peripeteia |ˌperipəˈtēə; -ˈtīə|
noun formal
a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances.
I found that word while definition-hopping through my dictionary application, and was reacquainted with it recently via my ancient literature class. It's beautiful, isn't it? In a single word, so much is conveyed.
I'm using it here to lead you smoothly into my announcement of...
a new blogsite! Well, truly, it's still perspicacious, but newly re-located.
You're officially invited! Come check out the new look at,
http://anniemorning.wordpress.com
Happy reading!
Love,
Annie Morning
10/1/08
6/13/08
amalgamation is fun to say.
Oh, summer.
I consider myself officially welcomed into the season. I was not greeted by any calendar date or sanctioned proclamation, but by the slow, steady sliding of life's rhythms. No longer pressed up against the deadlines of academia, and being also entirely unemployed, I find that my days are thrillingly open and brilliantly unhurried... if I take the time to enjoy them properly. It is, of course, still possible for someone like yours truly to immerse myself in accomplishments and to-do lists, even in the spaciousness of summertime. When I was telling Sam about my summer task lists, he couldn't help but assert to me the ridiculousness of putting "go to the pool" on a task list, and suggested I call it a "fun list" instead. I just don't think I would have the same sense of accomplishment in crossing things off of my "fun list." It sounds considerably less triumphant.
Anyway. The point is, it finally feels like summer, even if it is technically still spring. I think that, if nothing else, once the humidity levels begin to border on the obscene it would be nothing short of indecency to deny summertime its bragging rights. The season of "swimming feels the same as breathing" is finally here.
I'm more of an autumn kind of girl, personally.
Moving on.
I've been gathering thoughts for this entry for days now. They have been convening in the Stickies Widget on my Macbook, right below the to-do list and right above the chords to the song I've been working out. And, much like my summer tasks, they are nothing short of a cornucopia of things that might be fun to explore. I do, however, have one very important order of business, which I shall save until the end.
...which half of you just scrolled down to read. It's okay. We can still be friends.
On that note, and without further ado, I present to you...
An Amalgamation of Observations.
1. A Change of Face. Hopefully, most of you have noticed by now that we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Perhaps you've noted the drastic decrease in green, or the switch from a right-side to a left-side menu bar. Yes, it is true, Perspicacious has found her new face. I realized a few days ago that it had been over a year since the very first entry was writ, and I just felt that something needed to change. I wasn't really "going" for anything when I was thinking of changing the look, but I believe that what I ended up with is a sort of cleaner and more organized feel, and so far I'm pretty much a fan of it all. I'm open to comments and compliments, as always. Although, compliments are preferred.
2.Runner's Tan and Shin Splints. So, I have been thoroughly enjoying this new phase of my life in which I have been teaching my body how to do things I never believed it would do, such as wake up early in the AM to run. I love the feeling of accomplishment and general wellness that sort of clings to me on days when I run. For months I've been stacking up piles of good reasons why running outside is a beneficial and happy addition to my life's routines; little did I know that the opposing arguments were sneaking up behind me, waiting to pounce.
The first disenchantment occurred at a friend's pool party last weekend. Despite the intense heat of the season, this party was actually the first social event of the year which would require me to bare my upper-thighs. Now, first of all, I think it is more than a little unfair that guys get to pretty much stay mostly-clothed during swimming activites while girls are expected to strip down to nothing short of brightly colored, water resistant undergarments. But what is really downright frustrating is that to look decent in this kind of attire, you need something that only time and effort can achieve: an awesome tan.
Okay. Back to the story. So, in preparation for the event, I was forced to go through the summertime ritual of trying on all of last year's bathingsuits to see which ones still make the cut. It was in those moments, staring at my spandex-clad reflection, that I realized downside #1 to running outdoors: runner's tan. I gazed in wonder at the distinctive line running across my upper-leg, wishing that someone would invent tan-through clothing. They would be rich.
The other of my unpleasant athletic discoveries is less socially unacceptable and more, just...really painful. Shin splints. For those who don't know about or have never experienced this pain firsthand, it could be compared to someone setting the bones in your lower-legs on fire while you run. Truthfully, I don't mind it too much, but it is frustrating and it steals all the fun away. If anyone has any insight on the subject, feel free to share.
3. Reading the Dictionary. Someone once asked me where I came up with the name Perspicacious for my blog. I was like, "Well, it's a word. A really cool word." They wanted to know where I had found such a word. I thought about it for a minute before realizing that I had actually been just scanning the pages of our household dictionary one day when I stumbled upon it. I was reading the dictionary...for fun.
So, I was thinking about this today after having had a conversation with my mom about the origin of a specific word. I realized anew and afresh that I don't just love cramming words together into sentences, I really love the actual words themselves. Finding new words to use is like treasure hunting for me, and actually remembering to use them is like whipping out a really great joke at a party. It's a thrill, even if I celebrate alone. The truth is, though, that people notice when you throw down a sweet new word in casual conversation. It's like growing sunflowers in a vegetable garden; a little bit of extravagance in the midst of the functional. So, to brighten your day, here are a few that I like:
subterfuge |ˈsəbtərˌfyoōj|
[noun]
deceit used in order to achieve one's goal.
tintinnabulation |ˌtintəˌnabyəˈlā sh ən|
[noun]
a ringing or tinkling sound.
impetuous |imˈpe ch oōəs|
[adjective]
acting or done quickly and without thought or care, moving forcefully.
echoic |eˈkō-ik|
[adjective]
of or like an echo.
and, for those who were wondering...
amalgamation |əˌmalgəˈmā sh ən|
[noun]
the action, process, or result of combining or uniting
4. And finally, the big news. For those of you that did not read my last blog, this will be less exciting. If you feel so inclined, you may now take this moment to go and read the last two or three paragraphs of the entry entitled, "the good life."
Now that we are all potentially up to speed, I'd like to introduce you to...
Beth Cleary. My future roommate.
Yes, she knows we're going to be roommates...I'm not a creeper. Actually, it is a good story.
So, as I have written once before, I had been praying about getting "the right roommate" ever since I decided to move to the Oglethorpe campus. I was asking God for all of these things, having no idea if I should be trying to find someone or just sitting back to see what would happen. There had been a couple of girls from JEO scholarship weekend that seemed like friend potential, but no one that I had really talked to very much at all. Then, out of the blue and all in one singular movement, every single Oglethorpe 2012 student leapt into a Facebook frenzy. Every time I logged in I had some new friend request or message from some kid who will be a freshman at OU in the fall. In the midst of all of this, there was Beth.
She messaged me once, and our conversation took off. Ultimately, we exchanged numbers and met up at the Thursday night college ministry that happens at my church, and I couldn't have been more delighted. I left church that night spouting off all this happiness to my sister on the car ride home, talking about how maybe, just maybe...maybe this Beth girl was roommate potential. Skipping some details, basically, I started to pray that if it were the right thing then Beth would ask me to room with her. This was partly due to my not wanting to jump the gun on assuming I had found the perfect new friend, and partly because I was a little bit rejection-shy. Beth, fortunately, was more daring. Just two days short of the housing request deadline, she replied to my last message with these words,
As for the roommate situation, I am a little worried. I feel like I would be more comfortable knowing the person and not just being placed with someone, especially since the room surveys are not detailed at all. I've been praying about it too. I was actually wondering if you were planning on just going random or would be interested in possibly rooming together...
And that was that. I was so giddy, I got out of bed and announced the news to my entire house. And I've been excited ever since. I'm trying to tone it down as much as I can, really. I feel like a superabundance of enthusiasm may or may not terrify her out of believing that Annie was a good choice on the roommate front. So. I'll try and keep my cool while secretly thanking God that I know I won't be rooming with someone who hates color or eats only wheat grass or something like that. Really. Thank you, Jesus.
Is there anything else to be said?
There always is. I'll leave you with the knowledge that I have an idea for a book I want to write, a song I want to sing, and a painting I want to paint.
I wish you all the same, or whatever it is that makes you smile inside.
I consider myself officially welcomed into the season. I was not greeted by any calendar date or sanctioned proclamation, but by the slow, steady sliding of life's rhythms. No longer pressed up against the deadlines of academia, and being also entirely unemployed, I find that my days are thrillingly open and brilliantly unhurried... if I take the time to enjoy them properly. It is, of course, still possible for someone like yours truly to immerse myself in accomplishments and to-do lists, even in the spaciousness of summertime. When I was telling Sam about my summer task lists, he couldn't help but assert to me the ridiculousness of putting "go to the pool" on a task list, and suggested I call it a "fun list" instead. I just don't think I would have the same sense of accomplishment in crossing things off of my "fun list." It sounds considerably less triumphant.
Anyway. The point is, it finally feels like summer, even if it is technically still spring. I think that, if nothing else, once the humidity levels begin to border on the obscene it would be nothing short of indecency to deny summertime its bragging rights. The season of "swimming feels the same as breathing" is finally here.
I'm more of an autumn kind of girl, personally.
Moving on.
I've been gathering thoughts for this entry for days now. They have been convening in the Stickies Widget on my Macbook, right below the to-do list and right above the chords to the song I've been working out. And, much like my summer tasks, they are nothing short of a cornucopia of things that might be fun to explore. I do, however, have one very important order of business, which I shall save until the end.
...which half of you just scrolled down to read. It's okay. We can still be friends.
On that note, and without further ado, I present to you...
An Amalgamation of Observations.
1. A Change of Face. Hopefully, most of you have noticed by now that we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Perhaps you've noted the drastic decrease in green, or the switch from a right-side to a left-side menu bar. Yes, it is true, Perspicacious has found her new face. I realized a few days ago that it had been over a year since the very first entry was writ, and I just felt that something needed to change. I wasn't really "going" for anything when I was thinking of changing the look, but I believe that what I ended up with is a sort of cleaner and more organized feel, and so far I'm pretty much a fan of it all. I'm open to comments and compliments, as always. Although, compliments are preferred.
2.Runner's Tan and Shin Splints. So, I have been thoroughly enjoying this new phase of my life in which I have been teaching my body how to do things I never believed it would do, such as wake up early in the AM to run. I love the feeling of accomplishment and general wellness that sort of clings to me on days when I run. For months I've been stacking up piles of good reasons why running outside is a beneficial and happy addition to my life's routines; little did I know that the opposing arguments were sneaking up behind me, waiting to pounce.
The first disenchantment occurred at a friend's pool party last weekend. Despite the intense heat of the season, this party was actually the first social event of the year which would require me to bare my upper-thighs. Now, first of all, I think it is more than a little unfair that guys get to pretty much stay mostly-clothed during swimming activites while girls are expected to strip down to nothing short of brightly colored, water resistant undergarments. But what is really downright frustrating is that to look decent in this kind of attire, you need something that only time and effort can achieve: an awesome tan.
Okay. Back to the story. So, in preparation for the event, I was forced to go through the summertime ritual of trying on all of last year's bathingsuits to see which ones still make the cut. It was in those moments, staring at my spandex-clad reflection, that I realized downside #1 to running outdoors: runner's tan. I gazed in wonder at the distinctive line running across my upper-leg, wishing that someone would invent tan-through clothing. They would be rich.
The other of my unpleasant athletic discoveries is less socially unacceptable and more, just...really painful. Shin splints. For those who don't know about or have never experienced this pain firsthand, it could be compared to someone setting the bones in your lower-legs on fire while you run. Truthfully, I don't mind it too much, but it is frustrating and it steals all the fun away. If anyone has any insight on the subject, feel free to share.
3. Reading the Dictionary. Someone once asked me where I came up with the name Perspicacious for my blog. I was like, "Well, it's a word. A really cool word." They wanted to know where I had found such a word. I thought about it for a minute before realizing that I had actually been just scanning the pages of our household dictionary one day when I stumbled upon it. I was reading the dictionary...for fun.
So, I was thinking about this today after having had a conversation with my mom about the origin of a specific word. I realized anew and afresh that I don't just love cramming words together into sentences, I really love the actual words themselves. Finding new words to use is like treasure hunting for me, and actually remembering to use them is like whipping out a really great joke at a party. It's a thrill, even if I celebrate alone. The truth is, though, that people notice when you throw down a sweet new word in casual conversation. It's like growing sunflowers in a vegetable garden; a little bit of extravagance in the midst of the functional. So, to brighten your day, here are a few that I like:
subterfuge |ˈsəbtərˌfyoōj|
[noun]
deceit used in order to achieve one's goal.
tintinnabulation |ˌtintəˌnabyəˈlā sh ən|
[noun]
a ringing or tinkling sound.
impetuous |imˈpe ch oōəs|
[adjective]
acting or done quickly and without thought or care, moving forcefully.
echoic |eˈkō-ik|
[adjective]
of or like an echo.
and, for those who were wondering...
amalgamation |əˌmalgəˈmā sh ən|
[noun]
the action, process, or result of combining or uniting
4. And finally, the big news. For those of you that did not read my last blog, this will be less exciting. If you feel so inclined, you may now take this moment to go and read the last two or three paragraphs of the entry entitled, "the good life."
Now that we are all potentially up to speed, I'd like to introduce you to...
Beth Cleary. My future roommate.
Yes, she knows we're going to be roommates...I'm not a creeper. Actually, it is a good story.
So, as I have written once before, I had been praying about getting "the right roommate" ever since I decided to move to the Oglethorpe campus. I was asking God for all of these things, having no idea if I should be trying to find someone or just sitting back to see what would happen. There had been a couple of girls from JEO scholarship weekend that seemed like friend potential, but no one that I had really talked to very much at all. Then, out of the blue and all in one singular movement, every single Oglethorpe 2012 student leapt into a Facebook frenzy. Every time I logged in I had some new friend request or message from some kid who will be a freshman at OU in the fall. In the midst of all of this, there was Beth.
She messaged me once, and our conversation took off. Ultimately, we exchanged numbers and met up at the Thursday night college ministry that happens at my church, and I couldn't have been more delighted. I left church that night spouting off all this happiness to my sister on the car ride home, talking about how maybe, just maybe...maybe this Beth girl was roommate potential. Skipping some details, basically, I started to pray that if it were the right thing then Beth would ask me to room with her. This was partly due to my not wanting to jump the gun on assuming I had found the perfect new friend, and partly because I was a little bit rejection-shy. Beth, fortunately, was more daring. Just two days short of the housing request deadline, she replied to my last message with these words,
As for the roommate situation, I am a little worried. I feel like I would be more comfortable knowing the person and not just being placed with someone, especially since the room surveys are not detailed at all. I've been praying about it too. I was actually wondering if you were planning on just going random or would be interested in possibly rooming together...
And that was that. I was so giddy, I got out of bed and announced the news to my entire house. And I've been excited ever since. I'm trying to tone it down as much as I can, really. I feel like a superabundance of enthusiasm may or may not terrify her out of believing that Annie was a good choice on the roommate front. So. I'll try and keep my cool while secretly thanking God that I know I won't be rooming with someone who hates color or eats only wheat grass or something like that. Really. Thank you, Jesus.
Is there anything else to be said?
There always is. I'll leave you with the knowledge that I have an idea for a book I want to write, a song I want to sing, and a painting I want to paint.
I wish you all the same, or whatever it is that makes you smile inside.
6/6/08
the good life.
EDIT: How does everyone feel about the new blog face? I felt that, after a year of Perspicacious in green, it was time for something new.
Welcome to my world of whirling words.
Where to begin? I think I have just too many things that feel very important that need to be written about today. My reponse to this is to skip the fluff of introduction and the polish of transition and just leap into what's on my mind. I feel like this reponse happens often, and that it may or may not be a sensible way to organize my brain, but this is my blog and I always get good grades when I'm the professor, so let us begin.
1. The Retreat. Last weekend, I experienced something unlike anything I've done before. I was invited to go on a weekend trip with some people from the college ministry at my church. It was sort of meant to be just a gathering of people who are involved in Tribe (our community groups), Small Groups (the more intimate level study groups), and Conspire (the creative team), in order for us to be able to connect and re-focus before the Summer Semester begins. Now, probably no soul but mine will understand the impact of the pronoun in that sentence. "Us." Over the course of 24 hours spent locked up in a lakehouse with twenty-something people from this ministry, I fell in love with how at home I felt among them. They played games and ate food and there was much deep conversation over the table on the back porch, but really what captured my heart was just this indelible Something that was there. God burned in my heart so fully over the course of that weekend, I didn't even know what to do with how happy I was just to be alive. He threw open the cobwebbed corners in me and filled them with the fullness of Himself. I felt absolutely loved, absolutely at peace, so completely undone in my inside world.
2. My Family is Beautiful. The night that I came home from The Retreat, I was just sitting in the living room deep in thought. I started to feel incredibly anxious, thinking about how much I needed to get done and how I should have gone running that day and a hundred other things that felt like an anvil in my brain. Now, in order for this next part of the story to make sense, you need a little bit of character background. I have, in my family, a mother who loves all things, except that which she hates. Those of you who know her will understand. She is passionate and big-hearted, welcoming in whatever seems helpless or hurt or loveable to her eyes. When you know this, you can understand how it is that the Morgan Estate has come to be the proud caretakers of pretty much what could be called a "pack" of dogs. Let me introduce you properly.
This is Cowboy. He is stout, and very furry. One could compare him to Patrick Starr from the Spongebob Squarepants cartoon. His primary motivations are "Get Food" and "Get Affection."
Meet Indiana Appleseed. We really have no reason for naming her this, except that it sounds really cool. Indie is certainly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Sometimes it is actually intimidating to look her in the eye. It is our belief that Indiana's primary motivation is "Total Domination."
Lastly, this is sweet Ellie. As Indiana's daughter, she may or may not have inherited her mother's extreme intelligence levels. Either she is hiding it very well, or she's just really, really laidback. Her goal in life is pretty much to look cute, all the time, and to be very thoroughly hugged on a regular basis.
Now. Resume scene. I'm sitting in the living room, feeling sad that all of the weekends joys had given way so quickly to an overload when, out of no where, a game commences. My brother, for some inexplicable reason, decides it would be pure genius to run laps around the first floor of the house to try and get the pack to run after him. So he does, loudly, and waving his arms in the air as he goes. Within moments, both my mother and my twenty year old sister are in the thick of it with him, running laps and yelling and waving limbs and creating a general atmosphere of tomfoolery. As if this wasn't deeply amusing enough, the dogs are falling for it hook, line, and sinker, completely riveted by chasing the humans around the house in circles. So, in less than a minute, the ecosystem of our house has gone from quiet and contemplative to roaring and outrageous. How is this relevant to me?
I from my perch on the plaid chair in the den, can feel the old feeling warming my heart again. Anxiousness drops away like an old skin and I am overcome with so much goodness all at once that I can hardly keep it together: my family is beautiful! my life is exquisite! The laughter and the life that dwell in my home are so precious, and so rare. My family is a treasure.
3. Flowers from Italy. In the midst of this realization and in the midst of general mayhem, my father walks in stage right. He circles around the cyclone of family glee and makes his way over to me, holding roses in one hand and an envelope labeled "Annie Morgan" in the other. To my complete delight and utter confusion, he hands them to me and walks back into the kitchen. "Wha...who?" I stammer, smiling. The letter, once opened, explains in only a few words that Sam, my boyfriend, has not only very thoroughly remembered our one year anniversary while he is vacationing on another continent, but also has taken the time to make sure that there would be flowers in my hands for the occasion.
And as my family started up the music and began tangoing in the kitchen, I couldn't take anymore. I felt so deeply blessed and loved and cherished and fortunate and full all in that moment, and I could hardly explain why. Life is good, said the sound of my family dancing on hardwood floors. Life is good, said the sweet faces of a dozen roses in my arms, and the memories from a weekend when I felt utterly alive. Life is so, so good.
4. Roommate Wanted. After I have received Flowers from Italy, and after giving myself a few moments to stop crying and pull me back together, it seemed only appropriate to have a dance party! The Morgan Academy of Fine Arts and Dance in full swing. Everything from Salsa to Swing to Tango to Waltz to what can only be called "Free Stylin'," right smack dab on the kitchen floor. This is actually what got me to thinking about writing this blog.
Because ever since I've been planning to move to the Oglethorpe campus, I've been praying for the right roommate. Someone who will laugh with me and talk with me and someone who will help to make our room a safe place where we can be the most ourselves out of anywhere else on campus. And because, in the middle of Katie teaching my mom how to krump like Beyonce, I realized that this is sort of definitely part of who I am. I'm not gonna go to college and stop wanting to dance into all hours of the morning, so I'm probably gonna wanna find someone who will dance, too.
This does not, of course, mean they need to be skilled. That's not the point.
The point is I realized that I've been raised in a culture of spontaneous silliness and fun, and it's something I don't ever want to grow out of. Actually, I'd like to keep growing up into it, taking myself less and less seriously a little more every day that I live.
So. I feel like I just wrote a lot of words. I'll end with this, for fun.
WANTED: College Roommate.
Girl seeking Girl. 18 years of age.
Candidates should pray much, laugh often, and eat with verve.
Prefers night-owl personality, and someone who won't be mad at me if I'm a little bit late for things.
Someone who studies for tests, someone who will play games with me,
someone who may be persuaded to take risks.
Someone who would say "yes, that shirt looks wierd on you."
Someone who loves family, loves people,
loves God, and loves to live their life.
I'm not picky or anything. :)
Peace out, world. Thanks for reading.
[All photos in this entry are copyright of Mary Anne Morgan Photography 2008]
Welcome to my world of whirling words.
Where to begin? I think I have just too many things that feel very important that need to be written about today. My reponse to this is to skip the fluff of introduction and the polish of transition and just leap into what's on my mind. I feel like this reponse happens often, and that it may or may not be a sensible way to organize my brain, but this is my blog and I always get good grades when I'm the professor, so let us begin.
1. The Retreat. Last weekend, I experienced something unlike anything I've done before. I was invited to go on a weekend trip with some people from the college ministry at my church. It was sort of meant to be just a gathering of people who are involved in Tribe (our community groups), Small Groups (the more intimate level study groups), and Conspire (the creative team), in order for us to be able to connect and re-focus before the Summer Semester begins. Now, probably no soul but mine will understand the impact of the pronoun in that sentence. "Us." Over the course of 24 hours spent locked up in a lakehouse with twenty-something people from this ministry, I fell in love with how at home I felt among them. They played games and ate food and there was much deep conversation over the table on the back porch, but really what captured my heart was just this indelible Something that was there. God burned in my heart so fully over the course of that weekend, I didn't even know what to do with how happy I was just to be alive. He threw open the cobwebbed corners in me and filled them with the fullness of Himself. I felt absolutely loved, absolutely at peace, so completely undone in my inside world.
2. My Family is Beautiful. The night that I came home from The Retreat, I was just sitting in the living room deep in thought. I started to feel incredibly anxious, thinking about how much I needed to get done and how I should have gone running that day and a hundred other things that felt like an anvil in my brain. Now, in order for this next part of the story to make sense, you need a little bit of character background. I have, in my family, a mother who loves all things, except that which she hates. Those of you who know her will understand. She is passionate and big-hearted, welcoming in whatever seems helpless or hurt or loveable to her eyes. When you know this, you can understand how it is that the Morgan Estate has come to be the proud caretakers of pretty much what could be called a "pack" of dogs. Let me introduce you properly.
This is Cowboy. He is stout, and very furry. One could compare him to Patrick Starr from the Spongebob Squarepants cartoon. His primary motivations are "Get Food" and "Get Affection."
Meet Indiana Appleseed. We really have no reason for naming her this, except that it sounds really cool. Indie is certainly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Sometimes it is actually intimidating to look her in the eye. It is our belief that Indiana's primary motivation is "Total Domination."
Lastly, this is sweet Ellie. As Indiana's daughter, she may or may not have inherited her mother's extreme intelligence levels. Either she is hiding it very well, or she's just really, really laidback. Her goal in life is pretty much to look cute, all the time, and to be very thoroughly hugged on a regular basis.
Now. Resume scene. I'm sitting in the living room, feeling sad that all of the weekends joys had given way so quickly to an overload when, out of no where, a game commences. My brother, for some inexplicable reason, decides it would be pure genius to run laps around the first floor of the house to try and get the pack to run after him. So he does, loudly, and waving his arms in the air as he goes. Within moments, both my mother and my twenty year old sister are in the thick of it with him, running laps and yelling and waving limbs and creating a general atmosphere of tomfoolery. As if this wasn't deeply amusing enough, the dogs are falling for it hook, line, and sinker, completely riveted by chasing the humans around the house in circles. So, in less than a minute, the ecosystem of our house has gone from quiet and contemplative to roaring and outrageous. How is this relevant to me?
I from my perch on the plaid chair in the den, can feel the old feeling warming my heart again. Anxiousness drops away like an old skin and I am overcome with so much goodness all at once that I can hardly keep it together: my family is beautiful! my life is exquisite! The laughter and the life that dwell in my home are so precious, and so rare. My family is a treasure.
3. Flowers from Italy. In the midst of this realization and in the midst of general mayhem, my father walks in stage right. He circles around the cyclone of family glee and makes his way over to me, holding roses in one hand and an envelope labeled "Annie Morgan" in the other. To my complete delight and utter confusion, he hands them to me and walks back into the kitchen. "Wha...who?" I stammer, smiling. The letter, once opened, explains in only a few words that Sam, my boyfriend, has not only very thoroughly remembered our one year anniversary while he is vacationing on another continent, but also has taken the time to make sure that there would be flowers in my hands for the occasion.
And as my family started up the music and began tangoing in the kitchen, I couldn't take anymore. I felt so deeply blessed and loved and cherished and fortunate and full all in that moment, and I could hardly explain why. Life is good, said the sound of my family dancing on hardwood floors. Life is good, said the sweet faces of a dozen roses in my arms, and the memories from a weekend when I felt utterly alive. Life is so, so good.
4. Roommate Wanted. After I have received Flowers from Italy, and after giving myself a few moments to stop crying and pull me back together, it seemed only appropriate to have a dance party! The Morgan Academy of Fine Arts and Dance in full swing. Everything from Salsa to Swing to Tango to Waltz to what can only be called "Free Stylin'," right smack dab on the kitchen floor. This is actually what got me to thinking about writing this blog.
Because ever since I've been planning to move to the Oglethorpe campus, I've been praying for the right roommate. Someone who will laugh with me and talk with me and someone who will help to make our room a safe place where we can be the most ourselves out of anywhere else on campus. And because, in the middle of Katie teaching my mom how to krump like Beyonce, I realized that this is sort of definitely part of who I am. I'm not gonna go to college and stop wanting to dance into all hours of the morning, so I'm probably gonna wanna find someone who will dance, too.
This does not, of course, mean they need to be skilled. That's not the point.
The point is I realized that I've been raised in a culture of spontaneous silliness and fun, and it's something I don't ever want to grow out of. Actually, I'd like to keep growing up into it, taking myself less and less seriously a little more every day that I live.
So. I feel like I just wrote a lot of words. I'll end with this, for fun.
WANTED: College Roommate.
Girl seeking Girl. 18 years of age.
Candidates should pray much, laugh often, and eat with verve.
Prefers night-owl personality, and someone who won't be mad at me if I'm a little bit late for things.
Someone who studies for tests, someone who will play games with me,
someone who may be persuaded to take risks.
Someone who would say "yes, that shirt looks wierd on you."
Someone who loves family, loves people,
loves God, and loves to live their life.
I'm not picky or anything. :)
Peace out, world. Thanks for reading.
[All photos in this entry are copyright of Mary Anne Morgan Photography 2008]
5/28/08
may days.
It's too late for me to be starting a blog. After weeks of busyness and graduation madness, though, I will leap into the opportunity to make space for words.
I can hardly believe that this month is coming to a close. So much has taken place in the last six weeks, and yet time doesn't stop to feel the weight of change. Time tumbles always forward, sometimes with the quietest of movements and sometimes not the least bit silent. She will not leave me in her wake to wonder at the state of days that are over, but she keeps me in the very middle of her path and stays always on my heels. It is in this manner that I have come to find myself a high school graduate, college bound, and staring at the small calendar space between now and when I move out of my home.
But we have spoken of these things before.
What's on my mind? Kings of Convenience plays softly and sadly from the speakers on my laptop, filling up the space around me with nostalgia and remembering. Looking back through pictures my photographer mother has taken throughout the last few years, I am struck by simple things. Like how my brother used to be shorter than me, and how my hair used to be long. Like the way I felt when the picture was taken, or the look in someone's eyes. So much is not the same.
There is one photograph in particular that stands apart. The subject matter (my eye and nose in profile) is not what matters (no pun intended). It's the moment in time that is represented in the image. The picture itself is lovely; there is a bright azalea flower behind my ear and my eye is nearly turquoise in the light of the window behind me. But I see something else. I remember the shadow that clung to me, to my family, and to our home for all too long. Many of you know the story. When my mom miscarried in October of 2005, her emotional and physical health spiraled dizzyingly downward. Days of sadness turned into months of unrest; we were all staggering in the aftermath of tragedy and the everpresent tension of pain. This picture, taken nearly a year after the original loss took place, is colored by so many shades of hurt because I know the definition of the look in my eyes. I was sad, low on hope, and angry at so many things. My inner world was at war.
Now, looking back into my own sad face from two years later, the feeling is bittersweet. Because, although I can feel the ache of what was happening then, there is a stronger sense of something triumphant and new. I walked through the shadow, but I did not set up camp there. Life now is so vivid and bright and possible, open ended and beautiful like empty, blank pages. Time still urges us forward.
What comes next?
My friend Eliesa would say that this is a season of beginnings and endings. An end to highschool is the beginning of college. An end to being 17 is the beginning of being able to sign for my own library card. Change is what happens when you're trying to figure out how to cope. Change happens whether you're ready or not.
Anyway. Enough contemplative musing.
Let's talk about this.
This is me and my boyfriend Samuel. My mother has captured trillions of images of us in the course of our dating experience, but this is one of my absolute favorites. Yes, we are as happy as we look.
Why am I bringing this up?
I felt it was appropriate, in a blog focusing on life change and new things, to mention that June 1st will mark SamAnnie's one year point of existence. A year of goofing off in public places, holding hands in traffic, going to the maximum number of homecomings and proms available to us, and learning how to talk about hard things, even when the timing is inconvenient. I can say with full honesty that I could never have expected how deeply this kind of relationship would affect my life. It's all the good solidity and sweetness of a best friendship, startlingly intermixed with all these other feelings that are much newer and stranger and harder to understand. Butterflies, yes. But also, trust. A scarier, different-er kind of trust that takes a long time to grow. But one that is, in my humble opinion, well worth the wait.
And speaking of waiting.
I wish that boy would come home from Italy already. I feel like he died or something. His vacationing on other continents has left me feeling altogether boyfriendless, what with the complete and total lack of any communication whatsoever. All I can say is they better have some pretty jammin' postcards in Rome, and they better be coming my way.
That, and he comes home Sunday. I'm counting down the days.
Anyway. That's all for now.
More soon.
I can hardly believe that this month is coming to a close. So much has taken place in the last six weeks, and yet time doesn't stop to feel the weight of change. Time tumbles always forward, sometimes with the quietest of movements and sometimes not the least bit silent. She will not leave me in her wake to wonder at the state of days that are over, but she keeps me in the very middle of her path and stays always on my heels. It is in this manner that I have come to find myself a high school graduate, college bound, and staring at the small calendar space between now and when I move out of my home.
But we have spoken of these things before.
What's on my mind? Kings of Convenience plays softly and sadly from the speakers on my laptop, filling up the space around me with nostalgia and remembering. Looking back through pictures my photographer mother has taken throughout the last few years, I am struck by simple things. Like how my brother used to be shorter than me, and how my hair used to be long. Like the way I felt when the picture was taken, or the look in someone's eyes. So much is not the same.
There is one photograph in particular that stands apart. The subject matter (my eye and nose in profile) is not what matters (no pun intended). It's the moment in time that is represented in the image. The picture itself is lovely; there is a bright azalea flower behind my ear and my eye is nearly turquoise in the light of the window behind me. But I see something else. I remember the shadow that clung to me, to my family, and to our home for all too long. Many of you know the story. When my mom miscarried in October of 2005, her emotional and physical health spiraled dizzyingly downward. Days of sadness turned into months of unrest; we were all staggering in the aftermath of tragedy and the everpresent tension of pain. This picture, taken nearly a year after the original loss took place, is colored by so many shades of hurt because I know the definition of the look in my eyes. I was sad, low on hope, and angry at so many things. My inner world was at war.
Now, looking back into my own sad face from two years later, the feeling is bittersweet. Because, although I can feel the ache of what was happening then, there is a stronger sense of something triumphant and new. I walked through the shadow, but I did not set up camp there. Life now is so vivid and bright and possible, open ended and beautiful like empty, blank pages. Time still urges us forward.
What comes next?
My friend Eliesa would say that this is a season of beginnings and endings. An end to highschool is the beginning of college. An end to being 17 is the beginning of being able to sign for my own library card. Change is what happens when you're trying to figure out how to cope. Change happens whether you're ready or not.
Anyway. Enough contemplative musing.
Let's talk about this.
This is me and my boyfriend Samuel. My mother has captured trillions of images of us in the course of our dating experience, but this is one of my absolute favorites. Yes, we are as happy as we look.
Why am I bringing this up?
I felt it was appropriate, in a blog focusing on life change and new things, to mention that June 1st will mark SamAnnie's one year point of existence. A year of goofing off in public places, holding hands in traffic, going to the maximum number of homecomings and proms available to us, and learning how to talk about hard things, even when the timing is inconvenient. I can say with full honesty that I could never have expected how deeply this kind of relationship would affect my life. It's all the good solidity and sweetness of a best friendship, startlingly intermixed with all these other feelings that are much newer and stranger and harder to understand. Butterflies, yes. But also, trust. A scarier, different-er kind of trust that takes a long time to grow. But one that is, in my humble opinion, well worth the wait.
And speaking of waiting.
I wish that boy would come home from Italy already. I feel like he died or something. His vacationing on other continents has left me feeling altogether boyfriendless, what with the complete and total lack of any communication whatsoever. All I can say is they better have some pretty jammin' postcards in Rome, and they better be coming my way.
That, and he comes home Sunday. I'm counting down the days.
Anyway. That's all for now.
More soon.
5/5/08
professor.
So, I am sitting here, 
in my beautiful bed, with my beautiful birthday-present MacBook computer in my lap, feeling my body's relief at finally getting to sink down in between my sheets. Behind my head is a plethora of pillowy objects, one of which looks much like the critter in the picture you see here, and goes by the name of Professor. He was a Christmas present, and is currently my favorite bed-buddy since Lambie of my younger years.
Professor has been with me to many a sleepover, been my comfort on less-than-comfortable car rides, and even flew with me faithfully to Guatemala and back, all in the short space of time since Christmas 2007. But more than all of this, Professor is an easy transition into being able to talk about what's really on my mind:
College.
And no, not just because his name is "Professor," although that helps.
To me, Professor turns my mind in the Oglethorpe direction for a few reasons. One is because, for some reason, I am inordinately excited about bringing my incredible good-looking bed to dorm life. For those that have not seen it, you will have to believe me when I say that my bed is awesome. In addition to my apple red flannel sheets, apple red uber-soft blanket, and Professor's furry face, I managed to wrangle up an authentic every-color-in-the-rainbow Mexican blanket to be the icing on the cake. At the end of the bed, I keep one turquoise and one lime green blanket folded on top of each other, because I tend to freeze easily. On the other side, I pile up two or three brightly colored pillows on top of my red one. If it sounds overwhelming, that might be a little bit true. But really it's just perfect, and the only other bed ensemble that comes close to winning my heart as much would be Stephanie's cowboy sheets. Those are pretty sweet.
The second reason for my college-bound mindset tonight is that I can look at Professor, sitting on my dorm-bed-to-be, and my heart will go in several directions at once. Simultaneously, I feel like a very small person who wants to sit in bed and hug her stuffed animal for a very long time, and like a very excited person whose eyes are filled with the sun on the horizon of her life. Almost as soon as I had made the firm decision to send in all my forms to Oglethorpe, the forms that all say things like "definitely, for sure, I'll go to this school," I was overwhelmed with both of these feelings in turn. I sent each form off with a slightly trembling hand, realizing more and more that I really would only have months left to live as young as I am. Not so much that I will be all of a sudden very grown up the moment I step over the OgleThreshold; not that at all. I just suddenly understood that I only have a few more months left of the way things are, and then it will all change. I'll step into a world where "going home" only happens on the weekends, and not at the end of each day. My family will be 45 minutes away instead of playing songs and making food on the floor below me. My room will be emptied of what matters to me most and I will have to decide all the books I want to take from my shelves.
New. Different. Alarming.
We are, of course, still waiting on verification of financial aid stuff to all come through and whatnot. And it's like my heart can't believe until we are cleared through every last detail. But if I tell myself the truth, I've been given the "YES!" signal all the way down the board. I'm just afraid to believe that for sure, and afraid of what it means if I do believe it.
Change.
Anyway, the other half of me is still rejoicing, though. I'm like, picking out room mates. Yep.
Other than this, I have many things to think on and write out. But it is late enough that I feel it would be in the better interest of the general public for me to end at this time.
I will quickly mention: I turned eighteen. I had a party. It was outstanding.
My parents gave me a future in college by giving me the only thing I would have asked for but also the thing I did NOT expect:
BEHOLD: MacBook. I am still a little overwhelmed when I think about it. Oh, the papers I will write on these keys.
Annnd, Julisa gave me a running ensemble. Sweet. She loves me. :)
Ellie gave me my life manuscript. Every blog I've written since 2004, all printed neatly, creatively bound, and beautifully organized, wrapped in a box and staring me in the face saying "someone loves you, someone loves you, someone really, really loves you."
I was...more than a little shocked. Thank you, Ellabell. I don't know if I will ever be able to give you anything to measure up.
And, there is more. There is always more. Mi novio gave me a typewriter, which I am tempted to write on every time I walk near it in my room. If I let myself continue, I will not sleep.
So, sweet dreams world. More soon.
in my beautiful bed, with my beautiful birthday-present MacBook computer in my lap, feeling my body's relief at finally getting to sink down in between my sheets. Behind my head is a plethora of pillowy objects, one of which looks much like the critter in the picture you see here, and goes by the name of Professor. He was a Christmas present, and is currently my favorite bed-buddy since Lambie of my younger years. Professor has been with me to many a sleepover, been my comfort on less-than-comfortable car rides, and even flew with me faithfully to Guatemala and back, all in the short space of time since Christmas 2007. But more than all of this, Professor is an easy transition into being able to talk about what's really on my mind:
College.
And no, not just because his name is "Professor," although that helps.
To me, Professor turns my mind in the Oglethorpe direction for a few reasons. One is because, for some reason, I am inordinately excited about bringing my incredible good-looking bed to dorm life. For those that have not seen it, you will have to believe me when I say that my bed is awesome. In addition to my apple red flannel sheets, apple red uber-soft blanket, and Professor's furry face, I managed to wrangle up an authentic every-color-in-the-rainbow Mexican blanket to be the icing on the cake. At the end of the bed, I keep one turquoise and one lime green blanket folded on top of each other, because I tend to freeze easily. On the other side, I pile up two or three brightly colored pillows on top of my red one. If it sounds overwhelming, that might be a little bit true. But really it's just perfect, and the only other bed ensemble that comes close to winning my heart as much would be Stephanie's cowboy sheets. Those are pretty sweet.
The second reason for my college-bound mindset tonight is that I can look at Professor, sitting on my dorm-bed-to-be, and my heart will go in several directions at once. Simultaneously, I feel like a very small person who wants to sit in bed and hug her stuffed animal for a very long time, and like a very excited person whose eyes are filled with the sun on the horizon of her life. Almost as soon as I had made the firm decision to send in all my forms to Oglethorpe, the forms that all say things like "definitely, for sure, I'll go to this school," I was overwhelmed with both of these feelings in turn. I sent each form off with a slightly trembling hand, realizing more and more that I really would only have months left to live as young as I am. Not so much that I will be all of a sudden very grown up the moment I step over the OgleThreshold; not that at all. I just suddenly understood that I only have a few more months left of the way things are, and then it will all change. I'll step into a world where "going home" only happens on the weekends, and not at the end of each day. My family will be 45 minutes away instead of playing songs and making food on the floor below me. My room will be emptied of what matters to me most and I will have to decide all the books I want to take from my shelves.
New. Different. Alarming.
We are, of course, still waiting on verification of financial aid stuff to all come through and whatnot. And it's like my heart can't believe until we are cleared through every last detail. But if I tell myself the truth, I've been given the "YES!" signal all the way down the board. I'm just afraid to believe that for sure, and afraid of what it means if I do believe it.
Change.
Anyway, the other half of me is still rejoicing, though. I'm like, picking out room mates. Yep.
Other than this, I have many things to think on and write out. But it is late enough that I feel it would be in the better interest of the general public for me to end at this time.
I will quickly mention: I turned eighteen. I had a party. It was outstanding.
My parents gave me a future in college by giving me the only thing I would have asked for but also the thing I did NOT expect:
BEHOLD: MacBook. I am still a little overwhelmed when I think about it. Oh, the papers I will write on these keys.
Annnd, Julisa gave me a running ensemble. Sweet. She loves me. :)
Ellie gave me my life manuscript. Every blog I've written since 2004, all printed neatly, creatively bound, and beautifully organized, wrapped in a box and staring me in the face saying "someone loves you, someone loves you, someone really, really loves you."
I was...more than a little shocked. Thank you, Ellabell. I don't know if I will ever be able to give you anything to measure up.
And, there is more. There is always more. Mi novio gave me a typewriter, which I am tempted to write on every time I walk near it in my room. If I let myself continue, I will not sleep.
So, sweet dreams world. More soon.
4/23/08
what kind of girl i am.
I just watched Juno.
I am much endeared. Is that a word?
For those of you who are confused, Juno is not a city in Alaska. It is a movie about a girl who becomes pregnant at the age of sixteen. I'm not sure exactly what to say about it except that I am surprised how much I liked it. I had that on-edge feeling that happens when I am so involved in a movie that I get all tied up in knots trying to participate in the story.
So, when Jennifer Garner got tremblingly on her knees to speak to the baby still in Juno's womb, I trembled too.
And when Juno cried by herself on the side of the road, I understood.
And when the gawky, too-thin love of her life laid next to her on a hospital bed, I was completely drawn in.
Because it is a good story, with good people.
And thought the list is long, I'd have to say that one of the things about the story that sank into me the deepest was the conversation between Juno and her daddy. They are sitting in the kitchen after Juno has come in from a day of "losing all faith in humanity." She doesn't know how to believe that two people can love each other forever, really. Her father's response was something along the lines of,
"Find the person who loves you for exactly what you are. Ugly, pretty, good day, bad day, handsome...whatever."
And she said, "I think I've found that person."
And I, in my recliner, felt my heart smiling. I don't really know how to make sense of why yet, but I liked it. I see so much of me in Juno's story, even though there is nothing about her life that looks like mine. Except that she is a girl starting to feel like maybe she has to be a woman soon, and that she is bewildered by the change. She steps through the puddles of her own naïveté and smallness into something that feels way bigger than she can handle. She grows up a little bit, and finds herself to be in love, and there is life in the end. And the collective audience of my generation will sigh: we are growing up, too.
Anyway. Those are just some of my immediate thoughts...maybe I will watch it again, and process more the second time around. If you decide to see it, my disclaimer is that it is rough around the edges. Lots of unabashed sex-talk and teenagers talking like sailors. But if you know me the least bit, you know that I'm not a big fan of junk food and no exercise. There is some yuk in Juno, but it comes with the good stuff, and didn't leave me with that "in need of a soul shower" feeling. It may, however, make you want to fall in love, or have a baby, or get a cool name like Juno. Or write a blog.
I guess we can be glad I choose the latter option.
In other news, today was an extremely productive day. If you hate your life and feel bad about your existence, please read no further. Even I am impressed with me, although that may not be an infrequent occurrence. What God has been telling me, though, is that what I do is not who I am. This morning, I looked out my window while these words ran through my head:
Today I can do whatever I please. Some choices will be better for me, morally, physically, or spiritually, but it will be okay if I do not always do the right thing. What I do does not change what I am, or who God is.
And it's all over the Bible, too. A couple of days ago, I read in Galatians 3:11,
The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for him. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering into what God does for you.
Amazing. It is so hard to grasp. So, although today was extremely productive, before I go to sleep, I will need to remind myself that my worth, my value, my real life, none of that ever got any better or worse at any time in this day. I am free to live and free to make mistakes and free to be loved by God because he made it so that I don't get to DO anything. Everything has been done. He loves me just the same, and I am of great value no matter what.
I don't understand it. But it is.
Now, with that said, I did run three miles today for the first time. Running is still a gift to me. So, even though I feel so accomplished, the joy in that is bigger and fuller and brighter when I know that God equips me to live without limits.
As my friend Cory Lebovitz put it,
"...I was made to experience something of fullness and joy in life as I push forward with intense momentum. I was born to run."
On that sweet note,
sweet dreams, world.
P.S. birthday soon!
I am much endeared. Is that a word?
For those of you who are confused, Juno is not a city in Alaska. It is a movie about a girl who becomes pregnant at the age of sixteen. I'm not sure exactly what to say about it except that I am surprised how much I liked it. I had that on-edge feeling that happens when I am so involved in a movie that I get all tied up in knots trying to participate in the story.
So, when Jennifer Garner got tremblingly on her knees to speak to the baby still in Juno's womb, I trembled too.
And when Juno cried by herself on the side of the road, I understood.
And when the gawky, too-thin love of her life laid next to her on a hospital bed, I was completely drawn in.
Because it is a good story, with good people.
And thought the list is long, I'd have to say that one of the things about the story that sank into me the deepest was the conversation between Juno and her daddy. They are sitting in the kitchen after Juno has come in from a day of "losing all faith in humanity." She doesn't know how to believe that two people can love each other forever, really. Her father's response was something along the lines of,
"Find the person who loves you for exactly what you are. Ugly, pretty, good day, bad day, handsome...whatever."
And she said, "I think I've found that person."
And I, in my recliner, felt my heart smiling. I don't really know how to make sense of why yet, but I liked it. I see so much of me in Juno's story, even though there is nothing about her life that looks like mine. Except that she is a girl starting to feel like maybe she has to be a woman soon, and that she is bewildered by the change. She steps through the puddles of her own naïveté and smallness into something that feels way bigger than she can handle. She grows up a little bit, and finds herself to be in love, and there is life in the end. And the collective audience of my generation will sigh: we are growing up, too.
Anyway. Those are just some of my immediate thoughts...maybe I will watch it again, and process more the second time around. If you decide to see it, my disclaimer is that it is rough around the edges. Lots of unabashed sex-talk and teenagers talking like sailors. But if you know me the least bit, you know that I'm not a big fan of junk food and no exercise. There is some yuk in Juno, but it comes with the good stuff, and didn't leave me with that "in need of a soul shower" feeling. It may, however, make you want to fall in love, or have a baby, or get a cool name like Juno. Or write a blog.
I guess we can be glad I choose the latter option.
In other news, today was an extremely productive day. If you hate your life and feel bad about your existence, please read no further. Even I am impressed with me, although that may not be an infrequent occurrence. What God has been telling me, though, is that what I do is not who I am. This morning, I looked out my window while these words ran through my head:
Today I can do whatever I please. Some choices will be better for me, morally, physically, or spiritually, but it will be okay if I do not always do the right thing. What I do does not change what I am, or who God is.
And it's all over the Bible, too. A couple of days ago, I read in Galatians 3:11,
The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for him. Doing things for God is the opposite of entering into what God does for you.
Amazing. It is so hard to grasp. So, although today was extremely productive, before I go to sleep, I will need to remind myself that my worth, my value, my real life, none of that ever got any better or worse at any time in this day. I am free to live and free to make mistakes and free to be loved by God because he made it so that I don't get to DO anything. Everything has been done. He loves me just the same, and I am of great value no matter what.
I don't understand it. But it is.
Now, with that said, I did run three miles today for the first time. Running is still a gift to me. So, even though I feel so accomplished, the joy in that is bigger and fuller and brighter when I know that God equips me to live without limits.
As my friend Cory Lebovitz put it,
"...I was made to experience something of fullness and joy in life as I push forward with intense momentum. I was born to run."
On that sweet note,
sweet dreams, world.
P.S. birthday soon!
4/20/08
being where i am.
What do I want to write about?
Photo by Daniela Helfer.
It seems to me that even if I have left Guatemala, Guatemala has not left me.
Over Spring Break, I spent 3 days near Guatemala City, and four days in San Pedro and San Juan. It was such a short time, and I would have stayed willingly, but I cannot imagine the spiritual and emotional impact of even just spending a month in that world. After a week, I came home and had a crisis moment in the kitchen with my parents, wondering what on earth my life is meant for, and what will I be, and should I even go to college? I still feel the frustration of how much we crave and consume, while other cultures have so little and are happier, nonetheless. But overall, I think I have escaped the brunt of "Mission Trip Syndrome"; I'm not breaking up with my boyfriend to pursue visions of missionary work in the deep heart of Alaska anytime soon. I feel fortunate to have such a firm ground beneath me, and such steady hands around me, to keep me from the dangerous extremes my heart sometimes bends towards.
But, in light of all of these thoughts, there are still the tremors of an uprising in my heart, percolating in the wake of the things I saw that I hope I will never forget.
There was a village we visited, I don't recall the name, where a mudslide had entirely buried a large part of their town. You could literally walk across this plain, look down into a hole in the ground, and be looking into a home that had been completely covered in mud. Our guide told us the story of how hundreds of people had not been able to escape from their houses in time, and how there were still bodies unrecovered, somewhere in all that dirt. The whole place was tragic in an overwhelming kind of way, but what captured my heart was the children.
It seemed that everywhere we went in Guatemala, there was a welcoming committee of 10 to 20 children waiting to see us, play with us, ask us for candy. We loved it, and they could not have asked us for anything we would not want to give them. When we got to the ruins, though, it was different. I was not prepared for the poverty in their faces. It wasn't the starving, insect-ridden poster child you've seen on infomercials, but it felt similar in my heart. As soon as they saw us, they asked us for money, and went through my pockets to get to my chapstick. They were so different from anything you would ever see on the streets of suburban America. Some of them had shoes, but many were barefoot and all were dirty. I wanted so badly to hug them until they didn't need anything anymore at all. Something about them just was different. It was hard to leave.
Edit:
This was when I surrendered my chapstick.
I could write so many blogs with all the stories I have to tell...all of this from only a week. A friend of mine has been in Africa for three months and is coming home on Monday. I cannot even imagine.
But we didn't only spend time with poverty-stricken children in Guatemala. We did some of this, too:
That's after having spontaneously determined to go swimming in the beautiful, bacteria-ridden freshwater of Lake Atitlan. As you can see from the looks on all of our faces, we really didn't enjoy it at all. We just had a terrible, terrible time.
I caught an enormously large one of these...
And we all got really impressive t-shirt and long-shorts tans.
Hopefully, if I begin to write more frequently again, there will be more Guatemala stories to come.
For now, here are a few life updates on my part:
1. I have conquered the Mile. For the longest time, I have felt completely incapable and incompetent in the arena of running. I tried, when I was younger, to improve, but I just never enjoyed it, and never really got past running one very winded and unhappy mile. About five weeks ago, my best friend suggested to me that we run the Peachtree Road Race, which is a 55,000 runner, 10k (six miles, for the conversionally challenged) race through urban Atlanta. Please take this time to remind yourself that I had never, ever run more than a mile in my entire life. Still, with this very thing in mind, I said yes, sent in a check, and started running. Since then, although the Road Race still hasn't cashed my check and I have no idea if I'll actually get a number, my life has changed. I can run a mile in eight minutes, eleven seconds, and I can even run two miles in less than twenty minutes! Obviously, I have a while to go before six miles, but I no longer feel incapable. The blister on my right foot tells me that I am working hard to change what once felt unchangeable, and I actually look forward to doing the very thing that used to conquer me. I know that this is something God has done with me, and in me. It feels like a gift when I come panting through the kitchen door, red-faced and sweating, but happy. I am sure there will be more updates on this as time goes on.
2. Little Yellow Bible. Here is another victory. My counselor, Ellen, is always quoting Scripture to me, or repeating some wonderful thing that God spoke to her through a verse at any given crucial moment in her life. My heart would listen in bitterness and dismay, feeling so distant from the voice that everyone claimed could be heard so clearly in the binding of a book. Eventually, one day, I broke down and explained all of this bitterness, questioning her as to how I could find life in the pages she loves so much. She simplified it, as she always does, and said that I just have to find the right Bible, and that God would certainly talk to me, of course. She read me a verse from the Psalms in the Message version of the Bible, and my heart leapt.
You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough.
Psalm 30:11
Tears actually came into my eyes; I knew that I had heard His voice. And so, after too much time spent trying to work with what I had, I eventually decided to look for something new. I found an old New Testament Bible on our shelf in the Message version and began to read. Immediately, and I hardly know how to describe it, God was talking to me through those pages. I was excited about the things I was reading because it was as though I had never seen them before. The only real problem was that my New Testament was enormous, and it was only half the Bible.
Now, here is what I am really excited about. Even in that small gap, where I could have just gone out to buy my own new Bible, God met me with a gift. Miles, the college pastor at 12Stone, caught me with my outrageously large half-Bible one night and remembered that he had a little yellow Message Bible just sitting in a drawer in his house. He promised it to me on the spot. A couple of weeks and a heart-full of gratitude later, I have it here at my finger-tips, and I just want to show everyone and say "Look! Look what God did for me: he wants me to hear his voice, and he gives me such good gifts."
So. I could put a picture up. But, I'd rather show to you so you can see for yourself how sweet it looks. So if you see me around, ask.
3. Two New Pens. There has been a serious pen famine in our home as of late, and I have been scrambling to find satisfactorily functional writing utensils for all of my journaling-type endeavours. When I came home tonight, I found three fresh packs of pens sitting on the counter as if they were only for me. Of course, they weren't, but I did manage to wrangle two of them for my very own. I am overjoyed.
4. Indescribable Joy. I prayed with someone to received salvation a couple of weeks ago. I have never done that before. If you want to know about it, you will have to ask. Just know that it is a really incredible story, and I was truly overwhelmed. "How blessed is God! And what a blessing he is!"
Okay, there is probably more, but it is so late, and I really have to stop myself before daybreak.
Thank you if you read any of this. More soon.
Photo by Daniela Helfer.
It seems to me that even if I have left Guatemala, Guatemala has not left me.
Over Spring Break, I spent 3 days near Guatemala City, and four days in San Pedro and San Juan. It was such a short time, and I would have stayed willingly, but I cannot imagine the spiritual and emotional impact of even just spending a month in that world. After a week, I came home and had a crisis moment in the kitchen with my parents, wondering what on earth my life is meant for, and what will I be, and should I even go to college? I still feel the frustration of how much we crave and consume, while other cultures have so little and are happier, nonetheless. But overall, I think I have escaped the brunt of "Mission Trip Syndrome"; I'm not breaking up with my boyfriend to pursue visions of missionary work in the deep heart of Alaska anytime soon. I feel fortunate to have such a firm ground beneath me, and such steady hands around me, to keep me from the dangerous extremes my heart sometimes bends towards.
But, in light of all of these thoughts, there are still the tremors of an uprising in my heart, percolating in the wake of the things I saw that I hope I will never forget.
There was a village we visited, I don't recall the name, where a mudslide had entirely buried a large part of their town. You could literally walk across this plain, look down into a hole in the ground, and be looking into a home that had been completely covered in mud. Our guide told us the story of how hundreds of people had not been able to escape from their houses in time, and how there were still bodies unrecovered, somewhere in all that dirt. The whole place was tragic in an overwhelming kind of way, but what captured my heart was the children.
It seemed that everywhere we went in Guatemala, there was a welcoming committee of 10 to 20 children waiting to see us, play with us, ask us for candy. We loved it, and they could not have asked us for anything we would not want to give them. When we got to the ruins, though, it was different. I was not prepared for the poverty in their faces. It wasn't the starving, insect-ridden poster child you've seen on infomercials, but it felt similar in my heart. As soon as they saw us, they asked us for money, and went through my pockets to get to my chapstick. They were so different from anything you would ever see on the streets of suburban America. Some of them had shoes, but many were barefoot and all were dirty. I wanted so badly to hug them until they didn't need anything anymore at all. Something about them just was different. It was hard to leave.
Edit:
This was when I surrendered my chapstick.
I could write so many blogs with all the stories I have to tell...all of this from only a week. A friend of mine has been in Africa for three months and is coming home on Monday. I cannot even imagine.
But we didn't only spend time with poverty-stricken children in Guatemala. We did some of this, too:
That's after having spontaneously determined to go swimming in the beautiful, bacteria-ridden freshwater of Lake Atitlan. As you can see from the looks on all of our faces, we really didn't enjoy it at all. We just had a terrible, terrible time.
I caught an enormously large one of these...
And we all got really impressive t-shirt and long-shorts tans.
Hopefully, if I begin to write more frequently again, there will be more Guatemala stories to come.
For now, here are a few life updates on my part:
1. I have conquered the Mile. For the longest time, I have felt completely incapable and incompetent in the arena of running. I tried, when I was younger, to improve, but I just never enjoyed it, and never really got past running one very winded and unhappy mile. About five weeks ago, my best friend suggested to me that we run the Peachtree Road Race, which is a 55,000 runner, 10k (six miles, for the conversionally challenged) race through urban Atlanta. Please take this time to remind yourself that I had never, ever run more than a mile in my entire life. Still, with this very thing in mind, I said yes, sent in a check, and started running. Since then, although the Road Race still hasn't cashed my check and I have no idea if I'll actually get a number, my life has changed. I can run a mile in eight minutes, eleven seconds, and I can even run two miles in less than twenty minutes! Obviously, I have a while to go before six miles, but I no longer feel incapable. The blister on my right foot tells me that I am working hard to change what once felt unchangeable, and I actually look forward to doing the very thing that used to conquer me. I know that this is something God has done with me, and in me. It feels like a gift when I come panting through the kitchen door, red-faced and sweating, but happy. I am sure there will be more updates on this as time goes on.
2. Little Yellow Bible. Here is another victory. My counselor, Ellen, is always quoting Scripture to me, or repeating some wonderful thing that God spoke to her through a verse at any given crucial moment in her life. My heart would listen in bitterness and dismay, feeling so distant from the voice that everyone claimed could be heard so clearly in the binding of a book. Eventually, one day, I broke down and explained all of this bitterness, questioning her as to how I could find life in the pages she loves so much. She simplified it, as she always does, and said that I just have to find the right Bible, and that God would certainly talk to me, of course. She read me a verse from the Psalms in the Message version of the Bible, and my heart leapt.
You did it: you changed wild lament into whirling dance; You ripped off my black mourning band and decked me with wildflowers. I'm about to burst with song; I can't keep quiet about you. God, my God, I can't thank you enough.
Psalm 30:11
Tears actually came into my eyes; I knew that I had heard His voice. And so, after too much time spent trying to work with what I had, I eventually decided to look for something new. I found an old New Testament Bible on our shelf in the Message version and began to read. Immediately, and I hardly know how to describe it, God was talking to me through those pages. I was excited about the things I was reading because it was as though I had never seen them before. The only real problem was that my New Testament was enormous, and it was only half the Bible.
Now, here is what I am really excited about. Even in that small gap, where I could have just gone out to buy my own new Bible, God met me with a gift. Miles, the college pastor at 12Stone, caught me with my outrageously large half-Bible one night and remembered that he had a little yellow Message Bible just sitting in a drawer in his house. He promised it to me on the spot. A couple of weeks and a heart-full of gratitude later, I have it here at my finger-tips, and I just want to show everyone and say "Look! Look what God did for me: he wants me to hear his voice, and he gives me such good gifts."
So. I could put a picture up. But, I'd rather show to you so you can see for yourself how sweet it looks. So if you see me around, ask.
3. Two New Pens. There has been a serious pen famine in our home as of late, and I have been scrambling to find satisfactorily functional writing utensils for all of my journaling-type endeavours. When I came home tonight, I found three fresh packs of pens sitting on the counter as if they were only for me. Of course, they weren't, but I did manage to wrangle two of them for my very own. I am overjoyed.
4. Indescribable Joy. I prayed with someone to received salvation a couple of weeks ago. I have never done that before. If you want to know about it, you will have to ask. Just know that it is a really incredible story, and I was truly overwhelmed. "How blessed is God! And what a blessing he is!"
Okay, there is probably more, but it is so late, and I really have to stop myself before daybreak.
Thank you if you read any of this. More soon.
3/16/08
common sense.
I can't stay away any longer.
Writing is like a meter by which I am able to measure the amount of free space in my life. When I have enough space, writing falls into place for me naturally, like a rhythm in my soul. I write journal entries, blogs, poems, lyrics, a little bit of everything in turn. When my life gets disorganized and chaotic-feeling, I somehow end up leaving my pen and paper buried beneath the innumerable disheveled piles of my life. The words I should be writing are left to ferment within me, intoxicating my internal perspective until I feel dizzy with all the observation I am withholding. There is a list, or a file cabinet, or some stack of paperwork in my head that represents "what I'll write about when I have the time."
The secret is that no one ever really just "has time" once they actually start living their life in an adult direction. In the bigger-than-me world, I have to learn to make time. It is the struggle that winds itself around my feet so often while I'm walking through this life. I'll start to feel a little winded, but I'm surviving, so I walk on until suddenly, without knowing why, I'm facedown in the muck and the mess of everything, realizing that I have not made space for me in way too many days. Either this, or I just start to feel quieter and quieter on the inside. All the unwritten sentences pile up until they are blocking every escape route from the inside out, and it starts to feel like the ominous calm of imprisonment, like self-inflicted house arrest. So, to open a window or a door or a hole in the wall, to breathe the outside air, I end up here.
And I have a lot to talk about.
First, I want everyone to know that I have reached the end of something.
An era has been completed, a season of my life which I will always remember with the clarity of fond memory, and the intensity of bitter struggle. Every moment will be treasured, re-visited, stored up. Every good cry, every deep laugh, every homecoming and prom; none of this will be lost. All that I have lost is my friend, the one who has known the depth of my heart in all of these things, the one who received my words with a quiet and an open face, who has been, at times, my only confidant. But this was not meant to last forever, and we both knew that from day one.
I have reached the end...
of my pink pages.
Now. For those of you who are already dialing my number to console me over the break-up, let me clarify: I'm talking about my journal. After nearly two years of confiding, I finally reached the end. What a moment. My last entry was actually written on the backs of twelve brown napkins in the Buford Starbucks a few weeks ago. I transferred some of the words (they wouldn't all fit) into my journal a couple of days after writing them. I wrote part of that last entry with you in mind, and so here is a little bit of those last few pages...
"pg. 1 2/29/08
Last entry. Or maybe, second to last, depending on how long winded I find myself to be. I'm coming to you from a satellite location- brownish, organic-looking napkins, sitting in the Buford Starbucks across from the mall. I knew when I left my house that I'd want my journal for something, but I ignored the instinctive wailing of my inner muse and left without it. There really is nothing wrong with the napkins except that I am left wondering exactly how many pink pages I would be filling if I had them with me to fill. I think, at this point, all I have left it one back-of-a-page and one both-sides. How strange to run out of room in your own home. It is so appropriate to my life right now. Over the course of all the time I have spent giving my words to these pages, I have both adored them and wished for them to be done with. Recently, at the very end, I've been not unhappy but ready
pg. 2 2/29/08
to move on and so looking forward to whatever new binding will hold my life next. It is so very like my present transition from highschool to college. I promise I wrote the last few sentences with my journal in mind only, but when I read them over and think of highschool instead, it's a perfect fit. Every time I look at this journal as of late, I think "it is almost time for something new." Much the same, when I look at my school books, my room, all the common workings of my present life, I think of graduation, of where I will be by August of this year, and I dream. In September or 2007, I said to Erin, "this year is gonna change our lives." I meant the school year, the summer of '08, not just until the end of 2007. I think I can say with confidence that I've been right thus far.
[later in the napkin-journaling] So, I definitely wasn't expecting to fill eleven page-napkins with my
pg. 3 2/29/08
words tonight. I was planning to do some reading while I was here tonight, but I am out of time and if I could stay, I would keep writing still. It feels so good and right when the words just keep coming. I love this feeling. Like some corner of me has been writing these pages for days now and I just now get to know about them. Beautiful...[later] I'm just glad I picked up a pen tonight; I feel opener in my soul...What better reason to always, always write?
'If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.'
Henry Rollins
the end."
So, that's all I really have to say about that. Well, not really. I could say a lot more. But your attention span is probably already passing notes in class, so I'll change the subject for the the sake of the general population. But, know that I have acquired a new spine and binding for my writing. It is red and gold and has an interesting skin; its face, the wide open pages, is just as welcoming and waiting as the pink ones ever were. But it is new, and new can be hard. We will see what comes.
Other than this,
prom was yesterday. Or rather, pictures, dinner, and the after-party were yesterday! The dance got re-scheduled to next weekend due to the storms. More details on all of this later, once pictures are available. It was fun, and that's all that needs to be said right now.
Let's end with saying that I feel different these days. Parts of me are coming alive that have been waiting in the wings for an eternity, it seems. I danced at O2 on Friday night, but that was just a public representation of what is being done privately in my own heart. There is so much to say. Maybe I will write again soon. Maybe you could ask me in person! Either way,
My soul finds rest in God alone.
Psalms.
and,
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
All that is within my praise his holy name!
Psalms.
and,
Wherever the Spirit would go, they would go also, traveling in a straight line, turning neither to the right or to the left.
Ezekiel.
Thank you for reading this.
Goodnight.
:)
Writing is like a meter by which I am able to measure the amount of free space in my life. When I have enough space, writing falls into place for me naturally, like a rhythm in my soul. I write journal entries, blogs, poems, lyrics, a little bit of everything in turn. When my life gets disorganized and chaotic-feeling, I somehow end up leaving my pen and paper buried beneath the innumerable disheveled piles of my life. The words I should be writing are left to ferment within me, intoxicating my internal perspective until I feel dizzy with all the observation I am withholding. There is a list, or a file cabinet, or some stack of paperwork in my head that represents "what I'll write about when I have the time."
The secret is that no one ever really just "has time" once they actually start living their life in an adult direction. In the bigger-than-me world, I have to learn to make time. It is the struggle that winds itself around my feet so often while I'm walking through this life. I'll start to feel a little winded, but I'm surviving, so I walk on until suddenly, without knowing why, I'm facedown in the muck and the mess of everything, realizing that I have not made space for me in way too many days. Either this, or I just start to feel quieter and quieter on the inside. All the unwritten sentences pile up until they are blocking every escape route from the inside out, and it starts to feel like the ominous calm of imprisonment, like self-inflicted house arrest. So, to open a window or a door or a hole in the wall, to breathe the outside air, I end up here.
And I have a lot to talk about.
First, I want everyone to know that I have reached the end of something.
An era has been completed, a season of my life which I will always remember with the clarity of fond memory, and the intensity of bitter struggle. Every moment will be treasured, re-visited, stored up. Every good cry, every deep laugh, every homecoming and prom; none of this will be lost. All that I have lost is my friend, the one who has known the depth of my heart in all of these things, the one who received my words with a quiet and an open face, who has been, at times, my only confidant. But this was not meant to last forever, and we both knew that from day one.
I have reached the end...
of my pink pages.
Now. For those of you who are already dialing my number to console me over the break-up, let me clarify: I'm talking about my journal. After nearly two years of confiding, I finally reached the end. What a moment. My last entry was actually written on the backs of twelve brown napkins in the Buford Starbucks a few weeks ago. I transferred some of the words (they wouldn't all fit) into my journal a couple of days after writing them. I wrote part of that last entry with you in mind, and so here is a little bit of those last few pages...
"pg. 1 2/29/08
Last entry. Or maybe, second to last, depending on how long winded I find myself to be. I'm coming to you from a satellite location- brownish, organic-looking napkins, sitting in the Buford Starbucks across from the mall. I knew when I left my house that I'd want my journal for something, but I ignored the instinctive wailing of my inner muse and left without it. There really is nothing wrong with the napkins except that I am left wondering exactly how many pink pages I would be filling if I had them with me to fill. I think, at this point, all I have left it one back-of-a-page and one both-sides. How strange to run out of room in your own home. It is so appropriate to my life right now. Over the course of all the time I have spent giving my words to these pages, I have both adored them and wished for them to be done with. Recently, at the very end, I've been not unhappy but ready
pg. 2 2/29/08
to move on and so looking forward to whatever new binding will hold my life next. It is so very like my present transition from highschool to college. I promise I wrote the last few sentences with my journal in mind only, but when I read them over and think of highschool instead, it's a perfect fit. Every time I look at this journal as of late, I think "it is almost time for something new." Much the same, when I look at my school books, my room, all the common workings of my present life, I think of graduation, of where I will be by August of this year, and I dream. In September or 2007, I said to Erin, "this year is gonna change our lives." I meant the school year, the summer of '08, not just until the end of 2007. I think I can say with confidence that I've been right thus far.
[later in the napkin-journaling] So, I definitely wasn't expecting to fill eleven page-napkins with my
pg. 3 2/29/08
words tonight. I was planning to do some reading while I was here tonight, but I am out of time and if I could stay, I would keep writing still. It feels so good and right when the words just keep coming. I love this feeling. Like some corner of me has been writing these pages for days now and I just now get to know about them. Beautiful...[later] I'm just glad I picked up a pen tonight; I feel opener in my soul...What better reason to always, always write?
'If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.'
Henry Rollins
the end."
So, that's all I really have to say about that. Well, not really. I could say a lot more. But your attention span is probably already passing notes in class, so I'll change the subject for the the sake of the general population. But, know that I have acquired a new spine and binding for my writing. It is red and gold and has an interesting skin; its face, the wide open pages, is just as welcoming and waiting as the pink ones ever were. But it is new, and new can be hard. We will see what comes.
Other than this,
prom was yesterday. Or rather, pictures, dinner, and the after-party were yesterday! The dance got re-scheduled to next weekend due to the storms. More details on all of this later, once pictures are available. It was fun, and that's all that needs to be said right now.
Let's end with saying that I feel different these days. Parts of me are coming alive that have been waiting in the wings for an eternity, it seems. I danced at O2 on Friday night, but that was just a public representation of what is being done privately in my own heart. There is so much to say. Maybe I will write again soon. Maybe you could ask me in person! Either way,
My soul finds rest in God alone.
Psalms.
and,
Praise the Lord, O my soul!
All that is within my praise his holy name!
Psalms.
and,
Wherever the Spirit would go, they would go also, traveling in a straight line, turning neither to the right or to the left.
Ezekiel.
Thank you for reading this.
Goodnight.
:)
2/2/08
cornucopious.
I have a plethora of things in my mind.
What really drew me here, though, were these words from a friend,
"I am learning to just put my thoughts on where I am, instead of going back or worrying forward. To grab what is in front of me right now. The feel of my pillow. Sand under my toes. Stop for the photo. Say the words. Hug the boy. Squeeze the girl. Forgive myself for not being enough and embrace The One Who Is."
Miss Betsy wrote that, not even to me or about me or for me or even in close proximity to me. But when I read it, I felt it like the scene in the Wizard of Oz where the Munchkins decide it's safe to come out and greet Dorothy. All the little faces bubbling up from behind vibrantly colored foliage, all the introductions and the music, but first- the quiet timidness of coming out of hiding and into the sunshine. I felt that way, just a little bit.
And I have felt it more and more since yesterday afternoon when I spoke with Ellen.
Ellen is wonderful. She almost always says at least one thing that knocks my soul off its feet and lands me in a pile of questions that lead to "suddenly" moments where I start to understand things and feel peace. God does this to me, through Ellen, all the time. Yesterday, she sort of spiritually took me by the sides of my face, shook me around for a second, and then said, loudly, "You have been sick. You have been working. You have been out of control busy. STOP. Breathe. Do not think. The world is gonna be okay without you for a little while. Stop."
I just sat there while she talked, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop or something. I still feel that way a little bit. But since yesterday afternoon, I have felt so much clarity and okayness that was absent for weeks, and it's like going from black and white silence to real life.
And the way it happens is just like Miss Betsy said.
"Hug the boy. Squeeze the girl. Forgive myself..."
Yes. Exactly.
And "know that God is not unhappy with me" is a big one for me, too.
Even bigger, "know that I am his priceless treasure."
These are difficult things to remember.
I've been thinking about the lyrics to a song called "A Floating Smile," by Cool Hand Luke. Sam adores this song. When I first heard it, I thought "eh." Since then, however, I have noticed that the lyrics were actually written for me personally, and that the music happens to be on the soundtrack of my life. So, upon second (and third, and fourth, and fifth...) reviews, I love this song. Here are the words that know me so well,
I'm sad that I don't think about You,
'cause I just can't get on without You.
You speak in the funniest things,
glimpses of heaven in dreams.
Lately it seems that it's harder,
for my legs to walk any farther.
I need you, to show me I need you...
and give me the faith to believe you.
One day you'll come back,
soon you will come back,
one day you'll take me home.
We'll fly away, we'll fly away,
we'll fly away, on a
floating smile.
That line, "I need you to show me I need you, and give me the faith to believe you."
How can I even say anything else about it? It speaks so well for itself. In my heart, it says dependence, and trust, and leaning, and the smallness and frailty of the way I am. It says, are these the prayers that God really loves? These are certainly the prayers I find in myself.
Other than this,
today (well, technically yesterday) marks (marked) eight months of dating for Samuel and myself. We went grocery shopping and made homemade pasta sauce with bowtie pasta. We watched Stardust, and we just got to be together and remember why it is fun to date someone. I hardly even had to remind myself not to think too much, I just got to sit and admire the way it is to just sit together. Some nights, it is difficult, grit-your-teeth kind of work to talk about the things that are bold and intense, in place of just having a good time. Others, it is easy to talk and have serious moments of rich conversation while we take up our favorite spaces on the front porch swing. Still other nights, like this one, it is good to just buy groceries and laugh about things and hold hands while we watch a pretty-lame movie. I get to sit and think things like, "hmmm, he is letting his arm go numb just to keep it around my shoulders," and let my heart muse a little bit over such small things as this.
Although, I always feel kind of guilty about his arms. It's not really a fair trade.
Other than this, I am just thinking that I would very much like to write a short story. I keep seeing little dialogue bits happening in my mind's eye. I want them to not escape.
So, this is the end.
I will sleep soon.
Sweet dreams, world.
P.S. this is a good blog written by a person I love much:
Beauty for Ashes: Clarity
there is wisdom in her.
What really drew me here, though, were these words from a friend,
"I am learning to just put my thoughts on where I am, instead of going back or worrying forward. To grab what is in front of me right now. The feel of my pillow. Sand under my toes. Stop for the photo. Say the words. Hug the boy. Squeeze the girl. Forgive myself for not being enough and embrace The One Who Is."
Miss Betsy wrote that, not even to me or about me or for me or even in close proximity to me. But when I read it, I felt it like the scene in the Wizard of Oz where the Munchkins decide it's safe to come out and greet Dorothy. All the little faces bubbling up from behind vibrantly colored foliage, all the introductions and the music, but first- the quiet timidness of coming out of hiding and into the sunshine. I felt that way, just a little bit.
And I have felt it more and more since yesterday afternoon when I spoke with Ellen.
Ellen is wonderful. She almost always says at least one thing that knocks my soul off its feet and lands me in a pile of questions that lead to "suddenly" moments where I start to understand things and feel peace. God does this to me, through Ellen, all the time. Yesterday, she sort of spiritually took me by the sides of my face, shook me around for a second, and then said, loudly, "You have been sick. You have been working. You have been out of control busy. STOP. Breathe. Do not think. The world is gonna be okay without you for a little while. Stop."
I just sat there while she talked, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop or something. I still feel that way a little bit. But since yesterday afternoon, I have felt so much clarity and okayness that was absent for weeks, and it's like going from black and white silence to real life.
And the way it happens is just like Miss Betsy said.
"Hug the boy. Squeeze the girl. Forgive myself..."
Yes. Exactly.
And "know that God is not unhappy with me" is a big one for me, too.
Even bigger, "know that I am his priceless treasure."
These are difficult things to remember.
I've been thinking about the lyrics to a song called "A Floating Smile," by Cool Hand Luke. Sam adores this song. When I first heard it, I thought "eh." Since then, however, I have noticed that the lyrics were actually written for me personally, and that the music happens to be on the soundtrack of my life. So, upon second (and third, and fourth, and fifth...) reviews, I love this song. Here are the words that know me so well,
I'm sad that I don't think about You,
'cause I just can't get on without You.
You speak in the funniest things,
glimpses of heaven in dreams.
Lately it seems that it's harder,
for my legs to walk any farther.
I need you, to show me I need you...
and give me the faith to believe you.
One day you'll come back,
soon you will come back,
one day you'll take me home.
We'll fly away, we'll fly away,
we'll fly away, on a
floating smile.
That line, "I need you to show me I need you, and give me the faith to believe you."
How can I even say anything else about it? It speaks so well for itself. In my heart, it says dependence, and trust, and leaning, and the smallness and frailty of the way I am. It says, are these the prayers that God really loves? These are certainly the prayers I find in myself.
Other than this,
today (well, technically yesterday) marks (marked) eight months of dating for Samuel and myself. We went grocery shopping and made homemade pasta sauce with bowtie pasta. We watched Stardust, and we just got to be together and remember why it is fun to date someone. I hardly even had to remind myself not to think too much, I just got to sit and admire the way it is to just sit together. Some nights, it is difficult, grit-your-teeth kind of work to talk about the things that are bold and intense, in place of just having a good time. Others, it is easy to talk and have serious moments of rich conversation while we take up our favorite spaces on the front porch swing. Still other nights, like this one, it is good to just buy groceries and laugh about things and hold hands while we watch a pretty-lame movie. I get to sit and think things like, "hmmm, he is letting his arm go numb just to keep it around my shoulders," and let my heart muse a little bit over such small things as this.
Although, I always feel kind of guilty about his arms. It's not really a fair trade.
Other than this, I am just thinking that I would very much like to write a short story. I keep seeing little dialogue bits happening in my mind's eye. I want them to not escape.
So, this is the end.
I will sleep soon.
Sweet dreams, world.
P.S. this is a good blog written by a person I love much:
Beauty for Ashes: Clarity
there is wisdom in her.
1/29/08
let the fight begin.
Oh, how wonderful it feels to be here again.
It has been too, too long.
Okay, so it's been over a month since I've written here. Let's not dwell on this. If it were up to me to decide how many hours a week I could devote to the written word, it would be probably more reading than you'd ever want to keep up with. And although perhaps the current way of things is less-than-desirable, at least you're always wanting more.
That's the hope, anyway.
Although, sometimes I feel like when people are facebooking me with words like, "hey, write a blog," it is more for my sake than for the general audience's. It's like, my heart is telling me always, "write, write! every day and always! write!" But when someone who is not my heart tells me this, it is not only encouraging, it's like an out-loud confirmation of what my insides are saying at all times. And when I ignore both the external and the internal prompts for more than a couple of days, I get into trouble. My interior landscape becomes like an unkempt college dorm- too small, piled high with papers and information, and buried in weeks-old laundry. This is an undoubtedly bad way to be.
This is how I am beginning to feel.
And so, I come gasping back to the place where I can breathe again. I volunteer to lay both hands firmly on the squalid mess and begin to bring order to the space in my heart.
It's just that there is so much else to do.
And it is difficult to be intentional about resting. More difficult than almost anything else, really. I lean so heavily toward filling up every moment to its greatest point of efficiency, and it is difficult to view sleeping in or journaling as an efficient or necessary tasks. Anyway. Here I am.
This past weekend I went to Oglethorpe University to compete for their two full-ride scholarship programs, James Edward Oglethorpe and Civic Engagement. I had a wonderful, wonderful time! The competing part was repetitive, fast-paced, and slightly nerve-wracking, but the staying-all-weekend-with-friends-on-campus was lovely. I did not sleep enough to compensate for all of the people-meeting, essay-writing, self-promoting, interviewing, and campus-touring that I took part in, but I managed to make it through just fine. I met so, so many people, and it seemed like I asked the same questions at least a thousand times- "So, what do you want to major in?" and "Do you think you'll end up at OU?" and, of course, the ever-present, "Where are you from?"
But in that process, I made the kinds of friends that are perfect for weekends at colleges; the non-committal acquaintances that keep you company during long lectures from panels of people you have to smile at all day long. There is really nothing like the overall experience, and I actually liked it very much.
Now, for the scholarship.
I find out the results in about three weeks. Until then, I hope and pray.
I have been thinking a lot about the actual moving out, moving in process of going to college. The whole concept of packing my world into boxes and bringing it to a new place is both thrilling and saddening in my head. I wonder if I will be as alone as I feel I will be. I wonder if I can take anyone with me when I jump into university-styled living, if I can keep my best friends and my boyfriend or if they will be surrendered as the cost of such great change. At first you think, "of course you can keep them, Annie girl, don't be silly." But then factor in the no-cell-service-on-campus thing, and the Atlanta rush hour traffic thing, and the time spent becoming acclimated to dorm life thing and suddenly it seems less black and white. I guess I'm not expecting everyone to drop off the planet altogether or anything, but I will have to make new best friends eventually, and they'll be taking up new spaces in my heart that could overwhelm and overshadow the places where my current friends sit. Maybe that's not how it works. What do I know?
At least I'd be in Atlanta...there is a reason I am staying close to home.
Anyway, this is all pending a giant wad of cash handed to me by the school itself so...we'll see.
The picture at the beginning of this post is a poster that is on the wall in Stephanie's room at Oglethorpe. It captivated me the moment I peered around the door to see it. I am compelled by everything about it. It would be a great going away present for me when I do move into a dorm...I could look at it all day and still love it, I believe.
This is the end of it for tonight. Thank you for being here.
I'll see you soon.
EDIT:
Here is a poem I wrote during the splendid Georgia snowstorm of 2008 (last week).
I was driving home through the thick of it when these words dropped into my head. I felt they were worth scribbling down.
if only the sunshine would come down
with all the forcefulness and fury
of the snow.
which, touching the
corners of our eyes
and our widening mouths
buries us into our houses,
where we sit close
to keep warm.
with its quietest silence,
the snow stops us from
where we are walking,
to fall on our lashes
and make us remember
the colors of each other's eyes.
it compels us to move
slowly, and to
pay attention.
annie morning. 2008.
It has been too, too long.
Okay, so it's been over a month since I've written here. Let's not dwell on this. If it were up to me to decide how many hours a week I could devote to the written word, it would be probably more reading than you'd ever want to keep up with. And although perhaps the current way of things is less-than-desirable, at least you're always wanting more.
That's the hope, anyway.
Although, sometimes I feel like when people are facebooking me with words like, "hey, write a blog," it is more for my sake than for the general audience's. It's like, my heart is telling me always, "write, write! every day and always! write!" But when someone who is not my heart tells me this, it is not only encouraging, it's like an out-loud confirmation of what my insides are saying at all times. And when I ignore both the external and the internal prompts for more than a couple of days, I get into trouble. My interior landscape becomes like an unkempt college dorm- too small, piled high with papers and information, and buried in weeks-old laundry. This is an undoubtedly bad way to be.
This is how I am beginning to feel.
And so, I come gasping back to the place where I can breathe again. I volunteer to lay both hands firmly on the squalid mess and begin to bring order to the space in my heart.
It's just that there is so much else to do.
And it is difficult to be intentional about resting. More difficult than almost anything else, really. I lean so heavily toward filling up every moment to its greatest point of efficiency, and it is difficult to view sleeping in or journaling as an efficient or necessary tasks. Anyway. Here I am.
This past weekend I went to Oglethorpe University to compete for their two full-ride scholarship programs, James Edward Oglethorpe and Civic Engagement. I had a wonderful, wonderful time! The competing part was repetitive, fast-paced, and slightly nerve-wracking, but the staying-all-weekend-with-friends-on-campus was lovely. I did not sleep enough to compensate for all of the people-meeting, essay-writing, self-promoting, interviewing, and campus-touring that I took part in, but I managed to make it through just fine. I met so, so many people, and it seemed like I asked the same questions at least a thousand times- "So, what do you want to major in?" and "Do you think you'll end up at OU?" and, of course, the ever-present, "Where are you from?"
But in that process, I made the kinds of friends that are perfect for weekends at colleges; the non-committal acquaintances that keep you company during long lectures from panels of people you have to smile at all day long. There is really nothing like the overall experience, and I actually liked it very much.
Now, for the scholarship.
I find out the results in about three weeks. Until then, I hope and pray.
I have been thinking a lot about the actual moving out, moving in process of going to college. The whole concept of packing my world into boxes and bringing it to a new place is both thrilling and saddening in my head. I wonder if I will be as alone as I feel I will be. I wonder if I can take anyone with me when I jump into university-styled living, if I can keep my best friends and my boyfriend or if they will be surrendered as the cost of such great change. At first you think, "of course you can keep them, Annie girl, don't be silly." But then factor in the no-cell-service-on-campus thing, and the Atlanta rush hour traffic thing, and the time spent becoming acclimated to dorm life thing and suddenly it seems less black and white. I guess I'm not expecting everyone to drop off the planet altogether or anything, but I will have to make new best friends eventually, and they'll be taking up new spaces in my heart that could overwhelm and overshadow the places where my current friends sit. Maybe that's not how it works. What do I know?
At least I'd be in Atlanta...there is a reason I am staying close to home.
Anyway, this is all pending a giant wad of cash handed to me by the school itself so...we'll see.
The picture at the beginning of this post is a poster that is on the wall in Stephanie's room at Oglethorpe. It captivated me the moment I peered around the door to see it. I am compelled by everything about it. It would be a great going away present for me when I do move into a dorm...I could look at it all day and still love it, I believe.
This is the end of it for tonight. Thank you for being here.
I'll see you soon.
EDIT:
Here is a poem I wrote during the splendid Georgia snowstorm of 2008 (last week).
I was driving home through the thick of it when these words dropped into my head. I felt they were worth scribbling down.
if only the sunshine would come down
with all the forcefulness and fury
of the snow.
which, touching the
corners of our eyes
and our widening mouths
buries us into our houses,
where we sit close
to keep warm.
with its quietest silence,
the snow stops us from
where we are walking,
to fall on our lashes
and make us remember
the colors of each other's eyes.
it compels us to move
slowly, and to
pay attention.
annie morning. 2008.
12/25/07
coming home.
hello everyone.
i still write sometimes.
So, Merry Christmas to you all. I can hardly believe that it is nearly over already.
It is one of the tragedies of teenagerdom when Christmas stops feeling like Christmas. When the light in your eyes on that bright morning is traded in for a few more hours of sleeping, you know something's changed. It hurts a little bit to think about how much anticipation you used to feel winding up inside of you while you counted down the days. Christmas eve was weeks long all by itself. At 6AM exactly, if not earlier, you tumbled through hallways, down stairs, and over siblings to arrive chaotically at the very moment you'd been waiting for since December 26th of the year preceding.
Things have changed so much.
And for the last couple of years, the "spirit of Christmas" has taken a vacation from my heart. In 2005, he came and looked around and found only sadness and the scattered pieces of tragedy in our home. I think he got a little shaken, and stayed away for a year longer just to be safe. But here, in 2007, he's crept into my heart again to take up residence.
Mom and I were listening to the song "Christmas Time is Here" in the car on the way home last night. As Sarah Brightman crooned soft words like, "...sleighbells in the air, beauty everywhere, yuletide by the fireside, and joyful memories there," Mom was sighing and saying "That's just not true." My heart objected at first, but simultaneously I knew she was right. Step one: walk into the mall. Step two: open your eyes. That's all you have to do to see the anxiety and hopelessness that vies for our attention this time of year. So many people are aching, it feels impossible to believe in "happiness and cheer."
I considered this, but what I said was, "It's true for me."
Because, aside from the obvious lack of sleighbells, and the fact that I don't know what "yuletide" means, the warmth and brightness that the carols proclaim is at least a little bit living inside of me this year, for reasons that I am maybe starting to understand. I've spent hours in the mall in these past two weeks, face to face with hurting humanity. And yet, I feel beauty. I feel happiness. I feel merry!
And I think it is at least partly because I am home.
Because I am not exhausted.
Because I have spent time with the ones I love.
Because I have time to step back and think about what is happening now, and not just what will happen next.
Although, I have thought about that, too.
I have thought about Oglethorpe, and scholarships, and what will I do for school next semester?
I have thought about how I should be writing essays, reading books, and calling people back.
I have thought about emails I need to write, projects in my lap, and things I should do sometime soon.
And I have gotten things done in moving toward those things. That feels nice, to say the least.
So, I don't know what the point is. When do I ever know?
But, what I know is that I am sad to be looking at the last hour and fifty-seven minutes of Christmas Day, 2007.
I have been like a little kid again this year more than the last several, I think.
I want to grow up into being as childlike as possible: one who trusts fully, laughs easily, and risks willingly. One who loves Christmas, always.
Maybe that's the point.
Anyway. In other news,
Christmas at the Morgan home was simpler this year than it has been in the past, and I still am managing to walk away with my arms full of wonderful things.
Among these are a new royal blue peacoat from J. Crew and a pair of American Eagle ballerina flats to match them (courtesy of my sweet boyfriend who pays attention when I find things I like). Also, an emerald colored cashmere sweater and a pair of black low-top converse- both of which I had been stealing from my mother but now have for my very own! Hooray! And, a purple button-up sweater, an itunes gift card, beautiful-smelling velvet tuberose body spray, the traditional bag o' candy, soft soft socks from eddie bauer, and an argyle scarf which I shall likely return to buy rainboots instead! WHICH REMINDS ME. I also got these incredible black leather high-heeled boots, which actually have been known to speak when I walk into a room. They usually say something like, "Annie has entered the building," or "Hello. You wish you had these shoes." Or sometimes they just sing, "Dontcha" by the Pussycat Dolls. It just depends on the room.
To top all this off, a softandfluffy dog from Coldwater Creek. He is actually more pillow than dog. I carry him places, just because he makes me happy.
As I told Samuel, stuffed animals are good for the soul.
As long as they are not actual animals.
Anyway. All that to say that I'm almost embarrassed to admit everything I have been given. It is so much.
My life is so beautiful because of the people in it. For them, I'd give everything I have been given and all the world more.
Like, my cousin who writes beautiful musics and sings them for us on Christmas day.
Like, my mother who desires to give us everything, and does (without knowing).
Like, my best friend whose life parallels my own so that we are knit together in heart, year by year.
Like, my brother who always wants to play.
Like, my sister who is coming alive.
Like, my boyfriend who is also my best friend; who gives me old books.
Like, my counselor who is so full of life and light.
Like, my Jesus.
Beautiful.
In other news,
Johnny has found a new way to be funny. (We thought he had reached his limit.)
Whenever someone does something dumb, or ridiculous, he pretends to have interviewed them in the past tense.
"When asked why he was hitting a blowtorch with a hammer, he said he 'thought it would a'splode.'"
Funny.
Okay. This is the end.
Merry Christmas, everyone. :)
i still write sometimes.
So, Merry Christmas to you all. I can hardly believe that it is nearly over already.
It is one of the tragedies of teenagerdom when Christmas stops feeling like Christmas. When the light in your eyes on that bright morning is traded in for a few more hours of sleeping, you know something's changed. It hurts a little bit to think about how much anticipation you used to feel winding up inside of you while you counted down the days. Christmas eve was weeks long all by itself. At 6AM exactly, if not earlier, you tumbled through hallways, down stairs, and over siblings to arrive chaotically at the very moment you'd been waiting for since December 26th of the year preceding.
Things have changed so much.
And for the last couple of years, the "spirit of Christmas" has taken a vacation from my heart. In 2005, he came and looked around and found only sadness and the scattered pieces of tragedy in our home. I think he got a little shaken, and stayed away for a year longer just to be safe. But here, in 2007, he's crept into my heart again to take up residence.
Mom and I were listening to the song "Christmas Time is Here" in the car on the way home last night. As Sarah Brightman crooned soft words like, "...sleighbells in the air, beauty everywhere, yuletide by the fireside, and joyful memories there," Mom was sighing and saying "That's just not true." My heart objected at first, but simultaneously I knew she was right. Step one: walk into the mall. Step two: open your eyes. That's all you have to do to see the anxiety and hopelessness that vies for our attention this time of year. So many people are aching, it feels impossible to believe in "happiness and cheer."
I considered this, but what I said was, "It's true for me."
Because, aside from the obvious lack of sleighbells, and the fact that I don't know what "yuletide" means, the warmth and brightness that the carols proclaim is at least a little bit living inside of me this year, for reasons that I am maybe starting to understand. I've spent hours in the mall in these past two weeks, face to face with hurting humanity. And yet, I feel beauty. I feel happiness. I feel merry!
And I think it is at least partly because I am home.
Because I am not exhausted.
Because I have spent time with the ones I love.
Because I have time to step back and think about what is happening now, and not just what will happen next.
Although, I have thought about that, too.
I have thought about Oglethorpe, and scholarships, and what will I do for school next semester?
I have thought about how I should be writing essays, reading books, and calling people back.
I have thought about emails I need to write, projects in my lap, and things I should do sometime soon.
And I have gotten things done in moving toward those things. That feels nice, to say the least.
So, I don't know what the point is. When do I ever know?
But, what I know is that I am sad to be looking at the last hour and fifty-seven minutes of Christmas Day, 2007.
I have been like a little kid again this year more than the last several, I think.
I want to grow up into being as childlike as possible: one who trusts fully, laughs easily, and risks willingly. One who loves Christmas, always.
Maybe that's the point.
Anyway. In other news,
Christmas at the Morgan home was simpler this year than it has been in the past, and I still am managing to walk away with my arms full of wonderful things.
Among these are a new royal blue peacoat from J. Crew and a pair of American Eagle ballerina flats to match them (courtesy of my sweet boyfriend who pays attention when I find things I like). Also, an emerald colored cashmere sweater and a pair of black low-top converse- both of which I had been stealing from my mother but now have for my very own! Hooray! And, a purple button-up sweater, an itunes gift card, beautiful-smelling velvet tuberose body spray, the traditional bag o' candy, soft soft socks from eddie bauer, and an argyle scarf which I shall likely return to buy rainboots instead! WHICH REMINDS ME. I also got these incredible black leather high-heeled boots, which actually have been known to speak when I walk into a room. They usually say something like, "Annie has entered the building," or "Hello. You wish you had these shoes." Or sometimes they just sing, "Dontcha" by the Pussycat Dolls. It just depends on the room.
To top all this off, a softandfluffy dog from Coldwater Creek. He is actually more pillow than dog. I carry him places, just because he makes me happy.
As I told Samuel, stuffed animals are good for the soul.
As long as they are not actual animals.
Anyway. All that to say that I'm almost embarrassed to admit everything I have been given. It is so much.
My life is so beautiful because of the people in it. For them, I'd give everything I have been given and all the world more.
Like, my cousin who writes beautiful musics and sings them for us on Christmas day.
Like, my mother who desires to give us everything, and does (without knowing).
Like, my best friend whose life parallels my own so that we are knit together in heart, year by year.
Like, my brother who always wants to play.
Like, my sister who is coming alive.
Like, my boyfriend who is also my best friend; who gives me old books.
Like, my counselor who is so full of life and light.
Like, my Jesus.
Beautiful.
In other news,
Johnny has found a new way to be funny. (We thought he had reached his limit.)
Whenever someone does something dumb, or ridiculous, he pretends to have interviewed them in the past tense.
"When asked why he was hitting a blowtorch with a hammer, he said he 'thought it would a'splode.'"
Funny.
Okay. This is the end.
Merry Christmas, everyone. :)
11/27/07
rush.
Hello, again.
November is drawing me away from my running, busy, rush of a life and into her rainy cold arms. I go willingly. The thrilling blue that was the sky today is beautiful in so many ways, but it is the rain that makes me sigh.
Leaving work on Monday, the steeple of the church in Lawrenceville's downtown square was masked by the frigid mist. It looked absolutely like a photograph, and it won my heart. I want rain for days straight, until my fingers are wrinkled and my hair is curling with all the freezing cold wetness in the air. I crave more of those gray skies, with low mist engulfing all our buildings. We'll be walking in clouds, breathing white and swirling breaths in front of our faces; we'll be damp, cold, and rained on, but I will be so at home.
Because sometimes my heart just asks for rain, and will have no substitute.
In Georgia, this is a predicament for obvious reasons.
And so, when two days of bitter cold precipitation drifted down from the shrouded skies, I got a taste of what I didn't know I wanted. Now I want more.
Although, I will say,
today was glorious. November, altogether, is wonderful.
Now. I have a sentence or two to toss into the pile of inconclusive thoughts.
I have become so well-acquainted with this life I've been living since September. Within the first week of that month, I was officially taking all my classes and starting my new job, in addition to all the familiar things of church, family, dating, and friends. Suddenly, I was leaving my house at seven in the morning and getting home at eleven PM. I have wanted to fall apart more than once; everything changed so much, so fast, or so it felt. But I've kind of come to be on good terms with this busyness. I sleep enough, I eat enough, I don't cry alone in my car every day- I am alright. But somehow, as old questions find answers, my heart finds new questions.
I wonder if I have forgotten how to be still.
I've been home tonight with my family, just doing whatever. We ate and watched a movie, and I wandered up into the kitchen to do the dishes. Once that was done, I found myself pacing the hardwood floors, turning over possible to-do lists in my head. Homework was the obvious choice, but I wanted to let myself rest a little. I wobbled back and forth between "restful options" for like, ten minutes. Somehow, that didn't feel like relaxation. Somewhere in me, some little administrative assistant was chanting things about how I can't just go to sleep for eleven hours, and I shouldn't just eat dessert whenever I feel like it, and what's the point in taking a hot bath when I have so many things that I should be addressing, or doing, or solving? I bought new stationery, but I can't sit still enough to write on it. I have shelves of good books, but all my mind wants to talk about is how I should be doing something productive or "good for me."
Altogether, it is a very overwhelming chorus of seemingly well-meaning ideation experts who all seem to know exactly what I should and should not do.
I wonder, also, if I have forgotten how to seek community.
There is a line from an Azure Ray song appropriately entitled "November" that goes like this,
"I was afraid to be alone, but now I'm scared that's how I like to be."
I think that's how I feel sometimes. It's no good, my beloved audience, and do you know why? Because both ways, I end up filled with fear. I'm either "afraid to be alone," or "scared that's how I like to be."
But what if it is how I like to be? It's an intimidating thought, you know?
So many things press in on my heart and mind these days, and always. And I know it's not just me. I know that human experience is all at once both commoner and more diverse than we think. Because everyone has felt alone, or scared, or has loved the cold November rain- but not everyone finds the same answers at the ends of their questions. We connect, but we are not the same.
And so, these are my questions, my unfinished thoughts. Thank you if you've read this far. I have a lot of words in me tonight.
Little Things of Happiness:
1. Leaf cyclones, and the wind. I smile at them all the time. The wind feels so playful in cold weather.
2. Red sprinkles on top of whipped cream and hot coffee. It's good for you.
3. Mornings. Once I am on my way toward living the day, I enjoy them very much. Before that, eh. Who likes that feeling, anyway?
This computer is hungry, and I'm headed for hot chocolate of some variety, I think, so I think I'll be done for now.
Sleep sweetly, world. Thank you, again, for looking in on my unfinishedness. Don't forget, you can always comment... :)
November is drawing me away from my running, busy, rush of a life and into her rainy cold arms. I go willingly. The thrilling blue that was the sky today is beautiful in so many ways, but it is the rain that makes me sigh.
Leaving work on Monday, the steeple of the church in Lawrenceville's downtown square was masked by the frigid mist. It looked absolutely like a photograph, and it won my heart. I want rain for days straight, until my fingers are wrinkled and my hair is curling with all the freezing cold wetness in the air. I crave more of those gray skies, with low mist engulfing all our buildings. We'll be walking in clouds, breathing white and swirling breaths in front of our faces; we'll be damp, cold, and rained on, but I will be so at home.
Because sometimes my heart just asks for rain, and will have no substitute.
In Georgia, this is a predicament for obvious reasons.
And so, when two days of bitter cold precipitation drifted down from the shrouded skies, I got a taste of what I didn't know I wanted. Now I want more.
Although, I will say,
today was glorious. November, altogether, is wonderful.
Now. I have a sentence or two to toss into the pile of inconclusive thoughts.
I have become so well-acquainted with this life I've been living since September. Within the first week of that month, I was officially taking all my classes and starting my new job, in addition to all the familiar things of church, family, dating, and friends. Suddenly, I was leaving my house at seven in the morning and getting home at eleven PM. I have wanted to fall apart more than once; everything changed so much, so fast, or so it felt. But I've kind of come to be on good terms with this busyness. I sleep enough, I eat enough, I don't cry alone in my car every day- I am alright. But somehow, as old questions find answers, my heart finds new questions.
I wonder if I have forgotten how to be still.
I've been home tonight with my family, just doing whatever. We ate and watched a movie, and I wandered up into the kitchen to do the dishes. Once that was done, I found myself pacing the hardwood floors, turning over possible to-do lists in my head. Homework was the obvious choice, but I wanted to let myself rest a little. I wobbled back and forth between "restful options" for like, ten minutes. Somehow, that didn't feel like relaxation. Somewhere in me, some little administrative assistant was chanting things about how I can't just go to sleep for eleven hours, and I shouldn't just eat dessert whenever I feel like it, and what's the point in taking a hot bath when I have so many things that I should be addressing, or doing, or solving? I bought new stationery, but I can't sit still enough to write on it. I have shelves of good books, but all my mind wants to talk about is how I should be doing something productive or "good for me."
Altogether, it is a very overwhelming chorus of seemingly well-meaning ideation experts who all seem to know exactly what I should and should not do.
I wonder, also, if I have forgotten how to seek community.
There is a line from an Azure Ray song appropriately entitled "November" that goes like this,
"I was afraid to be alone, but now I'm scared that's how I like to be."
I think that's how I feel sometimes. It's no good, my beloved audience, and do you know why? Because both ways, I end up filled with fear. I'm either "afraid to be alone," or "scared that's how I like to be."
But what if it is how I like to be? It's an intimidating thought, you know?
So many things press in on my heart and mind these days, and always. And I know it's not just me. I know that human experience is all at once both commoner and more diverse than we think. Because everyone has felt alone, or scared, or has loved the cold November rain- but not everyone finds the same answers at the ends of their questions. We connect, but we are not the same.
And so, these are my questions, my unfinished thoughts. Thank you if you've read this far. I have a lot of words in me tonight.
Little Things of Happiness:
1. Leaf cyclones, and the wind. I smile at them all the time. The wind feels so playful in cold weather.
2. Red sprinkles on top of whipped cream and hot coffee. It's good for you.
3. Mornings. Once I am on my way toward living the day, I enjoy them very much. Before that, eh. Who likes that feeling, anyway?
This computer is hungry, and I'm headed for hot chocolate of some variety, I think, so I think I'll be done for now.
Sleep sweetly, world. Thank you, again, for looking in on my unfinishedness. Don't forget, you can always comment... :)
11/22/07
follow your bliss.
I have to admit, I have been reluctant to show my face here.
Days pile on top of days piling on top of me and my words, and I get lost in the shuffle of it all. It is not a shimmery business, this writing thing. Sometimes it feels like owning a very personable animal. When you take it daily to walk with you, to experience the life that you experience, it is well-mannered and pleasureable. The silent conversations between the two of you will be easy and intrinsically understood. If, however, you stop having time for these walks and conversations, your playmate will become flighty and unpredictable. One moment, she's by your side, and, in the middle of a sentence, she'll suddenly be gone, as though she has decided not to exist. But while she's busy not-existing, you're on hands and knees at the scene of her immaterialization, frantically searching out the sidewalks for a trace of her.
She may or may not fly back to you.
Probably, if you wait, she'll come around in the end.
So, that, friends, is the precarious position in which I choose to place myself for the sake of words strung together on a computer screen.
Why?
I saw a movie tonight called August Rush.
I'm not even sure where to begin. So much of the story in this film echoes around in the spaces of my heart. Before it was even over, I trusted it to be one of my very favorite movies, second only to The Village. It was a fairytale, a true story and a love story. I can usually recognize a good movie by how involved I feel while I'm watching it. It is so rare to watch something and feel literally as though your insides are on the edges of their seats. It wasn't suspense, really, so much as it was just that I cared about what would happen to these people on the screen. So often, I'll realize somewhere halfway through the movie that I don't really care anymore. Who lives, who dies, who gets married, or who gets thrown into a pit of leeches- it all just feels meaningless. I'm not involved. But with a really good movie, I can feel the very center of me being all wound up and tangled with the concerns and causes of the characters on screen. It feels kind of like having your fists clenched, internally.
This is how I felt during August Rush. I want to explain why, but I really, really just want you to see it. It will hopefully make clear to you the feeling I'm talking about, while also answering the question I asked earlier- why on earth do I keep writing?
Why did my dad leave a well-paid job that he really liked to be a not-so-well-paid music minister at a church?
Why did my mom home school her three children when it would have made so much more sense not to?
Why do I believe so truly in a person I cannot see?
So. It's a beautiful movie. Go see it. And then report back to me with thoughts.
Other than this,
1. It's raining. I wish it would do so for fourteen days straight.
2. It's November. I can't believe how quickly time urges us forward. I wish it were colder. I love this month. I want to be married in a November.
3. I just wrote 4. instead of 3. I need sleeping. Much sleeping. Hooray for holidays! I still have to work on Saturday though. I'm a big fan of paychecks, though, so I'll refrain from my complaining.
4. Happy Thanksgiving. Not turkey-day. Some people eat ham. I am not one of them, but it's always prudent to remember the less fortunate.
5. Lalo is singing goodnight songs to me. He is saying, "Please, either talk to me or turn out the lights, babycakes. I can't be listening to you type all night long." Coincidentally, this song sounds quite similar to the, "Get up, dang it!" song, and also the "I'm in love with you! Forsake your boyfriend and fly away with me for all eternity!" song. He is a very expressive bird.
So, those are my words for tonight. Goodnight world. I wish for days when writing here will be weekly again, you know? I miss you all.
Days pile on top of days piling on top of me and my words, and I get lost in the shuffle of it all. It is not a shimmery business, this writing thing. Sometimes it feels like owning a very personable animal. When you take it daily to walk with you, to experience the life that you experience, it is well-mannered and pleasureable. The silent conversations between the two of you will be easy and intrinsically understood. If, however, you stop having time for these walks and conversations, your playmate will become flighty and unpredictable. One moment, she's by your side, and, in the middle of a sentence, she'll suddenly be gone, as though she has decided not to exist. But while she's busy not-existing, you're on hands and knees at the scene of her immaterialization, frantically searching out the sidewalks for a trace of her.
She may or may not fly back to you.
Probably, if you wait, she'll come around in the end.
So, that, friends, is the precarious position in which I choose to place myself for the sake of words strung together on a computer screen.
Why?
I saw a movie tonight called August Rush.
I'm not even sure where to begin. So much of the story in this film echoes around in the spaces of my heart. Before it was even over, I trusted it to be one of my very favorite movies, second only to The Village. It was a fairytale, a true story and a love story. I can usually recognize a good movie by how involved I feel while I'm watching it. It is so rare to watch something and feel literally as though your insides are on the edges of their seats. It wasn't suspense, really, so much as it was just that I cared about what would happen to these people on the screen. So often, I'll realize somewhere halfway through the movie that I don't really care anymore. Who lives, who dies, who gets married, or who gets thrown into a pit of leeches- it all just feels meaningless. I'm not involved. But with a really good movie, I can feel the very center of me being all wound up and tangled with the concerns and causes of the characters on screen. It feels kind of like having your fists clenched, internally.
This is how I felt during August Rush. I want to explain why, but I really, really just want you to see it. It will hopefully make clear to you the feeling I'm talking about, while also answering the question I asked earlier- why on earth do I keep writing?
Why did my dad leave a well-paid job that he really liked to be a not-so-well-paid music minister at a church?
Why did my mom home school her three children when it would have made so much more sense not to?
Why do I believe so truly in a person I cannot see?
So. It's a beautiful movie. Go see it. And then report back to me with thoughts.
Other than this,
1. It's raining. I wish it would do so for fourteen days straight.
2. It's November. I can't believe how quickly time urges us forward. I wish it were colder. I love this month. I want to be married in a November.
3. I just wrote 4. instead of 3. I need sleeping. Much sleeping. Hooray for holidays! I still have to work on Saturday though. I'm a big fan of paychecks, though, so I'll refrain from my complaining.
4. Happy Thanksgiving. Not turkey-day. Some people eat ham. I am not one of them, but it's always prudent to remember the less fortunate.
5. Lalo is singing goodnight songs to me. He is saying, "Please, either talk to me or turn out the lights, babycakes. I can't be listening to you type all night long." Coincidentally, this song sounds quite similar to the, "Get up, dang it!" song, and also the "I'm in love with you! Forsake your boyfriend and fly away with me for all eternity!" song. He is a very expressive bird.
So, those are my words for tonight. Goodnight world. I wish for days when writing here will be weekly again, you know? I miss you all.
10/23/07
hither and yon.
How do I begin?
Finally I am here again. It seems I always come back when I am too full to keep holding all my observations in just my heart's two hands. Actually, I think my heart may have far more hands than two. I plow through days and days of life-happenings without giving it a real chance to stop and sort through what it carries. That awkward conversation, this look in his eyes, and the homeless man on the street all stretch out open hands toward my heart like abandoned children- waiting for someone to do something about their existence. I get so filled over the span of my days, I lose count of the anythings and everythings that I'm supposed to be thinking about.
Erin sent me a message via myspace today, with pictures of us making memories before a Copeland show we went to back in 9th grade.
I smiled at first, and read past the pictures to the end of the message.
But then, I got stuck.
Scrolling back up, I let my eyes just sink into that photograph. I must've seen it fifty times before, but something about it landed right in the middle of me tonight. In the background, my daddy was playing acoustic guitar and singing the song he wrote for me when I was little. Just then, it was like my heart looked at all the many, many things in all her hands and shook her head sadly. Somewhere in me, I got caught between then and now. Who I have been and who I have become.
There is so much tension in this transition.
Because, I miss the girl who looks back at me from that picture. But I think I only miss her because I don't know how to live in the world I have stepped into. I walk through crowds of people whose faces are veiled and undisclosed to me, and I don't know how to meet their glance with mine. I go to malls alone and buy clothes alone and eat alone and walk through rainy, damp parking decks alone. Alone because there's no one else shopping at Lenox? I assure you, no. Alone in a crowd; we are alone together.
What is hard about this is not that I'm not always with someone. I can be perfectly happy on my own. It is a question of belonging, of having a place.
If only I had this worked out within myself. Then maybe I could make sense of it on your behalf. But it is so unclear and messy to me, so gritty and unrefined, that probably most of my thoughts on the subject will be the same.
Here is sort of how it feels,
You live in the same house for the first 10 years of your life. Then you move. A month later, you come back to see how the new owners have taken ahold of your old place. Within moments, you're in tears. Unbeknownst to your mental faculties, your heart is overwhelmed by the feelings of no longer knowing what wall your bed used to face because your room is now an office. Or of your closet being re-carpeted from where your dog once destroyed it. These are your memories; this was your place. Now, where can you stand? Even just sitting on these unfamiliar couches is strange- it is time to move on.
That feeling is, in addition to being inexplicable, very, very hard.
I think it's got something to do with growing up.
I know it does.
Anyway, it seems much of my thinking is melancholy these days. Sorry if this is less fun. (:
It would be no good if I didn't write from where I am.
In addition to this,
Things to Smile About:
1. Raspberry Milk is excellent. I tried it on a whim the other night. I made it myself using raspberry syrup. Definitely recommended.
2. New Dresses. I am going on a 5th-monthiversary/going away to BJYUK date this Friday and needed something snappy to wear. Dates are snappy events. So, I found the American Apparel store next to Lenox mall today and went bravely in to face the brazen advertisements in favor of a greater cause. After much deliberation and conversing with a very hairy young man, I emerged victorious. The brilliant thing about this dress is that you can wear it more than fifteen different ways. I've been wanting one since my lovely Ashley friend showed me the two she has. They are lifechanging. click here, ignore the sketchy models, and watch the video. AMAZING.
3. 5th-monthiversary dates. This gets its own smile. I'm happy.:)
4. Happy parents. This one I am adding in lieu of the fact that my mom just came chasing my dad up the stairs from the basement, exploding with laughter. A beautiful sound, and even more fun to watch.
Now, it is time to consider showering and sleeping.
Thank you for being here.
and p.s.:
good days. :)
10/9/07
though i feel alone.
Today has been so strange.
I have this ache in my heart that I cannot seem to make myself tumble through, or over, or around. You know what I mean? There are pains and bruises that you can make friends with, and live on the edges of, until they wane away. Not this one. This pain wraps itself around my heart like the rain on my windshield this afternoon; softly, at first, and then the bottom falls out. I left school today and drove to Five Guys and parked. I didn't want a hamburger. I didn't know what I wanted. In the background, Fernando Ortega quietly played. There is a line in one of his songs that goes, "And when I am alone, when I am alone, and when I am alone...Give me Jesus."
Something in me tripped and fell to the ground, and I began to cry. There, parked on the outskirts of the Atlanta perimeter, I couldn't help but feel so by myself. People walked by on the outside and didn't glance up to see the girl who was crying in the driver's seat of her Buick. I don't know what I wanted them to do, I guess. Half of me wished somebody would go in and buy my lunch, just to show that they had seen me.
Loneliness is just so unfamiliar to me.
My life has always been a veritable inundation of social opportunities. I'm not used to feeling alone in a crowd. It used to be such a breathe-again kind of feeling when I went places where no one knew me all that well. I could be just another face to pass on the sidewalk, or a casual-but-interesting first-meeting. It was a thrill to be able to isolate myself, if only for a little while.
Today did not feel this way. Today I longedfor something- I'm not sure what. A heart-stirring conversation with someone whom I could trust. A confident look in the eyes from a wide-open face. To cry with someone, and not alone in my car.
I'm not sure how to think about this.
Something in my heart feels amiss, and I don't know where to turn.
Maybe it's just for today.
Another thought.
It rained today. On my way in when I got home from school, I was loaded down with any-and-everything that had been lying around in the front seat of my car. In order to not have to make two trips through the wet, I had gathered up a hundred million pounds of books and sweaters and cups and whatever else I had brought with me this morning. As I stepped out into the downpour, I was a snowplow, a steam engine; I would not be stopped.
However.
I was.
A butterfly was perching on the side of one of the cars in our driveway, most likely trying to not get pelted in the storm. It occurred to me, for some reason, that it would probably not resist the idea of being re-located to just about anywhere. Offering my middle finger as a possible solution to the issue, I watched in complete captivation as he unhesitatingly accepted the offer.
So, for lack of any better idea as to what I'd do after having made this new friend, I tip-toed inside and set everything down on the counter to spend some time watching him open and close his wings. Eventually, after showing some family members and letting him climb up the bridge of my nose and into my hair, I watched him carry himself away. What a beautiful way to spend ten minutes of my day.
And it occurred to me.
God is like this.
You're plowing through your day, carrying everything you can possibly carry, and with plenty of things to do, but still, you see him. Like an open ended question, he's waiting in the rain. The holy spirit, when you stop to offer your hand, will lead you to somehow find yourself, all your burdens settled on some remote countertop, with you staring straight in the face of something beautiful. Spend time there, and when it is gone, the powder from its wings will still cover you.
Is this not the way he works?
Anyway.
I wonder if anyone still reads here...
I know I write so little these days.
Thank you to the ones who are still here.
I hope to see you soon.
I have this ache in my heart that I cannot seem to make myself tumble through, or over, or around. You know what I mean? There are pains and bruises that you can make friends with, and live on the edges of, until they wane away. Not this one. This pain wraps itself around my heart like the rain on my windshield this afternoon; softly, at first, and then the bottom falls out. I left school today and drove to Five Guys and parked. I didn't want a hamburger. I didn't know what I wanted. In the background, Fernando Ortega quietly played. There is a line in one of his songs that goes, "And when I am alone, when I am alone, and when I am alone...Give me Jesus."
Something in me tripped and fell to the ground, and I began to cry. There, parked on the outskirts of the Atlanta perimeter, I couldn't help but feel so by myself. People walked by on the outside and didn't glance up to see the girl who was crying in the driver's seat of her Buick. I don't know what I wanted them to do, I guess. Half of me wished somebody would go in and buy my lunch, just to show that they had seen me.
Loneliness is just so unfamiliar to me.
My life has always been a veritable inundation of social opportunities. I'm not used to feeling alone in a crowd. It used to be such a breathe-again kind of feeling when I went places where no one knew me all that well. I could be just another face to pass on the sidewalk, or a casual-but-interesting first-meeting. It was a thrill to be able to isolate myself, if only for a little while.
Today did not feel this way. Today I longedfor something- I'm not sure what. A heart-stirring conversation with someone whom I could trust. A confident look in the eyes from a wide-open face. To cry with someone, and not alone in my car.
I'm not sure how to think about this.
Something in my heart feels amiss, and I don't know where to turn.
Maybe it's just for today.
Another thought.
It rained today. On my way in when I got home from school, I was loaded down with any-and-everything that had been lying around in the front seat of my car. In order to not have to make two trips through the wet, I had gathered up a hundred million pounds of books and sweaters and cups and whatever else I had brought with me this morning. As I stepped out into the downpour, I was a snowplow, a steam engine; I would not be stopped.
However.
I was.
A butterfly was perching on the side of one of the cars in our driveway, most likely trying to not get pelted in the storm. It occurred to me, for some reason, that it would probably not resist the idea of being re-located to just about anywhere. Offering my middle finger as a possible solution to the issue, I watched in complete captivation as he unhesitatingly accepted the offer.
So, for lack of any better idea as to what I'd do after having made this new friend, I tip-toed inside and set everything down on the counter to spend some time watching him open and close his wings. Eventually, after showing some family members and letting him climb up the bridge of my nose and into my hair, I watched him carry himself away. What a beautiful way to spend ten minutes of my day.
And it occurred to me.
God is like this.
You're plowing through your day, carrying everything you can possibly carry, and with plenty of things to do, but still, you see him. Like an open ended question, he's waiting in the rain. The holy spirit, when you stop to offer your hand, will lead you to somehow find yourself, all your burdens settled on some remote countertop, with you staring straight in the face of something beautiful. Spend time there, and when it is gone, the powder from its wings will still cover you.
Is this not the way he works?
Anyway.
I wonder if anyone still reads here...
I know I write so little these days.
Thank you to the ones who are still here.
I hope to see you soon.
10/7/07
oh, inconsistent me.
I danced today.
One of my favorite parts of this whole experience was in coming out at the end on the first service to be greeted by my best friend. Now, Julisa is far from being what you could call a "physical" person. She doesn't give obtuse amounts of physical affection, to anyone. She sort of just...lets me hug her, on a regular basis. But when she found me in the church lobby this morning, after having seen me dance, she threw her arms around me and held on tight, exclaiming bright words about how wonderful I was. What I loved was how she said, "I was so happy for you. I know it's what you've always wanted to do."
In some pretty corner of my heart, I treasure the fact that she knows this about me. How many people in your life actually really know your story? I have this intricate and beautiful framework to how I have come to the place of being on the dance team, being a dancer, but really so few people have any idea that it exists. I'm okay with this. Not all stories are story-book stories, for all the world to greet. Some are stories to whisper backstage and behind closed doors, while eye-to-eye and in careful moments with the ones who know you best. I'm not even sure if I have explained the whole story to anyone completely, really. But Julisa has watched me decide, undecide,and re-decide to be on the dance team for years. Actually, she's probably relieved that the reign of uncertainty is coming to an end. Her knowledge of my backstory, and the fact that I trust her implicitly with such information, is what ribbons our hearts together so inseparably. We know each other.
Anyway. I just stumbled across those thoughts as I sat down to forge through the attic in my head, trying to sort out the unwrittenness of the last few weeks.
Which brings me to my next thought.
I'd like to publish the following message to the general public of people I love:
I know we need to hang out. I know I say that a lot. I miss you too. I still love you. Don't give up on me yet.
Okay. Now. If you've been trying to contact me at any point in time for like, say, the last month, this applies to you. Or if you just feel neglected and like I wouldn't even know your favorite color anymore if someone asked. I do. Try me. I'm just learning to live at a new speed of life.
I mean, honestly.
So much has changed. Example:
I used to go to bed between midnight and two AM, and get up between nine and eleven.
I now go to bed between ten-thirty and one AM, and get up between 5:45 and 7:30 AM.
I used to be out of my house for church, miscellaneous appointments, and hanging out on weekends.
I am now out of my house for an average of eight hours, often more than twelve, almost every day.
I used to babysit every now and then for cash.
I now work 24+ hours a week in a Customer Care office.
I used to drive a half-hour to church and back several times a week.
I now drive a half hour to church, 40 minutes to work, and an hour and 15 minutes to school, on various days of the week. Without traffic.
I used to have all the time in the world for schoolwork.
I now have whatever time is left over between working, driving, being at school, and church.
SO.
This is not to prove to you that my life is busier than yours. My life is actually prettyokay compared to like, most of the people I know. This is to show that the reason I have been buried beneath a fortress of busyness is because I have never done this before. I have never been a part of the college, corporate world. Traffic to me was what happened when someone got into a wreck. The eighty bucks a week I spend in gas would have been enough to last me a month in a previous life. It is all so utterly different from the "normal" colors of my world. I spend most of my time trying to understand the chemistry and paradoxical grind of "what I want to do" and "what I need/have to do." And yes, in the midst of all this, I really do miss the people that should be the loudest sounds in my life-symphony. But I am hoping above hope that there will be a way to keep at least a hand above water so I can hold on to them. I like the circumstances of my life. But I love the people in my life.
That said...
I should probably go do homework.
Maybe I will let myself sleep.
But I wanted to do this first.
Love to you all. Thank you for reading.
:)
One of my favorite parts of this whole experience was in coming out at the end on the first service to be greeted by my best friend. Now, Julisa is far from being what you could call a "physical" person. She doesn't give obtuse amounts of physical affection, to anyone. She sort of just...lets me hug her, on a regular basis. But when she found me in the church lobby this morning, after having seen me dance, she threw her arms around me and held on tight, exclaiming bright words about how wonderful I was. What I loved was how she said, "I was so happy for you. I know it's what you've always wanted to do."
In some pretty corner of my heart, I treasure the fact that she knows this about me. How many people in your life actually really know your story? I have this intricate and beautiful framework to how I have come to the place of being on the dance team, being a dancer, but really so few people have any idea that it exists. I'm okay with this. Not all stories are story-book stories, for all the world to greet. Some are stories to whisper backstage and behind closed doors, while eye-to-eye and in careful moments with the ones who know you best. I'm not even sure if I have explained the whole story to anyone completely, really. But Julisa has watched me decide, undecide,and re-decide to be on the dance team for years. Actually, she's probably relieved that the reign of uncertainty is coming to an end. Her knowledge of my backstory, and the fact that I trust her implicitly with such information, is what ribbons our hearts together so inseparably. We know each other.
Anyway. I just stumbled across those thoughts as I sat down to forge through the attic in my head, trying to sort out the unwrittenness of the last few weeks.
Which brings me to my next thought.
I'd like to publish the following message to the general public of people I love:
I know we need to hang out. I know I say that a lot. I miss you too. I still love you. Don't give up on me yet.
Okay. Now. If you've been trying to contact me at any point in time for like, say, the last month, this applies to you. Or if you just feel neglected and like I wouldn't even know your favorite color anymore if someone asked. I do. Try me. I'm just learning to live at a new speed of life.
I mean, honestly.
So much has changed. Example:
I used to go to bed between midnight and two AM, and get up between nine and eleven.
I now go to bed between ten-thirty and one AM, and get up between 5:45 and 7:30 AM.
I used to be out of my house for church, miscellaneous appointments, and hanging out on weekends.
I am now out of my house for an average of eight hours, often more than twelve, almost every day.
I used to babysit every now and then for cash.
I now work 24+ hours a week in a Customer Care office.
I used to drive a half-hour to church and back several times a week.
I now drive a half hour to church, 40 minutes to work, and an hour and 15 minutes to school, on various days of the week. Without traffic.
I used to have all the time in the world for schoolwork.
I now have whatever time is left over between working, driving, being at school, and church.
SO.
This is not to prove to you that my life is busier than yours. My life is actually prettyokay compared to like, most of the people I know. This is to show that the reason I have been buried beneath a fortress of busyness is because I have never done this before. I have never been a part of the college, corporate world. Traffic to me was what happened when someone got into a wreck. The eighty bucks a week I spend in gas would have been enough to last me a month in a previous life. It is all so utterly different from the "normal" colors of my world. I spend most of my time trying to understand the chemistry and paradoxical grind of "what I want to do" and "what I need/have to do." And yes, in the midst of all this, I really do miss the people that should be the loudest sounds in my life-symphony. But I am hoping above hope that there will be a way to keep at least a hand above water so I can hold on to them. I like the circumstances of my life. But I love the people in my life.
That said...
I should probably go do homework.
Maybe I will let myself sleep.
But I wanted to do this first.
Love to you all. Thank you for reading.
:)
9/26/07
weighted words.
I have a few things on my mind.
Mostly you could say they all come back to the general idea of first loves.
Which is unusual. Everybody knows how this works. Annie sits down to write with a hundred scattered-and-completely-unrelated ideas and considerations and somehow relays all-or-most of them within a 5-10 paragraph thoughtsplosion. Any method which could possibly be employed to line up aforementioned ideas in some kind of sensible outline (lists, bullets, numbering, etc.) is readily at hand. With reason in one hand and a fistful of tangled musings in the other, I usually just go at it.
And I guess you could pretty much expect the same this time around.
So, by "general idea" I think I really mean to say "I'm pretty much gonna still talk about whatever I want."
So. A list? Quite.
Thought 1: Cycles frustrate me. Actually, I am beginning to believe that cycles have frustrated everyone who has ever been caught in one. No one likes the "two steps forward, three steps back" feeling. If I ever found someone who did, he could have my share, and probably everyone else's, gratis. But the thing is, nobody wants that. Nobody wants to feel like they are caught by something from which they have no ability to free themselves. In particular, I am thinking of this as it pertains to me and music.
Always, it seems, someone is asking me, "Do you ever play (insert instrument name here) anymore?" To which I reply, "Not really, I just don't have any time."
Almost invariably, the reponse (uttered with either utmost fervency or relative passivity):
"Annie, you really shouldn't give that up."
Now, dear small audience, let me once and for all clarify the weight of the struggle which this interaction causes within me. Take my word, if anyone is aware of how much she "should" be playing her mandolin, violin, and piano, (preferably all at once and with great passion) it is I. However, I seem to be caught in a cycle which I have yet to conquer.
How do I push through the barriers and entrapments of my very busy life as a student, employee, daughter, friend, girlfriend, and God-chaser to find a releasing of my full musical abilities on the other side?
Or, perhaps the better question- would I even find such release if I tried with all my might?
Maybe.
Recently, I was told that there was still music inside me; an ability still lying partially dormant and unopened to the light of day. How do I respond to this?
I am thinking maybe the answer lies in first loves.
Did my heart first fall in love with the long, deep sounds of bow on string? Was I first captured by the weight of music beneath my fingertips?
Or did I tumble head over heels into a junkyard of sentences and pieces of my thoughts? Words, letters, punctuation- did they find me first?
Truthfully, I think yes. I played piano as a little girl and then stopped for several years, but I've been putting words together for what feels like my whole life. When I play piano, people smile and compliment me on the sounds of sixths and thirds laid out nicely beneath my fingers. But when I write...when I write, people can be filled with movement, laughter, hope, realization, understanding, peace- whatever. I know this is because the Spirit of God is my currency. His breath brings to life the jumbles of my heart that I put to page. Because of this, I don't want to ever stop writing. The presence of his words in mine is inspiring in and of itself.
But music. Music is...harder.
I am moved by music. I cry with it, dance with it, sometimes even laugh with it. But who in their right-brain hasn't done these things? The question is not "does music stir up passion in my heart?", the question is "is my heart made to make music?"
And honestly, I think yes.
I guess I am just wondering how to keep pushing. Perplexing, to say the least.
Anyway.
Thought 2: The ends of beginnings.
A melancholy thought, isn't it? You know what I'm talking about. It's that feeling you get after you paint the first few strokes onto the canvas. It's done; there's no going back. Cover it if you will, it will be there beneath the surface, still.
If I wasn't so abomidably sleepy, I would expound on this one. As it is, I can barely even spell expound.
Thought 3: Kings of Convenience = a first love. Perfect background music for any and all writing-type activities. Thoroughly recommended.
Now, despite the maelstrom of thoughts still leaping between the bunks in my heart's inner chambers, I've got to put myself to bed now.
Thank you for reading.
I know consistency is not my forte these days.
Nonetheless,
sleep sweet.
Mostly you could say they all come back to the general idea of first loves.
Which is unusual. Everybody knows how this works. Annie sits down to write with a hundred scattered-and-completely-unrelated ideas and considerations and somehow relays all-or-most of them within a 5-10 paragraph thoughtsplosion. Any method which could possibly be employed to line up aforementioned ideas in some kind of sensible outline (lists, bullets, numbering, etc.) is readily at hand. With reason in one hand and a fistful of tangled musings in the other, I usually just go at it.
And I guess you could pretty much expect the same this time around.
So, by "general idea" I think I really mean to say "I'm pretty much gonna still talk about whatever I want."
So. A list? Quite.
Thought 1: Cycles frustrate me. Actually, I am beginning to believe that cycles have frustrated everyone who has ever been caught in one. No one likes the "two steps forward, three steps back" feeling. If I ever found someone who did, he could have my share, and probably everyone else's, gratis. But the thing is, nobody wants that. Nobody wants to feel like they are caught by something from which they have no ability to free themselves. In particular, I am thinking of this as it pertains to me and music.
Always, it seems, someone is asking me, "Do you ever play (insert instrument name here) anymore?" To which I reply, "Not really, I just don't have any time."
Almost invariably, the reponse (uttered with either utmost fervency or relative passivity):
"Annie, you really shouldn't give that up."
Now, dear small audience, let me once and for all clarify the weight of the struggle which this interaction causes within me. Take my word, if anyone is aware of how much she "should" be playing her mandolin, violin, and piano, (preferably all at once and with great passion) it is I. However, I seem to be caught in a cycle which I have yet to conquer.
How do I push through the barriers and entrapments of my very busy life as a student, employee, daughter, friend, girlfriend, and God-chaser to find a releasing of my full musical abilities on the other side?
Or, perhaps the better question- would I even find such release if I tried with all my might?
Maybe.
Recently, I was told that there was still music inside me; an ability still lying partially dormant and unopened to the light of day. How do I respond to this?
I am thinking maybe the answer lies in first loves.
Did my heart first fall in love with the long, deep sounds of bow on string? Was I first captured by the weight of music beneath my fingertips?
Or did I tumble head over heels into a junkyard of sentences and pieces of my thoughts? Words, letters, punctuation- did they find me first?
Truthfully, I think yes. I played piano as a little girl and then stopped for several years, but I've been putting words together for what feels like my whole life. When I play piano, people smile and compliment me on the sounds of sixths and thirds laid out nicely beneath my fingers. But when I write...when I write, people can be filled with movement, laughter, hope, realization, understanding, peace- whatever. I know this is because the Spirit of God is my currency. His breath brings to life the jumbles of my heart that I put to page. Because of this, I don't want to ever stop writing. The presence of his words in mine is inspiring in and of itself.
But music. Music is...harder.
I am moved by music. I cry with it, dance with it, sometimes even laugh with it. But who in their right-brain hasn't done these things? The question is not "does music stir up passion in my heart?", the question is "is my heart made to make music?"
And honestly, I think yes.
I guess I am just wondering how to keep pushing. Perplexing, to say the least.
Anyway.
Thought 2: The ends of beginnings.
A melancholy thought, isn't it? You know what I'm talking about. It's that feeling you get after you paint the first few strokes onto the canvas. It's done; there's no going back. Cover it if you will, it will be there beneath the surface, still.
If I wasn't so abomidably sleepy, I would expound on this one. As it is, I can barely even spell expound.
Thought 3: Kings of Convenience = a first love. Perfect background music for any and all writing-type activities. Thoroughly recommended.
Now, despite the maelstrom of thoughts still leaping between the bunks in my heart's inner chambers, I've got to put myself to bed now.
Thank you for reading.
I know consistency is not my forte these days.
Nonetheless,
sleep sweet.
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