Summer Solstice

And now I will attempt to describe a terrible darkness in terms of great light.

Like grains in an hourglass regularly turned,
the units of light readily apparent in any given spot wax and wane:
from a crisp autumnal sunset on a day when the globes are perfectly matched,
slowly draining through a long, dark winter,
until a day comes when there is scarcely any light remaining,
and the tender hand of the universe slowly and methodically turns the glass again.
Here the osmosis gently reverses.
The grains of luminescence gradually accumulate
until once again the scales sit unwavering,
the hourglass balanced precisely on a cool spring morning.
But only for a moment.
Because the sunlight doesn’t stop;
it accelerates as the spring races to meet the summer,
passing the solar baton in a spectacular fashion,
the grains rapidly piling up and up and up,
culminating in a tremendous crescendo of brilliant light

on this day:
June 20th.
(Or thereabouts.)
When the opposite end of the sun’s hourglass hangs heavy
as a plump peach, ripe for the picking.

It is this very day that children live for.
For this marvelous day when
“you can play outside until dark”
feels like getting away with murder.
This fantastic solstice and its surrounding cushion
are where sweet summer memories are made.
The concentration of sunlight in these days is almost violent:
with firecrackers popping
and bomb pops melting
and cannon balls exploding into cool, clear neighborhood pools
— all on what feels like “bonus time.”

And of course, the epitome of all things summer evening:
fireflies.
Like the last little bits of sun,
protesting the eventual onset of darkness,
easing its arrival with a reassuring reminder that light’s still there,
winking knowingly as you try desperately to hold them in your hand
and keep them forever.

Catching fireflies was always my favorite summer thing.

I hope this resonates with you.
I hope you have your own memories of wringing the last drop of sunlight out of those summer evenings,
tap-tap-tapping on the hourglass to make sure you got your June’s worth of adventure.
I hope that you closed your eyes and smiled softly inward as you recalled them.

Because if you, too, passed the other 3 inferior seasons eagerly anticipating the abundance of sunlight that summer affords,
waiting with bated breath for that hourglass to flip and fill,
then maybe you’ll understand

when I explain to you that depression is waiting for the sun to hurry up and set so that you can rightly go to bed.

Imagine what it would be like to wake up on June 20th and realize that you haven’t seen a single lightning bug this year–
not because they’re not there,
but because you aren’t.
Because for a couple seasons, now,
after waking up already tired,
and passing the day in a sad, uncomfortable haze,
unable or unwilling or both to do much at all outside of your bed,
you just sit nightly by your window
and wait in agony for the sun to set,
cursing those extra minutes and seconds of daylight
that you once treasured.

Because all you want to do
is go back to sleep.

That which once brought you such pure, unadulturated joy,
now brings you a mocking, tormented sort of pain.

This is depression.

But thankfully, just like minutes of sunlight,
the weight of depression waxes and wanes,
and with time,
and hard work,
and courage,
and patience,
the desire for bedtime to arrive
gradually eases.

Just like the falling of night,
the longing for sleep comes a minute or so later
every night
until one night
when you find yourself sitting around a backyard with friends,
in still-damp swimsuit,
smiling and laughing,
and just as the thought strikes you
that you haven’t done any of those things in a very long time,

you notice the knowing wink of a firefly.

 

This post is about getting rid of plantar warts!

Yup. For real. This post is not about love, or birding, or self-discovery, or mental illness, or playing outside (wait, it is a little bit about playing outside), or Lake Erie, or my tragic relationship stories. It’s about warts. I’m serious. You probably don’t want to read this. Turn back now.

But there are some people out there who need to hear my words about warts! This post is for them.

Really, this is your last chance to turn back if you don’t care about warts.

Okay, you’ve been… WARTned… ok that didn’t really work.

Basically, I have had been plagued by the cursed little beasties known as plantar (or plantar’s, or Plantar’s, I don’t really care) warts for years and years now. They first appeared in high school. I remember sitting in the bathroom with my first girlfriend nervously opening one of those Dr. Scholl’s freeze-a-way kits and trying to… well… freeze them away. Spoiler alert: warts (or my warts, at least) are not afraid of the cold.

Ever since then, I’ve tried everything to get rid of these angry harbingers of ugliness and slight discomfort. I’ve tried everything over the counter. I’ve tried duct tape and other means of “suffocating” them. I’ve been taking vitamins A and D for a couple years to try to kill the virus itself. I’ve tried castor oil, garlic, vinegar, the rest of the kitchen cabinet. I’ve tried manually removing them at home (ouch) and at a podiatrist’s office (double ouch). I’ve tried everything short of surgery. And they always come back. Always. I finally gave up and decided that the universe just wants me to have warty feet.

So imagine my utter surprise when I noticed a couple weeks ago that my foot was actually looking better. Yesterday I looked again, and lo and behold, each wart is slowly getting smaller and less ugly. What the heck?! What’s changed in the past couple months?

The seasons, that’s what! Pete Seeger was right: there’s a season for everything, and apparently summer is not the season for warts.I put two and two together and realized that I’ve been walking around barefoot for the past couple months.

Now, I go around barefoot every summer, but never as much as I have been this summer. (I’ve been at my parents’ house in the suburbs where there are fewer shattered liquor bottles decorating the sidewalk.) My warts have been getting intimate with concrete, dirt, and rocks–and they don’t get along well.

And as any good wild child knows, going around barefoot makes your feet a little Mowgli-ish. My soles have gotten a little thicker and rougher, with some callouses. But I can definitely tell that it’s not just callouses covering up the warts. The warts themselves are absolutely getting smaller. I’d say they’re about half the size they were a month ago.

So that’s it! Dr. Lauren’s* prescription for banishing plantar warts for good: go around barefoot. Go play in the forest. Go walk in the river. Go climb a tree. And don’t wear shoes! You’ll thank me.

*I am very obviously not a doctor. This blog post is not a substitute for medical advice. If you have severe warts or whatever, go to a real doctor. I cannot be held liable for any unfortunate thing that happens to you while you are walking around barefoot. Shit happens.

Love: No Lighter Fluid Needed

I originally published this post on my Medium page. But I can’t decide whether I actually like Medium. So now I’m putting it here. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’ve had a handful of enjoyable yet ultimately inconsequential relationships. These were largely about sex, about buying each other lunch, about having another warm body around. They were nice and full of caring and, best of all, uncomplicated. And there’s nothing wrong with having relationships like these.

I’ve also had two relationships that each changed the course of my proceeding life. Two decidedly un-un-complicated relationships. Two “real” relationships, “grown up” relationships. Relationships where saying “I love you” was never even flinched at, and words like “our” and “future,” and “when we” and “buy a house” were smashed together without a second thought, like particles colliding and creating big booms of emotion. You know. Those relationships.

Both of those two relationships were wild straight out of the gate. They were each like a campfire started with a healthy dose of lighter fluid and newspaper: the meekest match-flame rapidly expanded with a flash of blinding light and a wave of overwhelming heat. Yes, with those two women, love went from a schoolgirl crush to a roaring fire in what seems in retrospect like the blink of an eye.

But then in both of those relationships, eventually — just like fires founded on lighter fluid and newspaper and other such shortcuts — love quietly sputtered. It happened so suddenly that we were still dancing around the fire before we realized it had gone out. We were left quite unexpectedly in the cold, dark night, each blinking blankly at the space where we had just moments ago seen the other standing beside us.

As most heartbroken exes have, I’ve spent many long, weepy nights struggling to figure out what went wrong in each of these cases. Where could I have done something different to create a different outcome? Why didn’t this work? How did this happen? There’s some gasoline in the shed, I think– should I go get it?

Eventually I learned that those questions don’t necessarily have answers, and if they do, they’re unhelpful at best (and mentally anguishing at worst). I realized that in both those cases, beneath the violently passionate flame of new love, we didn’t have much to support us. It was like we’d gone out and bought all these fancy lights and bells and whistles and accessories for a bicycle that was missing its drivetrain and back wheel.

I’ve learned that if you want a relationship to burn steadily for a long time, it must be built upon a solid foundation. Whether you like your campfires teepee-style or log cabin-style, it doesn’t matter, take your pick — as long as there’s something underneath you for support. No lighter fluid needed.

That brings me to my second — and perhaps harder to swallow — point. When you’re building a campfire for the long haul, one that will burn steadily and keep you warm for a very long time, it means that you might not necessarily see a great rising pyre at the outset. Love doesn’t always start with a wild roar. Sometimes it starts with a whisper that slowly, methodically increases in urgency. Don’t assume that because a person didn’t radiate a sort of heavenly light the very first time you clapped eyes on her, she’s not “the one.”

Maybe we have to grow our love from seed. Maybe we don’t always have a jump-start, a dramatic reaction, a quick ignition. Maybe we have to build love the old-fashioned way: with tinder and kindling and fuel to burn on. We have to provide the spark ourselves, then fan it tenderly, giving it plenty of room to breathe. No lighter fluid needed.

I guess what I’m asking you to do is to not ignore the one who seems like a great partner but ahh there’s just no chemistry, ya know? No spark. You might be surprised to figure out that you are capable of making your own spark, with a little patience and effort. And the fire you make by your own hand will be brighter and warmer for a much longer time.

On Purpose

Here’s my response to WordPress’ daily prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/purpose/

Purpose is something I’ve struggled a lot with lately. It’s queer how such an abstract noun can affect such concrete consequences in one’s life.

We speak often about our lives “having Purpose.” What does this actually mean? Is Purpose a little slip of paper with a short checklist of tasks to be accomplished, passed out by someone on your first day of adulthood? Did I miss that day?

Is Purpose a vocation — firefighter, accountant, kayak guide — that I was supposed to choose based upon that multiple-choice test they had us take in high school? I think I was under the bleachers kissing my first girlfriend when they went over the results.

Is Purpose finding a thing that you love to do, and doing it all the time? I’ve seen written: “do what you love and the money will follow.” So I spend an afternoon birdwatching, and when I return to my car and go to put my binoculars back in their case, I am shocked to find that no currency of any sort has materialized in there.

Is Purpose a prize you stumble across while sweeping the sand of some great beach with a device designed to detect destiny? Am I to simply keep walking, plotting a methodical course, waving my arms steadily back and forth in front of me, waiting to hear a beep? How do I know I’m even on the right beach?

A couple months ago, I was offered an incredible opportunity to work as an Interpretive Planner with Taylor Studios, Inc., one of the nation’s premiere exhibit design firms. I was over the moon. I pulled myself up by my roots and found myself trying to replant them in Champaign, IL.

Obviously, this opportunity was a Big Deal for my Life Purpose. A full-time job! A salary! Moving On Up! Finding My Way! Lots of capital letters, and all.

And it was, sure. It was a great job, working with great people, doing important things. TSI is an incredible company. I loved it there.

But things happened. Things I didn’t expect and couldn’t have foreseen even with the best pair of optics on the market. A latent depression that, cicada-like, returns to stretch its legs and see what’s new. Anxiety that I’ve always carried around abruptly getting much heavier, and commencing a curious ticking sound. A longing for my family and friends and homeland so profound that it must surely be some evolutionary remnant of a migratory urge.

I had found Great Purpose in my Great Move and Great Job and Great Growing Up. So why was I suffering to the tune of unbearable?

I think it’s largely because I thought I knew more about Purpose than I really did. I find this is a great causer of problems in many different arenas, this gap between what we think we know and what we really do, and then between those two and what we can ever actually really know.

So here I am, just giving you a gentle reminder that maybe you don’t know all that much about your Purpose, even if you think you do. Don’t be surprised if Things Happen and quietly, almost tenderly tear your theory to shreds. Don’t be surprised, and don’t despair. You’re on the same beach I’m on. You can keep searching frantically for Purpose if you want, but I’ve decided to just sit back and watch the tide for awhile, and I’m doing just fine.