A Little Time to Marinade...

I know that I should strive to write more than once a month but the fact that I didn't write at all in the month of April is a testament to the fact that it was a crazy month in general and I simply do not know where all of the time went. What I do know is that this year is escaping and if I'm not careful it is going to disappear completely and I wont even notice.

So, it is the second day of the fifth month of the year and though I believe happiness to be a subjective and intangible, if not completely fluid, creation of our psyche I would like to report that I also believe that after 29 years of pursuing it I may be finally gaining ground. Since I am content with no one person's definition of happiness and have often mistakingly mislabeled my own I hesitate to make such a proclamation and yet this time, in ways I cannot discribe as anything other than dissimilar from others, I actually think I'm getting it right.

Since the distinguished age of 16 I have attempted to live my life based on the pre-paved routes other well intentioned people have suggested. Whether it was religious influence, rebelious influence, psychological influence, or other more subtle nudges every thought and action has been guided by an idea or direction first planted by another. Don't get me wrong, I have not been a puppet on a string perse, but I have certainly allowed myself to be jerked around more times then I care to admit. I also don't want to suggest that all who have pushed me in one direction or another have done so maliciously, though some have been careless in their efforts without question. Though it is cliche it is no less accurate to say that my life has been a journey but it seems I am finally ready to pave my own paths and decide my own directions.

I had the most simple and amazing conversation with Jen tonight. The topic isn't nearly as important as the resulting realizations nor are the two at all related. What I realized as I watched her drive away, aside from the fact that I am ridiculously in love with her, is that what is good for one may not be good for another and what is bad for one may not be bad for another. Please pay careful attention to my use of "good" and "bad" as opposed to "right" and "wrong" as I honestly believe right and wrong aren't nearly as subjective as good and bad.

Jen is perhaps the most similar partner I've ever had. We are more than like-minded we are like-hearted, something that makes our relationship both intensely easy and difficult all at once. Still, among all of our similarities, there are striking differences that we are beginning to realize and learn to navigate through. I'm going to need to give the concepts I am learning through my relationship with her more time to marinade before I cook them up and serve them to cyberworld...

The Lies That Linger...

oh the lies that linger
they sit inside my head
drain my sense of self
and replace with fear instead

they are the root of evil
not money as we'd thought
lies weave their tangled webs
and within them I am caught

oh how I long to chase them
from the shadows into light
where their parisitical destruction
cannot hide from truth's delight

but alas there is no refuge
from the depth of lies in wait
only patience and persistence
of truth to demonstrate...

A Series of Analogies...

Well, it has been nearly a month since I last flipped open my brain and let the insanity run free and though I had heard the whiny "when can we go out and play" from all the crazy voices in my head I didn't realize it had been quite so long. The old adage "Time flies when you're having fun" appears to be ringing especially true these days as I flip the calendar on yet another month and try to remember where January and February went.

In recent years it has seemed as though months were passing as quickly as days used to and I considered that maybe the adage should be changed to "Time flies when you're miserable". What I resolve to think now, though, is that both are true but only one of these, the former, is something we complain about.

A lot has happened in the last month or so. Work is slowly returning to a normal and manageable pace, volleyball season is in full swing and my team is steadily climbing its way to the top and peaking just in time for the tournament at the end of this month, I fell in love with a great girl who shows me in new ways each day how much she loves me, and a lot of friendships have begun changing shape, beginning and ending as well. Ordinarily this kind of rapid fire change and shifting perspectives would overwhelm me and create in me and exhausted and emotional mess but these days I seem to be empowered to take each new thing in stride, put it in its place, and keep moving forward.

It has been a solid 3 months since I closed the book on one chapter and started writing a new book entirely. It was more than time for a theme change and the introduction of new characters coupled with the release or rewriting of old was long overdue as well. Now, as the plot thickens the central character is reflecting on all previous storylines and growing leaps and bounds as she breaks the chains of turmoils past and comes into her renewed sense of self and others. I am not a new woman just the same woman refreshed I'm enjoying the transposed juxtaposition.

For a long time I've felt as though I was tied to the bottom, requesting and requiring others to pull me along behind them to the top. Now though, I feel like I've taken my rightful position at the front of the line, leading the way in my life and simply inviting others to come along or allowing them to walk away if they choose. Finally I am genuinely okay with this being my journey and my journey alone. It is bright and beautiful and worth going on but I'm no longer in need of a guide nor will I beg for companions.

So, my bags are packed and I've got my walking shoes on...who is with me?

Yellow caution tape...

So many people have told me that until your heart has been completely shattered you can't know it's strength, capacity to recover, or, ultimately, its resilience to love again. As the words fumbled from their mouths and climbed my walls to be heard I, admittedly scoffed at the possibility that they could be right. After all, what sense does it actually make to live under the assumption that one cannot truly love until they've experienced the devastation of true heartbreak? Logically it becomes a riddle: If you must have your heart broken to ever truly love and you can't have your heart completely broken without truly loving wouldn't logic follow that no one ever truly loves or has their heart completely broken?

It is thoughts like these that keep me up until the wee hours of the morning and keep companies like Advil and Tylenol in business. Still, I'm solidly aware that this is a gross over-complication of an otherwise simple reality. Without test there can be no measurement and without measurement no source of accolade or admonishment.

When my last relationship ended after nearly 2 years of hardship and heartache I felt as though my heart had been dipped in dry ice and then thrown, major league style, against a wall. It wasn't that I'd never experienced disappointments or sorrow, rejection or betrayal before it was just that I had never given of myself so completely and been devastated in quite that way. Like a forensic unit after a homicide, I quarantined my life behind yellow caution tape, drew chalk outlines and took mental photographs of all the pieces scattered about trying to surmise the chain of events that lead to the horrific scene and, ultimately, aprehend a "culprit" to punish. As it turned out though the only person facing lock up was me.

I didn't think I'd recover from that heartache and I figured even if I did manage to normalize my life again I'd never dare take a risk on love. Now though I'm beginning to feel the strength and resilience so many of you spoke up during my darkest hours and I'm beginning to consider that maybe you were right all along. I have seen the days that felt like nightmares and I will never be surprised or crippled by them again, conversely I have also allowed my heart to run free and that is a risk I feel much more likely to repeat as time goes by.

I've been listening to a lot of music lately and finding that many of the songs really reach into my chest and keep my lungs filled with air. One such song is on the new Lady Antebellum cd. It's called "Love this Pain" and as I listened to the lyrics I felt it was a theme song I could have written for the last phase of my life, one which I can sing at the top of my lungs in the car and remember where I was but, more importantly, know, deeply, how far I've come.

Lady Antebellum: Love This Pain

She's no good for me
I know that she's a wild flower
She's got a restlessness
A beautiful mess, a thing about her
But here I am again calling her back
Letting her drive me crazy

It's like I love this pain a little too much
Love my heart all busted up
Something 'bout her, we just don't work
But I can't walk away
It's like I love this pain

It's just an on again
And off again situation
It's just striking a match
A tank of gas combination
But here I am again lighting it up
Knowing that she'll just burn me

It's like I love this pain a little too much
Love my heart all busted up
Something 'bout her, we just don't work
But I can't walk away
It's like I love this pain

It's like I love this life
When nothing's right, unless something's wrong
It's like I'm just not me
If I can't be a sad, sad song

It's like I love this pain a little too much
Love my heart all busted up

Something 'bout her, we just don't work
But I can't walk away
It's like I love this pain
Oh yeah, it's like I love this pain
I can't walk away, oh no
It's like I love this pain

Sleep...

If there's anybody listening
may you hear my plea
for a little bit of rest tonight
escape from reality
because outside the snow is falling
and tomorrow work will come
and all I really want right now
is a heavy dose of numb
from the stresses of the daytime
and toss and turning of the night
I'm annoyed with all this winter
and the cold is not polite
so I'm simply asking
okay begging if I must
as I close my eyes this evening
fall asleep or bust!

The Lessons I Keep Learning...

In my short 28, nearly 29, years of life I have crossed paths with many different people with a plethora of experiences from which to glean knowledge and guidance. There have been those whose wisdom and nurturing spirit helped carve my path and others who have simply shone the light. Perhaps the most significant of these people, however, have been those whose intentions were not geared towards my transformation or betterment at all but rather those who offered just a basic life assertion intended for the moment in which it was shared and that moment alone.

One such person, so poignantly described, was my high school softball coach. I have written about her before in other environments but it seems that the sarcastic jabs she took at me as a 16 year old still find their way into my life nearly 13 years later and their intent, now deeply translated, continues to ring true.

I was a Junior in high school and well on my way to reaching the many goals I'd set for myself at that time. Some of them, like getting good grades, taking an interest in a lot of different things, and becoming 'well rounded', were important to my mom while others, like being a 4 year Varsity Softball player, were of no significance to anyone but me. Still, having started varsity as a freshman, I was determined to "letter" all 4 years and be captain no less as I entered the off season between volleyball and softball. Like most 16 year olds I knew I was working, trying to save up a little money to buy a car and do other teenage-specific things which my family could not afford to pay for. As we rounded the corner on the new year and I began to prepare myself for winter conditioning I met an unfortunate puddle of grease which quickly claimed the normal and pain-free function of my left knee.

On the first business day of January, softball conditioning only 5 weeks away, I went into the hospital to have my knee scraped and suctioned and my miniscus carefully reassebled. The surgeon, who has now performed total knee replacements on both of my mom's knees and one of my grandma's, came into my hospital room and exclaimed that the surgery had been a success but before the relief and excitement could set in he continued that for the rest of my life the functionality and dependability of my knee would deteriorate and strongly suggested that I discontinue any activities which would put additional stress on the joint- simply put, I should stop playing sports. With that I shot him a more than disapproving look and formally asserted that his recommendation, while respected, was not an option.

As soon as I was cleared to do so I began physical therapy and worked very hard to rehabilitate my knee and the rest of its supporting cast. I remember that my least favorite part about physical therapy was having to break up the scar tissue, so much pain, so little time! Softball conditioning began the second week of February and I saw my doctor the week before to get clearance to start with the rest of the team. Begrudgingly he agreed that I could start light workouts and intensify them as I felt comfortable so I did.

The pivotal moment came one afternoon at practice. I had survived winter workouts, made the team, and was preparing for our season opener. At that time the weather in Ohio was still less than desirable so we often practiced in the gym, something I never enjoyed. After running the stairwells to get "warmed up" (something I always hated anyway)and a few excruciatingly monotonous sets of suicides coach lined us up for shoe string and deep drop fly ball drills. For those of you who don't have any idea what I'm talking about this drill basically consisted of coach throwing a ball low and short for you to sprint forward and catch on your "shoestrings" and then she would immediately throw a ball deep for which you had to stop on a dime and drop back to catch. That kind of forward and reverse motion was difficult for me on my bad knee, especially after stairs and wind sprints. After practice I was all but in tears as I went to the trainer to get an ice pack. Coach waited for me outside of the trainer's office and when I emerged she asked me how I was feeling. We chatted for a little while about what I felt good about and the things I was still struggling with and as I prepared to leave she said, "It'll only hurt 'til it stops".

She, of course, meant the workouts and my knee, but those words resound in my ears whenever I face adversity of any kind and, without fail, reveal themselves as accurate. Recently her wisdom was tested, however. Though I had held her logic's feet to the fire through every trial I had not yet encountered the total masacre of my heart and when that moment came this cornerstone of triumph met its first real opposition.

For months I've labored through the anguish that befalled my heart wondering each day if the clouds would ever part. Timidly a ray of light would humbly carve its way through from time to time but ultimately the dismal climate reigned. Still, in the back of my mind I could still hear Coach Tuck's words and as the new year opened I felt them breaking free from the clutches of defeat and beginning to chant. A few weeks ago the clouds parted and like a previously chained dog being taunted by a squirrel, the sun burst through and the chain snapped. The heart break hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, and it hurt, until it stopped.

I remember the first time I ran without pain in my knee. As excited as I was I was also terrified of reinjuring myself and the feeling of my heart running free again is just as scary. Luckily I know that even if I get hurt again it'll only hurt 'til it stops!

A Parenthetical Statement...(commentary within commentary)

There are many moments in my life that I can point to and say, "In this moment I learned (insert lesson here), and through this trial I gained (insert positive reflection here), and I now realize (yay for light bulb moments)," but few of those moments begin or end without some outside influence. This past weekend, however, is one of those moments I will likely remember eternally and have no one to blame or, honestly, thank, but me.

It started out like any other weekend. My work week concluded (not too soon I might add)and I travelled to the gym with great enthusiasm for yet another workout. I labored through my cardio (my least favorite part of the gym experience) and then enjoyed the pleasure of my muscles screaming for me to stop as I worked my way through the third installation of my circuit lifting routine (kindly put together by a friend). After the gym I went home, showered, had my usual bowl of cereal for dinner (don't judge me I'm single), chatted with a few friends until the wee hours ("wee" is a relative measurement like "ish" and "yay")of the night before begrudgingly succumbing to the fatigue that should have closed my eyes hours earlier.

Saturday I rose with an ambition unlike any I've felt in a long time. (Okay, so, maybe I struggled at first to get out of bed but once I was up I was on a mission)It was time, I decided, to cleanse (please note that I did shower the night before so this was not the most literal statement)and as I set my mind to the completion of that task I was overcome with emotion, so much so that I actually fell to my knees at one point and just let it pour out of me. It has been some time since I've experienced that kind of crushing force and yet, with all of the tears, the silent sobbing, there was an equal, and almost overpowering, peace that wrapped me up and gradually soothed all that ailed. I wept for a little as I purged pictures, letters, and other keepsakes from my "space" all the while listening to music about taking control of your life, moving on, enjoying what is, etc...(I hope this blog will show, in time, that I love words and, more precicely, the pictures they paint and emotions they evoke AND provoke. Lyrics are, in my opinion (duh, because this is my blog (and I just did parentheses inside of parentheses, inside of parentheses))the most profoundly emotive words of all). I cleared from the present what the past had left behind and, for the first time in years, felt I had room again for a future.

Triumphantly (fist pumping, Eye of the Tiger slowly rising in the background)I conquered the day and set my sights on the evening. What the evening brought I couldn't have planned for. For nearly 2 years I had stared at a board that stands 88 inches tall and wanted to paint it (okay, so I didn't literally stare at it for 2 years, that would be a big waste of time)but never made the time or had quite the right vision. Apparently Saturday night was the night I'd been waiting for and with my limited supplies and even more limited talents I focused on plotting out the hours of free therapy ahead.

I scaled and measured the image on paper first (always the perfectionist) and then converted a similar graph onto my "canvas". With each calculation, each line, each initial stroke I felt another layer of sadness peeled, another restraint broken and after, I stood over my, still imcomplete, masterpiece and felt a similar force of emotion as the one which had crippled me earlier but this time it broadened my shoulders and perked the corners of my lips instead. The painting, which I hope to reveal later when it is completed, will not be gallery worthy but it will be an ellegant result of the most timultuous years of my life.

My "art" has always been my writing. Poetic and rhythmic use of vocabulary and philosophical mumbo jumbo (since I used philosophical it is okay to use a colloquialism such as "mumbo jumbo" to complete the thought)has been my loyal and, often, bitter companion for as long as I can remember. I share the ramblings of my mind and accept that many will enjoy its eccentricities (maybe that's a word, maybe it isn't but do you care enough to look it up?) and some wont but the painting, well, the painting soothes me and I could share it with the world or with noone at all and it will still have changed my life. So, I point to this moment in time and I say, "In this moment I learned that the true beauty of art is the soul that creates it, and through this trial I gained a sense of self that is simply invaluable, and I now realize I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for(yay for light bulb moments (no seriousl, YAY))"!