East of Eden

East of Eden [living]: I'm a sad, sad girl

2011-06-25T11:44:00.000-07:00

East of Eden [living]: I'm a sad, sad girl

New blog

2009-03-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

I have a new blog. The decision was forged because I wanted to start over. I am in the process of gathering my thoughts, though. The new blog may become a photography blog, with this blog serving as my "writing" blog. Stay tuned and I'll let you know! For now, here's the new address: koreyo.blogspot.com.:)

Regaining a sense of self

2009-01-26T11:15:00.001-08:00

There are things about me that I feel define me as a person. If you ask anyone who knows me, they would agree. If you looked around my house and in my closet, you'd also realize that there are things about me that define me. One of these things is the constant presence of books. I always have stacks of them on every open surface, waiting for me to continue reading them. For a while, I felt as though I had lost that side of me. I hadn't been reading very much, and I certainly hadn't been writing. I didn't think there was coincidence involved there. Lately, my favourite (yes, I am allowed to use UK spelling) hobby has returned, with a vengeance. Once again, my constant companion is a book. I take one with me each morning, in case my day involves any sort of unfilled time in which a book could be read, I take a book with me when I blow dry my hair, read during any solitary meals, keep it at my bedside in case I have a free half hour in the morning... you get the picture.

This Sunday, I woke up on my own schedule. I grabbed my latest obsession from the nightstand and read in bed. My ABSOLUTE favorite thing to do. I was on cloud nine. Nothing could spoil the perfection of that day. Not even when I switched to clip-in pedals on my bike and fell over in an empty parking lot within 30 seconds of trying them. 30 seconds. Not even when, in the midst of the family dinner I prepared at my house complete with home made onion rings, I realized I didn't have any ketchup, and my brother and dad threatened to leave. Oh no, pure bliss.

I feel as though I have reunited with an old friend. That beautiful, sunshiny feeling of relating to someone who you love so much. That person, who I had missed dearly, was me. Me - books = not me. I know that I just said I loved myself, and I'm not going to try and explain that one away. We should all love ourselves. I love the bookishness about me, because it's just who I am. And that is a beautiful thing.

What I miss the most

2009-01-20T15:22:00.000-08:00

Sometimes being away lets you know how what you miss from home. My latest adventure in NYC was no different. It was an overwhelming mix of emotion and over stimulation of the senses. I'm sure I don't have to describe NYC. Suffice to say it's loud, busy, tall, colorful, smelly, fun, beautiful, scary, and inspirational, all rolled into one. I can tell you that my trip there was incredibly cold. I think it was the coldest weekend in the history of New York, ever. My face stung, my teeth hurt, my fingers burned, my hips ached. It was also emotional for me, and my exploration of the newest place my relationship with my best friend has taken us.

I haven't come up with a conclusion for this yet. Unlike the stories I write, there isn't going to be an ending on this post, there isn't an apparent conclusion at all. I have to think it through. I can react to the five days I spent there in different ways. I am grateful for the experiences I had, no matter what, whether they were positive or negative. I feel a shift occurring in my life. It's not that I fell in love with NYC and want to move there, discovering that I am unhappy in suburbia. I am not pondering a career or marriage change. I have just sensed an almost imperceptible shift in my life, thanks to this trip, and it's something I need to explore.

Ball and chain, on a pedestal

2009-01-07T14:37:00.001-08:00

Two expressions, two ways of describing the male-female relationship, specifically in marriage. I don't like either.

The ball and chain is a horrible expression. Typically the wife is referred to as "the old ball and chain" as though she drags behind the husband, holding him back from where he wants to be. Ladies, we can also feel the pull of the ball and chain, so I would not restrict this one to the wives. I have thought of my relationship as a hindrance before. I've wondered if being married would hold me back from some greater purpose. But the truth is, being married, and being in a relationship in general, has actually lifted me in ways I could not have imagined.

I see my purpose and my goals through him, and our life together. It's an entirely new way of thinking. I see us as this team. We are not "one," but rather two individuals working toward a common purpose. Our goals and fears are aligned, and our separate talents and strengths help us to achieve our goals and defeat our fears.

Before I get carried away describing a marriage as teamwork, I must tell you that this "alignment of minds" has not, in any way, helped us play as a team in Pictionary. We still prefer to be on opposite teams. :)

Next we have the pedestal. It's a place many women would like to visit, and most of them who want to visit really love it, and want to move there. I am not one of those women. To quote Counting Crows, "you put your girl up on a pedestal, and wait for her to fall."

The pedestal idea, like the ball and chain, is another unequal and negative correlation. No one wants to be the ball and chain, and no one wants to be "off the pedestal." To be adored: it sounds fun and flattering, but it gets lonely up on that pedestal. You will crave an equal. Also, thanks to the Counting Crows, there is the reality of being held to too high a standard and disappointing the other. What you want is someone that sees and appreciates you for who you are. He or she does not feel held back by your presence or existence, nor does he or she feel worshipped and alone, held to impossibly high standards and about to fall from your good graces.

In reading The Shack, God discusses the relationships, modeled after His own with Jesus and Sarayu (the Holy Ghost), that He wants humans to emulate. It echoes none of the sexism that I find in the creation story: "Eve was created from man, she was second, she was created to serve man, she was created to keep him company..." Rather, God stresses the importance of equality and a complete lack of hierarchy. There is no hierarchy in a true relationship, only equal love and admiration.

You may be told at some point that it is always better when one person loves the other more. I have thought about this often. I can see it in other relationships, and I can see that it appears to work, but I promise you that it does not. It is cold in the shadow of another, and lonely on that pedestal. One person should not be "better" than the other. You should both have attractive strengths that balance and even out the relationship. Also, neither of you should be "boss." I know most feminists would agree with me, but this applies to men as well. You should never be subservient with your partner; that is not a "real" relationship.

Something to think about...

Marriage: The Series

2009-01-07T14:34:00.000-08:00

I have decided to write a series on marriage, as I navigate the waters...

I am going to try and write at least one entry a week on a new, but related, topic. Hopefully these posts will be helpful to anyone who needs advice, or wonders, or is just interested. I also hope to make some sense out of this journey, and to complile my thoughts in a way that will help me measure our progress.

Marriage is

2008-12-22T12:22:00.001-08:00

Marriage has been surprising.

It has been surprisingly wonderful and surprisingly difficult. Everyone tells you that it is hard, and it is. It is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I truly believe that each day that passes is a great accomplishment. It is a choice that you make--first in front of your fiance', and then your family and friends, and then, each and every day, without fanfare, with yourself. There are so many wonderful things about sharing a life with another, but there are a million, unpredictable little things that can go wrong. I wonder how marriages survive infidelity or the death of children, when at times it seems mine will not survive the "leftover wars" or a discussion of who will clean the kitchen.

Of course I'm being dramatic; we are not, and have not deliberated whether or not our marriage will last, because that is not an option for us. But truly, each day is a choice. Not just choosing to be married, but choosing to be a good spouse, and choosing to accept the other for who he or she is, truly. Within each day are countless choices to be made over the little things, from deciding whether or not to be mad over the annoying things that person does, deciding whether or not to be positive and supportive, choosing whether or not to do the hard thing and talk about what is wrong.

I promise you, dear readers, that talking is the best option. In a marriage, the one thing you can count on is that the other loves you. Your spouse chose you, and continues to choose you, and in talking through your problems you will probably be reminded of why you both bothered to choose each other anyway. Because you're in love, and when you are, there is no other choice.

Legacy

2008-12-18T15:51:00.000-08:00

I have been asked to write many things in my life.
Recommendation letters.
Resumes.
Poetry.
Research papers.
Project descriptions.
Complaint letters.
Personal statements.

But never a eulogy.
I'm not sure I'd even really heard a proper eulogy. When my grandmother asked me to write a eulogy for my grandfather, the brave facade I had kept up in her presence came tumbling down. Little did I know that in 24 hours I would be at his bedside, and he would be soon to leave this world. When she asked me, I was taken aback. I was sidelined. I certainly hadn't thought his cancer had gotten that bad. I thought I had time. I had bought him a Christmas present.

I was silent.
She asked, "Korey, will you? Will you write something? You don't have to."

"I will" I replied, "but I don't want to have to" I said, and I broke down. I sobbed. And the next day I drove to their house nervously, wondering what I would see when I got there. 48 hours later, in my living room with its bare Christmas tree (there was no joy in this house) and my dog, and my sweats, I sat down with my laptop and started to write. I made an outline. Yes, an outline. Because I am, and will always be, an English major. I wrote. The words came easily, and I cried as I went along, happy to cry, because I was alone, and because I thought that writing out these feelings and crying over them might cauterize them, and allow me to mourn each thought and then let it go.

When the day came, I had read this eulogy many times, until it no longer made me cry and I could speak it clearly. I dressed in black, and drove to the cemetery, and I smiled. The day was turning out beautifully and I was happy for that. When the reverend asked me up to the podium, I lost it. The little girl inside me screamed, "I don't want to! I don't want this to be happening!" but the grown up cleared her throat and told herself that no amount of screaming would help, he was gone, and I was eulogizing him.

What an honor. What a privilege. What a responsibility.

I hope I did him justice.

Rest in peace, Len.

What Sarah Said

2008-12-03T00:15:00.001-08:00

I have yet to let this sink in and to compose my thoughts, but I had to write.

Tonight I said goodbye to my grandfather. We cut his Livestrong t-shirt in half down the back and placed it on his thin arms and over his bony shoulders in the hospital bed in his living room. As the scissors sliced through the bright yellow fabric, I knew there was no going back.

My grandmother wanted him in blue, to match his eyes. But she planned on putting him in the Livestrong shirt when it came to be the end, and so it did, and so we did.

I held his hand, and I prayed over him, through my tears, sobbing all the while. The only words that escaped my lips were prayers of thanks.

"Thank you, Lord, for giving us Len. Thank you for letting us be a part of his life. Thank you for sending him to my grandmother, and for the wonderful times they had. Thank you for sending me this man who loved me, even though he didn't have to. Thank you for letting his family share him with us so openly. Thank you for allowing us the honor of being at his bedside at this precious moment."

I cried for hours, until my ears were bleary and my throat raw. I cried noisily over a little blue book called "And then you were gone" telling us the signs of impending death, and ending with a poem, of death, and its being like a ship, which is sailing away from you, and then it is gone. But the ship is still somewhere, just not with you, and someone waits for it with open arms on the other end.

My head aches, and my heart hurts, and I am getting into the bath that awaits me. It is after midnight, and the day of my grandfather's death is done. But the pain is only beginning.

I drove home listening to "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab, for these words, which had been ringing in my ears all day: "Love is watching someone die."

Something beautiful

2008-11-25T11:30:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to share something that I thought was beautiful.

Last night, my grandma and my mom left the hospital to change and get some dinner after putting my grandpa to bed. They washed his face and hands and helped him into his pajamas, and then they watched as he fell asleep and they left. My grandma got a phone call shortly afterward from my grandpa's daughter, asking if his ex-wife could visit. Len, my grandfather, was married to his ex-wife for twenty years.
"Of course" my grandmother answered, and after hanging up the phone she turned to my mother.
"You know, she probably thinks I got the short end of the stick, but I feel bad for her."
"Why?" my mother asked, as would I, thinking of the twenty years his previous wife had, and the meager nine my grandmother has had with him, with four and a half of those spent caring for him as a cancer patient.
"Because I got to spend his final years with him."

She got his final, precious moments, and as sad as it will be to say goodbye, she will have the honor of having held his hand.

Am I broken?

2008-11-19T11:01:00.000-08:00

Are we ever whole?

We, as a mass, us humans, with our weak bodies, but bodies capable of healing, do we have minds that heal? Can we ever heal our souls? Are we, once broken, never whole?

I am finding it difficult to sit here today, pretending as though the project I work on is the center of my existence. It is not. I have so much more I could be doing, so much more that matters. Sometimes you are so clearly called away, the sound is deafening. And yet, my responsibility to this place keeps me in my chair. I must work. I must get a check. I must go on. But today, oh just today, why must I be here? My family needs me.

Is it coincidental that as our country falls to pieces, so do all of our lives? Or is it this time in my life? Should I expect that, due to my age, it is inevitable that the people I love will start to grow frail, and that there will come a day when I am told their journey has come to and end? Should I have seen it coming? Probably. But did I? No. I hear the words "hospice" and "little time" and I think "when did we get to this point?" Where was I? Did I miss it? Was I not paying attention?

Now I sit here, trying to focus on the In Design formatting on my desktop and the stacks of phone calls I need to make, and the projects that must be found and written about, and yet I can barely see the monitor through my tears.

And I just don't care. There are some things more important, more sacred than this. I know that.

East of Eden

2008-11-17T11:10:00.000-08:00

It has been suggested that I blog about the reason for my title, and so I shall.

East of Eden is, first and foremost-easily-recognizably my favorite novel. If you would like my reasons why, you'll have to ask (set aside some time).

I also chose it for a far more complicated reason. In my worldview, which is specific to my life experiences and point of view, East of Eden symbolizes my position in life right now.

My point of view was forever changed in one semester during which I took an entire class on Paradise Lost by John Milton, in its original language. I deciphered it, with increasing speed as I went along (the initial pages were incredibly laborious, and I had been known to spend over an hour on one page). The masterpiece is the story of the fall of man, but it is told in a way that is incredibly groundbreaking to have been written when it was (1667 to be exact). John Milton wrote the story beginning with the angels being cast from Heaven and falling into Hell, and his perspective, as all of ours are, was deeply tinged with his own life experiences. Having recently been jailed for his association with Oliver Cromwell, Milton wrote from the confines of a prison, while his own prison walls began to close in on him, as he was becoming blind. In addition, his disappointment at having backed a regime or movement that was overthrown and dismissed colors the travails of the outcast angels fighting to make a place for themselves in a Heaven that they thought was unfair. Satan is the hero in this epic poem, and Milton associates with him more than he does any other character. Milton's view is that free will and the will of God at times contradict one another, and conflicts arise.

Reading this poem is no less than a profoundly impacting life experience. I cried, I laughed, I felt lost and I experienced triumph unlike any I'd every known. It has colored my experiences ever since, and enhanced my reading of East of Eden as well.

The experience of living East of Eden, in my mind, is similar to the experience that Milton's Satan had living right outside of the Garden of Eden, looking in on Paradise and having not a single hope of experiencing happiness there. While that may some sad, Eden was not to last, and the happiness experienced there only soiled Adam and Eve's perception of "real" life, a life in which they now have free will, but heartache and pain. Thus, the dichotomy between free will and paradise. You cannot have both. You must choose.

I could argue that Satan was better off outside of the garden because, aside from his longing for something he would never possess (at least not in happiness) he could see beauty, and he knew it. In our post-lapsarian world, we will never experience Paradise on Earth, but understanding what it could be and knowing that it exists allows us to always strive for more, better, fulfillment and experiences. It is hope, while at the same time, being realistic to the knowledge that what you hope for will never be fully attained. This may seem to be a contradiction, but if I can explain it correctly, it is precisely the intersect of optimism and pragmatism.

What you really strive for is not perfection, or perfect beauty, or perfect happiness, because there is no such thing. You strive to be closer, and to live in the glow of such things.

I think that is we could all be content to live in the glow of perfection, we may breathe easier. On the other hand, I describe myself as on the brink of perfection because there are certainly times when I am the outsider, staring in longingly and wanting paradise so badly. I need to learn to be content in the glow, to be content at my place in the world, East of Eden.

Yes,

2008-11-05T16:44:00.001-08:00

I calmed down.

Thanks for asking.

;)

Come on, America

2008-11-05T09:46:00.000-08:00

My forebears fought. They fought tirelessly for me to have certain rights which, by the way, were labeled as "unalienable" in our own U.S. Constitution. And yet here we are, undermining them with decisions that move us not in a direction of positive change and supporting the document that this (once great?) nation was founded on, but in the opposite direction, toward all that we despise. Have we gone this far to REMOVE rights from taxpayers? Have we come so far to encourage MORE GOVERNMENT INVOLVEMENT in our everyday lives? Do we really want to INCREASE NATIONAL AND STATE DEBT? Can you sleep at night knowing that you have RIGHTS which other AMERICAN CITIZEN DO NOT?

I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.

How many women had to be beaten and bruised, tortured and STARVED for our right to vote? And yet, many of us decided not to use that yesterday. How many couples, forced to live in silence because their love, which crossed race lines, was ILLEGAL? How many women, victims of rape or incest, had to resort to DISGUSTING and UNHEALTHY practices to abort the babies they could not bear had to DIE before we passed Roe Vs. Wade and HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO CHALLENGE IT? More importantly, you religious conservatives, where were you to help SCARED YOUNG WOMEN and try to save their lives, rather than bombing clinics, threatening, harassing, and brutalizing employees, and protesting things which, by the way, are not even legal? WHAT DO YOU CARE MORE ABOUT? Being right? Forcing your Bible down the collective throat of this nation? Or the well-being, health and safety of its citizens?

We fought for equal rights, and I was raised to believe that we are constantly moving toward them, but today, TODAY I DOUBT THAT. Today I have nothing but fear and doubt for the well-being of this nation. We are sick.

I don't believe that abortion is morally "right." I do believe in extenuating circumstances, but in my life, I make choices for myself, and I would not choose to have an abortion. BUT DO I GET TO DECIDE FOR OTHERS? Is an abortion ban upholding the greater good?

I am not a gay American, but does it hurt or even AFFECT me that some Americans are? Is it my place to tell these AMERICAN CITIZENS that they are not WORTHY of the rights I have? Is it my place to prevent them from collecting the estate of the person they have CHOSEN to commit their lives to? And in our fractured times, when the divorce rate soars and it seems all around us that marriage is broken, society is seen accepting children born out of wedlock and the dissoltution of vows and dreams, WHO ARE WE TO PREVENT LOVING COUPLES FROM CEMENTING THEIR LOVE in a way that straight Americans enjoy? Is it a big deal? Well marriage was a big enough deal to me that I went throught it. Isn't A CIVIL UNION ENOUGH? Is it for you? It's NOT for me. Next time you drive across the state line into Nevada, imagine that you were no longer married. Flying to D.C.? Well I hope your plane doesn't crash along the way, because your marriage isn't recognized. You have NOTHING.

So maybe I "chose" not to be gay, or maybe I was not born gay, either way, I am not. And because I am not, I suppose I do not honestly know whether or not homosexuality is a life choice. But I can think of HUNDREDS of other life choices that I do not agree with, and NONE OF THEM ARE PREVENTED BY LAW. None of them.

Could we have spent 63 Million Dollars elsewhere? Stopping other "sins" like RAPE, MURDER, ROBBERY, ADULTERY...the coveting of our neighbor? Sins that actually hurt Americans? Gay marriage is a VICTIMLESS CRIME, and if you wasted your time voting against it, congratualtions, you're un-American and a bigot. Have a nice day.

Why I try

2008-11-03T15:49:00.000-08:00

I wrote in my last entry about my frustration with writing and the disconnect I felt to myself, and this was the response I received:

"now ...believe. believe that you were created to write. believe that the world needs you to create art through words. and then move forward. move forward in this understanding of who you ARE, not who you have been since denying your love for reading and writing. because really, korey, we're all afraid of pursuing the passions that reside deep within the darkest corners of our souls. they're daunting. seemingly too irresponsible and frivolous. but that's who you were. who you are moving towards, is a person that believes these are the very things that will change the course of humanity. we need you to do what you love. i'm with josh. let me know how i can help."

She also quoted from The Alchemist: "people are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they dont deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them."

Was that written for me?

Now I sit here, sifting through reasons why and why not.

It may be true that most of my last novel is now missing--somehow misplaced on a flash drive I cannot locate. The previous novel, well I have re-written the ending five times and never liked it. I don't have much time. There is laundary to do. I have been working a lot...

I used to have days where words just came to me, and I'd sit down wherever I was and jot them down furiously. These days, I feel lucky to remember what I want to write on my grocery list. And so, I will leave you with this: while I gather the strength to try to succeed, and weather whatever response comes of that trying, I ask that you ruminate on this today:

Sometimes you just might get what you need. Now, you can call them what you want (coincedences, good luck, what have you), but I call them angels. I don't visualize feathered beings who travel the world with harps or in old-fashioned nightgowns, waiting to save George Bailey. I see them as God's way of communicating with us in a way that we will be receptive of. For you, a burning bush might totally rock your world, but it wouldn't do it for me (I'd just call 911). My angel was in the form of my friend, Krysta. She showed me, even across the digital connections of two computers, that God's love, promise and hope can transcend all else. She also encouraged me to see my doubts as a challenge that should only increase my willingness to perservere.

She reminded me that we are so lucky, and blessed, that we are fortunate beyond belief. This alone should incite confidence in me. She says: "we still have more solutions and more hope and more potential to see the light at the end of the tunnel than majority of humanity. why?" Because we believe in something bigger than all else.

It's been described to me as the centerpiece of Christian faith. The idea that in our darkest times God can bring light. That when we despair, we must remember to hope, and to have faith. There are times when He delivers, and we must never forget.

I find that I can see this more easily in the lives of others. In particular, Krysta, who is so amazingly talented and confident, she's like my dream alter-ego on steroids. To hear that even she fears...it takes my breath. Earlier this year, I was gifted with Lisa, an incredible friend who continues to amaze me with kindness that knows no depths. If she were the poster child for Christianity, everyone would be lining up for conversion. If Christ is the reason for the light she has inside of her, everyone would want it. Recently she has fallen upon dark times, and my heart goes out to her. Of course, when I look at her, I see something very different from what she must see. I see purity of soul, potential, strength, wisdom, and generosity. I see a person that no one could help but love and a person who could accomplish absolutely anything. These are the thoughts that we should be able to turn inward, and imbue our lives with an increased confidence and vigor.

How do we do this? Does it begin with my expression of these strengths in others, to teach them what they have and what they are capable of? Is that my calling? Or must we find it for ourselves?

Life is not perfect

2008-10-30T15:02:00.001-07:00

...but there is beauty in the inperfection.

At least I try to think so.

I had received some bad news. I was already home from work because I wasn't feeling well, and I get a message that my grandpa is in the emergency room. He has been completely "out of it" for lack of a better phrase, for weeks, and yesterday he was doing really badly. The thousand fears that crowd the far-back, dusty reaches of my brain started to creep up and crowd all of my everyday thoughts. At a million miles an hour these monster thoughts hurtled at me: it's the chemo, but what if it's not? He'll go off of the chemo, and he'll be better, but when he does, it's over? What will my grandma do? What can I do to help? Nothing. You missed your chance. What will I do? Live with regret, it's your only choice.

I was shaken, by this, and by other thoughts, running out of the dark corners and into the light.

I cried yesterday, to my husband (yes, it still sounds weird), and said these words, and as I said them, I shook: "I don't do anything that is me anymore."
I hadn't meant for such a revelation to come forth, and yet, here it was.
"I don't write, I don't draw, I don't even read anymore" I said, my frustration coming through in violent spurts of tears.

"You have to make time for it, then" he said.
"Well that's easy to say," I retorted, stubborn in my sadness.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.

Just like that, my stubborness gave way. There is nothing he can do, because I have so much to do. It's completely my fault. I am in an artistic "no man's land" because I've been upset, overworked, and stressed out. But here I am, continuing to make job searching, writing, reading, or drawing a priority. I let the other things in. I do.

They say acceptance is the first step toward healing, so...
Now what?

blank page

2008-10-27T16:48:00.000-07:00

I used to love to see a blank page of paper. It was enticing and wonderful, freeing. I remember even eyeing the blank pages in the beginning and ending of books, and I saw only possibility. It even overwhelmed me then, thinking of how I would fill that page with the perfect drawing or story. The blank page was too valuable to waste.

The blank page has become my empty computer screen. The white stares at me, the cursor blinks as if yearning for use. And why? The computer blank page is forgiving. If I make a mistake on it, I can always press delete, and just like that, blank returns. Unlike a pad of my favorite drawing paper, the computer allows many new documents, one after another, seemingly with no end.

so why?don't?I?write?

Frustration, Validation

2008-10-24T10:43:00.000-07:00

This week has been intense. The highs and lows have seemed stronger, more diluted than normal.

For starters, married life is, in a word, wonderful. I don't know how or why it has changed us both, but it has, in ways that are both nearly-noticeable and astounding. I have tried to explain the ways in which Josh seemed to change, almost immediately. He has always been sweet, kind, and devoted. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's one of my favorite things about him. But something else was different. It is as though the weight of the ring on his hand has caused a seriousness about him. He has matured somehow, grown up, and become just the slightest bit more intentional in dealing with me. Apparently I have changed as well. Last night Josh came in, all smiles, to thank me for being "the best wife ever."
"That was fast" I responded. "How did I manage that already?"
"You've just changed" he said "you were great already but you seem so much more easygoing. Trusting. It's great."

Is it confidence? If so, I am the world's biggest proponent of the importance of marriage now. It's not just legal, people.

Other highs: I started road biking. I really like it! (shock and awe). I saw my friend Lisa, who I have missed dearly as she recuperates from surgery, and who I have prayed for more fervently than I have prayed in quite a while. I have gotten to revisit and share my "teaser" wedding pictures with family, friends, and even co-workers (I'm proud of them, okay?).

I've also been dealing with a frustrating and exasperating wedding vendor who has given me many momentary "yucky" feelings about my wedding. Thankfully, they are passing.

My work has a tradition of decorating a person's office or cubicle when they get married. After seeing this about 6 times since I worked here, I was excited to see what they would do to mine.

They didn't.
It felt rather like a bad day in high school, when you realize that everyone hates you, and they aren't ashamed of letting you know it in subversive but very public ways. Even having them ask me about my wedding (and therefore acknowledging that they knew about it) feels...wrong, disrespectful.

But these things right themselves.
I talked to my amazingly talented wedding photographer on the phone and I felt my insecurities melt away. I was able to remember how incredibly blessed I am to have worked with such a talent and a positive soul. I am so blessed that I was able to marry the man I love, especially now. I had a wonderful day, it was beautiful, breathtaking, and special. Why is it so easy to brush aside compliments and praise and focus on the negative? I will choose not to.
My mom sent me flowers at work. I called her, laughing, to ask why she did so.

"So your co-workers would know you got married. And your desk will be decorated."
I smiled, for what felt like the first time in ages.
"I love you" I said.
For knowing what I need when I don't. For reminding me what is truly important. For reminding me that the silly things I get caught up in truly amount to nothing. For reminding me that I am loved beyond measure, whether or not I am well-loved by my co-workers.

I got home from work and my husband wasn't there yet. I decided to pass on the love I was feeling, and I made him cookies. He walked in the kitchen to a mouth full of cookie dough. I could only smile. My life is ridiculously awesome. It's just not fair. I should really try to spread it around.

"I really like my ring" he said.
"So do I" I said. "It looks good on you."
"No" he replied. "That's not it. I like having it on. I'm glad to have it."
"Great" I said, and I turned around to hide my smile from him. It spread across my face like wildfire.

What more could I ask for?

A thin slice of perfection

2008-10-22T11:06:00.001-07:00

The day was clear, crisp, and vivid, giving the appearance of having been freshly scrubbed. The air was brisk and cool, trees shuddering mildly in the mid-morning breeze. It was beautiful.

I awoke with a stomach ache. The hotel phone rang, ending whatever dreams I was having for a robotic wake-up call. I sat up, feeling the tension in my gut. I was nervous.

I showered, carefully and slowly, trying not to dwell on what could happen that day, or even what would. As we loaded my Maid of Honor's car with item after necessary item I told myself, "breathe it in. Breathe in the beauty of this day." I felt as though I were floating, somewhere outside myself and looking down on the scene before me. Could it be possible that nothing was going wrong?

As the makeup artist was finishing with my makeup, I started to feel emotional. In response, my bridesmaids, relatives and closest friends that they are, began to sing and dance. I should thank them, and Rhianna, for the un-smudged eyeliner I enjoyed that day.

When it was finally time to put on the dress, I was elated, nervous, and just not feeling myself. I walked up to see my groom, and my breath came in short, choppy spurts of excitement. I saw his back, the line of his shoulders in the black tuxedo, and my breath caught in my throat. I held back tears as I walked toward him. We were nervous with each other, as though it was our first date as bride and groom, and neither of us knew what to say. We giggled and held hands and just the touch of him anchored me. I felt whole again. We loosened up in front of the camera, and we were suddenly there, in the moment. Our wedding day. And we loved every minute of it.

The smile that nearly never left my face was not plastered on by the protestations of others, it was genuine. This was our day. We were surrounded by people who love and support us, and we had not a doubt between us that what we were doing was anything but right.

Throughout the day, my emotions swelled and calmed like a mild ocean tide; momentum would build, feelings would intensify, and then flatten, but with the promise of return. The sun shone fiercely through the cool fall air. Leaves rusted, trees swayed, butterflies played in patches of sun-dappled branches. My husband looked at me, his smile laden with nerves and joy, and my heart melted. My dress swished pleasantly around me, my nose filled with the aroma of rose-scented geraniums. The hand that held mine, now adorned with a heavy band of metal, squeezed mine three times, our secret message to one another, I love you. It gave me strength, joy, and peace of mind. It reminded me why the trials were worth it, why we had pushed so hard to make our relationship work, to make it great, why we had put so much time into preparing this day until every tiny detail spoke the language of our hearts. It reminded me of the power of good, the joy of family, the mystery of love. It gave me hope and the promise of wonderful days ahead. It reassured me that every trial would be met with the tried-and-true team we have become, and that nothing would conquer us.

Perhaps it is for these reasons that my smile seems different somehow. Life, in all of its unpredictable and often mundane glory seems a little sweeter. My course in it seems a little more true. There are heavens on this Earth, and we will find them. But we already have the greatest of all, which is love.

It's a weird, weird world.

2008-06-23T13:54:00.000-07:00

I attended two parties on Saturday night. Not because I am popular, because it's just "that time of year." The first was an anniversary party for my fiance's grandparents. It was bittersweet for us, as we make time in the middle of our busiest time to attend, and they are not planning on attending our wedding, which has been planned for a year and 5 months. Of course my better half is struggling with this, and starting to become really hurt by it, despite his eternal optomism. The second was a birthday party for my little brother's girlfriend. It left me confused. I wonder how it's possible that my brother and I can be so different. He, surrounded by his friends, a myriad of tattooed, pierced, black-wearing boys who, despite their offbeat appearances, are so darn sweet. I sat and talked with one of his friends, a past member of Riders for Christ, who told me about the dissolution of his marriage while he spread the word of God to an alternative crowd. His wife wanted more time with him, didn't see the importance in what he was doing. Behind me, a group of youths passes around an infant, around 6 months old, patting her head and holding her tiny hand. The infant's mother, young and wearing a revealing top, retireves the child and balances her in the crook of her right arm, her left hand free to cradle a glass bottle of beer. Moments later, the baby has her hands on the bottle, her mouth over the opening, as the youths laugh.

Talking to my dad (also at the party) a young man, much older than my brother, probably around 30, approaches us. He is shirtless and covered in tattoos. He moves erradically, popping left and right and figeting with his arms. I have a laughable knowlegde of drugs, but I assume this man was using them. Meth, perhaps? He looks at my dad and says, "I really want to sleep with you." My dad, as cool as he is, had no comment. He sputtered, and then the man said, "okay not really, that's what I keep telling all the girls at this party and they walk away."

Later, a woman, in her late forties I would assume, ambled up to my fiance and I and began to talk to us. I use the word "talk" loosely, because she barely could. Her face had a droppy look to it, her hair was stacked messily on top of her head, and she had the slow, sloppy speech of a person who had been drinking for hours (or days?). She was smoking non-stop, cursing just as much, and using really explicit language with some of my brother's friends (most of them are 20 years old). And by explicit I do not mean a few obscenties, I mean XXX.

She grabbed my arm roughly and said, "who are you?," her breath reeking of cigarrettes and cheap beer. "I'm his sister," I say, gesturing toward my brother. "Well I don't know how you put up with him, he's an A**hole," she drawls, in my face. I cringe slightly from the roughness of her breath and the talon of a hand wrapped around my wrist. It was like my own personal Hell.

How does he put up with these people? I look at him nervously, trying to get him to come and save me from this vile woman. He walks up and tells her to "shut up," looks at me and says, "she's a crazy alcoholic, just ignore her," completely within earshot of my new friend who flicks her cigarette toward him, sloshing beer onto the ground and hot embers onto my shoe, uncomfortably close to my big toe.

I excuse myself from her company, stating a need to use the restroom. As I walk toward the house, someone calls out to me again: "your dress is beautiful" the voice says, I spin around as thin, cold fingers encircle my left wrist. I don't like to be touched. Personal space is a necessity. I try to hold my position so as not to insult this creature, thin and lanky, with hair that ranges from black to platinum blonde. Her eyes were encirled in thick black eyeliner, and they stared right into mine. "You look so beautiful. I wanted to tell you that." I stammered, "thank you, I...I just came from an anniversary party, so I suppose I'm overdressed."
"Oh no" she coos, "you look perfect." I thank her again and slip away, this time to find my mother and push her out of this backyard and into the street, toward her car and home. I will follow her.

At the back gate sits my brother's dog. The dog I held in one hand as a puppy. He is much larger now, but just as sweet. I take his face in both hands and look into his eyes. I feel like I should whisper in his ear, "you don't belong here." He is calm, completely serene in the midst of the chaos. Not unlike the infant with the beer bottle earlier, although I'd already given up on her. She is as good as lost.

Ahh Corporate America

2008-06-10T22:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think you own me, you, the company I work for. After all, you tell me where to be, and when, you decide when I work late, and you "highly suggest" things for me to do during certain lunchtimes. Tonight, as I lay in bed, listening to the soft breathing of my sleeping man and soft snores of my sleeping dog, I get that sinking feeling. I am not in control of my life, of my destiny. Sure, I want to be helpful, I want to be a useful employee, but does that mean forgoing any mention of a life outside of the office? Not in my mind, it doesn't.

I never pictured myself in Corporate America. Of course, I never pictured myself doing anything realistic which I wasn't already doing. I pictured myself as a college student, forever. Or perhaps on tour with my imaginary band. There was a point in my life where I really thought it was reasonable to not be working while I planned my future wedding (to whom, at that point, I had no idea--a Baron, perhaps? A Rockefeller?). I really never pictured myself dressed to impress while impressing no one but the meager reflection on my monitor.

Before I let myself get carried away in who said what to whom over the cubicle wall, or who wore jeans (jeans! can you believe that?!) to work on not-so-casual Friday, I had to stop my mind from spinning. No matter how much control the corporate world has over me, it can't stop me from sitting on the shower floor at 10 p.m., letting the water rinse away the memories of my day. They can't stop me from sitting, cross legged and in my bathrobe, facing the glow of my monitor, at 11 p.m. while I write about my feelings. And as much as anyone I work with would contradict this, they cannot tell me what I can and cannot do in my unpaid hour lunch. That is my hour.

Perhaps it's selfish of me, sitting up late and taking this time for myself, and depriving the Corporation of the employee they deserve tomorrow, one operating on full nine hours. But this is my time, and I'll do as I damn well please.

On the precipice

2008-05-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

I am about to turn 24 years old. The past few years of my life, more than any others, have brought more change than most years. I know the frenzied pace will soon slow, and I welcome a little stability. Graduating from college and changing my status, held for as long as I can remember, from "student" to "full-time employee" was a difficult one for me. Harder still will be the change from a "Miss" to a "Mrs." Changing the name I've always had, the three words that identify me on this earth, apart from almost any other (benefit of having a relatively unique name) will be difficult as well. I'm not sure how I feel about it, although I understand the benefits and even the necessity of it. I will turn 24, an age that seems much older than I could possibly be. I will celebrate five years in my relationship with my fiance. I will have a bachelorette party, which I think will really, more than the dress and the food tasting, make this whole wedding thing sink in. I'll register for gifts, and attend my own shower. (My first shower! For me!) and then get married. Wow. This is an intense little spot I'm hangin' out in...

An Ode to Karma

2008-05-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, very few, precious times, people get exactly what they deserve.

Oh Karma, my old friend. Sometimes I hate you. I cry out to you when I see things happen, both good and bad, wondering, "where are you now?" But then, out of nowhere, you show up. Wonderfully, you reward my long-suffering dad with a few comforts on his journey. A heartfelt compliment, a perfect ending to a frustrating situation, a glimmer of hope in a dark moment, and even a check in the mail. Less wonderfully, you deliver things not-so-pretty to those who have earned them as well. Like the woman that blocked rush hour traffic to make an illegal U-turn, and the motorcycle cop, weaving between idling engines to see her just in time. Yes, retribution came in the form of flashing lights that afternoon. And others, who have mindlessly rearranged the lives of others to their benefit, causing me to yell out in exasperation, "don't they know you can't have it all?" To risk incurring some bad karma myself, I will avoid repeating them. But I know. And this smile on my face is owed to you, Karma. You deserve it.
In a life in which we so often wonder how bad things happen to good people, or why bad people seem to be rewarded while the good suffer, and we wonder when, if ever, these people will get what is surely coming to them. We have to trust that, whether or not we see it, they will all be dealt with, in one way or another.

Sometimes people get exactly what they deserve.

Broken

2008-05-02T08:37:00.000-07:00

Hopes, dreams, effort.
Trying, working, persisting.
In the quest for love.

It shouldn't be this hard.

I have a fiance' who loves me unconditionally. But why not his parents? Is that so much to ask? And why have I, a competant and functionally self confident person, worked so hard for their love?

Why am I so angry about this? Why can't I accept, as my dad has always said, that some people just won't like you?

Because these aren't just any people. They are the people who raised the man I love. And this just gets more and more complicated.

Do we forgive?

2008-04-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

We are told that everyone deserves forgiveness. Whether or not you come about this from a religious standpoint, forgiving others is good for both parties. I know it's not healthy to carry resentment and anger. I know that the act of forgiving another can be very theraputic. What I don't know is this: do you forgive someone who doesn't want your forgiveness?

What if the person in question thinks they've done nothing wrong? To forgive them for a perceived wrong would seem insulting. And, if I am not asked for forgiveness, I honestly don't give it. I wish I could free myself of the burden of resentment and forgive, but I find that near impossible for me. Even when I forgive, I never forget.

So tell me your opinion. Send this post to friends who might have one as well. If someone doesn't want your forgiveness, do you give it to them anyway? And how?

A beautiful day for a wedding

2008-04-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

The day started for me in a beautiful way. Josh returned early from work and we were able to talk about the day ahead. We lay in bed and let the day slowly develop outside the open window. As the sun began to fill the room we looked forward to the day ahead of us.

My fiance's sister was calm as she prepared for her walk down the aisle. She dressed calmly and sat so still as I curled and pulled at her hair and her friend Casey curled her eyelashes and added blush to her cheeks. She looked more beautiful than I have ever seen her. The night stayed warm, the heat lingered on the surface of the bay as the yacht cruised slowly across the water. They were glowing, radiant, and full of love.

Congratulations!

I love our love

2008-04-18T16:02:00.000-07:00

As we sat across our coffee table with our jeweler on Wednesday night the feelings bounced around my head, not finding words to express them. My future husband slipped his future wedding band on his finger and I think my heart stopped.

He's mine.

He is going to come home to me. He is going to wear jewelry, for me! He is going to pledge before God and everyone most important to us that he will love me until the end of time. This is a BIG deal. Somehow, though, I'm not scared.

Our love, is our love, and girl I love our love.
Heaven has given this love to only us...
This love is only us...
-David Martin

I was asked last week by a dear friend from High School an important question.
"People tell me that 'you just know'" she said. "And I'm afraid that I won't just know. Did you?"
I thought about this and responded, "I guess that the apprehension fades and one day you realize that you can get married. I would explain as the opposite of 'you just know', more like 'you don't not know.'"*
"Thank God" she said. "I can understand that."

What I tried to express to her is that one day you realize that you have no fear of marriage, no doubt, and the way is clear. I don't think it happens the other way around. I don't think that one day you just know that the person is right for you; it's that you slowly begin to lose every bit of protest within you and accept that the person is less and less wrong for you, and then you know.

I leaf through a book he filled out for me. The book (which I highly recommend) is called "What I Love About You." You are prompted to write answers to questions that help you express, in ways you would never think to express, all of the dimensions of love you have for the person. I bought us a matching set for Valentine's Day. In it he has written the funny, touching, and strange ways that let me know that he loves me for who I am inside: my love of kicking wild mushrooms and jumping in puddles, the inside jokes that represent the early days of our relationship, and our wishes and dreams for each other.

I am overwhelmed, flattered, content.

I glanced down at my ring finger, my future wedding band sparkling in place beneath my engagement ring. I smiled, slid it off my finger, and returned it to the jeweler. There will be a time for that; and I can't wait.

*I realize that "you don't NOT know" is a double negative which would imply the positive "you know" but try to follow my train of thought here.

I believe in miracles

2008-04-08T09:53:00.000-07:00

My grandpa had his blood work done, and has been nervous about these test results for weeks, bracing himself for the worst. I understand, and empathize. He has been so strong and has put up with so much. He scheduled his follow up and waited to find out how bad the cancer is, and how many treatments they would put him through.

He found out that he is in remission.

We didn't think this possible. We are overjoyed.

Thank you.

When words aren't enough

2008-03-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

I haven't felt like writing much lately.
The passion behind the outpouring of words hasn't been with me. I haven't wanted to allow my soul to speak through my words for fear of what it will say. The thoughts that follow me throughout my day and into my dreams range from confusing to horrifying, mundane to comical. I need to let them out of my head and free myself of them, but I am afraid to.

My grandfather is dying.
Not in the sense in which all of us are dying. He is sick and this disease is slowly eating at his body and his spirit.
In the beginning, he was brave and handled every little setback with a smile. I noticed as the cancer began to eat away at the edges of his vanity, and he would brush it off, but I saw traces of it there. He was seventy when diagnosed, but you never would have known it. That may sound old, but for my grandparents, age is truly just a number. They were, up until this illness, traveling frequently, parasailing and hiking through remote tropical forests; walking each morning and night together, lifting weights and swimming laps in their backyard pool. Seventy was no setback. I have seen it, in his eyes, which until of late have still held the sparkle of youth. When he struggles to stand, and someone reaches to help him, I see the wound to his pride as though it were visceral, made of flesh and bone as he is.
My grandmother was alone for so long. She worked, always, two or three jobs. She struggled to support the four children and husband she had waiting at home. That, of course, was when my grandfather was at home, and he wasn’t always. He would disappear for weeks on end. When her children were grown and he disappeared again she decided it would be the last time, quietly gathering his things and placing them neatly in boxes outside the front door, its sparkling new lock guarding her from changing her mind. She was alone even before this, but after she was really alone. I would visit, and I would sleep in her bed, it’s white sheets always crisp and cool, the down mattress cover and comforter crinkling contentedly with my weight. I remember once, pulling back the heavy white pillow to find the shock of black metal shining against so much snowy white. The innocence of the bedding affronted by the violence of her handgun. But she was alone, and how could anyone blame her. And this was before Len.
They met when they worked together at Angel Stadium, eloped in Hawaii in matching Hawaiian shirts just to avoid “making a fuss” for everyone by marrying here. They worked together, from the Stadium, to the Pond, to the Grove, each place with matching shifts, matching smiles, holding hands. They were always on the go, and had just planned a trip they had each waited a lifetime to take. They had booked flights to Italy. Then my grandfather decided to see the doctor; he was feeling run-down. He thought most likely that he had a virus, and they ran some tests to find out. It was bone cancer.
The chemotherapy rendered him tired and nauseated. He became diabetic from the medication. They tried, time and time again to perform the bone marrow transplant he needed, but he was never well enough, and then developed pneumonia. They sent him home. We kept smiling, bolstered by his incredible confidence. Somewhere deep inside my heart told me that it was his confidence and positivism that kept him alive.
Now it is spring, and three years have passed. The world is in bloom with new life. The very air we breathe thick with the scent of flowers, their freshly unfurled petals coloring every empty surface. I drive to my grandparents’ house to pick them up and drive them to Easter. My grandfather is not ready to go, as it turns out, he is not going, in dress pants and a pajama shirt that hangs from his frame. He has lost another 45, 50 pounds. It’s difficult to keep track now. It’s like watching a tragedy in slow motion. My grandmother, so long alone before, is now preparing herself to be without him. Trips have been canceled. The kitchen table, so long before covered in travel magazines and newspapers, now littered with pill bottles, means for counting and sorting and administering the medication.
“He’s finally given up hope” she tells me in the car, fearing that his anxiety over the impending test results he will not receive for another week yet have broken him. He braces himself for the worst, fearing that every pain and sensation is a bad omen. Rather than smiling through the worst of the pain, with hope in his heart for recovery, the barrage of setbacks and bad news have sunken to the deepest levels of his psyche, and he now tries to steady his heart for the devastating news he feels is imminent.

I haven’t dealt with it. How can I? I feel that my optimism requires me to believe wholeheartedly that he will be just fine. But he’s not. He’s not fine now. What do I expect?

What do I do?

Running

2008-03-13T14:43:00.000-07:00

This post will not actually be about running, since we all know how much I hate it. Instead, it will be about the marathon I feel as though I am running these days.

I wake up exhausted. Why? I don't really know. I think the mental marathon I'm running in is taking its toll on my physical form. I have something planned almost every single day of my life, and I really despise that. I like my free time. No, more than like, I love it. I am addicted to it. I need it to maintain my sanity. I am not one of those people who is energized by being in the company of others, quite the opposite actually. I feel as though my interactions with others drain me and I need my alone time to recharge. I don't want to sound antisocial; I love people, but I only love them when I get my breaks from them.

I am not going to bore *all* my readers with a list of the things I am doing, but I have recently discovered that I have three free (as of now) weekends from now until July. Three. I could throw up. And among them, two weddings, a shower I'm co-hosting, three 50th birthday parties, one 21st, and one anniversary party. Oh and I have stuff to do to. Like find the rest of my wedding vendors. Have my ring re-set and pick out our bands. Find bridesmaid dresses. Lose weight ("5-7 pounds, 15 is too much"-wedding dress seamstress). Re-do my kitchen. Register for gifts. Okay now I'm listing. I apologize. But seriously, what the hell is going on?

This week

2008-03-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

...will be better than the last. I have decided to believe so, and I will make this happen.

I hope you are all as awed at the magnitude of this as I am. To acknowledge that this week can bring great things, and allow yourself to be open to them. Or in some cases, to seek them out.

Happy Monday!

The stress monster

2008-03-06T11:29:00.001-08:00

I am not a stress monster.
Really.
But the stress monster has been nipping at my heels lately.
My job is becoming a little more overwhelming. I want to do more here, and I want to learn, but the more I know, the more I can do, and the more I have assigned to me. I feel a teeny bit over my head right now. for some reason, this feeling makes me want to
a) quit my job and only deal with social/family/general life responsibilities
b) go back in time to college (why did it pass so quickly)
c) run screaming
I have not done any of those things (to be fair, only option c is actually possible unless someone lends me a time machine).
The weird thing is how stress affects all parts of your life. I feel like I am doing okay not letting stress invade and take over my life until I realize little things. I fall asleep during conversations and movies I am enjoying. I realize that my jaw hurts because I have suddenly started clenching my teeth; when and why, I don't know. Josh tells me that I am snoring, breathing loudly, and moving a lot in my sleep. I have dreams about work.
I am normally a very heavy sleeper. I fall asleep and stay in whatever position I was in until morning. Lately I'm having trouble falling asleep at the right times and staying asleep, and waking up is a challenge. I toss and turn and wake up frequently. I have begun to remember a lot of my dreams, and among them are dreams of work. Many are mundane; I dream of things I haven't done or need to do, or sending email, or sitting at my desk. A memorable one last weekend was that my job was sending me to Florida for a week. I had a mixture of excitement and sadness. I knew it was a good opportunity for me, but it was taking me away from my home and family. Then they came to pick me up for the airport and I didn't have pants on. I know this is a typical "feeling unprepared" dream, but I remember the disappointment of my co-workers the most. It seemed to drag on and on and never in the dream did I find some pants.

I need a vacation.

But seriously, do I listen to dreams and the feeling I keep shoving into the back of my mind that this job may be too much for me, or do I ignore those thoughts, realize that they are deceptive and ruinous, and inspire myself once again that I can do this?

2008-02-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

There is beauty all around.
It is in the sky, the swaying of the trees, the formation of clouds above our heads.
It is in the sweeping lines of architecture, silhouette of buildings rising above city lights, the movement of the city, traffic flowing between pillars of concrete and glass.

It is so important that we see the beauty around us, and appreciate it. I received a phone call last night from my fiance. I was driving home from work in downtown LA. I had put in eight hours that day, twelve the day before, and was stuck in traffic. I was exhausted. The sun was setting and it began to drizzle. He thanked me, for dealing with the things I have been dealing with lately with a smile. For continuing to care for him during an illness while I was tired and emotionally drained. The beauty of it was that, while I so appreciated his call and the fact that he noticed, I didn't need to hear it. I wouldn't have done things any differently.

I hope that I am not simply repressing my feelings right now. I had a good long cry Saturday, the kind that gives you a headache that no amount of Aleve can take away for the remainder of the day. Now I'm happy, suspiciously so. I probably shouldn't be. Despite my best intentions to "choose each day" to be happy, to make happiness a choice, no matter what the circumstance, I am surprised at how easy I am finding it today.

Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T10:26:00.000-08:00

I have adjusted the colors of my blog just for this happy day!

Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays, simply for its colors. You have to admit that there are few things girlier or cheerier than pink and red, bespeckled with hearts and flowers. I know it is a silly, perhaps useless holiday, but I have no problem with his. I realize that no one celebrates the day on which birds supposedly choose their mates for the reasons it was created, but this antiquated Victorian holiday has its merits. Why not celebrate a day that could be, if Valentine's Day did not exist, a normal thursday? It can still be a normal Thursday if you choose, and I have no problem with that, but let's discuss Valentine's Day Haters.

Restaraunts cost more and are crowded.
It makes single people feel like crap.
The holiday is mercilessly marketed to hapless husbands.
Women are raised to expect something special on this day.

Those were the things I do not like about Valentine's Day. However, I have some very similar complaints about Christmas. Christmas has become a holiday that has nothing to do with the religious meaning of the day, and instead is a chance to prove that you are worthy of buying gifts for others. It is a chance to show off your knowledge of friends and family, shopping skills, and bank account balance. Valentine's Day almost falls into this trap, however, I do not know one single woman that expects the diamond tennis bracelet or obligatory box of chocolates. I don't even know very many women who observe this holiday at all. I think most men feel much less pressure on this holiday, ironically, than they do on Christmas.

Restaraunts are crowded and expensive, but here's the great thing: you don't have to go to one. Stay home, or go out another night. Valentine's Day isn't the only day you can ever go out to dinner.

Last but not least, let's talk about being single on this day. I always thought Valentine's Day was akin to friendship day. Aren't we raised to shower our friends in valentines and candy? I have never had a problem with it as a single or attached person, and you shouldn't, either. Most of the people I have known who "boycotted" Valentine's Day, wearing black and spouting out about the downfalls of love, were those who most desperately wanted to be in a relationship. I was even told once in High School that it was unfair for some to be happy or in love on Valentine's Day as it made others depressed. So happy people should pretend to be unhappy? Or could we all find something positive in this silly day and enjoy it?

Valentine's Day means different things to different people. For us, it is an excuse to spend a night together, talking. And like so many others, it will not be a very extraordinary or different night. But that's okay. For my parents, it means nothing, as they find it to be a "Hallmark Holiday." For some, it is a birthday, and Valentine's Day matters little.* For others, it is an opressive reminder that they are alone, and for others still, it's a day to wear pink or red and eat dark chocolate. Enjoy it in your own way.

*HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KRYSTA RINKE!!

The brink of perfection

2008-02-11T11:46:00.001-08:00

How lucky I am, I think, as I drive in my car, sunroof open, warm and slightly fragrant air rushing inside, grabbing my hair and pulling it toward the roof, toward freedom. Straight ahead are the mountains, covered in snow, below an endless blue sky. It is a warm but comfortable 70 degrees, early February. I stand in my kitchen, preparing a dinner for my loved one, windows open, bees buzzing lazily around plants soon to bloom. Fountains tinkle sofly. I dig in the earth, still damp from the rain, soon to be parched and dry, but for today, this one, perfect day, everything has reached the brink of perfection.

The earth is a rich, dark black, it crumbles in my hands and smells faintly woody and fertile. The sun caresses my back, my hair swirls softly around my face, as I train vines, grown rampant in the late winter rain. I gently urge them back, toward trellis' already covered in leaves and about to bloom. Within days the entire area will burst to life and color and scent. The sun will scorch or extinguish and wither, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.

I am perched now, on the back of a motorcycle, turning onto Pacific Coast Highway. Night will fall soon enough, but for now, my favorite time of day, the light is merely hinting at its eventual fade. The waves crash and the road opens ahead of us, mostly unoccupied. I feel the wind rushing around my face, smelling of salt and sage, water and land. It is clear, the sky blue and even, spreading to the horizon above the sparkling expanse of the sea. Boats dot the surface of the ocean, making tiny white lines of wake as they cross, lazily, in front of the sun. Catalina island is silhouetted as the sun begins to drop behind it. The sky turns orange and then pink. Soon it will be gone, taking its warmth slowly, and I will remember that it is still winter, no matter how warm the day may have been, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.

T.G.I.F.

2008-02-08T14:36:00.000-08:00

I don't think anything really drives the whole, "I'm a grown-up now" message home more than my excitement (or lack of) on Fridays. Sure, it should feel like the last day of school, I should run out of here and scream my excitement to the world. But what do I do instead? I think and plan. Weekends are my only chance to get a lot of things done (like things that require sunlight) and I put so much pressure on myself to do them, that weekends can be more stressful than fun. i have weekend nights where I don't even want to do anything "fun" because I know how much I could do at home. Sheesh.

As I take a breath and try to give myself one, ONE fun or relaxing activity this weekend, my phone rings. It is my mom, asking me when i am going to clean out my room at their house and "officially" move out. I don't know where to put all of that stuff! I sigh, ask her to give it all to Good Will for me, offer her $50 to do this, and she stops me.
"I don't know what to do with this stuff. You have photo albums here, and books...if I only knew how to sell things on eBay I could make a fortune!"
"Okay, mom, stop right there. I want those books. They're just hanging out at your house until I have a really big bookcase...a library..."
I sigh again.
"Mom, can I please deal with this another time? I'm just too busy."

Clean bathrooms
Find bridesmaid dresses
Vacuum
Do laundary
Find a dj
Clean out my closet
Organize shoes
Water plants
Walk dog
Celebrate Josh's birthday....

An epiphany in second person

2008-02-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

My best friend recently broke up with her boyfriend. She had the confused first week, knowing it was about to lead into the sad second week, and then she had an ephiphany. She was looking at the pictures he had sent her from his brother's wedding the weekend after their breakup. She described looking at them and just "getting it." All at once, everything became clear and she realized that they weren't meant to be together. They have nothing in common, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not talk herself into accepting that. She realized that she could never move away from her home in the city to join his life in the country (especially the countryside of Zambia). She would always be an LA girl, and he would always be a Zambia farm boy. And just like that, she was over it and ready to move on.

Have any of you ever had this experience? Were you thankful or reluctant?

Nothing scarier than a tedddy bear...

2008-02-04T14:49:00.000-08:00

Please, someone help me with my Nip/Tuck nightmares.
I can't stop watching the show. It's intriguing, well-written, and addictively honest. It goes where no other show would dare to. It shows the dark side of humanity in all its glory, and what better way than to set this show around two plastic surgeons? Now that they have moved the show to LA it is ten times more intriguing because of the horrific truths it reveals about my home state. They could move their office to Orange County next year and run into just as many, or more, disgusting tales of humanity at its worst.

I have been with the show through thick and thin, literally, but this week they crossed the line. I can only say that this episode dealt with remorse, AIDS, cannibalism, sex addiction, betrayal, a child-chomping teacher, the difficulty of explaining death to children, and worst of all, the "immortalization" of a Hollywood agent by a teddy bear maker. I don't think I have ever seen something so disturbing. Who would ever think of something like that? It's genius and it has kept me up at night. I felt like throwing up, or ripping out my eyes, or destroying my memory somehow. I have not stopped thinking about it. I don't know why this particular thing grossed me out more than the myriad disgusting and freakish things I have seen before, but it has really stuck with me. I must have something against teddy bears.

Knowing just what you need when you need it

2008-02-04T14:32:00.001-08:00

I had an interesting weekend, to say the least. Friday night I had dinner with my parents and my dad's friend who helped Josh with his bike. She had some exciting news to share: she is three and a half months pregnant. She and her husband married last April and I have been hoping that this news was coming coon.

Saturday started with some sleeping in, which was wonderful. Josh and I had a nice, relaxing day. I was in bed when he came home from work and he laughed at me and the dog, all snuggled up. Sunday I woke up to rain, which was disappointing for Josh who had a bike ride planned. He told me to bundle up and wear my old tennis shoes, and we went across the street to the park and jumped in puddles with the dog. I love how he knows what is best for me, and that he appreciates that I might be the only 23-year-old who loves to jump in puddles and play in the rain. Not only did he suggest this, but he laughed with pride and happiness as I ran and jumped and get subsequently soaked. He saw that I didn't care, and he joined me. We ran together through the rain and into dugouts, dodging (or choosing to step in) puddles and little rivers of water as the rain poured from the sky. I ran errands in the rain and brought in my groceries and began to make cookies. When there was a large pile I sent them with Josh to his friends' house for the Super Bowl. Niki came over and we watched Sex in the City and at about dusk, after she left, I decided to take a bath. As I got into the fragrant water, the lights in the bathroom began to turn on and off. Freaked out and overwhelmed, I ran out of the bathtub and shut off the lights. i tried the hall lights, they were turning on and off. The living room was fine. I decided to look for a flashlight just in case. As I turned, the tv clicked, and all the power was out. I called Josh on my cell and it started beeping at me. He didn't answer, and the phone died. I started to feel like I was in a horror movie. I blew out the candles, grabbed my flashlight and dog, and got in the car. i drove to Josh's friend's house, despite having on no makeup, and sat on the couch with them for the remainder of the game, which was lucky, because it was a great 9 minutes.

We came home to still no power, and no promise of it until the next day. I have always kind of liked power outages. They force you to break away from technology and appreciate the beauty and power of candlelight. However, I had a fridge full of groceries which would surely rot overnight. Our neighbors came to the rescue with a super extension cord and we were on our way. I got a call from Josh just now telling me that the power is back on, and for that, I am glad. As much as I like the romanticism of my post-electrical world, I need a hot shower and my blowdrier.

Although my wonderful fiance did tell me this morning, "if it's not on tomorrow, we'll just have to go out to dinner and then talk all night." I would have liked that...

Love yourself

2008-02-02T01:21:00.000-08:00

Why can't we love ourselves for who we are, for the way we look?
Why is how we look now never good enough?
How is it that the idea of beauty that I have, one I reject fundamentally but realize I have internalized, is so set in my mind?
How do I destroy it and love myself for who I am?

There is beauty in you; please see it.

2008-02-02T01:18:00.000-08:00

When do we reach that point that we realize our state of mind has nothing, or very little, to do with the events of our day or overall condition of our lives, but something deeper, darker, and beyond our control?

I am never awake at this time of night anymore, and it saddens me. But then, what doesn't these days? I feel most creative now. This is self-destructive. I will self-destruct. I would.

I won't.

Cheating

2008-02-01T10:17:00.001-08:00

I want to cheat.

*note: do not continue reading if you are easily offended, but most importantly, if you are hungry and/or on a diet.

Let me just tell you what I would eat, assuming my diet disappeared and my body looked great already!

A big bowl of spaghetti.
A cupcake with sprinkles.
A big pepsi with ice from Taco Bell.
Nachos.

Oh my gosh rice cakes are so not doing it for me today! And what's for lunch? Hummas, pita, snow peas. Hmmm...

New Post

2008-02-01T09:33:00.000-08:00

Oh the possibilty.

Blank paper.

Empty Word doc.

Free evening.

Day off.

Extra ten minutes.

Clear calendar square.

Lunch break.

I shudder at the thought. Oh emptiness, how I crave you in times of overwhelming full-ness. Who knew being alone could be so fulfilling?

The truth in dreams

2008-01-31T10:10:00.000-08:00

I have remembered many dreams lately. I do not usually. Perhaps this means that I am simply not sleeping well, perhaps something in my subconscious is trying to get my attention. Early Saturday morning I had a dream that my baby brother had died. I was hysterical, stammering on about his potential, the person that we knew he would become, and the fact that he never got there. I was full of the most excruciating pain. My brother and I are not very close, and I go back and forth between trying to have a relationship with him and then pulling away with the realization that I will get hurt again, or the fear that I am enabling his behavior. My brother is not an addict--which I feel I must say lest the "enabling" comment be misinterpreted, he is simply emotionally immature, and his behavior hurts my family. I awoke to the confusion of awaking from a bad dream and realizing that it is over, and touched my fingers to my cheeks tenatively to feel the moisture of tears, which had spilled down my face, over my chin, and into the warmth of my neck. This dream had really affected me. I felt strange for days. I called my brother, with no response, as usual. I thought of him that morning as I ran errands and bought him a small gift. No response as of yet. I asked my parents about him about 6 times since then. I still feel like something is wrong.

Last night, perhaps in relation to the post I had written about my current overwhelmed response to weddings in general, I had a wedding dream. My mom had talked me into getting married sooner, in her backyard. I was getting ready at her neighbor's house and waiting for my best friends to get there. I was nervous and upset at the short amount of time I had to get ready and they were late due to the seriously short notice I had given them. I was excited, also, until i put on my dress. It was in the state it was when last I saw it--as of yet un-altered. My dress' neckline is low and I am in the process of having it raised to become more "appropriate" and in my dream I am wearing a tank top under the dress. A tank top under a Monique Lhuillier. I am also wearing a bra with straps. I guess in my dream I didn't have time to grab the bag containing the special, and appropriate undergarments I have already purchased. My friends burst into the room and begin to help me, and I instantly regret everything. My beautiful dress is wrinkly and the tank top looks terrible and I become hysterically upset and angry at my mother (remember she made me do this--why I have no idea). I suddenly can't believe that I chose a backyard over a venue or a church. The officiant comes in (who for some reason is dressed like the Pope) and sees me in my hysterical state. He asks me if I am having cold feet, and I look him in the eye and shout, not about the marriage, about the WEDDING! This is terrible! I wake up.
Is it the pressure my mom is placing on me right now? The ideas she is forcing on me that I do not like? Is my subconscious trying to tell me that the long engagement was a good idea to prevent the stress I experienced in this dream? before I chose my wonderful venue I had dreams about the venue my mom wanted me to choose and its lack of a real aisle. i guess I dreamed of this dramatic entrance to the wedding and so this venue didn't have enough "drama." In the dream, I would be excited and about to walk down the aisle, and then instantly panic that the guests would see me walking to the aisle and it wouldn't be dramatic and that is just "wasn't right." What's next?

Later that night I had a dream of being trapped in an elevator which is tipping sideways inside of the elevator shaft and no one knows how to get me out. I am calling 911 and getting through, but the operator tells me calmly that she doesn't know how to help me, and to just stay calm. For what?! Just as i fear the elevator is going to turn completely sideways and plummet down the shaft, a crowbar comes bursting into the compartment, rips a hole in the side wall, and I am lifted out by my dad, along with my brother and other people that I recognize as my dad's employees. I have no idea what that one means.

I'm going to admit it

2008-01-29T09:44:00.000-08:00

Call TMZ. Heck, call my therapist. I have a problem, a big problem.

I am sick, so so sick, of hearing about weddings. That includes my own. I am going to admit that while I am glad we waited and had a long engagement, some part of me wishes it were over and that I could move on. I think it's the overwhelming pressure placed on MY wedding to be something DIFFERENT than the ten million other weddings that come before mine. Whatever. Thinking about weddings makes me want to puke right now. I have had to talk (and think about! and plan!) my rehearsal dinner-albeit 8 months away. We just booked our honeymoon, and the stress of making ONE MORE DECISION was overwhelming. My mom calls me daily about djs, florists, table number card holder things, and I simply don't want to hear about it. I need a vacation from thinking about this event. I'm done. I want to call someone in to make all the other decisions for me (someone with great taste).

I have always had this fear that if I was exposed to too many weddings I would never be able to have one of my own. You see people doing the same things (yes, I know we call those things "traditions" and that there is a reason we all do them) and I start to feel as though it is fake, predictable, cheesy. I have sat at a wedding and cried tears of sadness at the tragically sad way this "joyous event" was carried out. I feel like fake rings and plastic cake toppers and the whole wedding aisle at Michael's gives me hives. On the other hand, spending ridiculous amounts of money is not what the day is about. yes, I want something elegant, classy, and beautiful, but I hate that the wedding industry tries to sell you this dream, assuming that all females want it. Sure, I want the normal stuff. I only plan on doing this once and I want "the day." But being forced to talk wedding and watch weddings and participate in them...thank God I am not an attendant in any of the ten million weddings coming up. I seriously dream about the day AFTER the supposed "greatest day of my life," of unpacking my new dishware and cooking something beautiful on it. Of sleeping all Sunday and just being a normal human being. I hate that bridal store attendants try to sell you this childish bride-image that they think you absolutely cannot live without, at any price. I want to buy a house, decorate it, plant a large garden, adopt another dog, all things that take post-wedding money and time. I don't think that this day, sacred as it is, requires a spending spree. Does spending more of my parents' money mean that I love my fiance any more? I think not.

Why am I so angry? How do wedding professionals do it? How can you watch weddings over and over and not help but feel that these people are doomed, cheesy, predictable? This is not cold feet about the man, it's my reservations on the process. Just hearing "wedding" or "bride" just makes me shudder. Is something wrong with me? And when did we remove the importance from this process? I'll admit guilt on my Christmas celebrating, it is more style than substance. it is more about the gifts than the birth of Jesus. Sure, that's sad, but the wedding? How did the event start to overshadow the momentous commitment you are making? I feel sick for ever having opened a bridal magazine. So sick, in fact, that I feel like going home tonight and purging each and every one. i need to start from scratch and figure things out on my own.

New Beginnings, a.k.a. what you can and can not change

2008-01-18T16:00:00.000-08:00

I just realized that my last post was my first of 2008. I do not usually make a big deal of New Years or the changing of the calendar, I don't normally do any of the ritualistic "firsts" and "lasts"--I find them depressing. But this year has been a little different and a little more challenging.

2007 (that's last year for those of you who are still behind) began with bright hopes for the future. I had recently gotten engaged and had set a wedding date, and I was excited for the rush of the holiday season to pass and for the exciting ventures ahead. I planned an engagement party and picked a venue, the proverbial ball was rolling. We had chosen our time, the time that was right for us, to make this sacred and most important commitment. We were surrounded by friends and family that, for the most part, were not only happy, they were overjoyed for us. Then Josh's cousin got engaged, then his sister, best friend, and two other friends. They all planned weddings during the early to mid parts of 2008. They all planned weddings before ours. Now it has begun to seem trite and predictable, and I worry that people will be sick of weddings by the time ours rolls around, the moment that we planned with purpose and intention. But, I must accept what I cannot change. They might be sick of weddings, but then they can go home and leave us to celebrate. The commitment is about the two of us and our families.

2008 started with a snore, as I was sick and Josh stayed in with me and we were sleeping over the midnight hour. Then we were off to Montana and I told myself that when we returned home, dieting would commence. I am not one to put off the onset of a diet, but dieting on vacation is silly. I must say that through the holidays, knowing that this diet was in my future kept me from taking extra helpings and more than my share of cookies. So, two weeks into my diet I am happy to report that the upper area of my stomach is beautifully defined and you can barely pinch the skin. I feel really validated for getting up at 5:30 and jogging before work, rationing myself to six small meals a day, counting out crackers so I do not exceed my serving. However, and I know it's only been two weeks, but still--my lower stomach does not look any different. It is not smaller, it is no where near the point where definition would show up, and it doesn't feel any better. And that is how I manage my weight loss, I do not weigh myself because to me, the number means very little. I like to judge how I look and feel, how my clothes fit. I don't expect to look like Brooke Burke overnight, but come on! A little help here! And that is when I must accept what I cannot change. That is just how my body looks at its best. And my best is all I can do. In a society where a size six is viewed as "thick" you can't blame me for wanting more, but I need to be happy with what I do have.

So I continue on my new "healthy" beginning, hoping for a seamless 2008, despite my attendance at 5 weddings and their accompanying parties as well as my own.

And hey, maybe high-waisted pants really will come back in style. And when they do, I'll be looking great in them!

Third Time's a Charm

2008-01-14T16:10:00.001-08:00

I will admit willingly that I am a control freak. A passive-aggressive one. Figure that out. Anyway, I like to have control over myself and the situations I place myself in. The problem arises when i have no control over the situations I find myself dropped into. I will also admit that sometimes, sometimes, I feel as though I know better than others what they should do with their own lives (don't blame me, I have individualization!*). I want to help them, guide them toward smoother waters, point out the chaos in order to end it for them. But then, my logical brain tells me to shut up, because, after all, "since we all have opinions, we are all opinionated, which means that 'opinionated' is just another word for 'bossy'" - K. Ward

Wow, i just quoted myself in my own writing. Someone is feeling a little cheeky today!

I'll stop now. But with this closing thought: here's to those who want to help, and here's to the frustration that comes from knowing that your advice won't be taken. To my similar humans, i sympathize and empathize, and i wish you all the best.

*If you don't know what this is, you should take StrengthsFinder.

Understatement of the Year

2007-12-19T16:24:00.000-08:00

"Lynne Spears' book about parenting has been delayed indefinitely, her publisher said Wednesday." -AP

An Elegy

2007-12-14T12:06:00.000-08:00

I wax elegiac today in memory of a brave and inspiring soul. As he makes his way through the arched trees and into the calm and peaceful valley of the afterworld, I reflect on the way he has touched my life.

My sophomore year of college brought change and heartache. I began the year with a new boyfriend. I moved into an on-campus apartment with a few friends, or so I thought, and I had a class with a sworn enemy. Okay, not really, but Tiffany and I were not friends in High School, and while I knew our paths would cross as English Majors, I still wasn't prepared to see her so soon. The class was was an English core in Fiction, reading it and writing it. I hardly remember what we read because I was engrossed in the writing. At the helm, the soon-to-be-Doctor Professor Scott Odom. He was a father and a Ph.D. student, a writer of published and unpublished works. He loved his students with a passion that is rarely seen amongst the professors and teachers in our lives. He helped us write, encouraged us to have our writing read by others, and apparently, had cancer. We never knew.

He is gone. With him he takes the stories, the tears, the elation and frustration of hundreds of writers. The confidence and trust placed with him will follow him to his early grave, and for this, I mourn. He was a wonderful man, a talented writer, and a positive soul. He worked so diligently each day, something i can't say I would have the courage to do were I struggling with his disease.

He was in my life for a mere semester, but he affected some of the changes that would affect me forever. I started my novel in his class. I read it to him in his office. I sent copies of it home with students and peers for their parents to read. I emailed it to my entire family and heard their feedback. i have never been so open with my art. And you know what else? Tiffany and I talked, she shared with me the troubles she faced, and I gave her mine. We made s'mores over the burner in her dorm stove as she listened to my problems with my roomates, and we became lifelong friends. I became a lifelong writer. i believed in myself and my ability.

I suppose my sadness comes from my own failure to communicate this to him. He was young; I guess I assumed I had all the time in the world to gather my stories, write them, have them published, and present him with a copy and a note of thanks. That time, like Dr. Odom, has passed. I am sorry.

Bittersweet

2007-12-07T10:55:00.000-08:00

Ah growing up...

Why is it so difficult to say goodbye?

It sit at my computer in my cubicle at my new job, surrounded by the sounds of progress and professionalism. I type away at a project descripion, reveling in the information about groundwater and wells, the headphones digging into my ears, and the first strains of a familiar song enter my brain. It is a song by Death Cab for Cutie. I close my eyes and lean my head back and let me thoughts drift where they will. I am in college, freshman year, in the dorm room of a friend. He takes a cd from a case and places it in his computer's disc drive. The music begins and, almost instinctively we both fall at ease, sinking into uncomfortably hard chairs. It is my junior year. The Los Angeles sky threatens rain, my favorite weather condition. I pull my iPod from the depths of my bookbag, setting it to rest atop Complete Works of Shakespeare. The sounds of Death Cab enter my headphones, forming the perfect musical companion to grey, cloudy skies. I trudge uphill, across campus, toward home. The campus has been decorated for Christmas, one of the lovely things about attending a Catholic University. It is so beautiful it almost hurts. The chapel, its large, circular window surrounded by a lighted wreath, forms a foreboding shilouette against the contemptous sky. I pass a large Christmas tree, its ornaments shining and glimmering in the last light of dusk. I make the familiar turn past the building we called Gotham, three stories of stylized concrete and glass, steaming in the cool damp. I pass the residence of the Jesuits and reach my favorite vista. i gaze across the sea, take a deep breath of the cool, stormy air, and watch the threatening sky swirl and stir. I walk into my dorm complex, full of light and laughter. It is similar to an apartment complex, the kind kids like me could never afford. the center artium glows with orange light and the fountain plays and teases the light. Up one flight of stairs, across slate hallways, and into my door, emblazoned with holiday greetings. the warmth hits me, and the familiar sounds flood my ears. I pause Death Cab, and greet my roomate and best friend. I was not in the place where I was born and raised, but I was happy, content, accomplished; I was home.

Why can't I return there? Christmas reminds me of the freedom usually associated with the holiday. School would let out, finals finished, papers submitted. How did college pass so quickly? Why didn't I stop and enjoy it more often. I tried to. I would stop, like the night described aboved, and try to breathe it all in and save every feeling. But I knew, even then, that I couldn't. I sensed my own mortality, the mortality of the moment, even then. I can't say whether it tainted the experience or made it more beautiful and telling. Now I work in a job where much is expected of me. I write for the good of the earth if not the good of my soul. I will work on Christmas eve and the day after Christmas, New Year's Eve and my birthday. I will spend the majority of my time here. I leave, and my head is full of ideas and themes from the proposals I have written and not the justice involved in public policy creation or Richard III's motives behind killing his nephews. Life is different, yes, but better, worse? I don't want to make that distinction. Things are always better, things are always worse, things are just different. What is consuming my mind now is the knowledge that each progressive era had its place in my life but each one has ended. There is no going back.

Dreams

2007-12-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Do you ever find yourself thinking about something that had happened recently only to discover that you had dreamed this event? After recent conversations about this, and my proclamation that people, in particular, can appear in dreams as symbols of a feeling, I had one of a series of unsettling and serene dreams.

I stopped being friends with one of my life's closest friends over four years ago. I have thought the situation over many times and become complacent with the realization that I had done the right thing. She wounded me in ways that I had not known were possible, wounded my idea of self-worth, my beliefs on friendship and love, and my relationship with my favorite institution to complain about (really, more than the government): the church. Despite the pain, the anger, and the disappointment I have felt toward her, I have had a series of dreams in which we are friends again. The dreams are serene and feel quite wonderful. We are happy; we laugh and talk and I miss her in my waking hours. Or do I?

I first associated these dreams with guilt. I know that I am quick to remove offensive particles of humanity from my life. People, unlike things, I discard quickly. I sum them up, and, once judged, I expel them from my sight. This is strange considering my habit of saving everything else: ticket stubs, birthday cards, anything to preserve my precious memories. So when I started to have dreams of this person I attributed it to guilt in expelling her so quickly. She had, after all, approached me in an email and asked if we could be friends again. She had also said that she did not regret what she had said to me in our "final conversation." her mistake. I decided against contacting her if she could not apologize. The dreams continued. They were never confrontational, only happy, joyous. Then she called me. Hearing her voice on the message sent a chill down my spine. I don't handle confrontation well. I avoid these moments. However, because of my dreams, I called her. I decided I was more comfortable with email, and we sent a series of messages back and forth. All they taught me was that she was (still) exactly who I thought she was. I felt silly for wasting time and thought over our interactions. the emails dwindled away and I felt healed.

Then I had another dream. Last night. This morning I felt slightly lost, tinges of pain washing over the farthest reaches of my memory. Was it because of her? Do I miss her? I don't think I do. I know, in the present, coherent moments that she is not a person that enriches or enhances my life. Hell, she's not even nice. So I thought about it today and this is the sad conclusion I came to: I miss having a best friend. I have one, and she is amazing, but we are distanced by many miles and some strange circumstances. In part, her boyfriend across the globe has caused friction between us, especially since I am not one to lie when asked for my opinion, and only honesty spills from my lips, if I am required to give any other answer, it is silence. It's not all his fault of course, or hers, I know that my relationship with my significant other, as it grows and blossoms every day into something stronger, more beautiful, also forms a sort of roadblock in communication with anyone else. I am used up, loved and spoken for, and expressed, until I have very little, or nothing, left to say. And yet I am fulfilled and refreshed by his love and want to scream it until my lungs burst and can't (for fear of being annoying). He tells me that I am his best friend and he should be mine. He is so much more than a best friend, and the designation of best friend, in my mind, is a girlfriend.

So, if you are still reading this and you find yourself wondering over dreams starring characters from your past. Rest assured that their meanings will become clear, whether you like it or not.

More to be thankful about

2007-11-15T09:12:00.001-08:00

I'll make this quick, because I have a lot of work to do in the last 5 days of my career here (at my current job).

My little dog (all 70 pounds of him) is feeling much better after a scary vet visit and scarier prognosis: pancreatitis. He is on a special diet and is back his old self, which means energy to spare and lots of licking. We're working on that... As I bought his new food last night, spending $30 for about a one-week supply I thought, "wow, this is insane, but he is so worth it!"

My little man (all-I'm not going to say how much Josh weighs!!) is safe! He finished the Baja 1000, crossing the finish line around 3 a.m. I had been tensely watching the little dot that represented his car on the map of Mexico since he started his shift around 6 p.m. I finally feel asleep around 11 and was awoken by a phone call. Josh's mom had been watching the screen non-stop. Both our hearts stopped when his car stopped, for about an hour. We worried in our separate houses if he had crashed or gotten hurt or was stuck, or broken down... Linda was so upset she told me she got in her car and went for a drive to stop herself from staring obsessively at the screen. But the little dot that said "1610" made it to Cabo San Lucas and I got a phone call from the victorious race car driver! Safe, in one piece, and probably very tired. Too bad he has a 24 hour drive home...

My journey

2007-11-06T11:10:00.000-08:00

I don't have much time to write.

That is a motto for me right now, I think. I don't have much time to write this time, right now, and in general as well. But I want to say one thing.

I am thankful!
I am thankful for my life, my circumstances, most of all, my journey. I so incredibly grateful that my life has worked out the way it has, even though portions have been painful and overwhelming, and probably will be again. For now, I am reflecting on what is right rather than what is wrong. I am starting to see the direction my life is taking, and it is shaping up to be everything I wanted it to be and more. There is so much more that I can offer, and I feel as though my potential is shining through, so brightly that even I have caught a glimpse of it. I am optimistic and hopeful. I appreciate every moment and how each one has led to where I am now. I feel at peace with my circumstances.

I am lucky.

Thank you!

Halloween

2007-11-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

So this has been a crazy week, but I do not let my favorite holiday go unrecognized. Ashley and Brittany joined me for a pumpkin-fest. We ate themed foods, starting with spiderweb soup and black-and-orange sandwiches, bone sticks, orange candy corn punch, and ending with worms and dirt.

Happy Halloween!!

2007-10-31T15:11:00.001-07:00

Yep. That's all.

I love this holiday!

Quest for the Dress

2007-10-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

I went to about the fifth dress store that I have tried this past weekend, and I fell in love. Well, to be honest, I had already fallen in love with this gown, but when I tried it on again, I really loved it.

And then I found out how much it cost.

Back to the drawing board...

Stop it!!

2007-10-24T10:06:00.001-07:00

Okay fires, I've had enough. I don't think I can take any more of this. Please stop. PLEASE.

Tonight, I plan on driving the twenty minutes from where I live now (north county) to where I grew up (I know I went so far away--south county). I have been told that 200 homes have burned in the canyon, and as the fire rages on in one of my favorite places on earth, I urge you to think not only of the houses, displaced people, and lost possessions (as they do have insurance, after all) but to also think of what nature has lost at the hands of an arsonist. Silverado, Modjeska, and Santiago Canyons are full of some of the most beautiful, breathtaking, and stunning creations God ever made-live oak and sycamore trees. many of them are hundreds of years old. They have witnessed the changes that are so emblematic of California. The Native Americans moving into the area, the Spanish entering the canyon and using its timber to construct homes and missions, the last Native American massacre in Black Star Canyon, the gradual progression of other settlers, and eventually increased commercialization and track homes. However, as part of its appeal, the trees have not witnessed as much change as most areas in Southern California. Many areas are still completely untouched, and the majority of the homes are tucked away in extremely rural locations.

The trees, the native landscape, the natural habitat, to me has always spoken of the past, what California has been. I could not count the amount of times that I have driven through the canyon simply for therapeutic reasons, and gazed out at the colors, the fantastically muted greens, purples, and blues that speak so clearly of the true California landscape. I have driven the canyon road and I have thought, so many times, about how lucky I am to like in the midst of such beauty. I thought about my dream home, on some remote plateau with views of nature and its miraculous bounty, even its times of want and lack, and how each phase compliments and leads into the next.

Of course, we are not only losing plant life. The canyon is home to countless species of wildlife. Deer, mountain lions, coyotes, rabbits, and hawks to name a few. Hawks have always captured my attention. The make lazy circles in the air, not like vultures signalling a source of food, but, in my mind, simply for the pure joy of it. They soar, they slowly circle, and I imagine them breathing in the scents of the air, taking in the scenery, and just reveling in the feeling of the wind in their wings. They are intelligent creatures, especially in tune to their surroundings, with excellent senses and above-average perception. It is no wonder that royalty in ancient England chose them for sport, respected them. There is much we could learn from hawks.

Among the natural landmarks stand several that are man-made, including the beautiful Modjeska House built by Madame Modjeska, a famous entertainer, in the style of Shakespeare's England sitting among the trees. Another landmark is the Rancho Las Lomas estate, where Josh and I should be getting married next October, God willing it makes it through this week. I remember my adventures in this canyon, hiking along hidden streams and finding the ancient grindstones of the canyon's first inhabitants. The mysticism of my friends in school as they discussed the ghosts that lingered from the Black Star Massacre and the Native American burial ground. Although the landscape looks nothing like this, I always pictured the knights of my daydreams to come galloping through the trees and off to another adventure.

I suppose I always believed that I appreciated the landscape enough, more than most, but facing the flames of some evil human I suddenly realize the strain of humanity on nature, my inability to fully appreciate what was there before it disappears, the longing I feel to be there now, and my gut-wrenching fear to see what is left.

This is why I will travel there tonight. I feel like I need to see it with my own eyes before I can heal. I need to understand what I will be dealing with this weekend, when the fore casted drizzle hits the embers of these fires and sends up the last plumes of sooty smoke. I need to know what we have lost, and then I need to grieve.

Fire

2007-10-23T13:56:00.000-07:00

I have always been terrified of fire. I don't remember one singular event that brought this on, but I don't remember a time in which I wasn't scared of it.

Maybe it is this fear, or maybe it is because I have feelings, but for one reason or another I just cannot get my head around the act of arson. Why would someone want to start fires on purpose, knowing the destruction they cause? Does this person get some sort of thrill out of hearing the roar of the flames, the shrill call of sirens? Does this person feel a rush when looking across the land, once green and lush with vegetation, and now black, smoldering, inhospitable? I like to hope not, and yet I am faced with this harsh reality.

Venting...

2007-10-18T09:47:00.000-07:00

I think I have worn out the ears of my fiance' in the last 24 hours, so i am venting to my blog. Oh dear blog, please never tire of me.

I try (operative word being "try") to choose to be happy, to make decisions that make me happy each and every day. In spite of this, I still get frustrated. I need to feel worthy. I need to feel as though something I do makes an impact. I need to work harder at making decisions that make me happy. I wish I had more spare time, but I don't, and it all boils down to this: I need to do things from one minute to the next based on the happiness of myself and those I care about. I am going to try, at least.

Photography Experiment

2007-10-01T11:26:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Josh and I drove up to Big Bear to meet up with his parents. He wanted to live out his *great dream* of riding up to Big Bear on the Harley. He informed me that his dream didn't include a windsheild, so we went without. Yeah, my neck hurts. But it was fun and the results were pretty good. See for yourself...

We were able to pull over and oh-so-quickly take a few shots. My wonderful guy was patient and excited for me, and never minded that I was throwing him off balance a little... I like this one because I think it could be used in an ad for the "Harley experience." If only there was a sound clip to go with it!

Did you just make the sound effect in your head? Well I did.

Can you see the super-stealth ninja photographer in this self-portrait?

Pain earned

2007-09-24T14:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was wonderful. It really was. I woke up on my own (that took a while) and let myself linger in the warmth of the sheets for some time. I picked up the book I am reading (The Alchemist if anyone was wondering) and absorbed its message for a while.

Later on that morning, my aunt came and picked me up. We went to Home Depot to my favorite section--the garden section. We spent around $100 on plants. We took them to my grandparents' house, and we went to work. My grandparents were enjoying their last day at the Atlantis in the Bahamas, a well-earned vacation, and a nice way to spend the two weeks in between chemotherapy treatments.

Four hours later, covered in mud, sticks, leaves, brick dust (don't ask), and probably spiders, we packed up our shovels and headed home. It looked beautiful, if I do say so myself! We planted flowers and grasses and ferns in the two planters by the door that had been empty since I could remember (empty aside from ten million bricks). I crouched in the mud of Saturday's rain and weeded her roses. We raided the side of her house and her planting table for plants she wasn't using. My grandmother is amazing at taking cuttings from plants, especially plumeria which she has brought back from numerous trips to Hawaii, and making them grow. We planted them in the front yard. We washed the sideboards of the house, we hosed down the walkway. We swept, dug, and pulled until what was left was orderly, colorful, and alive.

My grandma called me this morning, and the conversation went something like this: "Korey Ward I love you."

I could hear the tears choking her throat.

She described to me how she entered through the garage and missed what we had done. My grandpa walked to the front door and starting banging on it. When she opened it (sounding annoyed, I'm sure) he covered her eyes and led her out slowly. She couldn't believe what we had done. We couldn't believe we had done it all in one day. I couldn't believe how dirty I was.

Wonderful.

My red-faced inner creative

2007-09-14T09:50:00.000-07:00

So I like to write down ideas I have for things to write on, and I write them anywhere, on any available piece of paper. One place where I stashed a group of ideas was in a tiny notebook with necessary insurance information that I have been carrying in my purse. I also have a friend with a propensity to look in women's purses. She finds mine especially entertaining because it is large and I have been known to stow strange things in it.

So on one of these occasions she asks if she can look in my purse.
"Sure" I answer, because why not?
She starts to pull out various objects, like a collection of nail files, recipes I cut from Martha Stewart Living, and a full-size lint brush. Then she comes across the notebook. Before I can remember that I had stashed ideas in it and not just the phone number of my insurance adjuster, she has come across the page of writing topics. I can see on her face that she is about to read them out loud. I stop her. I blush.

She would never understand.

Similar experiences?

September 11

2007-09-11T15:39:00.001-07:00

Just typing those words makes me shudder. Why does it feel as though it were just yesterday? I remember, as all Americans do, exactly where I was when I knew what was happening, although I remember not understanding it. Rather than discussing 9/11 again, I want to focus on what has happened since then. Americans were softened, scared, and caught off guard. We clung to each other in an attempt to reclaim the safety we no longer felt. A war started, and we were supportive, angry and vehement, we wanted blood. Once again, this was an attempt to reclaim something we felt was now missing. Then we began to turn, one by one, the more aware or more cynical citizens first, and began to hate the war, to resent it and all who supported it. We felt misled. We felt as though we had been reduced to sheep, duped and fooled into something that we were told would quell the pain, the anger, and the fear, and we became bitter and resentful. Once again, this was an attempt to reclaim something we had lost.

What America lost on September 11, in my opinion and among other things, was our innocence. No longer would the term "American" mean what it did before "the fall." Like the Fall of the Bible, we entered a post-lapsarian world and reacted in stages to the grim reality we faced. It was something more sinister and more psychological than pain, coldness, and hunger. It was a fall that had us challenging our sense of self, our relationships, our culture. Suddenly we did not know who we were, and we wanted someone to blame. We needed to know who offered the apple, and we needed to send that individual to Hell.

Was it hard to believe that the apple may have been offered by us? (Which I am not saying I necessarily believe) Or is it harder to admit that there was no apple? The question I am asking has very little to do with politics or nations, and everything to do with humanity. Did we face our greatest fear that day, did we face the apathy of our peers? Did we accept the grim fact that humans, in fact, are capable of such disgusting and terrible actions? Did we turn to one another in an attempt to blot out all of that hatred, (but it was so much worse than hatred, this apathy) and try to overwhelm it with love? Did we realize the futility in this pathetic facade?

How far I have come since 9/11...on that cruel morning I was a High School senior, getting ready for first period honors English, my favorite class and the sole reason I got out of bed in the morning. It was cold in the pre-dawn of 5:30 a.m. I was a much different person than the person reminiscing on this moment today. I still retain some of my latent cynicism, but much of it has gone by the wayside, thankfully. I was pessimistic (yes, more pessimistic) and my motto was, "if you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention. Fast-forward through my final year of high school, four years of trials, heartbreak, and the slow but necessary process of finding myself at college, one year of life after leaving Eden and joining world of work, and you have the person in a blazer and slacks, typing away at an office computer. Would my self today even recognize that self six years ago?

I hope not, although sometimes I miss her.

Goodbye summer, hello fall.

2007-09-11T08:59:00.000-07:00

I love fall. Every year I feel refreshed and excited, even considering California's meager change of season. Sometimes I think that I am excited for every change in season, but I know I like fall the best. It is a beautiful and magical time, lacking the oppressive heat of summer. I do love summer's long nights and balmy breezes, and there is something about summer that feels like happiness, even after so many years have passed since I had a truly "free" summer. I think my excitement with fall also has to do with the school year starting, new beginnings and endless opportunity. While those days have passed, I retain the optimism of the early years.

Here's to fall!

Dude! This is so not cool!

2007-09-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

So I really hope karma exists. Someone is gonna get it...

I was home on Saturday, not feeling well at all, and watching the Notebook. I ordered a pizza for Josh and I and he was on his way home from working from 6 am to 8 pm. I remembered I had a case of Pepsi in my car. I decided to run outside and get it. And I saw this:

Seriously, who does something like this? I am SO PISSED OFF!!!!

Events like this really make me doubt my faith in humanity. What kind of a people are we when we ignore the destruction we cause others to save ourselves the expense? Where I have to pay to repair the damage I had nothing to do with?

Take responsibility of your actions. Prove that you are a part of the human race. Try to think of others. Think of the danger we are all in when we begin to think of people as numbers or figures and not humans. Stop dehumanizing and start living fully!

Detroit, part II

2007-08-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

So maybe I took this off-center on purpose?
Downtown.

Opa!!

detroit, part II

2007-08-29T12:09:00.000-07:00

My dad dancing on the bar in a classy establishment called McNasty's Saloon.

Rock on!

Greek Town.

Memories, fun times.

First Day of School!

2007-08-29T12:01:00.001-07:00

Well, sorta.
Since I work at a college I get to watch the blissful, nervous, and expectant faces of college students as they walk across campus on the first day of yet another school year. i remember all of the feelings, and as a person who love, love, LOVES school, I envy them. Not that I need to...

As I walked through the corridors of Santiago Community College last night, I thought of the sounds, smells, and sights of a new school year. *sigh* I love them! While I haven't always been excited outright for the start of school, it is still a treasured memory. I can remember the smell of my elementary school, the walls covered in paper leaves, children standing awkwardly in their new clothes. I think buying clothes and school supplies was my favorite thing about starting school for many years. I remember the aisles of pens and paper and the excitement of getting organized. I remember the one new outfit that would hang expectantly in my closet for that fateful day.

I can still see (still, because it wasn't so long ago) the waxed black and red checkerboard floors of St. Robert's, my favorite building at LMU. It would be full of hushed excitement, the pregnant pause before an onslaught of activity. I remember the joy of buying books for my college classes, having an excuse to purchase $90 collections of Shakespeare and Whitman, the shudder of excitement down my spine as I ran one hesitant finger down the book's corresponding spine.

Yeah, I know, I'm such a dork!!

And now I feel so fortunate for the classes I am taking, the hectic pace of life that replaced my studies has brought forth two opportunities to relive my school moments. I take a tap class with my future mother-in-law, and, if I don't chicken out in the next 24 hours, I will be taking a Renaissance Lit class at Chapman. For the master's program!!!! Oh grant me the courage to follow through...

hehe.

Detroit

2007-08-27T11:41:00.001-07:00

Detroit, originally uploaded by koreyward06.

I spent the past weekend in my father's hometown of Detroit, MI. It was an interesting, tiring, and emotional weekend. It was also tons of fun, probably more fun than it is safe to have within three days. It rained, it was muggy, there was lightening, there was a tornado, it was hot, it was smoky, it made me miss my family that lives there even more and appreciate my home here in California as much as I should.

I have a wonderful, large, CRAZY family out there that misses me, loves me, and would do anything to protect me (really. anything.) In the midst of what was a pretty terrible week, I had a group of people waiting to see my face again, waiting to hug me again, and hear my voice again, and I realized all that I am thankful for.

I'll admit, it's hard to be there for long. They stay up late, smoke, and drink, none of which I do. There were arguments and fights, and Josh was basically tried before a biased jury of Wards. It was noisy and boisterous and real. It was emotional to be back in Lincoln Park, the suburb where my grandparents bought their house right after their wedding and after the war, the house they raised five kids in, the house my grandmother still lives in. I had a flood of memories of this place where I spent the summers of my youth. My mom would take my brother and I at least a week earlier than my dad would arrive to see his own family so that he could work as much as possible. My mom was always so well loved by his family that I never understood that marriages were the combination of two families, for mine has always just been one. It was hard to enter the airport terminal, remembering when my uncle Dave took us there once at the end of a wonderful trip. We sat in an airport restaraunt and talked and he left only when we had to go through the metal detectors and prepare to board. I could remember watching the sky outside of the terminal windows turn black and start to pour. My uncle turned right around and picked us back up, as though he knew instantly that we wouldn't be able to fly. He was all smiles as though the rainstorm was part of his plan. We spent one more night with him and repeated our goodbyes the following morning. That was the last time I ever saw him.

I teared up several times on this trip, for various reasons.
I appreciate my circumstances, and the fact that I can afford to travel there again to see this wild, unpredictable group of people who love me with hearts so large. Their love is limitless and perfect. It is rambunctious and angry at times. It is just what I need to reaffirm my existence on this globe. Thank you, God, for giving me this family. I only hope that I deserve their love. Thank you, Ward family, for teaching me countless lessons about how to live and love.

Old Proverbs, New Shoes

2007-08-21T11:13:00.000-07:00

Some old proverbs ring true.
"Don't judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes" is one of my favorites. I like it because of the simplicity of the prompt, the straightforwardness of the language, the image it evokes in the mind of the recipient, and because it is such a difficult thing to do.

There are people whose "shoes" I know I could not wear. I worry that I do not have the courage to get even a few steps forward on that journey. This is something that makes all of us unique. We have different loads to bear, and we handle them with different levels of comfort and skill. i believe that God never gives us more than we can handle, and this is something that I have repeated to myself in my darkest times, and it has carried me through. I look at the characters in my life story and find some that seem miraculously well-fitted to tragedy, and they handle it with grace and honor. There are others, and I hope I do not fall into this category, that struggle with the few problems they face. We are all given our own loads to bear, and we have to trust that someone more powerful than all of us knows which weight He can assign to each pair of shoulders. Let this idea carry you through your darkest times, let it lift your face when you feel burdened and weighed down. Let it give you hope for a brighter tomorrow.

Sean and Michelle

2007-08-20T10:07:00.001-07:00

Sean and Michelle 056, originally uploaded by koreyward06.

2007-08-20T10:02:00.001-07:00

There's no crying in baseball!!

2007-08-13T16:14:00.000-07:00

That was a League of Their Own reference for Krysta, but I thought it was appropriate for someone who is (in)appropriately crying right now. It's me, in case you didn't notice that already. In my frustration and sadness, through my inability to communicate the words I fear so greatly, I sit alone in my office crying into a tissue and hoping no one walks by. Am I more of a coward because I cannot talk about this? I always cry, and I hate it. It is my response to anything, happy or sad, and I get so upset with myself for succumbing to tears that I then cry even harder. I feel right now like breaking down and getting it over wtih would be more prudent, more healing, but I cannot.

All I can say is this: I hate you, cancer.

My Morning Pages (or lack thereof)

2007-08-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

I am working on The Artist's Way right now, and as part of the healing process, I am supposed to be writing three pages longhand every morning. Well these are my thoughts this morning as I begin week three and sit here reluctantly. I do not like morning pages, I do not like mornings, I do not like longhand. It takes forever, my thoughts move so much faster than my hands, my handwriting is awful, my thoughts are jumbled and insignificant at best. I enjoy writing on the computer, I am used to it, I love it. Please don't forget that I am a child of the computer generation. I wrote my first story on a black and green screen computer. It was about a lion. I found the sensation that came from the empty black page and pulsing green cursor as exhilarating as I had once found an empty white sheet of paper. The computer is my ally. I measure my success by the abundance of clicks coming from beneath my fingers. That's all for now...if I have any more thoughts I will force myself to write them...

in the morning pages.

I am a coward

2007-08-09T11:13:00.001-07:00

I have to admit to my own cowardice today.

I have become increasingly aware of my desire to enrich the lives of those around me, the lives I have the power to impact. As small as my desire is in scope, it has proved no less difficult than world domination or any other lofty goal. I have tried, I have succeeded, I have failed, but I have not been broken.

To quote myself, "I want to become a shelter from the storm of humanity to the people I love. I want to become a warm blanket to shroud them from the frigidity of hatred. I want to become the sharp blade of a sword, threatening and still, to protect them from anger. I want to be a resource in the confusion of living. I want to be a source of joy in the otherwise sullen lives of my loved ones. I want to be a candle in the darkness of the soul, and to illuminate all those around me. I hope to be all of these things and more. I am willing to sacrifice, to shelter, to protect and calm, to enlighten and enrich, and to exalt each precious soul that has turned to me and will continue to turn to me in the search for love."

I guess this was a very optimistic day for me. A diamond in the rough.

Now, as I am faced with the very times in which I must draw upon that strength I find myself cowering in some imaginary corner of my universe. I am faced with with a situation that I have feared and expected for so long and I feel all strength leaving me.

Lift me up, help me be the person I want to be, fill me with promise and hope so that I can truly be the beacon of Your light that I want to be. I need You now, to help me stand up straighter and face what I have known is coming for so long with dignity, respect, and grace. Dry the tears that fall at the merest suggestion of upcoming loss, quench the thirst for love that I fear will dry and crack from disuse, lift my soul from the depths of despair and fill it with your Grace so that I may help those I love in their times of need. How can I let them down now? I see the path You have for me more clearly each day and yet I find myself less capable of walking it. What has changed? Do I have more fear now? Am I hesitant? Was I once so strong because of my ignorance, my false confidence in my own bravery?

Get it over with

2007-07-31T16:03:00.000-07:00

So I have to get this out.

I'm pissed off right now. Big time. And no one is helping!!!!

This is why my best friend is who she is, because she knows what response I want when i have news that TO ME is really obnoxious and terrible. She knows that I DO NOT want advice, no matter how truthful, because I CAN FIGURE IT OUT MYSELF and that I just want a kind ear and pity. Yes, folks, I am having a pity party for myself right now, and only Harry Potter has been invited because my best friend happens to be, oh so conveniently out of the country.

I resent the fact that I dwell in anger here and that it seems to block my creativity. I resent the fact that I have done very little, if anything to change this, although I think I am trying. I feel like I am wasting my life away while great ideas leave my muddled and angry mind. I should be anywhere else, thinking and writing, but instead, I am here.

Okay I'll stop now.

Role Reversal

2007-07-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

Remember when you were little and you wanted to be just like your parents? You had good reason to, after all they had been around longer than you and had gained more experience, know-how, and most importantly, money than you would see for a long time. I remember thinking that I would never own anything as high-tech as my dad's waterproof camera...

Well now the tables are turning. Our parents, seeing the ways we spend our money, are turning to us for inspiration. Again, this makes sense, as we now have money and know what is new and trendy. The Internet has made up for experience and know-how in that we now know how to use message boards and reviews to decipher which products are best and which prices are lowest.

Exhibit A: Josh bought me my cotton-candy pink, flowered beach cruiser for Valentine's Day two years ago. Since then it has been enhanced with a matching bell and basket. I bought him a black cruiser for Christmas, with foam grips, a headlight, and a cup holder. As Josh's parents live nearby, we ride them over to their house often. They borrowed our bikes and took them to the beach, only to show up two weeks later with bikes of their own. His mom, on a cherry red version of my bike with matching bell and his dad on a black and silver bike like Josh's with the same headlight and cup holder. I thought how cute it was that his parents are now looking to him for stylish advice.

Then I received my wonderful camera for my birthday. My dad loves photography but has not owned a nice camera of his own in ages. He also loves digital photography and understands it quite well for his generation. He has bought my mom nice cameras and has been disappointed that she didn't get more involved in learning their unique and pricey features. He seemed impressed by my camera, and more impressed that I was learning to use it so well. He loved pictures that I took on a weekend trip with the family and his praise was substantial--for him. Now he has bought himself one. I am quite proud, actually. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, as they say...

Just like a child

2007-07-27T10:43:00.000-07:00

Why was it so much easier for us to utilize our creativity as children? When did we develop the crippling inhibitions that prevent us from living and loving art?

When I was young, I would have described myself as an artist and nothing more. Now, I am intimidated. I feel as though I am not worthy. It is this feeling that has given me the terrible writer's block I have been suffering through for years now. It wasn't always this way. There have been times in my life when I was able to sit and write, when ideas overflowed my brain and I couldn't write them down fast enough. This led me to become a faster typist and a more composed speaker. I embraced the speed of the ideas and learned to cope with them and later use them to my advantage.

It is not as though I lack ideas. My mind is always creating stories, both imagined and true. I pull from the experiences around me and tell myself stories constantly. So why don't I write them down? I have been embarrassed and nervous about what I would create. I have this feeling as I go along that what I am writing is not good enough. I wonder constantly what type of audience I am writing for, if my words were published, what kind of person would buy them, where would it be reviewed? I am stopped from creating by the thought that what I will create will not be good enough. This is completely wrong. I need to write for myself, because the stories are inside me and need to be let out. The stories themselves deserve to be written and I deserve to empty my head of them. I need to create simply for the pure joy of the creation process and the feeling that I get from it.

Last night I painted two pictures, not to create something worthy of a museum or of accolades from friends and family, but simply to enjoy color and the pure tactile feeling of the brushes in hand. I had a difficult time doing this, I'll admit, and my self-consciousness almost go the better of me, but I fought through it. I definitely need to work on letting go of my obsession with creating something that meets the standards of others and simply enjoy the process. This is true art creation.

The best part was that when Josh called me to say that he was on his way home, he asked me what I was doing, and I was able to tell him that I was painting. He was happy for me. He was tickled at the paintings I made, and wanted to hang them up. He was genuinely happy that I was doing something that made me happy. It was just the support and affirmation that I needed. I went to bed with a smile.

Storyteller

2007-07-25T15:57:00.000-07:00

This morning I was told that I should write my stories down.

Krysta had an idea last night that I should write stories. I didn't tell her that when i was little my family called me "Korey Story" because I always had stories to tell. For me, the line between truth and fiction was blurred and inconsequential. I knew, even then, intuitively, what people wanted to hear, and I delivered. I have written many stories, but not recently. I need to work on writing more of them again.

A while back I had this idea for a book that I was going to write. It was going to be about America, the people that make it up, the formation of families and the stories they have to tell. It would not all be pretty, but it would not all be Gothic either (despite the fact that Southern Gothic is my favorite style of literature, and anything I write is tainted with it). My view of America is a multicolored, ever-changing, beautiful nation, akin to the very American quilt. As simple a metaphor as it is, it works perfectly. The fabric of our lives are of different colors, textures, and qualities. Some of the pieces are worse for wear, some new and untouched by love, anguish, or emotion. Up close, a true quilt of scraps and leftovers is a cacophony of noisy prints and gaudy colors, but from afar it is beautiful. I would like to write my American family quilt and piece it together with the good, the bad, and the very, very ugly.

If ever a person was suited to write about the inhabitants of this great nation, it would be me. of course, it could be anyone here. This is not a country club or a church where length of membership qualifies you for anything more than what every other member enjoys. An American for life, for generations, or for one day is as much as American as any other. This is what makes me love this nation; the diversity and the beauty. I have to focus on what I love about the country because there are so many things I dislike. When it becomes time to write about the dynamics of American people; their families, their work ethic, their diversions, and their sagas, I draw from my experiences and those of the people around me, as well as the rich traditions and lessons offered up by some of the most stunning literature that has ever been written. Ecstatic at times, elegiac at others, American literature is vast, diverse, noisy, and ugly, but taken in context it is honest and beautiful. This is what intimidates me about writing anything in the tradition of the great American authors.

Of course, if I don't try I'll certainly never succeed...

Do you have something to contribute?

2007-07-23T13:12:00.000-07:00

Saturday night I cooked dinner for friends, invented a recipe, played a board game and held a three-month old child. I felt at remarkably at ease, sitting amongst friends, a baby balanced on my lap, shouting out answers and laughing hysterically into the night. It made me crave to have a child of my own.

I have been at odds with the idea of becoming a parent for most of my life. In high school I decided that I certainly would not become one. I was angered by the accidental pregnancies and lackadaisical parenting I witnessed in my society, and I decided that unless you were predestined for parenting, you should smartly stay away from it. I was also pretty angry with the way the world was heading and my view of the future was somber at best. Why should I raise another human being to travail in this world when i did not have much hope for its future? I believed that I was too selfish to be a parent, and that procreation was too pointless. I thought the best, most mature and selfless thing I could do would be to own up to my inability and avoid having children. I still believe that this is a very mature decision, and one that should be highly respected. I believed then, and still believe now, that being a parent does not make you a saint, a respectable member of society, or even a good person. it only makes you a parent. In fact, some of the most despicable people in our society are people that were ill-suited for parenthood. I was determined not to be one of these.

In a college theology course we studied theological perspectives on procreation. Of course there was the Catholic view of God's plan for us, ad that doing anything to prevent His natural order was a sin. I disagreed. Later on, we studied a theologian with a refreshingly honest view of procreation. His idea was that anyone who denied to bring life into the world was hopeless and pessimistic. He said that to bring a child into the world was to believe that there is something here worth attending to. To have a child meant that you believed in a redeemable quality of life, that you felt there was something here worth noting, worth appreciating, and you wanted to bring life into this world to find that quality. I found myself pondering the things about life that were truly breathtaking. How could I deny a potential life the smell of wet grass after a sudden rain? How could I deny this life the first sight of the sun sinking behind the ocean? How could I deny him or her the exquisite and masterful sounds of Beethoven or the nuances of Milton?

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
-Shakespeare, Sonnet I

In college, I also found something else: an appreciation for myself. As Shakespeare says, a child is a reflection of one's youth after it has passed. I always avoided those who had children in some attempt to be reborn and to live life again. There are those who have children only to see themselves in the face of a child, a selfish desire to live on past death, or a vain ideal of maintaining the height of one's beauty by recreating it in a child. However persuasive the arguments of Shakespeare, I like the idea of passing something on to your children, of believing that there are things on earth worth being born for. In college I discovered many things about myself. I discovered that I have a unique contribution to this world, and I now feel as though I have a duty to pass this along to another generation. As this is the case, I do not feel tied to a biological string, although I look forward to the experience of being pregnant; I know that I could contribute to a life that bears no resemblance to my biological background.

I have only recently put this into words, only because the words have been provided for me. But I know now that these words explain the way I feel. The stirring in my being, the desire to parent a child, to raise, teach and foster the growth of another living being.

I suppose all things have a season, and the season that I could not have seen as a headstrong fifteen-year old is approaching, closer now than I could ever have imagined. I walk toward it with confidence.

Journaling

2007-07-06T13:05:00.000-07:00

I suppose "journaling" is not a word, but I like it.

I am going to try and record my thoughts and goals in a journal which will remain in my purse. Wish me luck!

I am not particularly skilled at crafting goals for myself. For one thing, I am pretty adaptable. I don't have a place where I MUST see myself in ten or twenty years. Another thing is that I know how often i change my mind, and I don't want to tie myself down. I don't want to create a goal and then feel as though it has become an obligation. I should work on the visual goal board suggested in The Secret, but I haven't had time. Maybe that should be a goal!

My main "goal" in life is to be happy. I know it is very vague and I am comfortable with that. The upside of this goal is that it doesn't require any one life path, but any one that I follow which brings fulfillment to my life. Some people want to be rich, but if I am happy without money, why would I need it? When it comes down to it, aren't most goals intended to help a person reach a place in which he is happy?

Weakness Finder 2.0

2007-07-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

Hi friends. I know we love to discover our strengths and work on them, and it does make a certain amount of sense to focus on ones strengths rather than his weaknesses, but that has not stoppered my curiosity about my weaker points. So I present: weakness finder 2.0.

Do you have underacheiver?
Perhaps naivete?
Or my personal favorite, judgemental!

Here are mine, according to weakness finder 2.0:

1. Retrospective
2. Negativity
3. Self-Doubt
4. Judgemental
5. Undisciplined

Let me know what yours are!

Friends

2007-06-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

I have had many friends come and go in my lifetime. Some I was comfortable with leaving in the past, and others still sting to remember. The strange thing about having friends is the realization that they can change your mood completely from one minute to the next. They can cause you more pain than you knew you could feel, or bring you more joy than you knew you were capable of.

In my constant quest for truth and my place in this world I have relied upon many people. Some will leave you when you need them the most, others you know you can count on for anything.

I know that I am not the best when it comes to telling people what they mean to me. I try to improve, but it has always been hard for me to say what I feel. I know that if something happened in my life I could turn to my friend Michelle and that she would listen. Michelle, I hope you read this so that I can take this opportunity to tell you that I love you. I appreciate all of the things you have done for me, and the things you will do in the future. I appreciate that you are the type of friend that remembers every birthday and will call just to see how I am doing. I appreciate that you put the needs of others before your own consistently, and you do this without a second thought. God bless you.

In High School I had an argument with a guy at lunch one day and left school crying, only to find a bouquet of flowers on my door two hours later. It was a time when I needed to know that I was loved, and nothing more. I had a birthday where she distracted me with strange-acting friends at the drugstore who couldn't figure out how to fill out the photo envelope just so she could fill my room with roses, streamers, and my favorite candy. Yesterday, amid the confusion, frustration, and discontent of my day she wrote a beautiful response to my writing, and I found that it was just what I needed to remember why I write and why I should not give up on this dream.

Thank you.

And to anyone else that I do not express myself to often enough, please try to read through my words and find the meaning within. I am so appreciative.

Top Ten Fears

2007-06-25T15:36:00.000-07:00

These are the top ten phobias in the United States
A phobia, by the way, is an irrational fear.

1. Acrophobia: fear of heights
2. Aerophobia: fear of flying
3. Agoraphobia: fear of panicking and then not being able to escape (usually explained as a fear of crowds, as in Emily Dickinson)
4. Arachnophobia: fear of spiders
5. Brontophobia: fear of thunder
6. Carcinophobia: fear of cancer
7. Claustrophobia: fear of closed spaces
8. Emetophobia: fear of vomiting
9. Necrophobia: fear of death
10. Sociophobia: fear of people or social situations

Why do we have phobias? And how many of these can you truthfully say you have been stricken with at some point? I can admit to 1, 3, 4, and 6, at least. Do phobias help us in any way? Typically, fear is learned as a helpful response to avoid danger or injury. A fear of say, cancer, is only a waste of energy, and yet why do some find themselves victims to these fears? What can we do to avoid them? Are some of us hardwired for fear?

I think that perhaps our fears are a reflection of an insecurity or a projection of fear onto a common or inane object. For example, perhaps my fear of spiders is a projection of a more rational fear (say abandonment or failure) onto the simple insect? Another thing: no one ever said that the things people fear the most are irrational because they are not scary or dangerous. Perhaps some of us have evolved a super sensitive sense of fear to things with relatively low risk through one bad experience or a simple neurosis. Flying can be dangerous. It is rational to fear heights to stop one from plunging to his death. Crowds can be very dangerous, as a person could be trampled or assaulted, and we all know the dangers of mob mentality. Some spiders are poisonous, (and well the others are downright gross) and should not be touched. I do not need to go into all of the fears, but each has a reason for its legitimacy, and yet the phobia is like carrying this fear past normal boundaries into obsession. Any thoughts?

Inner Strength/Outer Turmoil

2007-06-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

"Lean on me, when you're not strong,
I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on.
Because, it won't be long, till I'm gonna need
somebody to lean on."

"When the sun shines, we'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath I'ma stick it out till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella "

With the knowledge that I just posted lyrics not quite as poetic as they are catchy, I will proceed to explain my reason for this:

This weekend I got to thinking about love and strength. I believe that women in the U.S. are conditioned to believe that a man should step in and save them, and that this is the man they will marry. This is a theme prevalent in Western culture, reflecting the patriarchal values of societies in many countries. We look at Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, and Snow White as our guides. They are beautiful and privileged women (except for Cinderella, a testament to marrying up) who were saved by love. In these tales, the women are on the verge of destruction until a Prince Charming sweeps in to save the day. What is so strange, to me, about these stories is that the male counterparts of these ingenues sacrifice very little to save the ladies in peril, and always end up marrying them. Do we ask to be saved?

Sometimes I find myself falling into this feeling of codependency, and i wait to be swept away by love. I have been. There is a difference: while I have been saved by love, I have also done the saving. I know that there have been many instances in which I have been the heroine to my love, and I have sacrificed much in the meantime. In our sacrifices to each other we have found not only the allure of love, but a long-lasting relationship and respect. We save each other. There is no dominant partner here, only a realization that we need one another to survive in this cruel world. Because of the reciprocity of this claim, we have come to appreciate and respect one another, and on this is a true and equal relationship born.

The heights

2007-06-21T12:53:00.001-07:00

Okay well I am not quite there yet, but I am getting there.

I realized today, concretely, the power of communication. I spoke to my mother on the phone and I was able to say things, more things than I knew I had to say. I communicated things that, until the moment they left my lips were known only subconsciously. They had been there all along, but I had not so much as thought of them willingly. But they were there, and I found them, and vocalized them. I felt the words leaving my lips in a flurry and listened intently as idea after idea flowed into the phone and my mother's ear. I was enthralled at the idea that I was communicating on such a level that even my conscious mind considered it unconquered territory.

I have a better idea now of who I am and who I want to become. It is coming together in my mind piece by piece as each day passes. I want to become a shelter from the storm of humanity to the people I love. I want to become a warm blanket to shroud them from the frigidity of hatred. I want to become the sharp blade of a sword, threatening and still, to protect them from anger. I want to be a resource in the confusion of living. I want to be a source of joy in the otherwise sullen lives of my loved ones. I want to be a candle in the darkness of the soul, and to illuminate all those around me. I hope to be all of these things and more. I am willing to sacrifice, to shelter, to protect and calm, to enlighten and enrich, and to exalt each precious soul that has turned to me and will continue to turn to me in the search for love.

I can be all of these things,

and I will.

The depths

2007-06-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am feeling...defeated. I don't know how else to communicate the way that I feel right now. My mind is absolutely overwhelmed. I wish that there were more I could write, but words are not coming. I can only say that I feel defeated in this instance. I want to have the answers to life's problems, and I am faced time and time again with the reality that I do not and will not. And yet I continue to hope.

Admit.

2007-06-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

After a conversation yesterday with my life coach, Krysta, I had a serious thought session inside of an MRI machine.

Perhaps I should back up and explain myself.

I asked her opinion on whether or not I should ask the fiance' to go to the hospital with me for this test. Her best friend had one recently and had brought her husband, and I was looking for some insight. Her answer made me think. She said that Jen had appreciated her husband being there, that knowing he was outside waiting for her had helped her remain calm. She said, besides that, "sometimes it is good to let them know that you need them." I thought about the enormity of this thought. It is hard for me to let anyone know that I need them. I go through life like so many people protesting my need of anyone to survive or enjoy life. I thought of the small ways in which I refuse to concede, even now. The times I will bang jars against the counter top and pull on their lids until my hands turn bright red before asking for him to open them. The times I get a chair from another room and carry it to my closet to reach the top shelf rather than asking for assistance.

But these are small matters.

What is more important are the matters of the soul that I refuse to ask for assistance with. We have had these conversations before, and I am certain we will again.
"Why don't you talk to me about it?"
Well why don't I? Because I want to figure it out on my own? It is hard to explain but each time I acknowledge my inability to do something without assistance, I feel as though I am losing a little bit of my self. I suppose it all boils down to the mantras of the single girl: yes I can, yes I will!
You feel that if you get used to the help of a guy, and rely on him, and someday he is gone, it will be hard to accept. You will feel inadequate. And being a kick-ass female is all about protesting your adequacy loudly and proudly day after day!
Why? Because I can! I will!
So here I am, contemplating my inadequacy to ask for help when I truly want and need it, while inside of a white plastic mask, under a sheet, locked into a tunnel of excruciating noise. My eyes start to tear up and my brain screams, "let me out of here!" but suddenly falls calm as I realize that when my 15 minutes is up, I will be let out, and he will be waiting for me. And he was.

Krysta's Thought for the Day

2007-06-04T13:43:00.000-07:00

Question: How often do you assume that what you hate most about yourself exists in other people? More importantly, what do your relationships look like as a result of not loving yourself completely?

I know the answers to these questions intuitively, as I have raked my soul across hot coals to answer them truthfully before. I know that there are things about myself that I resent existing; I can feel the sore spots in my being. Those also seem to be some of the things that I resent most in others. Now I don't think I need to write them out for the potential world to see, but i do think that it is vital to my understanding and appreciation (yes appreciation!) of myself that I know what these things are. You cannot hope to understand yourself only by focusing on the things that you feel confident about. You should be able to understand the weaknesses in your character.

Why?

Well this takes us to the second question. We need to heal ourselves and forgive ourselves in order to give ourselves fully to another person. There is no part of my being that i have not inspected time and again in the past four years. I know that I have surveyed any aspect of myself that i could think of. I am giving myself to someone for all eternity, and I felt like I should know what HE is in for. I came up with a sort of mental list. It was refreshing (yes, I swear) to admit that I am messy and enjoy dropping everything on the floor when I walk in from work. Or that I avoid confrontation until i am too angry to speak calmly. I stopped denying things that I hated about myself. I stopped criticizing people for things (like being lazy or non-confrontational) and I started - gasp - appreciating and loving myself more. And guess what happened? I opened myself up to be loved and appreciated more in return.

Now that wasn't hard, was it?

My journey

2007-05-10T13:51:00.000-07:00

My journey starts today.

Perhaps my journey started a little over one year ago on the day that I graduated from college. That is the moment that so many people feel defines the start of adulthood. I know I felt it long before then.
I have always put things into perspective. I always believed this to be an asset. I have had the ability to ruminate on conditions and events and put them into a larger context that would not define me, but enrich me. I never sought out definition. I viewed my life like a collage, each added picture contributed to the overall. I could never describe myself in one word, even ten. Imagine describing a collage in more than one word; it would be impossible. Each new contribution to my life has left a mark on me, never to be erased or removed. As I age, I become more complex and more beautiful. The stories that fill my mind and leave my mouth are the patches of my quilt of existence. I would be naked without them. Each fact, each moment, each experience I have carefully hoarded and saved away, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pull it out in all its glory. This being said, why would I want to define myself in one word?
In my culture, you do not ask someone what they are like or what they enjoy, you
ask them what they do. This is especially strange when you realize that so many people do not enjoy what they do for a living. So many people feel stressed, forced and pushed into categories. I defy categories. When asked what I do, even now as I sit behind a desk, working a job that certainly has a title, I never answer that question in one word. Some people probably think of me as merely wordy, trying to elevate my status with a series of words. I am doing nothing of the sort. I am merely trying to explain myself in a few words as possible, and nothing I do is plain enough to be described in one word. I hope it never will be.
I don’t have to be anywhere or do anything special. The things that may end up defining my life may seem simple to others, in fact I can guarantee they will. All that matters is that I am confident in my choices or my refusal to choose. Maybe not making a choice is my choice, and there is nothing wrong with that. I have tried to steer the people I know and love into decisions which will make them happy. I try to help them find a way to succeed that fulfills their purpose and brings them joy. I suppose it is easy for me to encourage someone else to find the “path not taken” while I enjoy a life of privilege and worry about nothing. I would make it on my own, I am confident of this, and yet I do not have to, not completely, and I use this to my advantage. I take advantage of every minute that I have to follow my passions, and for this I have no regrets. If the experiences of my life, good or bad, were spread in ink across my skin, despite my young age, it would be full. I am proud of this. I see beauty even in sadness, doubt and defeat, because I see life in it. I do not see the beauty in holding a job because it pays well and marrying a person because he or she fits into the life I am joining. I will submit to nothing. I will follow my heart.
I can see myself holding many positions and titles in my life, and this does not bother me at all. I am not focused on the long term ramifications of my career decisions. I focus from one moment to the next on following my heart and doing something I enjoy. I could list endlessly the things that I am passionate about, and this may come close to describing who I am, but any good writer knows that passions alone do not make a character. Of course there are reasons, facts, feelings, and stories behind them. There are always stories. I, for one, will not be placed in any box. In my lifetime I hope to hold a multitude of titles, in fact, I hope to hold many at once. I sincerely hope that at the end of this life, whenever that is for me, I can walk confidently into the next knowing that no matter what I did right or wrong, I lived. I want to know that I did what I thought was right for me in every instance, that I chose the decisions of my heart over my head (or anyone else’s for that matter), and that I lived from one happiness to the next.

No!

2007-04-30T14:33:00.000-07:00

I refuse! I refuse to be a person that dwells in anger and frustration and sits, day after day, in a situation that displeases him. I want to do something with my life! Something inside me screams these words and yet something else urges me to stay, to remain complacent. I can picture what I want from life. I can feel it, altough it is not concrete, it is not spelled out or actual. I will know it when I feel it. What I feel now is that I should wait for the right moment to come along, and yet I do not yet know what that will be. I should be more clear. I desire to change the path in which my life is heading, and I do not feel valued, however, I need the money that I make, pitiful as it is, and I need to ensure that I would be making the right decision.

I want to take the strengths finder test. Not because I don't know what my strengths are, because instincitvely I do, but because I need to affirming power of knowing (rather than feeling) them. I will do this, and I will write about them, and hopefully that will help me decide where I want to go and what I want to do.

Wow, I just made something like a plan.

Anger addict?

2007-04-24T15:48:00.000-07:00

Hi imaginary blog readers,
I am in a really bad mood. Have you ever had someone throw something nice back in your face? Have you ever been confronted with a person insecure enough to try and undermine and injure a family member with a heart so pure that he only wishes this person the best of luck, as trying as she may be? Well I am marrying into such a person. I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I didn't ever think she would stoop as low as this. Before I continue my sales pitch I suppose I need to explain myself.

This person I speak of is probably part of the reason that I despise Christian hypocrites so much. i don't call myself an anything, but I try to live my life after the basic moral tenets in my heart and the teachings of others that I find to be true. One of these is Jesus, but my moral guideposts are not limited to Him. I also look to my parents, friends, and others for the "right" in a sea of wrongs. I am constantly confronted with people who call themselves followers, and yet they do no single action to define themselves as such. It is as though some people call themselves Republicans, and yet they keep voting for Democrats and having abortions.

Hopefully such people don't exist, and if they did, we would all realize what a joke they are. However, do some spiritual name-dropping, add a touch of the mystical to the mix, and no one questions you.

Well I do.

Right now I feel called strangely toward Christian soldier-ism, and yet my kind of soldier is a sort of Pulp-Fiction-era Samuel L. Jackson, complete wiht Jeri-curl, gun, and an abundance of the word m#&%^r-f@&#er.

Why is it that I am so easily angered by people who protest their observance to a faith and yet follow none of the tenets of that tradition? I think I care because Christianity means something to me, as hard as it is for me to admit. I have never been hurt so deeply as I have by the most blatant, sticker-affixing and card-carrying Christians I have ever known. I'll be honest, it has made me reluctant to befriend such people. That, my friends, is pathetic and unfair.

Now as I sit here, becoming angrier at the minute, I question my desire to align myself with anyone else for eternity. I am fine with my choice of mates, and I want nothing more than to grow old with him and his every imperfection, but I am forced to align myself with others who share his past and his DNA. What have I gotten myself into. I do not maintain long-term relationships. Not with boys, not with girls (who would be friends, last time I checked my sexual preference). I don't know why I ever thought that I could possibly get along with other people without my Samuel L. Jackson hair, weapon, and vocabulary.

I am taking a trip down memory lane this afternoon. I am remembering the past friendships I've had and how they have ended, and i am becoming very skeptical of this magical realm of "love" and the less magical realm of "family."

Just when I start to be on good terms (possibly, hopefully) with my brother I enter into another drama-filled and anger-laden relationship. This is not what I want for my life. I protest! I want peace. I want happiness. I want to focus on the problems of others, heal them, and turn to another. How can I do that when I feel drawn in to and obsessed with the problems I face?

Undecided

2007-04-20T15:09:00.000-07:00

I am trying to pull together my thoughts right now and finding that difficult. I have really run the gamut of emotions today. I was scared, exhilarated, nervous, happy, upset, and sad. now I feel just strange.

Sometimes I just wish that I could turn off whatever it is in me that causes me to over think and overdo everything. I give myself the same pep talks when I am frustrated and upset and they do not work. I feel like I can go from a place of exaltation, utter and complete joy and pride in myself, who I am and where I am going, to the depths of despair. I should not be able to, in a day, go from elation to sadness, pride to disgust. I think I care too much, and it even stops me from doing. I could do more for others and care less. I feel so overwhelmed sometimes.

In high school my motto was, "if you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention." In my eyes, if you didn't see the problems that plague our world and you didn't feel anything about them that you were morally flawed. I could not get my mind off of every little thing outside my control. I don't know why I care about things that do not concern me in any way, but I do. I know that my feeling bad will not improve anything, but I feel morally remiss to go on with my day while others suffer. I need to take things as they come I guess, evaluate them, and do what I can, if anything. I need to stop thinking about revenge and focus on something positive. I need to channel my advice to others (appreciate, rejoice) and dump it on myself and actually believe it and practice it. I want to feel accomplished and I am one of the many things that stand in my way. Can I change that? Will I ever escape the feeling that I am uncomfortable where I am now?

I need to do what I feel is right. I need to follow my heart. I trust that things happen for a reason. I trust that if I continue as I am now, good things will come of my life. I feel that retribution comes to those who deserve it. I feel that by living positively and doing what I feel is right I will be rewarded in the end. I think I am already being rewarded! I think I am very fortunate to be where I am now. I need to remember that!

We are the wounded

2007-04-18T11:06:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm pulling out the soapbox, yet again, for another discussion. this is not a new one for me, it is something I have spoken about time and time again. If you had been in lit. classes with me, you would be sick of this by now, but I think it is important for all of us to hear. I am my rant at Americans, because it is the culture I am in and the culture I know, but we are not alone in this. There are two forces at work here:
what I call "un"original sin, or the "sins of our fathers"
and
guilt.
If I were to write a Milton-esque mythical journey, Guilt would be my tragic hero. That is, I think guilt is underestimated in its scope and importance. But before I jump into guilt I must first explain my first force.

"Un"original sin.
I am not talking about the religious idea of Original Sin and the Fall, although it is important to note that we live in a postlapsarian world (that is, we are not in the Garden of Eden; we exist after the fall) and things are in no way innocent and perfect. In our current time, many years after the Fall, people made mistakes, if you will, and those mistakes have left a scar that does not diminish with the decay of flesh. This scar continues on through many generations of people and is passed, like a genetic disorder, from father to son, mother to daughter.
The "un"original sin I speak of is the sin that has commenced since the Fall of Man. It is the sin of fathers and mothers which is transcribed to sons and daughters of the flesh. Within this idea is the notion of inevitability. We know, as part and parcel of this new world, that humans will err, and to accept this is to accept humankind. However, what I don't think Adam and Eve considered as they left that garden, was that on top of their own physical pain and embarrassment, each passing generation would amplify and increase human suffering in a never-ending spiral until salvation. This is why: If Eve supposed (as she must have as an intelligent being) that after her generation her children would adapt to pain and become stronger for it, adopt the idea of foraging for food and shelter and assume it as natural, and suppose she believed that eventually the pain of their mistakes would disappear. There was one small factor that she did not consider. Entire generations do not start and end simultaneously. Children are taught and guided by their parents and society. The ideas that begin with one carry on to the next. Each passing mistake, ill deed or word, murder or betrayal becomes a part of a human, just as is his skin or bones, and just as parents pass along astigmatism or ashtma, so is pain transmuted from one generation to the next. not just pain, but predjudice, hatred, bitterness, hostility, and bias. We are never going to experience a new group of people who will wipe clean the slate of humanity's mistakes and start again, and even if we did, who is to say that the same things would not occur?
To sum that up, we all have baggage.
I have baggage as a woman in our society, knowing what has gone before and what is yet to be conquered. I have some new baggage, only as old as my parents' generation, due to my knowledge of the things they fought for. On top of this I have baggage only as old as my body, for as long as I have possessed this frame things have been done to me and by me that have left me forever changed.
Can we fix it?
This is where guilt begins. As if we weren't all damaged enough, we also have the guilt of those who came before us. We borrow and eventually take over the pain of our forbears as well as the guilt. We are all broken.
Now I didn't tell you how you could fix it. I should.
Acknowledge it. It is the only thing you can do. Take credit for it. Stop convincing yourself that because you "weren't there" it is not "your problem." I wish you all could know how hard it was for me to reach deep, deep, deep (thanks, Krysta) down into myself and acknowledge my guilt about racism in the United States. My protests were varied and sounded pretty solid: I wasn't there, my ancestors weren't involved in the slave trade, hell my ancestors were some of the persecuted. But it was a healing moment when i could acknowledge that I am still guilty. As blood runs through my veins of ancient origins, I am complicit in their crimes because I benefit from them. Can I dispute that fact? I do. I am white, therefore I benefit from the racist policies of older generations. It will not disappear with a Proclamation, laws, inclusion in public policy, or discussions of the pain that minorities felt. It is not fair to say that because you weren't there, you weren't hurt by it. Remember that humanity is old and we are all one, across years and generations. it will not be erased with a few kind words. We still benefit from the systems that were in place then, the ideas in place now, and the decisions that will be made in the future.
We are all complicit.
If you think that not being white excuses you from this, think again. We all have something in our pasts that we need to seek forgiveness for. Men, this is where you should pay attention. Women were not created in an inferior manner. Because Eve was symbolically created from the rib of a man does not make her a lesser being, she was an improvement on the first design. Just because you feel that you are kind to women and that you do not subjugate us does not mean that you are or do. You are guilty, as was your father and grandfather. You are guilty now because you benefit from the system and continue to do so. You are guilty because your sons will benefit as well. Do not make light of this situation. You need to acknowledge that you are guilty. Apologize to a woman and feel the weight lift from your chest.

You think that with new life comes new possibility, and that is a beautiful and optomistic thought that we all should have. Truly we can form new life, we still have time to push our children toward change. However, we cannot change them. With something as old as humanity you must not assume that simply by way of birth one gets to re-design all of human history. The act of being born does not clean the terrible history of the United States from our faces, let alone our older ancestors. We are an ancient race, and our ancient ideas come with us. Perhaps this is where the idea of reincarnation comes from. It is not that we are born again, it is that our souls are never new. Even from birth we are tainted and old.

Do you ever?

2007-04-18T10:08:00.000-07:00

Today I have been thinking about the strange things that I do, some of which I hardly realize.

If someone were to ask me if I were superstitious, I would laugh and answer that I am certainly not. With my stringent belief in free will, choice, and authority over one's life, it does not make sense that I would put any trust in superstition, and yet I do. I can sum up my reason for this quite simply:
I do it just in case.
Life is hard enough, I don't need to add to the constant travail of life by carelessly walking under a ladder or upending a salt shaker. Why risk it?
Yes, that is ridiculous, and i know it. I know it while I am throwing salt over my shoulder or changing directions to avoid a black cat crossing my path. I know that superstition and fate are ideas that I do not subscribe to, and yet when I get a fortune from a fortune cookie, you better believe that I stick it in my purse. I tell myself that I do this just because they are "cute" and even inspirational. I wouldn't be surprised, dear reader, if you didn't believe that.
My last one warned me to be attentive because someone is interested in me. Hmmm....

East of Eden

2007-04-17T16:33:00.000-07:00

This is where I am.
It is also coincedentally the title of one of my favorite books. Eden is near, but I am somewhere downwind of Paradise, in a place far more comfortable. I enjoy the imperfections that humans fall mercy to. Also, what would I do with perfection but sully its name, disregard it, or worse? I am in a comfortable valley in which I feel blessedly close to perfection, but I can use the imperfection in my life to be grateful for its opposite. I feel that if the terrible moments didn't come along to slap me in the face and awaken my inner gratitude for all that is not terrible, for all moments that are not the moment I despise, I would not truly appreciate the beauty in my life.

We, here in the beautiful, sun-drenched and fertile county of Orange have little to complain about, and yet complaints are all we hear. I am guilty of this myself. I feel saddened at the realization of what a freak I would seem like if, rather than complaining about the weather, my lack of energy, or politics, I spouted inspirational words of joy. Picture this: I walk into an elevator at my doctor's office with a stranger. I smile as I enter and say:
Me: Isn't it gorgeous outside?
Stranger: Um, sure, yeah, I guess.
Me: We are so lucky to be able to walk into this office and stand in an elevator, aren't we?
Stranger: Um, sure.
Me: Really, if you think about all the people who cannot walk and stand, who rely on elevators, when we both know we were just too lazy to take the stairs, this is quite a feat. And we take this for granted.
Stranger: *clears throat, mumbles* Yeah. *Looks at feet, checks the door quickly, returns gaze to feet*

Here is the conversation I would most likely have:
Me: Hi, thanks for holding the door. What floor are you going to?
Stranger: Third. The lab.
Me: Ouch. i hope you aren't taking a blood test.
Stranger: I am. I hate blood tests. I hate needles and i hate waiting so long for them to call my name.
Me: Seriously. And they are so rude! Can you believe the way they boss you around? One lady told me I was a baby and I need to "get over it!"
Stranger: yeah, but with health insurance...what can you expect?
Did you see that? We bonded over hatred and annoyance. It is the cultural norm to complain but not to praise or enjoy. Pathetic.

Let's all start a positivity revolution! Instead of complaining, at least five times a day replace the complaint about to fly out of your mouth with something positive. Challenge yourself to find it. This is the type of obnoxiously positive advice my fiance has given me, and here I am passing it along. It has helped me, though. He would be shocked to think of me as the leader of a positivity revolution!

That is what it is like to live East of Eden. It is beautiful and so close to perfection, but completely taken for granted. All we want is perfection, and we never stop to appreciate how great it is to be this close to it. The grass is always greener in our minds, but our own grass looks pretty damn good. Appreciate! Enjoy! Smile!

Today I will

2007-04-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

Today I will smile.

laugh.
think.
sigh.
love.
appreciate.

This is my first blog since high school. I am determined to write something more inspirational than the things I wrote then. I used to write everyday. I did not post them anywhere but on my hard drive, and some of them were wonderful. Some were awful. There are some things that you need to write just to get off your chest, and never return to them again. Such things I moved to floppy disks, and I don't have a disk drive anymore, so they are confined there for all eternity. I intend to write more often then I have been.

Some thoughts before I go:
Life moves so quickly, and requires more contemplation than anyone has time to commit to it. I try to appreciate one thing each day, to think on that, and to love it. I am, by nature, a pessimist, but despite my constant negativity and my complaints, I am happy. I am more happy now than I have ever been. I need to remind myself of this often, and it works well for me, most of the time. Try not to get caught up in the negative, and even if you do, even if the entire world seems to be caught in the mire of despair and uselessness, try to isolate one single thing that you appreciate. It will define your existence, even if only for a moment.