Liminal Space

I feel like I am living in a liminal space. In fact, I know so. By definition it’s a transient or in-between space. When I imagine liminal spaces I imagine creepy back-room dreams, and that’s how my life feels right now. I feel erratic, like you would feel in a nightmare. And I hate that. I am posting this at the risk of sounding like I have no chill at all, like I am a narc and a total bitch. But I don’t even care, because I am feeling very fuzzy in my identity anyways. Hopefully I reach a point where this uncertainty actually reaffirms who I am, and what I like, and how I operate. Except now I am in the liminal state, and I’m stressed out in the airport, and I’m lost in the hallway, and I’m pissed off in the waiting room and the time zones and days off are messing up my communication. It’s like mercery retrograde hell for me. That’s just how it is right now. And it’ll change. But like I said, I have no chill. Obviously this is not a way anyone would choose to feel. Even though I’m supposed to be patting myself on the back and feeling cool or something, for making a big move to a cool town. Cos I did sign up to feel this way, after all. I thought I was getting into one situation, and im not there yet, I’m in the liminal space, which is an entirely different situation. Like, I should have predicted it. The travel and adjustment component. I just didn't really think it would be a big deal, and I didn’t expect to be phased. I did think I was more chill, and I did think adjusting would be easy. I think highly of myself sometimes, despite my self-deprecation.

I am just not one to romanticize my life in the moment. I love retrospect. I love glazing a sharp image and making it the way that feels the best. That’s why I run it back to ex flings Spotify playlists made le custom for me so often (they’ve been reshuffled, remade and renamed for other girls since, but I don’t care! It’s romantic, and they love me forever and always, even after only two months together). I don’t really care how my delusions sound to others. I mostly say things half-truth, half-humor, so I’m not accountable anyways. Maybe that’s why my friends call me out for saying bitchy things sometimes. They’re like: wait, you are accountable though. And that’s prolly cos they know deep down I’m really nice, and want to feel good, and I want others to feel good, too. I’m nice, but things suck sometimes, and people are weird, and I’m willing to say that. I am also weird, and I probably also suck sometimes. I usually clock when I do suck, and then I keep sucking, because it usually feels good in the moment. And when it stops feeling good, I stop sucking. That’s on self awareness. For example, my new club-manager boss told me I have improved at work. That’s mostly a choice I made, to lock in and to stop sucking and crying in the bathroom and to stop willing dreadful corporate back into my life. I literally hated corporate. It’s also possible I just hate working. Whatever. At least I’m willing to both admit that and to do something about it.

I should feel happier about change in general, considering how unhappy I was with my boring and predicable stabile corporate life. The cushy and beautiful corporate office did not fill my spirit. Nor did the weekends, or the holiday time off. Of course I cry and freak out that my schedule is mismatched from everyone I know and love, now that I’m not in corporate and they still are. I just have no Chill, I guess. I am codependent to everyone else or something. But so are most people, hence the trend cycle and the rat races and all the things that come with living in a Society.

I figured the interpersonal club-life would feel my cup. AKA I wanted to be around Billionares, or multi millionaires, and to learn a thing or two. But I kind of forgot I worked the corporate job for perception to begin with. Moving to a ski town is teaching me a lot about perception. I thought it was mostly cool to every normie working at a cubicle (including myself, thinking up the idea from my cubicle). In that daydream, I kind of forget this is my real life, and even if I’m wedged in a mountain, I still live in real world. There is still a timeline, and I still am chunking out playtime at 5 year intervals. It won’t be hard to explain my fun sabbatical in the mountains, because people eat that kind of thing up. Many execs would welcome me back with open arms, wishing they did something like this in their 20s! Only I don’t really want to go back to corporate, and I don’t want to stay in the liminal space mountains. I am learning in one month that I don’t really know where I belong. I’m not miserable, but I’m not sure a place could make me happy. It should be able to, and I guess I’m not in a place right now, I’m in what feels like a hallway. I am. hoping with travelers from major cities it feels more familiar here, but it will probably only feel more liminal. Like an airport. I hope I like it anyways, I do love airports.

I think I need to own who I am a little bit more, and to stop trying to please everyone. I suds and rinse my perspective a lot, because I have trouble deciding if I want to be super-real and relatable to people who think and experience life like me, or if I want to be OK for everyone to digest (but not even). I have a strong voice, and I already don’t please everyone. I need to own that. I need to own the fact that I am serving the demographic people my parents are friends with. So I know they probably look at me as a sad case, corporate drop out. I need to own that fact that people with families less-well-off than my family may feel weird about me. There’s nothing I can do about some of my circumstances. Like I wish I was from an even richer family, so I could never work a day in my life, and I could just do the things I like, and if I happened to get rich off them, my rich family could make me richer and fund some sort of dynasty. And at that moment, I’d become a humanitarian, so people wouldn’t cut off my head. Duhhh that’s what I want. Instead I am regular well-off, bemoaning quitting a respectable well paying job, and living in a froofy ski town. My life is good, and my problems don’t suck. At all. Hence my disclaimer in the start of this whole thing. I did choose all of this, mostly. I am trying to lock in and remember why. It’s kinda hard when there’s dirt on the ground in lieu of snow, but once it snows I’m sure I’ll have a different complaint that I validate with vague and seemingly dramatic cries for help. They are dramatic. I’m kind of spoiled. And shell shocked. In a lot of ways.

I’ve been pushing myself to be productive. When you work on your own behalf, people will take your complaints and dramatics a bit more seriously. So far I’ve drawn a bit of cartoonish self portraits, some of which I like. I have written (see here), I have made 1 shitty painting (WIP) and 1 cool painting. I’ve made many phone calls to friends and family and my Therapist. I went to Denver. I recognized that I am a city person. I am still living in the mountains anyways. I run lots of errands. Which is hard, because I am riding the free public bus everyday. I recognize now that I am a car person. I do not have a car, and I won’t be getting one. I am simply learning things.

But I’m not really in charge of things anymore, now that they’re happening, so I don’t like it. What-if’s are super cool, though.

I didn’t realize I was such a control freak. I don’t like it. Control freaks in my own life piss me off. I should be more chill and laid back, and I always thought I was. But I’m in my liminal space era, and it’s not a ski town yet. I love making excuses for myself, but this one is valid. It’s not a ski town, there’s no one here, and everyone at work keeps making sure to tell me it’ll get busier and less boring, it’ll be fun, the Summer is so beautiful here, please don’t leave.

It’s like I’m waiting for my appointment in a creepy surreal backrooms dream, and I want a diagnosis from the doctor, just to be sure of what the fuck is going on, because I’m scared and ruminating. I’d rather a bad answer with a possible solution than to know nothing, and stay in the back rooms. I just want to be in the office so I can get the answer: why isn’t my life really cool and good yet? And when will it be? What is the protocol? I’ll do literally anything.

See: I thought moving was that. And things didn’t snap into place immediately, so please explain that. I did a big thing and expected big results. It’s been a month, but the results are a bit frightening, Ok? Explain that.

I miss the parts I was starting to resent about living in New York. Explain that. Like, Is it never going to be a really cool and good? Are people going to yell at me if I’m honest about thinking this way? Because they think my life is cool and good already, looking in from the outside? And they aren’t living it, actually. My work paints are always soaking wet from the sink, and something white always smears on my black uniform pants. Like, every day I am covered in shit that other people who are richer than me just ate. And I also had a bite or two in the kitchen, in a very hygienic and health-code approved way. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Though I wouldn’t buy this stuff at the grocery store, since most of it is kind of gross. But I’m being fed, is the point. And I'm in a nice building in proximity to rich people. Same as corporate. My life isn’t bad. My problems are internal.

So obvi when I obviously pictured a movie montage of the awesome moments when I planned this from New Jersey. I did not see stained paints and a poorly decorated living room. I pictured myself having a lot of fun on the mountain, writing amazing and poignant things, hosting visitors, feeling proud of myself, etc. And I even went as far as to picture mundane and bad moments, but they were still kinda cinematic, too. Like, everyone always loved me, and I was very Rory-Lorelai Gilmore happy-go-lucky townie sweetheart who loves so much coffee every day, and that part felt real, so things being amaziing didn’t seem like such a stretchl. Obviously I knew I was being a bit glazey and ambitious with all of it, but I have also been doing some light law of attraction podcast-listening. So I kinda thought I was going to will that life into existence, you know? And to stay grounded, I admitted to my mom and therapist: “the move will obviously be hard,” and “there definitely be challenges” kinda to validate them and shut them up. They were both were actively trying to ground me. But I was trying to be positive about it all, because even at the time I was kinda scared. And when I told them: yes hard-things, ready to be challenged, it was only just words. I didn’t really have good images. And I have been through hard times and I have overcome challenges. This is different, and it kinda feels pussy-like to be weepy and whiny about my circumstances now, considering all previous circumstances. Like, I am being brought to my knees by a pebble.

I have worked in the service industry, and it seemed really dreamy when I was reflecting from the other side. But responsibilities feel like responsibilities everywhere. And I am an intentional-slacker, work-smarter-not-harder type, but also keep-busy-type, cos I’d really rather not be bored. And I am bored, so I ask myself over and over lately: why the fuck am I here? Or better, here Right Now? I should have come later. So I could do the same thing I’m doing now, with no paycheck, in the comfort of my parents home. Familiar boring. That way I could blame all my discomfort and hatred on other things. Which I’m doing now, too. My post-invisalign teeth are really bothering me. Like driving me nuts. I don’t think they are as straight now as they were before. I’m like, freaking out about this.

And my life right now will go away. Which right now feels like a Thank God I Have an Out. I can leave here after summer, or sooner if I want to get into the habit of being a chronic lease-breaker. I haven’t let the page turn on the new chapter and I’m ready to read the ending and throw away the book. I don’t wanna work through it, I’m lazy. But of course I’ll force myself to hate-read the bad chapter. I’m already past the lardlord-provided mattress and the freezing cold room part, when I cried myself to sleep and felt dizzy every day. Both felt permanent, but I got things to fix it. Like a cushy mattress from Costco and a space heater, which I am now cooking myself alive with at a smooth 90 degree setting (I can set it lower, but I choose not to). This kinda fixed my discomfort with the real-tangible parts of my move, enough to sing to my friends and family, but not enough to believe I’m actually comfortable. I am princess and the pea-ing the mattress, because the box spring now feels fucked up. And I’m waking up in a sweat and ripping the space heater cord out of the wall, 2 hours before my 6 AM alarm, which is also disturbing (I got up at 6 in highschool, and I was fine with it). I'm looking for problems. If there are a million small things wrong, I don’t have to sit with my discomfort with my changing-type life. I don’t have to sit with the fact that I don’t know anything, or anyone, and I don’t understand the world around me. This way of life is really really different, and instead of accepting that I’m uncomfortable with adjustment, I’m deciding I dislike it. And I’m deciding I don’t want friends, because friends means permanent. I’ll have visitors, is what I say.

So I am the reader and the experiencer, currently I feel like a ghost in my real life, It’s liminal itself, and I’m leaving soon. But I’m actually a part of the ecosystem. I think people might start to consider me a friend soon. I know that because of the way I am included in things at work, or referred to, like people are starting to get me. My roommates send me memes and say “this reminds me of you”, and I didn’t even know they knew me like that (the memes are simple, but still). I have familiar faces at the bus stop. The bus stop is a liminal space, too. I can’t help but wonder if my liminal space life will ever feel less liminal if I keep looking at everything this way. I just don’t want to get stuck here, like Hotel California, like everyone else seems to be sucked in to a lifetime in the mountains after one Colorado summer. Obviously I am leaving after the summer. Nothing I do is permanent, and I’m a ghost. I hope everyone knows that, but I also hope they don’t because it feels a tad pathetical to start out and to stay so non-committal.

So I signed a year lease, and I’ll get four full seasons here. I am already planning on leaving, and I am guilty about the money I spent on my mattress, and the cheapest full-length mirror on amazon. I am already thinking about shipping my clothes home vs packing them vs selling them when I move to wherever’s next. And will wherever be New York again? Will I feel like a failure for trying something and not liking it? I usually try food over and over until I like it, because I want to be the kind of person who likes things, and who is amicable, and easy to share with, and candid when I say: this is how I learned to like This Food, and if you think of it this way, you can like it too. And people are following me now. So I’m like: look, it’s possible. It won’t be as awesome as it sounds, or as you thought, but it is a thing that can happen. I hope I’ll change my mind on this soon, so I can lean toward inspiring and feel less like I’m broadcasting an in-real-time horror movie. Cos I’ll post something good, and a few hours later I’m crying in the bathroom and being Meta as Hell, this applies to everything type vibe. I hate that. Mega Crash out is not the brand I’m trying to build for myself. But according to commenters, I’m real, and right now, that’s the reality.

I have been in AA meetings, where people really bare their chest, and they tell stories of hope and finding themselves in the valley. And they stay because of the community, and the peace and joy of mountain life (and the challenges that force you to grow). And that’s why I came here, too. But I am really fucking uncomfortable, and it’s really hard to see the good parts. For a long time, at least. I see the good parts in glimpses, to be fair. And I try to lean in really hard to the joy, and to get giddy at a snow day. And then I get tunnel vision and start to feel very dream like and scared. Because I am not going home to my family once it gets dark at 5 PM, I am going home to strangers, and I will sit in my strange room to avoid the living room. I worry that my roommates think I am odd for hiding away after work, but I’d rather that then they notice how I study them. I want to figure out their buttons so I know how not to misstep. I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to feel any negativity that I can avoid. I’m leaving after summer, and I want this chapter to be swift and painless. I want to be a really positive person, and I don’t want to be so cynical. I just can’t help it.

I look at the recurring characters in my life, and I decide I don’t like some of them before they even acknowledge I’m there. I’m still a ghost, and I like that, I think. Not very Gilmore Girls of me, but I don’t think I’ll be a Gilmore Girl here. I’m leaving after summer. Some of them, like the random guy who rides the 6:44 am bus with me, has never spoken a word in my direction. But I don’t like the way he is so cynical about life towards this chipper younger guy, who also rides the 6:44 am bus. The chipper guy is lanky with shoulder length hair, always holds a book in his hand, and says he doesn’t read enough. I wonder if he opens that book. I know he intends to. And his coat is colorful, and he says things that are odd but make me smirk. I’m glad these two don’t engage me, because I have nothing to add to their conversation. It’s just funny to listen to at 6:44 AM, before I’m ready for my music. The guy I don’t like is overweight, and for some reason I picture his thermos to be full of baileys and coffee, or whiskey and coffee. And I am the cynical one, actually. It’s very rude, and judgmental, and I’m not sure why I’m being like this. After I attend my AA meetings, desperate for comfort and to be understood. But we’re not in a meeting-room, so I have to wonder in silence: why are they here? Why don’t they have a more respectable job? (I am here, and why don’t I have a more respectable job?) I look around and I question if these people will ever leave. And I haven’t even been here a month. If I were sharing why I’m here, would I like my answer? Would I even believe it?

I don’t want to be seen or recognized by other people, because I’m not my best self right now. I’m judgemental and I’m afraid and uncomfortable. Like, I’m judging total strangers at the bus stop. I’m judging stuff dressy people when I’m in my work uniform, and I judge the people I work with for doing the us-and-them thing, because I really do want to be Them, even though I’m on their side and I’m wearing their jersey. I want to use this liminal space as a jumping board to a better life. Isn’t that so rude, though? People are here for the reasons I wanted to come here, and they’re actually experiencing it. I am being a total brat. And it’s really me, because I’m not crying myself sick with missing home anymore. I haven’t even been on the mountain yet. Two runs open and fake snow isn’t good enough for me. Total East Coast Elitist.

I want to be a true ghost until I decide I am comfortable enough to be visible. I don’t want anyone to recognize me while I’m trying to enjoy myself, alone. I don’t know anyone well enough to want to spend time with them. I want to be a ghost, truly. I complain about how empty it is here, and I want to feel like the last person on earth (if the chairlift could keep running without a liftie).

That’s kind of how I felt when I had acne, too. Like, I’m scared of people perceiving me as my true self. I really want to be accepted, and I also never want to be seen again. I am so comfortable feeling like this. Even though I mostly really do like myself. I don’t even hate my flaws that much. Only when I am down bad, and it’s easy to freak out about things, and it’s easy to forget that people don’t think about me as much as I think about myself. I’m an attention whore, kind of. So I wish everyone did think about me as much as I think of myself, even when I really hope that they’re not. Like when I’m being moody or weird or embarrassing.

I keep reminding myself people are the main characters of their own lives, and they do moody and embarrassing things too. And I remind myself this has nothing to do with me. I don’t need second hand embarrassment, I need to focus on something else, and let people work out their stuff. Just as I hope to work out mine. Please: no one focus on what a cynical crying baby I am. Please: focus on my wit and tenacity. Only see me when I look pretty, and only judge my style when my outfit is cute. So that I too, can focus on my best qualities. But the truth I keep reminding myself of: their perception of me is not my own. And it is not reality. The guys at the bus stop and the guys I work with have no idea what I’ve been through or how I am feeling or thinking. They see me in my dirty work pants and have no idea that some strangers on the internet really like some of my outfits sometimes. Even if I tell them, they won’t ever fully get it. And I won’t be telling most people. Just whoever looks me up on the internet. I want to remain a ghost in real life. That’s why I need to live my experience for me. And my family, and my friends, and I guess the people on the internet.

I am also scared to write and publish my experience sometimes, because I do want to go back on my word. I do want to be concrete again, and to stop feeling so liminal. I do want to transform and become better. I want to be more certain of myself. I want to grow into someone I am kinder too, cos it’s hard to be kind to myself now. I’m not sure why, because I’ve grown a ton, and it was hard to be kind to myself before. I figured when I was who I am now, I’d be able to like myself. And I think I do like myself, I just get really hung up and annoyed with my flaws. My family and my friends hate that. Self-deprecation is not becoming. And I laugh and experience joy, so they can stuff it, kinda. I am allowed to be self deprecating if it’s helpful for me to express myself like that. Though I am working on figuring out why that is the most comfortable way for me. Obviously it is. It’s like, my engine. I apologize for that!!! But not really. I also apologize for every other flaw I have!!! But not really. They aren’t my fault or my choice, and I am trying to fix them and be true to myself.

But I keep having thoughts like: Would they hate me more or like me better if they heard what I was thinking? If people entering my weird liminal space backrooms life read my blog or looked at my social media (I hope they are unaware of both) would they hate me more? Probably. Because I’ve been so nice, and my online persona reveals a bit more of who I am. I want to be in control of how people perceive me in real life. But sometimes I think people like me better online. Even when I share vulnerable things. It makes me scared to change, actually. Look at what people are saying about Sotce! I don’t mind tombstones if it means 9 lives, of course. I want to skip to the next life! I said that. My declaration means that I KNOW I'm in a liminal space, and so do you, and no one can get mad at me when I’m different. This is a journey. It’s never been a destination, and I’ve never played a character. I really don’t want hate again. Unless of course, this move teaches me how to handle it better. I’ll handle hate better when I’m more sure of myself. Another declaration.

I also I feel like if I were uglier a smidge or prettier a smidge I’d get away with a lot more. It’s not weird to bring looks into it, either. People are always talking about looks. And when they’re not, they're sizing you up and weighing you with their eyes. They’re commenting on how much or little you ate at dinner, and later commenting on how they’re looking to lose the baby weight they gained with their 18 year old son.

In addition to my looks being a worry, I also get to make up fake worries about people judging me for having Upper middle class parents. This worry comes from both directions. The people at the club I work at probably see me as their hand servant (even if they don’t act like it), and I worry my roommates might think I’m a total priss because I get a lot of packages and I came home with a $200 dollar cow hide rug and a heated blanket for the living room (I also have one layered into my bed). I hide in my room alot, and I worry they think I’m hiding from them. Which isn’t true at all, they’re good conversationalists, they’re very nice, and they’ve given me rides to run errands so I don’t have to bus it. I’m actually hiding from the poorly decorated living room, which makes me feel very fearful. Please note: I am normally a living room hang-er. I am chill. I saw the living room in photos and thought I’d be totally chill with the frat aesthetic. I was ready to rough it. But then I got here, and I experienced things, and they felt like a back-room nightmare, kind of. Totally prissy of me to see things that way! And if it’s a liminal space type waiting room for better-life, who fucking cares?! You won’t even be here long, and you’re already guilty about investing money in a temporary space. Kelley, why are you being so contradictory? Why are you so uncomfortable with your plan unfolding? Why do things always need to be your way? These roommates like flags hanging on the wall, and they like the table cloth that sends you into a tizzy. Why can't you let people like things that are different from what you like? Why can’t you live with that? Why does everything need to be liminal?

I feel like I don’t live in reality. I always want something different, and better. And I actually don’t want to change that? Idk. Let people perceive me as prissy for that. I want a really, really good life. Again, I’m unsure why I needed to move across the country to get that….but I do hope I figure it out.

So figuring “it” out maybe looks like figuring myself out. And I’m definitely doing that. Someone told me people in Colorado are weird. And it wasn’t my weird coworker who said this. I forget who told me, but they had been living in Colorado a bit, so this was trustworthy advice. I think I said “that was a weird thing to say” after I had said something very on-par (for myself). I said the disclaimer as a buffer, to distance my real-self from my new-in-town-ghost-self, because I actually don’t want people to think I’m weird in a bad way. I don’t want them to think much of me at all, unless they really like me of course. Weird in a self-aware way is fine, too, as long as they like me. So I should totally fit in here, then, since everyone’s weird. I want this to be a liminal space. Like an airport to the life I want. Where I am allowed to act like myself and not be perceived for more than a year, so it doesn’t matter anyways.

Even though all I wanted two months ago was to be here.

And I was super judgmental about my home-town.

And I was getting super judgmental about New York, too. Which was my original escape new-life era.

I didn’t fit in to any of those places deep down, and apparently I don’t fit in here either.

My coworker told an anecdote about shitting in the woods. I just about wanted to die, because he was talking about dating. I’d rather die than date a mountain man who makes me shit in the woods. But I am being super nice, as a default (so I’m def a super nice person, despite my judgemental internal dialogue). I laugh along in agreement. I like him, too, and I love our shifts together. But I don’t fit in with people who shit in the woods, I don’t want to. I hated people who bragged about their hard-to-get-reservations and their ritzy-often-took vacations, but I also hate this. I don’t want to be here, and I vow to never become a person who shits in the woods. My family wouldn't want that for me either. I am college educated, what am I doing working my ass off lifting boxes in a kitchen and contemplating whether or not I need to stop using a bathroom? This is a weird fucking way to form friendships. I do love this guy though. It’s really hard to accept someone in their entirety, I guess. I want everyone to accept me for my entirety though. It shouldn’t even be hard, since I always use a toilet.

I secretly did think about the liminal space thing before coming here, too. I did consider the outdoorsy mountain men, and from a distance, it was very funny, and very entertaining. My therapist even pointed out: you don’t have to stay there any longer than you want to, you’re the only reason you are going out there. Did she know I thought this move would be a portal, and I’d catapult upwards, and stay up? I’d leave my current boring and dissatisfying life, and live a better one, and instantly become better? I felt like: this is really fun, it’s an adventure and an opportunity that many people won’t take, and I can, and I’ll learn alot and see and do so much, I’ll live a colorful life and emerge shiny squeaky perfect, and super interesting and lovable, since my actions match my words. Perfect plan.

But not so perfect, because I am actually turning into a little hellion.

But it feels like when you board the airplane expecting to take off, and rot on the tarmac for an hour or two. I know that feeling is common lately because of the Govt shutdown, and fucked up airports, and all of that. Similarly, Nothing is really happening for me right now, and I had a lot of expectations. So the minor butts of jokes and the 6:44 AM bus stop banter is the biggest thing happening in my life. I’m just feeling super weird, and scared, and in-between. On planes I don’t feel scared, though. I like flying. And I don’t fear death. I do fear a really uncomfortable and unfamiliar setting, with personalities I am not used to and am even kind of suspicious of. Why am I suspicious of everything? And why am I acting so so nice? Am I so so nice for real? My friends tell me I say some real bitchy things. Do they know how nice I can really be, or am I just really not myself right now, because I am so uncomfortable and exposed. I am default-nice. I wonder if people see through me, I wonder if my eyes have the kind of sparkle that lets you know I am Pure of Heart. One of my coworkers has those eyes. I also think he does crack, but I ignore that. I have been crying in the bathroom. King Vulernability, unfortunately so obvious. Most people I work with ignore that.

So, I clocked the liminal space thing when I was sitting in the Four Seasons by myself on Thanksgiving. I was making a Youtube video, to distract myself from how sad that kinda was. I also committed to posting one YouTube video a week, so I was just meeting the deadline. My mom had made me a reservation to eat at the Four Seasons more-casual restaurant, not their buffet-style-thanksgiving-dinner.

My mom has a thing with the Four Seasons lately, after she and my dad stayed there a few times. But I am not staying at the Four Seasons, I am dining there, and they suggest I sit somewhere (I didn’t hear where, exactly) because the 2nd floor lounge is for guests. The second floor lounge is really cute. The hallway is less so.

So I post up as hell in the fucking hallway, kinda near the valet door, and whip out my sketchbook that I threw in my purse, which is just big enough for my laptop, a book, and my new sketchbook. Or my new notebook. They’re different. This time I brought my sketchbook. It looks cooler to sketch in public, notebook kinda gives scrawling in diary vibes. Maybe off-putting. But who really cares, if I’m a ghost, anyways. Who cares what you do in a liminal space.

So the plan for Thanksgiving was for me to write away in front of a fire. This would give my mom peace of mind. I’m also grateful to write, and I’m grateful for coziness. Being miserable in a liminal space does not mean I stopped experiencing gratitude. It just goes away in a much more harsh and dramatic way. So I agreed, I was gonna type up my book. I do tasks I say I’ll do, mostly so I don’t feel like a poser, or a liar. Especially when I say I am writing a book.

Especially when I know my mom is telling her friends that’s why I’m here in Colorado, ski bumming it.

And I am, aren’t I?

But on Thanksgiving in the Four Seasons hallway, I can't whip out my Mac Book and write a book. Only because no one is going to come interrupt me for dinner. I’m alone, in a hallway, and that’s super sad vibes. I am sitting in a literal hallway and a bunch of families are rolling strollers by me, looking at me and wondering who I’m waiting for (or not thinking about me at all, or maybe admiring my nice cute outfit that I wore so I’d fit in). There are people in robes and hotel-room-slippers coming back from the spa, which I wish I was doing, and girls my-age-ish traipsing in moon boots (58 degrees in Colorado right now, btw). I keep seeing visitors and imagining them as my own friends. Even when I wear my work uni at the bus stop, I want the visiting girls to know that I love to blow my money on travel, proof is on my instagram actually. And we would probably be great friends, even though they’re leaving in a week. I am leaving in a year! I know this and I haven’t even gotten comfortable yet! And I feel like a fucking bitch, honestly, thinking this. Because I chose to come here in a very excited way, and many people would not take this cool opportunity for granted. Do those people understand that I’m scared, and uncomfortable, and apparently growing. Do they know I miss my friends and family and my boring comfortable life? Do they know what it feels like to live in a liminal space?
Or no? Because I’m the only one who ever experiences life? Does anyone know that I’m working really hard at adjusting, since I left the house on Thanksgiving, I didn’t cry, and I keep wearing cute outfits? Do I get credit for this, or is it not even graded?

Literally whatever, I’m going into spirals and I’m just letting that happen. I come out of them. I talk myself up, but not into a tizzy, ok? I’m sitting in a hallway, doodling a self portrait and feeling like an escort, cos I wore a fur poncho and I look absolutely stunning, thanks to two swipes of mascara and some lip liner that matches my skin tone exactly, so you literally can’t see it.

Ultimately, I decided: fuck this, and I texted my mom asking if it was OK that I go somewhere else. She wanted me to be happy and not freak the fuck out on thanksgiving, and she was also trying to do something kind and special for me by treating. So I went to this “alpine” restaurant that is popular during high season. I figured it would be cosy (it was) and it would be much harder to try it in high-season. The New York in me was also popping out, because I wanted to be able to talk-shop with tourists about the popular restaurants in town. I am a city person, I guess. I say I don’t want to participate in the rat race, and I don’t think I do. I want to participate in the conversation.

And luckily, the waitress’ first language is not English. She does not say anything off-script, and I hear her parrot the spell to the tables around me. I feel very comfortable knowing she is, or was in a liminal space here at one point, too. I am more comfortable that she doesn’t ask me why I’m alone on thanksgiving. I can admit my adjustment-spiral to the internet, but I want to look very poised and put together to strangers in real life. That’s why I dressed up and left the house, isn’t it? That, and to prove to myself and everyone that I am working hard to adjust? That my spiral is natural? That if I’m uncomfortable here, it’s not because I didn’t put in effort. I did.

See? I am learning things about myself. And I’m doing the things I said I’d do, weather permitting. I am being super judgmental and fearful, obviously, but I think that will go away. Ideally my plan comes to fruition. Otherwise this is just a chapter. I am really afraid that this era becomes the whole book, that’s all. I don’t want to stay transient, but I do. Since I change my standards so much, and always want better than what I have. Such a bad quality. I want to be happy with what I have, actually. I want to be happier more often, and I want to feel less scared and uncertain and uncomfortable and unsure. Mayyyybeeee that’s why I threw myself into the fire. Like a crucible type bit. I am going to be different by the other side of this, for sure. Because life in the mountains couldn’t be more different than life at sea level. Did I mention my humidifier is getting totally fucked because I’ve been putting Hard water in it, instead of distilled? I don’t even care. Did I mention that I’ve been lathering my hands with O’Keefe’s cream and sticking them in latex gloves at work before I empty the hot-dish sanitizer? You would pay $60 for a hand treatment like that at a nail salon. I am getting real gritty out here. I am Definitely not going to be a cynical priss by the other end of my mountain times. And they will end. If anything, I will be super aware of my surroundings, and a peaceful willing priss. And that actually sounds really nice. I can’t wait to observe all the really rich people, and cherry pick all their best qualities, and judge their worst, and judge myself, and judge everyone. I can’t wait to decide who I am! It’ll be great. I’ll face challenges, like I have been, and I will learn a bunch, and I’ll remain positive. Doesn’t this all sound very nice? Aren’t I so nice?

Everyone says discomfort is the proof that I’m developing. I’m just going to believe them, because it is preferable to being straight up scared and weirded out every time I wake up in the morning. This is candid writing, not profound or linear writing. Maybe I’ll make more sense when things around me make more sense. Sorry I didn’t reread or edit this. It is not a book, it is a blog.

XXXX til next time