Utopian City

My perfect city is one without cars. I somehow got this idea in my head several years ago, and it just wont go away. I dream of smaller cities, where people know their neighbors. I think of self-sufficient neighborhoods that each contain a few small markets and coffee shops. Of course, all of the houses and apartments have luscious gardens filled with many edibles.  In my city public transportation runs regularly and is neither crowded nor expensive. It is a pleasant way to get to work and people spend the ride chatting with their neighbors rather than staring silently ahead.

This perfect city has many healthy inhabitants that walk or ride their bicycles everywhere. It has a green bike system that allows people to leave a bike anywhere and pick up a bike that is not in use. On the outskirts of the city are several car parks where people can leave their personal vehicles. In order to be allowed in the city, vehicles need to be permitted as delivery vehicles, and drivers can only use them during work hours.

It is a slower city. It is a smaller city. People there are not focused on getting to their destination quickly, but in enjoying the journey. It is filled with parks that have lovely paths to walk on. Streets are few, and rather small.

When an awesome person dies too soon due to a vehicular accident, I sigh and long for my perfect little car-free haven. I know it will never happen. People would protest if their cars were taken away. They have a "right," to drive. They would say they "need," their car to get to work or for their social life. In many ways they would be right. The modern world is designed around everyone having a car. Finally, they would say they are sorry for my loss, but cars don't kill people, it is irresponsible drivers, and not everyone should be punished for that. It's true, but I don't care. I would prefer the slow, car-free city.

To all of those who have vehicles in their lives, I implore you:

• Don't drive intoxicated. 
• Don't drive when you are tired. 
• Don't drive in bad weather. 
• Don't text while driving. 
• Don't talk on the phone while driving. 
• Don't play with the radio, gps, or other technology while driving. 
• Remain alert while driving. 
• Respect the vehicle for the large machine it is, and remain aware of the immense damage that it can do in mere seconds. 
• Try to avoid driver's entitlement and road rage. 

Dream a Little Dream

Sometimes I feel most like myself in my dreams. Strange, because in these dreams I am rarely myself.

The other night I dreamt of four different couples. I flitted in and out of all of their bodies. Male, female, all with a different set of desires and reactions. They went about their mundane, daily life and I felt the sun on their shoulders or the way their bodies folded as they lay on a couch. They were being slowly drawn together. In the evening the four couples went to an extravagant ball. I felt their hands clasped in hands, around wasits and shoulders, as they swirled around and around.

The day felt like silk. Not the shiny, satiny silk, but the dull, super soft stuff that feels a bit like marshmellows when you touch it. Too soft for its strength, the juxtoposition makes me shudder like nails on a chalkboard and yet I cannot release it. The ball felt like velvet. Soft. Warm. Inviting. Complete.

I dream in motion. Sometimes I dream in e-motion. Electronic impulses that jump from nerve to nerve. I feel the way they rush up to the precipice, then jump, or fall, or cling until they are shaken off. I feel them swirling in the abyss. Floating. Fast and slow, all at once. Speed is nothing when there is no end.

True, I feel it during the day, too. My tongue running up behind my teeth is a journey. But it is in my dreams that I have a complete surrender to the motion of life. It is then that I feel like I have come into my own, and I am whole.

I chose right...

It's my husband's first father's day! They don't actually celebrate father's day in Bulgaria, but then, I have never seen a Bulgarian father as involved and in love with his son as my husband is.

There are sometimes when I wonder if perhaps Nikola isn't a bit too young for me. Maybe we should have waited for him to experience some more, "real world, life before settling down to start a family. But then I see him with Peatuk, and I know that I am absolutely unfounded in my wonderings.

So, here are 10 reasons Nikola is the best father around:

1. He was very involved with my pregnancy. Perhaps this makes him the best husband, but I think it also contributes to his dad-ness. He held me and cried when I got a positive pregnancy test. He refrained from drinking alcohol almost my entire pregnancy. He took me to every prenatal appointment and helped me translate all of my concerns to the midwife. He grabbed my toe and looked at me with teary eyes the first time we heard Peatuk's heartbeat. Like Ross to Rachel, he helped me find our son when I lost him on the sonogram printout. He made me take my pre-natal vitamin every night, even though I rolled my eyes at him in protest. 
2. He was there every minute of the birth. It is very uncommon for Bulgarian men to attend the birth of their children. Nikola checked into the hospital with me, and did not leave my bedside until Peatuk was born and we were both sure he was safe. Then, he only left because there was no where for him to sit while I slept in the delivery room. 
3. The first time he held Peatuk he looked like a natural. I was afraid to break him, but Nikola was just happy to have him in his arms. 
4. When Peatuk was taken away from us at the hospital to be put on fluids, Nikola was the one to constantly pester the nurses about how he was, and when we could have him back in our room. 
5. He spent countless nights bottle feeding Peatuk my expressed milk while I recovered from birth. When Peatuk could not learn how to suckle at the breast, Nikola went online and found some techniques to teach him how. He spent hours sitting next to me, helping his son learn how to eat, until Peatuk learned a perfectly soft but efficient latch. (Mother and son are grateful for that one.) 
6. Whenever Nikola picks up Peatuk, or plays with him, Peatuk laughs and smiles in a way that he doesn't for anyone else. Our baby ADORES him, and I like to believe our baby has good taste in people. 
7. He goes to check-ups with our little guy, and when Peatuk has to get injections, he is the one comforting the little guy because I can't stand to watch. 
8. He enjoys carrying Peatuk in the mei-tei. The two are adorable friends exploring the world together. Nikola does agood job of keeping him engaged while they go for walks. 
9. Nikola has an abundance of patience. Whether it is rocking Peatuk to sleep, or dealing with random fussiness, Nikola always approaches our baby with kindness and excitement. 
10. He isn't afraid to tell his son how much he loves him. 

So, yeah, Nikola's socks might end up on the floor, and he double checks with me almost every time he has to put Peatuk in a new outfit, but overall, he is one of the most responsible, kind, giving, loving father's I know. There is no one else I would choose over him to have a child with, and I can't wait to watch our son grow together. 

Stillness

Peatuk has gotten into babbling lately. He has also gotten into 'singing,' which, unfortunately, sounds a lot like crying. The only difference is that he smiles at the end, which somehow makes forty seconds of, "Mommy, I think I have to pee," singing quite adorable. It's little things like this that make my life, 'perfect' right now.

But let's think about perfection. Perfection implies some sort of satisfaction. It implies there is nothing left to do. I was socialized as a thirsty American too well to ever allow myself to not want any more. So, even when I am happy, I construct more needs. We need to fully furnish our house. We need to purchase a house. We need a car. We need. We need. We need. Seriously, I no sooner finished a post about how perfect my life is with Nikola and Peatuk than I created a list of all of the things we need to buy in the next year.

I call bullshit on myself.

The truth is, when I sink into the stillness of satisfaction, it doesn't feel like perfection. The bliss of having is short lived. Instead, anxiety starts to swell up. It bubbles. Like carbonation beneath the skin. I feel like a shark that stopped moving: slowly suffocating. The moment I no longer have a goal I feel lost. I feel like I am wasting time. The need to desire, to crave, builds up within me, and more often than not I end up running away from that sensation as quickly as possible. I fill my desire with cheap things that I don't really need. I am that uncomfortable with satisfaction. Or I am not really satisfied.

Either way, I think I need to find a way to pull myself out of this consumer mindset I have began to use as a crutch, and allow myself to really settle into stillness. I need to let myself really feel the anxiety. I need to take the time to honestly reflect. Maybe I will embrace my satisfaction. Maybe I will find out what the real hole I am trying to fill is. Maybe I will find it all to be ridiculous and give up. All I know, is that it needs to be done.

#yesallwomen

Lately the internet has been flooded with retellings (or first tellings) of violence women have suffered, due simply to our gender.  At first I was hesitant to add my voice to the chorus. Compared to some of my friends I have suffered very little, and I do not want to diminish their stories by comparing them with something less intense. Then, I realized the #yesallwomen is about showing that all women suffer from gender violence, and so I believe that every woman should share their experience, even if it seems comparatively insignificant.

Because I am a female:

• I have been whistled at and called after on the street. 
• When I didn't respond, the whistling turned into hurtful comments, about me being ugly. 
• I have felt unsafe walking down an empty street at night, and called a friend, just to have my phone line open in case something happened. 
• I have been drugged at a bar. 
• I have had my butt and breasts groped at work, on the bus, and in the street. 
• A taxi driver felt it was appropriate to demand sex as payment. 

There are more. These little bits of violence pepper everyday life so often that eventually, they stop registering. But here is the really strange thing. Sometimes, my friends tell me about how men (old men, young men, attractive and unattractive) make lewd comments towards them on the street. Although this happens to me, it doesn't happen nearly as much as it does to other girls, and this makes me think, "What is wrong with me? Am I really so unattractive that I can't even get the attention no one wants?" What does that say, when gender violence is so normalized in our society that I devalue myself for not being a victim? It isn't that I want to experience it. It is just that it is so normal, so common, that I find myself an outlier because I do not endure it. THAT, I think, is sad. 

Shadows

Last night, I was putting Peatuk down for bed, and I noticed all of the shadows in our room. Our room is still in the process of being unpacked. That means that it is cluttered, the floor has tons of stuff on it, and the cupboards are usually open from my occasionally putting away an item here and there, then leaving the task. This, combined with the yellow night-lamp we use backlighting everything from behind his crib, makes for a rather creepy setting.

Well, it is creepy to me. I am not sure if it is creepy to my son. As I tried to soothe him I noticed he was looking up at his mobile and whimpering. Whimpering at bedtime is a common occurrence. He whimpers because he is tired. He whimpers because he doesn't want to be left alone. He whimpers because it helps put him to sleep. I wondered if he was whimpering at the mobile, and if he was, was he whimpering because he wanted it to run again, or because the shadows made it frightening?

Do babies fear? When do we start to develop fears, and what causes them?

I know what makes me fear the shadows in my room. It comes from an obsession with horror films. Thrillers. Dark, psychological stories. I like reading books about things that go bump in the night. I am fascinated by serial killers. I know that these subjects will end up leaving me sleepless, wondering about ghosts in the closet and monsters under the bed, and yet I can't help myself.

I guess, in many ways, horror/thriller is my porn.

The reason I am anti-porn is because I believe it restricts an individual's sexual vocabulary. When sex is something shared by two people (or more, whatever) in privacy, it is an act of exploration and expression. When one of those two people has watched many other people having sex, they have a set expectation of what is included in sex, which limits their potential creativity. Their world-view is shaped by the sexual dialect they have learned.

Similarly, my world-view has been shaped by a dialect of fear, created by horror films. I have learned to associate shadows with their potential to hide people/things that would harm me. I have learned to imbue objects with the potential for animation, and the animation they take on is always ominous. Open cupboards, bathroom mirrors, empty houses... heck, even my baby's eyes, in low light, can freak me out. Even when I know, logically, I am safe, I still have a bit of a sickening thrill in the back of my throat. I know exactly where it comes from. Child's Play. Nightmare on Elm Street. Carrie. These books and films have penetrated to my very core, changing me.

Nikola does not like horror films. If I want to watch them, I have to watch them on my own now days. He sees no value in adding that fear to his life. Until yesterday, I didn't really understand what the big deal was.

I don't want to raise my son in a shroud of potential harm. I want him to experience potential magic. I want him to have a vocabulary in which shadows are beautiful and mysterious, but not frightening. I don't want him to watch horror films, and I don't want him to pick up on my issues from the films I have watched over the years. It makes me wonder- can this be undone? They say that certain things cannot be unseen. Will these images, and the fear they inspire, stick with me for the rest of my life? Or is there a way to overcome it in myself? I like to think that porn viewers can learn to expand their sexual vocabulary when they stop watching porn and develop an ongoing sexual relationship with another individual. It takes time, but slowly they begin to develop their own voice. Unfortunately, with horror, I am not looking to establish my voice, but to take certain aspects out of my world view. Can I forget, or is it too late for me? 

Perfection

This isn't what I imagined my life would be like at age 30. To be perfectly honest, I never really bothered to dream about the future that much. I suppose that occasionally, while dating particularly lovely people, I considered a family life. But up until the Peace Corps, I was too busy planning my next three months to think about my next three years.

Now my husband and I live in a small apartment on the outskirts of the 2nd/3rd (depending on the time of year) largest city in Bulgaria, which still feels small compared to San Francisco. We have a three-month old son, and very little routine. We live from income to income, despite how affordable this country is, mostly due to unforeseen immigration expenses (oh, and having a baby). Although both of us can make between $20-30/hour working online, we tend to spend too much time in bed, or playing with our son, to actually make a sizable profit.

My main concerns these days are the color of poop that comes out of my son, and a diaper rash that comes and goes. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my heart, I want to be able to write again, but it just doesn't seem as important as singing, "Itsy Bitsy Spider," or tickling Peatuk's toes to hear him giggle. My biggest frustration is the smell of slightly sour milk coming from our kitchen sink at the moment, and the fact that half of our apartment is still not set up. My biggest desire is a real, live, working, washing machine (next month!).

My days look like this:

Wake up and feed our son. Put him back to bed and wake up his father. Watch glee while feeding the baby. Look for articles to write online. Debate what to cook for dinner. Decide to make a salad instead of cooking. Take a 2-3km walk around the new neighborhood. Decide that the sea views and adorable houses, mixed with the young, family atmosphere was worth moving away from my awesome mother-in-law. Stop by the local store and pick up ingrediants for our salad. Go home. Watch That 70's show while having dinner. Take a family shower. Go to bed. Wake up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby. Sooth him and put him back down. Lure my still-working husband into bed. Repeat.

Occasionally, there are visits to Peatuk's doctor, which involve an exciting bus trip into town, and the inevitable "breast-feeding-in-public."

Sound boring? Perhaps, but I am strangely satisfied by it. Although I have some desire lurking in me, such as adding daily morning yoga to our routine, and getting in dance classes eventually, for the most part I am happy.

Last night there were fireworks being set off over the sea. We had a perfect view of them from Nikola's office. They were huge, and loud, and the three of us sat on our front steps for a moment and just watched. It was perfect.

However, I am still missing one key thing: that perfect female friend. I am not an overly social person. I find small-talk tedious and I don't really enjoy having a lot of aquaintences. However, the happiest times in my life have been when I had a good female friend. I am thinking back to Jez, and Holly. These two women were amazing. They brought out parts of me I didn't even know existed. Going for coffee, a run, out dancing, or just hanging around the house, possibly cooking, was so basic that I took it for granted. Now, even though I talk with both of them, I am realizing I need to find one of those good friends here.

But I run into the problem I have always encountered: How does a shy, socially demanding, woman cut through the bullshit and find a friend? Both Holly and Jez were magical work finds. Working from home cuts that out. I have never been particularly good at finding friends in dance class, or yoga, although those will be places I am looking. Internet friends rarely turn out sane (except Maria and Eva- those were good finds). Babies are supposed to be friend magnets, and although Peatuk does get quite a bit of attention while we are out, I haven't made a magical connection yet.

So, perfect life, almost. Just one more thing. Operation, find that perfect lady friend.