I’m sitting at one of my favorite blogging spots – a coffee shop off this quaint street in Glendale. They always play unexpected music – or, not music I’ve typically come to expect in coffee shops (acoustic, quiet, mellow). Just now they were playing Mac Miller.
Across the street, I can see through the windowed front door of a dance studio. A dozen girls in black leotards are hopping, twirling, putting their hands in the air and laughing. They appear, at first glance, like an array of synchronized, delicate ballerinas. It only takes a moment for them to transform into goofy kids, all shimmies, wiggles, and popped hips.
This week I ran four miles! Or – I ran all 7 of my goal, but for the first time ran more than 3 miles in one go. It was Sunday evening and I begrudgingly thought I’d just run a mile or two and lose the weeks goal.
I didn’t want to lose, though.
This seems a simple realization, but I can do whatever I set my mind to. It’s the setting of the mind that’s most difficult, though. Tell myself to run 4 miles and I’ll do it. But so rarely do I feel the motivation to tell myself to do so in the first place. Achieving goals isn’t some magic filled art – I’ve realized that most of the time, they’re attainable, they just take attention, concentration, dedication.
Asked to list out my strengths, I would certainly not register those three at the top of my docket. My mind is often flighty and foggy; I only ever want to do those things which I’m not actively forced to do; I hold the general believe that truth is subjective, and therefore nothing in life is permanent – why should I be? Why should my goals be?
I’m rambling because I’m beginning to realize how… close my dreams could be? I just have to reach out and grab them, but I don’t, and that’s terrifying. Go the extra mile is such a common saying, but I’ve never thought about applying that to my own life, for my own benefit. I’ve really only thought about it in terms of impressing other people, potential employers, my parents. SOMETIMES just to appease my superiority complex.
I should run 4 miles more often.
This weekend I got coffee with an old friend – someone I used to date, but have remained.. close? with since then. It’s interesting how a relationship changes, when you add or take away certain dynamics. For the first time, we talked about dating other people. We talked about the kinds of people we are in relationships, while not being in one together. It was good, and gave me a deeper appreciation for him – deeper than when we were dating, to be honest.
Maybe this is why I’ve never found dating to be as fulfilling as my friendships. I feel like we weren’t this open with each other when we were together, because I was so concerned about what “being together” meant. I didn’t know what I wanted in a relationship (still don’t, lol), didn’t know how to just be, without feeling paranoid and intimidated by the ambiguous future. What if I don’t want to spend forever with this person?
It felt too vulnerable to admit my faults, or to be kind and loving. It felt like if I were that way with him, I shouldn’t be that way with anyone else, which I didn’t want. I’m in love with the potential of every interaction, even if it turns into nothing. I think Ezra Miller has this quote about love – “I’ve very much in love with no one in particular.” I feel that.
Nevertheless, he’s dating again, and despite all of my confidence in the current nature of our relationship, it’s… odd to hear about an ex’s current dating life, if for no other reason than the fact that we seem to approach dating so very differently. I’ve hardly dated since we broke up nearly a year ago. He’s remained more active. I think we’re both equally content (or discontent) with our chosen methods of moving forward.
His method is probably more likely to end in a loving relationship with another person, though, and society seems to place more stake on that than on contented singleness.
So it goes.
What a rambling post. Other things happened this week – I was admittedly lax on the sugar front. I had a joint birthday party with JC on Friday and had my first straight shot of tequila (didn’t make me crazy, did make me feel sick). I actually sat down for a bit and began to flesh out some of my story ideas for the breakthrough I had last week. I spent a night in with Kim, where she made me ALL THE FOOD and we watched old school Grey’s Anatomy.
Song of the week: Happy Accidents, by Saint Motel
I’ll just let this one be. Everything is just an accident, a happy accident.
This has been a post.