Sun and Storms

The weather in Chicago has been unusually rainy the last few months.  Sunny mornings are often followed by torrential downpours, then sunny evenings, and storms throughout the night.  Yesterday morning as I drove to work with my carpool partner: white, fluffy clouds, sunlight bouncing off the changing colors along tree-lined neighborhood streets, followed in the early afternoon, as if on cue, by a dramatically darkened sky and hail the size of golf balls pummeling the small window in my office on campus, interrupting the student-teacher conferences I was trying to conduct.  By late evening, the rain had stopped and the sun set through passing clouds, punctuated, of course, later in teh night by storms so severe, at least 300,000 city residents lost power. 

The predictably unpredictable Midwest weather mirrors my emotional state as of late.  I find it unnerving, I think.  Maybe comforting?  See.

Spooked, the cats curled against me in bed last night as we lay in the dark, listening to furious sheets of rain belting our window, mad claps of thunder and fierce gusts of wind rattling the screens.

"Can you hear that?" I asked NYMan during our night-time call.
"Hmm-mm" he said.
"Night storms are the hardest time to be alone," I said, "Night storms and Sundays."

"You need at least $5000 when you move to New York," a friend told me recently.  "You need first month's rent, last month's rent, and a brokers fee," she said.  "I don't mean to discourage you -- but I want you to be realistic."

I buy my groceries, I pay my bills, I cover the costs of car repairs, I check my savings, and it's just not there.  I apply for jobs, I check my email, I wonder why I ever went to graduate school.

"You have to ground yourself in your body," another friend says, "when you have nothing else to ground yourself in."  I can't sleep.  I run, I bike, I play tennis, I do yoga, I get acupuncture.

"It's just money," my acupuncturist says when I tell her my biggest stress.
"It's just life," she says when I tell her the rest.
She circles my wrist gently with her thumb and index finger, checks my pulse, studies my tongue, tells me to eat more meat.  She pokes me with needles: 14, 15, 16, and leaves the room. Ground yourself, I repeat, and I try.  Later in the night I sleep 7 hours straight for the first time in months.

The next day, I bike ride with a girlfriend, drink margaritas, talk about everything and nothing, we laugh a lot, the sun colors my cheeks.  I'll miss this, I think.  Over the weekend I kareoke, and dance, I laugh, see a play, have drinks with old friends, eat breakfast with an old classmate, buy tickets to see a good band, look forward to a visit from NYMan in a few days.  At a bar, as I shake my shit to good 80's music, a group of gay men call me "fabulous."  On the walk home, I loan my cell phone to a couple of trannies who've left theirs in a cab.  They find it later and call me and tell me I was the only person all night who was nice to them.  My problems aren't so big.

During the week, I start yoga again.  It's only 2 bucks a class, but we're cramped mat to mat, stretching awkwardly to avoid touching one another: sweaty strangers.  "Ghetto yoga," I tell a friend later, but I note the coach house where we meet sits on the lakefront and through my warrior pose, I stare out across Lake Michigan, watch small waves crashing against the shore, another storm moving in.

At bars, I catch fragments of conversations, people talking about periods in their lives they felt lost, wondered how they'd get through, they refer to these times as character-building.  "It made me strong," they always say.

"Why are you in the beginners class?" someone asks me after our first session. "You're so flexible," she says.
And it's true -- I move into difficult poses with more ease than the instructor. 
"I've always been flexible," I respond, "It's strength I don't have much of."

I catch fragments of conversations in bars, recognize myself in them, imagine years from now recounting this.

"I'd just finished grad scool," I'll say, sipping a beer, "And I was working for peanuts as an English instructor, knowing I couldn't do that for long.  My debt was growing, and I couldn't sleep.  My anxiety level was at an all-time high.  I wanted to move, but couldn't afford the city where I wanted to be.  Every job application I sent was ignored, and I waited.  And wondered how to pave my own way to happiness and success."

I catch fragments of conversations, sunshine between storms, color on my face.

"It's just life," my friend says.
And I nod and try to ground myself.

Comments

[Cindy]

Beautiful

[teahouseblossom]

Very nice!

So.. when's the big move?

;o)

[saraH]

Your thoughts are beautiful.
I am speechless.

[Chua Chern Toong]

Incredibly eloquent and beautiful!

[Nicholas]

Trust me, you could find work here. Temping isn't the most amazing job in the world, but it get you by while waiting for something grander. And it pays $17 an hour, if you've got the guts to ask (I asked for $20, and got that--before the dotCom burst I was making $35).

My point is that all you really need to make it here is a place to stay for one month while you get a job. If you are willing to have a roommate (and most everyone I know under the age of 36 does), you don't need the broker's fee. It's do-able... tough at first, sure, but do-able.

But you sure don't have those storms here... I do miss that.

[citywendy]

Cindy,sarah, CCT: thanks!

THB: eventually.

Nicholas: good things to think about. I sort of ruled out roommates forever and I have a ton of shit, bu I suppose I may have to prioritize and decide what exactly is most important to me.

[Karen]

You totally tried to dissuade me and then this? And I read a few old posts and want to read more. Still love your writing!

I agree with all that it is terribly hard but not impossible to make those big moves. You only live this life once... Wishing you the best in this wish!

[Wendy's Dad]

Wendy,
This is your father speaking. I don't understand where you get this wanderlust. After all, you had such a well-grounded childhood. Let's see, you only lived in very few places: Naha, Kakazu Heights, Makiminato, Chinhae, Akishima City, Yokota, Shin-dong-ah, that missionary compound (just what city was that actually in?), and don't forget the nine months in the Harbor House Hotel, Sandhausen, and Sinspelt. After you graduated from high school, we have lived in only one house. So you see, I don't understand where you get this itch to move.

[gabby]

Wendy, you write so well! It's so sincere without giving too much.

Getting yourself to NY sounds like a really exciting goal. I love having things to look forward to and plan for. It's like a whole lotta foreplay.

[Cat]

You certainly do have an amazing way with words. I suspect that may be the goldmine you are sitting on.
Keep digging!

[Scarlett]

I constantly have to remind myself of this:

Life has a funny way of working itself out.

I wish I had better advice but that's the best I've found for these times when you're freaked out beyond consolation and faced with decisions.

Besides, you're strong, bright, and insanely talented. Good things will come to you. Mark.My.Words.

[citywendy]

Karen, Thanks!

Dad, seriously, it's all your fault!

Gabby, A lot of foreplay -- I like that analogy.

Cat, How long and how far do I have to dig? My arms are getting tired.

Scarlett, Life IS funny how it works out, huh? Thanks for the reminder

[lionel]

"...and try not to ground myself." Beautiful.

[Sex & Moxie]

If you create a plan for yourself before you get here, you'll be fine. But definitely know EXACTLY what the cost of living will be like. Then budget in a 30% cushion.

Let me know if you need any help/networking asistance for apartments/jobs.

[Ferg]

I'll bet you'd be good at haiku. Peace and enjoy fixin up Maslow's attic.