yummy

One fun thing about our cat's soft stripy fur is that it has the ability to pick up the scents of that upon which she lies. I know this could seem dangerous and awful, but let me assure you, it is entirely benign. She doesn't lie on anything foul, so she usually ends up smelling like fresh laundry when we wash her bed, or like the coffee shop when she sleeps on the sweatshirt I wore while studying down the street. It's just one of those cute little perks of when she parks herself on my face in the middle of the night.

return

Coming back to the Bay has sent me on a true roller-coaster ride. The kind where you scream like a little kid with glee, arms outstretched in a gesture of freedom and joy, then bend over sideways and vomit.

At first, I was dreading our return. I can't even pinpoint the exact reasons: was it the crammed apartment, the looming proposal writing, the overall culture of this hipsterville? As we descended from the Sierras on a four-lane crowded freeway into a valley of suburban developments and unending strips of malls, I realized that I feel trapped here. Even the free-spirited California, with all its political talk and environmental action, traps me in a certain uncomfortable lifestyle, part of which is a byproduct of the larger culture, part of which is unique to this area, and all of which I try to escape from yearly on my travels to distant lands. This is the lifestyle in which I have to operate a motor vehicle and brave the constant angry traffic to get to a giant store to buy preserved high-fructose-corn-syruped imitation food and clothes cheaply-made by enslaved mothers across the globe. Ok, I know I sound like your downer grandmother, but. These are my feelings!

Right. But then, Then! I started making myself appreciate this area's eccentricities. Like the fact that there are farmer's markets here, and city-wide compost pick-ups, and the fact that I can ride a kick scooter down the hill on my 1.5 hr daily commute into the city. Plus, things here are always blooming (which is not so good for allergies, but so good for staring and dreaming). Plus, there is the rocky coastline full of whales and sea lions...

So we'll see. I'm getting used to this here again, and maybe it won't turn out quite so bad afterall. Don't I always come to this conclusion in the end?

moving forward

Your momma told you that you're not supposed to talk to strangers
Look in the mirror tell me do you think your life's in danger here, ya
No more tears

I'll start you off with an Ozzy lyric because I am just that pumped!

The psychology conference in Toronto was exactly what I needed to reassure myself on my professional path. I know this is what conferences are for: to network, to discern, to soul-search. And man, was it a good time for that. I am not great at meeting people or at selling myself, but I really put an effort into my presentation this time. Mostly because I really cared. I really cared to meet all these great psychologists, some of whom are using the same methodology but with people in New York, some of whom are advocating for mental health policy in Eastern Europe. And did you know that psychologists can work at the UN? Before all this, I was feeling trapped in my possible career, thinking that I would have to swear loyalty to American organizations. Who knew that there was this extensive and powerful international web already in place? And now I am almost drunk with the possibilities!

That is, if I ever sit my ass down to write my Master's proposal.

p.s.

While looking through all the Once videos, I ran across this one. Read the comments; interesting, isn't it? Even though the movie is so much more than a love story, this discussion has provided some great responses. It reminded me of the days when I truly felt some of these soul-wrenching, gut-churning, wonderful-awful love emotions for the silliest things. And now? Whoever said that love is like "jumping off a building, hoping that the person at the bottom will keep their promise to catch you" pretty much described my first year of marriage.

falling slowly

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

I am restless. I feel like screaming. I want to break away.

Sigh. Ever since I came back from Europe, I can't quite adjust to life here. I know, I've lived here long enough to understand how things work, to communicate with people in a common language, to get around. It's safe here, it's familiar, I can easily find my way. But. But but but. BUT. This is not home. I am sorry, California; I really tried, New York. I love you all dearly, but you are my foster family. My long-lost blood-family is across that stupid ocean, over on the stupid capricious continent.

And I know that grass isn't greener on the other side. I've seen and lived the struggles over there. I am willing to take them on. Because there is something, and I really can't explain it, but there is something about returning to a land that is your home.

But then, I worry about practicalities. I am too far along in my American career and settling into certain dreams. I am young, but I can't run forever. I am scared the madness in my head won't let me live the humble inspired life I'd imagined for myself. There are rules to life, and guidelines, and I am running out of time.

A calming answer came to me aboard a greyhound bus on the way to Toronto. With Canada as the backdrop (kilometre signs and litre gas stations and centres along the road), these Irish and Eastern European characters whispered hope into my ear. I'm a sinking boat, but God, please take it and point it home. I've still got time...

Needless to say, at this APA convention, I will be making my way to talk to representatives from the division of international psychology. Wish me luck, friends.