Day 3421 - Threes

Hello all,

It's been a fairly good week--a few days off, a fantastic Postal Service concert at Red Rocks, macaroni and cheese--, and I thought I would share some things.

Most specifically, I've had an idea over the past few days that I can't seem to shake.  The idea is this:

When any individual has three continuous vacation days in a row--and it must be three (no more, no less)--it is inevitable that said individual will reevaluate his or her course in life.  Specifically, they will find that, when they return to work, the priorities they had valued before their leave now seem not-so-worthwhile.  

For example, I had a three day hiatus from work this week.  During this time, I came up with some great ideas for my future (inspired largely by this, this, and maybe a little bit of this).  I felt inspired and invigorated--ready to try new things and take risks!  It seems that three days is just long enough to get delusions like that.  It's just long enough for the mind to start adventuring but just short enough to keep it from getting lost.

With this in mind, I think I am going to try and structure my time in three day increments from now on.

Upon reading this, some of you may remember that in high school I wanted to start measuring time in "snoozes"--that is, the length of time allowed by the average alarm clock snooze button (i.e. 9 minutes)--and I still stand by that idea!

But this one should work as well: Day 1 for rest and errands, Day 2 for plotting grand schemes, Day 3 for coffee drinking and walking around in fields of moderately well-manicured grass.

So, that's the plan.  I will post my findings on this blog in the most scientific fashion I can muster.

Stuff I Did as a Function of Days I Didn't Do Stuff

Yes.

love always,
-jim.

P.S. Also this.

Day 3409 - Thoughts on Flat Tires and the Bicyclical Nature of Things

Hey there internet,

I was just writing to let you know that my bicycle has had a flat tire since last fall.  It's an easy fix, and I have the tools that I need, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.  So, my bike currently sits in my chicken-wire-clad storage unit, gathering dust, waiting for me to complete this simple task.

But I haven't yet.  So, yes.

Things have been pretty slow around here lately.  I've gotten into a consistent groove of work days and laundry days--and I've managed to make an assortment of peanut butter sandwiches to cover both.
My haircuts occur on a fairly regular schedule and just last night I made a trip to the store to buy a watch battery. (Watch batteries, as you may know, are the most monotonously specific sort of batteries, which only people who are really intent on using actually purchase).  This is the life of a comfortable, semi-regimentally-routined twenty something.  This is the dream.

About a week ago, my neighbors who live upstairs left their music on full blast until about two in the morning.  It was frustrating, and after a long while banging on the door and calling the landlord it finally shut off.  But even after the music stopped I had a hard time getting to sleep.  I think it was because the whole time I wasn't really thinking about how the music was loud or how I had to work in the morning.  The whole time I was thinking: 

This is really unfair because these people have only lived here a few months, and I've lived here for like ten!  If I wanted to be loud, I could, because I was here first!  They've barely lived here!  I've paid my dues!  Loud music is my unalienable right and mine alone!  I am tenant to the first degree!  

Eventually this made me feel silly, and I went to sleep.

I think in every situation you inevitably reach that point of entitlement when you declare yourself master of all your surroundings.  At some point there's a moment when you consistently think of yourself as Tenant¹, or Employee¹, or Loud Music Player¹ and nothing else really matters.  You've risen to the top and you're staying there, damn it.

And sometimes that's a good thing.  You've learned a lot on your way there.  Maybe you've learned that the bottom dryer at your apartment doesn't require quarters if you hit the button just right.  Or perhaps you've discovered that there are certain systems at work that will run really slow unless you know the right work arounds.  Your confidence comes from your knowledge--and your knowledge is vastly larger than when you started.

That being said, there are very few surprises at the top.  I'm at a point in my job where I've stopped asking very many questions.  I simply replay the same scenarios day after day.  I repeat the same idea over and over in my head:  I've paid my dues.  I'm employee to the first degree.  I'm good at what I do.  My confidence in my tasks destroys my confidence in myself.

This is all a very roundabout way of saying that I'm looking for a new challenge.  Any time you become the big fish in the little pond, it's probably time to find a new pond.  I need to find something that can make me start asking questions again, something that can entirely devour my schedule and lifestyle with the promise of a challenge.  I will not be satisfied until my work/laundry schedule is entirely messed up--until I cannot find the time to make myself peanut butter sandwiches--until I can be the loud neighbor without having lived there long enough to have earned it!

What that challenge might be, I have no idea--but I'm open to suggestions.

I'll try to get involved in anything if it helps me accomplish this simple goal:

Some day soon, someone will come up to me while I'm working on whatever my new endeavor might be, and they'll ask, "Hey, did you ever get your bike fixed?"

And slowly--through a thick tangle of unkempt hair, my dirty t-shirt hanging from my unfed body--I'll reply, "No, I haven't gotten around to it yet."* 

love always,
-jim.  

*This is a metaphor.  

In reality, I would like to fix my bike so I can ride it to coffee shops and parks and junk.  

    

Day 3121 - Comfortable

"Now, what I’m thinking of is, people always saying, 'Well, what do we do about a sudden blockage in your writing? What if you have a blockage and you don’t know what to do about it?' . . . In the middle of writing something you go blank and your mind says: 'No, that’s it.' Ok. You’re being warned, aren’t you? Your subconscious is saying, 'I don’t like you anymore. You’re writing about things I don’t give a damn for.' You’re being political, or you’re being socially aware. You’re writing things that will benefit the world. To hell with that! I don’t write things to benefit the world. If it happens that they do, swell. I didn’t set out to do that. I set out to have a hell of a lot of fun."  -Ray Bradbury

So it's been a good long while since I last wrote here, and I find that I am extremely comfortable with how the last year has gone.

I am secure. I spend 32 hours a week at work. I'm becoming a regular at the Park Meadows Starbucks (grande vanilla latte, $3.85).  I'm confident with my job security and my health insurance and my performance reviews.  I've gotten used to my commute along C470 in the afternoon, calculating my gas mileage (16.170mpg) every time I stop at the 7/11 on Mineral and Santa Fe.  My diet has been sufficiently regulated--an app on my phone allows me 1,740 calories a day.  Everyday that I'm at work, I eat a turkey sub for lunch, with a medium Diet Dr. Pepper.  When I get home, I feel comfortable sitting in bed and eating a whole thing of blueberries.  Every Tuesday, I play trivia at Jordan's Pub and am confident that our team will always place fourth.  Every Wednesday, I play trivia at The Pioneer and am confident that our team will always place fourth to last.  I have things locked down.

But I understand that this isn't how I should be.

This was the year that I told myself was going to be a year of revelation--a year that really made me understand what it was I was supposed to be doing in the world.  I was going to read and write and completely immerse myself in a life that I would create as I went along, flying by the seat of my pants.  Writing would happen easily--organically; It would find me so simply that I would have no choice but to wake up every morning to the loud buzz of ideas flitting around in my head.  Ideas pressing increasingly harder at the edges of my temples, begging to get out, to become real.  I am not supposed to be comfortable--I am supposed to be exploding. 

But that hasn't really happened.  I haven't read much and I haven't written much and I haven't been uncomfortable much.

I sign a new lease tomorrow, on an apartment down near DU, and I can't help but think of it as a metaphor.  Either it will represent another routine--a comfortable 12-month promise of a strictly defined lifestyle--or it will be a clean break.  And the thing that scares me is that I'm afraid that I've written this before--written that I am at a precipice, and something is finally going to change that will motivate me and everything will change.  Yet again, I'm writing about a self-imposed boundary that will determine my success or failure. 

But perhaps that's just the comfortable post for me to write.  Perhaps that is what I write routinely when I want to escape routines.  Which is a bit of a conundrum, isn't it?  I often feel like it's a way for my subconscious to work against itself--one side saying, "Yes! You're nearly there! Just cross that line and you've made it! This is where things change, and it gets easier!" and the other side saying, "I don't like you anymore. You're writing about things I don't give a damn for.  You're writing about things that are outside my comfort zone."

Well, "to hell with that," subconscious--I think I'm ready to be uncomfortable.

-jim.

Day 2838 - Ira Glass

So yesterday James, Gretchen, and I drove up to Fort Collins to see the number one person on my "People Who Inspire You" List: Ira Glass.  And I've spent the last hour or so trying to write a blog about it.

I'm finding that it's extremely difficult to put into words how amazing it is to see someone doing exactly what I want to do with my life (and especially doing it extremely well).  And it's not just difficult to describe because I feel like my writing won't live up to Ira's style of storytelling, but also because summing up a two hour talk from someone with such amazing insight always seems like a cheap shot: spouting out a few slogans, or soundbites, completely out of context and with little regard to. . . well anything really.

I'd have to say that what I love about Ira Glass is that he's so completely honest, and it seems like distilling that raw emotion, or power--or whatever you want to call it--into a blog feels like cramming a library full of all the best stories in the world into a fortune cookie.  Sure, I could talk about how he basically cut audio into what sounded exactly like an episode of This American Life right there on stage using just a microphone and an iPad.  Or I could tell you any number of quotes that gave me chills.  I'm sure you would be interested about the part of the talk when he made a balloon animal poodle and gave it to a lady in the fifth row, which was fantastic.  But that couldn't begin to sum it up.  
Summing it up would be impossible.  As Ira said yesterday, "The goal isn't to report what is new.  It's to report what is."  Not just the flash, but the real truthy details of something.

And I must say, when that is your goal, blogging becomes extremely difficult.    

Blogging with that in mind is like having Ira Glass standing over my shoulder, his glasses gently reflecting the light of my computer screen.  And he's softly mumbling, "I was, um. . . I was really inspiring today, you know what I mean?  And it's like you didn't really absorb it.  You tried to absorb it, but you didn't really absorb it.  I've gotta tell you, uh, I don't know if you. . . If you really understood it."

And that picture is super intimidating right about now, so instead of trying to sum up honestly, I'll just leave you with this:



love always,
-jim.

P.S. Two more things:

1. Nanowrimo starts tomorrow and I'm going to try really, really hard this year (fingers crossed).
2. I've been thinking over the past couple of weeks that I really want to apply to be a This American Life intern, and hearing Ira Glass speak today only confirmed my aspiration (fingers crossed).       

   

Day 2833 - A Snow Day

So it snowed tonight.  And it seems like every year during the first snow, everyone rediscovers snow for the first time.  Facebook is filled with status updates: Snow! It's snowing! I hope tomorrow's a snow day!  People look out their windows with a sort of odd curiosity, like they'd forgotten that snow even existed--like summer was so long that it made them forget the comfort of a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.  The first snow seems to bring back all those memories in a flood.

Most years I share the sentiment of those people.  No matter how old I get, I seem to gasp whenever I first see flakes outside my window.  But this year--for the first time in a long time--I find myself simply zipping my sweatshirt slightly higher and looking out the window thinking, how strange.

The biggest snow storm I can remember started 14 years ago yesterday--my birthday.  It might not have been the biggest storm during my lifetime, but it was about 150% of the average October precipitation and it did lead to the postponement of my ninth birthday party--which, at that age, was a fairly catastrophic scheduling adjustment.   

On that day, my dad dug out trenches in the snow like a maze, and I spent the entire day outside.  I think I built a snowman and a snow fort; and I probably fantasized about throwing snowballs at passersby--but I don't think that I actually did.  I just camped out, my black and purple coat soaking up the snow, until it got dark.  And I did the same thing for the next two days until the blizzard was gone.  It was a pretty good birthday--and a pretty good snow day.

However, this year I find that I'm not sure if I want a snow day.  When I look at the snow, I don't heave any sigh of relief or wipe my brow at the prospect of escaping work or stress.  I really just see snow.

And that's not to say that I haven't been working.  I've been working a lot.  It's almost all that I do.

Instead, I think it's because I'm in a sort of in-between time.  Between my work in college and my work on my career--whatever that may be.  I'm in the transition between my education and my passion.  And maybe you don't really need a snow day during that time.  You just need to spend all of your time trying to figure out where you're headed and what work you love to do.  And once you find that work, that's when you can start to remember--despite the length of the summer--what winter is like.  You can finally remember the comfort of a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.  But until then, you just keep searching for the job that is your job and the future that is your future.  You keep searching, and once you find it you can understand its amazement again.

At least I hope that's the case, because this year I can't help but fear that I'm stuck in a rut and I need a change of seasons as a soon as possible.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2807 - You've Got Mail

Hello everyone,

So it's about 3 in the morning, and I can't sleep.  And because I can't sleep, I've spent the last few hours updating my computer.  I installed a new operating system, rearranged folders, synced my calendars, and started transitioning from my CSU email account to Gmail.

I've set the emails to automatically forward from the old account to the new one--so they are slowly trickling in every few seconds.  This means that I've spent the past two hours or so just watching them come in, one by one, as though they are being sent right now by computers that are just processing things far too late.  And I must say, it's a strange feeling seeing messages come through from old professors, and coworkers, and classmates about subjects that I've for the most part forgotten--seemingly allowing me to relive the past few years of my life in fast-forward.

In high school I would spend almost every weeknight sitting in front the computer hitting the refresh button on my email over and over again.  High school me would hit the refresh and wait for some sort of message, any message really, as I watched the tiny hourglass icon spin around.  I really have no idea why I did that.  It seems silly now, as I don't think I ever really got many emails.  But there was something therapeutic about the act of hitting refresh, like I was searching for something, waiting for something.  But looking back, I can't help but wonder what it was that I was waiting for.

Tonight, I received over 3000 emails from my old address.  Some were from coworkers looking to get shifts covered.  Others were from professors sending out announcements or syllabi.  There were stories from writing group and fiction workshops, emails from close friends and forgotten acquaintances.  There were emails that said basically nothing the first time that I read them, but mean a lot now.  When I got my first email from Mike (detailing the iBox lost and found policy), I never would have thought he'd be my future roommate.  When James and I first emailed our lease for the Edwards house, I had no idea that the sprinkler system would explode in the winter or that our living room would become one of my all-time favorite places.  If only I could talk to Freshmen Year Jim and tell him all the things that he had on the horizon.   

It's funny to see how much of my life I've put into email.  Even when I didn't know it.  These seemingly insignificant fragments of text have plotted the course of my jobs, my writing, my friendships.  I still can't explain the pride that I felt receiving the email announcing the birth of my nephew, Malcom, or the emptiness that I felt after the email that announced the death of my granddad.

It's incredible to me how much a person can say to another person, even when they aren't trying to.  Even in a medium that seems so adroit at saying nothing particularly significant, I can find a way to immerse myself in the ridiculously varied layers of meaning that compose life.  I find myself analyzing the smallest correspondences, wishing that I could predict what the words will mean five years from now.  Searching for that one sentence that will sum up this time in my life, this particular experience.     

How apt then, that I should be here at four in the morning, once again hitting "refresh."

love always,
-jim.

P.S. The new email is james.e.taggart@gmail.com.  Send me something that will make for a good read in five years.    
  

Day 2745 - Moving Day

Hello Everyone,

Sorry about the delay in any posts recently--the Summer of Jim is coming to a close, and it has been pretty crazy.  But, since it's moving day and this will be the last post that I write from this wonderful town, I thought it would be appropriate to write a sort of farewell blog.  A farewell to CSU, farewell to Fort Collins, farewell to college years sort of blog.

But first, in the interest of housekeeping, here are some updates on things that have happened, which people might not know about if they haven't seen me in a while:

• I'm not going to graduate school.  I got in, but I have relatively little money and I feel like having an adventure.  So the MFA is being put on hold in support of finding an internship, a job, and visiting Lindsay when she studies abroad. 
• I've been doing pretty poorly at writing every day.  Perhaps a summer with no school or job commitments made me pretty lazy?  (i.e. all play and no work makes Jim a dull boy)?
• Considering the points above, I am moving to Denver, land of opportunity and free rent at my parents' house.

Alright, so we're all caught up.  Fantastic.  And I must say, that little bit of closure was probably the easy part; the rest of this blog is going to be really difficult to write.  This is primarily because I am very sad to be moving, but also because there are three painters in my house right now who are pacing back and forth through all of my furniture-less rooms, commenting about nail holes and dings on door frames.  The carpet cleaners will arrive this afternoon to share their own comments about the glob of blue ink on the floor near the window.  So, I can't help but feel like property management is already doing its best to erase any indication that I ever lived here.

So hopefully this post can serve as a sort of time capsule.

I lived in the house on Edwards St. for two years, from August 2009-August 2011.  My stay started in the semi-famous "rappe' basemaux" unit, where I lived in a room the size of a closet and stubbed my toes on uneven ceramic tiles, before moving upstairs to a regular sized bedroom.  During that time, I was involved with my first writing group (but you knew that, because--if you are reading this--it is likely that you were also a member).  In October, I celebrated my 21st and 22nd birthdays, and Lindsay and I had our second and third anniversaries.  I played a lot of video games, learned how to cook relatively edible food, and began referring to Fort Collins as "home" and Littleton as "my folks' house."

I also rode my bike, mowed the lawn, and sat on the front stoop watching people pass on the sidewalk.  From this house, I embarked on three trips to Wyoming--two of which were successful and one of which was food poisoning.  There were failed attempts to have a "Hoity-Toity Well-To-Do Affair," to invent a new type of cocktail, and to eventually visit the Number 1 Chinese Super Buffet around the corner.  I made new friends, ate good food, wrote stories, and generally enjoyed life.

The last two years were the best years of my life thus far, and I feel like the biggest idiot for moving away.  But I think it's time to get started with being a grown up (er whatever).

So, as I write to you from a strangely empty house where only myself, a file cabinet, and three painters remain, I feel like I need to admit--as I always do--that something is changing.  Perhaps more so than ever.

College years, you've served me well and I will miss you dearly.  Thanks for everything.

Love always,
-jim.