Superstition says that cats have nine lives due to their ability to survive things that would kill most people or other living creatures. While the "how" part of it can easily be explained through physics and laws of terminal velocity versus leaping tall buildings, we still have no explanation for the "why." Why some things survive better than other. Why some people live their lives knowing they're always one step away from falling upside down off a 10-story building and people naturally expect them to survive with little to no injuries.
I am currently in my ninth life. As of today. Nine years ago I kissed and said goodbye to the man who called me his wife, as he left our apartment on that early Thursday morning on his way to work. I remember the way I pleaded with god the night before, begging for a sign that maybe there was still hope. Asking the only prayer that I've ever been able to trust in "for a clear an unmistakable sign" that willingly jumping off this hundred-story building was really my pre-destined next step. I prayed for proof, rolled over to put my arm around the man I called my husband, and he shrugged me off and said "Get off me...." and grumbled back to sleep.
I knew I betrayed myself with that kiss the next morning. Everything in my escape plan said to continue with life as normal. Don't give yourself away. Don't divert from everything that makes sense. Don't blow it again because this is your last chance and if it doesn't work, there will be no falling gracefully and you will land as the first cat to not survive. I knew he had stopped loving me and respecting me long ago but I made a promise to love and cherish him to the end. Even when the end was a contemplation of taking my own life. It became a choice of me or him. Whose life was I willing to sacrifice? In the end, I realized I had already been sacrificed long before and had only been living as a ghost since then.
I left my ring and an 8-page letter on the dining room table. I told him I couldn't do it anymore. I told him he was abusive and I hated myself and my life and the way he hated me. But I still loved him. Even to the point of blowing my own cover and kissing him goodbye. It wasn't like me to walk him all the way to the door when he left for work and it eventually betrayed me when he came home early from work and found me quickly stuffing boxes into the back of my car.
I remember the paralyzing fear of seeing his truck pull in. Wondering if he was going to hit me. Wondering if he was going to scream at me. Wondering if he was going to take my keys and force me to stay. What I never expected... was for him to let me go. All the way down from the top of a thousand-story building. I had never fallen so far before in my life and had no idea what the ground would feel like or if I was even built to survive.
The fall broke all my legs as he stood there in the parking lot admitting he was abusive. And worse, that he knew all along. He said he didn't blame me. He said he would have left too if the situation was reversed. I always thought he was oblivious to what was going on and maybe if I just loved him enough, things might get better. But just like sin after redemption, you can't stand in light and justify going back into darkness. Not when you know the truth so clearly.
So I left.
I made a promise to God that day that if he got me out of there, no matter where, I would do whatever he asked of me. I know the last thing anyone should do -especially in a moment of desperation- is bargain with God. But this wasn't bargaining. This was entering into a covenant. I was hoping for something a little less severe than wandering the desert for 40 years but on some level, I wouldn't have been surprised.
I slept on a friend's couch for a few nights before I was able to get into the local battered women's shelter. it was a high security shelter for high-risk women since he was considered a "public figure" due to his job at a local radio station. The station I was supposed to work at until he said "There's only one celebrity in this family and it sure a f*** isn't gonna be you." The radio station where the ladies invited me to their knitting group to test their suspicions and milk me for information about what really happened behind closed doors. The radio station where the girls gathered around me and said "you can do this and you will survive and we'll make sure no one finds out this time when you try to leave." The radio station where he went to work the next day cursing and calling me a whore for leaving him and telling his office mate how horrible I was... and his office mate had the courage to be a man of God and say "I know she left. We helped her. And you deserve what happened."
The radio station where, four years later, I appeared as a guest speaker talking about domestic violence on a Christian program hosted by the woman who had so many times offered me a "celebrity" job and had no idea why I turned her offer down.
It's funny what redemption can look like.
It's been nine years today since life ended and began.
I said good-bye to our pet goldfish, William, who I wasn't allowed to feed. Good-bye to the back porch swing that overlooked the pool I wasn't allowed to swim in. Good-bye to the cozy romantic fireplace I wasn't allowed to use. Good-bye to the out-of-our-budget leather recliner I wasn't allowed to sit in, good-bye to the bed that always hurt my back, and good-bye to the shower where I went so many nights to hide the sound of my crying under the rush of running water.
Time gives amazing perspective and in retrospect, it's hard to see any sign of difficulty in deciding to leave a life of that kind. But a thousand falls later, I think what I mourned the most was the loss of hope. The thought that I was walking away from my only chance at happiness and love and everything God promised to good little girls who fell in love.
But I fell away. And maybe parting the Red Sea wasn't the way to save me. Maybe I needed this desert to give me enough time to think. Time to realize how far I'd fallen and why and how. But more than that, time to realize that people don't just fall from the outermost edge of earth's atmosphere and live to tell about it... multiple times. This isn't luck, this isn't a mistake and it damn sure isn't a law of physics.
This is what happens when you make a promise and it's time to collect.
Each year the world gets worse. But each year, my life gets better. Because I'm still here. I'm still standing and alive to talk about it.
This year, this last week, something terrifying happened. I realized that all these years, I have not been alone in the desert. I went from wandering to journeying to eventually running. But still not alone. And now I'm being called upon to hold up my end of the deal. I didn't ask anyone to follow me. I didn't ask to be a leader. I didn't ask for anything but a way out of captivity. Nevertheless, people followed. And I'm being asked to lead them.
I'm afraid I'll die before reaching a modern-day Promised Land, afraid of leading people astray. Afraid of what this desert might hold. But more than anything else, I am terrified to look behind me and seeing how many people followed. Terrified to look in their eyes and say "I'm sorry... I don't know why you're all here." Terrified of what they will say, of what will happen. Of how my world will be pushed off the edge of the tallest cliff I've ever seen when the reality sinks in that this isn't about me, it isn't a mistake, and like it or not, these people won't go away. If I run away again, they'll run with me. I know I have the strength to leave the darkness. I've done it a thousand times. It's staying in the light that's so hard, because that requires a belief that I was meant to be here.That my name is not "insignificant." I don't feel ready for that yet. But it's no longer my choice.
Happy Anniversary, Allie. Life just got very real.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Life Outside the Box
"Before we talk commitment
Let me tell you of my past
All I've seen and all I've done
The things I'd like to forget
At this point in my life"
-Tracy Chapman
As hard as I find it to believe, the year is already halfway over. We find ourselves at a "high-noon" of sorts, and after this, it all starts to slowly descend on the horizon.
This week marks ten years since I left the southwest and moved the farthest I've ever lived from home. It's hard to admit but after so many moves, I simply stopped unpacking. stopped trying to make places into homes and stopped trying to let roots settle beneath any surfaces they would inevitably be ripped from in another year's time.
Tonight I drove to a friend's house and delivered as many flattened boxes as I could fit in my car. Eight months and my living room still looks like I'm just moving in. Four more months and I will be renewing a lease I didn't expect to see come back my way. Honestly, I expected to be somewhere else by the time October rolls around.
This is not to say I'm unhappy by any means; I love this place. It's just... surreal. "Home" is a four letter word. I have no idea what it's supposed to mean anymore and yet, I chase just the same as Donovan tries to catch the wind. It's silly. I live out of boxes so I can bolt out the door at any minute, but I try desperately to make four walls feel like my own. In a way, I've set myself to perpetually lose. Constant failure becomes a familiar comfort... until the boxes are gone. Until you have no more "escape routs" in which to pack your belongings and run for the next town over.
I can never surrender all my boxes because I sure by now He knows, deep down in my heart I still can't trust God enough to believe He'll ever give me more than just a moment's rest. He knows it's nothing personal.... we're working on it.
But the problem with boxes is that you hide things and forget about them. You hide your past and over time... I've discovered I've lost so many parts of myself buried in the dust of far-back closet shelves. It takes 8 months to loosen my grip and then I have four months to think about where I have to go next.
It's hard to fall in love when I know these walls won't last. But if I don't try... what's the point of living,
I promised my friend I'd bring her more boxes in two weeks. I don't have any let to spare. This means I'll have to unpack more of my life. Put more of my roots in soil. Put just a little more faith in God. When boxes become too important, you find yourself boxed in to your own little world. I've come too far to give up now.
Maybe someday I'll finally stop running... and remember who I am.
Let me tell you of my past
All I've seen and all I've done
The things I'd like to forget
At this point in my life"
-Tracy Chapman
As hard as I find it to believe, the year is already halfway over. We find ourselves at a "high-noon" of sorts, and after this, it all starts to slowly descend on the horizon.
This week marks ten years since I left the southwest and moved the farthest I've ever lived from home. It's hard to admit but after so many moves, I simply stopped unpacking. stopped trying to make places into homes and stopped trying to let roots settle beneath any surfaces they would inevitably be ripped from in another year's time.
Tonight I drove to a friend's house and delivered as many flattened boxes as I could fit in my car. Eight months and my living room still looks like I'm just moving in. Four more months and I will be renewing a lease I didn't expect to see come back my way. Honestly, I expected to be somewhere else by the time October rolls around.
This is not to say I'm unhappy by any means; I love this place. It's just... surreal. "Home" is a four letter word. I have no idea what it's supposed to mean anymore and yet, I chase just the same as Donovan tries to catch the wind. It's silly. I live out of boxes so I can bolt out the door at any minute, but I try desperately to make four walls feel like my own. In a way, I've set myself to perpetually lose. Constant failure becomes a familiar comfort... until the boxes are gone. Until you have no more "escape routs" in which to pack your belongings and run for the next town over.
I can never surrender all my boxes because I sure by now He knows, deep down in my heart I still can't trust God enough to believe He'll ever give me more than just a moment's rest. He knows it's nothing personal.... we're working on it.
But the problem with boxes is that you hide things and forget about them. You hide your past and over time... I've discovered I've lost so many parts of myself buried in the dust of far-back closet shelves. It takes 8 months to loosen my grip and then I have four months to think about where I have to go next.
It's hard to fall in love when I know these walls won't last. But if I don't try... what's the point of living,
I promised my friend I'd bring her more boxes in two weeks. I don't have any let to spare. This means I'll have to unpack more of my life. Put more of my roots in soil. Put just a little more faith in God. When boxes become too important, you find yourself boxed in to your own little world. I've come too far to give up now.
Maybe someday I'll finally stop running... and remember who I am.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
An Ally for Allie
The birds are beginning to sing outside my window. It is their new morning; it is still my patient wait for sleep to finally come.
But there is no room for sleep on this night. Not with what the wind is blowing through my hair. Not with what the tide is washing up onto my feet. Not in this present lifetime.
Tracy Chapman whispers across the hum of of my computer. I can hear my cat sigh deeply in his sleep.
With all the world asleep and dawn so full of hope, I found the bright light of reality flash across my path like a passing car on a moonless night. I am momentarily blinded and find myself in denial of the words on my screen.
"I wanted to tell you to not come back... because it isn't safe"
He speaks of the only place I've called home in more years than I can begin to remember.The place I planted my roots.The place I allowed my heart to grow.The place I bared my soul for God and Man to see. The place I ran from when the world turned black and nothing was safe anymore.
The place I've been packing my bags to hesitantly revisit. The place I couldn't live without... until his words appeared.
It's funny... We can cling so tightly to a hope, a dream, a prayer we think will save us and some are even willing to follow it to their death. But he said he was an ally -- my ally. And for whatever reason known only to God, he felt compelled to let me know that at 4 in the morning when the sun is stretching from lazy slumber and rolling over for "just five more minutes..." I am not alone. I am safe. Someone else is looking out for me. Nothing in this world is guaranteed. Not even Allies. But those... those are worth dying for, even unto yourself.
There will be no sleep tonight. But for the first time in a long while, it will be safe.
But there is no room for sleep on this night. Not with what the wind is blowing through my hair. Not with what the tide is washing up onto my feet. Not in this present lifetime.
Tracy Chapman whispers across the hum of of my computer. I can hear my cat sigh deeply in his sleep.
With all the world asleep and dawn so full of hope, I found the bright light of reality flash across my path like a passing car on a moonless night. I am momentarily blinded and find myself in denial of the words on my screen.
"I wanted to tell you to not come back... because it isn't safe"
He speaks of the only place I've called home in more years than I can begin to remember.The place I planted my roots.The place I allowed my heart to grow.The place I bared my soul for God and Man to see. The place I ran from when the world turned black and nothing was safe anymore.
The place I've been packing my bags to hesitantly revisit. The place I couldn't live without... until his words appeared.
It's funny... We can cling so tightly to a hope, a dream, a prayer we think will save us and some are even willing to follow it to their death. But he said he was an ally -- my ally. And for whatever reason known only to God, he felt compelled to let me know that at 4 in the morning when the sun is stretching from lazy slumber and rolling over for "just five more minutes..." I am not alone. I am safe. Someone else is looking out for me. Nothing in this world is guaranteed. Not even Allies. But those... those are worth dying for, even unto yourself.
There will be no sleep tonight. But for the first time in a long while, it will be safe.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Grey Matter(s) of the Heart and Soul
It's hard to believe it's already been two weeks since the doctor said the words "It might be a tumour."
I mean, it's not really the kind of thing you expect to hear on a random Friday afternoon. I've been having blind episodes off and on in my right eye for about a year now and despite a proverbial brush off from a doctor last year, things didn't improve. In fact, they're 300% worse. I have new doctors now and they all seem very concerned.
It ended up not being a tumour but I wish it was. It's hard to play "The Gladness Game" when you have no idea what's wrong. The doctor says the nerves in my eye are clustered too tightly together. They could someday pinch together and cause permanent blindness. For now, it just feels like a pencil is constantly being shoved in my eye. It's scary. The most important things I do in life happen behind a camera or with a pen and poetry book or journal. But the Gladness Game continues nonetheless. I can choose to be scared and cry, or I can choose to ignore the elements of unknown, confused looks of medical specialists and fear of how much this will financially devastate me when it's over or I can find all the joy in it. Silver linings are sometimes nigh impossible to find but they're always there.
Thus far, I've managed to find at least one gladness, one "happy" each day. An older cousin of mine who I always wanted to know better but felt too awkward and shy to reach out to as a little kid has sudden been in touch with me on a regular basis. We're on opposite ends of our 30s but suddenly the age gap isn't so scary anymore. She told me in an email that she loves me and wants to become closer. It was like sunshine in my heart. :)
My best friend from 3rd grade who lives on the other side of the world has been messaging me every few days. She's praying for me and she's worried about me. We lost touch for almost 15 years, found each other on the internet and have discovered that playground promises of "friends forever" really do continue. That was like a rainbow across my sky.
One of my coworkers discreetly left a card of encouragement on my desk telling me he was praying for me and that I do a good job at work. And even now, days later in the middle of the night, it still makes me tear up because it reminded me that despite being the female minority and trying so hard to be tough and strong enough to keep up with the rest of the guys, at least one person realizes I'm still a girl and whether or not I'd ever let them see or suspect it at work, girls cry when they get scared. And it's nice to know one one of those unbreakableshakeable guys wouldn't think less of me if I couldn't always keep up a brave face.
I have headaches and pain during the day and I'm wide awake at night, but I have old time radio shows of Fibber McGee and Molly to make me giggle when I am finally able to drift off to sleep.
It's warm enough to sleep with the windows open, I can hear the faint whistle of trains off in the distance, and if I walk outside, I can see the moon shining its reflection on the bay.
Maybe life isn't perfect and scary monsters are lurking in closets and under beds... but there are always reasons to smile. There have to be. What good are eyes if they can only cry? What good are dreams if you never believe they'll come true? But most of all, what good is this life if you only stay on paved roads? Predictability is safe but we are each gifted in ways that call our hearts off the main path.
My heart lives in the wilderness. It's never been safe, it's never been familiar, but my God, it's always a beautiful adventure. I'd like to think that if God took my sight from me and people asked me why it happened I could smile and say, "I saw the world. And I saw so much of it that there was nothing left to see."
What a wonderful joy that would be! :)
I mean, it's not really the kind of thing you expect to hear on a random Friday afternoon. I've been having blind episodes off and on in my right eye for about a year now and despite a proverbial brush off from a doctor last year, things didn't improve. In fact, they're 300% worse. I have new doctors now and they all seem very concerned.
It ended up not being a tumour but I wish it was. It's hard to play "The Gladness Game" when you have no idea what's wrong. The doctor says the nerves in my eye are clustered too tightly together. They could someday pinch together and cause permanent blindness. For now, it just feels like a pencil is constantly being shoved in my eye. It's scary. The most important things I do in life happen behind a camera or with a pen and poetry book or journal. But the Gladness Game continues nonetheless. I can choose to be scared and cry, or I can choose to ignore the elements of unknown, confused looks of medical specialists and fear of how much this will financially devastate me when it's over or I can find all the joy in it. Silver linings are sometimes nigh impossible to find but they're always there.
Thus far, I've managed to find at least one gladness, one "happy" each day. An older cousin of mine who I always wanted to know better but felt too awkward and shy to reach out to as a little kid has sudden been in touch with me on a regular basis. We're on opposite ends of our 30s but suddenly the age gap isn't so scary anymore. She told me in an email that she loves me and wants to become closer. It was like sunshine in my heart. :)
My best friend from 3rd grade who lives on the other side of the world has been messaging me every few days. She's praying for me and she's worried about me. We lost touch for almost 15 years, found each other on the internet and have discovered that playground promises of "friends forever" really do continue. That was like a rainbow across my sky.
One of my coworkers discreetly left a card of encouragement on my desk telling me he was praying for me and that I do a good job at work. And even now, days later in the middle of the night, it still makes me tear up because it reminded me that despite being the female minority and trying so hard to be tough and strong enough to keep up with the rest of the guys, at least one person realizes I'm still a girl and whether or not I'd ever let them see or suspect it at work, girls cry when they get scared. And it's nice to know one one of those unbreakableshakeable guys wouldn't think less of me if I couldn't always keep up a brave face.
I have headaches and pain during the day and I'm wide awake at night, but I have old time radio shows of Fibber McGee and Molly to make me giggle when I am finally able to drift off to sleep.
It's warm enough to sleep with the windows open, I can hear the faint whistle of trains off in the distance, and if I walk outside, I can see the moon shining its reflection on the bay.
Maybe life isn't perfect and scary monsters are lurking in closets and under beds... but there are always reasons to smile. There have to be. What good are eyes if they can only cry? What good are dreams if you never believe they'll come true? But most of all, what good is this life if you only stay on paved roads? Predictability is safe but we are each gifted in ways that call our hearts off the main path.
My heart lives in the wilderness. It's never been safe, it's never been familiar, but my God, it's always a beautiful adventure. I'd like to think that if God took my sight from me and people asked me why it happened I could smile and say, "I saw the world. And I saw so much of it that there was nothing left to see."
What a wonderful joy that would be! :)
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Snow White's Mirror
"I just didn't want to be one of those girls who were made fun of..."
Words I didn't know could make me burst into tears coming from the beautiful best friend who everyone loved in high school. I guess everyone has their own Snow White at some time or another. No matter how many times you look in the mirror, you're still not the beautiful one. But beauty fades. And if you're lucky, people don't.
It's funny how insignificant beauty seems to a woman of 90 and how it can mean life or death to a 16-year-old. I keep hearing those words echo in my head. "one of those girls." The ones who get made fun of. The words feel like a knife in the back thinking about how many times I was made fun of. But that wasn't the end of the sentence. She had my back. Even when I wasn't around to know what was being said. It's like a knife and a hug at the same time. I already know what was said to my face. I shudder to think what she defended me against. But to think the beautiful one, the popular one everyone wanted to hang out with, she defended me. Not out of pity. Not out of charity. She did it because we were friends. And it's not flattery because she was beautiful and everyone loved her. It's honour because until tonight, I spent the last 15 years not knowing what happened when I wasn't around. When she was. When she thought I was someone worth looking up to and I spent all my days looking down at the ground wondering why I couldn't be someone more like her.
I wish I'd had the option to be exempt from the elite classification of "One of those girls." It breaks my heart. Not because I can't let go of the past, but because I still get made fun of. The thing is, I just learned to stop caring. If people truly do fear things they don't understand then maybe being "scary" isn't as bad as the label makes it sound.
I saw my eight-year-old niece over Easter vacation. She wanted blue streaks in her hair just like me. She thought I was pretty and cool. We got extensions from the beauty store and I put them in her hair before she went outside to play. She wasn't outside on the playground for more than five minutes before she came running back inside, upset that some boy made fun of her. I was so mad! Mad at him. Mad at her for caring. Mad at myself for being "one of those girls" and not stopping my niece from putting herself in the same path of my former footsteps.
But she went back outside anyway and kept playing and I thought to myself, "Kid, someday some little girl is gonna want to be like you regardless of the cost and you'll understand how loved and proud I feel right now." And if that wasn't enough to melt a heart, my barely-three-year-old niece decided she had to have blue hair too. Straight blue streaks don't exactly fit in with honey brown ringlets. But when she smiled up at me and said "I look like you" all I could think was "Kid, you look the way I feel 99% of the time. Nothing matches and everyone can tell, but you rock it like a hurricane of awesome."
It's hard to look up to a kid that's barely tall enough to hug your knees but somehow it managed to happen. And I'm glad. Because when you're three, the wicked witch never wins and "being Snow White" simply means putting on a dress, any dress, and declaring yourself a beautiful princess. I hope she never stops being one of those girls. And maybe someday, I could be more like her.
I don't know why being made fun of was such a big fear. Being hurt sucks. But I've broken bones that hurt far worse than words, I've lived through hells far worse than not being pretty and I've survived much more important "trials" than not being popular. I guess on some root level none of us wants to think a mirror would look us in the eye and say "you're not good enough for me." But unlike the fairytale, the only person looking back at me... is me.
Today my boyfriend noticed that I had on two shades of blue eyeshadow... that matched the two shades of blue in my hair. He'd probably be the first to stand in line to declare me as "one of those girls"... You know, the ones who never match, stick out in a pitch black room and couldn't care less what the world thinks. I didn't acquire confidence and beauty with age. I'm just pretending to be three... and free... while I continue the journey of the evolution of me.
Words I didn't know could make me burst into tears coming from the beautiful best friend who everyone loved in high school. I guess everyone has their own Snow White at some time or another. No matter how many times you look in the mirror, you're still not the beautiful one. But beauty fades. And if you're lucky, people don't.
It's funny how insignificant beauty seems to a woman of 90 and how it can mean life or death to a 16-year-old. I keep hearing those words echo in my head. "one of those girls." The ones who get made fun of. The words feel like a knife in the back thinking about how many times I was made fun of. But that wasn't the end of the sentence. She had my back. Even when I wasn't around to know what was being said. It's like a knife and a hug at the same time. I already know what was said to my face. I shudder to think what she defended me against. But to think the beautiful one, the popular one everyone wanted to hang out with, she defended me. Not out of pity. Not out of charity. She did it because we were friends. And it's not flattery because she was beautiful and everyone loved her. It's honour because until tonight, I spent the last 15 years not knowing what happened when I wasn't around. When she was. When she thought I was someone worth looking up to and I spent all my days looking down at the ground wondering why I couldn't be someone more like her.
I wish I'd had the option to be exempt from the elite classification of "One of those girls." It breaks my heart. Not because I can't let go of the past, but because I still get made fun of. The thing is, I just learned to stop caring. If people truly do fear things they don't understand then maybe being "scary" isn't as bad as the label makes it sound.
I saw my eight-year-old niece over Easter vacation. She wanted blue streaks in her hair just like me. She thought I was pretty and cool. We got extensions from the beauty store and I put them in her hair before she went outside to play. She wasn't outside on the playground for more than five minutes before she came running back inside, upset that some boy made fun of her. I was so mad! Mad at him. Mad at her for caring. Mad at myself for being "one of those girls" and not stopping my niece from putting herself in the same path of my former footsteps.
But she went back outside anyway and kept playing and I thought to myself, "Kid, someday some little girl is gonna want to be like you regardless of the cost and you'll understand how loved and proud I feel right now." And if that wasn't enough to melt a heart, my barely-three-year-old niece decided she had to have blue hair too. Straight blue streaks don't exactly fit in with honey brown ringlets. But when she smiled up at me and said "I look like you" all I could think was "Kid, you look the way I feel 99% of the time. Nothing matches and everyone can tell, but you rock it like a hurricane of awesome."
It's hard to look up to a kid that's barely tall enough to hug your knees but somehow it managed to happen. And I'm glad. Because when you're three, the wicked witch never wins and "being Snow White" simply means putting on a dress, any dress, and declaring yourself a beautiful princess. I hope she never stops being one of those girls. And maybe someday, I could be more like her.
I don't know why being made fun of was such a big fear. Being hurt sucks. But I've broken bones that hurt far worse than words, I've lived through hells far worse than not being pretty and I've survived much more important "trials" than not being popular. I guess on some root level none of us wants to think a mirror would look us in the eye and say "you're not good enough for me." But unlike the fairytale, the only person looking back at me... is me.
Today my boyfriend noticed that I had on two shades of blue eyeshadow... that matched the two shades of blue in my hair. He'd probably be the first to stand in line to declare me as "one of those girls"... You know, the ones who never match, stick out in a pitch black room and couldn't care less what the world thinks. I didn't acquire confidence and beauty with age. I'm just pretending to be three... and free... while I continue the journey of the evolution of me.
Friday, April 27, 2012
A Retrospective of a High School "Plain" Girl
It's hard to imagine 18 years of my life is scattered across the pages of all those notebooks.
I picked up the one on the top right and started to flip through it. Big mistake. 1997. Junior year. The year that blurred the lines between being invisible on purpose and being invisible because I wasn't one of the beautiful popular girls.
I flipped through pages of summer love, summer anger, summer makeups, summer romantic bullshit, back to school crushes, and countless poems for boys with whom I had longstanding one-sided love affairs with despite them never knowing my name.
To this day, some of the boys in that book have no idea who I am. Some of them probably couldn't pick me out of a crowd of one. Some I barely remember. And some I can't seem to ever forget.
I found an entire section of poetry dedicated to a boy on my brother's hockey team who used to flirt relentlessly with me and blow kisses to me whenever he scored a goal. After one game, he managed to get my shoe and throw it in a tree. In attempt to get my shoe back, we wound up in a wrestling match that ended with him on top of me in a tackle. After a week of butterflies, I worked up the nerve to give him one of the poems I had written for him. I put it on the fanciest stationary I owned and gave it to him at school when no one else was around.
flipping through my poetry book, I came across that poem. At the bottom of the page in smudged ink, it lists the day I wrote it, the day I gave it to him and a note that said "He never spoke to me again."
To this day, I have a slight hatred of the Pittsburgh Penguins just to spite him from an illogical, nonsensical latent teenage attempt at revenge.
I couldn't care less if he never meant any of the smiles or kisses or kind words. I have long since gotten over the fact that he would more than likely have dumped me the moment my morals got in the way of a good time.
But what I can't forget, what ALWAYS comes up first on the rare occasions he crosses my mind is the way he pointed and laughed at me in front of his friends the day after I gave him the poem. The way he made fun of me as I walked by and his friends snickered because he'd likely shown them the poem and in attempt to save face for himself, I became the shoe in the tree. But when he tackled me the last time, there was no smile, no blowing kisses, no jokes about how he was a tougher hockey player than me. Just a cruel boy who had no idea he was burning his permanent footsteps in my life.
Sometimes I wonder what happened to him. Sometimes I run into mean people on the street and I want to look him up on the Internet and tell him "some jerk reminded me of you" but I know it wouldn't matter. And it's okay. Because not all boys are like him.
In at least a third of that stack of books is almost a decade worth of poetry scattered here and there for a boy who probably wouldn't have gone out with me if he was on fire and I was the only person on earth with a bucket of water. I didn't find out until graduation that he knew I always had a crush on him but I always knew he was never interested in me. More than that, though, I always knew that he was the only guy up to that point in my life who has *always* been honest with me, always treated me with respect and didn't care if I wrote stupid cheesy "never gonna happen" poems about him behind his back.
I'm sure most of that stack of books would probably better serve humanity as a small bonfire but you know, it's nice to look back and see that in a stack of 200 single-spaced hand-written pages of mean boys in the world, there was always one who kept giving me hope that someday I'd meet someone different. In retrospect, I'm glad he never liked me as more than a friend. I know he poked fun behind my back (and to my face) about my crush but he also showed me how to fall in love with the the thought of not getting what you wanted in life.
I still can't find the poetry book I set out to write in tonight. But there I go not getting what I want again. Sometimes life is beautiful.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Poetical Musings in the Continual Aftermath of Clarity
I found an old picture of you in your favorite shirt
And I realized, I really miss that shirt...
Not because it was your favorite
or because it reminds me of you
but because I always thought it would look better on me.
And it occurs to me now,
Maybe that's the only reason I kept thinking it was love.
I hope your shirt fits awkwardly
and forever reminds you of the girl who walked away.
:)
And I realized, I really miss that shirt...
Not because it was your favorite
or because it reminds me of you
but because I always thought it would look better on me.
And it occurs to me now,
Maybe that's the only reason I kept thinking it was love.
I hope your shirt fits awkwardly
and forever reminds you of the girl who walked away.
:)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Pine Needles in February
But here's the thing --
I never wanted a fake Christmas tree,
I only consented because I thought it might lead to true love.
In the end, I realized that settling for anything fake
would only lead to a lifetime of consistent fakeness.
I tried to pretend I didn't need my coloured lights and mismatched ornaments,
things you considered "un-classy"...
And maybe I'm not a modern classy girl but dammit,
I have to have something real left to live for!
You never appreciated my records.
Said it was music of your parents generation; stupid, boring
annoying.
I spun circles around dreams and listened to the fireplace crackle of
love on vinyl
and all you could say was "stupid."
Because that's classy talk...
If we don't learn from the past, what do we gain for the future?
Your music wasn't real.
Everything birthed from electric simulations of instruments across the room,
everything having to sound newer and better than what came before.
It's all too much to live up to.
What's wrong with familiarity?
What's wrong with the comfort of remembering exactly where you were,
exactly what you wore
and exactly who you were with
each time the record flips?
What's wrong with predictable happiness and love?
Sure, you like my style now.
You call me "vintage" in this indie world,
say I've got an "eye for the old" and a
"quirky" sense of style.
It's all great from a hundred miles away but at your core
you're more dead than I'll ever be alive.
You have perfection plastic wrapped in airtight containers of a
carefully controlled life.
I'm still frantically sweeping up pine needles in February.
But you, sir,
have forgotten what it means to dance...
I never wanted a fake Christmas tree,
I only consented because I thought it might lead to true love.
In the end, I realized that settling for anything fake
would only lead to a lifetime of consistent fakeness.
I tried to pretend I didn't need my coloured lights and mismatched ornaments,
things you considered "un-classy"...
And maybe I'm not a modern classy girl but dammit,
I have to have something real left to live for!
You never appreciated my records.
Said it was music of your parents generation; stupid, boring
annoying.
I spun circles around dreams and listened to the fireplace crackle of
love on vinyl
and all you could say was "stupid."
Because that's classy talk...
If we don't learn from the past, what do we gain for the future?
Your music wasn't real.
Everything birthed from electric simulations of instruments across the room,
everything having to sound newer and better than what came before.
It's all too much to live up to.
What's wrong with familiarity?
What's wrong with the comfort of remembering exactly where you were,
exactly what you wore
and exactly who you were with
each time the record flips?
What's wrong with predictable happiness and love?
Sure, you like my style now.
You call me "vintage" in this indie world,
say I've got an "eye for the old" and a
"quirky" sense of style.
It's all great from a hundred miles away but at your core
you're more dead than I'll ever be alive.
You have perfection plastic wrapped in airtight containers of a
carefully controlled life.
I'm still frantically sweeping up pine needles in February.
But you, sir,
have forgotten what it means to dance...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
And Lipgloss will Rule the World
There are few things I've imagined in my life, artistically, that have turned out exactly as I imagined them in my head. Even fewer are ideas that turn out better than I imagined.
Tonight is one of those nights I wish I had a refrigerator big enough to hang my computer on.
I've worked so hard for so many years and suddenly it's like an explosion of everything I ever wanted to be.
I've been standing here dumbfounded for weeks trying to figure out what it all means.
In college, my favorite English professor wrote on my end-of-the-semester self-evaluation (in which I ripped apart any redeeming qualities I had)that I was being too hard on myself and then he added the following quote:
"Break the mold and lean toward the glass blower's breath."
I've moved so many times that I can no longer find the original assignment or remember who he attributed the quote to but it was one of those moments that changed my life then and there.
He's the last of the "big four" on my list to track down. I used to spend hours after class sitting across from his desk showing him the poetry and songs I wrote and telling him how I wanted to change the world. After showing him one particular song I was especially proud of, he handed the lyric sheet back to me and asked "What do you plan to do with this?" I told him I wanted to use it to make a difference in the world and he said "You have to figure out how you're going to do that first."
Well Larry, I might not have made it as a radio star but tonight I made something really great. And I sent it to someone who will send it to other people and by lunchtime, it will have made a difference.
Maybe not a global impact like ending world hunger, but as the band Ms. Led says "A small change is still change."
It frustrates me that people don't get to see the depth of impact their footprints left in my life sometimes. But of all the times I ever needed to be set free, Larry spoke the words in the exact moment I was ready to fly.
How awesome is that?
Tonight is one of those nights I wish I had a refrigerator big enough to hang my computer on.
I've worked so hard for so many years and suddenly it's like an explosion of everything I ever wanted to be.
I've been standing here dumbfounded for weeks trying to figure out what it all means.
In college, my favorite English professor wrote on my end-of-the-semester self-evaluation (in which I ripped apart any redeeming qualities I had)that I was being too hard on myself and then he added the following quote:
"Break the mold and lean toward the glass blower's breath."
I've moved so many times that I can no longer find the original assignment or remember who he attributed the quote to but it was one of those moments that changed my life then and there.
He's the last of the "big four" on my list to track down. I used to spend hours after class sitting across from his desk showing him the poetry and songs I wrote and telling him how I wanted to change the world. After showing him one particular song I was especially proud of, he handed the lyric sheet back to me and asked "What do you plan to do with this?" I told him I wanted to use it to make a difference in the world and he said "You have to figure out how you're going to do that first."
Well Larry, I might not have made it as a radio star but tonight I made something really great. And I sent it to someone who will send it to other people and by lunchtime, it will have made a difference.
Maybe not a global impact like ending world hunger, but as the band Ms. Led says "A small change is still change."
It frustrates me that people don't get to see the depth of impact their footprints left in my life sometimes. But of all the times I ever needed to be set free, Larry spoke the words in the exact moment I was ready to fly.
How awesome is that?
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Beauty Queen Rockstar Hypothesis
In a world full of so much devastation and disappointment, you'd think the thing I'd fear the most would be failure. But it's not. I fear success.
All my life I've been told I was "special"... "created differently" and "set apart by God for something really big."
All my life I assumed these were merely polite Christian sayings that adults bestowed on children for matters of self-esteem and truly embracing the lyrics of "Jesus Loves Me" so as not to lose the up and coming generation to peer pressure and self-destruction.
All my life, I was sold a lie.
I don't know who or what inferred these comments were sunshine up my metaphorical dress but I've lived a life in fear of success because I believed so much of the encouragement I received was thinner than air. And how can one build a foundation on that?
I learned to live within my means, below the ceiling but above the floor. I've stepped up the ladder a few inches but never reached the top on purpose.
If anything, time has been a sad and cheated lover who has put up graciously with my limitations and not complained a bit. However, floating is a terrible way to walk and I'm finally tired of tucking my wings under my jacket each morning.
I'm a sell-out. I've cheated God, I've cheated the world around me and I've cheated the ones who truly believed in me. In bits and pieces over time, I've touched my toes to the water to see what it would be like if I gave 100% of myself and each time was met with success. That scares me. Because if everything I touch turns to gold and everything I attempt I achieve, where does that leave the voice of the world? The one that says "Don't try. You might mess it all up." Who even owned that voice?
I'm always at my best when I'm far from home. I'm told by more people that I'm beautiful, given more business opportunities, I make more friends, even my hair shines brighter. Sadly, it's the "no one's gonna know" effect. The belief that I can give all of myself if no one's around to witness it later down the line. The Allie I save for others and keep tucked away with the Christmas decorations. The girl who only appears in a sparkly party dress once a year and when the clock strikes midnight, we kiss her and bid her goodnight.
Why should I not be that girl every day? What crime would I truly commit?
The fun and scary thing is, this is my year. This one was set aside specifically for me and if I give anything less than all of myself, I'm only hurting me. It's a heady thought.
I'm impulsive by nature. I move like a comet - unpredictable and perpetually on the move. I was never born to be a constant moon with steady eyes waiting to escape the sun's shadow. People "gaze" at the moon but they "watch" comets. That alone implies a life and vitality that isn't a common trait. No one told comets they're average. Why then am I?
As a part of a New Year's Resolution experiment, I decided to give myself heart and soul to this year. More devoted in love than Romeo and Juliet, more wild than Studio 54 and more life changing than a journey on the Mayflower.
This marks the beginning of week six.
Thus far, life has been perfect. It's a little terrifying.
I keep hearing this voice saying I am undeserving of high self-esteem, commendable beauty, successful careers and wild love.
But who is this voice? I've known it all my life and never stopped to ask its name.
Who says I don't deserve these things? More importantly, at what point did I wake up in a world that deems it a sin to be this happy and glorified humility to live content with underachieving self loathing misery? This is not the design of my Creator.
What would happen if someone told me I was meant to be a beauty queen rockstar and I believed them? What would happen if I tried?
We've only entered week six but already I am certain: This seat belt is not strong enough for the awesome wonder of this ride.
"Goodbye limitation,
Hello liberation,
Goodbye frustration,
Hello to living my life by my design,
Breaking these chains that bind my mind,
Learning to color outside the lines."
-Jana Stanfield
All my life I've been told I was "special"... "created differently" and "set apart by God for something really big."
All my life I assumed these were merely polite Christian sayings that adults bestowed on children for matters of self-esteem and truly embracing the lyrics of "Jesus Loves Me" so as not to lose the up and coming generation to peer pressure and self-destruction.
All my life, I was sold a lie.
I don't know who or what inferred these comments were sunshine up my metaphorical dress but I've lived a life in fear of success because I believed so much of the encouragement I received was thinner than air. And how can one build a foundation on that?
I learned to live within my means, below the ceiling but above the floor. I've stepped up the ladder a few inches but never reached the top on purpose.
If anything, time has been a sad and cheated lover who has put up graciously with my limitations and not complained a bit. However, floating is a terrible way to walk and I'm finally tired of tucking my wings under my jacket each morning.
I'm a sell-out. I've cheated God, I've cheated the world around me and I've cheated the ones who truly believed in me. In bits and pieces over time, I've touched my toes to the water to see what it would be like if I gave 100% of myself and each time was met with success. That scares me. Because if everything I touch turns to gold and everything I attempt I achieve, where does that leave the voice of the world? The one that says "Don't try. You might mess it all up." Who even owned that voice?
I'm always at my best when I'm far from home. I'm told by more people that I'm beautiful, given more business opportunities, I make more friends, even my hair shines brighter. Sadly, it's the "no one's gonna know" effect. The belief that I can give all of myself if no one's around to witness it later down the line. The Allie I save for others and keep tucked away with the Christmas decorations. The girl who only appears in a sparkly party dress once a year and when the clock strikes midnight, we kiss her and bid her goodnight.
Why should I not be that girl every day? What crime would I truly commit?
The fun and scary thing is, this is my year. This one was set aside specifically for me and if I give anything less than all of myself, I'm only hurting me. It's a heady thought.
I'm impulsive by nature. I move like a comet - unpredictable and perpetually on the move. I was never born to be a constant moon with steady eyes waiting to escape the sun's shadow. People "gaze" at the moon but they "watch" comets. That alone implies a life and vitality that isn't a common trait. No one told comets they're average. Why then am I?
As a part of a New Year's Resolution experiment, I decided to give myself heart and soul to this year. More devoted in love than Romeo and Juliet, more wild than Studio 54 and more life changing than a journey on the Mayflower.
This marks the beginning of week six.
Thus far, life has been perfect. It's a little terrifying.
I keep hearing this voice saying I am undeserving of high self-esteem, commendable beauty, successful careers and wild love.
But who is this voice? I've known it all my life and never stopped to ask its name.
Who says I don't deserve these things? More importantly, at what point did I wake up in a world that deems it a sin to be this happy and glorified humility to live content with underachieving self loathing misery? This is not the design of my Creator.
What would happen if someone told me I was meant to be a beauty queen rockstar and I believed them? What would happen if I tried?
We've only entered week six but already I am certain: This seat belt is not strong enough for the awesome wonder of this ride.
"Goodbye limitation,
Hello liberation,
Goodbye frustration,
Hello to living my life by my design,
Breaking these chains that bind my mind,
Learning to color outside the lines."
-Jana Stanfield
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Shoot for the Stars to Swallow the Moon
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me
If I was still the same
If I ever became what you wanted me to be
-Bob Dylan
I fell asleep on the couch tonight and had the strangest dream...
I dreamed I was in a field of Giraffes who were just living their lives as usual, eating leaves off trees and bumping into each other in all their awkward beauty.
But then a bunch of people started shouting at them, calling them names, trying to force them to hang their heads in shame, slouch, bend their necks.
They saw me as one of them, despite being human and they slowly stated to gather around me. The voices continued and it seemed as if we were enclosed in a zoo and some sort of police type group was issuing the orders to hang our heads. Some of them slightly lowered their necks but then something strange happened.
Some of them continued to gather and a group but several of them broke off in pairs and they all began "necking" in the only way Giraffes can show affection and love.
Then I heard this voice... it might have been mine but I could see in first and third person at the same time so it's hard to be sure. And this voice was soft but strong and it said
"Don't you see? There are some things God made too powerful for you to break. They can either raise their heads up or bow them down but never hang their heads in shame. They just weren't built that way. You can tell them what you want to do but that doesn't mean they can ever do it. God didn't create them that way. They were created unlike any other creature on earth and for a specific purpose. They were created to be too strong to break."
And with that, they all raised their heads and the police backed off in fear. The zoo pen became this beautiful lush garden and the sun shone brighter than before.
I don't know what caused me to have the dream but I know what ti means to me.
Giraffes are the most vulnerable, disadvantaged proof of the power of all God's creations.
They have no vocal chords to speak, no arms to hold or touch or express love or frustration. No way to protect themselves in the face of danger...
But, they are the only animals of their kind. A physiological impossibility greater than the bumble bee. And in order to just survive and eat and function like other normal animals, they need four hearts to get the job done.
They literally had to do the work of four hearts while every other land-dwelling animal walks around taking their own hearts for granted.
I think it speaks a lot about people. Some walk around with the strength of ten hearts just trying to survive all they've seen in life while others carelessly toss their hearts around without any regard.
My world is full of Giraffes.
We live through the worst this world has to offer us and are cast out for not fitting in.
But we are the strong ones. The ones created to be unbreakable. We have the heart to save the broken ones of the world.
It's only a month into this year but it's a lightning-quick path to things this world isn't prepared to believe in.
There are few things of which I am ever so certain, and I am never wrong.
And I thought of me
If I was still the same
If I ever became what you wanted me to be
-Bob Dylan
I fell asleep on the couch tonight and had the strangest dream...
I dreamed I was in a field of Giraffes who were just living their lives as usual, eating leaves off trees and bumping into each other in all their awkward beauty.
But then a bunch of people started shouting at them, calling them names, trying to force them to hang their heads in shame, slouch, bend their necks.
They saw me as one of them, despite being human and they slowly stated to gather around me. The voices continued and it seemed as if we were enclosed in a zoo and some sort of police type group was issuing the orders to hang our heads. Some of them slightly lowered their necks but then something strange happened.
Some of them continued to gather and a group but several of them broke off in pairs and they all began "necking" in the only way Giraffes can show affection and love.
Then I heard this voice... it might have been mine but I could see in first and third person at the same time so it's hard to be sure. And this voice was soft but strong and it said
"Don't you see? There are some things God made too powerful for you to break. They can either raise their heads up or bow them down but never hang their heads in shame. They just weren't built that way. You can tell them what you want to do but that doesn't mean they can ever do it. God didn't create them that way. They were created unlike any other creature on earth and for a specific purpose. They were created to be too strong to break."
And with that, they all raised their heads and the police backed off in fear. The zoo pen became this beautiful lush garden and the sun shone brighter than before.
I don't know what caused me to have the dream but I know what ti means to me.
Giraffes are the most vulnerable, disadvantaged proof of the power of all God's creations.
They have no vocal chords to speak, no arms to hold or touch or express love or frustration. No way to protect themselves in the face of danger...
But, they are the only animals of their kind. A physiological impossibility greater than the bumble bee. And in order to just survive and eat and function like other normal animals, they need four hearts to get the job done.
They literally had to do the work of four hearts while every other land-dwelling animal walks around taking their own hearts for granted.
I think it speaks a lot about people. Some walk around with the strength of ten hearts just trying to survive all they've seen in life while others carelessly toss their hearts around without any regard.
My world is full of Giraffes.
We live through the worst this world has to offer us and are cast out for not fitting in.
But we are the strong ones. The ones created to be unbreakable. We have the heart to save the broken ones of the world.
It's only a month into this year but it's a lightning-quick path to things this world isn't prepared to believe in.
There are few things of which I am ever so certain, and I am never wrong.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Flutterflies and Such
Despite being sick, I've had a really good day. My email inbox has been off the hook with happy messages from far away friends filled with wonderful stories of awesomeness and beauty.
And as a result, every time my computer tells me I have a new message, my heart skips a beat and gets all flustery.
I wish happiness like this could be constant. But then, if it were, I doubt we'd appreciate it as much.
It clouds my heart with sadness that we should long for pain simply to be able to enjoy happiness. I guess there are some things only God can understand.
In the meantime, I intend to read more Dylan, listen to more music, let the flutterflies run rampant and let this feeling of joy penetrate my soul for as long as possible. :D
"It frightens me, the awful truth, of how sweet life can be..."
-Bob Dylan
And as a result, every time my computer tells me I have a new message, my heart skips a beat and gets all flustery.
I wish happiness like this could be constant. But then, if it were, I doubt we'd appreciate it as much.
It clouds my heart with sadness that we should long for pain simply to be able to enjoy happiness. I guess there are some things only God can understand.
In the meantime, I intend to read more Dylan, listen to more music, let the flutterflies run rampant and let this feeling of joy penetrate my soul for as long as possible. :D
"It frightens me, the awful truth, of how sweet life can be..."
-Bob Dylan
Allie's list of Shinyhappyprettysparkle Stuff
The last week had been incredibly difficult, but I feel like a new September sky just after a big monsoon has lifted.
I feel soaked to the bone in life and everything it presses on the human soul but at the same time, I know that rain will start to grow new life and from that life will sprout the blossom of beautiful things. I haven't felt this alive in years and I think for the first time in a long while, God is smiling down on me. Not that he was frowning at me before, but I have to believe His heart aches with mine or else He would be a pretty uncaring father.
BUT!! Sunshine and happiness of less than mediocre importance!! (since this is my blog for all matters of the heart)
1. I went to the mall today. I don't really like the mall and I even less like shopping for clothes when I have to but with all that's happened lately, in letting go of a dark past it seems to have taken a few dress sizes with it and I need smaller cuter jeans that don't fall off...
Shopping for anything out of necessity is always slightly self-abusive because in my experience, one woman's "cute" is another woman's "Good LORD get yourself away from that Bedazzler!!" and apparently the new fashion trend is to rip up a perfectly good pair of jeans, bleach the front and back thigh areas and COVER the back pockets with plastic sparkly buttons, beads, threads and other junk most likely created in a sweatshop in China.
Needless to say, Allie did not walk away with new jeans. BUT! I got a new shirt. It fits everywhere perfectly except for the shoulders and completely fall off in an awesomely 80s style. I'm more than certain that wasn't the designer's intention but when I tried the next size smaller I looked like a ridiculously chubby bumble bee... with great shoulders... ha!
2. I'm cool. :)
I know this is an entirely arbitrary statement but as of late, people seem to feel compelled to tell me of their perceived notions of my coolness. This seems to be emphasized during trips to the mall. I wandered through Hot Topic looking for new 2g earrings and had my hair pulled back in these funky half-pigtails with streaks of blue and purple hanging down in the front. Some poor store clerk who couldn't have been more than maybe 22 years old followed me around trying to impress me with his wit and complimented on the awesomeness of my sapphire-streaked locks.
Now, at a place like Hot Topic, I would expect nothing less. But last week I ran into the vice president of the pretty conservative company I work for and when he saw me with green bangs and blue and purple hair, I fully expected him to tell me to tone it down (which would have been fine, given my job) but he said he LIKED it and that I looked "tropical" which made me bust up laughing. I think I might start a new religion. We'll call ourselves the "Tropical Christians" and everyone will have rainbow hair and tattoos and lots of piercings and our denominational flag will be tie-dyed. :) I could so make a fortune... :)
3. The sky was blue today! Not for very long, but I think about 15 minutes of the day didn't have rain and I actually saw the SUN shining down. It was like Easter. :D
4. The Bukkit List is shrinking! I created a list about a decade ago of people to track down in my life before I die. Yesterday I found one of my favorite high school teachers and wrote him a message about what I learned from him about believing in myself and being 100% of myself in a world that likes to intimidate you into being in the lower 40th percentile. And today he wrote back.
I was inspired to once again continue the search for my all-time absolute most favorite English teacher and I think I might have FINALLY found him. I have a freakishly detailed memory and I ended up doing a search based on information he once told our class (more than ten years ago) about where he went to college. I mean, who remembers that stuff? I ran into another old teacher of mine a couple years after high school and when I told her I was trying to track that certain teacher down, she said he'd moved to another country somewhere in Asia. Search for a white guy with an apparently very common name, who lives in nonspecific Asian country who went to a corn-fed college and has little to no paper trail on the internet, despite my very best geekgirl hacker skills.
Dear life, thanks for making things EASY for me...
There are some people though, who just radically alter your life. Not a day goes by that he isn't still some part of influence. Every time I listen to Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" I remember how he gave that song to us as an assignment for poetry interpretation and he completely stole my dirty hippie 17-year-old heart.
When I worked in tech support and found myself telling a customer "Your computer isn't broken and your software doesn't need to be reinstalled. It's like a car. You think you have a cracked engine block and need to replace your whole car but in reality, it's just a flat tire and a bent axle. We can fix it" and the customer asked if I was a mechanic in a previous life because I was able to so clearly make him understand exactly what was going on. I told him I was blessed with a really cool teacher my senior year who recognized my love of poetry and asked me to help out some struggling hispanic "gansta" boys in class who couldn't understand the meaning of John Donne's poetry and I somehow helped them pass by relating the structure to rebuilding an intake manifold or something.
In the summer of 2005 I FINALLY made it to my personal Mecca at the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Fransisco and felt myself face to face with a mega Gap store and wondering when peace, love, and happiness were replaced by skinny jeans and polar fleece. But he was there. Because in my yearbook he PROMISED he'd come find me someday playing my guitar on that specific street corner and he said I could go find him raising ocelots in Australia.
I don't know why I remember these things or why I've held them so dear to my heart all these years but I know the first time I stood in the front row and watched Dylan sing I thought "this moment will change my life forever" and it did.
The day I finished the first draft of my first book I thought "this moment is something I'll never forget" and when legendary slam poet Jack McCarthy introduced me for my first paid gig at an out of town poetry venue there were only four people who I thought "I REALLY wish they could see me now" and they were all former teachers and they all taught English. One of them is dead, one of them never responded to the message I sent to (who I thought was)them, one is still MIA somewhere in southern California (based on the last tips I got) and the final one is Justin, the ocelot lover.
For as excited as I am, part of me is also afraid he won't remember me and I'm pretty sure "You're one of the biggest and best influences of my LIFE!" followed by "I'm sorry... who are you?" would be a pretty awkward conversation. I definitely should have had "tropical" hair at a younger age. People never forget me now! :)
I think that's why my list so so important though. For as much as I'm afraid of someone not remembering me, I'm even more afraid of someone living their whole life and never knowing the fullness of the positive impact they make in this world. Plus, how COOL would it be to know that ONE act you did more than a decade ago for some nerdy bookworm high school girl ended up helping THOUSANDS of people all over the world. Seriously. That's pretty rad. I don't do tech support anymore but I was LONG known for being "The Car Lady" and other coworkers even asked me several times to teach them how to "talk about car stuff" but supposedly no one could ever really nail it the way I did. And that makes me proud. Not because I'm awesome of my own accord but because my awesomeness grows from the root of someone else's influence.
When we die, we take nothing to heaven but our souls. What we leave behind could save or destroy the next generation. I feel like I've got a lot to offer the world because a lot was left in my hands. And that's super rad too. :)
"When you feel in your gut what you are and then dynamically pursue it - don't back down and don't give up - then you're going to mystify a lot of folks."
-Bob Dylan
Tomorrow, I'm gonna wake up and be the coolest tropical 80s bumblebee this world have ever seen.
And it's going to be beautiful.
:)
I feel soaked to the bone in life and everything it presses on the human soul but at the same time, I know that rain will start to grow new life and from that life will sprout the blossom of beautiful things. I haven't felt this alive in years and I think for the first time in a long while, God is smiling down on me. Not that he was frowning at me before, but I have to believe His heart aches with mine or else He would be a pretty uncaring father.
BUT!! Sunshine and happiness of less than mediocre importance!! (since this is my blog for all matters of the heart)
1. I went to the mall today. I don't really like the mall and I even less like shopping for clothes when I have to but with all that's happened lately, in letting go of a dark past it seems to have taken a few dress sizes with it and I need smaller cuter jeans that don't fall off...
Shopping for anything out of necessity is always slightly self-abusive because in my experience, one woman's "cute" is another woman's "Good LORD get yourself away from that Bedazzler!!" and apparently the new fashion trend is to rip up a perfectly good pair of jeans, bleach the front and back thigh areas and COVER the back pockets with plastic sparkly buttons, beads, threads and other junk most likely created in a sweatshop in China.
Needless to say, Allie did not walk away with new jeans. BUT! I got a new shirt. It fits everywhere perfectly except for the shoulders and completely fall off in an awesomely 80s style. I'm more than certain that wasn't the designer's intention but when I tried the next size smaller I looked like a ridiculously chubby bumble bee... with great shoulders... ha!
2. I'm cool. :)
I know this is an entirely arbitrary statement but as of late, people seem to feel compelled to tell me of their perceived notions of my coolness. This seems to be emphasized during trips to the mall. I wandered through Hot Topic looking for new 2g earrings and had my hair pulled back in these funky half-pigtails with streaks of blue and purple hanging down in the front. Some poor store clerk who couldn't have been more than maybe 22 years old followed me around trying to impress me with his wit and complimented on the awesomeness of my sapphire-streaked locks.
Now, at a place like Hot Topic, I would expect nothing less. But last week I ran into the vice president of the pretty conservative company I work for and when he saw me with green bangs and blue and purple hair, I fully expected him to tell me to tone it down (which would have been fine, given my job) but he said he LIKED it and that I looked "tropical" which made me bust up laughing. I think I might start a new religion. We'll call ourselves the "Tropical Christians" and everyone will have rainbow hair and tattoos and lots of piercings and our denominational flag will be tie-dyed. :) I could so make a fortune... :)
3. The sky was blue today! Not for very long, but I think about 15 minutes of the day didn't have rain and I actually saw the SUN shining down. It was like Easter. :D
4. The Bukkit List is shrinking! I created a list about a decade ago of people to track down in my life before I die. Yesterday I found one of my favorite high school teachers and wrote him a message about what I learned from him about believing in myself and being 100% of myself in a world that likes to intimidate you into being in the lower 40th percentile. And today he wrote back.
I was inspired to once again continue the search for my all-time absolute most favorite English teacher and I think I might have FINALLY found him. I have a freakishly detailed memory and I ended up doing a search based on information he once told our class (more than ten years ago) about where he went to college. I mean, who remembers that stuff? I ran into another old teacher of mine a couple years after high school and when I told her I was trying to track that certain teacher down, she said he'd moved to another country somewhere in Asia. Search for a white guy with an apparently very common name, who lives in nonspecific Asian country who went to a corn-fed college and has little to no paper trail on the internet, despite my very best geekgirl hacker skills.
Dear life, thanks for making things EASY for me...
There are some people though, who just radically alter your life. Not a day goes by that he isn't still some part of influence. Every time I listen to Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" I remember how he gave that song to us as an assignment for poetry interpretation and he completely stole my dirty hippie 17-year-old heart.
When I worked in tech support and found myself telling a customer "Your computer isn't broken and your software doesn't need to be reinstalled. It's like a car. You think you have a cracked engine block and need to replace your whole car but in reality, it's just a flat tire and a bent axle. We can fix it" and the customer asked if I was a mechanic in a previous life because I was able to so clearly make him understand exactly what was going on. I told him I was blessed with a really cool teacher my senior year who recognized my love of poetry and asked me to help out some struggling hispanic "gansta" boys in class who couldn't understand the meaning of John Donne's poetry and I somehow helped them pass by relating the structure to rebuilding an intake manifold or something.
In the summer of 2005 I FINALLY made it to my personal Mecca at the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Fransisco and felt myself face to face with a mega Gap store and wondering when peace, love, and happiness were replaced by skinny jeans and polar fleece. But he was there. Because in my yearbook he PROMISED he'd come find me someday playing my guitar on that specific street corner and he said I could go find him raising ocelots in Australia.
I don't know why I remember these things or why I've held them so dear to my heart all these years but I know the first time I stood in the front row and watched Dylan sing I thought "this moment will change my life forever" and it did.
The day I finished the first draft of my first book I thought "this moment is something I'll never forget" and when legendary slam poet Jack McCarthy introduced me for my first paid gig at an out of town poetry venue there were only four people who I thought "I REALLY wish they could see me now" and they were all former teachers and they all taught English. One of them is dead, one of them never responded to the message I sent to (who I thought was)them, one is still MIA somewhere in southern California (based on the last tips I got) and the final one is Justin, the ocelot lover.
For as excited as I am, part of me is also afraid he won't remember me and I'm pretty sure "You're one of the biggest and best influences of my LIFE!" followed by "I'm sorry... who are you?" would be a pretty awkward conversation. I definitely should have had "tropical" hair at a younger age. People never forget me now! :)
I think that's why my list so so important though. For as much as I'm afraid of someone not remembering me, I'm even more afraid of someone living their whole life and never knowing the fullness of the positive impact they make in this world. Plus, how COOL would it be to know that ONE act you did more than a decade ago for some nerdy bookworm high school girl ended up helping THOUSANDS of people all over the world. Seriously. That's pretty rad. I don't do tech support anymore but I was LONG known for being "The Car Lady" and other coworkers even asked me several times to teach them how to "talk about car stuff" but supposedly no one could ever really nail it the way I did. And that makes me proud. Not because I'm awesome of my own accord but because my awesomeness grows from the root of someone else's influence.
When we die, we take nothing to heaven but our souls. What we leave behind could save or destroy the next generation. I feel like I've got a lot to offer the world because a lot was left in my hands. And that's super rad too. :)
"When you feel in your gut what you are and then dynamically pursue it - don't back down and don't give up - then you're going to mystify a lot of folks."
-Bob Dylan
Tomorrow, I'm gonna wake up and be the coolest tropical 80s bumblebee this world have ever seen.
And it's going to be beautiful.
:)
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Allie's Big Glass of Whiskey Tango Fustercluck (on the rocks)
"I want to know you from the inside out and the outside in. ...I want to know your soul and spirit like my own. It scares me how much emotion you bring up in me. I want to forget it all and climb to your rescue, carry you down and ride off into the sunset.... happily ever after.
One day..... one day it will be exactly that."
Sounds romantic, right?
I was two weeks pregnant with his child when he sent me that valentine's day letter. Five years after the rape I read that letter and have to chuckle to myself at the irony. I think he more than accomplished the "know you from the inside" part. Maybe it shouldn't make me laugh. But holy hell, if I can't laugh then it's just a creepy letter I can't explain and it scares me to think he might have actually meant any of what he said.
Stacks of letters. Signed with X's and O's and stamped with hearts on sealing wax.
Such romance.
Such a grotesquely inappropriate response.
Maybe he really did care about me. Maybe he really meant all that stuff about love and being together someday. Maybe he was just saying it to make up for what he did. I remember he came to my college graduation party six weeks later. I didn't want him there but I was more afraid of him showing up uninvited than inviting him there unwanted. It was a small gathering of friends and family, potluck style. No gifts were required. Most friends brought donuts because well, that's generally the best kind of present you can give a girl. five dozen donuts between 6 different friends. And then he arrived.
He brought a HUGE vegetable platter that was inappropriately overcompensating an pretty obvious, given that everyone knew it was small and informal and everyone knew he knew that in advance. Then there was the more inappropriate gift of a $50+ bottle Cabo Wabo tequila because he knew I was a fan of Sammy Hagar. Then there was a beyond suspicious for someone CLEARLY not dating me gift of TWO DOZEN long stem red roses from what is widely known as the snootiest and most expensive floral shop in town. And everyone who knows me for more than five minutes knows I absolutely HATE red roses. And if that wasn't enough to paint the walls red with guilt, he also brought a bag of assorted presents totaling somewhere around $150 which brought his guilt payment to a grand total of about $325 worth of stuff to try to make him look good and look as if he cared for me.
No one knew at the time what he had done to me. No one knew I was pregnant or that the baby was dying and that I was throwing up every morning. I was still trying to convince myself that all the sudden changes my body was going through was just a random coincidence.
No one knew what was going on but my friends all told me in the following weeks that he set off all their "super creepy" warning lights and they all spent the day trying to play goal tender to keep him away from me. My favorite ex-boyfriend was my greatest hero of all. And it wasn't until he left that the guy finally vacated my house. He had to be the last man standing. Had to make sure my parents saw all the wonderful presents he gave me. Had to make sure everyone at the party saw he brought the expensive roses. Had to keep bringing me drinks I didn't ask him to make me.
Everyone could see something was wrong but no one could put their finger on it out of context.
In five-year retrospect, I don't know which I find more haunting or disturbing -- the thought that he actually DID love me on some level or the thought that he would go so incredibly far to manipulate a person and evil situation to work to his favour and make him innocent of all blame.
For as much as I wish I could watch my little girl grow up, I'm glad she never lived to see this world. Whenever I start to wonder if maybe I cold have made a good life for her I hear this little whisper "custody... parenting plan... child support... parents -- forever. joined together -- forever. Never escaping him -- forever" and I realize just how much God saved me too.
One day..... one day it will be exactly that."
Sounds romantic, right?
I was two weeks pregnant with his child when he sent me that valentine's day letter. Five years after the rape I read that letter and have to chuckle to myself at the irony. I think he more than accomplished the "know you from the inside" part. Maybe it shouldn't make me laugh. But holy hell, if I can't laugh then it's just a creepy letter I can't explain and it scares me to think he might have actually meant any of what he said.
Stacks of letters. Signed with X's and O's and stamped with hearts on sealing wax.
Such romance.
Such a grotesquely inappropriate response.
Maybe he really did care about me. Maybe he really meant all that stuff about love and being together someday. Maybe he was just saying it to make up for what he did. I remember he came to my college graduation party six weeks later. I didn't want him there but I was more afraid of him showing up uninvited than inviting him there unwanted. It was a small gathering of friends and family, potluck style. No gifts were required. Most friends brought donuts because well, that's generally the best kind of present you can give a girl. five dozen donuts between 6 different friends. And then he arrived.
He brought a HUGE vegetable platter that was inappropriately overcompensating an pretty obvious, given that everyone knew it was small and informal and everyone knew he knew that in advance. Then there was the more inappropriate gift of a $50+ bottle Cabo Wabo tequila because he knew I was a fan of Sammy Hagar. Then there was a beyond suspicious for someone CLEARLY not dating me gift of TWO DOZEN long stem red roses from what is widely known as the snootiest and most expensive floral shop in town. And everyone who knows me for more than five minutes knows I absolutely HATE red roses. And if that wasn't enough to paint the walls red with guilt, he also brought a bag of assorted presents totaling somewhere around $150 which brought his guilt payment to a grand total of about $325 worth of stuff to try to make him look good and look as if he cared for me.
No one knew at the time what he had done to me. No one knew I was pregnant or that the baby was dying and that I was throwing up every morning. I was still trying to convince myself that all the sudden changes my body was going through was just a random coincidence.
No one knew what was going on but my friends all told me in the following weeks that he set off all their "super creepy" warning lights and they all spent the day trying to play goal tender to keep him away from me. My favorite ex-boyfriend was my greatest hero of all. And it wasn't until he left that the guy finally vacated my house. He had to be the last man standing. Had to make sure my parents saw all the wonderful presents he gave me. Had to make sure everyone at the party saw he brought the expensive roses. Had to keep bringing me drinks I didn't ask him to make me.
Everyone could see something was wrong but no one could put their finger on it out of context.
In five-year retrospect, I don't know which I find more haunting or disturbing -- the thought that he actually DID love me on some level or the thought that he would go so incredibly far to manipulate a person and evil situation to work to his favour and make him innocent of all blame.
For as much as I wish I could watch my little girl grow up, I'm glad she never lived to see this world. Whenever I start to wonder if maybe I cold have made a good life for her I hear this little whisper "custody... parenting plan... child support... parents -- forever. joined together -- forever. Never escaping him -- forever" and I realize just how much God saved me too.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
The Moment it Comes Undone
I drove down the road with no street lights
to see if I could remember a memory.
Turns out the body holds secrets
and the mind just sets them free.
But this isn't about you and me; this is about cars.
Driving.
Moving.
Escaping this thing called reality.
She says I'm not who I say I am,
just a legend in my own mind.
She says it ain't possible for a girl
to live so many lives.
Maybe I don't sleep as much as you
but if sand in my shoes aren't proof
I've been with Moses
then you can go build your own desert
and make judgments on yourself.
But this isn't about me and her; this is about the truth.
Living.
Feeling.
Breathing. Dying inside these walls.
This is the final moment, the crux of the show.
we fight back the tears with proud faces
when exasperations grow.
She wants to know "how long it takes to get over it"
Like we're waiting on melting snow.
But I've walked the desert with Moses
And some never make it that far.
I've got blisters and tear-filled stories
if you really want to know.
But this isn't about your time tables
as fire spreads on my tongue
This is about surviving,
in the moments it comes undone.
She says I'm not really a writer
like I'd never stand a chance
and writes me off with the mortgage
without a second glance.
For this is my journey with Moses
As we wipe our sand-filled eyes.
We'd seen the truth, we've heard the people
We see them for their lies.
Even the length of the darkest desert
was crossed by more than one.
and the reason it takes us longer
is the moments it comes undone.
It's okay to go to sleep now.
It's finally after 3.
to see if I could remember a memory.
Turns out the body holds secrets
and the mind just sets them free.
But this isn't about you and me; this is about cars.
Driving.
Moving.
Escaping this thing called reality.
She says I'm not who I say I am,
just a legend in my own mind.
She says it ain't possible for a girl
to live so many lives.
Maybe I don't sleep as much as you
but if sand in my shoes aren't proof
I've been with Moses
then you can go build your own desert
and make judgments on yourself.
But this isn't about me and her; this is about the truth.
Living.
Feeling.
Breathing. Dying inside these walls.
This is the final moment, the crux of the show.
we fight back the tears with proud faces
when exasperations grow.
She wants to know "how long it takes to get over it"
Like we're waiting on melting snow.
But I've walked the desert with Moses
And some never make it that far.
I've got blisters and tear-filled stories
if you really want to know.
But this isn't about your time tables
as fire spreads on my tongue
This is about surviving,
in the moments it comes undone.
She says I'm not really a writer
like I'd never stand a chance
and writes me off with the mortgage
without a second glance.
For this is my journey with Moses
As we wipe our sand-filled eyes.
We'd seen the truth, we've heard the people
We see them for their lies.
Even the length of the darkest desert
was crossed by more than one.
and the reason it takes us longer
is the moments it comes undone.
It's okay to go to sleep now.
It's finally after 3.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Unexpected Phrases
This week has been a hard pill to swallow in so many ways. Every time I think I've seen it all, the sky explodes on me and the earth splits open. Sometimes God's love also looks like God's spite and it's a bit of a mixed message lately.
A few weeks ago I found out a person from my past has reappeared in town and was in very close proximity to where I live and work. I didn't necessarily have a "falling out" with the guy so much as there was a whole social dynamic involved with a sudden paradigm shift that caused me to go off their grid and cut all ties because things were just getting out of control.
Eventually, the dynamic split, dispersed and faded away.
I had been avoiding where I knew he would be simply because I don't exactly know where he and I left off from his perspective and if he wouldn't be happy to see me, I certainly didn't want to run into him by accident.
And of course, as I was walking home from work, he stepped out of a downtown shop for a cigarette and landed directly in my path. My hair is about 14 inches longer, different colours and I was wearing a scarf and long trench coat. I didn't expect him to recognize me. I've run into FRIENDS who didn't recognize me in my "winter gear."
And yet there he was, a little stunned and staring me down face to face. I kind of awkwardly half-waved as his girlfriend stepped out from behind him. They both said hi, both called me by name. The girlfriend commented on how long my hair was and how she liked it.
We made slightly awkward pleasantries and small talk for a moment and I finally said "So, I heard you were back in town" and before I could even think of what to say he shoved his hand out at me to shake mine and says "I owe you an apology." We're different people now and things were bad the way they went down. We're not like that anymore and I'm really sorry for how things ended."
I kinda stood there staring at him, slightly dumbfounded and completely clueless as to what I was supposed to say. And of course, my mouth took over with the truth. I told him I really enjoyed being friends with everyone in the group but whatever happened, whenever it happened, it was something I never wanted to get dragged into and after a while, the same old thing got, well, old.
He said he completely agreed and he basically asked for a second chance. And without even stopping to weigh my options, the slate was suddenly wiped clean. He's not someone I had strong ill will against and he's not someone who "seriously" wronged me but he was definitely not someone I was planning to try to reconcile a friendship with so it kind of caught me off guard how quickly and completely I forgave him. I twas like nothing ever happened. It was cool.
Before my brain could even go over the "now don't forget, people have to prove themselves" pep talk, he followed up with "And I'd like to buy you a drink some time but i know you don't like alcohol so how about I buy you an orange juice."
Suddenly I couldn't stop laughing. I'm not "anti-alcohol" so much as "anti- party scene" and I used to get harassed by the social group for being a square when we hung out. So his offer for juice was both hilarious and incredibly sweet.
I walked the rest of the way home with the most intense "what the HELL just HAPPENED here???" look on my face but I feel like maybe it was one of those gifts you don't even "need" but are given out of the blue anyway. A touch of Grace, as it were.
I could have lived my entire life without an apology from him and been just fine and gotten on with his life. But he sought me out and wanted to make things right.
Given certain dynamics and other events that have happened this week, I can't help but feel a tiny bit like God was trying to make it up to me. There are certain justices I'll never get. Certain apologies I really need but will never hear. Maybe He's trying to give me whatever he can to make up for the prayers he's not able to answer. And you know, I think I'm okay with that.
Beggars can't be choosers and when it comes to God's love, I'll take whatever I can get.
A few weeks ago I found out a person from my past has reappeared in town and was in very close proximity to where I live and work. I didn't necessarily have a "falling out" with the guy so much as there was a whole social dynamic involved with a sudden paradigm shift that caused me to go off their grid and cut all ties because things were just getting out of control.
Eventually, the dynamic split, dispersed and faded away.
I had been avoiding where I knew he would be simply because I don't exactly know where he and I left off from his perspective and if he wouldn't be happy to see me, I certainly didn't want to run into him by accident.
And of course, as I was walking home from work, he stepped out of a downtown shop for a cigarette and landed directly in my path. My hair is about 14 inches longer, different colours and I was wearing a scarf and long trench coat. I didn't expect him to recognize me. I've run into FRIENDS who didn't recognize me in my "winter gear."
And yet there he was, a little stunned and staring me down face to face. I kind of awkwardly half-waved as his girlfriend stepped out from behind him. They both said hi, both called me by name. The girlfriend commented on how long my hair was and how she liked it.
We made slightly awkward pleasantries and small talk for a moment and I finally said "So, I heard you were back in town" and before I could even think of what to say he shoved his hand out at me to shake mine and says "I owe you an apology." We're different people now and things were bad the way they went down. We're not like that anymore and I'm really sorry for how things ended."
I kinda stood there staring at him, slightly dumbfounded and completely clueless as to what I was supposed to say. And of course, my mouth took over with the truth. I told him I really enjoyed being friends with everyone in the group but whatever happened, whenever it happened, it was something I never wanted to get dragged into and after a while, the same old thing got, well, old.
He said he completely agreed and he basically asked for a second chance. And without even stopping to weigh my options, the slate was suddenly wiped clean. He's not someone I had strong ill will against and he's not someone who "seriously" wronged me but he was definitely not someone I was planning to try to reconcile a friendship with so it kind of caught me off guard how quickly and completely I forgave him. I twas like nothing ever happened. It was cool.
Before my brain could even go over the "now don't forget, people have to prove themselves" pep talk, he followed up with "And I'd like to buy you a drink some time but i know you don't like alcohol so how about I buy you an orange juice."
Suddenly I couldn't stop laughing. I'm not "anti-alcohol" so much as "anti- party scene" and I used to get harassed by the social group for being a square when we hung out. So his offer for juice was both hilarious and incredibly sweet.
I walked the rest of the way home with the most intense "what the HELL just HAPPENED here???" look on my face but I feel like maybe it was one of those gifts you don't even "need" but are given out of the blue anyway. A touch of Grace, as it were.
I could have lived my entire life without an apology from him and been just fine and gotten on with his life. But he sought me out and wanted to make things right.
Given certain dynamics and other events that have happened this week, I can't help but feel a tiny bit like God was trying to make it up to me. There are certain justices I'll never get. Certain apologies I really need but will never hear. Maybe He's trying to give me whatever he can to make up for the prayers he's not able to answer. And you know, I think I'm okay with that.
Beggars can't be choosers and when it comes to God's love, I'll take whatever I can get.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Like Crushed Powder
Is it hypocrisy or optimism to stand when all the world around you fades like a star in the sky? Is there sin in forcing a smile or did even Jesus hold his head up high? I wonder as I stare into the darkness if it's possible for this life to further pull any light from my eyes.
If I'm left with nothing, have I given up or merely grown content with what I have? There's no logic in missing the sun when your eyes close for sleep, but who has the right to take it away?
We spend lifetimes filling our heads with foolish hopes and dreams only to wake up on the cold floor of reality and wonder at the echo of our voices off the vast empty spaces of naivete.
Was I foolish to hope? Foolish to stop? Or a fool to think you should care?
If I'm left with nothing, have I given up or merely grown content with what I have? There's no logic in missing the sun when your eyes close for sleep, but who has the right to take it away?
We spend lifetimes filling our heads with foolish hopes and dreams only to wake up on the cold floor of reality and wonder at the echo of our voices off the vast empty spaces of naivete.
Was I foolish to hope? Foolish to stop? Or a fool to think you should care?
Saturday, January 21, 2012
It's the little things...
And then one day it happens - you stumble across an old holiday picture and wonder how it was ever real to begin with. How do you spend half a decade of New Year's Eves within someone and then suddenly never see them again?
It's not a desire to reclaim the past, just... a sadness, I guess, of feeling like it was just yesterday but when you turn around to look, it's a thousand miles away. It becomes a moment of "remember when we were so young and full of life? Remember how we smiled? Remember how we thought it'd last forever?"
And then one year you watch the ball drop on your world and everyone you know is on live tv while you watch them from your living room couch thinking "How did I get all the way over here?"
It only takes one "annual holiday party" to get canceled before cancellations become the new tradition. And it's not even that I feel sad, it's just... it's the little things in life that make you smile: the smell after a good rain, finding a toy surprise in the cereal box, hanging tinsel on the tree.
I guess tinsel is a thing of the past now too. We don't hold as tightly to traditions as we once did.
The funny thing is, I don't even remember much about what happened that night except the sudden decision that everyone had to dress up last minute and all I could find were a mismatching blouse and skirt in a pile of random stuff in the backseat of my car. All the excitement of that night, the year leading up to it, the year that followed, and all I can think about is a mismatched shirt.
Like I said, it's the little things that make you smile...
It's not a desire to reclaim the past, just... a sadness, I guess, of feeling like it was just yesterday but when you turn around to look, it's a thousand miles away. It becomes a moment of "remember when we were so young and full of life? Remember how we smiled? Remember how we thought it'd last forever?"
And then one year you watch the ball drop on your world and everyone you know is on live tv while you watch them from your living room couch thinking "How did I get all the way over here?"
It only takes one "annual holiday party" to get canceled before cancellations become the new tradition. And it's not even that I feel sad, it's just... it's the little things in life that make you smile: the smell after a good rain, finding a toy surprise in the cereal box, hanging tinsel on the tree.
I guess tinsel is a thing of the past now too. We don't hold as tightly to traditions as we once did.
The funny thing is, I don't even remember much about what happened that night except the sudden decision that everyone had to dress up last minute and all I could find were a mismatching blouse and skirt in a pile of random stuff in the backseat of my car. All the excitement of that night, the year leading up to it, the year that followed, and all I can think about is a mismatched shirt.
Like I said, it's the little things that make you smile...
Friday, January 13, 2012
BabyHeart 2
Apparently chihuahuas are out and babies are the new fashion accessories at social work functions.
Every time I turned around someone else was hold, bouncing, rocking or passing off a baby.
It was heartwrenching to watch.
As I walked home in the dark and cold, I passed the college kids of the town out drinking and having a "wild friday night" and I couldn't help but feel lost between the two generations.
The minute I opened the front door, my cat came running up to me and jumped to throw his front paws around me in a hug as he exploded into a fit of happy meows and purrs. I was barely able to make it to the couch with him stepping on my feet the whole way. I hadn't even sat down before he was climbing on my lap to give me kisses and cuddle with me and my eyes just filled with tears.
I have a sinking feeling this might be the most I ever get...
Every time I turned around someone else was hold, bouncing, rocking or passing off a baby.
It was heartwrenching to watch.
As I walked home in the dark and cold, I passed the college kids of the town out drinking and having a "wild friday night" and I couldn't help but feel lost between the two generations.
The minute I opened the front door, my cat came running up to me and jumped to throw his front paws around me in a hug as he exploded into a fit of happy meows and purrs. I was barely able to make it to the couch with him stepping on my feet the whole way. I hadn't even sat down before he was climbing on my lap to give me kisses and cuddle with me and my eyes just filled with tears.
I have a sinking feeling this might be the most I ever get...
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Two Hundred and Eleven Minutes
Twelve years ago I worked at a summer camp in Northern Arizona and met the sweetest 14-year-old who was not only on my floor in the dormitories but was in the room right next to mine. She had very overprotective parents with incredibly high expectations. I could tell she was trapped inside the person they wanted her to be and for whatever reason, we bonded really tight over the following two weeks.
We stayed in touch after that summer but I lost track of her around the time she went off to nursing school in college.
She was one of the few kids I continued to think about constantly over the years and I knew a girl like her with a childhood like she saw could either lead to total devastation or complete triumph.
By the grace of God she made it out not only okay but with flying colors despite some horrible obstacles life threw her way.
We eventually found each other again and she's continued to be like a little sister to me on the other side of the country. She's turned into a remarkable woman and mother.
I couldn't find my cell phone on my way to work this morning but on the days I can't find it, either no one calls or everyone calls. I was relaxing on the couch for a while when suddenly I felt this weird panic overcome me and I started to search the house for my phone.
When I found it, I also found the following text message:
My dear friend... I'm so sorry to be writing this to you but I have a brain tumor... gonna fight and try to fix it but I don't know yet if we'll be successful... thank you for being the best counselor a girl could ever have and for believing in me."
We talked for almost four hours. It's amazing how much there is to talk about when you're trying to avoid asking "So do you think you're going to die?" and the other person is avoiding saying "yes."
A friend of mine once compared the constant tragedies of my life to the life of Job.
I wonder how much darkness God intends to have me see before he brings some light... With each new call, I feel like more of me dies inside and I wonder if it's worse to die within the world or to live in a world constantly dying around you. I fake smiles and say "I'm fine" by default now and it's not something I'm proud to discover.
When I was little, the world was such a beautiful place full of wonder and joy.
What happened to my Eden?
We stayed in touch after that summer but I lost track of her around the time she went off to nursing school in college.
She was one of the few kids I continued to think about constantly over the years and I knew a girl like her with a childhood like she saw could either lead to total devastation or complete triumph.
By the grace of God she made it out not only okay but with flying colors despite some horrible obstacles life threw her way.
We eventually found each other again and she's continued to be like a little sister to me on the other side of the country. She's turned into a remarkable woman and mother.
I couldn't find my cell phone on my way to work this morning but on the days I can't find it, either no one calls or everyone calls. I was relaxing on the couch for a while when suddenly I felt this weird panic overcome me and I started to search the house for my phone.
When I found it, I also found the following text message:
My dear friend... I'm so sorry to be writing this to you but I have a brain tumor... gonna fight and try to fix it but I don't know yet if we'll be successful... thank you for being the best counselor a girl could ever have and for believing in me."
We talked for almost four hours. It's amazing how much there is to talk about when you're trying to avoid asking "So do you think you're going to die?" and the other person is avoiding saying "yes."
A friend of mine once compared the constant tragedies of my life to the life of Job.
I wonder how much darkness God intends to have me see before he brings some light... With each new call, I feel like more of me dies inside and I wonder if it's worse to die within the world or to live in a world constantly dying around you. I fake smiles and say "I'm fine" by default now and it's not something I'm proud to discover.
When I was little, the world was such a beautiful place full of wonder and joy.
What happened to my Eden?
Monday, January 9, 2012
Across the Wire and into the Night
Well, she was an American girl
Raised on promises
She couldn't help thinkin'
That there was a little more to life somewhere else
After all it was a great big world
With lots of places to run to
I remember that knock on the window like it was yesterday. The fear of the unknown, the force at which I attempted to swallow air and smile in your presence. The way I thought the world spun around you... and the day the orbits stopped. Lights came crashing down and then... it was nothing but darkness.
And if she had to die tryin'
She had one little promise she was gonna keep
I remember lying awake at night, hearing the click of the tape recorder as it came to a stop; the voices retired but I could not. I remember listening to you breathe in and out, sucking the life out of my lungs and leaving me to suffocate in your surroundings.
Well it was kind of cold that night,
She stood alone on her balcony
Yeah, she could hear the cars roll by,
Out on 441 like waves crashin' on the beach
I remember the last time Petty came through town. The way you argued about sell-outs in the music industry; about satellite radio and the ways of old. But most of all, I remember the old records. The ones that predated our parents. The clicks and pops in the still of the night when war bonds went with floor wax and killing was still patriotic.
And for one desperate moment
There he crept back in her memory
I remember the secrets you told me. I remember the names.
In the end, 1936 was just another year for you and Rita Hayworth was just another alter ego for everything I failed to be. But God Almighty... to think I could ever forget?! You'd think the moon would sooner forget to rise above your bed at night.
God it's so painful when something that's so close
Is still so far out of reach
And still, 57 years later I'm the one with polished floors, steamed curls and a great big world full of popsicle stick dreams. I was the one who had to turn the lights out; I had to lock the doors. I was the only one brave enough to say goodbye but I never looked back when I walked away. Not until tonight. All these years, all these lifetimes, did you really think I'd forget your name? I breathed in the world and gave you my life. And You gave me static across a wire...
Raised on promises
She couldn't help thinkin'
That there was a little more to life somewhere else
After all it was a great big world
With lots of places to run to
I remember that knock on the window like it was yesterday. The fear of the unknown, the force at which I attempted to swallow air and smile in your presence. The way I thought the world spun around you... and the day the orbits stopped. Lights came crashing down and then... it was nothing but darkness.
And if she had to die tryin'
She had one little promise she was gonna keep
I remember lying awake at night, hearing the click of the tape recorder as it came to a stop; the voices retired but I could not. I remember listening to you breathe in and out, sucking the life out of my lungs and leaving me to suffocate in your surroundings.
Well it was kind of cold that night,
She stood alone on her balcony
Yeah, she could hear the cars roll by,
Out on 441 like waves crashin' on the beach
I remember the last time Petty came through town. The way you argued about sell-outs in the music industry; about satellite radio and the ways of old. But most of all, I remember the old records. The ones that predated our parents. The clicks and pops in the still of the night when war bonds went with floor wax and killing was still patriotic.
And for one desperate moment
There he crept back in her memory
I remember the secrets you told me. I remember the names.
In the end, 1936 was just another year for you and Rita Hayworth was just another alter ego for everything I failed to be. But God Almighty... to think I could ever forget?! You'd think the moon would sooner forget to rise above your bed at night.
God it's so painful when something that's so close
Is still so far out of reach
And still, 57 years later I'm the one with polished floors, steamed curls and a great big world full of popsicle stick dreams. I was the one who had to turn the lights out; I had to lock the doors. I was the only one brave enough to say goodbye but I never looked back when I walked away. Not until tonight. All these years, all these lifetimes, did you really think I'd forget your name? I breathed in the world and gave you my life. And You gave me static across a wire...
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Year the Wind Whispered Back
If the world were to end this December, I wouldn't be surprised or disappointed. You can only reach for the stars for so long until you finally get a fistful of heavenly sparkles struggling to break free from your grasp, why not let it be now?
God moves my life in circles and shifts... '05 circled back to '02, '07 circled back to '99 and now, '12 is undoubtedly circling back to '07.
One of my favorite pastors preached once on how you can't just start over from a point of deviation and expect to get back on course. You have to return to the moment of origin and choose a new course. You have to travel those same miles all over again, but on the right road. It looks familiar, but it's still new.
I've always believed life was like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, where God knew all possible outcomes of each step, but we would only every know one storyline. The thing is, sometimes God quietly places the book in my own hands and says "Let's go back and see what was behind door #2... and you can decide which one to keep."
I wonder often if I'm the only one who sees the world this way, two linear lifetimes parallel, separate, yest still intertwining. I wonder what purpose it serves when the present doesn't replace the past but the past loses partial rights to its existence.
It's been five years but some roads will never be forgotten. Some paths are forever driven in my mind. Some lifetimes are forced to play on repeat without ever aging. And it is this cluster of roads I prepare to return to this weekend knowing full well that this is neither by accident nor coincidence. This is a return to the worst hand life has ever dealt. The darkest hole of hell imaginable.
But this time... I have a flashlight. And see, I already know the ending, already know how bad it was the first time so the second time around, maybe it won't hurt so bad. And that's where love comes in, I guess. Because without a flashlight, sometimes it's hard to see someone quietly pacing beside you, making sure you get out alive.
I'm a little fearful of the year to come but not due to its nature. I've seen the best and worst this world has to offer. I wouldn't have made it here on just one. It was meant to be this way and maybe knowing that and seeing through shiny hindsight glasses will make the hard parts of the future a little less bleak.
Of all the years to fear, this one is most deserving. I've spent a lifetime screaming at the moon. This year -- the wind whispers back... and everyone will hear what she has to say.
God moves my life in circles and shifts... '05 circled back to '02, '07 circled back to '99 and now, '12 is undoubtedly circling back to '07.
One of my favorite pastors preached once on how you can't just start over from a point of deviation and expect to get back on course. You have to return to the moment of origin and choose a new course. You have to travel those same miles all over again, but on the right road. It looks familiar, but it's still new.
I've always believed life was like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book, where God knew all possible outcomes of each step, but we would only every know one storyline. The thing is, sometimes God quietly places the book in my own hands and says "Let's go back and see what was behind door #2... and you can decide which one to keep."
I wonder often if I'm the only one who sees the world this way, two linear lifetimes parallel, separate, yest still intertwining. I wonder what purpose it serves when the present doesn't replace the past but the past loses partial rights to its existence.
It's been five years but some roads will never be forgotten. Some paths are forever driven in my mind. Some lifetimes are forced to play on repeat without ever aging. And it is this cluster of roads I prepare to return to this weekend knowing full well that this is neither by accident nor coincidence. This is a return to the worst hand life has ever dealt. The darkest hole of hell imaginable.
But this time... I have a flashlight. And see, I already know the ending, already know how bad it was the first time so the second time around, maybe it won't hurt so bad. And that's where love comes in, I guess. Because without a flashlight, sometimes it's hard to see someone quietly pacing beside you, making sure you get out alive.
I'm a little fearful of the year to come but not due to its nature. I've seen the best and worst this world has to offer. I wouldn't have made it here on just one. It was meant to be this way and maybe knowing that and seeing through shiny hindsight glasses will make the hard parts of the future a little less bleak.
Of all the years to fear, this one is most deserving. I've spent a lifetime screaming at the moon. This year -- the wind whispers back... and everyone will hear what she has to say.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Open Letter to 2011
Dear 2011,
Like Aslan after defeat of the White Witch, you left without saying good-bye; snuck out during the party and disappeared into the horizon. I had so many words prepared for you but alas, time slipped away and left you in my past with thoughts spilling out of my hands.
You were the late blooming flower, the last of the season no one had hope for and then -- the unexpected. You made good on dreams made in Ireland, you dragged me to the edge, threw me over and showed me what it meant to fly.
You found my worth, dusted it off and put it in the window for the rest of the world to see.
You planted faith in a garden of despair, grew roses and cherry blossoms out of thorns and still had time to raise the stakes again.
There's so much I could say but you've already left and I wonder if some things are meant to just stay our secret.
As for you, 2012, they say your fate is sealed but you and I know it's a handful of aces... and baby, we're all gonna die as rockstars.
Like Aslan after defeat of the White Witch, you left without saying good-bye; snuck out during the party and disappeared into the horizon. I had so many words prepared for you but alas, time slipped away and left you in my past with thoughts spilling out of my hands.
You were the late blooming flower, the last of the season no one had hope for and then -- the unexpected. You made good on dreams made in Ireland, you dragged me to the edge, threw me over and showed me what it meant to fly.
You found my worth, dusted it off and put it in the window for the rest of the world to see.
You planted faith in a garden of despair, grew roses and cherry blossoms out of thorns and still had time to raise the stakes again.
There's so much I could say but you've already left and I wonder if some things are meant to just stay our secret.
As for you, 2012, they say your fate is sealed but you and I know it's a handful of aces... and baby, we're all gonna die as rockstars.
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