To Write

When I was younger, I wrote every day.
I was probably 6 years old and I had this green composition notebook that I carried around with me all of the time. I mainly wrote short stories, mostly about cats.
When I got a little bit older, I was a bit more private and started keeping a diary. Each day, I would write about everything that happened to me from the moment I got up to the moment I went to bed and put pen to paper to write about it.
Then high school hit and thus the bad poetry began. Maybe not all bad, but the subject matter was always the same. The name might have changed. The words however did not. (This sadly carried over into my 20's).
I always did well in English and I've always enjoyed writing about everything. I used to have all of these ideas for short stories, novels, poetry, ect. I couldn't get the words written onto paper quickly enough.
Now, it's a bit of a struggle.
I don't seem to have the imagination I once harbored. The language of writing suddenly seems all jumbled up in my head and my mind is screaming to let them out.
When I I decided to write this memoir, what 3 or 4 years ago?, I was excited and thrilled to have a project to focus on. But suddenly, something had changed inside of me. I have all of these events and moments in my life that I wish to share with the world but I'm still a very private person and I suddenly became super vulnerable. I held back, still do, and I'm finding it hard to let go and simply write.
I started thinking on this the other day, wondering what exactly had changed when I realized it was my audience. I've always had the power to choose who did or didn't read my thoughts. Then I started blogging and my words were no longer safe in the confines of my little green composition notebook. 
They were out there naked for the world to see.
I didn't realize that I was doing it, but I started leaving out details and editing out facts, because this is me. This is my life but it's intertwined with others. I began to worry about opening wounds or creating new ones. I began to stress about what people might think of me.
I became mute without even recognizing it.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to start writing for me again. Every day. It might just be a few short sentences or a whole page of nothingness, but I need to start somewhere. My story is aching to be heard and I truly do want others to hear it. I can't let the critics in the world or in my mind allow me to fail.
I have a heart and soul to share through my words and I choose to share them.
Starting today.

Life Happens

I just got out of the hospital about a week ago- nothing too serious but scary enough to make me wake up a little bit more. I've always been a healthy person so whenever I am feeling poorly, I don't tend to make the best patient. I don't like for anyone to wait on me hand and foot and I've never been one to readily ask for help should I need it.
This time, I needed it.
I'm still not convinced this doesn't show a sign of weakness though I will say, even when I was hunched over in the backseat after puking for the 9th time that day, I was still able to laugh about it. Someone (I forget who) happened to mention that there was a rainbow hovering over the mountain tops and without missing a beat, I proclaimed, "Awe. It must be there to welcome me into Heaven".
Funny, right? I thought so, but my husband and parents did not seem too amused at the time. (Minutes later I was puking in a plastic bag in the lobby of the ER, wishing someone would just knock me out already.)
This whole episode was a nice reminder of how marriage works, or should work. Andrew stepped up and took the whole 'in sickness and in health' completely seriously. I never doubted that he would do this, but I also never imagined him holding my IV bag while I peed in a cup, asking him kindly not to look at my backside reflection in the mirror while doing so.
Modesty has always been a strong trait in my personality.
But seriously, he was wonderful. He helped me go to the bathroom multiple times. We even had a routine. I would wake up mumbling that I had to pee (again) and he would stumble out of the nice recliner the hospital provides for family staying over (i.e. tiny chair that he often got stuck in and often woke up in pain due to the position he happened to fall asleep in), told me to sit up slowly, walked to the bathroom to prepare the toilet paper (because the dispenser was cruel and often mocked my weakness and inability to tear off more than half a square at a time), grabbed my hand and IV pole and scooted me to the bathroom as gracefully as possible.
Andrew and I have always had a special sort of language. We often find ourselves having a conversation in front of people, completely forgetting that they are there and then realizing that they are staring at us, trying to figure out what it is exactly we're talking about. Through the years, we have broadened this language into simply sharing a look towards one another and knowing exactly what the other is thinking. There were times in the hospital when I would be in so much pain, trying to mask it from everyone else in the room and all I had to do was look at him and he knew.
He always knows.
This whole episode got me thinking about life in general and how I have been living mine from day to day, just trying to get through the work week so that I can enjoy my day(s) off as they come to me. I waste so much time thinking and worrying about all of the 'stuff' I need to do and accomplish, pushing more important things onto the back burner, claiming I'll get to them when I can.
I seem to be waiting around a lot.
Waiting for my next day off so that I can clean/run errands/watch Netflix. Waiting to be able to apply for insurance again. (No, we don't have insurance so please kindly wipe that judgmental look off of your face). Waiting for our next vacation. Waiting for the right 'time' to have a baby. Waiting for that next paycheck so that I can apply a larger payment to another credit card in order to pay it off completely, turn around and apply the same payment in 2 weeks to yet another credit card. Waiting to own a home because we don't even know where we will be in the next 6 months to a year. Waiting for approval.
There is a lot of waiting in my world and it's starting to slowly suck me dry. Patience has never been a strong suit in me and though I try to take each challenge one step at a time, I often get overwhelmed and try to take everything on all at once, get discouraged and simply feel like giving up until I get another outburst of energy to try again.
It's exhausting.
And it's not easy to come up with the right solution. I don't know how to approach certain areas in my life. I worry too much about the outcome when in all reality, I know deep down I can't control others reactions or feelings towards any given thing. The last thing I ever want to do is cause someone else pain.  When it used to be just me hanging out on the sidelines waiting, I seemed to be more OK with this philosophy. But now that Andrew is here beside me, it's affecting him too.
And it's affecting us.
No one seems to put this into account or maybe we haven't really given them the chance to because we're too worried about hurting them and not really focusing on the fact that we are unintentionally hurting each other.
It really does feel like it's just him and me and I truly am OK with that. I feel like this is what marriage should be. Yes, we have our own sets of friends and tons of family who we love and adore, but at the end of the day, he is the only person whom I feel truly gets and understands me.
I don't want to keep waiting around to begin my life with him.
And I don't want to keep on living from day to day without having some sort of idea or plan as to what the next step in our journey should be. We shouldn't have to mask our hopes and dreams and I'm not even sure why exactly we feel we have to. But we do just the same.
And it's not helping anybody.
I've always been a dreamer. It's pretty typical of me to take the road less traveled. I may get lost along the way but I always find myself in the end.  And now, Andrew and I have each other to take care of and no matter how little or far we may stray at times, we always come back to meet again in the middle.
It might not seem like it, but we do have a plan. And it's ours and ours alone.
I know we always have each others backs. He never left my side when the poor nurse was trying to get an IV catheter in me multiple times, failing until the blessed third because I was so dehydrated. And I knew he was being protective of me without even looking at him. He helped my morphine doped up self answer the billions of questions asked over and over again by each person who entered the room. He made phone calls. He held my hand when I was scared. He asked questions of his own. He made sure I was comfortable. He tasted the broth to make sure it was vegetable and when it wasn't it, he let them know and asked them not to bring the jello or coffee anymore because he knew I couldn't have it. He went home to take care of the pets so I would have peace of mind. And he came back every night to sleep in that ratty old recliner. And when I was finally able to come home, he continued to care for me as I know he always will.
This is the real thing folks. This is what life is all about.
In sickness and in health.

The Woman In the Mirror

Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing a mask.
I feel like I have to hide the real me in order to accommodate everyone else. I know this isn't entirely true. I am a quiet introvert who often simply sits and listens to the conversation going on around her. Should I get up the nerve to add a little anecdote of my own, it  often backfires into awkward silence or forced laughter because no one seems to understand/get what I'm talking about. Perhaps it's my delivery? I tend to stutter, get too quiet or too loud depending on how nervous I feel in a situation.
Lately, I've been just keeping my mouth shut because my self esteem is more fragile these days.
Sometimes, my feelings get misread. I tend to hold back until the oddest circumstance sends me into a fit of tears or laughter. I used to cry a lot in high school and paid for it with cruelty from my peers. Enough so that when I returned my sophomore year, I hid the tears long enough to get home and cry in private. The longer I did this, the more I held back and even stopped crying behind closed doors.
What was the point?
This makes me sound like I was some fragile/lost/depressed little person...but who isn't at least one of these in high school? We all just handle it in our own way.
I don't like crying in front of anyone. It's not that I see it as a weakness, it's that I fear this is how everyone else perceives it. My brother-in law mocks me because I cry at movies (pretty much MOST movies/TV shows). I take it because that's what's expected and it doesn't truly bother me enough to cause a conflict. But this is my outlet- my way to escape into a fictional world and feel for fictional characters.
It's how I am able to let go.
My Dad doesn't understand why anyone would want to go see anything that would upset them. (For example, the ever so popular 'The Fault In Our Stars'). Why would I purposefully go, knowing it was going to be upsetting?
Because it's a beautiful story and stories such as these awaken feelings in me that I don't want to let go of, even if it's only in a fictional world. I empathize but I don't claim to understand what these characters are going through.I try to apply this to real life situations as well.
But the mask always stays on, leaving me with little to say. I listen. I'm a listener and I typically nod my head and share a compassionate glance when someone finds the need to vent to me about any given thing. I hear everything around me and it seeps into my pores. I hear the common 'I need to lose weight' conversation at work and it affects me because I don't know how to join this conversation. If I say 'me too' (which is what I typically believe), I don't know if I'm more scared of silence, someone agreeing or someone saying 'no you don't'- because it's a real problem and something I struggle with every day.
Plus, I hate it when you're talking to someone and suddenly the conversation turns, making it only about them. Sometimes I need to vent too and though I appreciate someone trying to understand, sometimes I just need someone to listen. 
I don't thrive being around such negativity. People are generally too hard on themselves and where I choose to keep it quiet and confined in my own mind, others tend to let it out in the world, creating a harsh light around everyone else around them.
On the rare occasion, I'll pipe in with a cynical remark, joining in the badly tasted humor around me and then I feel sick to my stomach.
When is it ever OK to make fun of another human being behind their back? No one ever truly knows what's going on in anyone's life and we're all so quick to judge.
These are the things that keep me up at night.
Mask or no mask. Sometimes I forget who I am and who I want to be. It's hard to hold onto completely and it's easy to stray.
All I can do is keep striving to be better.
It's amazing how powerful positive thinking can be.

'As I, turn up the collar on
My favorite winter coat
This wind is blowing my mind
I see the kids in the streets
With not enough to eat
Who am I to be blind?
Pretending not to see their needs'
- Michael Jackson ('Man In the Mirror)

It Only Takes A Moment

It's summer.
And even though I swore I would never complain about the heat again after moving from 100+ degree weather during Raleigh Summers to 80+ weather here in Asheville....
It's freakin hot!
The humidity is starting to make me resemble Monica from Friends during her Caribbean excursion. I will not be getting corn roes but good Lord, how I sometimes wish to have some magic beauty tips on keeping my hair semi-smallish and my face from glistening in sweat with it's paleness for all to see.
I'm not a girly girl- never have been. But I do have moments when I would like to feel pretty. Those moments in THIS weather are very few and far between this season.
Every time I feel like I'm starting to become a little bit more comfortable in my own skin, small insecurities creep back up in a huge way. My skin will start to clear up one day and the next it looks as though I'm a 30+ year old teenager with dark circles under my eyes and acne across my forehead.
I've been asked to be in 2 weddings this year which makes me feel super awesome and like I'm doing something right. One of the weddings was a few weeks ago and we were able to pick out our own dresses but the Bride wanted us to wear fishnets.
I am not a fishnet type of girl per say but as a Bridesmaid, 'your wish is my command' is the sort of attitude that should be portrayed. So fishnets were discussed and a type of lacy pair with flair was picked out. Again, not my cup of tea but I complied, sucked it up, bought the fishnets and the Mary Jane shoes (Oh, did I not mention the shoes?) and I was all set only to find that the day of the wedding everyone else had gotten NORMAL fishnets and I was the only one with the lacy ones. No big deal...I just didn't get the memo.
But I felt so silly and how does one explain the difference?
So, I'm feeling slightly pretty in my purple dress and non-matching tights comparatively to the other girls(meaning the tights, not the prettiness. Everyone looked really beautiful. I just looked like a complete heel who didn't want to get the same sort of tights as everyone else when this was never the case and I was always the one that showed mega support towards anything the bride wanted to do, never complaining, just simply doing...but again. No. Big. Deal. ) Pictures were taken during the whole event and I smiled and laughed and played.
Oh Lord, did I play.
When the music started and no one was dancing, Andrew and I decided to dance with our sweet 2 year old niece. Awesome! Great quality times were ahead. So we're dancing and she loves to be lifted up and swung around. The moment we tried to gracefully lift her up, she went completely dead weight and we barely got her feet off the ground. Wow. She's much heavier than she was the last time I held her in my arms. But we carried on, lifting her and dancing with her, enjoying her giggling and sweet smiles as any proud Aunt and Uncle are apt to do.
But holy crap. I felt so old after a song and a half and I was completely exhausted.
Why didn't we simply have kids when we were still in our 20's?
Needless to say, it was a bit discouraging being out danced by a lively and energetic 2 year old that never stops. It was worth it....but still exhausting to say the least.
My point? My point is that the universe seems to keep challenging me more and more every time I think I'm just a little bit ahead of the game. Every time I see a new path in our journey getting closer and closer, something comes up, making that path just a little bit further away from reality.
For example, the day after the wedding, my back was in quite a bit of pain and I just figured it was from all of the dancing and riding in the car. The next day, I was in the ER with a massive UTI and kidney infection.
Who knew?
John Lennon said it best, "Life is what happens when you're too busy making other plans". I used to think that this lyric applied to only good moments in life that happen under our noses, un-noticed becasue we're so busy worrying about the future. The longer I live however, i'm beginning to understand that it appies to all aspects of life.
Life happens.
Shit happens.
And we are in less control of the world around us than we would like to be.
So next time I find myself struggling with the summer heat, simply wishing for Fall, I need to remind myself that the year will be at it's end soon enough. So many months and days and moments lie between and I don't want to miss any more of them...
Good or bad.

"Before you go to sleep,
Say a little prayer,
Every day in every way,
It's getting better and better"
- John Lennon

That's Me In the Corner

Sometimes I feel like no one truly takes me seriously.
Perhaps this is because I'm the youngest and add being small and quiet into the mix and that makes me screwed from the get go.
I've always struggled with having a voice- knowing I have very strong opinions but feeling too worried that I might offend someone has on many occasions made me keep my mouth shut. I listen. I'm a listener.
I'm a very good listener.
I'm highly aware that my wavering confidence and paranoia at times can be the reason why I feel like what I have to say is mute to everyone else. I have honestly reached the point in my life where I mostly don't care how other people perceive me, especially those of whom I harbor not an inch of respect.
It's those whom I look up to myself and those choice few people whose opinion of me does matter- this is what I struggle with.
But I usually still keep my mouth shut because honestly, I can't change how they perceive me or how they feel about any given situation. I know this and am almost too aware of what's written unsaid between the lines. Feelings are heavy and at times awkward. It often turns into a contest of who's right and wrong- when the area is too gray to even come close to the correct answer.
There is no correct answer and I can accept that for what it is.
I go on living my life with the occasional lingering voice in the back of my mind whispering to me that I'm not good enough at anything I do. I pick up the guitar and will learn 5 new songs in a day- but that voice is there telling me I will never equate to those around me who also play. I work in the medical field (with animals instead of people) but this too wasn't mine before I started. The knowledge is shared and though I have much of it, it's not as extensive as others merely because I haven't had the chance to live so long doing it...yet. This doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about. This doesn't mean I can't strum a guitar or carry a tune. I have a voice.
I have a very strong voice.
A voice that I feel sometimes only gets heard by a handful of friends and strangers right here, no matter how loud I sing or how confident I feel when explaining- very few listen. 
Just once, I wish someone would listen.
The other day jokes were being thrown around about being dramatic. My husband was asked if he felt I was a drama queen and my dad simply told him to 'be careful how he answered'. I looked at him and he honestly said 'God no! She's the furthest thing from it'...and my dad laughed.
He laughed.
And not a simple 'ha ha ha'. It was from the heart because he truly believed Andrew was just trying to get out of an awkward mess. This may seem silly and irrelevant but it hurt just the same. I could see the confusion on Andrew's face because I know he truly meant the words he said. He wasn't around during the time in my life when it seemed drama followed me wherever I went. I imagine it seems as though I always went looking for it but this was never the case...maybe in a small way but that's done and over. That chapter in my life has been closed for years. I've let it go.
Why can't everyone else follow suit? Why is it not so obvious how much I have grown and changed in the past 10 years?
Maybe they have in a small way- but maybe it's harder for them because seeing those insecurities disappear means that their baby has grown up- maybe this scares them in a way I can't fully understand because I am not yet a parent.
I still have insecurities- don't we all? ( I mean seriously I'm screaming out loud right now on the computer but can't conjure up the nerve to speak the words to the faces I'm hurt by). Hey, at least I own them. At least I'm aware.
Life is such a strange phenomenon. We grow up listening to the adults around us simply because this is what we're taught to do. Anyone taller than us serves as a potential role model. I stopped growing at the age of 12, never quite reaching the height of 5'2''. So imagine my disappointment when I discovered that not all adults know what the hell they're talking about and that we're all just playing the game day by day, hoping we just don't screw anything up. It sucks to come to the realization that your role models have the same insecurities as you do. It's a harsh lesson and one I struggle with the most.
I sit here and complain about not being taken seriously but there is a small part of me that still wants to be taken care of and told that everything will be OK. The memory of being taken to bed via shoulder back and sung 'goodnight' to is still so fresh in my mind.
Perhaps it's still that fresh in theirs too and it's that much harder to break away from.
So I leave you with this parting thought- don't be afraid to speak up, no matter how small, large, old or young you are. You have a voice and it wants to be heard. Your voice may quiver and shake and this may make it seem as though you have no clue what you're talking about- but don't listen to that nagging voice in the back of your head telling you you're not good enough. You are good enough. (I am good enough.) Believe in yourself...
And everyone else around you might start believing in you too.

'Oh life, it's bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I've said too much
I've said enough '
R.E.M 'Losing My Religion'

May Day Rain

It's raining.
I don't have anywhere to be and I'm catching myself looking aimlessly out the window, thinking thoughts of what I'm going to do today.
The house needs to be cleaned. The laundry is piling up. The cats are restless and want to go outside on the screened in porch but it's too cold outside to keep the door open.
The rain doesn't care. The rain has no agenda to ruin a kid's time outside, to make us pull out our umbrellas and raincoats or to dig through the sweaters we just stocked away because Spring has sprung on our calenders.
The rain doesn't care if we decide to stay in and be lazy, watching episode after episode of 'The Cosby Show' on Hulu. It doesn't care if we sleep in or eat a whole bowl of popcorn for breakfast. It doesn't care if we read a book or two, write a play or simply sit and dream of it raining somewhere else in a place we'd rather be.
It pours down softly from it's clouds and whispers to the wind and the birds. It doesn't ask permission to fall. It simply falls, each raindrop after another because this is what rain does. It has a job to nurture the growing flowers and trees, to help them grow, but I'm not convinced the rain knows this.
I wonder what it's like to have a job and not know it. I wonder if the rain knows it's purpose or if it simply just comes out whenever she has the chance to. I wonder if sometimes, just sometimes, the rain peeks in our windows of the houses and cars we survive in, and wishes for something more.
It's a soft, gentle rain today, no thunder or lightning, no pounding of sleet or hail. It's sweet and peaceful, barely audible.
The rain is happy today and I like her.
She reminds me of being a kid again, running down the hill by my parents' house in bare feet, not a care in the world, holding hands with my brother, laughing and playing. She reminds me that it's OK to take a break from the constant thinking and worrying and surviving.
It's OK to simply be.

'Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin',
Singin' in the rain'

Time After Time

Hello, it's me.
I apologize for not having written in so long. My mind has been a whirlwind of emotions that I can't quite explain.
But I'll try, because that's what I do.
I just celebrated my 33rd birthday. And, as always, I've cracked jokes about getting older and feeling behind in life and blah blah blah. But I've discovered something truly magical in this past year.
It doesn't matter.
Age is indeed really just a number. There is no order to things and I find it ironic that for a time, I found myself struggling to catch up. I still do this but the voice inside my head urging me not to has become louder with time. The truth is, I have never been a straight line type of gal. I go in every zig-zagged direction before I make it to my destination. And even then, I struggle with settling.
The word 'final' has never truly been in my vocabulary.
Someone told me recently while having a conversation about life, dreams and whatnot, that I seem to be more "settled" than she is. This struck up an emotion within me that only those who have experienced my bouts of extreme stubbornness could identify with.
I'm not settled.
I'm far from being settled.
What gives her the right to view my life in this way?
Perhaps it might not seem like an insult to some, or maybe even most of you. But over the last several months I've let these words identify me. They have slowly been seeping into my brain, rendering me paralyzed from moving forward.
I feel stuck.
Is it too late for me to go on one of my crazy, random adventures? Isn't it time I settle down, buy a house, pop out a couple of kiddos and live this American Life? Who's to say that I can't still travel and have kids and a home with 5 cats and a dog? Who's to say I have to follow the rules?
I never have before so I find it odd how much I'm struggling with even the thought of becoming uniform. Maybe it's because this is what I eventually am "supposed" to do. The critics floating around in my mind tell me it's not OK to be both nomadic and have a family with a white picket fence and a yard for the dog to roam.
I can't have it both ways.
Or can I?
I have been unhappy in my line of work for at least 5 of the 10 years I've been a part of it. Maybe I've never fully let myself settle into it though it's the security that has kept me from leaving after all of these years. I'm good at it. It pays the bills (sort of). It provides a place to go 5-6 days out of the week.
But I still feel lost and at a stand still.
I've always struggled with normalcy. Even the idea of it is something totally foreign to me. I remember having conversations in my head beginning at the age of 7. I would have contests with the people living in my mind over who takes the quickest shower, brushes her teeth faster, gets dressed, ect ect. Even then I recall stopping myself for a brief moment and clearly thinking, 'I don't think other children spend their time doing this, perhaps I'm crazy, oh well, who cares?'.
But I always cared...perhaps too much. Maybe even so much that it has affected me into my adult life. I care what people think and I care how my decisions, though they are my own, might affect the people I care about. This, I feel, has kept me from doing the things that have slowly, with time, become more and more important. I keep brushing them off, telling myself that there is always time. What's another day? Another week? Another year?
Suddenly the list has become massive in my brain and I'm feeling overwhelmed. Suddenly I have all of these things to accomplish and I don't know where to begin because I've been sitting in limbo for so long.Suddenly, I want to stop worrying so much about how it might affect someone else, when all along, it's been affecting myself without me being aware of it. I want to fill this void that prevents me from living.
Does this make me a bad person?
We all have a bucket list of dreams and we all have goals. Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult, I have separated these two items into to two completely different categories. Somewhere I have lost the ability to make my dreams come true without feeling guilty.
Not completely, but I do struggle when every day life simply gets in the way.
I'm 33 years old and feel like I have been putting a time stamp on everything. Today is the beginning of a new way of thinking. Today is a new day. Today, I choose to do whatever the hell I want.
Today, the adventure begins.

"After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows - you're wondering
If I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time -"
-Cyndi Lauper (Time After Time)