I suppose I should apologize for not writing sooner. When we left off last, I was frustrated and numb and wondering why I couldn't be sad about anything. Well, probably two weeks ago, I finally cried. Yes, dear reader, I was blessed with that delicious NaH20 mix finally. (For those of you who don't remember your periodic table, Na is sodium...) What was so sweetly fitting was that it was a picture of the Memphis bridge, not the glamorous, all-lit-up sideview picture that goes on postcards but the take-the-photo-from-the-front-seat-right-as-you're-driving-up-to-it view, that incited my blubbering mess of a cry-fest. It's ironic because I've been telling people that I didn't even cry when I moved, not even when I went over the Memphis bridge. And as I am a cliche and emotional person, I should have most definitely been shedding some mad tears at that point in my journey. But I didn't. I was reading (read: stalking) a family friend's blog (it's creepy, sure, but I'm not ashamed because she's a fantastic writer and I read her stuff hoping some of her awesomeness will rub off on me) and she and her family had passed through Memphis on a trip and they wrote about it. It was a really sweet post, about all these different Memphis-y things they had done. So I'm blubbering through my tears, "I never even went to the Civil Rights Museum once and I lived there for 12 years!" and laughing because they are funny people and madly craving a classic pulled pork sandwich and sweet tea from Central Barbeque.
I miss the South. I miss twangy accents and southern charm and hospitality, big trees and cotton fields, real sweet tea (the good Lord knows Texans just don't know how to do it right), and my places: Muddy's cupcakes and sweet, busy Republic coffee and getting six donuts for $1.40 after 11 p.m. at Gibson's. But I've been met with a huge expanse of sky that's made up of different colors (nearly) every single day, "y'all"-users aplenty, some of the kindest and coolest people I've yet had the privilege of meeting, and what's possibly the longest list of concerts I want to go to that I've ever written. I haven't found all my places yet, but I've been enjoying exploring new ones and trying to figure out which ones are the perfect fit. I've been reminded that friendships take time and work, they don't just spring up out of nowhere. If you live in a place for any decent length of time, you run the risk of becoming complacent. You have your friends, you have your favorite restaurants, your routine. You forget how important it is to step outside of your comfort zone and go on new adventures and do the hard work of new friendship. It was easy in Memphis because I had my group of friends (the sorority) and whenever I met new people it was always with them, so I never really had to go out on a limb. It was easy to be charming and funny and outgoing because I was always comfortable. Now I'm finding I'm rarely comfortable; and that's hard because sometimes you get to feeling like you're an island, you're out there alone and you'll never feel comfortable and at home and charming ever again. I have to keep reminding myself that I will indeed be comfortable again, and maybe someday I'll even get to be medially funny. But I'm also finding that being uncomfortable is a huge blessing. It's awkward and a little bit lonely and it can make you go stir-crazy if you aren't careful, but it also gives you a whole new understanding of grace and how to extend it to the people around you. Being uncomfortable is so completely and entirely human; it's one of those things we all feel more often than we'd care to admit. It should be a shared experience, but we're all so wrapped up in trying to look cool and smooth that we couldn't bear to lay it out and share that kind of thing with everyone else. I wish I could. Being uncomfortable gives you the privileged opportunity of observing human behavior at an almost-outsider level; you learn so much about yourself and about the way people are. You get to learn what you want most in a relationship, what you really appreciate about people, and one of the best things about it, I'm learning, is that you get to tell your story and figure out how exactly you want to tell it. I went to a small group last week and met a bunch of people and the most popular question was "so how did you get here?" or some variation thereof. How did you get here? What a beautiful question. I wish I could talk their ears off for about thirty minutes, because that's how long it would take to tell the whole story. There are so many things that went into my moving, so many little stories that I had no idea were connected in the slightest that somehow, at the exact right moment, converged into one big story that I was finally able to see in December. And the obvious, and really the only, option for a next step was to take the jump. So here I am. Uncomfortable, awkward, and a little lonely, but going on new adventures, learning new kinds of grace-living, doing the hard work of new friendship, making a home out of a new city. And living.
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moving. Show all posts
Monday, March 5, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
failure/happiness/ministry
I.
So I've learned a few things about failure in my short life. The hard way of course (I mean let's be real here, how exactly do you learn about failure the not-hard way? You have to experience it to know anything about it). There are so many different kinds of failure: there's the personal kind, where you let yourself down; there's outward failure, in which you let the people around you down, be that your family, employer, friends, whoever; and then there's just flat-out, complete and utter failure, and it doesn't matter who got let down because the world is literally ending, the light's gone. (I've yet to experience utter failure, but if lives are like movies, I'm guaranteed to feel it somewhere around the middle/second half of my life - that's the climax of course, right?)
I've learned plenty about the little failures, like getting a bad grade on an exam (College and I have had a rocky relationship; I only make good grades in classes I really like and there isn't an abundance of those. I really take for granted the fact that I live in a place where education is so accessible because I'm incredibly lazy. That's another reason I decided to take the semester off.) I've also learned a lot about what it's like to let your parents down in numerous ways (college, man...). I've learned to grow numb to failing grades and I've learned to stop and think about what I'm about to do (often before proceeding to do what I know is wrong anyway, having rashly justified it in some shabby way). I've learned what it feels like to just sit in what feels like a dark pit, thinking about all your failures and having zero motivation to get up and move forward because you don't even really know where to go.
But I've also learned that failure is not a prison, that it holds no power over us. Experiencing failure allows you to be free in ways you would think are too beautiful to be a result of something so painful. Failure provides you with the freedom to do things without fear of failing. It's kind of ironic, really. The more you fail, the less you are afraid to fail. It's almost like failure befriends you and you're able to live without the constant fear of it. Mind you, the ability to be afraid of failure will probably never leave you. But what I'm saying is that if you really let it affect you and you take it all in and you push forward, it can free you. J.M. Barrie always makes me feel better about myself: "We are all failures, at least the best of us are."
II.
I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness, and I've been reminded of how seriously, probably annoyingly, innocently happy I was a few years ago. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still a supremely happy girl, I've got a lot to be thankful for. But now I think I'm a bit more cynical. To support that old cliche, I've seen a lot more and been exposed to a lot more, and a lot of that lot more ain't that beautiful. I mean, people are broken and they do hurtful things, and that sucks to have to witness. And then there are those times you get confronted by new things and (this echoes back to part of that failure bit) you stumble a little and you become someone you would have never expected for a little while. And those things stay with you. They weigh you down and slowly infect everything; they become that little twangy afterthought, that voice that quietly tells your heart to behave itself and your mind to stop soaring.
So I've been wallowing in this little puddle I've made all week, badgering myself and wondering why I lost that freer happiness I used to have, and thinking I'm some horrible person and I'll never get to be like that again, I'll always have a little chip on my shoulder. Which is completely anti-active. The more you think about unhappiness, the more you become unhappy. If you think about how awful of a person you are, you stop trying to be better, assuming that you'll never succeed. My best friend reminded me that my happiness (and all my emotions, really) are kind of irrelevant (here I add though that they are still important, because they are what make us human), but anyway happiness is not the point, living for Christ is the point, and when I am living for Him and communing with Him daily, I get His Joy, which far surpasses my simple happiness.
So I got two lessons regarding happiness/Joy/living this week:
1. "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself up for me." Galatians 2:20. Kind of hard-hitting, right? Happiness aside, my whole point of living is to live by faith and glorify God. Which is cool, because it removes the need to put Sarah, this girl I don't always think is very cool or good, on the stage and instead I get to put the most beautiful and creative Being on stage. And if that isn't enough, the Bible promises that if I'm doing that, I get Christ's infinite peace and Joy in return. Basically it's the most epic win-win situation you could ever be presented with. So why is it so hard?
2. Do you know how many times the phrase "the Joy of the Lord is your strength" is used throughout the Bible? It's like back in the day it was their way of saying "don't worry, you'll get through this." Which is pretty cool; it makes saying "you'll get through this" look pretty puny and entirely inadequate. So that's what I've been trying to rely on all week, and what I'm guessing will be a pretty big part of my life this semester. When I'm tired and unmotivated, the world is weighing down on me and telling me I'm not enough and I'm not doing enough, and I don't really know how to get where I'm headed: the Joy of the Lord is my strength.
III.
I was thinking as I was procrastinating finishing this post and trying to gather my thoughts and I realized something about myself. I'm always discovering things about myself. Which is kind of ironic to me because it's like you would think that we would know all about ourselves, but I'm always surprising myself with my thoughts. And I think it's beautiful that the God who created me already knows all this stuff and here I am, having inhabited this body and mind and soul for almost 20 years (which is kind of a long time), and there's still so much I don't know about myself. But I digress. I realized that I am the kind of person who has to be ministering to be ministered to. Or at least, to get the most out of being ministered to. The Bible even says it: "Faith without works is dead." (James 2:17) Which can sound pretty harsh to someone who maybe grew up in the Bible belt, where everyone is a Christian because everyone goes to Sunday mornin' church and everyone believes God made the world and Jesus really did die on the cross. (And by "everyone" of course I mean the majority of the southern population.) So I'm kind of feeling stagnant in my faith life and I'm starting to think it's because I'm not really doing anything to serve anyone. Alright so I've made the diagnosis and now it's time for treatment, which is the hard part because it means I've got to get up off my butt and find somewhere to get my hands a little dirty. So if you're out there and you're reading this, could you maybe add me to your list and pray that I could get a little motivation?
So I've learned a few things about failure in my short life. The hard way of course (I mean let's be real here, how exactly do you learn about failure the not-hard way? You have to experience it to know anything about it). There are so many different kinds of failure: there's the personal kind, where you let yourself down; there's outward failure, in which you let the people around you down, be that your family, employer, friends, whoever; and then there's just flat-out, complete and utter failure, and it doesn't matter who got let down because the world is literally ending, the light's gone. (I've yet to experience utter failure, but if lives are like movies, I'm guaranteed to feel it somewhere around the middle/second half of my life - that's the climax of course, right?)
I've learned plenty about the little failures, like getting a bad grade on an exam (College and I have had a rocky relationship; I only make good grades in classes I really like and there isn't an abundance of those. I really take for granted the fact that I live in a place where education is so accessible because I'm incredibly lazy. That's another reason I decided to take the semester off.) I've also learned a lot about what it's like to let your parents down in numerous ways (college, man...). I've learned to grow numb to failing grades and I've learned to stop and think about what I'm about to do (often before proceeding to do what I know is wrong anyway, having rashly justified it in some shabby way). I've learned what it feels like to just sit in what feels like a dark pit, thinking about all your failures and having zero motivation to get up and move forward because you don't even really know where to go.
But I've also learned that failure is not a prison, that it holds no power over us. Experiencing failure allows you to be free in ways you would think are too beautiful to be a result of something so painful. Failure provides you with the freedom to do things without fear of failing. It's kind of ironic, really. The more you fail, the less you are afraid to fail. It's almost like failure befriends you and you're able to live without the constant fear of it. Mind you, the ability to be afraid of failure will probably never leave you. But what I'm saying is that if you really let it affect you and you take it all in and you push forward, it can free you. J.M. Barrie always makes me feel better about myself: "We are all failures, at least the best of us are."
II.
I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness, and I've been reminded of how seriously, probably annoyingly, innocently happy I was a few years ago. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still a supremely happy girl, I've got a lot to be thankful for. But now I think I'm a bit more cynical. To support that old cliche, I've seen a lot more and been exposed to a lot more, and a lot of that lot more ain't that beautiful. I mean, people are broken and they do hurtful things, and that sucks to have to witness. And then there are those times you get confronted by new things and (this echoes back to part of that failure bit) you stumble a little and you become someone you would have never expected for a little while. And those things stay with you. They weigh you down and slowly infect everything; they become that little twangy afterthought, that voice that quietly tells your heart to behave itself and your mind to stop soaring.
So I've been wallowing in this little puddle I've made all week, badgering myself and wondering why I lost that freer happiness I used to have, and thinking I'm some horrible person and I'll never get to be like that again, I'll always have a little chip on my shoulder. Which is completely anti-active. The more you think about unhappiness, the more you become unhappy. If you think about how awful of a person you are, you stop trying to be better, assuming that you'll never succeed. My best friend reminded me that my happiness (and all my emotions, really) are kind of irrelevant (here I add though that they are still important, because they are what make us human), but anyway happiness is not the point, living for Christ is the point, and when I am living for Him and communing with Him daily, I get His Joy, which far surpasses my simple happiness.
So I got two lessons regarding happiness/Joy/living this week:
1. "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself up for me." Galatians 2:20. Kind of hard-hitting, right? Happiness aside, my whole point of living is to live by faith and glorify God. Which is cool, because it removes the need to put Sarah, this girl I don't always think is very cool or good, on the stage and instead I get to put the most beautiful and creative Being on stage. And if that isn't enough, the Bible promises that if I'm doing that, I get Christ's infinite peace and Joy in return. Basically it's the most epic win-win situation you could ever be presented with. So why is it so hard?
2. Do you know how many times the phrase "the Joy of the Lord is your strength" is used throughout the Bible? It's like back in the day it was their way of saying "don't worry, you'll get through this." Which is pretty cool; it makes saying "you'll get through this" look pretty puny and entirely inadequate. So that's what I've been trying to rely on all week, and what I'm guessing will be a pretty big part of my life this semester. When I'm tired and unmotivated, the world is weighing down on me and telling me I'm not enough and I'm not doing enough, and I don't really know how to get where I'm headed: the Joy of the Lord is my strength.
III.
I was thinking as I was procrastinating finishing this post and trying to gather my thoughts and I realized something about myself. I'm always discovering things about myself. Which is kind of ironic to me because it's like you would think that we would know all about ourselves, but I'm always surprising myself with my thoughts. And I think it's beautiful that the God who created me already knows all this stuff and here I am, having inhabited this body and mind and soul for almost 20 years (which is kind of a long time), and there's still so much I don't know about myself. But I digress. I realized that I am the kind of person who has to be ministering to be ministered to. Or at least, to get the most out of being ministered to. The Bible even says it: "Faith without works is dead." (James 2:17) Which can sound pretty harsh to someone who maybe grew up in the Bible belt, where everyone is a Christian because everyone goes to Sunday mornin' church and everyone believes God made the world and Jesus really did die on the cross. (And by "everyone" of course I mean the majority of the southern population.) So I'm kind of feeling stagnant in my faith life and I'm starting to think it's because I'm not really doing anything to serve anyone. Alright so I've made the diagnosis and now it's time for treatment, which is the hard part because it means I've got to get up off my butt and find somewhere to get my hands a little dirty. So if you're out there and you're reading this, could you maybe add me to your list and pray that I could get a little motivation?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
numb/novel/journey
I.
So I have lived here 21 days. Exactly three weeks, as of tonight. It's still surreal. And while I in no way regret my decision to move (and might I here add that I love this city), I feel kind of numb. Not entirely numb; no, I don't float around with a detached look on my face, nor am I apathetic. I feel more like I'm just existing on the surface of my life - like nothing affects me deeply. I haven't cried once, not even when I went over the Memphis bridge. I haven't been really angry; just frustrated maybe. I haven't felt lonely. I've been happy, but I haven't felt that really deep, true Joy. As a girl who fully embraces emotion, I can tell you that being numb is one of the most annoying and frustrating things in the world. Because you can see it, you KNOW you aren't feeling things you should be feeling, but you can't do a single thing about it. I mean, how do you make yourself un-numb? They have creams and gels and things to numb your skin and your teeth and whatever when you're in pain, but they don't have anything to make you start feeling sensation when you're numb somewhere.
What you need is a stimulus. So I've been trying to find something to stimulate me, something to get really passionate about. So far I haven't gotten anywhere on that. Sometimes movies help me out when I'm feeling numb-ish. Maybe I need to watch a deep film that has the whole range of emotions, something that's sad, frustrating, achingly funny, expectant, hopeful; it makes you want to throw something at the screen, clutch your belly in laughter, cry your eyes out. You know the kind of film I'm talking about: by the time the end credits are rolling you just feel completely human. It's crazy. I love those kinds of films. And they always have a badass soundtrack, crammed with good, Indie songs. I think it would be a pretty awesome job to get to get to pick out the songs in a movie.
Although, it's kind of a lame story to tell if a movie does the trick: "Oh yeah, [insert deep movie here] got me back into feeling life." I want something kind of daring to make it happen, something that will make a really good story. So right now I'm just getting back into the Word and seeing where that takes me. As my best friend wrote me earlier, "Christ will lift you out of the mire!"
II.
For years now my family has been asking me when I'm going to start writing my book. I guess it's no secret that I love writing. It's just my thing. I think I kind of lost sight of it in high school (my mom didn't though). I guess having to write endless academic papers about topics that don't interest you one bit can do that to you, although I very much loved my English classes and teachers; they made me the writer I am today. I still remember one time in my AP English class my senior year, we all had to read short summaries we had written to our class and get peer reviewed. After I read mine, my teacher (a beautiful, inspiring woman who seriously loved language and literature and coffee) said, "See, Sarah has this great dexterity with language...she's just not very clear." I remember mentally freaking out because my super cool, brilliant teacher had just said I was good with words...well, making them sound good at least, whether you could understand where I was going with it or not. Seriously if you had asked me that year who I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said Ms. Eubank. (I guess if you asked me now I would just say I want to be Sarah, but that was high school and I was a little insecure and I didn't know how important it was to want to be yourself.) In high school I was always thinking I was a bad writer, because everyone said I used cliches too much and my stuff was lacking in substance. I guess you could say I've always been more on the artistic side of writing. I just didn't know that it was a good thing back then. I can't write you an in-depth literary analysis of Frankenstein, or compare the transcendentalists to the romantics with strong textual support, but I can write about life and faith and my experiences in hopes that you can glean a little understanding or strength or at least some laughter from them.
I always wave my family off, knowing what they're expecting is some great novel to come spilling out of my brain onto paper and get published. I tell them, I can't write fiction - I'm too ADD for that. I tell them I'll write a collection of essays instead. I mean you can't just start writing a novel and expect it to be meaningful and coherent and have a clear storyline; you have to have a plan. You have to know who your characters are and where they're going and what they want and at least a general idea of how you want it all to end, otherwise all you get is a jumbled up complexity of ideas and literary devices, a beautiful enigma. Lately though, I've been kind of enticed by the idea of writing a novel, of making up my own story and themes and characters and fully developing them over a span of time, not just writing a little snapshot about them. It sounds delicious. Although I don't really have any clear ideas as to what kind of story I would write. But I think I've taken the bait. Who knows, a novel just might come spilling out of my brain onto paper one of these days...
III.
So I guess I'm kind of on this journey kick. Or, rather, a books-about-journeys kick. Currently I'm reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac (FINALLY) and Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. I'm even thinking of picking Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller back up and finally finishing it, just to continue the theme. I've been meaning to read something by Kerouac for basically forever now. The staff review of it at my favorite bookstore basically said you can't call yourself American if you haven't read On the Road. I guess I'm finally on my way to becoming an American. But really, I agree with the sentiment because it's a completely American journey in all the good ways - the free-ness and diversity and exploring all the vastly different areas of the country, just drinking it all in. It's romantic, really (not the love kind; think nature, emotion, beauty), just a regular guy, a writer, searching for himself. I've never wanted to jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of guys all hitchhiking for one reason or another with just a bottle of whiskey to keep me warm (Okay, lose the whiskey. Whiskey just doesn't taste good.) and ride clear across the country under the stars more in my life. I mean seriously, that's what Kerouac will do to you. You should read it.
As for Everything is Illuminated, it's so weird in all the right ways. That is, if you're like me, and you like really unique narrators and appreciate language and style as much, if not more than, the storyline. I've only read a few chapters and I'm head over heels in love with Jonathan Safran Foer's odd, all-over-the-place style. Just read the first page to understand.
I'm glad I waited to read both of these books. Otherwise I'd be trapped in Memphis, wanting to get out, wanting to explore, wanting to be free. As it is, I'm in a new place and my life is open in front of me. Seriously, my schedule is completely free for the next several months. That is all at once an intoxicating and daunting feeling. My favorite.
So I have lived here 21 days. Exactly three weeks, as of tonight. It's still surreal. And while I in no way regret my decision to move (and might I here add that I love this city), I feel kind of numb. Not entirely numb; no, I don't float around with a detached look on my face, nor am I apathetic. I feel more like I'm just existing on the surface of my life - like nothing affects me deeply. I haven't cried once, not even when I went over the Memphis bridge. I haven't been really angry; just frustrated maybe. I haven't felt lonely. I've been happy, but I haven't felt that really deep, true Joy. As a girl who fully embraces emotion, I can tell you that being numb is one of the most annoying and frustrating things in the world. Because you can see it, you KNOW you aren't feeling things you should be feeling, but you can't do a single thing about it. I mean, how do you make yourself un-numb? They have creams and gels and things to numb your skin and your teeth and whatever when you're in pain, but they don't have anything to make you start feeling sensation when you're numb somewhere.
What you need is a stimulus. So I've been trying to find something to stimulate me, something to get really passionate about. So far I haven't gotten anywhere on that. Sometimes movies help me out when I'm feeling numb-ish. Maybe I need to watch a deep film that has the whole range of emotions, something that's sad, frustrating, achingly funny, expectant, hopeful; it makes you want to throw something at the screen, clutch your belly in laughter, cry your eyes out. You know the kind of film I'm talking about: by the time the end credits are rolling you just feel completely human. It's crazy. I love those kinds of films. And they always have a badass soundtrack, crammed with good, Indie songs. I think it would be a pretty awesome job to get to get to pick out the songs in a movie.
Although, it's kind of a lame story to tell if a movie does the trick: "Oh yeah, [insert deep movie here] got me back into feeling life." I want something kind of daring to make it happen, something that will make a really good story. So right now I'm just getting back into the Word and seeing where that takes me. As my best friend wrote me earlier, "Christ will lift you out of the mire!"
II.
For years now my family has been asking me when I'm going to start writing my book. I guess it's no secret that I love writing. It's just my thing. I think I kind of lost sight of it in high school (my mom didn't though). I guess having to write endless academic papers about topics that don't interest you one bit can do that to you, although I very much loved my English classes and teachers; they made me the writer I am today. I still remember one time in my AP English class my senior year, we all had to read short summaries we had written to our class and get peer reviewed. After I read mine, my teacher (a beautiful, inspiring woman who seriously loved language and literature and coffee) said, "See, Sarah has this great dexterity with language...she's just not very clear." I remember mentally freaking out because my super cool, brilliant teacher had just said I was good with words...well, making them sound good at least, whether you could understand where I was going with it or not. Seriously if you had asked me that year who I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said Ms. Eubank. (I guess if you asked me now I would just say I want to be Sarah, but that was high school and I was a little insecure and I didn't know how important it was to want to be yourself.) In high school I was always thinking I was a bad writer, because everyone said I used cliches too much and my stuff was lacking in substance. I guess you could say I've always been more on the artistic side of writing. I just didn't know that it was a good thing back then. I can't write you an in-depth literary analysis of Frankenstein, or compare the transcendentalists to the romantics with strong textual support, but I can write about life and faith and my experiences in hopes that you can glean a little understanding or strength or at least some laughter from them.
I always wave my family off, knowing what they're expecting is some great novel to come spilling out of my brain onto paper and get published. I tell them, I can't write fiction - I'm too ADD for that. I tell them I'll write a collection of essays instead. I mean you can't just start writing a novel and expect it to be meaningful and coherent and have a clear storyline; you have to have a plan. You have to know who your characters are and where they're going and what they want and at least a general idea of how you want it all to end, otherwise all you get is a jumbled up complexity of ideas and literary devices, a beautiful enigma. Lately though, I've been kind of enticed by the idea of writing a novel, of making up my own story and themes and characters and fully developing them over a span of time, not just writing a little snapshot about them. It sounds delicious. Although I don't really have any clear ideas as to what kind of story I would write. But I think I've taken the bait. Who knows, a novel just might come spilling out of my brain onto paper one of these days...
III.
So I guess I'm kind of on this journey kick. Or, rather, a books-about-journeys kick. Currently I'm reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac (FINALLY) and Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. I'm even thinking of picking Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller back up and finally finishing it, just to continue the theme. I've been meaning to read something by Kerouac for basically forever now. The staff review of it at my favorite bookstore basically said you can't call yourself American if you haven't read On the Road. I guess I'm finally on my way to becoming an American. But really, I agree with the sentiment because it's a completely American journey in all the good ways - the free-ness and diversity and exploring all the vastly different areas of the country, just drinking it all in. It's romantic, really (not the love kind; think nature, emotion, beauty), just a regular guy, a writer, searching for himself. I've never wanted to jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of guys all hitchhiking for one reason or another with just a bottle of whiskey to keep me warm (Okay, lose the whiskey. Whiskey just doesn't taste good.) and ride clear across the country under the stars more in my life. I mean seriously, that's what Kerouac will do to you. You should read it.
As for Everything is Illuminated, it's so weird in all the right ways. That is, if you're like me, and you like really unique narrators and appreciate language and style as much, if not more than, the storyline. I've only read a few chapters and I'm head over heels in love with Jonathan Safran Foer's odd, all-over-the-place style. Just read the first page to understand.
I'm glad I waited to read both of these books. Otherwise I'd be trapped in Memphis, wanting to get out, wanting to explore, wanting to be free. As it is, I'm in a new place and my life is open in front of me. Seriously, my schedule is completely free for the next several months. That is all at once an intoxicating and daunting feeling. My favorite.
Friday, January 20, 2012
"it's like you've just fallen into God's grace"
It's wonderfully crazy to me how true the title of this post is at this very moment. My best friend wrote this to me in a message: "I'm so jealous of you. It's like you've just fallen into God's grace, and even though technically, your life is kinda crazy at the moment, it just feels still." She's right. And it's so ironic because I spent a year and a half in the exact same place: living at the same house, going to the same school, knowing the same people, doing the same crazy things, and it never felt still. Every second of every day, my life was rushing past me and the world was swirling around me; I couldn't keep up. The closest I got to stillness was the time I spent writing and painting and listening to music and thinking at ungodly hours of the morning, the only soul awake in a house full of women. And now here I am: I've just moved 660 miles away from the city I grew up in to a place I love, with no plans, no friends (close in proximity, that is), and no idea what to expect. And it's delicious. Gilda Radner writes, "Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity..."
I think I spend most of my life planning it. [That is the biggest understatement I've ever written in my life.] I sit in my room and think about what I want to do and try to picture myself doing different things, just to see if I can, and I make lists and lists - bucket lists, pro/con lists, to do lists. And I've been convinced by society that this is normal, expected, even. That I have to have a plan. That that's what God wants. But really I think God wants me in the exact position I'm in right now all the time. I have no idea what is going to happen this semester. I don't even know how to go about planning it because there are so many unknown and unfathomable factors. I already tried once to plan it out. My brain started hurting.
And I had a revelation. I could plan out the rest of this month, this semester, this year, even my life and none of it may ever come to fruition. No matter how much planning I do, if it's not God's will, it's not happening. And what's funny is that I sit here and make all these plans that sound pretty badass in my head - all the cool things I'll do, the cool people I'll know, how cool I'll be in the future after I grow out of being lame - and they're actually pretty puny compared to the awesome plans God's already made. Let's break this down: if I, Sarah, this crazy, irresponsible, lame girl can come up with plans that sound really cool and exciting, how much more awesome can the plans of the most creative, most imaginative, most beautiful Being be? I mean, it just sounds like He can do a better job than me. Plus, on top of all that, I don't even have to do a thing to plan it all out. All of this thinking and planning and working-things-out is futile. God doesn't ask us to sit in our rooms and write about the things we want to do and make lists and plan out the next year. He commands us to follow Christ and to do. I can't glorify Him and love His people by isolating myself and surrounding myself with my ideas and my calendar and my views of the world.
So here I am, I took the biggest leap I've taken yet in my short 19 years and I'm caught right in the middle of God's grace. I know something big is coming this semester, I can feel the winds of it, taste the sweetness of it. It may be something big and meaningful and groundbreaking that I'll do. Or it may just be a new way of living. Whatever it is, my prayer is something that another friend of mine sent to me the day I moved: that I will open my heart to all the new experiences I will have. They'll break me and remake me, inspire me and free me, foster my spirit and change the way I see things. And every one of them will give me a little taste of God's grace.
I think I spend most of my life planning it. [That is the biggest understatement I've ever written in my life.] I sit in my room and think about what I want to do and try to picture myself doing different things, just to see if I can, and I make lists and lists - bucket lists, pro/con lists, to do lists. And I've been convinced by society that this is normal, expected, even. That I have to have a plan. That that's what God wants. But really I think God wants me in the exact position I'm in right now all the time. I have no idea what is going to happen this semester. I don't even know how to go about planning it because there are so many unknown and unfathomable factors. I already tried once to plan it out. My brain started hurting.
And I had a revelation. I could plan out the rest of this month, this semester, this year, even my life and none of it may ever come to fruition. No matter how much planning I do, if it's not God's will, it's not happening. And what's funny is that I sit here and make all these plans that sound pretty badass in my head - all the cool things I'll do, the cool people I'll know, how cool I'll be in the future after I grow out of being lame - and they're actually pretty puny compared to the awesome plans God's already made. Let's break this down: if I, Sarah, this crazy, irresponsible, lame girl can come up with plans that sound really cool and exciting, how much more awesome can the plans of the most creative, most imaginative, most beautiful Being be? I mean, it just sounds like He can do a better job than me. Plus, on top of all that, I don't even have to do a thing to plan it all out. All of this thinking and planning and working-things-out is futile. God doesn't ask us to sit in our rooms and write about the things we want to do and make lists and plan out the next year. He commands us to follow Christ and to do. I can't glorify Him and love His people by isolating myself and surrounding myself with my ideas and my calendar and my views of the world.
So here I am, I took the biggest leap I've taken yet in my short 19 years and I'm caught right in the middle of God's grace. I know something big is coming this semester, I can feel the winds of it, taste the sweetness of it. It may be something big and meaningful and groundbreaking that I'll do. Or it may just be a new way of living. Whatever it is, my prayer is something that another friend of mine sent to me the day I moved: that I will open my heart to all the new experiences I will have. They'll break me and remake me, inspire me and free me, foster my spirit and change the way I see things. And every one of them will give me a little taste of God's grace.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
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.
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.
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