My Cocoon Year

I was so hopeful at the start of 2020. I was about to get married. It was a new decade. Husband and I got through the worst thing to happen to us, plus an immediate move, while planning a wedding, in my first year at a new job. Our friends were doing well — employed, seemed to know what they wanted out of life, married or dating or happily single (for the most part). We had just had a niece. We booked our honeymoon flights.

Garmin setting the mood for 2024.

I've lost all hope going into 2024. It's going to start out hard and get harder, personally and professionally. I'm facing the loss of at least four pets, including the one who's been with me throughout my entire adulthood. I'm deeply dissatisfied with everything about my job, from my pay to my influence to my ability to do what's best for the organization, even the very role I'm in (I hated marketing, how did I end up here?). I still feel geographically stuck. And it's unlikely that husband and I will get meaningful time for travel, or even a couple of long weekends that aren't for work or weddings or family obligations. I took six trips in 2023, five of which were for a wedding, a funeral, or work. We have one fun trip in mind for 2024, but that may not happen.

One of my favorite photos from the one fun trip we took in 2023.

Worse, a lot of my friends are struggling to find something in their lives. Most are unhappy with their jobs, not finding meaning or purpose or even a decent paycheck. Some are unhappily single. Some have their own family drama. Some moved far away and feel disconnected. And some are just getting through this year, too.

I'm thinking of 2024 as my cocoon year. Not that I expect to emerge a beautiful butterfly, or even have goals for 2025, or think much of anything will get better. But I need to acknowledge that 2024 is not the year for hope or goals or progress. It will be the gross, lonely, difficult year that sometimes has to happen. And honestly, maybe just acknowledging it will help me endure it — having expectations for the year ahead will just lead to disappointment, but if my expectations are rock bottom anything unexpected will fit right in. I want to skip this year in terms of the good cheer that I've always felt at the start and hold out that maybe I can feel that way again when I welcome 2025.

Maybe I should call this my mushroom year.

Recently, husband and I had a conversation about spirituality. Neither of us believe in an after life or any kind of higher power, but we do feel connected to the universe in a way. What I've always thought of as superstition might be better categorized as spirituality: like karma, if you do something bad, something bad will find you.

Little miss Rosa holding my hand — and the ring I lost.

Over the summer I lost a ring I'd had since... jeez, at least college. It was a three-strand infinity braid that lived on my pinky. The three-strand braid was a relic of my religious past, the holy trinity, but also how my life was inextricably intertwined with the higher power I was once deeply devoted to. The lack of a visible seam, no beginning or ending, was symbolic of eternity. My wedding ring has similar symbolism: the two-strand infinity twist reminds me how my husband and I are inextricably connected. For a few months I was upset about the loss of my pinky ring and looked everywhere for it, even dug through the Roomba discards. But then I started thinking that maybe it's time to say goodbye to the symbolism that ring held. Maybe I was holding on to something that no longer served me. Maybe I should look ahead, instead. So I bought a new ring. It's one solid ring that's been hammered flat. The single, solid ring represents just me. The hammered texture and infinity style will remind me that life will give me a beating sometimes, but life goes on. I'll wear this on my right ring finger because my relationship with myself is just as important as my relationship with anyone else, arguably even more so. Hopefully this reminder through what's going to be a very challenging year will be a comfort, and will stay with me for many years to come.

Randomly, I started a small worm farm in 2023. Hello, darkness.

I have to end this with a shoutout to husband (hi, husband). When the world felt like it ended right after we had the best day ever, we had a strong feeling of togetherness, joking that we had promised to be together forever but not every minute of forever. I had big family drama in 2020 and he listened to all of it and held my hand literally and metaphorically. Then it got bad in 2021, depressing in 2022 (we started doing drugs, highly recommend) and worse in 2023. I know he must really love me because he doesn't just stick it out — he's genuinely and deeply hurt if I even joke about him leaving. He knows what he's facing in the coming year. He knows I'll need him more than I ever have in our dozen years together. I know I could do this without him if I had to, but I'm grateful I don't have to. Marriage may not be sunshine and rainbows all the time, but nothing compares to the feeling of having that person in your corner no matter what. So, thank you, husband, I love you.

I Said No More Rats

A dramatic trio of rodents.

We have 6 pets: the cat, two rabbits, and three rats. The rats were pandemic pets. (The first group, anyway. The three we have now are actually our second group.) We adopted three sisters the day they were able to leave their mom. The mom was nearly a baby herself — accidental pregnancy. We had one very old gal left and I sold husband on the cuteness and chance for a stronger bond compared to the older ladies from the first group. (Side note, the humane society full-on lied about their ages online. In 2020 they only adopted small animals sight unseen, so your only information was the online profiles. They said they were 6 months but they were really 18 months, giving us only a year with them.)

The babies were so tiny the day we brought them home to Maya.

They are stinking cute. Their names are Harriett, Billie, and Rosa. You can guess where we got the names.

I'm spending a lot of time in my bathroom lately. Sitting on a blanket on the floor, next to the rat litter box, while they crawl inside my hoodie or on my shoulders or groom each other or chase each other or try to chew the baseboards or stick their noses under the door gap. We don't have a playpen or other secure area for them, and they're active, so the bathroom (between the outside door and the inner door to the toilet) is perfect. Loud, from the fan, and not fully comfortable, but otherwise perfect. They get play time, bonding time, and the cat is excluded so they feel much safer than on the couch. Right now one of them is in my hoodie on my stomach wildly gritting her little teeth in happiness. They boggle a lot in here, too. It makes me so happy and I barely even notice the fan or the hard floor for the hour. It's time to go when they are falling asleep, stretched out flat on the floor, curled up in my hoodie, or sometimes even asleep on my shoulder.

A less comfortable way I would isolate the rats for playtime.

I love having a house full of pets. I love cleaning the rat cage and the rabbit boxes and rearranging their spaces to add interest and making hiding areas and when they seek my affection (which is everyone except one bunny, who hates me). The rats especially. I adore the way their little bodies feel both lithe and round in my hands, how they wrap their tails around my finger or chin for balance, how they fling themselves up my legs or chest to climb to a better spot, how they let me cuddle them and the way they protest kisses on their heads and bellies. I don't know why, but their protests are my favorite. They dramatically thrust their whole hands, which are just tiny human hands, on our lips and push us away with their itty bitty might.

Billie on her first birthday!

There's only one downside: We miss travel. Now that it doesn't make me sick with stress, leaving for any length of time is an unfair burden. Even with a trusted friend a few blocks away and a pet sitting service I like, it's still not fair to leave the rats in cages or the cat uncuddled for more than a day. So we don't travel unless we have to. And that's meant work and weddings only. Plus, one of us has to be home every 12 hours to give the cat a pill, so even leaving for a day or having evening plans requires an almost parent level of coordination. I can't be spontaneous (though that's almost a non-issue with the friend group) or go with the flow. Which is OK. I would rather not travel right now. Even if I miss it. I'm allowed to recognize the downsides in the choices I make.

They live in a top of the line cage with lots of hiding places and newspaper to shred to bits.

Everyone is around the same point in their respective lifecycles. Chloe is 18. The rabbits are both around 7 or 8. And the rats are turning 2 in February. Husband and I have talked a lot about taking a pet break to travel. We still want to go to New Zealand (the honeymoon we never had) and at this point want at least three weeks. We want to road trip to national parks. We've talked about Germany and Tanzania and Japan and Chile.  We want to do big trips before we feel like being mostly home again for a while. So I promised, no more rats.

I made a dig box and sprouted barley for a fun playtime activity.

Last weekend, in the bathroom, Billie was hanging out in my hoodie for a while. She pretty much only does that at the end of the hang when she's sleepy, and even then she'd rather stretch out on the tile. Billie is the independent spirit of the trio. She'll test limits, stick her nose in things, chew or pull at anything, and explore wherever she damn well pleases if I'm not watching. Which is why we're in the bathroom. Being that chill for no reason isn't like her. That's when I noticed her face looked odd. It was like her cheekbone was jutting out on the left side. I felt it and it was hard, like her skull. But only on that one side. I looked at Harriet and Rosa and they both had perfectly round rat faces. So this was new. I took her to the vet today worried about an abscess or tooth issue, expecting to need x-rays or surgery.

The vet inspected her and said, "oh Billie girl, I haven't seen this in a while." 

Just look at those whiskers. Criminally cute.

This vet loves rats. In our visits over the last couple of years she's taken a few extra seconds each exam for a cuddle. She's all business with the rabbits but adores the rats. I didn't want to hear her say that, especially in that resigned tone that says there's nothing we can do. The tumor is in an inoperable location next to her ear and eye. It will keep growing outward, eventually looking cauliflower-y. It's not malignant and it's not painful, though it will get uncomfortable as it grows. She told me about a couple that had a whole family of rats with this kind of tumor a few years ago. They tried all sorts of treatments hoping something would reduce the size of the tumors. But one by one they all eventually had to be euthanized. She said they kept some of them longer than was probably right. This vet was alone with me when I had to euthanize my girl Ruth unexpectedly, I'm sure she remembers that. (Interestingly, Ruth and Billie would have been kindred spirits.)

Rats are just really small puppies. You can't change my mind.

The vet then remarked on how healthy Billie is. Other than barbering, which they all do to each other relentlessly, they're the picture of health. No mammary tumors, even, which is almost a guarantee with female rats. Then I said, "well they're only 22 months." She kind of paused. The average lifespan for rats is about two years. She said she saw one once who was 4 (my Tux was just over 3, and was quite old at that point). She couldn't give me an answer to how fast the tumor will grow. I think, and hope, that we'll have a great celebration in February, when they turn 2. But all three won't be making it to their third birthday. The vet sent me home with antibiotics just in case it's some extremely aggressive ear infection ("it can't hurt").

Billie's chicken legs - bare from barbering.

So, there are two downsides to a house full of pets. I said no more rats, and immediately got a terminal diagnosis. I didn't think it would be that quick. In Friends, when Phoebe's brother wants to give her one of his kids because triplets is too much to handle, he struggles to decide which one. Each of them is his favorite for a unique reason. That's how I feel about these girls. I don't have a favorite, but Billie is a favorite. She was a little runty when we first brought her home and took longer to gain weight than her sisters. She's so curious and brave and determined. I hand fed her snacks and saved the bigger pieces for her and celebrated the first time she weighed the most at monthly weigh in. And soon I'm going to have to decide when it's her time to go.

Two of my favorite things: reading and rats.

It's a cruel joke that creatures as wonderful as rats live so short a time. Two years is nothing, yet it's everything. They bring me so much happiness some days I could cry. I understand how people have a rotating collection of rats: every year integrate one or two new rats into the group and offset the one or two you lose every year. Constant pain but also constant joy. Just thinking of losing one of my trio made me want to adopt another already, even though I promised no more. It's going to be a hard couple of years.

Stuck in Paradise

A week ago I signed a tax document sent via email. I noticed my husband had signed it a week before me, which was weird because the email had only been in my inbox for a few days. But when I checked the date of my email I realized it had been waiting in my inbox for twelve whole days. How did almost two weeks feel like just a few days? 

And why was it this mundane action that made me realize how time is slipping by? Borrowing a phrase from Queer Eye, my life has turned into wash, rinse, and repeat.

Getting married and then immediately entering a global pandemic where “can’t” dominated my life erased so much possibility I thought I still had. And now still isn’t the right time to make a big change. I want so many things and no matter what decision I make I feel like I’m giving something else up. Every time I feel like I’m coming around a corner the next milestone feels like it got further away while I wasn’t watching. I’ve felt stuck for a long time, like I don’t have complete ownership over my life.

Seattle skyline from a boat tour on a very hot day.

I have this fantasy of what my life would be like if I moved. I say fantasy because husband has no desire to leave our city, and would be genuinely depressed living where I want to live, and because it's borderline impossible unless I somehow make a shit ton more money, which is unlikely even if I left the nonprofit world. But it doesn’t mean I can’t indulge myself a little here.

I imagine us buying a townhome in West Seattle, where parks and nature and the water are less than a mile away. By then we’ve adopted a dog and can take bikes or even go on a long walk to the beaches. We have a small little yard, or at least a decent balcony, and there’s space to sit and read or work and grow plants. We’d be close to the neighborhood center and walk around in evenings and weekends, getting coffee at one of the many shops around, finding new favorite Vietnamese and Thai and Chinese restaurants, and drinking on brewery patios. Husband would open a new studio nearby and he’d bring the dog with him sometimes. He has photography friends he meets up with and we regularly see my friends and cousins who live in the state. Maybe once a year we drive east to see friends just over the mountains, and we take long weekends to visit the islands, take the dog hiking, even take longer trips to Montana and the rainforests.

Fresh wild blackberries!

In the townhome we have, that we own, we’re intentional about its design and layout. We take our time finding pieces that we love that fit our needs. We install permanent solutions that work for us, because it’s ours, and we both love the space that we’ve created. We’re surrounded by tall, green trees, maybe have a view of the sound from our top floor, and have tons of windows to let in as much natural light as possible. For a while we’ll have just the dog, who runs with us (in perfect year-round running weather), because she’s portable and we want to explore this new area. We’ll foster cats and small animals as often as we can, at least until we have a network we can turn to for cat sitting (I can’t not have a cat, not for long).

Dino topiary!

I think part of what makes this fantasy so appealing is it’s something to look forward to when one of the biggest parts of my current life changes. I’m intentionally not going far, or going for long, to spend as much time as I can with Chloe. Despite her age and early kidney disease she’s in remarkably good health. And is laying across my arms as I type this (slowly). Travel will be a consolation for a while, maybe finally going on our honeymoon and taking other extended international trips.

And now I couldn’t ask my partner to change everything about his life, which he absolutely loves, to go live somewhere he would have no close friends or family, have to rebuild his business from scratch, and feel isolated and lonely. After the wet and gloomy winter we had this year, I know that this move will remain a fantasy. It wouldn’t be a fantasy if my partner was miserable.

Seattle is not lacking in amazing beer.

Which means I need to figure out how to be happy living where I am. I didn’t want to live in one place my whole life, but practically speaking it’s not really feasible to move states, much less move countries (I have a similar fantasy about moving to the UK). But this is why we have fantasies, right? It'll be interesting to look back on this in a few years and see what's changed, what new fantasies I have, or what parts of this one might have come true.