It is easy to let fear build you a cage and it is easy to think that the bars of that cage are real. They are not. This year, I choose to live without fear.
1-strength train regularly
2-read at least one book in a day (a marathon reading session)
3-start buying ethically made investment clothing
4-become informed on the production of chocolate and coffee
5-watch one documentary each month
6-blog regularly (and define what that means for me) (like I do every year)
7-knit a sweater (just do it!)
8-take a spin class
9-stop nitpicking, nagging, and expecting perfection from others
10-cut back on TV
11-go on urban hikes
12-run a half marathon
13-send birthday cards
14-write some fiction
15-make handmade gifts
16-go to book readings and other literary events in my city
17-call people more often
18-make one writer friend
19-go camping in Shenandoah National Park
20-submit one essay somewhere anywhere
21-re-conquer my fear of city biking (on my new bike)
22-learn to use our fancy camera and start taking pictures
23-buy more local produce via the farmer’s market or a CSA
24-use less plastic (especially: produce bags, ziploc bags, and saran wrap)
25-practice positive self-talk
26-eliminate most/all bad chemicals that I put on my body
27-take a real vacation/trip somewhere with Jake (other than visiting family)
28-put compassion and love into the world
Monday, September 23, 2013
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
get to the bottom of it.
The universe rolls along and smacks me upside the head when I refuse to learn the lessons or heed the reminders that it has in store for me.
I hear my voice in other people’s voices.
Keep going and get to the bottom of it.
I read other blogs or essays, other things that have been written, and often find myself thinking, That’s what I want to write like. That’s my real voice. I’ve had enough of the dismal, dreary, drizzly rain writing that comes out of me. Enough of the gray day ennui and oh-my-god too much introspection for my own good. I want to be the voice of that goofy person. Or that passionate person. Or that confident person.
Do you know what I mean? I want my writing to be true in the sense that it is truly me. And here’s where the trouble brews, I think. I am so much not one voice. Not only am I changeable, but I find myself molding into the shape of others around me. There is such a very small number of people in this world with whom I am the first me, the unfiltered-as-I-am me. I keep that true self close and somewhat locked up.
The reality of being a human being, someone self-aware and awake to life, is that the stereotypes and neat descriptions don’t mean much. We are each a living contradiction wrapped up in a body and mind and feelings.
I hear my voice in other people’s voices.
Keep going and get to the bottom of it.
I read other blogs or essays, other things that have been written, and often find myself thinking, That’s what I want to write like. That’s my real voice. I’ve had enough of the dismal, dreary, drizzly rain writing that comes out of me. Enough of the gray day ennui and oh-my-god too much introspection for my own good. I want to be the voice of that goofy person. Or that passionate person. Or that confident person.
Do you know what I mean? I want my writing to be true in the sense that it is truly me. And here’s where the trouble brews, I think. I am so much not one voice. Not only am I changeable, but I find myself molding into the shape of others around me. There is such a very small number of people in this world with whom I am the first me, the unfiltered-as-I-am me. I keep that true self close and somewhat locked up.
The reality of being a human being, someone self-aware and awake to life, is that the stereotypes and neat descriptions don’t mean much. We are each a living contradiction wrapped up in a body and mind and feelings.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
oh, the times.
Don't think about it. Don't think about how little time you may have, or how much. Stop measuring it out, line by line, step by step, task by task, soon year by year.
I haven't written in a long time.
It seems like there aren't enough minutes in the day, but of course it isn't true. There were minutes yesterday. There are minutes today. There will even be some tomorrow.
I will be brief, to prove this to myself - it doesn't have to be measured and thought out. It doesn't have to be deliberate. I can write a flash, a few words, but it still fills the space somehow. Slow drops in the deep bucket.
This moment is here: spooning a cold mango smoothie out of the food processor bowl, slow pats on my sleeping kitten's belly, and words. They're in my head. You don't understand how they're in my head. They are clawing and heaving and crazy-eyed.
I said I'd be brief and I will. The last stretch home down a skinny one-way street. I never walk down it. I remembered there was a magnolia tree there and I wanted to see if there were a few heavy blooms still hanging. There weren't, but beside the magnolia was this wild pink tree. I was grateful.
.jpg)
0
I haven't written in a long time.
It seems like there aren't enough minutes in the day, but of course it isn't true. There were minutes yesterday. There are minutes today. There will even be some tomorrow.
I will be brief, to prove this to myself - it doesn't have to be measured and thought out. It doesn't have to be deliberate. I can write a flash, a few words, but it still fills the space somehow. Slow drops in the deep bucket.
This moment is here: spooning a cold mango smoothie out of the food processor bowl, slow pats on my sleeping kitten's belly, and words. They're in my head. You don't understand how they're in my head. They are clawing and heaving and crazy-eyed.
I said I'd be brief and I will. The last stretch home down a skinny one-way street. I never walk down it. I remembered there was a magnolia tree there and I wanted to see if there were a few heavy blooms still hanging. There weren't, but beside the magnolia was this wild pink tree. I was grateful.
.jpg)
0Friday, May 24, 2013
the way of things.
It has been a wide-and-round one month since I last wrote here. Technically one month and two days. When I looked at the calendar, suddenly I was struck with the realization that if I don’t get these fingers a-typing, May will have slipped by completely. Since I began this blog, I have ridden the tides of much and little to say, but I haven’t yet let an entire month pass in silence. It was a close call this time.
My world is saturated in the emotion of the day. Everyone experiences this saturation, I think. On a bad day, everything is a little grim. On a good day, everyone seems a little generous. It is only the color of our perspective that changes. Regardless, when my eyes gloss over with overwhelming and fearful things in life, when the way of things is suddenly changed, when I am squinting down an unfamiliar path and no one is telling me what to do next, well - those times the world shrinks small and there seems to be nothing to say.
I was driving across town late last night to pick Jacob up after rehearsal, driving to a part of the city I rarely go, and I debated which route would be fastest. I settled on Florida Ave. It was late, as I said, and I was tired, and the streets just seemed to be brimming with drunk people, stumbling in the street, and vacant faces, and certainly people who wanted to harm me. In short, the world seemed cold and dark and I wished I wasn’t out in it. When I found Jacob waiting on the corner, he climbed into the car and I burst out with, Sometimes I just hate living in the city!
My world is saturated in the emotion of the day. Everyone experiences this saturation, I think. On a bad day, everything is a little grim. On a good day, everyone seems a little generous. It is only the color of our perspective that changes. Regardless, when my eyes gloss over with overwhelming and fearful things in life, when the way of things is suddenly changed, when I am squinting down an unfamiliar path and no one is telling me what to do next, well - those times the world shrinks small and there seems to be nothing to say.
I was driving across town late last night to pick Jacob up after rehearsal, driving to a part of the city I rarely go, and I debated which route would be fastest. I settled on Florida Ave. It was late, as I said, and I was tired, and the streets just seemed to be brimming with drunk people, stumbling in the street, and vacant faces, and certainly people who wanted to harm me. In short, the world seemed cold and dark and I wished I wasn’t out in it. When I found Jacob waiting on the corner, he climbed into the car and I burst out with, Sometimes I just hate living in the city!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)