I am always hesitant to put that my interests involve going to the movies. It sounds so superficial. “Like, ok, so I totally love hanging out with my friends and listening to music…and going to the movies.” It’s tainted with high school naiveté. No offense to high schoolers. You’ll understand it when your older…I am sure that probably offends you even more. But you really will. And when you do, you’ll forgive me. Anyway, so, I don’t like just putting that I like going to the movies. Even though I do. I really really do.
A therapist told my brother that he should watch television or a movie before he goes to bed because it will quiet his mind…he has a hard time shutting it down and the therapists rationale was that he wouldn’t have to think, because all the thinking had already been done. His mind would just sort of go numb to the story unfolding in front of him. That doesn’t happen for me. If he was my therapist, I would not have shown up for my next session.
Movies make me feel more alive. They remind me that love exists, even if it comes in the form of a cheesy chick flick. Grant it, it’s not likely that my best friends boyfriends best friend who happens to be the best man in her wedding will be incredibly and insanely attractive and also happen to feel that way about me, and also be a medical professional…say a doctor…and be single and ready to fall in love except for the fact that he is helping raise his brother’s children since his brother’s accident and so he has a lot on his plate and then he falls in love with me and then screws up because he isn’t sure if he is ready and then he spends time alone when it’s raining outside and Damien Rice is playing in the background ever so softly and then in a rare moment of clarity, while watching his nieces play in said rain, he realizes that if he is going to hold onto the things he loves, the things that are most important in life, he will make room for me, amongst his career and his nieces and that it’s all worth the effort and flash forward to a scene where I am contemplating a job offer in Chicago and am actually on the phone with my new potential boss negotiating salary and my kitchen door flings open and there he is, breathing heavily because he had to run three blocks because the traffic was so thick and he opens his mouth and says, “don’t go,” and I tell my un-future boss that I will have to call her back, and he runs up to me and trips on the bag I have waiting next to the door, since my cab is outside, and we both laugh and I help him up and he kisses me and then we get married in someone’s beautiful backyard and so it doesn’t necessarily happen just like that, but love does happen. And sometimes it takes a movie where it does happen like that to remind me that it does actually happen.Movies wake me up, and the breathe life in to the dead parts of my veins. When I walk out of the theater, especially after seeing one alone, it is like all of my senses are on high alert. Life is going on around me while mine is standing still, and I get from place to place without even being aware that my legs are moving. The looks on the faces of the people I pass are more exaggerated, I wonder more about whom they are and what they are about, and why they are here on this night at this time and where they wish they could be.
After the movie I watched tonight, I went to Barnes and Noble, because it is always hard for me to just go home after my movie high. I needed somewhere to unwind, since movies don’t actually do that for me. I walked toward the bathroom because I wanted to freshen my make-up, as if that matters, and even though I had enough sense to encourage myself that this was necessary, the world around me was still more fresh and alive and out of body than ever. I walked past the section of coffee table books about Marilyn Monroe and Italy and classic cars, and there was a gentleman with high waist polyester pants and a pale yellow polo shirt tucked neatly in, and he had such a kind inquisitive look on his face, that told me he had both lived a full life, full of joy and loss, and that he is indeed still living it. It made me wonder how long he had had those pants and if they were his dress pants that he sat aside special for a night on the town. I found joy in his confidence, and hope in the fact that he had no idea that they were no longer in style, and that if he had had an idea, he probably wouldn’t have cared. I got the feeling that he was somewhat aware of the important things in life.
I kept moving and passed a somewhat overweight gentleman standing in front of the health section. He wasn’t obese, but looked like it wouldn’t hurt him to say no to a donut here or there. I related to that, and I felt with him. I know the, “ I don’t necessarily want to be this way anymore, but I don’t necessarily not want to be this way anymore, and I am thinking about change, but I just don’t know where to start…and is everyone looking at me here in the health section thinking this is exactly where I need to be?” You feel brave and naked simultaneously. I was hopeful for him and sad for him simultaneously.
I got to the bathroom and pulled out my lip gloss and concealer. The concealer has become one of my best friends lately. Anyway, I pulled them out and applied them, and instant confidence booster. Done and off to find a book. I pushed open the bathroom door and in front of me was a woman in a bright red t-shirt struggling to get out of her wheel chair. I wondered how she was going to get the door open, and then I realized she wasn’t...that I was going to hold it open for her. I felt pity. I felt sad for her. In these situations I try to consciously remind myself that we are all people and we all feel and mostly we feel the same. So I looked her in the eye and asked her if she was coming through and held the door open, priding myself on my good Samaritan ways. We greeted each other with a smile and I asked her how she was doing this evening as she struggled to grab hold of the bathroom wall so that she could get to the toilet to do that thing that all of us humans have to do when we have drank a lot. She replied with such sincerity that she was doing “really great actually” and that she and her “husband are out on a date.” I told her that was so great, feeling in my bones the response I gave her, and walked away in shame…as if she was a charity case I should spend my time pitying and helping. As I dodged her wheel chair that was still sitting in the hallway outside the bathroom, I had to dodge in the opposite direction another woman that was all put together with the jewelry and the hair and the smug demeanor, including a facial scowl. Then I felt pity for her, and I walked down the isle, toward the kid section, to a row of fantasy, and I cried. I cried because I was reminded of what is real, what is really real, and I felt convicted of the things in my life that I pursue that have no means. I cried because in that moment I was reminded more of the reality of love, by my friend that had to cling to the walls to make it to the bathroom, so that she could get back to her date with her husband, than any hour-and-a-half chick flick I had ever viewed, or will ever view for that matter…I cried because I acknowledged my need for artificial stimuli to remind me to live, when in reality, what should wake me up is all around me every moment in the faces that appear in my daily life. I cried because of the short but beautiful love story I had just encountered…And it isn’t that I was so impressed that someone could actually love her. It’s bigger than that. It hits at the core of it all, the birth place of whatever it is that enables us lowly humans to feel connected to another individual. That love really is bigger than that, than what we make it. It isn’t based in superficiality or flirtation, as fun as that is, or infatuation, as fun as that is. It’s more than I can put into words, especially since I have never actually been in love. But from what I have seen from the supposed love that has fallen apart to the unlikely relationships that have endured, to the labeled unlovable finding love, it’s just so much bigger than that, whatever that is.
I didn’t mean for this post to end up being about love. But Jack Johnson says something about that, about love being his answer to most of the bigger questions, so it shouldn’t be such a surprise to me that it turned out this way. I also didn’t mean to cry again in public. I didn’t stay at Barnes and Noble. I couldn’t. I had successfully been knocked from my movie high back into reality, and where I ended up was so much better. I walked to my car in tears, and wouldn’t you know, the couple in the car next to me were arguing. Talk about being knocked back into reality. She said something about him not starting it again, and he said something back to her about her not starting it again, and so I cried more for another reason, about how capable we humans are of hurting the ones we love. And then I started the car and a Bryan Adams song was playing, Everything thing I do, I do it for you, and then I laughed, because I really felt like my moment had almost come full circle, that I was now actually in a movie. And so I laughed some more and cried some more and ended my evening with Bryan Adams, feeling so full of life, more so than I have felt in a long while.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
closer to myself
Digging deep, I feel my conscience burn.
I need to know who and what I am.
This hunger jolts me from complacency.
Rocks me, makes me meet myself
Jacob walked a limp to remind him
Of the greater gift of the greater one.
But when I fell, I fell to my own resources
How can I carry the truth if I can't even crawl to you?
I wanna feel something sweeter than this sin.
Cover me in leaves roll me over again.
I've been everybody else now I want to be.
Something closer to myself
Paint me in a different light.
Shed me yet another coat of skin.
Mark me with ash until I'm clean again.
'cause I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I know I can love you, I know that I can La di da di da di da
kendall payne
I need to know who and what I am.
This hunger jolts me from complacency.
Rocks me, makes me meet myself
Jacob walked a limp to remind him
Of the greater gift of the greater one.
But when I fell, I fell to my own resources
How can I carry the truth if I can't even crawl to you?
I wanna feel something sweeter than this sin.
Cover me in leaves roll me over again.
I've been everybody else now I want to be.
Something closer to myself
Paint me in a different light.
Shed me yet another coat of skin.
Mark me with ash until I'm clean again.
'cause I'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I know I can love you, I know that I can La di da di da di da
kendall payne
In the ring: Goodbye versus Badbye
Crying uncontrollably in front of strangers is not fun. I have done it twice this week. Each time, there were looks of consolation, and an equal number of "she is an unstable weirdo" looks.
Monday I opened at Starbucks, my current place of employment. I was bitterly tired, for a number of reasons. One being that my alarm went off at 3:45AM!, another that I was sitting wide awake in bed at 2:15AM!, and finally because I was getting sick and was congested, and so I didn't really get very much sleep prior to 2:15. So basically I was an inner mess and an outer mess and trying to serve coffee with gusto and joy. I forgot to mention that I felt like throwing up all morning long. To add even further to the aura of messiness in my demeanor, my brother and Kim and my nephew Casey jr were going to stop by on their way to the airport to tell me goodbye. I don't know why it is called goodbye. It's not always so good. Sometimes it is, like when people are at your house really late and they aren't getting the picture that all you really want to do is go to sleep. It is a "good" by when they leave. Or if your husband has beat you for several years and you get tired of covering the bruises and lying to family and alienating friends at and also visiting the hospital for "falling off the step ladder in the kitchen" so you finally decide to leave the bastard. That is another "good" by. But when you only get to see your nephew a few times a year and you formerly lived not very far from him and actually saw him quite frequently and inevitably got severely attached to him and his lovely hugs, even the ones you had to beg him for, and then he comes and visits your daily life for about three days and reminds you of how wonderful it is to have him around and how when he is gone there really is some kind of something missing from your awake hours, when he comes by your workplace to go back home to freaking Florida, that is not a "good" bye. It just isn't. I was in fact a badbye and made me cry uncontrollably in front of all of our morning rush customers and the milk man and my coworkers and my boss and all of the insects and God too. I felt naked and vulnerable and helpless, and all I wanted to do was go into the corner of a small dark room and cry by myself until I fell asleep. But my break was only ten minutes, so instead I had to do the dishes and then go back out into the world and serve coffee. After I had regained semi-composure and was taking a woman's order at the register, she asked me how I was doing, a pretty common question to ask your barista. Wrong question to ask me. I started crying again while ringing up her latte. I tried to explain to her, in between the tears, why I was sobbing and she was gracious and kind. In that moment, I was thankful that I was in the Midwest where the majority of people are consistently friendly. I was thankful that she wasn't a man. I was also thankful that she wasn't an insensitive ass who was in a hurry to get wherever she was going and didn't have time for some idiot minimum wage earner's emotional garbage. She went to her table and enjoyed her coffee. About an hour later, when I had gained even more composure and her cup was empty, she came back up to the counter for a refill. She told me she was glad I was smiling again. So was I.
The second time I cried that week in public was the following day when I put my other equally precious nephew on the plane to go back to his home in Wisconsin. I will spare you the details, but it was sad and people were kind and I recovered, and I learned that crying uncontrollably in front of strangers is not fun.
Monday I opened at Starbucks, my current place of employment. I was bitterly tired, for a number of reasons. One being that my alarm went off at 3:45AM!, another that I was sitting wide awake in bed at 2:15AM!, and finally because I was getting sick and was congested, and so I didn't really get very much sleep prior to 2:15. So basically I was an inner mess and an outer mess and trying to serve coffee with gusto and joy. I forgot to mention that I felt like throwing up all morning long. To add even further to the aura of messiness in my demeanor, my brother and Kim and my nephew Casey jr were going to stop by on their way to the airport to tell me goodbye. I don't know why it is called goodbye. It's not always so good. Sometimes it is, like when people are at your house really late and they aren't getting the picture that all you really want to do is go to sleep. It is a "good" by when they leave. Or if your husband has beat you for several years and you get tired of covering the bruises and lying to family and alienating friends at and also visiting the hospital for "falling off the step ladder in the kitchen" so you finally decide to leave the bastard. That is another "good" by. But when you only get to see your nephew a few times a year and you formerly lived not very far from him and actually saw him quite frequently and inevitably got severely attached to him and his lovely hugs, even the ones you had to beg him for, and then he comes and visits your daily life for about three days and reminds you of how wonderful it is to have him around and how when he is gone there really is some kind of something missing from your awake hours, when he comes by your workplace to go back home to freaking Florida, that is not a "good" bye. It just isn't. I was in fact a badbye and made me cry uncontrollably in front of all of our morning rush customers and the milk man and my coworkers and my boss and all of the insects and God too. I felt naked and vulnerable and helpless, and all I wanted to do was go into the corner of a small dark room and cry by myself until I fell asleep. But my break was only ten minutes, so instead I had to do the dishes and then go back out into the world and serve coffee. After I had regained semi-composure and was taking a woman's order at the register, she asked me how I was doing, a pretty common question to ask your barista. Wrong question to ask me. I started crying again while ringing up her latte. I tried to explain to her, in between the tears, why I was sobbing and she was gracious and kind. In that moment, I was thankful that I was in the Midwest where the majority of people are consistently friendly. I was thankful that she wasn't a man. I was also thankful that she wasn't an insensitive ass who was in a hurry to get wherever she was going and didn't have time for some idiot minimum wage earner's emotional garbage. She went to her table and enjoyed her coffee. About an hour later, when I had gained even more composure and her cup was empty, she came back up to the counter for a refill. She told me she was glad I was smiling again. So was I.
The second time I cried that week in public was the following day when I put my other equally precious nephew on the plane to go back to his home in Wisconsin. I will spare you the details, but it was sad and people were kind and I recovered, and I learned that crying uncontrollably in front of strangers is not fun.
Friday, April 13, 2007
a sexy surprise
I am a reader. I love biographies and memoirs, and the chance to learn and grow from someone elses story. I can dive into fantasy and close my eyes to the light of reality for days. I literally wrap my life around a great novel, often crying when it is over, not necessarily because it is sad (though often it is), but usually because it is over and there are no more words. Staying involved in the current situation of our World is important to me, so reading the news, in a paper or online, is a natural reaction to that need. I am usually reading some kind of nutrition book (though not always practicing the content of the book) alongside whatever else I am reading. I love history and the way it shows me that we are all the same, connected, repeating similar mistaking and learning similar life lessons, and then forgetting them, and learning them all over again...so I have been known to read a history book from time to time. I am also a woman who happens to be interested in men...so it would make wonderful sense that I pay special attention to the male readers that come into our store.
Carl reads the paper. Well, he mostly does the crossword puzzles, but I am sure he reads part of the paper too. He nearly always buys the Times and the Tulsa World, and then asks for a receipt, because he pays cash and I guess wants to be able to prove to us he has paid in case we ever get the urge to confront him about the papers in his lap. He is older and was probably a looker in his prime, but now he mostly rides his bike and spends the money he should have used to get a haircut on his daily duo of papers. Nice guy, but with the age thing and the hair thing, not really my type.
Drew reads the Bible. A lot. He is well dressed and always always very gracious and friendly. These are all very appealing qualities. He's just a super nice guy who clearly loves the Word. However, in the stereotypical world of men, he's the kind of guy "you marry and bring home to mom, but not the kind of guy you what to date." In this scenario, I am going to pretend that’s the world I live in, only a female version.
Mr. marketing company owner with large biceps reads before he comes in. He reads the Starbuck's nutrition information so that whatever he orders (which happens to be a quad venti sugar-free vanilla non-fat caramel macchiato - light on the caramel) won't pose any danger to his large biceps.
And then today, just a regular Thursday by all other standards, some man with facial scruff comes in and drives a wedge in my trusty list of readers. He was cute but not necessarily someone I would do a double take for. He did have a nice smile...that was probably accentuated by what he was reading. If you haven't guessed it by now he was reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I didn't know this until today, but there is nothing sexier to me than seeing a man sit down with his americano and read about my favorite boy wizard, by choice. He even paused for a minute to ask me who Dumbledore was because he was getting him confused with "the big guy", as he put it, and the scene wasn't making sense to him...the big guy being Hagrid. I tried to focus on coffee, but I couldn't. I really really couldn't. So I decided to refill the condoment bar...I mean condiment bar, while the love of my life sat in the corner and read. Making my future husband even more interesting and appealing is the story of why he was reading Harry Potter. He quit watching TV a while back, and he was getting a little bored but didn't want to start watching it again. His reaction to this dilemma was to go to the library, despite the fact that he "isn't much of a reader". He walked around for "like and hour" and eventually decided upon Harry. Of all the books in the library for sexy scruff to choose, he chose Harry. And then, as a sad ending to my story, he closed his book, said goodbye, and walked out of my life...I mean the store, and I was left alone, with only a stocky gray haired traveling businessman reading the latest John Grisham thriller to keep my attention. Needless to say, it was no longer difficult for me to focus on the coffee.
Carl reads the paper. Well, he mostly does the crossword puzzles, but I am sure he reads part of the paper too. He nearly always buys the Times and the Tulsa World, and then asks for a receipt, because he pays cash and I guess wants to be able to prove to us he has paid in case we ever get the urge to confront him about the papers in his lap. He is older and was probably a looker in his prime, but now he mostly rides his bike and spends the money he should have used to get a haircut on his daily duo of papers. Nice guy, but with the age thing and the hair thing, not really my type.
Drew reads the Bible. A lot. He is well dressed and always always very gracious and friendly. These are all very appealing qualities. He's just a super nice guy who clearly loves the Word. However, in the stereotypical world of men, he's the kind of guy "you marry and bring home to mom, but not the kind of guy you what to date." In this scenario, I am going to pretend that’s the world I live in, only a female version.
Mr. marketing company owner with large biceps reads before he comes in. He reads the Starbuck's nutrition information so that whatever he orders (which happens to be a quad venti sugar-free vanilla non-fat caramel macchiato - light on the caramel) won't pose any danger to his large biceps.
And then today, just a regular Thursday by all other standards, some man with facial scruff comes in and drives a wedge in my trusty list of readers. He was cute but not necessarily someone I would do a double take for. He did have a nice smile...that was probably accentuated by what he was reading. If you haven't guessed it by now he was reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I didn't know this until today, but there is nothing sexier to me than seeing a man sit down with his americano and read about my favorite boy wizard, by choice. He even paused for a minute to ask me who Dumbledore was because he was getting him confused with "the big guy", as he put it, and the scene wasn't making sense to him...the big guy being Hagrid. I tried to focus on coffee, but I couldn't. I really really couldn't. So I decided to refill the condoment bar...I mean condiment bar, while the love of my life sat in the corner and read. Making my future husband even more interesting and appealing is the story of why he was reading Harry Potter. He quit watching TV a while back, and he was getting a little bored but didn't want to start watching it again. His reaction to this dilemma was to go to the library, despite the fact that he "isn't much of a reader". He walked around for "like and hour" and eventually decided upon Harry. Of all the books in the library for sexy scruff to choose, he chose Harry. And then, as a sad ending to my story, he closed his book, said goodbye, and walked out of my life...I mean the store, and I was left alone, with only a stocky gray haired traveling businessman reading the latest John Grisham thriller to keep my attention. Needless to say, it was no longer difficult for me to focus on the coffee.
Monday, April 2, 2007
What I sort of sometimes know...
I felt tonight a strong urge to reevaluate my ideals and values before embarking on the week ahead. I don’t want to just float through life…mostly. I sometimes do, on rainy days or days when I am really tired. But mostly, I don’t want to just float through it. I want to freaking enjoy it. I want to be completely present in the midst of spring green leaves sprouting from trees, blue sky sunshine and even sadness.
I am twenty-four. I would like to think that I have learned truths about myself over the years, and lessons that, if I pay attention to, could help me live this life better...and to be relevant, keep me from just floating through it.
1. I need breakfast I will be cranky if I don’t have it, and I will likely eat something that isn’t very good for me at all, and then continue that trend for the remainder of the day.
2. I need sleep. I spent my first year in college pretty sleepless. I also gained weight and experienced a lot of frustration and aloneness. My sophomore year, I made sleep a priority, and I have never been as effective as I was then. I had a desire to exercise, mostly because I had the energy, because I got enough sleep.
3. I live better when I eat healthy. I did something before. It worked. I stopped doing it. It quit working. Maybe I should try that again. Its basic premise operated from – “love yourself enough to do what’s best for you”. I have also discovered that this motto is an ongoing battle, and I wish is wasn’t.
4. I need sleep. Did I say that already? I mean it. I really do.
5. I like to run, and if I don’t eat healthy or get enough sleep, I fool myself into thinking that I don’t like to run, and that’s a lie.
6. I am listening to John Mayer…Waiting on the World to Change. I can’t wait on mine to change. I have to do things to initiate change. If I need help, I need to ask for it, because other than super heroes and magicians, regular everyday people can’t read my mind. If I want to be at a healthier weight, I need to move more. If I have no motivation to move, I need to get more sleep and make eating well a priority. If I want to be more content with life, I have to quit being frustrated with the fact that I am not. I have to look at what is instead of what isn’t. And, I can’t can’t can’t underestimate God’s part in it all, or box Him off to handle the portion of my life that I am comfortable with Him handling. I have to trust Him with it all.
7. I am happiest when I am most at peace with Meredith and God’s decision to make me the way that he did. I am most miserable when I view the world through what I do not have as opposed to what I do. I love giving to others, but I cannot do that effectively unless I give to myself, and care for myself. I make impulse decisions for comfort and solace when I am discontent, then regret them, wonder why I made them in the first place, and then resent myself more than before. Then my soul suffocates.
8. I am not crazy or stupid or a failure. I am not the only person in the world that struggles with life. Other people worry about what other people think of them, other people make mistakes and wish they would have done things differently. But change and healing are possible. I have seen it happen. Good things do come. Bad days don’t last forever. They really only last twenty-four hours, and about sixteen if you count the time you're asleep. Red red tulips come up from the ground in spring, reminding us to treasure the simplicity of natural beauty, beckoning us outside, reminding us to reevaluate where we are, and that sometimes a little change - like the change from winter to spring - is the little push we need to keep us from digging ourselves deeper into the rut that seems to be continually tripping us down into disappointment…nudging us out of the rut to bloom…
9. I need people in my life. I can’t do it alone, and I wasn’t meant to. I spent a shit load of money at a college I felt like God wanted me at. I left with a degree that will never make me a living and a large sum of really spectacular friends. What this tells me is that money can buy friends. And the people that influence and impact my life are really important to God, because He felt it necessary for me to spend a lot of money on them.
10. My parents will never ever be all that I want them to be, and I will never ever be all they want me to be, and the sooner we each realize this, and focus on what we actually are to each other, the sooner we an start having a less dysfunctional relationship.
11. I don’t understand the sovereignty of God. I don’t understand why some really great and influential and kind and sincere people die horribly tragic and gruesome deaths. I don’t understand why children who have no choice are born into this world with terminal diseases, or why there are people that have a lot of money that spend a lot of their money on things that break or perish or stain while a good chunk of the worlds population drink from the same water source that bodily fluids seep into, and watch their children die slowly from starvation. However, I see so much good in this world. I see true love, the kind that was fought for in Princess Bride, for real, and I see people that need each other find each other. I see people being healed and restored and loved. I see beautiful little children learning and experiencing life’s lessons raw and with wonder and it gives me hope for our future.
I saw an older couple today who looked like they have been married for many years…since before electronics made their debut and filthy rich talentless celebrities populated our streets…before milk was available in plastic cartons and injected with added unnecessary unhealthy hormones…since before divorce was socially acceptable. I am just going to say now that I will not do this story justice with my words. It was one of the most moving encounters with two strangers that I think I have ever had. They clearly had a love for each other that is so very rare, it literally caused this salty watery substance to flow from the ducts of my eyes while standing behind the bar. They were holding hands, she had an oxygen tank, and he helped her up the concrete step into our store for their first ever Starbuck’s experience, to wait out their time before her doctors appointment across the parking lot. They were eager to try something new, something they had never had before, and they had the same childlike look of wonder and joy in their eyes that I mentioned before, that I also sometimes assume ends after the age of five. They ordered two tall lattes, nothing sweet because they “better start off slow their first time, and work their way up” and then they sat at a table, face to face and just really enjoyed each other for the next thirty or so minutes. They had that air of ease and contentment surrounding them, even after all these years, despite her oxygen tank and their aging bodies; this, more than just about anything else, gives me hope for our future…and makes me want to run over Paris Hilton - and all that she represents - with a ginormous lime green monster truck.
I see lonely people making friends, meeting new people, finding out that they don’t have to live this life in isolation. And I see how so much of our lives are ordained and sacred, even if I don’t understand why or how…and it is encouraging to know there is Someone above me, Someone that defines wisdom and is the concentrated embodiment of all the things that we as a human race truly need, looking out for me and scooshing me along, sometimes in big foot steps, sometime just on my tip toes, sometimes against my will…but scooshing me nonetheless.
Now, I am going to sleep...see again numbers 2 and 4...
I am twenty-four. I would like to think that I have learned truths about myself over the years, and lessons that, if I pay attention to, could help me live this life better...and to be relevant, keep me from just floating through it.
1. I need breakfast I will be cranky if I don’t have it, and I will likely eat something that isn’t very good for me at all, and then continue that trend for the remainder of the day.
2. I need sleep. I spent my first year in college pretty sleepless. I also gained weight and experienced a lot of frustration and aloneness. My sophomore year, I made sleep a priority, and I have never been as effective as I was then. I had a desire to exercise, mostly because I had the energy, because I got enough sleep.
3. I live better when I eat healthy. I did something before. It worked. I stopped doing it. It quit working. Maybe I should try that again. Its basic premise operated from – “love yourself enough to do what’s best for you”. I have also discovered that this motto is an ongoing battle, and I wish is wasn’t.
4. I need sleep. Did I say that already? I mean it. I really do.
5. I like to run, and if I don’t eat healthy or get enough sleep, I fool myself into thinking that I don’t like to run, and that’s a lie.
6. I am listening to John Mayer…Waiting on the World to Change. I can’t wait on mine to change. I have to do things to initiate change. If I need help, I need to ask for it, because other than super heroes and magicians, regular everyday people can’t read my mind. If I want to be at a healthier weight, I need to move more. If I have no motivation to move, I need to get more sleep and make eating well a priority. If I want to be more content with life, I have to quit being frustrated with the fact that I am not. I have to look at what is instead of what isn’t. And, I can’t can’t can’t underestimate God’s part in it all, or box Him off to handle the portion of my life that I am comfortable with Him handling. I have to trust Him with it all.
7. I am happiest when I am most at peace with Meredith and God’s decision to make me the way that he did. I am most miserable when I view the world through what I do not have as opposed to what I do. I love giving to others, but I cannot do that effectively unless I give to myself, and care for myself. I make impulse decisions for comfort and solace when I am discontent, then regret them, wonder why I made them in the first place, and then resent myself more than before. Then my soul suffocates.
8. I am not crazy or stupid or a failure. I am not the only person in the world that struggles with life. Other people worry about what other people think of them, other people make mistakes and wish they would have done things differently. But change and healing are possible. I have seen it happen. Good things do come. Bad days don’t last forever. They really only last twenty-four hours, and about sixteen if you count the time you're asleep. Red red tulips come up from the ground in spring, reminding us to treasure the simplicity of natural beauty, beckoning us outside, reminding us to reevaluate where we are, and that sometimes a little change - like the change from winter to spring - is the little push we need to keep us from digging ourselves deeper into the rut that seems to be continually tripping us down into disappointment…nudging us out of the rut to bloom…
9. I need people in my life. I can’t do it alone, and I wasn’t meant to. I spent a shit load of money at a college I felt like God wanted me at. I left with a degree that will never make me a living and a large sum of really spectacular friends. What this tells me is that money can buy friends. And the people that influence and impact my life are really important to God, because He felt it necessary for me to spend a lot of money on them.
10. My parents will never ever be all that I want them to be, and I will never ever be all they want me to be, and the sooner we each realize this, and focus on what we actually are to each other, the sooner we an start having a less dysfunctional relationship.
11. I don’t understand the sovereignty of God. I don’t understand why some really great and influential and kind and sincere people die horribly tragic and gruesome deaths. I don’t understand why children who have no choice are born into this world with terminal diseases, or why there are people that have a lot of money that spend a lot of their money on things that break or perish or stain while a good chunk of the worlds population drink from the same water source that bodily fluids seep into, and watch their children die slowly from starvation. However, I see so much good in this world. I see true love, the kind that was fought for in Princess Bride, for real, and I see people that need each other find each other. I see people being healed and restored and loved. I see beautiful little children learning and experiencing life’s lessons raw and with wonder and it gives me hope for our future.
I saw an older couple today who looked like they have been married for many years…since before electronics made their debut and filthy rich talentless celebrities populated our streets…before milk was available in plastic cartons and injected with added unnecessary unhealthy hormones…since before divorce was socially acceptable. I am just going to say now that I will not do this story justice with my words. It was one of the most moving encounters with two strangers that I think I have ever had. They clearly had a love for each other that is so very rare, it literally caused this salty watery substance to flow from the ducts of my eyes while standing behind the bar. They were holding hands, she had an oxygen tank, and he helped her up the concrete step into our store for their first ever Starbuck’s experience, to wait out their time before her doctors appointment across the parking lot. They were eager to try something new, something they had never had before, and they had the same childlike look of wonder and joy in their eyes that I mentioned before, that I also sometimes assume ends after the age of five. They ordered two tall lattes, nothing sweet because they “better start off slow their first time, and work their way up” and then they sat at a table, face to face and just really enjoyed each other for the next thirty or so minutes. They had that air of ease and contentment surrounding them, even after all these years, despite her oxygen tank and their aging bodies; this, more than just about anything else, gives me hope for our future…and makes me want to run over Paris Hilton - and all that she represents - with a ginormous lime green monster truck.
I see lonely people making friends, meeting new people, finding out that they don’t have to live this life in isolation. And I see how so much of our lives are ordained and sacred, even if I don’t understand why or how…and it is encouraging to know there is Someone above me, Someone that defines wisdom and is the concentrated embodiment of all the things that we as a human race truly need, looking out for me and scooshing me along, sometimes in big foot steps, sometime just on my tip toes, sometimes against my will…but scooshing me nonetheless.
Now, I am going to sleep...see again numbers 2 and 4...
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