6 months: resetting.

I was going to entitle this entry “6 months in hell,” but it hasn’t truly been totally hellacious. In fact, some of it has been downright amazing. Some memorable goodness: making new and damn amazing friends, realizing that I’ve grown more as an individual in these last six months than I have in the last 10 years combined, graduating from school (finally!), the joy of having my first party at my own place—the first in too many years, talking and listening to music all night long with someone and watching the sun come up over the Manhattan skyline, waking up in a bed not my own, realizing that I can change any situation that isn’t making me happy, getting a job as a bartender, Superman, Late Nights at Lysa’s, identifying a suitor to be a closeted homosexual and subsequently making him wear my most glittery girlie dress (and painting his toes red), bringing Khan into my life, realizing that happiness is not found exclusively in a pair of Manolo Blahniks and most importantly, being able to feel emotions again, even though most of it is sadness; it’s all delicious.

Most days are so damn hard to get through. I’ve never felt such misery and discomfort. But this is a good thing; if things are comfortable, then I’m not moving forward; I’m not challenging myself. If things are comfortable, I’m finding solace in the mundane, and while that might be ok for a short term, it is unacceptable for discovering my full potential. Things must progress forward, and to that end, I must make sacrifices I don’t necessarily want to make and shake up the stuff in my life that’s settled and moldy. This is not a comfortable process.

I told some family members (who were skeptical of my choices) that now is the time for me to get a little crazy and push myself to the absolute limit. I don’t own property. I don’t have any children. I don’t have any real responsibility to anyone right now. I have a few bills, though admittedly haven’t been paying them with the deftness I’d prefer. And as long as I keeping getting them paid, albeit slowly, anything I can dream up is a possibility for me.

Now is the time to see what I’m capable of, and if it doesn’t work out, I can certainly settle myself and get all moldy and enjoy all the comfort that this would bring me. A house in the ‘burbs. A nice car. A disposable income with which to buy all the material possessions required for the appearance of metro middle-class normalcy (the Ann Taylor wardrobe, furnishings from Pottery Barn, kitchen tools and appliances from Williams-Sonoma, gym membership at Club H, a baby dressed by some acceptable baby fashion line I haven’t even heard of yet, weekly manicure/pedicures, hair colored and cut at Bumble and Bumble or Fekkai, Blahniks or Choos, a Coach bag, accessories from Barneys, etc, etc, etc). No thinking required. Follow the formula.

So, while I’m getting a little crazy, I’ve realized that I’m currently a blank canvas, resetting my whole existence. Becoming a new bloom, someone other than what I was.

I had a conversation with K the other day, about traveling and so forth, and how I had a lot of dreams with the soon-to-be-ex that died right along with a certain major event. While I was talking, I could feel the color of dreams start to bleed into my head for the very first time in years; I could feel myself becoming intoxicated by the possibilities of everything that’s out there. And no, it wasn’t the margarita we were sharing. I was so shocked by my inner liveliness that I couldn’t speak properly. My mind was racing; my mouth couldn’t keep up. I realized that I hadn’t even considered any kind of personal forward momentum since 2001. Everything stopped back then. The dreaming ended. And that’s when the mold started.

Now, I’ve hit the reset button and I’m suddenly dreaming again. The colors are fantastically bright. Where will I end up? Will I stay in Hoboken? Will I move to Vermont? Will I buy a house? A condo? A loft? A farm? A bar? Whether I pursue anything by myself remains to be seen. I hope not. Dreams are so much sweeter when the enthusiasm is a shared experience. But if I end up by myself, I know now that it won’t be the end of the world. I can do “by myself.” Didn’t think that I’d ever be a “by myself” kind of person, and really don’t prefer to be, but here I am. Some days are hard, some are beautiful and some I’d just rather sleep through.

All this, and only six months in.