The Adventures of Lady D

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Love,

Devin

perseverance: steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success

I cooked dinner tonight, I cut my finger and then I cried. I cried because I didn’t know what I was making when I started, and it was starting to show. Only I was so sure I wanted to make dinner, and my uncertainty about the end result wasn’t stopping me. So I just started cutting and cooking, hoping the answer would come.

Only it didn’t. At least not right away. And then I cut my finger, and it hurt like hell, and it bled a lot. And so I cried.

I cried because I really don’t know what I am doing. And really, I never know what I am doing, and there comes a point when that’s really overwhelming.

I cried because I’m sick of doing it on my own, and it feels like I’ve been doing it that way my whole life. 

I cried because all these bright ideas have been my own, and I am tired from carrying the weight of my dreams. I cried because the optimism required to make them happen is exhausting, and I’ve yet to see if they are going to lead anywhere good.

Then I cried even harder, because I realized I’ve yet to see if they lead anywhere at all. No one tells you that the hard part isn’t choosing the wrong thing, it’s not knowing what the right choice is.

Like the road I drove on tonight to clear my head. It was dark, and there were no street lights, and I had no idea whether I should turn right or left. And there were no signs to tell me which way to go or whether I should turn around, since I didn’t know where I was going to begin with.

And I was so lonely, and so scared and confused. Only who and what do you ask when you don’t know what your destination is? What do you do when you choose a life that you now have no idea what to do with?

Dinner turned out okay. I made pasta Bolognese from scratch and salad. The guacamole I made when I thought I was cooking Mexican went in the fridge for another day. It’s better when the garlic has had some time to flavor the avocado anyway.

My finger turned out alright too. Mom patched it up for me, because I put the band aid on too tight, which cut off my circulation and made my finger hurt even more.

As for me, well, I’m writing this blog post despite not knowing where it will lead me, so I think I am on the right track. After all, the definition of insanity may be doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result, but I have yet to receive any, so I guess that means I’m still persevering.

Boston: While walking to my car on a Monday morning recently, super early, I passed a couple in their late 60’s walking their two dogs. He was carrying a reusable coffee mug. She was looking towards one of the shops and commenting about it.

They must walk that block all the time, I thought. Yet they didn’t seem bored by it. Nor did they seem overly excited. They seemed, simply, content.

As I passed them, she smiled at me, and at first I couldn’t figure out why. Then I realized that it was me who was smiling at her the whole time. She was merely returning the gesture.

I felt like I stumbled into the middle of their story - one that was blissfully boring and uneventful.

I’d like to be them someday.

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A few weeks ago I tried to break up with Bank of America. You see, during our long distance relationship in Bali, they showed their true colors to me, and I realized that not only do they clash with my complexion, but they are also self-centered liars who don’t care about me.

Initially it was their general elusiveness that bothered me: it took 19 buttons just to get a human being on the phone! Being 11,000 miles away, I needed to know I could reach them when I needed them, so playing hard-to-get was neither sexy nor appreciated.

Then there was the “big debacle” when they told me they were going to help me with something and then didn’t. It ended up costing me a lot of money, and they never took responsibility for their part in it. Not only that but they made me cry and never said they were sorry.

That would have been the last straw, except I had been with them for a long time, and I felt guilty breaking up over the phone. I decided to give them one last chance and see how things went when I returned to the U.S. That blew up in my face as well, because I found them just as inaccessible in Vermont as I did in Indonesia.

It was time to let them go.

At first I just spent all the money in our account while I searched for a replacement. After all, I didn’t want to cut ties with nothing in the pipeline.

When I found Chuck (Charles Schwab), I knew I had found the right match for me. He  asks me questions about myself, listens to the answers, and is genuinely interested in my well-being. Plus, he’s really easy to get on the phone (only one button!). Even though he’s a little further away, he makes for the distance by working extra hard to make sure I have what I need.

Nevertheless, old habits die hard, because on the day I entered Bank of America determined to break-up, they talked me out of severing ties. As I walked out with my bank account still intact, I wondered if I was making a senseless sacrifice. Why had I listened to them?

At the end of the day, it was a decision of convenience. After all, BOA is everywhere, and like a bad habit, it was easier to give in than to resist.

That doesn’t mean I’m welcoming them back with open arms. I made it clear that they are on probation. Meanwhile, Chuck sits shotgun in my wallet. After all, BOA may have convinced me to keep them around, but Chuck called me out of the blue just to check-in today, and then laughed at all my jokes.

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The cold air nibbled at my skin when I stepped outside this evening. The wind was barely blowing, but just that little bit was enough to chill my warm cheeks, and make me shiver.

Then I closed my eyes and imagined it was a kiss.

And I smiled.

I hate when cosmetic companies make lipstick with flavors. Like, what if I find the color lipstick I want, but it is a flavor I hate? It’s a bit presumptuous of them to assume that someone who likes Powder Pink would also like watermelon flavor. I hate watermelon, but I might someday really want to purchase Powder Pink lipstick.

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In order for my mom and I to put the outdoor furniture on the second floor of the barn today, we had to move the gate to the chicken coup and let them run in the lawn. As my mom pulled the gate aside, she let a big piece of wood crash down that make a loud noise. The chickens started running frantically, flapping their wings and clucking. My mom smiled. “I’d be a liar if I said that was an accident.”

The chickens couldn’t wait to get out and run free, even though half their coup is outside anyway. As soon as the gate was open, the chickens came filing out, each pushing past the next trying to be the first one out running free.

After only a few minutes, however, while my mom and I were still loading stuff into the barn, they began crowding the entrance to the barn, trying to get back in. It seems that despite the adventure and mystery of the outside world, the chickens still couldn’t wait to get home again.

I know how they feel.

I worried that I wouldn’t be able to eat meat after seeing the turkeys die. Like after getting to know it would make it less edible. Instead, I found that a turkey looks more like a turkey to me when it’s dead and plucked than when it’s alive. In fact, I bet when it’s cooked it will look even more familiar.

That said, I ate strictly vegetarian that day.

Afterward
On Monday I walked down the street for my weekly babysitting gig. Since I took 2 year-old Mollie to my house one time to check out the turkeys and chickens, now we have to go every time I come over. When we got to my house she asked, “Where are the turkeys?”

Animals Are People Too
All four turkeys were slaughtered that day. I “watched” one be killed, and then went to work at the clothing store. All day I looked at the furs we have for sale and reconsidered my stance on them. “Well, they’re already dead, so it’s like recycling,” I reason to customers. “It’s kind of like they serve as an organ donor when they are bought second hand, because they are already dead, and we are just making use of their body parts.” I’m not sure I’ve ever really believed that, but it sounds kinda messed up and funny, so I’ve always just gone with it. But after seeing an animal actually get killed, I had the urge to bury the $500 jacket as opposed to wear it.

To be continued…

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