12/28/18 part two

I never realize how much shit I have until I’m getting ready to move. And then all of a sudden, it becomes painfully obvious that I have a ton of shit. Every time I move, I clear it out. I donate the clothes I have no interest in wearing, I sell the things that are collecting dust in storage bins or closets. Yet every time I move, there’s always more. More shit. More clothes that I ordered online out of impulse and then didn’t love it as much in person as I thought it would, but didn’t return it because I might wear it for SOMETHING. I often complain that I don’t have the funds to travel, and yet I look at all this shit that I’ve purchased over the last year and a half and most of it I don’t actually use. How much money is hanging in this closet? In a moment, I felt that I needed it. In a moment, I felt that I would wear it. And I never did. Those moments that I thought would come never did, and that’s how I have a closet full of clothes and yet nothing to wear on some days. It’s batshit.

We’re basically programmed to shop. Advertising is everywhere. I’m slowly beginning to unplug from it. Working in luxury retail hasn’t helped me much. I begin to catch myself thinking about everything that I need for my work wardrobe. Not necessarily the brands that we sell at work, but just things I can buy to make myself look better. Constantly upgrading. Constantly buying new outfits so that I don’t become the girl who wears the same 5 outfits every week. I had to stop. I had to stop online shopping with a glass of wine after work, and I had to remind myself that even though my coworkers see me wear the same outfits every week, the customers don’t necessarily see that.

Plus, it doesn’t matter. I make $20/hour and because of where I work, it’s easy to try on the Gucci belt or the Jimmy Choo’s and think, “After my discount, I could pay this off with a couple of paychecks.” It’s stupid. It’s SO stupid. I make $20/hour! Why in the world should I be stretching the leftover money I have into designer shit that I would only wear to work — because I feel like a fraud wearing it anywhere else — when I could be throwing the few hundred into my savings account??

I’m currently planning a trip to Iceland with one of my best friends and her husband, and that’s helped keep me in check. I’m so excited for this trip. We’re tentatively going January 2020, and probably booking the flights and everything this summer. I’m so excited to see the northern lights and hike the ice caverns and yes, even take some swimsuit photos in Blue Lagoon for good ol’ instagram, that now when I look at something I want, I think, Does this matter more than a horseback tour? Or a whale-watching trip? Or eating at a nice restaurant in Reykjavik? Nine times out of ten, no. My wanderlust is much stronger than my materialism.

My materialism continues to diminish the older I get. My teenage self would be so obsessed with where I’m at right now, but I’m just like, Get me out of here. I want to move to Colorado like everybody else my age, and spend some goddamn time outside. I want to laugh. I want to not start my day with three cups of coffee and a pound of makeup. I want to set all the high heels that I own on fire. I want a job that doesn’t make me think about jumping off the roof every hour.

Sometimes I think taking a hiatus from social media would be good for me, but at the same time, I like creating content. I like messing around with new photo filter apps and posting to instagram. I like plugging my writing. (Although there hasn’t been much this year to plug). Yet at the same time, I hate how fucking shallow it all is. Everything revolves around it. We’re all just keeping up with the Jones’. Betty posted about her engagement so Erica has to take pictures with her left hand in front of everything to remind the world that she too is engaged. Meanwhile there’s single people (like myself) rolling their eyes whenever another cheesy engagement posts pops up on their news feed. So excited to spend the rest of my life with my best friend and love of my life! I’m so blessed that this man found his way into my life!! If I had a dollar for every time I sigh heavily and tell my dog that I’m going to die alone, I wouldn’t be stressed about my budget for my upcoming Iceland trip. 

On an older, now deceased, version of this blog, I once wrote that my priorities changed after I attempted suicide. And they did. I still stand by that. As I slowly rose out of my depression,  I realized that there is a lot more to being alive than just what people think of you. It’s one of those cliche moments. It took a near-death experience to make me wake the fuck up, but it kind of did. I have a strong faith in the power of the universe and existence but I’m not big on believing in miracles, but the reason I’m still alive was almost an act of god. The person that showed up at my apartment had absolutely no reason to, he just had a feeling. I’m supposed to be here. I have no fucking clue why, but I am.

So I’m trusting my gut. Listening to my heart. Trying to spend more time with the people I find fascinating who set my soul on fire and want to travel the world with me. Meanwhile, I really need to start cleaning out my closets again so that when I finally pull the trigger on this move, I’m ready to go.

Spheres.

I’m always trying to find new ways of looking at things.  More often than not, I’m the one in conversations to suggest a new viewpoint that the others hadn’t thought of. So many people want to look at things in two dimensions. There’s one side, and there’s the other. But what if there’s a whole other dimension to it? What if, instead of the situation being circular, it’s spherical?

This all comes from a conversation I had yesterday that I have not been able to get out of my mind (if you’re reading this, thanks, N), because someone that I haven’t even known for that long made me realize why I think differently than so many people that I know.  I don’t think they meant to do that, but the more I thought about the question, the more it made sense.  And I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to explain this well, so if you’re thoroughly confused, I apologize. This also isn’t exactly what we were talking about, but it inspired it, so oh well.

I think a lot of people assume I chose psychology because I wanted to help people going through what I went through, but it’s actually way more selfish than that.  I wanted answers.  I needed answers, desperately.  I needed to know what the hell happened to me, because it didn’t make sense. I had a semi-normal life, and then it all just spiraled out of control and I truly felt like I was going insane.  So when I chose psych, I was determined to find closure through knowledge. I read every chapter in every textbook and read countless research studies.  I asked my professors oddly vague questions in an attempt to get answers without tipping them off that I was once diagnosed with the disorder.  I learned a lot.

However, while I did find answers and theories that applied to myself and my life, I also gained knowledge that allowed me to understand others.  It’s not that I shrink people unintentionally, but I care more about their perspective and their experience.  I try to understand where they are coming from with their actions and behaviors.  There’s what they are doing (x) and who they are doing it to (y) but there’s also why they are doing it (z).  The why is the third dimension.

It’s weird for me to be so non-judgmental when once upon a time I was the Queen of Judgment.  When you start looking at all the aspects of someone’s behavior, it’s really hard to take it personally.  And let’s be real, not taking things personally just makes life a hell of a lot easier.

Being able to examine situations from someone else’s point of view is the final development stage, and apparently like almost half of the population never reaches that point, so maybe that’s why our world is currently the way it is.  Everything is too circular. We need more spheres.