Stepping Towards Intentional Ignorance

In a time when political unrest is flooding my newsfeed, it feels almost selfish to give attention to other, less important matters. Tom and I have been on the lookout for a new home that would save us money and put us closer to the restaurant for months - and I mean months. I think I started looking for a new place in November with little luck since then and to continue life as normal, as though we aren't potentially on the verge of WWIII, feels like a step towards intentional ignorance. How can one go about daily life and plan for the future when the distinct possibility that it could all come crumbling down around us looming in the too-close-for-comfort distance? 

I suppose part of the human spirit is the willingness to persevere in spite of unfavorable odds. 

And in that spirit, I have been wildly restless and distracted. Last week, I awoke to a notification from Zillow, one of the dozens that I've looked at over the past four months, with the usual gut feeling that it would be another place that wasn't quite right, that was too expensive, that would require us to make more compromises than a new place was worth. But it wasn't. This place was perfect - under budget, two blocks from the restaurant, the right size, and with all of the little quirks that Tom and I love mutually love about old houses: hardwood floors, original windows. After a teeny little fight about money, which was mostly Tom expressing his fear over the restaurant opening and being hesitant to spend anything to move when staying put felt like the safer option, we applied. I haven't slept since then. I've spent every single night laying in bed dreaming about this new place and how we would decorate it, about how I could spend every day in my home office that's full of windows writing and building a life with Tom that allows us both to pursue the things that make us happy.

If we don't get this place, it's possible I'll be just a tiny bit devastated. 

It's hard not to associate disappointment with some level of karmic retribution as though not landing this house is a reflection of the world's desire to impart punishment on me for all of my wrongdoings as a person. But then again that's a mentality I've always fought with. When things didn't necessarily pan out the way that I wanted them to, it was because, in some way, I deserved to be disappointed. Because I am a garbage human that does garbage things, the world sees fit to make sure I know it by denying me the opportunities I wanted as a measure of keeping me in my place. 

Will I ever learn that I'm wrong? I suppose anything is possible.

Throughout the process of writing this book, I'm discovering time and time again that I am my own worst enemy. I am the person that gets in my own way of my own happiness, of my own success. Whenever I reach a new milestone in my health or in my manuscript, a voice in the back of my head creeps in to remind me that I could've done better or reached my target sooner. Trying to figure out how I managed to foster this self-destructive inner monologue has made me realize that I don't like myself as well as I put on. Tom always pokes fun at how confident and assertive I am but those behaviors seem like they might in fact be a defense mechanism; I've learned to cover up my insecurities with bravado. 

So, what does all of this mean? It means that as always, I have work to do. This project is not merely the pursuit of a lifelong dream but an attempt at navigating my way to a better, healthier me through the avenue of storytelling. Perhaps if I can learn to love myself, I will be able to tell a story that other people will love, too. And maybe that's a false line of thinking but it's what I'm working with today. 

Here's to the pursuit of self-improvement despite the state of the universe and despite the uncertainty of life. Till next time.