This week has stolen the words
from my throat
I thought that at some point
the hole that goes from
my heart to my mouth
would make a noise
but it hasn't.
it doesn't.
it won't.
This week has stolen my voice.
My words will come back eventually,
floating up from wherever they're stuck.
But until then, we'll have to go in reverse:
8.27.10
They lay there, old and worn, something that had disappeared for so long I'd forgotten when I lost them in the first place. An old pair of sneakers. I'd bought them my freshman year of high school and wore them everywhere. Every adventure from my younger years shows in the soles of these shoes. Tennessee. California. Mexico. Colorado. Mississippi. Downtowns, dusty roads, coffee shops, rocky cliffs, record stores--rhythms of the place I've been that have led me to where I am. I was so young. I had so many dreams wrapped up in this deep and aching desire to change the world, or at least take away some of its pain. That unparalleled passion- I want that back.
So, feeling a bit lonely, I put on my adventure shoes and headed to the library. I am a book person. I've always found a peace there, surrounded by so many stories with so many different endings, each unique and yet equally important. In the heart of the silence, I feel challenged and inspired by the idea that my story isn't over yet. That there is more that lies ahead than I could ever dream of.
After I'd gathered most of my books, I bumped into an older gentleman in one of the aisles. Instantly he reminded me of my grandfather. He laughed at the giant stack of books in my arms and asked me what I was reading. I wasn't in a hurry, so I set down my books and talked with him. In that moment, there was no other place I had to be. There was nothing pressing I had to do, nothing to prove. It's funny what people will share with you about their lives when you're actually willing to listen. He mentioned he was a retired high school history teacher. I watched his face light up as he told stories about his students, his life, his favorite play, his wife's knee replacement surgery. His brow folded and unfolded, his hands motioning as he explained details, while pausing every once in awhile to throw his head back and laugh. As he was talking, I realized how much we need people; connections, stories, someone to share our lives with. He went on, telling me about theater and the lights in Paris in 1976. I loved listening to him because you could tell he loved what he had to say. Sometimes you have to watch someone fall in love with something before you love it yourself. There was this entire life history wrapped up in this precious man I normally would have walked right on past.
As we parted ways, he turned and said one last thing. "I know the economy is bad and things are rough all over. But don't be afraid to dig in your heels. I'd hate to think you missed out on doing what you love." He chuckled, folded his newspaper under his arm, and left. Something sparked in me as he walked away. This crazy desire to live a life so full of life that I don't just "get by". That my days don't just fall through the cracks. When I'm older, I want to get so excited to tell people about my life that I talk with my hands flailing and my heart in my eyes. Maybe in fifty years, I will be walking by myself down an aisle. And I can tell someone in half-library whispers, between all the stories with endings that I'll never know, that they must dig in their heels. They must find it in them to live the best kind of story.
Thursday, September 30
Sunday, September 19
I'm removing the word "busy" from my vocabulary.
Yep.
I know I say it too much. It carries the connotation that I have so much to do, and that in the grand scheme of my life, doing stuff is more important than being with people. And that is so untrue. The truth is that school takes up the majority of my time and energy, probably more than I'd like to admit. But the day that I find I care more about what I'm doing than who's with me for the journey...is not a day I want to face. Sometimes I find myself stressed out by classes and the future and the overall state of my life and I take a breath and remind myself that it's not a race. It's not about who can finish first or how many medals you have at the end. No one is keeping score. So do what matters to you. Find what you're passionate about. Be around people who know you and are known by you. Be relentlessly loving. Try something you never thought possible. You might be surprised.
There's a canvas in front of me with brushes beside it. There's a church service tonight with a dear friend. There's a script I need to finish writing and there's a creator that's still writing my story.
You can't hear me, but I'm singing this song-
Yep.
I know I say it too much. It carries the connotation that I have so much to do, and that in the grand scheme of my life, doing stuff is more important than being with people. And that is so untrue. The truth is that school takes up the majority of my time and energy, probably more than I'd like to admit. But the day that I find I care more about what I'm doing than who's with me for the journey...is not a day I want to face. Sometimes I find myself stressed out by classes and the future and the overall state of my life and I take a breath and remind myself that it's not a race. It's not about who can finish first or how many medals you have at the end. No one is keeping score. So do what matters to you. Find what you're passionate about. Be around people who know you and are known by you. Be relentlessly loving. Try something you never thought possible. You might be surprised.
There's a canvas in front of me with brushes beside it. There's a church service tonight with a dear friend. There's a script I need to finish writing and there's a creator that's still writing my story.
You can't hear me, but I'm singing this song-
Saturday, September 11
Friday, September 10
mist
Sometimes I feel cheated by time and distance, the way life moves so fast. In the grand scheme of things, we're only here for a second. a moment. a breath. a vapor. There have been people here before us, and there will probably be people here after us. If we don't stop and really open our eyes, life slips through our grasp like a fistful of sand.
Go. It's a whisper and a whirlwind, a wish and a daydream. These past few years have planted a deep desire in me for adventure. There is something in me that yearns to go somewhere new and unexplored and to throw off the expected and venture deep into the heart of the unknown, even if it seems scary. There is a reason why I never unpack my suitcase, why I don't get homesick. It's easy for me to trade in the well-worn feel of the familiar and take off to someplace I've never been before. But I can't do that here. Including this semester, I've got a solid 2 years left of school to finish. I can't just wander off into the wilderness, or chase the neon city lights. But maybe, just maybe, there's a quiet contentedness in being where right where you're at. So out of all of these things, I am trying to find the beauty in staying. I want to wake up every day and find the extraordinary even in what seems mundane; the way the light pours crookedly through my blinds in the morning, the way the 3rd step in the staircase in Varner is chipped at the end, the faces the I see everyday but don't know their names. Every single moment, every single day, met with gratefulness and passion, seen through the beauty of brand new eyes.
Walkers with the dawn
Being walkers with the dawn and morning,
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness--
Being walkers with the sun and morning.
-Langston Hughes
Go. It's a whisper and a whirlwind, a wish and a daydream. These past few years have planted a deep desire in me for adventure. There is something in me that yearns to go somewhere new and unexplored and to throw off the expected and venture deep into the heart of the unknown, even if it seems scary. There is a reason why I never unpack my suitcase, why I don't get homesick. It's easy for me to trade in the well-worn feel of the familiar and take off to someplace I've never been before. But I can't do that here. Including this semester, I've got a solid 2 years left of school to finish. I can't just wander off into the wilderness, or chase the neon city lights. But maybe, just maybe, there's a quiet contentedness in being where right where you're at. So out of all of these things, I am trying to find the beauty in staying. I want to wake up every day and find the extraordinary even in what seems mundane; the way the light pours crookedly through my blinds in the morning, the way the 3rd step in the staircase in Varner is chipped at the end, the faces the I see everyday but don't know their names. Every single moment, every single day, met with gratefulness and passion, seen through the beauty of brand new eyes.
Walkers with the dawn
Being walkers with the dawn and morning,
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness--
Being walkers with the sun and morning.
-Langston Hughes
Monday, September 6
stories
"No, no this just doesn't work." She tapped the pencil against the desk and sighed. My first draft was not going well. I squirmed in my seat like a toddler.
"What does this character want? What makes her get out of bed in the morning? What is the driving force of her life?"
"I...I don't know."
"You have to find out. Because until you find what's at the heart of this person, what makes her who she is, she's not going to live a story that anyone wants to read. Give her something to fight for."
She was right. The stories people are drawn to stories with action and conflict- this idea that something needs to change. We like stories with purpose and passion; the character has to do something, or risk something, or take some sort of chance. Apply for the job, run the marathon, kiss the girl, capture the villain. My favorite stories involve challenges, courage, hope, and anything that seems impossible. In literature, you need action to make a story- but so often in life, in our stories, we settle for being half asleep. My wish is that our lives, our stories, would be filled with challenges and courage and hope, and purpose and passion. That we would take a risk. That we would try to do something we don't think we can. That we would turn and face things instead of running from them. I want to live a story like that, and I want to write stories like that. This is my attempt to write more, to find my voice, and to share more of my thoughts with other people. I want to live like I know what I'm fighting for- passionately, freely, and full of grace.
"What does this character want? What makes her get out of bed in the morning? What is the driving force of her life?"
"I...I don't know."
"You have to find out. Because until you find what's at the heart of this person, what makes her who she is, she's not going to live a story that anyone wants to read. Give her something to fight for."
She was right. The stories people are drawn to stories with action and conflict- this idea that something needs to change. We like stories with purpose and passion; the character has to do something, or risk something, or take some sort of chance. Apply for the job, run the marathon, kiss the girl, capture the villain. My favorite stories involve challenges, courage, hope, and anything that seems impossible. In literature, you need action to make a story- but so often in life, in our stories, we settle for being half asleep. My wish is that our lives, our stories, would be filled with challenges and courage and hope, and purpose and passion. That we would take a risk. That we would try to do something we don't think we can. That we would turn and face things instead of running from them. I want to live a story like that, and I want to write stories like that. This is my attempt to write more, to find my voice, and to share more of my thoughts with other people. I want to live like I know what I'm fighting for- passionately, freely, and full of grace.
"No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath... We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. It would be a shame for us not to venture out and truly live."
- Donald Miller
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