you and whose army?

man, I almost deleted that last post today. in the morning light it seemed maybe a tad too personal for this here internet. but you know what, F*** it. I'll leave it up.

I got off work early due to rain and decided to just make it a night in. I stopped at my favorite wine store to stock up and they were rocking Amnesiac, which I haven't listened to in ages but seemed gloriously apropos.

You see. I'm feeling a bit strange these days. Turning 30 this fall, what does it all mean, blah blah blah. Memories are becoming vague, if they ever even happened to begin with.

Also, people are getting married left and right these days. I am thinking of two boys specifically this evening, one of whom I'd like to say congratulations to but I'm too scared to even say happy birthday. The more I try to wave a white flag, the more awkward things become.

We had a conversation in the fall that I'm pretty sure was important, but many shots of whiskey had been taken and I regretfully don't remember it. I just hope I represented myself correctly, and I hope they both know the only thing about this particular triangle that gets me down is that I seem to have lost two friends.

The other boy I'm not too mixed up about. It was what it was, and it was a long time ago. I just saw a random firework explode through a crack in my curtains on this rainy evening, and it reminded me of another time in history when I hurried to meet you in the dead of a January night, and a single firework exploded in my rearview mirror just as I glanced up to see it.

wiccan in the city

A postcard I saw on Postsecret recently had me thinking about religion. I guess I wanted to say something about it. I don't speak about it much, even to those I hold closest. I have lived with someone for over two years and have only mentioned it once.

It's not an issue of pride: I'm not ashamed about being a witch. It's just not something I like to discuss with anyone.

There's definitely a lot of misinformation out there, and even the most open-minded person probably imagines something very specific when someone says the words, "I'm a Wiccan." There was certainly a time in my life (hello high school) when I even played into that image a bit, because in a place filled with so many amazing personalities and talents I thought it was what set me apart. In reality, Wicca has many different faces and belongs to many different people, in different ways.

I have been a practicing pagan since I was 13. I like to think I was born this way; I didn't discover it nor did it search me out. I had no Wiccan friends and in fact was quite a strict Baptist. However, Sunday sermons just weren't adding up for me somewhere; something wasn't quite right. Wicca was in my heart always, already, even before I knew the name or shape of it. There are a lot of things I can't remember about my childhood but I'll already remember this: crouching in the new age section of a mall bookstore, heart thumping, as I flipped through a basic book on Wicca. I can still clearly remember thinking, "So this is what I am."

I guess the easiest way to explain it is to say that I always found it hard to find God in a church hall. He was almost never (or barely) present in the fellow small-town Christians I studied the Bible with every Wednesday night. When I spoke to Him in daily prayer I found that no one seemed to be listening. But watching the sun set, or a river flow, or listening to the wind flow down the mountains through the aspen trees? A shooting star on a clear night, the smell of autumn, the quiet of snow, a humpback whale leaping out of the Atlantic? There is God. Don't tell the priest about your fears, your mistakes. Tell the sun rise. Baptise yourself in a river; the sea. Go to church in a forest. Remember to gaze at the stars.

These days, I find myself living in New York, which is probably about as far from nature as you can possibly get. Strangely enough, I feel closer to the earth here than ever. A single basil plant springs from in between sidewalk cracks. Sweet clover briefly overwhelms the stench of exhaust. The cool wind blows off the river. The moon sets large and red over New Jersey.

I may not participate in the elaborate rituals these days. I don't visit online communities nor read much Wiccan literature. When someone asks about the star tattoo on my wrist, I laugh it off or make an excuse. But if anyone is truly curious, I'll be happy to tell you about it. And I never forget to appreciate a sunset, or say "thank you" when blowing out a candle.

Interpol and radiohead. Eating a porkchop alone at a dimly lit bar in Brooklyn at 11pm. I am starting to forget how much I loved music-- I hardly listen anymore.

Which I guess means I really am getting old. It's not so much the getting old that's the problem. It's that this is the kind of old I swore I'd never be.

how much of a tree bends in the wind?

I started telling the story, without knowing the end.

I had a frustrating day at work. I just want to do a good job, that's it. When I make dumb little mistakes, I feel it. I feel it twice.

yes, i'm still alive

I was thinking about how sad it is my posting has tapered off in such a dramatic fashion.

I'm not writing anything down anywhere else. I'm just.. living, I suppose.

So, a year ago I moved to Brooklyn with S., who is a different S. from the one I used to write about. We just celebrated our 2 year anniversary, which seems weird. Have I been in New York that long?

We live together in what is quite a perfect neighborhood with my cat, and I've started a new job where they treat me alright. Things are going pretty well.

There is more to say, but perhaps not yet. I just wanted my fingers to get used to creating sentences again.

New life

At home on a Friday.
Watching a thunderstorm roll in over south Brooklyn, there is the wind
in my face, ships in the distance and the call of a lone gull. The
thunder, echoing off buildings, sounds closer to amplified backyard
fireworks, but somehow, in this most urban place, I feel so close to
nature.

It's been a long time since I had anything I felt like saying, but
I've been thinking, thinking and thinking...

In the interim, I got a promotion, a French boyfriend who moved in
with me, had further crazy family things happen and celebrated my 1
year NYC anniversary.

I still think about Texas, and even miss it sometimes. Especially now,
when it's so dark and cold. I think about every single lazy day spent
drinking margaritas poolside or breakfast tacos at Maudie's or dancing
at Elysium or warm nights spent alone, biking around town. When my
iPhone informs me that it's 70 degrees in 78704 I can only remember
how lovely spring is. Softball and beers with Max. Reading books and
drinking wine in Zilker park. Gearing up for sxsw, which usually meant
spending a couple of hours a week inhaling glue fumes and getting
sticky fingers followed by post "work" Mexican or moonshine brunch. I
think about my cat, the people I left behind, the niece who is growing
up without me and I feel a physical longing and sadness so strong that
it's almost an actual, measurable pain.

But then there is New York. I was recently marveling at how, unlike my
other transplanted friends, instead of feeling any kind of backlash or
distaste for the city at all, I've only come to love it more.
On a truly nice day (in any season), I dare you to show me a city more
lovely than this. I live in what sometimes feels like a gigantic
playground for grownups, with each day actually being full of endless
possibilities. I have anything I could possibly want available to me
at any hour of the day. Now that I have my car, I'm a mere hour away
from anything fun, and I've done more traveling and seen more new
things in the year I've lived here then in the 8 I lived in Austin.
There's something about this whole New England thing that I really
dig... Maybe all those Charles wysocki puzzles we did as kids had some
subliminal effect on me, who knows. I feel more at home every day, and
more proud to be a New Yorker.