Living Large

Three years ago almost to the day, I wrote about living small, and I still live small. I leave a small footprint on the earth — driving as little as possible, walking wherever I can; buying little, recycling what I can; getting rid of what possessions I can, scaling back on what I can’t. I am also a small thinker. Though I like to think I think big thoughts, I actually get bogged down in minutiae and over thinking. When I listen to music (which is almost never), I keep the sound turned way down. I would like to write expansively, but I write small, dredging each word and each idea out of the depths of my mind. As you can see, I’m not one of those people who take a mile when given an inch. In fact, when given an inch, I generally only take a centimeter.

Back then, I was still at my father’s house. (I just realized — if he were alive, he’d be 101 today!!) I was living in two small rooms even though the whole 3,500 square foot house was at my disposal. In fact, keeping to my habit of living small, I hadn’t even removed the curtain on the glass doors that separated my rooms from the rest of the house.

When my sister-in-law came to help ready the house for sale, she commented on how full of contradictions I was, talking about living out in the open on some sort of epic adventure, but living behind a curtain in that house.

I conceded she had a point and took down the curtain. It wasn’t exactly living large, but it was a start. Or so I thought.

Fast forward to today. I am again talking about some sort of epic adventure while living small in a curtained-off room. (Not literally curtained off — this time the room is separated from the rest of the house by solid doors.)

It’s not as if I haven’t done anything in these intervening years — I did go on one near-epic road trip in my restored VW Beetle and I . . . Pausing here to think. Was that it? Just that one adventure?

Sheesh. I do live small.

I need more adventures!

In late April, I will be heading out for a five-week road trip to Oregon and Washington. It was going to be six weeks to two months, but I told my dance teacher I would try to get back at the end of May to do another performance at the local college with my dance class. I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know I am ambivalent about it. I don’t like having to cut my trip short, don’t like having to travel on Memorial Day weekend, don’t like the idea of going back to the scene of my fall (the last time I did a performance at the college, I destroyed my arm). But . . . I love my belly dance costume, love the dance, and considering the state of my finances and the need to make a change one day soon, it might be the last time I ever get on stage.

So around and around I go.

Yep. Living small. Overthinking.

People have asked me what I expect from a wilderness trek of some kind, and maybe that’s the answer — to live large. Live large in the world. Live large in my own mind. Of course, then I’d have to ask my minutiae-oriented self what I mean by living large, and as with so much else in my life, I haven’t a clue.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels UnfinishedMadame ZeeZee’s Nightmare, Light BringerMore Deaths Than OneA Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am IBertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Living Small

I just realized today that I live small. I leave a small footprint on the earth — driving as little as possible, walking wherever I can; buying little, recycling what I can; getting rid of what possessions I can, scaling back on what I can’t. I am also a small thinker. Though I like to think I think big thoughts, I actually get bogged down in minutiae and overthinking. When I listen to music (which is almost never), I keep the sound turned down. I would like to write expansively, but I write small, dredging each word and each idea out of the depths of my mind. My non-writing creative projects are all small — literally, not metaphorically since I tend toward tiny things such as dollhouse doll’s dolls and miniature plants. (The pot of roses illustrating this article is standing on quarter to give you an idea of how small it is.)

Evehandmade miniature rosesn my everyday life is small. Temporarily, I find myself living alone in what seems to me a mansion, and yet, I live in the same two small rooms I used when I was looking after my father. (To be 100% accurate, as my minutiae-driven mind dictates I must be, only the bedroom is small. The living room of my suite is 16’x18’.)

I’m not one of those people who take a mile when given an inch. In fact, when given an inch, I generally only take a centimeter. (2.54 centimeters per inch according to Google.) In this case, I am aware of my tenuous situation. The house belongs to my father’s estate, not me, so I’ve been hesitant to take advantage of living here, even though according to local law, this is my home. Besides, I am performing valuable services, not just house sitting, but clearing out my father’s things.

Still, I’ve never danced around the house in my underwear like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Never slept in another of the bedrooms or used the main living room except when I had my pre-probate party. Never even used my father’s Jacuzzi. (He never used it either, come to think of it, so I can’t really say it was “his” Jacuzzi.)

This not taking advantage of the situation reminded me of an Emo Philip joke I heard a very long time ago. He talked about taking a girl home from a date, and how she passed out half naked, and so, as he said, “I took advantage of her . . . I called Guam.” I wanted to use the joke in his inimitable way to illustrate this post, and to that end, I’ve spent the past two hours searching online for the exact words. I didn’t find the joke, but I got my example anyway — my spending so much time searching for what was a trivial part of this bloggery illustrated my living small. (But I did come across some of his wonderful one liners that I remember, including this one: Some mornings, it’s just not worth chewing through the leather straps. And two liners like this one: When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized that the Lord doesn’t work that way so I stole one and asked Him to forgive me.)

My sister-in-law was here this weekend, helping get the house ready for sale, and she asked why I didn’t take the curtain off the glass door separating my rooms from the rest of the house. I explained that everyone else tells me it would scare them to live alone in such a big place, so just in case I’d have such a problem, I’ve kept the curtain. It made the place small and familiar enough that being alone here didn’t bother me. (Loneliness does bother me, but that’s something completely different.) My sister-in-law commented on how full of contradictions I was, talking about living out in the open on some sort of epic adventure, but living behind a curtain here in this house.

She has a point.

So today I took down the curtain. Not exactly living large, but it’s a start.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fireand Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.