Music and House Concerts! Asheville Is Where Dreams Come True

Well hello there! Remember me? It's been awhile but one could say I've been busy with making my dreams come true.
Yes. It's finally happened. I've found my calling.
What makes this whole process even more fantastic is the simple fact that this calling is shared with my best friend and most favorite person in the whole wide world; my husband Andrew.
We were just driving along on one of our many road trips one day when it suddenly came to us. What if we asked one of our favorite husband and wife musical teams to come perform a house concert in our home? We had tried on several occasions to see a show and something always came up. One of them happened to be a house concert that was canceled and we were so bummed.
We have this room in our home we've been trying to figure out how to use. It's been a library and a place for us to play our own music, but mostly, it's just been an empty space craving some love and attention. One thing I did know from the get go was that I didn't want a TV in there. Its such a beautiful space, it would be insulting to add such a trivial distraction.
So we already knew that the acoustics are grand and that the area is big enough to hold 35-40 people somewhat comfortably. (Thank you annual Christmas party for proving this fact.) Thus the idea was formed to simply ask said musicians (who happen to be Stacey Earle and Mark Stuart...if you were wondering) if they would be interested. We figured, it never hurts to ask and the worst they could say was 'no'. At least we would have tried, failed and moved on knowing that this was all we could do.
So I wrote them.
And they wrote me back Five. Minutes. Later.
AND, they said they were interested.
What?
Is this really happening? Am I being punk'd?
OK. So needless to say, we were both thrilled upon learning that such an event could occur in our own home. This got us thinking. If they said yes, who else might be interested?
Then I did what any logical person would do (of course after jumping up and down for an exclusive amount of time, feeling like a silly teenage girl....), I made a Facebook page so that we could actually send something concrete to any given musician and/or their agent. We then began making a list (have I mentioned my love for lists?) of all of our favorite musicians, big and small. My love for research was rekindled as I began to search the contact tabs on each of their personal websites and also on Facebook to see who we needed to get in touch with to make this happen. The mass of emails building up in my inbox brought us so much joy as we read one after another, learning that the majority of these musicians love performing house concerts.
What the what?
Thus the booking began and here we are, 5 months later. We've hosted 3 concerts so far and have several more to go before the end of the year. AND we've already booked 3 weekends in January and 2 in February of 2014.
I can't even begin to describe to you the excitement we feel with the whole process of booking these house concerts. From start to finish, it's a huge thrill ride and we love and enjoy every single moment. These shows bring something different and purely magical to the community. How many people can truly say that they've sat down and had a real conversation with one of their favorite musical artists? Via hosting these events, we're making this happen for our friends, old and new. There's something to be said about having a small gathering of people together in one room, enjoying a beer or a glass of wine, sitting in front of a talented artist. I personally feel like I'm getting my own private concert during these shows and looking around the room while they're happening, I get the sense that everyone else feels the same way. Then I glance over at my husband, we share a loving smile,and we have a moment when we're briefly reminded that we made this happen.
When we first moved here from Raleigh to Asheville, I think we were surprised and a bit intimidated by all this town has to offer. I grew up here, but I personally was reminded of a time when I needed to get out, partially to get away from a hard time in my life, but slightly because I felt like I wasn't good enough to be part of such a creative, artistic, amazing place. Revisiting these memories gave me anxiety and for one, brief moment, I was concerned that I would once again feel trapped into feeling unworthy. There was something different about this time around and it's simply that I'm no longer alone. Andrew gets me. We get each other. And together, I've found that if we truly want to make something happen, whether it's to learn a new hobby or host house concerts, we will indeed, make it happen. His love inspires me everyday to step outside my comfort zone just a little bit more.
One can be scared of failure, but until you try, how will you know if you will fail or succeed?
All it took was one email and this phenomenal dream was born. I can't wait to see where this journey takes us next.
So let's dim down the lights and listen to the music.

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.” 
-Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy (Or you might remember this quote from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory:)

Here is the link to our Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/SummerglenHouseConcerts
Hope to see you at one of our shows!

I'll Stand Back Up

I have been taking some time the past few days to reflect on some possibilities for my life. I have tried to remain realistic and rational, two qualities I don't seem to carry when I need them the most. Usually, when faced with such decision making, I find myself feeling overwhelmed at each prospect and tend to stay where it is I at least feel safe, even if I know deep down, in the end I will not be happy with the result. I then feel like grabbing my hair with ferocious frustration and run screaming for the hills before anyone has the chance to stop me.
This time, I am trying to approach life more peacefully. It seems I have yet another chance to change the course I've been taking for the past almost 10 years. I feel it's the universes way of telling me "Hey, remember those dreams you've been dreaming and yet not focusing on because you have a job that pays the bills and gets you through? They're still here. Take this chance NOW before another 10 years passes you by and you're too old to accomplish whatever it is you want to get out of this life that is so very short in all  reality."
Ok Universe. I hear you loud and clear.
So when I find myself getting distracted and discouraged over the fear of failing, I try to take a few moments to meditate and truly focus on what it is I truly want. Here is what I've discovered thus far: I have no need or want to be famous. I just want to be heard. I want to make a difference and if my story somehow touches another soul in some small way, this is achievement enough. I find that I have been letting all of the distractions and excuses of everyday life get in the way of actually living my life. I watch people go out with their friends or do meaningful tasks after working the same long hours I have worked. I tell myself over and over again that I will accomplish one small task in a day and seem to be coming up empty of late. I have no motivation or energy and I can't quite pinpoint where the lack of feeling any sort of emotion other than exhaustion is coming from. I can usually shake it and fight against it, but lately. Nothing. I'm numb and feel more like one of the extras in "The Walking Dead" rather than being the star of the show called My Life. Hope seems so far away even though I know I still have some. I just don't know how to bring it back up to the surface. I don't know where to begin.
So I breathe. In and out, out and in. Doing so merely to bring myself back to the situation at hand. I know myself enough to appreciate the fact of if I don't do something now, even if I fail, I will regret it for the rest of my life.
I need to forget the whole concept of being accepted or worrying about what everyone else does or might think. Who cares? Why do I care so much about statistics and acceptance? I try to hide how much it affects me but it comes boiling up to the surface again each time I try to ignore it in hopes that age and wisdom will win out this time. Slowly, but surely, I'm starting to realize that it doesn't really matter. I'm losing sight over what does matter and it's this and this fact alone; so many of us have a dream and more often than not, we let fear take control and keep us from doing the things we want to do. I can't let fear control me anymore or I'm going to go insane with worry. I can't do it anymore. I have to find a way to stop. I have to find a way to make my life my own again.
I just wish I knew what to do and how to make this happen. I feel like I'm full of so much and the threat of  exploding could happen at any given moment. But I just keep holding back. I don't feel like I used to hold back as much. Maybe, just maybe, I'm scared of the person who will be revealed should I actually say the words I'm thinking or share the feelings I'm feeling.
I feel lost in the crowd. I guess, in a way, I've always felt like this in some form; like I'm invisible and no one can truly see me or the person I am and who I want to be, just another face with no meaning, shrinking away into a tiny existence that holds no relevance.
There are so many pieces to me and my life that I feel I need to pick and take apart, then somehow reconstruct them into a work of art I can simply call my own. I don't want to create a story based on small facts I've lived throughout my life. I want to write my story. Yet it seems to be so much harder than creating a character of fiction. I've spent so much of my life focusing on everyone else and can somehow muster up enough positivity to throw in their direction, but when it comes to dealing with myself and my pain, I don't seem to have enough positive healing left over.
So I wait for a new day, letting each hour, each minute, each second pass me by when deep down I know that I could have used that time to create something wonderful.  I do hear the words of encouragement coming out of everyone elses mouths preaching "you can do it" and "we believe in you", but it isn't until I can say these same words to myself that I can truly change and succeed.
I'm tired of waiting and I have to start somewhere. So this is it, the beginning of a journey I thought I had started when I created this blog. In truth, I've only been procrastinating, hiding behind the small glimpses of my story that I have offered to you here.
Today is the day I start to follow my dreams. Today is the day I spread my wings and fly. I may fall more than once, but I will get back up and try again. The only truth in failure is if I don't try at all.
Here it goes.

"I've been beaten up and bruised,
I've been kicked right off my shoes,
Been down on my knees more times than you'd believe,
When the darkness tries to get me,
There's a light that just won't let me,
It might take my pride, and my tears may fill my eyes,
But I'll stand back up"
-Sugarland

Judgement Day

I struggle with judgement every day.
Perhaps we all do.
I find myself hearing/listening to tid-bits of people's conversations, learning that they are mostly filled with discussions/representations of another person(s). I am notorious for over thinking everything I say or do and upon hearing such conversations, tend to revert the position of the person(s) being talked about onto myself. Some might say that in doing this, I make everything about me. Perhaps I do in a way but I don't view it as being in a selfish manner. At least, this is not my intention. I believe that I do this because I fear that judgement is being passed onto me and I have no control over it. I find myself feeling empathetic to the people who are not there in the room to defend themselves over being spoken about secretly. I find myself feeling horrible for not speaking up for them. And, I confess, I find myself feeling horrified that these sort of conversations take place about me while I'm not around to defend my own self.
All this being said, during the instances when I do find my voice and speak up against the words being said to defend a person I care about or a community I stand strong with, I find that while speaking, I feel this breath of insecurity creeping into my veins, knowing full well that as soon as I walk away, I will be the next topic of conversation. I tell my inward self that I don't care.
But I do.
I care how and what people think of me even if I hold no respect for a word that comes out of their own mouths. Just like most of us, I want to be liked and looked up to. I want to be known as being someone who stands up for the people and beliefs that she stands for in this world filled with cruelty and dishonor.
Then there are the days when I find myself synced in with the gossip. I hate myself on these days because it stands against everything I work so hard to avoid. I know there is a time and a place to vent/talk/scream about the moments in life when you just don't understand why something was done a certain way or why a person reacted in a certain fashion. But the last thing I want to do is pass judgement onto a person because of how and who they are. In most instances, I don't even know the person well enough to even begin to understand their actions. So what gives me, or anyone else, the right to speak out against them so negatively just because he/she didn't do what I might have done in the same situation?
I am a sensitive soul who tends to see most circumstances as more than just black or white. There are so many different scenarios and my mind often goes back and forth in all different directions, trying to understand each different perspective. It can be exhausting which I guess is why sometimes I do join in with the norm of most people just getting irritated with someone because he/she didn't react in the same way I would have. It's the easy way out.
It's a horrible excuse and I try so hard to stay away from it even though I'm surrounded by it every day.
Who needs to fear Judgement Day when we put ourselves through it on a daily basis simply by being human?
Think about that for just a moment.

"Now I have a lot to learn and I'm starting tonight,
Got to stop looking at things like they're black and they're white.
Got to write more songs of a little more, treat my friends better.
Got to stop worrying about everything to the letter.
And sometimes when it's too hard to get up,
It just might be a little call apart.
But I find it hard to believe, but if anything
That's what's going to save me
That's what's going to save me"

 "New Years Eve"- First Aid Kit

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

I Am Not A Pretty Girl

The first time I heard the lyrics to Ani Difranco's "I Am Not A Pretty Girl", I remember thinking to myself, damn, that's me. It in no way contributes to my history of having a low self esteem. It in fact, has the very opposite affect.
If you have never heard it, and have even a smidgen of feminist pride/stubbornness in your body, I highly recommend downloading it from iTunes ASAP. If you don't want to buy it, at least take the time to read the lyrics here:http://www.metrolyrics.com/not-a-pretty-girl-lyrics-ani-difranco.html
I have often struggled with being the odd girl in the room. However in being so, I have always blended in the background, merely invisible. I actually prefer this. It makes me feel as though I'm a character in a Harry Potter book, wearing my invisibility cloak so as to be able to meander and observe my surroundings without the bother of someone else stopping to notice me.
My husband would disagree that I harbor the trait of being invisible, but he's biased so his opinion doesn't count.
I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. Throw me a pair of converse over heels any day. I never learned how to really apply make-up, so when I do actually wear it, I struggle with whether or not I'm doing it correctly. I don't know my true bra size...in fact, I often go without one, just because I can.
Growing up, and even now, I was much more comfortable around boys than girls because boys never challenged me in a way that hurt my self esteem; until I got older and one after another, they stood in line to break my heart over and over again. This being said, their genetic make-up is still much less cruel than that of a teenage girls'.
When boys did start taking notice, I was oblivious to the fact. Once it was brought to my attention, I would become obsessed with said boy just because he took the time out of his day to tell someone else he thought I was pretty. 
Obsession apparently draws the boys away instead of towards you.
Suddenly, I felt as though I couldn't fit in anywhere, even with the friends I grew up with. I took every comment to heart, only hearing the negatives, "you're ugly, you're chubby, you're immature....you're too sensitive". I heard it all....and I still hear their words on days that I'm struggling with my overall outward appearance.
The truth is, I am not a pretty girl. "That is not what I do". And no matter how much words said have hurt my feelings, they haven't been able to stop me from being who I am; dressing how I want and simply blending into the crowd. I have never wanted to be rescued or saved. Every girl has moments when they want their prince charming to stand with a boom box outside of her window and call out her name. I'm not denying the fact that I too fantasized of this at one time.
The fact is that I'm too stubborn to accept such hospitality.
"I am not a kitten, stuck up in a tree somewhere."
Over the years, one might say I became slightly jaded when a boy actually noticed me. I chalked it up to him somehow having some secret agenda, wanting to break me and my battered heart in any moment of weakness. I was never able to accept the concept that instead of me always breaking my neck to try to help a guy to "become the very best person he could be", that he might indeed be trying to do the same thing for me.
But it was never about me. It was always about them and how they were feeling. I spent so much of my time trying to fix everything that was wrong that I didn't even realize until almost too late that I was slightly broken myself. I became so frustrated in my lack of results in trying to help. No one ever listened to what I had to say because I was honest with them and said what needed to be said.
"I am not an angry girl. But it seems, I've got everyone fooled. Every time they find something that's hard to hear, they chalk it up to my anger and never to their own fear."
It was no one's fault but my own.
In all honesty, before Andrew, I never felt the balance of two people simply being there for one another no matter how they are feeling. Before Andrew, I was always the "strong one", having to hold  both myself and the other person up during the hard times. I didn't realize that a relationship should be based on equality and each person being there for the other in every time of need, even if that meant giving up some of yourself to make ends meet.
I gave up so much of myself that I lost my identity.
I lost me.
The truth of the matter is I always strayed towards the slightly "broken" individuals, wanting so desperately to change them for the better; craving that sense of accomplishment in helping someone through a rough time and making a difference.
I never thought twice that I was the one looking for "damsels in distress" so to speak.
It was exhausting.
And suddenly, I did want to be the prettiest girl in the room, just once. It just seemed easier.
But that's not who I am. I'm the girl who shows up to work with no make-up and wet hair thrown up in a bun. I feel awkward when I dress up; almost like I'm at a costume party and no one else decided to participate. I have my own sense of style that is unique and I'm happy with that.
But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have moments when I wish I were more like everyone else or even like the girl who just stands out from the rest or turns a head or two when she walks by.
In the long run, I prefer to be the outsider. That's who I am and I can't deny this fact. At least now, I am able to find some comfort in being the person I have become and strive to be, not trying to pretend to be someone or something I'm not. I think we all possess the  ability to save our own skins. Sure, we might have some help along the way, but it's ourselves that decide to stay a certain way because we want to or to change because we feel we have to.
I never wanted to be saved. I never felt the need to be saved even in my darkest times.
I taught myself a lesson in that most of us feel this way. As much as I wanted or felt the need to help any given individual, the truth is, if he didn't want to be helped in the first place, I was really just wasting my time. I don't necessarily see this as a defeat, though at times it does feel that way. I guess it's a good thing that I realized before it was too late that should the situation(s) have been reversed, none of these people that I tried to "save" would have done the same for me. In knowing that, it's much easier to let go and to accept that I was never meant to save them anyway.

"And what if there are no damsels in distress. What if I knew that and I called your bluff. Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down, whether or not you ever show up?"
-Ani Difranco