Instead of the dream

I used to preserve every moment with you. 

Your face in pictures and journal entries and X’s on a map.

I wanted to ensure I’d never forget a single stolen glance.

Or whisper. Or crooked smile. Or wink.

When you weren’t around, I’d fish through the memories.

I’d hook on to the ones that made me smile.

I’d thank God for putting you in my life.

I’d say your name in hushed prayers, scribbled notes, friendly conversations.

Until you were gone.

Until we weren’t making new memories.

Until you started ruining the ones we had.

Until you wrote me off.

It wasn’t until then that I realized I had been imagining up a perfect image of you.

I always deleted the bad photos. Scratched out the awkward conversations.

I never marked the locations we went when you made me feel bad.

So when I looked back, I felt invincible with you. Immune to pain. 

Now when I reminisce about what were once happy memories

I feel nothing.

I don’t feel invincible.

Or happy.

Or warm.

I don’t smile at the candid shots in which you looked so perfect.

I don’t laugh at the dumb jokes I insisted on writing down.

It took me quite awhile to get here.

But I don’t miss you anymore.

I don’t even miss the you I had created in my head.

I am ready to let go. 

I am not performing some ceremonial burning.

I don’t feel that passionate about it anymore.

But know that next time, with the next person I truly invest in

I will let the good meet the bad. 

I’ll keep the shitty pictures.

And I will let myself record the truth.

Instead of the dream.

Figuring it out

In front of me, there's a piece of paper
It asks me who I am.

I start with my name.
My job.
My favorite hobby.
I talk about my education.
My friends.
Exes.
Family.

Eventually I crumble it up, and grab a fresh sheet.
On the blank page I write,

"I am still figuring that out." 

at least I looked good

today on the bus ride home, I saw a ghost from my past
in a way, I believed I would never see him again
maybe that's why my stomach leapt out my throat
why I can't keep my mind from racing
he was as good as out of my life
six years later and I still feel sick thinking about it
I have come a long way since then
I don't need to be haunted
these emotions will have no hold on me if I don't let them manifest
so I am going to let this one go


at least I looked good
(damn good)

Average

The other day I was watching an episode of Boy Meets World, a childhood favorite of mine. Cory was struggling as he came to terms with the fact that he was average. He wasn't a great painter. A beautiful musician. A talented athlete. Instead he was just... Cory. He blamed his father, because he had turned out like him. And ultimately he had to realize, that of all the things in the world he could be, he was the best at being Cory.

This resonated with me. I don't consider myself particularly amazing at anything. It's not that I don't have my moments, but we all do. I don't think there is anything that really truly could set me apart. You will never read a headline about me. You will probably never see my face on television.

When I was a child, I wanted to be an actress. I used to put on these elaborate plays for my family. I acted in school plays, went to the theatre with my mom, lost myself in movies. At some point, however, I became intimidated by the idea of being great at acting. I got scared because I never really believe I could be the best at it. Someone would always be better than me. I remember waiting all day to try out for a commercial spot. I practiced my lines with my mom in a fancy hotel. I got excited as I got closer to auditioning. That was, until the moment I reached the stage. I froze. There was a camera. Eyes on me. People waiting. And I couldn't do it. I fumbled through my lines and ran off stage knowing I was never going to be famous.

I don't blame my mom or my dad or my teachers. I don't even really blame myself. I just wish, at some point, someone would have told me that I didn't have to be the greatest. That if I tried hard, did my best, treated others well, and always kept an open mind, I would excel.

I am not mad that I am average. In fact, my particular combination of normal is just weird enough and unique enough that I know I am special. I will do great at my job. I will leave an impression on the people around me. I will fall in love. Someone will fall in love with me. I will never live the type of life that gets written about in novels or filmed for the big screen.

But I will excel in my own life and all that matters is that it is mine.

I am.

I AM...

uninspired
uneasy
passionate
happy
unsettled
pristine
fearful
sanguine
tall
uncomfortable
joyful
dealing
worn
planning
dreaming
not tired
laughing
wishing
mourning
smiling
thinking

In this moment, I have everything I need.
I AM.

I am worthy. [A confession]

[Well, so much for 21 straight days. But 21 total is a good start I suppose. So here goes nothing.]

At some point in my life, I decided that it was inappropriate to tell people how I feel about them. I don't just mean in a strictly romantic way, I mean in any way. Whether I appreciate the way they share with me, or that they make me laugh at the best times, or that it hurts when they say certain things. I learned to bottle up my feelings and only share what would not get me hurt. My way of sharing is very carefully calculated. Though I may have told you something that was hard to talk about, it is very likely that I thought good and hard about it before I did. I probably hemmed and hawed over how you would react, how much you would care and most of all whether or not I could get hurt from sharing it.

I have been learning that, because of this defense mechanism I have created in myself, I have also limited myself from being able to get very close to people. It is easier to stand at arm's length than to risk getting hurt. I have very few close friends and I have never had a real romantic relationship with anyone, because I have spent my whole life making sure that I couldn't get hurt. I feared feeling more strongly about another person, or worse, them feeling that way about me. I feared getting hurt as much as I feared hurting another. The only problem is that in order to truly get to know someone, to fall in love, to experience a real relationship, I would have to be willing to deal with that possibility.

I am learning to accept the fact that I cannot always prevent myself from getting hurt. It doesn't work anyway. And I cannot prevent myself from hurting others. It will happen. I will let someone down. I will feel differently than someone else. I will get hurt. But I must experience those things in order to really grow, to open up to someone, to face my fears, to be honest about my feelings and to tell others how much they really mean to me.

It's going to be hard to change. But I want to. I want to have better friendships and the possibility at a great relationship. I am worthy.

What's In The Box?!

I'd never been much of a gardener. Every plant I had ever owned eventually died from something I did wrong, or didn't do at all. I had a tendency to stay away from living things that I couldn't talk to, because unlike humans, plants never told you if you were doing something wrong. So, naturally, when I was asked by my friend, Josh, to help him start a small vegetable garden in his backyard, I was hesitant.

I showed up at his house early in the morning. It was summer, and I hated sweating. "Just dig out this section, a foot down. And then we can get started on planting."

I was starting to get tired of my friend's bullshit. He had left me here, three hours ago, to finish digging this hole. Which, by the way, was way deeper than a foot. I sat down at the edge, and took a drink of my now warm water. My feet, though tired, started to dig into the hole. That's when I hit it. Something unremarkable at first, but as my foot tried to move the ground, that's when I realized something was off.

That was the first time I felt any motivation this whole day. I jolted up from my seat, grabbed the shovel and dug. I had to know what was hidden under this... dirt.

The box was heavy, deceivingly so. After uncovering it, I thrust it across the grass and plopped down in front of it. Good thing Josh was gone, because whatever was in this box was mine. I worked for it after all.

It took some manipulating, but the old box eventually came open. At that moment, I knew what my new passion would be. Gardening.

Nothing but bad news.

An old man sits on a park bench, engrossed in his newspaper. As he reads about fires in California, a beautiful woman walks by with her dog. A story about murder in the projects captures his attention, as a young man sits besides him to smoke a cigarette. He reads about war overseas, while a runner ties her laces on the bench before taking off. The story continues as a child places his backpack next to him, and he learns how to ride his skateboard.

By the Opinion section, the old man looks up, seeing an empty park around him. He returns to reading commentary on the politicians in office and misses the young girl painting on the grass across from him. As he learns about the death of young soldiers, he misses the husband kissing his wife. The couple eating a picnic, enjoying each other's company, goes unnoticed. When he finishes his daily routine, he tosses the paper into the trash beside him and returns home.

"Nothing but bad news." He sighs.

Seeking.

Seeking: a partner in crime.

Requirements:
- desire to travel to the ends of the Earth
- love of all things new
- ability to step outside of your comfort zone
-

Let's run away together. Lose ourselves. Fall in love with the Earth. Meet new people. Find ourselves. Get lost. Get found. Find home in an unfamiliar place.

I did write today. just not on here. So I apologize. This making a habit thing is hard. Gotta get on my game.

You.

Today you are bringing a smile to someone's face. And even if it is only one person. It matters. You are something special. And with that knowledge you should not fear being forgotten, or being worthless. Someone, someone important, someone that matters, believes in you. And that should be enough. So get up and do something about it. Don't prove them wrong.

The Ocean [To be continued]

In the heat wave of your emotions, I went swimming with the fishes. I dove to the darkest places. The untouched center of your soul. The place that no one had dared to study before. I asked questions of the whales, as they bathed in the warmth only your heart could provide. I fell in love with the strange, hidden treasure. I have no desire to wear it around my neck or sell it to the others who were afraid to look for it themselves. In the depths of the unknown, I found creatures that scared me, felt things that confused me.

 - to be continued-

Diary of a Former Fat Girl

Back when I was a young girl, I trained myself to never look into the mirror. I had become so unhappy with what I saw when I did look, that I gave up on spending any time on myself. In fact, in a lot of ways, I became an extra in my own life. It wasn't that I intentionally didn't take care of myself. I just never tried to be something I believed I couldn't be. In my teens, I spent most of my time with my hair in a pony tail, no make-up on and most likely an angry look on my face. I pushed people away because I feared what they had to say.

As I started college, I slowly began to blossom. I made friends that encouraged me in a variety of ways. But most importantly, they made me start to look at myself. There was no magical turning point for me during those early years of college. I was still severely overweight and didn't care to take care of myself in the way that was necessary. I did start to do my hair, and on occasion, wear make-up. After awhile, I even got medicine to treat my acne. I started building a habit of not being a doormat, and over time, grew more comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes, I even wore clothes that made me feel cute.

During the summer before my last year of college, I traveled to Haiti, and when I returned I lived alone in an unfamiliar city, working two unpaid internships and one part-time job. I barely made enough money to scrape by. So during this time, I learned a lot about myself. I walked everywhere. I ate only what I could afford, and hardly ever had more than just what I needed. I remember no longer fitting in the jeans that were in a size I had been wearing for years. I bought a belt, as it was all I could afford. Then, when the belt didn't work anymore, (because I had lost 3 sizes without even really noticing) I bought jeans at goodwill, and made it through the summer.

When I returned to school for my last two quarters, I felt like a new person. Though I was still overweight, I had dropped nearly 40 pounds over one summer. And working, and spending a lot of time alone, really helped me grow up a lot. The next six months at school I was faced with a lot of struggle in tying who I used to be with who I was becoming, as well as being comfortable in my new body around people that were used to the old one.

It was during this time that I really started to gain an appreciation for the work I would have to put in to lose more weight, and to stay healthy. Now, I have lost a total of 90 pounds. I wear make up sometimes. I dress in clothes that make me feel pretty. I have a lot more confidence than I ever used to. I am a strong person, who has grown a lot since I was that little girl, afraid to look in the mirror.

I know I still have a lot of growing and self-discovery to do, because even now, I find myself avoiding my own reflection. I am learning to break that habit, and forcing myself to look in the mirror and remind myself that I am beautiful. I am strong. I am healthy. I am worthy. I am happy. And life is good.

Someday, the old body, the old lack of self-esteem, the old fear of rejection... it won't haunt me anymore. But until then, I am daily working to see and appreciate how far I have come. After all, shouldn't I be the leading lady in my own life?

Life

Sometimes one must just ask, "What the heck am I doing with my life?"

At which point, the answer will either be a satisfied feeling in the path that's been chosen. Or it's time to make some changes and reevaluate.

My path is by no means finished, but it is leading me somewhere worth visiting. I hope to take a lot of pictures, and collect a lot of memories along the way.

Today is day three. I am writing this because at 9PM I realized I hadn't written anything.

I am struggling with a lot of realization right now, but most importantly I am realizing that I am talented, unique, and worth your time. So if the next 18 days bore you, that's your fault, not mine. ;)

Anyway sorry this post is short, but at least you know what I am feeling. Can't wait to get a real post out to you tomorrow.

Also thank you for reading these, it means more to me than I can express in words.

Murder is Afoot

In the morning we were good friends, my shoes and I. I laced them with great care, happy to have them on when I stepped on to the sharp, icy concrete and made my way to the car. They protected my toes from the harsh corners I oh-so-often missed on my way into the warehouse. They even gave me the proper amount of cushion to stand and walk on the hard floors as I slaved through my work day. By lunch, we were starting to grow a bit tired of each other, but in tandem, we rested for an hour as I fulfilled my basic human needs, and they stretched out on a worn down ottoman.

This day was no different than others really, I stood after lunch, returning myself and my shoes to another few hours of honest work. At first, they nipped a bit at my feet, but eventually they gave up and allowed me to finish the task at hand. 

It was around 30 minutes to quitting time, when my shoes started really throwing a fit. Now, admittedly, these were new shoes, I hadn't quite trained them the same way my Ol' Sneaks had been trained, but I thought we at least had an understanding. I convinced my toes to try and reason with them, but to no avail. Unfortunately, they just wouldn't listen. I spent the next 30 minutes in agony as my feet progressed into a full on war with the shoes that I really had believed I could trust. The bottom of the shoes began to flatten against the hard floor, providing no support for my fighting, tired soles. 

When the clock struck 5, I moved faster than I had ever moved before. Against the will of my rebellious shoes, my supportive legs carried me to my car. Despite the pouring rain and ominous darkness, I sped. I tried not to cry as my feet and shoes made it almost impossible to press the gas or pump the brakes. Against all odds, I made it home, and my super-human speed continued all the way to the front door. Even my hands started to betray me as I fumbled at the lock. Finally, the door swung open and I fell to the ground, ripping the ravenous shoes from my feet. I apologized to the soles of my feet that had all but given up on me. My hands, as angry as me, began to tear apart the shoes. First the laces, then the tongue, my strength could only do so much. Standing, against the will of my feet, I made my way to the kitchen. 

Thunder struck outside, too close for comfort. My hands were tight on the shoes, afraid they might get away. I looked for resolve, and when I found it, my throat let out a maniacal laugh. I had no intention of finishing my day with murder. But as the shoes fell to pieces at the will of my hands and a pair of kitchen shears, all I saw was lightning and all I felt was relief. 

21

Did you know it takes doing something 21 times for that action to become a habit?

Well, this blog is my attempt at forming a habit of writing every day. I need some sort of creative outlet, and I happen to think I am pretty good at writing (sometimes). So this is my go at making my skill something worth talking about.

Every day for the next 21 days, I will be writing something on this blog. Be it a few sentences, a few paragraphs, or more if the words come to me. After that, I hope this trend continues in the form of a habit. And maybe someday I will actually finish that book I started writing.

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Enjoy. Or don't. Really, that part is up to you.

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