I sit here tonight with my glass of wine and my thoughts which are overwhelming my brain. All I can think of is loss. With each new tragedy in the news, it comes closer to hitting home. A recent tragedy has sparked the questions in my mind. I find myself close to this one as I know someone who is affected. It seems cliche, but the questions won't stop- Why? To what end? What is the reason? Where is the motivation? Why is violence ever an answer? Just. Why?
Tragedy and loss make it difficult to believe. To believe in a higher power, to believe in humanity, to believe that life is good. Innocence is gone in the snap of a finger, in the shot of a firearm, in the slice of a knife, in the threat behind a word. It can be hard to find one's way back, to find the light, to find life. How do we continue on? How do we restart when tragedy hits so hard?
I don't lose faith often, but now is one of those rare times that I have. When I see human life cut short, someone who has years to live, someone who has goals to accomplish, I can't figure it out. Why would God or a higher power or whatever you believe in condone this? Where is the greater good? Because I can't find it. I just can't.
I sit here listening to Sara Bareilles' track "Islands." She sings, "When will you realize / You must become an island." That is exactly how I feel. Like an island. You have to retreat into yourself to reflect on how you feel. And right now I feel confusion, I feel pain, I feel nothing. Tell me why tragedy exists. Please someone tell me the reason. Because I haven't been able to name one yet.
I realize this is far from the posts I usually write, far from inspirational; however, I believe that we are multidimensional. It's not all roses and buttercups, sometimes emotions are raw. Pain is very real, and I believe it is important to write, especially during times of disbelief. Life is messy, life is dirty, it's painful. These are the times in which we learn the most about ourselves. These are the moments that come around to help define us, to remind us of who we are, to remind us of why we're here, to remind of us of what we need to accomplish, to remind us that we are human.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Reminders of Love
I have been having one of my famous nostalgia-filled Saturdays in which I spent my morning cleaning, listening to The Fray, combing through old pictures from college, thinking about friendships that have come and gone. I am having a hard time coping with the present when the past seems so perfect. In reality, I know it never was. There were fights, break-ups, hurt feelings, breakdowns, moments I've buried, moments I couldn't bury if I tried. Once again, I come full circle in my preaching that everything happens for a reason.
I ask that you bear with me today as my thoughts are scattered, and I tend to jump from one to the other. I had a dream last night that scared me beyond belief. I lost a loved one and the dream was so real that I woke up stressed with an imminent migraine. The memory of that dream has followed me around the apartment, looming with its massively frightening face over the dishes I wash, over the clothes I fold, over the floor I sweep. I can't shake the nagging feeling that something bad is going to happen and I know it's silly, but I can't help it. I've always placed weight in my dreams because I know that my extremely emotional subconscious is relaying messages to me constantly, and I feel it is my duty to listen.
Despite the severity of my dream, it has been the catalyst for contact with those for whom I care a lot. I find myself sending text message to friends from college, calling loved ones, writing about them. It is never too late to reconnect with people, never too late to remind someone just how much you love him or her. I think we often take for granted that people know we are there for them. Sometimes it takes a single message or a quick phone call to remind another person that we care, that we are still there, that we have not forgotten. I have to remind myself of this as I get wrapped up in work and my own life. How much do I appreciate it when a friend I haven't heard from in months posts on my Facebook wall? How do I feel when a friend sends me a text just because? I love to receive, and I need to remind myself to give as well.
So take the time to let your loved ones know of your love. It shouldn't have to take a scary reminder, but sometimes it does. I am reminded of the "How I Met Your Mother" episode when Marshall loses his father. The gang spends the episode thinking of the last words they have said to their loved ones. Make your words count because they are appreciated often more than you know.
I ask that you bear with me today as my thoughts are scattered, and I tend to jump from one to the other. I had a dream last night that scared me beyond belief. I lost a loved one and the dream was so real that I woke up stressed with an imminent migraine. The memory of that dream has followed me around the apartment, looming with its massively frightening face over the dishes I wash, over the clothes I fold, over the floor I sweep. I can't shake the nagging feeling that something bad is going to happen and I know it's silly, but I can't help it. I've always placed weight in my dreams because I know that my extremely emotional subconscious is relaying messages to me constantly, and I feel it is my duty to listen.
Despite the severity of my dream, it has been the catalyst for contact with those for whom I care a lot. I find myself sending text message to friends from college, calling loved ones, writing about them. It is never too late to reconnect with people, never too late to remind someone just how much you love him or her. I think we often take for granted that people know we are there for them. Sometimes it takes a single message or a quick phone call to remind another person that we care, that we are still there, that we have not forgotten. I have to remind myself of this as I get wrapped up in work and my own life. How much do I appreciate it when a friend I haven't heard from in months posts on my Facebook wall? How do I feel when a friend sends me a text just because? I love to receive, and I need to remind myself to give as well.
So take the time to let your loved ones know of your love. It shouldn't have to take a scary reminder, but sometimes it does. I am reminded of the "How I Met Your Mother" episode when Marshall loses his father. The gang spends the episode thinking of the last words they have said to their loved ones. Make your words count because they are appreciated often more than you know.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Reality Check
Recently, I moved into a bigger apartment. I think my parents were more excited about this fact than either Dana or I because it means that they get to send me home with copious amounts of stuff every time I visit them. My boxes and bins stuffed to the brim with paperwork, college books, grade school projects and baby books all suffered suffocation in the backseat and trunk of my four door sedan as I trekked the three hours back to my apartment. I dreaded going through the boxes and organizing. I knew that I would most likely be storing it in my apartment and that it would sit just as it had for the past ten years.
I finally gathered up the stamina to tackle some of the boxes last weekend. I found a bin that has kept my memories since I was a baby. Each of my siblings and I have our own box dedicated to photographs, papers, projects, as well as anything and everything my parents found worth saving from our school days. I found class photos from middle school and even farther back, but I had to stop when I found one from fifth grade. I looked at all the faces and realized that I only knew where about a fourth of those kids, now grown adults, are now.
I couldn't seem to grasp the reality that is the present. One of the boys is now married and recently had his first child. One of the girls is still in my life and has been one of my best friends since we were eleven years old. Another guy died last fall in a tragic plane crash, while another girl is getting married on my birthday next spring and I will be attending her wedding. It is unreal that the years have passed and some of the students in that picture are here while some are no longer with us. I look back and think that none of us knew who would be married by twenty-five or who would no longer be featured in photographs anymore.
I wonder if any us are where we thought we would be now in the year 2013, a year that sounded so foreign in a millennium that didn't exist when we were in grade school. Time changes us. Life changes us. Our goals are different, our priorities become real, our lives mold into ones that we may or may not be proud of due to actions we have chosen and decisions we have made. It humbles me to think about how my life now is so far removed from how I imagined it to be when I was eleven. The real world is more vivid and alarming than I could have imagined, and I am still trying to discern daily whether that is a good thing or not.
I finally gathered up the stamina to tackle some of the boxes last weekend. I found a bin that has kept my memories since I was a baby. Each of my siblings and I have our own box dedicated to photographs, papers, projects, as well as anything and everything my parents found worth saving from our school days. I found class photos from middle school and even farther back, but I had to stop when I found one from fifth grade. I looked at all the faces and realized that I only knew where about a fourth of those kids, now grown adults, are now.
I couldn't seem to grasp the reality that is the present. One of the boys is now married and recently had his first child. One of the girls is still in my life and has been one of my best friends since we were eleven years old. Another guy died last fall in a tragic plane crash, while another girl is getting married on my birthday next spring and I will be attending her wedding. It is unreal that the years have passed and some of the students in that picture are here while some are no longer with us. I look back and think that none of us knew who would be married by twenty-five or who would no longer be featured in photographs anymore.
I wonder if any us are where we thought we would be now in the year 2013, a year that sounded so foreign in a millennium that didn't exist when we were in grade school. Time changes us. Life changes us. Our goals are different, our priorities become real, our lives mold into ones that we may or may not be proud of due to actions we have chosen and decisions we have made. It humbles me to think about how my life now is so far removed from how I imagined it to be when I was eleven. The real world is more vivid and alarming than I could have imagined, and I am still trying to discern daily whether that is a good thing or not.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
The Pursuit of Happiness
Over the weekend, something happened that I haven't been able to shake from memory. My boyfriend, Dana, and I were sitting on the couch watching television and playing on our phones. Dana decided to "Google" me as a result of a conversation we had been having at the time. The first thing that popped up when he used my full name was a woman who was a publisher, author and editor. He showed me the page from his phone. On the page, was a list of this woman's various accomplishments next to her smiling face and all I could think was, "That should be me."
I instantly started bawling and he felt awful for showing it to me. I assured him that I would be fine and stopped to realize just how intense my reaction was at this stranger's success. I realized in that moment that I still knew what I wanted out of life, the career I wanted to have, the merits with which I wanted to be credited, the biography in which I wanted to be featured. If I am getting this choked up over a random article on Google, then I am meant to do other things with my life.
I think we get so wrapped up in the way things are now that we fail to recognize our future is bound to be different than our present. I remind myself that just a year ago I was working part time at the bank, trying to make ends meet, worrying about finding a full time job and writing in my journal about my hopes to be working in the office where I am now. Life moves forward whether we want it to or not, and we have to decide in which direction we'd like it to go. I could have allowed it to flat-line, staying at the bank until the full time spot inevitably opened, going through the motions for years, numbing myself to a career in which I would never be fulfilled. But I didn't.
I allowed myself to take a step forward, accepting a new job that challenged me. I was scared when I started, even though it was what I had wanted. I wondered if I was stepping from something comfortable into a place where I'd be miserable, but I had to take the risk in order to know. Almost nine months later, I realize that it was the right decision. I may not be in this office or this career forever, but I'm in a better place now than I was in a year ago or even two years ago.
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned from my slight meltdown- continue to follow your ambitions. Your dreams are shouting at you, flashing in front of your face, and it's your job to decide whether to ignore or embrace them. I know that I can't let go of my desire to write. It may take me a while, but every job I take, every new friend I make, every experience I have is leading me to a better place. Every decision I make contributes to the person I am and strive to be.
I instantly started bawling and he felt awful for showing it to me. I assured him that I would be fine and stopped to realize just how intense my reaction was at this stranger's success. I realized in that moment that I still knew what I wanted out of life, the career I wanted to have, the merits with which I wanted to be credited, the biography in which I wanted to be featured. If I am getting this choked up over a random article on Google, then I am meant to do other things with my life.
I think we get so wrapped up in the way things are now that we fail to recognize our future is bound to be different than our present. I remind myself that just a year ago I was working part time at the bank, trying to make ends meet, worrying about finding a full time job and writing in my journal about my hopes to be working in the office where I am now. Life moves forward whether we want it to or not, and we have to decide in which direction we'd like it to go. I could have allowed it to flat-line, staying at the bank until the full time spot inevitably opened, going through the motions for years, numbing myself to a career in which I would never be fulfilled. But I didn't.
I allowed myself to take a step forward, accepting a new job that challenged me. I was scared when I started, even though it was what I had wanted. I wondered if I was stepping from something comfortable into a place where I'd be miserable, but I had to take the risk in order to know. Almost nine months later, I realize that it was the right decision. I may not be in this office or this career forever, but I'm in a better place now than I was in a year ago or even two years ago.
I suppose there is a lesson to be learned from my slight meltdown- continue to follow your ambitions. Your dreams are shouting at you, flashing in front of your face, and it's your job to decide whether to ignore or embrace them. I know that I can't let go of my desire to write. It may take me a while, but every job I take, every new friend I make, every experience I have is leading me to a better place. Every decision I make contributes to the person I am and strive to be.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Getting Back Into the Groove
Well, if it has not been apparent, I have been in a bit of a writing rut lately. It isn't necessarily from lack of things to say- I have a plethora of words, ideas, and memories floating around in my head at any given time. No, I have been ignoring my inner creative child, an action that was quite frowned upon in my creativity class. I was just writing in my neglected journal about class and how I missed composing every day. Writing a journal entry or "morning pages" was a requirement, yet it never seemed like a chore or a job. The assignment motivated me to channel my inner thoughts through ink to paper, and I beyond proud of the stacks of composition books lying in my closet. There is something about one's handwriting scrawled across pages and pages of paper that is indescribably rewarding.
However, I have let life take hold of me and ignored my inner voice. I have become so wrapped up in my job, my relationship, the relationships of others, that I have pushed the small voice in my head aside as it nags me to be heard on my daily commute. It is the moments in the car before the rush of the day that the dreams of the previous nights, the conversations I've had recently, even memories that I have buried, come creeping in to float around my consciousness. It is in that half hour commute that I give my thoughts free range along with my emotions. I let the past and the present and even my potential future collide in a thunderstorm of mixed emotions within the confines of my vehicle. My problem is I never allow them to escape that cabin.
On the way home, I grow increasingly weary from my day and brush aside my thoughts from the morning. I swat at the memories as they beg for my attention, brushing them aside when a song from the radio sparks a thought. Instead of going home and writing, as I should do, I drive home and lock my car, securing the words inside to suffocate in the rising summer heat until the next day. It is like that every day- wash, rinse, repeat. I can't claim to want to be a novelist, a blogger, a successful writer if I ignore all the senses that scream at me daily, begging for relief through words on a page.
As I sit in my kitchen, coffee in hand, silence surrounding me, I am giving into my creative child. It has been months since I have paid attention to this blog; my journal looks like a starving creature next to my plump notebooks of years past. There is so much changing, so much happening that I am missing, that I am failing to capture in words. I made a promise to myself that I would try to get back on track. I can not promise perfection, but I can promise to make a valiant attempt at getting back into the groove. I don't want to lose my drive, and I certainly don't want to lose focus on my writing. It is beyond imperative that I live up to the expectations I have set for myself, or else, what is the point?
However, I have let life take hold of me and ignored my inner voice. I have become so wrapped up in my job, my relationship, the relationships of others, that I have pushed the small voice in my head aside as it nags me to be heard on my daily commute. It is the moments in the car before the rush of the day that the dreams of the previous nights, the conversations I've had recently, even memories that I have buried, come creeping in to float around my consciousness. It is in that half hour commute that I give my thoughts free range along with my emotions. I let the past and the present and even my potential future collide in a thunderstorm of mixed emotions within the confines of my vehicle. My problem is I never allow them to escape that cabin.
On the way home, I grow increasingly weary from my day and brush aside my thoughts from the morning. I swat at the memories as they beg for my attention, brushing them aside when a song from the radio sparks a thought. Instead of going home and writing, as I should do, I drive home and lock my car, securing the words inside to suffocate in the rising summer heat until the next day. It is like that every day- wash, rinse, repeat. I can't claim to want to be a novelist, a blogger, a successful writer if I ignore all the senses that scream at me daily, begging for relief through words on a page.
As I sit in my kitchen, coffee in hand, silence surrounding me, I am giving into my creative child. It has been months since I have paid attention to this blog; my journal looks like a starving creature next to my plump notebooks of years past. There is so much changing, so much happening that I am missing, that I am failing to capture in words. I made a promise to myself that I would try to get back on track. I can not promise perfection, but I can promise to make a valiant attempt at getting back into the groove. I don't want to lose my drive, and I certainly don't want to lose focus on my writing. It is beyond imperative that I live up to the expectations I have set for myself, or else, what is the point?
Friday, April 26, 2013
Birthdays
I am up early inordinately early today after being unable to sleep well. There is something special about birthdays, something exciting about having one day all to yourself. Now I know this day belongs to countless others as well; people are not only celebrating birthdays, but anniversaries and other special occasions. However, my birthday has never ceased to thrill me. I still get excited to have a whole day where others acknowledge my existence and send well wishes. I still wake up early because I'm planning every minute of my day so it doesn't go to waste.
When I was younger, I'd want to open all my presents right away. I couldn't wait until my birthday dinner to be able to enjoy all of the great things I had received. Now, I take pleasure in waiting until the very last minute to open my gifts. I like going through my day knowing I still have cake to which I can look forward, dinner with friends, and gifts to end the night. You have one day that is all your own, and I have learned to savor mine.
As I think about today and my prior birthdays, I muse about how much can happen in the short span of a year. I still have the card from my grandmother on my dresser from last year; unfortunately, I won't be receiving one from her this year. Instead, I am surrounded by pictures of her and keepsakes I have been lucky enough to have. Last year, I was unemployed at this time and beginning to wonder if I would ever find a job. Now, I am in a job that I enjoy with people that are incredible, and I am lucky enough to call them my friends as well as coworkers. Last year, I was still getting used to the idea of living with my boyfriend and calling his apartment my home. This year, we have our own apartment and have been living together for over a year, in a relationship for three years.
I am incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many good people who define my life and nurture the person I have become and continue to be. Every year my birthday reminds me how many people care, how many people change my life every day, how many people respect and love who I am. I couldn't ask for any more than that.
So to all those who share this special day with me, I wish you a happy Friday/birthday/anniversary,etc.! I owe you all some posts and hope to be back on the writing train soon. Much love to all my readers today and every day.
When I was younger, I'd want to open all my presents right away. I couldn't wait until my birthday dinner to be able to enjoy all of the great things I had received. Now, I take pleasure in waiting until the very last minute to open my gifts. I like going through my day knowing I still have cake to which I can look forward, dinner with friends, and gifts to end the night. You have one day that is all your own, and I have learned to savor mine.
As I think about today and my prior birthdays, I muse about how much can happen in the short span of a year. I still have the card from my grandmother on my dresser from last year; unfortunately, I won't be receiving one from her this year. Instead, I am surrounded by pictures of her and keepsakes I have been lucky enough to have. Last year, I was unemployed at this time and beginning to wonder if I would ever find a job. Now, I am in a job that I enjoy with people that are incredible, and I am lucky enough to call them my friends as well as coworkers. Last year, I was still getting used to the idea of living with my boyfriend and calling his apartment my home. This year, we have our own apartment and have been living together for over a year, in a relationship for three years.
I am incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many good people who define my life and nurture the person I have become and continue to be. Every year my birthday reminds me how many people care, how many people change my life every day, how many people respect and love who I am. I couldn't ask for any more than that.
So to all those who share this special day with me, I wish you a happy Friday/birthday/anniversary,etc.! I owe you all some posts and hope to be back on the writing train soon. Much love to all my readers today and every day.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Find Your Passion and Thrive
As a resolution to myself (even though I said I wouldn't be making resolutions this year), I took a pledge, along with my coworkers, to be healthier. I joined a gym at the end of January and have been taking several zumba classes a week along with walking/jogging on the treadmill. As a step out of my comfort zone, I have taken a weight lifting class as well, but it is zumba that has become my savior. I was taking zumba before I moved here, but had stopped as I knew no one in the area and was not committed to joining a gym at the time. In the past two months, I feel better than I have in the past year.
I am taking these classes because dancing is something that makes me happy. I don't claim to be good at it, but I would say I'm decent, and I enjoy it. I also enjoy the companionship and camaraderie that goes along with it. A whole bunch of strangers are thrown into a room together with great music, and we just dance for an hour. Everyone is silly and individual personalities are encouraged to shine.
While our classes are mostly filled with females, every once in a while we get a male who decides to take the class and the instructors literally rejoice. I've seen three different men attend a class since I have been going, but one is by far my favorite. He is an elderly gentleman, and while I do not know his name, I do know that he has a great time. While the rest of us are booty shaking to "Sexy and I Know It," I watch him swaying back and forth, light on his feet, dancing to the music in his head. At one point during Katy Perry's "California Gurls," he catches my eye as he spins around in a circle opposite from the rest of us. He grins from ear to ear, shakes his head back and forth, and continues to dance towards the front.
Another woman I have taken quite a liking to is an elderly woman who always dances near me in the back. One Saturday morning, my coworker and I were forced to stand near the front due to the sheer number of people attending class. Afterwards, the woman comes up to me and asks, "Where were you?" I shook my head confused and she explained, "You're always in the back near me. I always follow you because you know all the steps." I had never spoken to her before that. This morning she came up to me and said, "Good, you're back where you belong," as I purposely headed for the back of the classroom near her. It is instances like that which make me smile and dance with passion despite how I may look compared to others.
My point is not to write a thousand words as a zumba advocate, but to advise all you readers to find something about which you are passionate. For me it has begun dancing, along with writing. You have to take the time to honor that which makes you happy, those activities that make you different. Emphasize the qualities that make you unique, that make you you in spite of what you look like or how you might do compared to others. Never compare yourself to others and never doubt yourself. If it makes you happy then do it. If others say you are foolish, just let them talk. At least you know you are nurturing your creativity. At least you can say you are thriving.
I am taking these classes because dancing is something that makes me happy. I don't claim to be good at it, but I would say I'm decent, and I enjoy it. I also enjoy the companionship and camaraderie that goes along with it. A whole bunch of strangers are thrown into a room together with great music, and we just dance for an hour. Everyone is silly and individual personalities are encouraged to shine.
While our classes are mostly filled with females, every once in a while we get a male who decides to take the class and the instructors literally rejoice. I've seen three different men attend a class since I have been going, but one is by far my favorite. He is an elderly gentleman, and while I do not know his name, I do know that he has a great time. While the rest of us are booty shaking to "Sexy and I Know It," I watch him swaying back and forth, light on his feet, dancing to the music in his head. At one point during Katy Perry's "California Gurls," he catches my eye as he spins around in a circle opposite from the rest of us. He grins from ear to ear, shakes his head back and forth, and continues to dance towards the front.
Another woman I have taken quite a liking to is an elderly woman who always dances near me in the back. One Saturday morning, my coworker and I were forced to stand near the front due to the sheer number of people attending class. Afterwards, the woman comes up to me and asks, "Where were you?" I shook my head confused and she explained, "You're always in the back near me. I always follow you because you know all the steps." I had never spoken to her before that. This morning she came up to me and said, "Good, you're back where you belong," as I purposely headed for the back of the classroom near her. It is instances like that which make me smile and dance with passion despite how I may look compared to others.
My point is not to write a thousand words as a zumba advocate, but to advise all you readers to find something about which you are passionate. For me it has begun dancing, along with writing. You have to take the time to honor that which makes you happy, those activities that make you different. Emphasize the qualities that make you unique, that make you you in spite of what you look like or how you might do compared to others. Never compare yourself to others and never doubt yourself. If it makes you happy then do it. If others say you are foolish, just let them talk. At least you know you are nurturing your creativity. At least you can say you are thriving.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)