burnt muffins

Set the fire alarm off and burnt the muffins. They came from a box; I added three ingredients and poured the goopy batter into muffin molds. The timer beeped at fifteen; below the minimum requirement. They’re sitting on my stove, black as the night sky. Yeah, I burnt muffins out of a box. It’s been one of those days.

I need to write as much as ever tonight. This here, a moment where I question just how honest I’m willing to be, I’m reminded of a little promise made to my inner self about honesty. Honesty means vulnerability and vulnerability is not exactly my favorite concept—unfortunately, the intelligent side of my subconscious is firm on improvement. Vulnerability means improvement; vulnerability is necessary. This post will be different. Thoughts are spinning and whirling a jumbled mess inside my head. My subconscious is rolling her eyes mumbling "drama queen" while my inner self is screaming a girly scream and holding on for dear life. This is all I've got.

o   "We left their mark on California." It’s a labor of love; raw passion to the bone. He’s embarking on the same adventure I set out on at nineteen-years-old. There are only two reasons young adults are drawn to this lifestyle like a moth to a flame: 1, internal obligation for first or 2, absolute loathe of second. I beam with pride when I talk about him; he is living out his dream, passion paving the road but inside, it tears me apart. Parental instincts boil in my blood; I've never experienced the stir of untainted joy towards someone else’s happiness and accomplishments. With this come unsolicited, soaked tears. Convinced most people live entire lives without experiencing the need for something which evokes passion. Intense crave running below skins surface; barely touching heaven—it’s about coming alive. Oh, am I thankful for it all. Aches and pains and pops of my knees are all reminders of what once was. Absence of desire never gets easier. This here and now, this is my life. Attempting to help my ‘baby’ brother grasp just how special this feeling is. To treasure playing music in the clouds, on cloud nine, encouraging him to take big bites of out heaven. Let the feeling of coming alive burn into his soul and mind and heart and every part of him. Suck it up; let it cut deep and scab and eventually, scar. Leaving fragments and memories to guzzle later in life. To never forget what coming alive feels like.

o   Unpredictability has recently pitched a tent in my life and I have a suspicious feeling that it may be consulting a local Realtor. There should really be permit requirement for purchases of that nature. I've watched seventeen episodes of Pretty Little Liars, since Thursday, in a desperate attempt to create consistency and predictability. I have no appetite what-so-ever; not even for Wynn’s chunky chicken salad and ‘everything’ pretzel chips. My bedroom floor is scattered with piles of clean clothes, dirty clothes, bottles of nail polish and purses and shoes; it's all piling up. Constant eye rolls as I continuously step trip over the growing piles. Haven't thought twice about actually tidying up. Feeling as though I’m being left behind; an old soul who occasionally fails to remember my age.  Drowning in the brilliance of others is where I've been finding comfort in the chaos. Constantly overcompensating a forward motion, suffering a debilitating fear of regression. Rubbing my eyes, anxious for resolution, for peace, for a sound mind and improvement. With time, it will happen. With time.

This is all I've got. For now.

humble & hungry

'Be humble and hungry.' I've heard it more times than I can count or have I?

In, what I like to call my old life, I heard that phrase as frequently as the words 'focus.. breathe.. concentrate.. listen.. kick faster.. yell louder!' I say I heard it but did I really listen to it? I grasped the whole be hungry part. All I wanted to do was kick faster and yell louder than the person standing next to me. I was hungry all the time. Figuratively. Literally, too. I never felt as though I wasn't humble until tonight.

This royal blue bag at my feet holds an unimaginable amount of memories and emotions and life lessons and accomplishments and hurt. I cringe at the thought of it. I've tried to get rid of it so many times but I can't. I woke up this weekend and I am ready. I am hungry. I am humbled. I roll my eyes at the thought of having that conversation. The one that means the world to the girl delivering and essentially nothing to the one receiving. Guts will be spilled. Emotions will surface. This girl will speak the words naturally. Inside, she will choke. I have to humble myself. I sat outside that gym tonight and starred. Starred for nearly an hour. I'm sure they noticed. I was paralyzed. I could gather myself enough to venture to the door. It made me beg and wish and long for my old life back. Routined. Familiar. Predictable. Easy. That isn't what life is all about. It's about being humble and being scared. Confronting my gear and holding myself together. It's about picking up the pieces and moving forward. If we stay where we are, that's the only place we'll ever be. I want to live the length of my time and the width and the height. I want to feel it all.

The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.

Where I don't let success get to my head or failure get to my heart.

Be humble and hungry.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Well, this girl let this day pass without being humble enough. She wasn't hungry enough. She certainly and most definitely bailed like a complete coward when she had the perfect, beyond perfect, opportunity to conquer something that is scary.

Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to be great. I will have that dreaded conversation and enjoy it for the end result, will be success. Will be humbling. Will kick off a new adventure. They may not know my name but I assure, as I have before, they will. The day will come where they ask about my past because they care. They'll respect me. I will work for it. In the meantime, I will be hungry and humble. Look fear in the eyes and giggle.

Giggle in my short, blonde, girly-girl self and pursue that passion; light the fire and end the night knowing, I did one thing today that scares me.

A look back at the year

With 4th of July weekend quickly approaching, it's difficult not to think about where I was and what I was doing this time last year.  Maybe because prior to this year, 4th of July was virtually non-existent or maybe because this year, it is.  It feel like that part of my life is so much further away than just a year; that the people who meant the world to me, I no longer communicate with.

Exactly a year ago, I was on the second floor of a convention center, dressed in enough layers for ski slopes, physically and emotionally weak in every sense of the word; wishing time away.  It wasn't all enjoyable but I did (and still would) long for the end result.  The struggles, the hard work, the pain-- all things I am proud of.  I've defied my own abilities and that journey has shaped me into the woman I am.  I understand what I am capable of. I've proved it time and time again. As with all wonderful things, you eventually reach the last page of the chapter. It was all part of what I lived for, what I loved and what I eventually had to leave behind. To move on. To grow. To start my life in reality.

It's undoubtedly a bittersweet sensation and continues as a daily struggle, I can't help but strive for peace. Peace within the situation. Peace within myself. I'm still searching for my silver lining because I believe it exists.

Believe.