Same, sane but different
Jan. 12th, 2011 02:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolorosa_12When I was doing the 2010 meme, it struck me that some of my answers could probably be expanded. In particular, I felt that I wanted to write a bit more about the things that keep me sane. It goes without saying that #btts is the single greatest contributor to my wellbeing, but I don't really feel like writing about #btts right now. There are three other things that keep me sane, though, and I want to write about them.
First and foremost are my housemates. Words cannot describe how happy they make me. I don't think it's quite possible to understand how essential good living circumstances are until you find yourself living in less than ideal conditions. That was me, last academic year: I was living in a fifteen-person, grad student house owned by my college. I didn't choose any of my housemates, and although most of them were nice people, I considered them acquaintances at best, even after a year of living with them. I ate every meal in my room at my desk, and spent all the time I wasn't cooking or showering in my bedroom, alone.
But now I live in a house with four of my friends (one of them is my boyfriend, although we weren't dating when I moved in). We have a kitchen and a living room with a TV in it, we have take-away places and pubs and supermarkets and off-licenses within a five-minute walking distance (the only thing that's missing is a decent cafe). I'm never in my room. I talk to people in the kitchen, watch TV or films at night with my friends or simply sit around reading in the common areas. It's a home, not just a house.
Then there is my favourite cafe. The quality of the coffee is changeable, but the food is always good. The baristas and waitstaff are friendly but not obsequious. We talk to each other about our lives, about Cambridge gossip, about news and current affairs. The music is good (in fact, it was this cafe that introduced me to The Knife). It has free newspapers.
Most importantly, it is, in a sense, mine. It is the only place in Cambridge that I discovered for myself. Literally every other place in which I hang out - four or five other cafes, the ten pubs that my friends and I frequent, the two cocktail bars, the restaurants - was introduced to me by other people. I stumbled upon this cafe on the second day I was in Cambridge as I was wandering around the city in a daze, and it was a wonderfully serendipitous discovery. For the most part, I go there alone, and drink coffee, eat bagels and read the newspaper, and I feel a wonderful, cozy sense of belonging.
Finally, there is running. I've been running since mid-2008, and I try to run every day. I began running for two reasons: to keep my weight at a level with which I'm satisfied while enabling me to eat and drink at a level with which I'm satisfied, and for general fitness. But it had another, unexpected benefit: it improved my psychological wellbeing too. There is something incredibly relaxing to the mind about jogging smoothly along beside the river, while dance music blasts into your ears, your feet keeping time with the bass. I have never thought better and more clearly than when I run. I write book reviews, blog posts, thesis chapters or journal articles in my head and then transfer them to page and screen when I get home.
But it's more than that. When I run, I feel washed clean. I feel calm and peaceful. I feel strong.
Obviously my three sane-makers won't work for everyone, but they work for me. They give me a place to call home, a home away from home, and a zen-like sense of peace. I am so grateful to have them.
First and foremost are my housemates. Words cannot describe how happy they make me. I don't think it's quite possible to understand how essential good living circumstances are until you find yourself living in less than ideal conditions. That was me, last academic year: I was living in a fifteen-person, grad student house owned by my college. I didn't choose any of my housemates, and although most of them were nice people, I considered them acquaintances at best, even after a year of living with them. I ate every meal in my room at my desk, and spent all the time I wasn't cooking or showering in my bedroom, alone.
But now I live in a house with four of my friends (one of them is my boyfriend, although we weren't dating when I moved in). We have a kitchen and a living room with a TV in it, we have take-away places and pubs and supermarkets and off-licenses within a five-minute walking distance (the only thing that's missing is a decent cafe). I'm never in my room. I talk to people in the kitchen, watch TV or films at night with my friends or simply sit around reading in the common areas. It's a home, not just a house.
Then there is my favourite cafe. The quality of the coffee is changeable, but the food is always good. The baristas and waitstaff are friendly but not obsequious. We talk to each other about our lives, about Cambridge gossip, about news and current affairs. The music is good (in fact, it was this cafe that introduced me to The Knife). It has free newspapers.
Most importantly, it is, in a sense, mine. It is the only place in Cambridge that I discovered for myself. Literally every other place in which I hang out - four or five other cafes, the ten pubs that my friends and I frequent, the two cocktail bars, the restaurants - was introduced to me by other people. I stumbled upon this cafe on the second day I was in Cambridge as I was wandering around the city in a daze, and it was a wonderfully serendipitous discovery. For the most part, I go there alone, and drink coffee, eat bagels and read the newspaper, and I feel a wonderful, cozy sense of belonging.
Finally, there is running. I've been running since mid-2008, and I try to run every day. I began running for two reasons: to keep my weight at a level with which I'm satisfied while enabling me to eat and drink at a level with which I'm satisfied, and for general fitness. But it had another, unexpected benefit: it improved my psychological wellbeing too. There is something incredibly relaxing to the mind about jogging smoothly along beside the river, while dance music blasts into your ears, your feet keeping time with the bass. I have never thought better and more clearly than when I run. I write book reviews, blog posts, thesis chapters or journal articles in my head and then transfer them to page and screen when I get home.
But it's more than that. When I run, I feel washed clean. I feel calm and peaceful. I feel strong.
Obviously my three sane-makers won't work for everyone, but they work for me. They give me a place to call home, a home away from home, and a zen-like sense of peace. I am so grateful to have them.
