don't expect much of this post

december has been wonderful. here are some snapshots.

i dressed in black, as all directors do. seventy students, kindergarten through middle school
 performed songs and scenes from a poorly written (read:cheesy) christmas play. i instructed these rambunctious children, some of who were more disinterested or nervous than eager, to lock their eyes on me for cues and choreography. the result was hysterical - zombie eyes, concerned eyes, energetic eyes met mine on every step and riser. i could not help my laughter. managing to compose myself was difficult but the play turned out well. the occasional forgotten line or solo sung out of time was expected. they did lovely. i do wish it was more than one evening. it seemed so anticlimactic to move chairs, erect a set and lights, run microphone cords for one performance. next year, next year.

in true hispanic fashion, i spent an evening with masa underneath my fingernails. the feller, my mom, and i spread the mixture on clean corn husks, filled and rolled them. we were experts after the first few attempts were corrected mercilessly by mom. i know it is my last year living here but i always want to be around for and trusted with christmas eve preparations - vacuuming, cleaning, hanging, lighting, etc. christmas eve celebration was so much. just good times eating and playing games and opening presents with deep appreciation for the ones around us. lucky people we are!

the feller and i traveled to san diego twice. both times our eyelids hung heavy with sleep. i do love those moments of rest and unproductive lounging. we go on the occasional walk to offset the hours spent on a couch which could be equated to happily sinking in quicksand. we ate until we were full. we went to dinner with friends and before we had a chance to dig into our bougie plates, i realized, again, what good friends they are. we are lucky to have these two in our lives. they stick. and for people who have often felt displaced and abandoned, this is so so so important.

the christmas tree is still up, as it should be.

i have time off. the kind of time that allows for hours of reading, reacquainting oneself with music, and general cleaning of this-and-that. the kind of time that encourages watching movies in between hours of reading and actually playing with ones dog!

i am happy. that is not the most important thing in the world - i believe unhappiness does people good - but it is nice.

and, lastly, it is almost the new year!

cheers to

writing more than i did in 2013

painting my nails and lips

finding a more stable work schedule

being a friend

being quiet

minding my business

taking a watercolor class

cooking

adjusting my perception of myself, again and again

giving (anything) to others even if it is unlikely to be reciprocated

oh yea, and, like, getting married or something

ray

here is a picture of ray bradbury.

i can't remember if it was my father or my eigth grade english teacher who introduced me to ray but both played a part. growing up, my father took me to bookstores regularly. we are of the same breed. in a loud family, we like hours of quiet and adventure in our head. so, we spent hours thumbing through shelves, the old, dingy perfume of printed paper filling our lungs. one day, i came across the illustrated man. it is filled with violence and possibility. around the same time, i was assigned fahrenheit 451. we were instructed to mark it up with questions and thoughts. this was the first time i wrote in my book. write in my book? with a pen!? sacrilege! eventually, i adjusted. it was not an irreverent violation of the text, but a way to interact, absorb, and remember. fahrenheit 451 shocked and stirred me. i had no idea that words could be used with such imagination and power.

i read this book recently.  ray got his education at the library. he had a wife whom he met in a bookstore. she read proust and he read buck rogers. they had four daughters. he had two affairs. ray wrote one short story a week for more than 40 years despite his unpromising talent. his determination was fanatical. he willed his way to the sides of huxley, disney and more. always learning from  and pestering those who were better. he wrote for television, movies, radio and more. he sold short stories as collections and disguised them as novels. he feared the ending of things and was obsessed with immortality. creating is death's greatest loophole - keeping him alive in public conciousness as long as they read his work. ray wrote human stories even if his characters were martians. he instinctually played with metaphor and imagery. ray, ever the outsider and onlooker, dressed his life and the common things in it with words - beautiful, simple, and true.

i'd like to be like him.

and in the name of one-too-many-links:
this is a young ray. what a winner.

aging.

i am aging. does that sound silly at age twenty-three? well, i am.

i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and see a radiant, irrepressible woman.

a month ago i noticed that the veins on my legs were getting bluer, greener, darker. some even slightly raised. i am aging, i thought, and of all the magnificent applications of my imagination i could choose from - i chose worry.* and where else would worry lead me but the infinitely credible world wide web. it is the authority of our time. i half-laughed at this instinctual compulsion to ask ask ask the omniscient google why and how and all sorts of other inquiries. i laughed because it is the first place i go when i am worried about something. i am a hypochondriac in the worst sense, don't you know? and later, in the bath and on the feller's shoulder and on my dear friend's bed, i sobbed because i am so terribly afraid of being rejected for my body - my small breasts and wide hips and tiny belly and veiny limbs. i thought i would handle aging better. i thought it was the one thing i was mentally prepared for - it will come, i thought; it is unavoidable, i reminded myself; i am more than body; i chanted. but who is prepared to age? to feel and see the good things - health and youth - pass? to know this passing gives way to the one dependable eventuality - death?

but i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and cannot help but swell with affection. she has wrinkles and grey hair and lovehandles and painful vericose veins and arthritis. she has consistently been slighted by the men in her life. she could be like so many - stalking empty beauty. but she has chosen to give herself to the needs of others - her grandchildren, her children, her siblings, her own mother. she is a well of good intentions. she is a loving cook and dedicated worker. she is endlessly interested in the lives of those she loves. and her advice is always the truest thing she knows to be helpful. she is a beautiful woman. and is most happy when plating dinner, jabbing at her eldest, laughing loud and full.

these past few weeks i can see how boring and pitiful it is to be obsessed with maintaining youth. what a dull life. my mother teaches me this. working with children gives me a means to practice this 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. i can restrain myself from interacting with the kids (i.e. not going in the water with my bathing suit on, etc.) or give myself fully to them. to be tugged on. to be a child's pillow. to become a master sand castle maker. to be hugged, squeezed and, occasionally, dragged. to tag them back-and-forth-back-and-forth because there is no such thing as "no tag backs." to be out of breath and tired by them. to save them from that-really-big-wave. to tell them no. to throw the ball hard because they can handle it. to run across the campus in search of a stuffed animal or missing sock. preoccupied with my insecurities, i could be no real help. i could offer them nothing.

so, i am aging and all good things wither and die. but my mother reminds me that fear and worry don't change this, that life is better when it is about others, that serving heals us.

*the feller occasionally calls me a "worried wart," rather than a "worry wart." it is because 6-8 months ago two warts appeared on my cursed left foot. they are since gone and the memory of them makes me laugh if only because it makes him cringe.

my lot too.

i spent the first hours of black friday* on my bed with a friend addressing the tensions over the last six months or so. the distance and avoidance. the felt separation.

from kindergarten to high school i went to seven schools. 

kindergarten at my church.

first grade at an elementary close to home.

second and third grade at a new magnet school that opened.

fourth, fifth, and sixth grade enrolled in a gate program across town.

seventh grade at a private school.

eighth grade at a public school (the private school closed).

high school at one place.

we only moved once that whole time, to the house that i now live in. but i never had the chance to keep friends because i was always in a different school. i would have a best friend for one or two years and have to say goodbye. when i realized that i had two or three friends at my church, i clung to them. i wasn't leaving my church any time soon. but those friends have since bowed out of my life. i haven't spoken to them in two or more years. and there have been new friends that have come along. some have recently moved further south. others are in their beginning stages. and i am thankful. but this does not change my upsetting history with friendships. 

my friend and i talked about ears that judge, keeping a record of wrongs, unreciprocated availability and the uneasiness that is a product of rejection. i told her i needed her. that as much as i am afraid to enter into friendships due to my history of being royally screwed over, i am willing to work through it. that as much as i want to say i am done being relegated to a spot on the edges of your life, i love you and find you to be valuable. i expect to be disappointed in relationships and that isn't fair. it isn't giving her a chance. but she has disappointed me. there will be more chances to give. making friends is hard for me, i admitted. i don't know who to trust and am used to being overlooked, replaced, and used. there was mutual sharing and apologies and forgiveness. we consecrated the moment with prayer and a hug and a promise to stay friends.

and in the morning i wept. for the friendships that have collapsed on themselves. the friendships that were not kept. who will be my friend?  i asked of the Lord. who will care for me? who will extend a hand of mercy and a word of loving correction? and who will let me be their friend? who have i to care for? who will give me place in their lives? i recognized Him as the Steadfast One, the Faithful One. He is my forever friend - this is a source of deep pleasure and comfort. and i beheld Christ who was rejected and despised among men, a man of sorrows, aquainted with suffering, the One whom people hid their faces from. i considered His experiences of betrayal and loneliness. i remembered the accusations against Him, the misinterptation of His words and deeds. His friends could not even keep their eyes open and pray by His side in His final moments of despair. and i wondered if this was my lot too. and i wept for Christ - forsaken, bruised, and killed. the light of life, extinguished.

*i know people call it 'good friday' and that's fine. but for me, it's jumping the gun to celebration. it is turning our eyes from the torture too quickly. it interupts the shock, the disorientation, the sadness. it is the Church's duty to behold Christ, the suffering servant. my gratitude deepens when i see His chest heaving for breath and, finally, still. He is faithful to the end. He is my company in despair.

cheers

this weekend my sister-friend got married to this guy. (sorry for the grainy picture i stole from somebody's facebook...) and the feller and i were lucky enough to make it in the bridal party!

it was memorable and it has been an honor to see them make this journey towards marriage. they have endured much and have sought counsel and the wisdom of others. they have loved God by loving each other well, by continually inviting Him into the conversation. they are good examples and great friends.

i have known Truth by their correction and love. they always make me laugh. and usually leave me feeling uncomfortable! but this is in a good way. a way that helps me realize how people's uniqueness is to be celebrated, a way that pulls me out of my introverted cacoon. they are so much fun and i love them dearly. i am thankful for their presence in my life.

cheers to the beginning in all its vibrancy.

cheers to navigating the daily-ness of life.

cheers to trusting God and each other when life is grey or black.

cheers to intimacy in all its forms.

cheers to a sacred union, the blending of lives, that insufferable balance between you and i and us.

cheers to their life together.

last night, family and friends picked bottle caps off the floor, stacked dirty dishware, folded linens, rolled out tables and loaded up cars with props and decor.  many hands make light work. yes. this, i think, is the biggest testament to the kinds of people jackie and josh are. they have a circle of loved ones who will, even after the celebration and in their absence, voluntarily serve them. 

on feeling inferior, reading into things, and trusting.

this post might as well be titled the sequel to "it seems too simple."

last night was anouther double date with the same couple, our third one with them to be exact. and it wasn't as defeating as the first one, which you must keep in mind while reading this. another thing to keep in mind? i endured a headache all day, my heels hurt, my body was achy and i had woken up several times the night before. i wasn't feeling too hot (though i looked it). there might have been recognizable dissonance brooding in me but the night was no fiasco. we ate, laughed, and walked. it was good.

phrases like representational art, conflicting american ideals, and the lesser of two evils disagreed with me. in all honesty, i know nothing of politics or fine dining or historical figures or pipes or economics. i am terrible at retaining information.  my memorization skills kick ass but retaining what i memorized? a whole other story. so i forgot what president did what or what some wars meant for our country.  i'm not well-versed in how to eat this or the art in that gallery across the street.  i don't have pointed opinions about some things. heck, i am poorly informed about many things. i am not a knower, though i wish i was.  so the beast made a dramatic appearance once again last night. and i became fixated on my lack of contribution to the conversation. i become fixated on how much i do not know (and how much they do). i become fixated on their tailored speech. the whole time, feeling inferior. feeling that i cannot be friends with these people. feeling as if i've some sort of impression to uphold and defend and prove. making assumptions on how i am being perceived.

i read into things. it is what i have been told to do as a singer. i get a song and i analyze why the composer did such and such with the melody line and why the accompaniment does such and such. i become a character and i must know every nuance of their emotions without asking them. i make up my own story, my own background and i construct (and reconstruct) the reasoning of each character in each song i sing. i sift through the possibilities of motivation behind one phrase. is she sad? is she jubilant? is she fearful? and why is she these things? and why is she deciding to give this words now? so i read into things and i construct your reasoning. and i make assumptions about what you are thinking and why. it's terribly unfair because you are a real person that i can - gasp - get to know. and getting to know someone will usually relieve me from my assumption making duties. knowing you, i don't have to assume... i can ask or trust what i already know.

i need to give people a chance. i need to give myself a chance.

stacey, give yourself a chance. you are smart, funny. 

you know about family and dailyness and alonedom. 

you know about change and decision-making. 

you are soft and a good listener. 

you are primarily a feeler, but you are a thinker too. 

you are beloved. 

and because you have weathered life for twenty-two years

under the grace, faithfulness, and leadership of a good God

you can contribute to the conversation in unique and enlightening ways.

i get lost in surging assumptions and violent fears and i forget that i know a God who stills these things with faithul love. he is my anchor, yes? i've got to bring this to mind on nights like last night. i've got to trust this so deeply that nights like last night become rare - preferably nonexistent. 

a big plus of last night? learning to eat an artichoke the right way.

there is always a silver lining.

it's okay

saturday afternoon i was sleepy. having a friend over the previous evening after a whallop of a day at work was difficult. being present when i am sleepy is probably one of the hardest things for me to do. feel especially pleased with yourself if you are a person who unravels my sleepiness and makes me awake. others can't do it. saturday afternoon proved what i already knew: this friend could not. but i tried my hardest to honor her and her time. to listen to her stories and worries. to discern when to use my tongue, which often resulted in not speaking because, well, it wasn't necessary.  she is a beautiful individual and i must always meet her with the same loving attention i do the sleep unraveling ones.

my dad had been having back problems the evening before. the remote was on the ground and wanting to fast forward through the commercials he walked over, extended his arm, bent his back and suffered terrible muscle spasms.  he was able to get in bed with help. saturday morning he couldn't get up because of the pain. age had absent-mindedly forgotten it's tightly clenched dentures in his lower back. there was a brief time span where he was able to walk and eat breakfast and protest, of course, that he was not in need of immediate medical attention. pride said no to a hospital ride. my mother couldn't break his mulishness and such a division cut off her opportunity and impulse to help. she took my nephews to a soccer game and i, who had been planning on attending a surprise birthday party, was his only helper. i assured him that if he was in need of help i was there. this is something i am working on. helping. putting aside myself for the sake of others. i'm not playing martyr but i am trying to good to those i love.

love stays.
love helps.
love prefers the other.

the call was made, despite his embarrassment. i have never been immobilized and i could imagine his embarrassment.  for a man who only truly confides in his own strength and ability to get things done this is as welcome as chinese water torture. he is a lone ranger in a family of fixers, helpers, and talkers.
 
he insisted to the dipspatch that he wanted no sirens, no lights. both were present. they came. five or six of them. i can't remember anything really. i just remember thinking thank God it's only his back. not his heart. not a stroke. no blood. still conscious. just his back. these men were friendly. they made jokes. they eased the tension. they are professionals and could save his life, but their presence was more than steady hands and knowledgeable minds... they made my dad laugh. thank you paramedics for being more than smart and able. you are kind, funny. you helped in many ways. they made themselves at home. i stepped back. they moved tables and pushed back couches. they asked me questions. thank God it was just his back. rolled him on a paper gurney. then he was placed on a real gurney. he was rolled out of my house and into an ambulance. it was just his back. i had to keep reminding myself of this because i am a fan of csi - the great perpetuator of fear and worry. i have watched them all. i have also watched all without a trace episodes and cold case episodes. i'm starting to enjoy criminal minds but i can't help but be hesitant for one reason only. anyways, i was about to drive off when i realized my curling iron was still plugged in. i was curling my hair before we made the call but had forgotten about it in the midst of five or six men making themselves present. not wanting to see these men again about other business, namely a slightly toasted house, i ran in and turned it off. i followed them. i sang. i gave thanks. i remembered He is my anchor. i hoped He would become my dad's anchor.

i arrived. and waited in a room full of wheelchairs and crying babies and laughing children. i dislike hospitals. mostly the clamy feeling they give me - i swear, those flourescent lights and AC kill me. not to mention that the easter bunny left his pastel fingerprints on the tile and walls. i waited. not long after, i was given access to his room and sat there for three hours. he got shots and pills. i heard him moan in pain. there was fear. there was helplessness - i could not ease his pain or lift him up.  i could do nothing about his condition. i wondered if he felt embarrassed in front of me. i wondered if he felt out of control. probably. maybe it was lack of control that frustrated him. wanting to get up, but not having the ability to do so. weakness is embarrassing. i gave him a card last week telling him it's okay to be weak. i hope he remembered some of that saturday. he is better and i am still thanking God that it was just his back. i love my dad. and was reminded that he - as well as my mom or any other person of significance - is not guarenteed to be around as long as i idealize.

momento mori: remember your mortality.

i would rather think on it now, come to terms with the ash i will become - that taunting pile of dust that will claim us all - than to still mortality's voice. what good what it do to shove it in a corner with sewn lips? it will make itself heard in tragic ways, regardless. 

p.s. the feller will love me for my latin reference. it's one of his favorite things to ruminate about.

it seems too simple,

saturday night the feller and i doubled with a couple i wasn't well-acquainted with. and before i could think about their kindness or their humor or appreciate their uniqueness, i assumed. and based on assumptions, which were (probably) true i tried to correct everything they (might) have been told about me.  because well, when people are angry with a situation they talk - a lot - and to a lot of people. i worried they were measuring me up against the picture sketched with the frustrations of another. i, the young woman who was sure of herself weeks ago, was confident she could hold her own weeks ago, was worried. while twirling my linguini around my four pronged fork and making swirls in the marinara sauce, i thought. thinking, in my case, can lead to devasting conclusions. i am a class one, self-diagnosed (appropriate, yes?) hypochondriac. and i worry about red eyes and slightly bulging veins and tight breathing. my hypochondria isn't limited to medical emergencies. no, i look behind me when i walk to my house from the street at night. i check my back seat before i enter my car lest a murderer or rapist be lurking (or contorted) in the back seat somewhere. and when it comes to relationships and friendships it might be worse. sometimes i conclude it's better to leave everyone (because they secretly want to leave me but won't out of pity), to suffer the losses, and prepare for the next time i'm forced to leave (because they secretly want to leave me but won't out of pity). i worry. my thoughts tend towards the worst outcomes. saturday night i thought of things they might have been told. i thought of how their opinions of me have been swayed. i wondered if they were comparing me to you. i wondered if they could see you at the table rather than me. i was less myself because of these worries. i laughed less and couldn't think of the right things to say.  it was still a good night. my sheepishness likely went unnoticed since they don't know me well. the feller knew. he knows. i love that.
early sunday morning, God reminded me who i am. daughter. strong. silly. wise. beautiful. and who He is. anchor. rock. truth. He reminded to keep my gaze steady. you see, i do look to the left and to the right. i look. and i worry. i assume. and i worry. i think. and i worry. a steady gaze sheds worry.  a steady gaze requires i not overanalyze, twirling thoughts like i do linguini. it is good to be reminded that, at the end of the day, one persons sketch of me as this or that holds no water like His does. but until i lock my eyes with His, i will torment myself with the what-ifs of that sketch endlessly.  the former is just a better way to live. sunday night, in an attempt to escape my easy-bake-oven of a house, the feller and i went to in-n-out and our faithful gelato supplier. i was honest with him about our double. he assured me that proving myself benefits nobody, achieves nothing. that he loves me and that the sketch isn't worry-worthy. vulnerability is great, friends. it builds trust. it increases intimacy. it gives space to bleed. it gives space to heal.

a note on this post:
i penned the above yesterday morning. but on my bed last night, after a bout of anxiety that only preys on the sleepy and sensitive, i opened my bible of ten years. (because sometimes you know you aren't strong enough to pass up the good words of a good God). the leather cover isn't attached to the pages anymore but i still stuff the bound pages between the cover like a pita.
john 5. jesus asked "do you want to be made well?"there was not even a "yes" or a "no" but a reason as to why he hasn't been able to be well. he is an invalid. he needs the assistance of another. no one will help. other people are made well. he is overlooked. and i'm sure he is used to this. perhaps even looks pessimistically towards getting better. perhaps even looks bitterly at passerbys. jesus didn't need a "yes" to know. and He wasn't off-put by the mans pessimism or bitterness. apathetic as the man may have been, He made him well. last night i was reminded that jesus asks me if i am through with sitting on my mat, crippled and despising my condition. he asks me if wellness is my hearts desire. am i through with being a victim of sickness and mistreatment? well, yes. but i have been walked over lord. i have been dragged through shit. and there are people who help me (the feller, lex, sister, jackie, etc.) but sometimes i don't let them. i am understandably jaded, lord. and at the end of the day, it is hard to shake the familiarity i have with the titles invalid, victim, and (because of these things) worried skeptic. despite my condition and my titles He still asks. and i say yes. it seems too simple, but i say yes. and he says "stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!"

it reminds me of isaiah 1: "stop doing wrong, learn to do right." or in john 8: "go and sin no more." these are unnervingly direct commands. there are no prefaces or buts or ands or ifs. there are certainly no explanations, which usually stave off change and quiet courage. sometimes they come after His kindness or healing. even so, they say we have a part in being made well. so i recognize my weakness and i say it. i describe it. i learn it. i do this so i can spot it from afar. i do this so i can articulate situations to loved ones in the most true way i can. it equips them to help. or to tell me to help myself! i do this so i know where i need Him most. so i can make specific requests of Him. so i can invite Him into these areas to do as He desires. i stop worry in its tracks. and i don't, out of boredom or stress, navigate social media sites such as facebook and blogger and twitter. i kill the beast. i redirect my thoughts. i replace them with the current state of affairs, which are lovely. i exercise confession and honesty. i present myself bare before loved ones. i rejoice in vulnerability. and i celebrate the ones who make vulnerability possible.

confession is the way out.

i had a brief stint in a book club full of girls two summers ago, 2010 i believe.

we read the weight of silence and the particular sadness of lemon cake.

the first i enjoyed, the second, well... i could appreciate.
schedules are the death of many things. 

people moved and got busy, that was the end of that book club.

in 2011 i met with some friends and we opened up james frey's a million little pieces. besides the oprah scandal, which i think was overwrought and silly and don't give much weight to anyways, it was wonderful.

stream-of-concsiousness alway steals my heart. lack of quotations marks is quirky and we all know that the best break the rules. fragmentation. quick and short and long and quick. repetition. base needs given pulse in his torrential excess of words. it seemed his way out of addiction was a hole of blackness and whiteness - both blinding. the hole was terror. the hole was fury. the shovel was loss of dignity. he wriggled out with confession. frey showed me - at a time where i could continue in deception (of self, of others) - that truth is paramount. the. only. thing. that. matters.  confession is the way out. this slightly fictionalized memoir wrapped thick cloth around my wrist and dragged me through the hole. and i experienced pain and agonizing isolation and estrangement. i took heed of the destruction deception ensures. monstrosity. 

if frey is one thing, he is self-aware (distorted, depressing awareness but aware). aware of what he feels he deserves. nice things or nice people are not some of those things. small kindnesses are too beautiful a gift. pardon from his sins is laughable. he is responsible for the sorrows of others. he has ruined all good things with carelessness and avoidance. he disqualifies every human thing in him thus creating a boundary that keeps people out and away. his sentiments about light and being exposed and his uncomfortability with both are, i think, universal. darkness provides cover. his sabotage. self-loathing. shaming. are best done in the dark.  he feels akin to darkness. darkness is escape to those unworthy of forgiveness. of breath. of space. of opportunity. darkness is friend to the irreparable. 

he said:

"we are all awful."

and with little reservation, i say - yes. yes we are.

there were lots of stories of similar men and women in similar holes. and there was hope. 

but the one thing that gave me the courage last summer, was frey's conviction that the truth was the only thing that mattered. it gave me the courage to uncover lies and to stop lying. so i told the truth and was met with understandable frustration and grace grace grace (not expected, but given nonetheless). i had been awful, just awful to those i loved. but i took responsibility for it. i had been hurt by those who never took responsibility for their recklessness, for their omission, for their sins. i refused to be that. i may have been awful, but i refused to continue to be such a person. that summer i heard the voice of God in an addict. yes, frey gave me courage. and that fall i began seeing a therapist on campus that semester. we talked about loss and deception and letting go. it was good. one thing became apparent: small decisions and big decisions lead to a life style. i could choose, like frey, to say no to self-destruction. unlike frey, i knew that my salvation was not self-reliance but was instead a God of grace and power. it was the continued support of friends and family who knew me. it still is.

all grown and facing giants!

i had opted to leave my hair salty and my skin still freckled with sand that evening. i applied coral-red lipstick and half-tucked my white lace shirt. en route to the night's festivities i talked to myself, of course. i talked to those i expected to see. i weighed words and juggled phrases and cut my language with precision.  i prayed that change would have a voice and a body in me that night. that fruit would be tasted of. integrity. wholeness. honesty. confidence. peace. it is one thing to perceive yourself changed. it is quite another to be confronted with the past, faces and environments with which you clung to only a year ago, and to feel the change that took place. this was the test of that change. did a year provide the time to get my bearings straight? would i lose them in the presence of the past? i wondered what i would feel. if i could handle it. aprehensive, i parked near a car i spot everywhere. but only because it was the closest parking spot - and still, it was far far far from the house.  the image of that grey truck is knotted to memories. i am a visual person. and images are what i see when i close my eyes. are what i see when i read or sing.  without looking i see that truck, though owned by others, and know the past has a say in my future, but is not the authority within whose power it is to decide my future. i walked briskly to my dear friend's home that i have ate, slept, and showered in. this time round, the grass would have fixtures of my past, the air would be filled with an old familiar murmur. past these fixtures i walked into the home to help with an item for the party and to confide my hopes and fears of the night to this friend who is more like a sister. yes, i walked briskly but turns of heads and first looks were not lost on me. images and pictures and all things visual stick, remember? there was shock. my presence was obviously unexpected. [i had a personal invitation from the one going away, but not the official event invite on facebook.] the shifting and uneasiness was, well, understandable. it had been a year or so since i had been with ninety-five percent of these people. after sharing in confidence my hopes and fears of the night, i headed to the yard. and i passed you who i knew at one time. and you were a stranger. there was only the conversation of acquaintances not deep dish pizza sharers or late night callers or entangled desperate lovers. because we are not that anymore. freedom. release. walking away without wondering, i felt it. we are separate people, living separate lives. and it is better this way. and i would not change the way things are for the world.  other people filled me in - they had moved out and have roommates, they want to do administrative work, mothers are moving closer, brothers are living with aunts, they want to move from performance to sound work.. on and on. i was honored to listen, to be trusted - if only for a night. and they asked about my life. actually interested. and i, freer than i've ever felt, could answer for myself, for the life i chose, for the only one i am responsible for. i could be happy and proud of it, for it. He has brought me to a spacious place. the boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places. surely, i have a delightful inheritance.  for the first time, i could engage with those i once felt threatened by. i could look in the eyes of those speaking without my periphery curiously reaching for evidence of berayal.  there was none of that. ah, freedom. we didn't speak again and i didn't hang by your side. and i didn't even cling to my dear friend. i was confident. i held my own.  and it was wonderful. years of horrific confusion and constant sadness. and, today, i am a wholer, healthier person. restoration came. is still coming, mind you. but it came! driving away, i was aglow. each time i recount the events, the subtle nuances to the evening and what they mean, i become light. content and grateful. alive and awake.

the transition from one life to the other was much too quick in some ways. the decisions made about a year ago set me flailing and circling and in a completely different - better - direction.  but there were questions. there were doubts. can she be alone? she hasn't taken time to be her own person. i think i wondered too. but that night provided me with assurance that i am my own. i don't need someone by my side to know know know i am somebody. i can take ownership of my life. i know that if things fell apart again, i could handle it*. i am strong. i am rooted deeply. i know who i am. and i'm pretty damn awesome.

before i pulled out from that evening my dear friend said goodbye, that she was proud of me. it meant so much to me to hear that. thanks, lex. and that evening as i got home and laid down (after already falling asleep on the fellers chest while watching a redbox and sleepily driving home), she sent me a text:

"look at you all grown and facing giants!"

i am glad to face giants with her by my side. with other dear friends and family. with the feller. all by my side. i am glad to have faced the past. and to have come out of that experience feeling sure that yes was the right answer a year ago. 

*the feller and i talked about this. we are far from falling apart. and even though he chants momento mori and even though we visited a cemetary on his birthday, he was unsettled by my cheeky but truthful phrase "darling, i am pondering the end of us." the end. oh! the end. i don't want it. but, finally, i am sure of myself. of who God says i am. and it is liberating. so much so that i can ponder the end, knowing full well that i will be okay if it does end. the first time around i was sick with fright. the feller and i - we don't want the end. we can handle life alone. but we are choosing each other. the sharing. the tears. the quiet nights. the discussions. the kisses. the sacrifice. the laughter. life is good with him. he thinks life is good with me. we make meals together and spend days off with each other. we go on walks and make cards for each other. we know each others families. and we treat each other well. we point each other to truth, even when it necessitates change. we argue and discuss and worry . but we treat each other well. we have been through a lot but, i suppose more than treating each other well, we love each other well. he is quite the catch. :)

p.s. i hope addressing you doesn't upset or confuse anybody. the only reason for addressing you is because you were involved in the horror, the change, and (once we both relented and abdicated our place in the other's life), the good. thank you for relenting, for leaving, for releasing me. for living your own life.  you live so near and i don't know you anymore, but thank you - to be frank - for going away. it has been the best thing for me and by the looks of it for you - i think you would agree. 

my postulations

i am many things, but poised is not one of them. and i have a way with clumsiness that puts bambi to shame. to the left is a picture of my toe twenty-five days ago. the incident happened at a park within the first ten minutes. it was a field trip with the kiddos. running after an almost first grader, my foot slipped through a plastic ground covering for wires of some sort. i could have crossed over any of the other ones surrounding it but i landed on the only one that was not stable. of course. talent i tell you! my left foot was blanketed in dirt, leaves, sticks, and the like. i rinsed it with my prized dasani water bottle (me, carry water? what?) and i realized that i was bleeding not only from my ankle but from my toe. a more discerning inspection would reveal that i had a deep incision on my ankle and that i had a flap of skin hanging off of my toe, which would be eventually trimmed off leaving a bare section of exposed, raw skin. lex cleaned my wounds and wrapped them. (as much as i struggle with friendships, i can trust this lady.) there wasn't much pain besides the unavoidable sting of alcohol swabs. the whole ordeal was over after multiple cleanings, many bandages, a visit to the doctors resulting in a tetanus shot, and time time time to heal. i lack physical deftness, friends. and i am by no means as polished as my demeanor lets off. i am a fumbling oaf in a small frame. come near me with caution.

that friday triggered a series of laughable events that have inflicted my left foot since then. stubbing and bruising three toes on this foot at a water park. a wart or blister (i have yet to determine) between my big toe and the one next to it sprouting. and a bug bite the size of two quarters side by side is petitioning my nails for a scratch. when i picked up running again last week, i rolled my left ankle. of course. talent i tell you! talent!

i am almost convinced my left foot is cursed. doomed to be amputated one day, by accident or necessity. the feller thinks my postulations are silly and overstated. obviously. but it's still fun to say so. and even though my left foot is cursed, i am still so thankful for it to balance my gait, my stance. to help me move freely, if not nimbly. because some people don't have a left foot. or any feet at all. and some do have but cannot use. so i'm thankful for my cursed left foot. it will give me stories to tell.

this!

graduation meant that the furtherance of any post-graduate work was up to me.
now, of course this means the idea of a masters. but beyond that amorphous idea, is the more important one of studying voice regardless the absence of recitals and juries. what would be the point, afterall, if it would not be part of a program where i would receive a plaque or paper for my efforts? the point is not achievement. nor is it success. you see, i am not writing my own music. i have no band. no record label. i sing regularly. and, for as long as i am able, i want to sing regularly. the point has something to do with my junior year. i began to rediscover, primarily due to a change in instructors, the satisfaction of singing well - hard work and all. the unearthing of such delight took me entirely by surprise. i did not forsee, did not expect the bravery and confidence that would enliven my efforts. my instructor, heather, knew how to teach me. how to correct and encourage simultaneously. she is enthralled with song and it is contagious. it frees me. reminds me to not be so afraid of the notes and languages and lines that are too long. but to try. and fail. and suck. and be okay when my body is too tired or sick to produce a clear sound. and to not consider that, the uncontrollable reactions of my body, as failure on my part. because sometimes our bodies just need to rest. her belief in me has freed me. it began sophomore year. and along the way i became enamored with french, the drama of music, the light and openness i felt when my sound is placed perfectly, and crisp diction. with growing courage, i was able express my connection with a piece of music outwardly. no rolling of the eyes here. no fidgeting movements of self-disapproval. this, this! is the point.

there was no question that i would continue studying with her in june. this time the money would be my own. continuing private studies, i decided, was worth it. and already i look forward to rehearsing, to embodying each song - every word and turn of phrase. i have no intention of becoming a wedding singer or producing an album. i want to explore my instrument - to train it and free it.

p.s. the feller laughs tensely when any song i connect with comes on. i tell him my body feels different. physically feels different when certain songs come on. but it is true. the same thing can be said of the songs i am singing with heather. i feel physically different when i sing them. i feel powerful and energized, even in my vulnerability. i feel more myself. i feel beautiful in my song.

not always

i helped the feller and his roommate move on saturday and sunday
twenty plus hours of packing, cleaning, more packing and more cleaning. lots of music and ridiculous statements/jokes. complete exhaustion. food breaks (i.e. sandwiches, pho, ice cream sandwiches, vanilla filled pandas, barbecue chips, orange chicken and rice). jacuzzi time. finally cable and internet and planet earth: incredible families. snuggling and quick signs of affection between lifting, organizing, and scrubbing.
i've never helped anyone move before like this. i'm sore for goodness sake. and i can't calculate the number of bruises i've accumulated over two days. but it was so much fun.
and i am excited for the future. for moving out. for moving in. for eventually living with people other than my parents. for grocery shopping, dish washing, and bills. yes, even bills. for small experiences i will capture with my holga, given to me about a year ago from the feller.

we will not always be young.
but while we are young let's set this world on fire.
i had to do that.
ahem.
but while we are young i resolve to enjoy and be thankful for every ride in a uhaul, every cheap and filling dinner, every dog that playfully attacks me, every hug and kiss, every deep gaze, every every every.

p.s. their new place has windows, long open windows. natural light galore. my favorite.

i graduated.

two weeks ago today i graduated.
and as i said here, it was a different experience than most. for example, i didn't have groups of people to take pictures with before or after baccalaurette and graduation. i had family. and the feller, who also graduated. and his family. and a handful of friends. but it didn't bother me like i thought i would. i know why things are like they are. and i can accept my blunders and be thankful for the strong pillars of support and generosity i have surrounded myself with. they are wonderful people.

the evening before, i sat with the feller crying. thankful for my school and the four years spent there. but feeling as if the whole experience was compromised - what did i accomplish? who have i become? i said to him i am the same, nothing has changed. of course, that is a limited, dreary outlook. but i still become ill with insecurity about my body. i still tremble at preposterous assumptions and suspicions. i still worry worry worry. and i told him it's taking too long. it's tiring. it's hard. change will never happen.

we talked. and sat. and cried. concluding that He is faithful to complete the work He started in me, in us. that change comes slowly. but that change has come (hello, look at the last year!). and that change will come because He is able to turn a heart of stone into a heart of flesh. that, in the words of thomas merton, an apple ripens by sitting in the sun. that perseverance is of utmost importance. we concluded that there are good things to look forward to even if we must pass through the threshold of fear and doubt.

vulnerability is a brilliant opportunity to expose oneself as they are.
and though i hate it at times (who likes to be seen as they are? sometimes we are monstrous, hideous, broken creatures.), i am thankful for this intimate sharing.
sharing words. sharing tears. and pressing our lips against the salt and sorrow, against each others' tan taut faces.
yes, vulnerability is a brilliant opportunity.

two weeks ago today i graduated.
and i am a different girl from four years go.
and i am a different girl from even last year.
and He is faithful.

psalm 126:3

the Lord had done great things for us,

and we are filled with joy.

niv

p.s. pictures to come.