On not settling for less than amazing

Here I am, not wanting to put words to things again. I hadn’t noticed how reluctant I can be to put words to things. There is time for words, and there is time for no words.

My desire right now is to “let it ride” - to be silent, to just experience life as it unfolds, to reflect through feelings and sensations and being with what is… and not put words to it.

But there is this pesky commitment. To write, and to use words.

My belly is a bit full at the moment. We went out for burgers and beer last night to talk about where we want to live. Because you can’t have that conversation on an empty stomach. And my belly is filled with burger right now. It actually feels good, to be full. I have been in a perpetual state of hunger for about a week now, ever since my event. I can’t seem to eat enough. I downed a big tub of cashew cranberry trail mix almost singlehandedly over the weekend; this was after eating meals. I went for a run yesterday morning to explore Buffalo; on long run days I am ravenous and pretty much eat all the things and am as lazy as possible. The narrative isn’t even “I’ve earned this” — it’s more primal than that. It’s sub verbal. More grunty.

So the burger is a nice counterpose.

But I would tear up a kale salad right now.

We are in Buffalo, NY, house hunting. I tried searching for ‘gastropub’ or ‘best kale salad’ online; no avail. There’s a difference between the clean-eating kale salad that some places make, and the kale salad of the hipster pub that I am prowling for. I want a beer with my kale salad, served to me by a tattooed bartender who doesn’t say much but is watching everything. I want a kale salad made by people who eat meat, and who treat kale like the meaty queen of the greens it is. I want a kale salad that slaps my tastebuds and makes my whole body ache with pleasure, it’s so good.

Kale is my spirit animal.

At home, I’ve been making this kale salad that is crazy simple. I chop up a bunch of kale, squeeze some lemon juice, olive oil, apple cider vinegar, sprinkle some salt and sugar on it, and massage it. Then I throw whatever’s in the cupboards and fridge on it.

Right now, I would mess that kale salad up. I would put a bunch of salami and sunflower seeds and radish on that mother trucker and mess. It. Up.

Ooh, and shaved carrots too.

For flair and crunch.

So we’ve looked at 7 places to live so far. We’ve narrowed it down to two. M likes the house with the fenced yard; I like the two story loft with the non-Euclidean geometry, as he calls it, that’s really close to what seems like the social part of the city.

I’m watching myself go through this process and keep bumping into a principal: “look for the option that feels 100% good.” I may need to massage the wording on that at some point, but the basic idea is that I never need to settle for something that feels less than amazing. The amazing option is always on the table, for those who are open. I’ve watched myself talk myself out of the amazing option in the past, and there really is no need.

I’m not convinced that either of our two options are the amazing option.

Which is kind of a bit of a gamble, right? To possibly leave town without a place to actually live in a month. But that’s when I zoom out, and this isn’t just a “where are we going to live?” decision… it’s a “what kind of life do I want to live?” decision. If we pick one of these two places, it feels like I would be settling. The worry is that if we don’t pick one of these two places, we will be homeless when we move here in a month… or we will regret letting them float down the river and go to someone else?

This whole mental exploration of possibilities fascinates me. It also tells me how I really feel. I don’t love either place enough to worry about losing it.

Also?

There’s that idea that a maybe is a no.

So are my huevos big enough to pass on the two birds in our hand right now, in the hopes that something better will come along?

“A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush.”

“Better play it safe.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Be reasonable.”

None of that makes my heart sing right now. But what makes my lips curl into they slightest grin, what makes me feel sly and mischievous and magical and alive, is to adopt the Supreme Court’s position on pornography - “we’ll know it when we see it” — and say that we haven’t seen our home yet. With the fenced in yard and the spacious living area and ample bedrooms and the proximity to restaurants and cafes and that’s beautiful and feels like us.

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