Though no longer "self-proclaimed" and now actually "bonafide" as an author, let's follow my random life and see just what it is that makes me tick. Together!
Funnily enough, below when you see the side-by-side of the foyer from what it was to what it became, the before looks better than it was. The color you see above on the walls was this almost tangerine color which extended all the way up the stairwell and into the hall up there. The ceiling is darker than a butter yellow, but that was also what the foyer walls were before the ladies before me took a swing at it. Regardless. Here you can see the difference that was made by using "Extra White" flat ceiling paint by Sherwin Williams.
One of two stained glass windows, original to the house.
The original light fixture was milk-glass, not sure how old it was but most likely from the 50's. My clumsy ass dropped it when I took it down, so that put an end to that one (I was replacing it anyway).
No more oranges and yellows!
The foyer/stairwell/upstairs hallway are all Requisite Grey by Sherwin Williams. The downstairs hall (which is shown here) is actually French Grey by Sherwin Williams. I thought there'd be more of a noticeable contrast between the two once I put them up, but nope. Both greys look essentially the same. That little pineapple lamp you see there is the first thing I bought for the house before I had closed on it. It came from Pottery Barn (surprise!) but I wanted it right in the front because it is the symbol for friendship and hospitality.
I never turn it off because everyone is welcome here at the Manor <3
The majority still lost the vote.
I always planned on painting all of the baseboards in the house, using Simply White by Sherwin Williams. The stairs were a tricky thing though because yes the baseboards were bad, but what about the stairs themselves? The kickboards? The spindles? The newel post? My sister was smart and told me to just start with the baseboards, and if I wanted more, then to keep going. But start with them.
Priming is the worst.
All of the trim in the house was finished in spurts. I did the upstairs hall, stairwell, foyer, downstairs hall and kitchen baseboards in one go.
Original front door.
I'll take the door down this summer and sand it down before re-staining it. She needs some TLC.
Primed and ready for the final coat.
I decided I wanted the kickboards done as well because it brightened everything up soooo so much. I wanted to incorporate the kitchen cupboard color as well, because I had used it to paint all of the doors upstairs and felt like tying it all together. So...
Shameless selfie while sanding the bannister.
Those goggles steam up way to fast and I hate wearing a dust mask, but my sander kicks up so much dust that it was never a good idea to avoid it. #responsible
The finished railing.
I painted the spindles and newel post Iron Ore by Sherwin Williams, and sanded down the railing and top of the post and re-stained them with Kona stain (which I had used on the kitchen counters and will use on the front door). Eventually I will take the slip-tread off the steps and sand them down, and then I'll most likely stain the stairs Kona as well.
The piece de la resistance.
After taking down the milk-glass lamp shade, I wanted something that was dressy yet funky. I have brass accents in my house and wanted this pendant to be the big welcome home, echoing the leaves from the pineapple lamp below it. I also love very much how the shadows decorate the walls and add a little extra dimension to the foyer. And now, the grand reveal!
Before After
Like I said, the walls in the above picture were covered with orange after that picture was taken, but I mean really. Who the fuck paints walls and ceilings such a bright color? Not this Capricorn. Also, just a little note, on the entry table is a small framed cross-stitch that my great friend Kyle gave me when I bought the house.
In rainbow threads it says "Homo Sweet Homo" and it's one of my favorite things.
The Living Room
The very first brush strokes in the entire house.
Green. It started with green, and I would eventually finish the living room with green (though not this key lime shade, yick). Step one in the entire house was applying the knowledge I attained from Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun: "Take one room and make it your own. Start small and introduce yourself to the house."
I'm actually shuddering as I look back at these in high definition on my computer screen, hahaha.
Crown molding done.
There are a couple things that kill me about this, and I'm gonna tell you what they are right now. For starters, this green is awful. For secondly, who paints the ceiling in green as well but a more yellow shade? And C, why the fuck would you use glossy paint on the ceiling? You're gonna see everything! Also notice the crown molding separated from the ceiling, which would end up being my first foray into caulking.
Almost done with one coat. It took two more.
Painting ceilings is my least favorite thing to do in the world. My LEAST favorite thing. My shoulders were killing me, my neck hurt, my hips hurt from standing in a position to brace myself against the extendable pole, etc. etc. That being said, there is nothing more satisfying than a nice, FLAT, white ceiling.
I lived in this mess for two weeks and it was goddamn awful.
I rest my case. Also note in this image that I painted the insides of the arches white as well. My great friend Leah suggested I do this to break up the space since the dining room and living room would be the same color, and while initially I thought I wouldn't like it, I now love it. It also ended up being something that people comment on the most when they see the space. Because once you go black...
My life flashed before my eyes as I started this color.
You know that thing where people always tell you not to do something, for your entire life, and you eventually start to believe that NO, you should not do it? But you get older and look at a bunch of houses and steal a bunch of ideas and then you figure "fuck it," and do it anyway?
Yeah, me too.
I was hell bent on painting my house black. I went to Sherwin Williams and had five different shades picked out (who knew there were so many options for black?)
The awesome General Manager at the Maple Grove store came over and asked what I was thinking, so I told her. And without missing a beat she says "Oh, you need to paint Black Magic, it was color of the month for April." She then proceeded to have me pull out my phone to see a video they did on it, because I was skeptical. And because you are probably skeptical as well, here's the video for you to see as well.
Now don't ever doubt me again.
So, I went with Black Magic, because that video embodied everything I wanted with the space. I bought two gallons and giddily raced home with the one color my mom always said "you can paint your room any way you want but that!" Watch this, mom!
The first coat.
BAM! What I appreciate about this picture is that I didn't even wait to take a shot before the final coat was done, or even the edging at the top. I was so in love it's stupid.
Just, y'know... 10 months later...
Here you can see the final steps of the living room coming together as I finished the windows. The brass curtain rod was also a choice I made before moving in, I knew I wanted it against the black with a whole bunch of white accents. Ready to see the final look?
Lookin' on in from the foyer.
I think my sister said it best when she told me "It doesn't even look like a before and after. It looks like a different house with the same floorplan."
I don't regret a single thing.
One of my favorite things about using the black is that my huge TV doesn't stick out like a sore thumb. Particularly in person, your eyes just glance right over it unless it's turned on. This definitely keeps it from feeling like a huge distraction. That little chair in the corner is in this awesome Smoke Velvet from Pottery Barn and it's my favorite to lounge in with a good book and a cup of coffee (c:
Nice and bright.
You can see my house mascot hanging on the wall here, Diego the rhino. I bought him when I was working at west elm in Austin, and he's made the journey with me a few times now. Underneath him is the map of Isla Nublar, and if I have to explain what that is, you should be ashamed.
Also it's from Jurassic Park tho.
Looks like an adult lives here, who knew?
Like I said, it started with green and ended with it as well. That ottoman is the first piece of custom furniture I've ever order from Pottery Barn, and I wanted it in Forest Green leather. It came just a week ago and I am obsessed with it. My big plan for the lower level of the house was all blacks and greys, with warm brass accents and soft browns from the leathers and wood. The green was the added bonus of an after thought but one I am glad to have made.
The Dining Room
Best invention ever.
Quick side note, if you are ever painting and don't have one of these lids, you are missing out. Saved me so much otherwise lost paint, kept things tidy and clean, and allowed me to access the paint over the course of several days without needing to worry about putting the lid back on. I'll get off my soap box now.
Stress, bottled in a room.
The dining room was a challenge because of that fucking built-in. No matter what I was working on, it was in the back of my mind. I wouldn't touch it until the work was done with the paint, but that didn't stop me from wondering what I wanted it to look like. Stain it again? Paint it? Was it original? Could I re-route the lights? So many choices. Might as well start with the crown molding.
Ceiling painted.
The white ceiling opened up the space, if you ask me.
Here we go.
This was the first stroke of black paint. I think I took this picture and sent it to a bunch of people and squealed "LOOK!" At this point I was thinking it was a bad idea I was gonna regret the hell out of it.
It's like a Tim Burton colorscape at this point.
Also at this point still thinking I'm gonna regret my choice. Black Magic? More like Black Tragic ::does a death drop::
The next day
In the morning light, however, I felt better about it. Black Magic has this uncanny, almost magical (if you will) way of looking like velvet when the light hits it. And that made me realize I was correct in my planning.
GTFO
With the painting done, that meant it was time to rip this bitch out. I figured at the very least, the built-in had been altered at some point in the 80's when they added these ugly little metal rails that would hold the pegs for shelves. At this point there were no pegs left and no shelves. So I took a hammer and busted out the middle shelf, the two vertical panels, and the little spindle railings that supported them. In the process, I broke through the beadboard (truly on accident) but when I saw that there was styrofoam behind it, I paused.
My house was built in 1914. I'm no genius, but I'm pretty f'n sure they didn't have styrofoam sheets and duct tape back then.
I tore out the rest of the beadboard and then figured this was part of the remodel done to the house in the early 90's. My plans for my own remodel continued to develop.
Free labor
Enter stage left, my awesome brother-in-law Tony and the one and only Papa Parker. And carpentry tools that are better than my own. By a lot.
Demolition
These two came out with my sister in July and not only did a ton of work over the weekend, but also gave me ideas for what the built-in would eventually become.
Just some plaster and lathe.
Surprisingly (not surprisingly) that styrofoam was the only insulation around the built-in, which was probably cause for a lot of cold seeping into the house in the winter. All this shit ended up coming out. Then it was off to Menards for the stuff!
Butch queen realness.
I never miss an opportunity for a selfie, especially when it's in a lumber yard and I'm with people who know what they're doing when I clearly haven't got a fucking clue.
That's open to interpretation regarding the rest of my life, too.
Getting there.
While my dad worked in the kitchen on a different project, Tony zipped through framing in the new portion of the built-in. It should be noted that the bottom portion was actually original to the house, and was built like a rock and wasn't going anywhere. The outer facing trim of the upper was also original, so that was just chilling in the garage at this moment. Instead of lights on the trim, Tony suggested recessed lights because there was space for them. I hadn't even considered that as a possibility but I love that it's the direction we went.
I couldn't have done this if my life depended on it.
The next day the new beadboard went up. I had a mirror in mind from Pottery Barn that I wanted to put inside here, and it would fit great because the opening had originally been something like 58 inches and the mirror was 55 inches wide. After realizing that the framing had taken away some space, I told Tony as long as it was 56 inches wide I could still work with it, no problem.
When all was said and done it was 55 1/2inches wide, hahahaha.
Getting closer.
I decided to paint the entire built-in but chose to sand down the buffet surface and re-stain it.
Just some stain left.
At this point I was getting giddy because it looked better than I could have anticipated. That happened a lot in this house.
Ready for polyurethane.
The other bonus to having Tony help out was that he was able to run a power outlet into the built-in, which is amazingly handy. I used a grey stain on the wood, which is echoed in a few places downstairs as well.
Final touches.
Drawers and cabinets are done being painted, just need that hardware and the mirror!
Cus-TOM
It doesn't get any more custom than having a 1/4 inch of clearance on either side of a mirror that weighs 75 pounds. Notice that the wall outlet sticks out a little bit, which meant that two weeks after my family left, me being "oh so proud" decided I could do this on my own. So I unboxed the mirror, lay a towel on the buffet, and hoisted the mirror onto it. It took me 30 minutes to angle it backward into its spot and then try to wiggle my large fingers under the metal. After a lot of swearing and pinched skin, I did get my fingers under it, and then I had to lift the fucking thing straight up (without letting it tilt forward because oh wait, it couldn't!) and try to hook it onto its bracket.
Obviously it worked, lol. And the brass on the mirror matched the brass cabinet hardware perfectly.
More of this.
Then we move on to the baseboards. This picture encapsulates the house quite well, because you can see right there in the corner that the wood doesn't match up. Like, anywhere. Gaps galore! I got very good with the caulk. I also got very good at scooting around on my ass but not too great at preventing the soreness.
A little tidbit from when I cleaned all the windows in the house, in the dining room when this was taken. Barf.
More progress.
This spring when it was roughly warm enough to rip off the plastic wrap on the windows, I took to task painting them. This was a slow, boring, difficult, and annoying process. I hope to never have to paint windows again, and even as I say that I know I'll have to paint the outsides of all these damn things before winter comes. But that's a tear for another day.
No more windows!
I have to say though, coming home to these made me realize how much work I've put into this place and how thankful I am that it's done. Ready for the reveal?
Lots of glow.
Eventually I'll take down the ceiling fan, once I have central air installed and don't need it anymore. It's awkward in the summer having a ceiling fan going and you're trying to eat food that's supposed to be warm. At that point I'll get a chandelier to echo the front entry or something similar... but central air isn't coming anytime soon. Unless I hear a donor out there? Yes? No? Bueller?
Those white arches tho.
One of my favorite things in the house is that wall on the left there. I bought those prints of the moon from an artist on Etsy, done in black water colors. The little black and brass lamp, terrarium with a plant (not saying if it's real or not (it's not)), and the brass console table. The minimalist approach to color is extended through the dining room, with more of a cozy vibe (in my opinion at least) coming to play.
At first glance there's not a lot going on, but when you start to look around there are little moments of things scattered throughout the downstairs. I like this game (c:
This is the picture used on the listing of the house.
So a year ago I did a thing and bought a house.
You may have heard me talk about it once or twice.
The first time I came to look at what would become my home, it was the 36th I had looked at in my nearly three month sprint to find a home. It was also the fifth house I made an offer on. The process was long and exhausting and mostly disappointing. Some houses I would get really excited about, only to show up and see it was a dump, or that the fish-eye lens on the realtor's camera had drastically over-proportioned the room sizes. Biggest heartbreak of course being a house that was perfect but with a dozen families already looking at it when I got there.
So Kieran (my realtor) and I pulled up to what neither of us was thinking would be my house. When we got here, it had dumped snow a few days earlier so everything was covered in that weird combination of mounds of white, puddles of water, and troughs of mushy crud. Kieran asked if he could just let me in, he had a phone call coming in that he needed to take and I knew the drill very well at that point. So I shrugged "sure," because I was moping after leaving the previous house that was almost perfect but with too low of ceilings upstairs for my giant ass self. Above the screen door into the front porch was a bundle of dried lavender, which I thought was quirky, and there were some crystals hung by wire around the doors as well. I thought it felt kinda witchy.
Kieran unlocked, looked inside real quick, and then stepped out so I could poke around.
What hit me first was the smell. It wasn't a bad one by any means, but it immediately triggered a memory of as a child going to the giant Victorian house my Great Aunt Betty owned in Indiana. The stairwell reminded me of that house, the layout into the living room... and don't get me wrong, it was by no means even remotely close to a grand Victorian house, of course, but the memories just came flooding through me. Curious, I started walking through the living room and dining, and by the time I reached the kitchen I just knew this was going to be my home. This was it. The colors were horrific, the decor was even worse. The pantry was filled with jars of seeds (adding to the witch vibe I was getting (nothing wrong with a witch vibe, sign me the fuck up)), the house creaked and groaned, and everything was just a little off-kilter. I went out into the backyard and got a whiff of decaying leaves and pine trees, and that immediately brought me back to Northern California and visiting my Grandma Natalie. So if I wasn't already convinced this was the house, that sealed the deal.
I went back inside and Kieran was coming in having finished his phone call, and he asked if I was ready to leave. I chuckled and said "I think this is the house," and he gave a sorta "the fuck you talking about?" look but went along with it.
A month and a week or so later, I was moving in.
The house as it looked the day before I took ownership.
It was terrifying to stand there on May 30th, the day before signing what felt like my life away. I was waiting for Kieran to show up so I could do my final walk-through, and having not really seen the house for a month apart from one or two drive-bys, I was shocked at the amount of plant growth. He got there a bit later and I think maybe read what was on my face (or he'd just seen it before), and told me right away that we could still back out.
It was an option.
I nodded and we walked through, checking out everything that was done per my request in order to buy. And it was fine. Was I fine that it was fine? No, but sometimes you need the landslide to keep on thundering down the mountain if you're ever going to move. And so I got ready to move.
The next day I signed all of the paperwork, with Kieran and my awesome lender Carolyn at my side, and then the keys were mine. Below is the video I took and sent to my family and closest friends as I unlocked the door for the first time.
When I turned the camera off, I stood in the middle of the living room looking around. Noticing that the shades were broken. That the wall was cracked. That the wood lattice over the air return vent was shattered. That not a single power outlet out of four in the living room alone matched the other. I sat down in the middle of the room and I cried.
I wasn't ready for this, not to own a house. I hadn't been single for a year yet and in that time I had taken a promotion, bought a new car, decided not to move back to the comfort of Wisconsin and then went and bought a house.
...the fuck was I thinking?
After a few minutes of tears, I pulled myself together and rallied. I got the few bags of things from the car and hauled them inside, brushing cobwebs off my face as I walked through them. I plopped myself down in the living room again and figured it was time for the first selfie in the new house. It was more than just a selfie... it was a moment in time. Capturing me at maybe my strongest, maybe my weakest, but me all the same.
He's an "I can do ANYTHING!" kind of gay, and he knows how to rock that hair.
The rest of this blog is divided up over several, because as you can assume, I've got lots 'o pictures to post and a few videos to boot. The next several posts should be read in order, but the actual content is in no particular order seeing as the work for each section was completed over the course of the year (the living room, for example, was the first room to be painted but wasn't completed for 10 months).
That being said, I hope you enjoy the first and only FULL reveal of what I have affectionately dubbed the Minneapolis branch of Parker Manor. The biggest thing to note is that in this house of mis-matched EVERYTHING, my overall goal was to unify. The wood stains. One trim color. One accent/door color. I wanted the downstairs to be pulled upstairs, and the upstairs to be pulled outdoors. Let's take a trip and you can see what I've been killing myself to finish.
Another year comes and goes, and for the first time in 365 days I finally look back at where I was. Not to say I haven't looked back at all, because I have. Through pictures and maybe Facebook's little memories function absolutely, but not to read old blogs. Specifically, any past resolutions. What I love about these particular jaunts through my words is that when I finally get to look back at what I predicted for my year (or set as a resolution, natch), I get to be surprised and sometimes floored by what actually transpired.
Take my 2017 resolution, for example:
When I sat in my rented house on Kentucky Avenue, I watched the frost covering the inside of the windows because the heat had gone out on New Years Eve. I was super sick, tired, depressed, single, and unsure of my future. I decided that an appropriate resolution would be one that centered around getting back to what used to make me happy. Who was "Sean Parker" as an individual? What did that mean, what did that look like? How could I get back to being a creative person? In other words, I wanted to turn the focus back onto just myself, learn that it was okay to do that, and hopefully see the benefit in the end.
The proof's in the pudding. I only wrote three blogs in 2018: a new resolution vii, a full year stronger, and the eighth iteration. That was because I wasn't concerning myself with writing blogs to share things with the world. I wasn't focused on shouting about my life from the mountain tops anymore for two reasons. 1) no one cared and 2) I didn't care.
I could never have known when I published this blog a year ago that my landlord would be telling me hours later he was going to sell the house in the spring. I could never have known I'd be buying my own house 6 months later. Sometimes the best opportunities of your life are hidden in those moments of the unknown.
After I bought the house, I buckled down and started working on it. In so many ways this was a good thing because it caused me to get creative again, to lose weight by arguably over-working myself, to push myself to finish projects, and of course to love my surroundings. Then again, in some ways it was a bad thing. It caused me to push some friends away due to my focus, it racked up additional debts that I didn't have before (painting every wall and ceiling in a house with Sherwin Williams paint isn't the cheapest method), and it introduced me to the exquisite dread of what can go wrong in a big expensive thing that you own.
Or that you're paying to a bank to own, 'course.
I wanted to sort of mimic my golden year with 2018. Not setting a bucket list of things, but again, focusing on building myself back up. I didn't want to date anybody or start a serious relationship. I wanted to make new friends and be happy at my job and work on my house and maybe finish writing my fourth book. Those were the goals that came with the 2018 resolution. And wouldn't you know it... I did make new friends! My job is... my job. As with any, you have good days and you have bad days, the goal being to marry the two of them. I worked on my house and it's nearly finished. And of course, I completed the writing of my fourth book.
With Halloween came the realization that I was content again. Who knew? I'd somehow smuggled my heart through the fire and was able to put it back in its proper place. I decided dating was an option again, and... I went on some dates. Nothing stuck but that was okay, because I knew there was no rush and it could be a very long road. The key words being that there was no. Damn. Rush.
And then all of a sudden I met someone.
And we sparked. We clicked. We did all the things, razzle-dazzle-whatever-you-wanna-call-it. In those first initial days, I couldn't help but to turn my eye to the past and wonder... could I reform it? What would it take to gather the broken pieces, arrange them how I thought they should be, apply some heat and pressure, and reforge what was once lost?
The answer is that what it would take was me knowing myself again, and trusting myself enough to just let go. Take a breath, make the leap, and have faith. It's a pretty terrific feeling when you can believe someone is there to catch you, and right now, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even as I sit in a house, with windows frosting over because of my heat being out for the second time in two years and coincidentally on the same day. But this year I'm not sick... or tired... or depressed... or even single.
So what do I have in store for my goal this year? What self-fulfilling prophecy will I cast out into the ether, hoping to get back in spades?
In 2019 I am turning my focus to planning for the future. Getting debts under control, arranging savings and that good stuff to better serve me and my interests, fixing the house for the eventual day that I will sell it, and of course building the foundations to my new relationships, both romantically inclined and not. I don't think it's ever a bad idea to start planning for the future, and I'm surprised it has taken me this long to really buckle down and decide to do it. But maybe that's how it is when you've sorta gotten all of your ducks in a row? You can start looking at the "other" things that'll propel you forward.
Other things of course include the obvious... finish editing the fourth book, finish work on the house, travel more, yadda yadda. But for me those are just daily goals in a long list of things that'll make me happy, and for now the time has come to put the finishing touches on a strong core.
For now I'll let Betty Who take it away, because like she says, "things keep getting better."
I don't pay much attention to the passing of time any longer... for whatever reason. It comes and goes, ebbs and flows, sometimes flies and at others drags. This last year I've just had my nose down, doing my thing, ignoring it. I used to feel the incessant need to constantly keep the world updated with monthly updates and mundane thoughts scattered in between. As I got older, those types of blogs seemed to melt into the horizon, only to be replaced by stories with much more meaning and heart. A break up. The healing. A return to traditions, etc.
After the New Year turned over I shifted my focus inward and stopped worrying about keeping the world abreast of my situation. Aside from what I felt was a necessary update on the one year anniversary of my breakup, I stuck to this new mantra and kept to myself. Sometimes to my detriment, sure, but for the most part to great success. Admittedly (and before I knew it), autumn descended on Minneapolis; the sun went away, replaced by rainy days and cloudy skies, leaves turned amber and now yellow as they wash down the streets. And a so familiar yet so comforting cold starts seeping in through the walls.
I read a book this summer by Emma Cline called "The Girls," and I'd taken a picture of a passage that really resounded with me. In regards to time, she wrote "it was a gift. What did I do with it? Life didn't accumulate as I'd once imagined. I graduated from boarding school, two years of college. Persisted through the blank decade in Los Angeles. I buried first my mother, then my father. His hair gone wispy as a child's. I paid bills and bought groceries and got my eyes checked while the days crumbled away like debris from a cliff face. Life a continuous backing away from the edge."
So without further adieu, may I present...
THE SEVEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY FOR
MUSINGS OF A
SELF-PROCLAIMED AUTHOR
Seven years ago when I started this blog seems like it was a world apart from me as I am now. I'd been prone to writing pieces that were just... bleh. Frustrated in one because I couldn't find inspiration, lamenting my inability in another to tell Jeff Kivi that I had a crush on him (ruh-oh, the truth comes out!), and whining because I couldn't turn my mind off at night. Then it turned to writing about a great date, subsequently a failed relationship, and then I kicked off what this blog would truly be with the mission of 26 Golden Things.
Parallels could be drawn between then and now... there was a lot of heartbreak between the words, bits of raw honesty that I was so afraid to put to paper back then. I grew more comfortable sharing that over the years, and I only say comfortable in the sense that I was more and more honest about it and how things affected me. Cutting through the baloney and not hiding behind the "I'm okay!" attitude I once did. I almost revel in that honesty now. There's nothing to be lost from honesty, only gained, and I ride that bike quite well. So far removed from friends and family back home, one starts to feel removed from an old life in general. And that removal makes me increasingly feel that I've got nothing to hide. It's liberating and scary at the same time.
Last year I wrote that my goal during the seventh iteration of my blog (i.e. life) was to get back to being simply happy. I think I've succeeded in that quest, maybe not in the way I'd have thought or even hoped, but life gets in the way sometimes. For the most part I am happy though, and I'll take that. Mission accomplished!
Everyone has a chapter in life they don't want to read aloud, and maybe this last year became mine. It wasn't for fear of not wanting to broadcast anything, I just had nothing to say as I tried to figure out my situation. I was so focused on myself, so turned inward, that the thought of writing it all down was lost on me. I look at my house and everything I've done in the four short months since I purchased it and I'm astounded. I'm also annoyed, because I didn't take nearly as many progress pictures as I should have, but I digress. Life is what happens when you're not looking, and only in hindsight do I see what happened this year.
Keeping my head down wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as it allowed me to get to where I wanted to be on the house. I've painted every single wall and ceiling in the place (leaving a lot of baseboards to paint over the winter), replaced every light fixture, outlet and cover. Keeping my head down allowed me to finish writing the first draft of my fourth novel (and grand finale of The Onyxus Chronicles), something I did not anticipate happening but there it was. You see, focusing inward and on myself meant that I started doing the things I always loved doing.
Creating.
I had the time of my life this summer turning my house around. Some people marvelled at the workhorse I became, how much time and energy I put into my projects, but I loved it. I loved slapping that black paint on the living room walls and tearing out the kitchen ceiling and running that roller of flat white paint over the final stretch of ivory high-gloss on the ceiling. I got to play with the things I've accumulated over the years, shifting my taste in decor from amateur to higher end. And as far as the book goes, finally writing the conclusion to a story I started 18 years earlier? Heartbreaking and astounding and exhilarating. I felt like I had found my voice again, and that I was more than just the sum of my parts and what happened to me in the past. I got back to me and what drove me.
That quote from "The Girls" resounded with me because... for me at least... it draws up so many images of regret. That I'm wasting my time, or that I'm just keeping my nose down too much. It conjures the fear that eventually I'm going to look up and it won't just be autumn, but that it'll be autumn and I'll be 50 years old and wondering why I never made the changes to my life I thought so much about. Those changes range from ridiculous to simple, from quitting my job and selling everything and moving to another country to just exist and see how it goes... to just making more of a plan on finances and how to proceed more cautiously, planning for the future and what the responsibility of doing so means.
I'm not sure what I want from the eighth iteration of this blog, but what I do know is that I want to use it more. I took the time I needed to get back to a center I had lost sight of, and that's great. Which direction do I want to move in now? I think the jury is still out on me and what my plans in life are, so in the next year I'd like to decide on my future. That's a big statement, pill, glass of water, whatever you want to call it. But I think a lofty goal is sometimes the best kind of goal, and I'm happy to apply myself to it.
For the music portion this time, I'm sharing "Loverboy" by Ryan Amador. Not necessarily for a specific lyric as I have in the past but because of how it makes me feel. It draws that nostalgia of love inside of me, for whatever purpose, and it makes me feel content. There's nothing wrong with a little contentment.
So thank you for sticking with me for seven years of these blogs, I hope they continue to get better and evolve right along with me. Maybe soon I'll post a progress blog on the house, but not too soon because that'll make me rush even more to get it done. I think I've earned a small break.
You don't hear from me much anymore. I had a little sprint going on for a while, partly because I had stuff to say and no one to say it to, and then I posted a New Year's blog and disappeared into the void. Started a couple blogs and just had to put them on the back burner, as there really wasn't much to say. Or if I was saying something, it sounded stupid. But today I am back because it is the one year anniversary of something. I think saying I "love" anniversaries would be overselling it; I appreciate anniversaries, that's more in line with reality. They are wonderful reminders of all sorts of things, good and bad, and can show you where you were and how sometimes it is in sharp contrast to where you are. I fall into the latter category right now.
A year ago today, I was shaken awake at 1am. The bait I'd set to catch my fiance in a lie... the bait I'd gone to sleep "letting go of" because I trusted how easily he responded to it... well, it had actually worked. And in 8 words from his mouth, words that only came from fear of being caught, my world was thrust backward so sharply and so suddenly that it still surprises me how *calm* I had been at the time. I didn't go Angela Basset in Waiting to Exhale, I didn't go Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. If anything I went Sandra Bullock in Hope Floats and just... existed. Not necessarily angry, not content by any means, but mostly just overwhelmingly sad. Another failed relationship.
You can only look back and see things in this sort of light, I know that. In the moment I think I may have portrayed calmness but really I was dying inside and my mind was on this hell-bent journey into madness. How can I keep him? How can I push him away? How can I afford my life? What will I do with no one in my life out here?
How will I do this on my own?
I reassured myself that I'd done it before and I could do it again. After-all, I'd been through a horrible break up before and made it out the other side. Maybe that was because of the Golden Year? Maybe it was because I had my network of friends and family with me all the time? So, blindly, I trusted myself that "it'll get better, just keep moving forward."
A week later I was promoted to the General Manager position at Pottery Barn.
Two months later I kicked Derek out.
A week after that I started seeing my therapist, Kelsey, every Wednesday from 9am-10am. There were tears, there was laughter, and after some digging there was more than enough heartache to last a lifetime.
The holidays came, more pain came, I sucked it up and kept going.
It had to get better.
Thanksgiving had me absorbed in work, Christmas was bittersweet, turned 32 and got super sick. Heat went out at the house, problems persisted in my life, and started New Year's Day finding out the house I was renting would be going on the market in a few months.
For the first time since the breakup, contemplated moving home to Wisconsin. Leaving it all here, leaving my job I'd fought to get for five years, leaving the past here, and crawling back to familiarity to lick my wounds.
Decided not to give up.
Started looking for a house to buy. Took it as an omen that my realtor was named Kieren, seeing as the villain in my books is Kieran, and I always like the villain better anyway. At least they're committed.
Looked at 36 houses over the new several months. Made offers on five; three of them $30,000 above the asking, still lost out on them. Heart broke a little more each time. Finally looked at a sketchy house with CRAZY colors that a couple lesbians owned. The house made me feel something the others hadn't... some sort of weird charm. Offered the asking price on lucky #37 and it was accepted.
More stress came. Therapy had dropped to every other week. Reconnected with Derek at the end of April, made amends. Suffered through May and waiting to close on the house. Life spiraled out of control, my paranoia took over, I was edgy and nervous and frustrated and tired.
Signed for the house, and then... it was better.
I moved in and just felt the shift. Going through everything last year with the unstable ground of housing is no bueno. Something as basic yet essential as your shelter should be concrete under your feet, not this weird liquidated mess of moving boulders and swampy trenches, but that's what I had. Timelines. Or timelimits, rather.
I think a lot of what I went through, at least the emotional aspect of it, could have been solved quicker if I'd just moved out of that house we had shared together as soon as I could. Maybe that's the role I just get stuck playing, "the one who stays behind"? As had happened six years earlier, Derek moved out and I had to stay to finish the lease. To be fair I forced him to move out but if the ends justify the means then it is what it is. Staying contained to the walls of a place that was once full of so much promise might seem like a good idea in the beginning, but really it's the worst thing you can do. You're locked in and stuck reliving the past like some broken film reel that keeps spinning and spinning, over and over. How can you ever expect to move on when there are daily reminders to the person with a freakishly strong memory of what had transpired in the house? We laughed over there, we watched movies right here, lay on the floor right there, made love over there.
They are the haunting images of a past life that don't die away, even if the person you lived it with is no longer there. And that's hard.
That's the toughest pill to swallow.
So now here I am, a full year later. I spent the last twelve months sort of counting down to this day, holding on to the hope of "you'll be fine when it hits one year," and I think am. There are still moments that catch me off guard, but they are few. And that's okay.
I'll have my next (and last) therapy appointment at the end of the month, and from there I guess it's time to just suck it up and get going. I have house projects to work on now. I have a kitchen to finish remodeling, and a dining room to put back together, and then a million and one other things after that. Money comes into play, which means more time comes into play, but it'll get there. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, though diving into what that means is saved for another time. I hope I never stop changing. Never stop appreciating the little things, no matter how much the big things hurt me. You can look at the little things as just drops in the ocean.
This was... a year. "It was a year," that's enough of a statement on its own, isn't it? I don't want to say "worst year ever," because that potentially takes the title away from something later down the line. I don't want to say "nothing worse could have happened this year," because plenty of things could have. Someone could've died, I could've gotten incurably sick... lots could have been worse. So, 2017 was a year. One I never want to repeat, one I never want to look at again, and one I'm glad to see disappear through the windows that are currently covering themselves entirely in frost inside my frigid house.
Illness in your family is hard. Break-ups are hard. Promotions at work can certainly be hard. Living on your own and a bit beyond your means is hard. Not having your family and friends nearby is hard. Losing weight is hard. Being optimistic is hard. Being sick is hard. Going to therapy is hard. All of this wrapped-up but not contained solely to a single year? That's hard too.
You know what isn't hard? Looking forward.
It isn't hard to see the possibilities that lay in the realm of things getting better. When things don't go your way (as this year largely did not go my way), it's easy to see what they would be if they were good. Mostly because when you're in the moment, you know something is bad because it isn't good. Parent is sick? It'd be great if they weren't. Get cheated on? It'd be great if the next guy didn't do that. Get super sick and still can't seem to shake it after three weeks? Oh wait, that one's current. DOesn't change how I can still picture in my mind what I'll do when I'm NOT sick anymore.
Namely have nice hair again and not worry about coughing anything gross onto my clothes. You're welcome.
It was easy for me to get pissed at life this year. About anything, really, and at anytime. The two aren't mutually exclusive. Last night it was about being pissed when I came home to find the heat was out in my house. Normally 68 degrees, it was a crisp 51 (and would proceed to drop another 8 degrees, which may not seem like a big deal but try sitting in a 43 degree house while sick and tell me you're comfortable). I bitched and moaned for a while then tried messing with the furnace before deciding it was no use and calling my landlord. Continued to bitch and moan until I was sitting motionless on the couch three hours later and hitting my mental wall. It was nine o'clock and I figured the heating guys most likely weren't coming (they weren't, ps), so I needed to work the problem. Pull a Matt Damon in The Martian and figure it out.
So I turned on the oven, made myself some food, finally stopped shaking from the cold and warmed up a bit. I worked a solution to the immediate problem. Temporary, yes, but I figured it out. In a way I've been working my problems this whole last year. I was slapped in the face with some, and others I just happened upon randomly. For each one I had to stop and think and figure it out. This didn't always happen quickly, and for some of them I'm still working on it. But I did get pretty good at solving the problems in my life and I think it's okay to admit that. You can only look BACK and say so, which I realize now. In the moment you (I) kinda wag your hands and pant because you're in full-on panic mode and nothing makes much sense.
I'm approaching this New Years resolution a little different because I'm taking cues from the past as I do so. Don't go rolling your eyes, you'll probably appreciate where this is going.
When Ken and I broke up in the early/mid part of 2011, my life was in shambles. I was in a weird stasis, doing the things I knew I should be doing (work, friends, family) but not doing anything else. I had to do what made sense because it kept me moving forward. When the year ended (and I still felt that way), I did something to change it. This was when 26 Golden Things came to life and subsequently, 2012 became the greatest year of my life. It was a year spent focusing on me, and solely me. Sure, I had my friends and family come along for the ride, but it was about understanding who I was as a person and growing from what I was and into who I wanted to be.
At the start of 2013
Why can't right now be the same? Not in terms of recreating the movie project, or really any all-encompassing project for that matter. What I mean is that I need to turn the focus onto me again. I spent the majority of 2017 "working the problem," assessing the damages and proceeding accordingly. Derek and I broke up right in the middle of the year, so timeline wise, it was about the same as Ken. At this point in the game there isn't too much left to assess, as all the chips have fallen where they either should have or just decided to roll to, and I'm content with it. But I'm not content with continuing to lay motionless.
George Michael sang "now I'm gonna get myself happy" in Freedom '90, and the words never resonated with me until recently. I watched a lyric video and listened and read and nodded my head a lot, because I never got what he was saying. The Cliff's Notes version being that he did everything for everyone else because it was what he was "supposed" to do, and now he wanted to do things for himself. Simple as pie.
2018 is starting with a supermoon, not that it means anything, but it's special. And if you follow horoscopes (as I casually do), then I'll let ya know Saturn entered Capricorn on December 19th, which is one of its home signs. Now this comes across as mumbo-jumbo to some people, and even for me I only take what I want from horoscopes and all that, but the gist is this: since I'm a Capricorn, now's my time. To shine, to excel, to maybe knock-over a convenience store and make away with like $200 bucks and some soda. Either way, the cards are stacked in my deck.
At the start of 2018
I wanted to recreate that picture because it showed me after a period of great change in my life. It was the person I turned into after a year of hard work and perseverance and struggle. I don't necessarily want to get back to that version of myself, but I want to continue learning where he stopped and became complacent.
My resolution for 2018 is to further myself in every way I can. I don't want to list examples because while I love a self-fulfilling prophecy, I feel if I list something I'm limiting myself. And for this year, I don't want limits. I want to run and jump and climb trees (not really) and get back to me. Find myself again, find what drives my passion and my curiosity, find what makes me laugh and why it makes me laugh. I want to find the love and the joy that I know I have inside of me, and I want to scream it from the rooftops like I used to. Centered, content, and ready for anything at a moment's notice. That's the Sean Parker I once was, it's the one I want to be, and it's the one I can be once more.
Life will get better. And you can ask "why?" but the answer it simple and finite.
