit: Gretchen Borzillo

I'm glad I have a second chance at MediaCross, one where I haven't shed tears over housing or anything else. I've just been cheerfully productive!

Mostly, I'm glad that I can wake up to my life everyday.  As unknown as some of the pieces are, as different as it is from what I anticipated it would be, I'm glad call it mine.

Credit: Natalie Waymack

With My Whole Heart. For My Whole Heart.

I want to open my closet and see possibilities.
I want to feel contentment.
I want to clothe myself in contentment.
I want to cast burdens off and down.

But when I open my closet door, I realize there are hangers I avoid and corners I avert my eyes from.
This awareness took time to realize and even more to pin words onto it.
Yet deep down, I now know the aversion stem from my "reject" clothes, the clothes I wore when being rejected or rejecting someone.

Fine clothing.
Favorite clothing.
Through no fault of their own now each piece has memories woven into the cloth.
Maybe it's imprinted because in those moments I desired to disappear into the folds, pleats, patterns, and hems. Whatever the reason, there is a remaining hurt that can't be washed or ironed out.

I might even wear the clothes still to prove that a memory can't control me.
But why require such defiance in getting dressed? Why keep such a touchstone?  Why wrap myself in it?

People, people other than myself, must also have this closeted issue.  This un-shared thought and gut response to our breakup clothes.

I've decided to cast off burdens and bless.  Why not give these and donate them to someone with a clean slate for their benefit and for mine?

Because blessing others heals.
Because giving heals.
Because giving freely opens up a world of possibilities, a world where less is more.

I will cast off my burdens to bless.
I give these clothes with my whole heart.
I give these for my whole heart.

Looking for a place to give?

I will be donating here:

image from revivethrift.org

.
Opened February 1, 2014
Read about their mission, and donate.

For your whole heart and theirs.

Dear Jon (Letter), The Breakup Part II

Returning home with my new phone was problematic.  I left the store glad and sure of my purchase.  I did not get far.

I remained in the parking lot for 20 minutes and became exponentially less certain each minute that I was unable to use said device.  In attempting to send a celebratory text to  my mom, dad, and brother, I found that I could not.
No, I am not that daunted by technology as to not know how to text.  My contacts list had not transferred, or at least the contacts that had are not in my "inner circle." Try as I might, I could only call my mom, because outside of my childhood home phone number this is the only other phone number I know by heart.

Calling mom was not the celebration I had hoped for.  It only made us keenly aware of the expense of adding a third phone to the plan and made me question my resolve to  not go with the confusing Mobile Share + Next program.  Was I only being resistant and stubborn because I like to be resistant and stubborn, I wondered.  Possibly...
The price and the lack of ability to use said expensive thing was upsetting.
I hate buying things.  And probably like every other human on the planet, I hate being made to feel small, especially when it is an object that you own.  It's insulting and I felt it as such.

By the time I got out of the car at my home, I decided that I'd made a terrible mistake.

I wanted out.

This is familiar territory for me: the sheer panic that comes after a commitment.  I have a rather large internal eject button.  I can't explain why. People like to tell me, when it applies to a relationship, that it is a sign that things "aren't right or meant to be," a comforting thought, but seeings how it also comes just as easily with major and minor purchases, I think it's more to do with realizing that I have misgivings and not deciding felt better than making a choice and entering the world of "what if."

Let's just say when I got inside my home I was in tears and crestfallen.  I called Jon alert him of the problem (read: call it off) but he didn't pick up.  I ate lunch (to get my blood sugar up) and then headed back to the store.
The manager checked me in, said "oh you're back" (yes I really was there that long) and Jon came over.

"My contacts aren't in my phone.  I can't text anyone and I think I want an iPhone" I blurted out.
Jon hung his head and sighed.
"I'm sorry.  I just can't do it."
And we went back to the ridiculously tall table and non chairs.

Jon calmed me down and counseled me to keep the phone for another day, because if we changed them out then the manager was going to charge a 35 dollar fee.

I do not know the ending of this yet.  I returned to the store again today, the different manager also wanted the restocking payment, and the iPhones were sold out.

Now I guess the question is, how many trips to the store does it take to get a Smart Phone?
More than three.
But I have survived and thrived this long without one, so what does it really matter?
And for kicks and grins, here's a peek at how I am keeping this phone safe before I switch it out.

Introducing the Smart Sock!

(The store was sold out of protectors.)