Inspiration! Right Here!

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Final Days

Guys, 2010 is almost here! Out with the aughts and in with the double-digits. I can't imagine what's in store for us this coming decade... people keep saying that this decade has been the worst one in recent memory and that things can't possibly get worse. To my own horror, I can't agree. Come January 1, 2010 all those same problems we have today will still be very real and very relevant. The problems must get dealt with; sadly, terrorists and world hunger and dictators won't just disappear in one magical, 2010 poof. Obama and other world leaders will not wake up with new insights all of a sudden. They'll still be thinking in the same old ways. So, I don't think things will just "get better" simply because they "can't" get worse. And that's scary.

Meantime, real change can happen anytime, anywhere. For me, although "2010" is just a number, its specific demarcation is still helpful. It gives me something to focus on, some way to differentiate that which is past and that which is present. The mind is the most powerful force on this planet; it has the capacity to control our entire attitude toward life and hence, our actions. The usefulness of a "new" year is that it tricks our minds into accepting in with the new and out with the old. Here's what gets me excited for the New Year:

Reading more. EXERCISING more--maybe at least take one walk a day. Relaxing more, as in letting things be (remembering the "little sparrow".) Writing more. Doing even better in school--focusing better. Speaking my mind more. Eating fewer sweets. Drinking EVEN more water. Volunteering a lot more (really must get on this.) Enjoying the skin I'm in; revel in it!

This is the decade that I will graduate college. This is the decade that I will begin my career. Maybe this is the decade that I will become a mother and a wife. This is the decade I will vote for the first time. This is the decade that I will grow up. And I actually couldn't be more thrilled, hopeful, or happy! That's a feat for me, ever the worrier. This is the decade that I will try my hardest to relinquish that bad habit, by the way. Worrying slows you down too much, while also achieving absolutely nothing. It's the pollution on my own horizon, and this decade I'll work on dispelling it.

The beauty of life is that it's ours. Beyond those things that we can't control (death, taxes, natural disasters, foreign policy), the cards are in our hands. Let's celebrate this! There's plenty to worry about on a day to day basis--from a personal but also a global level--but the more I think about it, the one thing you can absolutely control is your outlook. And outlook counts for a lot. Outlook can fuel you to the stars. Not knowing what's ahead, we can only hope for the best while giving our best. We can dream, we can act, we can speak, we can laugh. In short, we can live!

There's a whole beautiful decade ahead of us. It's way has already been guaranteed fears because of the way the present has unfolded. However, we are fortunate enough to live in a country where we are able to exist despite these things. There's a reason we're born who we are, where we were. Who knows? Maybe there's not. Either way, it is what it is, and our only duty, as humans, is that immortal phrase: "Carpe Diem!"

Haaaaappppy New Year! I'm tooting a blower for all of us.

Some Joy (for Thought), Some Thought (for Joy)

All right, so while I was composing that last post, my iTunes was on the random setting and each song that it played had some line or two that really stood out to me. I thought I'd share it with you because I think it's really cool that even though most of the artists that are represented in the lines below I don't listen to all that often, they still had the ability to touch me. I hope you find this interesting and that it does a little something for you, too! (I conveniently mushed them all together into one ultra-powerful paragraph. Can you take it? :P )

"Where can you run to escape from yourself? Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?" "And if I ever lose my eyes, if all my colors all run dry,yes, if I ever lose my eyes,oh if-- then I won't have to cry no more.""I've been dreaming of the things I learnt...the joy is not the same without the pain.""That's your fire, your soul, you shouldn't have to go.""It feels like I should stay, but I'm too afraid. Damn this foolish heart. Damn this foolish heart.""Why live life from dream to dream, and dread the day when dreaming ends?""Louisiana, come go away with me...I got my hands full, oh summertime."

Inspired yet? Hope so!

Can you guess who sings what? Test yourself first. The answers appear below in tiny script:

[1."Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot2.“Moonshadow” by Cat Stevens3.“Something to Talk About” by Badly Drawn Boy4.“Your Fire, Your Soul” by Dar Williams5.“Damn This Foolish Heart” by Stellastarr*6. “Someday I’ll Fly Away” by Nicole Kidman7. “Louisiana” by The Walkmen (grrrrrreat band, btw!) ]

Christmas Blessings

This Christmas has been a tough one for me. I don't really feel like I fit in either part of my two lives, college and home. Kind of like I'm living in limbo. But, there are still lots of tiny wonders that I've been with it enough to be thankful for since I've been home. I'd like to take the time to acknowledge each blessing. Here they are:

My family. I never cease to marvel at them. They keep me sane. Never have I known such intelligent, loving, and capable people, and the fact that they're all mine, the fact that they love me even though I'm often uninteresting and despondent, is the richest treasure in all the world. My family is the beautiful cocoon that I carry with me wherever I go, its warmth giving me strength and much laughter.

Music. It's music that makes me see the connections that we all have to each other. Music tells stories in a way that plain old words never could. Music is one of those intangible things, like love, that creates magic. Music encapsulates the majesty of living. All its bittersweetness, anger, and the energy of just being.

(Especial references to The Decemberists, Cat Stevens, Neko Case,Neil Young, The Roches,Frank Sinatra, The Who, and Puccini, as ever.)

Sustenance. Food, the backbone of existence, is happily much more than just that. With the Neanderthals invention of fire, we got much more than we realized. We received flavor, gorgeous gushing gems of deliciousness. Oh, food. So good (when done the right way. Might I suggest my mother's kitchen?)

Sunshine. Thank you, Sunshine! I couldn't make it without you! I'm thankful that you're here in the "dead" of winter, warming my body and my heart. Giving light and depth to the flowers and trees all around me.

Lastly, the sky. The stars that I can now see reduced me to sobbing on the drive home from the airport. It's the stars and the moon that daily (rather, nightly!) remind me that I'm meant to be imperfect, that I'm not meant to have all the answers, and that there is so, so much more to this whole life than just me,my worries and fears. And the stars are beyond any other beautiful thing I have ever before seen. They're diamonds studding a velvet sea. And with the stars, I never feel lonely like some people might. Instead, they're glittering reminders that to everything, one must turn, turn, turn....

Merry Christmas. I wish that love, peace, and all those other little things that combine to make a full existence come your way.

Waiting...

Dear Reader,

I am waiting to board the plane that will take me home to Houston. There has never been so excruciating a wait. All I want to do is leap into the arms of my family, curl up on the couch with the pup and a good Netflix, and sleep on my soft pillow that's always cool when I first hit it, like a chilled marshmallow.

So, what would you like to hear about? The people sitting next to me at LaGuardia, or my musings on imagination? I'll start with the descriptions (and might save the latter for another day!) There's the lady with the drawling Texan accent that does not match her Seattle-ish style: black, loose fitting clothes, short gray hair, and John Lennon glasses. She's long and lanky like a Texan farm girl, she's looks like one of those flipping air-bodies that you see on car dealers' roofs, except composed. Then there's her demure husband who didn't hold her seat when she went somewhere and let this other woman with pinched lips sit down. Thought that was a bit odd.

The family that's subtly sweet: a 17ish teen with a bleached mohawk, a tubby little boy, and a beautiful mother whose clothes, like the Texan's, do not match her face or demeanor. This family is so well-mannered, the mohawked youth fetching little things for his mother, the little one patiently drawing as he waits for his flight. The mom is dressed in a hoodie, but her hair is well-styled and her make up impeccable.

There's the inevitable middle-aged couple. The wife I initially thought was much younger, but on closer inspection, her gray balding husband probably isn't that much older than her. She has a charming (but completely unexpected) Irish accent and blonde hair topped with a newsboy hat. Her husband looks American to me; he's built like it.

And then there's an Asian mother and her twenty-something son. They're quiet. The mother I think is quite beautiful in an older-woman way. Her cheeks are full, swollen almost, but she has delicately waxed eyebrows and glowing skin. She reminds me of a ripe orchid.

Well, I need to go now, but maybe I can finish this up a little later. Tata!

Snow and Sun

I haven't written in a while. Guess I've been busy at not really being all that busy, but a lack of things to do is usually what prevents us from being active in the first place. Yesterday, there was a snow storm. Furious swirls of pastry crumbs is how I'd describe it. These tiny, light particles of frozen water that create so much beauty and nuisance simultaneously. And shivering, too. Probably what took my breath away the most was walking on 9th Ave at 1am and being surrounded by silence. Soft silence. Because of the snow, I ruled the city; I was one of a few people. It was as if the city was on vacation but had forgotten to invite me. As I put it to my friend, "We're in 'I Am Legend,' minus the zombies."

Anyway, so the thing is, I can't seem to wrap my head around the whole snow thing, that people actually live in this and 1) don't find it incredible; and (quite paradoxical to my first point, I know) 2) have to deal with it every winter. Snow is just not a part of my psyche. Just like people who live by the ocean are always a little different from others, always have a bit of a different perspective on life, I think that maybe my whole life there have been "snowpeople" and I have been neglecting to reflect on the effects of snow on their outlooks. Those of us lucky enough to have been raised on sunshine and mild weather might not know something that all these snowpeople do, might lack a quality that these guys have. I'd say the quality might actually be a conditioning to drudgery, to pushing through and schlepping along no matter what. Which is a handy, albeit dulling, quality to have. I just can't imagine having to bundle up so tightly for a good portion of the year every year.

Here's the thing: since "sunpeople" are a smaller portion of the world's population, maybe there's this great divide between us, weatherwise. Maybe it's that Jane Austen quote, "One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other" revised to "One half of the world cannot understand the weather of the other." It's a subtle divide, but a significant one, I think. It's weather, after all, that we must confront day after day; it shapes our daily experience of what it means to be alive.

Beyond all this pondering, however, snow is just plain gorgeous (but not fun to sit in!) Soft blankets of diamond dust. So safe.

TV's Explanatory Power (?)

Well, hello there! (I'm looking for a font that I like, so expect to see some different ones in the coming days.) Ok, so the movies. TV. Consistently addicting. The actual experience of TV, at least, is uncomfortable--slumped on a couch, eyes looking at a bright light, mind completely numbed. But for some reason, there's this nagging feeling I get anytime I think that maybe I should turn off the TV. And I'm not an avid watcher!

If you know me well, you know that I love Grey's Anatomy. I have just spent the last 3 to 3 1/2 hours of my life watching it with some friends. Even though watching so much of a story that takes place solely in a hospital (hopital in French, isn't that a great word? "Hoe-pee-tahl" So fun to say. Anyway...) makes me antsy and makes me feel like I'm a patient myself, I had trouble getting up from the couch. I didn't want to give up on the story, even though I've seen it all before, even though I know all the characters inside and out. So why is that? What is it about TV that keeps us glued? For me, I think it's the possibility that it holds, the vicariousness. As regards possibility: it's like, maybe I could be that girl with all the love drama and who's on top of it enough to be living her dream. As regards vicariousness: it's a way for me to be that girl! Also, there's another aspect to TV watching: it's a way to relate, a way to connect with people going through similar life circumstances or feeling the same way about something. A TV show explains what we're feeling, or more like what we may be thinking and not sure of how to express. At least, that's what Grey's Anatomy does for me. ...that's actually about all I can say about TV, really. It's the only show I watch on a regular basis...so, I'm not sure why I picked this topic. Whatevs.

Two things as far as understanding oneself/one's feelings through TV: 1) if you want to know who I am, Meredith Grey is a good guide. A thought-full worrier and a person who has a lot to say when the occasion arises, but otherwise pretty solid and subdued. 2) watch "Prelude to a Kiss." I am nearly identical to Meg Ryan's character, except I want kids.

What about you, reader? Who are you most like from TV? Who most acts like who you perceive yourself to be? It's an interesting question, and while it's not life changing, it is a fun one to answer.

Sleep tight, don't let those bed bugs bite. B

Rememories and Sugar Rushes

Hello again! Tonight's entry will be considerably shorter from the one last night, the result of me staying up too late, getting up too early, and doing too much between then and now. :)

This is truly lovely, though, isn't it? This whole blogging thing? There's such ownership in it, such a sense of pride I have when I look at what I've written and that others can see it. Accomplishment, I guess.

So, what should I tell you, dear reader? Perhaps about the fact that I felt strangely protective of my heart when I, not meaning to, put my hand on my chest and felt how fluid its beating sounded. Like it's surrounded in a casing of egg yoke. Which is probably not how a beating heart should sound, but I figure it may be a little doped out/exhausted by the sugar rush it had earlier. A girl on my floor bakes sporadically, and tonight she made her killer recipe (I'm sure it could kill, quite literally! It's a sugar-blast to the max, but oh oh so good.) Java. That's what it's called. It's basically a s'more casserole: a graham cracker bottom, a chocolatey gooey center and marshmallow cream and sour cream (? yeah not sure why that's in there) top. Goo-ood. Gone quickly. And now making my heart feel like it's whisking eggs.

Or, I could tell you about how strong nostalgia is. It's like that feeling that you get when you remember a dream but more surreal because you've actually lived it. That's how I've been lately about my house back in Houston. I can't fathom that I actually once lived there, that in reality, most of my whole life has unfolded in this place, now so far removed from me. I see my house in my mind's eye, my bedroom, and it all has a warmth that I never noticed before. It's the force of memories obscuring reality and bringing connotations of this sureness, this absolute curtain of security I never felt when I actually lived there. My home becomes a magical place where all I can remember are happy times, so happy that it almost suffocates me with how much I miss them. That's nostalgia, right there.

That's what they don't tell you when you go off to school--that yes, you're growing up, but it's because your whole entire life has changed, which is something that I never much considered before I moved up here. One day you're don't have to worry about being lonely, you don't have to consider being anything beyond what you know, and literally, the next day (move-in day), you are on your own. No, here's what they don't tell you: they tell you you'll be on your own, but they don't tell you what that actually means. Consider the phrase, on. your. OWN. What they don't do enough of is emphasizing the "Own." "Own" is fun and exciting and challenging. But it's also something that can never be understood until you're there.

All right, all right, I promise to be less heavy in future entries (although not forever!) I don't want to scare readers away. Furthermore, while I am a deep thinker, there is much more light to me than dark.

Anyway, all for now, really need to get some sleep. Adieu!

On Saying Hello (and Hating Goodbyes)

Hello! This is my first blog post, which may be obvious, but it's a time filled with great meaning for me. This blog will be the manifestation of my thoughts, the solidification of all that is swirling around in my head. In short, it is my thoughts, pinned.

For me, it's the pinning that I craved--I started this blog at an attempt to better understand myself, who I am and how I think. It's just too hard to do that solely in my brain; I need to be able to see what I've thought and analyze it. This blog is a look inside my head. Think of it what you will, ultimately this is a journey of self-exploration and a productive way to use my free time. I promise future entries will not be so bland!

All right, so, the meat of this thing. I live in New York City and haven't quite figured out what that means (I moved here a mere four months ago.) Rather, I haven't figured out how the city relates to me. I feel almost as if I am a star-crossed lover, ogling someone frightening in gorgeousness and exceeding in mysteriousness. I love New York. It's a collection of tiny villages, all placed impossibly close to each other; I think this is where it's appeal comes from. In New York, I am in a completely different world within a ten block walk. The very fiber of the place has changed between W. 60th and W. 70th (or, even better, from W. 70th to E. 70th.) The city is broken into bands of differing energy.

The remarkable thing, though, is the coexistence--the compatibility of these little villages, their peaceful nestling. That's the thing outsiders don't understand about this place. It is peaceful. There is chaos, there is noise, and there are smells. There are freaky people. But, ultimately, there is a calm. Think about it: we have all basically agreed to allow for this layering of peoples, cultures, food, architecture, auras. And that's pretty amazing. New York's an island of overlapping islands, miniatures so intricately painted. The "big" city feels less big to me and more "intimate."

But, anyway (a note about my style: I ramble), what I've come to wonder is this: the city belongs to me, but do I belong to the city? Where do I fit into the fiber of the various communities? I don't know. Granted, I understand that the common assumption is that New York is a place for all people, that it accepts all as they are. But I disagree. It's very easy to love this place but very difficult to feel loved back. It's like, "The city's relevant to me, but am I relevant to it?" Essentially, how do I contribute to that which is New York? Hmmm.....thoughts on this?

I guess the essential bit is finding a neighborhood where I hit my stride. Really connect. The area I'm in right now is gorgeously kept and exciting, but I'm not really connecting with it like I'd like to. I think perhaps because it is such a "for-show" area. Not much I can do about that at present.

Places where I feel the most "at home", whatever that means: the Park. Definitely. There's something so safe there, being surrounded by trees and seeing the skyscrapers beyond, something almost mystical about that. Surreal, I guess. West Village. Love that the buildings are crowded together, but that they're on the squat side so that the sky surrounds you, so rare here. I love the uneven intersection of streets, the meandering that encourages. The Upper East Side (I have expensive tastes, no?) Ha! Much as I dislike the eerie quiet that surrounds this neighborhood, I do enjoy the elegant homes, the fairy tale-like architecture. And most of all, the Guggenheim. I would live there if I could. It's so warm, so inviting. The spiral shape of the building makes me feel safe but in an exciting way, almost like finding an unexpected but happy solution to a problem. Blah, blah, blah. I know, I know. I can wax a little too romantic. But I suppose that's just how I think. If it's of value remains to be seen.

It's getting late now, so I'd like to wrap this up. I'll finish by completely changing the topic, so keep your head in place. My sister visited me this weekend and we all know what that means: that she had to leave, too. It's that inevitable going that comes with the arrival that I dread in life. When I dropped her off at Port Authority tonight, it struck me with full force: I absolutely hate goodbyes, to the point where I've numbed myself to the knowledge of how much I hate them so that they're (a little) bit less painful. Goodbyes symbolize to me everything that's wrong with the world,that you have to accept things you don't like. Goodbyes are painful for me, wrought with some almost indescribable emotion. A goodbye forces me to acknowledge that there is a past and that the present is quickly speeding toward it. A goodbye forces me to realize all that I left unrealized when I was with whatever person, all the things we didn't talk about. Basically, it's me standing over an abyss, me willing myself to be molasses, willing time to be stagnant, even as my wincing against the reality renders me helpless in its wake. I drop quickly into that abyss.

I get over it, too. Don't think that I'm hung up on goodbyes, brooding over them for hours. I know that I'll see most of the people I say goodbye to in the relatively near future. It's just that, those first few moments after my friend or loved one leaves, I realize that the hug wasn't long enough, my emotions not in tune enough. The trouble with goodbyes is that they must end. No matter how long I stand bidding someone adieu, sooner rather than later, they're going to leave. It's the decision to leave, to turn away from the person, to acknowledge that the past has come and that the future is swiftly joining it that's the hardest.

And with this, dear reader, I bid you good night.