So I’m coming out of probably the most change-ful twelve months of my life, and I feel like the butterfly finally emerging from the cocoon.
It all started a year ago when I realized I hated my job. That stressed me out so much that I lost a lot of hair. It also got me a new job I hated even more selling welding equipment. But that was good because the new job gave me health insurance that allowed me to get proper treatment for my hair loss, which is now mostly better. The hair loss made me depressed which made me quit dancing, but which eventually made me realize I needed to move into a nicer house. Which we did. After that, I got to quit my welding job for a much nicer job in a BEAUTIFUL office working for an art and architectural conservation firm who keeps our national artistic heritage alive. My new life is so much more in line with who and where I want to be, but MAN was that change ever painful and horrible.
On the one hand, all of that plus wedding planning some days seems like too much. On the other hand, having all this other stuff happen at the same time makes it feel ever more like a rite of passage, this liminal period of engagement. This liminal year where I learned in a way I never had before what kinds of sudden trials and tribulations life can throw at us, where I grew from a struggling artist with a horrible part time job that barely covered my bills to a businesslady who is an artist on nights and weekends, for better or for worse. I can start to see why people “sell out,” why artists get businessy daytime jobs to feed their art. Because now that I’m marrying Gent, I’m a part of a family and I want to do my part. Not just financially, but emotionally as well. As much as I can wish I wanted to be a romantic starving artist, I don’t want to live that reality. I was miserable and I felt poor and horrible about myself, and that wasn’t any way to feed our relationship. And it helps so much that I have finally gotten out of that wasteful industry I despised into an artistic industry that believes beautiful things should be preserved instead of thrown out for a newer model.
I’m happy. I’m happy in a way I never believed Philadelphia could make me. I miss the forests desperately, and I ache to sit outside and hear the crickets instead of the cars. But for now, I can love my life here in my beautiful apartment with my beautiful fiance and my beautiful sister. I can love going to dance class on Sundays and walking to work in a world where all of the trees are flowering. Where I can identify all kinds of problems with the city where I live, but where I can see past it into the beauty of life that breathes below the surface in the flowerpots and sidewalk cracks.