The Story

We all have a story to tell.

Some days, it seems more than others, I find myself staring at a blank page aching to find the words to get it all out, coming up with little to no result in representing the facts about my life. Most days, it's all a jumbled up mess and I find it hard to distinguish adequate details and relay them on a piece of paper in a mild attempt at making sense of it all.

Andrew asked me yesterday if I remember when I was 8. I looked at him blankly for about 5 seconds before I answered "no." I honestly tried to come up with some link, some minor detail to define that year in my life and I came up empty. I just don't remember. This is strange to me because ask anyone of my family members or friends and I guarantee they'll tell you I never forget. I remember everything.

Except when I was 8 years old.

I remember small details around that time period, playing school and nurse with my dolls and having tea parties with my daddy. He was my favorite guest to have in my little tykes kitchen. And my Mom was the best nurse to have at my side, creating elaborate hospital charts containing vital signs of each patient that entered our make-shift hospital in our garage. She often came home from the morning shift as a pediatric nurse, barring extra bandage scissors and smelling of alcohol swabs. The more she brought home, the more equipped my little hospital became.

Sometimes I crave these memories and I often wonder if some of them are derived from the millions of pictures my parents took of us when we were little. I now own a scanned copy of every pic I could get my hands on from the mountain of photo albums my parents still keep underneath the bookshelves in their den. I silently stare at some of them now, knowing that it's a younger version of myself within, but not truly remembering the actual event. It's kind of sad in a way and I'm not sure why my memory fails me when it comes to some of the happiest moments in my life.

My birthday is in 14 days. It seems the older I get, the more I think about the amazing fact of life. It's quite remarkable that our lives are based on a string of events and decisions made long before we even came into creation. The line continues once we are born and it's odd, almost scary at times, to think that one decision could have changed wherever it is we end up. It also makes me realize how truly out of control and out of my own hands my life is. Call it God. Call it fate. Whatever. I know the decisions I've made, good and bad, that have lead me here. But  it was never just me involved in any given situation. When we decide upon any given action, we not only affect ourselves but anyone else remotely involved, perhaps not even as involved as they'd like to be or think that they are. But in thinking so, it still affects them because they care about you.

One is never quite as alone as she thinks.

I have a tendency to push people away when times get rough. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps it's because I feel it's my burden and mine alone to deal with. I don't want anyone else to feel the pressure, pain and worry that I might be harboring at any given time. I'm slowly learning that I have no control over  how anyone else feels about me or anything I do or don't do; say or don't say. I have found that my paranoia in thinking people think the worse of me is indeed just that, paranoia. And I couldn't do anything about it should they really feel that way about me so I'm not sure why I let my brain go there. I've dealt with low self esteem my entire life, never feeling completely part of a group or like I belong. I like to chalk all this up to the fact that I am an individual and I don't need anyone's approval.

But in truth. I really do.

About a month ago, my first ex-fiance' (Yes. There's more than one unfortunately) deleted me from facebook. I know this act sounds so silly and trivial but it really bothered me, not because I want him back but I felt like he was deleting the memory of us being together too. Deleting me and our time together. I wrote him about it and he apologized, claiming that his new fiance' didn't like him being friends with exes. (Don't get me started on the negative connotations I began to form within my brain over how jealous of a person this girl must be and how her insecurity will surely one day drive them apart. It's not like I'm any sort of true threat anyway.)That's what it comes down to now. I'm just "one of the exes". We were never friends before we started dating 13 years ago, so I suppose it's naive of me to think we could ever be friends now. But I can't deny the fact that the sudden blow of being cut off from his life completely, doesn't affect me in some small way.

I guess it's normal to not want to be erased. Every person that comes and goes within our time here has some sort of affect on us whether we choose to let them or not. I know I will never forget the people who have come and gone or stayed with me. I am grateful to all of them because they have all helped, in some way or another,  to form me.

Me: The shy girl sitting in the back of her class, hoping not to be called upon by her teacher in fear she would actually have to speak up in front of her peers. The little girl who enjoyed making mud pies and rolling down banks with her older brother, just as much as playing dress up. The teenager who lost her favorite grandparent to a horrible smoking habit when he was only supposed to be having a minor surgery; the same teenager who delayed getting her first car because he was supposed to be the one to sale it to her. The girl who ran around with her friends, singing at the top of her lungs and making silly home videos about soap operas and fairy tales. The girl who was going to wait for marriage and somehow lost her virginity in five seconds, found out two months later she was pregnant and miscarried the very next day. The same girl who is scared shitless it will happen again.The little girl who could, and still can, attract a cat within a 5 mile radius. Somehow they always know. Never took a whole drink of alcohol until the age of 23, never did drugs and only smoked 2 cigarettes in her life, not even inhaling so it really doesn't count.  Lover of music and movies, musicals and reading. Met her best friend and true love on May 17th 2007. Married him on May 15th 2010. Still doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up. Carries her heart on her sleeve, feeling empathy even when she wishes she didn't. A jumble of memories, some good, some bad. Me. My story.

It's only just beginning.

"All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am." -Brandi Carlile

Time Management

This is the first weekend since Christmas that I have had off with no plans in the working what so ever. This opportunity gives me the chance to catch up on reading the 2 books I've started in the past couple of months, doing some things around the house and checking off the few million items I've written on my to do list and haven't had the time to accomplish yet. They're miniscule tasks such as hanging the wine rack Andrew got me for Christmas and stringing up the white lights and cute lanterns along our back screened in porch that I ordered months ago from Amazon.

It both excites and intimidates me when I have any extra time to spend. This is usually because I often find such time spent catching up on what I like to call "fluff" shows (aka Pretty Little Liars, Switched at Birth or whatever I happen to find on my Netflix cue.....in other words, shows I can watch when Andrew is not around and I won't feel judged because I can watch them in my own privacy without feeling embarrassed.)

I stand by Bunheads though. It has graduated from a potential fluff show to one I thoroughly enjoy. Yay for Amy Sherman Palladino! It's not quite Gilmore Girls but it gives me the same sort of fix.

Forgive me, I have strayed, which ironically, is my point. I get distracted too easily during these days and many times end up doing nothing remotely close to what I would have liked to accomplish because it's so easy to get caught up doing absolutely nothing. Then I feel guilty and lazy. I admit, it is nice to have complete lounge days but it's so easy for me to get stuck.

I have always been a procrastinator. I eventually get it done but I work better under pressure. All of my book reports, projects, ect that I had to do when I was in school were done last minute and I always did well on them.( Ask my Mom why it has  taken me years not to cringe every time I see an otter ...another story for another time.)

I also work better when I have a set deadline. It's so easy to keep saying, "I'll just do it tomorrow" when the tomorrows never end.

My main obstacle is that I have a tendency to over plan. Ask Andrew about our upcoming trip to Oregon and the multiple post its I have stuck onto nearly every page in the 2 travel books I bought. There is no relaxation when it comes to vacationing with me. When it comes to traveling, "Adventure" is my middle name. I want to see and do everything. You only live once and when opportunity comes knocking, open the door and fly high with invisible wings. 

I can have this frame of mind when I have something to look forward to, but when it comes to everyday life, it's so hard for me to get motivated. There are so many things I want to be and do when I grow up.The list just keeps getting longer and I find it so damn hard to figure out what it is I want to do first. My brain goes in every different direction possible and I get flustered and annoyed with myself, therefore doing nothing.

My focus is so obscured. It  takes me forever to figure out what it is I want to do with my time and I find myself spending more time thinking instead of doing. The funny thing is that I feel so much better about myself and so much more accomplished when I do small chores around the house, other than cleaning, or if I learn a new song on guitar or finish an art project. Somewhere along the way I have convinced myself that I can't do it all therefore I have to choose just one.

I'm coming to realize, 32 years later, that maybe, just maybe, I can do all of these things. I don't have to be the best at everything. It's not a contest. The only person I really compete with is myself. I enjoy doing all of these things so why can't I just do them and enjoy every moment of every breath used to fulfill the daily cravings of "something more".

The truth is, I'm so very lucky. Nothing so traumatic has occurred in my life to stop me from being the person I want to be. I've climbed many up hill battles but came out stronger because of them. I truly have no excuse though on any given day, I'm sure to come up with one in an instant should I not feel brave enough to face my fear of trying something new and failing. I just watched a movie where a similar conversation happened between father and son,  From Take Me Home Tonight:
Matt Franklin: I'm... I'm just messed up, OK? I don't know what I want to do. And I'm sorry I'm such a fucking failure!
Bill Franklin: You haven't really failed, son, because you haven't really tried to succeed. So don't credit yourself as a failure. You're worse than that.  

(Yes. This is a perfect example of another fluff movie. I admit I was surprised to find the hidden message within these few sentences.)

The only difference is that I have this conversation with myself every day. Now you're thinking I have multiple personalities. This may be true, but I think in reality, we all have multiple conversations in our minds on a daily basis. It's which side we choose to listen to that counts. Today, I choose to listen to the more challenging side of my personality.

Today, I'm going to go outside and take in the lingering Winter air slowly turning to Spring. I'm going to play guitar and sing my heart out. I'm going to hang those damn lanterns.

Today, I'm going to live.

"It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things." -Leonardo da Vinci

Silent All These Years

So my last blog post was in September and I can't tell you why exactly I fell off the map when it comes to blogging or even writing in general. I could sit here and offer one excuse after another but it would do no good. All I can offer is the truth, so here it is.
I'm afraid.
The past several months I have found myself contemplating over and over again what it is I would like to get out in my writing. Yes. I have a story, don't we all? But in looking back at previous texts I have offered up to the public, I have a huge confession to make: I'm very censored in what I'm willing to share.
So just to shake things up a bit, here's a few things you may or may not have known about me: I wasn't a virgin when I got married. Once, when I was 6 I let a blind girl's brother convince me it was OK to throw rocks near her to scare her and I accidentally hit her in the forehead. I used to be (and still have tendencies to be) anorexic. I haven't always been faithful in relationships, if you count kissing another boy while dating a different one.
Just to name a few.
I'm not proud of any of the situations above and none of them are subjects I like sharing or talking about, but they're a part of me, take it or leave it and it doesn't change the person I have become. Perhaps, I am saying this more to myself than to you, considering I cringe every time I think of any one of these things and I cringe at the thought that you just might too.
Maybe you did.
Do you feel different about me now?
Maybe you do and that's OK. My point is that I can't control how any one of you may react to the events which have occurred in my life.The whole idea of this project is to put my story out there in the best way I see possible. After this is done, it's out of my hands.
I like to give off the impression that I am a happy, free spirited sort of gal. And yes, most days this is true. However, I do have a dark side that I keep hidden from most people. Consider yourself lucky (or perhaps unlucky) if you have caught a glimpse of said personality.  I have to admit, there are days when she comes out and I'm like, "oh dear, it's you again" I'm not necessarily fond of this person nor am I happy to admit that she exists within me, but she's there just the same.
Along with all of the censorship I have noted that I also censor my audience, that is, I stifle who I share my stories with. I didn't even realize that this was something I was doing and have done all along not only in my writing but in my everyday life. I do have a voice, shy as it may be, and I have so much to say, but I also hold back on most occasions in fear that I might offend someone with my own opinions and thoughts. I mostly offer up the side of my personality that hates confrontation and would rather stand in silence, nodding at her audience in what I can only assume appears to be in agreement when in all reality I could completely disagree and am fighting the urge to chew off my own tongue.
I have a hard time with judgement and yet I judge myself on a daily basis. I am my worse critic and it's unfair to everyone else to assume that they will do the same when in all reality, does it really matter? Yes, I am very sensitive and yes, I truly care what people think of me and of my writing. I thrive from feedback or lack thereof and I find that this want or need for acceptance holds me back.
One could say I have a somewhat obsessive quality constantly ticking within my soul. For example, I checked to see how many people "liked" the status I wrote on facebook regarding the new blogs I will be posting in the coming week. I checked 10 times in the first 5 minutes, getting no results and when I came home from work, I checked once more to find there were two.
Two.
That's it. (By the way, thanks Mandy and Alexis:).
Needless to say, I got a bit discouraged.
Why does this bother me? Perhaps it's because I take it as a reflection of how few people are interested in me and my life. I realize deep down that this isn't fair or even remotely true. We all have lives to live and time to spend elsewhere. It just matters to me and I know I have to stop caring what everyone else thinks or doesn't think or how much or how little time is spent evaluating the inner workings of my mind. In all reality, I do enough to make up for everyone else.
All this being said, I have made a new promise to myself and in doing so, I have made a promise to you, the reader.
I will write.
And I will not let the fear of not being liked get in the way of the stories I want to write about. In doing so,  I will always offer up the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.
No more holding back.
No more silence.

" Cause sometimes I said sometimes I hear my voice And it's been here
Silent All These Years" -Tori Amos