How Strange

College talk has left me thinking about the future and all the things that it holds. There are people in the world right now, people who are no more than strangers that will one day be a part of my life. They are out there just reading or sleeping or watching The League like I am. One day we will cross paths unexpectedly and then ask how we have never met and how have I gone this long without knowing you and how could I ever have lived without you in my life. And I can't wait to meet these people. 

But then again, all this college talk has made me realize my amazing friends will all be going their separate ways, finding the strangers that will come to fill their lives with love and laughter and memories. But not yet. Right now we are still all living in the same small town, and we have a bit of time on our hands-a rarity-during Winter Break. And as years go by, we will come home from college and still have this bit of time to meet up again, catch up, maybe introduce strangers that have become friends to one another. This is our time. And I guess what I want to say is that I am going to appreciate it and the next eight months because not seeing some of my friends for ten days already feels like forever because I am a melodramatic teenager who isn't used to being patient and as crazy as it sounds I miss them! Sorry this is the most pathetic blog post ever but just appreciate the fabulous people in your life-one day we may become the strangers.

Wait up, guys!

I bark sometimes, okay? And yeah, I will admit once in a while I bare my teeth and growl too. Sorry about it all, but I am unfortunately not referring to the metaphorical this go around.

There is just something about a dog's life. Yeah yeah, they get their bellies scratched and they sleep all day and they live the good life, but there is something more to it than that--or maybe something less.

Dogs live through instinct. And their instincts are pretty good. They know exactly what they want and it's not a lot.

Eat.
Sleep.
Play Outside.

That's all I want too! I really don't think it should be that hard. When I was younger, I lived a dog's life. K-5, I followed my instincts too. But something happened. Someone told me that I needed to stay inside at a desk and hold a pencil in my hand and write things because then I could be happy. And the weird thing was I believed Someone. Don't worry, I still was allowed to eat and sleep. But playing outside turned into practices and meetings and studying and procrastinating from studying and remembering and forgetting until I forgot the world used to be a playground.

Luckily, I have two dogs. Their doopy smiles hold more wisdom than Someone ever had. I open the door when I get home from school and they rush out, out to run and chase and smell the roses (or, more accurately, the shit they scared out of the squirrels that dared to cross onto their side). Aside from the whole sniffing for poop aspect, I want to follow their tracks.

So yeah, sometimes I try to forget that I have opposable thumbs and that I can actually formulate words with a tongue that fits within my mouth. I forget because sometimes that helps me remember my instincts aren't so different from my dogs. They may not be different at all.

Puzzled

Maybe we know each other too well.

I was struck with this realization today. It's so fun to uncover pieces of people's lives, new facts and faces. I love listening to stories, but maybe now we know each other's all too well. Walking down the halls, I could point out who that person is and how many siblings they have and what they are good at and how well I really know them in the end. Maybe not that well. Maybe I don't really know them at all. But maybe the fact I have an idea is enough. Actually maybe it's more than enough; it's too much.

I have been showing around a new student for the last month. She moved, coming to a new high school her senior year. Being new is hard enough, but I feel like being new senior year of high school may be the worst of all. At the lunch table, she said she had the option to go back to her old school after winter break. Her situation is complicated and messy and it's not my place to expose it online. But even though she missed her friends and even though they missed her too, she doesn't think that she really wants to move back. 

At first, I couldn't really understand it. Not wanting to return to what was comfortable--normalcy. What's not to like? There are a lot of things not to like, I realized. Having to explain yourself is one thing, but she has already met so many new people. She has a boyfriend here already--after only being here for a month (good thing I can't say the same after four years)! She rotates lunch tables. She is whoever she wants to be. 

I forgot the excitement that lies in talking to someone unfamiliar, trying to put the pieces together until they begin to create a clear picture. Maybe breaking the comfort of normalcy is just what we need.

Unshoveled

Everything that felt wrong in the world yesterday seemed to make itself right today. Did something shift? Did someone clean up the mess when I wasn't looking? Did the loose ends repair themselves?

I couldn't tell you. All I know is that it was a great day, one that I was proud to be a part of. I am proud of my friends and of my parents and of my dogs and of myself. I am proud that hard work really yields results. What could be more deserving?

Today, the future seems a little more clear, and I know that the beauty of the future should be its mystery and the surprises it holds. But, to be honest, I am not one for surprises. I am the type to skip to the end of the book just to make sure my favorite character lives on in a work of fiction. Today, I feel firm in saying the future, though it is an unshoveled path, is as bright and pure and footprint-ready as new fallen snow.

Why it took today for me to realize this is beyond me.

Maybe, it was just time for things to come together.

Maybe, it really was fate.

Maybe is more than good enough for me.

Teach Me

I want to be more than sorry. I want to be more than just a listening mouth or an attentive ear, more than a hand on a shoulder or hug that supposed to say what words cannot. But how? That's all I keep asking myself--how can I be more, do more. It's just so hard to deal with the fact we are helpless. We are leaves blowing in the summer wind, shed in the fall. We are snow dancing to the earth in the winter, melted into spring puddles. We are shooting stars in a one-act play. We are here today. Who knows about tomorrow? But of all the things we cannot control, there is one thing we always can.

Tonight you taught me that. You smiled. You stood up there and smiled and laughed and filled the room with light, manufactured light. All the things you could have done, all the things I know I would have done, you disregarded and, instead, decided to smile. Watching you, I was the one with tear-filled eyes, not you.

Our lives are so filled with experiences and sights, but it is the people in our life who make us feel whole, feel full. Our greatest teachers are rarely the ones who fill our backpacks and quantify us. Our greatest teachers show us how to live a full life. Never will I forget today--the day one of my greatest teachers taught me how to manufacture light within the darkness.

An Unfamiliar Street

The sound of my boots on the sidewalk is unchanging. Click and a clack. Over and over until it seems my heart beats in time with each slap on the concrete. But the things around me are nowhere near as constant, as dependable as a beating heart and clicking boots. My path is new.

You see, the streets I used to know knew me too well. They knew how many clicks and clacks carried me from one intersection the the other. Walking down, I passed neighbors with their dogs--able to name them all. I passed trees that had already told me their stories. I watched some get ripped apart by wind and down by large yellow cranes. Friends rooted aside those familiar streets.

This is what I have been looking for. This is what I needed. Something unfamiliar. Something exciting. Someone told me to chase the horizon until it becomes something new. Something new.

The sun sinks in the sky. In my mind, I know it's the same one from home--we all come from the same sun. But that doesn't mean it looks anything like the one I left behind. This sun sinks not with the dependability of night but, rather, with the promise of a new morning. The sinking sun paints the path with a golden light.

Looking up at the sky, I don't notice him until he has already passed me. I turn my head back to watch him as he shrinks, moving further away. A bearded face and jacket to deflect the wind. His face, now hidden from view, was one I had never seen before. The first of many new faces.

The trees I see are only acquaintances. I look up at their branches and reassure them I will know their stories with time.

Here I walk with feet unrooted. I don't know exactly where to turn or how many stoplights lie in my path. But they won't really stop me--not for long, anyways. My feet carry me, with their constant patter, while walking down an unfamiliar street.

For a Future Toast

Life waits for all of us
Or should I say lives?

There is not just one path,
Never a single direction to walk.

We must chose, carefully.

Everyday we are presented with options:
Do I jump out of bed and face the day
Or do I sleep for fifteen more minutes?
Do I start my paper now or go out to dinner with my mother?

Who's to say one option is better than the others?
Maybe I need to fix my hair or maybe I need to sleep.
Maybe I need to get a good grade or maybe I need to appreciate the people in my life while they are still here.

Everyday, we choose which footsteps to follow, which small turn to take. It could be the difference between left and right, or fifteen minutes and now. 

But, someday the paths will split.

One we will walk. One we will leave behind.

What new things will we meet? What new people and new sights? New feelings and new challenges?

What lies on my path? What lies in the one I left behind?

What if I spend my life wishing I went left instead of right. Wishing for the life I had turned away from?

But, in the end, we must celebrate the crossroads in life. They dictate who we are and what we appreciate. There are only so many sunrises and so many sunsets to see. Why waste a single one with doubt or worry?

So, here's to walking a path, whichever one you should choose, with a head held high and feet firm on the ground, right and then left.

Here's looking forward and not behind.

Outstretched

Sorry it's been a while, guys. Hopefully this new post will serve as the reason why. 

There is no way we can operate at 110%. Yet, we are always asked to do so. Push harder, further than you think your hand can stretch. In reality, we can only stretch so far for so long.

I think most would agree with me when I say this week felt longer than most. It’s Friday but doesn’t it feel like we already passed Friday and are back to Monday? I certainly have a case of the Monday Blues.

In my math class, my teacher asked in his joking manner, “Bridget, did you do your homework?” I had to say no. I could never lie to Mr. Frees. But, I always do my homework. Of course, I thought to myself, he would ask today, today—the Friday with the Monday Blues. It was the one time all year that I hadn’t done it the night before. There just wasn't time.

In my math class, I couldn’t smile or laugh my usual cackle. My friend in my class commented, “I have never seen you sad before. It’s weird.”

It was weird. It was the end of a busy week, one filled with tests and meetings, before, after, and during school, and papers and speeches and finally, I was done. I was done, but I was left feeling sad.

Not to brag or lament about the activities I participate in, I want to just walk you through my yesterday. Maybe it will serve as my justification for not doing my math homework. Maybe not. 

After a school day riddled with AP classes, I got home only to leave again to tutor (got to get those NHS points in) for two hours. I then picked up my friend from her house so we could attend the fall play (which I needed to do for ambassadors club) and begin the discussion following the production on behalf of Breaking Down the Walls.

I finally got home at 9:45. I ate dinner and fell asleep on my couch.

This morning I woke up at 6:15 to shower. I left my house by 6:50 so I could stop by Einstein’s to buy bagels for my Habitat for Humanity Board meeting and my English class.

This cycle of stretching and reaching keeps me busy and involved, two things I love to be. And, I love all of the things I participate in. Each one serves a purpose in my life and a greater purpose in the world. However, no matter how much I love the things I do, no matter how I try to stretch the hours of the day, to stretch further and longer, I wake up in the morning feeling sad, and that’s just not who I am.

I think it's finally time for me to admit that no matter how much I want to, sometimes I just can't. I can't be everything I want to be. If I try, I may just risk losing the person I am.

Mark Your Calendars

Thinking about the distance between us is hard to wrap your brain around. These days, I can talk to my friends on the west coast, the east coast, across the pond, wherever, which is amazing and great and keeps us connected and I am eternally grateful for modern day technology.

But there is no replacing a good, ol' fashioned hug or the look in someone's eyes or their smile. There is nothing better than closing the gap. 

I love that I have friends from all over. I love it so much my friends from home can't stand to hear about it. 

But I am going to talk about them, anyways.

You know those people that make you believe in fate or destiny or love at first sight? I know it sounds crazy, but some people you meet and never forget. It doesn't seem to matter how long you have known them or how much you know about each other. In one conversation, you feel this inexplicable happiness. It's a comfortable feeling, but it's also so unique. YA JUST CLICK

So as much as I love chatting and sending pictures back and forth, I just can't wait to see you. I hate how it sounds, but there are few people in the world who I felt more connected to or love more.

 Friday, October 26, 2012

Apologies All Around

We can't always write things that are poetic and make us smile. Sometimes, we have to write with real courage and with tears and with a pounding heart. We have to dig, remember something we would rather forget, and write it down so it won't be forgotten but, rather, learned from. So I am so very, deeply sorry, for writing something that isn't pretty and isn't fun. But, don't you see I had to write about it. Not for you but for me!

A Clay Face

I wonder if I would recognize myself.

If everything was what it might have been.

What if I had stayed?
In a place filled with fake people and fake trees.
In a place that takes so much more than it gives.
My pale skin, tanned.

What if I had never set foot on the sand dunes?
They taught me to be in love the world.
They taught me to be alone with my thoughts.
My own self, at my very best, all the time- they told me.

What if I had never meet you all?
You showed me courage.
You joked and I laughed.
My smile, would it be quite as wide?

What if I leaned over the water's surface
and saw a face
that felt familiar
like a dream I once remembered?

What if that face was mine?

I wonder if I would recognize myself.

The Butterfly Room

Life seems so permanent, as if our houses are solid and our hearts will always beat.  I visited my grandparents over the weekend, sleeping in the same room- green, blue, dotted with white butterflies- as the one that once held my crib. Everything seemed so unchanged. Only the gradual yellowing of the framed pictures showed the passage of time.

The garden there still grows. The model train track holds steadfast in the ground. The sculptures, authentic rugs, and masks decorate the walls; pieces from all over the world create familiar organized clutter. I will admit one thing has changed. I am finally allowed in the portion of the house that holds my grandmother’s most prized possessions. But I will amount this new responsibility to simply being a perk of growing up and not of change.

My aunt, on the other hand, just sold her house. My cousins have always lived at that same address- a brick house, close to the playground where we played basketball and ultimate frisbee. My aunt had grown her own beautiful garden and made her house just right- a kitchen for company and a basement, with its blue shaggy carpet, for the cousins to hang out. It had all seemed so grounded, so solid, so unchanging. Isn’t it strange how the hard floor beneath our feet and the walls holding strong against the wind are not permanent aspects of our lives? Just because things are solid does not mean they will always be there.

I am lucky. I live in a life filled with seemingly permanent things. But only for now.

Please Won't You Be My Neighbor?

My english teacher, years ago, told me a person should be able to recite three meaningful quotes at any given moment. I don't know why this would ever be essential for one's survival in society. Perhaps as a way of establishing ethos. Perhaps just to sound like a snob. However, I happen to love quotes, and I have a tendency to mindlessly listen to my teachers. Unfortunately, I only have two meaningful quotes to share at this point in my life, but they are lengthy so we can just chalk it up to three.

The first quote I have to share is the classic, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately..." by Thoreau. I could finish it for you, but, surprisingly, leaves are not the focus of this blog post.

The second string of beautiful words is less eloquent and more obscure. They were said by the man who taught me the importance of coexisting, of empathy, of imagination, and of a comfortable sweater. The best neighbor on the street: Mr. Fred Rogers, everybody. Give it up.

After a long morning as a second grader, I would home home from school, put my feet up, enjoy a decadent meal of Spaghetti-O's, and enjoy a thirty minute trip to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood; it was always beautiful there.

My good friend Fred passed away eight years ago from stomach cancer; it was a sad day in third grade. Years after his death, I purchased a book of his various sayings and beliefs published in his memory. On the back cover, it reads, "If you could only sense how important you are in the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person."

Though simply stated, this quote is undeniably true.

Sometimes, I find myself feeling insignificant. I feel as if it is impossible to make a difference in this big world; it is a place filled with so many- billions, in fact. How could I possibly be different? How could I possibly be unique? But, I am over-thinking it. Like Mr. Rogers simply said it is not the world we can impact so easily but, rather, the people who fill our lives. If I take a second to look at my day, I can see people who smiled at my jokes, who told me their problems while I listened, who needed help with homework or a hug. Perhaps without realizing it, I made a difference.

We do it everyday. We make change. We establish our importance in the world- whether we can sense it or not.

This Little Light of Mine

For a beautiful girl who lived the only way life should be:

A star shooting across the sky- that's all I am, that's all anyone could ever be.
Bright, beautiful, full of life.

But it is only a flicker of light,

Incredible, yet gone away in a blink.

It makes no sense to race across the sky more than once.
It could never be as bright or as beautiful.

So why wish it to happen again? Or happen for longer than a wink?

One might just look away.

Only a certain few will stare up at the night sky,

Until their necks are sore and heads heavy,

Without the expectation
To see the light within the darkness.

So look, really look.

It won't last long.

I Would Put a Smily Face Here If I Didn't Think It Was Queer

I wrote a pessimistic blog post a couple of days ago about the fleeting quality of life, but I am too freaking happy to post it now. So here is a picture of my two best friends being their usual adorable selves.

"Love Should Make You Feel Good"

Last night was so simple. Everything was without excess, without superfluity. I am a big fan of simple.

As a disclaimer, let me first say I am not hard to please. In fact, I am predisposed to liking most things including crappy movies, TV shows that stay on the air for a week, food that looks as if it has already been digested. I still laugh at every episode of Saturday Night Live. Most of the time, it is hard to find the downside. I like that.

There are things I love as well, but normally, they are not things at all. I love a day spent entirely outside, a warm welcome, a face-to-face conversation about what matters, an hour playing with my dogs, a walk through the walnut trees and rows of corn, a meal made by myself, a cup of tea when my throat is sandpaper. Last night, however, was different; It was better.

With two stalls in the women's bathroom, broken light bulbs, and a base drum three inches from my nose, last night made me feel more than this "like" or this "love." The auditorium was filled with sound, laughter, screaming (the good kind), proximity to life. It was filled with real music composed of lyrics encouraging things other than teenage drinking or having sex with a really hot girl (classy girls don't kiss in bars, you fool). It was filled with new faces, strangers who had traveled miles to be there for the big parade.  I looked to the beautiful blonde and blue-eyed girl standing next to me and up at the band. I saw them all filled with life, with passion, with the glow of a bright future- all destined for greatness. I looked at them and felt full, a feeling stronger and more holistic than "like" or "love." Last night, there was nothing more I needed, nothing more I wanted. I was full of light. 

Sorry if the lack of leaves in this picture disappoints.

Things Said, Heard

Let's get off on the right foot.
Right then left. Walk with me.
Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle.
At all times?

All aboard!
Next stop.
The alarm.
Is it that time already?

I want to play! Teach me the rules!
Pass me the ball; I am good for it.
Run with me, a game of tag.
Hide and seek. You'll find me here- the bright, white sand.
Don't slip
but don't be afraid to fall.
Jump! Balance! Point your toes.

Tell me a riddle- never the answer.

Sleepless nights. Dreams of you.
Won't you stay? Stay with me?
It must be a phase.
Turn the page, silly girl.

Pick a favorite. Games of "what if?"
Already on my way.

Hurry up! We don't have forever.
What is forever?
As long as I breathe?

Hurry up! We don't have anything at all.
But this breath... possibly the next one.

How's one to know? Fill in the blank.
Test it. Try it out. Tell me what you think.

Will that be all?

For Pa

Searching through my memory, I more often remember the significant, traumatic things, as is expected. The time I was abandoned at an Old Navy. The time I got lost while skiing in Steamboat, Colorado. But here and there, I find odd snapshots- eating in the lunchroom in elementary school or swimming in the pool with my black lab.

But even the significant memories have their own strangeness- the ones in that moment, we had no idea we would remember.

Like it was yesterday:

The four of us had our own side of the table. A perfect square. The cards were dealt neatly, quickly, with authority, checked, memorized, placed in the identical spot. I looked across the dinning room table to my partner; the light bounced off his wide glass rims; the light blue they hid was his tell.

He flipped the deciding card.

I listened to the knock to the right, turning my head to the left, trying to judge the reactions of my grandmother and my own father at the overturned card.

When the ultimate decision came around to me, I called it. He looked at me and nodded- confidence. 

Diamonds, Spades, Clubs, Hearts beating. Trump, Bauers, Euchre- the game was more than tradition.

The last trick and the one up my sleeve. 

Card laid, card played.

The win.

The smug smile from my fathers face slowly became one of an ungracious loser. The competitive gene runs deep.

He reached across the table and grabbed my hands, half the size of his own. Pride radiated from his blue eyes. My grandfather squeezed my fingers twice but doesn't let go.

I cannot remember letting him go.

Selfless Selfishness

I am exhausted. In the last 24 hours, I spent 50% of my time standing, or as I like to say workin' dem corners, for the Habitat for Humanity change drive, and the other 50%, I have been sleeping. I went to bed at 11 o'clock last night, which was a Friday (sad) and the earliest I fell asleep all week (sadder). But honestly, how selfish am I, only concerned with my own needs, problems, qualms of the heart, if you will? While shaking my can (for the change of course, you perverts!), the only thought I had as I faked a smile and took over the role as pedophile from Safety Village (handing out candy to children) was why on earth didn't I eat breakfast? I was starving, thinking of Potbelly, forgetting where I was and why I was standing there in the first place.

Habitat for Humanity was why I was there. The organization is only possible with the little things- the pennies, the nails, the smiles, the individuals- coming together to build something bigger than anything possible alone. Yet, I lost sight of the end goal- that big, beautiful house for a deserving family. Forgetting is an easy thing to do. Throughout the day, I think about the things that concern me. I think about my grade in Biology, my flavor of my yogurt at lunch, my hairstyle for the moment, my chaos that is my schedule. But every once in a while, I remember there are people around me! Think of their problems! We each have our individual stories. Mine, in comparison to so many others, is a fairy-tale. 

Once upon a time, my mother had thyroid cancer. The Wellness House, a non-profit cancer support center, was a place my mother could talk to others going through similar, or sometimes worse, situations. It was also a place where I could play with other kids to give my mom a short break from raising a little brat of a child (that's me!). 

Now my mom, cancer-free, and I volunteer at the front desk and in the kids' camp at the House. And for that short time each week, I set aside my problems; I stop trying to perfect my life and, instead, touch the lives of others; I stop trying to make myself happy. 

Behind that desk, I genuinely smile, looking into the eyes of each participant as they walk in, watching them crinkle as they smile back. And, surprisingly enough, it is when I stop trying to make myself happy that I am happiest.

So I help others get asked to homecoming and I smile and I wave with feeling even when I don't want to. When I put aside whatever I want for just a minute or even an hour, instead of constantly trying to find happiness, I feel it.

Make others happy. You will be surprised how wonderfully selfish it can be.

Can You Hear Me Now?

What are my intentions? Well, let me be upfront. No matter how hard I try, I will never remember to write in this thing on even a weekly basis. I can hardly remember to pack my lunch or grab it before I run out the door to jump in the car of whichever friend I have guilted into driving me to school that day (if any of you are reading, just wanted to throw a thanks again out there!) But there is one thing I can promise you: I will utilize the first person with pride.

I am so sick of "one must" and "a person can" and "infer" and "demonstrate" and all the words that are slowly, but surely, causing me to clench my teeth when I sleep. I blame my English upbringing. In AP Language and Composition (the class I took last year), we analyzed the eloquence of Hawthorne or the unique style of Dickens or some other dead contributor to my homework load. As I wrote about the works from these truly great writers, I would lose the personality in my own words. I stopped writing as I would speak. That's all writing is supposed to be, right? The words we say, thrown (or perhaps a more graceful, purposeful verb) on a page so more than those within my immediate company can hear what I have to say. But, as I wrote, I wrote with detachment, callousness. Off of a white blank page, callous is one of the last words I would use to describe myself. Hoarder, Narcissist, and Cocky come way, way before Callous. I refuse to portray myself as anything but who I am.

After all is said and all is done, words remain; etching gravestones, decorating love letters, personalizing checks, we leave behind what we wish future generations could have heard us say. So readers, here's to writing with feeling, with passion, with wit and with spark. Here's to leaving something for others to Leaf Through.