except for nothing.

Another day of sick, and I'm ready to jump out the window. Fourth of July didn't happen with a bang, but every day can't be the best day. I feel like I want to melt into the abyss of my couch as Love It or List It pokes and prods my brain in the background pulling me in and out of a reality best suited for people much stronger than me. Virus=1. Me=negative 3. I am pooped. 

Tired of the psychological effects of people having ripped scabs off of cuts that should have healed, but clearly hadn't. One more, and they may find that they've sabotaged the only possible shiny piece of metal to come out of the wreck. Is that the intent? Probably not. At least not a conscious intention. Know thyself. Know that when you look into the magic mirror it may say you're the fairest, but in the end the outside isn't what keeps your heart full of joy. That said, throwing poisonous apples at the problem certainly won't fix it.

I dreamed of a pack of wolves this weekend. They chased us and hounded us. They killed geese, which also chased us. By all accounts, this means I need to be self-sufficient, and not indulge my thoughts when they begin to consume me. Some things are indeed beyond my control. That leaves me to accept the rain, accept the thunder, and accept that the grass will grow without me. That reminds me of something I learned a long time ago, and then went ahead and forgot. Don't plant weeds where you want a flower to grow. 

I realized one big difference between me and a bitter soul. I do things because I want to share my love. I want to share my insides with anyone who'll have the guts to look at them. To accept them. Performing, creating, making beautiful things can only become me if I put the best of me in the forefront. I just don't feel like things can be beautiful for any other reason. And then...the pressure was off. 

"Now began the part of her life where she was just very beautiful, except for nothing. Only winners will know what this feels like. Have you ever wanted something very badly and then gotten it? Then you know that winning is many things, but it is never the thing you thought it would be.”
― Miranda July, No One Belongs Here More Than You

yellow blankie.

When I was just a little girl in Louisiana, my mom's friend came by in her pick up truck to take us out for a little while. I have no idea where we were going, but like most little girls, I wanted to bring my most beloved thing with me. I hurled my yellow blankie with the satin edges I used to rub under my nose up over the bed of the truck. I had no idea that this decision would lead to a world of hurt. When my mom retrieved it, it was covered in motor oil. Ruined.

Sometimes our own insecurities get the best of us. Sometimes when you take the things that make you feel secure along for the ride, you single-handedly ruin the thing you needed the most. And then you grow. You realize maybe you didn't need it as much as you thought you did. In the end, you say leaving that behind is best. Primarily because you have to.

I'm not insecure about my ability to write. To think. To observe. My writing is a place where I go to take all of these observations and turn them into something beautiful and sometimes heartbreaking. Other times it's funny and cheap. But no matter which thing it is, I'm confident I'm doing it well. During a recent writing course I took, my peer reviewers seemed to genuinely enjoy the stories, and pointed out things I could do better. They are not writers, they said, but it didn't matter. They were my audience, and if they couldn't grasp something, I knew I needed to so something to make it clearer. I don't write for others, but I do write to connect with people. If something is keeping them from accessing my "art" then I'm damn well going to hear them and try my best to make it better. What I don't want to do is put myself above them and say that because they are not writers the same as me, that their observations are invalid. It is counterproductive for me, and condescending and insensitive to them. As I reviewed their work, I pointed out what I felt was good or came through the best, and suggested mostly that they write the way the speak. One of them quoted me in their final essay, and said that it was the most valuable thing they received from their peer reviewers.

I may not be enlightened, but I am lighter today than I've felt recently. To say that my observations are not valid because I am not as good as, as productive as, as creative as my peers is to say that one has nothing left to learn.

I was confident in my ability to write before I took my introductory writing course. I mean, I've already been a paid writer. My experience must speak to something. I tried twice to test out of it, and missed it by a very small margin. I could have tried a third time, but instead said to myself, "I can always learn something." I stayed in a class full of people who claimed not to be writers. Who had never written before. Some of whom will probably try to avoid it at all costs. And in the end, I learned as much from them as I did from the instructor and any professional writers I've ever read. I am no better or worse than them. Just different.

I'm o.k. with that. With all of this. Some of us will part ways, and some of us will see each other in Writing II. I'm looking forward to reading what every last one of my classmates has to say, regardless of their background. I can't wait to see what I learn.

= love.

A  Short Story About Important Things I've Learned

I've never claimed to be a saint. What I can claim today is that I'm not a liar. I don't take things out of context (copy and paste is a great tool) and swirl them around to suit my insecurities, and I can't force myself to fit into a very tiny box when I'm working on something creative. If my ideas have to fit into a set of someone else's narrow parameters, I can't operate. If feel cornered. I feel undervalued. 

I refuse to undermine my ideas or my talents, and I don't intend to allow anyone else do it for me. I think everyone can understand that from the giving and receiving end. This is not a meaningful or productive way to bring something from idea to reality. The fact that I learned this is more positive to me than the fact that I didn't know it is negative.

Am I rash sometimes? Of course. But I've seen enough of that to know that this isn't a permanent fault, but a temporary set back. Either way, at the end of the day when I find myself saying, "Why doesn't anyone love me?" what I'm really saying is, "Why don't I love myself enough to let them dislike me?"

I can change whenever I want; when it suits me, and especially if it's a change for the better. I don't have to wait for someone to tell me to do it, and I don't have to do what anyone else would expect from me. I've hurt some feelings, yes. I've even had a petty moment or two when prodded. Repeatedly.

Still, I haven't killed anyone's baby.

Considering the circumstances I--and a bunch of other people--have endured this week, you'd never know it. I don't say, "I've never been so hurt in my life." Primarily because I have, over and over again. Loss and losing are part of life. So I called the game. I finished it, at least in my mind. I don't have time to work on things that can't be worked. Not because they are bad, but because they are tired. 

When I met Jeremy, we immediately bonded over a song. No, we didn't fall in love right away. For me, it took time because of many of the things I mentioned--my own insecurity, having carried hurt with me for too long, and not loving myself enough to be loved. But he fought for me because he saw something in me that no one else does. He waited and he was kind. He was the reason and the moment and everything I needed to pull me out of a black hole. 

I told him exactly who I was, no filter. And he said to me about the bad parts, "Well, you're not doing that now." And he promised to stay, no matter what anyone said about me. I gave him a fair shot to get out, which speaks volumes to the amount of self-loathing I was feeling at the time. 

Four years and some change later, these are his words upon being told he should really be "allowed" to continue playing with a band that doesn't want to overlook my perceived fatal flaws anymore:

"I pictured myself, standing there on the stage ending a great solo. We would end the song and people would be cheering and I'd look up...and you wouldn't be there. You'd be sitting home, and I wouldn't be able to share it with you. I would want to share it with you."

This is not a manipulated and "whipped" man. This is true love. He needs me to stand behind him doing something 1. he loves and 2. that delivered to us each other. I will always do that for him (also love). To suggest otherwise for selfish gains is foolish.

I write this because...well, how could I take a wonderful person like this for granted? Answer: I can't, and never do. If I catch myself falling into a routine, I take a step back and look at our current circumstances and how far we've come. I look into a sea of blue and see not someone who's drowning, but oceans of love and respect. This is where I choose to swim, and this is what I've earned. 

In case it's not clear, I've earned this by listening, by supporting, by encouraging, and by nurturing. This is how you make something worthwhile and at first imaginary come to life.