Tag: dc

#140; how to open a window

The more I feel like this place is my home, the more I seem to miss the other parts,
the politics and the relationships.
It’s like… In Limbo you don’t need to make any definitive choice,
so nothing’s ever completely out of reach.
Once you choose… You shut so many doors.

#137; time to think

I love being on the road. This seems to a theme lately, I know, but I am once again comfortable on my parents’ couch, having decided last night to take my two days off from the bar and visit the beach. I think I’ve figured out what I enjoy so much about these little sojourns, though.

I’m not particularly good at being ‘inside’ my own head. Time in the quiet, meditation, yoga, vacation – none of these things have ever fit for me. My brain tends to go into overdrive with all the other things I should be doing rather than just sitting. However, when I’m driving, I am in my element. I am inside my own mind, thinking over life’s big and little decisions, singing loudly to music I’d probably be embarrassed to admit loving (my recent performance? Definitely Ke$ha). In this moment in my life, it’s exactly what I need, I’d say.

Life in SoVA, thus far, has been surprisingly good to me. I’ve found a job; slinging cocktails & tasty bar food at a club in Newport News. It’s different than anything I’ve ever done before, and for that I’m thankful, it’s also been good for me in other ways – the confidence it takes to survive in a club environment, the dress code of the place (my uniform in particular is a test for me!), learning a new industry from scratch. I’ve made friends in the community through it, enjoyed girls’ days and chilling out at 4am (because after a long shift it is simply impossible to sleep no matter the hour). I celebrated my birthday with the staff and new friends I’ve made in the area and have fully embraced being a car owner (a first for me).

And yet, you know me by now, I’m already concerned with “what’s next”. Today on my drive – a glorious, sunny, six hours down I95 South – I ruminated on the exact question: What’s Next? With the dust finally settling from the most recent move, it’s time to start planning the next – back to DC? My home, my heart? Spend more time here in the south with Mom & Pop Limbo? (Things are easy here, it’s comfortable, welcoming, stress-free). Do I head north to Maine, to watch my nephews grow up having missed the first years of their lives? Do I pick somewhere new? That’s the question I asked myself last time; job searches, friends across the States, a million possibilities every single day – do I throw a dart at a map? It’s hard to let pieces of your heart go whenever you pick somewhere new, start where no one knows your name, but there’s a thrill to it, too.

I don’t have answers to these questions, yet, and I don’t know that I will anytime soon. But let me as you this one: how do you decide? Wherever it is that you make your life – what made you pick that place? Was there a moment of clarity? A specific set of circumstances? A chance meeting on a street corner? Love? Money? When you look at the rest of your life, where do you see it playing out, and does the where really matter? Because, on that last one, I’m starting to think… Not so much.

#133; a girl I once knew

I’m trying to remember this woman (she once defended her own honor at 12-years-old and was told by her great-grandmother not to bow to a church she didn’t believe in… She seemed fearless). She said once:

“I believe in books, politics, honesty, writing, sex, history, blogging, trust, choice, public displays of affection, God, the strength of a well chosen word, fantasy, pride, film, forever, hugs, shoes, the power of touch, possibility, hope, family, love, and music. I love intensely; I leave marks; I burn bright. I’m proud of the work I’ve done; I’m still young; I have so much more to do.”

Didn’t she once decide to move to Cuba, and then go and do it? I remember so well, when she first moved to D.C., sneaking downstairs at night to put on pointe shoes and dance on the stage of the amphitheater as if she owned it. The lights shining down, the warm air… She was someone who wore short skirts because she felt strong in them; who never wanted to sleep because it would mean missing out on whatever happened next.

Now it seems like she simply can’t sleep at night, for what reason she has no clue.

#130; maybe I’ll just always be in Limbo

I am officially in Southern Virginia. I’ve yet to decide what I feel about this, but it does feel nice to have stopped moving for once. For a bit, anyway.

I moved up from South Carolina on Friday, thanks to the genius packing skills of my parents and gorgeous weather. Mom and I had the convertible, my Dad followed in his truck, and with the top down and country music to accompany us, we made it to the Peninsula. My parents stayed for lunch and then hit the road home, while I spent the night unpacking and continuing to Not-React-Emotionally to leaving D.C. I’d had, in SC, a moment of missing the District, but it passed as the evening did…

On one of my last nights in SC, I had the delightful opportunity to have dinner with a fellow Southerner whom I met at CPAC 2010 in D.C. John from RightWingNews was so welcoming to me during CPAC, where I had a Blogger’s Pass for the first time, and I was excited to hear he was in the area while I was down here. I snagged him on Twitter right away and we made plans to meet up and catch up. I had, by then, been starved for the company of like-minded individuals, not just conservatives (in the South or not, my parents are still hardcore liberal Democrats) but people who understand my political obsessions and habits. Discussing why I left D.C. in the first place with him, and whether or not I think I’ll ever get back into politics… It made me ache with missing D.C. I don’t even know that I can put it to words.

However, other than the evening, other than being reminded so pointedly of what I love about Washington, I had done a very good job of Not-Missing-D.C. That is, until we woke up Sunday morning and decided to drive to the National Mall to see the Fourth.

#128; whispers from the grave

from wildfoxcouture.com

I was looking through some old blog entries tonight – from The View from Dupont, my first DC blog – and came across the following… How appropriate…

I moved to Dupont because it seemed to be the one place in this city that people can be themselves. As a community we’re generally professionals and doing well for ourselves, but there are art galleries and dance clubs and bars and a bustling creative community of people who enjoy all different groups and lifestyles. However, I’ve noticed more and more that even Dupont has this city’s sense of… propriety. I’m a writer, a dancer, a bohemian, and open to just about anything, and I find more and more that this city hates people like that. *sigh* If only I had started over in a different place years ago, would I still be feeling this way there? Where ever “there” might have been? I’m not sure, but now that my life and loves all are based here, I find it hard to imagine just leaving, which is something in my heart I wish I had the courage to do.