Alexis Julian

I remember sitting at a coffee shop in Portland a couple years ago with a ripped out page from my daily planner that had the heading “The woman I want to be”underlined at the top. I divided the page into three separate parts: emotional, spiritual, physical. Drew a stick figure under physical. Drew some bullet points. Made a few lists.

At the time, I wrote lists the way junkies smoked crack. I was averaging one new planner a month. I was singlehandedly keeping Post-It in business. And I was exceedingly anxious, all. the. time. But I can’t remember actually living in that life. I don’t remember what it was like to wake up, roll out of bed, and feel crushed by the arbitrary weight of a to-do list in a planner.

It might seem depressing, but lately when I have been feeling low I focus on that fact: the fact that in even a week, I won’t remember the details of this evening. I’ll be feeling completely different, for completely different reasons.

And this is why I believe in reincarnation.

I mean, my belief in it is irrelevant… I’m pretty sure regardless of what we believe will happen after we die is irrelevant. Whatever is going to happen will happen without regard to our personal philosophies, but I’m not actually talking about postmortem reincarnation. And as much as I actually do believe in some sort of recycling of the soul, I’m not too concerned about whether or not it will actually happen. Because I’ve been reincarnated dozens of times in my short 21 years.

There was the time I was an infant. Or the time I saw green grass for the first time. There was the time when I fed goats as a toddler, or the time I went to my first real school. There was the little girl who did ballet and tap.The pre-pubescent in community theater. The girl in a school uniform. The seventh grader at my first dance. An American abroad. The high schooler, the licensed driver, the college girl. I’ve been a friend to people I don’t know anymore, to people who wouldn’t recognize me today. People I wouldn’t recognize today. A girl I wouldn’t recognize today.

I’m terribly unbothered with Twitter and the hashtag “ruining” the English language, because I’ve finally realized what it is that we try to accomplish with these sites, and why they will ultimately fail at accurately documenting our lives.

We put up albums titled “Summer of 2011″, we group our friends into groups headed “School friends”, “Coworkers”, we hashtag and tag and group and categorize and subcategorize to our little hearts content but ultimately, it is futile. Who determines when “Summer of 2011″ begins and ends? What about the individuals that are school friends, coworkers, and our best friends? What about the moments of our lives that are too painful or private to document publicly on our Facebook timelines? And even if Facebook and Twitter integrate the features necessary to subcategorize everything absolutely perfectly, what do the categorizing of our photos and friends really say about who we are, or who we’ve been?

I’ve simultaneously embraced and been petrified of the concept of reincarnation for awhile now. My ego is bruised imagining an existence of my soul where I wouldn’t know who Alexis Julian is, because I like her, I like her a lot. But the real rub is that she’s elusive. I’ve worn many hats in my life. I’ve played many roles, I’ve lead a myriad of very different “lives” all within this one. And even though these same eyes have opened every day of my 21 years, the same brain has thought, the same hands have touched… I don’t remember living and breathing each of those lives. Sometimes it feels as though the events of my life unfolded before a completely different person. And yet it was me all along.

So this one is for the girl who wrote the list titled “The woman I want to be” and the woman that would be. Here I am. A lot closer in many ways, lightyears away in others. But 100% myself all the same. Each day I peel back another layer, every moment I become a little more her, and a little different too. I’m not going to be afraid of “real” reincarnation, should that ever come. I’ve had a lot of practice.

Recently, I’ve received something of an ethereal order. It came from within, and has been burning quietly within me for some time. Supposedly, I’m ready for it now. I don’t feel ready. In fact, any readiness I’ve felt has been replaced with complete dread in the past couple days. Like, I’ve finally started climbing the ladder to the high-dive. Except I reached the third rung gripped with fear and can’t continue. So this is a dumb post by a dumb 21 year old girl who doesn’t actually know anything talking about conquering fear:

I have to do this.

I have to do this for myself. I am supposed to have this experience. It’s one I’ve wanted for so long, held so dear and close to my heart. It’s an experience I’ve dreamed about for years. I want to do this to change my life. I’m shedding the skin of the Alexis I’ve been and have no choice but to begin the process of becoming the Alexis I am supposed to be for the next while. I have to do this so I can flourish.

I have no reason to be afraid.

Life has never presented me with anything I could not handle. I’ve overcome everything. Nothing has ruined, broken, or killed me yet. I am better equipped now than I’ve ever been for handling a change. And if there is anything I’ve learned in 2011, it’s that I can do more things on my own than I ever imagined. I can vouch for myself, protect myself, care for and love myself. When the day is over and the only thing I can see is my own eyelids, I don’t fear anything. If the only thing I can control is myself… I know I am in control and that the only life I can truly care for is in good hands.

I need to make sacrifices.

Chasing this dream of mine will give me an opportunity to practice something I’ve never really had to deal with: sacrifice (you can decide if this is a blessing or a curse). If I am to make this dream a reality, there’s a good chance I’ll have to make some sacrifices that might mean discomfort. It will definitely mean a much stricter budget than I’m familiar with. It will probably mean doing some things I don’t find complete enjoyment in. It may mean new experiences, and those will certainly not all be positive. I might get sad, frustrated, uncomfortable. But I might embrace the life these sacrifices lead me to. I could totally love it. At this point I really don’t know, so I’m stressed about something that isn’t real.

Which is what it all boils down to.

None of this is real. The only part of my existence that is “real” is totally intangible; that is my perception of the world, the well-being of my soul. And if my soul is satisfied, nothing else will matter. The discomfort of change is inconsequential if my soul is happy. Ever notice that? Happiness has a way of making even shitty things feel rosy. I need to snap out of this anxiety and start getting excited for the huge life ahead of me. I absolutely do not want to wake up 5 years from now confused, angry, and frustrated that my life hasn’t changed. Because there’s no possible way for it to change unless I illicit that change on my own. Santa isn’t going to leave a New Life gift wrapped for me under the tree. The Tooth Fairy isn’t going to leave it under my pillow. My parents aren’t going to just surprise me with plane tickets and a new apartment in Abu Dubai. If that’s what I want (it’s not, by the way) it’s about time I start making preparations to get myself there.

It’s time.

Don’t worry. I’ll tell you what this is all about soon. But in the meantime I’d love to hear from you!

What are the dreams you’re too afraid to chase? What’s holding you back? And how are you going to make damn sure you achieve them?

When I was 13 my family went to Rome for Christmas. My sister and I stayed awake through the entire journey and fell asleep the second we got to the hotel. We woke up at 2am and ate pasta alla carbonara in bed. The sky was a pale grey the entire trip, but you’ve never seen something as beautiful as the San Pietro Bascilica on Christmas day.

And everywhere we went, we heard George Michael and the rest of Wham! singing “Last Christmas”.

Hey!!!

Remember me? Remember this thing I used to do, called blogging? Remember this blog I used to have? Me either!

Yeah, I suck, blah blah, let me give you a list of excuses as to why I haven’t been blogging:

• just kidding
• feel free to skip this
• don’t feel bad
• (I do it too)

Whatever, this bitch is back. And now that I’ve joined the league of the iPad-ed, I plan on being around a lot more often. So update your bookmarks (because I need to renew www.alexisjulian.com) and check back soon because I’ve decided to throw caution themed content to the wind, and I’m going to be blogging about whatever I fancy. And I’ll be making a real post soon! Like really soon! Like really real soon! Like maybe even tomorrow!

Okay that’s enough with the exclamation points. Here’s a recent picture of me. (Hey, this is a vanity blog right?)

I hate moving.

Yeah, everyone hates moving. But I’ve developed a special brand of hatred for this act. Especially after moving six times between June of 2008 and August of 2010. No, you read that right… six times in two years. 

1. June of 2008: moved from my hometown to the 8th floor of an studio apartment dorm in Portland, Oregon.
2. September of 2008: I moved to the 4th floor of the same building.
3. June of 2009: I moved back up to the 9th floor of said building.
4. December 2009: I moved out of that building, and across campus into a one-bedroom apartment.
5. June of 2010: I moved into a sleeper unit in the basement of that building (literally a bedroom, small closet, and bathroom down the hall)
6. August of 2010: I moved from Portland back to my hometown, and in with Ian

After nearly a year of living here, Ian and I decided to end our relationship, and I am moving back in with my folks. I don’t really want to talk about the break up in this post (mostly because I’m tired of my own voice on the matter) but it’s not because we hate each other, it’s not because we even dislike one another… it’s just that we’re too great at all the wonderful emotional loving stuff and not good enough at being the responsible adults that living together requires we be. So it sucks. It’s not what either of us want or envisioned or are thrilled to be doing but it is what it is. 

And even though I have a special brand of hatred for moving, the kind of hatred I have for moving this time is even more unique and rooted even deeper within my core. Because despite the fact that I have moved six times in the past three years I’ve never moved while my internal monologue is a screaming loop of “THIS ISN’T HOW IT SHOULD BE!” mixed with heartbreak and sadness.

So. That’s what I’m up to these days. It’s not the best feeling I’ve ever experienced but I have faith in all of the quotes and stories and art I’ve encountered, I have faith in myself, and I have a lot of faith in the universe to provide me with the best life that was always meant to be mine. I’ll be okay.

But until then… boxes. Laaaame.