Thursday, January 28, 2016

Take Heart

I tend to be a worrier. I tend to have a hard time sleeping because of it. Sometimes it's not being able to shut my brain off and fall asleep. Or I wake up unforgivably early in the morning (on accident) and just start thinking about life and maybe worrying that what I said or did wasn't quite understood or might have been interpreted erroneously. Or that I didn't do what I wanted to the day before or I didn't tell someone something I had wanted to tell them because I wasn't sure how they would react or I just forgot. Or that I did tell someone something and I am unsure how they metabolized it and whether or not I explained myself well enough.  That I'm not improving fast enough. That I haven't done enough. That I'm still not doing enough. 

*Or maybe I just remembered that one time in high school when I dressed up as one of my favorite authors for halloween and nobody knew who I was supposed to be so I was just the weird girl dressed in legit 1800's style garb eating Sun Chips. (I was Jane Austen you guys. Come on.) 
I still cringe about it.*

When I start to worry like this, part of me (the reasonable part) reminds me that it's all good and it's not worth worrying about. Because chances are they aren't thinking about it and that they have their own lives so they probably don't even have time to think about it.  And at the end of the day I have a few people in my life that love me even when I mess up. That I have time. That I am trying my best.

And the other part of me (the, uh, less reasonable part) is already texting someone in an attempt to clarify something or I begin to make "to do" lists, or begin making plans to make an inspiration board.
  Or I start to seriously consider taking a vow of silence. 
Or maybe become a recluse. 
Or a mime. 

Or a rock. 

But lately I have had more opportunities to communicate with close friends and members of my family in really fulfilling ways. I've been talking more to others and they have been sharing more with me. And I feel honored to have an opportunity to listen more and discover more about the amazing people in my life. It makes me so so so happy. 

But that doesn't mean that sharing things, even with close friends, is easy to do.
Because being vulnerable is tough. 

But I am learning to let go of worrying about being understood all the time.
 I'm trying to be better at forgiving myself for messing up. 
I'm trying to be better at trusting that those closest to me love me and care about me enough to want to hear what I have to say. And I'm trying to convey to those closest to me that I love and care about them enough to want to hear what they have to say too.

 I have realized that it takes a lot of courage to talk to people about more personal things. 
I have also realized that I am surrounded by courageous people.

And I am trying to have courage too.

And I'm still pretty terrible at it.

But I'm working on it. 

And I am so grateful that there are people in this world who are kind enough to give me the benefit of the doubt. 
To talk with me. 
To laugh with me. To sit with me. To walk with me.
To share their worlds and thoughts and adventures and stories with me.
To live this crazy life with me.



Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Write and Wrong.

So I've been writing a bit lately.

Well, mostly editing things I've written in the past. 

Lines I used to think were neat, are now gone. 

Because I bought a dictionary.

When I was in high-school I used to get so mad at my dad when I would write something and he would edit it and then tell me that one of my favorite lines,"doesn't make sense." 

He was right. Of course. 

But I still wish that translating my thoughts into words was easier for me. 

Part of me tries to not care so much if I'm understood or not. 

But another part of me knows that being misunderstood can suck.

I sometimes attempt to write about my emotions.

Sometimes I attempt to write without emotion.

And I still get too attached to words and lines I've written and end up stuck in that metaphorical tree I've been climbing for the last three stanzas. 

So I've been trying to be more liberal with the delete button. And it feels good.

Because sometimes I'll write day after day and after all the deleting, rephrasing, repurposing, crying, re-illustrating, self-ridicule, reading, asking myself what it all means, deleting, reconstructing, reviewing, deleting, laughing, researching, soul-searching, cringing, thesaurus lurking, day-dreaming, coffee-bingeing, mind-bending etc.
I end up with two kinda, maybe, good-ish lines.

And maybe, at some point, I might show them to someone, maybe.

And then a kaleidoscope of emotions blossom within me.

And then I hear the blessed words.

"It's getting better."