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I don’t always neglect writing, but when I do it’s for 4.5 months

Dearest Nora,

I could start with profuse apologies for not writing for so many months… but instead of that, let me just say: I miss you and I hope you’re doing so well in Philly and I can’t wait to hear another update from you! Life has swept me up in a giant wave of wonder this year. Instead of stopping to observe and write about it I have just been experiencing it.

I’ve had something of a writers block. Or rather, with things happening so quickly, every time I’ve sat down to write you I get overwhelmed trying to catch you up on everything that’s happened and I have trouble putting it into words and I give up.

So here I am, finally writing you. And I’m not going to go into a chronology of everything that’s happened since August. The long and short of it is: I fell head over heals in a way I didn’t know was possible.

The love of my life strolled in and stepped into that role as though she were born for it, and life will never be the same now.

Before we moved in together during October, my heart had already set up home with hers. I know in terms of time it is early still. But by other units of measurement, we have known each other for much, much longer. My heart is at home. All the parts are aligned. In a little over a week, I am taking her to the Midwest with me to meet all my dear ones. Words cannot contain my excitement to have my worlds collide.

Gift I made her to commemorate how we met

In lieu of a detailed updates, here are some snapshots of life right now:

A day in the life: Ruth, Jessie and Magpie  Snugglin in bed as we press snooze multiple times and Magpie parades around our heads demanding breakfast, and then begins attacking our feet. One of us gets up to feed her and she sprints to the kitchen in excitement. Morning routine of packing lunches, taking showers and most importantly, make coffee.

Jessie really upped the coffee game in my life and the coffee she makes is so damn good that I only drink it black now.

Out the door to our quick commute to downtown Portland, as we’re leaving Magpie is getting settled in her shark bed to snooze for the day. General job craziness ensues and then evenings are filled with side jobs, other activities like choir, friend hangs or cooking dinner and unwinding. Sharing all our stories from the day and venting or laughing about the disaster and joy that is the world we live in. The day ends with me taking a hot bath & reading, or us cuddling on the couch watching Netflix or working side by side on our laptops, usually with tea or a whiskey, Magpie sitting on top of us bundled under a blanket, or bringing us a toy that she wants to play with. And then bed, falling to sleep with “I love you’s” in my ear, and her kisses on my lips, Magpie curled up at our feet and the sleeptimer set on the TV as we drift off to a favorite show (currently: Castle). My heart is filled to overflowing.

hella bonding

We drive each other just the right amount of crazy. She makes me laugh, she gives me butterflies, and I’m daily in awe of the woman she is–full of passion, empathy, love and stinkerness. She listens to me and shares with me and treats me like a queen. She has no doubts, and I have no doubts. We both know what we’ve found. We are not without challenges and disagreements, but we are committed to the process of building this together.

I recently read The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson (highly recommend–it’s a quick and inspiring read). “There are only so many things we can give a fuck about so we need to figure out which ones really matter,” is the overall premise. As I finish out my year of “mindfulness” this direction of thinking has been extremely helpful to me. I am someone who gives a fuck about way too many things and too many people. I feel like I need to help everyone, and be everyone’s friend, and take responsibility for all the things… I always thought that giving so many fucks somehow made me a better person, but the reality is: it meant there was a lot of stuff taking up my time and energy that wasn’t necessarily the things that matter most to me, or the things that build me up, or help me grow, or feel fulfilled. Life is so quickly passing by, and as I embark into my 30s, I am digging into what I give fucks about, and why.

I am saying “no” more. I am giving less of myself away. I am doing more soul searching when it comes to relationships in my life. I am doing my best to not do things out of obligation or pity, but out of only sincere fuck-giving.

Doing things that I don’t want to do, but because I “feel bad” doesn’t make me a good person, it makes me a disingenuous person.

Jessie is a self-described “people pleaser in recovery” and this has been both our biggest challenge and best challenge to work on alongside each other. We share similar tendencies in this area and it has resulted in both of us being taken advantage of for much of our lives. I say that, not as a “victim”, because, after all, we teach people how to treat us.

I say it as someone who is finally taking responsibility for this–I am owning my choice in life, of what I am going to give a fuck about.

Together, Jessie and I (and Magpie) compiled a list of the things we want our days and weeks and months to be filled with. Slowly, but resolutely, I want to work on filling my time with and using my energy for these things. I’m sure I will share updates on this!

One of those things for me is writing. I love writing. Even if nothing ever comes of it. Even if I’m complete crap by someone’s unit of measure. Even if I have nothing new to say, and no great way to say it. I have been filling my time with other crap in an effort to avoid having to try, and quite possibly fail, at a genuine writing effort.

Another book I’ve been reading is The Chronology of Water, a memoir by Lidia Yuknavitch (*all the trigger warnings for this one*). I heard Lidia speak at two different events this fall, and she moved me deeply. She’s a writer who lives in Portland, OR. Her process and love affair with writing and literature spoke to something in me. For my birthday this year, Jessie enrolled me in a writing workshop Lidia teaches. I will be taking it this spring and I am absolutely terrified. But terrified in the way you are when you know you need to do something that’s going to challenge and scare you.

So much more to come. In spite of my lack of writing recently, I hope you still know that our friendship is definitely one I give a fuck about.

Please send updates on how your heart is, and about you hamster friend, and your community in Philly and how school is going… and your exploration into career plans. And all the things! I hope your holiday season is filled with loves and pretty snow and warm moments.

I love you, my friend.

Ruth

Carry freedom in your heart, carry justice as a goal, carry love in every fabric of the fiber of your soul.  –”Freedom” by Tret Fure, a song I’m singing with choir ♥

A decision every day

Dear Ruth,

How dare you avoid me?

(This is a real question, really, how did you do it? Sometimes I want to avoid myself)

I do not want to talk about my trip to Colombia on this letter because that is going to be a really long story and it has a sad ending. I rather rant to you about marriage today and leave the immigrant rant for another letter (it’s coming though, I got so much bitching to do)

I want to respond to your question of getting ownership of your feelings and thoughts. I absolutely think you can, but it is not going to be fun. First of all, I am polyamorous. I cannot really relate to the idea of jealousy in romantic relationships. What are you jealous of? What are you worried about? That they’d leave you? That someone prettier would come around? I don’t get it man. I do know about trust in relationships. Relationships are based in decisions. People wake up every day and choose to stay with YOU. You don’t own Elise, she can look at whom she pleases and talk to whom she pleases. She can wake up tomorrow and say: FUCK THE LEASE! I AM OUT! But she has not. And she may never do that. You just have to accept that she chooses you every day and will continue to do so until she wants to. You cannot win her over, you cannot earn love. This is not a competition: you vs all other gayz. This is a partnership.

Whenever you feel jealous, count the days that Elise has chosen you. The times she has gone out of her way to please you, say thank you to the universe for ten things she has done that make you happy. By the time you are done, you won’t remember what you were jealous about.

Trust is not never being jealous. Trust is getting past those fears and insecurities and knowing they’d choose you again.

We are just so different Ruth. Like I cannot comprehend the way you think about marriage as security. My parents are married to this day and it has brought nothing but unhappiness to each other and their children. A lease, a marriage contract, paper and more paper. I can relate to the thought of “I choose this person to be my closest of kin” , this makes sense to me. The way you list an emergency contact on forms and applications. You have someone. In this sense, I get your idea of marriage. You have someone, undoubtedly. It is the certainty that they have your best interest and your happiness in mind.

But this statement I have a problem with “This person is my anchor. This person is my home

It mostly has to do with my growing up without a family or an anchor or a “home”; feeling still like home is a foreign concept that may never make sense to me. When I broke up with my ex, I went through a whole process of re-accepting this “homelessness”. And I came across this poem:

you can’t make homes out of human beings

home warsan shire3_900someone should have already told you that

and if he wants to leave

then let him leave

you are terrifying

and strange and beautiful

something not everyone knows how to love.

By Warsan Shire (here’s the whole poem)

So what happens if the anchor lifts? You drift. What happens if you want to navigate away from port? The anchor holds you back. I am not okay with this. I am the captain of my soul (also a poem).  I have had too many “homes” to believe that they would last more than five years. I promise, I am not cynical. I am actually very romantic. But as a friend, I want you to go into this thinking:

a new contract every day, a decision every day.

Trace and I are coming onto a one year anniversary of our very first date. I have never been with anyone so different to myself. Half the time, I am almost certain they would leave. And I am surprisingly okay with it. They have been consistently around for the last five months and have made me very happy. We have had conversations about moving in together and marriage and such. We agreed to seriously revisit the concept when we have been together for a year.

I am doing better in terms of stress (or trying) the game plan was to reduce the number of commitments I currently have and make alone time to recharge and1461865314292 recover. It has worked well so far. I had a very abusive roommate (he’s a little psycho though, like not all there) who harassed me on text every day and yelled at my guests and threatened to have me evicted (after I gave moving notice). It was making me feel very unsafe, called 911 several times. This was definitely not helping my stress levels. But now I have moved and I am pleased
with my apartment, I have more space and more privacy and no harassment whatsoever. My biggest problem is Toby pooping in the house, but currently working on that. 

I am also making a fairy garden in the small yard we have in the back. Its going to be so beautiful. I will send pictures when it’s done.

I cut my hair recently, what do you think?

1461865196031

Thank you for putting up with my weirdness. I will write to you again about Colombia, and privilege and goals and being an immigrant. It’s on my mind right now but too stormy to make a decent post out of it.

Love,

Nora

PS. Yorkies are perfect. Great for allergies, small and well behaved. I approve.