i don't have a home.
where i live now is temporary. and where my family lives now is foreign to me.
the drive from my non-home to my parents non-home is about 3 and a half hours of straight desert.
it's usually really long, extremely boring, and kind of dangerous.
but there's one part of the drive that changes me a little bit every time.
it's about 2 and a half hours in. it's usually dark by this time, and i'm surrounded by nothingness. to the distant right are quiet redrock cliffs; to the left are dirt hills and sparse shrubbery.
all you can really see are stars.
my favorite thing to do at this point is roll down my windows, regardless of the temperature, set my cruise control to 95, and blast this song.
i do that until the hypothermia sets in.
then i roll up my windows and turn off any sound.
then, i just take it all in.
the blank slate that is the road ahead of me, the sky above, my future.
it's a very reverent moment for me. i feel... peaceful. in awe of a greater power, a sense of control that i can't quite grasp.
it's in those few minutes, between green river and floy, in the middle of the desert, all alone... it's in those few minutes that i feel most at home.
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
sometimes, he says things to me that make my heart skip a beat.
a small stutter in the otherwise constant rhythm.
and for one small moment, that tiny moment when my heart is stammering, that's where i'm most vulnerable. the walls around my soul are momentarily weakened, and i'm penetrated, changed.
it's those tiny moments of vulnerability that are overriding days upon weeks of logical thinking.
everyone asks me "why? why him?"
and i just say "I KNOW, okay? I know. I don't know why."
but it's because, sometimes, he makes my heart skip a beat.
and when my heart is fluttering, unable to maintain the wall, he settles himself in just a little deeper.
that's why.
but i realized something today.
he makes my heart skip. but then it resumes its rhythm, the walls go back up.
my heart doesn't want him in there. it's doing its best to push him out.
it's not going to be the person that makes my heart skip a beat that i'll spend my life with.
it will be the person who makes my heart stop.
a small stutter in the otherwise constant rhythm.
and for one small moment, that tiny moment when my heart is stammering, that's where i'm most vulnerable. the walls around my soul are momentarily weakened, and i'm penetrated, changed.
it's those tiny moments of vulnerability that are overriding days upon weeks of logical thinking.
everyone asks me "why? why him?"
and i just say "I KNOW, okay? I know. I don't know why."
but it's because, sometimes, he makes my heart skip a beat.
and when my heart is fluttering, unable to maintain the wall, he settles himself in just a little deeper.
that's why.
but i realized something today.
he makes my heart skip. but then it resumes its rhythm, the walls go back up.
my heart doesn't want him in there. it's doing its best to push him out.
it's not going to be the person that makes my heart skip a beat that i'll spend my life with.
it will be the person who makes my heart stop.
our renters painted it white.
as i walked down the hall toward the open door, i thought "i don't even recognize this room. this isn't really even my room anymore."
but then, i walked in, and the smell...
the smell.
it smells the same. after a year of me being gone, and a stranger inhabiting my space, my room still smells the same.
it's like the 9 years of life that i spent in that room have made their place there. the memories have seeped into the walls, settled themselves into the corners.
it smells a little like sun-warmed carpet, clean sheets, and notebook paper.
you'd think that i'd spend my time dwelling on the big things that happened in that room. the tears and the sex and the drugs.
but the first thing i thought of was sitting on the edge of my bed and facing my window, shutters open, window cracked, feeling the mixed sensation of the warm sun streaming through the glass and the cool breeze sneaking through the screen. not feeling any particular emotion or thinking any particular thought or looking in any particular direction. just sitting, and being.
and then i thought of laying of the floor, belly down, pen in mouth, reading my american history book.
and then i thought of standing around with my friends, and molly acting like a political adviser as my dog stood at the window, looking very presidential indeed.
and then i thought of early mornings styling my hair, and late nights jumping on my bed to the beat of "mmmbop" and the glow of my lava lamp while drifting off to sleep.
the time that i spent in my room was probably the most significant time in my life. because it was my in-between time, my alone time. the time where i was just completely myself, because no one was watching me. that's where i got ready, wound-down, cried, laughed, wrote, and just was. felt the breeze and the sun and left myself completely in the moment because i didn't have anything to think about or do.
those are the memories i have in my room.
and as i left the house, i realized that... i wasn't as sad as i thought i would be. driving away from the place that knew me best, knowing i would never go there again.
and the fact that i wasn't sad made me sad. i knew that i was moving on from a significant time in my life.
that's always hard, you know?
to the man with the hair and the eyes and the plaid shirt who drove next to me from american fork to draper in the tan honda
let's do that every morning, yes?
and maybe one day, you'll follow me off 106th, and we can get coffee. and learn each others names.
and we can do that every morning, yes?
and maybe one day, we can meet for dinner. and learn each others laughs.
and we can do that every weekend, yes?
and maybe one day, you can take me home. and learn each others faces.
and we can do that every day, yes?
and maybe one day, we'll fall desperately in love. and learn each others lives. and we'll realize that we never want to stop learning about one another. and we'll talk about the small things. and we'll cry about the big things. and we'll laugh all the time.
and we can do that forever, yes?
or.. we can just play car-tag on the freeway.
whatever works for you.
and maybe one day, you'll follow me off 106th, and we can get coffee. and learn each others names.
and we can do that every morning, yes?
and maybe one day, we can meet for dinner. and learn each others laughs.
and we can do that every weekend, yes?
and maybe one day, you can take me home. and learn each others faces.
and we can do that every day, yes?
and maybe one day, we'll fall desperately in love. and learn each others lives. and we'll realize that we never want to stop learning about one another. and we'll talk about the small things. and we'll cry about the big things. and we'll laugh all the time.
and we can do that forever, yes?
or.. we can just play car-tag on the freeway.
whatever works for you.
why didn't someone tell me this a year ago?
"You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you
love.
You don’t need a reason to leave.
Wanting to leave is enough.
Leaving doesn’t mean you’re incapable of real love
or that you’ll never love anyone else again.
or that you’ll never love anyone else again.
It doesn’t mean you’re morally bankrupt
or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac.
or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac.
It means you wish to change
the terms of one particular relationship.
That’s all. Be brave enough to
break your own heart."
read the whole thing here
it's hilarious, smart, heartbreaking
and uncannily descriptive of my own life
yesterday, i was driving home from work. the sun was shining. the wind was blowing. the radio was blasting.
and though i'd had a less than desirable day, i couldn't help feel... contained.
i wanted to stretch my body for miles, to scream at the top of my lungs, to just expand.
and i thought to myself
i'm going to explode with happiness.
and that thought alone made my heart swell a little bit more.
photo credit: via
water
reposted from my old blog. originally written 03/10/11
post script: i'm a pisces. which... supplements the idea in this post.
i love the way that water makes me feel.
drinking. spilling down my throat, flowing through my body, supplying a new kind of energy.
showering. running down my back, cleansing my pores, revitalizing my demeanor.
swimming. pushing against my muscles, pulling at my hair, encouraging my goals.
being. crashing against my abdomen, stinging my eyes, swirling around my feet.
i once had a very deep and personal conversation with someone about elements. you know, earth, wind, fire, water. and how everyone has their own element. the way they act and react, the place they feel most comfortable and uncomfortable, and who they are and want to be.
and i am water.
and she is wind.
we have our reasons.
that being said, i've been trying to understand myself. why and who and what i am. and why and who and what i've been lately.
and i realized something.
you don't see much water in winter. it snows instead of rains, ices instead of flows. you can't swim or wade or boat in the winter. water doesn't belong in the cold.
i don't belong in the cold.
which explains why today, when the sun came out, and the snow melted to tiny rivers of cool water, i changed. i felt my body, mind, and spirit physically change. i felt inspired, motivated... happy.
i haven't felt like that in a while.
since, oh, the beginning of winter.
so i know i've posted ten million frivilous posts about how "i LOVE spring," but seriously.
i love spring.
it's when i come back to life. reintroduce myself to the world. melt out of my standstill and remember who i am and where im going.
and as i float along, i know i'll get there soon.
post script: i'm a pisces. which... supplements the idea in this post.
i love the way that water makes me feel.
drinking. spilling down my throat, flowing through my body, supplying a new kind of energy.
showering. running down my back, cleansing my pores, revitalizing my demeanor.
swimming. pushing against my muscles, pulling at my hair, encouraging my goals.
being. crashing against my abdomen, stinging my eyes, swirling around my feet.
i once had a very deep and personal conversation with someone about elements. you know, earth, wind, fire, water. and how everyone has their own element. the way they act and react, the place they feel most comfortable and uncomfortable, and who they are and want to be.
and i am water.
and she is wind.
we have our reasons.
that being said, i've been trying to understand myself. why and who and what i am. and why and who and what i've been lately.
and i realized something.
you don't see much water in winter. it snows instead of rains, ices instead of flows. you can't swim or wade or boat in the winter. water doesn't belong in the cold.
i don't belong in the cold.
which explains why today, when the sun came out, and the snow melted to tiny rivers of cool water, i changed. i felt my body, mind, and spirit physically change. i felt inspired, motivated... happy.
i haven't felt like that in a while.
since, oh, the beginning of winter.
so i know i've posted ten million frivilous posts about how "i LOVE spring," but seriously.
i love spring.
it's when i come back to life. reintroduce myself to the world. melt out of my standstill and remember who i am and where im going.
and as i float along, i know i'll get there soon.
crazy heart
re-posted from my old blog. originally posted on 07/27/2010
science compares our brains to a group of filing cabinets. we have things that we gather throughout the day that pile up on the desk for filing, and once our body falls asleep, our brain goes to work sorting and organizing everything into it's proper area, and when we awake, our brain is freshly cleaned and ready for the day.
i don't think that my mind is made up of a series of compartments like they say. i think my mind is made up of one giant river, and occasional ponds into which the river feeds. anything that's in my brain swirls around in a mass of unorganized pieces of information and opinion, which occasionally find their way into their designated pond.
sometimes, things fall into the wrong pond. for example, my opinion of such and such a person accidentally falls under "love interest" when it should fall under "avoid at all cost." the two ponds are much the same, you know, and the feelings get all confused.
and so on and so on.
and so it goes that everything i know and think and feel is largely unorganized, and the problem continues to amass so long as i don't consciously go in and sort through the mess. one as lazy as i, however, can't be bothered to untangle "religious beliefs" and "political views," or unloose hidden experiences that have been lodged behind submersed trees, or delve into each pond to remove misplaced items.
it sounds exhausting.
sometimes i wish my river could just be flushed. it could all just go away, and i could start anew. i would, of course, wish to keep certain ponds in tact, like "memories" or "how to..." so i still know where i live and how to tie my shoes. but everything else is unnecessary. and it's cluttering my mind.
if only i had a mental good will box for the things i just don't want anymore.
science compares our brains to a group of filing cabinets. we have things that we gather throughout the day that pile up on the desk for filing, and once our body falls asleep, our brain goes to work sorting and organizing everything into it's proper area, and when we awake, our brain is freshly cleaned and ready for the day.
i don't think that my mind is made up of a series of compartments like they say. i think my mind is made up of one giant river, and occasional ponds into which the river feeds. anything that's in my brain swirls around in a mass of unorganized pieces of information and opinion, which occasionally find their way into their designated pond.
sometimes, things fall into the wrong pond. for example, my opinion of such and such a person accidentally falls under "love interest" when it should fall under "avoid at all cost." the two ponds are much the same, you know, and the feelings get all confused.
and so on and so on.
and so it goes that everything i know and think and feel is largely unorganized, and the problem continues to amass so long as i don't consciously go in and sort through the mess. one as lazy as i, however, can't be bothered to untangle "religious beliefs" and "political views," or unloose hidden experiences that have been lodged behind submersed trees, or delve into each pond to remove misplaced items.
it sounds exhausting.
sometimes i wish my river could just be flushed. it could all just go away, and i could start anew. i would, of course, wish to keep certain ponds in tact, like "memories" or "how to..." so i still know where i live and how to tie my shoes. but everything else is unnecessary. and it's cluttering my mind.
if only i had a mental good will box for the things i just don't want anymore.
the art of breathing
(this is a post from about a year and a half ago. it has been slightly edited down from it's original, which was posted on my old blog. sometimes it's good to compare life now to life then. so many similarities, but so, so much more experience.)
In the face of the tinted museum windows, I saw myself. I saw my tear-stained cheeks, my disheveled hair, my wrinkled skirt. A bleak sight.
The wind fingered through the ruffles in my blouse, mocking my love of spring and hatred of dissonance in my personal life.
The threads of my sanity, so weakly constructed from the start, are unraveling at an ever quickening rate. Every phone call, every disheartening piece of information brings me just a little closer to the edge.
In the midst of these vicissitudes, on the brink of fatal attack, I realize the only way out is through. I struggle to stay above it all, drowning myself in the struggle against time, against hate, against mistakes.
It's always easier when you're the one that's done wrong. You fix what you've done, mend yourself, and move forward. But what do you do when you're only a side note in a tragic novel of love and loss? Your character has little affect on the protecting of the others, and no chance at changing the plot. How do you push through?
You read the book. Until the very last page. And then, accepting the outcome, you burn it, and you move on.
In the face of the tinted museum windows, I saw myself. I saw my tear-stained cheeks, my disheveled hair, my wrinkled skirt. A bleak sight.
The wind fingered through the ruffles in my blouse, mocking my love of spring and hatred of dissonance in my personal life.
The threads of my sanity, so weakly constructed from the start, are unraveling at an ever quickening rate. Every phone call, every disheartening piece of information brings me just a little closer to the edge.
In the midst of these vicissitudes, on the brink of fatal attack, I realize the only way out is through. I struggle to stay above it all, drowning myself in the struggle against time, against hate, against mistakes.
It's always easier when you're the one that's done wrong. You fix what you've done, mend yourself, and move forward. But what do you do when you're only a side note in a tragic novel of love and loss? Your character has little affect on the protecting of the others, and no chance at changing the plot. How do you push through?
You read the book. Until the very last page. And then, accepting the outcome, you burn it, and you move on.
[blank]
reposted from my old blog. originally posted 01/06/2010
post-edit: this was written about two months before some very serious tumults in my family life sent me on a downwards trajectory toward a horrible relationship and a life of drugs. we ought to listen to our own perceptions... we're smarter than we think.
i have nothing to say.
that is to say, i have so much to say, and no way to say it.
or maybe no desire to say it.
or maybe a combination of the three.
my whole body feels as though it's been thrown into a current. my stomache is churning, my arms are flailing, my head is spinning. i literally feel like i'm drowning.
drowning in what? i have no idea. school, boys, work, room mates, family... maybe. but i've always dealt with some, or all, of these things, and it makes no sense why it would all overwhelm me now.
my life is no different. yet i feel so, so different.
you know how some people can sense when it's going to rain? they have a throbbing in their arm, or creaky knees.
well, i feel as though it's about to rain. i mean, i think i'm in the middle of a crucial time in my life. like something desperately important is about to happen. i can physically sense the beginning of something monumental.
but what is it? what's going to happen? and why right now? why now, when i feel like i don't have two seconds to breathe, to think, to cope?
am i crazy? am i making any sense at all?
i'm sorry i've been slacking. i rarely check this area of my little spot on the web, and when i do, i just throw up a picture with a lyric or quote or pathetic attempt at poetic verse.
it's just that... i have nothing to say.
i'll find something, soon, i promise. because i know that when it rains, or rather, pours, i'll need you. you, the abyss, the place where i throw all my wandering thoughts and feelings so i don't have to dump them on someone's unwilling ear, have become my umbrella, my light, and my galoshes in the most treacherous of storms.
for now, i'm bracing myself for the torrent. i pray it just comes soon.
post-edit: this was written about two months before some very serious tumults in my family life sent me on a downwards trajectory toward a horrible relationship and a life of drugs. we ought to listen to our own perceptions... we're smarter than we think.
i have nothing to say.
that is to say, i have so much to say, and no way to say it.
or maybe no desire to say it.
or maybe a combination of the three.
my whole body feels as though it's been thrown into a current. my stomache is churning, my arms are flailing, my head is spinning. i literally feel like i'm drowning.
drowning in what? i have no idea. school, boys, work, room mates, family... maybe. but i've always dealt with some, or all, of these things, and it makes no sense why it would all overwhelm me now.
my life is no different. yet i feel so, so different.
you know how some people can sense when it's going to rain? they have a throbbing in their arm, or creaky knees.
well, i feel as though it's about to rain. i mean, i think i'm in the middle of a crucial time in my life. like something desperately important is about to happen. i can physically sense the beginning of something monumental.
but what is it? what's going to happen? and why right now? why now, when i feel like i don't have two seconds to breathe, to think, to cope?
am i crazy? am i making any sense at all?
i'm sorry i've been slacking. i rarely check this area of my little spot on the web, and when i do, i just throw up a picture with a lyric or quote or pathetic attempt at poetic verse.
it's just that... i have nothing to say.
i'll find something, soon, i promise. because i know that when it rains, or rather, pours, i'll need you. you, the abyss, the place where i throw all my wandering thoughts and feelings so i don't have to dump them on someone's unwilling ear, have become my umbrella, my light, and my galoshes in the most treacherous of storms.
for now, i'm bracing myself for the torrent. i pray it just comes soon.
reposted from my old blog. originally posted on 08/10/2009
today, i had a talk with my grandpa.
you can always do it on your own;
you just should never have to.
today, i had a talk with my grandpa.
he told me all about life on the farm, and his first job,
and how he felt when BYU asked him to teach for them.
i find it all so interesting.
i'm so very close with my grandpa,
and everyday is a step closer to a very, very long physical separation.
it's hard for me to see.
i'm trying to soak up every word he says. so wise. so loving.
he has been the main influence of what a good man
-a patient, respectful, worthy priesthood holder-
is and should always be.
-a patient, respectful, worthy priesthood holder-
is and should always be.
i'm afraid that my hope for humanity and goodness will die with him.
i
love him so much that it makes me cry to see him struggle to stand,
strain to hear, and beg for us to let him do it on his own.
strain to hear, and beg for us to let him do it on his own.
just like a child.
the
thing is, i know that he can do it on his own.
if anyone can do anything, it's my grandpa.
but if there is one thing i've learned from him, it's that
if anyone can do anything, it's my grandpa.
but if there is one thing i've learned from him, it's that
you can always do it on your own;
you just should never have to.
saeglópur
reposted from my old blog. originally posted on 08/03/2009
sometimes i experience an interesting sensation
where i don't realize that i have gotten from one physical point
to another.
be it when driving, walking, riding on a train...
sometimes, i cannot remember the past ten, twenty, forty-five seconds of my journey.
i think it is the literal meaning of "losing yourself."
i become so enthralled with my thoughts, feelings, problems, excitment, that i lose track of my physical self for a while.
and, when i come to, i am nearly shocked that i am living.
for, how could i possibly have not run into any trouble
when i'm not paying any mind to myself?
clearly some outside power has guided me
through these times of momentary lapses of consciousness.
i experienced this for a moment today.
i couldn't, for the life of me, recall how i went from point a to point b.
and i realized that this has happened to me in life.
i can't recall how i got from point a, where ever that may be,
to point b, where ever i am now.
and how i've survived, i have no clue.
but survive i have,
and i will continue to survive so long as some outer source
see's fit that i do so.
i just hope i don't spend so much time
dreaming and thinking and feeling
that i lose my physical self altogether.
because i rather enjoy experiencing the little things in life
that my body allows me to experience.
that's enough thinking for today.
i'm going to bed.
sometimes i experience an interesting sensation
where i don't realize that i have gotten from one physical point
to another.
be it when driving, walking, riding on a train...
sometimes, i cannot remember the past ten, twenty, forty-five seconds of my journey.
i think it is the literal meaning of "losing yourself."
i become so enthralled with my thoughts, feelings, problems, excitment, that i lose track of my physical self for a while.
and, when i come to, i am nearly shocked that i am living.
for, how could i possibly have not run into any trouble
when i'm not paying any mind to myself?
clearly some outside power has guided me
through these times of momentary lapses of consciousness.
i experienced this for a moment today.
i couldn't, for the life of me, recall how i went from point a to point b.
and i realized that this has happened to me in life.
i can't recall how i got from point a, where ever that may be,
to point b, where ever i am now.
and how i've survived, i have no clue.
but survive i have,
and i will continue to survive so long as some outer source
see's fit that i do so.
i just hope i don't spend so much time
dreaming and thinking and feeling
that i lose my physical self altogether.
because i rather enjoy experiencing the little things in life
that my body allows me to experience.
that's enough thinking for today.
i'm going to bed.
Did you know?
reposted from my old blog. originally posted on 01/28/2009
Around the world
Children are starving. Wives are bleeding. Countries are failing.
Parents are greiving.
Soldiers are dying. People are freezing.
Children are starving. Wives are bleeding. Countries are failing.
Parents are greiving.
Soldiers are dying. People are freezing.
Just today
You walked past a widow. You walked past an orphan.
You walked past an impoverished parent.
You walked past a troubled mind, a worried soul, a broken heart.
What did you do?
You worried about your midterm.
You griped about your friends.
You cried about your boyfriend.
You vocalized your hunger.
You complained about your weight.
You just kept walking.
So what's this about?
It's about love.
It's about finding who you are.
It's about love.
It's about finding who you are.
It's about discovering the deeper meaning.
It's about utilizing patience.
It's about passion.
It's about realizing the worth of each stranger.
It's about speaking softly.
It's about speaking softly.
It's about listening.
It's about freedom.
It's about individuality.
It's about service.
It's about gratitude.
It's about doing something.
It's about being someone.
It's about doing something.
It's about being someone.
Stop walking.
Stop talking.
Start acting.
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