From MN to CO

A spotlight on some self-doubt I've felt recently. And if I don't use that self-doubt to write, what else is it good for?

Life lately has been characterized by high peaks and low valleys - I say both figuratively and quite literally. I moved to the mountains with nothing but a loving boyfriend a faithful (if not slightly prissy) cat - and as I write about it, what more could you need than that? Well, the world has answered that otherwise rhetorical question with blatant, crushing realism.

Money. Money is what you need, it says. Money to pay for the car you drive even though you've already bought it, unseen waves of social connectivity, the body you own, the eyes in your very skull. Starting over doesn't just take optimism and a strong will anymore - it takes a bit of cushioning to land on when you realize you made a bit of a false start.

I have a passion for writing, this much I know. This much I need. However, it seems that others don't see quite as much need for it. EDM.com is my guiding, guarding angel at the moment, with one shift per week providing a sense of career-propelling normalcy. But the normalcy can't last forever - or even all week, for that matter. The other six days beyond the one glorious shift consist of an emotional teeter-totter ride, with my partner and I lifting each other up, only to need lifting again. Meanwhile, Peach slinks by, fulfilling her only needs of food, bathroom, and daily snuggles.

It hasn't been bad, oh no - on the contrary. It's been wonderful. We're two born-and-raised Minnesotans out in Colorado, our halfway decorated apartment slowly becoming the perfect blend of our styles. It's a small space - one that we'll look back on fondly and think remember our first apartment together? It was so cute! It's coming together, and we've been blessed more than we ever could have asked for by friends and family.

I guess the worry is not dire, knowing we'll both land on our feet. We always do. We always have to. Because what else can you do but try again? So we won't stop trying and failing and trying again, and in the meantime we'll just keep making each other laugh. It's my preferred remedy to any illness or negative emotion, which at times feels synonymous.

However difficult, I have hope. What's more, I have a concrete knowledge that someday I won't be a struggling 20-something. Hell, maybe I'll be a struggling 30-something, but at least I'll be something. I'll have a more diverse portfolio, you can be sure of that. At least that's something I can rely on.

For now, relying on the encouraging subtleties of everyday joys keeps me afloat. And I will hold onto that life preserver sinks and I end up swimming.