Raw

This here, may be the most unedited, raw feelings I've ever been able to transcribe. I may write and type through tears and sniffles and runny mascara more often.

________________________________________________________________________________ 4-7-2013

Someone... please answer why it takes a Sunday night, stuck at a red light, head on the steering wheel and mascara all over the place to search deep enough for something worthy.

I find myself itching to get home to transcribe tears into all they mean and represent. Put the hurt on paper. This moment has nothing to do with present healing and everything to do with looking back when the seas are calm.

I’ve always believed that the best dancers are those who trick you with emotions when zero emotional attachment exists. Dancer communicate through passion, not necessarily present feelings. Saying that, it goes the same for writers. In my head, I beg and plead that the days allow me to find time and desire and raw passion to write. To write it all; the good and the bad— every emotion I feel throughout the day. I find the good throughout the day. I, for the better part of time, am optimistic and happy and excited about the future.

When things are good, I don’t need writing to survive. I think of it, in a way, I crave to preserve these feelings. To bottle them up for a raining day—I can watch from afar how things will eventually look up. I can sip on them while the sun dances its way into the day. I can slurp and gulp until the emptiness fades and rainbows and unicorns and reality set back in.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to write them when things are great. I always believed it was easy to write when the going got rough, It was something to lean on; something to rely on. A comping mechanism; an outlet and form of therapy that was much cheaper than medication.

The only thing harder than breaking from cloud nine to document the great, is trying to form words for pain felt on the inside.

Than those moments creep in. I’m scared, beyond scared.

Tonight, all I know is that red light experienced so much hurt and pain and a mess of mascara. The song that witnessed it all will always hold those emotions. Like, my mascara forgot where it belonged and I was wearing it all over my sleeves.

On paper, I am complete. I’m financially independent. I know what I want. I’m willing to work my ass off. I’m comfortable in my own skin. Physically and mentally and emotionally and spiritually.

Than those moments creep in.

I compare myself others. Where they are; what they’re doing, accomplishing, experiencing. I’m not them.

Goodness it hurts.

I believe God has it all planned out.

He is out there looking for me. He loves me already as deep and pure as I adore him. He’s praying for me as I am him. I beg and plead.

Sitting at a red light with my head on the steering wheel—begging God to bring me to him. There is so much life I have left. So many plans, planned. I want a hand laced into mine; one that never wants to let go. I have this picture in my head. One that has been and will continue to be altered but the end results, always the same.

There is so much love bottled. Inside. Kept away. Waiting for the moment to explode into someone else. To crash into the dreams and desires and hopes of another human being. To have it all. Create it all. Fall in love every day and every night. Over and over again-- like the first time, every time

taste it

I spent, likely, my last Saturday night with the boys last weekend. Matt and Nick. I've been their 'stand-in' while my sister's gone exploring the unknown of foreign countries. They're her pride and joy. She's been with them close to six years and they adore the ground she stands on. Wonderful boys. They almost make me want a few. Never thought I'd be saying that.

Soccer balls soared across the yard at sunset. Spur-of-the-moment, fully clothed dips in the pool. Their negotiation was won. Blue and blown eyes disappeared behind reflective goggles. Splashes and giggles were music to my ears as I finished up dinner. Summer is close enough to taste.

Politeness earns adventure. Little boys with manners deserve exploration. Rushed a blonde and a brunette out the garage door, grabbed scooters and we were off. The race began. Three of us racing the sun to the finish line. Rules were made clear: crosswalks alone are forbidden, recklessness around patrons was unacceptable and maintaining manners was essential. Agreed upon. The race continued.

The eldest adventured further than my blue-eyed baby. Living to push the limits. Conversation trumps struggle in baby blue's world. Finding protection in conversation.

Our prize was in sight. Petite legs pushed harder, little feet moved with urgency. Spin. Self-serve frozen yogurt. Anxious eyes glared at me from crosswalks as to say, 'hurry! we're so close!'

Scooters propped against the building. Cups filled quickly. Concoctions mentally prepared. Finding a seat outside, we shared spoons. Heaping spoonfuls of candies and tart yogurt and popping boba. This time my older one finds comfort in connection. Shares knowledge about passing cars and motors and why I don't want a motorcycle license.

Our adventure is slowing dwindling down as the sun sinks beyond the horizon. Close to my side on the trek home. Pointer fingers and big eyes on the 'super moon.' Again, knowledge about the moon is heard from the older one. Retained information, like a sponge, from TIME Kid's. I didn't even know that existed.

The night ended with jamies and toothbrushes and hugs and giggles. Sweet, sweet giggles. Conversation continued until the lights were forced out. I pray they remember these days when they are older. I pray they remember this feeling. When they drive downtown at their leisure. When they spend more time with friends and less time with each other. The day when these adventures are not so special.

I pray they long for this feeling; hopeful that we made memories they'll long for. The magical feeling they allowed me to feel again. Carefree, summer adventures amongst nature.

Unexplainable tingles that summer is so close & Saturday night, we took a big bite and tasted it.

inpromtu

Days like today are extremely out of character for me. The more they occur, the more I wonder where they've been all my life. Oh, right! Now I remember. It's been rudely brushed under the rug by my need for plans; need for perfection. Desire for a precise time-- that I'd be characteristically and embarrassingly late for-- and an exact location. Organization is part of who I am. Organization geek if you will. Labels, color coding, sub-folders all make me happy. Venturing beyond the norm, impromptu girlfriend dates make me even happier.

I'm coming to realize that friendships are work. They don't just happen but bloom when nurtured with the proper care. Life doesn't always allot time for such nurture. It is then, creativity swings through. Dinner plans with girlfriends on Wednesday night led to an unexpected "what are you doing? meet me at Target in fifteen." There is always something you absolutely need at Target. I was up, dressed and parked in ten. Target led to a Publix run for dessert where we ran into our hostess, who was frantically racing us to her house, in the market. It ended in hugs and giggles and sighs of relief that we were all together. Those giggles continued over stir fry and bottles of wine and strawberry shortcake. Strawberry shortcake made by a big Cool Whip advocate. Yea, you heard that correctly. Cool Whip advocate. And giggles turned to belly laughs.

We drank too much wine for a weeknight complete with AM text messages about pounding headaches and how there is 'no way it was only Thursday.' We nurtured our friendships; gave it sunlight and water and sang sweet songs to it. Found beauty in spontaneity; an escape from the whirlwind reality we're faced with at twenty-something years old.

I'm already starving for another impromptu adventure of nurture, of meaty conversation, of gossip over a masseuse named Lester and how much we love certain things.

Things that are reserved only for the comfort of future fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants girls' nights.

Shining light upon ordinary

How I long for inspiration. Someday, I'm borderline begging for it. The kind that awakens another side of my being. Forces an out of body experience. Instills empowerment and weightlessness, butterflies and spine chills. That "no one can stop me, I'm going to make it, you may not know my name but you will" kind of feeling.

Once in a blue moon, the universe surprises me. Shining light upon ordinary. Sparking questions amongst routine. Inviting itself into my heart and is graciously welcomed with open arms. I become more appreciative of these moments more and more when I'm longing and wishing and hoping for inspiration and it is nowhere to be found. I go to write and I have nothing. Fingers tapping and clicking, itching to write, only to find that they're still riding the last burst of inspiration's coattail.

I question if inspiration is attainable when desired. I've flirted with this idea through days of predictability. I trust that inspiration is all around us-- with the curiosity to explore it. Snuggling teary-eyed babies who miss their Momma. Candlelit showers on a Saturday morning. Fresh fruit smoothies at breakfast. Cracked windows on unseasonably chilly nights. Girlfriends belly laughing over glasses of white Zinfandel. Cool grass tickling bare feet that dangle just beyond a blankets edge.

Inspiration. We're unknowingly drowning in it.  Societal embedded blinders keep us from enjoying the beauty. Suffice our hunger to bask in the sun of inspiration. The beauty in the ordinary, beauty in routine, beauty in the predictable. I'm starving for it more often than not. All I have to do is seek and I will find. Beauty is all around us.

Little Miss Crankypants

Walking into my house this afternoon, this post dawned on me. After hustling all day at work, I left nearly sweating. Finish the newsletter, print this, email that, chase that one down, give these people a tour, take reservations & the list went on. Every time I turned around there was a wrinkly old person standing at my office door needing something. They are very needy. I feel like you hit a certain age and then proceed to regress back to a helpless child. It's okay though. I am happy to help. It is my job after all. No problem. The weird part? The second I stepped out of the front doors, I turned into Ms.Cranky. BOOM. Like that. Out of nowhere. Cranky, irritable, anti-social and wishing I was "I dream of genie," could nod my head and be home. No such luck. At least for now.

I (of course!) fought traffic the entire way home. I know, I know- it comes with living in paradise. From Christmas to Easter our little beach town is swamped with those who drive too slow and don't quite know where they're going. To top it off, they're in absolutely no hurry what-so-ever. Again, its ok. It's only for a few months and this town does survive off tourism. I get it. I'm usually the only one that doesn't complain about the traffic but today, Miss. Cranky had a few choice words... followed by a prayer of apology for my impatience...for our precious tourists and snowbirdies.

Then, it dawned on me. Am I sorry for being cranky? No, not really. Sometimes you need to be cranky. You need to go home and lock yourself in your room, hurrying to get in your pajamas, without so much as muttering a word to your poor roommate. Normally, I'd send a text across the house saying "sorry for being a bitch" and then make up some excuse like, "I'm just really tired." Not this time friends. I'm allowed to be cranky every once in a while. I don't have to be Miss Politically Correct and Miss Friendly every. single. day. I really try but sometimes, I just have an off day. Sometimes, the wrinkly people just wear me out. Sometimes, I can't muster a happy "hello." I just can't. I'm allowed to sit in my bed for the entire evening and continue to work.  I'm allowed to skip Wednesday service at church to catch up on work. To finish stuff for work, stuff for Rotaract, stuff on my to-do list that seems to grow by every waking moment. I'm allowed to eat chocolate chip waffles for dinner, with milk, in bed-- because I want to.

So, needless to say, I have been Little Miss Cranky this afternoon. I'm not sorry about it. Tomorrow is another day. I will wake up with a smile on my face and seize the day. Today, I learned that you're allowed to  be cranky every once in a while.

A heart big enough to change the world

With all the things that have been going on the past few days, has just reinforced why I have chosen to embark on this journey. As many reflect back on the life and times of a good friend, who has left us all too soon, it has made me reevaluate my own life and I have been forced to see the truth in our mindset & behaviors. At this point in our lives, I feel we honestly believe we are truly invincible. By we, I mean those I associate with. We're young and educated and come from great families and wonderful support systems and are, by all means necessary, bound to change the world. Tragedies don't happen to people like us. Right? Wrong. Statistics and tragedies do not discriminate and they certainly do not warn. They come in all shapes and size, every day of every week, taking loved ones far too soon.


In this recent crisis, I believe that her heart was, in fact, big enough to change the world. But, has she done that already? The sequence of events that took place that dreadful Friday were published one time-- & that was when I really searched for the truth. Somehow the reality was covered up by the outpour of love for such a wonderful woman, which is, no doubt, undeniable. Regardless, that is just another opportunity for her to change the world. By letting us all, who think we're invincible, know that we are not. That accidents happen. That regardless of how many times we text & drive or play with our hair or fix our make-up, and arrive to our destination safely, it's still a risk we all take. All of this goes specifically for myself, but I know I'm not alone. My Panhellanic Pal was, without question, unforgettably one-of-a-kind, who certainly had a heart big enough to change the world of those she loved. Though she is no longer with here, I can only wish that she remain a life lessons in the day-to-day life of every single person she's touched.


She brought people together when they needed it most. She showed us how to laugh a little bit louder. She's whole-heartedly warned every fraternity woman and man to hold our brothers & sisters a little bit tighter & a little bit longer. Taught us all to love each other a whole lot more. Again, I can only hope, she has proven that we are not invincible-- that nothing is worth risking your golden years for.