Determined to become the next Bob Villa I have been on a home improvement, do it yourself frenzy. Last night’s order of business – installing new light fixtures. Within in moments of pulling my newly purchased fixtures from their boxes I dropped one of the ballnuts belonging to the bathroom sconce. For the next 45 minutes it became my life objective to find that damn thing. Had you called me at that moment and said “I know where the ballnut is, but in order for me to tell you, you have to change your name to Moby Dick”, I would have said yes. No joke. Under the bed, in the sheets, aside the curtains, behind boxes, in dark corners. I looked everywhere, no ballnut. I started getting frustrated. My mind started racing. “I only walked 5 feet, I can see a small sliver of glass on the floor, why can’t I see a ballnut, surely it’s near my bike tire, what the fuck, how did this happen, I must be looking to hard, step back, nope nowhere, what did I do in my previous life to deserve this, does the world hate me?” Naturally, 80% of my thoughts were irrational, but they were thoughts nonetheless. After 45 minutes my time was running short. I was meeting, Hans, who I often to refer to as one of my spiritual mentors at Remedy Teas at 8:00. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys and did one final glance before exiting. As I turned the lock on my front door I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn ballnut. I accepted the unfortunate event and thought to myself, “Well fuck it. If I deserve it, it will come”.
When I arrived at Remedy Hans was already there. Damn it, he beat me. We ordered small pots and headed to a table against the wall. He gifted me yet another book for my collection, “The Teachings of Don Juan”, we digested our days and started to catch up. Our conversation took us from work to passions. From experiences to confessions. From energy to love. From philosophy to math. From family to acceptance. One glaring theme throughout the evening continued to be self-awareness. Of ourselves. Of others. The nonexistence of, in some cases. We talked about the significance of self-awareness, both as a burden and a blessing. We discussed our core. Who we are. Moments where we feel that we are drifting from our center. Situations that compromise our idea of a “perfect day to die”. The importance of not losing sight. Over the past seven years Hans and I have met at coffee shops, bars, diners, sushi bars and fancy restaurants in Seattle, in E. Lansing and everywhere in between. No matter where, no matter when, no matter how fucked up I may perceive my life to be at that moment, I always leave with a sense of clarity. A sense of clarity, coupled with hours of reflection and a million follow-up questions. Last night was no different …
Last night my mind was fixated on the concept of staying true yourself. I think I wrote about that on day … 15? Well, it’s been a month. A month since the last day of my thirty days of sobriety. Reentering the world of bar tabs, altered state of consciousness and late night shenanigans hasn’t felt normal by any means. There have been evenings of intoxication, moments where cigarettes have rested between my fingertips and subsequent mornings where I have regretted the night before. Some might say, “Oh, Cherrettie back up to the same old shit again. 30 days. Pfff meaningless”. That’s fine. I can respect that, though I tend to think about it differently. Sure I have found myself tempted by familiar habits and have even caved in moments of weakness. That doesn’t discount who I am and that doesn’t discount the things that I experienced throughout those thirty days. I think it’s different now. I am aware. My actions have personal consequences. I give a shit. When I find myself reverting to old ways, I recheck myself. I reflect. I change my course. I stay true to myself because, as Hans and I discussed, your core doesn’t change. Your core doesn’t change, but your ability to access it can. It’s life, we are all presented with bull shit on a daily basis. We get pushed away from who we really are, we become wrapped up in ideas and things we never cared about in the first place and the next thing you know we are having one of my favorite, “what the fuck” moments. Moments where you feel dissonance, anxiousness… out-of-place. Well kids, what do when we see something out of place. We put it back. We do it with our clothes, we do it with our Swingline, we do it our prized Cat Stevens records. Why not our lives?
Putting shit back where it belongs. That is exactly what I have been focusing on lately. Unfortunately, when it’s your life you are talking about it’s not as easy. It’s not as easy as placing your favorite shirt on a hanger, moving your Swingline three inches to the left to match up perfectly next to your tape dispenser, or inserting your Cat Stevens LP into the appropriate paper sleeve. It’s not as easy, but it’s still possible. You just have to follow through. I’ve always been good at knowing who I am, what I want, the things I need to be satisfied. I am aware of my weaknesses, my temptations and my tendencies. Those things are all fine and dandy, but despite my self-awareness; I am still a product of the world around me. I still get distracted, I still allow myself to be affected, I still lose sight of things that are important to me. As you have learned in the last two months, those interferences have led me to trouble. They have caused me to be stagnant. They have often forced my mind into a spiral – conjuring up dreams, goals, visions, and escapes – yet resulting in no action. I’ve always been and always will be a dreamer, a free spirit … an outlier if you will. I guess that’s why I have “Drommer” (Dreamer) tattooed down my rib cage. That I know. That I can accept. But in addition I also want to be a doer, “en som gjør”. And that my friends is my new focus. I am following through on my dreams … my core … staying true to myself.
Pleased with the amount of thoughts swirling through my head as I exited Remedy, I returned home and prepared myself to call it a night. First things first. Pajama time. I ventured to the bathroom and picked up my grubby blue sweatpants from the bathroom floor. As I started inserting my right foot into the right pant leg I heard a small clink against my bathroom floor. There in front of me … a ballnut. Maybe the world doesn’t hate me after all.
Day 9,346. The number of days I have been alive. A day of rediscovery. “It’s a good day to die”.
Forever Paisley 
Express yourself …