Project 365

Your year-long photo album will be an amazing way to document your travels and accomplishments, your haircuts and relationships. Time moves surprisingly fast.

An age that I have been really looking forward to – for whatever reason – is 26. I just feel as though I will actually feel as old as I am; that I will really feel like an adult. In some way, that’s true: I will have been able to drive for ten years, smoke for eight, drink for five and rent a luxury car for one. I will be out of the early 20’s I was still considered too young to know any better, but I’m still young enough that I can be “upwardly mobile youth” with fresh ideas and energy to spare.

But, I have an entire year to wait for my perceived “golden age”, and I feel as though I were having a quarter-life (if I can be so lucky that I’m only now reaching a quarter-life) crisis. This isn’t where I thought I would be in my life. In the immortal words of Val-Kilmer-cum-Doc-Holliday, “There is no such thing as a ‘normal life’, there’s just life. You get on with it.”

So, am I disappointed? In some ways – frankly – yes, I’m very disappointed; but at the same time, all of a sudden, I’m coming into my own, I am finding the confidence in myself do the things that make me happy, and cultivate relationships that are important, nurturing, and fun. Options for where I want to take my life have been presenting themselves. These are options that may not have even come to be without the unsaid events that have been my disappointments.

Even though I’m going to be only 25, in some ways, I just feel very, very old: I feel like I’m too old to go back to school, I’m too old to start on a “career path”, I’m too old to like certain things, I’m too old to get into really decent physical shape. I’m panicking, because I’m too young to feel this “left behind”.

In an effort to face my fears, to confront these issues, I have decided that I need to capture the “year I feel ‘old’” up until “the age I can’t wait to be”; so for an entire year, I’m going to participate in Project 365 and capture an entire year in pictures.

StyckyWycket Project 365

NaBloPoMo’08, Day 11: Travel America

The Boy and I (ages 21 and 18 respectively) when we first started dating.

Back when I started college, Ashland was a different place than it is today.  It had not yet seen the growth that you would see now.  In the fall of 2002, if you got off US 250, you would not have seen a Goasis loaded with FlexFuel gas pumps, a Starbucks, a Popeyes, and a Pizza Hut.  You would have seen an old Travel America, set back a little from the road, potholes through the parking lot, sketchy looking hillbillies rambling in and out, and usually three to five semis parked in the back.

Open all night, the TA was a good place for a trucker to get a good meal, talk with his boss on a phone at the table, take a shower, pick up a carton of smokes for the road, and maybe even get some stuff for the cab.  My favorite staple of the truck stop is the mirrored glass case showcasing the standard glass art fair: roses, dragons, fairies, cats, swords, etc.  Despite the blessing of its existence for the road-weary traveler, this TA was a total hole, but maybe that’s what made it perfect for The Boy’s and my early courtship.

He and I were talking tonight, and during lulls in the conversation, I use the idle filler, “Tell me a story” in the hopes that somehow, we’ll get the conversation going again.

He’s always been good at telling me stories, I think that’s part of the reason why he and I fell in love – I’m a sucker for a story.  I may have mentioned this before, but The Boy went to the brother high school of mine, but he was a senior the year I was a freshman, and I was a transfer-in student when I was a sophomore.  So, by the time I even got to Beaumont, The Boy had already gotten to Ashland, and any chance of him and I running into each other in high school had been quashed.  At any rate, The Boy (and the Twins) have a lot of stories to share about the time they spent at Benedictine.

In December of 2002, the anti-smoking law in Ohio hadn’t passed yet, and I was a kid fresh from the watchful eye of parents, so finding a place to sit and smoke was the most appealing option.  This TA was apparently an old hangout of some of the band and KKY kids, and The Boy followed suit.  The waitress was usually kind, and kept the ashtray empty and the coffee cup full.

He and I would roll into TA at about 10 at night, order food, coffee and Diet Coke and sit for hours telling each other stories.  He told me all of the hijinks he’d gotten into with JohnBoy during high school, and eventually the stories about him in college.  I heard a those stories for the first time on those nights; and they are stories I love to hear over and over again, because every time I hear them, I remember those cold nights when we first started dating and I wanted to imbibe everything he had to offer.  He was the first guy I’d met who had interests other than of himself, much less interests at all.  He was charming, sweet, attentive, smart, and chivalrous enough to buy my food and Diet Coke on his meager $44/pay period income from lifeguarding at the university’s gym.

I do appreciate the economic growth and change of Ashland.  There’s a part of me that finds it heartening that there is a Super Wal-Mart and a Starbucks on the main highway into Ashland.  But at the same time, I get sad when I look at the Goasis, and in my mind, I can faintly see a shadow of the TA that was – I see the place where The Boy and I first began to fall in love.  That’s what makes me the most sad about the advent of change – the seemingly sterile erasure of an entire history.  The only upside that I have to show for that entire part of my history is I still have the person I shared it with.

NaBloPoMo’08, Day 9: Won’t You be my Neighbor?

Okay, so it’s day nine, and I’m definitely starting to wane on ideas I have for entries.  Usually, they hit me at about 10 at night.

This morning, I woke up at about 8, which is almost ungodly early for a Sunday.  In like fashion, about the only think on was Mr. Rogers.  I can’t help myself: every time it’s on, I have to watch it.

Mr. Rogers is a rite of passage for children.  I can’t even imagine a childhood without Mr. Rogers.  The sad thing is that for a lot of children, Mr. Rogers is considered “outdated” and not even part of the growing experience.  Mr. Rogers is considered “too slow”: there isn’t enough flashing imagery, not enough speed, not enough action.  Mr. Rogers taught children to be patient, taught children to share, taught them to love themselves and be curious about the world around them.  I guess I worry that children’s TV now is merely meant to keep them quiet for hours on end, and panders to a speed of life that has no room for kids to be kids.

Something else that I found disheartening is that the iconic Sesame Street character Cookie Monster has been changed to Veggie Monster, and the classic song “C is for Cookie” has been changed to “C is for Carrot”.  We accept peddling McDonalds and non-active play to children, and then try to quell our guilt by changing our classic educational TV to something more “vegetable-friendly”.  Which isn’t to say that I don’t think there’s room for improving upon the past, but at what price?

If you think that I’m making a big deal out of nothing, I challenge you to watch this video without having a tear come to your eye.  Then tell me that Mr. Rogers isn’t important for all children, no matter what generation.  I will always fight for Mr. Rogers: he thought I was special, and I know that he fought for me, before he knew me, without even knowing me.  It’s the least I can do for him.

Grocery List: Pick Up Memories

The wedding was nice, and The Boy and I traveled all up and down Ohio. I think the highlight of the trip was landing at Dear Friends’ house at midnight, staying for four cups of coffee and heading back to Ashland. I started my journey at 10:30 on Saturday morning, and didn’t stop moving until 5:00 the next morning.

It reminds me vaguely of the time I was still and art student, and one night in November in my last year of being an art student, The Boy picked me up from the studio at about 10:30 so that we could go grocery shopping. But, before we actually made it to the Kroger, we drove a big loop through the country to have dinner at Denny’s at about midnight and then go grocery shopping.

Our favorite time to go grocery shopping – when we actually got around to it – was very late at night in the 24-hour Kroger. We’d slowly wander around with the benefit of no one there, and the stock kids quietly going about facing the shelves and stocking the refrigerated departments. The Boy would push the cart because he loved to get his lean on, and I would lead the grocery parade, because I liked to be in charge.

It’s the simple things like grocery shopping that I miss so much while The Boy and I are on this weird relationship hiatus, in which we’re not living in the same town, not going on dates, and such. I don’t even get the benefit of even doing my own grocery shopping because I don’t live on my own, and extrapolating myself from my parents grip is proving harder than I had originally planned. This whole situation just tough: this is some weird arrangement that I think that we don’t have too much of a choice in; and while it really stinks, it’s something we’ve gotten used to. However, I am getting really tired of telling the whole sordid story to people who give me weird looks when I explain our engagement arrangement.

But yes, the wedding was lovely, The Boy wowed and amazed my co-workers and boss, my lovely wedded co-worker seemed very happy that The Boy and I drove all the way down, and I tried not to be too jealous.