Have a Nice Life

It is quite nice to have a life. 

For the final nine months that I lived in Boston, I worked seven days a week. Since I tend to the dramatic, and that sounds aggressively false, let me clarify: for the last five of those months, I worked every single day except July 4th and August 19th. 

It is remarkable what you can do when you believe it is necessary. 

But 0/10, do not recommend. 

The “Facebook memories” for all of February have been some variation on “how much I hate February.” Apparently on February 10th there was a blizzard every year for the last four years. I started a countdown to March more than once. 

March is my birthday month, and also home to this 500 Words A Day Challenge at least three times. I started the last round by complaining about how cold I was then, too. There was a blizzard on March 23rd. 

This time last year, I knew I was moving to LA and had to keep it a secret for the sake of my 14 jobs that I worked for all those consecutive days. I would like to believe some of my complaints were for documentation sake - some capital in the nostalgia bank of Winter - but I’m pretty sure I was purely fed up with misery. 

With the thin and shaken state that is living out of necessity.

Nostalgia banks don’t work quite like you think they will, and all the complaints in the world can’t form the shield you want them to be. 

It is hard to shake the indentured value of working too much. Where else does strength come from if not from resistance? Grit? From trouble and snow? 

I am wary, I think, of too much sweetness. And yet. 

For almost six months, I have lived in Los Angeles. I have favorite places to eat, walking paths that I prefer, and weekend plans. I meet lots of dogs. My friends text me. Yes, it was weird to be the only one paying attention to the Super Bowl, and yes, I lost my debit card last week at a place too far to return to, and YES the yoga industry has been a wild thing to navigate out here, but oh, the sun and the sea and the open, rolled-back sky. 

We hiked to beat the sunrise on New Year’s. 

I have seen the ocean every single day. 

The sky feels thunderously large at night, and sometimes, when I walk up the stairs to my apartment, I reach up to hang on the stars, just for a second. Just for a swing. 

It is quite nice. 

I am also, at this very second, sitting up in the middle of the night, as before with this challenge, wrapped in a blanket with the heat on, because even if they are enjoyable, you can’t completely beat out your Februaries. Even if it is 56 degrees on March 1, without trouble or lidded sky. Even if.