Nostalgia

As I prepare for a trip to Omaha to visit an old friend, I find myself traveling down some dusty pathways in my head. It's been an interesting few weeks, full of heavy lifting, throwing, drink pouring goodness, which means it's the best of times to take a stroll down memory lane.

After my last writing--which I think cataloged my flight attendant breakdown--I grew more positive about this job, my school situation, and life in general. I told myself that while these things suck, thinking about just how much I dislike everything will only make it worse. I went about trying to focus on the problem at hand, one at a time, rather than panic looking at the whole picture.

So, first things first, my parents are working on selling their house. It was a decision that had been slowly on the horizon. They warned me about it when I was in Japan, it was the reason my grandparents moved in, and when they suddenly moved out and back to Houston, it seemed to be the nail that closed the coffin. As much as I'd hate for my parents to leave their house, and I'm sure as much as they would hate to leave their house, it would help them come a bit closer to climbing out of debt. After only a few months, someone made an offer, and with fingers crossed, it will go through and my parents will be a few steps closer to financial freedom.

Of course, this meant that I needed to participate in one of the best parts of moving: Packing. While those of you that may not know me think I'm being sarcastic, my friends and family are probably laughing because of the opposite. I love packing. Period. Putting objects in boxes/suitcases/bags/cars/houses is just like tetris in real life. It keeps my mind and body busy while my sentimental nutcase finds some eerie source of tranquility. The more I dig through closets, drawers, cabinets, the more I find about a life I lived, but forgot in an instant. The funny thing is, you never realize that you've forgotten something until you try to remember it.

I can see a drawing that, judging by the year, came from 10th grade, but forget the idea, sound, situation, or muse that inspired it. I can't remember what I did before and after coloring a paper doll in elementary school, and that scares me. It's completely human, but it's a terrifying part of the aging process. No wonder I'm having a hard time finding myself. I've forgotten some of the best parts of my life, and some of them I willed myself to forget on purpose, thinking it would make me happier in the long run.

One of my instructors once told me that the key to reducing stress is living in the present. When you're worried about what happened or what will happen, you're living in a time outside of now. I feel like this has been going on since I got back from Japan. It's never about now, but later, and when it's not about later, it's about before, when I was happy.

As I go to bed, it will be a time for myself, my thoughts, and living in the present. Maybe that means it should only be time for sleep. In any case, I will make time for myself in the now, rather than worry about myself in the future. She's a strong girl. She can handle whatever happens.