squatting on scene one.

blame it on all the moving hullabaloo, but i never sat down with 2009 at the backdoor and 2010 at the frontdoor and stopped.

i usually stop. 

i didn’t say goodbye to all the things that 2009 was, didn’t reflect. and i haven’t been able to greet 2010 properly, give it its proper welcome and itinerary. maybe that’s why i feel so strange about it. it feels uncharacteristic. really, really uncharacteristic.

and i didn’t even realize i hadn’t stopped until i went to get breakfast yesterday, pulled out my wad of paper i bought when i first moved to van and started flipping through. i was reminded of the world of goals i scribbled out in october, some of which brought me to be in whistler in the first place.

things like,
getting out of debt.
owning a guitar.
go to the world cup.
make cards.
give to good causes.
be well-read.
write, everyday.
buy a typewriter.

i sat moving my potatoes in lakes of ketchup and felt accomplished because a lot of those things are in the bag,
but hold the phone.
here’s what i realized:
in an ambitious stint in october, fueled mostly by donald miller, i had written out the things i wanted, i had documented them. pressed pen into paper.
then i pushed walls and moved rocks and tried to maneuver my life in such a way as to get to where i wanted to be.
then there was the labored choice to move my life to whistler to, also, get to where i wanted to be.

and then, after all that, all the stress, all the tears, all the choice anguish,  i kinda forgot the story. the plot became blurry. i even forgot that i was in a story. 
i was just sipping coffee in la brasserie thinking,

“man. this is a lot of change. i know no one. i’m broke-ass. this came so fast…”

i wasn’t even connecting the dots to the ultimate reward, i was just moaning. that’s when i read, as part of a typewritten letter i wrote on december 11, this:

“here’s the truth about telling good stories with your life. it’s going to sound like a great idea, and you are going to get excited about it. and then  when it comes time to do the work, you’re not going to want to do it. it’s like that with writing books, and it’s like that with life. people love to have lived a good story, but few people like the work it takes to make it happen. but joy costs pain.” – donald miller.

as soon as i read it, it felt instantly biographical. i want to tell a good story. whistler sounded like a great idea. i was/am excited about it. but as of january 2, i’ve graduated into the work part of the story. the part i don’t like, the part nobody likes.

and it’s sort of ridiculous that i wasn’t putting two and two together and seeing my sudden lack of motivation as being related to the start of the work portion of the game plan. go figure.

so now that i’m freshly aware of why i planted myself here, i need to draw up that moment (or as miller puts it “envision a climactic scene”) so all the bits of this story make sense. so that all the scenes that play out over the next four months are all working together for a purpose.

i’ll put it on the drawing board and publish that puppy tomorrow.

(there are a bunch of people who check this blog (thank God that you do), so there are just as many stories playing out their scenes…can anyone relate with anything i’m talking about? or am i the only one who was squatting on scene 1 with a thick head…)



2 responses to “squatting on scene one.

  1. God, dani you are SO right about this!! I admire your courage and your eloquence in describing your experience. I am on the brink of making a move in a new direction and as much as I want this change, I am so scared. Scared of that “hard work.” But it’s so worth it in the end. I lived abroad for a year and in the moment it felt like the hardest thing – but now it’s one of the things of which I am most proud! May you persevere through this transitional time and reap the rewards of achieving your heart’s desire!

  2. Dani – check your email in a couple of hours – I will mail you!!! 🙂 HUGE hugs……
    much love xx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s