There's a little place just off of the square in my hometown called the Beehive.
There, you'll find brick walls, charming couches and chairs, a baby grand, shelves full of books, and an albino alligator- a white chocolate and coffee concoction that I had this morning (and will be having again as soon as Monday rolls around).
It's just a nook in the corner, but it's a nook that has quickly become one of my favorites.
This morning I was there with friends: one was posting grades for her 7th grade math class, one was hiding behind his laptop secretly writing, and I was studying for an exam.
Nothing really "remarkable" happened, but still, I left there feeling brave, and vibrant, and happy.
I saw more familiar faces in the past two days in this small nook than I see in the entire town driving around. And each face had a story, and advise, and wisdom.
And what I found was that all of the faces were growing up, and changing, and moving on, and alas, hoping. They were wanting to write novels, or change lives, or care about something or someone.
And in the quiet of the nook, or not so quiet since Christmas music was playing the entire time, I caught a glimpse of the future (like I do so often...) and it was good. My novel was finished, my friend's novel was finished, the old faces had loved and been loved and accomplished what they wanted, and the people who wanted to care, cared, and the young faces were still bright and hopeful.
The lives around me are remarkable.
They are doubtful at times, insecure about things which there is no need to be insecure, but they are all brave in there own way. And they are unique and gifted. Some can long board, fearlessly, conquering the asphalt with "slides and turns." Others know the theory of y=mx +b and their brains work in ways mine do not. Some carry wisdom with them and effortlessly allow themselves to be borrowed for the sake of another. And there are those who have conquered small, and those who have conquered big, but in the eyes of the conqueror, it's any wonder that they did it at all. They are left thankful, and I am encouraged to be the same.
It's strange that anther's word, hope, or bravery could convince me that failing life is not possible. That with air, a beating heart, and want, one could accomplish great or small. A different path is not the wrong one, but a new one. A heart break isn't the end, but maybe the beginning. And a novel is only written, when one actually writes, and since the victory is its being written, once finished, how can you fail?
A small word spoken
tearing jeans and bleeding in the hope of learning to long board
reaching for what others think is insignificant or a waste of time
loving despite ...
carrying on with "the plan" no matter how ridiculous
finishing something started
...
...We are conquerors. And in the small conversations we have in the corners and in-between the isles, when stories are told, and advise or wisdom is given, They- the one's sharing- and us - the ones being reminded- become remarkables.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Hold on to These
It has been so long since I last wrote that it is somewhat difficult to accumulate the entire semester into a short blog, but here's an attempt.
Sentence I thought up in a hotel room in Birmingham:
"Sometimes when I go to sleep, I hope that when I wake up the world will be different. It never is."
Sentence I said to my mom in order to explain my biggest conflict:
"To be in the world, I have to be a dietitian, but to be myself, I have to be a writer."
And these both inspired an excerpt in ch. 6 of the novel to be:
"It didn’t matter much though since she never came. I might have sat there for hours. I can’t really remember, but I know it was for a long time. I got there some time in the late afternoon and I was still sitting there at sunset. I felt that ache again, that god awful, gnawing ache. I wanted something, I wanted it so badly and I didn’t even know what it was. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to want something just for the heck of wanting something, or if there was something in me that actually needed to want something. I know, it’s confusing. I was hungry, and I didn’t know what for. And I can’t explain it unless you’ve felt it too."
Apathetic. That's how I would describe life in the beginning of this semester. It wasn't intentional, it was incidental. It's a strange feeling, to be apathetic I mean.
Apathetic-"feeling no interest, enthusiasm, or concern"
I had always figured that to be apathetic, you'd have to be dead, in a coma, sleepwalking. It always seemed quite impossible for me to imagine a living, breathing, human being as being without feeling or numb. Ah, but I was wrong.
Some consider apathy as synonymous with heartless, but that is not the case, so I have learned. Apathy is more like not knowing where to put your heart. The heart is homeless, not dead. It's still beating, it just doesn't know what it's beating for. And without the knowing, witout the thump, thump, thump, it becomes monotonous, rhythmic. No more rises and falls, no more skips or jumps. And it was the rise and fall, skips and jumps, that gave the apathetic heart something to feel in the first place.
With that in mind, it is very simple to become apathetic. All one must do is subit to the tick of a clock, the schedule, the "plan," and then, apathy is easly adapted into ones life without hastle or consideration.
I would say that my month long apathetic heart was in consequence of not knowing where I fit in the future. Where do I want to live? Where do I want to go? Where should I be? How will it all work out? Questions like those, when unfelt, and not readily answered, lead to the feeling of apathy.
I wanted to want something, and I wanted to want it badly enough to run after it, chase after it, fall after it...but I didn't know what it was. And when you don't know what it is, when nothing makes your heart skip or race or jump, there's nothing left but the quiet and calm of apathy.
Fortunately, even though I am no seer, and I STILL cannot predict my future, the feeling of apathy has left because I want again. And it's the wanting that keeps us alive. The chase, the hunt, the run.
Chase after God.
The dream.
The novel.
The internship.
The friend.
The love.
Literally run somewhere...
And the steady thump, thump of my heart became strong again, and faster. And apathy was replased with that child-like hope of what's to come.
Driving home over Thanksgiving break, I felt remarkable. The sky was blue, the air light, and in the midst of the road, I felt something like joy in my heart. I felt many things, but the point was that I felt anything at all.
I received a wonderful letter earlier this year from a friend. She wrote about black birds flying in a circle in a gray sky, and how the flying birds reminded her not to give in to the 5:00 o'clock job, the "life." But, I think more than anything, the life she was speaking of was an apathetic one. A life where one's dreams, and hopes, and wants drown in countless coffee refills, and tapping pencils on the top of plastic desks, and empty sighs.
Maybe our biggest fear of growing up is not to find ourselves in tiny cubicles, surrounded by ties and skirts of the same black and gray hues, but to find ourselves empty, apathetic.
"When you grow up, your heart dies."
That's what the brunnett with weird eating habits and brown eyes says in The Breakfast Club. Maybe she really is on to something. Maybe children dread growing old, not because driving isn't fun, or wearing suits is a bore, but because they don't want to trade running with their arms wides open for that cross-legged, hand-clasped sit.
Apathy- "feeling no interst, apathy, or concern."
But if I were to define it, I would say that apathy is when your heart falls asleep. And the best way to wake up a sleeping heart is to squeeze it so tight with the beauty, and the dreams, and the deliciousness of life that it cannot do anything else but wake up.
In the moments you are given, really live. And when they are over, hold on.
Sentence I thought up in a hotel room in Birmingham:
"Sometimes when I go to sleep, I hope that when I wake up the world will be different. It never is."
Sentence I said to my mom in order to explain my biggest conflict:
"To be in the world, I have to be a dietitian, but to be myself, I have to be a writer."
And these both inspired an excerpt in ch. 6 of the novel to be:
"It didn’t matter much though since she never came. I might have sat there for hours. I can’t really remember, but I know it was for a long time. I got there some time in the late afternoon and I was still sitting there at sunset. I felt that ache again, that god awful, gnawing ache. I wanted something, I wanted it so badly and I didn’t even know what it was. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to want something just for the heck of wanting something, or if there was something in me that actually needed to want something. I know, it’s confusing. I was hungry, and I didn’t know what for. And I can’t explain it unless you’ve felt it too."
Apathetic. That's how I would describe life in the beginning of this semester. It wasn't intentional, it was incidental. It's a strange feeling, to be apathetic I mean.
Apathetic-"feeling no interest, enthusiasm, or concern"
I had always figured that to be apathetic, you'd have to be dead, in a coma, sleepwalking. It always seemed quite impossible for me to imagine a living, breathing, human being as being without feeling or numb. Ah, but I was wrong.
Some consider apathy as synonymous with heartless, but that is not the case, so I have learned. Apathy is more like not knowing where to put your heart. The heart is homeless, not dead. It's still beating, it just doesn't know what it's beating for. And without the knowing, witout the thump, thump, thump, it becomes monotonous, rhythmic. No more rises and falls, no more skips or jumps. And it was the rise and fall, skips and jumps, that gave the apathetic heart something to feel in the first place.
With that in mind, it is very simple to become apathetic. All one must do is subit to the tick of a clock, the schedule, the "plan," and then, apathy is easly adapted into ones life without hastle or consideration.
I would say that my month long apathetic heart was in consequence of not knowing where I fit in the future. Where do I want to live? Where do I want to go? Where should I be? How will it all work out? Questions like those, when unfelt, and not readily answered, lead to the feeling of apathy.
I wanted to want something, and I wanted to want it badly enough to run after it, chase after it, fall after it...but I didn't know what it was. And when you don't know what it is, when nothing makes your heart skip or race or jump, there's nothing left but the quiet and calm of apathy.
Fortunately, even though I am no seer, and I STILL cannot predict my future, the feeling of apathy has left because I want again. And it's the wanting that keeps us alive. The chase, the hunt, the run.
Chase after God.
The dream.
The novel.
The internship.
The friend.
The love.
Literally run somewhere...
And the steady thump, thump of my heart became strong again, and faster. And apathy was replased with that child-like hope of what's to come.
Driving home over Thanksgiving break, I felt remarkable. The sky was blue, the air light, and in the midst of the road, I felt something like joy in my heart. I felt many things, but the point was that I felt anything at all.
I received a wonderful letter earlier this year from a friend. She wrote about black birds flying in a circle in a gray sky, and how the flying birds reminded her not to give in to the 5:00 o'clock job, the "life." But, I think more than anything, the life she was speaking of was an apathetic one. A life where one's dreams, and hopes, and wants drown in countless coffee refills, and tapping pencils on the top of plastic desks, and empty sighs.
Maybe our biggest fear of growing up is not to find ourselves in tiny cubicles, surrounded by ties and skirts of the same black and gray hues, but to find ourselves empty, apathetic.
"When you grow up, your heart dies."
That's what the brunnett with weird eating habits and brown eyes says in The Breakfast Club. Maybe she really is on to something. Maybe children dread growing old, not because driving isn't fun, or wearing suits is a bore, but because they don't want to trade running with their arms wides open for that cross-legged, hand-clasped sit.
Apathy- "feeling no interst, apathy, or concern."
But if I were to define it, I would say that apathy is when your heart falls asleep. And the best way to wake up a sleeping heart is to squeeze it so tight with the beauty, and the dreams, and the deliciousness of life that it cannot do anything else but wake up.
In the moments you are given, really live. And when they are over, hold on.
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