Blog

Today marks the final day of my twenty-eighth year; tomorrow, I will accept the opportunity and challenge that my twenty-ninth year brings.
I was telling stories about my childhood tonight. I told a story about how I never played with dolls, but much preferred Mirco Machines or some other car toy. I had a friend (and still do; we saw each other very recently, though she lives in another state) who seemed to enjoy dolls and all things having to do with them. I remember countless times she came over to play, she got so upset that we weren’t going to play with dolls. She’d say, “I am the guest. I should be allowed to choose what we play,” to which I would always respond, “Maybe, but this is my house, and we’ll play what I want.” (And we did.) After telling this story to my boyfriend, he said something to the effect of, “You clearly had no trouble saying what you wanted.” I considered this briefly before moving on to share other stories of my peculiarities, but his comment brought to mind a question: Am I different now than I was as a child? Of course the answer is that yes, I am a changed being– I am a certain number of years older, with a certain number of experiences that have weathered me. But am I a different person? At my core, have I changed? Have circumstances eaten me alive, leaving me to be disconnected pieces that were chewed and mashed and ground out to be single pieces of something that was once a whole? When I was a child, and even on through middle and high school, I was certain of things. The answers to questions were black and white; there was no ambiguity. I understand that maturity is the process through which I grew (and continue to grow) that declares, in a sense, the existence of ambiguity and importance of circumstance surrounding outcomes. But at least I had that certainty and that assuredness that allowed me peace to decide.
Today I feel very different from that person I remember being. I have changed. Now, were I to have a guest who wanted to play with dolls (at this point, I would hope that she or he would be the child of a friend), I would definitely play with him/her. There is something to be said, however, about that knowing what I wanted. I got what I wanted, at the expense of my friend’s comfort and enjoyment (sorry, friend), and I remember really liking that we played with the toys I liked. I work in an extremely taxing environment where I not only serve my patients and clients in music therapy, but I also literally serve them food, beverage, and anything else they may need or want. I feel the need to be careful not to transfer my desire to help at all costs into my personal livelihood. I am recognizing the importance of identifying what I want, be it tangible or experiential, and not feeling guilty for finding ways to have it. I am excited to learn some lessons from my child self and to find and hopefully maintain balance once I do.
Happy birthday, Micro Machine-lover and doll-denier.
Thanks for reading.

Essentially, I live out of my trunk. Not only do I stay some nights at my place and some nights at The Boyfriend’s, which necessitates keeping things at hand (but not leaving them at either place), I also need to keep instruments in my trunk. I use the guitar and the violin on a very regular basis, and while I am not using them, they go in my trunk. My sweet little tiny trunk home.
I don’t have much routine, yet routine is something I crave. This morning while I was getting ready, I realized that routine is something I desperately need to create for myself so that I can allow for sustainable stability, wherever I am. Certain routines, having to do with work-related events, I keep well. For instance, when I am about to leave for a home hospice visit, I get in the car, record the miles I have on my odometer as a voice memo on my phone, use hand sanitizer, make the drive in silence– no phone, no radio, no sound that I can control– and use the hand sanitizer again before going into the home or facility for the visit. This kind of routine I keep. But the other kinds, those that contribute to my personal well-being, I have the most trouble maintaining. I have always enjoyed writing and especially loved writing right away in the morning. I started the day feeling centered and balanced and successful. This I don’t do any more. I have found excuses and reasons, some seemingly very valid, to abandon such an activity. I wonder why I leave behind and let disintegrate these activities I find personally beneficial, and stay committed to those that do not directly contribute to my happiness.
To implement something, almost anything, on a daily basis could likely assist my ability to adapt to these changes I am experiencing. Potentially, to blog every day could be this something.
Thanks for reading.