Here's something crazy. Today I was sitting in bed on the computer, thinking about what I want to accomplish in the future and what I want my life to look like and how I'm trying to shape that right now. I opened up a new Word document and typed "To do before I'm 21." and then in an instant I had this clarity of what I really want to do. I had a feeling that "it's time to publish the book". Woah.
Since I've finished writing and roughly editing it, I haven't really thought about it too much. I sent it off to someone to read and haven't touched it since. I haven't even looked at it. I never really think about it. When people bring it up in conversation I'm always surprised, "Oh ya, that thing I did!" The truth is, I've always felt that it was very much God's project. It wasn't my idea to drop out of school and write it, nope, that was all Him. So as much as it is a very intimate insight into a year of my life, it's never something that I've felt a strong personal, creative bond with. I mean, in a way, yes. But it wasn't my love child that took years and tears to create. Nope. It was pretty speedy. God did most of the work, I just met him at the computer.
While I was writing the book I inquired about some publishing info from this self-publishing company, not really expecting anything more than something to browse at for future, very future, reference. Well, Anna from WestBow has called me a handful of times. She's the sweetest girl. Every time she asks me if I'm ready to take my book to the next stage and every time I tell her that I'm not ready. I don't feel called to do anything with it yet. But I'm not sure if that's going to be my answer tomorrow.
Every part of this process has been clear as a bell. Write it. Edit it. Send it to ______. I never really questioned any of it. In fact, I always felt like it was the only thing to do-any other option didn't even register with me. And earlier today I got the same kind of feeling about publishing. I'm not saying that I'm going to start turning the wheels now, but I'm definitely going to pray about it. I haven't prayed about the book in a long time-many weeks.
It's also possible that I have this urge to get the book out because I've been restless lately. I'm not discrediting that. Either way, it's pretty crazy that I all of a sudden thought of the book, and then opened its Word document and briefly flipped through it. I'm curious to read it again. I guess we'll see what happens!
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Daily Recommended Servings of Emotional Outbursts
How does it work? When we share ourselves with people do we become more or less? Do we become fuller or more fragmented? I would argue the former, in theory. But if we look at the application of my life, I'm all about keeping my mouth shut.
How do I change?!
When I get overwhelmed with a situation I'll debate back and forth whether or not I should tell someone, but inevitably I just spend time talking to myself in front of the mirror, catching my own tears and hearing myself talk. I don't know how to make these conversations happen with anyone besides myself unless I'm caught in them (read "My least favourite place to sit"). I really wanted to text someone-texting specifically because it would require the minimum amount of effort on their part. They could either text me back or they could save it for later. But I couldn't even do that. I ho-ed and humm-ed over it with the phone in my hands, fingers eager to punch out some words on my T9 but I couldn't do it. I went for a run on the treadmill instead and let Bob Marley do all the talking (he is an essential element in my preparations for summer). And now the feeling isn't as intense. The worst of it has subsided. So does that mean that I handled it right? By keeping it to myself, was I being wise? Is reserved best? Should you always talk to someone when you feel like talking to someone? Doesn't that get annoying?! I wish there were rules because I never learned what is okay. And I guess it's whatever is okay to each individual, but I hate grey areas. And I hate depending on people. It's what makes me put down the phone every time.
Are we like the oil that Elijah (or maybe it was Elisha.. I can't remember) said wouldn't run out? The more we give the more we are? Is that how it works? It's easy for me to talk on here-type on here. It's such a formal way of doing things. And it's on my terms. I use the language I want, even the font I want.. it's very controlled. I'm not calling at three in the morning. You can access this whenever you want and I can delete this whenever I want. And we can never even speak about it. This is safe. And normally I like a challenge, but this is one that I've never really conquered, or even faced. I don't know how.
I guess I'll put it on the list of things to do before I'm 21.
How do I change?!
When I get overwhelmed with a situation I'll debate back and forth whether or not I should tell someone, but inevitably I just spend time talking to myself in front of the mirror, catching my own tears and hearing myself talk. I don't know how to make these conversations happen with anyone besides myself unless I'm caught in them (read "My least favourite place to sit"). I really wanted to text someone-texting specifically because it would require the minimum amount of effort on their part. They could either text me back or they could save it for later. But I couldn't even do that. I ho-ed and humm-ed over it with the phone in my hands, fingers eager to punch out some words on my T9 but I couldn't do it. I went for a run on the treadmill instead and let Bob Marley do all the talking (he is an essential element in my preparations for summer). And now the feeling isn't as intense. The worst of it has subsided. So does that mean that I handled it right? By keeping it to myself, was I being wise? Is reserved best? Should you always talk to someone when you feel like talking to someone? Doesn't that get annoying?! I wish there were rules because I never learned what is okay. And I guess it's whatever is okay to each individual, but I hate grey areas. And I hate depending on people. It's what makes me put down the phone every time.
Are we like the oil that Elijah (or maybe it was Elisha.. I can't remember) said wouldn't run out? The more we give the more we are? Is that how it works? It's easy for me to talk on here-type on here. It's such a formal way of doing things. And it's on my terms. I use the language I want, even the font I want.. it's very controlled. I'm not calling at three in the morning. You can access this whenever you want and I can delete this whenever I want. And we can never even speak about it. This is safe. And normally I like a challenge, but this is one that I've never really conquered, or even faced. I don't know how.
I guess I'll put it on the list of things to do before I'm 21.
Fire in my belly!
And cue restlessness!
For the last few days (but it started weeks ago) I've become increasingly anxious to be on the move. I know that I'm supposed to be here in this little teensy town for a reason. And with my dad being the way that he is right now, it's not likely that I'll be going anywhere long term. But still...
I have so much that I want to do!
I want to go back to the coast. I want to soak up Vancouver. I want to see Tofino! I really would like to take a road trip and I'm dying to see that IceHotel in Sweden (I'm pretty sure it's Sweden). And what about Thailand and Australia and I've always always always wanted to go to Africa!! There's so much of the earth that I want to touch that sometimes I wonder why I haven't jumped on a plane already and just fled. Oh, well there's some debt. But debt shmet... it's not going anywhere! And well, neither am I. But I have Westjet credit which makes me all ansty because I know that it's going to expire this summer and where oh where should I go with it?! Should I just book myself a trip to Hawaii? Should I plan to go to BC..? What if something better comes along? There's just so much that I want to do. But I need to be content because this is where I am right now. And friends are going to be home in a month or so. But I just have that fire in my belly kind of feeling like I need to just go.
I should make a list of things that I would like to accomplish/see before I turn 21. It's around the corner, kids. It's totally going to sneak up on me, I just know it. Perhaps that will be on tomorrow's agenda (no work!). I also need to clean my room and start the initial recording process of a little jingle I crafted yesterday. Shhh.. that stays between us.
Oh, and I looked at paint samples today for the ol room renovation. I've decided that I need to paint a giant olive tree on my wall. The one I like kind of looks like it comes straight out of Hundred Acre Forest. Anyways, I'm not a painter, but I like a good challenge. I feel like this might be out of my grasp though. We'll see I guess? I want an olive tree because I read a book awhile back for my global politcs class which associated our roots, culture, and identity as an olive tree-deep and unmoving. I loved the symbolism and it's always kind of stuck with me. After going to Israel last spring and being surrounded by olive trees in the Holy Land, well, that kind of solidified my interest. And I have quotes from some amazing women in my life that I would like to "hang" on the olive tree. I'm curious to see how this idea will translate into real life.
I'm curious to see how my life will translate into real life! Bahhh.. I just want to go, go, go. But I'm waiting for a reason. Maybe I don't need one? But I think I do. I think in this case, since I feel that I was called home, I need a reason to go. I think I'm going to pray about this. And read about the Hebrew children and try and draw some insight from their narrative. Not tonight though, sleep beckons me.
For the last few days (but it started weeks ago) I've become increasingly anxious to be on the move. I know that I'm supposed to be here in this little teensy town for a reason. And with my dad being the way that he is right now, it's not likely that I'll be going anywhere long term. But still...
I have so much that I want to do!
I want to go back to the coast. I want to soak up Vancouver. I want to see Tofino! I really would like to take a road trip and I'm dying to see that IceHotel in Sweden (I'm pretty sure it's Sweden). And what about Thailand and Australia and I've always always always wanted to go to Africa!! There's so much of the earth that I want to touch that sometimes I wonder why I haven't jumped on a plane already and just fled. Oh, well there's some debt. But debt shmet... it's not going anywhere! And well, neither am I. But I have Westjet credit which makes me all ansty because I know that it's going to expire this summer and where oh where should I go with it?! Should I just book myself a trip to Hawaii? Should I plan to go to BC..? What if something better comes along? There's just so much that I want to do. But I need to be content because this is where I am right now. And friends are going to be home in a month or so. But I just have that fire in my belly kind of feeling like I need to just go.
I should make a list of things that I would like to accomplish/see before I turn 21. It's around the corner, kids. It's totally going to sneak up on me, I just know it. Perhaps that will be on tomorrow's agenda (no work!). I also need to clean my room and start the initial recording process of a little jingle I crafted yesterday. Shhh.. that stays between us.
Oh, and I looked at paint samples today for the ol room renovation. I've decided that I need to paint a giant olive tree on my wall. The one I like kind of looks like it comes straight out of Hundred Acre Forest. Anyways, I'm not a painter, but I like a good challenge. I feel like this might be out of my grasp though. We'll see I guess? I want an olive tree because I read a book awhile back for my global politcs class which associated our roots, culture, and identity as an olive tree-deep and unmoving. I loved the symbolism and it's always kind of stuck with me. After going to Israel last spring and being surrounded by olive trees in the Holy Land, well, that kind of solidified my interest. And I have quotes from some amazing women in my life that I would like to "hang" on the olive tree. I'm curious to see how this idea will translate into real life.
I'm curious to see how my life will translate into real life! Bahhh.. I just want to go, go, go. But I'm waiting for a reason. Maybe I don't need one? But I think I do. I think in this case, since I feel that I was called home, I need a reason to go. I think I'm going to pray about this. And read about the Hebrew children and try and draw some insight from their narrative. Not tonight though, sleep beckons me.
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
The Curator of life called... I'm in.
Why do I care about what some boy that I work with thinks of me? Why do I hope that he'll announce to me at work that he'd really like to go fishing or have coffee with me?! Honestly, I'm boggled by myself. We had one conversation about faith and Christianity and such and now I feel like I need to be his friend-I need to save him! More than anything I would like to erase whatever compartment of my brain turns on this feeling. I don't want to care what people think of me. I don't want to wait, hoping that people I have hardly anything besides employment in common with will consider me as their friend. But I really just want to be everyone's friend. It's a selfish thing though. I like it when people need me, because if people don't need me then what am I good for?! It's something I'm working through but the feelings don't just end because you realize you shouldn't feel those things. I love helping people. People being passionate is my passion. But not everyone is as passionate as me. Not everyone really wants to get that close to see a detailed view of my heart. Some are okay to glance at it as they walk by. How do I become okay with being a second class exhibit at a museum next to the King Tut archeological treasure?
I guess I'd have to say that, regardless of how much I feel like an unworthy piece of art, I should realize that those one hundred square feet of space in the hallway is my space. It's mine to showcase what I'm about. It's my space to change peoples' lives for the better and I can either mope about it and hide myself away or I can present myself as open and honestly as possible and take the good with the bad. Sure, not everyone is going to want to know about all of my intricacies. Some people will. But I'm not there for numbers. I'm there because that's my space. And I'll do my best to make the four second walk through my work the. best. ever. And I'll do it not because I'm hoping that you like it, but because that's what I do. True artists don't create to please-they do it because they have to. I'll try to love because it's my call, regardless of reciprocation. I'll do it because that's what Jesus did and that's the whole point right, to become more like Jesus? He wasn't always treasured (actually, rarely) but he never stopped being a light, going the extra mile, giving all that he had to a people who despised him and eventually crucified him. That sounds about the farthest thing from appealing but I really feel like it's my call. Called to love because I've been loved relentlessly by the Creator of the universe. Now I just gotta figure out what that looks like.
I guess I'd have to say that, regardless of how much I feel like an unworthy piece of art, I should realize that those one hundred square feet of space in the hallway is my space. It's mine to showcase what I'm about. It's my space to change peoples' lives for the better and I can either mope about it and hide myself away or I can present myself as open and honestly as possible and take the good with the bad. Sure, not everyone is going to want to know about all of my intricacies. Some people will. But I'm not there for numbers. I'm there because that's my space. And I'll do my best to make the four second walk through my work the. best. ever. And I'll do it not because I'm hoping that you like it, but because that's what I do. True artists don't create to please-they do it because they have to. I'll try to love because it's my call, regardless of reciprocation. I'll do it because that's what Jesus did and that's the whole point right, to become more like Jesus? He wasn't always treasured (actually, rarely) but he never stopped being a light, going the extra mile, giving all that he had to a people who despised him and eventually crucified him. That sounds about the farthest thing from appealing but I really feel like it's my call. Called to love because I've been loved relentlessly by the Creator of the universe. Now I just gotta figure out what that looks like.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Goodbyes are the worst best thing ever.
Like clockwork my tears find their way down my cheeks, gathering speed as they go, finally freed for their seven seconds of fame. And then with a wipe of the back of my hand they die, only to be followed by those still in captivity. It's like a giant slip 'n' slide and the lines keep getting longer. Everyone wants a turn. I guess I can't blame them-every tear should have its day.
I try to be strong and for the most part I think I do a fair job, but let's not forget that I'm actually a sucker for emotions. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Much as I try to play it off like "Oh hey, how'd that get there?", there's no doubt that my heart has to battle the elements outside the cozy little nest in my chest. It's not a baby heart, it's a bruised heart, a big heart. It's fragile yes, but only because it gets tossed around sometimes. But it always bounces back. Always finds its rythm.
However, it's almost inevitable that saying goodbye to someone will kick my heart's ass. UFC. Tap out. It completely rocks me to my core. I can't help but grieve for the friendship, even though it's not necessarily ending. Initially saying goodbye sounds like the worst idea ever. Why? We've got such a good thing going. But not all good things last forever, or at least they don't stay the same. And it's this beautiful opportunity that gives friendship a chance to flourish. True, your experiences will be altered. You might not get the chance to work with that person ever again, make a zillion pastas side-by-side, dance in the middle of the kitchen to Sirius Hits 1. I'll never see his jacket hanging on the locker when I walk in the back door and sigh, relieved to know that the next few hours are going to be genius.
That's over. That chapter has been written. But all of those conversations, the connections that were made, the trust that was established-that stuff doesn't get lost in the story. A goodbye is a chance. It's what you do with it that defines the friendship from there. Distance is just a reminder to not get lazy. It's a challenge; work through it and the relationship will be that much greater, that much more dynamic. Zing! Distance is just a gift if you're willing to look at it that way. A new Blackberry is only useful if you learn how to use it. Otherwise, it's a screen with a bunch of buttons that costs you $150 every month. An experienced Blackberry user would tell you though that it's worth every penny-GPS, internet, and stuff I don't even know about because I don't have one. But only useful if you take the time to make the transition from your Samsung flip phone (complete with antenna for optimal reception, thank you) to a smart phone.
So be a smart friend. Let your heart do its thing. Yep, it's sad so go ahead and mourn over what you're losing but don't lose sight of what you're gaining. And wear that heart like it has nine lives. Don't tuck it away in your chest for no one to ever see, experience. Love people regardless of how much it might hurt to lose them. Love people because you know how much it would hurt to lose them. Live a full life. Invest in yourself and the people you love and never be afraid to take that heart out of its chest and let it go crazy. What doesn't kill it only makes it stronger. And once it's dead, well so are you... soo... it's not your problem anymore.
I try to be strong and for the most part I think I do a fair job, but let's not forget that I'm actually a sucker for emotions. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Much as I try to play it off like "Oh hey, how'd that get there?", there's no doubt that my heart has to battle the elements outside the cozy little nest in my chest. It's not a baby heart, it's a bruised heart, a big heart. It's fragile yes, but only because it gets tossed around sometimes. But it always bounces back. Always finds its rythm.
However, it's almost inevitable that saying goodbye to someone will kick my heart's ass. UFC. Tap out. It completely rocks me to my core. I can't help but grieve for the friendship, even though it's not necessarily ending. Initially saying goodbye sounds like the worst idea ever. Why? We've got such a good thing going. But not all good things last forever, or at least they don't stay the same. And it's this beautiful opportunity that gives friendship a chance to flourish. True, your experiences will be altered. You might not get the chance to work with that person ever again, make a zillion pastas side-by-side, dance in the middle of the kitchen to Sirius Hits 1. I'll never see his jacket hanging on the locker when I walk in the back door and sigh, relieved to know that the next few hours are going to be genius.
That's over. That chapter has been written. But all of those conversations, the connections that were made, the trust that was established-that stuff doesn't get lost in the story. A goodbye is a chance. It's what you do with it that defines the friendship from there. Distance is just a reminder to not get lazy. It's a challenge; work through it and the relationship will be that much greater, that much more dynamic. Zing! Distance is just a gift if you're willing to look at it that way. A new Blackberry is only useful if you learn how to use it. Otherwise, it's a screen with a bunch of buttons that costs you $150 every month. An experienced Blackberry user would tell you though that it's worth every penny-GPS, internet, and stuff I don't even know about because I don't have one. But only useful if you take the time to make the transition from your Samsung flip phone (complete with antenna for optimal reception, thank you) to a smart phone.
So be a smart friend. Let your heart do its thing. Yep, it's sad so go ahead and mourn over what you're losing but don't lose sight of what you're gaining. And wear that heart like it has nine lives. Don't tuck it away in your chest for no one to ever see, experience. Love people regardless of how much it might hurt to lose them. Love people because you know how much it would hurt to lose them. Live a full life. Invest in yourself and the people you love and never be afraid to take that heart out of its chest and let it go crazy. What doesn't kill it only makes it stronger. And once it's dead, well so are you... soo... it's not your problem anymore.
Friday, 25 March 2011
My Favourite!
I'm going to try to write about one of my favourite things every Friday. It's part of this blog's expansion into greater greatness.
I have the pleasure of dedicating my first edition of "favourite things" to public transportation. I just can't get enough of it!
To clarify, I really love foreign public transportation, but domestic sometimes does the trick just the same. When I'm in Europe (because I'm there frequently and casually...) one of the things that I love to do most is to ride the metro of whatever city I'm in. Nothing makes me feel more like a local kid than bumming around in the those low ceiling tunnels. That's where I notice fashion trends, passionate musicians, oh and people who like to steal things in the crowded metro cars. But I try to notice those people before they do anything tricky.
I can't help but feel like I'm off to work, off to see my boyfriend, off to a life-changing audition when I'm riding on those things. I become one with the people of the city while the drone of the metal track and the sway of the car keeps us in a hypnotic rhythm of sorts. Perhaps I'm spiritualizing this experience too much. I mean, really you're just stuffed into a box with strangers who speak a different language and could very well want that camera that you just tucked in your purse. Maybe. But I guess that's part of the appeal too. It's not glamourous. It's regular, common, every day.
I don't want to spend my time in Paris taking pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower. I want to go eat too much bread and cheese with my wine and listen to a cellist in a dive-y bar filled with cigarette smoke. For me, the metro is just part of experiencing the city that doesn't get talked about. No one says "Leave time to take a ride on the fabulous metro system. Simply flawless." in any of the guidebooks. But without it, the city wouldn't run. It's integral. And it's kind of a fun game to try and find the metro signs instead of just jumping in a cab or something.
And because I'm a huge dork, I think you should totally check out this t-shirt from Threadless. It's a depiction of Middle Earth (from Lord of the Rings)'s metro system. Gah! No worries, I already ordered one. It's in the mail.
I have the pleasure of dedicating my first edition of "favourite things" to public transportation. I just can't get enough of it!
To clarify, I really love foreign public transportation, but domestic sometimes does the trick just the same. When I'm in Europe (because I'm there frequently and casually...) one of the things that I love to do most is to ride the metro of whatever city I'm in. Nothing makes me feel more like a local kid than bumming around in the those low ceiling tunnels. That's where I notice fashion trends, passionate musicians, oh and people who like to steal things in the crowded metro cars. But I try to notice those people before they do anything tricky.
I can't help but feel like I'm off to work, off to see my boyfriend, off to a life-changing audition when I'm riding on those things. I become one with the people of the city while the drone of the metal track and the sway of the car keeps us in a hypnotic rhythm of sorts. Perhaps I'm spiritualizing this experience too much. I mean, really you're just stuffed into a box with strangers who speak a different language and could very well want that camera that you just tucked in your purse. Maybe. But I guess that's part of the appeal too. It's not glamourous. It's regular, common, every day.
I don't want to spend my time in Paris taking pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower. I want to go eat too much bread and cheese with my wine and listen to a cellist in a dive-y bar filled with cigarette smoke. For me, the metro is just part of experiencing the city that doesn't get talked about. No one says "Leave time to take a ride on the fabulous metro system. Simply flawless." in any of the guidebooks. But without it, the city wouldn't run. It's integral. And it's kind of a fun game to try and find the metro signs instead of just jumping in a cab or something.
Thursday, 17 March 2011
House Rules
Hello from mountain country!
I'm nestled in between the Rockies and the Purcels and couldn't be happier. I'm with family and couldn't be moretired excited.
All jokes aside I actually have a mild case of Housewife Fever. Aside from waking up before the sun to get the girls ready for school, it's a pretty appealing lifestyle. Of course I'm here a short time and there are only so many temper tantrums two little girls and one little boy can fit into two weeks... right? Either way, the idea of spending my days in a kitchen making meals (gluten free in this particular house!) and baking goodies is just about enough to make me have a baby of my own. Ahhhh.. kidding. But on some level I'm anxious to get "there".
On an entirely different level, I'm so utterly glad to report that my life is nothing of the sort. My time is actually my time. I go to work and I do my thing. I'm writing this blog because I feel like it and no one is hollering my name to change their diaper, read them a story, play outside. Not usually. I'm a free bird and I la la la love it. There are days when I long to decorate my house and look at fabric patterns and design the layout of my ensuite master bedroom leading to a balcony with a view of the alpine slopes of a mountain overlooking a sandy beach which extends to a crystal blue ocean. The usual. No big.
That's definitely part of me, definitely somewhere inside. But for now, I'm happy to look at fabric patterns for my clothes and design my own bedroom and not be responsible for anyone else in my life. I like this solo thing. I think I'll have a hard time giving it up actually. And I can design a place complete with co-ordinating colours and dishware sets and stainless steel appliances faaaar before I actually committ to a person.
Trouble.
Don't ever let me buy a house on my own. No matter how much I try to convince you that it's a good idea, it's not. I'll die alone. I will have hosted three trillion dinner parties and girls' nights and tupperware shindigs, but only one side of my bed will ever get used and my personal trainer will be the first one to find me cold. dead. corpsed.
That's not okay. So although I've got some time (plenty, actually) to get used to the idea of comitting to someone-good, bad, ugly, unmentionable-it's still something that terrifies me. But in this case, scary is good. It's not like it's a shag rug carpet or anything.
I'm nestled in between the Rockies and the Purcels and couldn't be happier. I'm with family and couldn't be more
All jokes aside I actually have a mild case of Housewife Fever. Aside from waking up before the sun to get the girls ready for school, it's a pretty appealing lifestyle. Of course I'm here a short time and there are only so many temper tantrums two little girls and one little boy can fit into two weeks... right? Either way, the idea of spending my days in a kitchen making meals (gluten free in this particular house!) and baking goodies is just about enough to make me have a baby of my own. Ahhhh.. kidding. But on some level I'm anxious to get "there".
On an entirely different level, I'm so utterly glad to report that my life is nothing of the sort. My time is actually my time. I go to work and I do my thing. I'm writing this blog because I feel like it and no one is hollering my name to change their diaper, read them a story, play outside. Not usually. I'm a free bird and I la la la love it. There are days when I long to decorate my house and look at fabric patterns and design the layout of my ensuite master bedroom leading to a balcony with a view of the alpine slopes of a mountain overlooking a sandy beach which extends to a crystal blue ocean. The usual. No big.
That's definitely part of me, definitely somewhere inside. But for now, I'm happy to look at fabric patterns for my clothes and design my own bedroom and not be responsible for anyone else in my life. I like this solo thing. I think I'll have a hard time giving it up actually. And I can design a place complete with co-ordinating colours and dishware sets and stainless steel appliances faaaar before I actually committ to a person.
Trouble.
Don't ever let me buy a house on my own. No matter how much I try to convince you that it's a good idea, it's not. I'll die alone. I will have hosted three trillion dinner parties and girls' nights and tupperware shindigs, but only one side of my bed will ever get used and my personal trainer will be the first one to find me cold. dead. corpsed.
That's not okay. So although I've got some time (plenty, actually) to get used to the idea of comitting to someone-good, bad, ugly, unmentionable-it's still something that terrifies me. But in this case, scary is good. It's not like it's a shag rug carpet or anything.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Guard it with your life.
Here's a little video that I made with the help of some lovely friends.Story in a Song: Guard Your Heart
I hope you enjoy! I'm off to British Columbia in the morning to reunite with some wonderful family and some beautiful mountains. I really should be packing...but all I want to do is decorate my t-shirt for work. Life's rough sometimes.
I hope you enjoy! I'm off to British Columbia in the morning to reunite with some wonderful family and some beautiful mountains. I really should be packing...but all I want to do is decorate my t-shirt for work. Life's rough sometimes.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Dulce Suenos (sue-when-yos... because I can't find that thing for the n)
So I'm going to go ahead and blame the Spanish coffee that I had around 11pm as the reason why I'm up wide-as-the-province-of-Ontario-awake at 5:35am. It's either that or there's something unsettled in my head that I need to process. But all that I've been thinking about for the last 40 minutes is what I'm going to make myself for dinner tomorrow at work.
Let me paint you a picture.
This really evolved from I'm not sure where-I think I just wanted some fries or something. But the plan is to take fries and deep fry them (already a brilliant idea, right?) and then take some chicken strips and do likewise. Then I'll chop the chicken into bitesize or slightly bigger pieces and coat them in Frank's Red Hot sauce. I'll take the fries and put them in a pile with a dip in the middle for the chicken to sit. Then, sprinkle-no, no smother-the hot-chicken-potato with a blend of fine mozzarella and sharp cheddar, throw some jalepeno peppers, red peppers, and whatever other tasty produce will add some colour dynamics to the plate. Put it in the conveyor oven for three and a half minutes and on the other side will be a delicious creation of various forms of fat with some peppers (I suppose that's the Mexican in me..).
I'm going to sauce it with some BBQ sauce and a side of ranch for heat-stifling purposes. And I'm probably going to drink a rootbeer.
I feel like there is a lot of potential in this dish. That might be the Spanish coffee talking but what's not to love? I'll try to be a dedicated blogger and actually go through with making this and maybe even take a picture.
Anyways, I was mostly hoping that if I wrote something in this then it would make me sleepy. Not the case! I'm still wide awake, thinking of deep frying things and some honest conversations that I've had with people in the last few hours. It's the best thing when you try to live a life full of love-one that's honouring to the God who made you and every other being on the planet-and then someone acknowledges you for it. It's not that praise that matters, but the affirmation that "yep, God's working in peoples' hearts; he's doing some big stuff right here, right now." That's the best. That's like hot chicken fries baked in an oven with cheese kind of best.
So whatever we're doing, let's do it big and bold and full of passion. Let's just wow people. We are not dry toast meant to sit half propped up in the toaster, quickly turning into crumbs. Nope. We're meant to be a feast-flavourful and full of nutrients (hey, cheese has tons of calcium!). People should look at us and crave whatever it is that we are-whoever it is that we're all about. So let's use up all of our spices guys. Let's not hold anything back. Be sweet like honey and hot with passion. Be the best thing that people have ever had. They might just wonder what kind of soul food you've been eating, and lucky for them you'll know exactly what to say. You're on that 66 course diet from a Master Chef who knows what you like better than yourself.
Let me paint you a picture.
This really evolved from I'm not sure where-I think I just wanted some fries or something. But the plan is to take fries and deep fry them (already a brilliant idea, right?) and then take some chicken strips and do likewise. Then I'll chop the chicken into bitesize or slightly bigger pieces and coat them in Frank's Red Hot sauce. I'll take the fries and put them in a pile with a dip in the middle for the chicken to sit. Then, sprinkle-no, no smother-the hot-chicken-potato with a blend of fine mozzarella and sharp cheddar, throw some jalepeno peppers, red peppers, and whatever other tasty produce will add some colour dynamics to the plate. Put it in the conveyor oven for three and a half minutes and on the other side will be a delicious creation of various forms of fat with some peppers (I suppose that's the Mexican in me..).
I'm going to sauce it with some BBQ sauce and a side of ranch for heat-stifling purposes. And I'm probably going to drink a rootbeer.
I feel like there is a lot of potential in this dish. That might be the Spanish coffee talking but what's not to love? I'll try to be a dedicated blogger and actually go through with making this and maybe even take a picture.
Anyways, I was mostly hoping that if I wrote something in this then it would make me sleepy. Not the case! I'm still wide awake, thinking of deep frying things and some honest conversations that I've had with people in the last few hours. It's the best thing when you try to live a life full of love-one that's honouring to the God who made you and every other being on the planet-and then someone acknowledges you for it. It's not that praise that matters, but the affirmation that "yep, God's working in peoples' hearts; he's doing some big stuff right here, right now." That's the best. That's like hot chicken fries baked in an oven with cheese kind of best.
So whatever we're doing, let's do it big and bold and full of passion. Let's just wow people. We are not dry toast meant to sit half propped up in the toaster, quickly turning into crumbs. Nope. We're meant to be a feast-flavourful and full of nutrients (hey, cheese has tons of calcium!). People should look at us and crave whatever it is that we are-whoever it is that we're all about. So let's use up all of our spices guys. Let's not hold anything back. Be sweet like honey and hot with passion. Be the best thing that people have ever had. They might just wonder what kind of soul food you've been eating, and lucky for them you'll know exactly what to say. You're on that 66 course diet from a Master Chef who knows what you like better than yourself.
Friday, 4 March 2011
My least favourite place to sit.
I live a pretty easy, stable, and functional life. I have to admit that it's a lot of peach-y. I have two wonderful parents, a job that helps me pay off my school debt, friends that send me cards in the mail "just because", and a bedroom that acts as a sanctuary. I'm typing this on my bed as we speak. I woke up around 9 am. Things look pretty luxurious I must say. But nothing is free; peaches don't become peaches without hard work, hard sun, and hard rain. Those peaches need a lot of help from God and hands that care.
And so, while my life appears to have not been rattled by anything too drastic, there are some things going on under this roof that are in fact quite drastic. My dad is overcome with severe anxiety, hasn't been to work in nearly two months, and needs almost constant attention and encouragement. My father.. the man who scratched my hand in church every Sunday when I would flop my hand in his lap, who uttered wisdom in almost every sentence that he spoke, the man who was the the foreman on the job when the foundation of my personality was being laid as a child, he's not the same person that has invaded my dad's body. Or maybe he is, just a different side of him that I've never seen, but either way sometimes I have to do a double-take when I look at him, or when he says something wildly uncharacteristc of the man that I've come to know during the last 20 years.
But honestly I really didn't think that I was troubled by it. I've been positive about the situation, through the ongoing doctor's appointments and tests and scans and medications. In fact I remember telling him that I couldn't help but be a little excited for him because God was taking him on a journey where he had to fully rely on God. I thought I was saying all of these things for his sake. And maybe I was. But more than that, I was saying those things for me, as a coping mechanism.
If I said things were okay, then things WERE okay. If this is just a journey with God then the ending is good, and yes, the ending will be good, but good according to God and his will, not according to my preferences. I adamently displayed a confident attitude about the whole situation because someone needed to take my dad's place as the firm foundation of the family. But the confidence was just an act, just a means to avoid the nagging questions in my head about the reality of the situation.
What if my dad never returns to the way he was? What if he gets worse? What if his brain is toxic and it's just a matter of how long the downward spiral really is? Those are kind of scary questions. And he might be fine, but he might not be "fine".
The other day my dad told me that I should make sure that I was talking to someone about what was going on because he knew that it must be difficult for me. I kind of shrugged off the suggestion because I really didn't believe that I was affected by it. I'm strong. I can see the positive in everything. I don't need someone to support me-I support me.
...I don't even know how to have that conversation.
I continued on, avoiding my dad as best I could without seeming like I was avoiding him. I would chat with him and regardless of what he told me I would respond with something like, "Isn't that great?! You probably never would have learned that if you weren't in this situation. Wow. God is so amazing." I'm sure that I left him stunned sometimes. I have a running script in my head that I spit out whenever it seems that he is done talking. I'll say anything to convince myself that, "This is good. This is good. This is fine. It's all okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay."
But the emotions never really go away, hard as I try to push them out. They get carried with me wherever I go, usually undetectable. I can have conversations galore without a person ever really seeing into my heart, and that's the way that I've operated most of my life. I don't like to talk about things that are bothering me. I like to be dependable. I like to be in control. I want you to come to me when you're having a bad time and I love to make people feel better, encourage people, challenge them and inspire them. But the thought of being vulnerable to someone else terrifies me.
And so I went to work and found out that I would have to stay longer than my original shift and close the restaurant because there was a mistake in the schedule. Chip. I was feeling a little tired, having not fallen asleep until 6 AM that morning and sleeping on and off until noon. The thought of working until 1 or 2 in the morning was unappealing at best, but there was nothing that I could do. So I continued working. My co-worker notices my fairly glum demeanour as the rest of the crew dances and fist pumps their way through whatever cool David Guetta tune is blasting through the speakers. "You seem tired." Chip. I smile half-heartedly but don't respond.
I walk into the freezer to sweep it. In that moment of solitude I start to cry. Crack. While standing beside the cactus cut potatoes and garlic toasts, tears well up in my eyes and stream down my face. At first I'm perplexed as to what could possibly bring me to tears and then I see my father in his sad and confused state and I'm overwhelmed. I take those few moments to realize that what's going on at home really does bother me, but then I remember that I'm at work. I can't hide out in the freezer forever (because although there is a bountiful supply of frozen meats, mashed potatoes, and apple crisps, I didn't bring my coat). I assume that there are probably orders piling up on my screen so I let out a deep breath, wipe my eyes and hope that I come out of there looking cool and refreshed.
Mmm..not so.
That same co-worker takes one look at me and can see that I didn't just take an extra long time in there to get at the pieces of shrimp stuck under the shelf. But sure enough, orders are on my screen and I grab some spatulas to make some jumbalaya fettuncini. He gets in front of me. "Let's go for a break outside." I shake my head no, but he turns me around to go and get my coat. I tell him that I'm fine and he doesn't believe me. We walk outside.
"Tell me what's going on."
"No, if I do then I'll cry."
"Melissa, it's okay to cry. Tell me what's up."
The door opens and another coworker and longtime smoking partner of his steps out. "You couldn't have waited two seconds for me?" I take this as my chance to flee from interrogation. I make a b-line for the pasta station, which doesn't talk to me, it just does what it's supposed to (usually anyway). I can't hold myself together though, and my eyes betray my best acting abilities. I blame it on the cajun spice, which isn't too far fetched of an idea since it has been known to aggrevate the senses of whoever is cooking with it.
A few pasta dishes later and I feel like I might make it through the night without having to explain myself. People are working, minding their own business. But then the rush dies down and I'm told that it's time to go have a chat in the office. "Well I'm in the middle of making this smokey spaghetti so maybe after that." He tells someone else to look after the spaghetti. I'm defenseless.
The door shuts and we sit there and why I even try to contain my tears at this point is beyond me. There's no point in hiding that something is going on. So I talk, try to muster up some words in between sobs and he gets it. He listens and he understands and he makes me feel better.
He's in my chair.
And I'm sitting in someone else's chair, some weaker person's chair and it's not comfortable. I feel like I'm lying on the couch at the pyschiatrist's office and I hate that feeling. So we talk about that, too. We talk about how it's hard to let people see the emotional side of us, but why it's a good thing. And guess what. The talk helps. I try to avoid it at all costs, but it is healing. In my friendships I never try to be a burden but doing so makes me less dimensional.
After our chat I think of all of my friends who have seen me cry (not counting goodbyes or sad movies) and it's few. Very few. And it makes me think of why I resist the comfort that can be found in good friends. And I can think of some reasons, and they are different for everyone, but whatever those reasons are, they aren't good enough to not ask for help when you need it. It's actually not okay to pretend that you're doing fine when you're not. You need to believe that people will love you good, bad, and ugly and that you're worth the time and the effort. Because you are.
I know it's hard to sit in that "other" chair. To be on the receiving end of help feels so defeating, but I think it's actually a sign of strength. For you to be able to know when life becomes too overwhelming for you to live it fully and to ask for some of the weight to be lifted, that's smart. And it makes you more relatable when you do find yourself back in the helper's chair. If you've been there, if you've experienced the pain of a similiar situation, but you know how much the words of another helped, and if you can truly empathize with the person looking at you with tears in their eyes, you become a bigger blessing. In that office, he could and therefore he was.
Living a full life is about being fully open, not to the whole world, but to people in your life that can build you up. Without them you will inevitably become empty, because so much of your energy is focused on just holding yourself together. Be brave and you will be blessed.
And so, while my life appears to have not been rattled by anything too drastic, there are some things going on under this roof that are in fact quite drastic. My dad is overcome with severe anxiety, hasn't been to work in nearly two months, and needs almost constant attention and encouragement. My father.. the man who scratched my hand in church every Sunday when I would flop my hand in his lap, who uttered wisdom in almost every sentence that he spoke, the man who was the the foreman on the job when the foundation of my personality was being laid as a child, he's not the same person that has invaded my dad's body. Or maybe he is, just a different side of him that I've never seen, but either way sometimes I have to do a double-take when I look at him, or when he says something wildly uncharacteristc of the man that I've come to know during the last 20 years.
But honestly I really didn't think that I was troubled by it. I've been positive about the situation, through the ongoing doctor's appointments and tests and scans and medications. In fact I remember telling him that I couldn't help but be a little excited for him because God was taking him on a journey where he had to fully rely on God. I thought I was saying all of these things for his sake. And maybe I was. But more than that, I was saying those things for me, as a coping mechanism.
If I said things were okay, then things WERE okay. If this is just a journey with God then the ending is good, and yes, the ending will be good, but good according to God and his will, not according to my preferences. I adamently displayed a confident attitude about the whole situation because someone needed to take my dad's place as the firm foundation of the family. But the confidence was just an act, just a means to avoid the nagging questions in my head about the reality of the situation.
What if my dad never returns to the way he was? What if he gets worse? What if his brain is toxic and it's just a matter of how long the downward spiral really is? Those are kind of scary questions. And he might be fine, but he might not be "fine".
The other day my dad told me that I should make sure that I was talking to someone about what was going on because he knew that it must be difficult for me. I kind of shrugged off the suggestion because I really didn't believe that I was affected by it. I'm strong. I can see the positive in everything. I don't need someone to support me-I support me.
...I don't even know how to have that conversation.
I continued on, avoiding my dad as best I could without seeming like I was avoiding him. I would chat with him and regardless of what he told me I would respond with something like, "Isn't that great?! You probably never would have learned that if you weren't in this situation. Wow. God is so amazing." I'm sure that I left him stunned sometimes. I have a running script in my head that I spit out whenever it seems that he is done talking. I'll say anything to convince myself that, "This is good. This is good. This is fine. It's all okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay."
But the emotions never really go away, hard as I try to push them out. They get carried with me wherever I go, usually undetectable. I can have conversations galore without a person ever really seeing into my heart, and that's the way that I've operated most of my life. I don't like to talk about things that are bothering me. I like to be dependable. I like to be in control. I want you to come to me when you're having a bad time and I love to make people feel better, encourage people, challenge them and inspire them. But the thought of being vulnerable to someone else terrifies me.
And so I went to work and found out that I would have to stay longer than my original shift and close the restaurant because there was a mistake in the schedule. Chip. I was feeling a little tired, having not fallen asleep until 6 AM that morning and sleeping on and off until noon. The thought of working until 1 or 2 in the morning was unappealing at best, but there was nothing that I could do. So I continued working. My co-worker notices my fairly glum demeanour as the rest of the crew dances and fist pumps their way through whatever cool David Guetta tune is blasting through the speakers. "You seem tired." Chip. I smile half-heartedly but don't respond.
I walk into the freezer to sweep it. In that moment of solitude I start to cry. Crack. While standing beside the cactus cut potatoes and garlic toasts, tears well up in my eyes and stream down my face. At first I'm perplexed as to what could possibly bring me to tears and then I see my father in his sad and confused state and I'm overwhelmed. I take those few moments to realize that what's going on at home really does bother me, but then I remember that I'm at work. I can't hide out in the freezer forever (because although there is a bountiful supply of frozen meats, mashed potatoes, and apple crisps, I didn't bring my coat). I assume that there are probably orders piling up on my screen so I let out a deep breath, wipe my eyes and hope that I come out of there looking cool and refreshed.
Mmm..not so.
That same co-worker takes one look at me and can see that I didn't just take an extra long time in there to get at the pieces of shrimp stuck under the shelf. But sure enough, orders are on my screen and I grab some spatulas to make some jumbalaya fettuncini. He gets in front of me. "Let's go for a break outside." I shake my head no, but he turns me around to go and get my coat. I tell him that I'm fine and he doesn't believe me. We walk outside.
"Tell me what's going on."
"No, if I do then I'll cry."
"Melissa, it's okay to cry. Tell me what's up."
The door opens and another coworker and longtime smoking partner of his steps out. "You couldn't have waited two seconds for me?" I take this as my chance to flee from interrogation. I make a b-line for the pasta station, which doesn't talk to me, it just does what it's supposed to (usually anyway). I can't hold myself together though, and my eyes betray my best acting abilities. I blame it on the cajun spice, which isn't too far fetched of an idea since it has been known to aggrevate the senses of whoever is cooking with it.
A few pasta dishes later and I feel like I might make it through the night without having to explain myself. People are working, minding their own business. But then the rush dies down and I'm told that it's time to go have a chat in the office. "Well I'm in the middle of making this smokey spaghetti so maybe after that." He tells someone else to look after the spaghetti. I'm defenseless.
The door shuts and we sit there and why I even try to contain my tears at this point is beyond me. There's no point in hiding that something is going on. So I talk, try to muster up some words in between sobs and he gets it. He listens and he understands and he makes me feel better.
He's in my chair.
And I'm sitting in someone else's chair, some weaker person's chair and it's not comfortable. I feel like I'm lying on the couch at the pyschiatrist's office and I hate that feeling. So we talk about that, too. We talk about how it's hard to let people see the emotional side of us, but why it's a good thing. And guess what. The talk helps. I try to avoid it at all costs, but it is healing. In my friendships I never try to be a burden but doing so makes me less dimensional.
After our chat I think of all of my friends who have seen me cry (not counting goodbyes or sad movies) and it's few. Very few. And it makes me think of why I resist the comfort that can be found in good friends. And I can think of some reasons, and they are different for everyone, but whatever those reasons are, they aren't good enough to not ask for help when you need it. It's actually not okay to pretend that you're doing fine when you're not. You need to believe that people will love you good, bad, and ugly and that you're worth the time and the effort. Because you are.
I know it's hard to sit in that "other" chair. To be on the receiving end of help feels so defeating, but I think it's actually a sign of strength. For you to be able to know when life becomes too overwhelming for you to live it fully and to ask for some of the weight to be lifted, that's smart. And it makes you more relatable when you do find yourself back in the helper's chair. If you've been there, if you've experienced the pain of a similiar situation, but you know how much the words of another helped, and if you can truly empathize with the person looking at you with tears in their eyes, you become a bigger blessing. In that office, he could and therefore he was.
Living a full life is about being fully open, not to the whole world, but to people in your life that can build you up. Without them you will inevitably become empty, because so much of your energy is focused on just holding yourself together. Be brave and you will be blessed.
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