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

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.

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.

"I have to..."

Wow.  Where has the week gone?  Feels like the days drag on, but you turn around and the week is over. There have been lots of emotions and lots of thinking since the last time I've posted.


I just had a short conversation with an old, I suppose you could say, friend.  A comment was made stating "I have to." I surprised myself... twice... with my immediate reaction. Part of me thought, I know what that's like;  it used to be one of my infamous lines in, what I like to refer to as, my old life. However, my initial reaction is no you don't!  Isn't that what we've all waited for our entire life? To be an adult & make our own decisions, exactly how we want to make them & not a single person can tell us otherwise. That's what was most exciting for me when I entered official adulthood. So why did I spend so much of my life saying, 'I have to?' It's simply explained but not so easily understood...even by me.

Athletes become stuck in this life of routine and predictability. Become used to having other people make decisions for you-- you essentially surrender your ability to make decisions independently. Life becomes a whirlwind of goals and desires and competitiveness, combined with blood, sweat and, in my case, tons & tons of tears, an empty stomach & bloodshot eyes, plane tickets, hotel rooms and strange places, all held together with the glue of passion and desires. It was years of my life that I wouldn't change for the world...or would I?


I practically have my breath taken away each time I open the trunk of my car, to see a Nike bag full of gear that may never be strapped on a body again, let alone see an actual ring.  I still do not know how to go through an entire workout without picking my leg up.  I hunger to scream with passion when making contact with another body, understanding that it may, very well, never happen again.


As I finally find the courage to walk away, I forced myself into an emotional disconnect to see the reality of the situation.  Simply put, at the end of the day, the bottom line is, it was time to move on.  As I type that, I know it is true;  I know it is time but, if that's the case, than why is it a day-to-day struggle of regret and a screaming desire to keep trying.  I constantly read about athletes and their accomplishments, about their goal to retire on a positive note and if not, they keep going.  I mentally criticize myself;  that I am weak, that I took it for granted, that I was careless with the situations I allowed myself to get into & that, essentially, I let someone else dictate my fate.


At the end of the day, this is life as we know it.


I came across an article the other day regarding Olympic athletes.  This part of the article really hit home:


                         '...when it's a choice between unbridled freedom or the structure they have      been used to since first entering the gym as a kid, the latter wins- hands down.'


                         'It's nice to wake up in the morning, know what I'm going to do, know where I'm going. It is easier mentally for me to have that than wake up and say, "I have nothing to do today.'"


                         'I miss being structured.'


Yeah! I feel ya! But do we want structure for the right reasons?  Is it simply that it's comfortable; that it is all we've ever known?  Is that not what life is all about?  I'm pretty sure the real challenge in life lies in the ability to make those decisions, independently.  Of course it's easier when there's a coach there telling you what to eat, when to eat, when to sleep, when to train, how to train... and the only line that is yours is, "I have to."  Actually, we don't have to.  We get so wrapped up in passion and wanting to be the best, that we do whatever it takes, for however long it takes, for that chance to be on top.  I was never the best & not even close; that is something that may never leave my conscience for as long as I live.  If not, so be it.  


When it is all said and done, I didn't have to walk away, I chose to.


I chose to start my career, to have a social life, to give back to the community & to care about what other people want, not just what I want.  I've accepted that, as I type this, there are people out there calling me a quitter.  I'm officially the "what ever happened to..." girl.  I also know that I've disappointed people for more reasons than one & I'm certain I've let people down.  I've chosen to leave people in my past because maybe, just maybe, some bridges are meant to be burned.


Whatever the word on the streets are regarding my decision, I cannot let it effect the way I feel about myself.  After all, that is how I found myself in this situation to begin with.  Whether this choice will morph into a regret somewhere down the road, has yet to be determined.  It was a choice I made, at the time, that best fit where I was in life.  If that is not enough justification for my decision, than nothing will be.


For now, I'm taking every day in as if it's the last experience I'll have.  I will feel these emotions of regret, envy, defeat, excitement, curiosity and tons more, everyday for the rest of my life.  But I did ask for that didn't I?  Yes I did.  I want to feel it all, everyday, all the time.  To take it all in & let it all out.


I am no longer just an athlete. I am much more than that now & I will be much more tomorrow, than I am today.