Life...

The dreaded rut. All of us make a visit to it at some point in our lives, sometimes more than once. It could be a creativity rut, relationship rut, career rut…or a rut that is all encompassing, accompanied by an incomplete feeling, having climbed the mountain but still having yet to reach the top…meet Camille, she’s 27 and just experienced her first real, rut (shake hands).

My rut, if you will, was more all encompassing. Having been out of touch on the blog  for quite sometime, that was the first clue that something was incomplete for me. Because this, this is my space; to vent, to wonder, to live, to just, be…in addition to other outlets (art, creating things, working out) there were a lot of things that just, seemingly, came to a halt. A big one would be my relationship.

Relationships. Marriage. Romance. I guess I’ve always held a more nontraditional rationale toward these things than my fellow female peers. I was never one who was in a hurry to begin my life with my undisclosed Prince Charming, marry, and pop out some babies. I was always content on my own path, always discovering myself, never tiring of that task…

With these things being said, the crumble of my almost 2 year relationship to Martin was a sad break, but not a surprising one. We as humans, mentally, are equipped with this little thing called intuition. Certain situations in life, intuition is called upon to help us figure out how to deal; to look at things through a deeper scope. The mind is a powerful thing; it can either foolishly convince you that you’re feeling something or shout out with alarm, that you’re truly not feeling something. Couple this with far too many loose ends, and you’ve got the fall of Martin and I.

I’m not going to take this post as an opportunity to bash him, but there were just, far too many things that just never came full circle and his unwillingness to take the initiative to improve these things. Also, a quite peculiar tidbit: there were no ‘I love you’s’. Not even when we lived together. Initially I, being one who doesn’t fall in love easily, didn’t think much of this. But the more and more I thought about it and also through some exchange with friends, I saw how truly odd this was. Here I was, sleeping next to, eating dinners with, taking trips with this man, who I really was unsure of my feelings for. I knew that I sincerely enjoyed my time with him and deeply cared for him, and that there was definitely no shortage of affection; but did I love him? I felt that, by the two year mark I should have known if I did or didn’t.

Without making it sound like it was all on him, I myself had some quirks. Martin’s quiet, passive way sometimes collided with my chatty and excitable Gemini-like nature. I’ve always been one who’s an advocate of speaking up when something isn’t right; Martin is sometimes too laid back with things. Case in point: my many differences with the roommates on cleanliness. Times where I’d go down to grab a dish to make some food, and it was greasy, or there was buildup still attached to it. I was thoroughly disgusted, thinking, What the hell, these people are in their twenties and can’t even wash a dish properly? Really? Martin many times would remind me, “Oh it’s not that big of a deal; just wash them again.” Wait. What? Or, “People are different, you have to make sacrifices.” While yes, I agree with this statement, I also believe that when sharing a common living area, there must be some ground rules, no? If not, then everyone is free to throw to the wind as they may, this resulting in a collision of beliefs on what is acceptable/unacceptable. Many times, our conversation would be poked with long, awkward silences. Sometimes the conversation was just so…dull. I sometimes found myself getting along better in conversation with male friends, but not my boyfriend. Hmmmm. In the end, I found myself turned off, and not truly in love. I enjoyed my time with him, the memories vivid and happy ones, but I increasingly felt like the relationship had run its course. I was unafraid to go on alone, that’s how I knew it was indeed done, when I didn’t even feel the need to try anymore, I was just so…disconnected.

In addition to the shortcomings in my relationship, I began to feel myself slip into a somewhat understimulated state. My eating habits took a dive, my appetite in hibernation mode. I had the occasional crying spell. I wouldn’t describe myself as depressed but more or less disenchanted. I stopped taking photographs, took a hiatus from modeling, stopped blogging, stopped delving into my artsy side and creating things, even slacked off on my workouts at the beach. Hell, my own birthday, which hit on June 19, went by without the usual dinner and bar hop with friends. With the exception of having the traditional cake and ice cream with the family, that was the extent of my 27th birthday festivities. Things were just so…drab. And I wasn’t a fan.

But, aren’t you the master of your own domain? Aren’t you the controller of your thoughts and mood? This axiom is one that I’ve learned over my twenties with much trial and error. In adolescence, due to that pesky surge of hormones coupled with that awkward coming of age time in your life, you let your thoughts control you. In your early twenties, you begin to grow mentally, recanting the stupid things you did in your youth and (hopefully) learning from those; you mature. By your mid to late twenties,  you’re a little more polished, realizing that it’s indeed you who are in control. No one else. So  I pulled myself up out of this aforementioned rut, looked myself in the mirror and reminded myself that, everyday holds promise, paving the way for new opportunities. So I could choose to be melodramatic and sulk, or I could carry on with life. So I asked myself, What kind of day will I have today? It’s ultimately in your own hands.

AND LEST WE FORGET ABOUT THE MOVE…

Wow, I feel like I’ve got so much to catch up on. Within the last two months, I also moved into my own pad (happy dance!). I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love, love, love waking up in my own spot, the quiet and empty mornings, the freedom to strut in my skivvies if I just so please. Having lived on my own for a few years before the roommate saga, I am happy to report that although quite a learning experience, I have no desire to revisit that chapter of my life again. Cheers to independence!

Of course, moving into a new place called for the proper trip to my furniture mecca, Ikea. I took great joy in assembling most everything in the apartment by myself (who says you need a man?!). The great thing about Ikea is how simple their stuff is to put together. Below, some pics of the new pad…

My Ikea shelf. Love!

I filled this Ikea vase with Peonies...

Ikea wine rack. Was super-easy to put up. Now I just need one more bottle in there!

Love this floral kitchen brush; and these little Oriental guys are my salt & pepper shakers (bought in Norway).

Kudos to Mom for spotting this at Ikea. Coolest knife block ever. Ever.

Love this frosted glass Ikea lamp & the branch pattern...

This Ikea lamp in the living room gives a nice warm ambiance at dusk...

And not to forget, the new curtains! When I moved in the living room window was nothing more than a sad, sorry and outdated conglomeration of mini blinds and dirty glass. Cleaned it up, nixed the blinds and here we are…

Sheer curtain detail...

Courtesy of World Market and Bed bath & Beyond. Both are good for eclectic home furnishing finds. 🙂