Katie Regan

Writer. Editor. Explorer. Creator.

Tag: Struggles (Page 1 of 2)

I’ve Never Been a Slytherin

July 20, 2018 / / 0 Comments

Slytherins are known to be incredibly ambitious, and that traditionally hasn’t been a big problem of mine

Colorado 14er Grays and Torreys

Seven years ago, I would have laughed at you if you told me I’d climb mountains like these, and like it.

Draco Malfoy

This is not me.
(Photo taken from PotterWiki)

My whole life I’ve been content not to reach. I have been content to phone it in. I never aspired to be an astronaut or an author or even a doctor or lawyer. I aspired to have a damn savings account. Maybe it’s because I was scared of failing. Maybe it’s because as a female I was hardwired to NOT shoot for the stars. Maybe it’s because I just didn’t want to work that hard. It’s definitely partially because growing up, we always lived paycheck-to-paycheck and I just didn’t want that to be my life. Above all, I wanted security.

Don’t get me wrong, I may not have been terribly ambitious, but I’ve always been crazy idealistic. I grew up before the recession when you could be anything you wanted to be… as long as you had a college degree. That piece of paper was the key to every professional open door. In fact, I landed a great, normal job soon after graduation. I enjoyed it, there was a future in it, I did well at it; but then three years in the recession hit and like so many others, I found myself laid off. Instead of doubling back and getting another job in that field, as I probably should have, I zoomed off to Spain to teach English. I was free from my cubicle! I was going to live my life! Who needs the job title and 401k when you have travel?

Cava Tast Catalunya

According to this girl, derailing my potential career for Spain was worth it

Admittedly, I was also blissfully unaware of what it was like to hunt for a job in a difficult market. I had gotten my last job mostly because of a zippy cover letter.

For a long time, I thought I was broken, that there was no fixing me. How do you rewire someone who is in their 30s and has always done things the same way? Seemed like… well, frankly it seemed like too much work.

Something special is starting to happen, though. I’m starting to retrain myself. If I think of something funny, I write that shit down. If I wake up at 6am and accidentally read an article that gets me going, I ignore the sensible voice that says, “Go the hell back to sleep, asshole,” and I start writing. This is kind of magical. A lot of what has been happening in the past few months is magical. And I’m gonna run with it.

Adolescent Tuba

Damn right I was

I think what has happened for the majority of my adult life was that I was so scared to try and fail at something monumental, that I’ve failed at the regular… regularly. Now, my only chance is to try to fail at something spectacular. At best, I J.K. Rowling the shit outta this. At worst, I fail hard and end up right back where I was. If I land somewhere in the middle, I have some great times and I build up a portfolio so maybe people have a reason to hire me for regular jobs.

Another problem I run into is that I’m a bit impetuous. Impatient. This is one of the reasons I couldn’t be an architect (though I thought about it), or a photographer. I don’t thrive on precision (in creating, in editing I can be super precise). My favorite art mediums are charcoal and pencil because they are always malleable. Luckily, writing is similarly malleable, if you have the time.

Just recently, I’m pretty sure I lightly annoyed a friend while playing mini golf because I wouldn’t take the appropriate time to set up my shots, thus leading to me being way over par. This is probably something I will need to work on, as much success involves precision, patience, and a finished product. But, for now, this is me.

Work schedule

I mapped out my hours

Since being away, I have gotten much, much, much better about writing every day, and capturing thoughts as they flit by. I’ve made a schedule, and while I don’t record my times and follow it to the minute, just knowing how I need to parse out my time has helped immensely.

It’s scary aiming for ambitions that were previously thought to be out of reach. It’s even scarier to re-train myself to depart from what I’ve always been taught leads to success and head toward what could lead me, in particular, to success. It’s like breaking and re-setting bones. Bones that, hopefully, I will soon be running on.

Upon Leaving Colorado

June 9, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I sold my stuff, I left Denver… and it felt weird.  Brief reflections upon leaving what was my home for the past 7 years.

Colorado Rockies

Appreciating what Colorado has to offer

Boy, this feels weird. What has been my life for the past nearly 7 years is no longer. I keep having flashes, most of them mundane. A walk around my neighborhood. The inside of a friend’s house. Old hobbies and habits that have been broken. Old belongings that were always just there that are gone now. Mountain treks and favorite little haunts. It’s a very surreal feeling. I spent my time at DIA in a bit of a fog, feeling hungry and nauseous all at once. I miss my people. I miss my life. I know my new life is going to be awesome (or at the very least strange and different), and it’s something I’ve wanted for a really long time. But right now, a part of me mourns the life I’ve left behind. Like, a Santiago’s burrito would be really great right now.

At least the mountains showed up for me on my last day. They rose majestically to the west as we made our way to the airport. Snow-capped and friendly, reminding me that they, too, would still be there if and when I decide to come back to town.

I get really sentimental about change, I guess. I always have. Leaving my first Denver apartment, I was flooded with emotion. At 8th grade graduation, I was the awkward kid sobbing on stage as we performed the choral rendition of “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Despite the fact that we were all going to the same high school, I was feeling sentimental about times past. The memories in that particular building. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s how my mind works when I move on from one thing to another.

Crying Graduation 90s

Sometimes, you cry unnecessarily at 8th grade graduation. Sometimes, it’s 1997 and you’re wearing a kick-ass choker.

My apartment in Denver wasn’t all that much to speak of, but it was cozy and it was mine. It was full of comfort and warm memories. In fact, some of its best memories were formed in the most recent months. The fact that that time period in my life is over feels very strange to me. That it’s not all just sitting there, waiting for me to return.

On Human Connection

June 1, 2018 / / 3 Comments

Preparing for the idea of loneliness and maintaining human connection when embarking on a solo, nomadic lifestyle.

My original intent with this blog was to publish one or two posts a week regularly, as that has been known to build and keep your reader base. Then, the impossible (but predictable) happened: I met someone. One month before I was supposed to leave, I met a human. I’m not going to go too deep into that except to say, I met a human and we connected in a way that certainly doesn’t happen for me every day, or year, or probably decade. So, I decided to prioritize. I knew that I was on the precipice of a lifestyle that, while exciting, would be filled with a lot of solitude and plane rides and chances to write. I only had a month (well, I turned it into two) to spend with this new, wonderful human and learn as much as I could about them. In addition, I was obviously also concerned with spending time with all the other pals I was preparing to leave. As a result, I now have a collection of blog posts at various states of completion that will get published a wee bit after the time when they were actually relevant to my process. That’s okay, right?

Tell me it’s okay and that readers who come to this blog later in the game won’t even know the timeline. TELL ME, because being disingenuous makes me itch.

Solitude

As a rule, you’re not alone if you have someone to take your picture.

Though that sort of connection doesn’t happen for me often, I have been known to revel in, hold onto, and some may say place too much importance on human connections in my life in general. I hold onto friends and people that are important to me. I will make all attempts to stay in touch with people, waiting for way longer to give up than most would if not reciprocated. I tend to be sad about leaving even the worst jobs because I will no longer be connected to the people I’ve come to know there. It’s just a part of who I am. I believe that these connections we make change us and better us, and I delight in getting in touch with old friends or people from my past and hearing their stories.

And while I know that I will have no problem meeting people throughout my travels, one of the first things I had to really come to terms with was how lonely this path will be, most of the time.

Bharma Barcelona

If not for meeting cool people when I travel, I never would have been brought to Bharma, the LOST-themed bar in Barcelona.

I will meet people, yes. I will likely have people to drink with or adventure with, or at least small talk with at the local bar, but I won’t have any of my solid compatriots. You know, the easy pals that you can just spend time with without expending too much effort. The people who care about your mundane stories, whose stupid stories you also like to hear. They will all be a world away. In Connecticut, or Oregon, or Colorado, for example. Fortunately for me, I have never been afraid of solitude, but sometimes you just need your people and I will simply not be in most places long enough to achieve such depth in my new relationships.

Luckily, technology prevails, for now. Keeping in touch is easier than ever, and I haven’t lived in the same places as my closest buds for nearly a decade, if not more. I’m not worried about that. It’s the in-person outlets that I’ll miss. The leisurely lunches or happy hours. The local bar where everyone really does know my name. Family, who has no choice but to love you, regardless of how much of a dink you are. They’ll still be a mere Internet away, but I need to prepare myself for this change. After all, think of all the love letters and postcards and care packages that are possible. Vintage romance!

This is okay. I accept this. I know that part of this entire plan revolves around getting me outside of my comfort zone. Lord knows that during my last months in Denver, my productivity was at an all-time low due to my feelings of comfort and happiness being at an all-time high. Instead of maintaining a rigorous schedule, I’d been focusing on and prioritizing nurturing my human connections. I think this is okay too.

Solitude on La Plata peak

Solitude is a state of mind. For example, a new friend was snapping this lonely photo.

One true positive that I haven’t fully addressed yet is the combination of my freedom in time and travel. I have free flights, I have no brick and mortar job requiring my presence. I will be able to move about and see people I wasn’t able to see much of before. On the one hand, things might get lonely. I may feel separated and adrift from my core humans. But, on the other hand, I will be able to see a wider breadth of important people on a much more regular basis.

There are many people I will miss. Unfortunately, I can’t take everyone I love everywhere with me at all times (this is actually probably for the best, I would get nothing done!). I need to have faith that the strong connections will endure and look forward to the wide variety of new weirdos that I’ll meet as I go.

A Colorado Cat Goes to Connecticut

May 13, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Not sure who was more stressed out during our trip across the country, me or the cat

Picture this: a woman in her mid-30’s, standing by the luggage carousel at Westchester County Airport, with a cat in a bag strapped over her shoulder, sobbing openly. Two plane-loads of people milling about, waiting for their own luggage, casting furtive glances. Even the cat, who had had a rough go herself, had finally fallen silent.

I can only imagine the thoughts or questions that go through people’s minds when they see something like this in public. I’m assuming it’s more common in airports than in other locations, but I think most people are able to quell their tears until they are in a more private location. That has never been a gift of mine.

Kitten Tummy

A newly adopted kitten, helping me grade papers

I had just gotten to the end of a journey I had been dreading. I had anxiety about moving my cat since it first crossed my mind. In fact, I probably put off making plans like this numerous times before because the cat got in my way. I had made a commitment to her when I adopted her. I was to be her mom and she and I would be companions. I don’t like reneging on commitments, which is why I hesitate to make them until I am sure about them. And this one took its toll. Every time I looked at her, I was wracked with guilt.

Additionally, she is an AWFUL traveler. Every trip to the vet is a torture experiment that involves a lot of screaming and expelling of fluids from all feline orifices. Not a pleasant experience for either of us. Last time, she soiled herself before I even got her to the car. And forget about when we moved to my current apartment. She, a cat who never has an accident, squatted in the closet and made eye contact with me as she screamed and peed. Not a good look. And that was only a four-mile move. I couldn’t imagine how this move across the country would go. In a plane.

The vet had given me some drugs to give her to calm her down, and I did a trial run with them the week before. I was a little surprised to see that they weren’t tranquilizers but anti-anxiety meds. So she was fully alert, just slightly more chill than usual. This would not be enough, I thought.

Cat in Carrier

Nube actually hanging in her carrier during the drug test run

I lined her carrier with puppy pads and a towel I was willing to dispose of. I packed an extra shirt for me, extra rags, extra puppy pads, and a plastic bag to put soiled things in. Stress was at an all-time high as I prepared to take her away (the amount of times my realtor has seen or heard me cry is now just getting indecent).

She did surprisingly well, most of the time. She cried a lot and didn’t sleep. But she wasn’t screaming or panicking. Even the level of soiling wasn’t too bad. She didn’t puke, she wasn’t panting excessively. A few turds escaped (one on the floor of airport security when I took her out, oops), but it wasn’t bad.

In the middle of the second flight, however, I think the pills must have worn off. She had some moments of screaming and thrashing around violently in her carrier. I’m assuming this is when she peed. But again, compared to what I thought it was going to be like, it really wasn’t that bad.

So why, then, did I find myself sobbing in front of the baggage claim?

As the plane began to descend, it started to hit me. This particular move, taking my cat out of our Colorado home and dropping her off in Connecticut, is the first real “no looking back” step of this whole process. Until now, in the planning phase, it has still been just that: a plan. Now it is all starting to take shape. As I walked out the door and into my Lyft to the airport, my realtors were in my place getting it ready to show.

Cat snuggles

Adjusting surprisingly well to life in Connecticut

For most of this process, I’ve been excited, aware of the things I will miss but knowing that things are fluid and an uncertain future brims with limitless possibilities. Recently, however, I’ve found myself digging in my heels. I’ve brewed up a lot of complicated feelings about leaving, and I’m sure they will only intensify as the clock ticks on and more and more irreversible milestones are hit.

But, as people keep reminding me, irreversible is just a concept. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing is permanent. If, in the deep depths of my heart, I decide I want to return to Denver, I CAN. Maybe it will be a little less affordable once I sell my apartment, but it’s still possible. Anything is possible.

But What About The Books?

April 18, 2018 / / 0 Comments

My inner struggle about whether to keep my library intact or to purge it with the rest of my belongings.

Books are a uniquely portable magic. – Stephen King

I’ve gotta figure out what to do about these books. My original plan was to keep and store my DVDs, books, and obviously any personal effects (filled notebooks, photos, etc.). The rationale behind the DVDs and books was simple: these are libraries that it took me years upon years to amass. My books, in particular, bestow upon me a happiness, a feeling of accomplishment.

Any time the books have been packed up for any length of time, I can feel myself perk up at the first sight of them. When I first moved to Denver, it took about 2-3 weeks for my stuff to arrive on the moving truck. When it came, it was everything. My couch, my kitchen supplies, my BED… despite all these useful items, I immediately unboxed all my books and sat there on the floor surrounded by them, grinning.

Blue Bookshelf

Even right now, they’ve been boxed up since my realtors staged my apartment. It’s just been a couple of weeks. But, the other day I went into the closet to find something and I opened one of the boxes. Some of my favorite tomes sat there, eyeballing me. I felt an immediate jolt of comfort and elation. I adore them. I KNOW them.

This brings me to today. I brought out all the boxes of books from all the closets in order to sort through them. I knew I wasn’t going to keep them all, some had to be cut.

I was very proud of myself earlier. Turns out, I was willing to cut more than I expected. Books that I’ve held onto for years were placed into the “donate” box (which is now full to the brim). It’s time for them to move on to a new home, to be enjoyed by new eyes and hands. I still have a problem, however.

Books are everywhere, and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. – Virginia Woolf

When I look at the remaining pile of books, the pile designated “to keep,” it occurs to me that it is still pretty large. This becomes especially clear as I start to load them into boxes. First of all, books are way too heavy. I need to spread them out through many boxes to ensure that the box is liftable. Secondly, this means I will have far too many boxes.

Bookshelf

I am calling in favors when it comes to the storage of the things I intend to keep. I am asking friends to donate some of their space to my cause and I greatly appreciate their willingness to lend me some. Now, all of a sudden I am going to show up with six or seven boxes? Boxes which I will have to carry to and from cars, mind you. It might be too much.

I am faced with a dilemma. Do I hold onto my books and maintain my library even though, if needed, I can purchase all these books again in the future (you know, when I’m disgustingly wealthy)? Or do I maintain my resolve and attempt to store them?

A room without books is like a body without a soul. – Cicero

If this plan of mine all goes to shit quickly and I need to set up an apartment, I am going to be sad not to have my books. Even if I remain nomadic for a long time, presumably at some point I will seek out a place of my own again. When that happens, I will be sad not to have my books. Isn’t the entire point of this exercise to push my boundaries and get outside my comfort zone? Maybe that means trimming the fat until I can fit all of my belongings into one carload. Maybe that means abandoning the things that make my home feel like home. OR maybe I should grant myself this one little piece of excess, hold on to this one little piece of my past. Jury’s still out.

I never feel lonely if I’ve got a book – they’re like old friends. Even if you’re not reading them over and over again, you know they are there. And they’re part of your history. They sort of tell a story about your journey through life. – Emilia Fox

Cat Books

After all, bookshelves provide a comfy spot for lounging.

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