Re-Incarceration and Reincarnation

I consistently read the word re-incarceration as reincarnation. This is probably due to the fact that I have spent far more of my time learning about Hinduism than adult criminal justice.

In the juvenile justice world, the word incarceration often falls way to the word commitment. The adult and juvenile systems are different. The juvenile justice system is meant to focus on rehabilitation rather than punishment and the difference in language from the adult criminal system is meant to mark the system differences. Adults are incarcerated and kids are committed. But, for the most part, in the US right now, a juvenile commitment facility is still very much a prison. Using the word incarceration to refer to commitment serves as a reality-check that these kids are in prison. I appreciate these use of both words in reference to juvenile lock-up for those reasons.

I'm a word person. I'm a word person who reads re-incarceration as reincarnation, and that says so much more about me than I ever could have intended.

All this to say: There are changes coming. I'll fill you in next week.

ThirtySomething

"I cannot wait until 30."

If you've been in earshot of me within the past 5 years, you've probably heard me utter that exact statement. It usually has an inflection on the word "wait" - as though making it through my late twenties will be the most grueling experience of my life. Honestly, my late twenties have not been a walk in the park, stop and smell the flowers, type of half-decade. It has consisted mostly of full-on-panic and what-am-I-going-to-do-now meltdowns. With reason, may I add. So, I cast my hopes and dreams to the magical number 30 and worked through the sludge of my late twenties. And when I say worked, man, was it work. And now I'm here. A little over a year, a little more than a handful of months, until I hit that magical number.

Why magical? Well, you see, 30 was supposed to bring a lot to my life. Stability for one. Which included a dwelling unit with a mortgage - a condo, please! - a job I loved so much that it might as well have been an IV pumping energy and excitement through my veins, a relationship that lit me up and calmed me down, and a 50-year-plan so I no longer would have to face a single, unexpected worry for the rest of my life. And clothing and furniture, of course. Clearly, I had it all worked out.

Many of my friends are thirty now. Some of them have a couple of these things but none of them have them all. And you know what? Their lives are pretty fabulous. Despite. In spite. Regardless of.

I have deliberately avoided thinking about 30 and everything the magic number holds for almost two years. I thought that if I faced it head-on, it would feel like another failure. What would happen if I had to arrive at 30 without a mortgage, my dream career, and a love? Even worse, what would happen if I had to arrive at 30 without any of those wishes granted? I thought that if I faced it head-on, I would have stopped everything immediately and let myself drown in the sludge of my late twenties.

I've thrown 30 sideways glances, lately. To see if it is still there. I'm close enough that I can get a solid look, when I'm brave enough to turn my head its way. 30 looks nothing like I thought it would. But my goodness. I think it might be more gorgeous than I imagined. It's absolutely stunning. It glows. 30 glows.

It doesn't carry with it a mortgage or a job that is the equivalent of a hot cup of coffee or a hand in mine whose creases I trace from memory.

It carries nothing in its hands and with that offers me a different type of gift. Freedom. The freedom to do what I need to enjoy my life. The freedom to really dig my toes into dirt, to run into the ocean in moonlight, to pack up my things and just go. Go.

Dear Late-Twenties Sludge, Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I will love you forever. Always yours, Emily

I'm casting out the mortgage and the career and the love into the sea of the unknown future. If they arrive at my shore in my thirties, I'll scoop them up and cherish them. But I'm not waiting on that shoreline, hoping they'll float in from the sea. I'm headed inland. To explore. To talk to some locals. Perhaps to climb some trees.

For my thirties, I want to focus on enjoying life. I want to buy ripe peaches, run barefoot on beaches, pack suitcases and backpacks, read slowly and quickly, write with abandon, embrace people, sleep more, sleep less, laugh more often, laugh harder, face fears, take photos, fling myself at life. Everyday.

I did the work in my twenties. I did enough work to know that someday I'll own property and someday I'll have a job almost identical to the one I dreamed up at twenty-one. My twenties taught me to hold on to the hope of a man who is something more, but also to say yes when I feel yes and no when I feel no. I did enough work in my twenties to let go of these worries. To put my focus elsewhere. To trust each will happen when it happens.

If I say now, "I cannot wait until 30," the emphasis rests on "cannot". 30 glows. And so does today.


[For all the times in the future when I just want the mortgage and the job and the husband, here is the reminder. Travel inland, inward.] 

{links & loves}

 

The great thing about collecting links each week and then not making the time to post them here?

I get to re-read all the articles and posts I loved from the past few weeks as though it's the first time.

Here are some of my links & loves:

Kelly Diels kicks off the list with her kick-ass post: This Isn't For You. 

It's one of those posts I've already begun to re-read when I start to fear the "publish" button.

And when I start to fear impending decisions.

After reading this article, I started using raw honey as a face cleanser and grapeseed oil as a moisturizer.

And I haven't looked back since. 

Jack Kerouac's List of Personal Beliefs and Techniques for Prose and Life via explore blog.

Have I mentioned lately how much I loooooove Jack Kerouac? I do. I so do. 

Springtime by Bethany. 

"I'm learning to like me." 

On the grace of loss and a phrase that brings me comfort: The timing isn't right but our hearts were.

Each week The Political Notebook write a "This Week in War" post and each week I make sure to read every word.

On repeat.

(Original link deleted so this link directs to an archived file.)

A favorite this week: Not What Loves You Back

So, so, so good. So good.

I love Lauren's newest creations. I think I might buy six. At least six. 

Oh, the many roles women play... 

I have a handful more, but I'll stop now to keep from overwhelming you and promise to stay more on top of sharing.

What are you loving this week? Link up in the comments!

The Days I Never Thought I'd Find Again

There is a calm tonight. After a slow pace to this weekend. Warm sun, cool breeze. Tonight, an open window and stars in the sky. These are the days I thought I'd never find again. Things-to-do set aside easily, without guilt, without anxiety. The hours tranquil, the minutes peaceful. Even Monday looming on the horizon doesn't harden the gentle breeze or cloud the night stars. The days and nights have returned, for at least a short stay.

Days I have enough. Days I am enough.

Alivia Designs

I had a blog the year I lived in Vermont. It was an I’m-fresh-out-of-college-and-I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-I-am-doing-living-in-rural-Vermont-but-I-think-I-love-it-although-I-couldn’t-tell-you-why blog. I wrote frequently and fervently. I am pretty sure I had fewer than three readers (three friends from college). This was before google friends connect and google reader and bloglovin’ and... This blog I had was for myself and solely myself. I don’t think I ever received a single comment and it didn’t ever occur to me that there was even a mechanism to comment. Maybe there wasn’t, it was livejournal, afterall. I shut that blog down after I moved out of Vermont. The story had come to a definite end and I didn’t want or need to have the blog hanging around the internet. Honestly, it meant too much to me for me to leave it up without my daily care.

I started a couple of blogs during law school, but never followed through. They were mostly ways to keep up with my friends and did not have a whole lot to do with writing or the reasons why I write.

When I finally started blogging again, years after I shut down my first blog, the blogging world had changed. It was a thing. There were comments. There was the counting of readers. There were headers. And buttons. And internal links. Oh my. I counted myself lucky to just be a writer and not a blogger (I could never in a million years build myself a blog with readers and buttons), chose the most simple theme I could find, and began to write. I wrote about how much I hated the grocery store and how much I loved dessert. Then I wrote about how much I loved the sun on my carrel in the library and about how alive I felt in the State House. But it wasn’t anything close to the way I wrote about Vermont. I still didn’t have anyone reading, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of knowing I was writing in public. I wrote at the edge of life, nowhere near the core. And I lived at my edges, no where near my core.

Until I hit rock bottom.

I don’t remember the exact time I scrolled down Alivia’s blog. I know Nicole had been telling me all summer that her cousin was in Africa and blogging about it. I don’t know that I ever even scrolled through Alivia’s Africa blog. That summer it just rained and I cried (about things like lost relationships, cancer, love, careers, friendship, fear, and broken elderly hips). Early fall, I hit rock bottom. So I started to write the way I wrote in Vermont. At the core. On my blog. And sometime early that fall, I found my way to Alivia’s blog.

She had a header, and buttons, and links. And she had writing. She had real writing. She had it all and I fell in love with it all. I read her blog for months and months, while I pieced my life back together. I kept her blog open as I tried to make a header and find a background color other than default. Her blog was a real blog depicting a real person through real writing. And it was pretty. *Swoon* Alivia and her blog made me want it all: the header, the buttons, the links, the writing, the photos, the sharing, the *gulp* design. And I’ve tried my best. I have. But as I’ve confessed before, I’m a pretty terrible blogger. I write. I write on a blog. But that is about as far as I can go. Alivia, though? She’s got it down. She’s got it all down.

These past few days, she has worked her magic on my blog. The me from fall 2009 would be giddydelighted that her favorite blogger designed her blog. The me now is giddydelighted that her favorite blogger designed her blog. One more time not in third person? I am so very, very thrilled that Alivia designed my blog. Gorgeous, fabulous, I love it. Everything about it. The header, the buttons, the design. I just love it. All of it.

Alivia, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am someone who writes on a blog. It has always been you who brings me a step closer to being a blogger.

Decisions and Neighborhood Dreams

Not so long ago, I decided not to live in this area of the city. I haven't regret that decision for even a moment. Where I live now is so right for me that I have a hard time putting it into words. More recently, I decided not to live here in the near future. I'm pretty certain that I won't regret that decision for even a moment either. And for all the times in the near future when I'm at a loss of words to explain why I made the decisions I have made, all I have to do is think about how much I love where I live right now. How much I love this home. And how I'm learning, again, to trust my decisions.

But. My goodness. How gorgeous are these neighborhoods? I still love this area of the city. I don't think it gets closer to perfection than this. And how lucky am I to love where I live and still be able to spend a Saturday afternoon wandering these streets? So, so, so lucky. Of that I am certain.

The Next Time

The next time my heart breaks, I would like it to happen all at once. A complete shattering. A plate sliding from the hutch top-shelf with a crash that shakes even the floor. I would like the pieces so tiny scattered so far the original becomes unrecognizable. A plate, a pitcher, a gravy bowl, my heart.

I want to feel it all at once. Collapse to the floor to salvage the pieces, to find I must begin again. Begin again from nothing. This heart un-salvageable. Begin again from nothing.

Rather than. Rather than chipping away tiny nick by tiny nick. Perfect except. Chip chip. Glued together. Well loved, entirely functioning but. Hairline crack. Archive the crack, tell it's story, talk of character building. When piece by piece, crack by crack, it breaks. Set it aside, for repair, for discard, in the back corner of the shelf. Out of sight, out of mind. And move on, while it sits, waiting.

I craft this perfect break. This shattering, crashing, falling, the unforgiving pieces, while tracing my finger over old cracks. The jagged edges elicit a little more than dull pain. A little less than the threat of a cut. Without blood. Without comfort. And I realize

I have this all wrong.

The next time I'll get it right.

I'll say what I mean and I'll mean what I say and I'll know. How everything I worry about means so little. Next time I'll decide, again again again like I did in times too far past, to walk next to or in front of, but never again behind, fear. The next time I love.

I know how to break my own heart. Alone in the dark of night, alone in the sun-drenched afternoon. Shatter it, quick and loud, dropped from the top shelf. To take it cracked and chipped from the back corner of the shelf and push it over the edge into a million tiny  pieces. So I can start again anew. After that, what is there left to fear?

The next time, I'll get it right.

From the Candy Department

Most people who know me, would tell you that I eat more sugar than anyone they know. And that would be a pretty accurate statement. It would probably be followed up by a declaration that I don't need to worry about it because I am all skin and bones. Which is only half true. I do have to worry about it.

My first year of college, I spent my first Easter (first of many to follow) away from home. Both of my parents tried to include me in the holiday by mailing me Easter baskets full of candy. Two of my friends and my college roommate lived close enough to go home for the holiday weekend. They all returned with baskets for me. And a boy wove me a basket (by hand!) and filled it with all of my favorite candy. I tore through the baskets faster than anyone should ever go through six Easter baskets. I think it took me less than two weeks.

When I finished all of the candy in the baskets, I had a moment of panic. All of the candy was gone. What would I eat? But it only lasted a moment, because I immediately trekked across campus with my friends to buy a bag of bulk candy at Wegmans. (Oh, Wegmans, how I miss you.) We all bought some, but I bought more than they did and went through it faster. Days faster. So I went back for more. Soon I had a stash in my bottom desk drawer at all times. The more I ate, the more I wanted. My roommate noted one evening that I ate more candy than anyone she had ever met ever in her entire life and how very many people she had met, like, countries worth of people. Or something like that. It was said with love but it also had a hint of concern. Which was all I needed.

I threw out the dwindling bulk bag of candy in my desk drawer and didn't eat candy or any type of dessert for weeks.

I craved candy. I craved cake. I craved ice cream. I craved nothing short of packets of sugar. Teaspoons of sugar. And I realized that sugar is an addiction. An addiction with a huge, attention seeking personality. I did it though. I don't think I ate another piece of candy for the rest of the semester and I cut back on all sugar intake considerably. And I felt better. I didn't notice a huge improvement in the way my body felt, honestly. But I felt better because I knew that I was pro-actively taking care of myself.

Which is something I don't do very well right now.

I ate a lot of candy around Valentine's day this year. I mean a lot a lot. Enough to make me cringe. So it has been in my thoughts, recently, that I should pay more attention to my sugar intake before I end up searching out the nearest grocery store with a bulk candy section. But I haven't taken much action. I haven't taken much action on anything related to taking care of my body recently, to be honest.

There has been a lot of talk this week about sugar addictions and toxic sugar consumption. Without the scientific research, I know that to be true. I learned that spring of 2002. But what I know now from these scientific reports (or Nicole's blog, really) is that it's on par with alcohol addiction and it's poison for your kidneys. My kidneys. That's pretty specific.

I've been thinking a lot recently, and not at all acting upon it, about eating much, much better. I'm not a terrible eater, but I could do a lot better. I've been thinking a lot about eating real food. I've been thinking about reading this book and making morning smoothies and not eating anything with more than six ingredients and not eating anything I can't pronounce and... I've been thinking a lot recently.

I can't realistically do all of that right now. It's going to take some time to change my habits and my knowledge. But I can head in that direction, and my first step is going to be to cut out most sugar. I'll say yes to organic, raw sugar in my morning coffee and yes to the piece of chocolate cake for a co-worker's birthday celebration, but the rest of it I'm going to stay away from, mostly.

What I love most about this new endeavor, though, is that I am finally, finally at the point in my life when I can make the time in my life to change my habits and take care of my body. I'm not so overextended that a quick meal and a few hours of sleep count as self-care. Even if it means cutting back significantly on something I adore (love, cherish, worship), I'm glad I'm finally here at this place, where taking care of myself takes high priority.

These Days

I've been thinking a lot about Ireland lately. About the trip I took there two years ago. It might have to do with having a friend who loves, loves, loves St. Patrick's Day and all things Irish. I now own a green shirt and have a new found love of corned beef, thanks to her. I think it's more than the recent celebration, though.* And my thoughts wander from Ireland to Switzerland. I would like nothing more than to lie down in a field under the mountains. Breath deeply a thousand times until I fall asleep.

Full disclosure? I need a break.

I need an adventure. I need a new perspective. I need a surprise. I need splash, a shake-up, a strip-down.

In Ireland, I learned to call-out these needs. As needs. They start as a thought, grow into a desire, and become a need. A necessity. For my life.

We landed Ireland with a lot of baggage. Rather, I landed in Ireland with a lot of baggage. I landed in Ireland with baggage other than the shoe variety. I landed in Ireland a bit raw. As though I had showered with sandpaper each day for two years. Exfoliated down, rubbed down, sanded down until it cut and hurt. He gave me this gift, a gift of travel that became a gift of healing.

We landed in Ireland at 5am to fog and drizzle. We walked through the airport to collect our baggage. When we picked up our bags at baggage claim, mine felt so much lighter. Already. Amazing what a cross-atlantic flight can do. When we walked out into the early morning air, the mist felt refreshing on my skin. The sun would break through, I didn't have to worry. I didn't even think of worrying. About anything.

We had sunny days in Ireland. Mornings that arrived easily, two feet over the side of the bed and up and out. Hostel showers short or cold, but all part of the experience. We walked and talked and met people and took photos and learned and went and went and went until the very, very end of the day arrived with sweet dreams before our heads even hit the pillows. Tired felt refreshing, comforting, clean, cool, and crisp. Mornings felt refreshing, comforting, clean, cool, and crisp. And so it went. With golden days.

Ireland infused me with its energy. Switzerland gave me its perspective. Oh, those mountains. Always, for me, it has been mountains. I am nothing at the base of mountains. I am nothing at the peaks of mountains. I am nothing. Thankgoodness I am nothing.



The realization comes with a wave of freedom. A rush of freedom. Inviorating. Truth. Perspective. The world looks different from the base, from the peak. But I am still nothing. Thankgoodness I am nothing. And that is the biggest change in perspective. We traveled along the bases, we made our way to the peaks, we wandered in the valleys. And so it went. With crystal clear days.

There was more, of course. There was so much more those two weeks. But the energy. And the perspective. Those are things I can't find with a lens and a shutter. Those are things I can't find most mornings, these days.

These days. Oh, these days.

I need a break. I need an adventure. I need a new perspective. I need a surprise. I need a splash, a shake-up, a strip down.

I need something these days, not days from now.

And so it begins...

*I wrote this post a week or so ago

More Than You Ever Wanted To Know

The lovely Angie and my love Nicole both tagged me in their 11 Questions posts, and I have a handful of questions from formspring, so I thought today would be a great day to answer questions. I'm just gonna dive in...


Where did you go on your last vacation?

On my last vacation, I went to Connecticut to spend Christmas with my family, I spent some time in New York City, and I went to Boston to visit Alivia and Nicole. (Love, love, love.)

Has reading a book ever made you cry? Which one and why?

Yes. I cry all the time, which means I cry over books all the time. However, I do remember having a really solid sob when I read a book (I can't remember the title, maybe Nicole can?) about a woman who was a corporate attorney in New York who quit her job, broke up with her boyfriend, had a grandfather with alzheimer's, and some other life-difficulty, and then became a writer. I read this the summer after law school, had a solid sob, and realized I needed to seriously consider a few of my life decisions... surprising, right? =)

What’s the funniest movie you’ve ever seen?

Cool Runnings. (Always and forever.)

What is the last thing you experienced buyer's remorse with?

My shoes. The last three pairs of shoes I have purchased have all broken. They were all fairly (supposedly) higher quality shoes, too. I must be hard on my shoes? I don't know...

What would you do with a million dollars?

With all the recent talk of the Mega Millions recently, I can say without hesitation that I would pay off my student loans. And then be out of money. Hahaha, kidding. (Kind of.) I would give some to family members, probably buy a piece of property somewhere, and donate to a few organizations I love. 

What are three things you regret not learning?

Yet! I regret not learning yet, yet, yet. There is always time... (I think). I regret not learning geography better. My US geography is not terrible, but my world geography knowledge is embarrassing. Must work on that. I also wish I learned how to camp. I have some of the basics, but I want to be able to pitch a tent without being intimidated and build a fire with one match and look at a store full of gear and know exactly what I need. I also regret not learning more about Africa. My knowledge is so limited and the amount to learn is so vast. 

What would life be like if you had wings?

Life altering. And not just because I would have at least two wings growing out of my body but because I could see my friends and family whenever I wanted and not feel sooooo far away all the time and maybe I would move to Seattle because I really could just visit the east coast whenever. And travel. Oh, I would be able to travel for real. I mean, having wings means I could use them to fly, right? And fly quickly. And easily. Right? Right? OK. Good. 

What three words would your friends use to describe you?

Hmmmmm.... Loving. Trustworthy. Silly.

What is something that makes you happy? 

Coffee. Coffee makes me happy every, single day.

What is the best piece of advice you've ever received?

Great question.  ... "Take the detours in life."

If you could date any celebrity, who would it be?

Explanation, explanation, explanation, no-but-you've-got-it-all-wrong, explanation, I-promise-it's-not-like-that, explanation, John Mayer, explanation, explanation, the-timing-is-different, explanation, explanation, explanation. (Nicole, I'm looking at you.)

What is your favorite item of clothing?

My hooded, grey, Boston University sweatshirt that I have had for twelve years. Hands down.

Favorite book?

The House on Mango Street. (And, and, and, and....)

If you were shipwrecked on an island, which single person would you want with you?

Man, there are too many variables to properly answer this one. For how long are we shipwrecked? Where are we shipwrecked? A tropical island? Antarctica? Does this island have other people? running water? free internet? I'm going to say one of those characters on Lost. One of those characters on Lost who managed to get off the island. (I say that having only watched one episode of Lost ever.) I can choose a fictional character, right?

What is one of the silliest things you've ever done?

Oh the list of silly things to pick from could go on for days, trust me. Um. Probably that time in college I tried to retrieve something from under the coffee table without leaving the couch and managed to get very stuck in the coffee table. My roommates had to work as a team to get me unstuck. No joke. And I was sober. And laughing hysterically. 

Cats or dogs?

Dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs.

What is your ideal day?

Morning coffee and open windows with a cool breeze and a book to read and mind-space to write and phone calls with friends and family and sunshine and mid afternoon showers and a cool evening with fresh food and sweet dessert and shooting stars and a man who pulls me close before we fall asleep.

What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?

That ignorant skepticism is "cooler" than optimistic effort grounded in knowledge and information. 

Do you think it's worse to have too high of expectations, or no expectations at all?

I like high expectations. I have high expectations of the people in my life and of myself. I wouldn't change that. Disappointment stings, but doesn't kill, I've learned. I am also a believer in putting your all into something, doing your best, and then letting go of expectations. The end result is never as important as just doing your best. So, I guess I think it's great to have both high expectations and no expectations. (Which may or may not actually answer the question...)

What one thing have you not done that you really want to do?

There are a thousand things! Maybe ten thousand! Millions, really. Actually, an infinite amount. Definitely infinite. Right now, this very moment? Backpack for three months in foreign cities. I spent yesterday dreaming of this... 

At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?

Walking into the the US Supreme Court to hear oral arguments on a juvenile life without parole case last week. What a feeling... 

What is your ideal date?

My brother joked recently that I am so low maintenance my ideal date involves eating pizza in a hooded sweatshirt while sitting on the couch watching a movie on VHS.

And he's 100% right. 

Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?

No way. I push the button only once. And if someone is waiting for the elevator, I check to see if the call button is lit up. If it is lit up, I don't push it again. You know why? BECAUSE THE ELEVATOR IS NOT GOING TO COME ANY FASTER! Whoa, pet-peeve, apparently.

What would you do if you could be invisible for a day?

Oh I'm sure there are so many amazing answers to this that I'm not thinking of, but I think I would follow around someone intriguing and famous. The President of the US maybe? A celebrity? Those both seem so cliche and almost boring... I'll have to think about this one more...

What one thing would you like to be remembered for?

I would like to be remembered as being someone who made everyone feel loved. Someone who everyone is grateful to have known for decades and lifetimes or for just a few seconds. 

I love answering questions, thanks to Angie and Nicole for tagging me! If there is anything else you like to know about me (is there anything left?!), feel free to ask: