Friday: Life

Did you know that I hum sweet few second melodies in the solitary company of my cube? Or when I'm in my kitchen. Or in my car. At the grocery store. Occasionally I'll let out a whistle too. And on rare instances I'll click my tongue three times.

This self awareness seemingly came about when I found myself laughing aloud. This was last night and I was alone. Downstairs I could hear my landlord being crazy and pounding on things as he continues to "renovate" and work on "cleaning out the thirty years life has compiled" from his place. He's a hoarder.

I sat at my kitchen table watching Parks & Recreation and caught myself laughing loudly and genuinely. Milk almost projected from my mouth from the spontaneity of the laughter. Never before had I noticed myself doing anything like this alone. It was as if experiencing pure joy for the first time.

And then I stopped. I realized at this moment that I can exist alone. That I am content spending evenings only in the company of myself, regardless of what I do.

You will find that your interactions with others are in turn more sincere; that you are genuinely excited to talk to people and find a happiness in understanding their joy. Savor this. Some people will recognize this, and some won't - it doesn't matter either way. It is in the intention and simple recognitions that make days all the sweeter.

Living; Thursday

The morning started off by finding macaroons from Patisserie 46 hanging from my mailbox. It was single-handedly the sweetest gesture I can recall in quite some time. French Macaroons are my favorite treats; Everytime I'm in San Francisco I stop at Miette in the fairy building, buy a hazelnut macaroon, get a macchiato from Blue Bottle, and enter a euphoric state of bliss.

My dear friend knows all too well of my affection for these treats. She is well-known for doing secret acts of kindness. And today she knocked it out of the park.

Pretty much the only way this could have gotten any better is if somehow, a Blue Bottle macchiato magically appeared as well. But I realize the limitations of the magical things best friends can do. California is just too far away today.

Wednesday, living

Today - at least not yet - no insight or thought worth writing about has revealed itself. Maybe I am simply being lazy. Perhaps I have simply been distracted by conversations with my co-workers. That sounds like a stupid blog in and of itself - Conversations with my Co-worker. But I'd never make that, mark my words. Anyways. It's nice. And has consequently hindered my usual daily posting today. My conscience has gotten the best of me and is making me post something.

So here we are.

Out of boredom I started paging through different blogs. Mostly food blogs. Some culture and style. But mostly food, as it consumes roughly 73% of my thoughts and is at the center of most activities I partake in.

I went to notwithoutsalt.com, which I love. It's lovely, hence me loving it. Anyways. I saw a link on her sight "17 and Baking" which I found to be clever with regards to that shitty MTV reality show. Then it hit me. This is a blog of a 17 year old baker. Upon entering her site, I find breathtaking photographs, innovative culinary/epicurious adventures, and above average writing. Upon clicking the"Featured On" I found a list longer and more credible than could have imagined. Ready Made, Jezebel, SeriousEats, PaperMag, just to name a few. And she's seventeen (well eighteen now, sixteen when she started the site).

Then I asked myself, Why the hell have you not made a food blog yet? You're hitting the status of Senior with regards to age in comparison to those "making" it out there, apparently. I cook, I bake, I document. And occasionally I write. So, because I have been "showed up," if you will, by a seventeen year old and my ego some how feels mildly bruised or damaged -although not directly - I will start one. Mark my words.

Tuesday: Life, running away in boots.

Upon walking into my front porch yesterday afternoon, I saw a large envelope sticking out of my mailbox and almost started crying. Part of me considered not going inside, so as to not pass and consequently have to take the mail . Part of me wanted to start running, and run for a long time, without looking back and no destination in mind.

I want a large envelope to show up in my mailbox. Really, I do. But I've come to realize, I don't want the contents of said package. Neither response will do. I don't think I'm ready to deal with either option, hence me almost breaking down in tears at the sight of a large envelope. If there is one thing to learn from college and Arts High admission, it's that large envelopes are good, little are bad. So this could have been a "good" scenario. But it merely turned out to be letter from my insurance company. Neutral mail.

Maybe it's related, but probably not. I've been having a reoccurring dream. It's winter, grey skies, snow on the ground. I can see myself from across a street and I start to run. Initially I start in the city by my house but then continue out to the country. The only thing on my person are my boots. Something triggers me and I start running, pulling off my jacket, all of my clothes, and I run with only my bra, underwear, and boots on. I am on a mission in my dream. To go somewhere. Anywhere. In my dreams I never get there.

If you are trying to make positive steps for growth in your life, consider what makes you happy and what hinders your happiness. Is there anything holding you back? If there is, you should eliminate this.

Monday: living (refreshed)

I am pretty sure I have been stuck in this position all weekend. If only that were the case.

My thoughts have been consistent, of movement and making. Of thinking forward.

This usually coincides with starting to read again. In this instance, I have started to read again due to a plethora of free time. Through this vast amount of time (spent reading), I discovered Miranda July's new film, and stumbled upon her Union Square installation from this summer. And boy, how I want to create again.

The initial steps have been taken. Such a long time coming.

I feel released from a suspension, in space and time. The past year, quite honestly, was a wash. A good wash, but a wash none the less. It does seem, in retrospect, to have been rather necessary to stir, to settle, to become discontent. What was created is that awful/wonderful thing called perspective. Perhaps it merely feels strange because I've never gone through a lull. Of really doing nothing with myself besides work. Twenty-ten will go down as my year in purgatory.

If you feel stuck, know that eventually you will be unstuck. Unless of course you are happy being stuck. But most of the time, the connotation of stuck is not a positive one. Understand that when people say, It'll all make sense eventually or Everything will work itself out, it probably will. In the meantime, you may feel terrible, like a waste of space and air, continually recalling days of yore when you created, were invigorat(ed)ing, and life was continually refreshing. In due time, the recycle will occur and you'll be back. You will always come back.

Oversleeping on a Saturday.

At noon I met up with a friend to play cribbage but could not focus. I lost by six points.

I came back home to clean my house and hopefully collect myself, find focus.

The house was cleaned. Bob Dylan sang from my kitchen about girls from the north country and for an expanded moment in time, I felt un-real as in not real, not existing in current time - year, moment, seconds passing at regular intervals. I was the only person who experienced this moment. It was beautiful.

A friend summarized me as the simplistic observations and ideals of Miranda July with the unfortunate awkward scenarios of Larry David. I decided to let this one ruminate.

You Obviously Know What I'm Talking About

New environments reveal the less than savory idiosyncratic tendencies of people. Or more so, my own idiosyncrasies have become painfully apparent. And the more I experience it, the more I think about it. And the more I think about it, the worse it gets. For example.

I prefer to enter the restroom at work when no one is exiting, washing their hands, or currently in a stall.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

The eye contact is really what gets me. Or the lack there of. There is nothing comfortable about connecting glances with other females while entering or exiting a bathroom. It is even worse if you're both washing your hands simultaneously. The cake-topper: people brushing their teeth. Who does that? You are in a public space with people just trying to get in, do their business, and leave. And there she is perched over the sink, scrubbing her mouth and spitting. This is at the top of the "do-not-make-eye-contact" list.

But let's consider the eye contact. If you make eye contact on the way to the bathroom, perhaps exchange a forced "Hello," you know you're going to be sitting down at the same time. And thus begins the waiting game. Nothing comfortable about waiting for them to make the first move, but it's also hard to make yourself go under so much pressure. It's a game of wits. Usually I win, rush to wash my hands and leave. We will never speak of this interaction.

Next, if you're entering when they're exiting, you seem somehow excited. They pull open the door when you were trying push through. You essentially fall into them, make eye contact like, "I'm sorry, but you also entered the bathroom not that long ago, don't look at me like I'm crazy," give the "Sorry" smile, and proceed.

Also hope that you are not walking past a stall when someone is leaving one. It's just strange because you don't really want to feel like a robot who does not acknowledge another person's presence, but consider. Would you really want to make eye contact with that person leaving their stall moments after they did their business? It's like you're looking into their soul, saying, "I know what you just did. And everyone who comes in will, too." And no one wants to be on the giving or receiving end of these glances.

Find a happy medium. Know what your eye contact expresses. You don't want to appear to be the new person with zero confidence, but you also do not want to be the excitable, over eager one either. You enjoy simple interactions with human beings. Let the nuances happen. Acknowledge them. Smile. Learn from the everyday.

[cue the repetative alarm clock] Wednesday.

Catagorize this under "Living."

It's February second. Perhaps my favorite irrelevant holiday. Consider it a day to celebrate perhaps one of Bill Murray's best roles in the aptly titled Groundhog's Day.

As for today, according to the lack of Punxsutawney Phil's shadow in Punxsutawney, PA, spring is coming early.

But if I were to take a note from the film, today -- a bitterly cold and windy day -- will repeat itself over and over again. Even if I try to steal Punxsutawney Phil, the weather will not change. And how vague is his shadow! "Spring is coming early." Meaning a day? Because really, six more weeks of winter (the alternative) is quite a reality anyhow for us Minnesota tundra dwellers. I digress.

What should be said is love where you live. If you continually go through life yearning for something to come faster, to end sooner, you will never be able to enjoy. Things are always brighter somewhere else, sure. But move there if you're discontent. Your Norwegian blood loves this weather. So soke up what last bit of winter you can.

tuesday living

When guessing the caloric intake of a particular food item, aim low. It would seem the other way would be the "smarter" "more health conscious" way, but trust me, it's lower than you think. Don't learn the hard way again when trying to settle a tie in trivia. But don't fret, you didn't let your team down. All of you could be better listeners to the quiet but slightly sure voice at the table.

Related but entirely off topic.

Follow through is entirely crucial. Your punctuality has slipped mildly in the past months. Regain this. It's one of your best attributes. So this said, when a reservation is offered, happily accept and follow through. Although you may be skeptical, put yourself out there, show up on time, and enjoy life a little bit more.

Life; Monday

Life: Read directions thoroughly.

Upon adding/updating my beneficiaries for adult stuff (scary things they expect me to know about like 401k and life insurance now that I have a "grown-up" job) I was prompted to an initial page. Here, a highly convoluted message popped up about martial status with a "yes" and "no" button below.

For having been an English major, there is one thing everyone should know: I don't read well.

At least not in cases like this. I fail at anything remotely standardized. GRE? SAT? ACT? Fail. I skim through, and even if I do "read" it, I barely comprehend. So naturally upon selecting the yes or no, I click yes. Yes is usually the positive answer, the optimistic choice, and usually the one pertaining to me. So my eyes saw "married" and "not" and selected "Yes." Apparently yes is my knee-jerk. And then I realized that HR now thinks I'm married.

In an attempt to remedy the situation, I scoured the site, tried clicking back. No avail. Because my information now said "Married" it wouldn't allow me to add or change anything without including my spouse. Who neither exists, nor have I met.

So I utilized my morning break on the phone with HR. ...I accidentally clicked "yes"... No, I'm not married... I know I clicked yes, but no, I am not nor have I ever been married.

When you accidentally do things or you say you're married, your subconscious is not trying to tell you things. The only thing it may be trying to tell you is to slow down. You'd think that over twenty-four years, you would learn, but it's quite clear that you may never learn, as you keep on keepin' on like the stubborn bird you are. It's okay. As long as you continue to click "yes," at least we know you're consistent.

Life.

Friday.
Sage and apropos wisdom from my morning tea: "The whole life of man is but a point of time; let us enjoy it." -Plutarch

When people look to you for insight, consider that yes, you have lived a lot for your tender age. Your view is not unlike that of anyone else. Recall the existential issues you had when you were six years old; how you would continually ask your mother, "Why am I ME and not YOU?" Quandries were endless and pragmatism was not yet a thing. Continue this exploration. Don't ever forget that question, just as you'll never forget the time your mother dropped a bottle of nail polish on the ceramic floor when you were two.

Some things will never leave you; your idealisms are based in a grounded view of life, from your individual encounters and experiences; you can thank your parents for much of this.

Do bear in mind, when you advise peers to live spontaneously, to not allow yourself to live out your ideals vicariously through them. Sometimes, you should take your own advice. Be careless once in a while and live on whimsy. Allow your influences and outlook to be incorporated not only in your rhetoric but also in your living.

a note on categorization

Last year, my dear friend Christopher and I began categorizing our interactions as "Life" and "Living." We did this out of the realization that small exchanges were really quite astounding, that observations and comments can stand alone. The general catagory of "Life" sums up a blanket, a "this is life" sort of thing. Living is what happens in now, only when you are in motion. Which could be always. So these categories mean everything and perhaps nothing.

Our plan was to take these observational beauties and eventually make a book. We had pen names and all. Perhaps one day we will make this book. But in the meantime, I am utilizing these classifications for my everyday, to help me realize that "it's okay, this will probably mean something to you someday."

Life

Thursday.
Despite how resilient you think you are, you need more than five hours of sleep. Even though you used to do this quite regularly, you need a solid eight hours. Consider, you're getting older. You'll get through this, I promise.

living

Wednesday.
Today I woke up and felt alive. It feels remarkable to rise in the morning and not need anything. Almost three months has passed since I've had my routine coffee upon waking up. Coffee is now a novelty, no longer necessity.

Remember how it felt to make an outing specifically to smoke cigarettes and drink endless cups of coffee. You are a lot different from when you were seventeen. But recall that feeling of rebellion, of liberation, of living. You still have it, just let it happen.

catagorize under "life"

I made a promise to myself, in brevity, to put something in here each day. Here we go.

Today is Tuesday.
Don't forget to blow your candles out when you decide to fall asleep at 8:30. Be proud of your grown-up-good-night of sleep, but be mindful of your house. Remember, you love this house and all you keep in it.

Also, don't be alarmed that you did not know today's date. Although you are usually aware of the date and time, sometimes we all lose ourselves. This is why you bought a wrist watch. It has a box with the date in it. But don't be afraid if you forget to wear it, time will keep moving and you will continue to live.

A Wye Oak Monday

The start of a new week. I've stumbled quite heavily upon the new Wye Oak song "Civilian" and when I say heavily, you'll understand when you hear it. What a striking song; just stops you in your tracks. Anticipation for the April 5th Turf Club show is growing more every day.

http://soundcloud.com/cityslang/wye-oak-civilian

I am nothing without pretend
I know my thoughts
can't live with them
I am nothing without a man
I know my thoughts
but I can't hide them

I still keep my baby teeth
in the bedside table with my jewelry
you still sleep in the bed with me
my jewelry and my baby teeth

I don't need another friend
When most of them
I can barely keep up with them
Perfectly able to hold my own hair
but I still can't kiss my own neck

I wanted to give you everything
but I still stand in awe of superficial things
i wanted to love you like my mother's mother's mothers did
Civilian.

Swimming in a pool of all clear

There were stories and anecdotes I milled over to incorporate in my long-over-due post but are no longer relevant, no longer fresh.

My stories are not unlike the contents of my refrigerator. I habitually buy yet rarely use the goods I get at the grocery store. Having groceries puts some strange part of me to rest. It's like, if everything else hits the fan, I know I have food in my fridge, and that means something, right?

I just keep telling myself that what I'm doing probably means something, and is in someway "right." After applying to multiple jobs and getting multiple interviews and multiple rejection letters touting me as "the top candidate but seemingly over qualified," I decided to beat them to the punch for the next job I apply to and actually BE overqualified so I can shake my head "Yes" and say, "You know what, I am over-qualified, thank you for reiterating that fact for me." That said, I'm applying to graduate school.

And what a daunting awful thing it is. I signed up for a class to prepare me but all it seems to do is expose my flaws and inadequacies as a human being. It's simple, they tell me. Write a thesis sentence and then construct a coherent, five paragraph essay that clearly conveys your issue. Right. See, that wouldn't be a big deal but consider, A. I haven't written a thing, let alone a thoughtful technical essay in pressing six months and B. There is a constant voice I hear echoing through my thoughts that says "Don't be deadly dull, defy conventions." And there, I have my undergraduate education to thank. I was worked so thoroughly to the bone in the avenues of criticism and craft that I have debilitating anxiety and fear creating the very medium at hand.

So where exactly does this leave me? I have a plane ticket for Boston and a seat at the U of M reserved for the GRE. I'm out six hundred dollars and my anxiety levels have exponentially risen to an all time high. A part of me says, "You're in over your head Hanson, back out while you can." And another saying, "Seriously? Buck up, you asshole." Really no question remains, because, undoubtably I will take this exam. Sure, I may be in over my head, but as this post begs to prove, I can in fact produce a five paragraph something.

Happenings and

And then and then.

Things happen and things move and spaces change and people change and

Then nothing ever changes.

Three year cycle is the course I'm choosing to take.

I should really look into baking as a something. I already do it as a hobby actively. Breads, buckles, cookies, cupcakes are my zen therapy. That makes me want to puke, the saying that, that is. I'm like a true Martha fucking Stewart. Congratulations.

There is something about three years which allows my reset to reset--into place, into motion, into time. Three years ago, I had quit smoking, had lost someone dear, had gone through a wicked split and resurfaced with moments of clarity balanced with moments of sheer floundering.

We are people. We are living breathing organisms that feel things, like it or not. And then sometimes we document these things we see and feel to remind us that we are alive.

A new woman was born into my family yesterday, and somehow, some part of my being feels underwhelmed but also terribly hopeful that she can and will become an amazingly beautiful, driven and independent woman--if even a fraction like the one I, we, lost this year, then we will be in wonderful shape.

Also, there is a person, there are people I, we, meet that make us really feel alive.

i want to feel (hear) the wind blow
down my back
through my chest up into
my bones

sensations

in a time
recently i became a woman
felt like a woman, no longer a girl
age, a coming of
bigger than gender specific

senses of spacial relations
i can feel your resilience
you just don't know it yet

distance, a future is calling
this limbo will not last
but in time, vast expanses

Life

i feel great today, thanks.