rainy day with a papaya!

When the weather is as dreary as today is, you have to find a spark of inspiration somewhere.
PAPAYA!

I love this site! Mixed media, gorgeous colors, vintage flare...what more could you ask for?

This last one here is just slightly sad, but it is so perfect for today!

When You Know, You Know

Maybe you are not prone to worry, but I sure am. Beneath this go-with-the-flow, care free exterior is little Agonizing Ann that frets over puny little issues. I first blame it on my over active imagination, which takes a lot of flack in regards to my character flaws. It conjures up all kinds of possibilities, both logical and ludicrous. Secondly, I blame it on my heredity. Special thanks to my dear ole dad for transferring that trait to me. I am pretty sure he stays up at night, trying to think of new things to worry about. But then again, his mother suffered from chronic worry, so it is not really his fault either. I like to think that it is lessening with each generation, so my kids may have a chance at normalcy.

I have found that uncertainty will just about kill you. And if that doesn’t do it, the justification process to make things “right” will. I have spent the last 10 years in question mark relationships. You know, “eh maybe” ones. I read this little thing in a magazine recently that said, “If he loves you, you’ll know. If he doesn’t, you’ll be confused.” I have been very, very confused. I had honestly almost completely written off the idea of “meant to be” and was crossing over to cynic-ville. Then I met him.

My dad almost drown once. They were white water rafting, and he went over a chute and was knocked out of the raft. The current sucked him under like a vacuum, and he found himself struggling for his life. No matter how much he worked and swam and fought, he couldn’t make it back to the surface. He said that he finally reached a point where he thought, “This is it.” As he accepted his fate, he let the current pull him under, something crazy happened. He hit the bottom, and it shot him out like a rocket.

That story perfectly depicts my experience with love, trying so hard to force it, to make it work, to be in control to the point that it almost killed me. And just as I was deciding to quit fighting, life shot me something great.

A few days after “giving up”, I met the man of my dreams. Every love song, romance novel, sonnet, and picture of a couple frolicking through a flowery meadow or kissing under the Eiffel Tower pales in comparison to what I feel. Words fail me, which is unfortunate for this little blog here. I can say this though in regards to what I thought I knew about love and what it actually is. Love is not a currency; it is not something that can be earned. It is given, and freely at that. You don’t choose it: it chooses you, and it is there whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. I have spent the better part of my adult life looking for it, never thinking that it just might find me.

I know this all sounds crazy, especially if it is not something that you have experienced yourself. It’s ok. I was a total skeptic too. I get that. The question that I get most often these days is how can I be so sure, and the most conclusive and compelling response I can muster is: when you know, you know.

Healing is an Itch!

A few weeks ago, I found myself tumbling down a flight of stairs. It sounds bad, but this is very typical of my clumsy nature. I have always been that way. It is very rare for my body to be absent of a cut, scrape, bruise, or all of the above. Well, in this particular fall, I managed to score myself a pretty awesome bruise on upper thigh. It definitely had that "wow" factor, impressive not only in size, but also in color. The most beautiful hues of violet and aubergine that you have ever seen. I have to say, I did a good job on that one.

It actually began to heal much faster than I expected, and during this process, something very strange happened. It began to itch like crazy. I mean, I could not keep my hands off it. I hate scratching by the way. It feels good in the moment, but usually almost always leaves you unsatisfied (and scarred). And then if you don't scratch, it is torturous waiting for it to pass. I think I remember from my anatomy class that an itch is a combination of heat and pain. (Remember that one for a point that I will make later.)

Never, in my lifetime of bruises, had this happened before. So, like I do with almost everything, I googled it. Come to find out, sometimes if there is damage to the nerves during the abrasion, then they will randomly fire as they are healing. I don't know if this is particularly interesting, but it got me thinking about healing.

Healing: a word with pretty positive connotation I would say. Oh, and the synonyms are even better: renew, rejuvenate, alleviate...and a personal favorite to say, revivify. Sounds like a day at the spa, doesn't it? I hate to break it to you, but healing has a sketchy side to it. Point in case: the itching. Ugh, the uncomfortable, intolerable, happens at the most inconvenient times (like during a dignified conversation) and all I want to do and can think about doing is lifting my skirt and scratching my leg with vigor! It is a rough process, and sometimes all you can feel is the heat and the pain, and you wonder if things are even getting better.

A few years ago, my mom got in a really bad car accident. She broke both legs in several places, her arm, and her neck. Her recuperation consisted of many surgeries, weeks in the hospital, months in a bed, and a lot of prayer. It was brutal to even watch, and I can't imagine going through that. But she did it. And actually, exactly one year to the date after her accident she rode her bike 17+ miles, something that she had not even done previous to the wreck.

Here is where I get a little more personal to bring this thing home. The last four years have been like perpetually falling down a flight of stairs for me. Emotional heartbreak, spiritual questioning, and a series of stupid decisions left me in a proverbial body cast. Here is the thing about healing though. When the process does begin, you know it is happening. Yeah maybe it is because you can feel the itching, the pain and the heat, and I will admit it. That part sucks. But to go from something that is a broken down mess to something that is whole, how could you not want that?

I write this partly because it is therapeutic for me to do so, but more importantly to transfer hope. While this process, which I have such a bittersweet sentiment for, has it's uncomfortable moments, it does have something going for it. It works. Maybe it means more patience. Maybe it means less movement (my personal weakness). But give it a chance. Let it do its job. I promise promise promise you that it will be worth it! Ask my mom. No, wait ask me!

Schema Academia

People are interesting to me, so diverse, so unpredictable. That is why most of my college coursework was dedicated to psychology and sociology. I was thinking about something that I learned in one of my psych classes. Schema's. Here is the breakdown:

"A schema is a cognitive framework or concept that helps organize and interpret information. Schema's can be useful, because they allow us to take shortcuts in interpreting a vast amount of information. However, these mental frameworks also cause us to exclude pertinent information in favor of information that confirms our pre-existing beliefs and ideas. Schema's can contribute to stereotypes and make it difficult to retain new information that does not conform to our established schema's. "

Whoa, hope that was not too boring for you. Here is another take. My schema for a dog is a four legged furry mammal that barks at cars. He also happens to be white, weigh close to a hundred pounds and be named Jaxson. This is helpful because when someone talks about a dog, I have a mental picture to attach to the word dog. But, when I see Paris Hilton carrying around a chihuahua in a crystal studded Juicy purse trying to pass it off as a dog, it doesn't work for me. It is closer to my rat schema.

Ok, now that the school lesson is over, and we all know what a schema is I can get to my point.

We have to keep our minds open, learn to adapt, be open to possibilities! Allow me to be real with you for a second (as if I haven't been), probably one of my biggest mental blockades have had to do with the institution called church. Having spent my most formative years here, it is no surprise that I have schemas galore! I have mentally packed things very neatly in their little boxes. "This is prayer, and it goes here. This is praise...oh right here." Occasionally, I would hear things that conflicted with my ideas, but the brain is so automatic, it was immediately filed in the miscellaneous folder.

The prayer one went a little like this. Prayer: most effective when done at church, but could be done at home when church is not in session. Need to be kneeling or laying prostrate in candle-like lighting. Sounds best in King James verbiage, heavy on the thee's and thou's. You want to kind of sing the words as you pray with a Native American chanting tone. This is what God likes!

Sounds ridiculous, right? Seriously though, this was my mental picture to correlate with prayer. And ok, I cheesed it up a little for your entertainment, but I bet many people have some version of this idea.

Well, let me tell you something, not knocking any King James chantings, but I have recently opened my mind to something new.

A few years ago, I went on a LONG road trip with my best friend. We know all about each other, so it did not take long for us to run out of conversation. That does not mean however that we stopped communicating. There was the nonverbal (most of communication anyway), the music we played back and forth for each other, and even if one of us were sleeping, there was the constant knowledge that we were still right there, together, close enough to touch.

That is how I feel right now. Like I am on an even LONGER road trip, and He is right here...close enough to touch.

It is by no means easy to undo years of existing beliefs and ideas. It is a battle, full of carnage, that we fight with our brains, but it can be done. It is like being shut inside a stuffy house. You may just need to opens the windows (of your mind) and feel the fresh breeze of the wind on your face. I will tell you, it feels great!

Married-ly Merrily...Life is But a Dream

I was thinking about marriage today...

Wait, first of all, I want to apologize in advance to all of the brides, future brides, wedding enthusiasts, those girls that have had there wedding planned since they were 9, moms whose sole purpose in life is to marry off her child, and anyone else that I may have missed that might be offended by what I am about to say. That is not my purpose here, yet this post is probably not for you.

I was recently visiting my hometown after being gone for while when I ran into an older man that I used to go to church with. It would be very rude to say that this man is a gossipy moron with the sense of a peanut, so I will just say that he is less than tactful. He proceeds to ask the dreaded question plus some: if I'm married, why I'm not married, when am I gonna get married, how is it possible to be unmarried. Then repeated the same line of questions to my mother. Most people are more tasteful in approach, but the fact is many of them want to know the exact same thing. So, here I am to set the record straight.

First of all, I missed the "wedding gene" that most girls possess. This is why. I have sat through my share of weddings, and I know what people are thinking in the audience: why did she pick that dress/bouquet/song, how long is this going to last, I wonder what they are going to have to eat... I know people do it because I have been one of them. One of 300+ guests critiquing every move that is being made and discussing it in fervent detail with the person next to me. I have sat there and whitnessed these aquaintences make the most important decision of their life while counting the number of times the singer goes off key. You know you have too! It seems it has become a contest. Who can outdo whom, who can get the most people there, who can waste...I mean spend the most money. Not saying this is always the case, but yes, most of the time it is. So, no thanks. I'll pass. While some may use a monsterous wedding as a selling point for marriage, I will take the tiny meaningful, personal ceremony without the critics anyday. Heck, if it is the right person, it could be on the side of the road at a truck stop in the rain, and I would be happy. I don't want to miss the point.

Secondly, I don't know if I am on board with the whole marriage thing yet. It appears to me that most "love boats" are sinking ships. Happy pairs seem to be the exception and not the rule. I am scared to even look at what the divorce rate is now. Being a veteran of relationships myself, I know they are not always a picnic, but I just assume that when you pledge eternity to someone that you are sure that person is the one you want to "fight" with forever. I guess that is just me. And why I am not married. I have not found my "opponent" yet.

Another reason. I am an idealist. A dreamer. An optimist. A romantic. A head in the clouds kinda girl. I have tried to balance myself by surrounding myself with very pragmatic, logical people. Didn't help. So, I am holding out.

Lastly, and probably most simply said: I am not ready. Not only do I have a To Do list the size of Kansas (that includes but is not limited to living in Bali, feeding all the hungry children, and publishing a series of books..), but emotionally I feel about five, and those kindergarten marriages rarely work out. I am sure there is an arsenal of prayers being sent up daily that this maturation occurs quickly, so we will see what happens.

I bet you did not know this much about me. Truthfully, I don't know that I did either, but now I have it in writing. This will come in very handy when watching sappy rom-com's or during sudden bouts of intense lonliness. I also may have flyers drawn up for convenience when asked the question again...just to be thorough.

Home. There's no place like it.

Tonight, as I sit in one of my favorite little eateries with one of my favorite peoples, I can feel nostalgia cover me like a cozy blanket. After months in a foreign (to me) city, it is a true delight to feel the familiar everywhere. The smells, the sounds, to laugh so hard it hurts(another favorite). Being back in the town I should call home (and will once again in upcoming months) beckons an array of emotions.
I guess after several years of being somewhat of a vagrant, my idea of home is somewhat distorted. Of course, I have a family I adore and friends that you cannot replace, but that did not stop me from running off to a city that I felt mirrored the size of my ideas. (At least this is what I told myself.)
Most people don't like change. I thrive on it. The rush of the new, the beginnings, the possibilities send my serotonin soaring. Also, probably why I start much more than I finish. So, you can see why moving across the country would appeal to one like me.
Well, imagine my disappointment when things did not exactly pan out. We will skip the messy details for now, but all that could be wrong with my scenario, was. I can totally admit when I am wrong, but I cannot deny that the I-told-ya-so's don't sting the ego a bit and words like "failure" and "big fat loser" may have popped in my head a time or two when the decision to move back was made.
SO, I woke up in my former home feeling absolutely homeless this morning. Yeah, I said I like beginnings, but beginning again's...different story. But my pensive and very wistful morning began to change. You know when something shifts so gradually that you can't tell its moving until you leave and come back and see it is in a totally different place than the one you left it in? That is how my day went. I have to admit that I have never subscribed to the whole "meant-to-be" idealism. I feel like more often than not, it is used as a justification tactic. Nonetheless, you can only write things off as coincidences so many times.
And just like that, "coincidence" after "coincidence", my perspective began to change. Maybe moving back isn't necessarily moving backwards but possibly the path to moving forward.
I love the dictionary. It has a way of simplifying words to their basic forms, words we pollute with our own meanings. Home: a dwelling place or retreat; any place of residence or refuge. Those are my two favorites. ;)