Neverland

There are a lot of things I like about sleeping - crisp, cool, clean sheets, for example, or the way that my cat curls up in the crook of my knees when I let him in the bedroom, or nighttime sounds that accompany the drift into it - but dreaming is definitely number one.


I'm not a scientist or a psychologist, and frankly, the whole physiological/synapses/subconscious/rapid eye movement stuff is a lot to wrap my head around. I don't pretend to understand it, and I don't necessarily want to. Lacking that comprehension, dreaming remains mystical and supernatural, which is exactly what I like about it - it's the closest thing to real magic we get to experience. How can we not be awestruck by sensations that are at once completely real and absolutely artificial? How do we take that amazing and baffling duality for granted every night? It's the coolest glimpse into a rabbit hole we get. Isn't it the same altered real-but-not-real consciousness that we chase in so many other ways?


Whatever it is, I love it. I don't know that I can totally get into the whole lucid dreaming thing (see here and here if you don't know what I'm talking about), but I might be willing to check it out.  We'll see...

Tongues, Ties and Time

As much as I've been so completely immersed in all the preparations required of a big move, I'll admit that I'm also still in a state of disbelief about the fact that it's actually happening. The boxes in every corner of the house should be a giveaway, but alas...


Just yesterday, my husband and I went to dinner someplace we'd never been, not too far from where his parents live part of the year, and on our way out, I suggested that next time we get together with them when they're down here, we should bring them. The words were barely out of my mouth when I realized that we won't be doing that any time soon. I had a similar moment at another restaurant that recently opened when I told D that when my mom visited us next, we'd have to share our new find. It took a little longer to figure out why he thought that was a ridiculous thing to say, but of course then I remembered, she's definitely not visiting Michigan again. Ever.


These moments have me thinking about all the ways that every single thought we have is so contextualized by our surroundings. The move - a very happy one entirely of our own choosing - has been my only priority for the last three weeks. I've been consumed by calling movers and getting quotes for shipping, visiting the post office to request mail forwarding, planning and executing a garage sale, flying out to Colorado to find a place to live, attending all sorts of farewell gatherings, returning cable boxes, purchasing bubble wrap and boxes, packing, packing, and packing; still, in the middle of all of this, I forget. At the very least, linguistically, I fall back into familiar patterns or processing. As a language person, in and of itself, that's a pretty big deal.


I'd be worried maybe if I thought these were a sign of some underlying hesitation, but believe me when I say that that's not really a fear of mine. I am ready to dive in to this move and the changes that accompany it, head first, so I am much more interested in this academically than psychologically. I can't help but liken it to those times that in the weeks or months after a break-up, people refer to their exes as their boyfriends or girlfriends or spouses, oblivious to their verbal revision of history, yet absolutely content with their new status quo.


I briefly entertained the idea of pursuing an advanced degree in linguistics, and thinking about all of this makes me regret not seeing that through.

Packing, Purging and Procrastinating

One of the things I'm least proud of about myself is my penchant for procrastination. I have a knack for finding projects that allow me to feel productive even when what I'm really doing is putting off less appealing drudgery. I return phone calls. I clean out my closets. Alphabetize books on shelves. Groom the dog. I like being productive, and loathe being lazy, so each of these diversions do serve some legitimate purpose, but they're also a means to happy avoiding-the-real-work ends. 

This first post then, is a fitting introduction. Movers will arrive at my home in less than two and a half days to pick up all of its contents, a very small portion of which are actually prepared and boxed appropriately, yet here I am, making good on a long-standing promise to myself to start writing daily. I should be packing - there's no question that that would be a better use of my time - but as has happened frequently the last couple weeks, I am distracted by an overwhelming reverie, a vivid immersion in all that my new life in a new place might be.

I love moving. I've done it a fair amount in my life. I grew up and went to college on the East Coast, then lived in Arizona, then Michigan, and now, soon (less than a week - gasp!) in Colorado. In most of those locales, I had a number of different homes. What I love is the promise and potential and opportunity each new place holds. A new address provides all the reason one needs to rethink priorities and routines; an empty house is a blank slate, and the people who move into it get to be unwritten and rewritten too. They get to leave behind what doesn't really work for them anymore, whether they're tangible objects (like the clothes, tchotchkes and CDs I've been eagerly divesting) or old but familiar habits. While I resent feeling compelled to make New Year's resolutions, I enthusiastically embrace the opportunities that moving gives me to redefine who I am and what I do.

So I've spent a lot time lately considering who my new Colorado self will be. Here's what I know:

1. She will write more than comments on students' papers.

2. She will play more.

3. She will spend more time outside. (This is probably pretty connected to number 2.)

4. She will make things - not just food, but things. I want to be crafty, not Beastie Boys crafty, but DIY, Etsy crafty. Realistically, my initial goal is just one something a month. We'll see how that goes.

5. She will listen to more music, read more books and watch less TV. It used to be that my favorite bands and albums were always on, sometimes even when I wasn't home. When did that change? Why? Boo to that.

There are lots of other things in the mix here, but those are the five I'm ready to claim out loud tonight. More on the rationales here later. Now, more packing...