Shores & Currents

There are moments of gratitude. For desires unfulfilled.

The countless times I was swept off the beach and into the sea. Dove deep and touched the bottom, the sand melting through my toes. Catapulted myself back to the top and tumbled over the waves. Held still and let the rhythm of the waves set the motion of my body, defying gravity in one breath and pulled downwards in another, exhilarated and then jagged.

Do not go under. Hold your head high. I counseled myself. And the others can only watch from the shore.

The times I wished to be pulled under. How deeply I believed I could breath down there. That the sand would always melt underfoot and through my fingers, never rough or solidly unforgiving. That I could carry myself better, with more grace. My body, my thoughts, my heart, my soul - they would float. Miles down, perhaps, we would be closer to the core. Magnetism intensified and out of view from the shore, attraction interlocked, we would float on.

I am grateful to stand on the shore. Grateful I did not go under.  The sand would have been rough, no softer than concrete. The currents too strong, we would have been pulled away by the undertow. Only our fingers intertwined without the strength to come any closer. I would have taken a deep breath and drown.

How deeply I believe I can breath down there. Yet, I am grateful for the certainty of the shore.

Until I am certain of the strength of the core.

Wanderlust Wednesday, Follow Friday, and I Didn't Steal Your Boyfriend

I fell asleep to this song on repeat blaring from my ipod on the metro ride home tonight. 

(Holy prepositional phrases, Batman.) 

I have no idea why I couldn't stop listening to this song or why its charged anthem lulled me to sleep, but it made for a great fast ride home. (Yes, I am overtired. Yes, it has been a long, long week.) There have been times in my life when this song has rightly been my anthem. Driving down the highway, with the windows down and the volume up. Right now is not one of those times. But I'm glad to know that I can embrace this song anyway. Although, I'm not sure I'm exactly proud of that.

I'm not posting for Wanderlust Wednesday or Follow Friday this week. That's actually what I came here to share. Not my craziness. That's just an added bonus. I do Wanderlust Wednesdays and Follow Fridays because they give me some structure to think about things (and people and places) I love. I haven't had any of that time this week and because I'm a pretty principles oriented stubborn individual, I'm not going to post without proper reflections. 

(Which is ironic considering the content of this post.)

If I had to quickly choose a place to be this week, I would choose a bed I slept in during March of 2008. It was the. best. bed. ever. It was big with sheets with a high thread count and down comforters and a high-quality memory foam mattress and pillows. I was in Heaven. I talked about that bed for weeks after, until my friend told me to stop because I sounded crazy. (And, you know, discussing it here three years later does not make me sound crazy. Ha.) Anyway. That bed. Amazing. And yes, Coke. I'm still talking about it. I know you're cringing as you read this.

And if you're interested in a Follow Friday, I'll be serious for a moment and direct you to this post. Empathy, compassion, kindness, and strength (and gorgeous writing).

This week is all types of full and fast because I'm headed to Chicago for a few full and fast days next week (work related) and then I'm headed home for a bit for the holiday weekend. I'm not sure what to expect for this space, but I'm hoping to find some time to check-in. (Hey, airport lounges with wifi!) If things get even crazier than this week, I just wanted to let y'all know why I'm not posting (or why I'm posting sheer insanity). But I'm hoping all I need is a good night of sleep and a deep breath and you won't even notice that I'm here, there, and everywhere.

Y'all are the best. Thank you.

{ Photos of The Week }

More photos here.

"Title and Registration"

I didn’t think I would be able to go out that night. My face looked like I had an allergic reaction to a bee-sting - swollen, puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She said that she thought I should come. It would be good for me. She was stronger than I, perhaps, in soft leather booths and swept up hair. Eye make-up in her hands. I asked if I could wear a hooded sweatshirt. She told me I could, if it was the only thing that would enable me to go, but that I should try a little bit and put on something else. Again, she said it would be good for me.

I walked back downstairs and stood in my closet. Thought about curling up in the corner and closing my eyes and waiting until morning. I ran my finger across the shoulders of hangers, stopping at each black top, and then up and down the piles of sweaters, again lingering on black. I glanced back at my hooded sweatshirts and chose a blue sweater with a blazer. Negotiated that the combination felt like a sweatshirt but with more form. Reminded myself that I saved black to pair with dark eyeliner and my black hat to declare boldly, “I will defy you.” Whoever “you” may be. Almost always myself. I reasoned that I could not claim this feeling as defiance. I could do nothing more than continue to breath in and out. So I slipped into the blue sweater and discounted most make-up but ran a straightener through my hair. We walked down the stairs in complementary boots.

We chose a small Thai place towards the corner of downtown and promised ourselves we wouldn’t see peer faces or hang ours in shame. I couldn’t claim shame anymore than I could claim defiance. I hadn’t stepped out of the house in the 24 hours since we found out, still hadn’t uttered the news out loud to people who would have wanted to know in the immediate aftermath moments. I didn’t know what to expect from friends who hadn’t held that title in my life for very long. Walking across the parking lot, I grabbed the hand of the one who had held that title for years. Other than her, I wasn’t sure I could face...anyone.

They spotted us through the glass door and didn’t hesitate a moment before gathering us into a hug. I let go of every muscle in my body and they held me up. And I suddenly knew I would be okay. We left it all, right there in the doorway, wrapped up in a hug.

We took a table in the corner, for privacy and peace and avoidance. She came bounding in with mania and a twirl. “Celebrating!” she squealed and we smiled. Awkwardly. And I knew my red-rimmed eyes must have faded. I suddenly wished I had worn the black-eyeliner and that black hat. She chattered on about her non-date and failed to see our darting eyes. It rose quickly and unexpectedly. I made the mistake of glancing across the table and meeting their eyes. Two pairs holding back and holding down. It was too much. We burst. Burst into laughter and leaned into the table and wiped our eyes. She stood confused, but we couldn’t stop. And we couldn’t explain. I felt badly after she left. But who expected such laughter to come after such devastation? Who knew I would laugh again so soon? So fully and so completely. As if I had not laughed in years.

We ordered champagne. We toasted failure. The bubbles rose as our glasses clinked. I wrestled the chaos in my head: failure, fear, shame, disappointment, sadness, uncertainty against the feeling that this is exactly the way it is supposed to be. I chose only what I knew to be true as I took the first sip: friendship always rises to the top - old friends and new. We finished that bottle and ordered a second. We laughed loud enough for the neighboring tables to look over and smile. “Celebrating!” she had exclaimed. We were too, I realized. Celebrating friendship, yes. But I also had already overturned the tiniest thought, planted the smallest seed of inquiry - what if this failure brings me more than if it had been a success?

We finished the second bottle of champagne, paid for the Thai food, and walked through the late September night into a cozy, almost underground bar with leather seats and painted books on the walls and ordered martinis. Cozy girltalk with a best friend and two girlfriends who could turn into best friends and the bar tender just smiled at us from across the mahogany and the backs of our leather seats. When I looked in my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realized I was still smiling. Deep creases and a twinkle of more than alcohol in my eye.

Restless, we a moved couple blocks towards the water. Requested darts and a round of drinks. We hit the floor more often than the bull’s eye before deciding to hand the darts back across the bar. We laughed. The men in the corner stared. Until the boyfriends met us and we grew restless again and trekked back to the dark bar and the leather seats. Silly and unattached, I flitted among the girlfriends and boyfriends, sipping their drinks until she and the boyfriend collected me to go home. Goodbye, my friends, I adore you.

We walked out into the late September night, and I held her hand on the way to the boyfriend’s car. She twirled me on the brick sidewalks and I squealed in warm night air. October would drop the temperature and the chaos that rose with the first champagne bubbles would return, but that night I knew I would be okay. That night the thought that the worst will end up being the best had taken root. Almost two years later, it still grows. And friendship still rises to the top.

Related: Untitled; From the Department of Internet Dating; In Which I Write To Sort Things Out (And Don't Really Expect You To Get To The End, Promise)

#Follow Friday

[ Langer ]

Wanderlust Wednesday: Oahu, Hawaii

Yes, please. 

Where would you like to be this Wednesday?

Share by linking up!

 

Photo by Paul (dex)
Wanderlust Wednesdays inspired by The World We Live In 

Song of Myself

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

I am quiet.
Always the last to speak,
and when required,
usually filling silent space
with meaningless words.
Although
when extended,
they comprise a story
that holds much more.

I have strong fortress walls,
by nature and by design.
I leave people standing outside
for far too long
before I open the gated door.

I have before disdained these walls.
I have tried to tear them down
and scale the side of them.
But when I succeed,
I arrive on the other side
exhausted, disoriented, and vacant.
I let them be now.
I have opened the door
so many times
to so many people
that I am no longer afraid
they will keep anyone
who really wants in
out.

I am worth the effort
and without them
I wouldn't have an interior
I love.

Inside the walls,
I am quirky and colorful.
Have I told you today that I love you?
Let me count the ways.
I have an eclectic curiosity
with a soundtrack of laughter.

Yes, I can. Yes, you can. Let's do this.
I am sheer determination and persistence.
Fiercely independent and sincerely collaborative.
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself.
I take risks
and walk so far from my comfort zone
that I often can't find my way back.

I am not afraid to say
I don't know.

I am a listener
at my core.
Tell me your truth;
share your story.
I'll stay up with you for hours,
drain my phone battery,
show up and
cheer you on
as loudly as I can.

I'll tell you everything.
(Almost.)
Share those stories
and ramble nonsense.
Ask the right questions
and then the silly ones.
I'll tell you what I hope
for me,
for you,
for the world.

And then I'll tell you how scared I am.

I am put together and I am a mess.
Organized and prioritized,
disheveled and sloppy,
overextended and overwhelmed.
I fall into black holes
and don't reach up
or let anyone reach down.
I find my way out and redirect.
I am terrified of falling,
but I keep walking.

I hold on tightly to the people I love,
even when they don't know it.
I refuse to see this as a flaw.

I am an idealist and a realist.
Yes, I can be both.
I utterly fail to function outside of my values.
Meaning and connection
are at the core.
Have I told you today that I love you?
I am worth the effort
and I am enough.

"Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you."



Title and italic sections from "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman
A back door or an open window, if you are here, you have found a way through... 

Ch-ch-changes...

Nothing big, I promise. That title might be a little misleading. Anyway...

I made a couple of changes to the sidebar and just wanted to share them with you.

1. I have a photography tumblr and linked it with a photography sales site. Honestly, I would be surprised if I actually sold anything, but I thought I would give it a shot. "Anything" includes prints, downloads, canvases, and ecards. I think I have 150+ photos posted on the tumblr, so if you're interested in checking it out, it's down there on the right.

2. I also linked to a page with INFJ information, just as a fun fyi.

3. [This one is my favorite and probably the real reason I am even writing this post.] I have a formspring widget all the way to the bottom. Just because it's down there doesn't mean I don't want you to use it. I do. Please, ask me questions! I think it will be fun. There's an anonymous option also, if you're shy. And if you need an incentive... I'll post answers. =)

That's all. Nothing big. Just some fun additions. Hope ya'll had a good weekend!

Wanderlust Wednesday: Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

 There's something about the rain soaked street, the streetlights, and the graffiti...

Where would you like to be this Wednesday?

Share by linking up!

 

Photo by mugley
Wanderlust Wednesdays inspired by The World We Live In 

{ Photo of the Day }

Untitled, a photo by Emily_Katherine on Flickr.

Twenty-Year-Old Logic

I sat on the carpet floor in front of the vanity that held the two sinks on the way to the bathroom in our two-king-sized-bed-one-large-walk-in-closet-attached-bathroom suite. I distinctly remember telling her, "There will be a day when I stop making responsible decisions. I can feel it coming." The central air kicked on and gave me goose bumps.

I held it together that semester the best I could. I made routines and then sought out spontaneity to break them. I burned a vanilla candle every night and curled into bed with my journal. Put Dashboard Confessionals on repeat. "It's colder than it ought to be in March, and I still got a day or two ahead of me till I'll be heading home..." And waited for the night sky to turn purple under the weight of the smog. But I was also the first person to say yes to a late-night trip to the psychic. We climbed into the back of the old BMW and chugged down Melrose until we found a parking space under the pink, florescent sign. Almost mid-night on a Thursday, all six of us piled out of the car.

That semester had a weak structure of broken promises and misconceptions. I learned to grow around them. But its foundation was still uncertainty. I had no idea what the future would hold. I left for L.A. looking for answers that I wouldn't find for years, if ever. “And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”  But that didn't keep me from trying. Under the light of the candle, under the light of the psychic's sign. I was the first to say yes, but I never went in. My phone rang and I knew that was the best answer I was going to get.

For most of college, my best friend and I had a mantra: "It's not as bad of a decision, if you know that you're making a bad decision." We offered it quietly at 11pm at first, but it gained its momentum until we said it as a matter of fact at noon lunches. While the rest of the table tried to untangle and debate our twenty-year-old logic. We wouldn't debate it. We wouldn't untangle it. We just stuck to it.

Years later, as in sometime in February of 2010, I realized why we hung onto that mantra for so long: it gave us permission to take risks. It gave us permission to identify and act on what we wanted to do rather than what we thought we should do. We made those "bad decisions" on a regular basis in college, and we made then with the unwavering support of one another. Looking back, I realize, they were never bad decisions. They were declarations of true desires; they were the guts it takes to name those desires and act on them; and they were the unconditional support and love to go. after. what. you. truly. want.

That was almost ten years ago.

I have a vanilla candle that I think it's time to light...


 
Dashboard Confessionals, A Plain Morning
Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

The Way The Wind Is Blowing

"Which ever way the wind is blowing, I like the way this is going..." 

I noted this lyric, discovered on a Pandora station, May 11, during those few minutes mid-afternoon when the sun splashes through the window. It could have been a Friday afternoon with a Starbucks in hand. It could have been those first few days of a new season. I like the way this is going...

I don't know what happened to May.

It's a blur of days now, undefined and vacant. I have empty markers where I usually chronicle snapshots of daily life. My personal journal sits on the shelf untouched. My last Today post was May 5th. I last uploaded to Flickr on May 8th. I posted a mere 10 times on my tumblr. Here, in this space, I wrote more about last May than about this May.

What happened?

I felt it heavy in my bones this morning. Change. I stepped onto the metro and sank into my seat. Put an old song on repeat, one I haven't listened to in years. It has been a long few weeks.

I cried on the metro three weeks ago. It was 11pm and I was overtired. A signal broke and we were stopped for 45 minutes. My work happy hour had gone on too long and I only had one beer and not enough friends. To say I missed would be an understatement and I let the tears slip down before I put my head down and fell asleep. Before I finally arrived home at midnight and crawled into bed.

I didn't cry this morning. It was not even 8am. I had too many faces looking in my direction. And I wasn't sad. I just hadn't realized until then that change had arrived and perhaps already gone and I now have to sort through the pieces of a puzzle I never ordered.

This type of change leaves me weary. The kind I don't see coming. The kind I don't see leaving. The kind that sometimes isn't mine. The kind that crawls into my bones on a Friday morning and settles into the marrow. The kind that makes my limbs heavy.

I propped my head up with my hand and shut my eyes. I reminded myself that I can navigate this. Open and close my world. Listen to the whispers. I wondered where that early May wind went and turned up the volume.

"Please say honestly

You won't give up on me

And I shall believe

I shall believe"

#Follow Friday

This Follow Friday goes to Alivia.

what it was like [the tornadoes, pt. 1]

Wanderlust Wednesday: Pune, India

I want to know what is behind that door...

Where would you like to be this Wednesday?

Share by linking up!

 

Photo by lecercle
Wanderlust Wednesdays inspired by The World We Live In