alivest

it's been an emotional day, a peak day. some days just are, and i'm glad.

during my valley days, i harvest from the humdrum unknowingly, and on peak days, a flash of perspective shows the pattern binding all that i've gathered: thoughts, friends, sadnesses, smiles, memories. there is coherence in everything if i have the right eyes.

i'm so delighted to be alive and i'm ready to be my alivest. do you ever feel that way? for me, i always need some contrast, some kick into fullness, to realize that i wasn't full before. today, it was revisiting losses, the ghosts who believe my heart will always be home, and telling them that they can stick around, but they won't diminish me anymore.

i'm in the company of a crowd of memories that mean loneliness can't last too long. i'm on the edge of my seat to see what i'll make of tomorrow and i think it's gonna be good. and i'm at peace with the now in between.  

my words aren't coming, so i'll defer to mr. whitman to say it how i feel: 

O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

--Walt Whitman

yes, about love

sometimes i feel like sharing my guts on the world wide web, which i find troublesome. is it because i'm lonely? crave attention? need feedback? is it because the www is a venue where i can trick myself that i'm being vulnerable, sharing with faceless people from the solitude of my bedroom?

mostly, lately, i refrain from sharing, but today you're getting the guts. brace yourself.

this week, i got several messages from the universe and each of them said, 'good morning. you're kind of lame.' don't start feeling sorry for me--this is self-imposed lameness. like, 'good morning. you didn't return the calls of any of the people who tried to show you they cared about you AND you still had the nerve to tell yourself that no one cared about you. you're kind of lame.' or like, 'good morning. someone extended a heart to you and you stared at it like you'd never seen a heart before til finally the owner ordered a retreat. you're kind of lame.' or like, 'good morning. you didn't have the guts to do what you knew you needed to do, namely make that choice close that door turn off that light and keep walking. you're kind of lame.'

there's a happy ending to this story, and i'm going to spoil it and tell you: it's me learning to love myself when i'm kind of lame. you know those crazy people who think they're going to get to heaven and happiness by blowing their own sail? i'm one of those people! perfection, in my eyes, is like bowling a strike. it shouldn't be too hard if you just apply yourself. weakness is a choice.

well, i'm not a great bowler. infer what you will about my level of perfection.

i have a friend who believes there is depth under every surface. she doesn't only believe it, she looks for it, and i aspire to be like her. the other day, we were having a nice little chat about heartbreak wherein i expressed a concern about the depth of my heart, and she said, "i know that my heart has the capacity to expand and love someone so well, better than he even knew he could be loved." since then, this thought has been running around inside me because while i'm drawn to the depths i've never felt like my heart had anything great to offer.  just ordinary love.

here's what i've determined. my heart is the best thing i've got to give. it has to be, right? and not just romantically, or to one person--to myself, to you, to everyone.

this post is a real-life triumph about the power of writing to reveal you to you (or me to me). yesterday i wrote in my journal that i wanted to work on developing a new gift, but i wasn't sure which gift, and now, at the end of this post, i know. i have a good idea of where to find depth too: in loving my lameness, my gutter ball days, my shallow sometimes.

cheers to the over and over quest for an extraordinary heart. join me?

creme brulee can never be jello

every time i look at someone's feet, i think they have six toes. every time. and then i count them, and inevitably, there are five toes. i've never met someone with six toes. that don't make no sense.

why i write

i am reading the most lovely book right now, so lovely that it shelved the honorable mr. steinbeck and his east of eden (apologies to every person who swore that was the best book ever written) and stole my heart. i think i was predisposed to love it because it came to me in the mail from a dear friend, and opening it was like laughing in the dark before bed when we were roommates.

at least i think the book is from her. there was no note. she has always given absolutely time-of-life gifts, so it must be from her. i'd trade my superhuman ability to spot deer on the side of the road for the superhuman ability to always know what book to recommend to someone. there's nothing quite like reading the right book at the right time.


anyway, as i was reading tonight, i read a chapter that dropped my jaw. the author so perfectly resurfaced the images of an earlier chapter that i thought, it's like she planted that camelia and moss and cup of tea chapters ago, knowing that soon enough i'd get here and need camelia and moss and cup of tea to really understand here.

my next thought was, of course she planted them, you silly, and what a kind author to anticipate my future and give me what i needed to see deeply before i even knew i'd need it, and present it in a way that would allow me to catch on.

then i couldn't help but think of God, and how He does this all the time--plants seemingly insignificant things in my path so that, down the road, when i'm ready for my lesson, the teacher can appear. thank you, God, for preparing me so artfully, so subtly, so far in advance, to see. and for filling my life with messages that you're way out in front.

like how this moment with the book was preparation for me to relove my favorite scripture:

---

and I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my comandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led.               (1 nephi 17:13)

---

why do i write? it's an apprenticeship in order and creation and love, in a realm where i can't mess too much up.

God is good, and goodness is all around.

because it's friday and almost the leaves are turning and i don't have any more words

thanks chuch. (or the link to the official vid)

the sounds of summer

once upon a perfect summer night, ben and dana had extra tickets to see fleet foxes at red butte garden. there have never been more generous people, and usually their generosity makes me cooler too. i'm never cooler than when i'm with them.

total bonus of the night was the opening act with the raddest name: alela diane and the wild divine. i never expect opening acts to be much or even memorable, but this song this song, i can't get it out of my head.

fun fact: the back-up singer is alela diane's husband. watch for how he winks at her. real life cute. and the bass player (all in black with the gray hair) is alela diane's dad, which i totally guessed. it's a family band! doesn't that make it all the better?
i'm not the biggest summer girl. but this year, perhaps because i miss the hottest of the hot while freezing my buns off in my office (seriously, it is so cold in there that i can't write. my work notes look like my school notes except one for cold and one for sleeping.) i am holding on to summer with both my hands. how can it be anything but great to step outside in the early morning and not need a jacket on my bare arms? or to sit outside until the wee hours of the morning (which for me come around midnight) and only feel the slightest chill?

last night jane made fondue and we ate it outside on a yellow tablecloth and listened to french music. after, we had a fire in the grate and roasted mallows while the moon rose. it was a celebration of summer. cheers!

the kinds of things that matter

eating lunch outside, for instance, instead of in my office staring at my computer.
because how else would i have learned that everything has a rhythm--the chatter of the Indian women laid over their sandals flapping cement; the tree flutter and pause; the cylinder of curry-scented air that pushed out of the Asian restaurant next door; the bike posse that rounded the corner like a veering flock of birds; the shouts of the bare-chested man who stole my bench and his rocking forward and back.