Well, as life would have it, I have been going through a major change. I am living the repercussions of my choices, and it is very bitter sweet. The bitter is oh-so-bitter, and the sweet is equally oh-so-sweet. I have decided wholly decided to embrace the sweet, and accept the bitter without wallowing in it
In an attempt to truly absorb the goodness, I've decided to turn this into a place to speak gratitude, and positivity; mostly in bullet points and short stories. So, here goes:
August 7 2012
I am thankful for my family. My mom and sister have been unbelievably loving, supportive, honest, and sweet. I would be lost without them.
I am thankful for my friends. There may be fewer of them than there were two weeks ago, but the old adage is true: quality over quantity. While I'm not mad at those that have decided not to continue a friendship with me, it is still an adjustment.
I am thankful for my job. The people that I have met, the life that I have been able to live because of it, the serendipity and perfectly timed meetings are unparalleled.
I am thankful for yoga. The time to be able to reflect and work my ass off is so important to my mental and physical well being. I need to remember to make it a priority. Maybe a bigger one than it has been of late.
I am thankful for my house. The place that I feel so happy. The place that I feel so restless. The place that I feel so safe. The place that I always want to come home to.
I am thankful for the potential that I changed parts of my world for. I am hopeful that whatever happens, the desires of my heart are closer than they were a week ago.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Sunday, December 11, 2011
I've been Tebow-ed
December 11, 2011
I feel anxious. There is all of this terror in my head and heart. I am scared that I totally squashed my chances of getting the things from life that I truly wanted. How did I do that? By making loads of bad decisions; the kinds of choices that my generation has deemed acceptable. Drunkenness, promiscuity, and all of the trappings therein. Now, I know what you're thinking, and, no. I have not recently been diagnosed with an incurable STD, nor am I newly out of treatment for any sort of addiction. What brought on these feelings of inadequacy is watching football.
I live in Denver, Colorado. Broncos country. The bumper sticker says it all: "How do you know God is a Broncos fan? Why else would the sunsets be blue and orange?" Why, you might ask, did being a Broncos fan - albeit a new fan to both the Bronco's and to football in general - stir up such negative emotions? Two words: Tim Tebow.
Tim Tebow is a marvelous person. He handles even the most awkward of situations with enviable grace, and poise. He is always thankful for his situation, and the ability to positively affect even one person. He is surely never drunk, and is saving himself for marriage. So, where does that put me? Lower than pond scum. I am a girl that has likely spent years of her life drowning in a pool of whiskey-ginger, months in relationships I had no business starting, let alone continuing, and further days and hours trying unsuccessfully to gain happiness by drinking, making out with strangers, and forcing myself - in the most ungainly fashion - into some semblance of contentment.
Where did I go wrong? I hate to admit it, but I think my mother was right in her seemingly cruel criticism a few weeks back. She said that I have wasted a full ten years of my time, salary, and energy by drinking and being wild, "and, what do you have to show for it?" she asked. There are certainly a few glimmers sparkling in the muck I have been wallowing in over the past few years. I have met some incredible people, gone to amazing places, and seen bazaar and exciting things. But the question remains: What do I really have to show for it? Was the intrigue worth the heartache? I have a "number" I don't even know, far too many nights that were stumbling and stupid, and shattered bits of the person I had hoped to be. I made all of these decisions and yet, I can't un-do, and I can't un-see, and I most certainly cannot keep living the life I have been living for the past decade.
The real question, then, becomes how do I glue together the remaining shards of that innocent, content, and untainted girl? I know that if I figure it out, there will be cracks, there will be missing pieces, a fact I am happily resigned to. But, I want to glue as many of the pieces back as I possibly can. What is the adhesive? Where do I find it? How much does it cost? Who will help me? And, most importantly, where do I start?
I feel anxious. There is all of this terror in my head and heart. I am scared that I totally squashed my chances of getting the things from life that I truly wanted. How did I do that? By making loads of bad decisions; the kinds of choices that my generation has deemed acceptable. Drunkenness, promiscuity, and all of the trappings therein. Now, I know what you're thinking, and, no. I have not recently been diagnosed with an incurable STD, nor am I newly out of treatment for any sort of addiction. What brought on these feelings of inadequacy is watching football.
I live in Denver, Colorado. Broncos country. The bumper sticker says it all: "How do you know God is a Broncos fan? Why else would the sunsets be blue and orange?" Why, you might ask, did being a Broncos fan - albeit a new fan to both the Bronco's and to football in general - stir up such negative emotions? Two words: Tim Tebow.
Tim Tebow is a marvelous person. He handles even the most awkward of situations with enviable grace, and poise. He is always thankful for his situation, and the ability to positively affect even one person. He is surely never drunk, and is saving himself for marriage. So, where does that put me? Lower than pond scum. I am a girl that has likely spent years of her life drowning in a pool of whiskey-ginger, months in relationships I had no business starting, let alone continuing, and further days and hours trying unsuccessfully to gain happiness by drinking, making out with strangers, and forcing myself - in the most ungainly fashion - into some semblance of contentment.
Where did I go wrong? I hate to admit it, but I think my mother was right in her seemingly cruel criticism a few weeks back. She said that I have wasted a full ten years of my time, salary, and energy by drinking and being wild, "and, what do you have to show for it?" she asked. There are certainly a few glimmers sparkling in the muck I have been wallowing in over the past few years. I have met some incredible people, gone to amazing places, and seen bazaar and exciting things. But the question remains: What do I really have to show for it? Was the intrigue worth the heartache? I have a "number" I don't even know, far too many nights that were stumbling and stupid, and shattered bits of the person I had hoped to be. I made all of these decisions and yet, I can't un-do, and I can't un-see, and I most certainly cannot keep living the life I have been living for the past decade.
The real question, then, becomes how do I glue together the remaining shards of that innocent, content, and untainted girl? I know that if I figure it out, there will be cracks, there will be missing pieces, a fact I am happily resigned to. But, I want to glue as many of the pieces back as I possibly can. What is the adhesive? Where do I find it? How much does it cost? Who will help me? And, most importantly, where do I start?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Vain attempt at the meaning of life.
So here it is. My very first penned - typed? - blog. I am going to write about what I know, and what I love: music. All kinds.
My most recent gem is Timber Timbre (the second is pronounced Tamber. Rhymes with Amber. It is a kind of abstract musical descriptor. The "color" of the sound. Like the difference you hear when a saxophone and a piano play the same note at the same time.). I happened upon an mp3 of Demon Host, immediately fell in love, and purchased Timber Timbre's self titled album. It begins with the morose line "Death she must have been your will" which sends chills down my spine every time I hear it. The vocals are haunting and the lyrics are intense with out being kitschy.
I have a special place in my heart for lyricists that tell stories. Timber Timbre tells a story of death, hard living and love lost with the sadness and redemption that only folk can muster. I know that my description of this album thus far makes it seem like it should sink you into a deep depression that only thousands of dollars in therapy could begin to bring you out of, but it is quite the opposite. This album is so mellow that you can listen to it on a snowy Sunday morning, but energetic enough that you can turn it on when you are on your way out with friends. This album moves smoothly between melancholy and inspiring.
My most recent gem is Timber Timbre (the second is pronounced Tamber. Rhymes with Amber. It is a kind of abstract musical descriptor. The "color" of the sound. Like the difference you hear when a saxophone and a piano play the same note at the same time.). I happened upon an mp3 of Demon Host, immediately fell in love, and purchased Timber Timbre's self titled album. It begins with the morose line "Death she must have been your will" which sends chills down my spine every time I hear it. The vocals are haunting and the lyrics are intense with out being kitschy.
I have a special place in my heart for lyricists that tell stories. Timber Timbre tells a story of death, hard living and love lost with the sadness and redemption that only folk can muster. I know that my description of this album thus far makes it seem like it should sink you into a deep depression that only thousands of dollars in therapy could begin to bring you out of, but it is quite the opposite. This album is so mellow that you can listen to it on a snowy Sunday morning, but energetic enough that you can turn it on when you are on your way out with friends. This album moves smoothly between melancholy and inspiring.
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