rain and dreams that don’t come to fruition

I’m writing this after a long weekend of forecasts insisting that there will be rain and experiencing no rain. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I love rain. I love opening my windows and hearing the rain pit-pat against my window.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live in a place with a lot more greenery. Maybe that’s why I’ve always longed for Avonlea. Honestly, I’ve always romanticized the small town. People who know you and your family. People who are willing to help you out in moments of those. People who will stop on your porch and ask for sugar or ask after even the most distant of family members. I could never understand why my dad found New York City so appealing. Yes, there’s plenty to love here. But I longed for blue skies and a tiny forest in my backyard and more quiet than could ever be found on these city streets.

I guess it isn’t surprising to say that I wasn’t envisioning New York City as my next stop post-grad. There are so many people who dream of New York City as their destination, the place where all their dreams come true. The irony is New York City is the place I came to when my dreams fell apart. Even now, I don’t know how to make sense of the death of the dreams I had. Part of me hopes they’re just further down the road. That I’ll find myself in a few years in a small town, walking to a liturgical church on a Sunday with a pastry in hand.

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It’s been a while since I let my psyche run rampant on the blog. I usually come to this space with a set idea in mind to share, but lately, I’ve kind of run dry. I’ve been biding my time but nothing has come up.

I started Philip Gulley’s Porch Talk. He’s a Quaker pastor and he writes about the different things our society has lost over starting with the porch. Maybe that’s why I love small towns. They’re the embodiment of what’s good about life to me: community and connection. Gulley writes about the loss of leisure as a priority in our country. The clocks that we have subconsciously remind us that we’re running out of time. These days, I read, knit, watch tv, and help my family with their needs. Sometimes I feel like I’d love something to fill all this time.

Gulley is funny and quite serious too. He knows how to expand on what’s valuable by talking about the mundane. How homes aren’t just places we rest our heads, but the places we create memories. Even when the creases in our wallpaper are clear to us. He mentions how we use the internet for wisdom when there used to be people in our neighborhood to fill that role. He talks about how friendship makes us rich and how contentment is rooted in gratitude.

I do agree. Even though I’m not sure how long I’ll stay in my New York City home (probably a year or two), it’s important to cultivate a space that enables me to rest and appreciate what I have. For me, that looks like having stacks of books to decorate my room, a sweet fragrance from my diffuser (I love eucalyptus) and cleaning it regularly. I love what Gulley says about the wise person in the neighborhood. I remember having screens for a young age, but it was only in my teen years, social media grew to prominence. The wise person in the neighborhood doesn’t exist for me. The single person for me would’ve been an aunt who has now fallen ill. 

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Anyway, I’ve gone on a tangent. This post is about what a lot of my posts are about: taking a look at our lives and seeing how we can embrace them as they are. It’s beautiful when we get what we want out of life. It gives us cause for celebration but the trickier is finding cause to celebrate when maybe there isn’t one. 

Back to embracing life as it is. If you can’t have the house you want, decorate the one you have. If your bookshelves aren’t lined with your dream books, try reading what’s on your shelf. In an ideal world, my space would let in way more light than it does. But I get to embrace the windows I do have: almost floor to ceiling (albeit not an ideal view but let’s in stunning morning light). I’d probably find something else to complain about if my home was perfect. 

I have mismatched couches in my tiny TV room (as my family calls it). I have minimal dresser space and my closet is downstairs by the bathroom. I have this big white desk that my dad got from a work friend. Which came in handy when I worked a summer job remotely. My nightstand is finicky, and totally loves to slide open. But ultimately I am lucky to have a space to call mine. It holds plenty of my books and I can watch TV, read, and enjoy the mini fridge my cousin gifted me. I do love the tiny tea station I made. It’s essentially different varieties of black tea.

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Post-grad has a particular layer of difficulty in embracing your dead dreams. You are also watching your former classmates enter their dreams. Whether it’s marriage or grad school or full-time work, I would be lying if I didn’t say I didn’t feel left behind. We’re all on our own paths but I still have moments of feeling left behind. And I don’t have answers for that. Maybe I never will. Sitting with the pieces of your broken life and watching others’ come together has a certain tension to it. 

It’s quite likely I’m just in this stage to learn how to hold this tension and embrace life as it is. 

There are other questions to consider as well: when is a dream dead in the water or is there a time our desires lie fallow to be filled at a later time?

No one can tell what’s around the bend, but I hope it’s a little rain to help some new things grow.

Signing off, 

Gigi