so I put my hair up and I make coffee and I write

I.
So I'm moving. In four days. It's odd, but it's right.  I feel weird being in Memphis now, like I'm not supposed to be here. And my room is a half-empty mess, my paintings and odd assortment of inspirations the only things left untouched thus far, which makes me feel even less like I'm supposed to be here. And I hate goodbyes. But not in the traditional sense. I don't mind the fact that I'm saying goodbye so much as the length of time most goodbyes last.  I kind of wish I could just pack up my car with all my friends standing around and then hug everyone and give a little wave and put a good CD in and hit the road. And I'm secretly hoping no one will miss me.  I know that's weird, but it's easier that way. I'm such a people-pleaser that I feel guilty for moving.  I don't even really feel that sad, I just feel guilty, like I'm letting everyone down.  I keep trying my hardest to hide the fact that I'm excited for the new adventure Texas is about to provide me with.  I mean I'll miss everyone here a lot, some more than others.  But I'm not worried, because the people I'll miss most are the ones I know will be in my life for the rest of it, no matter where we are.

For the entire last semester I felt like I was in this dark place and I had no idea which way to go.  So I just kind of stomped around in a little circle, feeling my way around, trying to find the light switch or something.  For the first time in...a really, really long time, I know I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  I guess you call that being decisive.  This is one of the few times in my life that I feel decisive.  And it's ironic because I'm doing something I never would have thought I'd do, something I used to judge other people for doing.  I'm taking a semester off of school.  I used to think that the kids who did that had no life goals and weren't going anywhere.  Funny how God works.


II.
Sometimes I feel kind of anti-social, like I just don't want to be around a lot of people.  It didn't used to happen very often, but as I get older it gets more frequent.  I like to just chill out, maybe with some people I'm really close to; you know, the ones you don't necessarily have to talk to the whole time you're hanging out.  Sometimes I just want to sit in my room and drink coffee and listen to Sufjan Stevens and write or paint.  Some people can't, for the life of them, understand that.  And it makes me a little sad for them, because they'll never really know what it's like to be alone with themselves.  Being alone with yourself is a beautiful thing sometimes.

III.
There are nights that I just feel the need to write.  So I start writing a bunch of random stuff, waiting for the big, important thing to come to me.  Some nights it comes and I end up writing something interesting and cool.  But some nights it never comes, and I just end up with this odd, non-cohesive bit.  I think tonight's post is in the latter camp.  So if you're reading this, you're probably thinking, "Wait, that's it?  What?  Did I really just waste three minutes of my life?"  The answer to all of those questions is yes.  I'm feeling a little American post-modern tonight.

creative bit: wait

Corner of 6th and Congress.  She waits for the bus like she waits for love.  She knows it's coming but she's early; her faith rides on it, but it's just taking her to another destination.  She just wants somebody to walk next to, somebody to share a seat with.  So she settles; she gives it away hoping in time her love will be returned.  But she knows it never will.  She's battered and scarred; they left holes in her fragile heart.  Some days she feels like she's all fragments held together by children's glue, an amalgamation of cheap love and insecurity, hopes and dreams and wishes on stars.  She's waiting for the day she'll be healed, waiting for the next boy to come fix her. 

The bus comes, but no number of quarters will take her to her happily ever after.  So she drops in her change and slides into her usual seat, looks out the same window and watches the familiar buildings rush by. The city never changes.

But she's different this time.  At least she feels different.  Is she really different?

The all-too-common tornado of thoughts inside her head rages, but she silences it.  Looks down at the cheap, tarnished heart bracelet her last last boyfriend-savior gave her and pulls it away from her wrist until it breaks.  Until she breaks.  Closing her eyes and breathing in deeply, she touches the inside of her wrist, feels her heartbeat pulsing, pumping blood to and from her hands, fingers.  Slowly she opens her eyes again and sees the same world; she sits in her usual seat, looks out the same window and watches the familiar buildings rush by.  The city never changes.

But she's free.

creative bit: clarity

She used to know where she was going.

She used to know who she was.

She used to know what she was going to do with her life.

Now she sat in a coffee shop, a fragmentary, fragile girl.  So many paths lay before her, each taking her to a totally different place, a new adventure she'd never expected.  So many paths lay behind her, some simply ended, some blocked for one reason or another.  She felt at once both unnecessary and as if too much was demanded of her.  At any moment, she felt, she might burst into a million different colored pieces that would shoot across the globe and she would finally feel satisfied.  But instead she sat, her body in one piece, her mind in a million.

Catharsis has a funny way of coming right at the exact moment we need it most.  She took a sip of her coffee, looked out the window at the busy street wet with the recent rain, and knew.

why so serious/art/generalities

I.

I think I take myself too seriously.  Which is an odd thing for me to say, as I often wonder if I even know how to be serious about anything.  But I've realized as of late that I am far too serious when it comes to my art.  And by my art, I mean my writing.  I have ridiculous rules, ridiculous standards, and ridiculous expectations.  I'll lay them out for you, as a sort of humble confession in attempts to abandon them.  

For one thing, I absolutely will not even open this blog/a document/blank page if I am not feeling inspired and creative.  As a writer, let me just say that inspiration is incredibly hard to come by.  There are days (many, far too many days) when no amount of hot coffee in my favorite mug, no song that inspires me and makes me feel like I'm a vital and yet insignificant piece of humanity, no ounce of artistic frustration aimed at the state the world is in can make me feel inspired and creative enough to spin out some chunk of my heart and soul into some well-chosen (yet often inadequate) words.  Waiting for inspiration is like sitting in your room by yourself and waiting for life to start for you - it doesn't just happen...usually.  You have to get up and make inspiration for yourself, by demanding it from a world that is so lacking in it. 

Much more despicable is my criticism of writing that is not my own.  I tend to criticize my own writing as if the entire world were waiting on the edge of their seats, waiting for me to pop out another work of genius (HAH).  So I feel justified (it's disgusting, really) in criticizing other work equally.  I've yet to decide whether this next part is a vice or a virtue, but I don't criticize work by other writers in terms of their concepts, ideals, the big picture.  Rather, I judge them on far sillier things - like misspelling, not-quite-stellar grammar, and style that's lacking in, well, style.  This may not sound as grave as it really is to you, because you're not inside my head.  But I'm quite the legalist when it comes to technical writing things.  And I'm not even really a technical person.  Where I decided I have the right to judge based on silly technical mistakes I'll never know.  I'm trying to be better though... Also, as a side note, I love writing sentence fragments and using semi-colons in inappropriate places.  I am my own enemy.

On to my expectations for my own writing, which correspond to my inspiration problem.  It seems that whenever I sit down to write, I expect that whatever I write will be some groundbreaking, stereotype-shattering, staggeringly beautiful, deep, soul-touching piece.  That someone's life will be changed, or something like that.  And when I say I "expect" this, I mean that I require it.  If it isn't either soulish or mind-blowing, I will not write it.  Which is just dumb,  because I've never in my life written anything mind-blowing and while my stuff might be soulish to me because it is a piece of my soul, there is no guarantee that anyone else will find it soulish (Except my bestfriendsistertwin. She is an avid reader/understander.)

What I have to remind myself over and over again is the fact that everyone else creates for the same reason that I create - because we all have this crazy view of the world.  We see things that others don't see, or, we see the same things but from a different point of view.  And subsequently, we feel the need to express that view to the rest of the universe, using whatever we can get our selfish, grubby hands on.  For me, it's words.  For others it's film, paint, garbage from dumpsters, a guitar, the human body...I could go on forever, because anything can be art.  It just has to get into the right hands.

II.

If I had to pick a few words to describe my life right about now it would go something like this:

Certainty. Curiosity. Self-discovery. Christmas. Warmth. Wariness. Waiting. And, um...silly.  Silly is always on the list.  It is one of the few constants in my life.  Certainty: I am moving to a new city in roughly 6 months.  That used to sound terrifying, but now I just feel like it's what I'm supposed to do.  I mean, I'm still nervous about it and I still can't see the specifics, but I already feel like I'm there.  Curiosity: I have no idea what I'm doing with my future life.  Some days I feel like I'm way behind everyone else because of that.  But tonight I just feel curious as to what God wants me to do.  It's amusing to me (right now, at least) how much He makes me wait, because He knows I'm basically the most impatient person on this planet.  Self-discovery: I'm learning a lot of things about myself right now.  I'm almost 20; that's what I'm supposed to be doing, right?  Christmas: Self-explanatory, but I'll expound at least.  This is absolutely, hands-down, my favorite season of the year.  I don't even know where to begin.  It would take an entire post to explain it all, which I'll probably write after finals are over.  But in a nutshell, it is warm and expectant and full of good things that restore my faith in humanity.  And because my reindeer headband and the amount of times I've seen Elf in my life are not frowned upon.  Warmth: See Christmas...  Wariness: I am bone-tired.  I've felt tired before, but this is a different kind of tired.  I think I'm just past the peak of it though; it's beginning to dissipate into expectancy and contentment.  Waiting: The future is always so imminent and yet so distant.  I love it and I hate it.  I love it because I can see it, but I still have time to enjoy where I'm at right now.  I hate it because I can see it but I can't have it yet, I have to sit still until I'm ready for it (or it's ready for me?).  I am the world's worst at sitting still.  

Tonight is one of those nights that I have a sort of sing-songy, lalala, whimsical outlook which I am always wishing I could transpose into words.  But I guess that's part of the beauty of it: it's so my own that I can't even come up with the words to make someone else understand it.  Although I'm sure you've got your own version of the singsongy/lalala/whimsical outlook that's all your very own too.

darkness/beautiful things

I have this habit of getting settled into life.  I always find myself getting used to the way things currently are, as if they will never change.  I forget that life is a crazy journey that never stops moving, taking me to a new place every time I look up from my feet.  I think about the way my life looks now in comparison to the way it looked last semester and find myself wondering why it had to get so confusing and complex.  Last year was easy and lighthearted; I made some amazing friends and had a lot of really good times with them.  This year everything is different; most of my relationships are either changing or they are gone and I'm often making big decisions, rather than memories.  Last year I was confident in the way I was headed, knowing mostly what to expect and who I was going to be around.  This year I've no idea where I'll be, what I'll be doing, or who I'll be with in two months.  What's worse than that is that I have no idea where I want to be, what I want to be doing, or who I want to be with in two months.  I change my mind daily and then get so frustrated with my own fickleness that I grow numb to the situation entirely, floating through my daily activities, thinking about irrelevant things or not thinking at all.  There are times when I feel as if I'm in this dark place and all I can see are the forms of things around me; all I'm doing is stumbling around, but I have no idea where I'm going, I'm just moving to move.

And then I am reminded that God is here as well.  He does not dwell only in the happy and light moments.  He is not found only when all is good and easy.  He is very much present in this dark place, making me more aware of His light daily.  I may not know where I am going, but He does, and that's all that matters.  It isn't my life anyway.  These are the times in which true Joy grows.  Not that easy, surface joy (although that has a place too), but the deep kind of Joy that knows no circumstance.  It is not grounded in my emotions, but rather in the knowledge that I am loved by the Creator of the universe and that He is making me into something beautiful.  The transformation can be painful at times, but it is worth every second of the waiting, every second of the confusion.

This is the prismatic life.  There are happy, light colors, and there are dark, rich colors merited only by patience and placing trust in Christ while I wait out the storm.

"God is waiting to be found everywhere, in the darkest corners of our lives, the dead ends and bad neighborhoods we wake up in, and the simplest, lightest, most singular and luminous moments. He's hiding, like a child, in quite obvious and visible places, because He wants to be found.  The miracle is that He dwells in both.  I knew He dwelt in the latter, the bright and beautiful, because I had been finding Him there for years, in the small moments of beauty and hope that poke through the darkness of our days. But lately I have been finding Him not just under the darkness, but in it... I have found a strange beauty in the darkness, one I've never seen, a slower, subtler beauty..."  -Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines

whirling

This is one of those times where I don't know where to begin.  I'm afraid that if I start writing, a thousand crazy thoughts will force their way out of my brain and into my post, whizzing and crashing about, with no sense of direction and certainly no understanding.  It goes without saying that I have a lot on my mind right now.  I mean, I usually have a lot on my mind; but today, there is a sense of fast-paced recklessness in my thoughts.  They are all whirling past me at an unprecedented speed, going nowhere and finding themselves back at the beginning over and over again.  If their paths were traced over the map of my brain, there would be thousands of squiggly lines, circles, dead ends. 

I am sick of my thoughts.  Sick of  my situations.  Sick of myself.  Sick of this lack of clarity I'm finding myself in.  I feel like everything in my life is muddy and I don't know which way I'm supposed to start walking.  All I know is that God wants me in a little bit of solitude.  He wants me to sit quietly and not take any steps yet.  He wants me to wait on Him and let Him be the center of things, the center of my life.  He will show me the path of life, but only when I'm not focused on what I am supposed to be doing, but rather how I am glorifying Him in what I am doing.  So I'm house-sitting for some people next week and I'm taking that as my solitude time.  It'll just be me and the dog at night.  No one to hang out with or talk to, no one to distract myself with.  I'll be forced to face myself in the silence, and to wait on God.  And He will make Himself known to me.  It could not come at a better time.  Praying for clarity.

running

So I have this problem.  I can't let go.  Of anything.  I mean it takes over my life.  I can't let go of relationships, I can't let go of people, even when it's high time to move on, I can't even leave a text and not respond to it.  I feel like it's like my duty or something to reply to everything, to do whatever I can to fix a relationship, to make things go back to the way they were.  Don't get me wrong though, I love change.  I hate letting go.  I feel like there is always something that I can do to magically fix everything; and when it doesn't work out, I feel like I didn't do enough, that I missed something. It's this thing I have with control.  I have to have it.  I go crazy if I feel like I'm not in control. 

And God's been trying to show me for the entire last year of my life that I am not in control, that my life is not my own.  He's used everything from my family and friends to my school and social life to show me that He is the only One who stays the same, the only One I can depend on for everything.  I have this obsession with people; I love them.  Too much.  I tend to put all my stock in my relationships, I attempt to find myself in them.  I mean that I know who I am, but I find all my happiness in my relationships.  I'm not talking about romantic relationships, although those are a part of it too.  And when one doesn't work out, I run to the next place, the next person, and do it all over again. I'm always running because it never works out.  Something happens, people change, some things just get awkward.  You can't hold onto people forever; sometimes, you have to let them go.  And I'm incapable of doing that.  So God takes them away from me.  Not in a horribly painful way or any of that, just a slow slipping away.  If He were to allow me to find what I'm looking for in one of my relationships, or anything on this earth really, I would be gone.  I am far too easily pleased with passing things.  With each relationship that fades away, God has been trying to block all my paths except the one that leads to Him.  And I still cannot let go.  I still find myself running to the next person I can hold onto. 

So where does that leave me?  I know what is going on; I see the evidence of it in my life.  I see what God is trying to do, how He is working.  The only thing left for me to do is to give up.  To surrender.  To run to Him and find my identity and happiness in Him.  But I don't know how.  It sounds like the simplest thing; no, it is the simplest thing.  What could be better than just letting go, giving all your problems to Someone else, and getting infinite Joy and peace in return?  There is no downside.  But I've built up all these walls, made myself believe that the only way I can find happiness is through people that are only in my life for a season.  And I can't do any of it, I've been asking God to just take it from me.  I know He is taking it from me bit by bit, but I have to let Him.  And I haven't been doing a very good job of that.  It's that control thing I mentioned earlier.  And fear.  I'm scared that if I let go, I won't have anything to hold on to, that the ground will disappear beneath my feet.  In my heart I know that if I let go, I will fall.  But it will be falling into the never-ending space of Christ's Love.  What could be more beautiful?  In the free fall, I will be able to fully find myself in Him. 

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." 2 Corinthians 12:9