We stand up to begin the ordered shuffle through the gate. I scroll to my customary airplane boarding playlist (entitled "World Conquering" on Spotify), blast AC/DC through my earbuds and walk through the tunnel towards the plane as if it is one leading to my own personal arena. This is how I remind myself to be fearless when traveling alone. It always works.
There's a silently acknowledged etiquette to be silent, even in the sitting down and removing of jackets and replacing of laptops in overhead compartments. As of this moment, we are between worlds, not in them, and the hustle and bustle of our former and future lives has no place between the rows of oval windows.
For some reason, I always have the urge to cry the moment the front wheels lift and we are pulled into the sky from some invisible force above. Perhaps it is because this is when it hits me that in that moment, I am neither in the place from which I am coming, nor the one toward which I am traveling. I and the hundreds of people around me whose names and stories I do not know are in a world of our own, headed toward our own great mysteries for which none of us are prepared. I think this is always the first moment I realize I am never prepared. But for the next few hours, I am surrounded by people nothing like me and just like me, headed into the huge crisscrossed network of human stories, and for that time I am allowed to be alone and unprepared.
Minutes go by. Hours. Time slows and speeds up and slows again. I might stay curled forever in the cramped, quiet limbo of space between my armrests, my head and knees propped against the wall, songs passing mindlessly through my earbuds, fading in and out of sleep. But eventually, the gentle motion of the plane's descent reminds me how gravity sometimes feels like a mother softly shaking my shoulders, and I rise and fall on a lazy wave. I try to fight it, stay curled in my almost-comfortable position, but gradually the downward movements of the wave become less smooth, mixing with the dull roaring vibrations of the wheels opening and stretching toward our destination.
Our wheels collide with the rushing earth beneath us, bumping, and suddenly I am weightless, the forward inertia of the brakes lengthening my spine and pushing my body back to its upright and locked position. We glide into a gate. My eyes find the window next to me as the people around me begin to rustle back to life. In the distance, framed perfectly and shining against the black night, is the Capitol building.
Welcome home.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Monday, November 23, 2015
Forward
It is a big thing
to look failure in the eyes.
To not shove it away,
not cling to its arm,
just look it up and down
and say to it,
"I have to go now."
It is a hard thing
to raise your chin
and look the world
in the eyes again.
To keep taking the stairs
two at a time,
walk without clenching
your fists,
and to watch the world
come at you and say,
"Bring it.
I'm ready."
Because you have to,
you have to,
you have to,
even if you're not ready
at all.
to look failure in the eyes.
To not shove it away,
not cling to its arm,
just look it up and down
and say to it,
"I have to go now."
It is a hard thing
to raise your chin
and look the world
in the eyes again.
To keep taking the stairs
two at a time,
walk without clenching
your fists,
and to watch the world
come at you and say,
"Bring it.
I'm ready."
Because you have to,
you have to,
you have to,
even if you're not ready
at all.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Things I'm Thankful For
My mom, my dad, my brother, my dog, and my cat.
The people in my phone I can text at any time to ask for prayers or encouragement because I know that they love me unconditionally and are always ready to tell me such.
The fact that I can walk out my door every day without one jot of worry about my own safety.
Cinnamon on top of coffee.
Having not one, but two jobs that I actually enjoy doing.
I get to live in New England.
A red Jeep named O'Malley.
The people in my life who will take care of me when I can't do it for myself.
Improv team.
A kind roommate who lets me borrow her flannels and makes my bed on the days I am too flustered to do it myself.
I was picked to be in a fall short where I am literally the only cast member, and that people in this theater department actually respect my skill as an actor that much.
The fact that there are people at this school who will (and do) speak well of me around campus as someone who is worthy of friendship and respect.
Good shoulder massages.
For the huge blessing that I have not once in my life had to seriously worry about money.
More often than not, the biggest stresses in my life stem from the fact that people care about me rather than them not caring about me.
Grace.
Grace.
Grace.
The people in my phone I can text at any time to ask for prayers or encouragement because I know that they love me unconditionally and are always ready to tell me such.
The fact that I can walk out my door every day without one jot of worry about my own safety.
Cinnamon on top of coffee.
Having not one, but two jobs that I actually enjoy doing.
I get to live in New England.
A red Jeep named O'Malley.
The people in my life who will take care of me when I can't do it for myself.
Improv team.
A kind roommate who lets me borrow her flannels and makes my bed on the days I am too flustered to do it myself.
I was picked to be in a fall short where I am literally the only cast member, and that people in this theater department actually respect my skill as an actor that much.
The fact that there are people at this school who will (and do) speak well of me around campus as someone who is worthy of friendship and respect.
Good shoulder massages.
For the huge blessing that I have not once in my life had to seriously worry about money.
More often than not, the biggest stresses in my life stem from the fact that people care about me rather than them not caring about me.
Grace.
Grace.
Grace.
Friday, November 6, 2015
"There Is No Why"
It's a terrible thing to be trusted
to be handed something that
doesn't belong
to you.
Because here's the thing about weakness
it doesn't care
that your heart is too big
for your hands
or how just how precious
is that thing
that person
you just shattered
on the tile.
The lioness of loneliness
will pounce regardless
and the fears you use
to prop open
your bedroom door at night
will tumble into the room,
snarling, as your willpower and secrets
fall from your arms
while you scramble to put them
back in their place.
Does there ever come a moment
where it is okay to let go?
Because honestly,
my shoulders are killing me
and I can't figure out
if I'm allowed to drop anything,
or whose fault it will be
when I do anyway.
So I will bite the whip,
sing through gritted teeth
and roar back at the thunder
that I do not fear the storm,
because I am already the storm.
to be handed something that
doesn't belong
to you.
Because here's the thing about weakness
it doesn't care
that your heart is too big
for your hands
or how just how precious
is that thing
that person
you just shattered
on the tile.
The lioness of loneliness
will pounce regardless
and the fears you use
to prop open
your bedroom door at night
will tumble into the room,
snarling, as your willpower and secrets
fall from your arms
while you scramble to put them
back in their place.
Does there ever come a moment
where it is okay to let go?
Because honestly,
my shoulders are killing me
and I can't figure out
if I'm allowed to drop anything,
or whose fault it will be
when I do anyway.
So I will bite the whip,
sing through gritted teeth
and roar back at the thunder
that I do not fear the storm,
because I am already the storm.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Chapter Two
It's been a while. Too long. So much has happened in such a short time since being back at Gordon, and I don't even know where to begin. Adventures! Friendships! Theater classes! Improv! Sophomore year hit the ground running.
Let's talk about the woods.
Let's talk about the woods.
I've been spending a lot more time out here lately, thanks to my slightly lighter class schedule and awesome weather. There are so many more trails behind campus than I realized! Often, I'll go out in the morning only intending to find quiet nook to read in for an hour, only to stumble out mid-afternoon with pine needles and flowers in my hair, exhausted and happy, having discovered 3 new favorite spots. I'll explore, read, listen to music, and sometimes picnic. Occasionally I'll venture out with one or two adventure companions, but mostly I just explore on my own. It's awesome.
Speaking of friends, I gained a whole new group when I made it onto Gordon's improv troupe, the Sweaty-Toothed Madmen! Seriously, these 8 people are the coolest; it's a privilege to be counted as one of them. Aside from the fact that they all have awe-inspiring talent and our rehearsals consist of dancing around onstage and pretending to be chicken farmers or dentists or royalty, they've all become like family to me immediately. We go on McDonald's runs at 1am and have photoshoots and a group text and movie nights. It's no big deal.
Other than that, life is a lot of things. It's rehearsing in practice rooms for Musical Theater and sprinkling cinnamon on customer's drinks at Chester's. It's Monday night hot chocolates with Austin and Friday afternoon tea-and-reading-time on the beach with Josh and Merisa. It's making Cate and I's third-floor room in Wilson (affectionately dubbed The Birdhouse) look as adorable as humanly possible with coordinating comforters and fluffy pillows and yes, a tiny birdhouse that we are going to paint and hang on the door. It's letters from Madison at New Tribes and phone calls from Mom after class and new friends and old friends. It's the great exhilaration of starting new things and comfortable warmth from picking up old ones.
In conclusion, sophomore year is the best and I can't wait for it to be cold.
Oh, and here's the most recent awesome song I've found:
I love this feeling,
but I hate this part...
Saturday, August 29, 2015
The Privilege of Sorrow
The way certain physical places have deeply rooted stakes on our hearts will never fail to leave me wonderstruck. I can talk your ear off about how strolling around Gordon's campus this past week has lifted my spirits and refreshed my heart. Even this morning, I traipsed through the woods, smiling and humming and thrilled to be alive. Telling my friends how "happy" and "emotional" it's been to return. Forgetting, once again, what it truly feels like to have a place who's memory rocks you to your core.
Forgetting, that is, until I saw a video of Kubasaki High School on Facebook tonight.
May I never, ever claim Colonial Forge as my true high school. Having been reminded, I will shout it from the rooftops once more: Kubasaki is my school. Okinawa is my home. It changed me and affected me in a way that no other place will likely ever do. Just the other day, I remembered something I'd written a few weeks before I left, and sorrow stopped me in my tracks because my heartbreaking prophecy had finally come true:
In time, this place, that I can feel under my feet and touch and smell and listen to, will become nothing more than a hazy picture, a dim memory, just like all the other ones, with no life or feeling behind it. There's no escaping that. It just happens over time. It was the hardest blow. I curled up in a ball right there on the sidewalk and cried.
And it's true. Gone are the days when I can feel the heat of the Plaza pavement under my bare feet. Gone are the sounds of morning cicadas and the Japanese national anthem floating over the jungle. Gone is the memory of the stair railings to the second floor of the 200's building at school. The smell of the auditorium. All of it. It's disappeared.
Until I saw this. I turned off the sound and stared at the screen, and all of it (and more) came flooding back in full force, and I sat in my lousy dorm in lousy America and wept silently and uncontrollably at the shock of the sorrow.
(I know that this will mean nothing to so many of you, and yet to some, as it does me, it will mean everything. So I'm putting it here.)
All I can say is that I hope all of you one day experiences a place that has the same profoundly severe impact that this place had, and has, for me. No matter how much it tears you apart. I think that until one has the experience of being changed by a place, there is a part of the soul that will never have the privilege of being cracked open.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Heart is Where the Home Is
In three days, I will once again set out for the mountains of upper New York and abandon suburban toilets and makeup and cell phone service for trees and mountain air and bug spray and tennis shoes, this time not as a La Vida camper, but staff.
And that's amazing and all- and believe me, no one is more psyched than me that my time in Stafford is coming to a close (since I'll go straight to Gordon after my time at Base Camp ends), but I realized something. Though several beautiful and terrible revelations have come to me this summer that are worth writing about, I've recorded all but none of them. Sure, I've journaled and talked with a few dear friends, but I've almost stopped using the one cathartic method that's always been my standby, and it makes me sad because I probably won't be able to for a while.
What's with me? Is it because the powerful, awe-inspiring truths that God has revealed about His character this summer are just too intimidating to try and capture on this measly page? Because deep down, I don't really believe anyone out here would want to know what's happening in my heart and mind? Because I still doubt every day whether my life is worth writing about?
Yes. Yes. And yes. Unfortunately.
But inspiration struck! In a lovely twist of fate, I read something (duh) that reminded me of a sweet truth that always strums a strong chord within me, and cried because I hadn't felt it in a while.
I don't belong here in Virginia. Or at Gordon. Or in Okinawa, or California, or anywhere. I've never had a place I steadfastly called home, and it's been this dull sorrow that never really goes away. But in those moments, I remember that awesome, mind-blowing truth that- neither does anyone else, because God tells us that our kingdom is not of this world. We're never really home... until we're with Him.
But it doesn't stop there. For the past ten days, I visited my family in California for the first time in two years, and guess what? I've never lived there in my life, but I was home. It was this rich, loving moment when I felt surrounded by the people I love and connect with most and thinking, these are my people; this is what I've been missing. They're home to me. My parents and brother are home.
When I think about marriage, I think about having a home in my husband. I think about how every time he walks into a room, I might not necessarily always feel butterflies, but I'll feel safety and comfort and belonging and... home.
Jesus is my home. He's all those things. He's safety and belonging and unconditional love and utter knowledge and understanding of my inner being. I long to be understood, sought-after, and cared for, and He perfectly fulfills all those desires like the true Prince He is.
Which is probably why, when this song by Bethel Music comes on in my car, I instinctively blast the volume, belt the bridge with all of my vocal strength, and get shivers down my spine (and occasionally cry) when I remember how perfect and complete my Home already is.
And that's amazing and all- and believe me, no one is more psyched than me that my time in Stafford is coming to a close (since I'll go straight to Gordon after my time at Base Camp ends), but I realized something. Though several beautiful and terrible revelations have come to me this summer that are worth writing about, I've recorded all but none of them. Sure, I've journaled and talked with a few dear friends, but I've almost stopped using the one cathartic method that's always been my standby, and it makes me sad because I probably won't be able to for a while.
What's with me? Is it because the powerful, awe-inspiring truths that God has revealed about His character this summer are just too intimidating to try and capture on this measly page? Because deep down, I don't really believe anyone out here would want to know what's happening in my heart and mind? Because I still doubt every day whether my life is worth writing about?
Yes. Yes. And yes. Unfortunately.
But inspiration struck! In a lovely twist of fate, I read something (duh) that reminded me of a sweet truth that always strums a strong chord within me, and cried because I hadn't felt it in a while.
I don't belong here in Virginia. Or at Gordon. Or in Okinawa, or California, or anywhere. I've never had a place I steadfastly called home, and it's been this dull sorrow that never really goes away. But in those moments, I remember that awesome, mind-blowing truth that- neither does anyone else, because God tells us that our kingdom is not of this world. We're never really home... until we're with Him.
But it doesn't stop there. For the past ten days, I visited my family in California for the first time in two years, and guess what? I've never lived there in my life, but I was home. It was this rich, loving moment when I felt surrounded by the people I love and connect with most and thinking, these are my people; this is what I've been missing. They're home to me. My parents and brother are home.
When I think about marriage, I think about having a home in my husband. I think about how every time he walks into a room, I might not necessarily always feel butterflies, but I'll feel safety and comfort and belonging and... home.
Jesus is my home. He's all those things. He's safety and belonging and unconditional love and utter knowledge and understanding of my inner being. I long to be understood, sought-after, and cared for, and He perfectly fulfills all those desires like the true Prince He is.
Which is probably why, when this song by Bethel Music comes on in my car, I instinctively blast the volume, belt the bridge with all of my vocal strength, and get shivers down my spine (and occasionally cry) when I remember how perfect and complete my Home already is.
It will not, it will never be enough
just to know about You Jesus, and never call You my own
For my heart was made for love, I can't live without You Jesus
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
The Latest in Warm Weather Woes
To the chivalrous and pure-hearted gentlemen out there who constantly strive to make women feel valued and beautiful no matter what they look like, let me just let you off the hook for the minute.
It's not always you.
When I spend hours upon hours scanning every website imaginable for the bathing suit that will magically form to every unique curve of my body, transforming me into a feminine beauty that's demure and sexy all at once only to come to the conclusion that I'm just a freak of nature who can't wear anything, reducing me to a teary, wilted mess in the corner of my bedroom....
it's not for you.
It's for other girls.
It's for my perfect and beautiful cousins, with California-tanned skin and volleyball-toned bodies and 57 different perfect bikinis. It's for the girls I go to school with, who like me are all trying and failing to discover the Holy Grail of attractive one-pieces and need a shining beacon of hope (aka me) to prove that yes, it exists. It's for the girls I went to high school with, who decided to choose between being hottest and being modest, who I always wanted to inspire into thinking that you can, in fact have both.
Sometimes I wonder if girls really are all that mean to each other, or if the cruelest things we hear are just our own voices, imagining what they're saying about us in their heads. I have no idea if any girl has ever judged me for wearing more modest swimwear. I just assume they do. Because somehow, some way, no matter how confident I am in how I've been created... I will always find a reason to convince myself that I am not beautiful.
So gentlemen, thank you for being kind, and please continue to do so. The battle for outer beauty seems so petty and ridiculous, I know. But let me tell you. It's hard. And cruel. Because it turns out... you were the enemy the whole time.
It's not always you.
When I spend hours upon hours scanning every website imaginable for the bathing suit that will magically form to every unique curve of my body, transforming me into a feminine beauty that's demure and sexy all at once only to come to the conclusion that I'm just a freak of nature who can't wear anything, reducing me to a teary, wilted mess in the corner of my bedroom....
it's not for you.
It's for other girls.
It's for my perfect and beautiful cousins, with California-tanned skin and volleyball-toned bodies and 57 different perfect bikinis. It's for the girls I go to school with, who like me are all trying and failing to discover the Holy Grail of attractive one-pieces and need a shining beacon of hope (aka me) to prove that yes, it exists. It's for the girls I went to high school with, who decided to choose between being hottest and being modest, who I always wanted to inspire into thinking that you can, in fact have both.
Sometimes I wonder if girls really are all that mean to each other, or if the cruelest things we hear are just our own voices, imagining what they're saying about us in their heads. I have no idea if any girl has ever judged me for wearing more modest swimwear. I just assume they do. Because somehow, some way, no matter how confident I am in how I've been created... I will always find a reason to convince myself that I am not beautiful.
So gentlemen, thank you for being kind, and please continue to do so. The battle for outer beauty seems so petty and ridiculous, I know. But let me tell you. It's hard. And cruel. Because it turns out... you were the enemy the whole time.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Bedridden
There was a storm tonight. I skittered across the street in the fading light, dripping wet from the neighbor's pool, as the first drops spattered. By the time I emerged from the hot shower the night was booming and thrashing and rushing outside my window. By all accounts, the torrential rain and purple blinks of lightning should have thrilled me. I live for those reckless summer storms. But something about the erratic winds and the unpredictable sounds they gave the rain unsettled me, and I jumped at every crash of thunder as I folded laundry. I wanted to run into my parents' room and jump under their covers like I was six again.
And for reasons I couldn't give voice to, all I could think about was the people whose names I don't know. Who didn't have a room full of blankets, or the warm glow of lamps, or a roof and four walls to keep them dry. And I thought about the people who didn't have a place to spend the night, and I swallowed a lump in my throat and begged the Lord to protect them and just couldn't stand it that I didn't know where they were so I could pick them up and take them home.
By the time I went downstairs to watch Field of Dreams with my dad, the wind had stopped and the rain silently poured on, and my restless yearning faded. But now here I sit, tears in my eyes and the wildest unsettled feeling in my chest that I don't know what to do with. Geographically, I am surrounded by people who don't have a bed, and I travel through my life blindly and numbly, pushing away the twinge in my chest when one of them paces the intersection in front of the mall with their cardboard sign. And nothing is right about that.
Lord, there are so many injustices in this world and I feel so small because I can do little about many of them. But I just know that everyone should have a bed.
And I have one, and maybe that's the reason I can't fall asleep.
And for reasons I couldn't give voice to, all I could think about was the people whose names I don't know. Who didn't have a room full of blankets, or the warm glow of lamps, or a roof and four walls to keep them dry. And I thought about the people who didn't have a place to spend the night, and I swallowed a lump in my throat and begged the Lord to protect them and just couldn't stand it that I didn't know where they were so I could pick them up and take them home.
By the time I went downstairs to watch Field of Dreams with my dad, the wind had stopped and the rain silently poured on, and my restless yearning faded. But now here I sit, tears in my eyes and the wildest unsettled feeling in my chest that I don't know what to do with. Geographically, I am surrounded by people who don't have a bed, and I travel through my life blindly and numbly, pushing away the twinge in my chest when one of them paces the intersection in front of the mall with their cardboard sign. And nothing is right about that.
Lord, there are so many injustices in this world and I feel so small because I can do little about many of them. But I just know that everyone should have a bed.
And I have one, and maybe that's the reason I can't fall asleep.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Contagious Storytelling
About a month ago, I got a text from my former small group leader at church asking if I could be a storyteller this week for the elementary school ministry. I knew, even then, that I'd be doing absolutely nothing, so I casually accepted. I didn't think much of it until I got home and was sent the script. After a week or two of being lulled into numbness and apathy from the hours I'd chained myself to the bed and couch watching TV, I was horrified as I scrolled through the lines and lines of narrative I'd have to memorize.
In the weeks leading up to the service, I sighed and repeatedly regretted letting myself get "roped into doing this" every time I glanced at the script. This week, I worked more than usual and was tired almost every afternoon and of course, didn't want to spend any time memorizing the thing. When I got up at 6am this morning (earlier than I'd woken voluntarily in probably a year), I regretted it once more. Never again, I told myself as I dragged myself bleary-eyed out of bed. I'll make up an excuse next time they ask me, I repeated in my head as I rifled through my mom's closet for a silk blouse. This is the only time I'm doing this, I thought as I drove to church in the bright morning sunlight. I got to church, smiled at everyone. Was given my microphone. Went to pace around lazily backstage. Stumbled through the first service and collapsed in a backstage lawn chair to doze between sermons, silently lamenting my inconvenience and the frigid temperatures backstage preventing me from restful sleep. Just this one time, I grumbled as I got the microphone tangled in my hair.
But when I got onstage for the 9:30 service, amidst the (much larger) crowd of energetic little ones, something mysterious happened. Despite my best attempts, I enjoyed myself. Those darn theater major instincts kicked in and that familiar high of performing rushed into my system, and suddenly, I delighted in making those fidgety, hand-raising little bodies be still and silent with my memorized lines about Daniel and King Nebuchadnezzar's mysterious dream. I loved how eagerly they shot their small hands in the air to answer my questions. I was swept into the captivating power of Scripture; I could feel God's overwhelming love for these little people and suddenly it was of the utmost importance that they realized what the message of selflessness and conviction meant for them.
Against all reason, I cared.
By the end of the last service, I had found my performance groove, once again swept into the story by my love of being onstage. My small group leader hugged me afterwards and asked if she could count on me to be the storyteller more this summer. I hesitated. Still, my selfish heart grumbled something about boring memorization and early mornings.
I can't say I had this beautiful moment of realization and suddenly, I loved the service of storytelling. I don't even know if I'll do it again. Honestly, a big part of me still doesn't want to. But that darn performance high was real, and the spontaneous urgency to be Jesus' vehicle into those kids' hearts was so strong.
How beautiful and stealthy of God to go, "Hey, that thing you're super not excited about? I'm gonna show you how I feel about it. I'm betting you'll like it."
God's love is no joke. It's contagious.
In the weeks leading up to the service, I sighed and repeatedly regretted letting myself get "roped into doing this" every time I glanced at the script. This week, I worked more than usual and was tired almost every afternoon and of course, didn't want to spend any time memorizing the thing. When I got up at 6am this morning (earlier than I'd woken voluntarily in probably a year), I regretted it once more. Never again, I told myself as I dragged myself bleary-eyed out of bed. I'll make up an excuse next time they ask me, I repeated in my head as I rifled through my mom's closet for a silk blouse. This is the only time I'm doing this, I thought as I drove to church in the bright morning sunlight. I got to church, smiled at everyone. Was given my microphone. Went to pace around lazily backstage. Stumbled through the first service and collapsed in a backstage lawn chair to doze between sermons, silently lamenting my inconvenience and the frigid temperatures backstage preventing me from restful sleep. Just this one time, I grumbled as I got the microphone tangled in my hair.
But when I got onstage for the 9:30 service, amidst the (much larger) crowd of energetic little ones, something mysterious happened. Despite my best attempts, I enjoyed myself. Those darn theater major instincts kicked in and that familiar high of performing rushed into my system, and suddenly, I delighted in making those fidgety, hand-raising little bodies be still and silent with my memorized lines about Daniel and King Nebuchadnezzar's mysterious dream. I loved how eagerly they shot their small hands in the air to answer my questions. I was swept into the captivating power of Scripture; I could feel God's overwhelming love for these little people and suddenly it was of the utmost importance that they realized what the message of selflessness and conviction meant for them.
Against all reason, I cared.
By the end of the last service, I had found my performance groove, once again swept into the story by my love of being onstage. My small group leader hugged me afterwards and asked if she could count on me to be the storyteller more this summer. I hesitated. Still, my selfish heart grumbled something about boring memorization and early mornings.
I can't say I had this beautiful moment of realization and suddenly, I loved the service of storytelling. I don't even know if I'll do it again. Honestly, a big part of me still doesn't want to. But that darn performance high was real, and the spontaneous urgency to be Jesus' vehicle into those kids' hearts was so strong.
How beautiful and stealthy of God to go, "Hey, that thing you're super not excited about? I'm gonna show you how I feel about it. I'm betting you'll like it."
God's love is no joke. It's contagious.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Neutral Gear
I like to think it's hard to surprise me. Part of this is because I've become so accustomed to things differing from my expectations in various ways. Whenever I'm about to experience a new place or situation and I catch myself dreaming up an idea of what it must be like in my head, I tell myself,
"Well, whatever it is, it's not like you think."
Then I show up and somehow, I was right. It was nothing like I expected, but the small acknowledgment beforehand adds some comfort to the uncertainty, turning it into an adventure of sorts.
Except what about when my worst fears come true, after all?
In the weeks leading up to summer break I pictured myself spending a lot of time alone in my room, isolated and bored from the utter friendlessness and mind-numbing suburbia of Stafford. And no matter how many lists of creative things to do alone I made, guess what? That's exactly what happened. I wasn't prepared for that reality.
I of all people can tell you that solitude does not mean loneliness. I thrive off of quiet walks, a good book, a noiseless night of Netflix and nail polish, some undisturbed ukulele (all of which apparently causes aimless alliteration), and some good old fashioned alone time. But willful solitude is one thing, and my current state of affairs is another entirely.
Make no mistake. I love my family. I love my new car. I love the people in my life that I have the ability to see in person right now.
But can I be honest?
Few times in my life have I felt this kind of lonely.
It's reminding me of the difference between like-minded and like-hearted people. If I looked hard enough, I'm sure I would have no shortage of like-minded people with which to spend my days. But I'm aching for someone who's like-hearted to just... even spend a few hours of conversation with, and the emptiness is filling me to the brim and draining the rest of me out, and I end my days tired even though I didn't do anything.
Every day is like trying to swim through syrup: I could exhaust myself and travel two inches, or I could just float numbly in the warmth and hope someone eventually pulls me out.
I....
I'm okay. But that's it. Every day is just okay. It terrifies me.
"Well, whatever it is, it's not like you think."
Then I show up and somehow, I was right. It was nothing like I expected, but the small acknowledgment beforehand adds some comfort to the uncertainty, turning it into an adventure of sorts.
Except what about when my worst fears come true, after all?
In the weeks leading up to summer break I pictured myself spending a lot of time alone in my room, isolated and bored from the utter friendlessness and mind-numbing suburbia of Stafford. And no matter how many lists of creative things to do alone I made, guess what? That's exactly what happened. I wasn't prepared for that reality.
I of all people can tell you that solitude does not mean loneliness. I thrive off of quiet walks, a good book, a noiseless night of Netflix and nail polish, some undisturbed ukulele (all of which apparently causes aimless alliteration), and some good old fashioned alone time. But willful solitude is one thing, and my current state of affairs is another entirely.
Make no mistake. I love my family. I love my new car. I love the people in my life that I have the ability to see in person right now.
But can I be honest?
Few times in my life have I felt this kind of lonely.
It's reminding me of the difference between like-minded and like-hearted people. If I looked hard enough, I'm sure I would have no shortage of like-minded people with which to spend my days. But I'm aching for someone who's like-hearted to just... even spend a few hours of conversation with, and the emptiness is filling me to the brim and draining the rest of me out, and I end my days tired even though I didn't do anything.
Every day is like trying to swim through syrup: I could exhaust myself and travel two inches, or I could just float numbly in the warmth and hope someone eventually pulls me out.
I....
I'm okay. But that's it. Every day is just okay. It terrifies me.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
You're Never Done, and That's Okay
Here I am, back in my fluffy, blue/white/gray comforter, the year of college and pretend adulthood melting away to reveal that I am still, in fact, a child. I'm thinking about the possible summer jobs I could end up with in the next week or two, and mentally ranking them from "Sure why not" to "never in a million years." I'm preparing to go downstairs and shop for used cars with my dad. I'm imagining my goals for the 3 years of college I have left, and even the weird, foggy possibilities of what might happen after that, and trying unsuccessfully to connect myself with the term "career." And I was listening to Amy Poehler's book on Audible, as my cat snored at my feet in a fluffy ball, and she helped me realize something I should have figured out years ago:
The thing you do is not the thing you are.
You can spend a lifetime (or in my case, a couple school years) struggling, slaving, and reaching for the thing you think you want (two years ago, it was a transcript good enough to merit any school I wanted, including Ivy League, and simultaneous stardom on a high school level; now, it's probably stardom on a collegiate level, including but not limited to: being on the improv troupe and therefore included in the coolest friend group of all time, lead roles in all the shows, the perfectly effortless style, and mild celebrity because of my glowing personality), and two things will happen. 1) you will never actually get there, or have a mountaintop "I made it!" moment, and 2) even if you do, it won't be enough.
And Amy was right. I thought about graduation, and finishing AP tests, and all the times people asked me if I felt accomplished or proud or satisfied that I had "finished." But I didn't, because I think I always knew I was never really finished. You are never actually done. The "end product" will never satisfy you, because it's not the end.
But here is the thing I was missing. You don't have to care about the results of what you do, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't care about the doing of it. There is a difference between valuing how good you are at something and valuing how good the rest of the world thinks you are at it. It's the border between apathy and ambivalence, between careless and carefree.
This is what I missed for so long. All my efforts meant nothing to me if the Great and Powerful College Board didn't look at me and say "Wow! What an amazing student and person! You are truly one of a kind. Any school would be lucky to have you." But I couldn't stop caring altogether, because then I would be a bad student. I was trapped in a horrible system that I'd constructed myself.
I want college to be different. This week during my end-of-year interview with the theater department, one of the professors told me to "embrace instability." To ignore my ingrained instincts and ability to do a Very Good Job and do what I think is expected of me, and instead not be afraid to ruffle a few feathers if it means finding something new and inspiring about myself.
I say that like I'm going to do it. I might not. But I'm going to try.
Thanks Amy. (Is it okay if I call you that?)
The thing you do is not the thing you are.
You can spend a lifetime (or in my case, a couple school years) struggling, slaving, and reaching for the thing you think you want (two years ago, it was a transcript good enough to merit any school I wanted, including Ivy League, and simultaneous stardom on a high school level; now, it's probably stardom on a collegiate level, including but not limited to: being on the improv troupe and therefore included in the coolest friend group of all time, lead roles in all the shows, the perfectly effortless style, and mild celebrity because of my glowing personality), and two things will happen. 1) you will never actually get there, or have a mountaintop "I made it!" moment, and 2) even if you do, it won't be enough.
And Amy was right. I thought about graduation, and finishing AP tests, and all the times people asked me if I felt accomplished or proud or satisfied that I had "finished." But I didn't, because I think I always knew I was never really finished. You are never actually done. The "end product" will never satisfy you, because it's not the end.
But here is the thing I was missing. You don't have to care about the results of what you do, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't care about the doing of it. There is a difference between valuing how good you are at something and valuing how good the rest of the world thinks you are at it. It's the border between apathy and ambivalence, between careless and carefree.
This is what I missed for so long. All my efforts meant nothing to me if the Great and Powerful College Board didn't look at me and say "Wow! What an amazing student and person! You are truly one of a kind. Any school would be lucky to have you." But I couldn't stop caring altogether, because then I would be a bad student. I was trapped in a horrible system that I'd constructed myself.
I want college to be different. This week during my end-of-year interview with the theater department, one of the professors told me to "embrace instability." To ignore my ingrained instincts and ability to do a Very Good Job and do what I think is expected of me, and instead not be afraid to ruffle a few feathers if it means finding something new and inspiring about myself.
I say that like I'm going to do it. I might not. But I'm going to try.
Thanks Amy. (Is it okay if I call you that?)
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
May's Euphoric Flowers
Every spring, I question if fall really is my favorite season. Especially here. After the dreary, heavy, endless New England winter that exhausted even my love of the crisp cold, there's something about the world regaining it's color that is nothing short of magical. It's as if I'd forgotten what certain colors looked like, and all of a sudden seeing gold and cream and magenta and emerald painting the trees gets my head spinning and my eyes popping out of my head with glee.
Even the tiniest taste of warmth is intoxicating. The northern chill still hangs in the air in the form of a sudden breeze or in dim patches of shade, but there are patches of sunlight where even the slightest shadow of cold is banished, and there's nothing but beautiful warmth. My skin is a sponge, soaking up every bit of it that my being can hold.
Soon I will be in bright, humid Virginia where the heat will hang around me like a blanket and lull me into constant drowsiness, but right now it is a gentle pair of arms, lifting me out of my winter slumber, shaking my shoulders and nudging my walk into a skip everywhere I go. It's wondrous.
Even the tiniest taste of warmth is intoxicating. The northern chill still hangs in the air in the form of a sudden breeze or in dim patches of shade, but there are patches of sunlight where even the slightest shadow of cold is banished, and there's nothing but beautiful warmth. My skin is a sponge, soaking up every bit of it that my being can hold.
Soon I will be in bright, humid Virginia where the heat will hang around me like a blanket and lull me into constant drowsiness, but right now it is a gentle pair of arms, lifting me out of my winter slumber, shaking my shoulders and nudging my walk into a skip everywhere I go. It's wondrous.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Saying Yes to I Don't Know
I had to do an end-of-year questionnaire for my major. These are some of the things I was asked:
Have you begun a networking strategy for post-graduation? List individuals you have spoken to regarding your career.
Do you have a personal artistic mission or purpose? What are some elements of that purpose?
At this point, what are your post-graduation plans?
I panicked. Networking strategies? Mission statements? Plans?
Have you begun a networking strategy for post-graduation? List individuals you have spoken to regarding your career.
Do you have a personal artistic mission or purpose? What are some elements of that purpose?
At this point, what are your post-graduation plans?
I panicked. Networking strategies? Mission statements? Plans?
At my delicate, barely-not-even-adult age, I am being asked these huge, big-picture type questions, and it makes me wonder if those should be the things that fill my head, because the things I think about on a daily basis are not big-picture. Today, I was walking back to my room and thought, I should pet a golden retriever today. And that was it. I didn't think about my "network." I just wanted to interact with a fluffy dog. That's who I am right now.
And that's okay.
I don't know where my life is headed. But God does. And right now, I'm just waiting for Him to let me in on little bits and pieces of it. I could become a freelance writer, I could become a professional golden retriever walker, I could land a role in the next Star Wars movie, or I could be a barista for the rest of my life and open a coffee shop/bakery/antique book store. Anything could happen, and that anything could be completely aligned with my idea of how my life should go, or it could be the exact opposite, which is more likely. Either way, I'm just happy to be along for the ride.
Lately I've been reading this book, and there was a chapter on saying yes to opportunities that God puts in our lives. The author said He often uses completely random and non-logical things to point us towards Him. Maybe we don't think we're qualified, but chances are there's a reason we're being asked to join into something, so we'd better not miss out on God's inexplicably cool plans.
I want that. The adventure that comes from throwing the agenda out the window. I think I'm getting little tastes of it. The other day, I got asked to act in a sketch for my school's version of SNL. I had a free hour, so I did it. Earlier this month, I got asked to lead worship for my dorm's speaker series. I can play the ukulele and sing, so I did it. Then, someone asked if I could take pictures to be on posters around the school for someone's senior performance piece. I can take pictures. So I said yes. They were little things, things I like doing, and they didn't mess up anything on my schedule, so I said yes.
And then it hit me. What if God's pulling a Mr. Miyagi on me? What if He's starting out with small things, and then one day someone will come running up to me and ask me to do something I never thought I was capable of? Something that scares me and maybe even messes up my schedule.
Will I say yes?
I hope so. I'd hate to miss out on His plans. They always end up being so much better.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
April's Foreboding Showers
Everyone around me is complaining about how strenuous their nights of not studying for finals are, wearing Birkenstock sandals, and asking each other every five minutes "how excited" they are for summer to start. No one every says what exactly summer holds that make it so enticing... I think they're just ecstatic about concept.
I'm all for warm weather and adventures, but pretending that I'm "so ready to be out of here" with everyone else is draining. Because I'm not. Ready. I like it here. Why is everyone so ready to leave? We just got here. Some people are leaving for good, because they're graduating. Is no one else bummed about that? If I were those seniors I'd be terrified.
When I wake up here each morning, I know what will happen. I know exactly what's expected of me and there are people each day that I'm excited to talk to and it's all very comfortable and familiar. I don't want that to change. I think I'm putting off hunting for cardboard boxes because the thought of packing up my dorm room is just too overwhelming. I don't want to wake up in a room that isn't this one, with nothing to look forward to each day.
I don't want to hunt for a boring, fluorescent-lit, minimum wage job that will drain my sunny days and will to live. I don't want to scour used car lots for an aged car with personality that I can give people rides in with pride only to get stuck with a smelly, beige Toyota that I despise. I don't want to have to wait for weekly phone calls to hear the voices of the people here that I love instead of sauntering over to their bedroom. I don't want to be bored and lonely and stressed for two months. Why would I?
So to answer your question: no, I'm not excited for finals either, but not for the reason you think.
I'm all for warm weather and adventures, but pretending that I'm "so ready to be out of here" with everyone else is draining. Because I'm not. Ready. I like it here. Why is everyone so ready to leave? We just got here. Some people are leaving for good, because they're graduating. Is no one else bummed about that? If I were those seniors I'd be terrified.
When I wake up here each morning, I know what will happen. I know exactly what's expected of me and there are people each day that I'm excited to talk to and it's all very comfortable and familiar. I don't want that to change. I think I'm putting off hunting for cardboard boxes because the thought of packing up my dorm room is just too overwhelming. I don't want to wake up in a room that isn't this one, with nothing to look forward to each day.
I don't want to hunt for a boring, fluorescent-lit, minimum wage job that will drain my sunny days and will to live. I don't want to scour used car lots for an aged car with personality that I can give people rides in with pride only to get stuck with a smelly, beige Toyota that I despise. I don't want to have to wait for weekly phone calls to hear the voices of the people here that I love instead of sauntering over to their bedroom. I don't want to be bored and lonely and stressed for two months. Why would I?
So to answer your question: no, I'm not excited for finals either, but not for the reason you think.
Friday, April 17, 2015
To the Graduating Class,
The latter half of senior year of high school had such a profound effect on me that it would be an injustice not to share some of it, if only to help others climb out of the black holes into which I plummeted. Seniors, I can say with confidence that I know what you're going through. Here are a few things I would be remiss if I didn't impart to you:
- Firstly, people never stop saying how "fun and exciting" senior year is. I never got why, and it's okay if you don't either. Senior year was a dark, trying time, and well-meaning adults can handle it if you're honest with them. It's okay if you hate it. You're not the only one.
- The tumultuous burden of applications is finally over, but the final decision-making period will take almost as much of a toll. Don't let it define you. I spent so much time worrying over whether not I would pick the "right" school, the "right" classes, etc. But the truth is: any school is the right one if you feel at home there. In the end, it comes down to relationships. You can switch majors or meal plans, but you can't change the people you're surrounded with. Focus on choosing a community rather than a set of buildings.
- Your grades right now do not matter as much as you think they do. I know that is blasphemous and hypocritical (especially coming from someone who cared a LOT about that), but it's true. Something that will become very clear in college is that at the end of the day they're just numbers. Your best may not be the Ivy League's standard of "best" and that is okay. You do not have to prove yourself to anyone. If you're deciding between studying for an exam and having one last sleepover with all of your best pals, give yourself a night off and cherish the people that will soon be scattered.
- Please, please, please appreciate the value of living at home while you still can. So-called "freedom" is not all it's cracked up to be, and there will be so many days you will miss the convenience and familiarity that comes with home and family. Savor the luxury of high-quality bathrooms. Thank your washing machine for not being old and clogged with a hundred people's hair. Don't protest that you're "practically" an adult when your parents continue to enforce curfew. Tell them you love them and then help with the dishes. I'm dead serious. That version of "normal" will end, and you will miss it.
- It's okay if you're not going to miss most of the people you go to school with. It's okay to let go of high school. Even if you're all going to the same state school together, get excited for the brand new crop of friends you're going to make. Don't be afraid to select the "random" option for a roommate. The unknown can be surprisingly beautiful when it comes to making friends; chances are those same five people you're used to hanging out with will disperse, and that's okay. Keep in touch with the important people, but stay open to the prospect of new ones.
- Right now you're probably really good at a lot of things that won't matter in a few months. And that's fine, and you should enjoy this time when your ability to procrastinate and flirt and other high school things are all that you need to do. But soon no one will care that you were class president or prom queen or have a hot tub or an A in Bio. You'll be the one who's inexperienced and naive, and you'll need to be ready to humble yourself and learn. It's a tough transition, so don't let it shock you.
- At the same time, don't let anyone make you think you have to know what you're doing with your life right now. When people ask you where you "want to go" with your major, you can say "I don't know yet." They will live with that answer. You're not supposed to have it all figured out. In fact, that's part of the beauty of this time. Eventually, you WILL need to figure things out, but that's not for a while. College is not the end, it is merely a stepping stone. You can focus on this one step and not the next 5.
In general, just don't wind yourself too tight and let life happen to you. You've come so far, and there's so much ahead of you, and the best thing you can do for yourself is relax into it.
Oh, and throw confetti and scream and take a BILLION pictures at graduation. Let it be the happiest, cheesiest celebratory day ever. You've earned it.
- Firstly, people never stop saying how "fun and exciting" senior year is. I never got why, and it's okay if you don't either. Senior year was a dark, trying time, and well-meaning adults can handle it if you're honest with them. It's okay if you hate it. You're not the only one.
- The tumultuous burden of applications is finally over, but the final decision-making period will take almost as much of a toll. Don't let it define you. I spent so much time worrying over whether not I would pick the "right" school, the "right" classes, etc. But the truth is: any school is the right one if you feel at home there. In the end, it comes down to relationships. You can switch majors or meal plans, but you can't change the people you're surrounded with. Focus on choosing a community rather than a set of buildings.
- Your grades right now do not matter as much as you think they do. I know that is blasphemous and hypocritical (especially coming from someone who cared a LOT about that), but it's true. Something that will become very clear in college is that at the end of the day they're just numbers. Your best may not be the Ivy League's standard of "best" and that is okay. You do not have to prove yourself to anyone. If you're deciding between studying for an exam and having one last sleepover with all of your best pals, give yourself a night off and cherish the people that will soon be scattered.
- Please, please, please appreciate the value of living at home while you still can. So-called "freedom" is not all it's cracked up to be, and there will be so many days you will miss the convenience and familiarity that comes with home and family. Savor the luxury of high-quality bathrooms. Thank your washing machine for not being old and clogged with a hundred people's hair. Don't protest that you're "practically" an adult when your parents continue to enforce curfew. Tell them you love them and then help with the dishes. I'm dead serious. That version of "normal" will end, and you will miss it.
- It's okay if you're not going to miss most of the people you go to school with. It's okay to let go of high school. Even if you're all going to the same state school together, get excited for the brand new crop of friends you're going to make. Don't be afraid to select the "random" option for a roommate. The unknown can be surprisingly beautiful when it comes to making friends; chances are those same five people you're used to hanging out with will disperse, and that's okay. Keep in touch with the important people, but stay open to the prospect of new ones.
- Right now you're probably really good at a lot of things that won't matter in a few months. And that's fine, and you should enjoy this time when your ability to procrastinate and flirt and other high school things are all that you need to do. But soon no one will care that you were class president or prom queen or have a hot tub or an A in Bio. You'll be the one who's inexperienced and naive, and you'll need to be ready to humble yourself and learn. It's a tough transition, so don't let it shock you.
- At the same time, don't let anyone make you think you have to know what you're doing with your life right now. When people ask you where you "want to go" with your major, you can say "I don't know yet." They will live with that answer. You're not supposed to have it all figured out. In fact, that's part of the beauty of this time. Eventually, you WILL need to figure things out, but that's not for a while. College is not the end, it is merely a stepping stone. You can focus on this one step and not the next 5.
In general, just don't wind yourself too tight and let life happen to you. You've come so far, and there's so much ahead of you, and the best thing you can do for yourself is relax into it.
Oh, and throw confetti and scream and take a BILLION pictures at graduation. Let it be the happiest, cheesiest celebratory day ever. You've earned it.
Friday, April 10, 2015
It Was a Sweats-Only Week
As I should probably have expected, registering for even the most mundane of classes next semester sent me spiraling into a "what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-whole-life" abyss of despair:
Okay, so I have to take Scientific Enterprise because core classes or whatever but I will only take it during the 1:15 slot so I can take that cool Shakespeare acting class OH what if I took a class where I analyzed classical music and got to be all hipster and spend an hour 3 days a week being pretentious and knowing stuff about the Renaissance, that exists right, I could do it after yoga, but wait Musical Theater is at the same time as Creative Writing so I can't take it until junior year but that was when I wanted to go "abroad" which might just end up being a semester in LA but like how cool would it be to actually hop off a plane at LAX with a dream and a cardigan JUST ONCE, that could be cool and I could get an internship at BuzzFeed or something and have swivel chair races through the office with Zach Kornfeld and become BFFs and then when I came back to make a real living I'd already have pals who knew how hilarious and adorable I was but wait would I like, MOVE there because I'm not a city person and HOLD UP I still have to live in Europe at some point but if I'm going to actually for real be in movies in real life I should probably get on that, I mean why don't I actually have an agent yet, I wonder if Matt knows where to find one, he probably has like a billion New York connections by now, wow I'm so behind in the industry and I'm not even there yet but WAIT A SECOND how do I only have 12 credits, they scheduled all the good classes at the same time why do they do that???
Somehow I've found myself in Power Yoga, Advanced Shakespeare Acting, Environmental Science, and Survey of Musical Masterworks all at the same time and my income has yet to exceed nine dollars an hour. But it's cool. I'm still in the campus bubble.
For now.
Okay, so I have to take Scientific Enterprise because core classes or whatever but I will only take it during the 1:15 slot so I can take that cool Shakespeare acting class OH what if I took a class where I analyzed classical music and got to be all hipster and spend an hour 3 days a week being pretentious and knowing stuff about the Renaissance, that exists right, I could do it after yoga, but wait Musical Theater is at the same time as Creative Writing so I can't take it until junior year but that was when I wanted to go "abroad" which might just end up being a semester in LA but like how cool would it be to actually hop off a plane at LAX with a dream and a cardigan JUST ONCE, that could be cool and I could get an internship at BuzzFeed or something and have swivel chair races through the office with Zach Kornfeld and become BFFs and then when I came back to make a real living I'd already have pals who knew how hilarious and adorable I was but wait would I like, MOVE there because I'm not a city person and HOLD UP I still have to live in Europe at some point but if I'm going to actually for real be in movies in real life I should probably get on that, I mean why don't I actually have an agent yet, I wonder if Matt knows where to find one, he probably has like a billion New York connections by now, wow I'm so behind in the industry and I'm not even there yet but WAIT A SECOND how do I only have 12 credits, they scheduled all the good classes at the same time why do they do that???
Somehow I've found myself in Power Yoga, Advanced Shakespeare Acting, Environmental Science, and Survey of Musical Masterworks all at the same time and my income has yet to exceed nine dollars an hour. But it's cool. I'm still in the campus bubble.
For now.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Blue Tuesday
If I'm planning a surprise (or am just aware of one that's being planned), I can hardly contain it. When I made plans to secretly go home over fall quad break, I couldn't tell my family, so I told everyone at Gordon that I possibly could. It was like the emotion was too much for me to physically contain, and to process it I had to let some out, a little at a time, by giving it to others.
Secrets, joyful or sorrowful, are like that. They carry weight, and sometimes that weight is too much for one person to carry. That's how they get told. From then on, every person that receives the secret carries a bit of that weight too. Whether they like it or not.
That's why it's so huge to be the caretaker of one. You have to decide. Do you carry the weight alone... forever? Or do you burden others with it for their lives too?
Having both been burdened and been the one to hand that burden others, it's hard to say. But I don't regret having to carry some things. Today I could feel someone else's weight from hundreds of miles away, and in a small way I am with them in the carrying, even if they can't feel it themselves.
I think trusting others to carry our secrets makes us brave. Holding them inside ourselves forever robs others of the chance to test their strength, and after so many years our shoulders just get tired.
As your guardian, I was instructed well
to make sense of God's love in these fires of hell
Secrets, joyful or sorrowful, are like that. They carry weight, and sometimes that weight is too much for one person to carry. That's how they get told. From then on, every person that receives the secret carries a bit of that weight too. Whether they like it or not.
That's why it's so huge to be the caretaker of one. You have to decide. Do you carry the weight alone... forever? Or do you burden others with it for their lives too?
Having both been burdened and been the one to hand that burden others, it's hard to say. But I don't regret having to carry some things. Today I could feel someone else's weight from hundreds of miles away, and in a small way I am with them in the carrying, even if they can't feel it themselves.
I think trusting others to carry our secrets makes us brave. Holding them inside ourselves forever robs others of the chance to test their strength, and after so many years our shoulders just get tired.
As your guardian, I was instructed well
to make sense of God's love in these fires of hell
Friday, March 13, 2015
Things I Love With All My Heart
My hair the morning after a good shower: deliciously soft, mussed up, wavy, still damp in the back.
The sound of a man shaving with a non-electric razor: the scrape of blade against stubble, like light sandpaper.
Similarly, the sound of long hair being cut with scissors and the crispness of each snip.
When I am burrowed deep into my comforter in the early hours of the morning, before the "get out of bed" guilt has set in, and it is wrapped snugly and folded up around and against my back, the perfect amount of cushion, and somehow the extra padding against my spine makes me feel utterly safe and calm.
When I am trying to massage my own neck and I press on just the right knot and it sends delicious goosebumps down every inch of my skin.
The way I can listen to Future of Forestry and hear the nights in the fall of 2012, walking the lonely streets of suburban Stafford, or hear Jukebox the Ghost and be transported to wintery car rides with Grace senior year, or hear the acoustic version of Painting Roses and see the sunny back roads through a windshield when I go home on breaks and realize I missed being alone almost more than I did being with people.
The smell of cinnamon, anywhere, anytime, especially on top of coffee.
Picking up things with my toes
The way I can go for a walk and take the person that I am around every other person in the world and shed her like a jacket. There's a whole other Self hidden underneath that comes out to play, and I'm the only person she's met and we like it that way.
Poetry about air travel (as someone who's probably spent more of her life in airports than out of them, it feels like home)
When the little strand on the left side of my head curls by itself
Having the realization that an embarrassing love for something is actually just some adorably quirky part of me that I can be proud of instead
The sound of water boiling and the knowledge that my macaroni will be done soon
Concocting incredibly elaborate unrealistic movie scenes (starring myself) to the music of another film score and pretending that if that movie was made it would still have that exact music
Being in wide-open or high places during a storm that involves heavy rain without wind, accompanied by thunder and lighting, while listening to dramatic instrumental music
Surprising people I haven't seen in ages by being somewhere they don't expect me and the look on their face and the endless hugging that ensues
The little butt-wiggle that cats do before they pounce on something
Being carried without having to ask
The sound of a man shaving with a non-electric razor: the scrape of blade against stubble, like light sandpaper.
Similarly, the sound of long hair being cut with scissors and the crispness of each snip.
When I am burrowed deep into my comforter in the early hours of the morning, before the "get out of bed" guilt has set in, and it is wrapped snugly and folded up around and against my back, the perfect amount of cushion, and somehow the extra padding against my spine makes me feel utterly safe and calm.
When I am trying to massage my own neck and I press on just the right knot and it sends delicious goosebumps down every inch of my skin.
The way I can listen to Future of Forestry and hear the nights in the fall of 2012, walking the lonely streets of suburban Stafford, or hear Jukebox the Ghost and be transported to wintery car rides with Grace senior year, or hear the acoustic version of Painting Roses and see the sunny back roads through a windshield when I go home on breaks and realize I missed being alone almost more than I did being with people.
The smell of cinnamon, anywhere, anytime, especially on top of coffee.
Picking up things with my toes
The way I can go for a walk and take the person that I am around every other person in the world and shed her like a jacket. There's a whole other Self hidden underneath that comes out to play, and I'm the only person she's met and we like it that way.
Poetry about air travel (as someone who's probably spent more of her life in airports than out of them, it feels like home)
When the little strand on the left side of my head curls by itself
Having the realization that an embarrassing love for something is actually just some adorably quirky part of me that I can be proud of instead
The sound of water boiling and the knowledge that my macaroni will be done soon
Concocting incredibly elaborate unrealistic movie scenes (starring myself) to the music of another film score and pretending that if that movie was made it would still have that exact music
Being in wide-open or high places during a storm that involves heavy rain without wind, accompanied by thunder and lighting, while listening to dramatic instrumental music
Surprising people I haven't seen in ages by being somewhere they don't expect me and the look on their face and the endless hugging that ensues
The little butt-wiggle that cats do before they pounce on something
Being carried without having to ask
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Dear Brother,
I write from a (mostly) quiet coffee shop counter. It is the hour at which the only customers are the ones who are like me: drowsy but still focused, and content when left to themselves; every new walk-in either feels like an intrusion or destiny. Behind me, the coffee pot sizzles like a small, sad version of our fireplace at home. You don't know how lucky you are. I should be pored over the French textbook next to me, but my head and heart are filled with thoughts of you.
You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.
Do you have any idea where you are?
You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.
Don't. Settle.
You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.
It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.
But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.
Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.
Be brave, pal.
You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.
Do you have any idea where you are?
You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.
Don't. Settle.
You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.
It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.
But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.
Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.
Be brave, pal.
Monday, February 9, 2015
The White Masterpiece
When you have to shed 3 layers just to sit down in class without spontaneously combusting, or you've run out of warm-enough socks long before laundry day, or you've trudged through the millionth snowdrift just to get to your dorm, it's easy to complain with everyone else that winter will never end and why can't it just be warm again and so on and so forth.
But tonight, as I gaped at pristine, untouched, massive drifts and took a bite from one (yes, I ate snow- it was perfectly face-level, can you blame me?) and watched the sparkly, cold white fairy dust swirl and dance around itself in corners and under streetlights and across the snowplowed pathways that quickly filled up again, I couldn't help but feel a little magical about it.
Yes, I have moments where I hope I never have to tug on these mediocre-quality, clunky, gaping-open-at-the-top snow boots. Yes, I feel like a marshmallow every time I pass girls wearing nothing but leggings, a North Face and those cute, hand-knit ear warmer/headband things (that I will never wear) while I'm wearing 3 pairs of pants and 2 sweaters and a huge coat and a giant scarf(yes, the leggings/Uggs/fleece jacket trend never actually goes away just because it's 12 degrees and windy at 3pm). Yes, it might be nice to be able to do something with my hair besides stuff it inside my coat and pull it out, snarling at me and frizzy with static, hours later.
But come on:
The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves,
all warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe
But tonight, as I gaped at pristine, untouched, massive drifts and took a bite from one (yes, I ate snow- it was perfectly face-level, can you blame me?) and watched the sparkly, cold white fairy dust swirl and dance around itself in corners and under streetlights and across the snowplowed pathways that quickly filled up again, I couldn't help but feel a little magical about it.
Yes, I have moments where I hope I never have to tug on these mediocre-quality, clunky, gaping-open-at-the-top snow boots. Yes, I feel like a marshmallow every time I pass girls wearing nothing but leggings, a North Face and those cute, hand-knit ear warmer/headband things (that I will never wear) while I'm wearing 3 pairs of pants and 2 sweaters and a huge coat and a giant scarf(yes, the leggings/Uggs/fleece jacket trend never actually goes away just because it's 12 degrees and windy at 3pm). Yes, it might be nice to be able to do something with my hair besides stuff it inside my coat and pull it out, snarling at me and frizzy with static, hours later.
But come on:
You can't help but be wistful whilst walking through this every day and night.
I'm also sort of glad it's been so windy today and yesterday. It means that no matter how diligently Snow Crew plows the walkways through campus (and to be honest, it's not incredibly effective to begin with), there will always be a few inches to walk through at all times, and I like the excuse to walk through snow. It makes keeping my head down against the freezing wind not so bad when I can watch my toes kick through fresh powder. I'm still dying to wade all the way across the quad at least once, but I should probably do some leg workouts first. (Some of the unplowed areas are almost chest deep at this point. Not kidding.)
Never take the glory of nature for granted. It's majestic and creative and is practically screaming at us to look up and acknowledge the coolness of the God who imagined it.
The branches have traded their leaves for white sleeves,
all warm-blooded creatures make ghosts as they breathe
Friday, January 30, 2015
Catnap Appreciation
I've never been one for naps. I either a)lay half-awake for 30 minutes before falling dead asleep for 3 hours, wake up not knowing where I am and remain groggy for the rest of the day, or b)lay half-awake for 30 minutes before falling into that weird state where you're having 10 dreams at once but you're never completely asleep for about 40 minutes, whereupon I still wake up disoriented and groggy.
But: can we take a brief moment to appreciate the fact that I took not one, but two successful, single-hour naps today?!
One was after lunch when I was super tired for no reason, and the second was between tonight's callbacks for the spring show (which ended just after 10), and my closing shift at Chester's (12:30 to 2:30am). I finally get all the hype! I wasn't jumping with energy afterwards, but it was just the little amount of sleep needed to take the edge off my drowsiness.
(Downside: it's 3:20am and I've never been more awake in my life. However, that might be because of the rare cup of actual, caffeinated coffee I drank at the beginning of my shift.)
[This has been: A Moment of Excitement Over A Totally Normal Occurrence.]
But: can we take a brief moment to appreciate the fact that I took not one, but two successful, single-hour naps today?!
One was after lunch when I was super tired for no reason, and the second was between tonight's callbacks for the spring show (which ended just after 10), and my closing shift at Chester's (12:30 to 2:30am). I finally get all the hype! I wasn't jumping with energy afterwards, but it was just the little amount of sleep needed to take the edge off my drowsiness.
(Downside: it's 3:20am and I've never been more awake in my life. However, that might be because of the rare cup of actual, caffeinated coffee I drank at the beginning of my shift.)
[This has been: A Moment of Excitement Over A Totally Normal Occurrence.]
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Subconscious Tornados
I have a hard time believing people have just one "fatal flaw." We're all sinners who commit multiple sins. It could be said that I have infinite fatal flaws that are all deal breakers in one deal or another.
But one of the more significant ones is my tendency to overthink everything.
You can blurt out that it's because I'm a woman, but the truth is that it comes from my idealistic, imaginative side (from my mother) and my logical, analytical side (from my father) colliding in an infinite tornado inside my mind that roars around, knocking over things, and overcomplicates any and every situation it can.
So when the opportunity to take a leap of faith comes along, you can imagine the mental atom bomb that ensues.
Of course, the first thing I love to do is picture all possible outcomes, and my wonderfully unhelpful brain points out dangerous possibilities in each scenario. But lately I've been learning more and more to give God control of every part of me, even my mind. So I have to let him take care of the things that haven't happened yet.
I have to accept that me making the "wrong" decision isn't going to stump him. ("What? Why did you do that? Boy, that sure screws up my whole plan for your life. Now what?") No matter what I do, He's in control.
Even if I make a wrong decision, He's in control.
Even if I do nothing, He's in control.
There's freedom in not having everything up to you.
There's faith, too.
Life's scary, that ruthless wizard.
But one of the more significant ones is my tendency to overthink everything.
You can blurt out that it's because I'm a woman, but the truth is that it comes from my idealistic, imaginative side (from my mother) and my logical, analytical side (from my father) colliding in an infinite tornado inside my mind that roars around, knocking over things, and overcomplicates any and every situation it can.
So when the opportunity to take a leap of faith comes along, you can imagine the mental atom bomb that ensues.
Of course, the first thing I love to do is picture all possible outcomes, and my wonderfully unhelpful brain points out dangerous possibilities in each scenario. But lately I've been learning more and more to give God control of every part of me, even my mind. So I have to let him take care of the things that haven't happened yet.
I have to accept that me making the "wrong" decision isn't going to stump him. ("What? Why did you do that? Boy, that sure screws up my whole plan for your life. Now what?") No matter what I do, He's in control.
Even if I make a wrong decision, He's in control.
Even if I do nothing, He's in control.
There's freedom in not having everything up to you.
There's faith, too.
Life's scary, that ruthless wizard.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
What No One Says About Bravery
It's better to be brave than to sit around and wish you were.
And while it's true that you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the chances that you did take, sometimes you're tempted to regret taking those chances too. When they backfire, for example.
And even if you ignore all that advice about not thinking and being spontaneous and letting "whatever happens happen," and instead you plan out every possible scenario, sometimes the one thing you never expected to happen.... happens. And this one horrible situation you never imagined you'd have to face is staring you down and all you can do is stammer at it awkwardly and repeatedly ask yourself what on earth is happening.
It's awful. Hollywood and popular culture love to show us the happy results of taking chances, but the hard truth is that sometimes being brave isn't enough, and life rewards you with a good slap in the face.
Does that mean we just pick ourselves up and continue to be brave? Or was that a sign that we should be more careful next time?
I don't know. Here's hoping I figure it out eventually.
They tell you not to drive while texting, but no one says anything about driving while crying.
They say you'll never regret being brave, but what happens when you do?
And while it's true that you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the chances that you did take, sometimes you're tempted to regret taking those chances too. When they backfire, for example.
And even if you ignore all that advice about not thinking and being spontaneous and letting "whatever happens happen," and instead you plan out every possible scenario, sometimes the one thing you never expected to happen.... happens. And this one horrible situation you never imagined you'd have to face is staring you down and all you can do is stammer at it awkwardly and repeatedly ask yourself what on earth is happening.
It's awful. Hollywood and popular culture love to show us the happy results of taking chances, but the hard truth is that sometimes being brave isn't enough, and life rewards you with a good slap in the face.
Does that mean we just pick ourselves up and continue to be brave? Or was that a sign that we should be more careful next time?
I don't know. Here's hoping I figure it out eventually.
They tell you not to drive while texting, but no one says anything about driving while crying.
They say you'll never regret being brave, but what happens when you do?
Thursday, January 1, 2015
New Year, New List
I've started looking forward to doing these resolutions every year. Even if I don't accomplish every last one, the idea that I'm putting a few key goals in my mind for the next year gives me a sense of purpose. So, 2014. Let's see how you stacked up.
2014 Resolutions
Graduate with a GPA of 4.15
The final GPA was 4.21(4.19 unweighted). Woohoo! High enough to surpass my goal, not quite high enough to make Summa Cum Laude. But you know what, that's okay. It says I tried my best, but I didn't let academics define me, which is what I wanted.
Get a date to senior prom
I sure did. I even outdid myself and went to two proms, and they remain happily frozen in my memory as the magical evenings (and mornings) that they truly were.
Find a modest bathing suit
I found two! And while they don't fit like they were made for my body, they make me proud for trying. Modesty will never stop being a good challenge.
Journal more during Bible-reading
I think so. I usually jot down daily thoughts or verses, but I could certainly commit to it more. But more on that later.
Get elbow-length hair
Guys. I got SO close! I've been really into long hair this year. The progress was impressive.
I recently got it trimmed and put in some layers, so it has a bit of catching up to do, but I expect to reach mermaid status for sure by 2016.
Be happy with the college I choose
This one is a resounding yes. Everything that's happened since coming to Gordon has confirmed over and over that this is where I'm supposed to be. I connect with the people, the professors are so wise and kind, the campus is beautiful, and I'm growing so much. Never thought I'd say this(and the fact that I can say it says a lot), but I doubt even Stanford could have been as perfect.
Go on more adventures
Overall, definitely. College does that. But I think I also became a little more fearless this year, which has shown itself in many areas and which I'm pretty glad about.
Keep in touch with the important people
Not as much as I would have liked, but I did my best. I realized over the last semester how few people in my life were truly important. Besides my family, I really only have a chosen few that I value enough to make the effort for. But those are the best people.
Continue to not swear
Oops. Never thought I'd fail on this one. It freaked me out when I heard people swearing casually at a Christian college, and after the shock faded I found myself slipping up with alarming frequency. It's fizzling out somewhat, and taught me something about the weight you can choose to give words. I'm still figuring out the weight of mine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well. That was a journey. It's weird how fast a year goes by, but when it's over and I look back, SO much happened. Anyways.
Normally, I do a simple list of ten resolutions every year that vaguely spans over the main aspects of my life, but this year I'm doing something different. The past six months have really been about spiritual growth for me, and more and more I find that the thing I want most is just to love the Lord with everything I have. So this year my resolutions are based on the greatest commandment: Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. Which for me means:
Heart: Relational goals
Mind: Mental goals
Soul: Spiritual goals
Strength: Health goals
So:
2015 Resolutions
Heart:
Keep in regular contact with important friends
Call family often (once every week or two, ideally)
Initiate one-on-one hangouts with those I care about
Mind:
Read some new books that aren't for school
Ace a difficult class that isn't for theater
Learn a new skill (musical, domestic, technological, or otherwise.)
Soul:
Keep up daily devotionals
Start giving financially on a regular basis
Pray with others (whether they're friends or not)
Don't compromise on purity (in speech, dress, or conduct)
Strength:
Go to the gym or do solo workouts more often
Eat healthier (i.e. more fruits and veggies)
Take some hiking/biking/boating outdoor trips
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phew. That looks more extensive when they're all written out like that. But I'm confident. As long as my greatest aim is to love God, I've accomplished all I need to.
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