je ne comprend pas la francais

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-umjA-ouSo

I had a french lesson. I had a great idea about taking one lesson per day, but that obviously didn't work out. It was a fun lesson, and I made a video out of it. Watch, and laugh your troubles away.

that's all,
me

Blahg

Today, a friend told me that she looked at my blog. I was shocked, but forewent the Merryl Streep humility rant. So, I decided to be inspired, and get back on the wagon (seriously hoping you're enjoying the title of this one…).

There are days when I live in defeat. It's not that I feel like I'm in a battle of sorts. But sometimes life feels like a fight, and I get out of bed knowing I lost. The first glance in the shiny wall that greets you with your own image is a tell-all. The general demeanor of the day can be determined by the ridiculousness of one's bed head. My favorite is when the face looks just so bloody awful, complete with extra pimples, dark spots, and sheet marks (just when it was safer to sleep in until 20 minutes before class).

It happens especially when I feel I've made a complete fool of myself the evening before. In conversation with someone over a beer, and I look back over everything I've said, wondering, "What in the world could this person think of me?" followed by, "Well, whatever it is, it couldn't possibly be good."

In reaction to things not going as I wish they would have - meaning, of course, that those I came into contact with the previous day have not been left with the impression that I am the best human being possibly ever - I react, mostly unconsciously. 

I live as though I have already been conquered. There is no other option: no hope of change. I will forever be this socially awkward mess of a person. I will forever be late for everything and every other dramatic statement you kick yourself in the neck, stiletto-heel style, for.

Maybe it's a hint of depression. 

Maybe it's just one of those days.

Maybe there are dark grey cumulo nimbus clouds that exist to rain on people's parades.

Or (my personal favorite) maybe it's just a funk.

Well, friend, if funk has overtaken me, it would not have manifested itself in such a suck-the-life-out-of-my-day way.

The counselor in me always wants to know why. Why do I feel this way? Surely there is some type of root, or reason, or catalyst for these feelings. Partially that's true. But the unfortunate aspect of shitty days is that they won't suddenly stop when I've finally dealt with my issues. Because more issues come.

Life doesn't stop happening. I won't stop missing my father. I won't stop being a less than perfect human being. And I won't stop having to apologize for being a less than perfect human being. 

So, today is a rant. If you live in defeat some days…take solace in the fact that you're not the only one. Don't worry about what tomorrow is going to bring, because you honestly just don't know, and why worry about that when today's been such a gem. 

Do a crazy dance to a Lady Gaga song (because if you get a glimpse of yourself doing that in the mirror, it doesn't matter what your bed head was like), watch a clip from a comedian or comedy show, or simply take a picture of your insane bed head and put it up as your facebook profile picture. Be late to your class or wherever else you were supposed to be for the sake of showing people how 'normal' you are. 

There's no guarantee that your feelings of defeat will go away, but make sure you laugh before you go out the door. At least then you'll know that you are capable of some other feeling on such a crapily begun day.

That's all,

me

Novel Idea

Word count: 20,273

that's all,
me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_SKgs1JDVk

that's all,
me

My niche

This is me in my library niche. I love my niche. I am rarely disturbed, and I can hang out barefoot, and no one cares. Obviously, because no one is down here.

that's all,
me

Study Break

So, I'm looking through my journal and I came across a random thing I wrote while I was at a Bible study sometime this quarter (my life will be lived in terms of quarters for a while).

"I fight many things about You. The enigma of who You are is a beautiful wonder to me. Like the stars. And that is why you draw me. As Jason said tonight: You will not let me ignore you."

Here is another one close by it. I wrote this while I was at Ecclesia sometime:

"I think I am not a person who expects life to go as I've planned it to. I typically abide in the assurance that nothing I expect or plan will happen as I've expected or planned."

that's all,
me

Lebanon Essay Response

This was a response to one of the Lebanon Practicum essay questions:

I grew up well acquainted with Christian churches, language, and people. My faith became very comfortable in that it was about what Christ could do for me. Being a Christian was useful for the single purpose of being right, and I could take comfort when people did not accept me because I was ‘being persecuted.’ It was not until later in life, when directly confronted with the uncomfortable issues of my own pain, injustice, and love that I began to question the faith I was so comfortable preaching.

I began to notice a judgmental undertone in the way I treated others. When I was confronted with the pain of my own life events (multiple deaths in my family, fickle high school friends), I realized that everyone has pain. Each person views his/her pain uniquely. However, people also want others to look deeper than the surface appearances. In a society created to push emotions down and not acknowledge pain, people become the results of the events of their lives instead of staring at and sitting in pain and choosing what to believe about said events.

During this time in my life, I realized just how deeply the God of the Bible loves and understands fully each person’s pain, namely my own. While I was baptized as a child, I never understood the depth of what that decision meant. The summer before I entered college, I made a public decision before my church, knowing the depth of that decision. I was always in a relationship with this God. But, at that point in time, I made a commitment that was going to color the rest of my life. I knew that Christ would be with me throughout my whole life. The only constant I could ever count on. He would see everything and his love for me would never change.

This is when God broke out of the box and off the shelf I designated for him. During my undergraduate pursuit, I took many counseling/psychology classes. I was confronted with a choice. It had become time for me to make a decision about what I was going to do with the events of my life so far. I saw a counselor for a couple years and realized how the events of my life impacted and shaped me and what was healthy and unhealthy about the person I was. In allowing God’s truths to speak to me versus the messages I received growing up, with the Holy Spirit’s work, I grasped a new life. A new kind of freedom. Just because the country you live in touts the freedom it gives does not mean a person is living a truly free life. This is what Christ introduced me to.

Today, I am still confronted with what I will do amidst the circumstances of life. I have a choice everyday as to which truths I will listen to. Knowing the depth of Christ’s love and the joy of breathing truly free moments makes me stronger in choosing what is best for me. Life will not get easier simply because I adhere to a certain worldview. Life will still happen. Nothing will ever be guaranteed. But Christ, his love, his desire for my freedom, and his grace is constant.

      Living with this mindset forces me to crash into the truth that not everyone understands that this freedom is possible for everyone. I am a testament that it is a process and will always be one. I have met many different types of people in life and have come to know many variations of pain. Each person is unique to their own struggles and their own conflicting messages. But the constant is always there. I cling to this constant and I will always be handing out buddy ropes to others, attaching them to the rope I cling to, so that they might know the loving constant I do. Then they might make some decisions about their lives and cling to the constant Christ.


that's all,
me

Contented Sigh

Yeah.

that's all,
me

2 PM Beauty

I am sitting on my balcony right now. Basking in the warmth of the sun gleaming through the trees. I love these moments. My heart is so warm right now. These details are beautiful.

Amidst beautiful moments, I begin to think of the other exciting things happening in my life.

Here they are:

-I am slowly developing my novel.
-I bought my ticket to Grand Rapids yesterday (or some day).
-I might be living in Lebanon this summer, beginning to fulfill my dream of studying in other countries.
          -As a result of this, I might be able to visit a Lebanese winery, called Chateau Musar.
-In less than two weeks (refer to post "Spring breaking") I am going with some amazing people to Big Sur and Pigeon Point and maybe San Francisco.
-I am developing more the idea for a personal documentary involving my family and friends telling stories about my dad...
-I am hosting a St. Patrick's Day party (called "The Boondock-a-thon"). I love St. Patrick, anything Irish, and The Boondock Saints movies.
          -I purchased Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day yesterday!

Sometimes it just feels great to take a deep, peaceful breath and know that it is getting better. That in the midst of hard circumstances, life is still beautiful and worth living and breathing for. That in the midst of a dark pit, the light can still pierce the depth and warm the soul.

*sigh*

that's all
me

Choices

Fact: You always have a choice. 


You might not feel like you do. 


But, you always have a choice to do what is the best for you.


It might not feel great. In fact, you might feel like an ass. But some things, like health, safety, and freedom are worth feeling like an ass for. It is worth it to be uncomfortable and stare into your reflection as you hold onto the hope of it. Getting. Better.


And, it will.
Get.
Better.


You will live. You will find a new way to live. A better one.




This is an excerpt from my novel:




See, the thing about pain is that no matter what happens, if it doesn't kill you, you will live through it. It doesn't matter if pain makes you stronger, you have to experience it. Every second. People forget this fact. I know my pain is not the worst imaginable. My pain is, in fact, laughably minimal. From a certain perspective, my life is quite luxurious. But, I think the greatest tragedy in any life is to feel forced to live it as less than human. Those who live in highly restricted societies, unable to feel the true depth of the sweetness of the sun on their faces. Those who live in insanely impoverished areas, unable to see past their current crises. While my life has allowed me ample opportunity to bear witness to a deep, magical beauty inherent in most moments, others have not had such luxury. But this life leaves me less than human.


The other thing about pain is that it's always relative to the person: that person's sense of normality, and that person's dreams. That which is unfamiliar automatically puts a person into the category of uncomfortable. Depending on the extent of unfamiliarity, said person will also begin to wonder what the changes mean. Am I of lesser value? Why is this happening? Is there something wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way? Why is he/she reacting like that? All of these unfamiliar feelings converge and give way to a moment. A choice to decide what you will do with how your life has played out so far.




that's all
me

Spring breaking

Right.

So.

I just wrote this, and it needed to be 'spoken.'

It's called My Love

You and I have a date
In less than two weeks' time,
I will jump into your arms
and you will envelop me
with your therapy.

Catharsis will strike
I will lose my breath
and disappear into you
as your power sweeps
me off my feet.

My body itches
to be completely engulfed.
You are my safety.
My steady heartbeat.
You consume my darkness.

Love pours over in your waves.
I am not strong enough
to even be a reed,
merely a thing,
given movement by you.

Beams of light pierce
what has been left lifeless
your elements flood
crashing torrents of hope,
inserting breath to awaken renewed.

that's all
me

I am...that person

1) I like to stumble into things. This fleshes itself out in coffee shop discoveries and great books. For example, when I am looking to relax and breathe deep, I wander the library stacks and when I find a promising book, I sit down in that aisle and begin reading.

2) I prefer doing my papers (much to the dismay of my professors) between the hours of midnight and 3AM. There is something about the quiet of that time when everything really does go away and I can simply write.

3) I take pictures of beautiful moments. I was in London this time last year and my friend, Hayley and I were taking a nap in Hyde Park (because it was not freezing). Hayley slept in the emerald green grass, futbol-ers played around us, and a group of girls gossiped and giggled. There were virtually no clouds. I was reading Velvet Elvis, by Rob Bell. It was the moment when he spoke of universal truths, and if all truth is God's truth, then a truth originating in a culture which embraces a different worldview still counts (the issue was about debt). It was a moment when God blew up and came close at the same time. Face to face, breathing simultaneously. So, I took a picture of the sky to commemorate the moment. The beauty of the incredible peace held in those precious minutes.

4) I love the feel of the ground on my feet. I would prefer soft grass; however, my current concrete wonderland satisfies the deepest need to rid myself of everything that entangles. So, I walk around the city, barefoot. I rarely pick up shards of glass or uncomfortably shaped rocks, so it seems a fair trade.

5) I am an impatient person, especially when I am cold. Ergo, I walk through crosswalks as long as I won't get hit by the approaching traffic. All I have to say is that I have not died, yet.

6) I have opinions. So far, no lights have switched on (or off, whichever best fits) which tell me that people do not always want to hear my opinions. If I have something to say that I think will benefit a discussion, I say it.

7) I do not like to bend to codes of behavior which are pressured from outside of me. I do not care what you do, God will not stop loving and madly pursuing you. So, I take some liberties with my speech and my behavior. I do not like to do things (devotions, being silent, wearing certain clothes, or not saying what I think) simply because I fear the reactions of those around me or because those things are labelled as "Christian" behavior. If I do something, I want to know in every part of me that it is a true reflection of my love for the Christ who loved and saved me. Easier said than done.

8) My favorite number is 16 because it is the first number which has five factors (1, 2, 4, 8, 16). I chose it for that reason when I was in 6th grade and really enjoying math class. I was lying in bed one night, in my house on Hill Street (1615) in Plattsmouth, NE and decided that I needed a favorite number.

9) I love life and am idealistic, but I also have an incredibly harsh view of reality. Describing it further would depress both of us.

10) I hate this blog because no one reads it. But it serves as an outlet. So I keep writing...for myself.

Basically, I am...that person.

that's all

me

Identity in Abandonment

First: My feet have brought about another bit for us! (I knew they would come through)


Second: I read other blogs (this is how I best distract myself from doing homework).


Today, I have been reading and updating myself on some friend's newest posts. This one is from a friend of mine. Just read it (from today - 03.08.10)...


www.daverinker.com

The bits about knowing who you are as a result of feeling or literally having been abandoned struck some chords. These are two pieces I wrote last year. Somehow it connected in me.

Life

Its ups and downs

general uncertainties

paradoxical confusions

all make sense when I am simply with You

In full acknowledgement of Your work in my life, I make sense

You take credit for Your creation

and You whisper Your love, pride and value in Your work

-------------

I am not my own hands or my own feat. Me? I am a soul, stuck to one body in time and space. Sent to this earth to live the best and healthiest life possible. I am not my past or the culmination of what has happened to me in this bodily form. 

I have been sent from above and to above I shall return. I was created and my creator transcends my life, my past, my pain, my sorrow, tears, joy, and happiness. And in this transcendence my former way of life is transformed. While I used to believe that my life was for me, my transformation has granted me a radical view of purpose, God and love. I was not put on this earth to be queen of my own Empire which revolves around me. I was put on this earth to discover the greatness of this creation. 

I am Your hands, Your feet, Your body. May I bear your name well in this world. I am a conduit of Your Spirit, Your breath, Your life, Your hope, Your love, Your dreams...

(I was inspired to write the latter while walking around Oxford last March)...it actually started with me realizing (again) that I am not very nice to my feet. Then my muse spoke ("somehow you are not your feet"). What you read is a portion of what resulted.

I was going through a program from my internship at Westview Community Church in Manhattan, KS. It was called Making Peace with Your Past. Through the material involved in this program, I was learning about how I had been allowing the events of my life define me. Define who I saw myself to be, the truths I would listen to (sinner, unworthy, unvalued, will never get it right) and the ones I refused to accept (intrinsic value in being created, loved no matter the state, appearance, thoughts or misdeeds). I was created with a purpose, and the events of my life have shaped the person I am now, and inevitably, will continue to do so. Through the program, I was confronted with the fact that I have a choice. At some point in time, you have a choice to take control of your life, or to continue to live as the culmination of everything that has happened to you. If I had chosen the latter, I would never pursue my dreams. I would live in a constant state of defeat. I would be Get Happy, Part One without the peace.

The fact that at some point in time, you have a choice as to how you will deal with the (pardon my French) shit of your past gives power, not to the darkness, but to the light. The light blasts darkness and redefines the shadows. Light pierces the depths of the one who dwells in darkness and gives that being legs to stand on and begin moving. What this looked like for me was understanding where certain thoughts were coming from. When it comes to abandonment, my life has been laced, intricately with loss. The other truth of that is to say that just because I have experienced loss does not define me as a person who is always abandoned and not worth staying around for. 

In this reflection, I have a choice. I can choose to believe what my Creator says about me, or I can choose to sit in the pain and despair of one who is abandoned, and allow that definition to eek from every pore of my being, lace its way into all of my relationships, and become a self-fulfilling prophecy. When I decide to hang out in despair, I have then chosen to be queen of my own Empire. I define myself and everything follows: my interpretations on another person's glance in my direction, or the way I interpret a stupid text message. 

The other fact about this reflection is that I have this choice multiple times. Just because I choose one way at one point in time does not dictate what I will choose the next time I am confronted with abandonment. 

Again, another fact here, is that no matter what I do decide, I am still loved beyond imagination. Even if I choose to sit in darkness, I am a child of God. Even when I choose to live as one abandoned, I am not alone. This is the peace, I think, in Get Happy, Part One. Knowing that in the depth of my despair, it doesn't matter what I will do, what I think about myself or the rest of creation, I am loved, wanted, desired.

I hope you followed all that...I'll edit it someday and make more sense of it.

that's all,

me

Perfect House

Fact: I live next to the perfect house.

I love the way this house looks. Not it's color scheme. It's design. It's cylindrical tower with the windows  that, when (I assume) you're in it might make you think you're a lighthouse keeper, or a princess trapped in a tower (Like the Hindu story in A Little Princess - not the Shirley Temple version, the other one), you know, whatever your imagination sparks.

It has little trees that line the sidewalk up to the porch (the presence of the porch is also a major plus) and little rock-bordered garden patch areas which add to the house's ambiance. At night there is a light that, when it hits the perfectly green grass down the right side, make you feel like you're walking in a dream. Especially when the weather is misty and you can see the mist in the light. Oh man, it's the best!

that's all
me

Struggle for Peace

Peace.

I wish I had it.

I wish that once you did have it, you could rest in that moment of peace, and it would last a lifetime.

But all I have are moments. Flashes of peace where I am transferred to an ocean. In that ocean I stand waist deep and my fingers gently glide over the surface of the water as I see a wave approach. The wave is intimidating, and part of me wants to turn and run. But, the adventurous part overpowers and my feet grow roots. My lip slowly curls up at one corner. The single event of the crash is beauty defined. It is every part of a punk rock song that has ever resonated in the caverns of your body. The turning water tackles me, not even missing a beat in its furious path. I am a soda can being crushed by a locomotive. I love the experience of being rocked by a wave. It is completely frightening in the middle of it. I stick my hands straight up in the air so that I know from the feel of air on my palms which way is up. I can taste salt. My heart races as I almost panic, becoming frantic and uncertain. I am never sure how long I will remain under, or how much longer I can hold my breath, but I hold it anyway. I am anxious to stand in the aftermath. Because there is no greater moment. No greater peace.

I greatly respect everything that water in motion can do. Being a pawn in its motion is my catharsis. It is my transcendence to something deeper than me, my life, my pain, my joy, my whatever. It is deeper. It is above.

When I find my balance and return my feet to the submerged, soft ground, I stand in the aftermath. There is a light crackle heard from the dissipating foam. I love this moment. This is the depth of my peace. My face, hair, ears, nose and lips drip water from having been completely drenched. The crackle fades, the sun shines, and the water is smooth again. Air is the freshest here. After I have struggled so hard to maintain myself in the midst of rocked chaos, air is the best...here.

The event of being rocked by an ocean's rhythm is like the indifference, darkness, and confusion of pain between beats of peace. Life is never static (hear a black and white fuzzy television noise in the background). Sometimes my life feels like it shifts from peace to pain. The interplay is so scattered, so undefined, and so unreliable that I can never guarantee what I will feel in the next hour. I have learned, I guess, throughout life that it can change drastically in a moment. A gut-dropping, heart-sinking, you know life will never be the same again moment. I have had a few of those. That is when I have been in the fury of life's chaos. I have to maintain myself somehow. I have to struggle: to question. To hold my breath, sit in the pain, let it wash over me, consume everything about me, and ultimately let it go. Then I come back to my feet, and stand in the aftermath. Air is the freshest here.

After a wave, there is rest.

And then I get to do it all over again (lip slowly curling up at corner).

that's all
me

Shadows of Perfection

Ever feel like you can't do anything right?


Like what you do is never enough?


Lately, I have been feeling this way in most aspects of life: work, school (paper writing, theatre company, etc.), relationships (friends, family). I was speaking with someone about this feeling of always being unable to do anything right. In her response to my feelings, she spoke of how unrealistic it is to have an expectation of perfect. Perfection will never be realized, so why emotionally kill yourself for something you will not achieve? I have known this principle for many years, but it does not mean it is not utterly frustrating that I am not perfect, yet. I will never love perfectly. I will never speak perfectly. I will never communicate perfectly. I exist in the shadows of perfection (a phrase coined by my friend). I exist in a realm of reality where failing is normal.

I exist 

in shadows

In darkness 

I breathe

feet cold

fingers cold

lips cold

I could speak

I could write

but say what?

If the product

is only shadow,

of utter perfection

then why produce?

There is, however, an automatic grace as everyone falls into the same category of imperfect. No one will achieve such a status, so we all get grace. Hopefully, we do not abuse this grace; but, it is there. It is all around. Instead of breathing freezing cold air and feeling desperate, we breathe in the frigid air, and relish in the fact that our lungs still work. The temperature shocks our body systems and we jerk to a sudden state of alertness. A shot of adrenaline rushes, heart rate increases, toes get ready to move.


This flawed idea of perfection rears its distorted head in various aspects of life: body image, speech, intelligence (ever had a written paper torn to shreds?), talent, etc. I could go on, but it would be too torturous, not to mention revealing of all the areas perfection has taunted me.


I wrote this in the Fall, and wanted to share it.

If I was supposed to be happy

you were supposed to tell me how

If I was to achieve success

you were supposed to tell me when I was there

My life would be measured and weighed by you

But who are you?

Where did you come from,

and with what authority do you judge me?

If I follow the thread of my desires,

the deepest longings of my life

where would I end up?

where did you end up?

Did you end up fighting with everything, 

in every way to please another

to achieve affirmation of desirability,

worth, value, beauty, or strength?

When I trace these threads to the depths,

to those places I rarely go,

because I do not like what I see,

I will find that you are the perfect me

The perfect me is the me

who lives in a day-dream of the future

The me who wants every dream dreamt

to become a living, breathing reality

But what do I get when I become that person?

A haunting question

with an ever-haunting answer

Somehow, if I get to perfect, its desire will not quit

That's all

me

Blog Title thoughts

I have avoided beginning a blog for quite sometime. One reason for this the reader will understand from my very first blog (the whole sharing one's own story, life, heart, etc.). A second reason for this is that I am simply absent-minded. I start one thing, move to another, and forget to finish what I actually began in the first place. 


I forget how old I am. I honestly have to think about it for a few moments. I think I stopped keeping track after I hit 21. There are not really anymore monumental ages until the big five-oh, right? I also forget that I am tired and exhausted when I begin great conversations, or have the opportunity to dance. The point of these few tid-bits about me is to say that I forget I have this thing. I forget that I have a blog...I am now a blogger...until my creativity sparks. I begin thinking of experiences I have in "blog-title" format. I was telling a couple friends this the other day.


The truth is, I may have been a natural-born blogger. I truly do think back on my experiences in blog-titles: witty one-liners which capture the attention of the reader before they even begin the journey. For example, I wrote this blog while I was in South Africa in the summer of 2009.

When the Smell of Rotting Kelp Becomes Endearing (see what I mean...It's kinda catchy)

On a warm night with the waves swelling maybe 3 feet high.

Even 50 yards from it you can still feel the moist air the waves' mist brings

The smell of salt is stale

The memory of only a few days ago and the whales, having no chance, beached themselves.

Lights glitter across the cove showing signs of life from the village just a few miles away

Low clouds tingle the taste buds of the mountains, dancing across the rough surface.

No laughing, crying, or delightful screams.

Just the slap of waves incessantly beating and churning sand.

Calm serenity takes over the days' woes and victories.

Surrender or grip the tension within

that's all
me

Second Thoughts...

Hello.
Welcome.
Today, I am going to share a piece of writing which I wrote last year. The place where I was inspired to write these words was in my bedroom in Manhattan, KS. It was a Friday night (please hold all jokes about my social life), and Saturdays I was involved in a writing group called Ink. We wrote, we read, and we workshopped our pieces. It was Saturday morning bliss. Side note: God is sweet, as some students at Fuller are beginning the same type of writing/art sharing group (meeting Saturday mornings 10:30AM Zona Rosa).


This piece doesn't have a title, sorry.

Sing great muse

speak of a time both ancient and future

A time when harmony rang loud

with every movement, every word,

thought and sense

Take me back and lead me toward a time

when purity enveloped

every part of creation.

What would I give to taste

the sweet fruit that quenches

the driest thirst held in my depths?

What could I do to touch the 

lips of the one who speaks

good into existence?

You have ravaged my being and I

will never get it back.

Only keep it, guard it, grow it,

break and heal it that the scars 

from the wounds would turn smooth surface

to rough beauty.

An artwork unlike any other. 


that's all
me

First thoughts...

I feel a certain amount of pressure as to what to write about for my first blog. A first blog should set the tone for everything the blog will be about. Right?
But who honestly cares about setting tones?
I do not.
So...here are my thoughts.

I realized today that I am not nice to my feet (Yeah, I know...you likely did not expect that one coming). I have been thinking about it for a few years, but I did not have a blog then. But I am, in fact, not nice to my feet. I appreciate walking barefoot, and I love to dance without the proper shoes on. Side note: barefoot is not a good way to dance. Even dancing stocking-footed is not good, no matter what Risky Business might teach you. 

Another piece of important information is that when I am agitated, I get restless. When I am supposed to do something (i.e., start a blog), but I am uncomfortable about it (i.e., not wanting to start a blog) I have to walk around to figure our the emotions and let them settle. I am easily distracted and avoid confronting said emotions when I sit and do nothing but procrastinate in doing the very thing I know I will eventually do. Hopefully, you followed that. I promised a friend that I would start a blog today (notice how it is nearly midnight and I am just posting this first blog - haha).

On my agitated walk today, I began to get frustrated with my shoes. They are fantastic shoes, but my feet felt constricted. I needed to feel the earth. The rough concrete against their tough soles, and the grass' soft massage. At the time I took the shoes off, I realized that my feet have been through a lot. Many waters, temperatures, surfaces, etc. In that minute, I connected with my agitation, and grew even more agitated. The moments had collided to a bittersweet cathartic experience. Side note: catharsis is my favorite word...I will discuss it at a later date.

I am agitated about beginning a blog because, like my feet, I have experienced a lot. I have, until now, never been one to share much of my experiences, or my heart with people. I am secretly hoping this post, beginning with feet, will be quickly over-looked and passed up for another, more substantial blog. I love reflection. And when I reflect on my life in my mind...it stays in my mind (obviously). And that is very safe for me.

I am addicted to experiences, though. I love to take them in slowly and observe them as they happen. I listen to all the details: my heart rate, thoughts sparked, a memory being made, sounds. Each element adds its own spice to the final entree. These experiences are very deep and close to my heart; ergo, not something I am readily excited to share. But, here's to new experiences...

heart rate, slightly faster than normal,
thoughts of uncertainty,
who could forget this moment?
I can hear nothing but the pressing of keys (and a car just drove by outside my house)

I hope, for our sakes, my feet have more things to teach.

that's all
me