What would you use if for if you were stranded in the forest?
I have no idea what it is. Wait, I take that back. It looks like a net that onions are contained in when you buy them from the store. However, this net is lime green, and I think the onion net bags are maroon or perhaps purple?
If I were stranded in the forest, I would tie the ends of this lime green net and use it to store and carry fruits or berries as I hike through the forest and try to make my way to shelter.
I also could use it to cover my head if bugs or mosquitoes are a problem. Does that make sense? Would a holy net work as a mask to protect me from bugs? Probably not, but I’m trying here.
Let’s see… this thing looks like garbage.
It looks like garbage, but so does the majority of everything I collect, to the untrained eye, that is. I find a lot of joy in little nick knacks that I maybe use one time and then they just sit, collecting dust, and adding to the collage of random in my apartment.
This summer, I aggressively cut up a Seattle Weekly newspaper saving anything that looked promising- happy hours bribing the common, less than rich reader with $4 nacho happy hour deals, summer concerts, and free salsa lessons!! I posted these on my refrigerator totally buzzin about the cool ideas I had found to fill my summer.
I never did any of it. But, I sure looked cultured with the randoms on my fridge.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Exposure
Why is it so hard to expose the imperfections? The truth? The real me?
I’m concerned that I’ve been masking these, quite literally, with the MAC make-up, the citizen jeans, and a to-die-for throw over that, anyone who’s anyone would know, came from Nordy’s.
As I look around, I wonder if I’m not the only one… It seems that we are all clones of each other, or of someone. We look the same, with our highlighted hair, our skinny jeans, and perhaps some well-worn converse (that make the outfit seem like we didn’t try too hard).
Why do we all want to conform to each other? Or is this the right question? Do we even realize that in dressing the way we do (all in the name of “self-expression”), we are, in all actuality, moving more in the direction of self-destruction.
Only recently has my mind been bombarded with these questions. And the reason for the new-found deep theological tourist thoughts is because my hidden quirks are surfacing in areas I’m not comfortable with them venturing onto the scene.
Specifically speaking, it’s a boy. I like him and he likes me.
We are at that point where the curtains are being drawn, whether I want to wake up to the illuminating sunrise or not. With each hiking venture, road trip, and movie night we are learning- learning the little things that were not there in the beginning- or were they?
My annoyances have surfaced, which I know is a surprise, being that I seemed to be all-loving, free, and as flexible as the wind on the first, second, and probably the sixth date.
But, now it’s the seventh date, and my lack of precision, has allowed the chest of unwelcome behaviors, that are me, to spill over. They are coming, unwelcomed, but none the less, coming.
How do I embrace them? How do I own them and own them with sincere ownership? I want to be able to claim them and confidently exclaim, “They are what make me me!”
It’s a work in progress…
I’m concerned that I’ve been masking these, quite literally, with the MAC make-up, the citizen jeans, and a to-die-for throw over that, anyone who’s anyone would know, came from Nordy’s.
As I look around, I wonder if I’m not the only one… It seems that we are all clones of each other, or of someone. We look the same, with our highlighted hair, our skinny jeans, and perhaps some well-worn converse (that make the outfit seem like we didn’t try too hard).
Why do we all want to conform to each other? Or is this the right question? Do we even realize that in dressing the way we do (all in the name of “self-expression”), we are, in all actuality, moving more in the direction of self-destruction.
Only recently has my mind been bombarded with these questions. And the reason for the new-found deep theological tourist thoughts is because my hidden quirks are surfacing in areas I’m not comfortable with them venturing onto the scene.
Specifically speaking, it’s a boy. I like him and he likes me.
We are at that point where the curtains are being drawn, whether I want to wake up to the illuminating sunrise or not. With each hiking venture, road trip, and movie night we are learning- learning the little things that were not there in the beginning- or were they?
My annoyances have surfaced, which I know is a surprise, being that I seemed to be all-loving, free, and as flexible as the wind on the first, second, and probably the sixth date.
But, now it’s the seventh date, and my lack of precision, has allowed the chest of unwelcome behaviors, that are me, to spill over. They are coming, unwelcomed, but none the less, coming.
How do I embrace them? How do I own them and own them with sincere ownership? I want to be able to claim them and confidently exclaim, “They are what make me me!”
It’s a work in progress…
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
If I could change the world
Perhaps I would start by changing myself- the way I think about things. If I had the power to ban negativity from my mind, I would cling to this power and create only “happy thoughts!” Seeing only beauty in the book sitting next to me that my homework schedule is telling me I’m supposed to read. Yeah, that book is beautiful! I can see it now, now that I have the power to do away with negativity. Its burnt brown color, bent edges, and out-dated illustrations on the front are exactly what my eye needs to keep me engaged for an extended period of time.
Or perhaps I would start by changing the way I see things. Instead of gazing out the window of my bedroom and only seeing the backside of a pute colored dilapidated building with moss taking up residence in an undetected location, I would see the hard work of some young man (full of life and ambition) who poured endless hours into the creating of this historic structure.
If I could change the world, I would change my perception and the perception of those around me. I would do away with a half empty cup and design the mind to only see things as spilling over the rim of the gold-rimmed goblet. I’m in high hopes that this tiny tweak to the brain and pathway of thoughts would evoke a trickle effect and spill over into all areas of the world.
Or perhaps I would start by changing the way I see things. Instead of gazing out the window of my bedroom and only seeing the backside of a pute colored dilapidated building with moss taking up residence in an undetected location, I would see the hard work of some young man (full of life and ambition) who poured endless hours into the creating of this historic structure.
If I could change the world, I would change my perception and the perception of those around me. I would do away with a half empty cup and design the mind to only see things as spilling over the rim of the gold-rimmed goblet. I’m in high hopes that this tiny tweak to the brain and pathway of thoughts would evoke a trickle effect and spill over into all areas of the world.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
“C’ est Moi!”
A mullet.
I’m a blend of contained and uncontained- professional in the front and a slight hint of crazy in the back.
The front. Well, let’s be honest. We all have a reputation to uphold. Hence, I feel the need to keep up the demanding trim schedule (every six weeks- nonnegotiable). I keep my thin, fine hair contained, professional, and put together with God only knows how many pumps of hair spray. It sits where I want it to sit, knowing full well that if not, it’ll be met with my saliva licked fingers, aggressively slapping and rubbing the fly-aways down, until it conforms to my wishes. Be certain that the front of my hair is on track! It has a goal in sight (what it supposed to look like), a plan of how to get there (diligently washing, manicuring, and repetitiously combing), and an immunity to distractions (urges to try out the latest “must-have styles”).
The back. The back is me! It’s my funny, my sporadic, my goofy, and my ever-changing being. It’s free and forgiving, happy and sad, angry and aggressive all mixed together and completely out of my control. Hidden behind the front (the traditional), is the retro, the free spirit, the true me. Living on my own time schedule, by own rules, and with the wind. The back bounces around like it’s nobody’s business. The back is fun!
I’m a blend of contained and uncontained- professional in the front and a slight hint of crazy in the back.
The front. Well, let’s be honest. We all have a reputation to uphold. Hence, I feel the need to keep up the demanding trim schedule (every six weeks- nonnegotiable). I keep my thin, fine hair contained, professional, and put together with God only knows how many pumps of hair spray. It sits where I want it to sit, knowing full well that if not, it’ll be met with my saliva licked fingers, aggressively slapping and rubbing the fly-aways down, until it conforms to my wishes. Be certain that the front of my hair is on track! It has a goal in sight (what it supposed to look like), a plan of how to get there (diligently washing, manicuring, and repetitiously combing), and an immunity to distractions (urges to try out the latest “must-have styles”).
The back. The back is me! It’s my funny, my sporadic, my goofy, and my ever-changing being. It’s free and forgiving, happy and sad, angry and aggressive all mixed together and completely out of my control. Hidden behind the front (the traditional), is the retro, the free spirit, the true me. Living on my own time schedule, by own rules, and with the wind. The back bounces around like it’s nobody’s business. The back is fun!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Alignment with Truth
Alignment with truth is alignment with understanding- understanding the beauty in waking up every morning to fresh breaths of air pumping through the fibrous lungs that were gifted to me by the giver of truth.
If I were walking in truth, I would finally understand a love so great- so great, that nothing could ever delay me from basking in it every moment of everyday. This love would be my drive, my energy, my fuel. If I fully understood, I would become a little more ‘choosy’ when it comes to the gas that drives my efforts. I no longer would opt for the unleaded fuel, but would, undoubtedly, pay the cost to bring my body to life with premium, unwavering fuel from the richest of loves.
I truly believe that when in truth, I would be given an understanding of that old man. That man who I serve on the swing shift every other night at the Shari’s diner on the corner of Wheeler road, by the truck stop. I would know his reasoning for obnoxiously waving me over, while I’m obviously attending to other customers, blurting out “Uh, excuse me. Excuse me, waitress! Am I ever going to get a coffee refill?” Then rolling his eyes when I politely say, “It will be just one minute, Sir.”
Alignment with truth would inspire compassion that comes with understanding. Yes, I believe that alignment with truth would give me compassion for that man with a clear vision of his hurts, his scars, and the pain underneath his condescending “How hard can it be to pour a coffee refill?” thoughts, that are oh so clear. This compassion would surpass my simmering anger and my firing dendrites that are piecing together a clever comeback that would be sure to quiet him up, for at least the remainder of this visit. I’m sure that the understanding and compassion would do away with my go-to-list of insults, and empower me with a genuine smile and accompanying words for this old man.
Alignment with truth would allow me to see that all the little things (the rude comments, the pressures of life, and the expectations), they mean nothing. But then, at the same time, they mean everything.
If I were walking in truth, I would finally understand a love so great- so great, that nothing could ever delay me from basking in it every moment of everyday. This love would be my drive, my energy, my fuel. If I fully understood, I would become a little more ‘choosy’ when it comes to the gas that drives my efforts. I no longer would opt for the unleaded fuel, but would, undoubtedly, pay the cost to bring my body to life with premium, unwavering fuel from the richest of loves.
I truly believe that when in truth, I would be given an understanding of that old man. That man who I serve on the swing shift every other night at the Shari’s diner on the corner of Wheeler road, by the truck stop. I would know his reasoning for obnoxiously waving me over, while I’m obviously attending to other customers, blurting out “Uh, excuse me. Excuse me, waitress! Am I ever going to get a coffee refill?” Then rolling his eyes when I politely say, “It will be just one minute, Sir.”
Alignment with truth would inspire compassion that comes with understanding. Yes, I believe that alignment with truth would give me compassion for that man with a clear vision of his hurts, his scars, and the pain underneath his condescending “How hard can it be to pour a coffee refill?” thoughts, that are oh so clear. This compassion would surpass my simmering anger and my firing dendrites that are piecing together a clever comeback that would be sure to quiet him up, for at least the remainder of this visit. I’m sure that the understanding and compassion would do away with my go-to-list of insults, and empower me with a genuine smile and accompanying words for this old man.
Alignment with truth would allow me to see that all the little things (the rude comments, the pressures of life, and the expectations), they mean nothing. But then, at the same time, they mean everything.
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