What I am choosing

"You're not living, you're reacting."

Huh. I'm not totally sure what that is from. It was a line on show that was on an ad that came on while I was watching a show on Hulu. I tried to figure it out, but no success. Regardless, the line stood out at me.

How often do I react? How often do I choose existing or reacting over living?

The honest answer, I think, is a lot. There are a lot of times where I choose to do something (or not to do something, as is often the case) because it is easier or safer to/not to. Safer in the sense that it is more comfortable, not necessarily reducing/eliminating my risk of danger.

One thing I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I do is I often avoid going out of my way to spend time with people. Heck, I don't even go out of my way, it can be perfectly convenient and I decide not to participate because it's easier. It's easier to come home to my apartment and exist than it is to go out or stay out and actually live.

Yes, I get the irony given the post from the other day about friendship.

I don't blame anyone other than myself. I choose this. I choose not to put myself out there. I choose not to get close to people. It's safer. It's easier. But when I do that, all I'm doing is reacting; existing. When I choose to play it safe, I am, more often than not, choosing not to live.

FaceTime

My best friend lives about 3.5 or 4 hours away, so I don't get to see him very often. Plus, he and I have somewhat conflicting schedules so we don't get to talk particularly often, either. When we do, it's usually just texting. Sometimes, though, we get to FaceTime. It's basically my favorite. The conversations never last long enough, but he and I could spend the day together and it wouldn't be long enough.

It's really funny because as I write this, it has been two years to the day that I promised myself I would never let him back in my life. We talked about that some. It's pretty crazy how things can change over time. How people can change. I guess I just love that no matter what happens in life, now matter what it throws at us or all the twists and turns along the way, I know that if I can just talk to him on FaceTime, everything will be okay.

Two years

On a Saturday morning exactly two years ago, and right around this time, I was in the kitchen at my campus apartment about to eat breakfast; a toaster strudel and milk if I recall correctly (healthy, I know), when I got a phone call from my mom.

"Are you up for the day?"
"Yeah, I'm about to eat breakfast."
"I just wanted to call and tell you that Grandpa died this morning."

Tears

My roommate came out and asked what was going on because I was making quite a ruckus. I told her my grandpa had just died and she put her arm around me. I had known her since 4th grade, and even though having her as a roommate wasn't the greatest thing ever, it was nice to have her there at that moment. It was not so nice half an hour later when she told me how funny I sounded when I was crying.

The rest of the conversation with my mom is a bit of a blur. She told me that she and my dad had been there. That he went peacefully. All the stuff you want to hear.

His death wasn't exactly unexpected. He was 101 and had been going downhill quickly for about six months.

It's always sad when somebody dies, though. Now matter how old they are or expected it was.

I'm so thankful for the 21 years I got with him and for the legacy he left behind. Love you, Grandpa!

Friendship

The other afternoon, I was checking my school email and noticed there was an email from my professor whose class I was in that evening. She said she wasn't feeling well and was canceling class for the evening (score!) Not that she was feeling bad, but sometimes you just don't want to go to class. Anyway, I texted two of the girls in that class (because they are the only ones whose number I have) to let them know. One of them said she was glad because Insert name of show she is obsessed with was going to be on. So I was giving her a hard time about it, and then she said she had been having a lot of bloody noses so she would really probably just go to sleep. Of course I was concerned because frequent bloody noses aren't usually the best thing ever (which, btw, can I just mention that I have never had a bloody nose). So I told her I hoped that cleared up, and she said it was just a sinus-y thing and that she hoped that wasn't too much information. I told her it didn't bother me at all (I've never been particularly bothered by any bodily function/fluid, although throwing up is a little bit of an issue). She was glad and was like, "I wouldn't want to ruin a friendship in the first year because of my bloody nose." I kind of paused. I mean I wouldn't have said she wasn't my friend, but I guess I probably would have referred to her as a classmate rather than a friend. I like her fine and enjoy sitting near her in class, and we've hung out a time or two with some of our classmates, but that's about it.

I realized my definition of friendship is probably a lot different than the actual definition of friendship and/or most other people's definition of friendship.

So I looked it up on good old Merriam Webster.

"One attached to another by affection or esteem"
"Acquaintance"
"One that is not hostile"
"One that is of the same nation, party, or group"
"A favored companion"

There were some others, too, but those seemed the most fitting.

According to those definitions, I have lots of friends. Way more than I would ever really want to have, probably.

When I think about it, though, even according to the first definition (or the last), I have more friends than I think I do.

I'm one of those people that has a few people they are really close to and then that's really it. Granted, I love those few people to death and know any of them would do pretty much anything for me if they could. And I have amazing family and am lucky enough to have brother 3 and sister-in-law 3 live on the other side of town. I guess in the past, my definition of friend has been what I just mentioned; those few people who would do anything for me if they could. But I guess what I need to realize is that there are different types of friends. Not all of them will be that type.

A lot of the girls in my program are people I guess could (or should) classify as friends. I mean, let's face it, they get it. They understand my life at the present moment in ways nobody else can. We commiserate over our assignments and tests, we rejoice together over the end of the semester, and lately we've been spending Wednesday evenings together at Chili's.

Yeah, I guess these girls are my friends.

Memories

I recently finished watching the complete series of The Wonder Years. It took me a while to do it, but oh man, do I love that show. I watched it some growing up when there were re-runs on TV. Sometime in the last few years, Amazon got the rights to put them on their website for Prime members to watch. Fantastic. Each episode somehow seems to tell the story of a common childhood or adolescent problem or experience, and it does so beautifully. The Wonder Years is, in my opinion, one of the best shows ever made. Many of the episodes brought me to tears, and it was nearly impossible to watch one without thinking about a similar experience in my own childhood. Most of the time it wasn't anything earth shattering, it just made me think back to a simpler and easier time.

The other day, I started thinking about cooking and how I loved to help my mom in the kitchen as a child. One of the stories I often tell on her involves those very things.

It was a snowy/rainy/icy afternoon, and my dad was on his way home from work in his super awesome 29-foot-long Ford Crown Victoria (I'm obviously exaggerating. It was probably only about 27 feet). There is a fairly steep hill in our neighborhood just before getting to our house, and his car just could not make it up the hill. He left it there, walked the rest of the way home to get my mom and brothers to come help him get it up the hill (he needed weight in the back seat). I was about six at the time, and for whatever reason, they decided to leave me at the house. I was a fairly responsible six-year-old, and they were literally down the street and would only be gone a few minutes, so it wasn't really that big of a deal. This was also the mid-1990's, and leaving a six-year-old alone for a few minutes was not as unacceptable as it is now. While they were gone, the buzzer on our oven went off.

I knew what I had to do.

I pulled over a chair from our kitchen table so I could reach to turn the buzzer off. Then I (thankfully) grabbed a pair of oven mitts, pushed the chair away, opened the oven door, and took a tray of something (for some reason I think it was fish sticks or shrimp, but I don't ever really remember eating either of those things, but it was definitely something that was on a cookie sheet) out of the oven.

The rest of my family got home about two minutes later. I think my mom about had a heart attack that her six-year-old had just taken something out of the oven. I was fine, though, and honestly didn't really think anything about it. I just knew that when the buzzer went off, that meant that whatever was in the oven needed to not be in the oven anymore.

I couldn't tell you anything else about that day. Heck, I'm not sure if I could tell you anything else about that year other than broad generalities. It's amazing the memories that stick with you. And the ones that you know don't.

Pumpkin bread

I love pumpkin bread. I could probably live off of it and nothing else if I had to. Last fall, I found this amazing pumpkin bread recipe that I've made no less than five times since then. It is uh-may-zing. I found it here. I make mine just a little bit differently. Nothing earth shattering, though. My recipe looks like this.

2 eggs
1/2 cup unsweetened apple sauce (you can use sweetened, but if you do, decrease the amount of sugar by about 1/8-1/4 C)
1/2 cup oil (I use melted coconut oil, but any kind will work. If you use coconut oil, make sure to melt it well and then work QUICKLY so it doesn't solidify)
2/3 cup water
1 can (15 oz) pumpkin (not pumpkin pie mix)
3 cups sugar
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp cinnamon
2 tsp baking soda
3 1/2 cups flour

Preheat oven to 350
Mix eggs, apple sauce, oil, water, and pumpkin.
Add everything else (sugar, salt, nutmeg, cinnamon, baking soda, and flour) and mix. I just mix it by hand, but an electric mixer would work too.

I use a variety of things to bake them in. Most recently, a muffin pan, a loaf pan, and a mini-loaf pan. The muffins should cook for about 25-30 minutes and mini-loaf should cook for about 30-35 minutes and the loaf pan about 50-60 minutes. They are done when a toothpick to the center comes out clean (check in several places for the loaf pan) or when they spring back when lightly pressed. Allow to cool 10-15 minutes, then wrap in saran wrap. I put the muffins on a plate and cover them with saran wrap.

(Please ignore the weird lighting)

The loafs freeze well, too. I wrap them in a layer of aluminum foil before freezing and then thaw for about 3 hours before eating.

PostSecret

I stumbled upon PostSecret sometime several years ago. Probably around the time I started college. I have been mildly obsessed ever since. I've sent in several secrets over the years, although it has been a while since I've sent one in. My junior year of college, Frank Warren (the guy that runs PostSecret) came to my college to speak. I went with one of my roommates. She told me a secret that night, and I told her I would tell her one some day, but that I couldn't think of one off the top of my head. I never did tell her one, although I guess I still could now. I think when I started this blog, part of my thought process was that I would post stuff on here that would normally be stuff I wouldn't mention to anybody.

The truth is, though, I don't have any crazy secrets. Maybe that's not the point, though. There are probably lots of things I hide from the people in my life. Some intentionally and others that I am unaware of.

Today's fear: I am terrified that I am going to be terrible at the job grad school is preparing me for.

Headaches

Most of the people that know me well know I get headaches. I try not to bring it up much because I don't want to be a Debbie Downer, and saying, "I have a headache" doesn't do anything to make it better. I try not to use it as an excuse for grumpiness, mostly because I grew up in a house where headaches were used as an excuse for a multitude of things, and I don't want to be that person. That's not to say I don't sometimes have a particularly rough headache that may lower my patience or increase the likelihood of being grumpy or reacting in a bad way, but I try to be really conscious about it.

I've always been a headacher. Even when I was little I got them. Not nearly as often as I do now, but probably more often than the average child. At some point in high school they became a consistent thing, and shortly after I started college, I found out that I had an astigmatism. It seems that the astigmatism was causing a lot of those headaches, because once I got glasses, the headaches diminished. They went from 3-4 times/week to 2-3 times/month. Over time, they crept back to 3-4 times/week, which is what they have been lately. I know part of it is probably the fact that I hardly ever consume enough liquids each day, but it's rough. The worst is when I wake up with a headache. That almost never used to happen, and I can think of at least two times in the last month I have woken up with one. It just puts a damper on the whole day, because those are usually the kind that don't go away with help from an ibuprofen.

Fortunately, I don't get migraines like brother 3 and my dad both do. I've only ever had one, and that was probably ten years ago.

I'm not really sure what the purpose of this entry is. I guess just that you have to make do with what you get. I get headaches, and I deal with them. And if that's the worst thing I have to deal with on a daily/weekly basis, my life is pretty easy.

Falling in love

The other day I was running errands and listening to the radio. Crazy, right? Nobody else in the world does that other than me. I'm sure you will be surprised to know that a song came on, and maybe even shocked to know it was one I had heard before. I don't know most of the words, but one of the chorus is,

"It's gotta be more like falling in love than something to believe in."

Huh.

It was sort of that awkward moment, and continues to be that awkward moment, where I realize I have never fallen in love. With anything. I'm not sure if I really know how to. I guess that might explain why I constantly feel "stuck" with my relationship with God no matter what I do, or as of late, don't do.

God, teach me what it is like to fall in love, and make me fall in love with you.

Like it or not

It's always amazing to me how quickly things can change. One moment, living life one way, and the next something happens and, irrevocably, changes everything.

That happened for me a few weeks ago. Somebody told me something that changed a lot of things for me. A lot of things about the picture I had in my mind about how things would turn out completely changed. It has been really weird getting used to that. One moment you are trucking along, just living life, and the next you are staring at a plate of teriyaki chicken because you don't know what to do or say. Perhaps there isn't anything to do or to say. You just have to keep moving forward. Because, like it or not, that's your only option.

Boldness

Some of the girls in my program and I have started a weekly routine of Chili's on Wednesday nights after class. The first one was, well, we went at the end of last semester, but the first weekly one was last Wednesday. I struggle with making friends, and even though I would probably technically call all of those girls my friends, it is wonderful to have designated time to spend with them outside of class. I'm sure who is there will change from week to week based on schedules and whatnot, but tonight one of the girls that was there is one that I have met a few times but don't know as well as some of the others. I knew she was a Christian, but Wednesday night when our food came, she asked if anybody minded if she blessed the food. Wow. I was kind of shocked and humbled. I'm not sure when the last time I prayed over my food was. Probably when I was home for Christmas. I'm not sure if I've ever prayed over food while out to eat with friends. I was really inspired by and grateful for her boldness to speak up. I would be lying if I said things were hunky doory between God and me right now. In fact, they've kind of hit a brick wall. It's entirely my fault because I stopped making time a while back, as embarrassing/bad as that is to admit. It was just such a blessing to see her stand up and speak out for something she beliefs in.

Awkward

Be forewarned, this post may get awkward. Actually, it's not that awkward, just a little bit weird for me to write about.

Ahem. In sixth grade, I went to some something or another with my church on Valentine's Day (oh, I loathe Valentine's Day, but that is another post for another day) about saving sex until marriage. At the time, I know I was still at least partially unaware of what that entailed. And whatever I did know, it did not phase me at all to wait until I was married. Sex was gross, why would anybody want to have sex?

Fast Forward a few years to the end of my junior year (I think) of high school when I went to Silver Ring Thing with one of my friends. By that point in time, things were a little bit more clear about how the whole sex thing worked. I was a little bit on the sheltered side and didn't have a lot of any experience in the boyfriend department, so even though I understood it, sex was still a little bit eh. Not gross like it was in 6th grade, but not really something I was excited about either.

That brings us to now. I'm 23. And yep, I'm about to say it. I've never had sex. I stand by the decision(s) I made earlier in my life. It's something that I have chosen to wait until I am married to do. I know that makes me weird. Of course, I'm sure it helps that the opportunity hasn't ever really presented itself, but that's another post for another day as well. It weirds me out to think about what people in my life would think if they knew I had never had sex. I mean some of them know it because we've talked about it. I guess I'm thinking more about acquaintances. The main thing, I guess, is that this decision I have made very clearly sets me apart. Sure, there are other people who make this decision, but most people think it's something that is outdated and antiquated. Perhaps it is, but it's a decision I have made for myself and that I want to stick with. Sometimes I question it, but I know in the end it's the right decision for me.

There are two things I want to get at.

First, I wish my parents (or, well, my mom) had been the one to talk to me about sex. I know the tendency is to think that it's awkward to talk to your child/children about it. And it is, I guess. It's not something I look forward to discussing with my own children some day, but it's part of being a parent. The other part of that is how important I think it is that it is an ongoing conversation. It is so easy to get a 6th grader to agree to wait until they are married to have sex. It's still gross to them. It's a different story when you are talking to a high school student, and I know there is no way the sex ed. students get in schools is covering all the things it needs to cover. And why should they have to? It's the parent's job. Granted, there are, unfortunately, circumstances that do not allow for children to hear this from their parents, so I guess something from the schools is better than nothing? At least the information is (hopefully) accurate, which is probably more than can be said if the information comes from their peers.

The second is that, sometimes if you catch me in the right mood, I will tell you that I am just ready to go find a boy and jump on him and get it over with. Of course I would never actually do that, but dang. I didn't quite know what I was signing up for. Not that I feel obligated by either of the decisions I made in my adolescent years. It's something I continue to choose, but dang. Part of it too, I guess, is that there aren't any guys on the horizon. At all. I'm just sort of over here twiddling my thumbs, which is okay. I know I do not need a guy. And truthfully, right now is probably not the greatest time anyway. Eventually, though, that is something I want. To get married, settle down, and make some babies ;)

Me, honesty, life

I've successfully posted several days in a row! Hurray! Truly, though, it is starting to get kind of boring. I guess I just don't really know what to write about. Not that there is anything wrong with that. In a lot of ways, I just want to write. When I came up with the idea a year and a half ago to start writing a blog completely honestly, the picture in my mind about what it would end up looking and being like is a little bit different than it is now. I guess I finally hit reality with the fact that my life is pretty ordinary. I rarely have anything exciting to write about. Heck, how could I? I'm in grad school full time and have a part time job where I (basically) answer phones. That's oversimplifying it, but that is the gist. I'm not a risk taker, not in the least, and I'm kind of a home body. My life is pretty low-key and even-keel. It doesn't necessarily make for great writing material. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't really want it any other way.

Something I notice in the blogs I read is that there are pictures. I've been thinking about how/if I want to incorporate that into my writings. I have some in the past with the online journal I have kept since I was in high school, but it's very rare. I usually forget to take my camera with me places, and even if I did, what would I take pictures of? Not people, certainly, and I'm not much for taking pictures of things. Probably because when I look back over old family picture albums, the pictures of people are so much more enthralling than the pictures of any scenery. The one exception might be a picture or two we have of the twin towers, but other than that, meh. Grand Canyon? Meh. Old Faithful? Eh. Pictures of my brothers and I sitting on a dinosaur sculpture when I was about three? So awesome.

I suppose I could take pictures of things I cook or make, but I pretty much never make things without directions/instructions from somewhere, so that feels like cheating.

Maybe I'll start taking a picture of one thing that represents that day to me. Of course, that would involve blogging that day. (For the record, this post was written several days before it was published, as are most of the others that have been published this week). I suppose it wouldn't matter much.

A few days ago, I told somebody about this blog. Not just that it existed, but what the web address was. It was a little bit weird to do so. Kind of scary. In some ways I sort of regret that because I feel weird saying all the things I want to say, but the person I told is somebody I tell (or at least can tell) pretty much anything to anyway, so I don't suppose it matters much. I think that sort of brings to mind the fact that I am such a people pleaser. The idea that something I say could upset him (or anybody who might read this, regardless of if I know them in real life or not) really bothers me. I suppose it shouldn't though, not if they are upset by my honesty.

I know I'm rambling. I guess the whole point of this was to say that I don't know what I am doing or where I am going with this blog, but that is okay. I guess even though I didn't necessarily start it this way, writing is a lot more about the journey than the end result. So what it nobody ever reads this blog? That's not really what this is about. It's about me, it's about honesty, and it's about my life. And while that might be boring, that's okay. Sometimes boring is good.

P.S. I am fairly certain I am the worst blog titler ever. I never know how to title my entries.

Perspective changes things

Today I was at Target (because when am I not at Target?) and I had to get a rather large binder for an assignment for one of my classes. My 20ish-year-old cashier was like, "school?" To which I responded, "yeahhhhh." She asked where I went and I told her. She asked if I liked it because she was thinking about transferring there after she finished her time at the community college she is at. I said I did, but that I was a grad student, so it was probably a little bit different. I asked her what she was majoring in and she told me. It turns out it was what I majored in (and I told her that). Then I asked what she wanted to do. She said she wasn't totally sure but she knew she wanted to do something with X. It was weird, because I could have said the exact same thing when I was a freshman/sophomore in college. I told her what I was in grad school for and she was like, "Well, you'll probably be seeing me in a few years!" It was kind of crazy. I mean I'll be long gone by the time she gets there, but it really felt like I had gone back in time and was talking to myself as a freshman or sophomore who had a really good idea of the broad range of what I wanted to do, but no idea what I wanted to do specifically.

I know I've mentioned before how odd it is that I am where I'm at because it wasn't something I even considered until a few months before I applied for grad schools. And I think about some of the programs I applied to for other related things and about how unbelievably miserable I would have been (a) in those programs and (b) in the career those programs would have lead me to. When I managed to get into one of those programs, I was so stoked because they are typically much more difficult to get into. In fact, I was pretty close to going to one. And then I got in where I'm at and deferred the other program for a semester and took a class here in the meantime. I am so thankful I did that. Truthfully, it's kind of amazing I ended up where I did. The type of program I am in isn't super hard to get into, but they don't just admit everyone either. I think their acceptance rate is about 50% and of course not everybody decides to attend. Part of it is that there are a lot of programs like this one, although a lot of them are not accredited. The other part is that a lot of people don't realize how good of a program it is. Sure, I'm probably biased, but when the program got relicensed two or three years ago, the licensing agency/board (I don't really know what they are called) told the head of the program that this was a program that others should be modeled after nationally.

Then I think about the fact that I did not get into the program (for the exact same thing as the program I am in now) in the city where I grew up. I was upset about it at the time, but looking back now, am so glad and thankful I did not. It's funny how perspective changes things. I think back over the last six months since I have moved her to pursue school full time and how much I have changed in that period of time. Perhaps not how much I have changed, but just the ways my life is changed. And I can't help but be grateful that today in Target, I was able to tell the cashier who was the 20-year-old version of myself, that I am doing exactly what she, what I, want to be doing where I want to be doing it.

Exceptionalities

Apparently, I have a good sense of humor. Which is interesting, because I personally find myself to be one of the most boring and drab people ever. I am a terrible joke and story teller. Granted, my lack of story telling ability is mostly related to the fact that I start laughing about the story before I am able to finish it. And once I start laughing, there isn't really any going back. There is also the fact that my attempts to be funny are usually met with crickets. Brother 1 and I have this really weird and unusual laugh that is contagious (his much more so than mine), but he got the story telling abilities to go along with it.

One of the things I regularly struggle with is that I don't seem to possess any exceptional skills or abilities that set me apart. When people ask me what I'm good at, I just sort of shrug my shoulders. Is being good at mediocrity an acceptable answer? Of course, I know it isn't. Growing up, I though it was that I just hadn't discovered the thing or things I was good at, but as I move into adulthood, I have come to realize I don't have any exceptional skills, and I am learning to be okay with that. There are plenty of things I do sufficiently enough to get by, and other skills I hope to develop to the extent that I can say that I am good at that (though not exceptional). For now, I guess I am okay with that.

The complete list of the wrong way to use Pinterest

I'm a bit of a Pinterest addict. I could spend large portions of my days on there and not get bored. Recipes, funny things, quotes, decorating ideas, crafts, sewing tutorials, things to do with children, cleaning tips, and of course, "pin now, read later."

I started writing this blog by complaining about the ways people misuse Pinterest. Against my better judgement, I decided I would attempt to write a how-to list, except for it's a how-to not list.

1. Never open up "Pin now, read later" pins so that when you go back to read them later, you realize they are not even remotely related to what they appear to be.

2. Don't double check that the link for the pin goes to the correct part of a given web page.

3. Never, and I mean NEVER, change the wording on the description of a pin.

4. Pin 10 or more things in one sitting to clog up your followers pin boards.

5. Make a habit of repinning things you have pinned before.

43 Things

If you are anything like me (which, let's just be honest, I hope you are not), you have issues cleaning out your email inboxes. I have four email accounts I use on a regular basis. It's a little bit obnoxious. Basically, I have one for family, one for professional things, one for school, and one for junk.

Anyway, right after I finished my fall semester, I decided to clean out my junk email address. There were several hundred emails in my inbox. Many of them needed to be deleted. Others just needed to be put into a folder. A few didn't have a correct place, so I left about 10 of them just chilling out in my inbox. A few days ago, I just happened to glance at one of them. It was a confirmation email from the 43 things account I made shortly after I graduated high school. Somehow, I got my username and password correct on my first attempt to log in. Just kidding. Evidently, I have two accounts? Because one wasn't enough, apparently. I'm not entirely sure when the last time I was on there was, but it has been a while. I looked over my list, and most of the things are still things I want to do. One of them was actually something I did in October (swim a mile without stopping). Another is something I am working on (get my Master's degree). Others are kind of subjective. Be a best friend, become a good writer, change someone's life for the better. A few are not necessarily things I want to do anymore. Marry my best friend, for example. Not that I don't love my best friend, but he and I will never get married. And yes, he was the one I had in mind when I put that on my list. Of course, I hope that when the time does come for me to get married that the man I marry is my best friend. So in that sense, I guess it's still something I want to do. The context has just changed.

The context of a lot of it has changed, I guess. Whatever I had in mind to get my Master's degree in, I can guarantee you is not what I am getting it in. What I am getting it in did not even cross my mind as a possibility until about six months before I graduated, which is weird because of how good of a fit it seems to be for me.

The whole thing brought me to the fact that I want to and need to start doing a better job of setting goals for myself. If I haven't made myself aware of the things I want to accomplish during my lifetime, it's impossible to work toward them. Certainly, I do not want to reach the end of my life and realize how many things I never did, or even tried to do, that I wish I had. It makes me want to live each day intentionally purposefully in light of those goals.

Dreams and unforgiveness

Lately I've been having more vivid dreams than usual. Many of them occur just before I wake up in the morning. The reason I know is because I often find myself peering at my alarm clock about an hour before it is set to go off, go back to sleep, and wake up having had a dream. They have been incredibly odd for the most part. Most dreams are, I suppose. Most dreams until the one I had on Thursday night. I didn't remember it initially when I woke up, and I slept the entire night, so it probably occurred earlier in the morning than usual. It was strangely realistic. I did something in the dream that I would love to be able to do in real life, but can't because it would really hurt and upset someone I really care about. This is something I have probably wanted to do for the majority of my life but did not realize it, at least not consciously, until sometime last year.

The next morning when I texted my best friend to wish him a good day, I mentioned my dream. He knows the situation and how badly I want to do in real life what I did in my dream but that I cannot and will not. He asked how it felt. I said I felt guilty because even though it was what I wanted, I knew I had really hurt that person and that a resolution of the situation was all that person really wanted. I refused, saying I could not handle it any longer and drove away. He told me I should have felt relieved. Perhaps he's right. It felt nice to finally stand up and do what I've known I wanted to do for months and what I have needed to do for years. Honestly, though, my love for the person that keeps me from doing what I would like to do is more than my dislike of the situation, so I just deal with it, even though it is not healthy for me to continue to do so.

The weird thing is, a lot of the people in my life would not be surprised if I told them that I wanted to do what I did in my dream. In fact, I don't think the person that is keeping me from doing this would be that surprised. She knows my thoughts on the situation. I've made it pretty clear over the last few months. In fact, I don't think I am the only one who is keeping themselves from doing the same thing I am keeping myself from doing for the love of the person I am not doing it for.

A few months back, I went to see a counselor for several sessions before I decided that things were going well enough (they weren't bad to begin with, I just had some things I needed to work through) and also realized that my counselor was probably not the best fit for me, but that is irrelevant. One of the things we discussed was my inability to consider my needs above those of the people in my life. I don't know that that is always necessarily bad, but sometimes it can be, I guess. Truthfully, the situation sucks. Every time it presents itself, it seems to get worse. Part of it is because I have pent up feelings about the situation that build upon themselves. And who knows, maybe I'll change my mind eventually. Or perhaps the situation will change.

If I am honest, a lot of the situation revolves around my unforgiveness. My inability to let the situation go. It's hard to think about. It very much does not seem fair that a situation that is not my fault in any way at all is as difficult as it is because of the way I continue to respond to it. I hope that some day I can get to a place where I am able to let the situation go. Where unforgiveness does not rule the situation, does not rule my life. But right now? I'm not even close.

People Watching

Let's be honest. People watching is basically the best thing ever. Don't lie, you know it's true. This afternoon, I spent some time with a friend at a Starbucks inside a Target. At some point while we were there, a group of five or six females who appeared to be from the ages of about 12-40 came in. I thought it was a bit weird given the age range and given the fact that it didn't seem to be a mom with her daughters or anything along those lines, but did not think much more about it. That is until they sat down at a table near ours. Then the singing began, which was followed by a discussion of Star Trek, Tolkien, and something else about science fiction, and afterwards there was a short recitation of a paragraph or two of The Hobbit, which was done with a sub-par British accent. Any one of these things would have made for a great people watching experience, but dang! I hit the people watching trifecta. And it.was.awesome.

Now don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with any of those things. If ever you were the fly on the window in my car, you would hear enough singing to make you wish you were deaf. I watch ABC Family original shows. Or as I like to call them, teenage soap operas. I don't exactly have any room to judge anybody's television or movie genre preferences. And as one of the weirdest people I know, I am sure I have done or said something far more odd than quote a few lines out of a book in a foreign accent.

I guess I'm probably a people watcher's trifecta as well. I am okay with that.

Grandma

A little bit ago, my mom somehow accidentally called me on her cell phone. I was yelling, trying to get her to hear me. No luck. So I hung up and called back. We ended up talking for a bit, and she mentioned what today was. I knew it in the back of my mind, but had forgotten until she said it. Today marks the day Grandma died 13 years ago. Sort of hard to believe. It's still weird for me to think about the fact that I have lived more of my life without her alive than I ever did with her alive, even though I reached that point several years ago.

I remember parts of that day very vividly. Waking up to the sounds of my mom and brothers 2 and 3 talking in the hall. My mom coming in to wake me up to tell me what had happened in the wee hours of the morning. Going to Wal-Mart to buy black dress shoes. The rest is kind of a blur, though I do remember the day of her funeral. The receiving of friends. My refusal to look at her lifeless body. I remember what dress I wore. I remember how bitterly cold it was at the grave side.

I often find myself wishing I could have had more time with her, especially as a teenager. Grandma was the type of person you wanted to spend time with. At least until about six months before she died, at which point her Alzheimer's/dementia sort of took over and she lost most of who she was. You could talk to her for two minutes and feel like you had known her a lifetime. She took interest in the lives of others, was the best cook around, and is everything I wish to be.

Love you, Grandma. Thank you for the life you lived and the example you left.

Easier to be hidden

I'm not much for New Years resolutions. In fact, I'm not one for them at all. I think they are silly. Why would you wait until the beginning of the year to change something you know you want to change? Sure, a new year makes us look back at the past and look forward to the future, but what keeps us from doing that on other days? As I look back over my life over the last months and years, I realize how much less I write now than I used to. Of course, part of that is that I am busier. My life is much different now than it was when I started writing on a regular basis as a fourteen year old. In fact, not much in my life is the same as it was nine years ago. It's a little weird to think about the ways my life has changed. One thing I have realized, though, is that I want to return to writing more often. Maybe not even just want to. I think I need to. Writing is, without a doubt, the one thing in my life that helps me think more clearly. Helps me sort through things and put things into perspective. The thing that always, without fail, makes me feel better, no matter what kind of day I am having. I'm not sure what the future will hold for this blog. It's easier, no, safer, to post on my somewhat private journal. I can choose who sees what. Allow myself to remain hidden. Nobody knows about this blog. Not really, at least. A person or two might know it exists, but they don't know where to find it. And there are a few others who have happened to stumble upon it. But other than that, it's just out in cyber space. Hidden. Because, let's face it. It's easier to be hidden than in plain view.