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.