The Bedroom Set

"The things you own end up owning you." 

How much does a new bedroom set really say about me? Does it define me? Of course, the answer is much more complex than the question. 

Yesterday Nikola and I purchased a new bedroom set: bed, frame, mattress, nightstands, dresser with mirror, and wardrobe. It is all set to be delivered in two weeks. The large impulse purchase- for we really didn't NEED it- has me thinking about space and self. 

When I was young, my bedroom was a public space. 

As a child, I had a single bed and a closet filled with toys. When we had company over, my mother would send me and whatever children were around my age into my room to play. Pink plastic horses and teddy bears, along one wall a cornflower clue comforter covering the bed, and no privacy. 

As I grew, my bedroom changed several times. Being the only girl in the house I had my own room, while my brothers had to share, but was never particularly possessive of it. A room in California, three different rooms in New York, and finally, a room in Prescott. The 'playing' changed from dolls and horses to whispered conversations about boys and school and other teenage drama. I graduated to a queen sized bed, and packed countless friends into it over the years, wondering briefly if friends cuddled or slept on opposite edges of the bed before I fell asleep. 

During these years I was slightly more obsessed with decoration than I am now. My walls housed posters, drawings, and, strangely, the back covers of three years worth of reader's digest magazines. At least twice a year I shuffled the bed, desk, and dresser around to try to find a new perspective. 

In high school, the room became less of a place to play and more of a place to work. It was where I practiced my instruments. It was where I wrote. My senior year I got my first computer, a Christmas present for impending college, and I moved my studying from the kitchen table to my bedroom. 

Then, college began, and I started sharing my room. Bunk beds and a refrigerator, the room, especially my dorm room, became a social hub. People stopping by with sack lunches, or to heat a bowl of spaghetti-o's, to play a board game or get dressed for RHPS. People came and went, and still, the decorations in the rooms were meant to say something about who I was to the many people passing through. 

Even when I lived alone, as a single girl, my room was designed to be presented. A cuddly nest on the floor for dates, a few conversational pieces on the walls. 

Now, suddenly, it seems like things are different. Nikola and I have a "grown up," life, and a "grown up" living arrangement. Which works out to a very private bedroom that very few people have any reason to enter. 

We have a living room, where we live. There is no reason to retreat to the solitude of our bedroom with a meal or to watch a movie. We can do that in the dining area or the living room. When we have guests, we have a fold out couch where they sleep, making our bed our own. Computers are in the living room and office. Guitar is in the living room. All of our 'life' is lived outside of our bedroom. 

And yet... our bedroom is not a place for only sleep and sex. It is a place for a very private, intimate family life. It is where we read Peatuk bedtime stories. It is where we lay in bed, looking up at fake stars and point out false constellations to each other. It is where Peatuk eats his last snack before bedtime, and falls asleep so peacefully on my breast. It is where we cuddle and whisper secrets to each other. In some ways it is a very sacred space. 

So, as we slowly accumulate furniture to put on display and make our guests comfortable- a couch, a table, a microwave, shouldn't we also take the time to turn that private space into the sanctuary it could be? Yes, we could last with the hard mattress and slightly squeaky bed that rocks back and forth like a ship at sea whenever one of us crawls in at the end of the day. We could keep the slightly wonky, blocky cabinets from the 1980's. Or, we can fill that room with warm, elegant furniture and make it into our oasis. 

I am not the type to neglect my own desires for the sake of appearances, and neither is Nikola. Hopefully, that is something we will teach Peatuk as well, as we lay on our comfy bed and dream together.  

Desire

Perhaps I am just another victim of the romance myth. You know, that myth that drives our consumerism and gets the female half of box office sales.

"Find your one. Find your one. Find your one."

The myth whispers.

It gives every little girl (and boy) a purpose. Okay, not everyone, but many of us.

Then, one day, I find my, "one." Even though I don't believe that there is a one, I can say I achieved the disney dream of my prince.

I have a husband, and not just any husband, but one that makes me happy. Giddy at times. Not just a husband, but a best friend. I have found the one, and I am left flat, wondering, what now?

I guess this is why they say to build a career. I guess this is why they say you shouldn't look for another person to complete you.

No, I do not feel like he completes me, but I do feel overly satisfied.

I talked with Nikola about this the other day... I told him that I was too satisfied by him and our life together. I used to run around- different activities and different festivals and different countries, and although I was not always looking for someone, the thrill of possibility was always there. Who will I meet that will make me go weak in the knees?

I am not saying that I wont meet amazing people now. I am just saying that I am content to stay at home, playing with my son and flirting with my husband. An entire existence broken only by brief trips to the store and the occasional visit to grandma's.

I have no desire to leave our little bubble, but I do have a desire to have a desire. I have grown accustomed to desire- thirst. I want to want.

So, I am thinking of old hobbies and new hobbies, and how to integrate a little baby into a life that allows me to explore on my own, or at least explore myself.

I bought some acrylics the other day- perhaps I will take up painting. I am also looking for earthbuilding workshops in the area. Of course, when the half hour I get to myself every day is taken with dishes or laundry or a bit of writing... the thought of adding more is a bit daunting. But I fear that if I don't find a thirst I will let myself wither, and we can't have that. 

On Motherhood

Usually I don't think of being a mother as a particularly big deal. Sure, there was the whole pregnancy and birth thing, and yes, I am constantly tied to a small being, unable to travel or even go get a coffee on my own for longer than three hours. But still...

Peatuk is this unbelievably chill, fun little person. He is all smiles and laughter and curiosity and discovery. So, he coos from the bed when he wakes up and I have to go get him and sing him, "Good Morning Beautiful," as he giggles at me. It's really not a lot to ask from a person.

Then, there are moments when I really feel like a mother. Moments (rare) when he is sobbing uncontrollably because he is tired and the world is so big and he just can't fall asleep. True, it might be his father that finally gets him to calm down, but as I rub his back, fighting off his whimpers and keeping him asleep, I realize that I am his protector.

That is when I realize that being a mother... being HIS mother, is a big deal. The trust that he can't help but give me. His complete dependence.

Slowly, he will grow up. I already see so many changes in his eyes as he begins to see the world for what it is. Eventually, if I do my part correctly, he wont need me.

But for now I am completely honored to welcome this soul into the world and guide him through those first, wonderful, frightening, overwhelming years. 

Moments in Motion

The debate over digital cameras, and how much they distract individuals from, "living in the moment," vs. their ability to capture and share experiences, thoughts, and ideas is tired. At least, it is tired in me. Perhaps because I surrendered to my desire to purchase a nice digital camera for Peatuk last holiday season and have become one of those obsessed mothers, sharing thousands of bright colored photos of my son on facebook with hardly any intention of looking back on them again. I've made my decision. I am pro-camera. 

However, even with the decision made, I can't help but be overwhelmed with how much the digital camera influences our every day lives and our cultural rituals. 

First of all, it seems like we are living in a never-ending photo-shoot. I remember being a teenager, trying on clothing. I remember twisting this way and that in front of a mirror. I remember twirling to see how a dress or skirt flowed. After all, clothing is meant to be worn in motion. We do not sit still all day. That is why fashion shows involve live models walking a runway. It is not the final pose that matters, but the pathway to the climax. 

Now, bombarded by online catalogues and constant pictures of girls posing at the beach, in front of statues, at the club, wherever they are... it feels like the motion has been lost. Selfies in the mirror show how girls try on clothes, and there is no motion to it. Butt out, breasts out, lips ducked. Does the outfit hit the pose? It is as if existence has ceased to move and has instead become a stop-motion caricature of life. 

I remember being guided through one of my first modeling sessions by my friend. She had me twisting into uncomfortable, unnatural positions. The pictures turned out great, but they were not something you would see in real life. They were a statement, they were not me.

Now, I think that it is a lot more likely that I will see these postures in every day life. On the street corner, girls wearing 6 inch heels, arching their backs as they lean against a wall. Everyone is a pin up model. 

Parties, weddings, the first day of school... they are all optimized for photos. Everything works towards that single 'click.' It has gone beyond distraction and changed the very fabric of life. How we relate to each other. How we relate to our selves. How we relate to the world around us. 

The world feels jolted. 

Click. Step. Click. Step. Click. Smile. Click.

It continues, like strobes.

I wonder if that is why I have lost my motion. The world has stopped moving around me. 

Scammed

We are too trusting, as a couple.

Yesterday we ran into a guy talking on his cell phone, saying that he was frustrated that no one spoke English in Varna. (Should have been the first clue, because there are plenty of people who speak English). I went over to him to ask if we could help, thinking that maybe he was a traveler needing a bit of translation.

He told us a sob story about how his bag was stolen, he had missed his flight home, and he had a dissertation to defend on Tuesday. I should have known. It was too thorough of a story and there were too many holes in it as well.

But we were trusting, and gave him 250 euro. He insisted on wiring us the money from his bank before he would accept the money. When we got home, we realized the receipt was fake, from a fake bank, and the emails he gave us for him and his father were fake. It was a scam- one that I foolishly didn't expect to be played in such a poor country.

There were moments when I felt wrong, but we went ahead, giving this stranger the benefit of the doubt. Now, I feel sick to my stomach, knowing that he took advantage of a young family, with a baby no less. :(

I know, we shouldn't have been so trusting. I think I was waiting for Nikola to say something, to confirm my feeling, and he never did.

It isn't like we are rich. We pretty much emptied our bank account for that guy. <Sigh>

Now, how do I make the feeling of sickness and sorrow in the pit of my stomach and behind my eyes go away? 

Community and Home

I tell people in Bulgaria that I want to live in a village, and for the most part they turn up their noses at me and, almost suspiciously, ask why I would want to do that. Of course, these are the young ones. But they see the villages as dying venues. In a way, they are right. The population of Bulgarian villages continues to shrink while their urban areas swell.

Their words inspire me to dig deeper into my dream. To cling. I want out of the city. A little house, heated by wood, built with my own hands, designed from the lines that grow in my brain. A garden. The sound of kids exploring louder than the sound of cars revving their engines and honking their horns.

I wonder what everyone finds so intoxicating about cities. The promise of a better life. A high paying job in a capitalistic society. The potential to meet anyone. Likeminded. To surround yourself with a clique of your choosing. Over 100 different cafes. Restaurants. Nightclubs. Bars. Places to get drunk and pretend that you might meet someone, except that everyone is too wrapped up in their own lives, and trying to remove the pressure of being stacked 10 stories deep, that they never actually make an effort to say hello.

Life would be difficult in a village. Cooking every meal, or at least 95%. No place to go to just stare at people and imagine who and what they are. No creative outlets. Friends would actually have to travel to us. A lack of schools. A lack of stores to get my mind off of my social frustration.

People say we should only move where we know we will have work, and a village is not a place offering jobs. But Nikola and I work in a virtual world not constrained by location. Unless he starts a business. For now, we could isolate ourselves in the woods and, so long as we can run high speed internet there, have enough money for food, heating, and to pack away for family trips and the University education I no longer believe in.

In other words: work is a very small limitation.

Then what is stopping us?

I have no idea where in Bulgaria I would want to live. When we were in Istanbul, daydreaming about being back in a land where we trusted people and could communicate without issues, we said Hissar. Now, it seems so far away. Strange. No further away than Tucson from Prescott and yet it seems like a completely impossible distance.

Maybe it is because, honestly, I don't have a desire to live there. Here's the thing: I want a house, and a home, my version of the "white picket fence" but I don't know where I want that. I don't even have a clue. It feels like yet another attack of paralysis due to too much choice.

I used to choose where I went next based on the amenities. A fire spinning culture. Writers and artists. Cafes and pool halls where these people gathered. Organic food stores. Awesome nature. Japanese food. Mexican food. Killer sunsets. An airport.

Now, none of that seems to matter. It would all be nice to have, but I have learned to live without it. By the time I applied to join the Peace Corps, I was really done with a desire to live in certain places. That is why it was so easy for me to say, "Georgia? Sweet! Bulgaria? Okay!" I no longer cared about place. I was seeking something else.

Then, I went to Istanbul and I thought that I found another place that would invigorate and inspire me. Force me to grow. And I was sorely disillusioned by my experience there. We came back to Bulgaria and I just fizzled out with my need for place.

I found something more important. I need community. I need to live around likeminded individuals. Where is the Dunbar springs of Bulgaria? The Haight? Heck, I would take Tucson in general. Where are there hippie parents raising hippie, barefoot kids? Who hang out on the beach, watching the sunset and discussing philosophy and poetry and art? Where are the people who make art? I am sure there are some in Varna. There are a few sprinkled everywhere, of course. I am just so out of touch with the culture I love that I have no idea how to find or build community.

Remember those days when we used to dream of a little haven. A commune, if you will. With burners. With geeks. With D/s, sex positive advocates. With... someone who reflects who I want to be. People who drive me to better myself.

I guess it was all just dreams.

At least now I know. The reality of my situation. I need to stop looking for land and houses and potential roots. Instead I need to find people who settle my heart and set my soul on fire. 

Monster

Gone is the sweet, well-behaved boy that everyone used to be shocked by... He has been replaced with a monster. A terror. The idea of sleeping makes him cry. We're talking screaming, crocodile tears, the whole works. Last night Nikola loaded him up in the wrap and took him for an hour walk to get him to sleep.

We considered cry-it-out to get him sleeping, but I honestly can't. If I can't fall asleep without Nikola next to me, why do I expect my 6 month old son to? Of course, I don't kick and claw as much as he does... But still.

We need to start getting him into a routine, which is difficult considering both of us are home employed and don't know noon from moon. Maybe I just need to nap during his four hour morning nap instead of working and taking 'me' time.

Routines? Gradual parental extinction? Any ideas?

PS- He is still really sweet, after we both get naps. I mean, just check him out with his new favorite toy!