Tag Archives: independence

OMG Independence!

Bazinga! Apparently after a few consecutive rages I need to go on hiatus. I might be back. We’ll see. Don’t want to over -commit myself or anything. I can’t even stick with a blog for more than a month of fairly regular posting… what am I going to do if ever faced with marriage?

By the way, I know that “Bazinga” above is totally out of place. Roll with it.

SO… in 6-8 weeks I’ll be relocating to a new city. Yes… in case you haven’t picked up on the not so subtle hinting (maybe hinting is the wrong word), I’m moving.

TO. A. CITY. An actual metropolis (at least when compared to the podunk-back-woodsy place I’m in right now – minus the actual woods).

When I decided to seek out relocation 6 weeks ago, it seemed like an event out “there” in the future somewhere. You know, like obtaining my ideal weight. It was a “someday” kind of thing. Nothing firm, but something I was slowly meandering towards – without a very meaningful plan.

But suddenly it’s very real. My office-space will be set up in 4-5 weeks, waiting for me. Finances probably won’t allow me to get moved that quickly, but I’m starting to realize this is really happening.

HOLY! CATS!

The number one thing I’m feeling right now about this is FEAR; gut-wrenching, heart-pounding, anxiety-inducing FEAR. Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to all the extra amenities that will be available to me and all the activities I can get involved in, but I’m realizing this is really, truly my first attempt at independence.

Yeah. Feeling a little pathetic over this realization, but it’s true. This is the first really, truly independent thing I’ve done in my life.

I left home at 18 and went to a small private college with a lot of systems in place to welcome and integrate new students. There was a solid support system so I never felt overwhelmed by that major life change. When I finished college, I came back home and lived with my folks for about a year before getting a good job and my own place. But I was still in the same town as my folks and they were near enough to lean on if needed (as evidenced by my dad keeping me up on oil changes and miscellaneous car maintenance and then my moving back in with them this past winter).

Sidenote: Yeah for dad’s with car maintenance skills!

Relocating is going to take me away from the safety net my folks nearness has provided. I’ll be 1 ½ hours away from my nearest family members, have only a small handful of friends, and my boyfriend. I’m scared. Terrified. What will I do when I have an anxiety attack and start worrying I’m dying? How will I calm those fears without the comfort of my folks just a few miles away?

And then I remember that when I’m visiting my boyfriend, my anxiety is gone. I feel calm and relaxed and RIGHT. When I’m traveling to visit family around the state, I’m having fun, I’m relaxed, and I’m indigestion free. It’s when I’m driving home to this black-hole of a town that I start tensing and fretting. It’s when I’m trapped back in this little piece of oblivion that my panic attacks start and my stomach rolls. No matter what, I need to escape.

So then I remember all the great things I have to look forward too, and despite the fear, I’m stoked. Giddy with excitement. Do you know all the opportunities I’ll have in comparison? Let me list them out:

  • Joining OA group (there’s one in this town but my boss helps lead it and I really don’t want to be sharing such personal stuff with my supervisor)
  • Archery
  • Church hunting (hopefully can find something that is along the lines of the God Journey)
  • Dance Lessons
  • Kettlebell classes/training
  • Normal dating relationship with my boyfriend
  • COMIC BOOK STORE
  • Tons of shooting ranges
  • Opening a side business doing slideshows
  • Taking some classes at the many schools around
  • Woodworking classes
  • Cooking classes
  • Welding classes
  • Full service health food market (Eeee!)

STOKED! Plus, I don’t have to wait to get all the materials to do a DIY project. I’ll be able to find everything I need between the different craft and home stores available. And coffee. Several coffee houses to choose from. Open mic nights.

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Have You Seen My Mojo?

In an earlier post I brought up the move-in with my folks at the age of 33. So I thought I’d take this moment to wade into those waters for a bit. Get out your floaties girls and boys.

Why did I do this? Three main reasons…two very closely related.

  1. Finances. Living is getting crazy expensive lately.
  2. Health problems. It turned out this was actually a minor health problem but at the time I was freaked and didn’t want to be alone. Which brings us to…
  3. I’m tired of being on my own.

I’m a young, relatively successful, single girl with a huge independent streak. But after 10 years of going it alone, I ran out of the required bravado. I’m referring to it as losing my mojo… that thing, whatever it was, that gave me the gumption to stand strong and independent while everyone around me was or became coupled.

So I’ve returned to the nest to rediscover my mojo. Of course, this living situation really crimps a few things. There’s much less privacy, more intrusion/nosiness from my folks, no dates coming back to the house (not really an issue anyway since there’s a boyfriend 3 hours away), and it’s awkward having friends over. I’ve also discovered the people who say that your parents regress to children as they age weren’t kidding (see example below).

But my folks place is a safe landing while I figure out the next steps in my life and rediscover my mojo. And I’m thankful for them. Really. Besides, a person can endure about anything if it’s temporary. Even parents. Right?

So I’m going to wring every opportunity out of this that I can. And the name of this blog is too fitting for this stage in my life. Pick up my mat. If that wasn’t a load of foreshadowing those many years ago when I picked the name, I don’t know what was.

Lucky for you (or maybe not so), while I’m learning to pick up my mat and walk again, I’ll bring you funny stories about my parents regression back to childhood. Here is installment #1…

Immature Parental Unit Experience: #1

My mom was making supper one evening and was experimenting with a sweet and sour pork chop recipe (I don’t recommend it) and somewhere in the course of her telling me what she was making that evening she said (uncertain about the recipe’s appeal) “well your dad doesn’t like pork chops.”

I was like Scooby Do going “wha?” We must have eaten pork chops every other week growing up so my dad not liking pork chops was a revelation to me.

My dad happened to be right in the kitchen when she said this and he asked “I d

on’t?” Apparently he wasn’t aware of this aversion either.

I don’t really remember what was said after that but soon we were all gathered around the dinner table

eating and my dad didn’t take any pork chops. Either I or my mom pointed it out and he says rather snottily, “Well I guess I don’t like pork chops.”

And. He. REFUSED. To. Eat. ONE. REFUSED!

He also pouted the rest of the night since he didn’t get any meat with his supper… even though it was his fault he didn’t eat any meat.

So my mom is re-imagining my dad’s taste buds and my dad is embodying an 8 year old. Good times.

Good. Times.

Have you returned to the parental nest after many years of independence? Are your parents regressing? Have you seen my mojo?