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Archive for the ‘Beginnings’ Category

I have a dream, always the same dream, on many occasions, since I was a young child… always the same dream. The people in the dream change, the place that the dream happens changes… the premise stays the same though — a tornado is after me and I can’t out run it. I try — I run as fast as I can, jumping fences and ponds, scaling walls and sliding down unknown paths, when I can’t run any farther, I hide in the most distant corner of my dream, I even yell at myself in the dream to “Wake Up!”. The tornado always catches me — then I wake up breathless, scared, eyes out of focus, stumbling in the dark — the same dream… ever since I was a child.

I guess, at this point, trying to pretend that my most recent dream was anything other than a tornado chasing me down while I frantically tried to run from it as I’m guarding my loved ones from its path — would be pointless. It was, in fact, a tornado dream. One of the most vivid tornado dreams I’ve ever had — with a few plot twists that I’ll share.

I was at my parents house this time — my childhood home. There wasn’t just one huge tornado as is always the case with this dream… there were many, hundreds even. And they were water spouts — not necessarily tornadoes (I know water spouts don’t actually occur in Tennessee but you know, it was a dream). I was looking out the front door, talking with my father about the best course of action to take in order to avoid complete and total annihilation… staring at these water spouts surrounding our home as they readied themselves to unleash a fury of pain upon us. Then, as sometimes is the case in my dreams as well as real life, I opened the door and walked out towards the water spouts. I thought I could wrestle them while everyone else stayed safe in the house, I thought they would go away and leave us alone.

So, I approached the closest water-spout and realized I had made a terrible mistake. I turned to go back to the semi-shelter of the house with my mother and father, but it was too late. I was knocked to the ground by the water-spout and began rolling about uncontrollably. I was able to grab a handful of grass from underneath me and clung to it to steady myself. The water-spout crashed over me like a wave in the ocean and my feet were lifted off the ground so that I was doing a hand stand as I continued to cling to the grass. There was water everywhere as I was submerged in unrelenting wave after unrelenting wave… and then I remembered — I love water.

I love the ocean and playing in the waves and being tossed around like a rag doll and steadying my feet in the sand at the edge of the water and diving deep underneath the crashing waves… I smiled. I let go of one hand and looked towards my parents who were standing in the doorway observing the chaos and I gave them a “thumbs up” (I might have winked as well, you never know — it’s my dream).

So there I was… upside down in the front yard, clinging by one hand to the grass below me, drenched in the most beautiful blue salt water, giving a “thumbs up” to my parents and a coy smile — and the water-spout was gone. Just like that — gone. I felt so self-assured, so confident… I stood up and moved towards the next water-spout and then — I awoke.

For years I have been fleeing those tornadoes — for years I have been trying to out run those damned tornadoes. I never could, they were always faster and stronger and I always woke up breathless and scared. Until this one night when I stood my ground, this one night that I didn’t run, this one night I grabbed on to the smallest blade of grass and I realized I didn’t need to flee the moment. I realized that some moments just take more patience and hesitation and assistance — some moments take assistance. So I’m daring myself to get up off the ground and move towards the tornadoes to see where they toss me. What about you? Any tornadoes tossing you around?

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Some days, feels my soul has left my body
Feel I’m floating high above me
Like I’m looking down upon me

Start sinking, every time I get to thinking
It’s easier to keep on moving
Never stop to let the truth in

Sometimes I feel like a little lost child
Sometimes I feel like the chosen one
Sometimes I wanna shout out ’til everything goes quiet
Sometimes I wonder why I was ever born ~~~ Keane

It’s been a strange week. To tell you the truth… it’s been a strange 9 months — it’s been a strange 2010. Some wild, wonderful, beautiful, scary, embarrassing, near the edge of sanity things have happened. Some I’ve shared… most I’ll keep locked in the vault for all eternity.

Two conversations I had this week — two completely polar opposite conversations that I had with two women I respect — I believe summed up these 9 months. The first conversation was angry and scary and cut me deep — something it needed to do. Someone who forced me to look at myself and take notice. The second conversation was warm and enlightening and heartfelt and held me close — something it needed to do. Again, someone who forced me to look at myself and take notice.

And then a message from a friend, as if she was hearing my thoughts, at the most perfect time — “so I turned myself to face me”. I kept that David Bowie inspired message… and turned to face me. Not always pretty. Not always easy. Not always simple or pleasant or filled with light. Sometimes the darkness brings us the most clarity.

I guess it would be unfair if I wrote a post about facing ourselves and then didn’t include some of the not so perky (and some perky) things I see when I look at myself (especially since I’m about to ask you to play along). When I turned myself to face me I saw many different things:

  • A damn good mother
  • A damn good teacher
  • A friend to most
  • A little girl lost
  • A spite filled woman
  • An attention seeker
  • An attention avoider
  • A writer
  • A hack
  • A protagonist
  • An isolationist
  • A confrontationalist
  • A passive aggressive mouse
  • A woman with a pretty good life — to take notice, to participate in, to embrace

So I’m turning myself to face me — the scariest thing I think any of us could ever do. And, I’m realizing it’s not an adventure I can take on my own. I’ve reached out to those who can reach back — too late to avoid ill-will, too late for redemption, too late for most anything… except me. I think it’s just in time for me. What do you see, when you turn yourself to face you?

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I had this comment on a post not too long ago. I love getting comments here, all kinds of comments. Those of you who say, “yes, me too”, and those of you who reveal your souls. This comment has stuck with me. The commenter used the name “Confused”, which worried me about the message I was sending here (assuming there’s a message). It made me take pause before I replied. It made me wonder about the words I was leaving here. It made me wonder about my life.

The comment was wonderful, I replied the best I could. He replied… I replied again, and then — we were done. Here anyway. I wasn’t done with the thoughts swimming in my head — the feeling that I might have been stuck in a rut… that I might have been perpetually swimming under water. He hasn’t been back, that I know of (also, I don’t know if he’s a he). Shortly after that, I wrote this post and felt a sense of righteous indignation as I typed away on my keyboard that night and could literally feel my head bobbing out of the water… taking a deep breath and finally ready to move forward. I was hoping “Confused” might come back to see it.

Around the same time, I saw this picture on Kind Over Matter,

I thought to myself, “What would I do if I had no fear? Well, I’d write a post about setting myself on fire for starters.”

But, for a while, I’ve been thinking about this picture, about that post I wrote, and about “Confused”. It’s been a challenging few weeks. I thought this might be a good time to do a gut check to see if I was moving forward or if I was perpetually swimming under water. I started thinking about what I would do if I had no fear.

I know I would start a blog, if I had no fear. I would go to the edge of losing control and then turn around and come back… I would invite conversation with those who have a certain disdain for me — if I had no fear. I would open up my heart when I should keep it closed and I would open up my mouth and let the words flow freely instead of pausing and walking away and I would invite new people into my sometimes uncertain world — if I had no fear.

I would wrap myself in doubt and walk out the door anyway, I would beg for understanding when I know all you’ll remember is the begging, I would continue to show up at the party hosted by agitated strangers and enjoy the company — all, if I had no fear. I would put myself and a sleeping bag and a cell phone in my car and head out to my favorite camping spot… I would seek clarity even when it proved my actions were muddied with spite — if I had no fear.

I would raise my children to question those who speak contemptuously about others who don’t act or speak or live the same as them and I would take my kids to the fair when I should have paid that bill and I would accept the brutal honesty you offer and I would set myself on fire… daily, if I had no fear.

I would do the things I’m doing now. That’s how I know I’m moving forward, that’s how I know I’m not perpetually swimming under water — that’s how I know. How do you know?

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Today, I’m taking stock in the things I love. I’m thinking about the people and the things and the pets that I love. Here’s my list:

  1. My kids. All 3 of them… all the time. Even when I don’t make their favorite meal. Even when I take away their cell phones. Even when I say “no” because it hurts me to say that but…
  2. My sisters and my brother. All 3 of them… all the time. Even when we don’t see eye to eye on politics or movies or religion or clothes or cars or… you get the idea.
  3. My dogs. Both of them… all the, umm… most of the time. Even when they bark just to incite a barking dog riot in the neighborhood. Even when they trample across my treadmill with their muddy feet. Even when they want to be fed at 5:30 am (even on Saturdays).
  4. My “work girls”. All 6 of them… all the time. Even when we don’t see eye to eye on… well, a lot of things. Even when we are a part.
  5. My treadmill. It has transformed my physical body and my mental state. Even when it goes too fast. Even when it says I’ve only ran 2.3 miles when I KNOW it was 3. Even when it yells at me to get on it when I’d rather be here…
  6. This blog. Even when it hurts to push publish. Even when it hurts to read the comments. Even when I wish I hadn’t said all of that…
  7. My car. Even when it makes me spend way too much money to fill it up. Even when it makes me get pulled over because its brake lights don’t work. Even when it lets a tire go flat.
  8. My card making crafts. Even when I think it looks kind of stupid. Even when I think I’d like to send a card to someone but know I can’t. Even when my daughter finds its hiding place and makes me the most special of all cards.
  9. My vacuum. Even when it doesn’t pick up all the dirt it is supposed to. Even when I wish it was purple or green or had some type of cyclonic action. Even when it makes me dump its contents all over the floor I just vacuumed.
  10. My friends… all of them. Even when I forget to email them back. Even when they forget to call on that day that was so hard. Even when they are far away… because my heart is always here.
  11. My life. Even when I mess up. Even when I wish I could move on but my feet are planted so solidly. Even when I think about the ending I wanted but will no longer have.

Well, that’s 11 for me. There’s a whole lot more — I just didn’t want to overload you with the “taking stock” thing. But now… it’s your turn. What are you taking stock in right now?

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I’m dating now. Wow — releasing that from my thoughts and onto this page made me break out in hives and a small pimple has just erupted on my chin. No… this isn’t going to become “Becky’s Dating Blog”. Chances are I’ll never actually write about a date — so, all you potential suitors… relax. Although, I can’t guarantee I won’t call up my best friends late in the evening and gossip like we are 13 year-olds just home from our first school dance. And the reason I would even say that I’m dating has nothing to do with actually going on dates — it’s just the feeling. The feeling that something new is happening. The feeling that butterflies are dancing around in my lungs, preventing me from taking a deep breath. The feeling that newness is wonderful and scary and awkward and amazing.

At this point, it doesn’t seem like too much time has passed since I needed my best friend to make that initial approach to a boy. The one where she asked if he thought I was nice and pretty. I would wait anxiously for her to come back to me with the news — back then it was easy… check yes, no, maybe. If the news was bad, I would send her off to the next cute boy. I think I was much better at being the liaison for my friends then they were for me. I remember coming back to tell them good news much more than they told me (I will say this is because of my cool wit and charm when I was speaking to the boys for them). Having a friend make that initial approach seemed vital then — we were all so awkward and afraid and unaware of what our own feelings meant. Having my best friend do my talking for me was the greatest thing in the world.

I picked my daughter and her best friend up from school recently. They’re freshmen now — a time when everything is new. When my daughter got in the car she asked if I saw “him”.

“Who?”, I said.

“Him”, she said, “my boyfriend — the one I was walking with.”

Well, the boy she was walking with was actually walking about 30 feet away from her, no eye contact, not even a glance in each other’s direction. When she and her best friend got settled in the car, the best friend started receiving texts from “him”, and she would relay the message to my daughter. This made me laugh — and it made me miss my best friend. The thought of doing this alone…

So, now I’m dating… again. I’m talking and meeting and learning and embracing the fun and joy and horror of it all. But… I can’t help but wish my best friend was standing beside me. Helping me with that initial hello. Prodding me to say “hi”. Letting me know which boy is going to laugh when she says, “guess who thinks you’re cute”? Letting me know which boy has a bad reputation and which boy doesn’t do well in school and which boy smarts off to the teacher. Something about going at it alone this time around makes the knots in my stomach swell up even worse.

But, here I go. The newness, the awkward pauses, the nervous dinners. I think I’ll enjoy the talks and the walks and the laughs — but, mostly… I’ll enjoy the late night chat sessions with my best friends to tell them which ones like me back. So, if you promise not to panic… neither will I, and we’ll never have to speak of this dating thing again (unless I have your phone number).

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I have struggled with my weight for 20 years or so. For reasons that I’m not going to delve into here, I gained quite a bit of weight during a 15 year span — 80 pounds to be exact (give or take depending on the day, the craving, the emotional turmoil). I’m betting that many of you are shaking your heads and whispering, “me too” at this moment. We are women.

It astounds me to hear women, that by all outward appearances are physically perfect, complain about their looks, their weight, their need to change something about their person. But… we are women. By nature, we are seemingly predestined for a life of wondering if we are physically good enough.

Too fat.

Too thin.

Too tall.

Too short.

Hair too straight.

Hair too curly.

Eyelashes too short.

Endless.

I’ve tried every diet plan known. The only thing I hadn’t tried up until a few months ago… learning to like myself. A new concept and not one that has come without diving into my own faults and weaknesses — I think we, as women, are programmed to recognize positivities in other women. We are programmed to see beauty and intelligence and bravery in other women but we have a hard time recognizing it in ourselves. Self-awareness is hard… yet vital.

So, a few months ago I announced to a few friends via the internet that I was going to get healthy (something about announcing an endeavor like losing weight to a bunch of people keeps you accountable). I immediately started a yoga practice thinking it would help clear my thoughts and sort through some things that were burdening my world. Yoga is not an easy exercise. It is not about meditating and lying still and “kumbaya”. It is a workout — one I had trouble making it all the way through when I first started. I also dusted off my year old treadmill and climbed aboard. Finally, and hardest of all, I changed the way I thought about food. This being the hardest because, I think, as women we turn to outside sources to help feed the need that seems to be vacant within our own worlds. Learning to look at food differently meant I had to learn to look at myself… just look at myself. I didn’t do this alone. I reached out to some complete strangers (including a littlefluffycat) and some close friends.

It has been seven months since I started taking control of myself and trying to know what it feels like to like me.  I now do my yoga practice everyday, I walk on the treadmill 6 miles a day, I throw in a few other workouts here and there as time permits or my emotions need it, and I eat healthy. I have lost around 50 pounds. I would like to lose about 40 more. I recently had pictures taken with my kids and there are a couple that I think will look nicely here on the blog (soon). I guess that’s part of the “learning to like myself” thing.

I think that we, as women, have a tremendous power to heal each other and ourselves. We have the power to remind each other that we should like ourselves. We have the power to be good to each other and to say to each other that we are okay and we are not alone.

Watch This!

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I decided I needed to run away this weekend. I sometimes run away… mentally. I’m sure many of you do this too. When the thinking and the emotions and the feelings start climbing on top of each other to be the first in line to your psyche and you know you’re about to be a Bugs Bunny cartoon character when their head explodes. So, in order to avoid the inner explosion you put up the vacant sign… and you run away. It was like that for me the last week, only I needed to actually physically run away — so I did. I was facing a long weekend without my children and preparing to head back to work after a nice summer break and I needed my head to not explode — running away can sometimes be exactly what is needed.

So, I headed out to a familiar spot for camping and hiking and aloneness and, ultimately, the hope of enlightenment. I packed lightly and secured my askew ponytail and I was off. The area I visited is beautiful and familiar to me, with rock climbing and water falls and peace. I camped here before many times and hiked these trails with friends very often — but never alone. There was something that beckoned me to go alone, right then, alone. To seek the solace and answers to the questions that seemed to be burdening me as of late. I desire to be alone but need to be surrounded by friends, I like to remain silent but can’t stop myself from regurgitating all my thoughts and feelings, I shy away from human contact but can’t stop thinking about the hugs I’ve yet to feel. Enlightenment would surely be found out there, in nature, alone — surely.

It’s been unbearably hot in Tennessee this summer. The temperature has settled around 97* for weeks now — this weekend was no exception. I actually love hot weather. There is something about a good sweat that makes me feel alive. The local weatherman called for a slight chance of scattered showers in the evening, perfect… my first mistake. The scattered showers were actually better described as monstrous storms with thunder and lightning and rain… lots of cold, hard rain. I escaped to my nearby car on several occasions and actually calmed with the thumping of the rain on the roof. The next morning, I felt the weather had calmed enough to go on another hike, so I set out for a short 4 mile hike to a secluded lake and promises of lots of wildflowers… yes, another mistake.

About a mile into my journey, a light rain started to fall. It was pleasant, actually, as the air cooled off 20* almost instantly. I was shielded from the rain by the dense trees that I was walking through and hoped by the time I reached the lake, the rain would be gone. Along the way, I found an area that had been mowed, like an oasis. It was so strange to see this. In the middle of the mowed path was a small bridge placed over an even smaller hole. I decided this must be the place where my enlightenment would come — why else would there be such a peculiar spot out here on my journey? So I sat down and enjoyed a snack of Ritz crackers and water while the rain caressed my face… and I cleared my mind as I so often do now during my morning savasana and I waited. While I waited I saw a rabbit, fitting as I have felt a little like Alice lately — wandering aimlessly around in Wonderland. I heard birds and saw spiders and listened to footsteps that I didn’t care to recognize. I remembered I had my camera and took this picture so I would be able to look back on where my enlightenment finally found me.

Shortly after I took this picture, the gentle rains once again turned into a massive storm. The thunder that had so poetically stayed off in the distance was now clapping directly inside my eardrum. Lightning lit my path as dark clouds covered the sun. I’m sure this is the part, as an enlightened blogger, that I’m supposed to tell you how I achieved peace and calm and a steady breath through the storm. Instead I’ll tell you how I ran completely around the promised lake (that had all but dried up) and sprinted the remaining 2 miles to my awaiting car. I was cold and wet and scared and cursing the storm rather loudly and insulting the enlightenment that never came. No sappy story to tell, no enlightenment waiting to perfect my zen… except for maybe this —

We make our own way in this life — no one can help us. Our emotions, our feelings, our enlightenment must come from our own awareness. We can’t seek others to do this for us — they’ll just be drained and turn away in the end… and what a sad ending that is. So, I remain a solitary person who needs people around, I seek to be emotionally closed off yet my soul sings when you reach out to me, I continue to build the wall around my heart but beg you to chip away at it. The change and the enlightenment must be our own — my own. Soon, hopefully, I’ll stop feeling so fractured from the too often occurring missteps — soon, I won’t be so fractured from the fall.

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I was doing my yoga practice this morning. And, as has been a common occurence this summer, my youngest daughter had made her way to my bed when she awoke and was watching my TV. It is a bit difficult to concentrate on the yoga video playing on the laptop while hearing Phineas and Ferb scheme in the back ground — but still, it’s a nice time of my daughter asking questions about yoga and me trying to explain a feeling to her. She often joins in, as she did this morning.

She became very curious this morning when I had finished with my practice and was beginning my savasana. She asked if I was ok. Sometimes I find myself crying, only slightly, when I’m doing savasana. I’ve gotten so used to it I wipe my tears and sweat without thinking. But this morning, I had company. So she asked if I was ok. I was, actually. I was very ok, actually. I explained to her what savasana was and asked her if she wanted to try — she did. I positioned her next to me in the corpse pose and then resumed my own. And there we were, lost in our thoughts — together. After a couple of minutes I felt her soft warm hand making its way into mine — and there was my connection. Lying beside me, steadying my thoughts and nurturing my soul — her soft warm hand did all of that… and I wiped a tear from my cheek.

Later in the day, as my older children were off at a swimming party, my youngest and I set out to the movies and dinner together — I can’t imagine a more perfect date. We settled into our seats at the theater and were immediately captivated by the previews. When the movie started, it had some scenes at the beginning that were a bit sad. I reached over and held her soft warm hand in mine once again, there in the dark of the theater during the sad parts. And she smiled at me. And we were connected.

I was talking with a friend recently and told her of how my kids had spent their first night away from me and at their father’s house. She asked, in a very concerned voice, how I was. My reply was quick and sure because I was great. I told her it was nice to be alone with my thoughts and a book and this keyboard. I told her it was refreshing. Her distorted look let me know I had committed a “mommie crime”. So I immediately added that I was sure it would be difficult next time.

Well next time is here and still… I’m good. I’m here, in my room typing away on this keyboard uninterrupted and although I love my children more than words can describe, I am here, in this moment, content and happy and once again surrounded by a lovely silence.

I’ve never claimed to be the best mother, I’ve only claimed to not be the worst. I rarely ever left my kids to go out with friends. I have used a baby-sitter less than 5 times that I can think of — my oldest is 14. I used to think this meant I was better than most. I stayed home, I put off my life to ensure theirs. Now, I question many decisions. I read this post by a wonderful writer, mother, and friend. And I started to question. Questioning leads to improvement… I hope.

So, tonight, on the second night that my children are sleeping over at their dad’s house, I am content. I am profoundly content in my aloneness and in their awayness. I am here, in this moment, and I am resting comfortably.

Tomorrow night, when my kids are back here, I will read them stories and I will talk about boys and girls and video games and I will kiss them goodnight. And I will reach for that soft warm hand that nurtures my soul and I will be connected. But tonight, I will talk to my best friend on the phone, I will turn the TV off, I will read a few favorite blogs, I will eat a bowl of cereal for dinner. I am learning to be a better mother, a better person… a better me. It’s never too late to improve and it’s never too late to get back to basics.

Picture from Kind Over Matter

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I was watching the Disney channel, well… actually I was listening to the Disney channel because it has replaced any type of newscast that I might have time to watch. Listening because when I allow my eyes to venture to the screen, even if briefly, I become sucked in to a vortex of cute kids with great hair and exhilarating lives (also, they can sing), so I try not to allow my eyes to make the mistake of looking too long.

They have these brief little public service announcements for the kids, about fruits and languages and recycling. I heard a brief sentence and I have no idea what the context was but the statement intrigued me and, clearly, stuck with me. It was this, “What do I want to be when I grow up? I don’t know what I want for breakfast. How about asking me what do I want to be today?”

I thought this was perfect, really. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. The best I can come up with is someone who is helpful, friendly, good for a few laughs, and makes her friends crazy only a minimal amount of time. I’m not quite sure what job that would actually be — I’m still looking I suppose.

My oldest daughter is beginning high school in less that 10 days — a freshman. She has many possibilities ahead of her and she is exactly where she should be — some days she wants to be a writer, some an artist, some a pediatrician, some a zoologist. All perfect I think.

When I went to the freshman orientation recently, I was scared. Apparently there are different “tracks” at high school that kids get on to prepare them for college and a career. If my daughter wants to pursue a medical career, she takes one certain set of courses; if she prefers to go straight into the business field, she takes another set of courses. We had approximately 72 hours to think about what course of study we would initially put her on. At 14 we had to start planning for what she wanted to be when she grows up and our decisions could greatly affect her education, the college she applies to… her life.

During my freshman year of college, I changed my major three times — psychology to child psychology to English Literature. During my sophomore year, I changed my major twice — English Literature back to child psychology to elementary education. During my junior year I changed my major once — from elementary education to special education. Then I graduated and got a job working with children with learning disabilities. After a year, I decided I wanted to work with children with behavior disorders. After a few days… I decided I wanted to work with preschools with multiple disabilities. After 13 years, I decided I wanted to work with children with autism. In between, I thought about going to law school and medical school and becoming a writer and there were a few moments of wanting to manage a carnival and possibly drive an ice cream truck. All things I wanted to be right then.

Back to my daughter, we choose the course of studies that would put her in the medical field. We also slid in at least one course on acting (you never know). She doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up and I’m very fine with that. Neither do I, really. This week I thought about being a chef and owning my own restaurant, I thought about going back to school to become a veterinarian or possibly a lawyer, I thought about opening a school for kids with autism, I thought about becoming a writer or a poet.

What do I want to be when I grow up? I want to be someone who can say I was everything I wanted to be, I was someone who never settled in jobs or love or life, I was someone who acted with compassion and fervor at the same time. What do I want to be right now? I want to run a hotdog stand and sell the best grilled hotdogs in the land. What about you?

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I’ve been thinking lately, about people and personalities and personas and truth and fiction and real… real people. I wonder if we try to pass ourselves off as something we’re not. I wonder if the friends we meet and keep are the friends that know everything about us. I wonder would they run away if they knew everything about us.

I often wonder if our awkward junior high school personalities take hold of a spot somewhere in the back of our minds — just sitting there… wreaking havoc on our adult psyche’s just as it did when we where 13. My hair, my clothes, my smile — my friends aren’t talking to me right now, the boy I like doesn’t know I exist, I can’t keep up with my homework, I want to call my friend desperately and tell her I need to talk to her… not just anyone, but to her right now. I want to grow-up and be confident and secure… I want to not be 13 anymore. And then we realize… we’re not.

I recently started this blog (you knew this didn’t you?), I recently reclaimed some old friends from high school and college, I recently found the joy of twitter — all things I was able to do from the comfort of my home and with the help of this keyboard. All these things give me experiences to share, to somehow try to explain… to find a word simple enough to describe the euphoria, the heartache, the pain, the laughter, the friendship. To describe the crushes and the cliques and the cool girls — how? How did we describe junior high? Exhilarating, breathtaking, heartbreaking.

I sit here, alone… comforted by the silence that surrounds me and I type. I type a funny story to a friend, I type condolences to another, I type “I need to talk”, I type a joke… I type. And you read. You read and you decide who I am — and I think you’re very close, I truly think you’re very close. I hope you see me as flawed, as sometimes angry, as sometimes ridiculous, as sometimes comical, as sometimes needy, as sometimes completely secure, and as sometimes in desperate need of a hand to guide me. Because I am all those things — here when I type. I’m all those things here, alone in the silence. I’m all those things when I’m standing right next to you and I’m all those things when you stumble across this blog.

This is me.

I am real.

Who are you?

Photo from Yes and Yes

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