What you're about to read is just a bunch of Sara writing: not terribly eloquent, flawless or hilariously original, but decent, intelligent and lightly amusing. Maybe even a little interesting, if you're curious about a girl whose current idea of heaven is a cozy Saturday morning and a killer bowl of oatmeal.
I'm living in the heart of Downtown Sacramento now. I used to hate Downtown out of fear. It overwhelmed me with things that don't exist in my small country town: One way streets. Traffic. Diversity. Street parking. Hobos.
I think my fascination for my new home is a reflection of a perspective expansion over the past year or so. Heck, I spent 2 weeks running around Paris by myself this summer. Remember that? If you're connected to me via social media, you do... I shamelessly flooded you in my excitement. (Sorry about that... but you know you can hide stories from appearing in the future. I'm a huge advocate of that feature and it has smoothed my daily scrolling quite a bit). (even though that's true, that was me being facetious). I soaked up the lush trees, the architecture, the food (took an extra 8 lbs home with me, yeah I did), the chain-smoking leather-wearing musicians I traveled with and mooched off of thanks to my dear, talented friend Briana and hot damn it was all spectacular.
Fun fact: Sacramento is second only to Paris, France, in number of trees per capita in the world.
Sure, there are some areas of Sacramento that I would never walk through. No, I don't leave stuff in my car and yes, I lock my door. Last weekend my roommate and I went on a jog to McKinley Park and had the time of our lives stopping at old houses and found the real life equivalent to a Munsters-meets-Adams Family mansion- we're talking the whole gothic, black and white shabang with gargoyle-like lion heads over each story, a completely dead yard surrounded by a high, locked iron gate, and old furniture visible in some of the windows. This mansion quite honestly looks like what every haunted mansion and horror movie was ever inspired by and it was abandoned and AWESOME.
We said goodbye to Grandma's House after a crazy succession of events that led 3 separate lives to come to the same conclusion at once: our current locations needed to change, and soon. After 2 months of what I thought was doing the responsible thing and searching for my dream place EARLY, I STILL didn't get the keys to a place until - wait for it - 8:00PM the night before we were moving out of Grandma's House. So instead of taking my truckload of stuff home and storing it the garage until I was finished sleeping on people's couches, my parents re-routed straight to Downtown Sac and set up my stuff.
The weekend before, when absolutely none of this Downtown Sac or new roommate stuff was in the air, I was in the physical act of moving my stuff into another apartment in Rocklin that I had found via roommates.com. The roommate seemed nice enough but something just felt off. I couldn't shake it. After getting a spare key from her and an unusually weird exchange before she left, my sister and I stood there in "my" room and looked at each other.
"Do you really wanna live here...?" She said, eyebrow raised.
"....No," I said, and froze. I looked at the pile of lamps, pillow cases and junk lying on the floor. "Let's get the heck outta here." Scooped up linens, scarves and randomness, trekked it back to the car it came from, and peaced out. There was a napkin note on the table and a key shoved under the door jam. (don't worry, she had a backup plan and I texted her later. All is well).
Posted a new roommate-wanted status on Facebook. It worked.
After church, lunch and exploring Sacramento, an old college friend I hadn't seen since freshman year and I decided we wanted the same things and hit Craigslist hard. (I never want to set foot in that cutthroat renting community AGAIN). 6 days later we were signing a lease and 7 days later I was eating crackers on a bare living room floor and losing hours of my life to the black hole/vortex/purgatory/joke (take your pick) that is Comcast customer service.
1 month later and we're laughing our heads off while Anne is under the sink like a kid playing with dad's garbage disposal tool as I'm frantically scooping hot, stinky water out of the sink before the running dishwasher causes it to overflow. Evenings coming home are met with the smell of many trees and the killer southern BBQ place on the opposite corner. Couples walk by dressed up and holding hands on their way to dinner, and I finally put water out for the poor stray cat that tries to sneak past me into my own home. We're busy working jobs we love that are often exhausting, exploring a brand new community completely different from the similar worlds we grew up in, balancing relationships with friends and family, going out on the weekends and whacking each other upside the head when it becomes tempting to settle for guys who won't make up their minds. The movie Perks of Being a Wallflower has a very telling quote: "We accept the love we think we deserve." Well ladies, if you're a Stella (plus or minus the daughter) and can't picture him pulling a Ted Mosby from season 3 episode 13, it's time to do an honest evaluation and revert to watching How I Met Your Mother on a Friday night if you have to.
I'm teaching piano after work during the week, and singing 2nd soprano with Sac State's university choir at the moment. It's been a way to keep my range ("use it or lose it" was a scary thing my voice teacher said to me after graduating), and I have to continue seeking new instruction. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but I've finally figured out one thing: if I'm not singing somewhere, and playing piano somewhere, I experience depression and restlessness. We all have something we need to do in some capacity, and I'm not finished my education in mine. Until I've found the avenue for which God made it, I'll keep expanding on what I learned in college. My old ear training teacher is putting serious pressure on me to audition for the soprano section leader position at his Episcopal church here in Downtown: "Explain something to me: WHY are you paying to sing? You should be paid to sing." I suddenly questioned my entire existence. What am I wearing today? Should I even be drinking half-caf right now? Milk was a bad choice.
I started teaching 3 kids who are being forced into piano lessons, which they advertised openly. New experience. You mean you're not STOKED to discover the world of music? Do I have to make this fun for you? You're gonna play the piano and you're gonna like it. And you know what? I daresay they've started to. I've taught some stinkin cute and talented kids. Yesterday's little Shubhika hummed along - in tune - while squinting in her effort to play it perfectly. Somehow I'd forgotten that I used to do that same thing in my lessons with my very first teacher. Then when Shubhika had finished her song and started playing random songs I knew she'd made up, the memory came back crystal clear that I used to do that also. I told her to try to finish and memorize the songs she makes up so she can play them for me. Then I got lost in thought. Maybe I should go back to that. What did my teachers think or see in their heads for me when they saw me singing along with my piano book songs and making stuff up that I would play for my 3rd grade class? Wow, I actually did that? Ha! I just get so busy. So, so busy. Then again we all do, and always will. We'll only get busier. The time is now. God and my mom's plan fulfilled, one day I'll be married. Get a master's degree?! I'm busy? I don't even have a husband or kids yet. Good lord, you're teaching a piano lesson right now and she just hit that C sharp again, snap out of it.
Thank you for reading!
