Sometimes I feel like a camera.
I lose focus and suddenly everything around me seems blurry. Some days, all it takes is a 20 minute yoga practice or dancing around the living room to The Grateful Dead and I'm back in the game. Others, it takes a bit more humph to get me going again and no matter how many times or how often I try to readjust the setting on my lens, everything still seems completely out of whack and the picture comes out all wrong.
I am trying to focus on being more positive of late. I somehow lost site of that somewhere in the past few months and though I usually adorn a cheery disposition on the outside, it sometimes doesn't seep through the rest of my skin and my insides are found wanting.
One day at a time, I have started to set new goals for myself. I find I get bored way too easily. My brain never stops thinking and my fingers never start wriggling throughout each task I feel the need to finish within a day. I make to do list upon to do list and feel guilty when I can't accomplish everything all at once. Then I get frustrated because the day is over and I have no time left to do something enjoyable.
I'm learning to make time for fun.
I'm also learning how to breathe. Maybe it's just me but I have made the observation that when I get particularly flustered, I hold my breath. Having no air circulating in and out of your lungs is not a good thing. I guess that's why you always hear people saying "take a deep breath before you do or say something that you're going to regret." There really is some truth to that. If you take the time it takes to breathe in and out one good deep breath, it may stop you from completely forming negative emotions and letting them pass through your body, causing more stress than is needed. The more I think on and practice this frame of mind, the more I am able to let go.
Letting go is never easy. I am often guilty of holding back and not finishing something because of my fear of rejection or not being liked. The past few days, I have been writing about a time in my life that I truly struggled. I was concerned that in writing about and revisiting these events, I would come out blotchy and crumpled like a roll of film being over exposed. The truth is that I need to get it out and it's OK to be exposed. That's what writing a memoir does to you. It reveals the insides and outs of one's life and I can't be too afraid or hold back too much. If I do, this great work that I am trying to create will never be formed into the something I want it to be.
Reading back over the sentences I've written this week, I have found that it's not quite as painful as I thought it would be. The words are beginning to flow and make sense. I have some gaps to fill in but I'm still in the very beginnings of what I hope becomes a great piece of art. I'm letting go and letting the blank page in front of me be the canvas for the photograph I want to create.
Even if it's a little bit blurry right now, I guess it's a start.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Aghan Girl
I remember the first time seeing this picture and having the same feeling towards it I have today. Many may say that her eyes are fearful but I draw nothing from it but strength and determination. Her eyes pierce through any spectator as if to challenge him into crossing her path.
She reminds me of Katniss from The Hunger Games.... But her story is not a work of fiction.
I was thinking about her this morning because my own conscience was beckoning for strength. Suddenly, this image crept into my mind. The moment it did, I felt as if I could accomplish any feat that might be tossed my way today.
I wanted to know more about this stranger and her ability to capture mine, and I'm sure so many others', attention. Everyone has at least seen this photograph at some point in their lives. She's famous and she never knew of or intended it. To me, that makes this image that much more beautiful.
I had never read her story until today: http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photographers/afghan-girl-cover.html
To hear her speak of her life would be an honor. She and those like her have so much to teach us all about life and the hardships that we face. She is a true warrior and I admire her and her path to freedom.
We spend so much of our time worrying about trivial matters. On days like today when I find myself worrying more than usual, I have to remind myself that it could always be worse.
I could be homeless and an orphan with no shoes on my feet or shirt over my back.
I was born into freedom and there are so many individuals in this world who will never get the chance to even take a glimpse into her eyes.
So I thank you Afghan Girl, wherever you may be. Thank you for humbling me and for giving me the strength I needed today. Your fight will never be overlooked.
My Kind Of Protest
It's that time of year again when everyone's politics and beliefs get put on public display because no one knows how to keep their opinions to themselves.
I know we live in a free country where freedom of speech is a huge benefit, but sometimes I think this one right is taken advantage of more than any other. Since when was it ever OK to knock other people onto their asses because they don't believe in the same thing you do?
Since when was it OK to ridicule someone just because they are different?
We are so obsessed with our right to speak freely that sometimes we forget that who or what we are speaking against is a person. The hatred that ensues over political or even moral conversation is baffling.
I'll be honest. I hate this time of year because it brings out the worst in people. Not everyone is in tune with the emotional status of another person. Not everyone cares; in fact, I don't think most do. Most are too busy "being right". There comes a line between speaking your opinion to get a point across and intentionally hurting your opponent just to win a stupid debate.
In my book, this is not OK.
My family and I went to explore downtown Brevard this past weekend and came upon a silent protest. There were 4 older men and their dog, all standing with signs about peace and anti-war. They didn't speak to anyone who passed them by unless they spoke to them first. They were calm and let their signs do the talking. It reminded me of John and Yoko and their bed in's.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.
I am constantly paranoid that people are judging me for not speaking up. My shyness has often come across as snobbery when I don't think that has ever been the case. I am a true observer in that I take every piece of information in before I form my own opinion about something. And in doing so, I still respect everyone else involved regardless if they agree with me or not. I avoid confrontation because I get so tongue tied that I can never get out the ideas that are forming in my brain. I don't like to argue with anyone or to prove myself and my beliefs. I know how I feel and it's no one elses business but my own. At times, this makes me look ignorant and perhaps I'm being judged for that as well.
Maybe I am too sensitive to everyone elses' feelings. Maybe I'm too sensitive myself. I posted a video on YouTube once. It was just a silly 20 second video with me and the stuffed rabbit Andrew and I always take with us on vacation. We thought it would be funny to post it with the title "Rabbit Attacks Girl". After awhile there were more dislikes than likes posted towards it and the comments got nastier and nastier, one being that I was a "troll girl".
My feelings were hurt by a person I didn't even know and I tried to understand why in the World someone would say such a terrible thing just because they didn't like something. It's just a video, if you don't like it, fine. But why go completely out of your way to intentionally make another person feel badly? I just don't get it. I deleted the video because I personally couldn't handle the criticism being thrown at me over something that was just supposed to be fun and silly and possibly make someone else laugh.
My point is this: Think before you speak. Is it really necessary to share how you feel if it's going to cause someone elses emotions harm? I know sometimes these conversations need to happen if the other person's actions are causing an issue in the workplace or social event, ect. But fiirst ask yourself, is it worth it for everyone involved? If not, just let it go. It's not that hard. Life is too short to be bitter, judging every person, place and thing that you come into contact with.
To quote one of my favorite movies Bill and Ted, "Be excellent to each other. And.... Party on dudes!"
You might just be surprised at how much better you feel focusing all of your energy on something positive.
I know we live in a free country where freedom of speech is a huge benefit, but sometimes I think this one right is taken advantage of more than any other. Since when was it ever OK to knock other people onto their asses because they don't believe in the same thing you do?
Since when was it OK to ridicule someone just because they are different?
We are so obsessed with our right to speak freely that sometimes we forget that who or what we are speaking against is a person. The hatred that ensues over political or even moral conversation is baffling.
I'll be honest. I hate this time of year because it brings out the worst in people. Not everyone is in tune with the emotional status of another person. Not everyone cares; in fact, I don't think most do. Most are too busy "being right". There comes a line between speaking your opinion to get a point across and intentionally hurting your opponent just to win a stupid debate.
In my book, this is not OK.
My family and I went to explore downtown Brevard this past weekend and came upon a silent protest. There were 4 older men and their dog, all standing with signs about peace and anti-war. They didn't speak to anyone who passed them by unless they spoke to them first. They were calm and let their signs do the talking. It reminded me of John and Yoko and their bed in's.
Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.
I am constantly paranoid that people are judging me for not speaking up. My shyness has often come across as snobbery when I don't think that has ever been the case. I am a true observer in that I take every piece of information in before I form my own opinion about something. And in doing so, I still respect everyone else involved regardless if they agree with me or not. I avoid confrontation because I get so tongue tied that I can never get out the ideas that are forming in my brain. I don't like to argue with anyone or to prove myself and my beliefs. I know how I feel and it's no one elses business but my own. At times, this makes me look ignorant and perhaps I'm being judged for that as well.
Maybe I am too sensitive to everyone elses' feelings. Maybe I'm too sensitive myself. I posted a video on YouTube once. It was just a silly 20 second video with me and the stuffed rabbit Andrew and I always take with us on vacation. We thought it would be funny to post it with the title "Rabbit Attacks Girl". After awhile there were more dislikes than likes posted towards it and the comments got nastier and nastier, one being that I was a "troll girl".
My feelings were hurt by a person I didn't even know and I tried to understand why in the World someone would say such a terrible thing just because they didn't like something. It's just a video, if you don't like it, fine. But why go completely out of your way to intentionally make another person feel badly? I just don't get it. I deleted the video because I personally couldn't handle the criticism being thrown at me over something that was just supposed to be fun and silly and possibly make someone else laugh.
My point is this: Think before you speak. Is it really necessary to share how you feel if it's going to cause someone elses emotions harm? I know sometimes these conversations need to happen if the other person's actions are causing an issue in the workplace or social event, ect. But fiirst ask yourself, is it worth it for everyone involved? If not, just let it go. It's not that hard. Life is too short to be bitter, judging every person, place and thing that you come into contact with.
To quote one of my favorite movies Bill and Ted, "Be excellent to each other. And.... Party on dudes!"
You might just be surprised at how much better you feel focusing all of your energy on something positive.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
I have a new motto and it is precisely this: Let them come to me.
I have always been the initiator in keeping in touch with people, whether it's old co-workers, friends, family, ect. I'm usually the first one to write or to pick up the phone, which makes it that much more of a special event when someone actually beats me to it. I know that lives get busy. Heck, my own life seems to never stop beating. I know that I am constantly thinking about other people and how much I miss seeing or talking to them on a regular basis. My hope is that they think about me as often.
But gestures matter to me. Sometimes so much that it hurts my feelings when it seems I am the only one trying to keep things going. I know deep down that a lot of these feelings stem down to my paranoia of people not liking me. I know this isn't true but leave me alone to think about it for more than 5 minutes and I will have convinced myself that the world in general doesn't except me and that this includes everyone else I have ever known or will ever meet.
I was that girl who sat by the phone, willing it to ring. I can't remember a time when I didn't feel as though I was waiting for something to happen. In a way, I still am that little girl and I'm tired of waiting.
I want to soar.
And I refuse to let others' actions, or lack there of, hold me back from flying to the highest peak I can possibly get to. It is no fault but my own in that I have let this happen again and again. I offer excuse upon excuse as to why I didn't just go out on my own; by myself to explore the great wide open. I have forever wanted, and sometimes even claimed, to be confident and independent. I don't need to rely on anyone else in order to make myself happy.
My happiness lies within my hands alone, with maybe a little help from whoever is looking out for us up above.
It's so easy to let oneself get settled within the twines of everyday life. But I don't want to keep putting off my dreams because I'm too exhausted or because I have a headache or because I can always do it tomorrow or the next day. There are no guarantees that there will be a next day so the challenge is this:
GET OFF OF YOUR ASS MARY AND DO WHAT YOU WANT TO DO!!! STOP MAKING EXCUSES THAT YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH OR TALENTED ENOUGH TO MAKE A MARK ON THIS WORLD. HOW WILL YOU KNOW IF YOU DON'T EVEN TRY? STOP COMPLAINING AND IF YOU FAIL, YOU FAIL. YOU JUST GET RIGHT BACK UP AND TRY AGAIN IN YOUR NEXT ADVENTURE. DON'T GIVE UP. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. FLY DAMN IT!!!
Just spread your dusty wings
...and fly.
"Go ahead and take your best shot,
Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,
I'm laid out on the floor, but I've been here before,
I may stumble, yeah I might fall,
Only human aren't we all?
I might lose my way, but hear me when I say,
I will stand back up,
You'll know just the moment when I've had enough,
Sometimes I'm afraid, and I don't feel that tough,
But I'll stand back up,"
Sugarland
I have always been the initiator in keeping in touch with people, whether it's old co-workers, friends, family, ect. I'm usually the first one to write or to pick up the phone, which makes it that much more of a special event when someone actually beats me to it. I know that lives get busy. Heck, my own life seems to never stop beating. I know that I am constantly thinking about other people and how much I miss seeing or talking to them on a regular basis. My hope is that they think about me as often.
But gestures matter to me. Sometimes so much that it hurts my feelings when it seems I am the only one trying to keep things going. I know deep down that a lot of these feelings stem down to my paranoia of people not liking me. I know this isn't true but leave me alone to think about it for more than 5 minutes and I will have convinced myself that the world in general doesn't except me and that this includes everyone else I have ever known or will ever meet.
I was that girl who sat by the phone, willing it to ring. I can't remember a time when I didn't feel as though I was waiting for something to happen. In a way, I still am that little girl and I'm tired of waiting.
I want to soar.
And I refuse to let others' actions, or lack there of, hold me back from flying to the highest peak I can possibly get to. It is no fault but my own in that I have let this happen again and again. I offer excuse upon excuse as to why I didn't just go out on my own; by myself to explore the great wide open. I have forever wanted, and sometimes even claimed, to be confident and independent. I don't need to rely on anyone else in order to make myself happy.
My happiness lies within my hands alone, with maybe a little help from whoever is looking out for us up above.
It's so easy to let oneself get settled within the twines of everyday life. But I don't want to keep putting off my dreams because I'm too exhausted or because I have a headache or because I can always do it tomorrow or the next day. There are no guarantees that there will be a next day so the challenge is this:
GET OFF OF YOUR ASS MARY AND DO WHAT YOU WANT TO DO!!! STOP MAKING EXCUSES THAT YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH OR TALENTED ENOUGH TO MAKE A MARK ON THIS WORLD. HOW WILL YOU KNOW IF YOU DON'T EVEN TRY? STOP COMPLAINING AND IF YOU FAIL, YOU FAIL. YOU JUST GET RIGHT BACK UP AND TRY AGAIN IN YOUR NEXT ADVENTURE. DON'T GIVE UP. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. FLY DAMN IT!!!
Just spread your dusty wings
...and fly.
"Go ahead and take your best shot,
Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,
I'm laid out on the floor, but I've been here before,
I may stumble, yeah I might fall,
Only human aren't we all?
I might lose my way, but hear me when I say,
I will stand back up,
You'll know just the moment when I've had enough,
Sometimes I'm afraid, and I don't feel that tough,
But I'll stand back up,"
Sugarland
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Counseling Sessions
I have never been a big fan of counseling. I think it works tremendously well for a lot of people but it has never been my cup of tea. Perhaps, it's because my few experiences with it were somewhat forced upon me.
The first time, was when I was in 6th grade. My parents were separated at the time and were going to a counselor whose name rhymed with "walrus". (From here on out, he will be known as "Doctor Walrus", which is actually the name I have always used for him because I hated him from the get go. Hey. When you're a naive ten year old little girl, this is as nasty as the insults can get...and I felt bad for calling him that, not for his sake...but for all of the walruses out there that I insulted. I am so sorry. )
It was bad enough that my parents weren't together during that time and for some reason, they thought it would be a fantastic idea to have my brother Pat and I meet the counselor they had been going to for months. (Enter the Walrus.) I had no interest in lying on a couch, talking to a stranger about how their separation made me feel. I wanted to grab him by his big teeth-y tusks (I've always had a vivid imagination...) and scream "How do you think it makes me feel you big dummy?!?"
Poor guy. He never had a chance.
My second experience with a counselor was when I was in high school. Someone had seen me crying out in the hallway because I had just received my first (and only) "F" on a report card. I was in hysterics and my boyfriend at the time was trying to comfort me but getting absolutely nowhere. I couldn't even talk, I was so upset. I'm not even sure he understood why I was crying so hard in the first place.
The bell rang and I reluctantly let go of him and walked to my next class. A few minutes later, another student came in and handed a note to my teacher. She looked at it briefly, then called my name. I walked up to the front of the class and she handed me the note.
I was being summoned to the guidance counselor.
Seriously? A girl can't stand and cry hysterically in the hallway without having someone concerned she's going to commit suicide? I guess it's sweet that a complete stranger found it in her heart to be concerned about me, but it really only made matters worse.
I remember walking through the hallways, back and forth, not sure where I was going because I had never had to visit the guidance counselor before. When I finally made it she simply asked me why I had been so upset and I told her about my grade. She looked at me like I was an idiot and like "Don't you know there are students here with real problems?!?" I gave her a look back like "Hey lady. This wasn't my idea. Once I get the tears out, I'm good to go.Believe me. I didn't ask for this extra attention."
The third and final time I attempted going to a counselor was during my second semester at UNCW. I had decided that I wanted to drop out. I was miserable, unhappy and borderline anorexic. I couldn't sleep and my grades were starting to slip. I was a walking zombie girl, wearing pajama pants and frazzled hair to class, not caring what was going on around me.
I had mild thoughts about killing myself whenever I saw a sharp object lying in front of me. It could have been a razor or a knife, didn't matter. I somehow always imagined how it would feel to plunge it into my body...just to stop or at least numb the pain I was feeling. These thoughts only lasted a few seconds and were never really real. But, I'm guessing that's not a normal way to feel.
The head administrator of the college called me once he received my drop-out form , exclaiming that I couldn't just quit and blah blah blah. He was kind of an ass actually, which made me want to leave even more. He then suggested...you guessed it...that I go to a counselor.
I thought to myself, "Well self. Third time's a charm."
I went and all the guy had to say to me is "I see you have an engagement ring on. Does this decision have anything to do with that?"
I'm not exactly sure what the words were that came out of my mouth, but I can only imagine it wasn't a pleasant conversation from then on out. All I really remember of this event is that I got defensive and told him that I just wasn't happy there and that it didn't matter that my fiance' at the time wasn't there. I would have been unhappy in Wilmington regardless of the situation. It just wasn't for me and I felt like I needed to regroup and set new boundaries, create new dreams for myself. If I stayed, I would have been wasting my time.
I don't like to waste my time. I like to have a goal in mind. I might get side-tracked at times, but I always reach my destination eventually. I was tired of trying to prove myself to him and to anyone else who just didn't understand. I wasn't asking for understanding.
I was asking for support.
I walked out of his office, not caring whether or not he thought I was being selfish or just plain crazy. Maybe I was being a little of both. I have never been one to give up the chance to search for something better. I already knew that I didn't belong there...so why should I have stayed?
So alas, I decided on my walk back to my dorm room, that I would never go see a counselor again.
It's not that I think anything is wrong with it, I truly don't and as I said before, I know counseling has helped so many people in this cruel world. It's just not for me. Maybe it's because I set up a huge defense when I meet anyone new, not wanting to let my guard down completely, in fear that he might perceive me as being weak...or that he will take advantage of my obvious sensitivity.
There have been many chapters during my life in which the suggestion to talk to a "professional" has been brought to my attention. I just blow it off, knowing that I don't need it.
I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to accept that I am a stubborn individual who doesn't willingly seek out help...even when it's needed. I have to get my own thoughts together in order to understand myself...sometimes it takes awhile and sometimes it's a struggle. I've just always been of the mind, if I can't figure it out, how can a stranger?
I think we all have our different types of "therapy". I've always used my writing as a way to get through and understand all of the random thoughts and ideas that are hiding within my brain.
It's worked so far, so I guess I'm doing something right.
"And When I talk about therapy I know what people think. That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink. But oh how I loved everybody else, when I finally got to talk so much about myself."
Dar Williams
The first time, was when I was in 6th grade. My parents were separated at the time and were going to a counselor whose name rhymed with "walrus". (From here on out, he will be known as "Doctor Walrus", which is actually the name I have always used for him because I hated him from the get go. Hey. When you're a naive ten year old little girl, this is as nasty as the insults can get...and I felt bad for calling him that, not for his sake...but for all of the walruses out there that I insulted. I am so sorry. )
It was bad enough that my parents weren't together during that time and for some reason, they thought it would be a fantastic idea to have my brother Pat and I meet the counselor they had been going to for months. (Enter the Walrus.) I had no interest in lying on a couch, talking to a stranger about how their separation made me feel. I wanted to grab him by his big teeth-y tusks (I've always had a vivid imagination...) and scream "How do you think it makes me feel you big dummy?!?"
Poor guy. He never had a chance.
My second experience with a counselor was when I was in high school. Someone had seen me crying out in the hallway because I had just received my first (and only) "F" on a report card. I was in hysterics and my boyfriend at the time was trying to comfort me but getting absolutely nowhere. I couldn't even talk, I was so upset. I'm not even sure he understood why I was crying so hard in the first place.
The bell rang and I reluctantly let go of him and walked to my next class. A few minutes later, another student came in and handed a note to my teacher. She looked at it briefly, then called my name. I walked up to the front of the class and she handed me the note.
I was being summoned to the guidance counselor.
Seriously? A girl can't stand and cry hysterically in the hallway without having someone concerned she's going to commit suicide? I guess it's sweet that a complete stranger found it in her heart to be concerned about me, but it really only made matters worse.
I remember walking through the hallways, back and forth, not sure where I was going because I had never had to visit the guidance counselor before. When I finally made it she simply asked me why I had been so upset and I told her about my grade. She looked at me like I was an idiot and like "Don't you know there are students here with real problems?!?" I gave her a look back like "Hey lady. This wasn't my idea. Once I get the tears out, I'm good to go.Believe me. I didn't ask for this extra attention."
The third and final time I attempted going to a counselor was during my second semester at UNCW. I had decided that I wanted to drop out. I was miserable, unhappy and borderline anorexic. I couldn't sleep and my grades were starting to slip. I was a walking zombie girl, wearing pajama pants and frazzled hair to class, not caring what was going on around me.
I had mild thoughts about killing myself whenever I saw a sharp object lying in front of me. It could have been a razor or a knife, didn't matter. I somehow always imagined how it would feel to plunge it into my body...just to stop or at least numb the pain I was feeling. These thoughts only lasted a few seconds and were never really real. But, I'm guessing that's not a normal way to feel.
The head administrator of the college called me once he received my drop-out form , exclaiming that I couldn't just quit and blah blah blah. He was kind of an ass actually, which made me want to leave even more. He then suggested...you guessed it...that I go to a counselor.
I thought to myself, "Well self. Third time's a charm."
I went and all the guy had to say to me is "I see you have an engagement ring on. Does this decision have anything to do with that?"
I'm not exactly sure what the words were that came out of my mouth, but I can only imagine it wasn't a pleasant conversation from then on out. All I really remember of this event is that I got defensive and told him that I just wasn't happy there and that it didn't matter that my fiance' at the time wasn't there. I would have been unhappy in Wilmington regardless of the situation. It just wasn't for me and I felt like I needed to regroup and set new boundaries, create new dreams for myself. If I stayed, I would have been wasting my time.
I don't like to waste my time. I like to have a goal in mind. I might get side-tracked at times, but I always reach my destination eventually. I was tired of trying to prove myself to him and to anyone else who just didn't understand. I wasn't asking for understanding.
I was asking for support.
I walked out of his office, not caring whether or not he thought I was being selfish or just plain crazy. Maybe I was being a little of both. I have never been one to give up the chance to search for something better. I already knew that I didn't belong there...so why should I have stayed?
So alas, I decided on my walk back to my dorm room, that I would never go see a counselor again.
It's not that I think anything is wrong with it, I truly don't and as I said before, I know counseling has helped so many people in this cruel world. It's just not for me. Maybe it's because I set up a huge defense when I meet anyone new, not wanting to let my guard down completely, in fear that he might perceive me as being weak...or that he will take advantage of my obvious sensitivity.
There have been many chapters during my life in which the suggestion to talk to a "professional" has been brought to my attention. I just blow it off, knowing that I don't need it.
I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to accept that I am a stubborn individual who doesn't willingly seek out help...even when it's needed. I have to get my own thoughts together in order to understand myself...sometimes it takes awhile and sometimes it's a struggle. I've just always been of the mind, if I can't figure it out, how can a stranger?
I think we all have our different types of "therapy". I've always used my writing as a way to get through and understand all of the random thoughts and ideas that are hiding within my brain.
It's worked so far, so I guess I'm doing something right.
"And When I talk about therapy I know what people think. That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink. But oh how I loved everybody else, when I finally got to talk so much about myself."
Dar Williams
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Inspiration Via the Form of a Boosk.
After writing yesterday's post, I became very agitated. I kept reading it over and over again and I felt like I wasn't able to truly get across what I was trying to say. I asked Andrew to analyze it (because he's the best husband ever:), and he sort of got it but not quite to the extent I was aiming for.
I became more frustrated,
And, like he always does, he listened to me rant on and on about the way my brain works, jumping from one random thought to the other, protecting itself and my heart from the wall I put up years ago. I'm so scared to break down that wall because all of that pain is lingering there, awaiting my arrival and I'm not sure I'm ready for it.
I'm not sure I ever will be.
He then asked me if I ever considered trying to write from a fictional aspect, creating a character who is more or less me, but not labeling it as myself.
As he was asking me this, my thoughts went on a rampage as I tried to store and memorize each one for future chapters.
I of course, fought the idea at first. How am I supposed to write about a fictional character who is truly myself? How does that work? How is it any different from writing from a non-fiction angle?
He left the room and I stared at my computer screen.
And I began to type.
30 minutes later, I had the beginnings of a chapter. Two pages, single spaced that were completely raw and true...and about me. The words were all thoughts I must have tucked away at some point in my life and they came out so freely and so flowing. I had no idea that they were even there or why I wrote about that certain time in the first place. It just came out and I was happy by the product and felt better once I got it out on paper in the "open".
Funny thing is, I didn't feel defeated. I thought that if I went back there, I would break down and that old familiar pain would overcome me.
It didn't. It just made me feel more empowered, knowing I had lived the scene I had just panned out...and that I had survived it all.
Suddenly, the thoughts are pouring out and I can't get them written down fast enough.
I'm not sure how this worked, but I'm not complaining.
Thank you boosk for being my inspiration every day. And thank you for knowing me more than anyone else and for listening to all of the ramblings of my brain as I try to figure out my next "project" or "endeavor". Most importantly, thank you for loving me in spite of all of this.
You are my muse and I am forever grateful to you.
I became more frustrated,
And, like he always does, he listened to me rant on and on about the way my brain works, jumping from one random thought to the other, protecting itself and my heart from the wall I put up years ago. I'm so scared to break down that wall because all of that pain is lingering there, awaiting my arrival and I'm not sure I'm ready for it.
I'm not sure I ever will be.
He then asked me if I ever considered trying to write from a fictional aspect, creating a character who is more or less me, but not labeling it as myself.
As he was asking me this, my thoughts went on a rampage as I tried to store and memorize each one for future chapters.
I of course, fought the idea at first. How am I supposed to write about a fictional character who is truly myself? How does that work? How is it any different from writing from a non-fiction angle?
He left the room and I stared at my computer screen.
And I began to type.
30 minutes later, I had the beginnings of a chapter. Two pages, single spaced that were completely raw and true...and about me. The words were all thoughts I must have tucked away at some point in my life and they came out so freely and so flowing. I had no idea that they were even there or why I wrote about that certain time in the first place. It just came out and I was happy by the product and felt better once I got it out on paper in the "open".
Funny thing is, I didn't feel defeated. I thought that if I went back there, I would break down and that old familiar pain would overcome me.
It didn't. It just made me feel more empowered, knowing I had lived the scene I had just panned out...and that I had survived it all.
Suddenly, the thoughts are pouring out and I can't get them written down fast enough.
I'm not sure how this worked, but I'm not complaining.
Thank you boosk for being my inspiration every day. And thank you for knowing me more than anyone else and for listening to all of the ramblings of my brain as I try to figure out my next "project" or "endeavor". Most importantly, thank you for loving me in spite of all of this.
You are my muse and I am forever grateful to you.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Rediscovering Self Discovery
It's hard when you are so happy and your brain is trying to empower you to write about such sad events. This is not to say that my entire life has been sad. All in all, I've had a wonderful life thus far. Yes. There have been many rocks, twists and turns along the road, but it's these memories that have made me into a stronger person. It's these memories that make me so appreciative of what I have now.
But sometimes I let myself falter. Sometimes I cave and become that small, insecure being that somehow always felt invisible.
Sometimes it seems easier to be her when in all reality, I could never ever go back.
It's been two months since I have written anything real and it's the fear of what will come out that's holding me back. I've never disciplined myself to sit and think only about me and my life experiences. I always find myself going back and forth between one person to another, wanting to know more about them, too scared to open the closed door within myself to learn more of who I am; too scared to reveal the true person that lies within.
What if no one likes her?
What if I don't like her?
I've become so frustrated while reading old poetry by a girl who could only see the suffering in the world. Wars, famine and tears made her angry and powerless; keeping all of that pent up anxiety mostly inside until she burst out with random words on paper. Poetry of one failed relationship after the other.
The names always changed, but the poems remained the same.
None of this is interesting. It's simply annoying.
God. I was so annoying!
I mean, I am all about peace and love and am completely anti-war, but writing 300 some poems about this mere fact got me absolutely nowhere. It only lead to more bad poetry and less of me being able to understand that I couldn't save the whole entire world. It was exhausting and even now, it's exhausting to go back and read it all; to feel that old familiar pain that is always lingering somewhere within me.
In other words, rediscovering one's self is an absolute bitch.
It's no wonder that I often find myself half passed out on the couch in the evenings, asking myself over and over again, what did I do to make me so tired? The truth of it is that I spend a lot of my energy on a daily basis worrying about every little thing from if I forgot to say "Thank You" in the checkout line to "How in the world did Amendment One get passed?" Sometimes, in fact most times, I can't shut my brain off long enough to even get a decent night's sleep.
And yet I'm not unhappy. I'm the happiest I've ever been. I don't feel like I have ever been a negative person and yet so much of my writing has come out in negative thoughts. Perhaps "negative" isn't the correct word. Maybe "real" is more fitting. Everything I write about is about "real world issues". But it's hard being such a positive, happy, daisy picking person, constantly thinking about everything that's wrong in the world.
Why think about it then?
Because you have to if you want to be a part of fixing it.
I have always tried to see the silver lining in every situation I've encountered. I admit, there was a brief time when I wanted to give up and let myself drown in the current I was fighting so hard against. I wanted so badly to go back to the days of watching the newest Disney movie with my Dad, riding bikes out in the front yard with my brother and taking walks and picking flowers in the garden with my Mom.
I didn't realize that I never really had to stop doing these things. Society secretly took over without me even realizing and I got so caught up in what's right and wrong, appropriate and inappropriate. I got lost in the shuffle of everything.
It was no one's fault but my own.
At one point, I think I truly lost my favorite part of myself; the naivety of believing that everyone is truly good on the inside, it just sometimes comes out bad on the outside. I let this one personality trait take over completely and it nearly erased me into someone I no longer recognized. I became jaded and always hurt and suspicious, never trusting and always thinking everyone had a secret agenda. I went from one extreme to the other. There was no happy medium. I was "Little Girl Lost".
But I broke free, and though sometimes I still have days full of nothing but worry and regret, I look around me and am reminded how very far I have come. I refuse to be taken back in by the evils that threaten my happiness. It may catch me off guard from time to time, but I will always be just a little bit stronger.
I will always win in the end.
"I was born to laugh. I learned to laugh through my tears. I was born to love. I'm gonna learn to love, without fear."
Over the Rhine
But sometimes I let myself falter. Sometimes I cave and become that small, insecure being that somehow always felt invisible.
Sometimes it seems easier to be her when in all reality, I could never ever go back.
It's been two months since I have written anything real and it's the fear of what will come out that's holding me back. I've never disciplined myself to sit and think only about me and my life experiences. I always find myself going back and forth between one person to another, wanting to know more about them, too scared to open the closed door within myself to learn more of who I am; too scared to reveal the true person that lies within.
What if no one likes her?
What if I don't like her?
I've become so frustrated while reading old poetry by a girl who could only see the suffering in the world. Wars, famine and tears made her angry and powerless; keeping all of that pent up anxiety mostly inside until she burst out with random words on paper. Poetry of one failed relationship after the other.
The names always changed, but the poems remained the same.
None of this is interesting. It's simply annoying.
God. I was so annoying!
I mean, I am all about peace and love and am completely anti-war, but writing 300 some poems about this mere fact got me absolutely nowhere. It only lead to more bad poetry and less of me being able to understand that I couldn't save the whole entire world. It was exhausting and even now, it's exhausting to go back and read it all; to feel that old familiar pain that is always lingering somewhere within me.
In other words, rediscovering one's self is an absolute bitch.
It's no wonder that I often find myself half passed out on the couch in the evenings, asking myself over and over again, what did I do to make me so tired? The truth of it is that I spend a lot of my energy on a daily basis worrying about every little thing from if I forgot to say "Thank You" in the checkout line to "How in the world did Amendment One get passed?" Sometimes, in fact most times, I can't shut my brain off long enough to even get a decent night's sleep.
And yet I'm not unhappy. I'm the happiest I've ever been. I don't feel like I have ever been a negative person and yet so much of my writing has come out in negative thoughts. Perhaps "negative" isn't the correct word. Maybe "real" is more fitting. Everything I write about is about "real world issues". But it's hard being such a positive, happy, daisy picking person, constantly thinking about everything that's wrong in the world.
Why think about it then?
Because you have to if you want to be a part of fixing it.
I have always tried to see the silver lining in every situation I've encountered. I admit, there was a brief time when I wanted to give up and let myself drown in the current I was fighting so hard against. I wanted so badly to go back to the days of watching the newest Disney movie with my Dad, riding bikes out in the front yard with my brother and taking walks and picking flowers in the garden with my Mom.
I didn't realize that I never really had to stop doing these things. Society secretly took over without me even realizing and I got so caught up in what's right and wrong, appropriate and inappropriate. I got lost in the shuffle of everything.
It was no one's fault but my own.
At one point, I think I truly lost my favorite part of myself; the naivety of believing that everyone is truly good on the inside, it just sometimes comes out bad on the outside. I let this one personality trait take over completely and it nearly erased me into someone I no longer recognized. I became jaded and always hurt and suspicious, never trusting and always thinking everyone had a secret agenda. I went from one extreme to the other. There was no happy medium. I was "Little Girl Lost".
But I broke free, and though sometimes I still have days full of nothing but worry and regret, I look around me and am reminded how very far I have come. I refuse to be taken back in by the evils that threaten my happiness. It may catch me off guard from time to time, but I will always be just a little bit stronger.
I will always win in the end.
"I was born to laugh. I learned to laugh through my tears. I was born to love. I'm gonna learn to love, without fear."
Over the Rhine
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