I've always had this fascination with pictures taken in mirrors. Not of standing in front of a mirror, mind you... I try to stay away from the things in general. But put a camera in my hand, and I'm suddenly entraced by reflections. By the idea of seeing oneself in real time, of being unable to deny a face and a mood and a look. Ever think and present yourself one way, only to find that you hate yourself in pictures, because you're nothing you imagined yourself to be? Maybe you're sadder, maybe more frazzled, maybe older than you felt before you looked into that mirror.
Every so often, I take a camera and a mirror and force myself to be objective. This is who I am. There are always things I like and always things I dislike, and always a moment of reacceptance.
And then I move on.
March 6, 2005
Regarding the Rhyme and the Reason
He said give me a rhyme and a reason
To love you in this season
Of uncertainty.
When the winds of change come roaring in,
And I've not begun yet to begin
All the tedious revisions
Of my life's indecisions.
With all the demons in my closet
I'm afraid you'll think I've lost it,
And will you suspend your disbelief
When I claim to have conquered all my grief?
It takes a little more than trust
To clean a heart of all its rust
After breaking.
She said that in this season
Love is a reason
In itself.
And if it's rhyme that interests you
I've got words to fill a book or two,
Words that jump and roll and grasp,
Words unequal to the task
Of describing how it feels
When my world starts to reel.
Is your lonely safety worth the cost
Of each and every moment lost?
I'd rather spark, burn and flame,
Than wither in a hopeless grave
Of regret.
February 21, 2005
Five things I would like to mention just because
The first: it is my strong belief that there should be dancing of a public, social type every week. This past week, for instance, I was fortunate enough to attend both my school's annual banquet and a merengue ball at a another school, and they were both absolutely fabulous. I don't admit to being much of a dancer, but there is just something about being out on that dance floor, either paired or unpaired, and moving to the music, whatever type it might be. I wish I could do that every week.
The second: I've discovered that I'm most satisfied with my life when I'm driving. There's a thought process that goes on in my brain, a 'life summary' sort of phenomenon: Well, here I am. Twenty five years old and one year away from the career I've dreamed of having since I was ten years old. Living in New England, far away from my family and still doing alright. Successful at my job, creative with a few hobbies, still a book-lover and still a bit of a dork, but okay with that. Knowing some fabulous friends and even dating one of them. Capable of running a marathon. Knowing that there are still quite a few challenges ahead, but not wanting it any other way. And I'm not sure what it is about driving that evokes these thoughts... perhaps they arise because driving itself is always a journey, a pause in time to shift from one task to another.
The third: I do recognize, however, that there is a difference between being satisfied and being happy. I am satisfied. But am I happy? What is happy? How do you define happy? Does happy mean successful? Does it mean being loved? Does it mean having what you want? I think there is still some room for happiness in my life. Some things I might like to change, but lack the ability or resources to currently do so. Although, if I think more about it, perhaps happiness is only a state of mind, independent of life's circumstances. But you know, something in that thought brings to mind the concept of settling, and I don't believe in settling. There is always something more to strive for; man is never content. So, I will be happy while striving for content.
The fourth: I've recently been finding new music, and that's also a fabulous thing. These finds have been from friends both online and off, and to them all I say: thank you.
The fifth and last: I wrote you a long letter last night, a letter that you will probably never see. Not because you shouldn't know about the things I wrote, but because I'd rather tell you personally someday. This is not a new thing, for me to write letters that I never send to people, but this particular one is four pages long and still growing, so I guess I have a lot to say one day.
P.S. - The picture two entries ago was, indeed, a hammock.
February 13, 2005
What you missed if you were not at La Casa Del Veterianarians Futuro this morning
Which is not to say that we were glad you weren't there, because we would have preferred to have you all there, and one of you in particular, but we realize that some things can't be helped, and we would like to tell you that the banana pecan pancakes with sliced strawberries and bananas and maple syrup can be made again, just in case your mouth is watering right now.
February 6, 2005
This is where you get to guess what I got for Christmas
Which, I realize, was quite some time ago, but I received this gift last night and I believe it was worth the wait. Guesses, anyone?
And now I return to my not-normally scheuled program of Watching The Superbowl By Myself. I was hoping to be elsewhere, but alas.
January 30, 2005
A series of fortunate and unfortunate announcements
I got a C on my last test.
My manager at work, one of the toughest cookies I know, said I was 'a pleasant person to work with.'
The person I'd like least to be ignorning me right now seems to be doing just that.
One of my very, very best friends is getting married. And having a kid.
My birthday is in two weeks. I'll be (chokeitup) 25.
My dog may have skin cancer.
I feel so... stretched, emotionally. In a thin kind of way... as if my heart is having trouble covering all the bases.
January 25, 2005
Because I wasn't really me that night
One of the driving philosophies of my life is this: no regrets. This philosophy is the reason I moved halfway across the country to attend a graduate school that is costing me three times as much as the grad school back home would, the reason I let myself trust and love people when there's a very good chance of getting hurt, and the reason I chose the career I did, instead of settling for something that I knew would make me happy but might be a little less challenging.
It applies to little things though, too. The other night we went sledding in the middle of a blizzard, and I was so cold that I thought my body might shut down there on the spot. Everyone else was cold too, and some of the others were like me in that they stood shivering and mostly watching, but there were a few who seemed oblivious to the cold and who braved the semi-dark, tree-ladened hill to sled down again and again. I went down once, if I remember correctly, and it was fabulous but then for some reason I couldn't move to do it again.
And I have to say that I regret that. I regret that because it wasn't really me, it wasn't who I am or who I want to be. I wanted to be vaulting down that hill again and again, careening within inches of trees and crashing into drifts of snow. I wanted to offer myself up to the joy of speed and the call of the Inner Child, I wanted to prove that I am not some shivering, indecisive, sad clod of grievances - I wanted to prove that I am indeed a Force of Nature.
If I could do it over again, I would. I wouldn't think about my face or my fingers or broken bones or the wind. I'd just do it, and I'd have fun doing it, and oh... how I do want to do it over again. And that, I suppose, demonstrates how I can't stand even the littlest of regrets.
January 7, 2005
Snippet of poetry, unfinished by far
He said that when you came from the ocean
You were smiling.
I asked him how he knew and he said
A little shell told him.
I came from the land and I
Was frowning
With the brown earth and the rugged roots
Of trees in my hair.
I think I was disappointed
Not to be a flower or a spruce
Or some undisputed truth.
I think you were relieved
Not to spend your days
As a pearl, rubbed wrong into the jaws
Of some disgruntled oyster.
December 31, 2004
Oh, and Happy New Year
Sometimes I keep moving in order to hold the world where it is. Especially when I return from being home, and find my quiet,
empty room a stark comparison to the warm, cozy house I just finished sharing with four family members. I tell myself I don't need to unpack or clean right away, but I do, I always do because, if I don't, the immense silence and stillness of this room will creep in from the corners, and the walls will inch towards me, and before I know it I'll be hiding under a quilt on my bed, curled into a tight ball and wondering how I ever thought I could accomplish anything with the simple power of determination. So I move, I unpack, I organize in order to keep the walls where they are, even though all the time I'm thinking about being under the quilt.
But now I've made it through almost one entire evening without pulling out the quilt... so I think I'm in the clear.
December 30, 2004
How we say goodbye
We take pictures. We sit on an old bed and stare at the walls around us, at the pictures and posters we hung there before moving Away.
We pace and we pack, we pack and we pace. We make desserts to leave behind. We have one last bowl of ice cream before starting the inevitable Diet.
We pet and scratch the dog without worrying about how dirty our fingers are afterwards. We hug the brothers. We gaze with some regret and some
relief at the flat countryside we leave behind, knowing it holds the secret of our strong roots, grateful that we can leave it and still come back again.
We embrace the parents. We again embrace the parents. We refuse to become teary-eyed until we have waved our last goodbyes, which continue
past airport security, and as we climb onto the escalator and our family slowly disappears from view, we accept the enormous weight and loneliness of
once again Being Independent, and we turn our gazes skyward to hope and dream about the future.
Words to live by:
This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before being thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.
-George Bernard Shaw
