Idyllic?

Maybe the big difference between our generation and those before us is that we've all reached the age where we have these ingrained ideals and standards of what we think our mate should look, act, be and sound like. Maybe the former generations married before the ideals consumed their reality.

We have ideals thrown at us- of what we should look like, of how we should feel about those around us, of what our significant other should look like. . .and on and on it goes. It seems like a never-ending death, really. I can no longer believe that standards- of the caliber that the other has to be this or that or all of the above (and I'm not talking core things)- are beneficial.

I've heard time and again from my guy friends how they wanted to explain to some girl they are interested in, just how much they've grown. Inevitably, they poke the girl in an often-sore spot and the conversation usually goes south. He ends up saying, "I used to have these standards and now they seem so meaningless. I used to think I wanted the girl that all my guy friends looked at, but not anymore. I used to want the trophy wife. . .You're no beauty queen and I'm no beauty king" or something along those lines. It's sad, really. He's doing nothing more than trying to explain how he overcame this hurdle of conquering what his mind and society has told him he should strive for and has finally come back to reality. What he doesn't see that he's doing is pretty much calling the girl fat, ugly and second rate since she didn't live up to his former ideal.

Talk about harsh.

Every girl- I think whether or not they admit it- wants to be told and even more, wants to know that someone truly believes they are unequivocally beautiful. Captivating, exhilarating, breath taking, natural. . .something. . .whatever the word they choose, it's a reflection of the core desire to be admired and noticed.

Regardless of shifting ideals, the conversation just doesn't need to be broached. Because, while most women are classy enough to never seem offended at this inadvertent insult, most guys never take the time to realize that our ideals have shifted too.

green eyes

i get embarrassed easily.
i go and read other people's blogs and their thoughts just blow my mind. not because they are necessarily profound or anything. . .just funny and witty and not consumed with the trivial things that apparently are what occupy my life. and then i get uncomfortable because i read their words and imagine their life to be so much better or at the very least drastically different than mine.
my blogs mainly consist of my rantings about injustice, my dreams, people, my heart, hope. . .nothing really funny or pleasant in it. . .just my quest and my life. . .all things trivial, meaningless in the end and devoid of humor. . .how drab.
genius, i am not. . .writing, i love. . .others, i envy

pity

happy birthday!!!

today is my cousin's 30th birthday! it's very exciting, indeed.
i wish i was there to celebrate with her. . .we'd probably go to carrabba's and drink their white sangria. . .
it's difficult to celebrate someone who matters so much when they live so far away. i wish i could just wrap her up in a hug and sit on her living room floor and laugh at the inane television and her beautiful daughter.
if we were sitting there now we'd be discussing my two newest tattoos and how long it's been since we've seen each other and how our families annoy the hell out of us and how we are so blessed that they do. and then i'd probably mention something about some guy somewhere, just because i do. . .and she would laugh at me and we would giggle.
you see, we have these great conversations. . .about life, love, God, disappointments, triumphs, mistakes, dreams, our past, our future, our family. . .and it's those types of conversations that make me really thankful to have someone in my life that knows me like that. someone who has known me since i was a wee bitty baby. . .who convinced me we were cool if we put her initials in sunscreen on our backs and strutted down to the pier (i'm pretty sure i was the G). . .who was to my left on the raft when i caught that wave in my mouth and regurgitated the freshly consumed traditional lunch of pb & j with lemonade at mum's. . .who was in the pool when i completed my first back dive and thought i was pretty much qualifying for the olympics. . .who was there when those canadian guys taught us how to ask if we spoke french in french and nothing else. . .who did my rad eye makeup for me when i wanted to kick it up a bit in high school. . .who tried to convince me i would survive walking through the ginormous school of sting rays and who didn't leave me stranded on the sandbar even though i was making a wretched, blithering fool of myself. . .who watched lady & the tramp and that other movie that i can't find the name of EVERY day of every summer of our childhood & adolescence. . .whose laugh is forever etched in my head. . .and you see, it's that type of history- & so much more- that encourages me on the dreary days when i'm convinced no one would miss me should i disappear. . .
and when i miss her really badly, if i close my eyes and listen hard enough i can see her face light up and her laugh hits my ears. . .and then i smile.
i love you, rachel. i miss you.
happy birthday.

me thinks too much

i always thought i'd marry young. . .not that my present age is old, but i think i remember believing i would be married by now. . .don't get me wrong- i'm not disappointed at my current singleness- i'm appreciating it.
in part, i think because i saw marriage as the end all- as that place, that reward, for those people. . .all those people who are enough. . .pretty enough, smart enough, witty enough. . .i saw it as this high place, reserved only for those fortunate enough to be found and chosen.
also, i think i was afraid. afraid of my 'otherness'- or at least unaware of its existence. it's a scary thought when unfamiliar with yourself, your dreams (outside of being discovered), your fears, your successes- future and past. . .it's a frightening thing when the blinders are taken off for the first time and you realize that you had such a limited view of your reality. and it sometimes can be a scary thing to think of going it alone in this world.
this journey of mine, this perpetual search for my otherness, so i am able and ready to contribute to a healthy relationship, has taken many twists and turns, has come to a screeching halt, and has also & most importantly taken me blissfully down this road of life- happy for the adventure, hopeful for my other and always thankful for God's grace.
i'm becoming more my own each day. . .no longer quick to judge, more comfortable with what i believe, what i am willing to give up, with the power of my choices, the sound of my voice and laugh, the direction i'm heading, who i am serving, who i have left behind, who has left me behind, and who i am becoming. comfortable to make mistakes and take the time to learn from them because they're mine. there is risk and adventure to be had in forging our own way, choosing our interests, beliefs, pursuits and living our credo. not independent of God. . .but independent of the familiar- of what we grew up with, truly look at ourselves, take responsibility for who we are and move on from that point. . .
i am learning to be content. . .to have a deepened understanding that i am who i am. i am changing, being changed, unlike anyone else and therefore at a different place than anyone else. it's comforting to know that i won't leave this place unchanged. . .
i'm at a peaceful place. . .learning my worth is not determined by what others say or what i do- but by God's decree. my security is because of and in Him alone. i'm coming to terms with the departure of my past, throwing off my old self, assuming a new position in life and arriving at a state of grace.
grace for others. . .and for me.

profound

so this thought occurred to me and it rocked my world. . .
i like to help people. i like to help people i don't particularly like. and i don't know why, but i do. so i offered my assistance to this person i enjoy. and well, he took it because he needed help. almost immediately after the deed was done, i became particularly cynical regarding my assistance, because i find that i have a tendency to offer too much in order, i guess, to make myself indispensable and attractive to others. well, i became cynical because i figured this frelationship would end just like the others. . .and i got kind of bitter, saying to myself, "people only want what i can offer and are not very interested in who i am. they ask for what i can do for them and don't ask for my heart- which is really what i'm trying to market" and it was about that time that God interceded and kindly pointed out, that's what i do to Him.
ouch. but a sweet ouch.
i want to change. i don't want to be solely interested in what God offers me- life, grace, freedom, love, mercy, peace, joy, strength. . .- but i want Him. His heart, His vision, His purpose for me. . .i want Him.

Why?

Why do we say the things we do? Why is it that when you share a story with another, something about your past, existence, dreams. . .it feels as though something is lost? It’s almost as if it’s no longer yours. . .it’s a shared experience.

I used to share all my stories, well most, up front in hopes that someone would see through the veneer and stick around to find out who I was. And then, I decided to try and not spill my guts, but rather to wait and see if they merit the information given. I prefer the latter. . .but it ups the ante for me now. If I tell something that previously I would have told almost anyone, but is now remaining a secret for those special few that are actually able to breach the walls I’ve so cleverly (and recently) put in place, it becomes very intimate.

Why?

I feel embarrassed now when I didn't before. Maybe that I showed a bit much of myself with the emotion- I guess the stoic capability of telling my pain was lost when I decided it wasn’t public information.

thinking. . .intensely. . .

yes, obsession. . .that is the topic today.
i find myself obsessed, er thinking intensely, about a weekend-long event that took place a over month ago with a person i barely know. it's ridiculous, to say the least and shouldn't even be on my radar, but alas, it is and i find myself thrust into this sick cycle of mental acrobatics trying to piece it all together.
and the truly sick thing about it? is that i think there is some way that i can influence the current situation. . .and apparently by beating it to death, my ever hopeful self thinks something will happen. i don't ever feel like i've fully explained myself and i don't think it's clear how much it truly doesn't matter to me. . .i could go either way in this situation- with or without it and i feel like i can't make that clear! but in the end, all my antics and attempts to explain away just how truly unimportant this event was, i give it value. and i look like a fool. ugh.
enough said. over it. and done.

intimacy

it's a scary word, isn't it?
what is it about intimacy that we shy away from? is it the vulnerability? the possibility of rejection? the chance of running out of things to say and not having any new growth? is it scary because we don't even know what it means?
everyone has an intrinsic need for intimacy. for as frightening as it may be to admit. . .i believe everyone wants to be known. to be truly known, inside and out, and still be loved.
so we play our games, get to know people, let a few people in and inevitably we get hurt because trying to place boundaries on a concept is tricky. sometimes we take the risk and let someone in further. . .for some it works out, for others still it doesn't and they have the chance at starting at 'go' once again.
there is something so attractive about people who are intimate- genuinely intimate. . .nothing shallow or conniving about it. . .someone who is just really open to the possibilities that are created when previous strangers get together and have deep conversations.

rambling vomit. . .

perhaps it's the fear of success that keeps us from pursuing those dreams. . .it's what makes us shelve the ideas in hopes the passion would die down, or at least taper off in our older age so that we are able to redirect it and create another dream- a more tame and manageable one. . .one that we are pretty confident we would succeed in. . .but is that any way to live? in a world where safety is becoming less and less of a sure thing, it seems like the paths of our lives, the dreams we decide to pursue, are becoming routine and mundane. excitement is left for those in the spotlight. . .the public lives vicariously through them.
we live in a culture that is numbing at best. we have babies having babies. celebrities influencing our morality. pundits pushing their agendas. expletives are used as every part of speech. education has been replaced by entertainment; faith by religion. we've confused wisdom with knowledge. Truth has been thrown by the wayside.
somehow, i think in our age of convenience we've pushed out the good in life and filled the void with more useless and trivial experiences. we are teaching the next generation to settle for the 'here and now' without a vision for what their life could be, and without hope. we live as though our temporary wishes and wants should be focused on and enhanced, as though by doing that we are truly living.
it seems like the things that are lasting and the things that would radically alter our lives and ourselves are what we actually avoid. those desires lay dormant, still needing to be realized, and in our own ways, we go about to fill them in mindless, reckless and numbing activities.
so perhaps it's the fear of succeeding, of pushing ourselves, of finding out what we are really made of and what we were really called to do that keeps us from even trying. we are content to dream about such things but incapable of seeing it to fruition.
we are fooled into believing that if we stay within the safety of our faculties, we will be happy. . .so we leave the dreaming for children and continue to conduct our lives in our false sense of created security.
is it the fear that if we do unleash our dreams and feed them and nurture them and pursue them. . .is it the power in the success that is scary? and not power in a domineering kind of way. . .but in a quiet strength. . .the resolve and stubbornness that we can follow through with something. . .is it the perceived responsibility of the next challenge we take on should have the same results as the previous one? everyone has to fail at some point. . .so if we succeed in attaining what we were made to do/be. . .does it up the ante for the next dream? dreaming is risky. . .but actually intentionally living out those dreams can be fatal. . .maybe it's just not worth the risk?
all this rambling still leaves my question unanswered though. . .so is it the fear of success, the fear of failure, the fear of dreaming, the fear of ridicule, the fear of responsibility. . .it's the fear of something, this i know. . .maybe knowing that is good enough for now. . .

my recent trip. . .

i recently took a trip. . .and not in a metaphorical or nostalgic kind of way. . .but an actual trip. it was marvelous. i went with a new friend to the little town of Seward. we left a couple days after my big brothers wedding. . .the weather on the drive down was as spectacular as the conversation and company. . .
it was glorious. . .and a much needed time of respite and discovery. . .muah

fear pains

is it the fear of failure that keeps us from pursuing our dreams or is it the fear of dreaming itself?
i look at me, so full of hope, idealistic, happy and a dreamer. . .i've always dreamed. . .i make it a practice to dream on a regular basis so i don't lose the ability to dream. i pursue different things, but it's the most important, those that make my knees weak and head swim that i leave on the shelf. why is that?
love & writing
i love. i like everyone until they give me a reason not to. i love people before i should. i love in spite of not being loved in return. there is something in me that loves to love. i love beauty, color, rain, tears, joy, peace, kindness, old people, young people, babies, my family, myself, my past, tattoos, blemishes, scars, stories. i fight pain with love. i fight with love. i try and use my words for love. . .but usually i fall short. i love despite being hurt. maybe i love because i think i can conjure its existence into my life? i don't know.
i write. i've been told that i have talent when it comes to writing. . .personally, i think those who say that just don't read as often as they should. . .and i think this dreaming started when i was a kid and my grandmother would send me national geographic- she was always broadening my horizons and filling my head with ideas about far and away places that beckoned me to dream of places and images i have yet to see. inevitably i would stare at the pictures, mark the pages and revisit them often.
something was stirred back then that i still nourish and treasure. i love to write, this is true. it's cathartic for me. . .but it's also terrifying. there is something so vulnerable about putting words on paper, something so permanent about writing that i get lost sometimes. my emotions undoubtedly spill into my words; objective writing was never my strong suit.
i look at others my age, so sure of themselves and what they are to do in life. . .and for the most part, i know that nursing is for me. i love it. i have a propensity for nourishing people and i enjoy pouring into others' lives. and practically speaking. . .it's the best option. it makes my heart happy to help people and i know that i can support myself for as long as i'm alive working as a nurse.
but in my dreams. . .in those dreams that are so big and daring and frightful that you only dare to take them off the shelf for an instant. . .those dreams that you can't stand to stare directly in the face for fear of being overwhelmed with desire. . .i write.

random observations

it's almost one and sleep has still not overtaken me. . .i've been musing over a few things here and there that really have nothing more to do with each other than their origin and the pen with which they were written. ~~~ There is a major component of trust in love. . .for it is where those two intersect that you are finally free to be who you thought you never could be around anyone else. . .yourself. ~~~ My heart can only speak of what it knows- silence, hurt, fear, you, restraint. . .but when it dreams, oh my dreams. . .it's no longer hindered; hope takes over and the love I imagine is transcendent. ~~~ At what point does age beget maturity? Why is it when an older person, say my grandmother, acts younger than she is, it's deemed a good thing but when a moderately aged person acts younger, it's immaturity? Why is being youthful in one context positive and the other negative? ~~~ Relationships are a tricky thing. . .they involve two of the most fluid things in existence: people and life. And even though this 'fluid' notion grates against my ever-dwindling idealistic tendencies. . .there's a peace in there as well. Something about knowing that tomorrow everything could change makes me excited!

love. . .

it's always been an enigmatic concept for me to grasp until the other day. . .something clicked and i can almost wrap my head around a facet of it.
for me love is a song i've heard for years and for the first time during this millionth play, i hear a lyric that strikes deep in my core and it's as if the song was rewritten since the last time i heard it. it shatters through misconceptions & disbelief; wipes away hurts and hope is brought to life once again.
or it's that Bible verse you've read since you were in utero and for some reason you see it in a different light, with different eyes and you experience it rather than just read it.
it's that rush of relief you have when at last your face breaks through the surface of the water and you're able to breathe for the first time after being submerged for what seemed like eternity and your lungs have been screaming to get air.
it's in the reminder that you're loved- however big or small- and you smile as you blush at its remembrance.

it completely rearranges my priorities, changes my perspective, sweeps me off my feet and knocks the breath out of me. . .this drug, this marvelous thing called love. . .it drives my existence, gives me hope, and makes me smile. . .