Promises of Future Fun

Dear Internet,

My mother and I once had a battle of wills so severe I refused to get my driver's license for years.  Content with her schleping me around in her grey minivan and bitching about my nose being cut off despite my face.

My dad told me I'd argue with a sign post.  I countered with, "No I wouldn't."

This summer changed all that.  Broke some habits.  Created others.  So, I bought a silver forgot-me-knot ring so I wouldn't forget my nose.

It sits on my fourth finger.  Left hand.  Ironic on purpose.  A feminist cliche about belonging to myself.  About the goals I once wrote out in loopy sixth grade girl handwriting.  About taking care of me.  About fucking the system.  About not caring that I'm single and childless.  About diving head first into my Life List.  About not forgetting what my mother said on her deathbed.

About remembering who I am and having a life-whether that finger ever sees a diamond or not.

Love,
Sara

We were a Contra

Dear Internet,

"I would say that if you really want to STOP knowing someone, you have to divorce him.  Or her.  Because this is what happened between me and my husband.  I believe that we shocked each other by how swiftly we went from being the people who knew each other best in the world to being a pair of the most mutually incomprehensible strangers who ever lived." -Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love

I thought you would be the one who would know me best of all.  It started out so right.  Sunflowers.  Microwaved ice cream.  Kisses in all the right places.  My favorite record on repeat.  Vampire Weekend that month for us to fall in love to.  The feeling "that you and I could tell each other everything."

But it turned out the superficial was all we could do.  You were rigid and I was too flexible.  I tripped you up when you tried walking all over me.

So it ended.  And I wish I could say as quickly as it began.  But you wanted to drag it out when all I wanted was for us to be through.  Another contradiction for us two.

You became Band of Horses' Evening Kitchen on repeat.  "You wasted my time."  "I counted on you."

And I was angry about having to pick at my wounds.  About having to drink too much wine and slur my speech.  About forgetting you.

I said things I shouldn't have. 

Hopefully, you did too.

Love,
Sara

Weekly Round Up of Joy in Packages

1-Look smarter when you take one of these clutches out dancing with you.
2-Make a mixed tape for that cute guy with glasses using this clever USB drive.
3-Wear these shoes when you want to be a little Marie Antoinette and a lot kick ass.
4-Put this album on, dance around your living room, and smile.
5-Wrap up with this cardigan and read books over cups of pumpkin chai.  Flirt with the barista.

Joie de Vivre

Dear Internet,

A bunch of fresh flowers.  Simple poached eggs.  A small square of dark chocolate.  Delicate kisses.

Pleasure is not synonymous with overindulgence.  Pleasure is having just enough of something.  Not too little.  Not too much.

So I wake up early on Saturdays and tie my hair in a knot.  I take my market bag and wander among locally grown peaches.  Sunbathing tomatoes.  Fat blueberries.  I fondle ripe squash and smell bunches of wildflowers.  Then I stuff my sack full of wild chanterelles, fresh goat cheese, and homemade bread.

Later, at home, I'll spend the afternoon concocting various dishes and delighting in the simple pleasure of a crust of bread smeared with goat cheese.  Its tanginess lingering on my lips like kisses do.  And I'll smile and admire the mess of dishes in the sink.

Joie de vivre on a solitary Saturday as my fingers prune in soapy water.

What do you do?

Love,
Sara

The Beginning

Dear Internet,

This started how everything starts-with a man.  A man who gave me a gift.  Gave me a name for what I so easily express, embody, and live out everyday now (thanks to my diet of yoga, good food, running, therapy, and anti-depressants).  Until this summer I didn't have the word for it-the overwhelming abundance, the wide openness, the obnoxious loudness with which I live my life.  I've always felt a little neurotic because of how easily I'm overcome with passion.

But now I know-I am Joy.  It's just me.  My nature is to be moved to tears.  To jump up and down.  To appreciate the smallest moments and gestures.  To piss people off with my happiness.

And this blog was born as a way for me to share all those moments.  A way for me to get away from that past girl I spilled about on my previous blog so I can fully crack open my heart and spread joy around the Internet.  Because joy-joy is the only thing worth fighting for.

Love,
Sara

The Poem

Joy

Joy drinks pure water.  She has sat with the dying and attended many births.  She denies nothing.  She is in love with life, all of it, the sun and the rain and the rainbow.  She rides horses at Half Moon Bay under the October moon.  She climbs mountains.  She sings in the hills.  She jumps from the hot spring to the cold stream without hesitation.

Although Joy is spontaneous, she is immensely patient.  She does not need to rush.  She knows that there are obstacles on every path and that every moment is the perfect moment.  She is not concerned with success or failure or how to make things permanent.

At times Joy is elusive-she seems to disappear even as we approach her.  I see her standing on a ridge covered with oak trees, and suddenly the distance between us feels enormous.  I am overwhelmed and wonder if the effort to reach her is worth it.  Yet, she waits for us.  Her desire to walk with us is as great as our longing to accompany her.

-from The Book of Qualities by Janet Ruth Gendler