Dancing in the Rain

Rain is popping against my window. It’s a sweet sound, a calming one. It makes me think of when I was younger and would run out into the middle of the road and dance in circles. I would let my skin, hair and clothes absorb the drops until I was dripping. Nothing mattered in those moments. It was just me and the rain.

These days, I forget to notice the rain. It rained last Sunday, but only I cared to notice it the next day on my way to work.

In an effort to figure out my life, I’ve lost the feeling of life. I’m annoyed by the friend who calls just to say hi. My apartment is uninviting and disorganized. The cold days are too cold and the warm ones are too warm. Nothing is worth the time anymore and each morning is greeted by my grumpy attitude.

How did I get in this rut? Usually, I would blame Brookings and its lack of stimulation on my restless soul. Truth is, I probably would feel this way wherever I was. I’m never satisfied with what’s in front of me.

It seems that these blog posts repeat themselves. I hate Brookings, but I am glad I’m here. I miss journalism, but I don’t. I like being single, but I hate being alone. When did my life because so boring and, well, emo?

Then it hit me. I was sitting in my comfortably warm apartment, whining about my life and thinking about how I need to dance in the rain more. Once again, I was only writing about what I wanted to do.

I closed my laptop and left my apartment. I walked down the two flights of stairs and stared out the glass doors. The rain was still vigorously pounding against the brown cement, and I took a deep breath and walked outside.

At first it felt weird, the rain against my skin. I walked to the middle of the street and twirled about, but only succeeded in making myself dizzy. If I was going to do this, I needed to really let myself enjoy the moment.

The high school track is across street and is currently being remolded. The once dirt landscape was now mud, and the rain bounced on the newly tarred track to form bubbles. I stepped over the mud to get to the track and decided to try my dance moves there. Still, it was uncomfortable.

Looking up at the sky, I asked God to help me find answers and meaning. I decided to least walk around the track one time before I called it quits. Off to the side of the track, was a small puddle. As I debated about jumping into it, I thought of all the harmful things that could be in the brown, opaque water. “Stop thinking,” I said to myself and jumped right in.

The clumpy mud found its way between my toes. The cool sludge refreshed my intentions and I forgot about the fall night’s chill or that one of my neighbors could be watching me from their window. I didn’t care much as I kicked the water around like it was a soccer ball. I jumped in and out of the puddles as if there were my personal wadding pool.


Soon, I was twirling, leaping, jumping and moving my body anyway it would let me. Then I began to sing, mostly just a few lines from the songs I can remember off the top of my head, but I didn’t hold much back. It was just me and the rain.

Then a prayer came from in my heart and I knelt down. I promised God that I wouldn’t worry anymore about my future or what I will do next. I wouldn’t complain about Brookings or the lack of eligible guys. I am going to let him take care of all of that. I told Him that I might need help at times, but He is the one in control, not me. While I wait for Him to unveil the plans to me, I promised to dance in the rain, to just live.

When I stood up, I smiled. I guess all I needed was to dance in the rain.

To be four again

A few weeks ago I began volunteering at the local women’s shelter with a children’s group. One day a week, a few hours of my time is dedicated to children of various ages who’ve been put in some pretty rough situations. My job, though, is to give them a bit of time and place to let them forget about their problems, family or school related. Without judgment or repercussion, they are allowed just to be kids.

My initial reason to work at the shelter was to gain experience for the Peace Corps. Now that that appears not to be an option in my list of future plans, I go there to help someone who might need it. But after each session, I probably gain more than I gave.

The first few times I visited the shelter, I worked with the older group. We completed worksheets that forced the importance of honesty and truth, moving on to arts projects far above my craft skills. This time was a nice change of pace from a demanding job, busy social life and consistent worry about my future. With the children, I was able to stop and enjoy what was in front of me for a change.

This week, the entire group played together outside and made Chex mix. After the children finished making their salty-sweet treats, the older kids went to the park to play softball while the little ones stayed behind to munch on their snacks and entertain themselves on the shelter’s jungle gym. I decided to join a pair of four-year-old girls in a sand box. Soon, others joined us and a small group formed. Any internal struggles or over-dramatized problems were put on hold. Just for a few minutes, I was four again.

We dug through the sand as if we were creating a world greater than our own. From their snack mix, they offered M&Ms as a way of saying I was one of them. They boosted myself esteem by calling me cute, saying I wasn’t fat and thinking I was much younger than I actually am.

Life seems to shatter me lately. It’s hard to live in a town that is constantly 21. The women are young, beautiful and appear to hold more potential than I. The men are immature, boring and uninterested in women like me. I feel much older than I actually am and like a constant failure for not really being able to step outside of Brookings’ grasp. Each day is a battle to smile.

But the children at the shelter showed me something I refused to see for sometime. They reminded me that I am a wonderful person with so much in store. They let me be me and didn’t judge. In fact, they wanted to be around me because I was me.

Having children is something I always though about, but after Thursday, I realized how much I want that. It was something my mother always knew she wanted, but it took longer for me to see that in my future plans. And, now I can see why it meant so much to her. It probably won’t happen anytime soon, but it will. Breathe easy, Mom .

Me

“I don't know if I continue, even today, always liking myself. But what I learned to do many years ago was to forgive myself. It is very important for every human being to forgive herself or himself because if you live, you will make mistakes- it is inevitable. But once you do and you see the mistake, then you forgive yourself and say, 'well, if I'd known better I'd have done better,' that's all. So you say to people who you think you may have injured, 'I'm sorry,' and then you say to yourself, 'I'm sorry.' If we all hold on to the mistake, we can't see our own glory in the mirror because we have the mistake between our faces and the mirror; we can't see what we're capable of being. You can ask forgiveness of others, but in the end the real forgiveness is in one's own self. I think that young men and women are so caught by the way they see themselves. Now mind you. When a larger society sees them as unattractive, as threats, as too black or too white or too poor or too fat or too thin or too sexual or too asexual, that's rough. But you can overcome that. The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself. If we don't have that we never grow, we never learn, and sure as hell we should never teach.” – Maya Angelou

One defining characteristic about me that has never changed is my attitude towards myself. Teachers, friends and employers have all commented, in a nice way of course, that I’m way too hard on myself. Admittedly, I do beat myself up. I’m never good enough, in my eye own eyes.

With my eating disorder making its way back into my life lately, I realized I need to take care of me and the one relationship that needs the most attention is the one with myself. I’ve tried to do that by indulging: eating foods I crave, reading instead of doing chores, sleeping in when I should be working out, paying more attention to my appearance and flirting with the wrong kind of boy. Although these satisfactions lift my spirits, I need something deeper to help me make it from week to week.

I am making a pact to myself to put me ahead of every one else. I am only going to do the things I want and the things I need. Sure, that sounds selfish, but too many times I sacrifice my own happiness for someone else’s, and that isn’t a way to live.

Before I can truly love another person, I need to love myself. I guess I am fortunate that I figured this out as a single 20-something than a woman in a loveless marriage with two children. It’s time for me to fall in love with myself.

“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.” – Sex and the City

Finding New York City

In college, I met two girls, Ali and Lindsey, who became fast friends because of shared interests. Both journalism majors with more interest in copy editing than reporting, they enjoyed coffee, Death Cab for Cutie and urban fashion trends. As curly-haired loyal democrats, they could be considered strong feminists on a land-grant university campus. Despite all the matching characteristics, I identified them together by one major thing: their common goal to move to Seattle.

From the moment I met Ali and Lindsey each one proclaimed their love for the city and the fact they would one day be its residents. Each had family in the area and visited the city on several occasions, so it was never a dart-thrown-at-a-map situation. Still, being the cynic I am, I never believed they would actually do it. Everyone talks a big game when planning their future in college, but many rarely follow through with those dreams.

Well, they proved me wrong, although my skepticism was never known to them (or at least I don’t think it was.) Lindsey and her boyfriend, Randy moved to Seattle in December after Randy graduated. Lindsey graduated the semester before, but it was always their plan to leave once they both finished their undergrads. Ali stayed in town for a year and half after she finished her degree. She needed a bit more time to save money and develop a plan. Her last day at the transition job was Wednesday and she heads westward tomorrow. Lindsey found a place to live and a job in less than two weeks after arriving to the city and I image the same will be true for Ali.

Ali and Lindsey are good examples of how stubbornness, persistence and courage can accomplish anything. They never took no for an answer and they both did what they said they were going to.

A friend of mine mentioned that Seattle is New York City for Ali and Lindsey. It’s the same story line. A girl from the Midwest dreams about life in the city and all of her dreams coming true under the city’s lights. But instead of the Big Apple, it’s the Emerald City.

Later in the conversation, the friend and I were talking about another mutual friend who left for grad school in Oxford. Upon landing in the United Kingdom, he said “I've learned over the years that I'm much more alive outside of South Dakota for whatever reason.” We decided that Oxford was his New York City.

Which, of course, leads me to think, what is my New York City? When I graduated, I knew I needed to leave South Dakota. I thirsted for the big city life, but it doesn’t always work that way, and Pocatello is anything but a city. Poky sometimes appears to be more of a small town than Brookings, despite a 40,000 edge in population. Needless to say, although I still get a fuzzy feeling when thinking about Pocatello, it didn’t satisfy and I can’t seem to fight these cravings. I want to live in a city.

Maybe my New York City is NYC. I can’t remember when or why I developed a fascination for that city, but I did and I always told myself I would be the one person in my high school class who would actually move there, unlike the rest who just said they would. Some days, I tell myself I should move to the city just for my dream’s sake.

I once was fond of San Diego. The beach and constant sunny weather seemed like an ideal alternative next to unnatural cold South Dakota weathers. But after a bit of growing up, the ritzy life of southern California doesn’t seem so appealing.

After my short life in Idaho, I’ve grown fond of the west. The hippie, laid-back attitude of those living in the mountains enticed me and I find myself dreaming about Portland, Seattle and Denver.

I’ve put a time limit on my Brookings life. Despite how much I love my job, this town is intoxicating and I need to dance somewhere else. By this time next year, I hope to be somewhere else or on my where to that somewhere else.

Where I am going to go and what I am going to do are still question marks, but I owe it myself to take a chance on that big city dream. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and if I never do it, I will always regret it. And that alone is reason worth chasing the dream.