Clothing and Canned Goods, Update.

First phase of clothing organization: Complete.

Immediately following my last blog post I got to straight to work.  I cleared out the area adjacent to my side of the bed and spent a couple hours cleaning and arranging the various shelving components.  It was more difficult than usual due to space constraints and I realize it may need adjustment as the unpacking continues.  I actually factored earthquake safety into the process and made sure the shelves were stacked firmly together at a moderate height.   Because of this there were a few shelves I didn't use in the setup and haven’t decided yet whether I’ll use them in the bedroom for clothes, in my office downstairs in the dining room, or share them with my husband for use in his office.  I guess it depends on how the unpacking organization unfolds.

The stacks of clothing in the after photo are separated between sleeveless, short sleeve, and long sleeve tops with each category further divided by either solid/printed or warm/cool/neutral colors.  There are separate stacks for built-in bra camis, knit sweaters, and jersey knit turtlenecks.  The bottoms are separated by shorts, capris, and long pants with each category further divided by either leg width (ex: bootcut, skinny), fabric weight, or frequency worn.  This is by no means the extent of my wardrobe; the whole shebang is worth its own post.

While cleaning and reorganizing my old dresser I found one drawer’s slide guide had broken off underneath.  This came as no surprise; the dresser is old and has certainly seen better days.  I think I once wrote about refinishing or updating it, along with the matching desk (that I didn't bring to Japan with me).  All I ever did was replace the knobs and, as you can see from the photo, they didn't fare so well during the move.  I often just want to dissemble the thing for firewood but, for the first time, we don’t even have a fireplace to burn it in.  I guess I’ll make it work somehow.  I asked my husband to fix the slide only because I didn't feel like messing with it.

The next phase of my clothing organization is my shoes, my hanging clothes, and my closet.  This will get done within the week.  It must, I can’t put it off any longer.  I’ll be sure to take some before and after photos because it is a very challenging project.


Middle portion of kitchen organization: Complete.

Within two days of our household goods arriving I had every kitchen box unpacked.  Since we had already been living in the house for over a month I kind of already knew how the kitchen organization would work.  Kind of.  It’s impossible to know precisely how to organize a space until you are living in it, day-to-day, with all your tools and belongings.  So, this weekend, I reorganized a few areas to better suit how I am using it.

This organize-as-you-go method is new to me.  As a perfectionist I like to do things correctly the first time so as not to waste time re-doing it later.  Sometimes this process, however, would freeze me in my tracks if I didn’t know exactly how to proceed.  This time I forced myself to loosen up and realize that it is okay to put things away in a temporary home until a better place was found.  So far, this method is working because I am actually following through on the “better place” part.  For most people this is nothing significant, but it is a true testament to the efficacy of combination drug and talk therapy for those living with any anxiety/depressive disorder.  Small victories, I say.

I re-worked the pantry almost to the point of completion; there are a few minor changes I’d like to do but that will always be the case.  The other most difficult areas are the upper, corner cabinets and the lower, corner, lazy-susan cabinets.  I hate them both.  The lazy-susan cabinets have plastic shelves that cannot bear too much weight and the doors have hinges that are time bombs waiting to break.  I hate them enough that I won’t even continue writing about them now.  I have some before and almost-after photos but I’ll share them later when the almost-after becomes a more actual-after.

Kitty Carpet Steps.

In less than 24 hours there should be a kitty here, transforming our house into a home.  Our Enterprise will finally be joining us in Japan after a relaxing respite with family in Washington State.  The thought of his long plane ride, however, is shooting my anxiety off the charts.  It's doubtful I will get much sleep tonight, of course neither will Enterprise.

Preparation for his arrival is keeping me a little busy.  One project involved the steps going upstairs which are tiled with the same smooth, white flooring that covers every room in the house.  Enterprise is not used to this surface and I had concerns about his confidence and comfort using the steps.

Carpet treads for stairs are quite expensive online and I didn't necessarily want to cover the entire staircase, creating camouflage for any creepy crawlies that may find their way inside.  I envisioned small pieces of carpet lining one side so Enterprise would have his own safe path up the stairs.

Last weekend we made a trip to Viva Home, a home and household goods store, and found strips of dense carpeting with a grippy backing designed for steps – perfect!  They measured 25cm x 100cm and cost about ¥400 (~$4.00), based on my prepared list of measurements we needed four pieces.

The project was very easy to execute.  I measured each step from the back riser to the inner caulking edge of the stair's lip.  Since this is an older house the measurements ranged from 20.25cm to 21.75cm, with six being almost exactly 21cm.  I used a metal ruler and a box cutter with a new blade to measure and cut through the back side of the carpet.  Not all the step's angles are exactly 45° but the pieces fit very well nonetheless.  I ran up the steps barefoot using the carpet and not one moved underfoot.   Success!

The bottom piece is shown for comparison, I didn't leave it like that.

Nicely in it's Place.

I love when things fit nicely within a dedicated space.*   There is a calming comfort to opening a cupboard and knowing exactly what is in there and where it is. Generally there is reason behind placement and, if given the chance to explain, it makes logical sense.

Moving and relocating all your possessions, then, causes a great deal of anxiety. This is occurring in stages, spread much, much too far apart. We are living in a 2 ½ bedroom house with ample living space yet our only personal items here are what we took with us on the plane. Yes, we have borrowed furniture and kitchen supplies, and we've purchased small necessities needed for everyday life, but our clothing and small electronics have remained the same. Our “express” shipment of kitchen and bedding items is delayed past it's thirty-day required delivery – it was packed up almost six weeks ago – with no expected time of arrival yet. Our remaining household goods have a delivery estimate of mid September, approximately ten weeks from now. That's seventy changes of underwear away and I'm already bored with the ten I packed.

Anyway, the good part (that I'm trying real hard to focus on) is that I have opportunity between shipments to organize what we have and prepare for the rest. The difficulties are remembering what we chose to bring here and what we left for storage, and then not needlessly spending money on organizing supplies we already own or that we won't end up using. So in the meantime, I get creative.

Today I made junk drawer organizers from empty food boxes. My Grandparents did this, my Mom does it and I carry on the frugal tradition. And it's fun. I originally intended these for my bathroom cupboard because I am aggravated with my personal care items sitting haphazardly on the shelves. Every time I pull my tweezers from the zippered pouch it topples over on it's side and knocks down my deodorant. Every time. Why do they make deodorant containers so top-heavy anyway? Just thinking about the mess makes me want to stop writing and go fix it but I haven't decided on exactly how I want to organize it yet. And also, I saw some great storage containers at Daiso (a 100 yen store, like the Dollar Tree but way better) and I'm trying to convince myself that I can make something better even though I'm not sure I have the supplies in my recycling box.

I used my husband's empty cereal box and an empty stick butter box, but I also have an empty Kashi cereal box too. I'm fishing for something more sturdy for my bathroom items though.  By the way, this junk drawer will not stay this neat.  Once our "junk drawer box" arrives it will be dumped in and haphazardly arranged in a semi-organized fashion, otherwise it wouldn't be junk drawer but a supply drawer.

Another creative storage solution I discovered recently stemmed from not having my food storage containers, like Gladware, that I use constantly. I only bought a package of medium and large after moving because I have so many coming -- eventually. Last week I made a delicious tartar sauce with mayonnaise, smashed capers and red wine vinegar. I used one of our two (borrowed) bowls to make it in and store it but that left us with one bowl to share and, since we both eat cereal in the morning, I needed something else. So the following night when I used half a tofu package it left me with two perfect condiment-sized containers. Of course they don't have sealing lids but plastic wrap works just fine. By the way, the tartar sauce makes a great dip for vegetables.

On the same topic of things fitting nicely in place, I have three photos demonstrating the idea in completely different ways.

First, storage under chairs at restaurants! Hello, America – this is a great idea. I have seen this at a few places here and it's incredibly convenient for purses, bags and umbrellas, all of which people carry here all the time, everywhere.

Second, word puzzles. This is a fill-in which greatly satisfies my need to put things neatly in boxes with nothing left over. It's very enjoyable. 

WARNING: If you don't like spiders then you may want to either prepare yourself or stop now. It's not horribly frightening, like hairy legs or bulbous body, but something interesting I've never seen before.

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Last, a spider camouflaging neatly in it's web. I looked at this pretty close until I realized what it was. Then I stepped back, took a photo, and heavily cropped it to get a better look. That's why the photo quality is noticeably worse than an average cell phone photo.

*In my case, this trait, commonly referred to as “being OCD”, stems from my anxiety rather than being a full-blown, diagnosed case of the disorder. Link: NIH: Whatis OCD 

(These photos were taken with an iPhone and are by no means intended to be "real" photos, just snapshots of where I was and what I saw.)

Mayberry-ku.

“The girl does what she wants to do.
She knows what she wants to do.
And I know I'm fakin' it,
I'm not really makin' it.”

- Simon and Garfunkel, “Fakin' It”

__________

Apparently I've moved to Mayberry.  There's no fakin' it in Mayberry.

__________

I love the anonymity a city gives you, where you can sit down and disappear into the background, free to observe while remaining unseen. Invisibility is the comforting cloak of anxiety.

Twenty-five miles (40 km) outside Tokyo seems more outer urban to me than rural, but it is commonly seen as “country” to locals. Three train stations up is the last stop outside Tokyo. In this outlying city sits an even smaller area, a ward of sorts, to use a local term, home to a small American population. Those living here describe it akin to Mayberry, hence I shall refer to it as Mayberry-ku.

Within our first few days here I found myself recognizing people while out walking, which is unnerving for someone who wishes to remain anonymous. In my previous residences it usually took a couple years, if not more, to bump into someone I knew while running about town, a time frame which still made me a bit uncomfortable. Now, reaching our two-week mark here, I've already met more people than I ever did in Texas (excluding co-workers) and I'm standing on week social knees.

Socializing : Comfort :: Anxiety : Calm

“Socializing” and “comfort” are two very dissimilar words in my world that I must make peace with. The one thing unhappy people in Mayberry-ku have in common is that they don't go out, see places and meet people. My time in Japan has an expiration date and I will not sit in the fridge and rot. The written word is comfortable because it provides a safe barrier. In Mayberry-ku I cannot shelter myself with typewritten words. Well, I can, but I am attempting to chose not to.

Before moving here I emailed a local blogger a short (but heavily proof-read), “I'm reading your blog, thank you for sharing, I might be moving there,” sort of message. She wrote back and establishing this small written connection was strangely comforting. A few days ago we met in person, a very high-ranking event on my anxiety-o-meter. She was friendly and talkative, which put me at ease enough to hold up my end of the conversation, although it takes more time to really soften my guard this was a positive step forward.

She introduced me to the train and helped me get my Pasmo card – my plastic ticket to Tokyo and beyond. We went a few stations up, to a city on metro Tokyo's edge, had noodles for lunch and walked around the shops, all the while learning tidbits of knowledge she's gathered during her adventures here. When we returned I felt as if I'd traveled light-years to an exotic land in only the span of a few hours. Like a child's short first step, the distance wasn't far but the experience was huge. I am very thankful.

Most experiences in this country are new to me and will be uncomfortable, not only the cultural ones outside the gate but the social ones inside. I will feel awkward, I will perform the wrong movement, I will choose the wrong words and I will say them incorrectly.  The perfectionist in me who tries polishing away my flaws, almost stripping away the authentic layers, must stand down and allow these mistakes to happen. That feeling of fakin' it? I'll just have to shake it and be the girl who does what she wants to do.

Journey to Japan.

The journey to Japan began months ago, late autumn of last year. While renewing his contract my husband had some input for his assignment location. The Netherlands was on the radar. “Right between Belgium and Germany, think of the beer!” was part of his supporting argument. The job opening's timing was too soon however and next on the list was mainland Japan, outside Tokyo.

I began researching fervently and as much as I was trying to contain my excitement (unrealistic expectations) I was really looking forward to living in the Tokyo metro area. Unfortunately there was no official paperwork to cement the relocation so I couldn't publicly talk about this incredible opportunity. A few people very close to me knew, of course, but I always spoke without certainty because in my husband's employment “everything is written in jello”.

Sometime around January we received a change in plans – Okinawa, Japan. I was disappointed and kicked myself for thinking so much of mainland Japan (unrealistic expectations). The research began anew, first at Google Maps. I thought the island of Okinawa was fairly close off the southern coast of Japan and was confused and personally embarrassed not to find it immediately. Once I did I began to zoom out on the map to find the island's location from the mainland. I zoomed and zoomed some more but only saw water. A few more zoom-outs later I finally saw land. Wow. Okinawa is a tiny island the middle of the ocean, in middle of nowhere it seemed.

The thought of living on a subtropical island was really growing on me but I tried not get my hopes up knowing the ever present uncertainty. I couldn't talk to anyone about it save for a few people because there still was no official word. I lived in this limbo for a few months.

Then, one May day my husband came home with official documentation that contained neither Okinawa or myself. What? He said the paperwork would be changed and that he and I were going to Okinawa in one month. I accepted that and began making announcements to family, friends and my employer. Life was changing quickly, plans were being made and I gave my two-week notice at work.

The stress of planning and executing an overseas move in one month is almost unbearable. I probably should have been writing about the experience at the time but plans were still changing so quickly and frequently that I could barely follow it. Our calendar was a scribbled mess. I was calling family and friends everyday just to keep my head together.

I focused on one day at time, sometimes only one task at a time because if I thought any larger I began to panic. The big picture included sorting all our belonging into need now, need later, need eventually and storage; gathering numerous legal documents and updating them; opening and updating financial accounts; selling my beloved car and planning storage for his; preparing the rental house inside and out for final inspection; and the most difficult, planning our kitty's future.

Moving a domestic animal overseas is a confusing and exasperating event, so much so that I cannot even explain it here. All we were able to accomplish were his shots, blood test and flying him solo to Seattle to stay with his god-kitty-momma (who loves him as much as we do) until we figure the rest out. We miss him terribly, it's still difficult to think about with out tears so I'll save the story for another time.

 

While all this was happening I still was not on documents to accompany my husband overseas. I was sorting and packing with a departure ten days away and had no idea where I was going or how long I would be there – Michigan to stay with family? Seattle? No way was I staying in Texas. I was an irritable mess until finally we had an addendum that included my name, spelled correctly, thank goodness. Then I filled my two biggest suitcases with enough clothes and supplies to last up to three months. Surprisingly, I narrowed my shoe selection to ten pair (eight when appropriately excluding flip flops).

After all of this though, finally, on a warm, Texas summer evening, we drove into Dallas for our last night before boarding a plane to Japan. We toasted numerous times over dinner, mostly congratulating ourselves on getting through it together. Our tempers only exploded once and later we were able to forgive, understanding that stress factored in a great deal. Mostly we smiled and laughed and toasted to each other and whatever lies ahead because we will be there together.

Unrealistic Expectations.

No matter how free I feel, I will look up and remember that I am still swinging from the limb of depression and my hands will always smell like thick metal links.

__________


It's no secret that I've lived with depression most of my life although it's not a topic I converse of freely.  Just like many other disorders and diseases it may be controlled through prescription medications combined with other forms of therapy.  Sometimes the condition flares up and the regimen must be altered.  As time progresses such episodes can decrease and you learn again about new triggers and coping skills to combat them.

My most recent episode occurred during my Texas stint, obvious if you read my ramblings regularly or answer your phone when I call.  After receiving our (disappointing) marching orders I tried to look on the bright side and stay optimistic -- that is what we're supposed to do, right?  I researched online, studied maps and began to picture what a happy, satisfying life in Texas would be like.  I imagined a fulfilling job, an active Family Readiness Group, a stimulating photography club, exciting weekend getaways and happy hours with friends.  It all seemed possible because I had every single one of those things while living in the Pacific Northwest, every single one.

So we made the big move, found a great rental house in a safe, quiet area and settled in.  I began working, searching for groups, writing emails, meeting people for coffee but none of it was going anywhere.  So I worked better, tried harder, made stronger efforts but nothing was getting better.  Around this time my husband was shipped across the world and I needed to meet my goals to make it through this time mentally intact.  But I was crumbling and falling apart and alone.

I know when to ask for help, but man is it tough.  The most difficult task is dialing the phone, making an appointment then answering the question, "And what do you need to be seen for?"  I breakdown, the tears come and I struggle to find the words to ask for help.  Somehow I do.  The appointment is scheduled; I am going to be okay.

Back on my trusted antidepressant I begin ten sessions of talk therapy.  Everyone should go though that, the insight you gain is invaluable.  Talking with a trained professional should not be stigmatized as it in our society and it irritates me endlessly that it is.  This time I learned that I place unrealistic expectations on myself and in my life.  (I do not like to lay blame on others for problems of my own, but this is an exception)  I blame this condition on all those people who told me in the past, when I was still struggling to understand what was wrong with me, what depression was and how in the world was I ever going to cope with it, to "cheer up", "look on the bright side", "think positive", "stay optimistic", you get the picture.  For years I repeated these mantras out loud, in my head and in writing.  I believed them and placed hope in them.

The discovery of my unrealistic expectation issue came as a shock.  I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to throw away what I thought was the foundation of turning depression upside down.  How could thinking positive be bad?  In small doses, it's not.  But when you put all your hope and might into it you push the idea into the realms of dreaming, and we all know that dreams don't come true.  Sure, that sounds mighty depressing, but I'm talking about fantasy dreams, not a dream that you make into a goal to work towards and succeed.  And this is when is gets fuzzy.

What difference is there between realistic and unrealistic goals?  How far do you push positive thinking into reality until it reaches fantasy?  Where is the line?  We are raised to believe we can "reach the stars" when in scientific reality we cannot.

When my therapy sessions ended I was confused, but in a different way than when I began.  I started with my head in a very jumbled place, with pieces of thoughts scattered everywhere in unfocused, illegible writing that I couldn't make sense of.  At the end I could read the thoughts and was understanding better how they fit together.  See, a therapist doesn't directly solve your problems, they help clarify your thoughts and teach you skills to work on improving them yourself.


__________

My train of thought was broken.  I am already missing my private space I left behind; a one-room lodging space is not conducive for uninterrupted thought.

In summation, the purpose of sharing this story is to place a foundation for my experiences here in this new environment.  For you to understand my excitement, my trepidation and my anxiety you must know where it stems from.  All I want is to live here fully and purely.  To walk out each day with an open mind and an understanding that I will not be in my comfort zone, that I am a foreigner in a vastly different country and that I may be treated as such.  I will be uncomfortable.  I will feel awkward.  I will be misunderstood and misinterpreted.  All I hope is that I will walk one foot in front of the other and face each challenge on its own merit.  Whether I have a smile on my face is unknown; I must keep my expectations realistic.

[While re-reading this I begin to see that it is a condensed version of events.  I hope that eliminating the minutiae does not detract from the essence of my point.  I moved to Texas with ideas of what could be, unknowing that those ideas may have been unrealistic.  I have now moved to Japan and am unsure how to make plans and build excitement without crossing the line into dreaming.  I am confused.  How do I make the most out of this once in a lifetime opportunity without setting myself up for failure again?  I don't know what to expect, I don't know what I will find yet I still want to explore every sight, every smell and every footstep of discovery possible.  I still just don't know...]

The Lost Years.

After graduating from college in 1999 I spent two years in Phoenix, Arizona where I learned, truly, what a downward spiral is.  No matter how good your circumstances are in the beginning, and how much control you think you have, that one slip into the spiral takes everything under.

I call those the lost years.

__________


Me:  "Anywhere but Texas.  If it's Texas I'm staying here."

Him:  "It's Texas."

Me:  (pause)  "Well, at least it's not El Paso."


Due to my unhealthy trait of bearing unrealistic expectations (which I promise to explain eventually) I really thought it was possible for central Texas to be not completely horrible, even livable.  I was still employed, though not full-time anymore; The sun always shone and the skies were beautiful, though accompanied by unrelenting heat; Scattered, desolate small towns beckoned to be photographed, though peering and leering eyes of locals kept me away; I put myself out there socially and attended functions, though I still felt pushed towards the wall.

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." - Albert Einstein. 

I gave up.  I am not strong enough to handle such repeat failures.  Once the stress of trying to connect was removed I accepted my situation and lived day-to-day the best I could.  I knew that time would be filed under "Years, lost."  The two Texas years were nothing like my two Phoenix years, which I don't even talk about.  But when thinking back on my time in Texas there were definitely more bad days than good.

[I blame Texas because it's easy.  The real issue is small towns set far from urban areas.  I call myself a city girl even though I've never lived in a downtown setting.  I want transportation options besides a personal vehicle, like walking or public transit.  On that note, I want to walk somewhere with actual sidewalks, where you're not stared at by people driving because you're the only person they've seen walking outside all week and probably assume you're doing so because your car broke down.  So Texas is my scapegoat because it contains the small town I lived in that meets my criteria for "where I don't want to live".]

Most people learn from experience and alter their actions appropriately so as not to repeat them.  What concerns me now is how my Texas experience has changed me; it has, I just don't know how.  This brings my anxiety issues to the surface again with worries of finances, personal growth and social inclusion.  I would like to think that I've learned to let go of worries and take each day as it comes, but to avoid the trap of unrealistic expectations I think I'll just take it a day at a time.