Sunday, February 10, 2019

My lava cake is as good as theirs

Dear future hubster,
you know how every Valentine's day I roll my eyes and say something like #FutureNotFlowers or "Send a girl to school"? 
It wouldn't be any different this year - were you around - as I would tell you that instead of spending an evening in a restaurant crowded with couples either smug or uncomfortable, getting probably overprized food while trying to not judge everybody around us, we should offer the same amount of money to do something good with it.
Thing is, we can. Thing is, I already have. Not only because you're not around so I don't need to look for heart-shaped business card holders or edible underwear, but also because you would like this idea, and you would donate too, and then we would have sent two girls to school. 
We can make dinner at home. I'll wear red if you'd like. 

Monday, February 4, 2019

In every single way

Dear future hubster,
that "believe in yourself" mantra, I think that's a bit of a myth. Some people never lost their initial, unchallenged belief of their worth, but the rest of us, we have to learn again.
And it doesn't just happen because you keep telling yourself all the good things. Even other people telling you all the good things is not going to make you believe. If you're a fellow beneficiary of the impostor syndrome, it might just make you feel like you're faking everything. 
What does make a difference though is when people tell you things without those nice words. Unplanned, instinctively. When they look at you and it's obvious that they see beauty. When they giggle uncontrollably. When they wake up crying from a bad dream, and they tell you what it was about. When they ask you important and complicated questions because they are certain you know the answer. When they count on you because they know they can. When they show up for you on small days, not just the big ones. 
Those firework-less, no-big-word, almost unnoticed moments: they make us believe that we're worth it, whatever 'it' is. 
I just wish there was enough of those moments for all the beautiful broken boys and girls with loud ugly voices in their heads telling them nonsense. So that they could also see their beauty. And maybe one day even start believing it. 

Monday, January 28, 2019

Dr. Grey recommends it too

Dear future hubster,
ever since Dr. Simon recommended that I dance to my own beat when stressed, emotional, overwhelmed, or simply need to express things I have no other way to express, I have been practicing rather regularly. I would describe my style as a mix of all 3 belly dancing moves I know, some good old headbanging, shaking everything Mother Nature gave me to shake, some poor imitation of line dancing moves and what I think should be polka if it was more elaborate, some jumping and fist-pumping and pointing other people do at concerts (where I normally just stand still), and of course dramatic moves to accompany my stadium anthem singing. You might refer to it as "versatile" if you ever have to discuss it. 
Now why I'm telling you all this is because I want you to be warned: whenever I take a second Monday off and say that I don't have anything special planned, please know that most likely you will come home to some kind of soup enough to feed the Dothraki hordes, but also please know that this is not an invitation for you to come home early or unannounced. 
Should you do so, you might find in the kitchen, working on those soups and making a mess. Or in the living room, following Dr. Simon's advice, dancing it out. Probably naked. 

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Get lost and then get found

Dear future hubster,
working in flexspace teaches me many things, and routinely disinfecting every morning is just one of them. It shows me, if occasionally somewhat forced analogies with life in general.
It is probably not surprising that I have a selection of tried and confirmed locations where I like to sit. It is definitely not surprising that I do not like being told where to sit. It is understandable that untried locations feel like they are outside my comfort zone, and I only move to new ones on days when I feel I'm up for a little challenging stretch. 
Now there are days when I move far away from my usual locations. Maybe for more quiet, maybe for more pleasant climatic conditions, maybe for discovery.
Or maybe, just maybe, sometimes I withdraw just to see if anybody would notice I'm not around. If anybody would make the effort to come look for me. 
Almost like saying "You're missed".

And maybe not just at work. 

Monday, December 31, 2018

Are you ready?

Dear future hubster,
a week ago I started creating a Spotify playlist. I called it Resistance, and now I can't rename it, because apparently, you can't do that with Spotify playlists, you would have to delete the whole thing and start a new one with a new name.
If I could rename it, I would probably call it We're Still Here. 
I think it's fitting for this end-of-the-year season, to say "this is me, and I'm not going anywhere, so deal with it".
This year has not been easy. Not for the world, not for me. It was rewarding, it taught us many things, it got us to places, but easy it was not. Still, we managed to get this far - the last day of the year (unless you're in East Asia or somewhere in the Pacific, in which case, Happy 2019, dear future hubster), and plan to carry on. We're still here, and we are who we are, only a little more experienced than this time last year. 
There is a chance that 2019 won't be much easier. Hell it may be even harder. And there is not much we can do to prevent or influence what the year brings on. But once it's brought it on, it's all ours to tackle it any way we choose. Life is weird, love is hard, traffic is awful and don't even get me started on the weather. But we can choose to be equally weird, love a little softer, don't give too many damns about the traffic, and maybe sometimes proverbially dance in the rain (not in the middle of traffic though). 
So when the ball drops and Auld Lang Syne starts and there will be fireworks around Miss Libby, I'll be ready to say, "Bring it on, 2019. We're still here."


Saturday, November 24, 2018

Rules work best in threes

Dear future hubster,
the rules for being my flatmate are quite simple:
1. Coffee in the morning comes before everything and everyone else.
2. Accept it as a fact that I don't have too many shoes.
3. Only put the bottle of alcohol back in the fridge if it still has a visible amount left in it. Otherwise just empty it and get me a new one.

Sunday, November 18, 2018

Not perky. Obnoxious.

Dear future hubster, 
when you finally decide to show up, and I convince myself to settle down for a while (don't even ask me to settle down forever, that's way too unnerving, let's just start with a few years at the time), and we can finally have a fully equipped kitchen, please be prepared to have plates that insult you and your guests, weird Danish pinboards and unicorn-shaped cushions, and potentially mugs that promote Trudeau 2020.
I come with an eclectic style, yes.