Luna(tic) Park

Weekend update, y'all!

Friday
I possibly drank too much wine with dinner at my friend's house. Then, we had Girl Scout cookies and talked about boys. The End.


Saturday
I headed to the Alemany Farmers' Market bright and early. Items purchased: leeks, potatoes (COMBINE!), pumpkin bolani, sweet jalapeno jelly, oro blanco (which I think is a cross between a pomelo and a grapefruit?), Asian pears, Pink Lady apples, anemones, ranunculas,

A very dear friend is moving, so I accompanied him to IKEA. This really says something about our friendship, because - much as I love that store - I have a pact with myself to never, ever go on a weekend. I don't think my friend was much impressed with my mad IKEA skills. (I can recognize most items by name! And tell you what other finishes are available! And tell you what other pieces are part of the collection!)

I met some friends in the Mission for dinner. Perhaps I should have reminded all parties involved that parking in the Mission is NOT for sissies. It is practically a full-contact sport. You must must must leave yourself adequate time, or it all becomes way too stressful. When we all finally amassed in front of Luna Park, we had missed our reservation. (Their policy is that, when your party is complete, they put you at the top of the waitlist. I think this parking fiasco-thing has played havoc with a lot of reservations.) Our meals were absolutely delicious (minus some strangely way overcooked vegetables.) With our late start, we were finishing up dessert after 10 pm. Which is when "Living on Prayer" came over the Muzak/iPod/sound system. My friend and I started singing (quietly) into our thumbs. ("Tommy used to work on the docks") (And, as you may recall, I really really can not sing.) When we got to the chorus, we realized that ... other tables were also singing! (Whooah, we're half way there/Livin' on a prayer!") It was made of awesome.

Walking back to the car, I found a five dollar bill! I picked it up, and my friend's fiance immediately said "Is there poop in it??" It turns out some of his college buddies, actually, I can't go any further with that thought. (Use your imagination.)

So, Bon Jovi sing-along and $5! Woo hoo!


Sunday
After all the hijinks on Saturday, this was largely a day of rest. I did manage to clear out my closet (SCAAARY!) I'm moving along (month 2) in my plan to go through all of my stuff. I'm using this book, which is pretty great. Next month's project: the KITCHEN! (And there is a lot of work to be done there!)

wandering star

We'd just had a networking Happy Hour and, as always, I was struck by how accomplished and ambitious the people who surround me are. It had been an evening of animated conversation, business cards slipped across tables, and fast and furious Blackberry-ing.

The crowd thinned out and I sat and talked to two women. Oddly, I found myself talking about Tibetan refugees in India, and how Tibetan parents send their children through mountain passes, often by themselves, so that they can reach the Dalai Lama's schools in northern India. I thought about how bad things must be for you to risk sending your children through such a dangerous trek, and how much better you must think the possibilities are.

And then, sipping my over-priced imported beer, I thought about my life. Not about how easy I have it (and in the grand scheme of things, I really do), but how my drumbeat of "I want" is so preposterous. I have more than enough of the things that count, and a lot of things that are 'icing', too. Someone once said that happiness isn't having what you want, it's wanting what you have. And, at least briefly, I really get that.

blanket

I feel like I've been yelled at off and on all week. Oh wait, that would be because I've been yelled at off and on all week. Not by coworkers (thanggod!), but by opposing counsel and random irate people.

Although you can logically understand that you shouldn't take something personally (for example, when the irate yeller is using thinly veiled racist innuendo), but it still stings. I'm not rubber, even if you're glue. Things are not bouncing off me (and sticking to you.) Not entirely, anyway.

I need some comfort and quiet. A warm soft bed with white sheets. Hot chocolate with marshmallows (and not the creepy, crunchy ones in Swiss Miss). Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Shouldn't I have this? Shouldn't I have all of this and more? But will I? No. Instead, I have an out-and-back trip to LA tomorrow, and a weekend of finishing the move out of the old apartment (including introducing Ms. Gia to the new digs.) Am I being a whiny little bitch? Yes, I am. But if you can't sip a glass of whine on your own blog, then wtf?

This is the crazybusy, hurricane phase. I know it will pass, and sooner than I think. And then - then, my friends, I will sip my hot chocolate in my white, white bed.

breathe in/ breathe out

Well, the move is "over" in that the boxes are all over the new apartment. It's only beginning in terms of the unpacking, and the figuring out where things are in the new 'hood. (I also have odds and ends to do in the old apartment.

I'm not striking out on my own to say I hate moving. And that opinion hasn't changed. This move was comparatively minor to the last one (moving from DC to the Bay Area), but it was still stressful. I find myself thinking 5 steps, 3 hours, or 2 days ahead of where I actually am. I've had to consciously slow down and concentrate on the exact task at hand. There's something between sweating every detail and throwin up your hands and saying, "And a miracle happens, and it all gets done."

I'm working on that balance: healthy pessimism allowing for Plan B strategy, and enough optimism to make things relatively painless.

stereoimage

I've wanted to write about turning the corner in the hope that what I've realized might help someone else. Distilling it down, it is this: when you realize that it is broken, when you give up the idea that you have to (or even CAN) fix it - there is release and such freedom. Things that were unbearable suddenly aren't. Where you had no space and no distance, you have insta-perspective. The claustrophobia dissipates, and the horizon seems to stretch on endlessly.

I've had this feeling a few times in my life, when I finally managed to shed certain jobs, friendships, just ... situations. And it's a revelation every time.




I wish I could bottle this. I would keep it in a cool dark place in a brown medicine bottle with a white paper label:"Open in case of emergency."

break your eye open

In an episode of one of my favorite TV shows, Six Feet Under, Claire - the aspiring art student - is flipping through a book of Nan Goldin photographs. As she explains to her brother, she is trying to "break her eye open" and see new perspectives, without all of the tired associations we've formed.

.........

Björk has a song on her excellent, excellent album Debut entitled "There's more to Life than This." At one point she shuts herself in a washroom stall and stagewhispers:

I could nick a boat/ And sneak off to this island/I could bring my little ghettoblaster/There's more to life than this

........

That's where I am: somewhere between "breaking my eye open" and really, really getting that there's more to life than this. I feel like that's a lesson I learn over and over, sometimes in small ways - meeting someone at a party who has done/been to/simply is all these things I've never even though of - and big.

I'm full of ideas and epiphanies again, returning to my core values. The spring, it seems, is coiling.

tapestry

When you're in an experience, it acts like a bolt of fabric thrown up in the air. The center spins as it gives off yard after yard of cloth. You focus on the action, and the sound.

Later - minutes, hours, days, weeks, sometimes even years - later, you examine it all more carefully: the arm sweeps over the fabric, smoothing it against the table. You bend in closely to see the detail - the themes and threads of conversation carried throughout. Your eye is naturally drawn to details: the small flaws that went unremarked when it all whipped by you, as well as the small embellishments: a particuarly sweet or unexpected gesture.

Sometimes, driving home, I wonder when I'll see the pattern - when I'll understand how this particular piece fits into my life, how it has been affected by things before, and how it inexorably affects what comes after.

mirror mirror

(1) My dentist (jokingly) offered to beat someone up for me;
(2) My personal trainer asked me if I've ever been to a strip club;
(3) The sweetest boy in all the land (never an unkind word about anyone) told me that he thinks we are incredibly similar.

The first two statements had some, um, context (but not enough to remove the 'stun' factor.) The last, I could blame on his mango margarita - but I don't think it's quite that. He followed up with, "Well, or you say the things I want to say."

Ah yes, THAT.

Recent events have caused me to re-examine how I come off at first impression. I've heard the word "intimidating" more often than I'd like to admit. At the same time, when I meet someone new and they end up telling me that I am HILARIOUS, I cringe on the inside. That means that in my nervousness and insecurity, I have shifted into crazed stand-up comic mode. I can be really funny, but when you're getting all "A-game" material, it's because I'm uncomfortable.

Where is the middle ground? To what extent are any of us truly ourselves when meeting people? I wish it weren't so hard.

risk averse

I was telling my personal trainer about some foolishness undertaken by a fellow student in my program in Costa Rica. I finished by saying, "You know, he was still at that age where you think you're immortal."

My trainer looked at me and said, "Were you ever at that age?" It took me off-guard because I was shocked that with our fairly limited interaction, he was able to make that observation. And, of course, also because he was right - I never was. That's not to say that I didn't have my nights of far too many drinks (possibly complete with hopping up on the table and dancing), but over all - I've been fairly careful with myself.

There are times where I regret that I wasn't a wilder and crazier youth simply because there is a natural age limit for such things. It's just kind of lame and sad when you see people who are far too old for it engaging in youth hijinks. But overall, I'm okay with it - I am who I am.

I am trying to take "age-appropriate" risks now. There are activities that I would like to try that I feel really self-conscious about. This is part of what the personal training is about - reconnecting with myself as an athlete so that I can try some of the things I think may be fun.

Some times, I'd like to just get out of my head and into the doing of things.

pretty in pink

I think we (or at least I) want life to be like the montage in an 80's movie. You know, the montage: the makeover/cram session/ vigorous workout - all set to a catchy beat - complete with quick cuts, and shots of our hero(ine)s being goofy. And then, the final result - a mere 2.5 minutes later - serious wow factor/passing the test/ some athletic feat.

A friend recently returned to working out after taking a few years off. She described herself after her first workout: she checked herself out in a mirror, looking for results.

And that's just it - we want nearly instant gratification, some teeny hint or indication that we have moved ourselves in the desired direction.

As much as I am a planner, I feel like my long term vision has diminished. Until recently, I committed myself to multi-year projects (like, oh say ... law school.) But now, I feel like I can't think more than 1-3 months into the future.

On second thought, maybe I'm selling myself short: a semester is about 3 months. Maybe long(er) term vision is just about slicing and dicing things into 1-3 month pieces. Had I thought of law school (or university ... or doing a marathon) as the whole big picture the entire time, I probably wouldn't have finished.

I suppose this is the next chapter in my Inner Macy series: patience. Breaking up big, intimidating goals and ideas into things that can be handled one month, one day, one action at a time.



Photo from sonico's flickr.

bee

A bevy of beautiful bloggers - brilliant!

I met up with ads, oodles, brimful, tamasha (visiting from NYC!), brown sugar and our erstwhile mango pickle in the Mission for some tapas. Five of us were full-on early for dinner! And we're all desi! Wonders may never cease.

The evening was an odd mix of feeling nervous and preternaturally comfortable. Nervous because, well, there will always be a little tension to meeting people you do not know. I have accepted that I'm the Queen of Dorks, I even revel in it, at times. But, I still have my shy, 7 year-old "will they like me??" side. And also my "Oh my god, I can't believe I said that! How embarassing" 13 year-old side. And, of course, my "Get over it all, already" 32 year-old side. (That's a lot of sides, yo.)

It's preternaturally comfortable because you kinda/sorta know the person in that you have read their writing. You may know a little about their life (what they do for a living, maybe whether they have siblings, what kind of music they like), but more than that there is a sense that the way someone writes tell you how they think. What ideas and points do they stress? What shapes their humor?

That's all the stuff going on in my head. But the dinner itself, delightful. MP is just as funny as you'd expect, and there was quite the round of "wait ... do you know my cousin?" (And, of course, at least once - the answer was "Yes!") I love me some tapas, and I love me some bloggers and to have both at once - sweet.

Eating fear

Flipping through draft posts that never quite made it to the big time, I came to this one. The contents, a haphazard bulleted list meant to jog my memory, didn't mean a lot to me - but the title certainly did. Two words I put together a year ago neatly encapsulate my mental state.

I've been considering the chasm between my life as it is and my life as I want it to be. Actually, my analysis isn't even that far along. My life as I want it to be ... is hazy, a few pencil strokes on the page, a rough sketch. Sometimes a goal is borne fully-formed, like Athena from the head of Zeus. And other times, the process is much more amorphous and painfully slow. I feel like I have to cultivate the right environment, and allow ideas to percolate at their own speed.

I've found that the best place for me to ponder is..... not at home (which is a bummer, since it is so convenient.) I spent a good part of Saturday at San Gregorio beach, hunched into my sweatshirt, watching the waves and jotting notes into my journal. I am (dreaded cliche) trying to "think outside the box." I am trying to pull together all the various threads of things I enjoy, from the specific ("I miss dancing") to the much more general ("I want to create a community of reliable people I trust.")

It's scary, this "thinking outside the box." It's difficult to identify your assumptions and beliefs, let alone question them. What would you do with your life if you could tear it down and build it back up again? If people's expectations (and more pointedly -- your own) didn't cloud things.

I can't say that I have a dream (or a Goal) yet, but I'm getting there.

but what if I'm a mermaid

Our high school English teacher had some "interesting" ideas. He walked around shaking his fist and exclaiming, "I'd strike the sun if it insulted me." (So much so, in fact, that some forgotten student painted a canvas with a nautical scene and that quote.) We watched "Cool Hand Luke" for somewhat inscrutable reasons. We also watched an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, where the intrepid crew of the Enterprise comes across a people that speak .... entirely in metaphors!!! (DUN...dun...DUH!)

..........

Recently, I've been noticing the elliptical ways people communicate. I love talking to one of my coworkers, but it's always more like ..... two monologues flowing along, a form of free-association. We never really know what the other person is talking about, or how their stream of thought formed.

I picked Hesse up and he started right in, continuing a conversation we'd had a solid week ago. I had to love him a little for that: knowing that he'd been thinking about what we talked about, his assumption that I would know what the HELL he was referring to.

And the other end of the spectrum: not even needing to communicate. I can tell TBF "just the facts, ma'am," and she will have a fairly accurate map as to how I reacted, what I thought and felt. It's kinda cool, and kinda disarming at the same time.

Although I love these zigs and zags, I do wish that there was an emergency override button: that you could, in times of crisis, attain some kind of state where the other person (or people) could immediately understand what you were saying, why you were saying it, your intention, etc. (and vice versa.)

I'm feeling a drawing towards .... and away from people. I enjoy the people in my life, but it seems so very hard to add people. If I'm a lone, I'm thinking that it would be nice to share a glass of wine and a laugh with someone. If I'm in a group, I'm thinking about curling up with a cup of tea and a paperback. (Tea - the beverage of solitude.)

I feel like there is a drumbeat in my head "I want ... I want ... I want."

vino, vidi, vici

You know when you walk past those big display beds in the department stores? The ones that are perfectly made, with coordinating accessories, that seem almost overstuffed - bursting with plump coziness?

Beds have become my new fantasy. And it's not even due to an insomnia attack. I dream of curling up into bed and ....reading, maybe napping, writing in a journal. I flip through the pages of CB2 and drool over the soothing modern lines.

It seems that I need some kind of a vacation. And I do not mean travel! My big trip to India, while quite an adventure, was not as restorative as, apparently, I needed it to be. I've also been jonesing for sitting on the beach and staring at the wonder pondering the mysteries. (I'm not talking swimsuit and margarita - I'm talking Northern California styles - sweatshirt and a water bottle!)

Resolved: by the end of the month, I will (1) drive out to the beach, set up my little camp chair and vegetate, (2) check myself into a hotel room and spend random hours in bed. (So much easier to do when you're not staring at laundry that needs to be done, or dealing with the feline roomie demanding attention!)

..........

Weekend update!

Friday: Happy Hour with work peeps, then a hot date with Colin Farrell. I think this is the first movie I've seen him in, and ... I can see the attraction. I also tried out Netflix new "Watch it Now" feature (to watch 'Big Eden') Yes, we can just call this my Big Gay Cinema Night.

Saturday: extra helping of NOTHING! I've been having these visions of spring cleaning. Sorting through closets, making lists - getting ORGANIZED!

Yeah, none of that happened. A higher priority, I decided, was bonding with my couch. Thankfully, Hesse convinced me to enjoy the gorgeous day by going for a walk. Any walk with me is a mini bio-lesson. It's probably on the annoying-side, but I can't help it. I point out trees, and other flora. The park we went to has a wealth of bird life, and I spouted off about it. Poor Hesse now knows more about red-winged blackbirds and their migratory behavior than he probably ever wanted to know. (I even broke down what the birds were chattering on about. I translated it as "Bitch, please! This is MY turf! You best get to steppin' ")

Sunday: Damn time change! Totally screwed with my sleep schedule, and nearly messed with my plans for the day! I headed into the city and picked up ads and an as-of-yet-unnamed friend and headed up to wine country. We were all running a little late, and a half step off, so we didn't hit as many wineries as we may have liked. Still, we enjoyed the barrel tasting weekend, andI will try to make it again next year.

I bought wine from A. Raffanelli (which*thrilled* me- I had a bottle of their zin at dinner in September and have been thinking of it ever since.) I was also impressed with the zinfandel at Bella (and may have come home with a few bottles - including a late harvest zin that they paired with peanut butter cups. The yum!!)

Café, 10 a.m.

• A server swings by carrying Belgian waffles, topped with pecans and whipped butter, smelling like love.
• A toddler smacks empty chairs with a flailing arm and grabs unsuspecting patrons around the knees, craning her neck back to look up the vast expanse of leg. Her mouth forms an "o" of confusion, these jeans are NOT attached to a familiar face!
• A true Silicon Valley type conducts an interview over a banana nut muffin. Bits and pieces of his conversation float through the cafe: "valuation, term sheet, footprint, opportunity, roll-out."
• A couple, dressed in sweats and ballcaps, drink their coffee. There is a tenseness to the skin under their eyes as they stare over each other's shoulders.

..........

The dichotomy between logic and emtion can be cavernous: you can logically analyze a situation, and it won't affect your emotional, gut reaction in the least (and vice versa.)

Recently, I've been feeling a little "woe is me." And I hate that shit. Feeling that way, and typing the words, I feel slightly disgusted with myself. I've kept most of it off of the blog, to the point of not writing, um, at all at times. I have covered some of it by writing positively - not so much to "whitewash" it, but (1) no one likes the whine and (2) to try to buck myself up by focusing on the positive.

I've fallen into a bad pattern of looking forward to things and being sorely disappointed. Big things and small. It's not the individual let-downs that are cause for concern, it's stringing the events together. Logically, I know the universe is not out to get me (and I feel silly even verbalising that thought), but emotionally? Yeah, that's a whole different thing. Life may indeed be not fair (and Logic accepts that), but Emotion? I'm here to tell you that Emotion throws a fit!

One of the truest things I've found is that you can always change direction and try something new. There's some famous quote-type thing like "Stupidity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting to get a different result." Something like that.

One suggested solution has been to lower expectations - but, friends, they are as low as I'm willing to let them go. (They could go lower, I'm sure, but at what point do you just stop getting out of bed in the morning?) The direction I want to try is to stop looking forward so much: to be in this precise moment, here and now. Not so much a lowering of expectations as ... no expectations at all.

Chrysalis

To every thing, turn turn turn

There is a season, turn turn turn

And a time for every purpose under heaven

-The Byrds [Ecclesiastes 3:1-8]

Some thoughts and changes sneak up on you, gathering weight and momentum . Others, it seems like, are the headline on page 2 of the newspaper: "Newsflash: This isn't Working, Try Something Else." On occasion, I think this entire blog could be summed up as "Ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange ... CHANGES!)" And it annoys me to no end.

But maybe that is life, a series of changes - some incremental, some great, bounding leaps. To be all black turtleneck about it, we begin dying as soon as we are born. (Freaking black turtleneck - I hate that thing!)

So what manner of change am I pontificating about today? Recently, it dawned on me that I am entering a wintry phase. This has nothing to do with the actual season, and is more a reflection on my desire to turn inwards, to some extent - to nest. For however long this phase lasts, I do not want to make external effort. I do not want to call people, or organize things, or make plans, or .... anything. That's not to say that I won't be accepting any of these things, just that - for the time being - the giving side of the operation is going on hiatus.

Ah, winter. I want to read, to work out, to write, to knit, to nap, to take long, blustery walks, to take photos. I remember reading that tulip bulbs must experience a freeze in order to bloom in the spring. That's where I am - I need some kind of isolation and inner focus in order to spring forward.

Where's your head at

I am the architect of my own discontent.

That is the idea I had been reflecting on before I left for DC. The specifics aren't so important, just the idea that through my own choices and my occasional inability to foresee ultimate ends, I have created situations that have lessened my happiness. With a little more time, I see how the opposite is also true: I very much engineer my bliss. The times that I am able to see the small beautiful things that go on around me, the occasions where I place my interests first - there is sometimes seemingly endless joy.

And now I've found another corollary: I can't make someone else happy. More specifically, I can't lessen their discontent, as I was trying to do. I thought that it was a simple see-saw, and that if I gave more and sacrificed some of what thrills me, that they in turn would be happier and more at peace. But, it doesn't work like that. I gave it away, and it didn't benefit anyone.

Lesson learned - you can't always help someone else, even by foregoing what you want. I guess this is just another look at the idea that we all have to find our own way.

Chameleon

I'm not sure which pricks me more: things changing or things not changing.

I remember returning to my alma mater the year after I graduated to find a new crop of students. They were doing all the things that I had done: trooping up and down Princess Street, grabbing mobile lunches at the Pita Pit, living it up at my bars, etc. I knew it was self-centered and foolish, but it bothered me that nothing had really changed. I didn't expect that there would be a me-shaped hole on campus, but I felt swept aside and, to top it off, foolish for having an unspoken expectation that things would be different with me out of the equation. Like the ex we hope/expect to pine for us forever even as we move on with our lives, though I had formed my own life in a different location, I wanted Kingston to long for me.

Perhaps because DC is my "hometown", I want things to not have changed. I want the intricate systems of road, parkways, highways, toll roads etc. to be just as I left it. And it's not. I want my favorite restaurants to be just as I left them - menus, servers, ambiance, etc. intact. And they're not. All areas, but especially urban ones, are embodiments of the Phoenix - they cannabalize parts of themselves to create the new and different. Since I'm feeling pouty, I'll point out that new and different does not necessarily mean better.

I always say that we don't ever get beyond 7th grade. Well, maybe the set-point is actually even younger than that. Logically, I know how ridiculous it is to expect everything to stay the same - how self-centred, really. But emotionally, I want DC to be my home place. I want it to be dependable and unchanging, comfort food like tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

I'm happy to be back in DC, but it's also bittersweet. It's not the place I left a year ago. It doesn't fit me like it once did.

And all of that, well, that's just fine.

Silencio

I've been conducting a little experiment.

I love music. It energizes me, touches me, depresses me, and moves me. But what happens when you turn the iPod off? For example, I usually use the "Cardio" playlist to power me through treadmill time. For the past two weeks, I've braved running without tuneage! It's been interesting - my workouts now channel my inner-Mathlete. I spend the time calculating splits, pacing, etc. This is exactly what I used to do during marathons. (The race rules forbid using headphones.) You'd be amazed how much time goes by calculating estimated finishing times at different paces.

I've turned off the radio in my car on my drive to work (all 2.5 miles of it.) When there is no music to mask them, my thoughts are scattered, varied and ... loud. At first, it was a little frightening. I'm getting used to it - it's like meditation, the more you try to clamp down on your thoughts, the more they careen recklessly.

After two weeks of listening to my inner cacophony, I sat down with a brand new notebook and gel pen (you know how I love school supplies) and just funneled everything I had been thinking - thoughts, ideas, goals, dreams, anxieties - on to the paper.

You'd be amazed how much quieter my head is now. And how much more "in the moment" I feel. And how peaceful I feel having this list/brainstorm of things to reflect on, and ideas to put into action. All told, an experiment with surprisingly pleasing results.

Politico

You can take the girl out of D.C., but you can't take D.C. out of the girl.

On Tuesday, as the polls started closing on the East Coast, I launched my own personal "Election Watch" , which consisted of doing the circuit of CNN, WashPost, Crooks & Liars and Talking Points Memo. I thought that having left D.C., I would be less into it - how wrong I was. Eventually, I left work because I was driving myself nuts AND not getting any work done. After puttering around my apartment, I ended up .... doing the circuit again and chatting with DTG and LB2 re: the Webb-Allen Senate race vote count as it was updated.

Maybe this is how gamblers feel - the raised pulse, the slightly sweaty palms, the attempts to work off some nervous energy. Upon closer examination, the other big reason that I thought I had left it behind is that politics flat-out broke my heart. No, no it's more than that: have you ever been infatuated with someone and then it passes, and with time you begin to wonder how you ever thought that person was even remotely compatible? How the warmth you felt towards them turns into distaste, tempered with an edge of "what the hell was I thinking?"

For me, it's not simply a matter of which political party is in power. It's the erosion of the separation of church & state. It's the dismantling of habeas corpus. It's the careful and calculated unraveling of checks and balances. It's the disenfranchisement and intimidation of voters. These assumptions I've had about my country, what I thought was bedrock and dependable - gone or heavily damaged.

Now, with regime change, I'm taking another look. The saying goes once bitten, twice shy. That's how I feel: tentatively hopeful. Please do a better job. Please return some of the things we've lost. I'm rediscovering myself as a political animal after years of hardening my heart. I'm hesitant. I'm joyful.