sanctuary
february 21, 2022
there is a woman who lives next door. i don't know if it's the same person i interacted with when we first moved in, who seemed pleasant enough, but the woman i hear outside, getting out of her car, is always complaining. always something is wrong. until she greets her dog inside the apartment. she just seems like a miserable person, and part of me wishes i could give her a hug, but the other part of me just wants to maintain an uninvolved distance. when i first moved in, i wanted to be that new neighbor who made baked goods and left little baskets of them at the doorsteps for her new neighbors. but the real me didn't ever make time for that kind of formal introduction. i wanted to be more like a ghost here. seldom seen. ethereal. not scary or threatening, just background. unimposing. a friendly ghost.
covid helped with my avoidance of my neighbors. i felt bad about my smoking. i felt bad making noise outside. i felt guilty having friends over, being loud talking about progressive politics and why we hated trump america. i felt like i was adding to the noise pollution. another inconsiderate plebe. it made me feel like i wanted to hide more. just stay inside. not bother anyone. not take up too much space. i didn't want confrontation, and was afraid what it would look like were i to be more assertive--it seemed like drama i didn't want any part of. and then things with a close friend of mine, whom i had worked with several months leading up to the start of the pandemic in western pennsylvania sort of...wrecked me. i was done with any challenging relationships after that. my break up with my boyfriend and roomate was one thing. i didn't have the energy to effectively manage another serious breakup. i didn't. and it was a choice to stay distant. but that is what i felt was right for me. how was being closer helping either of us?
it sucks that my dynamic with another mutual friend changed too, but it feels better this way. for now. it wasn't easy to watch the ending of another marriage. it wasn't easy watching freinds be abused. not easy being powerless in those situations. powerless to help your friends make decisions that will support their wellness. they only want love, regardless of how healthy it is. they're still learning how to love without hurting someone.
i am tired. and i am tired of extending myself and then, when i try to be more direct, i get attacked as a reaction to feeling attacked. if there is no room for honest conversation, then there is no room for growth, or at least it's another role i have to play not as myself, and i don't want friendships like that. i don't want to feel like an enabler. i don't want to have to perform.
so i did retreat. back into my own little world, focusing on my own little needs, my own little maintenances. my big steps. my big girl gusto, kicking in because i refused to let the pandemic be my ruin. i worked too hard. i was too fortunate to choose going back to being abused by my employer. not for that rate. not full time.
in the spring i tend to my patio. it is my joy. my happy space. not nearly as private as my former back porch, nor as charming, but adorable and cozy nonetheless. i get a workout in taking care of the space. it might be silly, some of what i do, but i enjoy it. i enjoy that movement. the sweat. i am only working for myself. for my own pleasure. i know that the space is pleasing for others as well, but no one gets the same satisfaction from the work as i do, because of the time i've put into the relationship.
the flowers don't mistreat me. they are imperfect. they are gorgeous. they smell wonderful. they lounge in their plastic pots on the gray concrete, backed by a rotting privacy fence, blackened and scarred from years of neglect. they are so sexy despite the sad slab of property where they live their short lives. and i appreciate them. we have an understanding. they help me to recenter, and to feel connected to all of life, rather than anchored to any particular person beyond myself.
and i find a contentment inside too. i find joy in tending to the space that houses my stuff. these things that make me feel like i do have something to show for this life, even if it only means anything to me. that is enough. it is enough that they have meaning to me.
and i feel so grateful in these moments. these times all my basic needs are met. i might have some discomfort from gas. there is a small zit forming on my left butt cheek. but all in all, i am good. and i feel like i have to document that. my safe corner of the earth. my pocket sanctuary. with cats.
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