A Year Lost

As I sit here drinking my at home pre-game beer, dreading getting up and attempting to be a normal girl who does her hair and makeup, and crap, I think maybe I should do one of those end of the year things. You know, where I ponder and describe the highlights of my year in summation.

Well, 2013, what's there to say? This has been one heck of a year! It's been a weird one, to be sure. I guess it's the first year I feel like I've lost as an adult. Not that I lost as in winning vs. losing, but lost as in, I don't really know what this year was about; it just came and went, it feels. This year has been a lot of realizing that I have not arrived, not that I was necessarily naive enough to think that, but sort of that I was beginning my adult life. I still sleep in when possible, I still don't like cleaning the house, I've created a budget but I don't pay it any attention because I don't know how. I still stay up too late. I still rent animated kids movies. Leaving the year of my college graduation didn't do what I bought into the idea of it doing.

It brought one thing I'm really glad that it did, and that was forcing me and affording me to buy a newer car. It's a dream, and I'm extremely blessed.

But when it comes to the rest of life, I am just as wandering as I was when I was in school, only now I don't have an outright excuse. I'm learning to come to terms with that, which might be more of a forecast for 2014 and beyond. I don't have a lot to say about '13, I guess. It was a strange and - I want to say, - tough year, but the whole thing blends together so much that it feels indeed, lost.

So close that sucker down, I'm ready for another one, with all its own challenges and experiences, maybe one more memorable than 2013. Here's to new experiences and - Lord willing - new adventures!

Space for Thinking and Writing

I forgot that I love this part: (which I've written about so many times) the end of my day, lights turned down and tunes on, thinking and writing. I forgot because I haven't been able to do it. I haven't had the time and the energy to sit and think at the end of my day, a time I relish. There's something about the last two jobs I've had that I think has something to do with it. Conversely, I think there's something that keeps me feeling alive to see people's faces that I work with, and to have concrete tasks to check off a list. I think I am learning somethings about what I need to do for my living, and what I need to not do for my living.

For one, it is more important for me to be fulfilled than to be chasing the completion of some theoretical formula, which to me is not fulfilling. I think the pressure of that immediately fell off. It's bad enough not feeling like you're going in the direction of the career you want, but then loathing your job? Not many people seemed to understand that, but that's okay, my life is not up for their approval or otherwise!

I feel like I have this space to think about everything else in life, when I'm not thinking about how I don't want to go to to my job tomorrow, and how I want to find a different one, but have no hope to do so. It could seem like it's all in my head, - and maybe it is - but it's like a sudden weight lifted off me. This job has its own set of challenges as each one will, and maybe I'll be over it in a few short months just like the last two, but I'm not concerning myself with that, because I've felt hope and I feel hope. I think about the next day, and that it's only a hurtle to finding my bearings and footing, then it will just be doing what I know I love. And whatever else comes after...

Do Silly Things Happen Only To Me?

Sometimes I wonder how people don't have more stories; do all the silly things just happen to me? Or is everyone else just too afraid to talk about theirs?

I had planned, sort of with my coworkers to bake something for my scheduled last day, December 20th. Yesterday night, out of boredom and restlessness, I decided to make some cookies to bring in to my team as they're the only remaining thing I liked about that job. I brought in my cookies today, IM'd my team and my team lead that they were at my desk.

There's this guy at our office that was relentlessly trying to hit on me, or impress me - anything he could do to talk to me. Nice guy, just wasn't happening. Being the too-nice person I am, I just usually smirked and walked away. Today, after about two months of working together, "Is that a tattoo?" Apparently they aren't all that noticeable. "Yes," as I displayed them both by turning up my wrists, "I have two, actually." He deciphered it was Hebrew, "It's 'My Refuge', from the Psalms." "Oh, and that's a cross?" What else does it look like? "Oh, interesting...hmm, those..." crosses wrists over one another, smacking them together, "Judaism and Christianity..." So I think, for the millionth time with that guy, I didn't know what to say and just walked away.

Shortly thereafter, I was told by my team lead that while they appreciated that I brought cookies today and all the work I put in with the customers, my attendance problems combined with my having given two weeks led them to decide to end my assignment today, and that he would escort me out. Cute, I thought. He brought a box that I didn't need, as I didn't keep anything at my desk for that very reason.

Crazy what can change in 12 days! Twelve days ago, I applied out of pure frustration to a full-time barista position, thinking, at least I know what I'm getting into with that job, I know I love it. I hadn't expected to be asked the very next day for an interview, and essentially offered the job on the spot with no more inquisition than as to my availability. At first I felt self-conscious about going back to being a barista, from a "professional position". After taking a little time to think, and bouncing the plan off my circle of trusted friends, I realized my current job gave me all that it could long ago.

I have to let myself off the hook here a little, by acknowledging that this is not a failure. I was not moving in any positive direction, merely treading water. I'm going back to work I know I love, and even if right now that's not a career move, it's lightness in my life; joy and enjoyment in my work. It's getting to smile at people until they smile back, instead of wishing that a glare could be heard through the phone. It's time to breathe. Something I was afraid that some might not understand, but my decisions are my own. I don't answer (quite thankfully!) to how anyone else thinks I should live my life, and there is absolutely no formula.

The most valuable thing to me here is that my integrity remain in tact. Finances can go to crap, I almost couldn't care less! I can look like I'm back-tracking, but there's no proof of that. There's a fork in the road, and there's that cliche I could steal from Frost, but I won't.

So on to another season, and new silly stories and hopefully better opportunities to be a light.

You, Before I Sleep

There are days that go by where I don't think of you. See, I've managed to compartmentalize you like you did me, only I waited until you were long gone. Until you found it in yourself to think that the treatment you received was undeserved, without a word. I was supposed to know, and to notice, but you didn't let me in. Then my turning my back for a reprieve was the perfect opportunity for you to turn yours and run. Without a word.

And that was the bigger thing to do.

On the days I do think of you, I'm thankful for the days that I haven't and don't, because it hurts. A hurt I've apparently brought on myself, ironically, by pulling away when I was already too hurt to begin with. To catch my breath, heal wounds. Words never worked; never said anything of worth to you, except that I had feelings you were stirring but it was too much trouble for you to be concerned with, as attending to it might require some sacrifice. The kind that isn't flashy, doesn't award any stature; keeps quiet behind the scenes.

These days, when I think of you, there's an ache in my chest, right in my sternum. An ache like my heart wants to shimmy to the right and sink right into my stomach; call it quits on the whole thing. An ache that naively wants to mend everything, but wisely knows all too well that that wouldn't fix anything.

You go on, with me tucked away as a memory in a dust-gathering box; like a photograph of a self you'd rather not recollect. I guess it's an accurate depiction, the now, of how it's always been. I can find some twisted solace in that. That if it was that easy to not fight for, it should be easily let go; only ever to be a sieve.

This is what trudges through my mind when I do think of you, and now you know. Not that you should ever read this, or ever care to. Your potentially infinite gravitation of self will never lead you here. While I will occasionally wonder, but scarcely hope.

As you never liked my words.

Alternative Oils B-Bread

I basically studied (i.e. glanced over) dozens of banana bread recipes, averaged out a few ingredients and adjusted it to the plethora of bananas I had. I prefer to skip the butter and eggs so that it's a not-all-that-unhealthy snack. Between the bananas, the coconut oil and the applesauce, I think they'll be pretty moist, dense, and naturally...just have to see how they taste! I guess the choco chips kinda kill the healthy factor but... :)

8+ overripe bananas
5 cups wheat flour
1 1/2 cups quick oats
2 tsp apple cider vineagar
3 cups apple sauce
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 cup+ coconut oil
6 oz of mini chocolate chips optional or drizzle with honey
(Yield: 3 loaves)


350 degrees for 45 minutes.

**I would probably add some official amount of honey in, or a few more bananas for this amount of flour. Great density, needs a tish more natural sweet.

At Least Two Kinds of People

One of my favorite and simultaneously least favorite things about life is that everyone will do things differently. It's my favorite when someone solves a crisis with effortless ease of innovation; it's my least favorite when I find myself thinking, Why would anyone, EVER do THAT?

There are at least two types of people when it comes to doing things (ok, maybe three...but I'll get there): there are the perfectionist-worriers and the reckless-risk-takers. The perfectionist worrier is not my breed of human. The perfectionist wants to get all of the ducks, right in a row so as to assure - key word here, "assure" - that everything goes according to plan resulting in a scheduled outcome. The reckless-risk-taker on the other hand, will pinball from thing to the next, ever-taunting gravity's ability to strike and pull it to the bottom...forcing us to put in another quarter. Or something. I mean, they are usually the ones not contemplating the consequences til they arrive.

I suppose the third is the indecisive, and the only reason I came to that conclusion is because I almost couldn't figure out which I am. Further still, the only reason I couldn't figure that out (other than being often plagued with indecision) is that it's more appealing, in a strange way to be the ducks-in-a-row type of person. Something about that lies to me and tells me it's more secure. You might be that person, and you might read this and think: That's cause it is, it is more secure!

It doesn't take many seasons in life to know that just because you worry about something, doesn't stop it from happening. How far away are some of our habits of worry from a child peering under her bed for monsters before going to sleep? I always plead from this end, because that is my breed. But all this to the point that I believe there's a freedom in that; you might plan until you're blue in the face and drenched in sweat, and your plans may fail, or you could go wandering aimless and fall, lost on your unknown road.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much I hear people criticize one another and feel justified, and much like anything I ponder, I turn it back on myself. The harsh truth is I do it, too. Why should we feel so justified to say we would've known how to do it better? Or worse yet, that it wouldn't have happened to us? Let the empathy sink back in by realizing that no one has the answers. There is no play book. I think of what freedom there would be if we weren't worried about someone questioning why we did or didn't do something! Biblically, we are told to use discernment and be wise, but not to worry for tomorrow for it will worry for itself, and also in Romans that to each their own convictions before the Lord concerning certain things.

What beauty and relief there might be in the freedom, to know there is no certain way to venture your path!

A Successful Writer

I'm freezing. I'm eavesdropping. I like to sit at the bar so I can talk to people. Or listen to them. I come here (a bustling coffee shop) to write because usually it's one of few places I can manage to get anything done. Much like any other writer, "getting something done" is completely subjective and lacks any real meaning. I have a lot of ideas; things come and go, though whether I write them down or not seems utterly arbitrary. And I have this sort of blurry understanding of the cliche, I'd like to think at most I walk the line on it, but...then I use phrases like "walk the line".

Sometimes I think I could write endlessly, and might have a million things to say, inevitably all about nothing. Then I get to wondering if I'll ever write anything of significance; anything of merit. Writing just to write, while fantastic for my sanity, isn't what any writer necessarily aspires to. That's what my journal is for. When I was really young and just thinking about the phrase "What do I want to do with my life?" for the first time, I used to think I wanted to be a writer and that meant that someday I'd write a novel. Now that scares the hell out of me; what do I possibly have to tell the world that hasn't already been told? And in a way that doesn't just fall flat.

Writing is so accessible and encouraged nowadays, it's hard to know how to approach it. I could go the route of Stephanie Myers, write some crap fan-fiction that gets adapted to film and get rich in my lifetime...but I don't want to do that either. I mean, it'd be nice to actually make a living from writing, but that's a part of the dream that when you leave your ninth grade life-planning class, you realize is a hoax. Your life's work might not equate to paying your bills and where you spend your 40 hours.

There's a part of me, too, though that's not just jaded but wise in my view of "being a writer": it's not defining. I think that's freeing. When someone asks if I'm a writer, I always say "Sort of" or "Aspiring", or my favorite "That's such a lofty word". Same with photography. There's too much pressure to take that on, but if it's not defining, no one can know what to expect from me. My answer can be translated to, "Yes, I'm a writer but I'm still learning," or "Yes, I'm a photographer but I'm still learning." There is plenty that I don't know about how to be a successful writer, and thankfully I define what "successful writer" means to me.

I think in some ways, chronicling my life in my journal and this blog, are my success. Stretching the way I think, and see, and speak, are my success. Stopping to think, then to write is my success.

All this from sitting at the bar, drinking some tea.

They Are Just Magnificent

Do you ever look at someone and find yourself thinking they are just magnificent? Lately I've been finding myself charmed by people. Though not in my job, of course, just in life in general. Maybe it's just that I'm blessed to have a circle of spectacular people, or I just happen to know a lot of really impressive people from here or there. Certainly no implication of like flocking to like.

These little glimmers from instance to instance and the magnetism of uniqueness have been restoring my faith in humanity. Not that I put my faith in humanity by any means, because I know all too well already how likely that is to fail me... But I've been noticing people; as if catching them in their element. Each time I stop and kind of relish in the moment and think, Man, that person is cool. I'd like to claim my reaction is more eloquent in my head, but believe it or not, it takes a bit of thought for me to speak eloquently. Anyone who knows me well, isn't surprised by that.

It's a mixture, too, not just the people you'd label as charismatic; it's all kinds of people! I have all these little moments of crush on all these people. Life has become a little more sparkly by being made aware of them. It really is being made aware, not just being aware. It's been people I glimpse for a moment, or people I've known for years.

I guess this has the potential to come off completely cliche, - that people are enthralling - but it's true. And I just like to write what I know. Who has time to live in fear of the cliche? Other than hipsters...

Talking With You

When I'm with you, the room hollows out; as I talk to you, it's like my words are caught just outside of my mouth, in the thick of the moment. No matter who's around, and who's listening, You adore my very thought. You value my words because you love my heart. Each one is like a sweet drop of water in your parched mouth. But it's not that you need me, but you want me. To know that is the only thing that keeps me.

I Need to Be Writing

Sitting at my desk, contemplating my utter-boredom yesterday I had this realization that was more of a revelation: I need to be writing. I have not been writing much, nothing serious anyway. This blog - though good for me and maybe interesting to the handful of people who read each post - is not what I'd think of as a serious project. It's inconsistent, it's not really centered around any sort of theme other than my brain and rants. Maybe I sell myself short, too...I don't know. But I need to be writing. Actually putting effort into developing this thing that somehow is life-giving.

I'm one of those people that is sort of good at a lot of things. I'm doing this class at church that helps you discover and study your gifts, strengths, and talents; essentially how you're wired. Particularly the strengths test is meant to be used to find areas you're good in, and develop those. In sitting at my desk, bored out of my mind, dreading my job as I sit there at it, I thought: I need to be writing.

I'm good at a few things; I connect with them and have some sort of understanding of them, but I'm not completely sure where my raw talent lies. I have a piece of the puzzle but not the whole thing. Which is fine, no one's ever fully arrived. I'm also the kind of person that won't try something if I know I'm likely to fail. Failure can be defined on several levels for me, I don't think it has to be an epic face-plant.

I didn't end up starting NaNoWriMo because I don't want to write crap. I don't want to spend a month writing crap. But I was thinking maybe I should. Maybe I need to just go for it, and trust that I need to get some out of my system, and get my system into the mode. Throw myself in the ring...gosh I'm so obsessed with metaphors.

If writing is what I need to do, I need to do it.

Theme of the day: "The Struggle Is Real"

I have been so burnt out lately by my job and how little satisfaction I get from it, on top of how little I'm being used to my strengths. The reason I wanted to work with people is because I care about them, it motivates me to serve them in whatever way necessary. The part where I get tired comes in when I am empathizing, I am right there in their feelings...and then they proceed to chew me out. I'm a peon, why does no one understand this? It's not my fault, and this is not therapy.

Empathy, and being a people-first kind of person is a tough burden to bear in such a day and age. Try and argue me, but then I'm guessing you're not a people-first person, hence I'll likely disregard your invalid opinion. It's a hard burden to bear, and - though, less the older I get - I've often found myself at the end of a day, or the exit of a situation on the verge of tears. I feel it. This is something I love about myself that I have and will likely continue to battle criticism on in my life:

When someone I love (or even have remotely connected with) has a crisis, the first feeling I get is panic that they are hurting, or distressed, or in need. I don't think about my time, or my money, or what plans I had before this catastrophe reared its head - my heart hurts instantly.

All my life I've been told I'm too sensitive, that I need to think about others, and I need to grow thicker skin - to all of which I say: bull-shit. I am throwing the flag on that. Because even when I am at my wit's end of frustration from being drained, it's hard to know where I can go to just let off the steam and say my heart feels low - without being told to just buck up. Just for another second, I want to fight for the idea that caring about people and being sensitive isn't a weakness. I am so tired of being painted or perceived as weak because I care. I think it's a weakness not to care; to be so self-focused that someone else's problem doesn't deserve your time or an ounce of your understanding.

The thing about being this way in such a world is I know it's special; I wouldn't want to live with myself any other way. Don't take this to be some sort of horn-tooting (teehee) diatribe where I say "I'm awesome"...but I need to a little. I need to partially so that I can wake up and do it again tomorrow, and partially in the hopes that if you call someone with a job as shitty as mine, you might opt to treat them with the respect of a fellow human being, in the off chance that they do actually care that you're frustrated or annoyed.

I write this in part as catharsis (which I've become increasingly interested in), and in part to draw attention to the kind of people that help make the world survive. They're around you, probably burning out and getting lectured that they need to change their focus, notice them. Don't criticize them; appreciate them. There's something really insanely beautiful about caring - not about arguing, and not about bossing, and not about doing what one "should" do - just recognizing we're all humans and we all face struggles, and we need each other.

And therein lies one of my greatest struggles: holding onto an attitude of love and a heart of grace even when it's undeserved and I'm not shown either in return. I don't like myself when I can't bring one of those two with me to an interaction; I don't like myself when I'm putting me and my feelings over them and theirs. Sometimes there's a wall to hit, and it's a struggle.

A Photo & 'a long time ago'

You know how I know what I love...

How a photograph can break your heart and make it feel alive all in a masochistic instant; nostalgia.

I think a lot about nostalgia. I've lived a lot of moments I absolutely loved, and I just lived right in them. Now being in a place I don't constantly tuck away memories every day, or any other time I just wander to reminiscences of my favorite moments, I feel that tension. And almost every time I stop to think about it, I think about how amazingly blessed I've been to have the experiences I have, seen the things I've seen, and laughed the laughs I have. Simultaneously my heart aches to go back to the places, knowing full-well I can't.

There is a tension in nostalgia; gratefulness for experiences and a sense of loss for the moment you once lived in so fully, being so far away. I try not to allow myself to compare this time to those, because in theory it will always lose, but I try to think about what beautiful things I've seen; what a beautiful life I've lived and how many years I have to follow with more beauty.

Best Laid Plans for NaNoWriMo

Sometimes it takes me a while to get around to something, even if I really want to do it. For years I've tried to start doing National Novel Writing Month, fondly referred to by participants as NaNoWriMo. I can never just bite the bullet. I never have an idea that's formulated enough to carry out. You can't just sit down and write 50,000 words - it might turn out to be crap. Not that I'm not a fan of wasting time and writing things no one may ever read. I think of the project as getting the ball rolling, but why bother if my idea isn't fleshed out.

This coming from a non-planner. I am farthest from a planner. If I even bother to develop a plan, I usually completely forget about it. As a writer, this proves a challenge. See, this time around I even have a plot idea that's a really basic outline. By really basic, I mean: written in my random ideas and blurbs notebook that I keep in my purse for moments when creativity interrupts my normal daily activity.

It's not fully fleshed out, though. Like I have the very skeleton of my story, but I have no idea how to start; what tense should I write in? Who's perspective is the story told from? (Why does this guy sitting next to me at the coffee shop keep trying to read what I'm writing as if I don't notice?) I want so badly to tell it from the first-person, but I know that's hard. It's hard but when you read it, it's kind of brilliant. So maybe, first-person it is.

The reality is, much like anything else I click with doing, I don't actually know a whole lot of technical stuff, I just know what it should look like. I know what reads well, or sounds right, or looks good. Does it mean I'm technically gifted? Not at all. In fact, for the most part I'm not, and I hate the idea that anyone might be...but I know they might be. Jealousy, I suppose.

And there you see, a picture of why I can manage to avoid starting NaNoWriMo. I think I need to just take the leap. As always, I'm already a day behind.

Escape: Early Outs, Eyebrows, and Every Thought Ever

I have been having bad luck with plucking my eyebrows lately, - let's just say I look more surprised than normal. Likely a subtly that by most other than myself, will go unnoticed but insecurity on such an issue is steadfast until it self-resolves. Clearly, I forgot that I was trying to let them grow out after my last mishap, and so the stragglers that were dragging my face back toward normalcy are once again defeated...unjustly.

Today, we received an email at work that we have been spending our down time doing things we should not; we're either allowed to clean our desks or review training material. Just when I was enjoying some reading time. I can't sit idly, it drives me crazy. I'm a fidget. That's why I love knitting. Soon they're gonna tell me I can't have restless leg syndrome because it's distracting someone's thinking...maybe needless to say, I don't do well in strict environments.

Here has been the "social media break" I wrote about a while back. It's already helped me to realize, as it should've any other time I've taken a break from it, that it is a compulsion. I have noted the compulsions to go troll the news feed, or just look at profiles. It's kind of sick. That's normal. That's normal? I was thinking the other day about the artificial sense of relationship that's formed by facebook (and other social media sites). It's likely detrimental to future generations, those that are the most true digital natives, but so few go without. I'm not saying I don't like Facebook, in fact I'm kind of a social media junky. Truth be told, I don't like the things it allows me to spend my time on, or the things it leads me to believe. I don't care to have pointless arguments with people sitting elsewhere, who would never otherwise encounter me. In one lens, that's a great ability and it is - yay technology! But through another, it's an artificial reality. And it helps us ignore the actual reality...redundant redundancy.

I'm a little alone with my thoughts. As it should be. I can do things without 250 or however many people being able to know about it. Save for this blog, I guess, not that near that many people read it...

Maybe this will lead somewhere. Maybe I'll finally get rid of it, so I don't have to think about it anymore. Maybe that would help me to start writing again. After all, I am pondering for the millionth time, doing NaNoWriMo...a little easier without popping over to Facebook repeatedly when a break in thought comes, or endlessly scrolling through my twitter feed.

Or maybe that's just the aimless rebel within me, aggravated with bigger problems in society, believing that purging my life of the magnifying glass that is The Social Media Hour will make those problems less annoying. Maybe it's an escape.

Reading my Reader's Digest cover to cover is an escape from boredom plagued with annoyance; or apathy, whichever may be more fitting. So are Early Outs...hello my bed at 4:00pm.

The Valley

Lately, by some weird circumstances, my life has been insanely busy. I've taken on some new hobbies, been investing in new relationships, and done my best to truck on. Being someone who's fond of variety, I like much of my life, but I've found myself so tired. I'm so tired that at the end of the day, doing things for me gets pushed to the back-burner. Not to seem like some sort of martyr, because most of the things I'm doing are in some way for me, but some of the recharging and processing time I need, I've been neglecting.

The only thing that kept me strong until my forced end at a previous job I loathed, was my morning devotionals. I'd found a great combination, and was mixing them with the proverbs. Now, again with a job I'm not all that fond of, I'm so drained I've been neglecting me. It's almost as though, ignoring a core part of me that needs down time to just waste, I have been scheduling in all these things that though I will also enjoy, don't give me rest. I'm starting to realize just how borderline I am, extrovert/introvert! Even neglecting myself by not eating breakfast a few days this week because I slept in, or not running at all this week because I don't know where to fit it in; not to mention have the motivation and energy during its scheduled time slot.

This morning, I had to be at work early for a meeting that I knew would inevitably mean nothing to me (spoiler: I was right), and so I had to get up earlier. At this point, due to apathy which I've never been good at overcoming, I've used up all my tardies; there is no more being late, or sick for six months...that's another story. I woke up after a tossing and turning night's sleep, rolled myself over and made the half-conscious, half-asleep decision to read my devotional. I knew I can't survive these days, this way, without my morning compass. If it's only up to me, frankly: right now I wake up and feel annoyed with God that I have to go to this job.

Streams in the Desert is a devotional written from a lifetime of experiences and a place of grief. Though I can't quite justifiably say I read it from an equal place, it humbles me and reminds me of a different aspect of God's character each time.

This morning, this is what got me out of bed and as on time to work as I've ever been since I started:

"No one can stay on the mountaintop of favor forever, for there are responsibilities in the valley."

Here I wake every day with a rotten attitude (worse yet, I know it), and the reality of that is that I can't spend every day on a high of how good God is; hanging out on spiritual cloud nine. And if I'm not in that place of being able to spend a day, or even a minute of my day up there, I have to honor where I am. What that looks like may vary, but the better part of me knows.

It probably looks like turning the light on and opening the shades; it probably looks like ending a bad call and taking a deep breath and remembering that we're imperfect; it probably looks like setting aside something meaningless for the sake of something meaningful, even if it's harder. Looking to the stuff on the pedestal to drive to action on the stuff on the ground.

From the peak we look fondly on the lowlands, and from the depths we look on the peak with hope and inspiration.

Theories & Histories on Conflict

I am the type of person who avoids conflict -- will take the hit on whatever necessary to avoid it, yet the older I get, the more I get sick of taking people's unthinkable crap. So, I inch toward the crossroads where I will hopefully learn how to face it and handle issues. But if my voice won't even be heard, I'd rather have kept my mouth shut to begin with; hence, my tendency to avoid conflict altogether, saving myself the anxiety of making an argument that inevitably only falls on deaf ears.

It's an issue of worth, I guess. Not that I don't find myself worth listening to, or hearing out, but countless times in my life the people I've come to arguments with have treated me like I'm speaking another language. No matter how many ways I spin it, trying to make sense out of my point, it's useless. In a roundabout way, as feels is my lot, conflict is useless; I might as well bow out, take the forfeit and put up a wall. I constantly try to convince myself this is not the way, but my theories are far less convincing than my histories.

There are some principles of relating that I find lacking in those conversations where I feel bulldozed, and consistently seem to encounter such an utter lack that all the further encourages my aversion to bothering to sort through conflict. Things that, if common throughout relationship, instead of rare, maybe there would be less conflict...to avoid.

I have found there is a key in being able to admit you're wrong -- and not in a self-deprecating, false-modest, martyr sort of way, but in the reality that from time to time you may, in fact, not have it all figured out, and act poorly. We all act poorly; I act poorly, and usually recognize it immediately after, wherein my character is proved by my decision as to whether or not to acknowledge my faulty ways. It is one of the best and most relieving things I've taught myself by intentional habit, to be able to admit that I am imperfect and will likely continue to be imperfect. Thus the pressure of pride is shirked, and the freedom to fail yet survive is granted. The more we cling to our ability to control our lives, the more falling flat on our faces - when we inevitably do - will devastate.

Also, empathy and compassion go a long way between humans. If you cannot step aside from yourself and relate to where the other person is coming from, you will likely never have a healthy relationship. Possibly a strong statement to make, but I don't need a degree or a scientific study to know that the inability to think of anyone but one's self is not conducive to a lasting relationship. To be able to understand another's position, and why it would be thought of as valid from their perspective, will make a disagreement far less detrimental.

If nothing else, I'm learning to pick my battles.

The Green Grass is Just AstroTurf

It's this messed up thing: when you're young you just want to grow up. You just want to get a nine to five, pay bills, feel like an adult. Maybe you spend hours of your life watching T.V. or researching some paper you can't wait to think about every again. Go out. A lot. Have stupid laughs.

And then you grow up. You get over to the other side where the grass seemed so lush and it's AstroTurf...crappy AstroTurf! And the gate is closed, my friend. You're stuck with the fake grass.

I feel like I used to go out so much. I feel like I used to have so much fun. I used to dream about things, and every once and a while even make them happen. Now it's all about figuring out how to live the dream, when I'm stuck in some sort of lucid purgatory where you know it's not reality, and the return to reality is pending. I guess what I'm saying is right now I'm a bit of a hopeless dreamer. Not hopeless as in there's no hope that I'll ever learn, but hopeless as in dreaming hurts because it feels like a giant tease.

The setup is you can achieve anything you want to: the reality is maybe not. Things might get in the way. You might not be as skilled in something as you think you are. And even if you are, how good are you at marketing yourself?

I've learned if I want to go anywhere that I really want to go, I've got a lot to learn. Cyclical thinking and sentences...I'm in a phase of being jaded and disappointed. I don't know what I thought I'd be doing, but sure didn't ever think I'd be working in a call center. There are countless ironies centered around my working in a call center, which I won't bother to get into.

Usually, I'm a suck-it-up, do-what-you-have-to kind of person...and keep a smile on while you do. I would totally do what I love...if it paid the bills! So I just keep shooting at what I see, hoping something gives. My bank account and my heart kind of need it.

Struggle for Grace

People will never be what you want them to be, - a concept I can tell myself, but never feel like I gain any ground on understanding. I tend to have high expectations for how we as humans should act toward one another. Some of it might be how I was raised, some due to being raised in a comparatively large family, some might be personality, and the remainder is utilizing the experiences I've had so far at a ripe 23. I think it's one of my greatest struggles to have grace for the way people are, alongside learning how not to need them so desperately.

The latter is, to me, a fine line between isolation and independence over co-dependence. It's something that after years of finding myself broken-hearted namely from expectations that - though reasonable to me - were too high. Mostly in my childhood and adolescence, I could never understand why my feelings didn't matter more to other people. Still to me as an adult, writing this now, the fact that expecting feelings to matter to others is asking too much doesn't make sense. I think, maybe I'll never wrap my mind around that, - I probably won't. And I'll probably spend a lifetime being disappointed.

It's a vicious cycle, too, because then I find myself struggling to find grace; wanting to disregard the choice I have not to vindicate myself with equal selfishness. I find myself up against a choice about my attitude. And that's where I don't know if it's my upbringing, my personality, or my experience, but for as much as I can understand why anyone would think they way they do, I don't understand the choices I see on a regular basis. Then humanity frustrates me; mouths full of good intentions.

But how incredibly hypocritical! So I try to internalize, as I did through my [even] younger years, the observations and stash them in my quiver.

Much of this thought was actually spurred by my job; a day full of one call after another, where I was on the receiving end of every pounding brunt of some person who was mad it isn't easier for them to save money on their taxes. Insert sarcastic apology and contrived empathy here. I vowed - though I'm sure I'll conveniently forget when I'm the ticked customer calling - to never hang up on a customer service rep; it might ruin their day, and make them want to cry. I will never take it out on them, then half-heartedly apologize for using them as a verbal punching bag. Likely I'll just avoid calling any customer service lines even more now.

It's my job, and it's everything. I'm constantly baffled. But in my befuddlement at society's ability to talk big and act small, I have to hit the reset button. I have to check my hyper-awareness and interpersonal big-shot ideas at the door (wow, I use metaphors second to my lungs!) and recognize we're all human. We're all imperfect, and I will probably be the same jerk to someone else, that I hate when someone is to me. Somehow in that realization, maybe in being cut down to size and shown to be equal, it's easier to find grace.; the humility of that realization brings me to it.

In every moment where I'm faced with the choice, it's like racing through an emotional maze in my mind, in an instant. Deciding to understand that though I wouldn't do that, acting indignant makes me no better; graces splits the difference.

Peace in Your Eyes

A foreword (because I can in a blog). I write a lot of poetry about relationship - I write a lot about relationship; about people. I love that I can write poetry about people I've just met, or people I've known a while, and I love that I can blend the two, sometimes to write about a concept, though you wouldn't know it. This is about two and so, I suppose, a concept in a way.

There is a peace
in your eyes
that to my weary soul
satisfies.

In one glance they promise
- though you don't know -
to never my heart
bruise or abuse,
and never let its heaviness grow.
It's not in their color
or shape,
but in the character that there reflects;
reveals,
and how it affects
when mine your gaze intersects,
there calm and invigoration collide;
understanding and clarity subside.

So pardon my nervous silence rare,
imparted by the magnificence of your stare.

The Weight of Identity

There is great power in knowing who you are; great benefit. This doesn't necessarily mean that the opposite is true; one is not weak because they do not have a true, reality-based understanding of their self. They are however prone to deception; there is vulnerability.

You've probably met someone who would fall into the category: they either tend to have some far-off ideas of self-aggrandizement, or they have no idea of the wonderful things they have to offer. The latter is something I'm passionate about, and I see so often and wish there something to put in the water; some easy remedy, but there isn't. Then again, people who are amazing and painfully aware of it, detract from said amazingness...not exactly attractive company to most.

Identity is a repeated theme to me, as I said it's something I'm passionate about and interested in. It's something I'm constantly exploring in myself, and constantly noticing in others. Lately I've been thinking about the weight of our identity, and where it lies. Were I to identify myself, some pieces would come the more I thought about it, or are things I could easily forget, even about who I would claim myself to be. And even further, sometimes I'm told things about myself, that for all my introspection, I find hard to believe. Sometimes, beyond all that, I think I am things, bad things that I am not; and until I am told otherwise, I might live under.

What does our self-proclaimed and self-recognized (in the sense of believed and bought-into) identity do in our lives? How does it compound on each interaction and activity throughout each day, to form our perceived identity tomorrow? It affects our motivations, it affects our relationships, our actions, our pursuits, our relenting. The security, or lack thereof, in who we are - and not what we do - is detrimental!

One of the biggest things I notice is that we do not look to secure places to reflect back to us who we are. We look to people who don't know us, well or maybe at all. We look to activities; hobbies or occupations. We look to cultures and societies. We tend to look to a mirror that says we are not enough, or we are not the standard. Since when is there a standard on identity?

If only it were simple, I often think. And it often seems simple...from the outside. But when you begin to untangle that knot of the compounding misleadings of the years of a person's life, you see that there is no simplicity. There may be clarity as you begin to see the weight of words, and interactions, and expectations...and countless other things, but never one single culprit.

There are days at the end of which I find that I am totally fulfilled; totally at peace, totally secure. Usually I think about it, and I am operating as who I am with no fear, concern or anxiety about if I am what I am, or doing what I am, or am what I'm doing! Those days have me thinking, among all the starkly obvious deluded souls - what if all those people could operate freely as who they are? What would this world look like? And how do we begin to see and be who we are?

Re: Social Media & Pondering Cause for Hiatus

I originally set out to write something different, and I already know it won't be so. One of the few times I plan something, and even then the plan goes out the window...college was hard for me.

I find myself still battling the need to explain my every thought. And yet somehow keep a blog alive, I guess. But even here, as of late, I would say my writing has become quite esoteric (I love to use that word, 10 pts) and far less relate-able than is the desired goal. Being the perpetual introspective naval-gazer that I am, (though maybe in a less negative way than the connotation of that phrase) I notice that it's not a simple change because it lies in something deeper. Every personality test I've ever taken - colors, myer's briggs, kiersey, enneagram, etc. - will describe me as one who desires to be known for who I really am...and also nearly obsessed with self-discovery and personal cultivation.

I'm pretty aware of this, so I try not to obliviously smother anyone with the need to be heard; just get it off my chest. The problem is that there's an enabler; a coddler, if you will, known as Social Media.

In this day and age, you want to be heard by someone? There are maybe ten widely-used platforms, and hundreds more where that came from. Someone will hear what you have to say, or read it, or see what you see, and half-heartedly agree with a 'like'. It is a pretty blatant cry to be noticed and to be validated.

Admittedly, I find myself caught in it just as much as the next person, but I also find it easy to criticize, and make light of because I see the holes in it. I see that it's filling a void for me, and I'm sure many others, in an unhealthy and unrealistic way. Where is the true relationship? It's fading. Fast. I mean, I say I'm caught because I love some advantages, such as how readily available the updates are on the lives of friends around the world. In other cases it's merely an illusion of real connection, "friends" from grade school or high school, or friends of friends. And so, that's where I find myself caught in the middle and walking a line.

I've been hankering for a social media hiatus, but found it a little hard to enforce when unemployed; spending 35% of my hours asleep, 15% actually with people, and the other 50% by myself trying not to go crazy from boredom. I've been riding the brakes on it for a while, thinking how much would it really affect my life? A lot of jobs I was looking at or interested in, required you to be knowledgeable in social media...do you think checking it 25 times a day counts? It also seemed a little sad to me, to say I need to give it up to give myself a reality check - but it's true!

If I'm honest with myself, if we were all honest with ourselves, we could put that time a lot better places. Heck, I spent over an hour on Pinterest, which I didn't previously even understand the point of, tonight, just so I wouldn't have to really use my brain! That's a cop out. (Poor cops, gettin' a bad rep.)

So it's less of a formal hiatus, as I've done a few times in the past, but more of an intentional keeping-self-in-check. Bearing in mind, that I'm passionate about communication and conversation, but that's rooted in being passionate about relationship; realistically there is no relationship being carried on there [in social media]. I want to get back to the reality that's sitting there in the background, going on without us.

The Words of Others & Silence: Things Realized & Forgotten

I've been spending a lot of time alone lately. Too much. I like myself alright, but more than ever it brings forth some realities I either have yet to come to terms with, or need to be reminded of. Mostly about how I view things, or what motivates me; those sort of things. I'm borderline self-obsessed (I say half-joking, kind of like how they say if you worry you're crazy then you're not...right?), so I think about these kinds of things whether or not I spend a lot of time alone. But unemployment...woof!

I do a lot of talking, thinking, writing; I am very into putting information out into the proverbial ether of theory, if you will. I tend to forget, or have to learn (and re-learn) some about the opposite. What do I think about holding my tongue? About silence? About not saying something just because I have something to say?

I've been self-teaching that not every thought or idea in my mind needs to be expended. It's a hard pill to swallow, but maybe not everything needs to be expressed. I might even be a healthier person if I learn how to not to express...my near-every-waking thought! In some ways, I think it's helped me focus a bit more, or so I hope it will. I worry I'll lose a little of the magic of bunny trails, but I might be one of few people who even likes those...(proof they're still there to be had.) But lately I have a lot of drafted blog posts; a veritable bone yard of paragraphs that urped out of my brain but really went nowhere when I remembered I don't have to say everything.

I realized all these expressions gestate in silence. I not only like silence; I need it. I forgot this, in a conscious sense. I know myself well enough to know I need meaningful interpersonal interactions, but silence usually falls by the wayside. Toward the end of my time in my last house, during the rare moments when no one else was home, I often found myself opting out of watching a movie, or even listening to music, - sometimes doing anything at all. Sometimes I'd get home from something, exhausting or exhilarating, and just bask in the quiet.

Now, there are times like my stint of unemployment where the silence feels like it breaks me. I start talking to myself...an embarrassing amount, which is anything more than a little bit. It's like forgetting that people can hear me, I've been alone so much! Usually at that point I will go to a coffee shop and sit on Pinterest, or to Target for an hour and buy nothing, just to feel like I'm with people (youngest of six much?). It's almost like going out just to make sure there wasn't some sort of apocalypse, and then I'm like, "Crap, there's no one left! Now what...?" Nonsense maybe, but it's how it feels.

The need to be around people is neither something new or forgotten about myself; it's always there in my peripheral like the nose on my face. But here I sell myself short by forgetting that, though I'm probably known more for freely talking, I actually love to listen. People are fascinating to me, and when I'm not in a vicious-cycle of feeling unsocial due to being a deprived extrovert (it's uncanny what it does to one), I really enjoy just being around people. I enjoy getting to figure out who they are, what they think about things, how they tick; get a different perspective. Shutting myself up and instead taking in is life-giving.

It is selling myself short because it is untrue to who I am. Like not going to to a party - I love parties - because I only know one person, or I'm alone...not like no one's ever met at a party! I forget that I like getting to know people, at all stages; ten-second interaction at the checkout, or hours-long talks with old friends. And as absurd as it is to think about, I let myself get scared.

Every time I catch myself in the aftermath of any of the aforesaid scenarios, I realize how ignorant I can be of how I work. Then I count myself thankful for the silences that drive me to leave the house, ones that give me space to contemplate, and the words of others instead of my own.

Because He Meets Me, & He Will

Today it occurred to me, if asked why I believe in God what I might say. Something I've often struggle with because I could have a million answers, - do you want a short one or a long one, do you want a tear-jerker or a heart-warmer, are you actually open or just trying to catch me in what you perceive to be a hollow label?

Something happened today that led me to my concise answer, which here leads to the broader one:

The biggest and best blanket statement I can make about why I believe in God is that He meets me where I am, every time.

Every time, He stoops to my level, to communicate how I need to hear it that day, or that minute. If I need something specific to remember I'm loved, boom. If I feel insecure about something, He sends someone to tell me the exact opposite of what I'm believing - the truth. If I need my attitude whipped into shape, He puts me back in my place; not unlike a father setting a child back in their timeout chair after they throw a tantrum. (Yes, sometimes I have what I think I would refer to, mostly in loose but honest terms, as tantrums...) When I am frustrated with Him and it feels like I'm talking to myself, He meets me in conversation. He waits on me when I'm stubborn, shelters me when I'm weary. When I'm fighting battles that are far above my ability, He enters in with ferocity. When I mess up, for the hundred-millionth time, He welcomes me back mercifully. I hold up my messy broken pieces, and He gives me back a whole.

Every time He meets me where I'm at. I've learned not to believe in Serendipity or coincidence, because the thought of all things I have needed and have found, being coincidental is absurd and improbable. It's maybe not always shocking, or mind-blowing, but it's always just what I need, where I am, and I never feel anything but loved. Loved in empathy. Loved in affirmation. Loved in correction. Loved in jealousy. Loved in gentleness.

When I think about it, that's what's worth talking about. I have many answers and look forward to many more compounding throughout my life, but that's the short version. It's why I believe what I believe, even when I don't have all the other answers. One thing built on another, and another on that, all to the point that is the sum of my faith having survived and grown.

Don't believe it to imply that my life has just been easy, all daisies and roses, but this is how I'm sustained. The beauty being that it only takes being open to God showing up in your life, and He will.

He is relentless, He is personal, He is absolutely on-time, and His purpose is Love.

Weary Seafarer Among Waves

I am in my boat; it is in the ocean. The waves rock me, I know them well. I shouldn't find myself caught off guard by any one, at this point, but so often I still do. I am tired and tossed by them. I am a sailor, made for the ocean, but somehow it holds animosity for me - like the flame of a candle up to me, taunting; a small threat capable of great destruction.

The waves keep coming, they are relentless. Each time I think, I am a sailor, made for the sea, and yet each time I wobble and waver on their account. Some are smaller, for which I'm thankful to learn balance. Others come fast and hard, chipping away at the vessel. I know that they are coming, my heart races at just the thought. They are apt to find me - aboard a boat, in the ocean, and they are waves. They are relentless. Oh! How my tired heart longs for steady currents.

Such a craft is not made for such water, so it seems. Feels as though I am in a small dingy, while others tell me it's a great and beautiful ship, with an excellent keel. Still, for some it's not good enough: it has its cracks and its loose planks, so it is unfit for sea, they say. No matter what I'm told, the reality is it's ravaged by the water; the very thing for which it was made. Often as I feel her brittle creaking and hear a subtle groan, and think, maybe it's best not to sail anymore.

I could always talk myself out of sea sickness, again. Or maybe, truly for the first time. One day, the education of each wave will be the honor of this ship, the tales to be told years after my passing. And so I must bolster my heart and my vessel for the storms inevitable to fare, - for if I am a sailor, I must certainly stay well out to sea.

This One's Not For Me

Last night I got a call for an interview today, without knowing much about the job other than they liked my resume.

By the time my misplaced phone was in hand, I called the recruiter a grand half hour before my interview to confirm. She explained, "You're definitely going to want to wear a suit, if you have one. They're very busy right now, so it's good that you're getting in. And when you talk about your job experience, don't say you haven't done accounting; say 'I looked at numbers, I'm comfortable looking at and working with numbers.' This is a job where they're going to want someone who's ready to take on new things, quick thinker - this is me, but then came the kicker - they want someone who's committed long-term; they don't want someone who's going to want to go back to school in a year to be a therapist." Nail in the coffin.

Honestly, it was probably a lost cause when she told me to wear a suit. I'm all for dressing up, but I don't really belong in an accounting firm with people who don't have a lot of time ever, wearing a suit every day, crunching numbers. Sounds kind of picturesque in that person who works their ass off in a movie, only to realize they want more in life, sort of way. But even they usually realize they want more in life.

This was not the job for me. I can't say what I'll be feeling about life in a year, at least not that I'll put aside my wants because an accounting firm wants me to move up. I think it's okay to know what you don't want to do.

The irony of her words being that I've been thinking, for months about going back to school, maybe in a year, and maybe to become a therapist. So they're not even looking for me.

A Hard Balance to Strike

One of the hardest things to do is: not let fear move you. But also don't let it hold you fast in your place. Like so much in life, it's a balance. That should be the point of saying, "it's like riding a bike!" If you let the fear of falling rule you, you'll never learn to ride. The trick is learning how to take the corners; how much to lean, steer, and whether or not to pedal.

Lately, I've been pondering something a lot like this. Being in conversation with God, but not on such a large scale as that could connote - asking Him for insight. I've spent a few years now being in conversation with God, and it's been both challenging and amazing, and believe me I haven't mastered doing it as much and as freely as I should, though I've come a long way. See there's this balance to strike, because if you're like me and were raised in the faith, you're told all your life long about how God gives you the desires of your heart. And there's two versions of interpretation, both of which I've heard: one is that the things that are on your heart are there because God put them there and made you that way, and two is that He will fulfill them.

As you mature in faith, you come to learn that actually that's just a nice fluffy thing to make us feel better. My tone isn't to say that I don't think God wants to bless us, He absolutely does! But He's not a vending machine that re-stocks itself, and always gives you your money back along with your snack. There's some learning to really trusting Him with the things you want in life, which means asking without knowing all the pieces.

I've been thinking about this lately, because there are some things in conversation that God has told me are not only on my heart but His...so then what? How do I balance that? It's like having the equation and the solution but not the formula...where the solution is your end goal.

It's so hard to strike that balance! For as much as I know God is good, and wants to bless me, He wants me to trust Him. So if all I have is the answer, I have to trust Him. But as was preached a few weeks back at my church, you have to trust Him and not the answer. That my friends is a balance that somehow eight (I think that's right...) years of relationship has not fully afforded me. It's still hard. Sometimes I wonder if 40 years will, 60 years - if I make it that long, alive that is. Or maybe it's something that I in my stubbornness have simply not afforded myself.

What do you do? You have the key and know the door but don't even know where it is or how to get there. It feels so blind, but you hold the key and you walk. Most importantly, and the thing I think I'm learning, is, don't get discouraged when it's not the way you thought it would be. Hold the key and walk.

What Am I Gonna Do Forever?

I naively thought that when I finished my undergraduate degree I would set off on the path to my career, paving the way as I went. Granted, I shouldn't be too hard on myself for thinking such a thing, as it's only been a year - even though I would've told you then that I knew better. However I would've also told you throughout my five years of working towards my bachelor's degree, that I would never want back into the academic world. Wrong. I didn't even make it a full year before wishing I could crawl back into the educational womb, all safe and cozy, and free to develop - whatever that means...

This job search coming right after only my 23rd birthday has had me thinking. Okay, everything always has me thinking...this job search has made me wonder even further than being bored in my work over the last few months, what am I gonna do...for forever?

I have been blessed to be the kind of person who is happy to do lots of things, though I also know when there are things I really don't like doing. For instance, sales. I won't sell something I don't fully believe in, and I don't fully believe in a lot of things. Talking on the phone, I really don't like it but in a work environment it's fine. I don't mind boring tasks, but if that's my day-in-day-out I'll go crazy. I need people, I need dynamic environments. Writing approximately a million cover letters gets me thinking about my selling points; what about me is desirable to an employer? Which only leads me right back into, what do I want to do?

The biggest thing I learned in the last six months of being bored hanging out with paper, I learned I absolutely need interpersonal interaction in my work. That's what I was made for. I'm an extrovert, and when extroverts spend all day looking at paper behind a desk, it's mysterious but they come home tired. Funny how that works...But it's not just because I enjoy people, though I do. It's because I'm good at it; I've been told, and I can tell. I like helping people, seeing them succeed and grow. I naturally tend toward pointing others to their strengths or gifts. I like to give the insight I have into situations.

In the last year it's really dawned on me, that I would love to go into counseling! Which I've only been unable to commit to due to my previous theories about what I would do with my life, which I'll get to in a bit. So it is that I've pondered this as a possibility, and thought if there were something I'd actually enjoy going back to school for it would be to study people and how to help them, so that I could help people for a living! What a concept!

Freshman year of high school, we were required to take a class called WINGS (Winning Info For Ninth Grade Students - oh acronyms!) that was geared toward helping us strategically move toward our careers through our education. We took an aptitude test - and I remember things like it said I should be a truck driver because I said I liked driving, though I didn't even have a permit yet. Then we had to research and present on a career we would pursue out of our list. I chose Writer. Throughout high school, I went from wanting to be a writer, to wanting to be a photographer, to wanting to be a journalist. Turns out I studied all of those things in my college career.

Then there became the dream. Somewhere in college, probably after I realized I'm not ambitious enough for a reporting career - although my brain holds fiercely fast to some very random facts, when this dream was birthed I don't quite know - I realized I want to start a magazine. This dream is still in the forefront of most of my decisions about a career path, but the steps to get there are almost completely unknown. It's also never been something I plan to make a lot of money off of; in fact I doubt it'd have many employees, and hopefully run off of donations.

Which sort of leads to yet another graduate school option: Nonprofit Management. Not only would it be helpful in starting essentially my own nonprofit, but if I didn't it would be a foot in the door to other jobs.

And then there's communications. Essentially, maybe the most logical choice given my career goal of starting a magazine, but also another wise choice regardless of if that dream comes to fruition. I've thought I could also use this to go into something such as business consulting.

Being someone who doesn't really enjoy academia, I find myself at quite an impasse when it comes to strategically moving forward in my career. Also for being someone who's not typically very ambitious, I'm surprisingly thinking about how to do something bigger than I want to let myself realize. Which doesn't make sense, probably, to anyone but me...

So I'm torn. Unemployment has only further highlighted the issue. Take yet just another something to keep paying off the student debt I already have, and for the roof over my head, the food in my belly, etc. Or wait for something that actually moves me along. Which is difficult to do when I don't know exactly where I'm moving along to. Life's little conundrums, you know.

This Rampant Love of Mine

Once again,
I put my heart where
Maybe it doesn't belong
Found my will is not so strong
To pull up roots
That I've put down
Then pick that heart up from the ground
I just don't know - where else can I go?
There's been none else that I know
No place I'd rather try to sow...

Though I am yet young;
With many days yet to be sung
I was never made to walk alone
Another heart like Yours has never shown
So I silence the voice in me,
That says You would ever let me be...

And I know well this rampant love of mine
And it yearns to find its fill divine.

Though My Eyes Search

Though my eyes search you,
Still I don't know,
I want to move but seems I can't go,
What matter is it,
If there's no way,
Heart sinks to fall away,
Flounders to the surface at everything you say,
Words stick in my throat,
Refusing to come out,
Their tight-gripping hands are my doubt,
My fingers still work,
My heart still pumps
the blood to my brain,
So the neurons race from end to end,
When I see your face, my friend,
And thanks: I haven't written a word,
For a while,
My catalyst: your smile.

Peace Over Consuming Anxiety

This is a very interesting time for me. Much like how the mild chill moving in is a foreshadowing of fall, this moment of joy in freedom is a foreshadowing of it. It's hard to explain to people that you're happy you got laid off. Maybe it's stupid how much I've been talking about it, but I really am joyful! It's easy to receive mixed reactions. In fact, a grand total of three people have immediately shared my sentiment: this is a good thing.

This is a poignant time for me. Something the average person, or even people relatively close to me don't know is that this is a special moment in light of the way I grew up. There are things I grew up in, that make me the person I am today, that I also don't freely offer as insights - not that I'm afraid to. There's something special about some of the deepest intricacies of a person that should be worth working to get to, or in this case serve a purpose. I'm finally getting to a place in life where I'm learning that vulnerability is something that can be used too loosely! That's a whole other post, and I'm not shooting for the hat trick tonight...

That something is this: My father has been in and out of countless jobs throughout my life. Not because he's not good at what he does, - he's great at it - more than anything because he is different than most people in his field. So I'd grown up through days, weeks and months long stints of tense dinner conversations about whether or not I could go on a field trip because we may not have the money. Or whether we should start thinking about selling the house I'd grown up in. Or enduring arguments about having faith that God would come through, and in my teens on up, participating in those arguments.

There was a fear that could come with me; become my companion. I could make it a place at my table, and tuck it in next to me in bed at night. But I won't. As I was being raised in something that I could have adopted, God was raising me up in an understanding of His provision and sovereignty. With His teachings over the last few years in particular, going into unemployment as an adult, responsible for my own bills, isn't paralyzing me. It very well could do that, and I think it's perplexing that it wouldn't. There's still some resonating mystery to it, that it's something I've seen strike up fear throughout my entire upbringing, but by some grace I'm sustained with peace, over being consumed by anxiety.

It is a meaningful time for me, to be able to see the fruits of God's hand in my life.

The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?

Me & the Guitar

I've tried with this instrument several times now. This is the first time I feel like I'm actually getting anywhere. I think it's the third time, but who's actually counting?

Since I was young, I've loved music. I was raised to love music; it's in my blood to love it. And I've written poetry nearly since I could write. At some point writing poetry blurred into writing, probably terrible, songs, which turned into writing decent songs, but still never fully bringing them to completion. It probably sounds a bit asinine, but for a long time I've felt like I would be a more whole person if I played an instrument. Probably because music is important to me; it's like being a romantic but never having been in love.

I've tried to learn three instruments, of which guitar is the one I'd wanted to learn most and none of the rest ever stuck. I always felt like the guitar and I would get along; we would be good together. But it's also so incredibly confusing to me. I just have this feeling that there's this barrier I have to get past where all of a sudden it will click. The thought of which scares me.

See, I am the type to see the potential in everything, but to sell myself short and so, sit still. I got this feeling in the spring, that I should pick it up again, and try again; really try. A guitar came my way, and I clipped my finger nails (a big step for me). And I clipped them again. I picked that thing up and I fought it, for a while. I was frustrated, but I persisted. I went out of my comfort zone to do lessons - hit strings in front of people! For the first time I feel like I'm actually getting somewhere.

Maybe it's because I'm in a place where I have space for it. I understand a bit more about learning and the privilege it is. I'm in a place of seeking what I have to gain, and moving on it. Now I'm only left to persist. And keep clipping my nails.

(And now that I've written this, I definitely have to stick with it...right?)

Attribution of Joy

On my birthday, at the behest of a few friends, we did a game of sorts, aptly called The Birthday Questions. Just as you may suspect, it involves questions; some about the last year as well as the year to come. Then, at the end, everyone goes around and says something they appreciate about the birthday person. I was so honored and astounded that so many of my friends and family cited my joy!

It was astounding because as I've admitted previously, I'd recently come to the realization that the eminence of joy I'd been characterized by throughout my life was lacking. And I felt it, but I'd realized this only after recently feeling the Lord restoring me to that joy and feeling familiar to myself again. It's such a part of my identity that to feel as though I'd lacked its poignancy, makes its return all the more relieving. And the mention again by others of its prominence all the more honoring and profound!

It is all to God's glory! It's my knowledge of and experience with Him...I can't explain otherwise why I'm this way; I can't even really explain it to begin! I just know if I didn't know the Lord, - if I didn't have the hope that I do, there's no way I would know such a joy; exude any joy at all.

And I hope to live that better than I have in the past. Not take it for granted. I hope that it doesn't just stand out to people, but help them understand who God is. See an aspect of Him often lost in the muck. Because if you ask me why, I can't explain it further than it's because of what I know to be true.

Thinking Hour: My Brain Hamster on 'Ambition'

Midnight is my thinking hour. I end up in bed, all ready to sleep. Rest my head against the wall, and it's like the weight of it not being on my shoulders anymore is a thought-catalyst. My eyes protest with heavy, sticky blinks...but that Hamster is running a marathon. My brain hamster.

I had all these grand ideas about what I was going to do when I finished college. Not work-wise, I didn't much care, immediately anyways. I thought I would learn things I'd always wanted to, but never did because you couldn't get credit for them - or rather I didn't want to pay $400 a credit to learn them. I think I made a list, it's somewhere...

It's somewhat true. In a different way than I expected. I have been able to find more peace in solitude than ever before, which is a feat of learning in itself! That next to a 9-5 that I'm not fulfilled in, to put it politely, and I've gained my version of ambition. I've never been much of an ambitious person. I am ambitious about things I know I can accomplish. Maybe it's not that strict of a science, but I'd say it sums it up. To have ambition about things, for me I think it's a majority willpower, and the rest follows.

I finally had the space, the time, the money, but most importantly the willpower after I graduated to aim myself at some things I've always meant to do but never successfully do. For instance, getting healthy and I've made significant progress. In that I've taken up regular exercise, namely through the medium of running. Who'd a thunk? I had tried several times in the past, and I haven't exercised this regularly since I was 17. I haven't ate this well in my [on-my-own] adult life! I dared to pick up the guitar yet again, and take a stab at it. This time? I feel like I'm actually getting over some sort of hump where I don't feel like a complete novice. And probably the best thing about my 22nd year of life (technically 23rd, if you think about it)? I went out on a limb a little to start leading a women's small group - which you can ask them, I'm very laid-back, but hey that's my style - and it has been by far the best thing I've done this year.

Somehow or another, all of these things I was too overwhelmed by academic learning to pursue. Academic learning is not my forte. It very well could be, but my willpower was only strong enough to finish what needed to be done, to get a plaque on my wall. I regret that mentality a little, but that regret has also fed my drive to put myself into the things I have been doing. Remind myself that I like learning. I am a student in life; not at the U of M for a bachelors degree!

Maybe that is ambition, I don't know. But I do know that there are plenty of things I can do if I set my mind and heart to them; many things I can learn and experience. It's just the tiny step to cook real meals; put on the running shoes and tie back my hair; clip my beloved nails, show up to the lesson and put in the practice hours; open my door to whoever may come once a week for a year (& beyond).

And with all education, there is a learning curve. It stretches your capacity and sensitivity to grace...which is what I've been so stuck on and returning to the last few weeks: Grace. In all places it's astonishing. To have it for yourself, for someone else, for someone else to have it for you, etc. etc. But that's a whole other topic...

The ingredients to do something you're not yet equipped with the experience for? Willpower to move towards it; ambition to fuel your fire; and grace for the falls.

Everything, & Wanderlust, & Running

I want to do everything. I want to do everything in life. Even the things I'm scared of, I want to do. When I get bored; when my life appears boring, I go into this possibly unhealthy place where I think of all the possibilities for right now. The reason it's potentially unhealthy is because it's probably not helping me feel content with my life.

I get demanding. I want to see things happen, things move. When they're not what I want, or not exciting I want to shake things up.

This is far beyond a desire for an exciting life. Don't think that I just think I'm special and get to have more fun than others. I do, in some ways (haha) but there's a kind of person who can dig their hole and lay down in it, and just - well, avoiding the outright mordbid, - wait. I'm not that person. I think there is something special to someone who is open and ready for heavily dynamic life. Not that you could ever be ready for it all...but there's something about having a wandering heart and just enough courage to chase those dreams.

Some people want the white picket fence and the two-point-five kids, and there's nothing wrong with that; we all have our own cravings, desires, and functions. There are some that crave to move, desire to see, and function out of water, so to speak.

There's nothing wrong with that. I'm a runner. I'm not a commit-aphob, though most of my personality tests will say that (they dually refer to my type as loyal). When things aren't how I want, or envision, I go. Because they're inevitable to be different if the scenery, circumstances, people are all different. Don't think I'm just a quitter, or a scaredy-cat; I've been conditioned. It's my coping mechanism: walk off.

So I was thinking today, of all the things I could do. The places I could go. The adventures I could have. I let myself vacation in a fantasy land where problem A. will be solved, or thing X will disappear. And like I said, I don't think there's anything wrong with being full of wanderlust, but you have to know if you're prone to escaping and you have to know yourself well enough to not to let yourself do it.

I let myself make bookmarks, and do research. And then I go to sleep, and I get back up. I live my life, until the real need for change comes. I wait hopefully for the wanderlust to be satisfied. In life thus far, I have learned: the journey you end up on is way better than the one you had planned.

Something to Say

It's not often that I feel like I should have something to say. Usually I just do have something to say. I think I'm either in a phase, or I'm just growing up and in that, learning when to speak up. I feel like I have been learning that. As silly as it may sound, a while back a friend tweeted a proverb about not having a quick-tongue, and I was challenged, in general.

The proverbs are riddled with wisdom telling us it's better to mind our mouths than to spew without care, even if it is effortless. For me it's so often effortless, to have anything to say, though at times it comes stumbling out...and so that tweet (of all the ridiculous ways to get convicted), it stuck to me. I've been followed around by the notion that just because I have something to say doesn't mean I should. The times to hold my tongue have presented themselves, the fruits of which have typically been clear.

Then what to do when you feel like you should say something but don't know what? Not a situation I often find myself in, but I've been encountering this more now, too. Maybe it's a part of learning the balance; learning to be further choice with my words. I'm more of a fan of intentionality than an employer of it...I've also realized.

Intentional speech. I feel like it could make the world go round. Assuming clarity comes with it, which it rarely seems to. But what power might come with words that are not just pointed but weighed?

I guess, today this is what I have to say.

The Harvest: Joy

Whether or not you believe in or know anything about the bible, it's true: in life there are seasons. I'm sure I spend a lot of time talking about seasons and life and growing, but it's just what fascinates me. That is when I'm not lost in it.

I feel like I'm on the exiting end of the tunnel, from a long season of feeling at odds with myself, and having lost a sense of who I am. You could read this and know me, or follow my blog and think, She's just over-analyzing and over-thinking, that's her thing. And that is sort of my thing, but other than the occasional case of anxiety, it's never done me wrong. Cognition is what gets me up in the morning, and somehow (mostly by miracle of God) gets me from A to B, helps me retain the wisdom I gain from the revelations I have and the things I'm taught, and causes me to forget the things that are seemingly less important...and help me process happenings in my life, such as this.

The most notable end of a season is harvest. I am in the harvest of a season. Not that it was something where I particularly knew I was in a sweltering, stormy growing season, or like I'm being "plucked". In retrospect, I don't think it was quite so obvious. I felt a little detached from myself, though 'a little' isn't a fair assessment. Since my trip to France and Vietnam, coming up on two years ago now, I haven't felt fully myself. They have this phrase, once you do YWAM you're "wrecked for the ordinary". I thought for so much of these past two years that that's what it was.

In some respects, it was: I returned to an unraveled version of the community I had before, with what was left of it focusing on empty things. I had the choice to move forward in an uncharted fashion of my own, or walk with those I had around me - not to say it's their fault, any of the wandering I did. I think transparency is essential, and will fully acknowledge anything about these last two years, to anyone. But I think I made that choice aimlessly, maybe even unequipped. Ignorantly, is the word.

I felt in the last year that I have not been myself; not fully who I would claim that I am, or who I've known myself to be, in my life. All the time I would get asked why I was so happy, or told there was something different about me. I haven't gotten that in a while, and when I specifically realized that missing in my life, it made me sad. I know that joy is a part of who I am, I know it's a mark on my life. So where has it been? Who have I been being?

I can't explain yet, because I don't yet know why I went through such a long drought of a season, but the beauty is in the return. Over about the last month, I have felt a shift. Like I was suddenly reminded of the person I'm made to be; the reason I bother to get up in the morning - and it's not just to think about things all day! Largely, I can't explain the change because it's not a story. It's almost as if I've been waking up over the last few weeks, struggling through a day, only to find at the end that the joy and hope I have has compounded. And it's sufficient.

In the last few weeks, I've felt like the person I've known myself to be all these years. And what changed to cause this, you may wonder? Nothing. Except God has been working on me, restoring me to myself; to my true identity that reflects his heart. I've always set myself on - if nothing else - two characteristics that I know only because of God, and they are: truth and joy. For a while it felt like I was trying to skate on only my head-knowledge of the truth. Now I feel I'll be able to move forward with my heart's understanding of joy.

Little, human parts of me whisper worries that this is not a lasting change, but I've just felt so different than I had, yet familiar to my make-up. The fact that it's so inexplicable makes it all the more necessary (and confusing) to share, tears of relief well as I write. Jesus spoke to me months ago that He would stand with me and fight for me, and I thought that encouragement was enough; that it was it. I didn't know that I wasn't operating as my true self, under the ailment of whatever plague; in all my knowledge of Him, and so I didn't expect that He would bring me back...

but He's just so good.

When Did I Become Me?

For many years, and particularly when I was in my late teens, I’ve been told that I do not seem my age; but older, usually by several years. When I think back on when my introspective stage began – if it can be called a “stage” – I think of myself as the same as I am now. I don’t disregard that I’ve learned things in, say, the five almost-six years I’ve been blogging, let alone the many years journaling. Rather, that I’ve adapted in character. And if I consciously think about six years of life passing and leaving the teens behind, becoming a legal drinker, a college graduate – it makes perfect sense, but for some reason I thought I was this stagnant person, namely one who had arrived. How ignorant was I, for being so-called mature?

Funny, that for all my introspection I happened to miss these subtle changes in me over time. Probably thousands of pages of journals, hundreds of thousands of typed words on blogs and hundreds of poems written, and I miss it.

After a few weeks back from my six months abroad, (which I wish I could affix a title to that would properly summarize it,) a coworker who was also good friend told me, “You seem different, Losier.” I feel the same; I think I am the same, I thought to myself, feeling almost defensive. “Really? Like how?” …please, fill me in because somehow I’ve missed this drastic change!

All this time I thought that I was consistently one person, but thank God I was wrong! I spent some time recently reminiscing by reading over old blog posts. I could see changes in myself by the way that I've written; both in content and style. There are things I was working through, or desiring to see come to pass or change, and they have. 

It's one of the reasons I love writing so much, even though I know how little all these words are read...it chronicles the changes and seasons in my life. It's something I'm greatly in favor of, sharing life experiences - for whatever they're worth - with others, in the off-chance that they might find themselves encouraged or challenged...or inspired. There's got to be a benefit to being so overly cognitive...

But it's just a reminder to me, that even being heavily introspective, we can misinterpret our own selves. Our self-perceptions can be so far different from how we actually are; and for some, who we actually are. 

All this to say: there's importance in recognizing the places we've come from; the dreams we've seen come to fruition, the things we're still longing for. There is value in stopping to survey where you're at, and admire the distance you've come. Beauty lies in the growth, even the days, weeks, months, and maybe years of struggle that often come with growing pains. A big part, for me, of knowing myself is to acknowledge who I've been and who I am. To see that they are the same person, and yet so different.

Those chronicles map out the developments of how we operate today, and sometimes that can make navigating the things that lay ahead, so much easier. 

Articulate

I always love to write, and to communicate, but I go through phases of being able to articulate. I have these urges to write. I tell myself, "Tomorrow, I'm going to take some Me Time; I'm going to write." And then I don't.

It's not like I don't have things to say, I can always say something. Sometimes I just have trouble whittling it down, so to speak. It's almost a matter of having so much going through my brain, I don't go far enough down any one path to bother. I mean, maybe people want to read more of my fragmented thoughts...but I kind of doubt it.

How I'm Made to Live: Encouragement

Encouragement has been on my heart, as of late. Not necessarily that I've been feeling very encouraged - in fact the opposite, - but just how important it is to me; how effective it is in life.

Last week at work was rough. I actually just felt extremely discouraged. I was pulled aside by my boss who never really talks to me about work, to tell me I should be doing something that I hadn't been. I like to do well; I like to know how to do something, and get good at it. Things that I'm not good at make me feel really insecure and if I don't quickly figure it out, I usually give up. (...character flaw much?...) Then the poo hit the fan, as they say and I got slammed. Needless to further indulge myself with detailing it; it was a bad week. This week, to follow was busy in the aftermath. I barely took lunches, I was working to catch up.

I had felt myself starved for encouragement that previous week. I haven't really given it much thought, until my eldest sister and I were having a discussion about personality and identity. She was talking about a conference she went to and how personality types and descriptors have a lot to do with your purpose. For example, she talked about how my type is the Champion, so I like to encourage people and lift them up, and if I was experiencing the opposite, I should recognize my nature and choose to remove myself, or speak up. Well just today I was thinking to myself about how much our gifts and tendencies can become a curse and a bad habit, if we let them. If we don't own those qualities or characteristics as ours, and begin to live in them, what are we even doing?

I think that's been a huge part of my struggle to find...place in the last, oh, year or so. If I am not living consciously, as the person I am and the version of that that I want to be - what is my life about? It's certainly not about doing mediocre things and watching a lot of TV shows. Which is what I feel like the last year has been, in summation. Of course, that's also an exaggeration, I've done some really worthwhile things, but I've wasted so much time, too.

After getting some encouragement this week in the form of a challenge to keep myself encouraged by simply reining my thoughts in, I was reminded. In a small way, (and through honestly months of building) I was reminded of who I am; what my purpose is, in part. When I was focusing on keeping my heart in a right place, what naturally sprung forth was encouragement. I felt a little sheepish, being so...gushy. I've quickly realized the only reason it feels silly is because it's not normal.

We're in a society taught to criticize, and to achieve, instead of to dream. To expect instead of to see. I've enjoyed just seeing again; things for what they are, but for the good of what they are. And I guess, that's what I did with myself this week, or maybe in these last few weeks. I know I can tend toward the negative and fall toward the judgmental, but it's only if I'm living loosely and not keeping myself in check; if I'm not aiming to strive in living as I'm made to live.

For as flippant a person as I may seem to the naked eye, I am a huge proponent of conscious living. And even if I'm not perfect at it, I've seen and realize that I am much better in life, if I am cheering people on, standing up with them, and building them up, rather than tearing down and apart. I have to remind myself that I do not live my life to live well, but to love well. Happy, healthy living follows.

Jigsaw

My tongue swells in my mouth
As the words fight to come out
Seems we're just
Falling down
And still we break
Without sound
Covering up already blinded eyes
Masterfully recreating devious lies
My heart drowns in blood and emotions
As you drown in pieces of yourself
And the pain will follow me
But I can put myself back together
You - a jigsaw - have no such luck
Mine commands respect
Yours doesn't merit it
I won't let you inherit it
My eyes, my nose
Start feeling sick as the pressure grows
My full veins course
As soul marries remorse
Hit the button - let's go back
Before I ever knew you
Before I ever grew you
Before I ever threw you
Truth is I can't undo you
And now I can't see through you
Or sing to you
And somehow I miss you
Just want to kiss you - feel you, but I can't
Other than I do every...day...
They told me that this would make it okay
It's best for me they say
That the pain will go away
And the memories will fade
Maybe I'll forget
The choices I made
The regret
An empty pit inside of me
Cries violently
May one day only weep silently.

You Have Me

On the drive home tonight, I had a new revelation on a song. Or maybe just a reminiscence. I don't listen to worship music often in the car; I have to be in the mood. And I was, for Christian music, but also good music...Gungor. I wanted the first track on the album I have and then decided to let it play out. I tend to get pensive on long, late-night drives alone. I was sort of just letting the music roll over me. All of a sudden the words caught my dazed, road-focused attention. 

"my faith was torn to shreds,

heart in the balance, 

but you were there, 

always faithful, always good,"

I immediately thought of the truth of those words; it was something I knew. I can think of a time (or two) when my heart felt in the balance, and I can really only attribute surviving the pain to the Lord. Then came the chorus,

"you still have me, you still have my heart"

and it hit me again. See, the Lord and I have been having an ongoing conversation about my heart. He has been pressing on it, loving on it, cherishing it, fixing it, growing it, teaching me how to make it more like His; He's been talking to me specifically about it. For months.

For four years I've had this heart tattoo idea and I finally got it this past Monday. Over the last few months, during this conversation, the Lord commissioned that tattoo. I really, truly believe He spoke it to me, that I could get it now, and it would be a mark of His love for me; and that my getting it would be, in a small way, giving Him my heart. Not that I won't fail, or run away, or forget...again.

Tonight, the words to that song just sort of pierced me, one after another. Numerous times I've heard it, but never really got it the way I did this time. And it served as a reminder of how good and loving the God I know is.

Originally, I wasn't going to say what I got, rather keep it very secret - and I don't plan to show it off, or post pictures anywhere - but there's beauty in the walk with Him. He is good, and intimate. And that's selfish not to share.