Note to Reader: In writing this, I am not seeking self-assurance or empty encouragement. Sometimes things just need to be said--However raw, unpolished, or painful.
__________________________________________
I am tired. I am tired of being angry. I'm tired of being the comedian relief and the shoulder to cry on. I'm tired of being angry, of never being good enough. I'm tired of not having a place or being understood. I'm tired of being shut-down and mocked every time I open my mouth. Sometimes, I wish people would let me know in advance if they plan on humiliating me. That way I could be a little more prepared.
I often wonder what people would look like if their physical body were not in the way...If how they felt, thought, and perceived were their outward appearance. What if we could see people for who they truly were? What would I look like? At times, I fear I wouldn't exist at all.
I pray that God will send someone to listen to me. I talk constantly! I'm definitely aware of it, but that isn't what I mean. I want someone who will listen to me. I talk often, but I have a terrible time talking about deep, heart issues. The people I yearn to hear me are the exact people who dash and abuse my confidence the most. They don't seem aware of the months and weeks, hours and days it takes me to form and mold my sentences--or how my heart pounds and my face burns as the words finally leave my mouth.
Humor is my defense mechanism. I learned a long time ago that I'd rather laugh than cry. Kids are mean especially when you don't look like the others. Physical imperfections are usually easily hidden, but mine have always been on my face. No amount of makeup cannot fix an eye that does not look where it should or a scar that hides 14 years of torment. So, I continue to laugh, perhaps one day, I'll convince myself that things are truly as funny as I pretend them to be.
I feel like I don't belong...a terrible in-between feeling. Like stepping out of a warm shower before dressing. I lack a sense of place. Without meaning to, I seem to have outgrown my home...but I still don't quite fit in school. I had a mentor tell me that a butterfly pushes against its cocoon long before it breaks. She said it was its pushing that gave it strength to fly as a butterfly. If the cocoon breaks too early, the butterfly won't be able to survive. But I wonder, what happens if the butterfly stays in the cocoon too long? Will it be damaged then, too?
I tired. I'm tired of working so hard to hold things together. Whether academically, emotionally, or literally, I'm just tired. I've been moving furniture for the past week. I've moved enough times and lived in enough places to know how to maneuver heavy bedroom sets. It's a skill, really. I should add that to my resume, but its just a matter of time before those things need moving again. It's a well know fact that transferred furniture collects nicks and scrapes. Mattresses, nightstands, and desks rack up a long list of injuries through numerous moves, but what about the movers? Physical bumps and bruises leave, but what about those abrasions that go unseen? Do they ever go away? As I move from phase to phase in my life, I'm starting to recognize how sore I am from former travels.
I'm feeling a little stretched and faded as of late. My stretched and faded clothing is the kind that ends up in the trash/get-rid-of pile...And I don't need to end up there. I just need a break...A kind of rest that goes deeper than physical wear and tear. I just need peace, "a peace that surpasses all understanding."
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
"Clouds In My Coffee"
My brother: I wish we could just live in our dreams. Think of how cool that would be.
Me: I don't think that would the best idea.
My brother: (shocked) Why not?
Me: Because if I lived in my dreams, I would fall off of a lot of cliffs and never be able to find what I was looking for.
My brother: [beat] (eruption of laughter) That's awesome!
I love my brother beyond belief, and I knew what he was trying to say, but the moment was too good to pass up. I think the word "dream" is overused. Every inspirational notebook, poster, or wall decoration has the word plastered across it. I love the notion of a dream-- somewhat mysterious and mystical--but the word itself is far too cliche. Maybe we should just use a synonym from hence forth. As a friend mentioned just the other day, "I think I am going to start using 'sweven' instead of 'dream.' It sounds cooler." Maybe she's onto something.
This week I've been thinking of "dreams" less in the sense of what-you-do-when-you're-asleep and more in the sense of goals or aspirations. I guess I'm just realizing how close I am to finishing school. I can't say that I have a big head start on anything written on my "Thirty Before Thirty" list. Older and wiser folks will tell me, "You're young. You have time." I'm just not so sure that is entirely accurate. According to God's Word, I have but a day.
I want to be part of a huge protest--
I want to go to Improv school and work on my comedic timing and composure.
I want to be a registered nurse and live abroad for at least a year in my life. I want to buy a house and to cook for people.
I want to learn how to play the piano and guitar. I want to run a marathon. I want to learn how to drive a stick-shift.
I want to write a book, see the world, and eat good food.
"I had some dreams. They were clouds in my coffee..." --Carly Simon
Me: I don't think that would the best idea.
My brother: (shocked) Why not?
Me: Because if I lived in my dreams, I would fall off of a lot of cliffs and never be able to find what I was looking for.
My brother: [beat] (eruption of laughter) That's awesome!
I love my brother beyond belief, and I knew what he was trying to say, but the moment was too good to pass up. I think the word "dream" is overused. Every inspirational notebook, poster, or wall decoration has the word plastered across it. I love the notion of a dream-- somewhat mysterious and mystical--but the word itself is far too cliche. Maybe we should just use a synonym from hence forth. As a friend mentioned just the other day, "I think I am going to start using 'sweven' instead of 'dream.' It sounds cooler." Maybe she's onto something.
This week I've been thinking of "dreams" less in the sense of what-you-do-when-you're-asleep and more in the sense of goals or aspirations. I guess I'm just realizing how close I am to finishing school. I can't say that I have a big head start on anything written on my "Thirty Before Thirty" list. Older and wiser folks will tell me, "You're young. You have time." I'm just not so sure that is entirely accurate. According to God's Word, I have but a day.
I want to be part of a huge protest--
I want to go to Improv school and work on my comedic timing and composure.
I want to be a registered nurse and live abroad for at least a year in my life. I want to buy a house and to cook for people.
I want to learn how to play the piano and guitar. I want to run a marathon. I want to learn how to drive a stick-shift.
I want to write a book, see the world, and eat good food.
"I had some dreams. They were clouds in my coffee..." --Carly Simon
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Before Daybreak
My house is quiet. If this were anytime other than 5:30 am, I would be concerned. I move around my room with turning on any lights. I love that I can do that; that my room is familiar and comfortable enough to move without any guide, light or otherwise. There's a lamp post just outside my window, and sometimes I'll open the blinds just a crack. There are few cars at this time of morning, but those few travellers pass under the light, and I watch as their shadows form a distorted likeness of the car.
After moving around for a few minutes, I'm sure I won't fall asleep again so I crawl back under my covers, still warm and smelling of sleep. My book lies on the carpet from the night before, and I reach down to grab it. It's pages are stained and dog-eared, evidence of a good long life. Maybe I'll finish the chapter from last night or maybe I'll turn back to my favorite part, and read it again.
I love this silence and solitude. Early mornings are when I can hear my own thoughts instead of being bombarded with everyone else's. I can be most honest, most open before the world kicks off its blanket of darkness and revels in light. As I sit with a glass of water and my fingers perched upon the keys, I'm reminded that a moment of peace is worth more than all the "excitement" in a day. I wouldn't trade this time for anything-- not even more sleep.
After moving around for a few minutes, I'm sure I won't fall asleep again so I crawl back under my covers, still warm and smelling of sleep. My book lies on the carpet from the night before, and I reach down to grab it. It's pages are stained and dog-eared, evidence of a good long life. Maybe I'll finish the chapter from last night or maybe I'll turn back to my favorite part, and read it again.
I love this silence and solitude. Early mornings are when I can hear my own thoughts instead of being bombarded with everyone else's. I can be most honest, most open before the world kicks off its blanket of darkness and revels in light. As I sit with a glass of water and my fingers perched upon the keys, I'm reminded that a moment of peace is worth more than all the "excitement" in a day. I wouldn't trade this time for anything-- not even more sleep.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Yes, I'm 5'10'', and I Wear Heels
It's true. I love being tall. There is something so freeing about being able to reach any book on the shelf in the library. My bestie likes to shop with me because I can get clothes from the top racks for her (she 5' 5''...Oh yeah, and because she loves me).
I remember being in 3rd grade and being the tallest one in the class, even taller than the teacher. We had raised butterflies in our class from caterpillars. When their wings were finally dry enough to fly, Mrs. X let them fly around the classroom. (An incredible thing when you're 8). Unfortunately, we had ceiling fans, and the butterflies just couldn't stay away from them. Being the tallest in the class, I was summoned to stand on the desk and pull the tiny chain to turn them off. I was pretty much a class hero for the rest of the year. Good times...good times...
I can't say that my height doesn't bother me at times, though. There are times I wish nothing more than to be an average height. For instance, riding in someone's matchbox size car is always a challenge. Taking pictures usually results in my standing in the back or bending down so the photo will look more "symmetrical." Even in class or at the movies, I feel terrible for wanting to sit in the front; I always seem to be in the way. Yet, I think I could deal with all of that if it were not for the dating aspect.
Being somewhat taller than average poses a problem in the dating arena. Dating someone shorter than me always embarrasses me. I try not to let it show, but honestly, its horrible. I don't know if he is ever bothered by it, but I know I am. What girl wants a date with a guy who comes all the way up to her shoulder? (Answer: Not many...possibly none). Then the jokes start pouring in...the "Amazon Queen" joke is over used. There isn't anyone as of late who has caught my eye. I realized about 3 years ago that 1.) I live in a small town 2.) I go to a small school 3.) AND I'm 5'10''--Three strikes, and I'm out. I'm not actively searching for someone, but if he comes along, I won't complain. In the mean time and between time, I'll proudly wear my heels to class.
I remember being in 3rd grade and being the tallest one in the class, even taller than the teacher. We had raised butterflies in our class from caterpillars. When their wings were finally dry enough to fly, Mrs. X let them fly around the classroom. (An incredible thing when you're 8). Unfortunately, we had ceiling fans, and the butterflies just couldn't stay away from them. Being the tallest in the class, I was summoned to stand on the desk and pull the tiny chain to turn them off. I was pretty much a class hero for the rest of the year. Good times...good times...
I can't say that my height doesn't bother me at times, though. There are times I wish nothing more than to be an average height. For instance, riding in someone's matchbox size car is always a challenge. Taking pictures usually results in my standing in the back or bending down so the photo will look more "symmetrical." Even in class or at the movies, I feel terrible for wanting to sit in the front; I always seem to be in the way. Yet, I think I could deal with all of that if it were not for the dating aspect.
Being somewhat taller than average poses a problem in the dating arena. Dating someone shorter than me always embarrasses me. I try not to let it show, but honestly, its horrible. I don't know if he is ever bothered by it, but I know I am. What girl wants a date with a guy who comes all the way up to her shoulder? (Answer: Not many...possibly none). Then the jokes start pouring in...the "Amazon Queen" joke is over used. There isn't anyone as of late who has caught my eye. I realized about 3 years ago that 1.) I live in a small town 2.) I go to a small school 3.) AND I'm 5'10''--Three strikes, and I'm out. I'm not actively searching for someone, but if he comes along, I won't complain. In the mean time and between time, I'll proudly wear my heels to class.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Hi, My Name is Miriam....
Hi, my name is Miriam, and I am a chat-oholic.
Several months ago, I got turned onto to online chatting via a fun, little website by the name of "My Life Is Average." Honestly, I had never been in a chat room or done anything even close to chatting (well, other than on facebook). So, I thought, "What the heck? I'm 21; a legal adult. I should have a chatroom experience at least once in my life. Why not?" I clicked the "begin chatting" button, and so began my obsession.
The first guy I chatted with was some guy by the name of Sam. We talked for at least an hour or two on one of those rare there's-not-much-to-do days. He was a cool guy, 24, from New York--an engineer. After talking about everything from laundry detergent to movies, he asked my name. I told him, and his next question both surprised and excited me. He admitted that he had never even heard of my name before, and he asked how my parents came up with it. Cool!
Unlike most preteens and teenagers, I always liked my name...and I still do. I proceeded to tell him that my name was from the Bible (in Exodus 2, to be exact), and I gave him a brief synopsis of Moses's sister. We spent the next hour or so talking about spiritual things. I was truly amazed that God could use something as random as a creepy chat site to allow his word to be shared. In short, we exchanged e-mail addresses (a random address that doesn't have my last name or any of my personal info on it, of course). Through our three month correspondence, God opened up an opportunity to share the gospel and answer a lot of his questions. I don't know if we'll continue a relationship or not, but I know that our meeting was no accident.
Since then, I have had countless other opportunities to talk about Jesus with random people. Adham--a Muslim from Egypt; Martin--Canada; Rajapat--India; Allan--Kentucky....and many, many more. Someone once asked me why I was on the site. I love when people ask that. It opens up so many opportunities. I responded, "Everyone wants a witness for their lives. Everyone needs to know that their life counts. Obviously, a lot of lonely people are on chatting sites--I don't mind being a shoulder to cry on. In fact, that's why I'm here." I know it sounds cheesy (just call me "Velveeta!"), but I don't believe in coincidences, and I certainly don't think God is ever surprised or caught off guard.
So, for now, I'm: Miriam, 21, East Coast.
Several months ago, I got turned onto to online chatting via a fun, little website by the name of "My Life Is Average." Honestly, I had never been in a chat room or done anything even close to chatting (well, other than on facebook). So, I thought, "What the heck? I'm 21; a legal adult. I should have a chatroom experience at least once in my life. Why not?" I clicked the "begin chatting" button, and so began my obsession.
The first guy I chatted with was some guy by the name of Sam. We talked for at least an hour or two on one of those rare there's-not-much-to-do days. He was a cool guy, 24, from New York--an engineer. After talking about everything from laundry detergent to movies, he asked my name. I told him, and his next question both surprised and excited me. He admitted that he had never even heard of my name before, and he asked how my parents came up with it. Cool!
Unlike most preteens and teenagers, I always liked my name...and I still do. I proceeded to tell him that my name was from the Bible (in Exodus 2, to be exact), and I gave him a brief synopsis of Moses's sister. We spent the next hour or so talking about spiritual things. I was truly amazed that God could use something as random as a creepy chat site to allow his word to be shared. In short, we exchanged e-mail addresses (a random address that doesn't have my last name or any of my personal info on it, of course). Through our three month correspondence, God opened up an opportunity to share the gospel and answer a lot of his questions. I don't know if we'll continue a relationship or not, but I know that our meeting was no accident.
Since then, I have had countless other opportunities to talk about Jesus with random people. Adham--a Muslim from Egypt; Martin--Canada; Rajapat--India; Allan--Kentucky....and many, many more. Someone once asked me why I was on the site. I love when people ask that. It opens up so many opportunities. I responded, "Everyone wants a witness for their lives. Everyone needs to know that their life counts. Obviously, a lot of lonely people are on chatting sites--I don't mind being a shoulder to cry on. In fact, that's why I'm here." I know it sounds cheesy (just call me "Velveeta!"), but I don't believe in coincidences, and I certainly don't think God is ever surprised or caught off guard.
So, for now, I'm: Miriam, 21, East Coast.
Carpe Diem = Fish of God
First of all, Happy February!
I love new beginnings. I guess that's why I'm a "morning person" (much to the annoyance of my family). One of my favorite lines from Anne of Green Gables is, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it." I think that pretty much sums it up for me. No matter how horrific the day before was, chin up! There's always tomorrow. And with a brand new month ahead, who knows what will happen!
I'm not sure if the world is aware yet, but I am a huge Dave Matthews fan. He is a phenomenal lyricist and musician. I find it quite difficult to label his music exactly because it is so eclectic. He was born in South Africa, grew up in New York and Virginia, and calls Seattle home...and with all of those distinct musical influences, it's no wonder his music speaks to so many people. Several days ago, I spent some time learning about him and his journey to fame. I was absolutely shocked to hear about all the heartache and tragedy he has endured. Yet, despite all of the unhappiness he has seen, his music is characterized by his carpe diem lyrics.
As corny as it sounds, there is something about his music that speaks to me. I want to do all the things I've always dreamed of. Maybe this month will be the a month for the books. Maybe I'll get my foot in the door of all the things I've been too afraid to try. Who knows.
All I do know is: Carpe diem! Seize the day! (Not "Fish of God" courtesy of a dear professor :)
I love new beginnings. I guess that's why I'm a "morning person" (much to the annoyance of my family). One of my favorite lines from Anne of Green Gables is, "Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it." I think that pretty much sums it up for me. No matter how horrific the day before was, chin up! There's always tomorrow. And with a brand new month ahead, who knows what will happen!
I'm not sure if the world is aware yet, but I am a huge Dave Matthews fan. He is a phenomenal lyricist and musician. I find it quite difficult to label his music exactly because it is so eclectic. He was born in South Africa, grew up in New York and Virginia, and calls Seattle home...and with all of those distinct musical influences, it's no wonder his music speaks to so many people. Several days ago, I spent some time learning about him and his journey to fame. I was absolutely shocked to hear about all the heartache and tragedy he has endured. Yet, despite all of the unhappiness he has seen, his music is characterized by his carpe diem lyrics.
As corny as it sounds, there is something about his music that speaks to me. I want to do all the things I've always dreamed of. Maybe this month will be the a month for the books. Maybe I'll get my foot in the door of all the things I've been too afraid to try. Who knows.
All I do know is: Carpe diem! Seize the day! (Not "Fish of God" courtesy of a dear professor :)
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