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Really Airport? Red Carpets?

Posted by melaniehamlett on October 19, 2012October 19, 2012

(The Teeny Tiny Airport in Aruba)

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The face you make when the bike you literally just got fixed at the bike shops gets ANOTHER flat tire an hour later. Only this time you’re an a couple miles from home and have to walk back. What is with you, bike gods?! Why do you want me to not have the one thing that makes me so happy right now?! Oooooooh, I see. To force me to cry a lot since I’m too busy and overwhelmed from moving and being in a new country and traveling to grieve? Okay, if that’s the case, well played, Bike Gods. You have made me cry more and harder over these goddamn bikes than anything else in my life I think. The flat only cost $12. I know I’m not crying this hard over waking through a beautiful area or spending an extra twelve goddamn dollars. Grief is a bitch, y’all! It finds it way into your life through whatever cracks it can slither into. Come at me, grief. I’m here. I ain’t scared of you anymore. Just leave the fucking bikes out of it please.

I like the graffiti here (this is 2 blocks from my house)

Finally cracking open this sucker . I haven’t written a new essay for anyone since my dad died. I just didn’t care and I was exhausted by everything and I felt too vulnerable to put myself out there for the kind of cruel criticism from bored garbage people that usually comes along with getting pieces published. On top of that, the last two months straight of my life have been totally chaotic and exhausting and exhilarating with all the moving and uprooting and reunions. And then again with showing up in a country where I don’t know the language or anyone but my ex (who I’m not seeing). But after 3 weeks here, I feel like I have my feet on the ground for the first time since April. Today was the first day (with the exception of that one in Greece I just posted about) where I didn’t talk to anyone I knew (except one phone call) and I took care of shit I’ve been putting off for months (still need to do those taxes though!). Luckily, selling my truck gave me this financial cushion I needed to be okay with not working and instead focusing on taking care of myself emotionally, uprooting from LA indefinitely, spending precious time with friends and family, moving across the world (indefinitely ), and finding community and a support system here. I still don’t know the language but now I at least have friends, a home for awhile, familiarity with my neighborhood, some routines in place, a pool membership, and an adorable bike (with a goddamn flat already!). But like a restless dog circling its bed (I’m borrowing that metaphor form Julia Cameron), I am desperate to have a sense of purpose again. I’m tired of floating and grieving and settling. Now it’s time to write. And I’m scared shitless I have forgotten how or that I’m no good at it anymore. But I know I took an even longer break last summer and it was fine. When I finally got settled in Spain by November, there was no stopping me and my career took off. I think some breaks are necessary, especially the ones forced. So cheers to the terrifying blank page all writers must face and the self doubt that comes along with it. Let’s hope my internalized internet trolls don’t get in the way too much.

I saw these in Holland too. I need a DOG cafe though

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