Moonshine & Wanderlust

... a cosmopolitan view from a southern perspective

In the Spring

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When I was younger, my mom would say to me: “People come into our lives for a season and we don’t know how long they will stay, but they will leave you at some point. Enjoy them while they are in your life, but remember to be careful.” I remember getting genuinely angry when she would say this to me – it always came off as some sort of heeding or buzz kill. I hated it. And, I think I hated her saying it because I never wanted to acknowledge that someone I cared about would leave. That doesn’t happen – when you care about someone, when they’re your friend, when you’re in love… those people don’t leave. Of course, I was 18 and my mom had no idea what she was talking about and she hadn’t lived the life *I* was going to live. No sir – I was going to keep everyone and we would sing Kumbaya by a fire every Friday night. Wrong. So wrong.

 

I learned the “seasons” metaphor the hard way. More than once. I’m still learning it. I’ve mentioned this in a former post, but my childhood was pretty sheltered. I didn’t make a lot of “mistakes” until waaay later in life. Sometimes, I think that was good and sometimes I think that was really unfortunate. I will never forget sitting in my therapist’s office and her saying to me: “You’ve learned something a lot of people learn much younger. You learned that {insert some idea here that would seem obvious to anyone over 21} isn’t a sign of a healthy relationship.” I remember laughing – the incident we were talking about seemed so stupid. Like, how did I not think that was a bad idea at almost 30? In that moment, I realized even though I thought I had my life perfectly planned out and A, B, and C would happen in perfect order – in doesn’t happen that way. It hasn’t happened that way. I am still making mistakes and learning and growing. I have to be gentle on myself. And, likewise… it has taught me I have to be gentle with other people.

 

Perhaps the greatest give we can give to ourselves is to simply be. And, to not expect people to stay and fulfill our needs. We are responsible for ourselves – we’re responsible for our own happiness, our own trust issues, our sadness. That is not to say man is an island, but at the end of the day… we are responsible for our lives and our actions. There is a quote I’ve loved for a long time: “If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.” Maybe I love it because it’s a Plath quote and it speaks to my dark and morose, but I think it’s true. It seems bleak and it seems unattainable, but it is true. It’s impossible to not expect things from people – especially when you cultivate a close relationship. It’s going to happen. That’s normal. But, what isn’t impossible is how we let our own expectations dictate our feelings.

 

The past several months have been a big blur in many regards, but one thing that has stuck out to me was that at the end of last year I became completely content. I processed a lot, I went to therapy a lot, I spent a lot of time by myself, I spent time with close friends. I listened to a lot of Lana Del Rey and Carole King and Carly Simon. I ran – a lot. I started practicing yoga. I let myself just get out whatever it was that had built up inside me – I had been on cruise control for a long time. I had become discontent and complacent. More than anything, I hated myself. These thoughts really belong in a post that I promised to make about what prompted my beach getaway over Christmas break, but I had to go through all of that to get to where I am now. It seems a simple lesson: I am responsible for myself and my own happiness. It’s a hard lesson and it’s one I have to work on every.single.day.

 

Seasons come and go – nothing we do will ever change that. People come and go – nothing we do will ever change that. Nothing is guaranteed in this life. Not a single, damn thing. Our pasts do not define us, other people do not define us. When we can come to a place of contentment and happiness with ourselves, minus everything else… that’s when we can appreciate each passing season and its beauty and the people that pass through our lives without want or hurt or expectation or malice.

 

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” – Albert Camus

 

St. Simons Island

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What happens when you finally stop waiting for life to happen? There is a big backstory to this trip that I want to get into at some point, but for now… Just the fun stuff.

“Oh, a seven hour car ride won’t be that bad!” … That’s what I thought when I first planned my vacation this year. And, in reality, it’s not bad, but it’s not good either. The first four hours went by pretty quickly but my back started to contort and mishaps on me the last three. Grace Kelly (my dog) is great company and all, but the poor girl can’t speak so that’s a real drag sometimes.

Alas, we arrived in St. Simons last night about an hour later than expected because of a traffic jam outside of Atlanta. Still, it was early and I hadn’t eaten anything but stocking stuffer trail mix so I went out in search of some food. I settled on Southern Soul Barbeque – the restaurant was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Drives, close to the resort, and what southern girl doesn’t like some BBQ on a Thursday night? The restaurant is settled back off of the road, wooden picnic benches wait for patrons under a large overhang… Colored lights and nostalgic memorabilia decorate the unassuming inside. It was one of those places you know is going to be good before you taste anything. Their BBQ was tender and had its own flavor instead of being smoked to death and coming back to haunt me for the next 12 hours. Their mac and cheese was some of the best I’ve ever had – somehow they manage to put these decadent swirls of creamy cheese into the mix without it being overpowering or sickening. They have their own special selection of sauces ranging from sweet and savor to hot and spicy. I settled on the Sweet Georgia sauce – it’s tomato based, but very reminiscent of a honey mustard. It was sweet, but strong. I’m making myself hungry again… I would highly recommend checking Southern Soul if you get down to the area.

Today has been a little bit of an adventure. Those little crazy things that always seem to happen to only me made sure to pop up in the day. When I first booked the hotel, of course I was sure Grace Kelly would be welcomed and it would be a good fit for us to stay and for her to be out on the beach, etc. What I didn’t expect was the whole town seems to be extremely dog friendly. I’ve seen more people with dogs than with children. So, I haven’t done a post about my dog but here is what you need to know: I’m obsessed. She has her own Instagram (IG: gracekellythecavalier), she goes everywhere with me… Typical crazy dog lady stuff. Anyway, I digress. So, I go downtown today to the St. Simons Pier area that also is home to their lighthouse museum. There is a park overlooking the ocean, mossy trees to be climbed, and two rows of shops and restaurants. The first shop we went into, Ronne’s, was very welcoming to us and let us know all of the shops were dog friendly. The shop keeper suggested a couple of restaurants for us to try as well. Everyone I talked to was so welcoming and kind and just loved all over Grace Kelly – it made visiting all of the shops very relaxing and enjoyable.

Okay, so the crazy stuff. The downtown area has a strip of shops that are essentially tiny little beach cottages… There are probably 8 or so of them on a porch. Very cute. I had checked them out and stepped off the last porch step and called for Grace Kelly to follow me because I could tell she wasn’t walking behind me. I turn around to see her dangling by her NECK off this porch. God knows how this stuff happens, but I about lost it. I had a dog die that way when I was a kid – don’t ask, it was traumatic as you can imagine. Somehow she had managed to get her leash wrapped at the top of the step and then did this Kung Fu Panda maneuver that rendered her hangman style. It was something out of a movie with her little body hanging at least a foot off the ground… I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Maybe my dog is depressed and she did it one purpose… We’ll never know.

I decided to check out one of the suggested restaurants, the 4th of May, on the corner of the strip. All of the restaurants have outdoor seating which works out great when you travel with your pet. The waitress suggested the Fried Green Tomato BLT… is it weird I’ve lived in the south my whole life and never have eaten a fried green tomato until today? What have I been missing!? That sandwich was probably one of the best things I have ever eaten… Ever. The breading couldn’t have been more perfect – it was thin and crisp… It held the tomatoes perfectly… Not messy or soggy or overly juicy. The bacon was thick and crisp. They added the right touch of mayo – just enough to give some flavor instead of swimming in it and dark, leafy lettuce instead of a cheap slice of iceberg. It was decadent for a great little southern style sandwich. I ate half and took the rest with me… Which would have made the perfect dinner except for what happened next. I’m at a crosswalk… waiting… I’ve got a take out box, Grace Kelly’s leash, and a small bag in my hands. This doesn’t sound complicated, right? Right… It wasn’t, until the wind decided to be a show off and literally take the box out of my hand. And, that wasn’t embarrassing enough as all these cars are sitting at the intersection. No, then the box has to open in mid air and my sandwich comes flying out and smacks the pavement – sending bacon and a fried green tomato to their gravely deaths. I was pissed because my sandwich was gone, but I was also saw people staring at me with their mouths hanging open at what had transpired. I should have just walked away, but no, I had to run out into the middle of the road and PICK UP THE SANDWICH and the box. I couldn’t leave it there… So here I am, scrounging the remnants of my food off the road and dragging Grace Kelly behind me while I do it. Thank God there was a trash can next to me so I could pitch my mess and move on and not look anyone in the eye.

… I don’t know what I will do tomorrow, but I wish for no more spilled food or the attempted suicide of my dog.

a scar remains

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I have a scar on my thigh I aquired at the age of nine. Growing up, I would always iron my clothes on the floor. I can’t remember if we had an ironing board and my mother didn’t use it or if we didn’t have one at that time. For whatever reason ironing on the floor was a regular occurrence. Anyway, I distinctly remember ironing my shirt while I was watching a black and white episode of Perry Mason (I had an usual childhood.) Obviously I was engrossed in the courtroom drama I wasn’t paying attention to my hand work and ran the blazing hot iron right up on my leg – where it sat for a good three or four seconds before the pain receptors in my brain went haywire.

The days following my accident were worse than the actual event. The burn was extremely painful and over a couple of days the spot began to swell. My burn had turned into a blister… a satin finished and soft nub of liquid. After several days, the blister popped and drained. It’s disgusting, I know. The pain subsided over time, but the scar is still there. It’s in the perfect shape of the iron point, actually – a nice little teepee shape. As I have aged, I have noticed it has become less noticeable. I can point it out and spot it, but I have to look for it – it’s not as present as it was before.

Sometimes circumstances happen to us that send every pain receptor in our body into high alert. We wanna run and scream and do whatever we can do put out the pain – to salve the hurt, but it doesn’t go away. Oh, if we could just go back a few seconds… a few months… a few years. But, the damage has been done and, man, does it hurt. You may think you won’t be able to cope with the pain – nothing seems to stomp out the fire. Not only are we having to deal with the immediate pain, but the residual pain comes – the blisters. The blisters are daily reminders of what has happened. Even on days when things seem to get better – you’re not in so much pain, your heart is healing – the blister stays. And, under the blister will be born a scar.

It makes me think about removing cancer from your body – it must come out, but it leaves a scar. In the process of removing negative things from our life, we must be willing to face the pain of digging it out – no matter how badly it hurts – to start healing. The removing of negative things in our life that cause us pain can come in different forms – but, no matter what form it is – it is going to be painful. It’s going to be a daily or weekly or monthly reminder of what happened and the feelings that are conjured up because of the circumstance or person. It takes more strength than weakness to go through these times – we are the only ones who can commit to this endeavor and come out clean.

One day – the blister is gone and underneath is the new skin. But, it is forever changed. A scar remains to serve as a reminder and a protection from the pain inflicted before. Over time, the scar becomes lighter and less noticeable – the pain is gone… but you know it is still there. And, when you look at it, you know you endured. You survived. Some scars we may get a few times -others, once was more than enough. There will always be new scars – some will hurt less than others, but they all are a lesson to us in this journey. It does get easier… sometimes the saying is true that it gets harder before is gets easier, but it does… the pain subsides, your wounds heal, your mind is renewed. You are restored through the pain.

Twenty years later and I still iron my clothes on the floor. And, yes, I do own an ironing board. Old habits die hard… you just learn to be a little more careful.

petals

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Lies and empty words can feel like someone took a flower and shook it into the wind. At first, it’s a gentle disintegration… so slight you do not notice the first petals dropping to the ground. As time drags on the flower is starved of water but the budding hope coming from saturated words – always the right words – keep the flower from reaching out to a more nurturing hand. More petals fall. The flower is shaken harder and it’s core begins to be exposed. The flower still holds hope for restoration… To be transformed into what they dream they can be, what the lies make them believe. But, that is not what is meant to be. Instead, the flower’s stem is shaken one last time… So hard it’s stem bends and the remaining petals fall away and the dark nub of their heart is exposed to the harsh reality they have been living in. The holder of the flower walks away, leaving the remains to be stripped away by the elements. The flower is of no use anymore… It has been used for its purpose to the holder. You see, we are all flowers and we all allow ourselves – the fragile parts of us – to be held by people. And, sometimes even in our best effort, we are still crushed and used. The good news is we are not flowers… The crushing, the pressing, the bending and the breaking only serve to fuel our fires and leave us brighter than before.

Hey, it’s just …

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Hey, it’s just one night, it’s not like it’s forever
I just want to feel better

How many times have we looked for an escape route in order to “feel better”? The fine art of escaping takes many forms – we all have our vices and they seem be exascerbated by whatever is ailing us at the time. We ache to escape when things get tough – when we want to forget the pain in our lives. My childhood left little room for me to escape a situation I might have found hurtful or stressful – I read to escape. Books were my safety net and safe haven. However, adulthood opened up a Pandora’s box of escape methods. I went from very limited parameters to no parameters.

For a long time, I didn’t feel the need to push my escape boundaries – I nudged them a little, sure, but for several years I never full fledged sacked myself up against a wall. My first real grownup, big-girl, “I can do whatever I want” escape came in the winter of 2011. I had gotten some pretty unexpected and hurtful news from one of my best friends and suddenly, the idea of reading seemed very ten years old of me. I found myself in a blur of actions and feelings that landed me, alone, on the floor of my apartment. From cold to cold – a friend came and transported me from the cool linoleum of my kitchen to the cold and hard bathroom tile. It’s funny how we hit these walls with such force, yet we visit them again and again – no matter how badly they can make us feel.

So, once you find a boundary that doesn’t dull the pain anymore, you move on to the next one… and the next, then one above the last one, etc. We climb the rungs of the numb ladder in hopes to find something that will squelch the longing, the pain, the ache, or the empty forever. But, it’s not to be found. It’s a bottomless pit that begs to be filled. In those moments when alcohol numbs, drugs soothe, other people distract, sleep blankets, we are temporarily satiated. We forget – the line to the top of our empty gauge is full – until the escape stops. It comes to a hault. We learn to ride out the escape route for as long as we can – we stretch it as far as it will go and each route lasts a different time than another, so perhaps we combine our escape routes in hopes of creating one giant ride of oblivion.

The thing is – we can never escape. We try and perhaps for a time we are transported to a place where we forget, temporarily, or our wounds are salved. But, unless we are willing to make peace with whatever is causing us to run toward escaping, we will never truly be free. In more recent times, I found myself trying to get out of town for a couple of days when I was going through something that shot up my “escape” flag. After doing this a couple of times, I realized I was missing out on really wonderful moments with friends and family and myself because I was still consumed with what I was trying to escape. It almost felt like a burden because I was so entwined in my own feelings I failed to notice so many things. When I started to change my attitude and stopped using things I loved as ways of escape – traveling, people, the ocassional glass of wine – I enjoyed them for what they were and how they enriched my life, not how they could be used to duct tape the broken pieces of me together.

I’m still learning how to “cope” with life as an adult – I still nudge my boundaries and I’m still tempted to flee. But, I am getting better at being a little bit more gentle with myself and allowing those feelings and emotions, no matter how negative or painful, to exist and be with me until it is their time to pack up and move on. I don’t use experiences or people or things I enjoy to be bandaids for emotional craters that are far too deep for them to cover. Running away from those feelings only seems to make them more eager to stay. Every experience is a lesson – trying to block it out can cause us to miss out on something that in the end could be more beautiful and powerful than we ever imagined.