into the ocean

For the latter half of elementary school I grew up in a quaint New England town by the ocean on the North Shore of Massachusetts. There was some wealth among the residents. Not everybody had it, but I knew several people that came from old money that had these massive mansion houses. Our family did not have any money. My mom and my step dad had just married and we had all moved up to Mass from Virginia to live with my step dad’s mom. My first sister was growing inside my mom. I was seven and a half.

I’m not sure of the exact time period, but my stepfather’s parents had bought the land and the barn that was on it when he was a kid, and all my step dad’s siblings grew up on the property. The house was absolutely nothing special, especially considering the enormous houses on our street. His dad had converted the barn into a modest house with three bedrooms, a bathroom, and the strangest staircase you have ever seen. I remember being cold a lot. It wasn’t well insulated. The land that it was on, however, was amazing. They had 8 acres of land that looked over marsh, forest, and ocean. Up until that point, I had lived in an apartment with my mom and grandmother in Northern Virginia just outside of DC. My backyard was a patio on the 5th floor that I would run my big wheel up and down constantly. I would parallel park in every corner, between every chaise lounge, behind every plant. I loved that apartment. I loved that patio.

These new digs though… I would ride my bike up and down our street for miles. Some of the houses looked like they were museums they were so big. I always imagined what it would be like to live inside one of those places. It seemed so classy and sophisticated; the ultimate dream. My neighbor owned an original Picasso. I couldn’t believe these people. They must be so happy, I thought.

Everyday after school I went home to our poorly insulated house with mice and ants, embarrassed by the drab earth-colored exterior, embarrassed by the weird cork flooring, the compost bin, just everything. I would sit in my room and look out at the amazing view over the marsh and into the ocean as a commuter train rumbled by, hoping that one I could be one of the lucky ones with the Picasso’s and huge looming houses.

I spent the next few years there until sixth grade. My mom had my first sister, and then my second. After school I would make a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese, eat the whole thing, and sit in front of the video camera and make videos of myself as different characters, as myself doing video diaries, or with my friends making soap operas or double dare courses.

I remember loving living there, but knowing that my mom wanted to move so we could have our own space. We couldn’t afford it. In fact, despite the wealth of the town, it seemed like a lot of people couldn’t afford a lot of things. Many of my friend’s parents didn’t have jobs and hadn’t in months, sometimes years. My friends and I would talk in hushed voices about their parents, their concerns, what would happen? As I grew older I learned that we had been in a recession at the time, and by the mid to late 90’s I was convinced that we would never see such scary times again.

Oh, naivety.

I have attempted to write an entry in this blog for the past few months, and I can’t. The truth is, I’m pretty terrified, and don’t know what to say. Everyday I see more and more people getting laid off, the stats on the news, the projected numbers, and it frightens me desperately.

This is coupled and tripled with the fact that I’ve been starting to get reviews in and it seems that people are impressed by what they hear, but they don’t really dig it. I knew from the get go it wasn’t for everyone, but it somehow still hurts and has deeply effected my confidence. I have had normal everyday people tell me they love it, but I still am never convinced. I feel like they’re just saying that because they don’t know what else to say. Which brings up the ever popular question with me lately ‘am I good enough? Maybe I just don’t connect with people.’ These are things that I am not really supposed to think about, but the economy, and my family coming apart makes it impossible.

I’m hoping for a turnaround that doesn’t feel like a false start. I’m hoping that someday, someone’s words will actually sink in and they’ll feel honest. The records not even technically out yet, which has been pointed out to me many times, so maybe this is self-destruction. I’m not really sure. I’m just hanging in there like the rest of us. Looking for a turn that leads to view of a marsh, into the ocean, with a train rumbling by.

But without the big looming houses. That’s entirely way too much space to clean.