I had a good time doing average earthling stuff as we zipped through the familiar momentum of another loopty-loop in the great abyss.
Were you as embarrassed and shocked as me on that chilly day in November when I soiled my pants? Maybe you saw the pictures of me drinking beer in Germany and thought, “Wow, that girl is cool.” Although, that was before you knew about the mortifying bowel incident in the Dairy Queen parking lot. A moment of silence, please, for the brand new Lulu leggings. May they rest in peace. Damn, by the way— I always planned on taking that one to the grave. I share this because, as I train for my first half marathon, I’ve been comforted to learn that “runner’s trots” is a real thing happening to other people and it’s caused by physical jostling of the organs. After all, I’m only as human as the same shell we all live in.
Just recently, I was singing to Celine Dion in the shower (It’s All Coming Back to Me Now) and the permanent damage of summer’s tan lines on my naked winter body reminded me to be a little more afraid of our bright, burning star and a little less afraid to write about all the weird stuff I’m doing while living here on the pale blue dot.
I was a dreamer girl, giving full permission for my imagination to run absolutely wild with it all. My personal brand looked like lowercase texts, neon fits and every nail painted a different color. I wore my middle name in fake gold around my neck and someone’s broken-engagement ring (turned soul sister friendship ring) on my right pinky finger. I remember laughing so hard when my best friend smeared peppermint chapstick on our eyelids to feel more alive on our way to the last bar of the night. I was a crazy homebody, getting dropped off in my mom’s Honda Odyssey and throwing up in secrecy on the side of wineries every once in a blue moon.
I didn’t share my post-workout Orange Theory reports on Instagram and you didn’t see a single picture of our new-old foster dog who tested my limits but gave me the hope to believe that love will always find us. Tyson “Toby” McDonough, this one’s for you.
All these things happened, and if you’re an alien reader, greetings to my average life in the Milky Way galaxy.
Following a pondering curiosity, I took many quizzes and frequently caught myself listening to the Taurus cosmic playlist on Spotify. Turns out, I’m the mediator personality type, which explains my seemingly unlimited store of compassion and empathy (maybe you could have already told me this.) I was a sincere, old-fashioned girl sending homemade lemon squares through the mail to my stupid dumb crush. I kind of lose my breath when my mind replays that fragile time like a heartfelt scene out of one of those modern day rom-coms. Then I pause to take a better deep breath and smile because that was just me being me.
I formed a quirky habit of lazily sitting around in a wet towel on my bed after long hot showers. It’s true— I continued to live up to my slow reputation. Although, for the first time ever, I ran slightly ahead of myself in the lifelong battle against our big ticking clock. It was actually as if I traveled back in time when I fell asleep in between my mom and dad on their bed during the local late night news. My morning routine was incomplete without generously almond buttered toast and an unorganized top layer of banana slices. I liked to hang out on the carpet floor, pushing my luck squished up against my dog’s impatient growling snout. The crisp of fall arrived and, if only for a moment, a Pacific breeze blew through this Midwest suburb when I pulled out a sandy seashell from my old beach denim jacket. Was that a hug from California? I’ve been there before.
These wilding brain tabs spilled into my notes app with an ever changing list of baby names to remember down the road, drafted risky texts that may or may not have ever been sent, dip recipe ingredients, weekly weigh-in recordings and easy access to the last four digits of my social security number.
It was an abnormal orbit, perhaps caught by a rare glitch in the outer zorb.
Occupied by more heavy matter than the series of lighter trips I’ve traveled in the past, I learned to thank God for those mundane moments of goodness. Vulnerable as ever, it was the year twenty nineteen and I was there— a breathing result of the love of thousands. As our axis rotated, automated days snuck by with only vague memories and not too many stories to tell. Although, I did live through a few broken streaks of normalcy, including a fair amount of new cinnamon toothpastes and surprise visits from the invisible things.
I can recall an especially hard week at the end of September. Chasing after a gravitational pull, I was going over the speed limit with my mom on the way to a Creative Pep Talk in Ohio. The timing of it seemed rushed but I was desperate for a reboot or sign from above. Andy J. Pizza was there and he talked about the recognizable things we can’t see, but feel, as real-life characters with personality. He shared his illustrations of what they look like to him and I’ve been catching glimpses of these rascals ever since.
I’m talking about that time when I saw Grief and Guts collide head on in my grandmother’s kitchen as the buzzing clippers shaved off her remaining beautiful hair. A spirit named Chaos rattled my bones the day I got the news of a miraculous birth and a sudden death in my relatively small circle. That same night, two strangers met for the first time, ending a heavy day with a warm Fuzzy and fond Vibes dancing all around. I cried with a lil Gloom sitting above my head in a greasy diner as I shared breakfast across from Hope and a Wish for a chance to fix a sad family circumstance that has forever changed my life. An old friend, Dream, revisited on a Tuesday afternoon with a creative opportunity from an art director who previously turned me down on a job that I interviewed for years ago. A couple times I even felt the shocking zap of a Niff from lifelong humans who just stopped coming around.
I still don’t know why pain presented itself in the numerous ways it did but that tends to shape us gentle earthlings. I finished the loop still having a good time and still brimming with faith in our great star breather. I never found out where the invisible things live but there’s a newly framed poster on my wall in memory of the creatures who visited me during this rapid fire of a revolution. Everything average feels like a beautiful piece of priceless art when I take time to write it out, so thanks for reading.