When you don't know

When you don't know what you want, it's probably time to begin enjoying what you have.

 My problem has been that I want too much and can't decide what I want more when I realize that I can't have it all. I want a house. A house that my couch can fit into. A dog. New bookcases. New dresser. A yard. A kayak. A big savings account.

A few months ago I decided that renting a house and adopting a dog would be my plan for the summer. $550 was my rent-cap, and that's $100 more than I'm paying now for my adorable third-floor downtown apartment. I thought, I'll find a house with all appliances (even w/d) and a yard for under $550 in either Hampton Heights or Converse Heights and then I'll adopt a dog and then life will be perfect. Only recently did I realize that I would not want to live in any of the houses that I could rent for under $550.

So I've been trying to think of what I want more and for what motivations. I want a house because I could use my awesome couch again and garden and have a "stand alone" and get a dog and feel complete, like an adult. But, just now, I'm starting to feel like a social human being, something I should have experienced in college. Just now, I'm making friends that I feel comfortable around and will do things with on a whim because I live so close and because it feels good. Living in a house that wasn't in the middle of Hampton Heights next to everyone I know (because I can't afford that) would likely make me revert being alone all of the time, as it would make me put more effort into going out. As is, I can walk over to HUB-BUB or the Bookshop whenever I want. Plus, if I moved into a house I wouldn't be able to get a dog because I wouldn't be able to afford a dog and a house. So, if I can't have the dog with the house, is there still the motivation to move to a house. Not as much, I guess. I mean, sure, that's what I want, but do I need it? No.

So here I am always wanting wanting wanting when I have a pretty awesome apartment and a sweet, adorable cat and the freedom to leave for a weekend or a week and not worry too much. I should enjoy what I have and make the most of what I have, which is a lot. A lot of really good stuff. So I can allow myself now to spend a little on new bookcases and maybe a dresser because that's what I need here, and if I'm not spending a ton of money on moving, I can afford it. I can also think more seriously about fostering dogs and, still, adopting, though I have to make sure everything is ready and I am committed to a change in lifestyle.

You really didn't need to know all of this, but I've needed to write it out, and it only hit me today when I read that quote on a friend's Facebook page and then talked to Jedsen about my wants and practicalities that what I really want is to not want. I'm restless--not in my job--but in my living environment and situation, which I've always been. I want to constantly update and change the conditions under which I live, and I can still do that from here--only in smaller ways than moving.

Accumulation and Culmination

...read it over on the HUB-Blog: Accumulation and Culmination

Such great heights

Kerri & Kari on Looking Glass Mountain

She wishes.

Golden

Before yesterday's hike on Looking Glass Mountain with Kerri and Cheryl, I looked up what to do if we encountered a bear. Turns out you're supposed to back away slowly while making yourself big and making noise. Be orally intimidating.

We didn't see a bear, but it was good to know that Cheryl has a lot of experience with bears (in her backyard, on a trail, in trees) from when she lived in Western Massachusetts (which was until 2 weeks ago). We also had her large retriever Atticus with us. He looks like he could be a black bear.

Now I know, and I feel more empowered. Though not stupid, of course.

What I still haven't figured out yet is how to handle this intense desire to adopt a dog when I still haven't figured out if this is the right time financially, emotionally, and environmentally. Today it hit me harder than ever before. I made a lap around the kennels at the Humane Society before deciding who to work with first. When I saw Gaige, a one-year-old golden retriever mix near the end of the front row, it was connection at first site. I knew she would be the one I walked first--she had to be.

I spent a few minutes with Smokey the retriever puppy before going back to Gaige. She was quiet, calm, and didn't jump when I entered the kennel. We got the leash on and walked outside together. As soon as the door closed behind us, Gaige turned around, stood up, and put her arms on my chest. I've come to know this as a dog hug, a need for the dog to feel close to me. She didn't push, just rested against my chest and stayed there for nearly a minute, content to stand. I motioned her down and told her we should go walk.

Every few steps she would look up at me or turn her body, excited, to see I was still there. She walked steady at my side. I was the only volunteer there at this time, so there were no other dogs to play with outside. We spent a long time in the dog run chasing after balls together, and then we just sat on the bench. She just wanted to sit beside me and sometimes lay down partially on my lap. She was happy, and our connection grew more and more. She seemed like the perfect dog for me: size, activity, affection. I started trying to plan getting her into my week. I started trying to schedule her into my life. I started feeling completely torn between wanting her so bad and still measuring the "right timing." After a walk, I reluctantly took her back, only to continue wondering if this could be the dog, if this could be the time.

I went down the line of dogs on her side and walked several other precious pups, but I made sure to say hello to her when I passed. A few dogs later, I saw a young couple kneeling in front of her kennel. The guy was on the phone. The girl was smiling. I instantly knew they were thinking of adopting her. I instantly started tearing up.

When I came back around twenty minutes later, Gaige's informational paper was gone, which meant she was being considered for adoption. When I came back twenty minutes after that, the paper was still gone. When I went out into the lobby to turn in a medical form for another dog, I saw the couple at the counter with a brand new leash, and the man had a credit card in his hand.

As I was leaving, I had to ask. They said yes, they were adopting Gaige. We talked about her for a few minutes, about what I had noticed and loved about her earlier, and they were so excited about taking her home. It felt good knowing they were the ones taking her.

But I've never experienced this connection with a dog before...followed by immediate rejection. The dogs I have fallen for in the past have disappeared in the middle of the week, and I've had to believe that they've been adopted into a good home. But this, it all happened so hard and so fast. The serious consideration and then the heartbreak.

But perhaps it was a sign that it's still not time for me.

I'm almost positive I want to move to a (rental) house this summer. Jedsen got a job in Chicago and is moving there at the beginning of June. I'm having trouble keeping everything balanced, knowing what is a priority and what is a need due to restlessness.

Restlessness. That is my plight here, as I'm not really lonely. I want to do everything and all at once. Restlessness: a need for more stuff and less stuff, to move and not to move, to read and to hike, to write and to watch documentaries, to explore and to rest.