*source*

I didn’t write this, but it was exactly what I needed to read today. And I couldn’t agree more. Thank goodness there are other believers out there.

**
Because the Ally Sheedy character in The Breakfast Club is wrong, and you don’t have to let your heart die as you get older. I love my idealism, my naiveté, my stubborn insistence that I’m going to end up happy, and I refuse to let anyone tell me that I need to or have to settle or to tell me that compromise and negotiation needs to make me quietly sad all the time.

Because I want what my grandparents have, a life that fits perfectly into faded photo albums and gives comfort and quilts to those around me, who aspire to know a love as inspiring and effortlessly photogenic as mine. I want love to be more than just faith, more than an empty longing and more than wishes that are never fulfilled, and like Stuart Smalley, I believe we can find the love we deserve if we believe we deserve it, if we know that we are worthy of being loved.

Because Julia Roberts movies lied to us, because Bridget Jones lied to us, because Cosmo lied to us and there isn’t just somebody out there waiting for us, and we need to have the gumption to go get ourselves loved. Love isn’t just something that we should allow to exist in storybooks and novels; we should not accept that good sex should be what other people are having or people in magazines are having.

Because the moment we let ourselves refuse that, we deny ourselves joy and hope; we allow ourselves to stop striving; we let ourselves think we deserve pain and heartache. Demanding a love that fulfills us helps us to demand a life that excites us, one that we would want to tell our grandchildren about, and helps us to push ourselves and take the chances to get what we want, rather than becoming complacent, like the emotional equivalent of the amorphous space people in Wall-E.

Because believing that I can fully love another human being helps me remember that I can give my broken, egoistic, flawed self to something greater than me. I don’t need to believe in God to trust in a higher power, a force that compels us to strive, to ache, to want more than we have and accept nothing less than what fulfills us.

Because I believe that romance and the act of loving does not have to be perfect and should not be perfect and look forward to the struggle of loving someone, the ways in which the difficult act of love forces me to be more selfless, more giving, more honest and more tough. I believe that love makes you a better person, that it need not make you co-dependent, symbiotic or weak but that it can make you stronger, because being a lover sometimes means being a fighter, too.

Because I know for a fact that I don’t need to be in love to find myself, but I still want to continue to explore new parts of myself through that diving off into the romantic abyss, the fear that giving yourself to this transcendent unknown entails. I want to learn to give more fully and openly, and one day, I hope to give my mother — whose body only had the strength to give birth to me — the other child she always wanted, but one she won’t ever have to raise and can complain about me to on the phone when she thinks I’m not home.

Because having had a terrible relationship with my dad my whole life, I know how important it is to be surrounded by people who love you, who affirm you, who help ground you in a sense of community and give you a purpose. I’m tired of being a child of divorce and know that my life doesn’t have to be broken homes, broken families and broken relationships, that I have the ability to go out and create community, to give affirmation and love to others.

Because I believe that marriage shouldn’t belong to anyone in particular and that love deserves recognition and protection, even if the state of North Carolina disagrees with me. I know that someday having the right to marry whoever I want doesn’t mean I have to get married and have 2.5 children; I have the option to choose the life I want, with whomever I want.

Because someday I’ll be ready for that choice and in the meantime, being a romantic makes me open to the life around me, to being in love with not just one person but a fractured, volatile world that needs my love, my care and my attention. I want to wake up every day and be ready to stand silent with awe at what the world has in store, whether those are small miracles, the biggest thing I could ever imagine or the romances beyond imagination.

Because every time I doubt the future, every time I doubt myself, every time I doubt my ability to love and be loved I need to be proven wrong, to renew my faith in myself and in other people. I need to believe that life has a million romances in store for me, the ones that give me children and stress headaches and something to do with my 401K, the ones that keep me out drinking way past my bed time on a Saturday night, the ones I can find hidden between lines of Faulkner.

Because I sincerely think that without fearlessly loving, even if it seems silly, pointless or hopeless, life isn’t worth living. I want to die saying that, even if love doesn’t exist, even if I end up unfulfilled by my career and personal relationships and even if I die alone in a ditch somewhere or half-eaten by wild dogs, I believed in the ecstasy of life. I dared to believe.

–Nico Lang

I was waiting for it to break me. Or something. The pressure and the weight had been so overwhelming. It’s funny how your head, heart, and your gut  (the deepest part) can have conversations with one another – yet no one is heard. Noise is created and ignored.

Until it’s not anymore.

And you say the words you desperately didn’t want to say.
But the moment they leave, the weight seems to dissipate.

The molecules are shifting and the time is moving. forward, forward, and on.

You wish it worked out differently. You really do.
You wish new words could be shared and new laughs could be had.

But something brings you back. To focus. To clarity. Questions abound and you’re reminded that new words and new laughs will be shared. In time.

In time.

The following is not my writing, but it is a beautiful piece (as is all of her writing). It’s  reassuring to me to know that there’s always someone else who understands. Even if it’s a someone in a story. It’s still someone.

MONDAY, APRIL 12, 2010

on our first date i wore a navy scalloped skirt. i wore makeup. eye-makeup. concealer, even, which would have been a great comfort to my mother.

and i thought, what am i doing? i was so nervous. but so damn excited.

i entered the restaurant and asked the girl at the front desk if there was a man waiting for anyone. she pointed to the other side of the u-shaped counter in the bar.

i exhaled. audibly.

i had met him only two nights before and while i knew i thought him attractive then, i couldn’t remember what he looked like. i feared i wouldn’t recognize him. wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a crowd.

but there he was. sitting at the bar. and yup, he was cute.

and god i loved how i felt as i walked toward him.

i always loved how i felt walking toward him.

it was the walking away that was hard.

when i called to tell him that i couldn’t do it anymore i tried to make it very clear that it was not that i didn’t want to. i just couldn’t continue in this fashion. and oh how i listened for the moment of hesitation on his side, for the moment that he would fight me. fight for me.

it did not come.

but i had his book. and he had my earring. and such things needed to find their way home.

i offered that he leave it on his stoop and i would carry out the trade. he said such a thing was ridiculous. we could get a drink. be adults about this.

but somehow the drink didn’t happen. and because technically it was i who chose to end things, i swallowed this and accepted the short window he provided in which to do essentially what i had suggested in the first place.

i found myself swallowing a lot over the course of our brief courtship. and never failed to be surprised (even in how it ended) by the extent to which he could disappoint me.

my mother told me to let the earring go. to just let it go. ask him to put it in the mail, realize he probably wouldn’t and make peace with that.

but the thing was, he had all my secrets. i’d be dammed if he got the earring too.

and so i went. and bumbled there at the bottom of his doorstep for about two minutes.

and then i walked away. and never have i understood the story of lot’s wife so well. we look back because we want to know that we’re not alone. and oh how i didn’t want to be alone. but i didn’t. look back, that is. i gathered every remaining shred of self-worth and dignity and walked away without turning around.

(and cried as i did so).

i know i did the best possible thing. the relationship was unequal and unhealthy. he was selfish and i was overzealous. he was not the right guy, and i was not the right girl. and so i walked away. and i didn’t look back.

and yet i wished all the while that he’d come up from behind, take my hand, and say let’s try just a little bit harder for just a little bit longer.

because for each of his flaws i have my own. i know this.

but he did not.

i lack imagination. in life, i mean. i can’t ever imagine things changing. or meeting someone else. and yet i know these things to be certain–more certain than anything else. but my horse-blinders are big, dark and all-encompassing.

perhaps the thing to remember here is that in walking away from him, i am walking toward someone else.

- meg fee

**

I won’t get mad
And I won’t break in two
‘Cause I understand you
I’ll take this change
And let my clothes soak with rain
As I study orchid blooms

And some can’t live unless they feed on fallen leaves
And so you’ll let me down to come alive when you comfort me

I’ve watched you change,
I’ve heard your words rearrange
Way back from the start
And if I did teach you anything at all
I hope it was to love with all your heart
And they open wide with imperfect symmetry
And so you’ll love like you, and I will love like me

And to be reborn
They have to go to seed
So angel, you will have to set me free

- maria taylor

I am me.

In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me. There are persons who have some parts like me, but no one adds up exactly like me. Therefore, everything that comes out of me is authentically mine because I alone choose.

I own everything about me — my body, including everything it does; my mind, including all its thoughts and ideas; my eyes, including the images of all they behold; my feelings, whatever they may be — anger, joy, frustration, love, disappointment, excitement; my mouth, and all the words that come out of it, polite, sweet or rough, correct or incorrect; my voice, loud or soft; and all my actions, whether they be to others or to myself.

I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears.

I own all my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes.

Because I own all of me, I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so doing I can love me and be friendly with me in all my parts. I can then make it possible for all of me to work in my best interests.

I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me, and other aspects that I do not know. But as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can courageously and hopefully look for the solutions to the puzzles and for ways to find out more about me.

However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel at a given moment in time is me. This is authentic and represents where I am at that moment in time.

When I review later how I looked and sounded, what I said and did, and how I thought and felt, some parts may turn out to be unfitting. I can discard that which is unfitting and keep that which proved fitting, and invent something new for that which I have discarded.

I can see, hear, feel, think, say, and do. I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me.

I own me, and therefore I can engineer me.

I am me and I am okay.

~ Virginia Satir, A Declaration of Self-Esteem

photos: pretty window display near union square taken with instagram

NY bodegas (corner stores) are always full of flowers which is why it shocked me to see all of the flowers gone…

…but I was a lucky gal to receive my own bundle which are now prettifying my desk.

thank you. <3

There are times when I wish I could be a kid again. To have a seemingly simpler life. All of the excitement and disappointment over the smallest things. But I’m sure when I was that age, I did nothing but wish away my youth and there are times that I do that now (27 years is not that long…).

But life is hard!

It’s hard to think about dreams for the future and lessons from the past, when you’re trying to stay ‘present’ and get through the day-to-day of life.

As one wise lady said, “Life just sort of happens.”

very true.

I hope some day I can look back on this blog, random scribblings and notes and realize that I knew more than I thought. That I was more okay than I thought. That as life happened…I lived it the best I could.

**
love fiercly. love freely.

remember compassion.

**

For all of this…I am thankful.

My cousin from Germany and her friend came to visit me last week. Ten days with the Germans (yes, they have names, but it was fun calling them this) was a total riot.

• Their love for Colby jack cheese was funny. Apparently this cheese is not available where they are from.
• I remembered more German than I thought and we had many conversations (although, my cousin would beg to differ) in this foreign tongue.
• I ate too many sweets.
• The night of dancing til 3:00 am was very memorable, especially at the point when one of the girls asked, “Where are the Germans!?!” Where were they? Taking pictures of the very large mirrors in the bathroom area.
• It was fun introducing them to all of my friends.
• Francesca, I want that hipster hat!
• We laughed a lot.
• There was one bad cooking incident and our house was full of smoke. I still plan on writing a letter to the store about the bread without cooking directions!
• The cats were slightly jealous of the company, but were sad when they left. I might have even shed some tears with them.
• We had a sing-a-long that last until 1:00 am. My gosh, my friend Katy really does have the loveliest voice ever.
• The inside track of the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island really stirred up my motion sickness, but watching the girls reactions made it well worth it.
• Did I mention how awesome the German chocolate was? Schoko-bons=heavenly
• Despite the technology of Google translator, Hayden’s random questions to the Germans were still confusing. The Kase frage about Colby vs. Jack was especially tricky.
• Coffee and lazy mornings=bliss
• Katy Perry Pandora is pretty great for getting dolled up.
• Our corner store must really think we are crazy.
• This list could go on and on. But I’ll end it here. All in all, a wonderful trip.

xoxox

see all images 

*source*

…All I know is that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m clutching a giant thing of pepper spray or reliving a moment of being carried to bed by my parents when I was five years old and fell asleep in front of the television. All day long, I can feel fragile, like a raw nerve, and when I come home to you, it’s like I just put on the thickest winter coat and installed bulletproof windows in my apartment….

…There’s nothing more rewarding in this world than knowing that you’re being understood. Someone is seeing all of you and accepting it as is. “I’ll take the one with the beautiful dents that likes to cry at commercials. I see potential in this one.” You take me and I take you. Sold.

- thought catalog