Each time I water my garden it is hot. The plants are thirsty and the soil is dry, they drink in the waterfall and beg me for more, I am a bad plant Mom but I try harder to be better each day–each day I give them more and each day I look forward to putting my hand under the cascading flow, closing my eyes and wishing that the stream was flowing over me. I think, What a lovely shower this would be, let’s go jump into a river and float away for a few days, and then each shower I take in my small Chicago apartment I try to recreate the refreshing chill I pour out of the watering pal. Sometimes a success, sometimes it’s not quite right. When I leave the garden it is beautiful, full and happy. I whisper loving words and tell each plant they are special.
My soap smells like citrus petals, I think, what are citrus petals? I question. As I shave my legs dirt falls from my skin, the dirt from the city accumulates on my body as I ride my bike miles each day. The citrus petals clean my skin, the razor makes it smooth and the refreshing waterfall rinses me off. I suppose the citrus petals clean me of other dirt too. The dirt of a long day, the dirt of hours and hours of trying and working and thinking and feeling, of self talk and continuous motivation that seemingly goes nowhere –the moment under my waterfall clears me of everything. Time transcends and responsibility falls to the wayside. Shaving my legs I notice my amber skin to my ankles, a tan line and white feet, amber to mid thigh and then a harsh line where cloth falls when I am in the sun. I notice scars that will not go away and curves that I have not quite come to accept yet. The waterfall’s magical effects wash down with the drain as I wrap myself in a towel.
In my garden I dig my hands in the dirt to pull weeds and plant new vegetables. The spade is broken but I don’t mind–the Earth, she speaks to me through my hands and in my body, the soil harbors life, sustains it and, well, it makes me dirty. A different dirty than the dirt on my legs from the city. This is a dirty of life, of energy, of sunshine and of love. The dirt gets stuck under my finger nails and stays there as a reminder that beauty is there in the middle of a dirty city. A reminder that working with my hands brings me joy and fills a passion I didn’t know I had.
Another stream I let fall from the pal brings another whoosh of refreshment to my hands as I breathe in the sun.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Where have the last two months gone? What have I been doing. What have YOU been doing? Winter has finally, hopefully, left us, and were on our path to Spring time. My birthday (in January) came and went, Valentine’s Day smacked us in the face, we sprung our clocks forward and now March Maddness status updates are taking over my Facebook feed and I don’t understand any of them. But now to personify a couple words that have been huge influencers in my life.
Disconnection is something one feels when they hit the road after 10 months of ‘living’ somewhere. Investing in a community is not priority, friendships don’t seem as sincere because there is no depth to them. A bedroom doesn’t develop personality and warmth after just a few months. Disconnection is a hard state to live in and a super easy state to leave.
Where do you lean towards? Where do you road trip to and have a hard time leaving? Is Disconnection a place that’s on your map marked with a star? Disconnection used to be my only home, I had a house on wheels and a backpack full of books, a journal and a tooth brush. Disconnection and I… we flourished together, knowing that happiness was just one stop away, one more plane ride, one more move, one more man in my bed, drinking buddy at the local pub or a cute coffee shop to waste my day in. Happiness, she was coming, she had to be around the corner somewhere, right? Disconnection promised me happiness elsewhere and I believed her every step of the way.
This is what I thought until I met Investment. Investment is a sneaky little bitch that crawls out of hole somewhere, trips you and makes you stop looking towards the horizon and just see the sunset. She and I together freak each other out. She’s not good at hanging out with curly haired, independent ladies that love an adventure away from where she is. She doesn’t move quite as fast as I’m used to but we’ve become friends so I’ve learned to slow down for her, to take a little more time and think a bit more about each move, each choice I’m making.
Investment has encouraged me to sign up for a certification program. She’s helped me find ways to read the words I write to an audience. She’s taken my heart and began giving it to another person so I can’t just leave even if I thought I wanted to. Investment knows me and knows that I can’t end my relationship with Disconnection but she knows that right now we’re not a good fit. Right now I’m starting a garden for the summer and I’m planning trips to far away states and I’m becoming a regular at my favorite coffee shop. She knows that I wonder about my lease ending in August and respects the fleeting thoughts of mountain paths and crashing oceans but understands that now we’re friends I’m sticking around for a while.
As much as my heart wants to fly away I am here. I am present and I am navigating this new friendship with an open mind and adventurous soul.
I enjoy it. For me it’s more of a routine, it’s a ritual and an experience–a moment of silent bliss. Grinding the beans, pouring the hot water…waiting…pressing the grounds down to reveal a deep, rich, aromatic liquid. Coffee is a way to connect with my mind, check in and relax. It’s an opportunity to connect with someone else, it’s a tool to bring people together and get things done–or not. It’s a way to kill an hour before work or relax after a stressful day. The mug warms your hands and perks you up, as the steam gently rises it can fog your glasses and the smell takes over your senses and a feeling of joy can take over.
This is direct quote from my journal while sitting at Rowster’s in Grand Rapids this past Saturday. A conversation with my older brother is what inspired it. A conversation about quitting coffee. If you know me, you know I have a love for it. Hell, I have a tattoo that depicts my love for the stuff. So why on earth would I consider quitting?! My brother, who he himself has quit many vices and is a better person for it, thinks it will help me. Help me sleep better (kinda a ‘duh’), help me be more productive (I’m skeptical of this one,) help my moods, my skin and he listed many many other reason why I should quit.
So I’m going to quit coffee for three months.
I repeat. I am going to quit coffee for the time being.
They say (not sure who ‘they’ are…) say that it takes three months for a given substance to be ridded of your body. I’m going to journal about it, listen to my body, mind, soul and productivity. I’m going to attempt to blog (and not complain,) about it. I’m going to try and not take up any other addictions in this process. Right now my ONLY addiction is coffee.
An apology in advance: if you’re my facebook friend, REAL life friend or snap chat buddy I’m apologizing NOW for whining, maybe crying and probably sniffing your coffee if you consume it in front of me. I’m dreading the headaches and already missing my routine. If anyone has any good tea suggestions (decaf of course) I would love to hear them.
Wish me luck. Follow me on here and join me on this…sigh…journey as I say goodbye.