Posts Tagged ‘priced out’

Bulldoze My Heart

October 13, 2015

Ugh.

Sometimes meeting your person means don’t wear the eyeliner.

Although it was not as messy as I feared when I got home and wiped down my face.

“Girl, you can’t just achievement bulldoze your way through all your feelings.”

Well damn it man, I”m gonna try.

It doesn’t serve me very well and when I was induced to sit down and have a full hour check in I just about passed out from relief.

“We are not reading tonight,” he took one look at me, “sit down, check in, that’s all we’re going to do.”

And he took the book off the table and put it back in his bag.

I got my check in.

I can’t remember the last time I just got an hour to talk all about me.

Of course there were tears.

There usually are when things are not going the way I planned.

Funny thing that.

Plans.

Sometimes I don’t even know I have them and then, bang!

Plans.

And disappointment.

And assessing.

And realizing.

All is good.

I just had an angle on things, thought I had things “figured” out, and well, I don’t.

It’s ok.

It’s how it is and it just means continuing to keep the focus on me, what I need, how I need to be in this world and when I obviously need to slow down, sit down, pray, meditate, take it easy, and relax.

Relax.

Bah.

What is that?

I have sonnets to write.

(Only two left!  I wrote another this morning and I am really happy how it came out, although, for a minute it was like pulling teeth.  Then I found the right word for the rhyme scheme and it flowed delicious and easy.)

Text books to read.

Thanks.

But screw the relaxing.

“Since I have been working with you, you’ve been on this achievement track, and although it serves to a certain point, it’s not serving you now.”

God damn it man.

I looked over the table at him and the tears leaked out of the sides of my eyes.

“I’m afraid if I stop I’ll die,” I whispered.

It’s true.

I’m like a shark, I have to be in constant motion or I’ll sink.

There is no one to catch me.

That’s a fallacy, but it’s where the brain goes.

I do have a net.

I do have a community.

I have nothing to be in fear of.

Slight anxiety about getting all the reading done for the next weekend of classes, not withstanding, I don’t have much to be worried about.

My rent is paid.

I just paid my phone bill.

I am in graduate school.

My job is stable and in fact, I’ll have a couple of extra hours on the next paycheck–which is nice since it negates the small one I got last Friday (every third one is going to be smaller I remind myself, they are shorter weeks when I am in school and I navigated that reality yesterday when I did my spending plan for October.  Grateful that there is an extra week in October for getting a paycheck, that will help lots).

I have lots of friends.

I even have a friend who I was dating who is now a friend again.

Le sigh.

We had a great, sweet, open-hearted conversation last night and it’s back to being non-physically intimate.

At least for right now.

Which is fine.

It’s what has to happen and I have no expectations of when or if or whatever it will happen again.

He is a dear man, he is my friend, I don’t see him being less in my life, just not physically available.

I have a wonderful friend.

So lucky to be loving you, my friend, so lucky.

Relationships are amazing, communication is extraordinary, and I feel lucky to have had so many great friends in my life.

I checked in with one of them today and we had a really good catch up, I so wish she was in the city, but like so many of my friends, she’s been priced out of living in San Francisco.

I’m lucky to still be here.

Now I just need to learn, yet again, how to relax and enjoy it.

So lucky that I don’t have to navigate my own brain by myself, I get so lost in all the dishonesty and crazy that my brain shovels out.

I got a lot of perspective this evening and when I was told to go home and take it easy, I decided to do just that.

I lit my candles, I put some Chet Baker on the stereo.

Why is it that a soft brush on the top of drum kit can soothe me so fast, the cool moan of a coronet, or the fingering of the ivories makes me just mellow out?

I do not know where or how I came to appreciate jazz, but my God, I am so glad I did.

Next up, perhaps some Art Tatum.

Jazz piano.

Yum.

I digress.

I had my feels about my friend.

I had my feels about my job.

It was a little weird today, the schedule thrown off with the holiday, but the boys were so, so, so sweet with me, and goofy and happy to see me and I them.

I got the best good night hugs tonight too, so much goodness.

We also got outside this afternoon and went hiking with mom and the pup up around McClaren Park.

It’s been years since i have been to McClaren.

It’s just off my radar, not really a good park to bicycle to, at least not on a one speed.

But I realized I hadn’t been to McClaren since I had house sat for an old friend who used to live by the park, 8 years ago.

So strange to realize there are parts of this city that I have not been to in that long, or really, to be honest, parts of the city that I have never been to at all.  I’m still often a tourist in my own city.

Thirteen years in and still grateful to be living here.

A decade of doing the deal.

Eight years of serenity, mostly.

And a few doing that other thing I do as well, no sugar, no flour.

When I take them out and lay them on the table and see the history of my life and my recovery I am overwhelmed with what I have.

My heart opens and it’s in the opening that I realize, once again, how much emotion is there and how sometimes just feeling all of them is overwhelming.

No wonder I want to go fast.

No wonder I feel constant need to strive.

The busier I am, the less I will feel, and the more I think I am in control.

But.

As is evidenced in my daily day-to-day.

I have no control.

I am powerless over everything.

And.

Everyone.

Surrender.

That’s the best I can do.

And perhaps a little more sitting still.

Just a little.

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Good To Be Home

June 1, 2015

Home is where the heart is.

My heart travels with me well and I am blessed, blessed, I say, to get to travel right back home to where I belong, home, home, down by the sea in San Francisco.

“Uh, where are you visiting from,” one of my cousins awkwardly asked as he reached for second helpings of grandma’s rice.  “I mean, where are you from, I, uh, haha, this is coming out funny, where do you live?”

San Francisco.

How do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

Not because of your fog, though I was not disheartened to see it rolling in over the hills, there was some sunshine out at SFO when I landed and for a moment I rejoiced even harder.

Sunshine!

In San Francisco, at this time of year.

Yay.

But the celebration was cut short.

I realized, um, yeah, the airport is on the opposite side of the city and not actually in San Francisco and is not foggy, but the fog, it is there, right there.

I can see you fog.

Hunkered down, grey, cool, misty.

I may change my tune after a couple of days of it, but I wasn’t upset to see it and it was just another characteristic of this place I love so much.

“Did you see that the median apartment in San Francisco is $4,200?”  My uncle asked me asked yesterday as he was reading an article on his new iPad.

“Yeah, it’s creepy, and I remember all the fuss about how the minimum wage has gone up, but really, nobody making minimum wage can live in the city,” I acknowledged my uncle.

“I don’t pay that much, $1300 for my studio,” I said.

My uncle still raised his eyebrows at the price and then told me about a friend who has a studio twice as large as mine and pays $500 for it.

The three bedroom house across the street goes for $1300.

Yeah.

But is it in San Francisco?

I think not.

I mean I’m sure Nevada City is great and all.

But.

Um.

No.

I don’t often question it and I don’t think about it, but I feel that I am spoiled by the beauty that surrounds me, the character of living here, even if a lot of people I know are getting priced out of living in the city.

Hell.

One of my dear friends is a doctor and her husband is a doctor too and they couldn’t afford to buy a house in San Francisco.

They found a sweet place in North Berkeley and they commute.

Many of the artists and craftsman and creatives that make San Francisco, San Francisco, have left, gone over to Oakland or further Seattle, Portland, Brooklyn.

And I am still here.

Hanging on by a tether to the edge of the sea and every time.

EVERY.

SINGLE.

TIME.

The wheels touch down and the plane lands, I smile.

I know I am home.

“Hello house!” I said when I walked in.

“So good to see you.”

Yeah.

I know.

I talk to my house.

But it is an animate space full of color and art and creativity and it’s my little space and it is my little piece of San Francisco.

And in my own teeny tiny way.

I believe I add some of that special San Francisco treat to the area I live in.

I am a character.

I am colorful.

And I don’t know where better to express who I am with as much joy as I have for being who I am, than in San Francisco.

“I love your hair!” The baggage handler said to me as I checked my bag.

My flight was delayed, see above, fog in San Francisco, and I checked my bag through to SFO rather than carry on.

There was no charge and since it was a direct flight I wasn’t worried about losing it in transit.

Plus I was going to hop on BART and then the N-Judah to get home.

I was in no rush.

The flight was short and I would say that I spent more time in transit to and from the airports than I did actually on the plane.

I made some phone calls, caught up with some lady bugs, sighed content with happiness to see the familiar Victorians going by the MUNI glass windows and when I hit Sunset on the N-Judah I called ahead to Thai Cottage and placed an order for Tom Ka soup with chicken and a side of brown rice.

“Ready in fifteen minutes!”

Yes.

I got off at 46th and Judah, hustled my bag home, and turned around and walked over to Thai Cottage to grab my lunch and dinner.

I was not cooking today.

In fact, I did make it out to the grocery store, but only to make sure I have coffee for tomorrow and apples for the making of oatmeal all week.

I’m not sure what I’ll do for food at work this week, but I just did not have it in me to cook up a bunch of food.

In fact, I am all tuckered out.

Travel can do that to me.

Even though it wasn’t a great big journey.

it was a big deal.

Saying good-bye to my grandma was a big deal, a bigger deal than I expected.

I hugged her and said “I love you,” at the curb side check in.

“I love you too,” she said.

And we looked at each other.

There.

Right there.

Don’t start crying.

It surprised me.

Where did that come from?

I understand myself well enough to see that I had some expectations going into it, not knowing what to expect I created something for myself to hold onto, the idea of history, or story, of finding out where I am from.

Instead what I got to see is this small, resilient woman, who raised four children and walked through 87 years of life see me for who I am and love me despite myself.

“You look good with flowers in your hair,” she confided in me out of the blue last night in the kitchen.

“I used to wear fresh gardenia’s in my hair, when I lived in Paia (on Maui)” she continued, “I would pick them and wash out the ants,” and she mimicked putting one behind her ear.

I am seen.

And I got to see my grandmother.

A friend jokingly responded to a photograph I posted on Instagram, “gee, no resemblance, at all.”

I laughed.

It is there.

Not just in the flowers in our hair.

But in the survival, the resiliency, the strength of a woman, the getting through, the doing the best one can with what one has.

I hope I am able to summon as much quiet strength and grace as my grandma displayed to me as I go forward.

I don’t know exactly where I will end up.

But fingers crossed.

It will still be San Francisco.

I am with myself wherever I go.

But it feels best when I am home.

Where my heart is.

I left it here and shall return again and again and again.

To reclaim it.

Dust off it’s weary travel self.

And.

Put it right back on my sleeve where it belongs.

In San Francisco


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