on living long

Many moons ago, my brother posted this photo:

And so it does.  

I work at a hospital, on the orthopedic floor, which, as one would expect, gives me the frequent opportunity to work with the elderly.  

(Let me pause for a second and comment on how I hate that word, elderly.  It's a word that we use to respectfully categorize people who are old in age, but what we really mean, in very plain language, is that these people are very very very old. But when you work with enough old people, you find that someone in their 90s may have the same vitality and youthfulness as a person 20 or 50 years their less; mostly having to do with the state of their health. But, more on this later.)

Prior to working at the hospital, I was working as a Baker for three years.  Those three years weren't just years of baking bread and making butters; they were three years of being committed to shaping culture through the architecture of food in place, while also cultivating community.  That was the heart of the work then.  But I left. Because, as with most restaurant jobs, on the other side of meaningfulness, intention, and romanticism, there was also the nightly party. 

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with parties.  But if I'm honest, I was growing tired of beer and late nights that felt derivative of the actual intention (of my intention).  I felt extremely polarized; I would have very meaningful conversations with coworkers about the process of food and then life, and in the same night, have a very fleeting and hedonistic soiree, complete with bass dropping music and a hangover in the morning.  And again, there's nothing wrong with this. This is a good picture of life. Standing outside of it, there's a time for both of these things. They often happen in light of each other.  

But I couldn't keep up because it made me feel selfish most of the time.  So I left. And I set my hands to a different kind of work.

Now, I take care of old people. I work the night shift. I see pain, and the execrable mess that comes along with being old, of which, I mean the way an old person loses control of certain bodily functions. It's not rainbows, but literal shit. A lot of it. I also see recovery, yes. But, I also see death. And, or, the shadows of it. I see how near and tangible it feels though it isn't yet.

And the thing about old people is that they're old enough to know that they're at the end of their life, but young enough to keep wanting to live (at least those who are still in their right minds, and those who haven't had to withstand much pain or suffering). They know they are at the end of their life and the anxiety is real.  Not for everyone. But for a lot of them.  One night, I had a patient who would not allow me to leave her room, and if I did, she begged me to come right back. She said she didn't like being alone. She was an anxious ball of a human.  She gave me the sense that death, to her, was all the loneliness.

What happens after death is the question that confounds the wisest of men.  It's not an easy thought, but it's one experience we will all go through, and yet no one has been able to explain it (though, some would say Jesus, He did).  But on a very human and personal level.. it is an experience that is so very concrete, yet so very incomprehensible, because it's not so tactile to us. Where do we go? Is there even a going?

Those questions, whether I like it or not, won't be answered until... it happens.  Working with old people was feeling all their anxiety and all their unknowing.  The hospital has a way of giving people the space to say “last words” kind of sentiments.  I met a man who was in his 60s, and after an emergency amputation of his leg, while laying in his hospital bed, he told me that life just flies by. He said that once you turn 30, life just flies by and whatever you want in life, ya better go get it now, because it's your's if you want it. He said not to wait.  I met a woman who, in pain, told me to stay young. I asked her, "How do I stay young?"  Her answer was to smile and laugh often, that is how we stay young.  I talked to a man who was dying, and in our last conversation, I could tell from the tone of his voice, and in the look of his eyes, that all of him was sad and hurting. It broke my heart.

Life comes to an end. And it's short for everybody. Some, even shorter, but it's short nonetheless. This is the fucking truth.  But it's truth provokes me to hold onto gratitude and to practice presence.  I've been thinking about my perspective of this life, and how to live it even in such a fractured world. And  when I begin to zoom out of my own narrative, and look at how short this life is for everyone, I realize that time is relative.  Here's the science of it all: According to quantum physics, the reality is that we all carry our own clock, and it ticks at a rate that is hugely dependent on those features of motion and gravity (Brian Greene). So time isn't as linear as past, present, and future, as much as we think it is.  Every moment is an infinity of itself. It is always bending, going forwards and backwards, looping around, and away, twisting, and turning along the spectrum all the time.  

The bending and the relativity, it's a seed of hope. Yes, it's a tiny seed, of which my mind can hardly wrap around, but it's what I need. Because if I ground myself into that idea, it makes every moment so much more important. What imprint into this moment of time can I let reverberate forever? It lets me choose both wisely, and a little bit more freely. There's an urgency and an ease. Let us live forever. The sobering reality of the shortness of life, and the enlivening actuality of this time, right now, puts light on the fact that―oh my God, I have two healthy lungs, a beautiful heart, a working brain, and two fucking feet that allow me to move and live and breathe.  Wow... Wow. 

This is the prayer I want to live by. I think much of my living and doing has been a result of my fear of life passing by.  I grew up on annoying cliches like "Live with no regrets." But I think this is the fear that traps us. It is the fear that it will be gone, and then we are guilted by it somehow. But frankly, I'm tired of these sayings that are rooted in fear instead of boldness.  Let us live our forever.  Let us have our infinity. Let us live extravagantly and passionately in this moment, that we are here so vividly and clearly in the most non-dual way. Nothing less. So nothing and everything is wasted on this side of eternity. 

being alone

These days, I have been spending a good deal of my time alone.  If not alone completely, I am often alone in crowds or in rooms.  And a large part of me knows how sad that sounds.  But it isn't sad until being alone turns into a creeping loneliness that begins to hollow the heart and dim the eyes. And that? That is sad. I mean, did you know that loneliness contributes to disease and sickness?



Because I am finding myself alone, I have the time to think about how I am living this life. I think about how I want to spend my time, and how did people centuries ago spend their's.  And then my thinking makes turns, and I think about how I used to perceive life as my own frontier upon which I had the sole responsibility of marking it out on my own, for me and only me. 

So when I am alone, I am often confronted with my loneliness, which gives voice to all my longings. It can be easy to bring my hands to my ears. Lain Thomas, a modern poet, wrote, '"And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, "This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!" And each day, it's up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, "No. This is what's important."' There's a lot of noise in the daily grind, but Loneliness is a room that leads you to your most honest desires and disappointments.  And this is a room that shouldn't be ignored. So I do cry. And there is something about being your own honest friend, because honesty frees the soul to actually see, and feel, and gives way to actual listening.  I let myself feel my weakness, and let myself feel what it feels. Today, on my home from work, I thought back to earlier in the day when a coworker nonchalantly said, "I can't wait for you to have children." And it was a pang to my yearning heart. Yes. I want a home, and a family, so their voices fill each room. But I do not have that, and no prospect of it either. So I tear at the disappointment.

But then in that room called Loneliness, the sadness becomes a revelation.  I may be weak, only then to be strong, and brave, and to tell myself that you can do this, by yourself, and its going to be okay, and it's only one day, and this season will not always be.  And then I begun to think about my beautiful 93-year-old grandma, who has seen years gone by, who has watched her children's children's children grow up, who has traveled across oceans and continents, who has done some serious living, and I remember the look in her eyes, and I recall the certainty in her voice, and I can't help but but fall to my knees in deep gratitude over this woman. Its there that I begin to realize my life is not my own. It never should be.  I am reminded that life goes in any way, and I am thankful I am alive and hopeful.

It's funny how gratitude turns everything into enough. 

when we no longer know what to do

almost always, whenever i am going through the throes of life, i begin the task of letting words fall on me. not words to say or to write, but words to listen to.



so while a mr. paul holds his hand in the space between us, amid sink and stove, and says, “you know what happy is? happy is this little finger. happy is using my hands,” i take his words in like bread and butter. and when i saw the stretch of his pinky, i found a bit of happy in my own.



and at the burger joint on the corner of walnut and oakland, a lucky boy tells me about an old man, who after walking out of a restaurant, comes back and says he forgot his cane. lucky boy says, “well if you forgot your cane, you don’t need it.” you. don’t. need. it. the phrase echoed liberation. that is to say, freedom from the crutch. i recall the moment i heard his story, and knew this was somehow for me. it came as a moment of revelation over the strength of my own two feet. 

and then when in the dark of the plaza, from the lips of a perfect stranger, a series of poignant remarks fell over me. this man, who i now know as a fifty-something year old mr. michael, says, “The world, it belongs to you.”  the declaration in his voice told me how true it was for him, and how true he thought it was for me. he traced his life from age twenty-three and told me, "Be strong," and then added, "I don't know you, but I can tell you've got wisdom beyond your years." and whether i believe the veracity of his statement, it’s there, in those first words, where i am making sense of the world and all its possibilities.



i am a romantic. sometimes i feel that makes me naive. and other times i feel that makes me more brave.  i want happy to be found in the work of my hands. i want to feel ease in the distance between what i want and what i have. because what i want is most often not what i have... but hell, i have got to be more damn persistent in committing myself to what i want. Of the same token, i want a contentment for what i do have, because i realize what i have is still the gift and beauty i do not deserve. but to continue in the list of what i want... i want to find the intention of my being lived out in every essence, in mind, body, soul, work, and place.  i want an art and craft that marks my existence, a community of people to bear witness to and upon, and the liturgy of daily rhythms to pronounce a life that died well. i want to lead a romantic life. 

and i want it all to happen not in the shadow of a man, or a woman. not in the shadow of a family, nor in the shadow of society. because i find the shadow of all of these to be too small. if in any shadow, may it be in the shadow of God, because She is much bigger and much more gracious than the whole of humanity.

“It may be when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.” | Wendell Berry

It's happening again. That welling up inside that calls me to put pen to paper. Soon friends, expect a post on the things I am processing-- or rather the way in which I hope I am becoming.
 

the up and down and over

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall. | F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby



The view from my bedroom window overlooks a city, and when I start on my routine bike ride down the mountain from my house, I can see the steepness of the pavement dropping beneath me. And then at the end of the day, I feel the breadth and heaves of the mountain as I take my bike up. Morning and night, I am confronted by my smallness.  It is good.

This is the way I have been starting and ending my days, with my smallness in mind. Though there are days when it feels painstakingly hard to pedal against the rise of the mountain, I can't help but feel much gratitude in the stop of this reality.


Being surrounded by a cityscape and living in a technology infested world, there is the assumption that all westerners are born into believing, and that is our own mightiness, and from our own flats we like to say this is mine. We attempt to mirror the night sky with electric lights strewn about the city streets and mimic the silhouette of the ever changing horizon; like the plunge of plateaus or the curve of hillsides, we exact its likeness by building skyscrapers to create our own skylines. We easily forget our frailty, but this halting mountain, saves me from this forgetfulness. And watching its ascent toward the heavens makes me human again. 



The movement of this thought peaked when, months ago, I sat down in class, and feeling overwhelmed by the list of things I needed to do, my professor began his lecture by giving a few words on similar sentiments (on forgetfulness, and our humanness). He talked about our thoughts, and shared openly the one thought he turns to so frequently, which now has become instinctual, and prayerful.  The thought came in a question, the way the Father of Lights asked it: Adam, where are you? The question feels the echoes of our genesis story as in the garden when Adam sinned, and ashamed, he hid. But it's less about the act of sinning, and more about the loss of something. The question breathes a sigh of longing, begging, where are you, you have lost what it is to be truly human.

I think part of what Adam lost was the awe of things more mighty and majestic than he. And it was at that thought, all my anxieties were diminished. I am small, but oh my God, those mountains? Those stars? This world? Do they feel the weight of my worries? I don't know, but I feel the gravity of their existence ground me back into the dust and dirt that I am.

Oh let my eyes be set on goodly things. To the Father of lights, Amen.

on such things as courage. failure. words. and silence.

I think it's tremendously important to develop a powerful relationship with failure. If you're a coward and stopped by failure, there's no way to develop. My teacher used to say you can't play great music unless your heart has been broken. So maybe the answer is to have more broken hearts and get on with it.

BENJAMIN ZANDER | International conductor, composer

courage. |ˈkərij; ˈkə-rij|

When it first came into the English language, it's derivative was latin, from the latin word, cor, which means heart.  Brene Brown, a research professor at the University of Houston, expounds on the original definition of courage in a TED talk. She says, "[courage meant] to tell the story of who you are, with your whole heart.

This, my friends, is my starting place.

There was a brief moment in time when I let myself go completely public, when I declared to the world my own nakedness. It was a kind of toast to failure, and in the second I let the world be told of this toast, this vow, I felt an insurmountable beauty, whose depths could not span the breadth of the oceans, empty into me, and then well up. All at once while driving home from work, on a less than ordinary day, at some stoplight, in perfect time, and feeling the swell of something revelatory breaking over me: I am beautiful.  Though misfortune, and heartbreak, and loss had befallen  me, I was still beautiful, maybe even more. And yes, I am that woman. The kind of woman who every woman hopes to be, not because I have measured myself, but because I realize that I cannot be anyone else, just me. just me. and that is enough.

And I don't mean to diminish the aches that made me a mess of a woman in that time, but I think the mess made me beautiful... Truth be told, something did die in me at the end of that season, absolutely; but then also, life was boundless and willing. Willing in the sense that heaven's hands were palms up, opened, and for the first time in the entirety of my life, I was made aware of all the possibilities (and impossibilities) of life. As a certain Mr. Dan put it, "Life can go any way."

  

It is said that when bravery |ˈbrāv(ə)rē| was first introduced into spoken language, before it entered into Middle French and became synonymous with valiant, it was a word suggestive of adornment, as in the way one adorns themselves with fine clothing. It was something one possessed, set aside for your finest moment.

Divine Providence had drawn a cloak of bravery to hang about me. In exchange for my misfortunes, and in exchange for a realized flawed relationship with guilt, I began a relationship with failure. This was bravery, at least to me. And it was good. I was having this relationship with failure that enabled me to live more deliberately, more freely. It was this sort of bond that led me on several excursions to the post office in which I submitted application after application, in hopes to get into a graduate school of my choice.  I made efforts to attend to my dreams and ideals. Things like attempting to establish a life centered around creativity and imagination, which looked like giving attention to my love for craft as in gardening, sewing, and eating well among other things (and yes, those are crafts in a way that they involve art. and process. and thought. and production). Many of these things I failed at... nonetheless, I was living. 

But when making such commitments to failure, no one tells you what emotions one is put through after really failing. and i mean failing bad. failing horribly and terribly. You can expect it, but you're never ready. Shame and guilt are always anomalies to the human soul, we react to it as if we've never known it, even though we have.

So I failed, and in the last month or two, I have been in process. I have realized though, when treading the valley, sometimes we ought to set ourselves in healing places. When words, from thin air, become thick with sentiments that leave us feeling a bit more whole.  So I'm giving myself a little medicine, letting myself heal a little by reclaiming lost words. Like, for example, when caught in mid-eagle, my birkham yoga instructor utters the words, "Outside events happen, not to create chaos, but to grow us... and to reveal our magnificence." reveal my magnificence. oh please oh please, reveal it. reveal my resilience too. Or I'll lean into the lick of lyrics sung through the car stereo as it goes, "I'll give you the mountains, I'll give you the seas; I'll give you wisdom, but I won't give you safety..." I'll recall the words of a man who, whiskey in hand, said, "You can't will it, but you can test yourself."  Or, on a paper bag, I'll read over and over again a letter written by the most beautiful man I have come to know, sprawled in black ink, I'll take in every bit of good writing and good revelation, and then, somewhere at the close of its contents, to read, "May God pursue you until you cannot deny it." until i cannot deny it.

So I've been filling myself with words. and also silence. because I am processing. and when processing, sometimes the only thing left to do is to love well, live fully, and let go deeply. And by letting go, I mean re-understanding the words, "It is finished," as my Jesus even said it. The way he let silence fill the air. the exhale of letting go. the exchange of wills. And so now, I too say, "It is finished," letting all that quiet at the end of that breath be a tribute to the imprint of a Divine Being at work in my life, recognizing also that it is not my will, but his will be done.

So I begin anew, with a grace to follow me, and a bravery that anoints me, and whatever foolish ambition I might follow, may it be for a greater glory than my own.

[Silence] permits us, in short, to be who we are and could be if only we had the openness and trust. A chapel is where we hear something and nothing, ourselves and everyone else, a silence that is not the absence of noise but the presence of something much deeper: the depth beneath our thoughts . . . They are the one place we can reliably go to find who we are and what we should be doing with our lives — usually by finding all we aren't, and what is much greater than us, to which we can only give ourselves up.

PICO IYER | Chapels

images via here.
and here.

some days

i can feel the sense of a new place. i can envision it, smell it, wrap my fingers around it. some days I can feel the feeling of new air around me. as if instead of besting this place through exploration, there, it will be the wind that blows that maps me, making note of my placement in its time and space. i can sense the way in which my eyes will hold a certain kind of gaze while walking through this place, head tilted and squinty eyed for all its unfamiliarity, for certain, but i'll feel the welcome of it. close and unfurling.

to the new land(s) i've never been before, i'll come upon you soon.

wait for me........ . . .

first image taken in Boston by my good friend melwren | check her out

last two images found here and here.

Friends, forgive me for my lack of posts.

The past 2 weeks have been nothing but deadlines, coffee, sitting in bookshops until closing, late nights, last minute fedex drop offs, and tea. Not to worry. Posts will hopefully become more frequent after this weekend.

But until then. Take a listen.

|Kudos to my lovely friend Carra for sharing this. Here is her tumblr.

her voice is full of money

"She's got an indiscreet voice," I remarked. "It's full of —" I hesitated.

"Her voice is full of money," he said suddenly.

That was it. I'd never understood it before. It was full of money — that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals' song of it... high in a white palace the king's daughter, the golden girl...

the great gatsby | f.scott fitzgerald

from this sacred space

There's a Hebrew word, makom, and it means sacred space; I'm attempting to live from there, from that sacred space of divinity that feeds the soul, and speaks to the heart, mine and yours - to live as if the universe has been declared to me. Lofty I know, and so other than, it almost seems like an improbable endeavor. But, I assure you friends, it is not. I listen for it all the time, and it happens. Everywhere and anywhere all at once.

From this sacred space I can recognize simple words like, "thank you," as golden nuggets worth treasuring for longer than the time it took to say it. And when I take walks at the dock by my house, I can recognize the sound of the water licking the shoreline as the sound of creation singing its story. And I can recognize the whisper of my Jesus when all I did was look up.

Yes, I looked up. And there. There flew three beautiful wild geese over-head.

Long-necked, and heading headlong to some place mother earth was calling them to. Watching, I whispered back a prayer in my heart, "Let me be as the wild geese, free, going wherever they've been called." And then, this poem was echoed to me, brought to the forefront of my mind:

You do not have to be good

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers,

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

wild geese | mary oliver

Gush. It was as if the wind beneath these birds in flight had drawn a breath from me and made me swoon, only to bring me to these beautiful beautiful words! This world lends itself to our imaginations. Let us create new worlds! Let us see this life as the wild geese see their's, in full view, where heaven's abundance and the earth's wealth meet and is close at our own hands. Let us find our place in the family of things as we let ourselves actually do what is turning and tossing in our hearts to do, understanding fully that despite what will come, we will always be at our apotheosis, at the height of things. Let it be so. And when it does, may it breathe a hallelujah.

A friend, at your typical soup and bread shop, in the middle of some conversation on God knows what, the words, "Forgetfulness is good. If we didn't forget, everything would be overwhelming." He said it quick, and so very nonchalant, as if he himself didn't understand the weightiness to his words, but I took this in.

While I can find myself thankful after having spent an hour revisiting memories, enjoying the beauty and sentiments of a moment's glory, there comes a lapse in time where whatever healing may have come from reminiscing, it turns on itself, and I become wounded.

And so, these days, instead of recollecting, I am practicing forgetfulness, letting what's past live only as pillars that shout, "Then, it was good! And now, now you are better! And after this? The 'more' you didn't know of!" And its been good, easy and easier all the time.

Eyes Wide Open

I love driving before the sun comes, when the sky shows lovely pinks and purples behind silhouettes of barren trees, and the morning fog is only beginning to lift, letting the sky hang just above my head. Heaven never seemed so close...

As of late, I've been feeling as if eternity is closing in on me, while expanding too inside, encircling without, and enlargening within.

Through the lulls I am graced with these seconds that feel like a little bit of heaven right before me, hedging me in, on every side, this eternity, and infiniteness coming to beckon me away from the meaningless of meaningless, a brush against my face from the hand of my Creator. The seconds of my day may go on fleeting, sure, but I'm increasingly more aware that these short moments have been purposed since forever, and on. He has set eternity in the hearts of men, says Ecclesiastes. And I've been leaning into these moments. These gifts. Looking and seeing.

These seconds look like this:

One morning, as I made my way to work, I pulled into a parking space, paused, and sat in my car for 30 seconds more than intended to, just because. And then, my eyes beheld a small, but bright, deep red against the blunt colors of winter. It was a winter cardinal fluttering about in the smallest wedge found between the bushes. Right in front of me. Only for my eyes to enjoy. Only for me. Time stood still in that moment.

Another second looked like:

End of the day. Around the bend of the sidewalk, I am walking a little one to his bus after school, and then: a squeeze of his hand into mine. Do you know what that did to me? It was like gripping the hem of Jesus's cloak-- a gesture of healing for me, as if something so kind slipped into my heart and spoke words so divine, so personal... words so good I must keep to myself, to preserve their sacredness.

And so, I am looking.

On a similar note, it's the first full week of December-- December, the last month of the year, the culmination of things past. And then, it is also Advent. A time of looking to the coming Christ, both in remembrance of, and also in the present longing that is before us, oh the coming King, I am looking for You, with eyes wide open, I am looking.

To everything there is a season,

a time for every purpose under heaven....

What profit has the worker from that in which he labors? I have seen the God-given task with which the sons of men are to be occupied. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no once can fathom the work that God does from beginning to end. | Ecclesiastes 3:1,9-11

Alleyways seem so dramatic; in a city that manifests the essence of hustle and bustle, such a space seems so curious... It's narrow and lingering, unknown, hidden from everything. They're by themselves. A little menacing yes, but the thought of it, to me, is a nice break from the boisterousness of this piece of earth. A place of solitude maybe? No. A place of quietness paired with harrowing suspense is more truthful. The contrast and harmony between restlessness and then stillness within the same context is really what I'm trying to get at! That. That is what I enjoy.

I passed by several alleyways this weekend as I ventured to the city of Richmond.

Conversations danced around: the transitions of life, & the worthiness of our pursuits

While we ate: gyros and fried oreos

Having: tea on hand as we thrifted good finds

Enjoying: street art and deserted train stations

Ryan rehashed what words of wisdom he shared with another and recalled it to me, saying, "You might think it's a step backwards, but it's not. It never could be, it's only a step forward from where you are. You're learning..."

I am learning to adjourn from life a little. Sometimes interruptions are necessary to become more present don't you think?

"cherish your solitude. take trains by yourself

to places you have never been. sleep out alone

under the stars. learn how to drive a stick shift.

go so far away that you stop being afraid of not

coming back. say no when you don't want to do

something. say yes if your instincts are strong, even

if everyone around you disagrees, decide whether

you want to be like or admired. decide if fitting in

is more important than finding out what you're doing here.

believe in kissing." | eve ensler

what good comes from failure

A beautiful essayist by the name of Brian Doyle described writing as a form of contemplation and a form of prayer. These words, taken from the tip of my tongue, couldn't be any more true. For me, at least. It helps me unburden myself. It's a house whose walls are made of words, of which, I feel a certain privacy to them, and then it is also a way of announcing to the world (a small world yes, but my world anyhow). It's my retreat, my wilderness, where my imaginations and my thoughts are free to run wild without the feeling that someone may not enjoy them as much as I do.

Nevertheless, it's becoming extremely important for me to write,

and more importantly, to chronicle my thoughts. Indulge me as I chronicle my stories, and what happens thereafter, will you?...

This past weekend my friends and I went to see this gift of a musician, David Bazan. It was such a good show with such good people, where the evening was filled with honest music and good conversations, where listening, if it was ever a chore for you, became something more of a pleasure and a rest. It was beautiful, a kiss of blessing I'd been needing, complete with a sweet pause, framed by these rich rich rich words: stability is a myth.

From there, whatever might have followed after, my mind couldn't stop tossing these four simple words. And even in the middle of the set, when an open forum was made out of a five minute break between songs, the conversation between audience and beloved artist echoed again those four words.

One question that was thrown out was, "Do you have any regrets within your career as a musician?" Such a weighty question that pulled and gathered much anticipation over his response. We wanted to know his journey, to be told that this gig is hard shit, but it's worth the labor. We wanted to be told that what desires, coupled with what is hard, is what gives the greatest satisfaction. Or maybe, quite possibly, what desires that are pursued wholeheartedly is what gives the greatest satisfaction, irrelevant of what hardships might come.

True. Stability, such is a myth. No life is safe from sorrow nor trial, or pain. And as a result of a year of being in a relationship, and it coming to an end, I'm understanding this a little more. (yes. I said it. and i'm making it public. I am no longer in a relationship. oh twenty-two years of always understanding a little more than just before, but never will I ever arrive at Understanding. Making sense of what is is a mystery unveiling ). I've been grieving, yes, and then I've been beholding some crazy silver line of a revelation. One that is completely freeing.

As a resolution to this failed relationship*, I am allowing myself one year to fail.

You heard me. I'm taking one year to fail. To fail miserably- of putting into action what dreams and concepts and ideals I've piled up for myself. I'm giving myself one year to be brave. There is much to be had in this world, and I want to be apart of it.

A muslim poet wrote, "Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." I heard a sermon once on the posture of worship that parrots this verse and leads me in a chorus. The man described worship as bowing low, kissing the dust, returning to the place from which we came from, dust. Because that place is where the origin of our intention was knit together. This is my exploit: returning to my origin as I let the beauty I love be what I do. This will be me, bowing low, and leading a life that no longer suppresses the woman I was made to be. No more suppressing my secret desires and dreams. No more. And if it takes a year to fail, then failing I will.

So as a start, I'm going on this journey of religiously chronicling and blogging every story that comes my way, most especially my failures, because friends, I'm living one hell of an adventure. Here's to vulnerability and confession! Here's to practicing a kind of honesty I hardly practice for fear of being found out!

Join me, please! And pray for me too! hahah I am walking into a season of experiential knowing. And I will be living to tell of it. Believe you me. It will be a long-winded, if not unending, thrill of experientially knowing the goodness and wildness of my God, who orchestrates and orders every chaos into a heap of ashes from which beauty is surely to sprout from. How does a good God do that?!

Jesus, hold me to this.

*I want to clarify: I wouldn't qualify my past relationship as a failure. It's been a thing of grace and mercy. I have been allowed to see more clearly where I am, and where I'm supposed to be, and likewise, he too sees this for himself incaseyouwerewondering

ps. Friends, logistically, I realize I've been a bit obscure as to how this year will pan out. And that's half the fun really. Details on the plans I'm scheming will be disclosed in up-coming posts!

please press play.

"the new day dawns

and i am practicing my purpose once again

it is fresh and it is fruitful if i win but if i lose

oh i don't know

i will be tired but i will turn and i will go

only guessing 'til i get there then i'll know

oh i will know

all the children walking home past the factories

could see the light that's shining in my window as i write this song to you

all the cars running fast along the interstate

can feel the love that radiates

illuminating what i know is true

all will be well

even after all the promises you've broken to yourself

all will be well

you can ask me how but only time will tell

...keep it up and don't give up

and chase your dreams and you will find

all in time"

-All Will Be Well | Gabe Dixon Band

I woke up before the sun this morning and biked through gusts of wind and cold for almost an hour, inviting the Father of Lights to come shine on little me. Oh Amen and Amen, come closer still.

I decidedly took this bike ride for more reasons besides my inability to sleep in past six o'clock a.m. this morning. (and this may turn into a ritual. because yes, it was so good for my soul. my red stinging ears might tell you otherwise, but that is why ear muffs maybe on my shopping list this month)

Two days ago I found my head drawn into the toilet seat, mouth hanging open, throwing up chinese take-out my sister and I ate earlier. I don't know whether this may have been a result of a stomach bug, or if it was due to the weight of emotions I was bearing that day, but whatever it was, I felt horrible.

But this morning, despite a hard week, a smile is drawn on my face. gratitude. I feel grateful. Beyond my words, so very thankful. I feel aglow, the Lord is inexplicably good. I feel both a peace and an excitement amidst all the uncertainties of my life presently. And I don't know how, or when, but biking this morning did something to me that released me into that somehow. Maybe it was the fact that everyone was still in slumber when I tip-toed out of my garage, or the fact that I rode streets with absent cars, or the fact I could hear the roar of the wind flickering falling leaves all about. "All creation groans," and there I was joining with it. Maybe it was because while biking, I was "practicing my purpose once again," of simply being and breathing with Him, of coming into myself by leaning into my God. Maybe it was because I felt more present and fully awake to the things the Lord is calling me to. Maybe it was because I was understanding more profoundly the words of Paul when he says, "For this light and momentary affliction, is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison."

An eternal weight of glory. of glory. of wonder, of marvel, of beauty, of all that is good. Don't you love the juxtaposition Paul just used? Light affliction, weight of glory. Today I feel this weight shifting and moving all about in my soul. I have become keenly aware of the Lord's work in me, being transformed in His likeness, learning His ways, seeing more clearly, but still so dimly, His plans for my life.

So here I am, stretching out my open hands for the Good Lord to gift me with raisin cakes of grace. So that this grace can sustain me in the fight to live my life worthy of the One who has called me into His marvelous light. Again, I shall pray, Father of Lights, set Your face to shine upon me.

All will be well

You can ask me how but only time will tell.

being ready

I feel ready. For tomorrow. I'll be in a hustle and bustle no doubt, but I'll feel ready. It's like that feeling you get when you take the biggest breath you can before going underwater. You know you'll eventually run out of air when you get down under, but here it goes, I'll plunge! And down I go, holding my breath, attempting to swim, with so much courage to beat against my fears, I'll go.

Tomorrow is the day I'll come in for an orientation for my new job as a teacher assistant; and if I'm not mistaken, I'll fill out paperwork, and then. my very first. real. adult. job assignment. will be handed. to me. One more step closer to the realities of being in classrooms where I'm no longer the student. No more endless applications, no more nerve-racking interviews, no more waiting around for phone calls. No more. (well, sorta)

Tomorrow will feel like an inauguration of sorts. Hopefully, my strides down the echo-filled hallways will be marked with such grace, my speech will be distinguished with loads of charm (doubtful, I come very honest), and there will be an air of confidence about me. Wohoo!

Truth is, they're not ready for this wreck of a woman.

"I am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions." -Augusten Burroughs

I'm a mess most days. It might not appear so, but on the inside, I feel it. Good intentions, shine bright tomorrow, and every single working day after that, okay?

Hopefully my small quirks will be endearing, and I pray I bless someone tomorrow. Because Lord knows, it's a piece of heaven when you've been blessed by another. And in the workplace no less! It will be like manna. (manna for me, and manna for them)

here's to the plunge!

my carpenter; my laughter

This is my little nook. My apologies, it's hard to see (if you'd like, click here to see it up close).

After making some complaints about my previous desk, a certain mr. aaron decided he'd build me one, one that suited me. And it suits me well, let me tell youu! As it happens, I've developed an affinity for the place in which it sits- all because of this desk. I think I should call this favorited spot, "The Corner."

Today, I've finally settled into it. The smell of the varnish is still clinging on, and makes my room oh so aromatic.. mmmm.

You might be wondering what's with the outhouse cutout in the cabinet door, and why there are a total of five knobs screwed on. We decided an outhouse symbol was appropriate because this will be where I'll keep all my crap. I said crap! And the knobs? Well, it's just for style, because you know, if I have a desk, I need sumpin' to fit my steeze. Youuu know!

(many thanks to mr. aaron, my love and my personal carpenter.)

oh hi. this is me.

I invite you now into my thoughts:

There is nothing more satisfying than hearing a room burst with laughter the instant you make a joke. hahahaha! It's the zest of life! I think mostly because it usually happens when I am most myself. Catch me candid, please! And don't hold your breath, belt it out with bursts of air! Feel it big! And round! Feel it swoop down into your belly, and come out of the funnel that is your mouth, and indulge!

Why have these thoughts been roaming around my head? Because yesterday:

Yesterday I found myself sitting in front of a classroom acting as a panelist for a discussion on cultural differences. (though, I'm probably no more foreign than you are). I was incredibly nervous at the start, but after eliciting a response to a certain question, the knots in my gut were cut loose as people roared, doubling over in their seats. Thank you, thank you! I am in myself, and satisfied.

Aaron (the same mr. aaron) once told me, "Laughter reinterprets life." And so it does.

To me, it's joy, sealed in grace-- for such broken creatures, we've been endowed with the ability to experience such rapture.

So. Let's participate often in this divine providence. Let's laugh, and let ourselves go!

random, but funny, no?

hahahahaha

Life is only going... it just never thinks to stay. So why not take photos along the way? Why not write pages and pages on end recollecting our favorite memories?!

This is what's wonderful about jotting down the smaller stories of your day: you begin to be a better person. Yes. You really do. You become an avid admirer of people, of daily interaction, of small things that easily go unnoticed. You become a better story-teller I think too.

Oh I pray I be a librarian of memories! May I be fascinated by life, and awestruck daily!

Alright, so leave me now to my recollecting... (thank you).

Sometimes I get down.

A very long time ago, sometime when I was only a kid, I realized that angry people like to make other people angry, and that hurt people like to hurt people. I'm not exactly sure when this idea began to penetrate past my brainbox and pervade my way of handling conflict, but I think it changed me. For the good or for the worse, I do not know.

Most of you reading this (if you actually do) will wonder what is prompting this post, and will assume that today I am particularly down. And I'll admit it. I am feeling a bit down this morning... being twenty-two, with a bachelor's degree, living in the same house as your parents, and attempting to live a more adult life is... frustrating.

When I find the t-shirt I'm wearing wet with tears falling from my cheek, when I'm venting to a friend about my sadness, when I give myself a moment... it feels good. I often like to stay in that place because I am feeling some kind of intensity that ironically lets me feel more alive. I feel closer to my Jesus. Is that strange?

There is a 'however' though! However. instead of wallowing where my sorrows lie, I decided something different.

Instead of putting my energies on feeling disheartened about what I cannot do, I am doing what I can. What I can do is free myself to do the things that bring me joy.

I will dance when no one is looking.

bike. and bike father than I thought I could.

read a story.

build callouses on my finger tips from holding guitar strings.

sing as loud as I can with no worry of being heard.

write.

make something delicious.

listen to my Jesus when He speaks, or try to.

I will be capable of having joy.

and be free to love my enemies.

If I can't have my cake and eat it, I'll have nutella, and strawberries, sandwiched between a slice of sweet oat grain bread. And I shall eat it, and it will be good.

Life Currently: On Lessons.

Have you felt the fall breeze recently? Slowly blowing through, cool and crisp, I feel it coming.

It's been dawning on me that this past summer has been spent learning that life is full of lessons... and so I learn. And I tell myself, "Pay attention (to all the things that swirl around you, to every movement of your mind, body, soul; pay close attention)."

Of recent, I have found a love for routine. Once I realized that I actually had a few in place, I couldn't go back. It stole me. There is something very beautiful about having a routine, I think it speaks of faithfulness. My faithfulness to it, and its faithfulness to me. I wake up in the morning, make my bed, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, plop on the bathroom floor, and brush brush brush. That's my morning routine, and I love it. It's simple, but its

simplicity is what I'm taken by. It just feels so good to be faithful to something.

My routines are the few things in life presently that are left uninterrupted, and undisturbed. It's sacred to me as I am learning what it means to hold myself accountable to something that I intrinsically know is good for my soul. Who'd a thunk brushing your teeth could be so freeing?! It is for me. I could go on about how good routines are, how a rhythm keeps one present, how my routines have helped me see deeper into my truest self... but I shant. Mostly because

I'm still processing.

Summer, you were a deep breath for me, sometimes a huff of frustration, but nonetheless, thank you. Autumn, you are not yet.

And of course, a few photos:

love.

Not bad.

Sister fran.

Clementine did something very unlady like.