It feels really bad-ass thinking about getting the first tattoo. Then, reluctantly make the appointment, a day in advance, leaving extra time to think it over. But there's been enough thinking time; people have babies without pain meds, get teeth removed without novocaine, this is no big deal. The permanency doesn't even alarm. Suddenly, it's happening. And it's nothing, it's not nearly as bad as you'd think. And then it's done. There they are, beautiful, fresh, stark, and black.
I was more scared of the needle; more scared of the pain, than my body being permanently marked. I had no hesitations about that. And some might say that's just the way I feel now, because they're new and I do feel like I conquered something. But I love them. I know what they mean to me and how much they mean to me, and I love them.
To me the decisions to get my tattoos and where to get them weren't that difficult of decisions at all, though I gave it proper, responsible thought. I think I've had a harder time picking what to order at a restaurant. I think the reality of them has only really sunk-in in this second week, conveniently the week of Christmas. I was nervous at first that maybe I would begin to regret them, but I didn't. I own them; they're beginning to feel familiar as opposed to foreign.
Tonight I went to a very simple service at my church, and I absolutely loved it. I've always loved Christmas, but each year it gains more meaning for me. This year, despite Mercy's first ever Christmas Eve service being extremely simple, I was moved. This means something to me! This isn't just a part of a lifestyle anymore - as it was to me growing up. I believe in Jesus, and a loving and gracious God, and the world's need and hunger for both.
That's the reason I could get a cross tattooed on my wrist: it is very real to me, very important to me. I try not to force feed my beliefs or views to anyone, but I think there's something powerful and beautiful - something to be said about choosing to be marked in such a way regarding faith in Christ. It's there (along with the script on my other wrist) because I know a hope and joy that I cannot deny. And I want to never forget that.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Oh! the Waste of a Sympathetic Heart
I wear your heart on my sleeve,
And it really hurt when I had to leave,
Because I don’t believe the things you believe,
And I don’t know how to achieve,
What I want in you;
To see the potential I do,
To feel the weight of your merit,
And to tell you how to wear it,
And you want me to care,
And I do,
I sit right there,
But nothing,
It does nothing,
And I tried not to, but I cried,
A little when I went outside,
Because I seem to lose the time I bide,
And I get so frustrated,
And wish you had elaborated,
Wish I could do more,
But left only to deplore,
The confusion laid upon you,
I wish it were forgone.
And it really hurt when I had to leave,
Because I don’t believe the things you believe,
And I don’t know how to achieve,
What I want in you;
To see the potential I do,
To feel the weight of your merit,
And to tell you how to wear it,
And you want me to care,
And I do,
I sit right there,
But nothing,
It does nothing,
And I tried not to, but I cried,
A little when I went outside,
Because I seem to lose the time I bide,
And I get so frustrated,
And wish you had elaborated,
Wish I could do more,
But left only to deplore,
The confusion laid upon you,
I wish it were forgone.
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Where Am I?
I think it's safe to say now, that when I first came back, I think I was depressed. Not immediately. Immediately upon return from missing everyone and everything I'd missed so much, of course I was happy. I think I was also unaware. My return was a little naive, - or rather I was, when I returned. Minneapolis was home, and everything that that entailed to me was meant to make me feel complete again.
And to my surprise it didn't.
I'm not typically a person to throw around words like "depressed", but the more I think back on it, it fits. I felt like I was in the wrong body; in the wrong life. Nothing about my situation felt like it could possibly be reality. After having this surreal (in a positive way) experience for six months and feeling all that time like a little piece of me was missing, - Minneapolis, friends, family and church - I felt so misplaced where I was supposed to feel right again.
It felt like picking up in the middle of a conversation; I knew where it started, I missed some of the middle, but now it didn't make any sense. It was disorienting. They talk about return-culture-shock. It wasn't that. I couldn't have been happier to be back in my home country, even as much as I enjoyed any of the four countries I spent time in.
It was as though my life carried on without me in it. And as much as everyone "missed me", after about a day, it felt like it never happened. That felt like an assault to me, - that's not to say that was anyone's fault - but you can't imagine the weight of talking about the experience. After the initial steps off the plane, I've had a probable grand total of 5 solid, sincerely-sought opportunities to really talk about my trip.
I say it's safe now because even though it's still a day to day struggle of recollecting that those were my real life experiences, I'm starting to feel like I am where I'm supposed to be.
And to my surprise it didn't.
I'm not typically a person to throw around words like "depressed", but the more I think back on it, it fits. I felt like I was in the wrong body; in the wrong life. Nothing about my situation felt like it could possibly be reality. After having this surreal (in a positive way) experience for six months and feeling all that time like a little piece of me was missing, - Minneapolis, friends, family and church - I felt so misplaced where I was supposed to feel right again.
It felt like picking up in the middle of a conversation; I knew where it started, I missed some of the middle, but now it didn't make any sense. It was disorienting. They talk about return-culture-shock. It wasn't that. I couldn't have been happier to be back in my home country, even as much as I enjoyed any of the four countries I spent time in.
It was as though my life carried on without me in it. And as much as everyone "missed me", after about a day, it felt like it never happened. That felt like an assault to me, - that's not to say that was anyone's fault - but you can't imagine the weight of talking about the experience. After the initial steps off the plane, I've had a probable grand total of 5 solid, sincerely-sought opportunities to really talk about my trip.
I say it's safe now because even though it's still a day to day struggle of recollecting that those were my real life experiences, I'm starting to feel like I am where I'm supposed to be.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Tradition: To Give Thanks
As is my tradition, and that of many others, to share a few (or some years many) of the things I'm thankful for, here goes...
I grew up in the home of believers. At times, my faith has also helped strengthen or challenge my parents', I'm sure, but I am thankful for the way theirs has shaped mine, and really the way they live their lives in general. I am thankful that I have God-fearing parents that I can seek for prayer!
Furthermore, I'm thankful that I have parents who care enough to get nosey about my life! My mother will listen to me talk about absolutely anything, for as long as I wish, no matter how sleep-deprived she is - sometimes I worry she'll spoil me. How is anyone that selfless?
Which leads me to my next thing: I am thankful for the people who just get me. It's not often you click with someone well-enough to understand their meaning at any given time, with any given amount of words, or lack of them; substituted by facial expressions and emotions. The people who pose no judgment, who genuinely care and invest. I am thankful for the ones who invest, and not cheaply; not short-term. I am thankful for those ones that see me for me, and still want to stick around. There's almost nothing that blesses my heart more!
Something that can compete with the previous statement (almost): February to August of this past year. I had some of the best experiences of my life, which to call them vaguely "best", does them little justice. I stood beneath the Eiffel Tower countless times, ate twice as many baguettes as that, and spoke french with an Afghan guy who came to tug my heartstrings. I traveled through the whole country of Vietnam, visiting seven very different cities, making friends along the way. I got food poisoning for most of the duration of my very short visit to Cambodia, not to mention came home with weird bug bites I'd never had in Nam. I took only a school-sized backpack with me to Ireland, drank several pints of Guinness, met a man in a pub who fell madly in love with me in 3 hours' time and showed me what it should really be like to be pursued. I met some of the best people I may ever know in the world, and my heart stowed-away on 13 different planes to homes all over the States and the world, not to mention a little residual bit sticking behind stubbornly in Paris.
I am thankful to be an American, however cliche that may seem, and all our nation's faults aside. I know now because of my travels how much a blessing it is to have been born in this country. I am thankful for all opportunities it has afforded me, and may continue to.
I am thankful to know a God who loves so deeply, and so individually, and yet is so all-encompassing. I was brought on the absolute adventure of a life-time, and I know it doesn't have to be the only one I have. And even though I mess up, and I'm definitely nowhere near perfection, He'll always take me back and will always love me for the every bit of who I am. I am thankful to know this God, because I also know this life, and I cannot imagine it without knowing my God.
This year, I've skipped some of the usual things: music, coffee, and photography purposefully. Yes, I'm thankful for the little things, the things that no matter how much I love them, I know are insignificant. Being able to say that, carefully and thoughtfully, is one of the biggest blessings of this year; it comes from perspective. I am thankful that I have been made with a soft heart, and have been taught instances to harden it; and have been given lessons in preserving its softness, expanding it even. I am thankful that this has been given to me. And though every day I may acknowledge my love of music or coffee, I don't often enough acknowledge the things that are truly important and truly a blessing in life. Things for which to truly and fervently give thanks.
I grew up in the home of believers. At times, my faith has also helped strengthen or challenge my parents', I'm sure, but I am thankful for the way theirs has shaped mine, and really the way they live their lives in general. I am thankful that I have God-fearing parents that I can seek for prayer!
Furthermore, I'm thankful that I have parents who care enough to get nosey about my life! My mother will listen to me talk about absolutely anything, for as long as I wish, no matter how sleep-deprived she is - sometimes I worry she'll spoil me. How is anyone that selfless?
Which leads me to my next thing: I am thankful for the people who just get me. It's not often you click with someone well-enough to understand their meaning at any given time, with any given amount of words, or lack of them; substituted by facial expressions and emotions. The people who pose no judgment, who genuinely care and invest. I am thankful for the ones who invest, and not cheaply; not short-term. I am thankful for those ones that see me for me, and still want to stick around. There's almost nothing that blesses my heart more!
Something that can compete with the previous statement (almost): February to August of this past year. I had some of the best experiences of my life, which to call them vaguely "best", does them little justice. I stood beneath the Eiffel Tower countless times, ate twice as many baguettes as that, and spoke french with an Afghan guy who came to tug my heartstrings. I traveled through the whole country of Vietnam, visiting seven very different cities, making friends along the way. I got food poisoning for most of the duration of my very short visit to Cambodia, not to mention came home with weird bug bites I'd never had in Nam. I took only a school-sized backpack with me to Ireland, drank several pints of Guinness, met a man in a pub who fell madly in love with me in 3 hours' time and showed me what it should really be like to be pursued. I met some of the best people I may ever know in the world, and my heart stowed-away on 13 different planes to homes all over the States and the world, not to mention a little residual bit sticking behind stubbornly in Paris.
I am thankful to be an American, however cliche that may seem, and all our nation's faults aside. I know now because of my travels how much a blessing it is to have been born in this country. I am thankful for all opportunities it has afforded me, and may continue to.
I am thankful to know a God who loves so deeply, and so individually, and yet is so all-encompassing. I was brought on the absolute adventure of a life-time, and I know it doesn't have to be the only one I have. And even though I mess up, and I'm definitely nowhere near perfection, He'll always take me back and will always love me for the every bit of who I am. I am thankful to know this God, because I also know this life, and I cannot imagine it without knowing my God.
This year, I've skipped some of the usual things: music, coffee, and photography purposefully. Yes, I'm thankful for the little things, the things that no matter how much I love them, I know are insignificant. Being able to say that, carefully and thoughtfully, is one of the biggest blessings of this year; it comes from perspective. I am thankful that I have been made with a soft heart, and have been taught instances to harden it; and have been given lessons in preserving its softness, expanding it even. I am thankful that this has been given to me. And though every day I may acknowledge my love of music or coffee, I don't often enough acknowledge the things that are truly important and truly a blessing in life. Things for which to truly and fervently give thanks.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
November 14 Thoughts
I feel like I've been going non-stop, but I know that's not true; see the stress overwhelms me, and scatters my thoughts. It ambushes me every time I think I've got a grip on things, and it goes for the jugular, subtly - if one can go for the jugular subtly. But stress is an inanimate object, it can probably do whatever it wants. Particularly to its victims.
I always fool myself for a little while, even if only a few shining minutes into being stress free. I think, "it's not all as bad as you're making it out to be," or "you're not gonna die; the worst that could happen is you get a C without stressing versus a B with...or you'll fail, but at least life is bigger than college." A million different scenarios or useless pep-talks have buzzed through my mind at attempts of tricking myself into an oasis of carefree contentedness.
Or I just take a nap.
I always fool myself for a little while, even if only a few shining minutes into being stress free. I think, "it's not all as bad as you're making it out to be," or "you're not gonna die; the worst that could happen is you get a C without stressing versus a B with...or you'll fail, but at least life is bigger than college." A million different scenarios or useless pep-talks have buzzed through my mind at attempts of tricking myself into an oasis of carefree contentedness.
Or I just take a nap.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
You: I Know Now
I know now not to pour myself into you
I only wish all along I knew
Not to excavate your every thought
Not to pine without care to get caught
But don't take this to the heart
I just should've known better from the start
You were too good to be true cause you weren't
And as is usual
I got myself burnt.
I only wish all along I knew
Not to excavate your every thought
Not to pine without care to get caught
But don't take this to the heart
I just should've known better from the start
You were too good to be true cause you weren't
And as is usual
I got myself burnt.
Always Something
There's always something to remind me of you
Some thing or some phrase
And I feel it sting
Like a judging gaze
Which also reminds me of you
I can't picture your face without it
That tactless tightness of your mouth
And the flat skin all about it
Chronicling to me my worth, - or lack
Silently giving me flack
Displaying to me like a lens reflex
How your pride devours me in pecks
Just like you are
A hen
One I wouldn't care to ever see again
But there's always something to remind me of you
Some phrase or some thing.
The 11th Hour
So, I haven't written in a while. All that's really been on my mind has been stress. Any time something worth writing about pops into my thought process it's scared out West Side Story snapping-style by anxiety over how much I should be getting done but am not.
I'm the type of student that procrastinates and all the while worries over how much there is to be done by such and such deadline...but I waste too much time worrying (and subsequently stress-napping), when I should just be getting sh*t done! But the problem is with some things, I can't really. I do my best when the pressure's on. Or rather, I'm capable of being productive in the 11th hour, whereas the first 10 are spent freaking out, and YouTubing. Dammit, YouTube.
Then I feel less inclined to care about anything if I can't even truly focus on school! When my life is busy, to me it becomes one big blur with a general sense of when the big dates are.
That said, this is about all I can write about. Because the only other things on my mind are fleeting thoughts of being single (blah, nobody wants to hear about THAT anymore) and/or how I can't wait to travel again. Also, graduate. How much I hate college...
And really you can now see how cyclical the whole thing is. It's terrible. So until I spare some time for being productive in my spare time...redundant? nonsensical?...hello and goodbye, readers.
I'm the type of student that procrastinates and all the while worries over how much there is to be done by such and such deadline...but I waste too much time worrying (and subsequently stress-napping), when I should just be getting sh*t done! But the problem is with some things, I can't really. I do my best when the pressure's on. Or rather, I'm capable of being productive in the 11th hour, whereas the first 10 are spent freaking out, and YouTubing. Dammit, YouTube.
Then I feel less inclined to care about anything if I can't even truly focus on school! When my life is busy, to me it becomes one big blur with a general sense of when the big dates are.
That said, this is about all I can write about. Because the only other things on my mind are fleeting thoughts of being single (blah, nobody wants to hear about THAT anymore) and/or how I can't wait to travel again. Also, graduate. How much I hate college...
And really you can now see how cyclical the whole thing is. It's terrible. So until I spare some time for being productive in my spare time...redundant? nonsensical?...hello and goodbye, readers.
Friday, October 28, 2011
The Airport: a Romance
I've always disliked flying, but I've always loved everything surrounding it; namely airports.
I remember that surreal feeling, being at the airport, knowing that it was coming. My moment to get on the plane, pursue my dream, go to the city I've longed to see for years. It was such an abstract idea. It felt like a line I'd been rehearsing for a play til now. I packed six month's worth of my life into three whole bags, only two of which actually counted as the kind of bags for traveling: the biggest rolling suitcase you've ever seen in your life and the packing backpack I'd live out of for two of those months. Carefully packed...or so I thought.
I remember the fear striking as I checked in for my flight, and my giant rolling suitcase was something nasty like six pounds over the limit. Instantly anxiety-drowned, I angrily pulled my suitcase to the side of the counter, and knelt down to tear things out of it. I laugh now to think that I actually believed the minutes would count. Shampoo would have to be purchased there. I could live without peanut butter. Back down just enough weight to move this whole process forward. Off to a great start.
The security line was ages long, so then it was time for goodbyes. It was maybe stupid of me to have a whole hoard of people see me off...but I'd secretly wished even more of them were there. The important ones, you know. I hugged everyone several times, I don't remember many specifics, it's mostly only a blur of tears. However I can still feel the ache of knowing I wouldn't see them all for six months. One of the more bittersweet moments of my life.
I stood in the weaving line of fellow travelers, a weeping mess, wiping my nose on my sleeve; sniffling. People around me stared. It felt like I was at a funeral and I was the only one who actually cared. Finally I had to tell my family to just leave, because the sight of them only made me continue to cry. I knew that once I was through security, and I was stuck in this...I'd be fine.
Flash forward to Charles de Gaulle. Landing there felt all too like a sham. Sure they told us over the intercom we were in Paris...but surely it was a hoax. Also, when you get off the plane it looks nothing like you imagine, so even more so you could be in Russia for all you know. The exit leads you immediately down a flight of stairs, right onto the runway. Great. This is how they do it here?
I was already wimpy at using my french, when a traffic control guy, maybe even younger than me babbled something at me in french. I couldn't even think of how to respond to pretend as if I'd only not heard him - ignoring my terrible comprehension. I probably blurted something so simple as "Ici?" and pointed at the boxy vehicle packed with people. I reluctantly boarded, and it drove us sardines to the main airport. I remember going to baggage claim. It looked like a joke, and yet it felt like I'd been there before. Once I got my reduced suitcase, I followed the current of people, thankfully that worked as there were little signs. At the exit, I found my pen-pal, Amber Korneliussen for our long awaited real life meeting.
I remember re-packing countless times my last night in Paris. Excited and in disbelief of my supposed return home. They told me that place still existed, home, but I felt like it'd be an over-the-top version of candid camera; even more painful than the original, in which America no longer existed and my family was a figment of my imagination. I packed and re-packed, into the wee hours of the morning, despite needing to wake up...in the wee hours of the morning. It didn't even phase me to think that someday I'd miss Paris. I missed it already, but I missed my family more. My best friends. I slept in the clothes I planned to wear on the plane.
My heart races now to think of it. The feeling's both a bad and a good feeling. It feels kind of like a nervousness combined with an adrenaline, sprinkled with an excitement, and then watered down by an unattainability. I categorize it as an ache because I know that I can't ever have these moments back. I can never live them to the vivid fullness of they first occurred.
That night, I'd parted with my now even dearer Amber, only to see her again whenever the dear Lord should bless us so. My now dear Carrie was accompanying me to the airport. I think I told her we'd pretend like it was nothing til the moment it had to be, or maybe it just happened that way.
(As a dry aside, CDG is far easier to fly into than out of - fyi, plan extra time for being lost and confused.)
Once we finally found my correct line, and Carrie and I said our goodbyes, I did my best attempt not to go into hysterics and change my mind about going home...successfully. It helped that I told her she didn't have to wait while I waited in line. Cut the cord.
Once through all the security, just waiting to board...I went to the Relay. I bought what would be my last pain au chocolat in Paris. I felt a bit melancholy. There was a long journey ahead, and again it was bittersweet - but I didn't think about the bitter. I only saw the daunting task that is spending seemingly endless hours in airports and airplanes until you can feel at ease again, in a place you haven't been for six months...
I sat in a far wing of the Toronto airport, my back in great pain from the combination of the heavy packing backpack that I managed to float by as a carry-on and my side-bag with my laptop in it. I sat for six hours. The first, oh, three seemed to nearly fly by. Partially because I went through customs first. As I stood in that line, I held back tears several times at the thought of returning to my country. I've never been so darn patriotic in my life.
The bits of that last plane ride are more strong in my mind. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, the sunset and clouds out the window. It distracted me from the cracker-jack size of our plane. I switched seats to watch it. I grew increasingly excited knowing that these types of plane rides seemed insanely short in comparison to a transatlantic. In a matter of what felt like no time the pilot announced our upcoming descent to Minneapolis. The words brought tears to my eyes.
The clouds were huge and lit-up. I wish I could picture it more accurately in my memory now, but what's stronger is the rest. Just as it'd been when I returned from Denver two summers before, we circled the city as part of our descent. As I laid eyes on that familiar cityscape, I couldn't help myself. I broke into sobs. Lucky for me the surrounding seats were empty, because it was hitting me. There was snot. I don't know if I've ever been so happy to see a single place in my life. My heart stopped - I was taken aback. Home!
Knowing my family was there to receive me, I decided first to stop into the bathroom. I didn't want to have to pee from the moment I saw them til the moment I went to sleep!
I remember the pure exhilaration that hit me as I walked down the empty halls of MSP with the other weary travelers. I thought, "if only they knew how excited I am; that I haven't seen my family in six months and that they were there WAITING for me!" Not that I was walking that fast, but as the reality that I was about to see my family hit me, I started hyperventilating.
I think my favorite part of the MSP airport is that the exit to the baggage terminal is down an escalator. I stood on that escalator, tears welling in my eyes, tapping my foot. As the next level down came into view and I saw that, indeed, familiar faces awaited, a smile broke onto my nervous face. I ran through the sliding doors and as I attacked my sister who was the closest person, I began to cry hysterically. It probably wasn't a pretty moment for me, but I think it will forever be one of the fondest moments of my entire life. It was beautiful.
After subsequently hugging my brother, he told me that my best friend and my cousin were down the other end looking for me. As I walked that way, making their figures out in the distance, I began to jog, then throwing my side-bag (with computer in it) on the ground, yelling "I'm having an epic airport moment!" I ran towards them.
I'd spend six months away, just to have a moment like that again. I felt out of my skin for days; in a dreamland. That return will always be one of my favorite memories of my life. In an airport.
I remember that surreal feeling, being at the airport, knowing that it was coming. My moment to get on the plane, pursue my dream, go to the city I've longed to see for years. It was such an abstract idea. It felt like a line I'd been rehearsing for a play til now. I packed six month's worth of my life into three whole bags, only two of which actually counted as the kind of bags for traveling: the biggest rolling suitcase you've ever seen in your life and the packing backpack I'd live out of for two of those months. Carefully packed...or so I thought.
I remember the fear striking as I checked in for my flight, and my giant rolling suitcase was something nasty like six pounds over the limit. Instantly anxiety-drowned, I angrily pulled my suitcase to the side of the counter, and knelt down to tear things out of it. I laugh now to think that I actually believed the minutes would count. Shampoo would have to be purchased there. I could live without peanut butter. Back down just enough weight to move this whole process forward. Off to a great start.
The security line was ages long, so then it was time for goodbyes. It was maybe stupid of me to have a whole hoard of people see me off...but I'd secretly wished even more of them were there. The important ones, you know. I hugged everyone several times, I don't remember many specifics, it's mostly only a blur of tears. However I can still feel the ache of knowing I wouldn't see them all for six months. One of the more bittersweet moments of my life.
I stood in the weaving line of fellow travelers, a weeping mess, wiping my nose on my sleeve; sniffling. People around me stared. It felt like I was at a funeral and I was the only one who actually cared. Finally I had to tell my family to just leave, because the sight of them only made me continue to cry. I knew that once I was through security, and I was stuck in this...I'd be fine.
Flash forward to Charles de Gaulle. Landing there felt all too like a sham. Sure they told us over the intercom we were in Paris...but surely it was a hoax. Also, when you get off the plane it looks nothing like you imagine, so even more so you could be in Russia for all you know. The exit leads you immediately down a flight of stairs, right onto the runway. Great. This is how they do it here?
I was already wimpy at using my french, when a traffic control guy, maybe even younger than me babbled something at me in french. I couldn't even think of how to respond to pretend as if I'd only not heard him - ignoring my terrible comprehension. I probably blurted something so simple as "Ici?" and pointed at the boxy vehicle packed with people. I reluctantly boarded, and it drove us sardines to the main airport. I remember going to baggage claim. It looked like a joke, and yet it felt like I'd been there before. Once I got my reduced suitcase, I followed the current of people, thankfully that worked as there were little signs. At the exit, I found my pen-pal, Amber Korneliussen for our long awaited real life meeting.
I remember re-packing countless times my last night in Paris. Excited and in disbelief of my supposed return home. They told me that place still existed, home, but I felt like it'd be an over-the-top version of candid camera; even more painful than the original, in which America no longer existed and my family was a figment of my imagination. I packed and re-packed, into the wee hours of the morning, despite needing to wake up...in the wee hours of the morning. It didn't even phase me to think that someday I'd miss Paris. I missed it already, but I missed my family more. My best friends. I slept in the clothes I planned to wear on the plane.
My heart races now to think of it. The feeling's both a bad and a good feeling. It feels kind of like a nervousness combined with an adrenaline, sprinkled with an excitement, and then watered down by an unattainability. I categorize it as an ache because I know that I can't ever have these moments back. I can never live them to the vivid fullness of they first occurred.
That night, I'd parted with my now even dearer Amber, only to see her again whenever the dear Lord should bless us so. My now dear Carrie was accompanying me to the airport. I think I told her we'd pretend like it was nothing til the moment it had to be, or maybe it just happened that way.
(As a dry aside, CDG is far easier to fly into than out of - fyi, plan extra time for being lost and confused.)
Once we finally found my correct line, and Carrie and I said our goodbyes, I did my best attempt not to go into hysterics and change my mind about going home...successfully. It helped that I told her she didn't have to wait while I waited in line. Cut the cord.
Once through all the security, just waiting to board...I went to the Relay. I bought what would be my last pain au chocolat in Paris. I felt a bit melancholy. There was a long journey ahead, and again it was bittersweet - but I didn't think about the bitter. I only saw the daunting task that is spending seemingly endless hours in airports and airplanes until you can feel at ease again, in a place you haven't been for six months...
I sat in a far wing of the Toronto airport, my back in great pain from the combination of the heavy packing backpack that I managed to float by as a carry-on and my side-bag with my laptop in it. I sat for six hours. The first, oh, three seemed to nearly fly by. Partially because I went through customs first. As I stood in that line, I held back tears several times at the thought of returning to my country. I've never been so darn patriotic in my life.
The bits of that last plane ride are more strong in my mind. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, the sunset and clouds out the window. It distracted me from the cracker-jack size of our plane. I switched seats to watch it. I grew increasingly excited knowing that these types of plane rides seemed insanely short in comparison to a transatlantic. In a matter of what felt like no time the pilot announced our upcoming descent to Minneapolis. The words brought tears to my eyes.
The clouds were huge and lit-up. I wish I could picture it more accurately in my memory now, but what's stronger is the rest. Just as it'd been when I returned from Denver two summers before, we circled the city as part of our descent. As I laid eyes on that familiar cityscape, I couldn't help myself. I broke into sobs. Lucky for me the surrounding seats were empty, because it was hitting me. There was snot. I don't know if I've ever been so happy to see a single place in my life. My heart stopped - I was taken aback. Home!
Knowing my family was there to receive me, I decided first to stop into the bathroom. I didn't want to have to pee from the moment I saw them til the moment I went to sleep!
I remember the pure exhilaration that hit me as I walked down the empty halls of MSP with the other weary travelers. I thought, "if only they knew how excited I am; that I haven't seen my family in six months and that they were there WAITING for me!" Not that I was walking that fast, but as the reality that I was about to see my family hit me, I started hyperventilating.
I think my favorite part of the MSP airport is that the exit to the baggage terminal is down an escalator. I stood on that escalator, tears welling in my eyes, tapping my foot. As the next level down came into view and I saw that, indeed, familiar faces awaited, a smile broke onto my nervous face. I ran through the sliding doors and as I attacked my sister who was the closest person, I began to cry hysterically. It probably wasn't a pretty moment for me, but I think it will forever be one of the fondest moments of my entire life. It was beautiful.
After subsequently hugging my brother, he told me that my best friend and my cousin were down the other end looking for me. As I walked that way, making their figures out in the distance, I began to jog, then throwing my side-bag (with computer in it) on the ground, yelling "I'm having an epic airport moment!" I ran towards them.
I'd spend six months away, just to have a moment like that again. I felt out of my skin for days; in a dreamland. That return will always be one of my favorite memories of my life. In an airport.
What is next?
I know the difference between when I'm just being a sap, and when it really counts.
There are many things I missed greatly from February to August; family, comforts of the country I know, and even some luxuries, admittedly.
Today, as I was going through my pictures from my trip to SE Asia, I got this figurative warmth in my core. The nostalgia for those moments dawned on me little by little, with each fondly regarded photograph. I thought about so many aspects of my trip that have already begun to be forgotten, - slipping into the ruts of "normal" daily life back home. It felt good to rehash the memories that already feel like so long ago; that already feel like maybe they never really happened. To remember the people we touched, even in the smallest of ways.
Then, perusing facebook, I saw the name of one of my friends from church who recently moved to India. I don't know him so well, so I didn't really know why he moved there. My curiosity sent me to his blog regarding his time there. He's working with International Justice Mission. I read his recent first post about the work they're doing, and I was amazed. And intrigued.
I went to their website, began looking at how does one get involved? A recent post on their site caught my eye: four women were pulled from prostitution and later the brothel owner was arrested. Even beginning to read the article I began to cry. Big tears danced down my face, ones I haven't cried since I first saw a glimpse of my family in the airport. I read further, with descriptions of the brothel's policies and the investigation the crying ceased, overwhelmed by disgust and the brevity of this reality. Then more tears came.
I went back to looking at how to get involved, but I stopped just short. Crying. I couldn't even help myself, it was a slow melancholy sort of thing. I got lost in the idea that there are things like this in the world; organizations setting out and ACTUALLY doing something! Seventeen people were rescued from that owner's brothels.
And this all led me to think...what's next? What is next?
There are many things I missed greatly from February to August; family, comforts of the country I know, and even some luxuries, admittedly.
Today, as I was going through my pictures from my trip to SE Asia, I got this figurative warmth in my core. The nostalgia for those moments dawned on me little by little, with each fondly regarded photograph. I thought about so many aspects of my trip that have already begun to be forgotten, - slipping into the ruts of "normal" daily life back home. It felt good to rehash the memories that already feel like so long ago; that already feel like maybe they never really happened. To remember the people we touched, even in the smallest of ways.
Then, perusing facebook, I saw the name of one of my friends from church who recently moved to India. I don't know him so well, so I didn't really know why he moved there. My curiosity sent me to his blog regarding his time there. He's working with International Justice Mission. I read his recent first post about the work they're doing, and I was amazed. And intrigued.
I went to their website, began looking at how does one get involved? A recent post on their site caught my eye: four women were pulled from prostitution and later the brothel owner was arrested. Even beginning to read the article I began to cry. Big tears danced down my face, ones I haven't cried since I first saw a glimpse of my family in the airport. I read further, with descriptions of the brothel's policies and the investigation the crying ceased, overwhelmed by disgust and the brevity of this reality. Then more tears came.
I went back to looking at how to get involved, but I stopped just short. Crying. I couldn't even help myself, it was a slow melancholy sort of thing. I got lost in the idea that there are things like this in the world; organizations setting out and ACTUALLY doing something! Seventeen people were rescued from that owner's brothels.
And this all led me to think...what's next? What is next?
Monday, October 24, 2011
Promise From a Broken Heart
I sort of made a promise to myself (subconsciously I guess) that I'd never have to use the phrase "severed relationship" again, or any variation of words with the same meaning. Not after the only time I'd really ever say I had a broken heart.
But the thing of it is, - the reality is that people seem to slip through our fingers like sand. Set aside those encounters that you know only have their allotted time and no more. Those are pardoned the usual bitterness and sting of relationships lost, and they're looked on with the fondness of nostalgia.
The reality is that no matter what we do, there will always be someone on the going end of coming and going. It's not a pessimistic view, it's just something I'm learning to come to terms with:
You can't always make things work; relationships are not to be forced. And eventually you get tired of doing that, and even if you know what you want, and you know what they need...you can't always orchestrate things.
I'm one of those people who fantasizes about going up to people and saying exactly what I want to and everything I feel; good or bad. But that's not reality. Reality is that someone is always on the going end of coming and going. And sometimes there's nothing you can say or do, just hope they'll come back again.
But the thing of it is, - the reality is that people seem to slip through our fingers like sand. Set aside those encounters that you know only have their allotted time and no more. Those are pardoned the usual bitterness and sting of relationships lost, and they're looked on with the fondness of nostalgia.
The reality is that no matter what we do, there will always be someone on the going end of coming and going. It's not a pessimistic view, it's just something I'm learning to come to terms with:
You can't always make things work; relationships are not to be forced. And eventually you get tired of doing that, and even if you know what you want, and you know what they need...you can't always orchestrate things.
I'm one of those people who fantasizes about going up to people and saying exactly what I want to and everything I feel; good or bad. But that's not reality. Reality is that someone is always on the going end of coming and going. And sometimes there's nothing you can say or do, just hope they'll come back again.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Occupy a Thought: The Cost of Being Green
I can only blame myself for giving in and reading about Occupy Wall Street. It got my gears turning. The reason I don't like politics, is because it's all a lot of hype, and somehow, someone's always taking it personally. I usually prefer to stay out of it altogether because our system will never be perfect. I think of politics as walking a steady pace up an escalator out of a subway; you're never gonna beat it.
I read part of an article where a protestor was quoted saying that fuel companies can't just use the sky for their carbon emissions.
Pardon my lack of any sort of segway, but here's the problem I find with "green": it too has become, and will further, an industry. Someone will always profit off of green things. I often wonder, do these people think about how much it would affect their lives to completely remove coal as a source of power? Yes, wind power is a wonderful idea, but you know how much a residential wind-harvesting turbine costs? And not just the prices you find for one on ebay. Who's going to pay for that? If there was no coal-burning power plant, the costs of alternative energy - which we all know is more expensive - falls on the little guy. You can't say the government should pay for it, because our debt is already so high. How to balance? Tax more. Hmm...again, the cost is imposed on the people.
(Don't even get me started on celebrities siding with "the little guy", this whole thing could be solved if Oprah put her money where her patriotic mouth is and donated her dog's inheritance to the US government)
And yet, here there are thousands of people complaining - ahem, protesting about how unfair current financial situations are.
I can practically guarantee if any new restrictions or regulations were put in place regarding home electricity standards and usage, it would become an industry. It will begin to cost more and more, increasing the load on already tired backs. Sure, it's nice in theory, but what's the reality?
The reality is, the guy who invented the electric car, was too lazy to bike and wanted to be a millionaire. He (or she) is sitting on a nice pile of money that grows more and more each time someone "invests" in a Prius. And even then, they're only gasoline-electric.
Political and socioeconomic systems are just that...a system. There is so much 'fight the system' mentality that I don't think people realize we're only on track to burn out. Mass incoherent protests aren't really going to do anything except make chatter. If that's what they want, fine. But I hope they're not fooling themselves into thinking they're changing anything. They're only heating up the dialogue, if you will. Stirring the pot; making noise. They are only making noise.
And for the rest of us, (though in part I may or may not agree with some of the sentiments, and yes I recycle) we go on with life. We get in our cheap high-emission car and go to our entry-level job at that giant corporation because it pays our electric bill and puts the macaroni and cheese on the table, leaving a tiny fraction to go in what will someday be an itty-bitty college fund for one of our four kids.
The reality is, it will never be perfect. And so some of us, go on living, doing our best to do what we can.
I read part of an article where a protestor was quoted saying that fuel companies can't just use the sky for their carbon emissions.
Pardon my lack of any sort of segway, but here's the problem I find with "green": it too has become, and will further, an industry. Someone will always profit off of green things. I often wonder, do these people think about how much it would affect their lives to completely remove coal as a source of power? Yes, wind power is a wonderful idea, but you know how much a residential wind-harvesting turbine costs? And not just the prices you find for one on ebay. Who's going to pay for that? If there was no coal-burning power plant, the costs of alternative energy - which we all know is more expensive - falls on the little guy. You can't say the government should pay for it, because our debt is already so high. How to balance? Tax more. Hmm...again, the cost is imposed on the people.
(Don't even get me started on celebrities siding with "the little guy", this whole thing could be solved if Oprah put her money where her patriotic mouth is and donated her dog's inheritance to the US government)
And yet, here there are thousands of people complaining - ahem, protesting about how unfair current financial situations are.
I can practically guarantee if any new restrictions or regulations were put in place regarding home electricity standards and usage, it would become an industry. It will begin to cost more and more, increasing the load on already tired backs. Sure, it's nice in theory, but what's the reality?
The reality is, the guy who invented the electric car, was too lazy to bike and wanted to be a millionaire. He (or she) is sitting on a nice pile of money that grows more and more each time someone "invests" in a Prius. And even then, they're only gasoline-electric.
Political and socioeconomic systems are just that...a system. There is so much 'fight the system' mentality that I don't think people realize we're only on track to burn out. Mass incoherent protests aren't really going to do anything except make chatter. If that's what they want, fine. But I hope they're not fooling themselves into thinking they're changing anything. They're only heating up the dialogue, if you will. Stirring the pot; making noise. They are only making noise.
And for the rest of us, (though in part I may or may not agree with some of the sentiments, and yes I recycle) we go on with life. We get in our cheap high-emission car and go to our entry-level job at that giant corporation because it pays our electric bill and puts the macaroni and cheese on the table, leaving a tiny fraction to go in what will someday be an itty-bitty college fund for one of our four kids.
The reality is, it will never be perfect. And so some of us, go on living, doing our best to do what we can.
When I Say "Paris"
I can't even help it, every time I miss someone from or something about Paris, I cry. (There should be an understanding that when I say "Paris" I mean my whole experience with YWAM.) I haven't really bothered to attempt to mask it, not that I really do that with emotions anyway...it just needs to be out there. It just rises up from this little spot in the bottom of my tummy; the recesses of what I have taken in (figuratively, of course) the last 8 months, now.
I just passed my two-month mark back at home. I was too busy to remember on the actual day. I've been swimming in busyness. Yes, I spelled that right.
It's weird to actually experience return culture shock. Of course we learned about it, and long before I ever left, people told me about it. Now I live it.
But it's not even really about missing the places, as much as the people and the life style. At least five out of my seven days were devoted to learning about and serving God. At any given time I had access to at least 22 people that could (and probably would, gladly,) pray for me. I gained more best friends, only to have them scattered all over the U.S. and the world! And every time I miss them, the tears set in because I'm scared that I'll never get to see them again.
And I just have to acknowledge it; I can't let myself not, because it's the reality. It's part of the reason all things "Paris" make me cry. It's the main reason.
They always talked about what a particular and special time it was, but I feel like it's something you can't even comprehend til it's over; like return culture shock. Suddenly, here I am, thinking about how special that time was. How blessed I was to have it; Paris, and everything that means to me.
I just passed my two-month mark back at home. I was too busy to remember on the actual day. I've been swimming in busyness. Yes, I spelled that right.
It's weird to actually experience return culture shock. Of course we learned about it, and long before I ever left, people told me about it. Now I live it.
But it's not even really about missing the places, as much as the people and the life style. At least five out of my seven days were devoted to learning about and serving God. At any given time I had access to at least 22 people that could (and probably would, gladly,) pray for me. I gained more best friends, only to have them scattered all over the U.S. and the world! And every time I miss them, the tears set in because I'm scared that I'll never get to see them again.
And I just have to acknowledge it; I can't let myself not, because it's the reality. It's part of the reason all things "Paris" make me cry. It's the main reason.
They always talked about what a particular and special time it was, but I feel like it's something you can't even comprehend til it's over; like return culture shock. Suddenly, here I am, thinking about how special that time was. How blessed I was to have it; Paris, and everything that means to me.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
People Who Know Guitar
Let's all just be honest with each other and face the fact that we've been trying to ignore for so long: people who play guitar are cooler than everyone else. I know they say - whoever "they" are - that you're not supposed to pick favorites, but we can't keep side-stepping this.
Exhibit A: Awesome "Take Away Show" in Paris (the Shins)
I started thinking about this a couple weeks ago, when I had to cut my nails off. I thought to myself that I should practice guitar while I have the chance. Every time I get overwhelmed with the prospect; no, the inevitable reality of sucking.
I often find myself wishing I was fluent at guitar. Yes, fluent. It's like a language, one that you have to have a connection with - something deep inside you somewhere that makes you able to understand something that some of us will never have the awesomeness in our lives to grasp. I wish I was fluent in guitar.
I also have this theory that people who play guitar marry and date other guitar players. They do so because they know how cool it is, but they want to be humble about it. They know that their significant other won't be as swoony and impressed as the rest of us when they're dinking around on their fender late at night. Likewise, non-guitar players who are insecure about their inability to play guitar, and don't care to be constantly surrounded with someone who does and does so well, tend to stick to dating others of the same mindset.
I'm convinced that Jesus would've played the guitar. Partially because I just think He would've, and partially because He's just that cool. WWJD? Play guitar. And you know Hendrix would have nothing on Him.
Exhibit A: Awesome "Take Away Show" in Paris (the Shins)
I started thinking about this a couple weeks ago, when I had to cut my nails off. I thought to myself that I should practice guitar while I have the chance. Every time I get overwhelmed with the prospect; no, the inevitable reality of sucking.
I often find myself wishing I was fluent at guitar. Yes, fluent. It's like a language, one that you have to have a connection with - something deep inside you somewhere that makes you able to understand something that some of us will never have the awesomeness in our lives to grasp. I wish I was fluent in guitar.
I also have this theory that people who play guitar marry and date other guitar players. They do so because they know how cool it is, but they want to be humble about it. They know that their significant other won't be as swoony and impressed as the rest of us when they're dinking around on their fender late at night. Likewise, non-guitar players who are insecure about their inability to play guitar, and don't care to be constantly surrounded with someone who does and does so well, tend to stick to dating others of the same mindset.
I'm convinced that Jesus would've played the guitar. Partially because I just think He would've, and partially because He's just that cool. WWJD? Play guitar. And you know Hendrix would have nothing on Him.
Ordering Coffee
I walk up to the counter, and suddenly that little, semi-psychotic nervousness kicks in - I have to order coffee! And every time it's an awkward experience of me stumbling over my words, talking too quietly, and almost always annoying or confusing the barista. I guess it's a normal coffee ordering experience for anyone else, but when you're a barista ordering coffee is scary.
It's like I forget everything I know, and I forget what it's like to be on the other side of the counter. I forget how to speak to my own kind. The thing is, I usually find baristas to be elitest aholes who are seemingly unimpressed that I don't want room for cream; I am always impressed. They look at me like neither one of us have souls, and also like I just told them their grandma died...the emotional reaction of which, is on their face despite the lack of a soul.
The sad thing is I inevitably tell them, after making a whole painfully awkward situation, that I'm a barista too. This doesn't impress them anymore than the fact that I prefer my coffee black (except if it's too hot, then I add some milk. But not half & half, that crap's schnast). They stare at me just long enough to make it known they are staring and unimpressed, before going to make my coffee. Probably wrong too. I don't want to drink burnt espresso anymore than the next person, but I've already stepped on their toes too much by correcting the price they attempted to over-charge me.
Then I get to my table, set up and realize I need the wifi code. So I reluctantly go back into the barista-villan's presence to plea for the simple stupid word of the day. Finally, I can retreat and relax knowing it's over.
Ordering coffee is scary.
It's like I forget everything I know, and I forget what it's like to be on the other side of the counter. I forget how to speak to my own kind. The thing is, I usually find baristas to be elitest aholes who are seemingly unimpressed that I don't want room for cream; I am always impressed. They look at me like neither one of us have souls, and also like I just told them their grandma died...the emotional reaction of which, is on their face despite the lack of a soul.
The sad thing is I inevitably tell them, after making a whole painfully awkward situation, that I'm a barista too. This doesn't impress them anymore than the fact that I prefer my coffee black (except if it's too hot, then I add some milk. But not half & half, that crap's schnast). They stare at me just long enough to make it known they are staring and unimpressed, before going to make my coffee. Probably wrong too. I don't want to drink burnt espresso anymore than the next person, but I've already stepped on their toes too much by correcting the price they attempted to over-charge me.
Then I get to my table, set up and realize I need the wifi code. So I reluctantly go back into the barista-villan's presence to plea for the simple stupid word of the day. Finally, I can retreat and relax knowing it's over.
Ordering coffee is scary.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
My Keepsake
I am resolved to believe,
That my heart will just be broken,
That I will go on missing you,
With no proper words to be spoken,
I can only but cherish the time we had,
And long to relive it in my sleep,
Or dare to dream while still awake,
The memory of each moment;
my keepsake
That my heart will just be broken,
That I will go on missing you,
With no proper words to be spoken,
I can only but cherish the time we had,
And long to relive it in my sleep,
Or dare to dream while still awake,
The memory of each moment;
my keepsake
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
The First Day Back
9:55 a.m. I should probably leave, given class is in 15 minutes.
10:10 a.m. Arriving on campus, with that bit of adrenaline that amassed from a combination of being late and the resulting speedy bike ride, I feel invigorated. I feel ready to take on the school year, and a little nervous about my first class entitled Textual Anaylsis. I realize I actually don't remember where Lind Hall was, just near the Mall. After discovering I indeed locked up one building away, I seek an open entrance not obstructed by the construction on the hall.
10:15 a.m. Find my 3rd floor classroom, enter without hesitance knowing that I am either right on-time or late: late.
10:45 a.m. Professor is awkwardly laughing after he says things, but no one else is laughing. Also, why is this class 90% people who don't look like they give a hoot about literature. It's okay, I barely do. Though I might look it, with my scarf. The exception being the one hipster girl that is almost an exact copy of my friend Libby who is too smart for most people at the U. Debate befriending her to do better in the class, at the risk of being annoyed with her vocabulary genius.
11:23 a.m. Out of class early. Gotta go buy those out of print books at the bookstore. I wander through a now bustling 11 o'clock campus. Go to cross Washington Avenue, and stop as some sort of machinery swaying some sort of big metal thing crosses where I could be walking. Then a construction lady in a neon orange vest goes all talk-to-the-hand on me like I didn't see it. Thanks lady.
11:34 a.m. Yikes. I remember that I hate the bookstore, especially on the first day of school. Not only are U of M students a hodge-podge mix of the types that care, and the types that don't; the types that pay utmost attention and the types that don't; they apparently can't maneuver a crowd to save their lives. Or any of our time. Libby-clone asks me to get a book off the shelf for her; she's short. I oblige, and comment on our quirky prof, still debating whether or not to befriend her. But I'm done looking for books and the check-out line reaches right to the back of the store where we were. So I turn and stand in line.
11:36 a.m. I wait my turn in line, as the crossing passers-bye trickle through in front of me, causing me to panic thinking that my place in line is threatened and one of these people may be a sneaky jerk, quick enough to pop in front of me when I'm staring at the chaos that surrounds me, overwhelmed. I see a guy wearing one of those navy blue tee shirts that says "COLLEGE" on it and admire his choice, though I'm not sure if I like the irony or not.
11:40 a.m. Finally, I've made it to the mecca of the bookstore pilgrimage: the check-out counter. Oh! But alas, guy who doesn't know queue etiquette practically walks up to the counter with me and sets down his mechanical pencil. The cashier exchanges a shocked, yet blank glance with me, unsure what to do and seeking a response from me. I continue my blank face until he mans up to use words, asking me some sort of stuttery sentence not worth remembering. "Fine," I say. Completely indignant that this guy waited for the opportune moment, when it was in fact MY long-awaited turn to buy my books which took all of the same time it took for him to buy his pencil, I couldn't keep from saying something. "Dude, that's why there's a LINE, usually you wait," or something just snotty enough to satisfy my boiling frustration. Quite a bit more of a reaction than I should allow myself to have, but there are rules!
11:45 a.m. I walk to find my bike while remembering that going here makes me sort of despise humanity at times. Find it and hop on, head for home.
11:50 a.m. I decide the first class back after a year off calls for a treat of Al's Breakfast. Also, if I try to bike home without eating something I might die.
1:13 p.m. I curl up in bed, barely reading the Daily. I decide a nap is in order. I think that maybe this semester is gonna be pretty alright.
2:50 p.m. Wake up. Remember there's an email assignment I have due to a class that hasn't started yet. Go to work to abuse internet and coffee privileges simultaneously.
5:45 p.m. Nearly finished with my 250-word-minimum email assignment (now at 1023 words), I leave later than I should for home to bike to my night class.
6:15 p.m. Arrive on campus at my favorite hall, after 8 minutes. I'm proud of this time, and think it will continue to decrease until it gets cold out. Then that runny-nose thing will happen. Cute. I walk into class, sit down next to cut-off-cords-wearing hipster guy. He keeps awkwardly sneaking glances at me the whole class period. I conclude that my sweatiness eludes to my having biked to school, and hence, hipster guy is interested.
7:45 p.m. Holy crap will this class ever end? Bathroom break, but class goes til 8:50. Oh dear. We take attendance and tell the class something interesting about ourselves. I tell the whole class that I was in Paris and Asia for the last 6 months, doing bible school. The prof says she's never actually met anyone who did bible school. "I've met lots..." I mutter in retort. She's a hippie, and now I'm certain she doesn't like me.
8:30 p.m. Oh for the love can I go home? I can! Yippee!!
9:00 p.m. I set up a plate of cheese and crackers, because apparently biking a lot, or more than normal makes one hungrier than normal. My typical during-class meal of blueberry frosted mini-wheats did not suffice. Uncap a beer and manage to spill and splatter some all over myself, the oven, counter and floor.
9:05 p.m. Sit on the couch with Abby, Rachel designing on the floor, radio on to KDWB cause it's all we can get. It'd be there anyway. Abby and I drink our beers, and the three of us joke ridiculously about stupid stuff. At least we think we're funny.
11:30 p.m. I get ready for bed. Crawl into bed.
12:01 a.m. After tossing and turning, realize I forgot to set an alarm. Thoughts of the day passed and the one to come distracted me. They continue to plague the rest of my night's sleep. Regret drinking beer as it always makes me sleep bad. Drift off thinking, this is only the beginning.
10:10 a.m. Arriving on campus, with that bit of adrenaline that amassed from a combination of being late and the resulting speedy bike ride, I feel invigorated. I feel ready to take on the school year, and a little nervous about my first class entitled Textual Anaylsis. I realize I actually don't remember where Lind Hall was, just near the Mall. After discovering I indeed locked up one building away, I seek an open entrance not obstructed by the construction on the hall.
10:15 a.m. Find my 3rd floor classroom, enter without hesitance knowing that I am either right on-time or late: late.
10:45 a.m. Professor is awkwardly laughing after he says things, but no one else is laughing. Also, why is this class 90% people who don't look like they give a hoot about literature. It's okay, I barely do. Though I might look it, with my scarf. The exception being the one hipster girl that is almost an exact copy of my friend Libby who is too smart for most people at the U. Debate befriending her to do better in the class, at the risk of being annoyed with her vocabulary genius.
11:23 a.m. Out of class early. Gotta go buy those out of print books at the bookstore. I wander through a now bustling 11 o'clock campus. Go to cross Washington Avenue, and stop as some sort of machinery swaying some sort of big metal thing crosses where I could be walking. Then a construction lady in a neon orange vest goes all talk-to-the-hand on me like I didn't see it. Thanks lady.
11:34 a.m. Yikes. I remember that I hate the bookstore, especially on the first day of school. Not only are U of M students a hodge-podge mix of the types that care, and the types that don't; the types that pay utmost attention and the types that don't; they apparently can't maneuver a crowd to save their lives. Or any of our time. Libby-clone asks me to get a book off the shelf for her; she's short. I oblige, and comment on our quirky prof, still debating whether or not to befriend her. But I'm done looking for books and the check-out line reaches right to the back of the store where we were. So I turn and stand in line.
11:36 a.m. I wait my turn in line, as the crossing passers-bye trickle through in front of me, causing me to panic thinking that my place in line is threatened and one of these people may be a sneaky jerk, quick enough to pop in front of me when I'm staring at the chaos that surrounds me, overwhelmed. I see a guy wearing one of those navy blue tee shirts that says "COLLEGE" on it and admire his choice, though I'm not sure if I like the irony or not.
11:40 a.m. Finally, I've made it to the mecca of the bookstore pilgrimage: the check-out counter. Oh! But alas, guy who doesn't know queue etiquette practically walks up to the counter with me and sets down his mechanical pencil. The cashier exchanges a shocked, yet blank glance with me, unsure what to do and seeking a response from me. I continue my blank face until he mans up to use words, asking me some sort of stuttery sentence not worth remembering. "Fine," I say. Completely indignant that this guy waited for the opportune moment, when it was in fact MY long-awaited turn to buy my books which took all of the same time it took for him to buy his pencil, I couldn't keep from saying something. "Dude, that's why there's a LINE, usually you wait," or something just snotty enough to satisfy my boiling frustration. Quite a bit more of a reaction than I should allow myself to have, but there are rules!
11:45 a.m. I walk to find my bike while remembering that going here makes me sort of despise humanity at times. Find it and hop on, head for home.
11:50 a.m. I decide the first class back after a year off calls for a treat of Al's Breakfast. Also, if I try to bike home without eating something I might die.
1:13 p.m. I curl up in bed, barely reading the Daily. I decide a nap is in order. I think that maybe this semester is gonna be pretty alright.
2:50 p.m. Wake up. Remember there's an email assignment I have due to a class that hasn't started yet. Go to work to abuse internet and coffee privileges simultaneously.
5:45 p.m. Nearly finished with my 250-word-minimum email assignment (now at 1023 words), I leave later than I should for home to bike to my night class.
6:15 p.m. Arrive on campus at my favorite hall, after 8 minutes. I'm proud of this time, and think it will continue to decrease until it gets cold out. Then that runny-nose thing will happen. Cute. I walk into class, sit down next to cut-off-cords-wearing hipster guy. He keeps awkwardly sneaking glances at me the whole class period. I conclude that my sweatiness eludes to my having biked to school, and hence, hipster guy is interested.
7:45 p.m. Holy crap will this class ever end? Bathroom break, but class goes til 8:50. Oh dear. We take attendance and tell the class something interesting about ourselves. I tell the whole class that I was in Paris and Asia for the last 6 months, doing bible school. The prof says she's never actually met anyone who did bible school. "I've met lots..." I mutter in retort. She's a hippie, and now I'm certain she doesn't like me.
8:30 p.m. Oh for the love can I go home? I can! Yippee!!
9:00 p.m. I set up a plate of cheese and crackers, because apparently biking a lot, or more than normal makes one hungrier than normal. My typical during-class meal of blueberry frosted mini-wheats did not suffice. Uncap a beer and manage to spill and splatter some all over myself, the oven, counter and floor.
9:05 p.m. Sit on the couch with Abby, Rachel designing on the floor, radio on to KDWB cause it's all we can get. It'd be there anyway. Abby and I drink our beers, and the three of us joke ridiculously about stupid stuff. At least we think we're funny.
11:30 p.m. I get ready for bed. Crawl into bed.
12:01 a.m. After tossing and turning, realize I forgot to set an alarm. Thoughts of the day passed and the one to come distracted me. They continue to plague the rest of my night's sleep. Regret drinking beer as it always makes me sleep bad. Drift off thinking, this is only the beginning.
Someday, Some Thing
We are so often under the illusion that one day we'll find happiness; that one distant thing, laying in wait to fix all our problems. Then when it finally comes, we realize our lives have not changed, we are not all that different and our hunger for contentedness is not satiated.
Longing for that which we do not have, is it a motivation? Is it a crutch? To feel we have achieved something, when we finally reach Time A, or completion of Task 1. The potential to feel this, either propels us into action or leaves us feeling undeservedly accomplished when the time comes or the task is complete.
Then, when we've finally hit our mark; we've made it to the goal...we're left longing for a time passed, that we cannot get back and we've overlooked while it blurred by in our peripheral. We're left, longing again for something we do not have; but this time we cannot have it. Only in memories can we access that time that we so ignorantly sped through.
Longing for that which we do not have, is it a motivation? Is it a crutch? To feel we have achieved something, when we finally reach Time A, or completion of Task 1. The potential to feel this, either propels us into action or leaves us feeling undeservedly accomplished when the time comes or the task is complete.
Then, when we've finally hit our mark; we've made it to the goal...we're left longing for a time passed, that we cannot get back and we've overlooked while it blurred by in our peripheral. We're left, longing again for something we do not have; but this time we cannot have it. Only in memories can we access that time that we so ignorantly sped through.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Thinking: In the Presence of Another
You know when you have something on your mind, and everything around you just becomes peripheral to this one train of thought. Then somebody's around and babbling away, and the frivolity of their words are like a mosquito buzzing around your head. You just want to firmly tell them to shut up.
You want this silence to get lost in your thoughts, but you also want them to be silent to, in turn, notice your own silence and the clear looks of deep thought plastered on your weary face. Then maybe they will talk to you, and listen attentively, and probably give some advice. Maybe bullshit advice, the kind you definitely did not want to hear; or some condolences on your tangled web of brain mush. Probably nothing actually substantial, definitely nothing that will magically make everything make sense. But still, if they would just ask!
You want this silence to get lost in your thoughts, but you also want them to be silent to, in turn, notice your own silence and the clear looks of deep thought plastered on your weary face. Then maybe they will talk to you, and listen attentively, and probably give some advice. Maybe bullshit advice, the kind you definitely did not want to hear; or some condolences on your tangled web of brain mush. Probably nothing actually substantial, definitely nothing that will magically make everything make sense. But still, if they would just ask!
Friday, August 19, 2011
Journal: August 19, 2011
An excerpt from the last entry of my latest journal, which I began in June 2010 and finished today:
"I can't help but wonder if someday I'll have a grand kid who's so fond of me, and loves writing that will read this scatterbrained chicken-scratch, over-hyphenated and rambling as it is, and he or she will cherish it, in a strange way.
There's something significantly more charming and sentimental, and just all-around beautiful about a book stuffed-silly with organic thoughts, scribbled out by-hand, generating with the dance of a pen.
It's what I love; sometimes it's rough, but sometimes it down right therapeutic; release for my mind from the tangled web of thoughts that so often make life seem so much more complex than it is when you put its simplicity down on paper. Writing is a concrete reminder of what life is really like. A chance to pull yourself out of the illusory world you've moved into. A chance to bring yourself back to the basics; back to reality, breaking things down to make sense out of them, often more easily than anticipated.
I've missed writing."
"I can't help but wonder if someday I'll have a grand kid who's so fond of me, and loves writing that will read this scatterbrained chicken-scratch, over-hyphenated and rambling as it is, and he or she will cherish it, in a strange way.
There's something significantly more charming and sentimental, and just all-around beautiful about a book stuffed-silly with organic thoughts, scribbled out by-hand, generating with the dance of a pen.
It's what I love; sometimes it's rough, but sometimes it down right therapeutic; release for my mind from the tangled web of thoughts that so often make life seem so much more complex than it is when you put its simplicity down on paper. Writing is a concrete reminder of what life is really like. A chance to pull yourself out of the illusory world you've moved into. A chance to bring yourself back to the basics; back to reality, breaking things down to make sense out of them, often more easily than anticipated.
I've missed writing."
Friday, February 11, 2011
& So It Is...Well With My Soul
One thing I really love about Bloomington, late on those clear, biting winter nights you can actually see stars. That has made arriving in Bloomington after driving all the way home day after day for all these months slightly bearable.
Funny, the timing of this whole thing. I wanted to go to Paris with school, and I'll just be honest, I didn't have all these friends then. A year and a half later, after so many important people have been added into my life, and I am so blessed to have them there...I leave.
I've been so blessed by the many prayers, gifts, and send-offs of so many people. Today it had me thinking, this wouldn't be so hard if I didn't have so many funny, brilliant, loyal, caring, AWESOME people in my life...
I can't stop clasping my fingers together, and resting them on my head, to breathe, - this is really hard...
But the timing here, then is funny. This would've been far easier back in 2008 or 2009, when not all these wonderful people were in my life. Though these wonderful people have helped prepare me, and even propel me towards this.
I made a joke today that you have to leave for six months to find out people love you, but I was partially serious in that I don't think I've ever felt so loved in my entire life.
So a big piece of my heart will definitely be left in the cities, [mostly Minneapolis] with such great friends.
Funny, the timing of this whole thing. I wanted to go to Paris with school, and I'll just be honest, I didn't have all these friends then. A year and a half later, after so many important people have been added into my life, and I am so blessed to have them there...I leave.
I've been so blessed by the many prayers, gifts, and send-offs of so many people. Today it had me thinking, this wouldn't be so hard if I didn't have so many funny, brilliant, loyal, caring, AWESOME people in my life...
I can't stop clasping my fingers together, and resting them on my head, to breathe, - this is really hard...
But the timing here, then is funny. This would've been far easier back in 2008 or 2009, when not all these wonderful people were in my life. Though these wonderful people have helped prepare me, and even propel me towards this.
I made a joke today that you have to leave for six months to find out people love you, but I was partially serious in that I don't think I've ever felt so loved in my entire life.
So a big piece of my heart will definitely be left in the cities, [mostly Minneapolis] with such great friends.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
The "Who Cares?" Phase
Every time I get over wanting a relationship, I have this realization. Or maybe that makes it sound too dramatic. Simply, I hit a point when I think, I don't want one.
They make me nervous. Being too hasty about them is a recipe for disaster.
And every time I've gone in and out of this haze (if I can call it that) of wanting a relationship, I realize it wouldn't be a good time. I usually wonder when would, then but...it's a nice feeling to not need one. Who cares!
I should also warn that this part of the cycle, the "who cares" usually lasts a very short period of time. It's nice, while it does.
I'm a firm believer in being a person that can stand on my own two feet, before I try to mess up someone else's life, or involve them in my mess, haha (maybe a good place to start next time I think I want a relationship...hmmm). I know right now, embarking on this crazy section of my life, I'm gonna learn a lot. Being young is not only the perfect time to go do something crazy like this, but to be SINGLE!
They make me nervous. Being too hasty about them is a recipe for disaster.
And every time I've gone in and out of this haze (if I can call it that) of wanting a relationship, I realize it wouldn't be a good time. I usually wonder when would, then but...it's a nice feeling to not need one. Who cares!
I should also warn that this part of the cycle, the "who cares" usually lasts a very short period of time. It's nice, while it does.
I'm a firm believer in being a person that can stand on my own two feet, before I try to mess up someone else's life, or involve them in my mess, haha (maybe a good place to start next time I think I want a relationship...hmmm). I know right now, embarking on this crazy section of my life, I'm gonna learn a lot. Being young is not only the perfect time to go do something crazy like this, but to be SINGLE!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Two Sides
I have no thoughts in my brain these days, and I have a million thoughts in my brain these days. (It's basically as confusing and contradictory as that sentence.) Trying not to think about things too much, cause I've been getting really emotional when I just crack the surface of everything I'm leaving. My conscious, logical side has acknowledged the potential and inevitable difficulty of leaving, it just hasn't fully let this information pass to the emotional side.
Wow, do I sound off? Haha, it's true, I have these two strong parts of me that often battle. It's been good, the times when I have come to a realization. I know I need to get a little bit of this out of my system now so that I don't have a total emotional break down two weeks into Paris.
The logical side of me knows the emotional very well, and is questioning why I'm letting myself do this. Ha. I've thought that several times. I don't like to invest in people, and then walk away, - that which I feel I'll be doing when I leave; I've never been far away from my mother for any significant period of time; I must be crazy. I think that, and then immediately feel like, No. Though I'm sure this late-night rambling isn't making a great case for the "no"...my pragmatic side gets overwhelmed with all the realities, and then I just think, "But I'm doing it."
I'm sure other people feel this way, have felt this way in said sort of situation. I can't help but work this stuff out in a verbal format, or public format, if you will. In other words, I'm just being real here: I'm freaking out a bit, let some emotions hit, but holding some of it off so I can get on the plane and have an adventure.
Wow, do I sound off? Haha, it's true, I have these two strong parts of me that often battle. It's been good, the times when I have come to a realization. I know I need to get a little bit of this out of my system now so that I don't have a total emotional break down two weeks into Paris.
The logical side of me knows the emotional very well, and is questioning why I'm letting myself do this. Ha. I've thought that several times. I don't like to invest in people, and then walk away, - that which I feel I'll be doing when I leave; I've never been far away from my mother for any significant period of time; I must be crazy. I think that, and then immediately feel like, No. Though I'm sure this late-night rambling isn't making a great case for the "no"...my pragmatic side gets overwhelmed with all the realities, and then I just think, "But I'm doing it."
I'm sure other people feel this way, have felt this way in said sort of situation. I can't help but work this stuff out in a verbal format, or public format, if you will. In other words, I'm just being real here: I'm freaking out a bit, let some emotions hit, but holding some of it off so I can get on the plane and have an adventure.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Amelangeoffeelings
I miss my best friend. And my oldest sister seems set to not talk to me anymore. I feel totally unprepared to leave everything I know for six months. A customer wants to donate to my trip, - yay! I shouldn't have tried to tackle something that gets me so upset before bed - bring on the stress dreams again. I'm gonna miss my job, even though right now it's horribly boring, - it's comfortable and the people are mostly great. Change is weird; the clock moved, and the straws are on the other side, it messed up my groove. I have not bonded with my dog as much as I would've liked before I'm set to leave. My brain hurts. My throat is dry. Everyone seems far away except the people I've only established tight relationships with over the past couple months, - but I'm leaving them soon too. I think one of our biggest problems is thinking we're justified. Another is worrying about how other people "run" their lives. I had a good laugh at the fact that when I was around 10, I had a subscription to cat fancy. Life should be just fun, not people slinging hateful words at one another and building walls. Laughter is pure grace.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Mercy Vineyard!
Today, while sitting in church, probably about ten minutes into the sermon, it hit me: I am going to miss this place!
All of a sudden, I was just trying so hard not to cry. It didn't really work. Which I always wonder what people around must think, like "well, that point wasn't THAT moving."
Anyway, it hit me: I really really love it there. I have been so immensely blessed by that place, whether through individuals, or sundays, or small groups, or pre-schoolers! I love it. And the idea of six months away from it, smacked me in the face today. In the middle of church.
It is my perfect church. It's funny, because people say you will never find your perfect church, and every time I've heard that in oh, the last year and a half I've thought, pretty sure I did. For me.
For me, right now, and for the past two years, and I think when I come back, it is the perfect church. And six months will be really hard,...
but THANK GOD and Mercy volunteers/staff for podcasts!
All of a sudden, I was just trying so hard not to cry. It didn't really work. Which I always wonder what people around must think, like "well, that point wasn't THAT moving."
Anyway, it hit me: I really really love it there. I have been so immensely blessed by that place, whether through individuals, or sundays, or small groups, or pre-schoolers! I love it. And the idea of six months away from it, smacked me in the face today. In the middle of church.
It is my perfect church. It's funny, because people say you will never find your perfect church, and every time I've heard that in oh, the last year and a half I've thought, pretty sure I did. For me.
For me, right now, and for the past two years, and I think when I come back, it is the perfect church. And six months will be really hard,...
but THANK GOD and Mercy volunteers/staff for podcasts!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Crazy? Give it a try!
I'm currently sitting alone in my living room, drinking a self-concocted brandy cocktail, under a blanky, listening to Bon Iver. Finally settling down.
FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN! Between the endorphins, the adrenaline, and the good company, I felt really happy and a little bit jazzed since I left. Haha! So fun.
Earlier today, I was thinking, you just kinda have to do things. The only way to live life, is to live it. If you want to do something, but you're not sure...why not? Like when people talk about moving away, or pursuing a dream of some kind, - why not?
My dream has been to go to Paris, live for a couple months. My dream has been to do a DTS. Both of these things scare me a bit...or a lot, but I'm doing them.
I was invited to go skiing today. I was really nervous I'd make a complete fool out of myself, but I also really wanted to go! I went, got over my fear, and had a total blast! I was right on both accounts: made a bit of a fool of myself, AND had lots of fun. Like every other day of my life.
I came to the conclusion that maybe things like that are crazy, but crazy people lead more interesting lives. So might as well be crazy, when opportunity knocks...
FUN FUN FUN FUN FUN! Between the endorphins, the adrenaline, and the good company, I felt really happy and a little bit jazzed since I left. Haha! So fun.
Earlier today, I was thinking, you just kinda have to do things. The only way to live life, is to live it. If you want to do something, but you're not sure...why not? Like when people talk about moving away, or pursuing a dream of some kind, - why not?
My dream has been to go to Paris, live for a couple months. My dream has been to do a DTS. Both of these things scare me a bit...or a lot, but I'm doing them.
I was invited to go skiing today. I was really nervous I'd make a complete fool out of myself, but I also really wanted to go! I went, got over my fear, and had a total blast! I was right on both accounts: made a bit of a fool of myself, AND had lots of fun. Like every other day of my life.
I came to the conclusion that maybe things like that are crazy, but crazy people lead more interesting lives. So might as well be crazy, when opportunity knocks...
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Extraordinary
"Extraordinary", meaning: beyond what is usual, ordinary, regular, or established.
While babysitting at my sister's place for her best friend, naturally I raided her bookshelf. Though in search for Blue Like Jazz, I came across another book I've sought after for some time: The Sun Also Rises. Thank God for the old what's-mine-is-yours family mentality, because I yoinked it (yoink is my new word, adopt it into your vocabulary).
So when I was done and went home, no one was there but my dog. She was so lonely she tweaked out a little. She followed me around begging my attention, and seeing as I'm leaving soon and going to miss her desperately, I played chase with her despite being tired.
Then I thought about watching a movie, but realized it would be a waste of my solitude. I settled on the love-seat by the bright colored-glow of the christmas tree, with a vitamin water and some pretzels. The dog laid on the floor next to the couch. I turned on MPR's classical station, and began to read Ernest Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises. It begins set in Paris.
I listened to Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Bach while actually enjoying a classic novel. The only thing missing was a glass of wine and button-less wrap around cardigan.
It was really nice, - not something I ever do, but I enjoyed it.
While babysitting at my sister's place for her best friend, naturally I raided her bookshelf. Though in search for Blue Like Jazz, I came across another book I've sought after for some time: The Sun Also Rises. Thank God for the old what's-mine-is-yours family mentality, because I yoinked it (yoink is my new word, adopt it into your vocabulary).
So when I was done and went home, no one was there but my dog. She was so lonely she tweaked out a little. She followed me around begging my attention, and seeing as I'm leaving soon and going to miss her desperately, I played chase with her despite being tired.
Then I thought about watching a movie, but realized it would be a waste of my solitude. I settled on the love-seat by the bright colored-glow of the christmas tree, with a vitamin water and some pretzels. The dog laid on the floor next to the couch. I turned on MPR's classical station, and began to read Ernest Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises. It begins set in Paris.
I listened to Mendelssohn, Beethoven, and Bach while actually enjoying a classic novel. The only thing missing was a glass of wine and button-less wrap around cardigan.
It was really nice, - not something I ever do, but I enjoyed it.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Why is it good?
What do I matter to you?
What difference does it make,
If I should give or take?
It's not just in my grain,
And I hope it's not in vain,
Why speak so freely to me,
And then walk away and let me be?
I wonder,
Do you mean to taunt and tease?
For it has left me at no ease,
And I'm toiling o'er this constantly,
Debating and estimating what I want it to be,
Trying to find what you want of me,
What this truly is, - I can't see,
Is it all for not?
Something here,
Just to be forgot?
Such an end I dread,
To try to forget all the things you've said,
To put you out of my heart and my mind,
To begin to search for another to find.
What difference does it make,
If I should give or take?
It's not just in my grain,
And I hope it's not in vain,
Why speak so freely to me,
And then walk away and let me be?
I wonder,
Do you mean to taunt and tease?
For it has left me at no ease,
And I'm toiling o'er this constantly,
Debating and estimating what I want it to be,
Trying to find what you want of me,
What this truly is, - I can't see,
Is it all for not?
Something here,
Just to be forgot?
Such an end I dread,
To try to forget all the things you've said,
To put you out of my heart and my mind,
To begin to search for another to find.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Commitment: 36 Days
I deposited a small boat-load of money to YWAM. So this is the commitment. I thought I was committed in you know, May...yesterday, I committed.
I was a little bit avoiding doing it, but the more practical, ignore your fears side of me got me to the bank before I could freak out. This sounds bad, but I'm just being honest here. I was scared, because that IS commitment! It gets a little harder to suddenly change my mind for whatever reason when I've got literal investment.
Yesterday it hit me, in 36 days I will be boarding a plane to go live somewhere not here...for six months. I couldn't think about it for too long because it'd probably floor me and I was at work but wow. It hasn't even really sunk in for me!
There is a bit of intrigue for me as far as what it will be like to move away from everything I am so comfortable with. There are things I'm definitely ready to part ways with for a while...but for the things I'm not, I know it will be a difficult but good experience for me.
And that's the thing, right now because it is really coming up and I have really committed, I'm thinking more about the leaving than anything else.
You know, it's funny the situations I put myself in; I am a horribly sentimental person, I get too attached too quickly, and I'm moving somewhere for three months, then traveling for three months, all the while leaving everything I've ever known! I feel crazy when I think about the trip, then I put myself as x in the equation...it's not even close to logical math. But I'm going to. In 36 days.
I was a little bit avoiding doing it, but the more practical, ignore your fears side of me got me to the bank before I could freak out. This sounds bad, but I'm just being honest here. I was scared, because that IS commitment! It gets a little harder to suddenly change my mind for whatever reason when I've got literal investment.
Yesterday it hit me, in 36 days I will be boarding a plane to go live somewhere not here...for six months. I couldn't think about it for too long because it'd probably floor me and I was at work but wow. It hasn't even really sunk in for me!
There is a bit of intrigue for me as far as what it will be like to move away from everything I am so comfortable with. There are things I'm definitely ready to part ways with for a while...but for the things I'm not, I know it will be a difficult but good experience for me.
And that's the thing, right now because it is really coming up and I have really committed, I'm thinking more about the leaving than anything else.
You know, it's funny the situations I put myself in; I am a horribly sentimental person, I get too attached too quickly, and I'm moving somewhere for three months, then traveling for three months, all the while leaving everything I've ever known! I feel crazy when I think about the trip, then I put myself as x in the equation...it's not even close to logical math. But I'm going to. In 36 days.
Friends are Family
I think I'm to the point in life, where friends become more like family than family are. If that really makes any sense. And that's not to say that it's that way for everyone, but it's something I kind of notice in others' lives too.
I still love my family, and really being related growing up through the same things with the same parents, etc. has a different connection than friends. But I've gone through some things with friends and felt supported by friends through things that I haven't felt as much with my family on. Family is still important, but friends become your people (to use a grey's anatomy phrase).
I've just been thinking of all the awesome friends I have! From those I see often, to those I get together with once and a while...I'm so blessed by them. I've been pondering this. And how much I'm going to miss them when I leave for YWAM. Don't forget about me!
I still love my family, and really being related growing up through the same things with the same parents, etc. has a different connection than friends. But I've gone through some things with friends and felt supported by friends through things that I haven't felt as much with my family on. Family is still important, but friends become your people (to use a grey's anatomy phrase).
I've just been thinking of all the awesome friends I have! From those I see often, to those I get together with once and a while...I'm so blessed by them. I've been pondering this. And how much I'm going to miss them when I leave for YWAM. Don't forget about me!
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