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being uncertain does not make you weak. [twenty truths]

July 21, 2012 in 20-something troubles, creative fiction, lessons learned, my story, stories with 1 Comment

Twenty-Something Truths For Twenty-Somethings 

truth number [14] today from the blog series hosted by myself and my dear friend Kristin! please join the conversation as we continue to unpack our twenties, and the truths we have found thus far. what have you learned? <3 <3 <3

~~~

Being uncertain does not make you weak.

 

 

It means you know the gravity of your decisions, and you have learned the result of making bad ones. Life, as you will realize, is a series of choices. Hundreds of opportunities approach us every single day and we are constantly making steps forward and backward, toward or away from who and where we want to be. It’s okay to feel the weight of this; we should be feeling it.

Too many twenty-somethings are still as frivolous as when they were 15, making jokes at other people’s expense, spending money like crazy, and choosing blue eye shadow. We know now that choosing a job or a credit card or a relationship might affect a big chunk of your life, and might have emotional repercussions. And usually the worst decisions are made because we feel pressured to just choose SOMETHING, so we choose the first thing that comes along. We are scared of the uncertain feeling, and it makes us feel like we aren’t doing something right.

Friends, be brave with your choices. Live in the questions for as long as you feel uncertain. Explore the corners of your heart that are scared, or worried. Let yourself feel the breadth of all of those emotions, so that when you finally make a choice you will step confidently, without fear. It may take you longer to choose than some of your friends, and that is okay. You are fully able to see the forest through the trees, and you know what it takes to make it out in one piece.

It’s not that you don’t know what it takes to be an adult; it’s that you do. Congratulations; you’ve arrived.

10. never worry about the number of followers you have. [twenty truths]

July 17, 2012 in 20-something troubles, creative fiction, lessons learned, my story, stories with 1 Comment

Twenty-Something Truths For Twenty-Somethings 

truth number [10] today from the blog series hosted by myself and my dear friend Kristin! please join the conversation as we continue to unpack our twenties, and the truths we have found thus far. what have you learned? <3 <3 <3

~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last post, we talked about not worrying how cool your life looks to your followers.

Similarly, never ever ever worry about the number of followers you have.

 

I’ve heard it said that our credibility nowadays is based largely on the size of our following. So people are buying Twitter followers and “likes” on Facebook, and we are all incredibly concerned about our credibility, our image, our appearance.

But isn’t it all just a facade?

It feels never-ending. Who is ever completely satisfied, if we are always just trying to gain more people following, more people liking, more people watching? We are constantly looking outward instead of inward. We are finding identity and purpose in the number of people who are curious about our identity and purpose.

It should never matter how many people want to see what you’re writing or thinking or hash-tagging. You should be less concerned with how many people want to follow your every move, and more concerned that they are finding their true selves and learning how to fit into their space in the universe. The loneliest place to be sometimes is belly-up under 4,000 followers because you realize you are still completely alone.

And loneliness is almost always indicative of something else, and it constantly manifests itself in toxic behaviors. So we must stop looking outward, and start first with our insides. Address the issues of your heart first, with the people you have a tactile relationship with. The kind of relationship where you can make eye contact and tell one another that there’s broccoli in your teeth. Enjoy moments, deepen relationships, eat cold ice cream on a hot June day with a friend you haven’t talked to since awkward bangs and boy bands. Spend the money to fly across the country to feel ‘at home again’, and don’t worry about tweeting about it. It doesn’t matter how many people find you interesting; if you don’t find you interesting then there is still a lot of work to do.

8. just because your life isn’t cool on Instagram, doesn’t mean it isn’t cool. [twenty truths]

July 15, 2012 in 20-something troubles, creative fiction, lessons learned, my story, stories with 5 Comments

Twenty-Something Truths For Twenty-Somethings 

truth number [8] today from the blog series hosted by myself and my dear friend Kristin! please join the conversation as we continue to unpack our twenties, and the truths we have found thus far. what have you learned? <3 <3 <3

~~~

Just because your life isn’t cool on Instagram or Twitter, it does not mean that it isn’t cool.

There is a huge difference between living a full and adventurous life, and telling everyone about your full and adventurous life. Our twenty-something culture has given us some very creative mediums to tell everyone about our full and adventurous lives. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never claimed to be a ‘photog.’ I would never put it in my bio, I won’t ever offer to give someone high quality portraits, because that just isn’t my gift. But Instagram has this ability to make me feel like I am meeting the world’s deep need to see everything about my life.

Now, some people have an eye for photography and enough time in their day to take #nofilter pictures of their every move. They get tons of followers and double taps, and it makes their life seem so incredibly awesome because everyone can see how incredibly awesome it is. They make my portfolio look like a disposable camera’s product. In the perfect black & white picture, they have conquered my confidence in the visual portrayal of my own life. And I proceed to believe my life isn’t cool, because I didn’t use that filter on my martini picture, or get enough likes on the candid one of my puppy.

Or, the Twitter cool kids with their six-figure-amount-of-followers, who give the most hilarious synopsis of their day in 140 characters. I need to beat them, I need to be wittier than them, I need to hashtag like them. Or I need as many people to care about my thoughts as they have caring about theirs. I need everyone in the world to know my hilarious or thought-provoking or life-changing sentences. And when I don’t beat them, I proceed to believe my life isn’t cool.

But your life is not measured by likes or retweets or picture quality; your life is measured by breadth and depth and joy and love. I can’t tell you how many times I have admired a friend’s life from afar (and by ‘afar’, I mean ‘frequent drive-by’s on Facebook’) and then later found out that her marriage is actually at a really low place right now, or he got fired from his job, or those two have completely lost touch with their identity. We can make our lives look phenomenal — that’s the best-kept secret of 2012. We can play the part of anyone — and yet be completely empty in and of ourselves.

So put down your smartphone, and let it be. Stop caring about her endless list of comments, or the fact that he always eats at trendy cafes; focus on the people in your life who make up for all the pictures you can’t take fast enough. They deserve your attention more than any timeline does. And if you’ve chosen well, they likely base their friendship with you off things far more important than pictures and tweets.

until you become [real.]

May 10, 2012 in creative fiction with 0 Comments

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. 

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.

But the Skin Horse only smiled.

~~~

-the velveteen rabbit, margery williams.

to the one who proved that you aren’t all the same.

February 14, 2012 in creative fiction, dating, jesus, lessons learned, my story with 12 Comments

It’s silly to me that the only words I want to say to you are “Thank you” because it is essentially me thanking you for your entire existence, something you are not necessarily responsible for. I want to thank you for your soul, your heart, your joy – the things which you did not create.

Truth be told, Bitter and Angst looked pretty good on me. I was really funny as an always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride kind of girl. The loneliness helped me create good music, good writing, and good art. Heartbreak gives way to so many words, and blank pages didn’t stand a chance against me. Yet I think I always knew, deep down, that you would show up somewhere.

But I followed in the footsteps of my foremothers, the scorned women who came before me, and I dismissed your entire gender. After what felt like the millionth break-up, I wrote one simple verse and then stopped writing for months:

“The first I lost to another love, the second is now a bust.
And every one after has proven still that none deserve my trust.”

And then I was done. I was done writing. I put the pen down and closed the journals. I was done listening to my heart because it had bad hearing, apparently. Every man was just a boy walking around in grown-up clothing, each with the same desire: to get in, get out, and get on with his life.

 

And then you bought me flowers.

And you waited three dates to kiss me.

And you complimented me with phrases like “life-giving” and “a treasure to be cherished” instead of objectifying comments about my physical appearance or capabilities.

And you have gently handed me your secrets and trusted me not to break the heart that comes with them.

I have been proven wrong. And I normally hate being proven wrong.

 

It’s not that I needed to believe in men again – I don’t think that’s the point. The point is that I believe in my own worth again. Your love has shown me my own worth.

I can’t help but giggle when I hear other people talking about love now. They have no clue what they are talking about and I really feel bad for them! There’s no way on earth anyone else feels what we do; it is perfect and imperfect, at the same time. I feel like we are the only ones to have ever been in love like this.

 

I love the way you love me because not only does it prove that not all men are evil, it also proves that good is all around.

I love the way you love me because it makes me feel brave, without abandoning my own sense of strength.

I love the way you love me because it makes me feel strong, without ever making me question my own resilience.

I love the way you love me because it shows me what love actually is, without dismissing my own ability to love.

I love the way you love me because it shows me how Jesus loves me, without distracting me from Him.

And now, once again, I have so much to write about…

 

Thank you for the chance to be proven wrong. I’ve never felt more alive.

 

Sincerely,

Me

you are my sweetest [downfall.]

January 12, 2012 in creative fiction, lessons learned, sex with 2 Comments

To be reminded of our own broken humanness is the most beautiful disaster. Somewhere within this dichotomy of wonderful and painful, you can hear steady breathing if you listen closely. The breathing out releases the truth and the breathing in reminds us that life is still coming in and out of our lungs.

As children, we tend to be confronted with our mistakes. I wish desperately that I could remember the first time I was chastised, but I’m afraid to say it was too early to recall. I don’t know why I made a mistake, but I know I did. Several hundred times.

The most interesting part about our humanness is that we are innately wired to mess up. No one taught us how to lie, but we knew how. No one taught us to fear punishment and to hide in shame, but we knew how.

When we make a mistake, we mourn the loss of something. What could have been and what should have been done are all dead and gone. I don’t think that what hurts the most is the fact that we wanted to receive more; I think it’s the fact that we had so much left to give. You never know when the opportunity to continue to give will simply be taken away from you. It stings something awful. And it stings worse if it’s your fault.

And yet, mistakes are so beautiful because they bind us all together. It unites us to say that we have all walked in error a time or twelve hundred. We are all the summation of the ten million mistakes we have survived up until now. We are hypocrites, every one of us. We are all pointing with one hand, and damning ourselves with the other. We all would love to throw the first stone, but none of us can seem to muster up enough validity to do so.

Honesty has a way of forcing itself to the surface, no matter the amount of desire against it. And it sometimes knocks the wind out of everyone, including the source. It does this in order to test your lungs. You lose air, for just a moment. And in that silence, there is a moment where you don’t think you will ever learn to breathe again. Then, finally, a breath is inhaled. And nothing tastes sweeter than remembering how to breathe.

 

To the least and the best, to the first and the last – you are not alone.

To the ones who have no hope for the future in the confining space of your own mind – you are not alone.

To the good people who have had the wind knocked out of you from a mistake of your own hands – you are not alone.

To the souls who feel they will never get past this – you are not alone. And you will get past this.

Your shame may last through the night, but truth will come with the morning. Shame is just a falsification that is only defined by the lack of a truth – a truth that will bring enough peace to fill your lungs with air over and over again.

And with that truth comes grace, and forgiveness.

And if you wake up with air in your lungs, let it remind you that you were given this morning, this moment, this day to truly breathe grace.

 

And for those of us who are wronged, who are a people scorned, what about us? How can you possibly justify stepping forward without receiving vindication or revenge?

Oh, if only it was more obvious that vindication does not strengthen our steps, but rather weakens them.

Because as givers of grace, we must be willing to let it look differently sometimes. We must be willing to give grace in the form of discipline, in the form of tough love, in the form of self-sacrifice. A mother does not attempt to speak reason to her toddler, that he might understand the depth of “wrong” at such an early age. No, she offers grace in the form of reprimand. The toddler is better for it. And so is the mother. And she soon forgives him, for he knows not what he does.

Just as He forgives His children, who know not what they do.

 

To you who have been wronged and have the opportunity to offer grace – you are not alone.

To those who feel the brunt of the punishment given at your own hand, you are not alone.

To the leaders who discipline in order to show love, you are not alone. And you are better for it.

 

 

To the friends who have wronged me, I have forgiven you. I am not angry, I am not bitter. I have a clearer vision of what grace is. I have learned to reprimand out of love.

And I am better because of it. I am better because of you.

 

 

 

to write or not to write. [indie ink]

August 25, 2011 in 20-something troubles, creative fiction, stories with 3 Comments

this is my first attempt at fiction in awhile, but indie ink has challenged me again. if you want to get in on the fun, follow it here and sign up here. this week my challenge was from kat who blogs over here. my challenge was “popular burger shop uses tainted beef patties.”

someone told me a long time ago that to write well, you must write what you know. well, i know that there are wars in far-off lands that devastate thousands of people on a daily basis. i know that there are natural disasters occurring far too often that are leaving far too many people displaced and injured. i know that there are politics to be argued, hungry children to be advocated for, and world peace to be found. when i decided to study journalism, i had all of these things in mind to write on. i was going to sit at a desk in a big, tall building in the middle of a bustling city and write about things that mattered.

but as i sit at the intern’s cubicle inside of the big, tall building in the middle of a bustling city, where i spend many hours a week as a 28 year old intern, i am not writing about things that matter. in fact, i am not writing at all. i am thinking about what to write. because my editor has given me an assignment that i can’t quite grasp. in fact, it’s the only chance he’s given me in months. and it’s about food. more specifically, a particular neighborhood favorite burger place that has recently been accused of serving low-grade meat in their burgers. he wants me to expose them entirely, to rat them out to the public and outrage the customers, causing uproar, intrigue, and a high amount in newspaper sales. he told me that if i write this piece, i will finally show him that i’m ready to write about current affairs, politics, or relief efforts in other countries. i will finally get opportunities i’ve been waiting for since journalism 1001. the door will finally be open and i can soar through it with the dignity i’ve been scratching at for nearly a decade.

so what’s the problem with taking a family-owned-and-operated delicious burger restaurant and throwing them completely under the bus? well for one thing, they’ll be out of business in a heartbeat. that will put a lot of college kids in a panic when they realize their favorite late-night-food source is now gone. but that’s not the problem. it will probably give the city a bad name for not regulating the health code more carefully, which will reflect poorly on other restaurants in the area as well. but that’s not the problem either. i would have to write an eloquently compelling article that captivates an audience and paints a picture for weeks to come so that i impress my editor and finally gain some respect in this prison i call work. but even that’s not the problem.

the problem is that the burger place is owned and operated by my dad and step-mom.

martin luther king, jr once said, “the hottest place in hell is reserved for those who remain neutral in times of great moral conflict.”

mark twain was quoted as saying “it is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.”

and ernest hemingway said, “what is moral is what you feel good after, and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.”

i guess you get the picture. and yes, i’m considering it.

i’m sitting in this big, tall building, thinking about ruining my dad’s dream just for the sake of achieving mine. i’m faced with a moral dilemma, a conflict of the soul. if i refuse the assignment, i may as well pack up my desk (and by desk i mean a two foot counter space in a cubicle shared by four interns) and say my farewells (no one really knows me. i’ve been here four years and the receptionist still calls me by the wrong name) and kiss my career as a journalist goodbye, because i won’t be getting any more assignments. if i go through with the piece, my dad would be crushed. after my mom died, he used his life’s savings to open this place and when the economy took a downfall, he had to downgrade his meat selection. he knew it, i knew it, we all knew it. but no one said a thing because we figured no one would find out, plus he loved this restaurant! and then some dumb girl decided to work (intern) in a newspaper office for way too long and get assignments that were way too infantile and never stand up for herself against her mean boss, and now the entire restaurant’s reputation is at stake.

so i sit. and i think.

and then it hits me like a brick wall, and i know exactly what i’m going to do.

don’t you?

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