The Freelance, Unconventional Nun

I came back...

2011-11-22T20:55:00.001-08:00

So I came back from India. Problem being that my heart never left. The hardest thing I did all year was get on the plane to come home (and by "home" I mean Seattle, because I've started calling India home). As soon as I'm done writing this paper about Genghis Khan's DNA I'll tell you all about it. For now I'll just say that I miss my mud hut and the world's smallest frog, Ferdinand, who kept me company while I drew illustrated instructions of how to plant sack gardens.

Highlights
Hundreds of people recieved medical attention
Hundreds of children received dental treatment
composting infrastructure was implemented
I read everything Jhumpa Lahri has published and I love her.
Bodygaurd saved the woman he loves from bad men.

I'm Off to India. Wanna Join Me?

2011-05-25T00:29:00.000-07:00

I was greeted by humidity. The baggage claim was filled with people from all over the world, some transient, some coming home, some leaving. After waiting in line for what seemed like forever the immigration agent asked me why I had come to India. “To do volunteer work,” I told him. He nodded his head in true Indian fashion, stamped my passport and sent me on my way. Stepping outside the airport my friends and I experienced something we had never encountered before. India.

India isn’t always an easy place, but it is beautiful. India is a rising power on the global stage. The country is a leader in technology and cricket, among other things. However, most of the country lives in densely populated, underdeveloped communities. Sex trafficking and disease are on the rise. Many lack access to the education and resources that you and I take for granted.

But I wasn’t thinking about any of this as I jumped in a taxi and headed for the bus station. We weren’t home yet. During the five-hour bus trip from Delhi to Jaipur I tried to make reality set in. I was in India. India.

When we arrived at our host’s home we were greeted by a young girl around the age 9, the same age as my little sister. She had a leg brace on one leg and a smile that consumed most of her face. She’s from a small slum in Jaipur. Her community is known to some as the “puppet people.” They make, sell and perform with puppets. The families in this community live in dire poverty. They have no access to sanitation, very little access to (dirty) drinking water and almost no access to education or medical care. The organization we were working with visited the community every week and brought food and vitamins for the children. On one visit they found this little girl in the corner of her home. She had broken her leg and her family could not afford her medical treatment. With no options they left her in the corner. The group was able to bring her home and fund-raise for her surgery. When I met her she was almost fully recovered, healthy, happy and alive.

In the same community I met a woman with a newborn baby. She explained through the translator that she and her child were sick but she could not afford medicine. At the time I was naive to the illness of poverty, but now I believe it was TB. Two months after my visit I learned that the baby died.

Another family in the community lived in a single room. The family consisted of a 12 year old girl and two younger boys. I believe the youngest was around age 3. They invited me to sit on their bed and immediately the youngest crawled into my lap. He snuggled in and would not let go, his heart obviously longing for a mother. The interpreter explained that their mother had died in a fire and the father was a truck driver. The daughter had been living in slightly better conditions with her grandparents and attending school. When her mother died she was forced to stay home and take care of her brothers while her father was away for weeks at a time.

As I sat with the women and children of the community we shared laughter. Not even able to speak the same language we still managed to talk about life’s hardship and beauty.

Before going to India I did not understand the concepts of global health, infrastructure or development. Now I am obsessed with them. Call it a calling if you will. I am devoted to the development of the global community that I am a part of and I am striving toward a future where resources are better allocated and utilized, and education, health care, and women's rights become fundamental aspects of community development.

I’ve been awarded a $500 scholarship to travel to India with a group of medical professionals, engineers, college faculty and fellow students. We will be working two hours outside of Jaipur, Rajasthan in clinics and helping build sustainable infrastructure including composting toilets.

To cover the cost of the trip I need to raise an additional $2500. I will be able to save a large amount of this money and have already received some donations.

My first trip to India was difficult. I had never before experienced such poverty or diversity. The longer I am away the more I want to go back. I'm excited to be apart of a program that is bringing medical care to those who usually cannot access it as well as implementing sustainable infrastructure that will have long-term effects on the well being of the community. This trip will invest in the people of Rajasthan and fuel my education in International Development. Please consider investing with me.

Thank you,

Jenn

+++

To donate via pay pal either click the button on the top left of my blog or send donations to jennrp@gmail.com. You can also send a check to Jennifer Pekol, 2615 NW 56^th St, #204, Seattle, WA 98107. Anything you can give will be helpful and used with integrity.

Global Impact: Experience Rajasthan
Aug 20th-3rd

Poetry Month: Tear It Down

2011-04-16T01:57:00.000-07:00

by Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

2010 Roundup

2011-02-03T01:04:00.000-08:00

Well, reassessment. I'm supposed to be doing that. It's February and usually I take time during February to set some new goals for myself for the year. Before I do that I need to sit with my goals from last year and see what I accomplished.

Remember I made prayer flags last year depicting my goals for the year? Here's a picture in case you forgot.

First, a map of Morocco. The flag was to remind to be wise with money, pay off debt and save for a trip. I give myself a B+ on this one. I've paid some stuff off which is good and I've started saving toward what I hope is a trip to Haiti this summer to volunteer.

Second, "Any time you can tell your story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage, you'll be ahead of the game." --William Zinsser. I set the goal to have my work published in three places last year. I wrote a blog for Libuse Binder about Construction For Change, I published twelve recipes for Flock and three articles for Ocsplora, two of which were featured in the first ever print edition. Success.

Third, the tree symbolizing the tattoo I want to get. I didn't get that one but I did get this one...

Fourth, BOOKS! I set the goal to read 25 books outside of school reading, I read 16. Here's the list: The Writing on Her Forehead, The Namesake, The End of Poverty, Dreaming of Baghdad, Arafat and the Dream of Palestine, Ecological Intelligence, Zen and the Art of Writing, The Fellowship of the Ring, Middlesex, Shanghai Girls, Savage Beauty: The Life Edna St. Vincent Millay, Half the Sky, The War of Art, A Poetry Handbook, Snow, Strength in What Remains. For school I read: Brain Rules, Our Kind, The Government and Politics of the Middle East, Naked Lunch, On the Road, Veiled Threat and The Silenced Cry. Total I read 24. I win.

Fifth, the onion symbolizing cooking. Did you read the part where I published 12 recipes?

Sixth, the yoga person symbolizing self-care. I got my migraines a bit more under control but I don't think I fulfilled the goal. I didn't stick to a regular yoga practice which was the main part of the goal. But there's always 2011.

An unexpected event this year was that I started painting. See them here, here and here. But here's one just in case you're lazy.

So, time for some new goals. Travel, reading, writing...and an old favorite is back. Sit tight while I figure out 2011 and set your own goals while you're waiting. If you need some help check out Chris or Jolie for inspiration. They're the ones that inspired me to start this little yearly project.

Recently Added to My Bookshelf

2011-02-03T00:21:00.000-08:00

1. Descent into Chaos, Ahmed Rashid
2. Overtaken by Events, Ethan Casey
3. The Battle for God, Karen Armstrong
4. The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz
5. What is the What, Dave Eggers
6. The Paul Farmer Reader
7. The Secret History of the American Empire, John Perkins
8. Justice, Michael J. Sandel
9. When the Body Says No: Understanding the Stress Disease Connections, Gabor Mate
10. The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
11. Of Human Bondage, W. Somerset Maugham
12. Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri
13. The Diary of Anias Nin, Volume 1
14. The Duel, Tariq Ali
15. The Crossing, Cormic McCarthy
16. Cities of the Plain, McCarthy
17. No Country For Old Men, McCarthy
18. The Road, McCarthy
19. Develpment as Freedom, Amartya Sen
20. Failed States, Noam Chomsky
21. Sex at Dawn, Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jethá

Reassesment

2011-02-02T16:49:00.000-08:00

Dear Blog,

I've been away for a while. I'm sorry about that. I've just been so very busy with school and work and many more excuses that I will not name here. Now it's safe to say that I am back. I've lowered my Netflix subscription to the smallest possible plan keeping me from hours of online television watching, I've purchased myself subscriptions to the Economist and Live Station so I can watch Al Jezeera and I've recently added about 20 more books to my book shelves. Woah.

I know that I must write. I must write because if I cease to write I will cease to exist.

And that brings me to passion. Passion for writing. Passion for human rights and development. I just finished reading Mountains Beyond Mountains for the third time. For those of you who don't know the book, it's the story of Dr. Paul Farmer. (Actually, it's the story of Tracey Kidder following Dr. Paul Farmer around.) It is Farmer, not Kidder who inspires me so much. A medical anthropologist, Farmer is to the medical world what I can only dream of being to the development world. I've just started The Paul Farmer Reader, an anthology of his writings and lectures on structural violence and his anthropological observations in Haiti. Farmers words are stunning. He presents the ever growing suffering of the world by giving voices to those who live their lives behind the walls constructed to keep them out of the view of the rich and comfortable.

As a bright young student with dreams heavily rooted in both international development and anthropology, I take his words and actions as a challenge. I'm challenged to continually assess the reasons I give for going to school, for engaging in various committees in Student Leadership and for writing. This is what I do at the start of every year--I reassess.

To be continued...

It Won't Be Like This Forever.

2010-11-08T15:51:00.000-08:00

You know what will make me feel better? Writing a blog.

I have long been reciting to myself a mantra that sounds like this, “It won’t be like this forever.” I say it because I know that it’s true. I won’t always be pulled in a thousand directions, few of which I am passionate about, and being paid nada at a part-time retail job. But for now I am…

School : 15 hrs/wk

Homework: 15 hrs/wk

Work : 25 hrs/wk

VA for Rachelle : 5 hrs/wk

Ride the bus : 15 hrs/wk

Self-Care: 2-4 hrs/wk

Students Leadership: (PTK, Panel discussion board, Art Auction committee, SPOT committee, Literary Magazine Committee) 2-4 hrs/wk

That equals 84-ish hours a week.

Then…

Friends, Sleep, food, bathing, laundry…If I have time I fit those in. I also like to read magazines and watching 30 Rock.

My head is spinning. But this is how I fix it.

I write, do yoga, breathe, lay very still, eyes closed and breathe in and out. If I do these things everything in the first list is much easier and I am nicer and coherent and not having emotional breakdowns.

It won’t always be like this, I just need to breathe.

Magpie Girl on Overcoming Resistance in Your Art.

2010-10-15T01:50:00.000-07:00

I'm friends with this very creative soul. Her name is Rachelle and she is known to us as Magpie Girl. Over at her blog she coaches us on whimsy, maintaining art through chronic illness and finding spirituality that fits. She's pretty great at it. This month is her birthday and as a present to herself she set the ambition goal to tell 30 Stories in 30 Days (a la Ira Glass). She decide to let fellow bloggers ask her questions and she answers them on their blog. (She has a few spots left if you're interested!)

And so on my blog, the thing which most publicly depicts my resistance, she's going to tell us how she meets resistance head on and give us some advise on how to overcome it.

Without further adieu, I present Rachelle...

Q: How do you overcome resistance in your art?

Ironically, I’ve been staring at this blank page for two hours now. I checked Twitter. I renewed my driver’s license. Paid a few bills. But have I written this post? No. No I have not.

Resistance is the artist greatest enemy. Full stop. And it comes from within.

Yeah, it bites.

Here are some tips and techniques for dealing with resistance:

Set Yourself Up
The number-one thing I do to break through resistance is to set myself forced deadlines. My son-adopted-by-affection is a big fan of self-directed education. He was unschooled in high school and spent his first year post-graduation self-educating. That works for some people. But others, like ..ehm...me…need a deadline if anything is ever going to get done. So set yourself a deadline, and make sure others know about it. Sell seats in a class before all the materials are done. Set a hard date that the next project will be available by. Tell someone you are going to write 30Stories in 30Days. Jolie Guillebeau promised 100 Paintings in 100 Days. Julie Powell pledged to cook through Julia Child’s entire French cookbook in a year. Sure, it would be nice if you were more mature and could get it done without someone breathing down your neck. But if deadlines are your thing, you might as well roll with it. Why fight functionality?

Know Your Cycle
At what point in your creative cycles is resistance most likely to strike? Make a note of it. You may not know how to keep resistance from striking. But if you know when it’s most likely to occur, then you can tell yourself “this too shall pass.” Think of it like your period. Sure you feel little nuts for a few days. But you level out eventually. If you aren’t aware of the stages of the creative cycle, or where yours gets all resistance-y, this might help.

Set the Timer
Get a kitchen timer and just start working. Put paint on the canvas, write words on a page. It doesn’t have to be a part of your finished product. You just need to get started. I usually set mine for 20 minutes. In 10 minutes I might not be in the groove. But if I set it for 20 and just start working, by the time the bell sounds I’m usually on a roll and don’t want to quit.

Personalize Your Gremlins
Resistance is definitely a gremlin. You might as well name it. (Mine is called Pinkerton.) When resistance raises its annoying little head, follow these tips. Pinkerton would also like to give you this. (He’s being a very good boy now.)

Become Pavlov’s Dog
I said this before about getting through administrative tasks, and it also applies to breaking through resistance around making your art. This technique works regardless of your art form. It involves picking a favorite “working song” or set of songs and playing it every time you sit down to work. Eventually you pattern your brain to twig into working as soon as you hear the familiar refrains. I still use a disc of trip hop that a friend made me eight years ago. When resistance is at its strongest, I break out those tunes and the muscle memory of typing takes over.

Show up at the Page
Any number of writers will tell you that the key to their success was to show up consistently to the page (or the easel, or the blow torch…you get the idea.) Most of them advocate for showing up at the same time every day. That’s nice if you are a full time artist. But for the rest of us, it’s more catch when catch can. If you can pick just one day/time of the week that is your time to make art, and hit it every week for 10 weeks, you will have gone a long way to establishing a working ritual for yourself. When you pick your time slot, keep functionality in mind. It would be lovely if you could write every morning at 5am, but will that work for you? I spent a lot of time feeling wimpy for the fact that I cannot write before noon. Finally I stopped resisting, planned my day around the fact that I would get the bulk of my work done between 12-3, and went with it. What’s your most functional time? Save some of it for your art if you can.

Read This Book
If you do nothing else for your art, read this: The War of Art by Steve Pressfield. Ignore the unrelentingly male warmonger-y title and just buy it. You art is worth fighting for.

The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles

P.s. After two hours of resistance to this post, I wrote the whole thing in three songs. You can do it. Be a resistance fighter.

More on Resistance from Magpie Girl:
Writing and Resistance
Mantras for Writers

Rachelle Mee-Chapman, specializes in customized soulcare for spiritual misfits. She works with clients at Magpie Girl to help them find a spirituality that fits; and hosts Flock, an online soulcare community. You can learn more about her creative approach in her free ecourse, Magpie Speak: a new vocabulary for soulcare.
Friend :: Follow :: Presents!

The Journey is Life Itself.

2010-10-13T21:19:00.000-07:00

"A journey shows us not only the world, but how we fit in it."

I've been thinking a lot about my travels. How much they changed me. How much I define myself by the places I've been. I often say "I'm homesick for the world." This has been one of those weeks. I am homesick for all the places I've been, but mostly for the places I have not. I can't help but wonder what part of myself awaits me there? Who am I in that place. I think the key to opening that part of me lies in the thing I only experience there. What is the thing and where is there?

Full Moon Dream Board: Lean Into the Cycle, But Don't Fall In.

2010-09-25T12:32:00.000-07:00

September Full Moon came and went. And apparently it was special because it was the Harvest moon and it coincided with the fall equinox. I missed all that. I've not been sleeping. I've not been sleeping well anyway. Have you noticed that I've also not be writing? I haven't. Not here, not there. Not in a box with a fox. Not anywhere. I'm just tired.

So, BAM! New month. New school quarter. New art.

"Lean Into the Cycle, But Don't Fall In" is based on one of the lessons from the Magpie Speak course. The lesson was about managing the craziness that is often paired with the creative cycle. For each cycle there is a "handy mantra" to help us cope with some of the stress each part of the cycle will likely cause. I listed them down the right side.

"The right thing will come at the right time."
"Nothing is ever wasted."
"One step at a time."
"Breathe the next breath. Write the next line."
"This too shall pass."

I find the cycle comforting and helpful in explaining some of the tiredness I feel at times. As my gears shift this fall into a new schedule (and a crazy one at that), I want to remember to take a moment each day to check in with myself and remind myself of all the above. But I want to make sure that the control the cycle has over me and the control I have over the cycle are balanced. I don't to fall into the cycle so far that I get lost. I'd like to keep my head above water.

Power Stories with Magpie Girl

2010-09-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

Hi Mom! And any other random readers out there. I know I've not been around here much. I've kind of gone inwards lately. It's been a good time for me to evaluate my writing and my education and I am finding that while it feels like a sacrifice now, I love the path I am on and where it is leading me.

Part of that path involves my new(ish) job working as a Virtual Assistant to Rachelle Mee-Chapman of Magpie Girl and Flock. She's offering a new course in a couple of weeks called Power Stories and I'm excited to share this little interview we did with you. I recommend signing up. Enjoy!

1. What inspired you to develop and offer your readers this course?

My post *8Things I know about Standing in Your Own Power really resonated with Magpie Girl readers, and people emailed me asking for more information and advice. I’m always excited by topics that emerge organically from the community. So I created more material around the topic, since it was such a felt need. Many women struggle with standing in the truth of who they are. Institutions, male influence, cultural images of “ideal” women – all these can push us around. Yet my young daughters, ages 10 and 12, intuitively stand in their own power. This tells me we aren’t meant to shrink and hide ourselves. I believe we can recover the ability to be powerful.

2. How did you decide what other voices to bring into the class and what do you think the diversity of voices brings to the course?

Because learning to stand in my own power is a growing-edge for me, I wanted to recruit partners in the process. I thought of women who just hum with power, confidence, and kindness; and invited them to participate in the course. The lessons I received back from them were incredible! Having so many voices in our teaching pool helps us learn from a wide range of life experience – gay/straight/bi, married/divorced/single; child-free/mothers, 30/40/50 – there are so many perspectives amongst the contributors; it’s bound to meet the needs of far more people than my voice alone could impact.

3. Do you have a favorite aspect of the Power Stories?

I’m really pleased that it has collection of learning tools – essays, podcasts, videos, and worksheets. That variety makes it very textured and accessible. And I love how communal it is – both that the idea for the course emerged out of the Magpie Girl community, and that it is lead by a collection of amazing teachers. Plus I get a kick out of some of the downloadable treats my design partner is cooking up!

4. How does Power Stories tie into the other work you do on Magpie Girl, and Flock ?

At Magpie Girl I provide care for creative souls. At Flock we are building an online soultribe for spiritual misfits. Power Stories offers a skill-set that both communities need. Magpies need to stand in their own power to develop their artistic voice and to make room for creative pursuits. Flock members need a deep-rooted stance to support them as they re-define faith and spiritual practice in their own powerful terms.

5. How will the course fit into busy lives?
You can read each lesson in Power Stories (or do each worksheet) as they arrive in your email box every couple of days. Or you can save them up and give yourself a bunch soulcare goodness on a self-styled weekend retreat. It’s up to you. Plus, I’m sort of a lackadaisical minimalist. I like a nice turn of phrase, but I don’t want to read filler. So each piece of material is honed to be beautifully to the point.

ART POST: You can wear a watch, but don't count on it.

2010-08-12T19:02:00.000-07:00

I'm slightly obsesses with these wonderful watch and clock pieces I found at the Fremont Sunday Market. Here you go. (Some day I'll figure out how to take a decent picture, for now these will have to do.)

ART POST: Trees

2010-08-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

These paintings don't have a name. I was trying to use up some paint chips I had gathered at the store for another project and this is what came of them. I love trees. Very much. I also wanted to see what happened when I watered down acrylic paint to almost water color. I kinda like these...a lot.

ART POST: The Namesake

2010-07-15T14:45:00.000-07:00

Recently I read The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. It left some big impressions on me. The cover in particular inspired a series of paintings. I've never really painted before so I went the art store, bought some supplies and began to paint. I name the series after the book. All the paintings are acrylic on wood.

Full Moon Dream Board: I Am Not A Fraud.

2010-05-31T18:04:00.001-07:00

This week my free-will horoscope said:

Are you slipping into one of those moods in which you feel like a fraud? Are you starting to worry that maybe you're not who you say you are? If so, I want to remind you of what happened the last time these feelings got stirred up: You became super motivated to prove that you are indeed who you say you are. And that had a most wonderful effect, didn't it? It led you to locate and call on resources you hadn't known you could have access to; it spurred you to purge some self-deception from your system; and it roused you to intensify your commitment to rigorous authenticity. How about an encore?

I don’t care if you believe in the authenticity or even the holiness of horoscopes—wisdom is wisdom and this is exactly where I find myself this month. I feel a little like a fraud.

I had an interesting encounter with my writing this quarter. Kerouac, Burroughs, Ginsberg—they all made me want to put down my pen. They did to me whatever the opposite of inspire is. But my Government and Politics of the Middle East class has had me enthralled all quarter writing papers on topics I found so interesting I wish I could have wrote a whole book on them.

Needless to say, I feel very unbalanced artistically.

I wrote an article a few months ago for Ocsplora about my contradicting desires. These desires match exactly to my feeling of being a fraud. How can I, one little person, want everything at the same time? But I’m not a fraud and I do want them, so this month’s Full Moon Dream Board represents that.

First, the puzzle and chain link fence. Both of these images pertain to art. The puzzle is whimsical, natural, round edges around every piece. The fence is a metal, rigid, mathematical pattern. Both are art. I want to find the balance between the two.

The girls. In the bottom left corner is the image of person made out of pins. I often feel like I’m on pins and needles, a ghost of person and stagnant. The girl walking down the country path is a whole person with flowing hair and is warm in a surrounding that is cool. She is moving forward down her path to what is next.

Home. Ah, there it is—my cabin by the lake. (Ok, this is not really what I picture, but it’s close.) There she is nestled into the trees and the field and I know the lake is nearby because that part of the picture was torn out and has been hanging on my bedroom wall for years. The upside down picture is Istanbul, my other home. These represent my desire to be in one place and travel the world.

The Last Poem I Wrote Before All the Rest Were Lost...

2010-04-01T20:00:00.001-07:00

Five years ago today my house burned down. In my purse was a copy of the last poem I wrote before the fire. The sole survivor.

March 2005

The one I call myself

I find I barely know

When all I see falls away

All I can touch

Becomes no more

I’m left in the dark

Among the stillness

I wish I didn’t know

I long for a touch

A whisper in the dark

To sweep me away

And carry me home

To that place where I know you wait

The place where I can see all that is, has been and will be

All this was to lead to one place

The place where time is no more

Fear is no more

Tears are no more

And when all is stripped away

I’m left there all alone

With the one who knows me better

Knows me more

I see that all that was me

Was a broken image of a tattered man

Who was blinded by a nature not his own.

An Angry and Judgmental Poem (The author acknowledges her bitterness, but cannot keep silent)

2010-03-31T01:28:00.000-07:00

Once I had a vision

About a mother and a child

Both cast away.

Breaking hearts unheard

Under layer after layer

Of blue.

They were in a field.

Surrounded by plastic figurines.

These army toys

Propelled their weapon of choice-

Rocks,
Which fell like iron rain

Exceeding the force of gravity.

But they didn’t know why.

Their own women and children watching.

Their undiscerning hearts unable to hear

Compassion.

Calloused by the teachings of the wise

Who exchange reason for madness*,

And no longer explore the depths of love--

The only protection they could be afforded.

Unbearable, unsightly, intolerable

The shame

Of utter innocence

Turned into forced delinquency

Producing life non-the-less,

That when revealed would promise death.

*Gandolf

Full Moon Dream Board: Peace

2010-03-29T20:52:00.000-07:00

So ends my four-day writing marathon. (It was more like four and half really). I have a word count, but I feel like it is really no way to measure what happened inside me this weekend.

I lived.

I’ve started my first real piece of fiction (I say “real” because I’ve written fiction before I’m sure, but never seriously.) Currently my characters are still only giving me the beginning of their stories—their tragic stories. I am begging them to give me a glimpse of their futures so that I can trust that their story redeems.

Being the narrator has always frightened me because for so long I was convinced that God had an “ultimate will” for me. I have come to believe, to much relief, that in fact, the joy of writing my own story is before me. As the author, I have created these characters with names and faces and fathers and fears. I’m hovering above somewhere, hiding behind a tree maybe, and I can see the torment they feel. But I don’t know yet what they will choose tomorrow. I want to interfere, to control the story. But I will not. It is their story, not mine to tell. I can only plea with them…

Thoughts on Fiction

29 Mar 10

I want to write a redemptive ending,

But I don’t know if my characters will let me.

They’re stuck

Somewhere between the ninth hole, the Baring Sea and delivery day.

And they are running from,

If not paralyzed by,

The fear

Of an ever growing roundness protruding from her belly.

My dear characters, may your joy grow with each day. We are hoping for you.

And while I am hoping for my characters, I can only pray that someone is hoping for me. I was amazed, ashamed and confused by some of the things that crept out of me over the last few days. Solitude and expression can do that. Anxiety has been overwhelming me. I’ve spent moments sitting silently; asking the screaming little girl inside what she needs to say.

She wants to be accepted. I guess that means

I want to be accepted.

Yael Naim - Far, Far

As these and other beautiful and hideous thoughts rage through my being (I swear I can feel them in every joint), I know that there must be somewhere they can be placed where some other power can quiet them and I continue on in peace.

Because peace is beautiful.

How convenient that the moon is full and birthing creativity and excitement. I shall use her offering of energy and offer her back my creativity. I made a box. Not just any box—a beautiful box. The tag on the front reads “everything will be okay in the end…it’s not the end.” Inside this box I will place my fears, crazies and gremlins. (I suggest taking a listen to this and embracing the restful breaths it offers to the creative soul.) I’m sure it will fill fast but that guarantees that I can fill with peace and light.

And so I end my evening with a cupa, a warm meal and The Science of Sleep. The rain will sing me to sleep tonight, like she has the past few nights and tomorrow I will wake and write again.

Live at peace,

Jenn

2010 Book List-This Year With Reviews

2010-03-28T17:13:00.000-07:00

Book reviews terrify me. I'm not sure why. Probably because I just spent hours taking it all in and now you want me to spit out a few sentences summarizing the book. But, last year I sped through fifty books without giving a single review.

Here's my list so far this year. I'd say it's pretty impressive considering the quarter I had. I'm working on quiet a few books over my break and have a good list for the spring including the ones for school.

Please add your suggestions. I have more than enough books on my shelf to read, I'll probably buy plenty more, but I want to know you are reading and get some suggestions.

1. Stones Into School, Greg Mortenson

Written in what feels like a rush and using a bazillion pages to tell the Central Asia Institute’s story in Afghanistan (a story that was hinted at in Three Cups of Tea), this book floored me; the Afghani men who represent the antithesis of the Taliban, the desperate fervor for life. Afghanistan may hold my heart more than any other nation. Afghanistan has the second highest illiteracy rate the in the world and not only one of the highest birth rates (seven births to each women), but the country’s infant and maternal mortality rates are just as high. I could go on forever, at least fifteen pages, as that’s how long my research paper was this quarter. But I suggest, for the hopeful side of the story, you read Stones Into Schools. Mortenson presents a look at the Taliban, the most forgotten people in the most remote corner of the world and how pockets of the US Military are changing their approach. Every page of this book cries out “everything must change.” And I cried through every page.

2. The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

How many reviews have been written on LOTR? Must I give another? Let me say this much—the trilogy stands as a testament to passion. The amount of time and creative energy that was spent for its purpose are evident through every word of every made up language. The culture of creativity is seen in every character. And the book reminds me, above all, that even if I were to know all that would hinder me along the way, the journey is still worth every step, every tear and every crumb of Lembas.

3. Savage Beauty, The Life of Edna St. Vincent Milay, Nancy Milford

I’m sorry to say that I could not finish this book. In fact, I could barely start it. While Vincent ranks right up there with Zelda and Sylvia in tortured famous females, there are a lot of pages filled with very little depiction of the world outside of Vincent’s own mind. The author herself writes in a such a straightforward manner that I believe it actually contrasts with the manic nature of Vincent too much. As a result, I could not engage with either fully.

* Veiled Threat: The Hidden Power of the Women of Afghanistan, Sally Armstrong

This was a book for school, so it doesn’t actually count for my twenty-five, but it is worth making a note of. Armstrong, a Canadian journalist, follows the story of RAWA through the refugee camps of Pakistan and parts of Afghanistan. Veiled Threat exemplifies the kind of writing I most want to do. She gives a history of the women, the Taliban and the current war and provides the stories of the Women who have endured all of it and have continued to fight for their own futures. This is one of the most captivating books I have read on the subjects of both Afghanistan and women’s right.

4. The War of Art, Steven Pressfield

What can I say? The day I opened this book on the bus, I stayed on the bus for a few extra stops, planted myself in Stumptown and skipped class. The next day I called a counselor. Being an honest person, I will say that I am a drama ridden, justified hypochondriac. I hate this about myself and have often wondered where this comes from? The book has helped me explore some of the roots of these character flaws and see how the directly relate to my creative expression. Pressfield doesn’t leave anything untouched. He address the ways artists try to escape the pull of our art, he draws the picture of a professional and shows you just how much time you need to put in to make your work sustainable, never once sugarcoating his own long journey to success. The Art of War is wise, contemplative and raw. It’s kicks your ass.

Working on Now

5. The Two Towers, J.R.R. Tolkien

6. Snow, Orhan Pamuk

7. On Writing, Stephen King

8. A Poetry Handbook, Mary Oliver

The Spring Reading List

9. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

* On the Road, Jack Kerouac (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* Naked Lunch, William S. Burroughs (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

* The Pocket Beat Reader (for my Beat Generation Lit. class)

10. Half the Sky, Nicholas D. Kristof

11. A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition, Ernest Hemingway

Thoughts on the Summer Books

12. Strength in What Remains, Tracy Kidder

13. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien

14. The Outliners, Malcolm Gladwell

15. What the Dog Saw, Malcolm Gladwell

16. What is the What, Dave Eggers

15. Zeitoun, Dave Eggers

16. The Kite Runner, Khaled Housseini

17. The Bookseller of Kabul, Åsne Seierstad

18. The Evolution of God, Robert Wright

19. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides

20. I really am not at a loss of books here…But I’m leaving room for suggestions. Help!!

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

If you wrote your life story, what would the first line be?

2010-03-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

Insomnia has struck again. The reasons are obvious. I have been obsessed with writing and have spent most of my time the last few days sitting at my desk moving nothing but my fingers. I tried to go the gym, but apparently they are open twenty-four hours a day every day but Saturday. So I did yoga in my room and then wrote some more. It’s four AM. I think the neighbors (the ones who live in a van on my street) are having a rock concert. I am wide awake and suddenly obsessed with the first lines of stories. So, like any sane person I went through every one of my books and recorded the first line of the ones that struck me.

Please enjoy

“EVERYTHING WITHIN TAKES PLACE AFTER JACK DIED AND BEFORE MY MOM AND I DROWNED IN A BURNING FERRY IN THE COOL TANNIN-TINTED GUAVIARE RIVER IN EAST-CENTRAL COLOMBIA, WITH FORTY-TWO LOCALS WE HADN’T YET MET. “ –Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity

Sometimes, I sleep with Dave’s books. Now that I saw that out loud, it sounds creepy. This, on the other hand is incredibly intriguing.

“By the time you finish reading this book, ten thousand children will starve, four thousand will be brutally beaten by their parents, and one thousand will be raped.” – Peter Kreft, Making Sense Out of Suffering

I almost didn’t add this one because well, it’s traumatizing. But then, maybe that’s why it should be included

“Then there was bad weather.” –Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

I will read this book once a year until I die. One day I will read it in Paris.

“I am old now and have not much to fear from the anger of gods.” –C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

This is possibly the first book I ever read that truly left me speechless.

“No one ever told me that grief feels so much like fear.” –C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

This book has always come to me at the most needy times. Last year I read it after reading The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, the same day a good friend died. It was a pretty hard week.

“Sometimes I feel as though I were born in a circus, come of my mother’s womb like a man from a cannon, pitched toward the ceiling of the tent, all the doctors and nurses clapping in delight from the grandstands, the band going great guns in trombones and drums.” –Donald Miller, Searching For God Knows What

Dear Don, write me letters will you?

“It was one of those nights, one of those lovely nights, dear reader, which can only happen when you are young.” –Frodor Dostoevsky, “White Nights: A Sentimental Love Story”

Yay for the Russians! Yay for short stories! Yay for Sentimental love stories!

“When Mr. Bilbo Bagins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his elventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobiton.” –J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Whenever I read these books I usually spend the first hour on the first line. It’s magical. And then I spend the next hour wondering how the hell he got from there to Mount Doom and why he never thought of this…

“As a child, I had a number of strong religious beliefs but little faith in God.” –Karen Armstrong, A History of God.

Perhaps the one woman who has helped make more sense out of God than I have been able to find anywhere else, except, of course, for Anne Lamott...

“On my forty-ninth birthday, I decided that all of life was hopeless, and I would eat myself to death.” –Anne Lamott, Plan B

My dear Anne Lamott, in the words of Kelly Clarkson, “My life would suck without you.” Thank you, Anne, most sincerely, for allowing me to be myself and think all my crazy thoughts and still be sane (mostly). And mostly, thank you for believing enough in the human race to write about them with truthful aggravation and expansive compassion.

(this post has no title)

2010-03-27T01:16:00.000-07:00

I’m not going to lie. I’m feeling very conflicted at the moment. I’ve been writing for two days. I’ve been alone in my room for the most part. I’ve been studying the written word. Taking the time to do the one thing that I love more than anything else in the whole world—the thing that I have almost no time for between school and work. But I’ve been living the life the last two days, and will be for three more.

I was supposed to have my wisdom teeth out but the surgery was cancelled last minute. I decided that I would spend my time the writers who I admire and the books I learn the most from. The first day I spent time with Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art exploring the roots of my resistance. I wrote about the first poem I ever wrote and how a fire destroyed them all in 2005.

Today I remembered things. I used Natalie Goldberg’s book Old Friend From Away to help me remember the things that mark my past and shape my future. I wrote about the contradiction of my desires to travel the world forever and to be grounded in one place, living quietly day-to-day.

Tonight, after a friend’s art show and drinks with some friends, I came home to edit these two pieces. And there it was. A tiny voice whispering tiny lies. “You can’t write.”

Even as I write this I can’t help but think that these things I am typing on this screen are not real words. That they make no sense at all and that the idea that anyone, anywhere, at anytime would ever want to read them is absurd.

I keep highlighting my sentences with notes in the margin that read “I know what I’m trying to say, but I’m not saying it.” Isn’t that the point of writing? To say it?

I’m starting to feel crazy. Like famous female poet crazy. At this point I think the difference between me becoming a Sylvia Plath or a Mary Oliver is knowing when to stop and sleep. Sleep heals everything.

A Giant Step (Forward or Back? I'm Not Sure.)

2010-03-05T19:15:00.000-08:00

It turns out pen and paper are not tools enough

To suppress, regress, extract and contrast

The fear my heart is anchored in.

Full Moon Dream Board: Steadfastness

2010-03-04T23:51:00.000-08:00

It's a little late, but all that unharnessed creative energy is driving me mad. Last month I got to thinking about what makes me feel "steadfast." It's not a feeling I'm very familiar with. This month I want to explore the things that keep my heart settled and my mind clear.

The quote is one my yoga instructor said that has stuck with me. "The integrity of your art is directly affected by the steadfastness of your heart." I often describe myself as floating on the sea and this year is the year of sailboat for my girlfriends and I who are sick of failed relationships and are sailing on to new and better places. I am the tree. I'm strong but delicate and not fully budded but am enduring the winds as they whip through. I am setting sail into the great well that is my creativity and my words and I hope to find myself there and find the thing that holds me in place and centers me.

As I go in search of my own steadfastness, I'm curious what yours is?

Fact.

2010-02-16T03:41:00.001-08:00

Commas and I do not get along very well. I want to use them, and they defy me. It's the commas fault.

*8 Things I Need to Remind Myself That I Love and Too Often Make Myself Ignore

2010-02-16T02:18:00.000-08:00

1. Recycling & composting. I really hate not doing these two simple things. I’ve gotten way too lazy lately and I won’t settle for it anymore. Either I care or I don’t, and I’d rather care. It’s amazing and simple and it goes far beyond food and plastic. I’d rather buy recycled products like clothes and trade things with friends. I want to reduce the amount of waste I produce and the amount of plastic I use. I would love to commit to not using plastic at all. It’s a big commitment, but I have good inspiration.

2. Writing/Reading/Blogging/Words in general. I don’t have words to describe this. I’ve been avoiding writing because every time I write a little bit my head starts swirling and then I want to write everything. I literally feel my soul die a little bit every time I ignore the words that live inside me. The same happens when I start to read—I want to read everything. Oh books! They are my very best friends. When I moved back from New Zealand I got rid of clothes so my books would fit in my suitcase. To this day I will skimp on other things so I can browse used book stores. When my house burned down I had 297 books. I said goodbye to each one of them by name. I am often still devastated by the great loss of words in that fire, my own and those of others.

3. Drinks with friends. I never have been a “going to the bar” kind of person. I know little about alcoholic beverages. But lately I’ve been out a few times for drinks and these times have been intimate and encouraging. They have replaced communion in a way and I long for that relationship with quality people.

4. Cooking and, most importantly, watching my friends enjoy the food. I love to cook, obviously. I’ve been cooking for myself a long time and I’m kind of getting sick of it. Meals, like drinks, are meant to be shared. There is no reason to be lonely. That was my valentines days lesson. To be lonely when there is food around is to be deprived the great richness of life.

5. Silence/Aloneness/Poetry. I love to turn to the music off. I love to turn all the lights but my little lantern off. I love to read the words of Rumi and Rilke and Mary Oliver and be lost in the wonder they impose on me. These things breathe a kind of life into my soul that I can only attribute to something eternal.

6. Creating things with my hands/designing furniture/helping build furniture/Painting furniture. I bet you didn’t know this about me. When I was 17 I really wanted bookshelves. I had a very specific vision so I drew them out. They were measured to my favorite books, my favorite lamp, the stereo and logical storage in my tiny little room. I gave them to my grandpa and he built them. They were with me until my apartment building burned down. I miss them. Since then I’ve helped build other things, like houses and coffee shops. I’ve also painted stuff I’ve found for cheap that needed a new life. I’ve created paintings and quilts and poetry with my hands and that kind of satisfaction is maybe my favorite.

7. Organic things. For about six years now I have been devoted to Organics. It started with shampoo, and then food because I wanted to start taking care of myself. Then I started to see the quality difference. Now I’m very aware of agriculture, pollution, waste and the corruption of the food industry, specifically meat. I can taste high fructose corn syrup in things. I can’t take hydrogenated oils. They taste gross. We vote with our money. Sometimes it costs me more (though, you’d be surprised how much I save by staying out of the center aisles of the grocery store). Sometimes it takes more time. But I’m confident that by choosing to not be part of the demand, I will make a difference.

8. Rock Climbing. Another little known fact about me. I love rock climbing. Sometimes I dream about it. I started climbing in New Zealand and I was getting pretty good and had nice muscles happening and then I moved back to the states and don’t have gear or a climbing partner or the knowledge. Last year I thought I would start, but I didn’t. It’s still on the list for this year. Hopefully, but publicly admitting that deep inside I love hugging big rocks, I will be more active in making it happen.

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

Cooking with the Freelance, Unconventional Nun

2010-02-13T15:56:00.000-08:00

Hey there friends! One of my many goals for the year is to get my food blog started. I was offered an amazing opportunity over at the Flock to share once a month as a "soul care provider." Crazy. I'm loving it. And along with that I'm starting my tasty blog NOW. Here is a picture to lure you thataway.

Full Moon Dream Board: Prayer Flags

2010-02-03T12:09:00.000-08:00

Last year I decided to take a note from my friends Chris and Jolie, and set some goals for my year. I accomplished most of them, but realized this year I needed some kind of visual to keep me inspired. I set my goals at the end of December and have spent the month formulating them into a few distinct categories. The end of the month full moon was perfect timing to create this special "dream board".

I decided to make prayer flags, each with a symbol of a set of goals.

From L to R:

Morocco: paying off debt, saving money, freedom to travel (first stop Morocco).

"Quest or Pilgrimage": one my writing heroes, Zinsser, said "Any time you can tell your story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage, you'll be ahead of the game." I want to have my writing published in three more places this year. So far, I am in cahoots with Rachelle and just found out that the online magazine I write for will be putting out a print edition, which I may very well be in. I kinda want to pee my pants a little :)

The Tree: I traced the painting of a good friend of mine who is drawing my tattoo. I've talking about getting one for so long, I need to just do it. The tree symbolized strength and will be on my left arm. We are using her painting as the inspiration for it.

Twenty-five: I made a little book out of the pages of my journal. Last year I set the goal to read 50 books. I fell a few short and this year I'm school full-time. So my goal for the year is 25 books outside of school related reading. I'll probably read more than 50 at that rate, but I'll be more focused on actually reading outside of the school world.

An Onion: I love to cook! Onions are my favorite ingredients. I want/need to start my food blog and improve my skills as a chef. I also have tons of food sensitivities that I want to use as a springboard for creativity instead of a hurdle to get depressed about.

Yoga: My health is fine, but I my Vitamin D is dangerously low, I'm still having migraines and my body gets tired so fast I usually only last until Wednesday. I need to allow my self the time to be healthy and grounded this year.

2009 Roundup: Book List 43/50

2010-01-11T13:42:00.001-08:00

Operating Instructions, Anne Lamott

A Woman of Uncertain Charcter

Out of the Silent Planet, C.S. Lewis

Sailing Alone Around the Room, Billiy Collins

Imagining Ourselves

Gluten Free Girl, Ahren

Eats, Shoots & Leaves, Truss

The Painted Veil, Maughm

Doomsday Book, Connie Willis

On Writing Well, William Zinsser

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller

A History of God, Karen Armstrong

What Do We Know, Mary Oliver

Old Friend From Far Away, Natalie Goldberg

You Shall Know Our Velosity, Dave Eggers

Love and Other Difficulties, Rilke

Red Bird, Mary Oliver

Where the Wild Things Are, Sendak

A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Babuy

The Life of Pi, Yann Martel

The Nine Parts of Desire, Geraldine Brooks

The Time Travelers Wife, Audrey Niffeneggner

Through Painted Deserts, Donald Miller

How We are Hungry, Dave Eggers

Thirst, Mary Oliver

The Alchemist, Paul Coehl

All the Pretty Horses, Cormick McCarthy

The View From Planet Earth, Vincent Crown

Grace (Eventually), Anne Lamott

A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway

Blink, Malcolm Gladwell

In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan

Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke

The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell

Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller

Mountains Beyond Mountains, Tracy Kidder

Spilling Out, Sabrina Ward Harrison

Vanity Fair, Feb 2009

The Audacity of Hope, Barak Obama

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer

If Grace is True

A River Runs Through It, Norm Maclean

"I have worked as a doctor in many places and I have seen where to be poor is to be bereft of rights."

2009-12-21T03:12:00.000-08:00

Japanese Maples. Need I say more?

2009-12-20T03:52:00.000-08:00

November. It was rainy. I discovered gluten has been causing my migraines for the last thirteen years. I explored the city. I read. I wrote five papers.

Café: Bauhaus, Capitol Hill. Didn’t enjoy it. It was a beautiful day outside, but inside it was muggy, loud and just plain snobby. Coffee didn’t do much for me either. Sad.

Restaurant: Ballet, Capitol Hill. Yeah, hi! Hole in the wall Vietnamese food? I’m game. This is some of the best fo I’ve had.

Thing: The Arboretum. I skiped school one Monday and Aurora and I headed to the Arboretum just in time to see the Japanese maples in all their glory. It was a peacefull day full of romps through the magical forest, dreams of someday retiring to a bench with a view of beauty and feeling a little at home admiring the plants of Aotearoa in the Pacific Circle Garden.

Books: Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Truss; Gluten Free Girl, Ahren; Imagining Ourselves; Sailing Alone Around the Room, Collins; Out of The Silent Planet, C. S. Lewis.

The End.

fivehundredwords: The 750th Time.

2009-12-20T03:00:00.000-08:00

I am a woman.

I was born in affluence.

I was born in a country where my voice not only matters, but is encouraged. I was born in a place without restrictions. I had the stunning realization a few years ago that with this freedom, I carry the burden of obligation to my gender.

I am a living, breathing, beautiful, powerful woman who happens to have a pen in hand and a heart for women around the world whose lives are directly affected by lack of resources. I can’t quite wrap my head around it all: women without access to clean water, medical attention, education, freedom? Women around the world who die of things that most in my country wouldn’t think twice about like childbirth and TB?

You know how sometimes when you see the 700^th picture of a child in Africa, you become numb to the images? I read the news for fun. I read books about global issues like some read novels. But I still waver. I’m sad to say that sometimes I catch myself thinking, “yeah, I already know about that.” But then something happens. The next story I read, the next image I see sends me over the edge. Suddenly I’m looking at a picture of a mother dying of AIDS holding her malnourished child who is about to be an orphan, and they are all that matter.

Everything stops.

This woman is dying of a disease, that if she had access to very common treatments, she could live with. Her child is dying from hunger…

I just

there are not

how can

no.

tears.

But I must find my words again. Not for me. For them. For us. For women. Elie Wiesel, in his Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech talks about how we are all connected. “That while their freedom depends on ours, the quality of our freedom depends on theirs.” I can go on with my life. Listen to my ipod on the bus on my way to Urban Outfitters and grab a coffee on the way. But these things don’t determine my quality of life.

What determines my quality of life is the quality of life of women around the world. Am I using my resources wisely? Am I using my words powerfully? Am I taking every opportunity handed me? Am I keeping myself connected to the greater source of life and strength at the core of all women?

I’m never going to fully understand the plight of these women. But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to acquire understanding, to build relationships and bring awareness. I will tell you their stories 749 times so that when you hear it for the 750^th time, your heart will break and you will start to grasp the gravity of the situation. It’s then that we will be connected, and our outrage and strength will overpower the factors at work against us.

I’m going to use my words for the benefit of my gender, bringing to light our struggles and great triumphs.

What will you use?

I Always Meet These Women on The Colbert Report.

2009-12-13T12:53:00.000-08:00

I find Lara Logan to be incredibly clear and strong. She left Stephen Colbert snarky-less. For that, she gets my respect.

I will be the first to admit that I don't understand war. I don't like it. Recent decisions made by our President both confuse and sadden me. However, I don't know enough about Afghanistan to explain why. This woman makes the subject approachable. Her interview helped me realize that A) I need to be learning more about the situation and B) No matter how much I know, there will always be elements to wars like these that I will not and cannot understand.

Some are starting to think that Obama is a false prophet. I don't. I think that he is a leader that has and will continue to inspire people to drive this country in a new direction. He is one person just as you and I are individuals. Not one of us can change the country by ourselves. We need to band together with each other, with him, with our enemies and we need change the way we spend, the way eat, the way we fight, the way we give. Until WE make that change not one stimulus package or troop withdrawal will matter.

The burden to end the war is in the hands of our nations leaders and those on the ground in Afghanistan. The burden to cause change, the burden to undo terror and bring hope—that is ours.

Full Moon Dream Board: The Stories Within

2009-12-02T20:32:00.000-08:00

Every twenty-eight days the moon is full. It is large and round and reflecting its little heart out. Every twenty-eight days I can't sleep, I write like mad and I seem to find some new vision I feel I must live. A few months ago I discovered the Full Moon Dream Board.

It's a chance to harness all that energy and creativity and focus on something beautiful. It's a time to dedicate the next month, the next cycle of the moon the earth and my own natural rhythms to something meaningful.

This month it's "The Stories Within". I came across a quote the other day by William Zinsser (whom I am in love with and plan on hanging a picture of him on my bedroom wall like I did Brad Pitt when I was 16). In his book On Writing Well, Zinsser says, "...any time you can tell a story in the form of a quest or pilgrimage you'll be ahead of the game." Brilliant. Beautiful. Zinsser, you are my hero.

This blog is part of my quest, my stories are my pilgrimage. This month I will write the words that have been wondering through the wilderness of my mind. And like the dancers and animals and ships hanging by strings, I will frame them and find joy in them. I will tell a great story.

When I am a Great Poet

2009-11-16T18:00:00.001-08:00

Someday that will be me.

Among the poets and their paint brushes

Among their rhythmic symphonies.

I too will reach into the darkness

And pull on the lose strings

Of that wondrous flying carpet.

I will brush the dust

Off the picture of the woman

Who could be my

Great, great, great

Grandmother.

I too will tap endlessly

The keys of formation

And draw upon the mystery

Of my magic wand.

My tongue will dance

Among the shapes

That make the sounds.

My ears will hear

Soft songs and

Roarous tones

Through my history and hope for tomorrow.

My heart will swell inside my chest

And squeeze dew from my eyes

As I see what I have never seen before

But had always known was there.

Broken and Beautiful

2009-11-12T23:01:00.000-08:00

"Poison & Wine" by the Civil Wars is one my favorite songs of the year and the video is beautiful.

Brandi Carlile, Oolong Mimosa and William Zinsser

2009-11-06T15:16:00.000-08:00

What can I say about October? I feel like I had to fight to get through the month. The daily routine of traveling by bus to the tops of the many Seattle hills for school and doctor appointments and work and friends got the best of me. And it gets dark. 4:30. 4:30! It was black outside! I’m glad the weather seems to have lifted a bit the last to week reveal the glowing shades of trees and the sweet smells of apples, persimmons, pomegranates and pears.

What new things did I explore in October? OO…well, I feel like I got back on track with my goals.

Café: Miro Tea on Ballard Ave. WOW! I’m obsessively in love with this teahouse! My favorite is the Java Mate. It’s rich and smooth and has little shavings of coffee beans in it. I’m also in love with the Oolong Mimosa: Oolong Black tea, Sparkling water, orange juice, basil.

Restaurant: La Isla, Ballard. I had wanted to dine in this Ballard restaurant for quite some time. My friend Alison and I, in search of margaritas, found our way there after a movie. It was affordable and DELICIOUS!

New Thing: The Paramount Theater is one of Seattle’s long-standing establishments. This month I found myself with some old and new friends for the Katie Herzig and Brandi Carlile concert. One word: PHENOMINAL! Here’s a video J The person who took this video had much better seats that I did…

BOOKS: 1) On Writing Well, Zinsser 2) Doomsday Book, Willis 3) Short Stories: “Speech Sounds”, Buttler & “Damascus”, Gregory 4) What We Do Know, Mary Oliver

The Lonely Nun

2009-10-25T02:18:00.000-07:00

“Broken sticks and broken stones

Will turn to dust just like our bones

It's words that hurt the most now isn't it

Are you sad inside, are you home alone

If I could just pick up the phone

Maybe you could see a better day

And you won't waste away

under my watchful eye

Because I'm your hero and you're my weakness

Who's gonna break my fall

When the spinning starts

The colors bleed together and fade

Was it ever there at all

Or have I lost my way

The path of least resistance

Is catching up with me again today”

-Brandi Carlile “Again Today"

I have a theory about my blood type. I’m an O positive, which means I can give blood to everyone, but can only receive it from fellow O positives. I am a person who feels things very deeply and I expel a fair amount of emotion on the people and things I love. I’ve gone through plenty of seasons when I wondered if anyone realized that no one was giving me life.

I have felt invisible a lot in life, though it has not always been a negative feeling. I’ve been going through a phase the last few weeks of feeling very lonely, honestly very unloved. A few weeks ago a bunch of friends cancelled on me and I ended up doing things by myself that I would have enjoyed sharing. I subconsciously stopped asking friends to hang out. I waited three weeks during which my friends and I were super busy, so when I say I understand I truly mean it.

What I noticed more than anything was the feeling of being unloved. I started to wonder if anyone would really ever understand how I love to be loved? I was wondering if I was missing how people loved me?

How am I blind to how people love me? How am I blind to how to love my friends in a way they love? Instead of being super bummed I decided to sow what I wanted to reap. I was discussing my feelings with a friend and she was telling me she had been feeling the same. How sad is it that we are surrounded by people we consider our friends and we still feel so lonely? Later I gave her some chocolate. Something simple, that I know from experience feels like the world. Shortly after friends started calling and I have had some amazing times with old and new friends the last week.

Love takes energy. Some people are easy to love and some are harder. We all have our own moments of being both. It’s hard to give love when we feel so depleted ourselves. But we love anyway because otherwise we feel like we will die. But I need the love to give back. I need to be hugged. I need flowers. I need random lovely texts. I learned this month I need to love and be loved to survive and survive is what I plan to do.

photo: flickr.com/photos/borkodinus/3803172145/

September Came and Went...

2009-10-14T21:12:00.000-07:00

My alternative approach to life has sent me around the world and amazing journeys and has brought me to Seattle, a place where I am happy and excited to plant myself. Now, after all my travels and experiences, I find myself rooted in this amazing city and studying writing. I started college and I’m soaking in every bit of wisdom I am gleaning!

All the things I was told were true. I have no time to read or write anything that is not for school. I’ve just spent the last five hours in a teashop in Ballard doing homework and have reached a point where I need to do something else. I’m so far ahead on my homework that I can write for my own good and not just a grade.

Here’s a quick update on my September goals. I feel behind the books, but my October list will more than make up it ;).

Books

1) A History of God, Karen Armstrong

2) A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller

Café: Café Fiore, Ballard. If you want a place full of bearded men, this is it. Good coffee, beautiful café, delightful music, many beards.

Restaurant: Odd Fellows, Capitol Hill. I had the BLT and Ester had this fantastic salad of organic greens and duck. UH…WOW!

Thing: I went to College!

That was my September. The change of season has brought the rain and the revelation of my dreams to work toward being a “real” writer. I’m excited to write my October update as the first two weeks have been the most exciting of my year yet! Stay tuned….

The Freelance, Unconventional...Monk???

2009-09-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

*8 Things: Songs on the Soundtrack of My Life

2009-09-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

Music. I love it. I’ve often said that in my head my life is a musical complete with spontaneous, choreographed dance numbers. So when Magpie Girl gave us our list inspiration of the week I didn’t even know where to start breaking down the musical chapters of my life. These are the moments I thought through and searched for the songs that best describe them.

1. Real Music: “Turn, Turn, Turn” by The Byrds. I was in jr. high when I feel in love with the movie Forest Gump and it’s remarkable soundtrack. I promptly bought a Byrds greatest hits album. I don’t think my father has ever forgiven me for the countless hours I made him listen to the Byrds and Dylan.

2. First Spiritual Turning Point: “Resolution” by The O.C. Supertones. The most significant spiritual turning point in my life happened at fourteen when I decided that I wanted to be a Christian. The Supertones were also the beginning of my love of ska, which would define 1999-2005 for me.

3. Human Rights: “Walk On” by U2. Bono knows he can’t save the world all by himself and this album informed me just how much there is to do and how much I didn’t know about. What actually changed me more than anything was the little note somewhere in the booklet that came with the cd talking about a prisoner in Burma that the song was dedicated to. I looked the situation up on the Internet and my focus has been on global justice issues since.

4. Upon the Burning Down of My House, April 1, 2005: “A Rush of Blood To The Head” by Coldplay. I woke up to smoke alarms and spent the day watching my apartment building burning down. Every line in this song has a meaning to me surrounding this event, probably one of the most significant I will ever experience.

5. Moving to New Zealand: “Departure” by Madison Greene. In 2004 I was helping run a concert venue and the guy who ran the place, brought in Madison Greene on my birthday. This is my favorite of their songs and they played it for me during the show. It meant so much and defined the next big journey I would be on. “I had plans here for myself/now I’m packing my bags and I’m headed away/down the river with the Spirit of God/following God the rest of the way. “

6. Most Traumatic Experience: “All I Can Say” by David Crowder Band. I would rather not go into too much detail, but this one event challenged everything in me more than anything I can imagine. It was the next great hinge on which my life would swing and nothing would be the same. “Oh did you see me crying? / Oh and did you hear me call your name?/Wasn’t it you I gave my heart to?/ I wish you’d remember where you set it down./ This is all I can say right now/ I know it isn’t much.”

7. Bouncing Back: “Big Old World” by Kate York and “Refuge” by Matthew Perryman Jones. These two songs must me used together as one tells of the utter letting go of strength. “I’d rather just kill all the strength you’re handing to me/ I’m weak and unsettled/ as I look to the cross/ Oh how will I manage this unbearable loss?” “Refuge” tells of hanging onto some kind of faith in the midst of “throwing punches in the dark.”

8. Moving to Seattle and All Things After: “When It Don’t Come Easy” by Patty Griffin. Upon my arrival in Seattle and the befriending of Nicole I met Patty. Both women have changed my life and for most of the last year Patty is the only thing that has made sense. “I don’t’ know nothing except change will come/ year after year what we do is undone/time gets moving from a crawl to run/ I wonder if we’re gonna ever get home/ you’re out there walking down a highway/ and all the signs got blown away/ sometimes you wonder if you’re walking in the wrong direction/ but if you break down/I’ll drive out and find you.”

Enjoy ;)

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

July + August = Reevaluation in September

2009-09-11T17:39:00.000-07:00

Fall is my favorite time of the year. I love how much things change. The leaves on the trees, the way the wind blows and the way the sun sets. I love wearing sweaters and scarves and drinking piping hot coffee. People run off to the next quarter of school to learn new things, schedules change and I start reevaluate how I’m living, knowing full well the bleakness of winter and how it easy it can be to stay in bed for the long months ahead if I don’t get inspired now.

I believe the reevaluation of one’s life should take place yearly, if not more. In February I set a year’s worth of goals for myself, the biggest of which was to read fifty books in one year followed closely by starting college. Minor goals included travel goals, health goals, art/hobby goals and financial goals. In August I hit a wall and lost the joy I was finding in fulfilling these goals; however, as September 2009 hit me out of nowhere, I’m pretty impressed with how well I’m actually fulfilling these goals. I took some time to reevaluate my goals to see where I was falling behind and where I was exceeding goals.

Reading

Like I said, the biggest undertaking was a fifty-book reading list. As of the end of August I have read thirty. Since my last update at the end of June I’ve read the following ten books:

1) The Time Travelers Wife, Audrey Niffeneggner; 2) The Nine Parts of Desire, The Secret Lives of Islamic Women, Geraldine Brooks; 3) The Life of Pi, Yann Martel; 4) The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Jean-Dominique Babuy; 5) A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis; 6) Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak 7) Red Bird, Mary Oliver; 8) Love and Other Difficulties, Rilke; 9) You Shall Know Our Velocity, Dave Eggers; 10) Old Friend From Far Away, Natalie Goldberg

My highest reading recommendations go to The Time Travelers Wife, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Red Bird and You Shall Know Our Velocity. Each one moved me to tears, fed my soul, helped my grieve and inspired me to live life with intensity, desire, adventure and an overcoming spirit.

Something I did not expect to happen was the formation of my very first book club. Paula, one of the founding mothers of FUN, and I started one with some of co-workers and we meet Sunday to discuss our first official book, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Travel Goals

My travel goals were set with the purpose of helping me focus on what is right in front of me, Seattle. I set out to visit one new café, restaurant and do one new thing in Seattle every month. This is where I have started to get lazy.

Café: July-Herkimer coffee, Greenwood; August-Firehouse Coffee, Ballard (my backyard and the home of the Lavender Latte).

Restaurant: July-Taste of India, University District, August- FAIL , September-El Camino, Fremont

New Thing: July- FAIL , August- watching the Salmon run at the Ballard Locks

I hit up Canada this summer for two weeks and head to Mexico at the end of the year for an epic family vacation and some exploration of ancient ruins with my dad. I’m blessed to be able to head down a day before the other sixteen family members on the trip. I will use my day on my own in Mexico to drink Margaritas , review the year and set some goals for 2010 will staring off into the Ocean.

Health Goals

In May I had a very large kidney stone removed after six years of pain, took advantage of my brand new dental insurance to have some cavities filled, started acupuncture for Migraines, emotions and the cyst in my left wrist. These seemingly simple things are healing health problems I have been ignoring for years while I without insurance and unable to afford the care I needed. Hopefully we can help Obama change this for future generations.

Art/Hobby Goals

Writing: My goal was to write about ten hours a week. I have to say that I have yet to achieve this, but I still hope to by the end of the year. I also started this blog (with a new one coming soon!). I must say, thanks to Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg, I have filed journals full of memories and emotions that someday will be edited into a breathtaking book about life’s beauty and pain…someday. I’ve also started a collection of short stories, something very new for me and mostly just an experiment for now.

Other new ventures: I didn’t know what these would be when I started this year and I must say that I’ve been pretty surprised by some of them. My goal was four new things and four previous hobbies. I’ve started the blog with a new one coming soon. I’ve started redoing old furniture, will shortly be starting a stand at the Fremont Sunday Market and buying a sewing machine.

With my first quarter of college starting in two weeks, a new stand at the Fremont Market, writing, working full-time and taking care of myself the fall and winter look pretty busy. I have a feeling that this next season of life is going to be stretching, but exciting.

Twenty-Five

2009-08-17T12:49:00.000-07:00

Recently someone asked me how I was. I responded with, “Oh, you know, just the constant inner struggle of a girl in her twenty-fifth year.” She kind of backed away, eyes wide and then proceeded to tell me about her twenty-fifth year. She had quit the Peace Corps, couldn’t find a job and ended up pregnant and married by the end of it (though she promises me she loves her kids and I believe her). Others have told me that life just found a way of messing itself up over and over again in their twenty-fifth year. A close friend of mine experienced not one, but many heartbreaks. Others found themselves racking up debt, or battling the constant temptation to acquire the lives “normal” to a conventional twenty-five year old. One woman did tell me that twenty-five was one of the best years of her life. She left me with a little bit of hope and a hug but it I have these horrible dark circles under my eyes that have appeared in the last week and I am beginning to find gray hair.

I’ve promised the world that I would record my twenty-something dilemmas so that when the time is right I can pass on what I learned from them. Recently I feel like life has given me a lot of material with which to work. Sometimes life hands us situations from which we fear we will never recover. We can run or face them. Usually I face them. Usually I cry a lot. I face things and cry and then I check out and sleep for a week. This is what I do. This is how I often confront life. I call it “cut and run.” I wonder if this actually counts as surviving? I think I’m fighting my way through the rougher parts of life, think I’m being strong but when all is done I’m left weak. I’m twenty-five. I’ve experienced a lot of life in a lot of ways others haven’t. However, I still don’t seem to grasp these things about life yet. Am I supposed to be so worn out at the end of the day? Am I supposed to avoid everything and everyone because I’m just too tired? When do I start processing information as it happens and face the situation head on?

I suppose this is where that hope comes in. Hope is not something that comes easy to me. I was born a chronic pessimist. Trust me, I’ve tried to stop this cycle. It’s hard but I’ve had times where my outlook has been very rosy. But as life goes on and I continue to stand up to my giants, I find that sometimes I just continue to be stuck in this spot where staying in bed seems like it very well could be the best option. I hate this about myself. I often feel like my response time to average, every day stresses is so delayed that I turn everything into some kind of drama without even trying. So I have a counselor and she informs me that I seem to have this complex where I look at the whole world and I see all these things that are wrong and I somehow get it in my head that if I don’t fix it then nobody will, only I have no idea how to fix anything. She also tells me that I get so focused on the end results that I forget that I live in the present and until I see what life is right now then I won’t be able to grow and move on. I have no idea what she is talking about.

I have found myself some simple things that help me feel a little more in control of my life and my emotions. I take my liquid Vitamin D because I live in the Pacific Northwest and while I love the clouds and the rain and cooler temperatures I also get very sad sometimes when my friend the sun does not pay my a visit. I consume plenty of black tea and chocolate simply because these things make me really happy and I believe that I deserve to treat myself. I’m learning to take moments of silence, practice some basic yoga and am reading books that have been calling my name for too long. Most importantly I have been writing. I’ve written pages and pages and this helps me see that life is lived out with more grace than I often seem to think it is.

I feel like I’m at a crossroads in my life. Some people consider me a full-fledged adult. Some tell me I’m still young. Me? I’m still undecided. For the last ten years I have been told, “don’t let anyone look down on your because you are young…instead set the example.” I’m somewhere between distinct seasons of my life and I have this choice. My choice is to hide in bed or to defy the constant pull of escapism and be someone who is moving toward bigger things trying to dance in harmony with life. I’ve stopped feeling alone in these things. I’m sure there are more of you out there who have found yourselves at a certain age where certain things seem to be the norm and those things feel very opposite of the places you find yourselves in. Some search for the reset button on life only to find that it doesn’t exist.

My hope for all us is that we can wake up in the morning, get out of bed and remind ourselves that this is life and we are meant to live it and for now it’s uncomfortable and chaotic. But, if we endure it now we’ll be the wise ones in twenty years (mind you, I’m convinced it will still be uncomfortable and chaotic, it’s just that we’ll be wiser). Can I challenge us to plan that far ahead?

William Albert or Initial Thoughts Written in Grief

2009-08-16T00:10:00.000-07:00

Death is not something we stare lovingly into the eyes of. It is something we stare down hoping not to be the first to blink, but knowing without a doubt that we will be. A friend of mind just blinked. One long, last painful pulling of the curtain into a final slumber of drug-induced coma. After failed bone marrow and stem cell transplants he breathed his last as the ventilator was unhooked and his organs gave way like the ground beneath him, like the ground beneath so many of us.

Under the Tree

2009-07-23T15:55:00.000-07:00

Writing, writing, writing…

It’s the thing that

keeps me sane.

The thoughts in my head get so jumbled and then my emotions hitch a ride until together we are all too tired to settle anything and logic becomes our long lost friend. I wonder some days if I will find a way to navigate the labyrinth of my mind. If I will find solace beneath a shade tree and learn to enjoy the soft breeze and the songs the birds sing just for me? How long will it take me to learn this? To love this? To see that it is not complicated or a burden to get to a place where I can rest in peace? My self-made drama and my extra long processing time often gets the better of me. I find myself stumbling over words and thoughts and emotions as if they were pebbles in my path and not the stepping-stones they are. As if they were merely rocks instead of precious jewels I must learn to enjoy the beauty of.

I must learn to find a center; a place of refuge. I must learn to love myself. I want to learn to be positive and embrace the here and now. I want to learn how to move on and not give control to the past or future or circumstance, but to know that in this moment there is calm and I am protected from these winds.

I must learn how to see Jesus again. I must re-know God. Learn how to be joined with them in our spirits. It is with them and their songs that I have always found calm. They are my birds and my tree and my song.

So I picture myself resting in a field. There is lake and a small stream. I’m under the umbrella of a tree, back to its sturdy trunk. I have with me a sandwich that I will eat later because right now I am following the outline of its shadow on the ground, noticing how the shades of green vary in the sun and on each individual blade. Every once in a while I spot a small flower living at peace in its own beauty. She doesn’t think much about her size or her strength or how others view her. She just exists in her beauty and I would like her to teach me. And there is a frog and a small bee.

Above me someone is singing a song. There is chorus actually, of strong voices. It’s a song that I seem to know as if it has always been there, always being sung over me except that every second feels brand new and beckons me to close my eyes and just explore its melody. The birds fly and hop back forth from branch to branch between the fluttering leaves which dance, uncaring of how and who sees. They dance because they must, because this is what they do when the wind catches them. When they dance on this wind, to this song they are beautiful and fluid. They are at one with all the parts of life they are connected to. The millions of tiny leaves flutter against the blue sky, giving glimpses of the clouds slowing passing overhead.

I imagine myself wrapped in one on a cool summer evening with the windows open allowing in the evening breeze with the scent of coming rain. There is a peace in these clouds that surround me. Peace to be lived and breathed and to be lost in. I believe my God created these things. I believe he lives inside them. I believe they are parts of Him and parts of me. To ignore them is to cheat myself and to cheat others. To ignore them is to ignore God. I believe He waits patiently for me to notice and will wait forever loving and blowing and singing and dancing until I notice and join Him.

The Freelance, Unconventional Nun Has Chosen a Theme Song.

2009-07-23T14:33:00.000-07:00

www.katieherzig.com

*8 Things: What I Love About My Tribe

2009-07-17T14:07:00.001-07:00

1. I don’t think they realize they are my “tribe”

2. They come from a wide range of backgrounds

3. They want to talk about the big, scary things

4. We can never go to enough concerts

5. They are women

6. They are strong

7. We LAUGH so hard the neighbors often ask us if something was wrong because they thought they heard someone scream

8. Through all the things we’ve seen we still believe in fairy tales.

If it hadn't been for this *8 Things I wouldn't have been able to put up the blog I did. I had been sitting on the thoughts for a while but it wasn't until I made my list that I realized how to word what I needed to!

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

The Freelance, Unconventional Nun: Thankful

2009-07-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

The Freelance, Unconventional Nun is one party cynical, one part bitter, one part wounded. This is what I left you with last. But I am also hopeful and thankful. The point of FUN is not that I am single, a man-hater or a whiny twenty-five year old. The point is that I’m not alone; I have an amazing community around me. Like I said it’s been a long year for my friends and I. We have found more than enough to laugh and cry about and for me this has led me to realization that what I needed was them.

I was always one of those women who would get my friendships with boys confused (for reasons discussed last time). I got to a point at the end of 2007 when I decided that I wasn’t going to touch boys. This was a very funny and extreme resolution because at that point I had still never even been kissed. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle the physical contact, hugging is one of my favorite activities. I just felt my friendship needs changing and knew that I was in some sort of self-preservation mode.

When I moved back to the states from New Zealand I was pretty much on my own. I moved back in with my family for a summer and had no friends in town. My best friend lived an hour away with her husband. I found solace in my books and I devoured Anne Lamott. I used the season of separation to evaluate my life. What were the things I wanted? Needed? Dreamed about? I started to see many of my needs change.

This most obvious change needed was spiritual. The practices I had been doing no longer seemed to have the same effect they once did and needed to be reevaluated. The way I viewed my friendships needed changing. I have always had great friends around me, but I was appreciating them in a whole new way except that now they were very far away. I knew that in Seattle I would have a chance to explore both of these aspects of life.

When I got to Seattle I moved into a house with three women who had traveled and lived and loved and educated themselves and weren’t afraid to speak up at the many things they saw as injustices. They also weren’t afraid to share good wine, or books or music or spirituality or the various parts of life called art. I also found a church community that was completely different from anything I have ever been apart of it (yet another chapter in my episodic spiritual life). One night they made an announcement about the women’s group, Hysteria, and said to talk to Jolie about it if we wanted to know more. After the service I promptly found Jolie and asked, “Are you the woman who has hysteria?” (Which got even funnier when I looked up what ‘hysteria’ means.) Jolie told me that yes, she was one of the founding mothers of the group that was created to be a place for women to share their lives, drink wine and create.

As I became a part of this group, I realized that it feed my soul far more than a large church gathering did. I meet people my roommates go to grad school with and have been pleasantly surprised by some of the amazing women I work with. I then started to see how these great friends I was making are really the “church” I have been looking for. These women are strong, beautiful, courageous, brilliant spiritual and grounded. We aren’t an organized group sitting in rows. We gather around dinning tables and coffee shop patios and books and lakes and wine and each other.

The Freelance, Unconventional Nun has so many parts it’s hard to explain them all in one go. In fact I’m still foggy on who she is and what she does but that is life right? We gather together with people in places around things and we learn about life and we cry and laugh and hopefully we don’t miss the gifts that as we women share with each other.

*8 Things: What I Know For Sure

2009-07-14T13:03:00.001-07:00

1. I am a sensitive flower.

2. The Ocean and the Mountains breath life into my soul.

3. If I couldn’t write I would die.

4. I exist.

5. Sometimes I just need to check out.

6. I want a quiet life.

7. Traveling is what keeps me going.

8. I have faith the world can change.

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

A Little Rumi For You...

2009-07-08T13:37:00.000-07:00

Obviously not a FUN original but one that is speaking to me today more than anything else. Rumi is one my favorites. He was a Persian Poet from the 13th century, a Muslim and a mystic.

I will give up anything to win your heart

but if you say no,

I will accept and walk away filled with

the sweetness of your denial.

I have come secretly to seize your flame for my soul

I have come to steal from the King's treasure

but if I do not succeed,

I will accept and walk away knowing

where the gold is hidden.

Play your tricks, pinch my hat if you like

but I will walk away with your golden belt!

Tempted for so long to have a vision of you

I myself have turned into a vision.

You have seized the fortress of my heart,

your love arrows can split even a mountain,

how can my poor heart ever escape them?

I don't even dare to mention your name

and call you "My Moon"

jealous that others may discover you.

-Rumi, translated by Azima Melita Kolin & Maryam Mafi

Here is a great clip from the Daily Show that actually shows beauty within the chaos of Bagdad and shows the poetry of the past still inspires new generations to create. (I think only American's can see the clip...sorry about that ;)

What the F*ck Was I Thinking?

2009-07-07T00:26:00.000-07:00

The Blog You've All Been Waiting For: The Freelance, Unconventional Nun?

2009-07-06T16:44:00.000-07:00

I will now tell you about freelance, unconventional nunnery. It’s an idea that was birthed after witnessing too many boys gone bad. I was telling a co-worker about it and he pointed out that as an acronym, Freelance Unconventional Nun spells F.U.N. Ironic.

A couple weeks ago my friend Josh asked me what the Freelance, Unconventional Nun (FUN) was. I told him that it “basically means I’m bitter.” I don’t like this reality, but it’s true. The term was coined at the beginning of the year and has been a collaboration effort.

It started with a boy that shall remain nameless whom I was involved with for a few months when it ended quite bitterly. In the wake of this I got lost in the flood that is my string of “relationship-like experiences.” Thinking back over the last few years and contemplating the possibility of becoming a lesbian, I came to the realization that my only real option was to become a nun.

During our homemade happy hour I announced to Nicole that I was becoming a nun. She then presented me with the idea of being “unconventional” which allows me to avoid the vows of celibacy and poverty if I want to (it changes daily). Later that week I was telling Paula at work about my unconventional Nun-hood and how it was all on my own terms. She responded with “Oh, so you’re freelance.” So you see, while F.U.N. is my current identity the credit belongs to many.

I’ve had a string of what I like to call “relationship-like” experiences. All of whose identities will be protected even if I don’t want to. I’m a girl who likes boys, always have and I think I always will. I have a lot of friends who are girls who also like boys. So we find these boys…somewhere. Things are fun. Relationships build, and then things go awry. This seems to be the normal cycle of single men/women relationships.

I think I’ll start with myself (while trying to protect identities). There was a time in my life when I lived in what some would call a commune. Through our community came and went a man who caught my eye (let it be noted that I will now mash a few men into one). We spent a lot of time together, maybe too much. He displayed many of the characteristics of a gentleman that would be distracting to me, but we were living in this environment that was not conducive to normal romantic relationships. Over the course of many months unsaid feelings grew too strong. Finally the day came when (in usually an embarrassing manner) I divulged my feelings. Maybe I wrote a letter or brought it up during a long car ride so neither of us could escape. The result was often the same: In an effort to save the little bit of face I had left, I still never told the full truth. Usually I was in some sort of second place, but at least I was pretty and a great friend. Ouch. Let me tell you the problem with this story. The problem is that all these things that were happening went un-mentioned and un-validated. In the end everything was just left ambiguously hanging for us all to ignore. I moved and moved on.

So, now I live in Seattle. I’m surrounded by girls, which I reckon is pretty good. It can be more dramatic but with fewer love triangles. There will always be the ambiguous relationships that hang over our heads, slightly mess with our hearts and lead to a few tears. However, this year my friends and I have witnessed some situations that have left us all a little catatonic.

I will start with Laura’s story. She has given me permission to use names. His name was Chris Conners, at least that’s what he said. He was a good boy, led the church youth group, lived in a community of men and snowboarded (supposedly). He gave Laura great presents like backpacks and Chacos and a trip to New York which were all paid for with the money he stole from her and wicked web of lies he weaved over the course two months. I kid you not folks. Turns out upon further investigation he was a pathological liar.

Ok, and then there are more great stories, which, for their own good I will fabricate details so as to get across the ridiculousness of them without breaking trust or faces. Let’s see, there is the boy who can’t make up his mind so he keeps all the ladies around for “options”. There is the man who just decides that he wants to beat his wife and leave. There is the ex-lover stalking. How about “I don’t want to hold hands with you in public, but why don’t you spend the night.” There is the guys who awkwardly pauses after seeing someone’s facebook photo because her personality is apparently lost in the shadows. Should have had a better photographer. There is the emotional whore. There are the ones who like the “young ones,” and the ones who ignore her until he needs something.

It has been a long year for my friends and I. Its easy to joke about it, laughing is better than crying right? We have seen many situations play out before us, sometimes involving us; things that have left us wondering whether this love thing is real, whether we’ll ever find someone we can enjoy and be broken with and have the opportunity to forgive in the moment rather than the explosions and pain that are rooted to deep to ever rectify. Some of us are wondering if any of it is even worth it considering the divorce rate.

I’ve just painted a not so pretty picture of men but let me take a minute to clarify that women aren’t out of the clear either. I myself am one of the most emotional people I know. People like me read into things and often put too much weight on things. It often feels like we hurt ourselves in this sad, masochistic way, but who is responsible for the ambiguous interactions and words that leave us wondering what the hell that could have meant? And what happens when someone finally wakes up and decides that all the things we were trying so hard to ignore have affected us? What happens to those of us who find ourselves hurt by both jerks and great men alike because we were simply hoping for something good? My little bit of experience tells me that men often don’t think enough and women think too much. Women are taught to sit quietly and be pursued, to not speak up. For me, I usually don’t want to scare him off. I seem to forget that if he is scared off, then he probably wasn’t as strong as I deserve anyway. Either way, we don’t call men out when they are messing with our heads and hearts whether they are aware or not.

The Freelance Unconventional Nun is one part cynical, one part bitter, one part wounded. The first two sometimes are only there to camouflage the third. But there are moments that can still be F.U.N. …to be continued

*8 Things I always Take on Vacation

2009-07-03T12:43:00.000-07:00

1) books. On a two week trip I will bring four, buy one or two and read about three.

2) journals. My current journal to write down my memorites because I don’t really take pictures, an extra journal because I will most likely fill the one I’m already working on, and little journals to take notes, write directions or phone numbers and keep track of my spending.

3) extra Ziploc bags. For leftover food or soap

4) Envriosax. So handy for those extra things I accumulate.

5) jeans. I spent three months without a pair and regretted it…even in the desert.

6) hair straighter. I get stressed easily and doing my hair always makes me feel better. It’s like a magic wand.

7) a treat. On this vacation to Canada it was a bag of dried cherries.

8) my blanket. Down filled, suede covered…I’ve never been away without it and it’s light enough to pack.

Be inspired by Magpie Girl and join *8 Things yourself!

Thank you Fernie, BC.

2009-06-30T17:46:00.000-07:00

It’s the end of June already. I’ve written so much and yet put up nothing! I found my inspiration late in the month in Fernie, BC which turns out is my second favorite place in North America, just after Seattle.

My quest for new adventures has taken me to Canada this month. I came for a wedding and am staying two weeks. I’ve seen Calgary, Edmonton, Fernie and tomorrow I head back to Calgary for a few days with a day trip to Banff planed. I’ve seen some great friends from the New Zealand days and today went on a beautiful hike in the mountains, but I didn’t take a lot of pictures. Pictures have never been something I’ve been good at. I tend to write what I experience. Memories are more to me than seeing a place through a camera.

Yesterday while exploring Fernie’s board shops, the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory and a great teashop I also stumbled into the most dangerous of places—a bookstore. I wondered to the back and found three books: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Steven King’s book on writing and Old Friend from Far Away by Natalie Goldberg. All three are great books on the writing process, Bird by Bird being my favorite book I read last year. I bought Goldberg’s book. She winds you through your memories and helps you remember intricate details so that you can write your own memoir. My goal in a usual week is to write about ten hours. I usually do about six and in that time I put out about four pages of stuff I will go back to someday or post on here. Yesterday in one sitting using this book and the serene setting of Fernie I wrote about nine pages I think are really good. One of the exercises was to write for three minutes about a memory connected to sound. Here is what I wrote:

“I thought it was early to be up. The clock said it was 5:30am but it wasn’t the alarm I was hearing. It hurt my ears. I know what it is—the apartment next to me is empty and the smoke alarm batteries are going dead. Its sending out a warning that if somebody doesn’t change them we could all lose our lives in a fire. But then why is it getting louder? Why is there a now a chorus of smoke alarms? Surely all the batteries cannot be dying at the same time? But then, surely my home cannot be on fire? I ate breakfast before the smoke came through the crack under the door.”

I also must update you on my news things for the month, Canada being the most obvious. I did pretty well this month! On top of my new things I also set myself the goal that I would get myself into Seattle Central Community College before I left for the great wild north. I took my placement test, registered for classes, proved my Washington State residency and took care of financial aid all in one week. Looks like I’m set.

Here’s how I filled the ongoing goals:

New Things of June

Café: Vivace on Capitol Hill

Restaurant: Queen Sheba, Capitol Hill

Thing: Glassblowing at the Fremont Art Walk, and The Moore Inside Out

Books: 1) The View From Planet Earth, Vincent Crown 2) All the Pretty Horses, Cormick McCarthy 3) The Alchemist, Paul Coehl 4) Thirst, Mary Oliver, 5) How We Are Hungry, Dave Eggers, 6) Through Painted Deserts, Donald Miller

New Things!

2009-06-01T13:27:00.000-07:00

The year is half over already! I set some hefty goals for myself in February. Two things inspired my goals for this year. The first was a small, but significant breakdown regarding a heartbreak and the dilemma of non-fair-trade socks*. The other was a friend’s husband’s blog, The Art of Nonconformity, by Chris Guillebeau (which I highly recommend!).

Mostly my goal was to be happy where I am, content in the space I dwell in—physically, spiritually and emotionally. They involve money savings goals and reading goals. Mostly they were an effort to feed the travel monster that often takes over my brain, but also learn how to love the place I am in, which for now is Seattle.

2009 Goals…the tally so far

One New Café Each Month

February: Irwin’s, Wallingford

March: Zeitgiest, Pioneer Square

April: The Crumpet Shop, Pike Place Market

May: Elliot Bay Café, Pioneer Square

One New Restaurant Each Month

February: failed!

March: Canterbury Inn, Capitol Hill

April: Fishermen’s on the Pier, Downtown

May: Homegrown, Fremont

One New Thing Each Month

February: Volunteer Park and Greenhouse

March: went to a play “The Mistakes Madeline Made” featuring Taylor Maxwell (co-worker and friend)

April: Seattle Underground Tour & Ye Old Curiosity Shop

May: Discovery Park (same day the bear was seen...)

Read 50 Books This Year…count as of today: 14

A River Runs Through It, Norm Maclean (read if and fall in love…I’m just warning you)

If Grace Is True (did not enjoy at all)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer (best book of my year so far, maybe my life)

The Audacity of Hope, Barak Obama (slow going, but made me want to be in politics, HA!)

“Vanity Fair”, Feb Issue (new president meets pages littered with pictures of a young Paul Newman…brilliant!)

Spilling Over, Sabrina Ward Harrison (under the topic of faith, “talked to $*@(#, survived.”)

Mountains Beyond Mountains, Tracey Kidder (made me want to do something with my life, like change the world)

Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller (an oldie but a goodie…more religious than I remember but a wonderful bridge to expanding faith and thought.)

The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell (SO GOOD! Big Bird will never cease to teach me new and valuable lessons about life.)

Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke (I think I will read this book every day for the rest of my life)

In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan (by day three I had finished half the book and completely changed the way I eat)

Blink, Malcolm Gladwell (amazing! Again! Loved it from the first word, which is what the book is all about.)

A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway (this might actually be my favorite book ever. It changes my life every time I read it. “My words would become something that would have to be destroyed and sometimes, if possible, me with them”)

Grace (Eventually), Anne Lamott (no better way to explain my love for her than saying I call her my Guru. We all have so much to learn about gentleness, love and chaos. She embraces them all.)

Other goals for my life this year include but are not limited to…

One trip out of the United States of America: Canada Extravaganza ’09! June 21^st-July 5^th.

Getting my health figured out: Kidney stones, check!; cavities, processing; Migraines, procrastinating; Wisdom teeth, end of the year.

Starting College: procrastinating…

Take up four new hobbies and loving old ones: mostly I’ve just been focusing on writing and reading, which are really all I like to do anyway.

Starting a blog and letting the world see this part of me: Obviously, this is well underway.

There are seven months left of this new year! Get started on your own list!

*ps. Chris' wife, and a friend of mine, Jolie, is an artist of many mediums. She knits socks and I couldn't decide if I should by the fair trade socks shipped to Seattle from South America or buy some from her. The dilemma came in when I realized that in order to pay her a livable wage for the socks they would cost 100's of dollars! This should not have stressed me out, but it did.

The Sad Irony of Cyndi Lauper, as displayed by Greg Laswell

2009-06-01T12:47:00.001-07:00

Coming of Age

2009-05-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

27.May.2009

“I tell you that I have a long way to go before I am—where one begins…”

–Rilke

“Not long ago I was looking at photos of myself at various ages and weights—way before the neckular deterioration began, way before the fanny pack of menopause—and I could see how gorgeous I must have looked to everyone else…Twenty years! Why did it take me so long to discover what a dish I was?”

–Anne Lamott

I’m finally starting to feel like an adult. I’ll be twenty-five in three weeks. The other day I bought a green shirt. I put it on, did my hair and looked in the mirror. It was the first time in my life that I actually looked like an adult, really, truly. I’m not sure why I’ve never felt that way before; I’ve often felt a little mature for my age. The moment seemed magical. This shirt is the color of a freshly painted kelly-green tractor and my eyes reflect it perfectly. I was wearing my favorite eye shadow. My hair was wavy and pulled back loosely, my neck was framed by a pair of beautifully artistic earrings I bought at a market in New Zealand. I was showing off my newly acquired sun-kissed (burn) glow. About four days a week I go through my twenty-minute beauty ritual, which includes actually washing my face, applying light make-up and not hiding my hair with a headband. I guess this was one of those days where I cared enough to put on the earrings.

There I found myself, standing in my bathroom staring at this woman in the mirror. She was no longer a young woman, no longer a girl. She had lived many lives, left things behind and had many adventures ahead of her. She was someone I felt that I had known once, or would know in the future, but in this moment she was a stranger. I paused for a moment in front of my mirror and stood up a little straighter. This woman looking back at me had a glimmer of wisdom, endurance and other things that continue to remain unnamed but add up to beautiful. She held herself with true confidence and I was startled when I learned that I was her.

I’ve read a lot of books, been on plenty of airplanes and endured some big stuff, but never have I fully seen myself as an adult. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt really at home in my own skin, but in this brief moment I did. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling. It feels like it’s haunting me. This adult-looking-ness is new to me. I just don’t feel “there” yet, even though I don’t know where “there” is. I’ve been walking taller, standing a little prouder but still something in me is screaming at myself to slow down! Something is telling me to just stop, to just rest. In my heart I want to pace myself, allow myself to learn, make mistakes, to endure the moments as they happen with all their messy emotions and unnecessary dramas. I want to embrace being a twenty-something but for so long I’ve been trying to achieve forty and feeling very far behind. I think I would rather gather around the women who find themselves truthfully at their age and learn from them what only they can teach me.

For now I think I will embrace the twenty-five year old woman I see looking back at me through my very own eyes and I will do my best to record my twenty-something dilemmas so that when it is time I will pass on the wisdom I learned about beauty and love and self and life and God. I will live at peace with now and embrace the surprising beauty as I come of age.

Remember

2009-05-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

26 May 2009

I must remember …

Not to turn my faith into something it is not about

Not to struggle with what should be resting

To keep my head up

To sing the songs I love most

My creator

My creation

That everything is meaningless

That there is more beauty than darkness

I must remember to breathe.

I Will

2009-05-26T23:03:00.000-07:00

22 May 2009

I will sit in the park, at the lake

I will stare at the mountains and their snow.

I will read my words

I will read the words of others

And I will live in love with them.

I will enjoy this day

Dwell in it’s silence

And be haunted by it’s beauty

I will get lost in the blue,

Sky that surrounds me

Today I will love all that is God

And be loved by all that is God

I will.

Possible Reasons for Feeling Dead Inside

2009-04-24T11:06:00.001-07:00

7. April. 2009

I woke up this morning

Even though I did not believe it

You were not here

Neither were my eyes open

Something in my core felt cold

Something deep inside felt empty

I didn't dream last night

And it had not been raining

There was no peace

I woke up in a sweat

Too many blankets

I reached, but for nothing

Ad nothing is what I found

And still I cannot validate nothing with firm belief

Those flowers are not real

And there is no one who can love me

Not when they can't see me

Not when I won't let them

Is that why I can't see you?

Feel you?

You won't let me?

Can it be?

My god is just like me?

Me This Way Too

2009-04-22T14:27:00.001-07:00

November 2008

I see the world in color

In hues of gold and emerald and blue (those are my favorite colors)

And I know that these are all simply hues of you

That all that is right and true shines ☺

But I know that, even though it’s hard to admit

You enter this attic

This place where most days the darkness shines as bright as the night

I’ve searched for a way out

A hole in the floor

But you come in through this door that seems to only have a handle on your side

And you come

And you sit

And when I throw a punch you don’t duck

You never wince when I cry “What the Fuck!?!?!”

You let me shrink back

Into my corner

and wish that I could accept the gift of hope

from my donor

You see I gave all mine away

To little refugee from Pakistan

Whose grandma’s in prison because mama became a Christian

I gave it to the girl whose daddy raped her

I gave it to the baby in India whose mother died in the fire and just needed woman to hold him

I gave it to the 15 year old

Whose daddy dropped off another bottle of wine at the park where all the skaters go

I tried, I tried to give myself some of this hope

But I ended up on a cement floor, cold and with flea bits

And if you want to see my legs, I have the scars to prove it

I ended up broken and with a skewed version of God

Who loves you but lets me fight for myself

Because you see as much as I give,

I find it so hard to accept

Accept that this love I’m sure exists is given by God who fashioned it for me

Who knew that when I was 5

At the first glance of pornography

Knew that hope was something that would be hard for me

But if “God is love and love is real”

Then there has to be a way around this pit

I have not found it

Not yet

But damn it, I will!

Because even though I did this once,

I am not one who shrinks back

I am one who rises to a challenge

That when she is damaged

She ignores the blood

And just keeps on swinging

Because in the end I know this match is won

And even though I’m damn good boxer

I know that this is never going to be fun

So here I sit in my corner

Debating in myself this gift from my donor

The one who lends His eyes , His tears, His voice

And on the best of the worst days, His very life

And I don’t know exactly what this means

But I know that I have to fight

For me, for them

Because the least of these are worth it

With all my might

And so these colors that I’m convinced shine so pretty and bright

Are meant for you and that in giving of these things, my favorite things

Of seeing how the Infinite loves you

Knowing how my heart longs for you

To know…hope

that I have a tendency to love like this God

A God who would give His very life

I sit stunned

Because

It took me dying to see

That even though I don’t think I’ve ever truly believed it

He enters into my displacement

Enters into my innocence rapped

And He does love me this way too

Do Not Speak of Casualties

2009-04-18T21:48:00.001-07:00

April 17-18, 2009

When Hemingway’s wife lost all his writing he stayed, for a while anyway. I couldn’t bear that. When the fire happened and all was lost the only person to blame was someone I didn’t know. There was no personal connection, no one I could look at daily and hate because they had killed the deepest thing in me—my writing. This time my computer just crashed, but it is no one’s fault. I feel bad for the poor mac guy, but I warned him I was going to cry.

I cannot recreate what is gone. I can only mourn it. Part of me is dead. Yet again I encounter a grief that I do not have words for. I encounter the death of something I loved. I encounter what I believe to be a living hell. Will what comes next be so good that it will justify the loss of the last year of work? How about the previous fifteen?

To think, it died as I was backing it up. This is the cruelest and sickest part. The part that makes my heart miss more beats than it already does. This life of mine, it’s a tragedy. All the tally marks say it’s true. Do I get something good soon? Am I being set up or conspired against? I write on paper and it burns. I write on computer and it crashes. Why do these bits of me keep evaporating into thin air?

It makes me afraid that I won’t ever be whole again. Not when I know these pieces of me are lost forever. Not when I feel like there is no hope of recovery.

Despite the vivid dream I had last night, my book is still gone. It has not magically reappeared on my new hard drive. And despite the three year old tantrum, full of crying and “why is this happening to me! It’s not fair!” my computer is still only a shell of what it was. It feels like an imposter. They even cleaned the screen.

I am in a state of hysterical denial. I try to tell someone what happened and I just end in nervous laughter. I’m trying to embracing this place, be here in this moment and not anywhere else. But I just don’t what to be here. I just don’t want to be in this place of constant sorrow. The line that keeps running through my head is…

“Oh the pain of searing loss.”

So at what point does my mindset change and how? I cannot convince myself that it didn’t happen, that it didn’t matter (and by “it” I mean many things.) But I am a writer. I know this much to be true and it is my worth right now. I know my book is not dead, just taking another form. Going in a different direction. I wrote about a page today. I’m not sure how much because I wrote on receipt paper while working and it’s in my pocket right now. It’s good. It’s a new introduction. An explanation of where I want the book to go, the impression I want it to leave. If anything this has made me determined to study writing, maybe go somewhere with it. However, I still don’t know what that will look like.

What will my life be made of?

Hemingway taught me never to speak of casualties. But I’m a girl and I’ve lost everything more than once. He was sure his early stuff wasn’t that good. Neither was mine, except that this was not my early stuff. This was my second round and maybe I am not as humble as him but, the second round was the best stuff I’d written.

Uncertainty

2009-04-15T23:09:00.001-07:00

8.27.08

“All these people who wrote of my life both inner and outer wrote with an absolute assurance that I had never felt.” -Ernest Hemingway

I have never felt assurance in my life. I have always been concerned with how things would ebb and flow. How they would shift beneath my feet or the room would spin around me. I’ve always been aware of how everything can be taken away. How in my reality nothing is eternal. I find in myself these thoughts that at any moment I won’t be able to go back home (wherever, whatever that may be?), that all I have will be gone, that those I love will be no more or at least not with me. While I have this family unit that is mostly free from divorce and all lives in the same tiny area of the world I still have experiences of distance from people and an overwhelming amount of short-term relationships.

As far as I know I have always been standing on some kind of dry, shifting soil that refuses to let life dig deep with it roots. I have a family. Parents that are not divorced. I lived in the same town, the same house even, my entire life. And still, security is a word that has always been slightly allusive to me. Something in me never allowed myself to feel at home. In my memories I only ever remember shadows of home. Being someplace that I really know isn’t home, but yet brings me the sense that it is close. These moments are usually when the scent of salt water fills the air and there are mountains in view. It has also happened in a small cottage in the mountains of New Zealand surrounded by a family and fireplace. Every once in a while I find a leather sofa that bears some resemblance to what I believe home could be; but these things were not my roots, the history does not exist in them.

This is something deep and personal to me. If my parents and family knew I felt this way they would feel betrayed. They seem to have a very different view of what my quaint life was. It was full of Christmases and birthday parties and family and happiness and all these things that I simply thought were agonizing or non-existent.

When I was seventeen I left. I didn’t run away. I wasn’t kicked out. I just left and moved to the next town. I stepped out on my own as much as I could. I got to a point when I knew that it wasn’t far enough away. So I hopped on a plane and flew as far as I could. I landed in New Zealand and then found my way around the world. I was surrounded by this makeshift family that I love dearly, but still felt in many ways, very much alone. As I wound my way around Earth I stopped back in at home, feeling more out of place than ever. I then packed up one more time and headed for New Zealand again.

It was in New Zealand that things started to resemble what I suppose “home” should be, but with a major difference. Now people who came and went just like me surrounded me, only I was planted for a little while. Thus began an overwhelming amount of people coming and going and while I felt roots beginning to penetrate, the seasons came and went with such a great harshness that the roots were scared to grow and were never fully as strong as maybe they could have been.

Here I stand at age twenty-four completely unsure of everything. I own a very dilapidated wardrobe, some books, a backpack, a laptop and recently acquired a fifty dollar couch. I borrow my friend’s mattress and I sleep on the floor. For the last six years I have lived semi-nomadic having slept in fifteen bedrooms that were considered my own (that is not counting three months of mission bases and hostels across the globe). A year is so long that it makes me ill just thinking about it, therefore commitments are not long ones. I live in a city that I have never been to before. I’ve been here four weeks and still don’t have a job. My money is gone, my friends and I have histories of three weeks, with the exception of one, but we have spent most our relatively short friendship on different continents.

For me I guess, life is what is in front of me. My identity is caught up in what I do. So when I don’t do anything, then I am nothing. The part of me that is calm and rational (very small part) knows that this is nonsense. That actually I am not what I do. Sadly the other personalities rioting inside of me don’t spend enough time with calm and rational. My friends are those in front of me. I have many relationships with people who find themselves all over the world and many of them I love very deeply, but my immediate is my reality. It is very rare for me to really miss someone, and almost as rare for me to miss a place.

So there a few things I seem to feel I am missing. Security and home I seem to equate with each other. And yet I am missing the thing, whatever it may be, that makes me want to stay anywhere longer than a couple months. I seem to fill my backpack with these roots that long for fertile soil. I have yet to discover a place where they even want to be rooted.

What I’ve done is shut the door and started over. This is the first and only conclusion I have ever come to. I guess the door is a very solid thing in my mind, but the things that lie on either side of that door are unknown and blurry.

Compline

2009-04-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

Oh Lord, do not let bitterness take root

Do not let me forsake my love for you

Give me a gentle heart

Heal my wounds

Give me eyes to see your greatness and your beauty.

Forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us

God be praised

Into your hand I commit my spirit

Can I trust you?

April 5, 2009