adventures in wonderland.

The comfort of words.

2011-09-14T22:32:00.001-05:00

I haven't blogged in quite some time. Ah, how many blog posts have I started out with such a similar sentence?

Blogging is strange to me. I feel vain when I type in this small box and then click the "Publish" button with the belief that someone will find my inner thoughts interesting.

Tonight though I write for myself. Words are my comfort. They're a warm blanket I can pull around my shoulders when I have no one to offer a hug. A friend gave me a strange look when I admitted that sometimes I leave books in my bed while I sleep. The sturdy rectangles are a constant presence that offer comfort. When you move as much as I do, you have to find wholeness without the constant of others. Words are just one small way I remind myself of who I am, one way I find comfort on lonely nights far away from loved ones.

The main reason I'm typing this entry is to feel my fingers on the keys, hear the clacking of keys. We find comfort where we can.

Twenty-Three.

2011-03-01T17:56:00.000-06:00

Today I am 23 and I look old.

That's somewhat of a lie because I still look 16 but to my eyes I look weary. Perhaps it's this city, the stress of the unknown.
22 was an eventful year. I moved to a cold city by a lake, fell in love, had my heart broken, earned my master's degree, moved to another cold city on an island, became a maid of honor, applied for over 70 jobs, questioned myself, made new friends and decided that life could be started all over again.

Oh my. What could 23 bring?

Star-Shaped Girl.

2011-02-21T23:31:00.001-06:00

There’s a folder on my computer titled “blogs.” The majority of these Word documents have not been viewed by anyone other than myself. In fact, we’ll see if this specific “Document1” reaches the Internet.

There are some things that I believe are too personal to be typed out for all to see. Then again, some blogs don’t make the cut because I feel they might be viewed as repetitive. Such as the subject of “home.”

The “Wordle” to the right of these blog posts will show you that the word “home” is used often on the site. I’ve been homesick the last few days for a place that doesn’t exist. I love my parents, but their house is no longer my home. Dallas is not even home. The entire Southern region of the United States could be considered home but it has to encompass D.C. as well.

I told my room mate Jane today that the way to tell if I am homesick is if country music is pouring out of the cracks that surround my bedroom door. Today it was one song in particular, Miranda Lambert’s “The House That Built Me.” Well, there was no one house that built me. There is a combination of homes that interweave their way into my dreams until my older self is rambling the hallways of the house on the hill, the house without the front door, the house on Cedar. All the houses that my family has lived in are accompanied by a descriptor. You throw that one extra word in and my family members nod in understanding. No one else can understand.

Some people are made up largely of one home. I don’t understand these people, but a large part of me envies them. They have a bedroom in the house that their parents live in where they keep their childhood and teenage memories.

It’s not a house that I am homesick for or even a city. It’s an entire state, a certain type of people, the food that brings back memories and the weather. Ah, how I miss the weather. Rain, a good rainstorm would be perfect right now. Or the kind of night where you can walk outside without a jacket because the heat hangs in the air like a blanket encasing the stars.

Home can’t be wrapped up in one sentence. It’s the people I love. I don’t ache for a certain city limits or the confines of four walls but I still ache. Perhaps this widespread homesickness is the reason why I am on a constant search of a home for myself. I sleep on a rented bed and borrowed bedding. While I know home is not things, I surround myself with books; find them wedged in between the sheets, perched precariously on tables, hiding under the bed. Books remind me of who I am. The tortilla chips, salsa and country gravy sitting in my pantry remind me of who I am. The photos of friends and families hanging on my wall remind me of who I am.

Home is who you are. Home is remembering who you are and resting in that knowledge. Homesickness for me is the feeling of not quite fitting somewhere, a square peg in a round hole. Having a home is having the knowledge that there’s somewhere you belong. But when your bed is constantly changing and you don’t know where you’ll be sleeping in the next few months, your home becomes yourself.

Because though I miss Texas, I miss family, I miss the district, I miss friends, I know that when I go back to visit those places I find I don’t quite fit anymore. Perhaps my shape is constantly changing and soon I’ll be a star – unable to fit into any sort of manufactured spot.

One day, I will have a home.

It's that time of year again.

2011-01-03T10:54:00.000-06:00

My friends keep looking at me in amazement and saying things like “I wish I could pack up and move like you do!” They seem in awe of my fearlessness and ability to place as many possessions as possible into boxes and suitcases to move to a new city. Fearless, yeah, that’s me.

And all I want to say, all I want to scream, is “You can! Yes, you can!”

I’ve been laying in bed for the past 10 minutes staring at my duvet cover that’s piled atop me. There’s a trail of blue flowers that seems to stretch endlessly as it crawls over a hill made by the down comforter. The flowers directly in front of me are the only thing in focus, sans contacts or glasses the rest of the world is fuzzy. And the morning light that pushes its way through my curtains makes my rectangle box of a room surreal. I don’t know what kind of flower it is, perhaps a daisy, but then again it doesn’t really look like a daisy.

And when I think of daisies, I always think of “You’ve Got Mail” and how they are Kathleen Kelly’s favorite flower because they seem so friendly. And how I wish someone would show up at my door when I’m sick with a handful of white, friendly flowers. And then I think how life is not like “You’ve Got Mail” at all.

What I’m trying to say with all this rambling is, life is unexpected.

At least, I think that’s what I’m trying to say.

The truth is, right now life seems rather empty. And all I want to do is close my eyes, close out the never-ending trail of blue flowers and go back to sleep. But I can’t. I have to get out of bed, pack up those boxes and go to the grocery store. For all those people who seem to think I’m adventurous for moving so often, you should know that I spend most of my life in fear.

I am so scared and unsure of what the future holds and the mountain of loan bills I see when I close my eyes make me want to stay in this bed even longer. But I decided a long time ago (and by long time ago I mean a few months) that I wouldn’t let fear determine my life. This means that yes, you too can chase your dreams no matter how wild or crazy they seem to others around you. This means you can take a chance as well, forget all the “reasoning” that holds you back.

The best way to conquer fear is to jump directly in. Face forward, belly flop.

So I’ll climb out of bed in about another 20 minutes or so.

the fearless.

2010-10-25T19:04:00.000-05:00

I haven’t blogged in quite a bit. I could waste time updating you on life and why there’s been a lack of words – but I choose to move on.

I have an article to write but all I want to do is jump on my bed while listening to music loudly, mark the days off my calendar as I countdown to the weekend I visit Nashville and read my book about aliens.

Today, today I feel eight. And it feels great.

But I have to write straight lines of words detailing what I’ve learned in the past month or so. Ah, but how can you write about a subject when it feels impossible to learn it all? I feel like I’ve only skimmed the informational top.

The street I take to Cicero has taught me to be aggressive. I used to be a cautious driver, afraid of being sideswiped or rear-ended. I’d suspiciously eye those around me with a hand poised to honk when needed.

But this street, you have to drive like a mad man on this street because everyone around you lost their minds years ago. Homeless men stand in the middle of lanes begging for spare change, pedestrians dodge in and out of traffic like strays and cars wander into the other lane in an attempt to bypass a stopped bus.

I don’t have time to be afraid on this street. Fear would cause me more harm than good, instead I join willingly in the weaving, suddenly stopping without my heart catching in my throat.

If only I could overcome fear this easily in my day-to-day life. What am I scared of? What am I not scared of would be a better question. But I’ve lately realized I’m not alone in this constant state of fear. We’re all afraid of rejection, loneliness, abandonment or failure. Fear makes us hesitate. Fear stops me in my tracks. I doubt myself. It makes my life much more difficult than it should be.

I am so tired of being afraid.

Which is why tonight I am eight.

Because only an eight year old can write a thousand words about a subject that she cannot even begin to understand. Only an eight year old has the audacity to imagine changing the world through her words. This 22 year old is contemplating giving up the idea of a future doing what she loves and settling for something safe. The eight year old shakes her head in confusion with disappointment in her eyes. She believes that the best feeling comes from riding a swing so high your feet touch the sky. She knows that dreams are meant to be dreamt and believes your heart can’t be permanently broken.

I’m an eight year old. A man shook my hand and thanked me for writing a story I’ve yet to begin. A teenager told me she feels she doesn’t belong. A woman fed me and introduced me to her family. Only an eight year old can provide a voice to such beautiful people who are usually ignored.

I think we all need to channel our eight-year-old selves more often. Fear often holds us back. Sure, eight year olds don’t have to worry about bills, employment or debt to the government. But remember what you were worried about when you were eight? Boys. I was mainly concerned about boys. Unfortunately, I’m still slightly concerned about boys. But I don’t worry so much anymore about math, winning at freeze tag or impressing the older kids. Our fears look so much smaller when we realize the world won’t end.

This article won’t write itself. Sure, I may not be the best person to compose it, but I sure am not going to be too scared to at least try.

(Photo credit)

mess.

2010-05-04T22:27:00.002-05:00

My life is a hot mess.

Papers, books, magazines, bills, week old newspapers, an entire past forest litters my living room. Interspersed between all of the fallen trees are half empty cups, snacks and hair ties.

My bed is an assortment as well. I shove over the interview notes for today’s story, my laptop, rejected outfits to pull my grandmother’s quilt over me for a quick nap.

The sun is still peeking through my tightly closed shades but I can ignore it for the present.

I am sick.

Again.

This seems to be the year for sickness. No family members anywhere near.

My body has finally rejected the late nights, worrisome hours and long days at the newsroom and has quit. Or perhaps it’s only gone on strike asking for additional vacation days and better working conditions.

Fine.

But I’m not cleaning my apartment.

Right now, five and a half hours away, there are two women settling into a hotel room for the night. My mother and grandmother are on their way here. Just knowing that they are less than a day’s drive away already makes me feel better. Healthier. Like my old self.

Mom McClane (as we’ll call her here) is the woman who calls me and demands I eat. She demands vacations, rest and relaxation for this tired body of mine. Let’s just call her the union rep.

And apparently, she’s had enough.

It was that or the panicked call I put in late Monday afternoon – so very tired of another doctor’s visit and more tests to run.

My life is a hot mess.

My apartment is only a bit cleaner. At least, there are only two dishes in the sink and I threw out those bad grapes.

Sometimes we need our bodies to shut down. Demand a day off to remember what the sunshine feels like, how pages of books feel between the fingers and why again we live.

I love the newsroom.

But I love life better.

tuesday.

2010-04-27T21:39:00.003-05:00

I’m supposed to be editing a video that I’m filing tomorrow.

Instead, I’m sitting here, the silence broken by an occasional car passing outside my open window and the sound of Ben Rector’s “When she comes around.”
Not a bad Tuesday night.

The apartment is clean, the carpet an empty canvas waiting for the shoes, papers and books that will slowly begin to accumulate on it’s surface through the week.
A flame bounces in the corner, passing the smell of vanilla.
It’s cold outside, but in my little apartment it’s the perfect temperature for a blanket to snuggle with.

Now that I’ve gone all Steinbeck on you and described in detail my location, I can tell you – I have no idea what to write.

All I know is, it’s Tuesday. There are certain songs I cannot stop playing, the current soundtrack to my life. The Metra train is like a relaxing Six Flags ride to downtown that makes me feel as if I’m Eva Marie Saint waiting for my Cary Grant. Chicago is my own personal Lego city in the spring, stacks and stacks of buildings.

Others are being adorned with a ring on a finger, beginning a new career, exploring a new home, making life decisions or even buying a puppy.

My life consists of immigration issues, what to make for dinner and the unsuccessful battle with the ever piling dishes in my kitchen sink.

I don’t have much to say tonight.
Except that for tonight, of all nights, it is beautiful.
Perhaps it’s just this song.
Maybe it’s the weather getting warmer.

Although my life may seem like an endless cycle of story after story after story, it’s also a time for learning. For learning about what’s actually important in life (it’s not getting good grades or work), that you can get along with anyone if you just try and that previous heartbreak shouldn’t hold you back from the present.

Medill attempts to teach me inside a newsroom how to be a better journalist. But the truth is that a good journalist needs an open mind, listening ear and a bit of empathy for the fellow man. And that’s about all you need to be a good human as well.

And when all else fails, listen to these songs: “When she comes around,” Ben Rector; “Tell her this,” Del Amitri; “Can’t take my eyes off of you,” Lauryn Hill; “Hank,” Ben Rector; “Voices,” Matt Wertz

comfort.

2010-04-08T22:04:00.001-05:00

I took the tortillas out of my kitchen cabinets, pressed the plastic bag against my nose and took a deep breath.

I wasn’t attempting to suffocate myself in plastic and the smell of doughy goodness, instead, I was attempting to capture that memory of handmade tortillas with a Shirley Temple in front of me at our favorite restaurant in San Antonio. I was a little girl again, my feet kicking in the air as I ate my sopapillas, licking my honey-coated fingers, never dreaming that one day I’d live miles and miles away from home.

Someone should’ve told that girl: hold tight, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Yesterday was, well, how do I put this? Hard. It was a hard day. I’d go into the semantics but no one cares that much and it would require a confusing description of journalism grad school and all that entails. Let’s just say, I was kind of in charge and I had no idea what I was doing. My pride cannot handle that.

The beautiful thing about my graduate program is that we’ve all seen each other cry. If we haven’t, we’ve at least admitted that there have been private sobbing sessions in the bathroom stall before emerging with a forced look of confidence.

It wouldn’t be journalism if it wasn’t stressful.

Sobbing quietly behind my “Oxford American” magazine, I counted the subway stops until I was finally home. I didn’t want that home. I wanted my home. I wanted the south. I wanted a front porch, my parents, my sisters, comfort food and warm nights.

I had to settle for comfort food and new friends.

Two pots were removed from the cupboard and loaded down with chopped potatoes. I’ve become an expert at mashed potatoes. It’s a feeling, no recipe necessary. Add butter, milk, salt, pepper and garlic salt to taste. How long to boil the potatoes? You just know.

I’m a southern girl, through and through. Comfort food and sharing, that’s what we do.

I made a batch of mashed potatoes then shared with my two friends, Jordan and Alex. It’s rare to meet a friend you’re willing to show weakness in front of. My weakness is viewable to everyone. Luckily, I have friends to whom I can show this weakness without fear.

A viewing of “101 Dalmatians” and multiple servings of creamy, salty mashed potatoes later; I captured my second small piece of home with a phone call to my mom.

We all need our mommies sometime. But when mom isn’t available, a bag of brown potatoes can remind us of who we are.

The next stressful day will result in homemade fries. Then there will be okra, enchiladas, Cajun green beans, biscuits, breakfast tacos, steak…

paragraphs.

2010-03-31T19:18:00.001-05:00

The snow is melted away and the sun blinds commuters as it bounces playfully off towers of glass and metal.

It’s spring.
The baseball field on my commuter route is a dark shade of green & uniformed individuals can be seen taking their position on the short, fresh carpet.

I don’t believe it for a second.
77 degrees means nothing to me but I keep a skeptical eye to the sky waiting for some unexpected snowfall or a sudden gust of chilly wind.

This is the windy city, they say.
They say beautiful weather isn’t supposed to come until May, even June.
So I don’t trust these bright blue days one bit.

My dreams of weather have taken a sabbatical, now I dream of the new quarter we began this week but these dreams are usually filled with fear rather than longing.
I’d like to go back to my dreams of rain, sunshine & heatwaves.

The self-doubt has already begun & it’s only Wednesday. How is this possible, you ask. Well, I think we all have a little bit of self-doubt now & then, I just give into mine & let it overtake me like a huge tsunami wave washing away my tiny occupied houses of joy.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I know I’m talking too much already. And no, I will not delete unnecessary words. Let’s keep the second-guessing of my writing skills restricted to the newsroom.

Here, in this tiny little blog world, I’ll sprinkle my commas around sporadically, use as many syllables as possible in one sentence & (if we’re lucky) I may even have my paragraphs as unorganized as the thoughts bumping up against one another in my head.

If I’m not careful, I’ll lose my voice.
And I’m quite positive that some great writer at some time or another said something very clever about how writers have to maintain their voice, their style. Unfortunately, this writer has a bad case of carpal tunnel thanks to her diligence to research and toning her upper arms so no additional research will occur today.

Instead, I’ll sit here on my Styrofoam-filled coach as my toes soak in the golden sun filtering through my living room window & I’ll just say this – sometimes, i get so wrapped up in pleasing others that i forget about my love of writing.

This quarter, I’ll be covering immigration issues in Chicago (we can get together later to squeal about how excited I am about this beat). I discovered as I sat in class this morning listening to my professor tell me what he does & doesn’t like in an article right after telling us to write as we want – that I’m not writing for him. Though he is a very nice man, at the end of the day, writing a story to please him wouldn’t make me happy.

And com’on now - my main goal in life is happiness.
What would make me happy? Writing an article for myself & for my readers. I write stories for the sources, the people who give me the time of day to talk. I write for myself, to produce a piece I’m proud to put my name on. And heck, I write for the readers, because we all need to learn a little something new, become a little inspired and maybe a smidge entertained.

I'm a better writer when I'm not worried so much about pleasing others.

This one’s for you guys.

(pssst...the photo's from squidoo.com)

beats.

2010-02-24T18:36:00.001-06:00

I’ve fallen out of touch with friends back home. The phone doesn’t ring quite as much as it used to and e-mails have gotten shorter.

I’ve been swallowed whole by words, sentences and paragraphs. They grow larger and larger in my dreams and seem to encompass my thoughts and wishes.

I wish for tighter sentences, correct word usage and the perfect quotes.

I’ve been fully devoured.

Life consists of stories. Even when I have a day off (i.e. I force myself to take a day off) the stories still flutter around in the back of my subconscious. What’s the current unemployment rate? How are homeless shelters and their resources affected? Will that source ever call me back by Wednesday’s deadline?

Being a journalist is a full-time job.

Being a journalism graduate student is also a full-time job.

But as I sit here and ponder whether or not “full time” has a hyphen in it, my Lean Cuisine has finished cooking and the microwave beeps unceasingly, demanding that I recognize it’s hard work and eat the unfrozen meal it has prepared.

Even with all the work I have to do, I have to remember to take a break or I may just lose it. For this, I’ve picked up the guitar again, there’s a book by my bedside that I read for five minutes before I pass out and I haven’t missed an episode of “Lost.”

For those who are missing the sound of my voice, feel free to call.

I’m going to warn you though, my poor mother had to feign interest when I discussed Evanston’s budget deficit and the budget cuts of social services. Sure, she said it was interesting, but she’s my mom, she has to say that.

This weekend I’ll try to venture out into the cold to explore the Lincoln Park Zoo. Tonight, it’s a meeting for me and audio editing after that.

bookman's.

2010-02-21T00:12:00.005-06:00

I discovered a new place to love today.

Today was a Brianna kind of day.
We all have those days when we need to take a moment, decide what exactly it is we want to do & then do it.
The kind of of day where you can either be alone or choose the moments & the people to spend it with.
Needless to say, it was a beautiful day.

A sign on the side of a building promises piles of books, "Bookman's Alley" can be found down a snow-crusted street. Two squat buildings face each other, encompassed by the retail shops hiding them from street view. I stepped from a sugary white world to a warm, dusty substitute of home.

Bookman's Alley smells of pages, moth balls and wood (at least, it smells like wood according to a 5-year-old visitor).
A bespectacled gray-headed man greets me silently behind a desk piled with stacks of books. He's wrapped in cocoon of words so I return the silent greeting with a quick nod & smile of my own.

A quick surmise of the room tells me this is the kind of place I'll return to often. Books line the walls with comfortable couches found in a grandmother's home interspersed.
Then I realize the this small building magically expands into three large rooms. I wonder if I'm still in Evanston or have somehow wandered through a magical portal where tiny buildings expand and old gentlemen guard the entryway to knowledge.

Architecture, history of the Sioux, Churchill biographies & waterfowl directories - these straight lines of thought capsules provide a glimpse of structure in a chaotic life.
Ah.

childish.

2010-02-09T01:40:00.005-06:00

Sickness reverts you back to childhood.

Suddenly you have cups of water by your bed, you climb into pajamas as if they were your mother’s arms, bedtimes become earlier and loneliness creeps in. The need to be loved increases. Someone needs to take care of me, but I am all alone.

I call my mother with updates. Today I couldn’t stop sneezing. Tomorrow I am going to the doctor. The doctor prescribed this medicine to me. Yes, I am staying warm. No, I don’t want to eat any more soup.

Long distance love.

It sustains us. It keeps us warm, healthy and sane. Love feels so far and yet just on the other side of this bedroom wall. I feel alone wrapped in my great-grandmother’s quilt next to the stuffed animal I’ve owned since I was 4. I feel alone in my mother’s hand-me down robe. I am alone as I hang family portraits on my apartment walls.

Yet I know the love I so miss is closer than I can imagine. All it takes is one phone call and my sister is there telling me about her day at work, I can hear the concern in my best friend’s voice as she offers advice and I know my father misses me when he sends text messages demanding a phone call.

Love, love, love.

Times are tough. I am overwhelmed, stressed, sick and tired. I don’t want to climb out of bed tomorrow and into the inches of snow that will crust my boots. No, I want to stay in bed and act like I am home in Texas. Pull the sheets over my head and pretend my mother will call me for breakfast soon. But I know this is not possible. By placing that bare foot and then the next on the standard-issue carpet, I step back into adulthood, shedding the child self I become when sniffles and sickness arrive.

But that is tomorrow.
Tonight I will wrap myself in my quilt, family photos on the nightstand, and pretend that outside is my barren Texas waiting with friends and family who take care of me. In this small bedroom I will listen to songs that remind me of home, write words that take away the loneliness and dream.

faith video.

2010-02-04T21:10:00.003-06:00

one of our class projects was to interview a fellow student. one of my friends/classmates interviewed me about faith. she did a great job, i told my mom who wanted to see it and so now here it is.

change.

2010-01-19T17:57:00.003-06:00

I’ve heard a few journalists say we shouldn’t worry about changing the world, because we can’t.

Call me a dreamer, a wisher, a magic-bean-buyer, but I don’t want to do anything if I don’t think it’ll change the world (no matter how minute that change may be).

A recent example of a journalist doing his bit to change the world would be Anderson Cooper and his helping an injured Haitian child. (I use this example because majority of people have seen it & because I am slightly biased towards the man himself).

Another example of a journalist changing the world is any writer who takes a story that normally would not be heard and makes it front-page news. They tug at heartstrings, not to sell papers, but to remind humans of the need for humanity. They compose words that take a reader from the comfort of their kitchen and morning coffee to the front lines of a war. A journalist changes the world by making you care. Unfortunately, humans often need to be reminded to care.

If I can make one reader care about a country they couldn’t previously place on a map, then I have changed the world. If I can weave the story of a family living on the streets because their house was foreclosed, I have changed the world. If I can open a reader’s eyes to the world around them, then I have successfully changed the world.

Heck, if I can explain to you how increasing taxes, school violence and political elections influence you – then I’ve changed the world through education.

This might seem like a lofty goal, even pretentious.

Who do I think I am, believing it’s my responsibility to make the world a better place?

Well, love, it’s all of our responsibilities. This is just the only way I know how to do it.

So I will ignore the journalists who say we can’t change the world. It’s often these same journalists who tell us the future of journalism is up to us.

Well, in my future journalism career, I plan to change the world.

(photo above from: http://tinyurl.com/yhxdqw5 <-- go here to read about an interesting journalist).

deadline.

2010-01-10T22:47:00.005-06:00

i’m on deadline.

i have sat on every flat surface in this bedroom – which consists of floor, bed & a single chair. i can’t seem to get comfortable, i can’t focus.

six o’clock is fast approaching and what do i do? Put aside the fighting words of the GOP and the DNC and open a clean word document to type my own words.

i update twitter, refresh facebook every 20 minutes, check my e-mail and organize my itunes.
oh yes, i am on deadline and it shows.
i sit on the bed, move to the floor, perch on the desk – no position seems to work. I look at the clock: 2 hours til deadline and only about 200 words short.
time to focus, clean it up and get it sent.

music to focus?
well, I tried.
but sometimes when you put your music on “shuffle” the first song it picks is “the girl all the bad guys want” (by bowling for soup song <- a band from texas). there’s nothing like going from discussing health care reform to a song reminding you of your childhood.

journalism is an interesting profession.
there are times when you write a story that you really aren’t interested in but is important to write. there’s no drive, no desire to finish the product because you can barely begin it. what does that mean for me?
it means i have to take an essential story and make it interesting.
it means i sit and stare at my computer and think “why is this important?”
and sometimes all i can think – “it just is.”
which is not a good enough answer.
i ask again, “why is this important? why should anyone care?”

a difficult task.
you have to remove bias, repetition, wordiness, speculation and other items that tend to sneak into stories. you have to check facts, check quotes, check names, check word count, check the spelling of your own name (i’ve actually misspelled my own name before on a story).

i had a friend ask me if i don’t get tired of writing.
well, i’m sure there will be moments when I can’t pick out a word, my hands are cramping from gripping a pen and i don’t want to interview a stranger. but it’s what i do.
it’s like asking a doctor if he gets tired of surgery. let’s hope he doesn’t or his work would become sloppy and then all the people who trusted in him would be let down.
all i can do is try, hope, to never let anyone down.

read. reread. rewrite. read again. read outloud. rewrite. done. email to teachers and hope they appreciate what i've scratched out for them today.

asphalt.

2010-01-05T22:34:00.006-06:00

update: this blog was written on the road on sunday but not posted til today when i finally found wifi hence the confusing dates.

my resolution for 2010:
blog twice a week.

not sure who will read this site twice a week but eh, it’ll give me practice & keep all of you up to date.

so we begin this journey of 2010 on the road.

we left friday night after i rang in the new year at a youth lock-in at my parent’s church. it was a blast but meant i only caught about 20 winks. which led to my eventual crashing.
on the floor.
in my hallway.
my mom found me snoring blissfully & ordered me to bed where i caught about 40 more winks before waking up in a panic realizing that i was moving & still had much to pack.

we meant to leave at 4 & very probably could’ve except for a front tire losing air fast thanks to an embedded nail. after a pit stop at the local friendly wal-mart, we were on the road.

the mishaps didn’t stop there.

somewhere in oklahoma my mom received a call from the security company saying an alarm at the church had gone off. long story short - nothing was stolen. thankfully we don’t have any money to steal & they didn’t have enough time to steal the flat screen although they tried.

we made it to springfield, missouri for the night & checked into a motel. a legit motel.
located along route 66, the motel boasted two '50s cars & numerous pieces of memorabilia. we checked into a suite that contained one king sized bed & a separate room with bunk bed. truc slept for her first night ever on the top of a bunk bed (poor, deprived child).

the next day consisted of dad realizing that the trunk handle to my grandmother’s SUV had broken. not too much of an inconvenience except that items had to be rearranged & unpacking will require some maneuvering. a stop had to be made at the first ever bass pro shop where we introduced truc to the glory of it all (we’re educating her).

our goal to reach st. louis around noon did not occur.
a small rock hit the windshield & left the evidence of a small ding. not a big deal, except that we’re in my grandmother’s car & this small crack could spread in the cold & result in us presenting her with a new windshield. we scurried around searching for someone to patch the glass only to find everything closed for the holidays.

a google search on my handy-dandy iPhone (apple, i expect payment for this advertisement) led us to a man’s house in some small town in missouri.

my father knocked on the front door & woke the man from his holiday stupor. after waiting for about 10 minutes for him to put on pants, we were informed that he didn’t have the needed tools & we couldn’t do much but wait til monday.

lunch was a protein-filled affair in the little town of rolla, missouri at the sirloin stockade’s steak buffet.

st. louis was reached with the arch lit by sunset.
i love st. louis.
we weren’t there for long but i saw brick buildings, bridges & a plethora of photographical locations. perfect. the arch was cold or at least walking to the arch was cold. the tour was sold out so we settled for examination of the museum & gift shops.

our final goal for the night was springfield, illinois- the location of abraham lincoln’s home & tomb.

the next morning was continental breakfast (all continental breakfasts look the same to me at this point) & then a self-guided tour of springfield. we saw lincoln’s home, his presidential library, law office & tomb. lincolned out - we headed out to our final destination: evanston, illinois.

it’s been an eventful trip thus far.

all we can say is that every time we turn on the car we breath a word of thankfulness that it least it’s still working.

snow has become a consistent part of the landscape since entering illinois along with single digit temperature. it just reached 10 degrees at 1:30pm, time to get out the tanning lotion & bikini.

i kid.
we’re freezing but have already learned so much about cold weather.
for example: it is possible for the inside of your car windows to ice over.
also, they sell lamb wool-lined socks at bass pro shop.

i’m currently in the car again surrounded by pillows & coats.
i’ll post this blog when the car is unpacked, internet is found & i’m happily settled in my new home.
miss you all.

boxes.

2009-12-30T23:12:00.009-06:00

surrounded by more boxes. overwhelmed by the choices - change is beginning to feel familiar.

and i am moving to chicago.

it seems like just yesterday i was leaving dc for texas.
but once again the boxes are being packed up & the possessions divided up - what will make the cut? which items will be traversing cross country packed into a SUV along with my parents & oldest friend?

so far books, pens, scarves & blankets are in cardboard boxes alongside plates & T-shirts. the essentials as far as i'm concerned.

i unpack & i repack. i throw away & i obtain.

my parents recently bought a house which means i have a permanent place to lay my head. pictures have been hung, books placed on the shelves (old friends that bring comfort) & the junk boxes of odds & ends are even finding a place.
along with the unpacking has begun the packing.
what should i take to chicago? the question is hardest to answer when i'm not even sure how long i'll be there or where the next year may take me.

then there is the gratification of throwing away unnecessary objects.
i learned one thing for sure in DC - stuff is not necessary.
that sentence demands an explanation.
what i mean is, i got by living in DC on what some would call "the bare necessities" and while at times this was inconvenient, it was also liberating. i am now attempting to find the happy medium. the idea is that if i have owned something for more than a year and haven't used it, then some happy family at goodwill will probably enjoy it more than myself.

obtaining also must occur. after all, i don't own clothing suited to the northwest.

in between all of this analyzation of possessions time must be made for friends.

if there is one thing that home can always deliver it is friends. friends who know you inside out. all the corners, cracks, downfalls & quirks. ah, comfort & familiarity. we pick off right where we left off. late nights have occurred, plans have been made & many meals have been eaten.

texas has been... home.
it is home. at least, it's a part of home.
which is confusing because i often find myself seeing dc on television & mentally/verbally referring to it as home.
the question begs, where or what is home?

that question can't be answered as of yet or perhaps never will be.

the second question that must be answered is - how will a texan survive the chicago weather?
i'm beginning to doubt it's possible. but i'll keep you updated.

so i'm embarking on yet another adventure to a foreign land with complete strangers. i'll be expanding my education at northwestern university & in about a year i'll have a masters degree in journalism.

pfsh.
that makes me sound so very grown up.
but the last thing i feel right now is grown up.
instead i feel a little frightened, homesick & tired.

but this is one of those "suck it up, buttercup" moments (thanks clarissa). so it's time to put on my big girl pants & say "see you later" once again.

texas, you'll always be number 1 in my heart.

bittersweet.

2009-12-04T11:36:00.008-06:00

it's my last day in DC.

i wish i had a journal entry from the day that i left for DC - but alas, i do not. journal entries are a bit more reliable than blogs as they tend to show the exact feelings without a front of bravery.

how do i feel?

well, i guess it's time for another adventure.

but first, let's focus on this last one.
i'm saying good-bye. i've already said a few of my good-byes to the coffee shop regulars, to my fellow baristas and those at church. i've even said good-bye to my best friend.

oh. i don't like that word "good-bye," it definite & nothing is definite.
instead, it's more like "see you later."

tonight my room mate's are throwing a going away/birthday party. that's right. i requested we have a birthday party since i won't be here for anyone's birthday (alas, we are all spring/summer babies). it's my room mates i'm going to miss the most.
when you're thrown into a house with complete strangers and forced to figure out how to live together without killing each other & keeping the house clean - it makes for a strong friendship.

obviously, we get mad at each other. we feel left out. we feel alone. we feel annoyed when someone wakes us up from deep sleep because every single corner of this house creaks.
but we also share in each other's pain, laughter, stories, love lives, etc.
one of my favorite memories is when i was going through a difficult time & every single room mate was home (a miraculous event). we sat on the couch eating the necessary staple of chips & salsa & watched bravo. it was like a wall of comfort surrounded me by the presence of those four people.

the best part? we all are incredibly different (we even look different). with an actor, a pastor, a non-profit worker, a bartender & a barista - we really should've had our own reality tv show.

i told a friend the other day that there are three things that i've learned from moving so much:
1. it's possible to keep in touch. whether it's via email or phone, friendships can last long distance.
2. the world is smaller than we realize.
3. if it's supposed to happen, it'll happen.

i've learned so much here. unfortunately, it's all too much to process at this point in time (seeing as how i'm due in georgetown for a lunch date & there's a pile of clothes to pack in my room) but perhaps a blog will follow soon. after all, i wasn't sure why i was supposed to come to DC & only time can tell me why.

the bittersweetness of this weekend is overwhelming.
i'm going home to my family, old friends, books, bed, pets, the whole 9 yards. but i'm leaving the streets of DC & the friends who have become a family. texas will always hold the largest part of my heart, but DC has also claimed it's own territory.

thankfully,
i move. a lot. so i'll be back (i promise).

traditons.

2009-11-24T23:27:00.003-06:00

today i discovered something grand.

i am growing up.

actually,

it all began because someone told me i was growing up.

there's nothing better than someone saying, "oh! you're growing up!"

this exclamation came about after i informed my fellow barista that i was spending my first thanksgiving (my first holiday) away from home. and he's right - it is a sign of growing up when you don't go home for a holiday. it's a slightly scary, overwhelming & sad feeling that comes with this realization. no longer can you rely on the traditional dishes surrounded by your family's faces. there's no familiarity or comfort. there's newness (if that is a word). new traditions, new faces, new dishes, new movies to watch. it's all so new.

and therefore, it's another adventure.

thankfully, thanksgiving has never been traditional in my family. (there were a lot of long "t" words in that last sentence). instead, thanksgiving has always been more of a hodgepodge of backgrounds.

being a pastor's kid means strangers share your holiday table with you. if my parents meet someone at a gas station who doesn't have a place to go - they are immediately invited to our house (this has never actually occurred but seriously could). this tradition has translated over to the daughters & we find ourselves also making sure that strangers have a place to eat (note: northerners find this large amount of hospitality a bit overwhelming & frightening. you often have to persuade them you do not want to steal their valuables or con their grandmother out of her money).

this year, i'm the one searching for a table.

luckily for me, my best friend resides just a bus ride, one metro train & another bus away. familiar faces will be surrounding the DC thanksgiving table.

and for that,

i am thankful.

perhaps new traditions will result. i know for a fact that new dishes will be tasted. of course, movies will be watched. but don't worry - photos will be taken, a blog will be written & you will once again know perhaps a little bit more than you wanted to about brianna's life.

yes, i did just refer to myself in the third person.

i have tomorrow off (first day in a very, very long time) so the freedom is going a bit to my head (hence the late hour & the fact that i'm watching an episode of "my boys" i've seen before just to prepare myself for chicago).

love to all.

and to all a happy thanksgiving week.

neighborhood.

2009-11-01T15:39:00.006-06:00

a period of transition has begun...

it's been a while since i've updated but at times it isn't possible to translate thoughts & ideas into words. i know, rather ironic since i hope to be a journalist.

unfortunately, this isn't the kind of blog that consists of "well, today i did this! and tomorrow i'm going to see that!" - though sometimes i wish it did. but that would be a rather boring blog, because i don't really do that many touristy things... so instead you're stuck with my rather emo-ish musings.

so here we are.
the ticket is bought (i return to tx on december 12). soon i will begin packing. my mind is slowly turning that corner from becoming acquainted to getting ready to say goodbye. a sharp corner that i'm barely able to make, the idea of leaving when it seems like i just got here.

of course, the idea of distancing myself crosses my mind. it seems ideal. the goodbyes won't be so hard if i slowly begin to withdraw within my shell. (we all have our defensive mechanisms, correct?) but once again, that's not truly living, that's being afraid.

i've always been somewhat of a nomad so saying goodbye has become a part of my essence. some people are good at crosswords, i'm good at leaving (i didn't say it was a skill i could list on my resume).

when i was a camp counselor i had to say goodbye to people who had changed from strangers into family. they had been my world for 3 months & i didn't want that numb feeling that i usually get when i say goodbye. i prayed & prayed that i'd cry, that i'd hurt, when i said goodbye that summer. & i did.
there are some emotions a person should feel.

i'm praying once again for no numbness.

the fear of having to say goodbye should never stop a person from making friendships.

i am in limbo - getting ready to leave but still having time left. it's a strange place to be. soon i'll be going home for just a few weeks to people i know so well before i embark on an adventure to a city where i don't know a single soul. interesting. that's about all that can be said- interesting.

let me tell you a bit about my life here before we focus too much on the future.

i live on a friendly street.
one of my happiest moments is when i sit on the front porch & watch this little world walk by. kids attempt to fit as many of their friends as possible on their bikes - one on the handlebars, the lucky owner on the seat with one usually propped on the back. women walk with arms laden with grocery bags from the neighborhood safeway. a game of football occurs in the middle of the street, scattering whenever a car is heard approaching. front porches are sat on, conversations are had & everyone comes & goes.

with the cooler weather approaching, the street has started to quiet down. now only occasional conversations are snatched when the weather decides to give us a break from the cool rain. one of our neighbors, cheryl, is heard yelling for her cat, yasmin, from the front porch. she recently bought yasmin & herself matching snuggies so they can watch television & eat a snack without getting cold. hellos are said although names may not be known. car doors are slammed as kids are returned home from school.

some mornings i begin work at 8am, others at 6:30am. this means catching the bus at 6am, before the sun has risen & when the world isn't sure if it's waking up or sleeping in.

i've become friends with one of the women who catches the 6am bus - we discuss weather & the idea of calling in sick to work one day. she works at a daycare & is afraid she'll catch one of the many sicknesses the kids are always bringing in. i'm just tired of serving coffee all day long (i'd say she has it worse).

the coffee shop itself is a kind of neighborhood.

every morning the same friendly faces come in. i know their names, where they work, what kind of coffee they like & whether they drink it black or need room for cream & sugar.

we discuss the news, the weather, our weekends, the need for caffeine & anything else that might come up in those 10 minutes when we take a break from work just to chat.

most of our regulars live in the neighborhood which means i see them when i go to union station, when i walk home, on the bus, in the restaurants nearby, even on their morning runs. often i have to venture outside of capitol hill, but even then i've seen someone i recognize. for such a large city, d.c. will always seem like a small town.

but then again, for such a large world, i always seem to be running into familiar faces.

every day seems to bring a new person to meet, a new story to hear, a name to memorize. if there is one thing i have learned, it's how to be friendly.

it's funny, i had to leave the south to learn this lesson... but then again, it's when we're dragged out of our comfort zones that we finally have to face the hard parts of life. which is why chicago will be even harder than d.c. & probably contain even greater lessons.

this place feels like home.
which is why it'll be so hard to go.

i'll make my own way in the wide world
just know i don't want to wander too far.
- hideaway, the weepies

people.

2009-10-02T14:53:00.007-05:00

this morning i saw the epitome of community.

a homeless man gave his spare change to another homeless man.

i seriously had tears in my eyes as i walked through union station - now that, was a sacrifice. but they both gave and received with smiles on their faces. ah. if only we could all be like that.

the leaves are changing. the wind is crisp. we have pumpkin muffins at the coffee shop and i'm wearing my winter boots.

hello fall.

and hello chicago.

or at least, "see you soon" because tomorrow i'll be landing in the windy city to begin my own whirlwind tour of the city. never been there but might be moving there soon.

but what i'm reallllllyyy excited about - seeing my parents.

the people who have to love me. the people who actually know me and don't make assumptions based on outward appearance, age, etc. the people who will always believe in me. oh yes, there is nothing like family.

not having an internship means i have much more free time which doesn't translate into writing more as i had expected - instead, i spend time with people. which. is. awesome.

i love people. which can be unfortunate at times because not all people love me. i'm like the friendly puppy who can be so overly eager that i get kicked in the ribs and retreat to my corner to whimper. yes, i just described myself as annoying and i'm okay with that.

but i never realized til lately how much i actually love people. they are beautiful.

here we are, all so different and yet so alike.

that's why i want to be a journalist - because i want to take those similarities and throw them under a spotlight and a gazillion brightly shining signs and say "look world! we can love each other! look! we have so much in common!"

sure - it's hard to love people at times. scratch that - it's hard to like people at times. but i always love them. because at the end of the day, i'd rather love than not. i'd rather be your friend than your acquaintance.

i just.... i just think it's possible for everyone to be friends.

i just believe in love.

there`s nothing wrong with me

it`s just that i believe things could get better

and there`s nothing wrong with love
i think it`s just enough to believe

rescue is coming

and there`s nothing wrong with you
and nothing left to do
but believe something bigger
and there`s nothing wrong with love
i know it`s just enough to believe

success.

2009-09-15T14:37:00.004-05:00

i cleaned out another desk this week.

i've got it down to a science - remove all papers, recycle, neatly order office supplies, clean all files off computer, email all appropriate people to tell of the change, wave goodbye and walk away.

i ended my internship at NPR.
it sounds like a crazy idea. here i am, an aspiring journalist, and i just turned down one of the greatest career moves i have had so far. yes, i left.

why, you ask?

well, exhaustion and the knowledge that what i do should not define who i am.
i've always been a hard worker, working two jobs if able and thriving off a packed schedule.
that changes this week.

it all depends on how you define success. i've always believed achieving happiness is the best kind of success and i'm afraid that if i don't chase happiness right now then my future life might become defined by a substantial paycheck combined with long hours.
i'd rather have wrinkles from laughter than from frowning at a computer screen. i'd rather lose sleep because i spent the night laughing with a friend rather than working through the night. i want to remain focused on my goal - a fulfilled life. i'd rather watch a sunset than sit at a desk.

i'm not taking a step away from my ambition. oh no, writing is what i love and it is what i will do even if it has to be in secret journals hidden in the back of closets that no one will ever read. i will continue to chase my dreams, but i will do it without the lack of sleep and the loss of hair. i will do it on my own terms making sure that i live life much more than i work.

i live in a city where what you do defines who you are. the idea that i do not have anything to define me throws me into a sort of limbo. perhaps it's time for something else to define me besides my work. i find the idea of one part of my personality, one single word becoming a definition of who i am to be incredibly limited.

a sixty hour work week is possible, but it is not enjoyable and it is not healthy.
so i made a hard decision and decided that while the internship with NPR was great - perhaps it was not ideal for me at this moment. fortunately, leaving the internship does not mean that i take on the life of a vagabond, no, i'll continue working almost 40 hours a week at the coffee shop and will spend my extra time learning the best way possible - through living, reading and discussion. oh yes, experience is the best teacher.

soon these dark circles under my eyes will disappear and i won't fall asleep in movies. i can spend extra time with my room mates and friends or exploring this great city before i move away.

it was a difficult decision. you're probably still questioning my sanity.

but if there is one thing that i have learned throughout this course of life - you have to listen to your heart. and once you do, you cannot regret but have to continue stumbling through life with the best intentions and often the greatest foul-ups.

i've made the right decision this time.

love to all.

"they say you're really not somebody - until somebody else loves you."

ramblings.

2009-09-07T11:04:00.005-05:00

it's been a while since i've last written so this post will consist mostly of "catching up."
my computer decided to end our relationship the day after i moved here so trying to find a computer to borrow has put a dint in my writing.

i'm quite sure that only my parents read my posts and they already know everything due to our daily phone calls... but just in case a straggler wanders in - i'll commence with a quick summary.

so grab a cup of tea and a comfortable chair and let's go.

i ended an internship with a congresswoman last wednesday. i had been there for three weeks doing the usual internship type jobs. writing letters, articles, editing, surfing the internet, press clips, talking to angry constituents, etc. it was completely worth it though a rather short stint of three weeks. but there's nothing like waking up in the morning and walking into the house of representatives office building to make you really feel like you're in DC.

i've always been interested in politics since i was a little girl and considered entering the field. while other girls dreamed about becoming ballerinas, i dreamed of being an ambassador (don't let that fool you - i also wanted to be a veterinarian, like every other little girl).

so the opportunity to do an internship on the Hill was amazing. of course, i also learned that... i'm not like politicans. at all. no offense to them, but there is a certain type of personality that tends to dominate Capitol Hill and i tended to feel like a brightly colored fish out of water.

the end of my time on the Hill came with an internship offer from NPR. yes, the NPR. let's just say that i was thrilled to even interview and when i got the email saying i got the internship - i literally sat down on the street curb in shock. i then proceeded to call my mother in exuberance and even my sister as i did twirls in front of union station (while i may not have had ballerina aspirations - i still enjoy a good twirl).

the internship starts tomorrow. but i'm approaching this like i've been approaching everything lately, with reservations. i know, who has reservations about NPR? but i've determined that if it doesn't quite fit - then i'll quit and spend my free afternoons writing.

the afternoons would be free but my mornings will always be spent at ebenezers coffeeshop. every weekday morning i'm up before the sun, catching my bus to open up the shop that is right by union station and around the corner from CNN (hence, the visit by wolf blitzer). i love working there even though it goes against my nature to be awake that early. while i may be more used to going to sleep that early rather then waking up - i like a challenge.

i also like the regulars. and we have a lot. my current life has about as much consistency as the DC metro system (that's to say - none) and there's something about seeing familiar faces throughout the week that provides me a bit of stability. also, it allows for conversations, recognition and friendly smiles. ah - it's truly the little things in life.

i also moved. again.
i'm no longer crashing on mollie and emmie's chair (due to the lack of a couch) but now reside in the district in the basement of a house. the biggest improvement? a bed. yes, i haven't slept in a bed since i left texas and it really does make a difference. while i did get to snag an airbed every few nights - there is still nothing like the firmness of a mattress beneath you as you dream.

with an new house comes new room mates which translates into new conversations, introductions and exchanging of stories.
ah, if there is one thing DC is teaching me - it's how to make friends.
unfortunately, making friends isn't necessarily easy. sometimes you strike out, other times you find one somewhere you least expected.
making a friend is like trying to date someone. you hope they're as interested in you as you are in them. you hope that they won't reject you when you ask them to hang out. there's the fear of them not showing up to dinner, etc. etc. or perhaps i'm the only one who experiences these anxieties concerning friendships. i actually think dating might be easier than making a friend. but that might be because i'm shy.

yes, i am shy.

but i am becoming less shy. which is hard, in case you were wondering.

i'm also growing patience. this occurs when you have to wait at a bus stop for a bus that you're not even sure is coming. yes, even the metro can mean waiting for a train for about 15 minutes. it's happened and it'll happen again. i have a love/hate relationship with public transportation but it has enabled me to not think anything of a hour long trip that remains within one city. when i get back to texas - the roads will seem so much shorter.

i have my good days and my bad days. my good 5 minutes and my bad 5 minutes. i would think i was bipolar if i didn't know any better. instead, i'm just growing up and it hurts like the dickens.

so besides moving to a new house, attempting to figure out another bus route, getting an edgy haircut that causes double takes in mirrors, making new friends and starting a new internship - life in the district has been pretty normal. i'm even contemplating dying my hair red.

love you all.

falling.

2009-08-13T15:24:00.008-05:00

i'm in love.

and i know it'll only end in heartbreak.

sigh.

what's a girl to do?

she feels herself slowly falling deeper and deeper. she wants to settle in, pull the love over her like a warm, knit blanket and snuggle up to her newest found obsession. but she can't. she knows that soon she'll be leaving and her lover and her will be separated for an unknown period of time (at least a year).

long distance won't work. they can't chat via phone or web cam, she would have to do all the visiting in the relationship and cheating is always possible.

and what if she leaves, and falls in love with someone new?

it would be a different kind of love but it would be love. she would still harbor feelings for her old flame, never quite able to cut the connection but still moving forward in life.

so hesitation sets in, a sick feeling in the stomach knowing that you can't stop the free fall that is beginning to occur.

i guess - i'm ready to settle down.

i'm falling in love with washington d.c. and it's refusing to return my phone calls because it knows i'm leaving in just a few months.

instead, it drops subtle hints. makes references to a future it knows i cannot promise myself to and other girls names are showing up on its caller id.

heartbreak.

pure and simple.

the nomad life is wearing on me and the idea of consistency is becoming appealing.

a home, a neighborhood, friends, plans, neighbors who know your name, favorite restaurants, traditions, all are within my reach.

one day.

and while i know i'll return to this city one day, (don't ask why, i just know) i know that i'll miss it while i am away. it makes this romance bittersweet but even that more special. it reminds me to savor the little moments and enjoy the glitter of it all.

but that's the thing about love - there's always a chance that it's a fleeting emotion. you know it can come and go any day and the other might not return your affection. there will be heartbreak at the end (if it does end) but the heartbreak is worth it for all the shining moments before.

and if we aren't able to fall in love now, who says we'll ever be able to stay in love?

rooftops.

2009-08-04T23:22:00.008-05:00

my rooftop is a place of peace. here is where i retreat whenever i feel overwhelmed. whenever i question my sanity as to my recent move or become overwhelmed at the idea of my unemployment – whenever i begin to question who i am or who i’m becoming – i go to very top and survey the sky.

i watch as the sun sets and the lights on capitol hill begin to brighten the night sky. i can see the Washington monument’s blinking red lights warning off approaching planes. to my eyes, these lights become the eyes of a friendly monster who wishes a plane would venture close enough to become a tasty snack. i’m not quite sure how our leaders would feel about their precious mason stone tower being referred to as a monster, but i think ol’ george would smile at the idea.

sometimes i want to stand on the very corner of my roof and blow millions and millions of kisses to the city below. i believe this city could use a little bit more of love and i think even just the tiniest amount of goodness i send from my rooftop are felt by the tenderest of hearts below.

i’m lonely.

a rather silly statement if you consider the fact that i live with two of my best friends. but if there is one thing i have learned recently it’s this: i am not a loner. i need my alone time as much as others and have often been called a loner but - i desperately need people.

desperately.

i need to talk to them, learn from them, eat with them, laugh with them, whatever. i desire interaction. mollie says i can make friends with anyone but i am quick to remind her these are usually just friendly chats with cashiers or bus drivers – not lasting friendships. i’m finally beginning to realize how much we all need each other (could be because i’ve been reading “eat, pray, love”). i hate to use that word “community” (it has become cliché and overused) but there is nothing i desire more than a dinner table piled with food and even larger amounts of conversation.

all i know is – it’s completely possible to be surrounded by millions of people and feel completely alone.

not that loneliness is a bad thing. it’s something i have to get used to considering the fact that i’ll be moving to a city full of complete strangers very soon. so i try to embrace it. i invite loneliness out to lunch, let it snuggle with me in bed, even offer to split my smoothie with it. loneliness and i will become friends. isn’t it amusing how closely the words fiends and friends are related?

the funny thing is – i’ve always prided myself on how independent i am. i don’t let many people close. not only is this approach safer but with the nomad life i’ve chosen it’s the “best” direction. but now that i need this so-called strength… i have no desire for it.

megs told me that for someone who says she's completely honest - i'm not completely honest. so i attempt honesty. i open my heart just a crack to say this statement which shows a weakness i don't like to admit.

now i realize that it’s much braver to admit that i need you. and yes, you need me.

color.

2009-07-27T14:04:00.007-05:00

my sister asked why i was emailing my resume to a certain person and i, being the smart aleck that i am, wanted to reply, "because word's been gettin' out around DC about how pretty my resume is. it's in high demand." then i realized something, could word be getting out about my resume? because if a person took an objective step back and surveyed "brianna mcclane's resume" they would find that - it's not your typical resume. and it is especially not the type of resume a person would be apt to find in DC.

and then i began to wonder, what does my resume say about me?

i know that if i picked it up i would immediately think, “i have no idea what qualifies this girl but her use of sans-serif font, the color turquoise and that handcrafted logo means i shall befriend/hire her. not only will we work together, but we will laugh, watch sitcoms and perhaps color coordinate our closets together.” (surely i’m not the only one who color coordinates her closet. it just makes everything so much easier).

of course, i am incredibly biased. a normal person could look at my resume and just say, “what?” perhaps sniff it to make sure i haven’t spritzed it with vanilla body spray (which i have actually debated doing) and then push it under the stack of professional resumes obviously done in microsoft word.

i’m not saying i’m better than these “word-ers” (as i enjoy calling them. or as i just decided to start calling them. whatever). no, i’m just saying – i’m not your typical resume.

of course, this could be partially due to the fact that i’m an overachiever and therefore must use design software to construct the list of my accomplishments and previous places of employment.

or perhaps it’s because we might as well make the world a beautiful place, one brightly colored resume at a time.

then the question begs – “am i the typical DCer?” (once again, these are not real words, i am constructing them out of air).

with my nose ring, medium rare steak preference, cowboy boot wearage, enough love for all political parties, distrust of slacks and, of course, my dependence on tony chachere’s cajun seasoning, i would again say - no.

but my how i do love this city. with the politics, sharp suits, clean metros, friendly bus drivers, obsession with front porch gardens, right-side standing on escalators and the blisters that are becoming a part of my very feet – i love it all.

perhaps that’s what so beautiful about DC – the mixture of people. the majority of us are from out-of-state if not out-of-country. but once we converge into this center of government, we all have something in common. even if it is just brunch.

and with that dear friends, i’ll end by saying…my resume probably is getting talked about (or i hope someone's at least looking at it).

texas.

2009-07-19T22:56:00.000-05:00

i usually drive fast.

but tonight - i drive slow. five miles under the speed limit, the window open, the radio off - just the sounds of the passing cars and the wind. the air is pregnant with the promise of rain. it won't deliver. it's been hinting at liquid refreshment for a week now but all that has shown are a few drops and the strike of lightening. it rains everywhere but plano.

late night drives clear my head. of course, it's difficult to find a good place to drive in the suburbs, which is one of the reasons i'll always be a small-town texas girl.

as i drive, i remember other late night drives. i remember heartbreak. my first kiss. campfires. tire swings and creeks, the smell of horses and endless roads all alone. rocks thrown at a bedroom window and early morning walks with best friends.

i'm leaving texas.

i've left before but i've always come back.
this will be the first step for me. i don't think a lot of people realize this - but this is it. this is when i finally move away and when i come back, i won't be coming back to live but to visit. it's time to play grownup complete with learning how to change a tire (of course, i won't have a car for a couple of years so i really can wait).

there are people who don't like texas and search for an exit as soon as possible. there are others that don't understand texan pride and our obsession with our own state. but i'll always love this place. i'll always be the little girl riding a horse up a mountain knowing you have to lean forward. i'll always be the girl who fell in a creek and laughed even in front of her new boyfriend. the girl who would pet a goat over a cat any day, who butters her tortillas as an afternoon snack and wears her grandmother's beaten up cowboy boots whenever possible.

i'm not saying texas is better than other places. i think every place is glorious in its own way.
i'm just saying that there aren't many places you can go where a person feels the inclination to include a complete stranger in a conversation. how many times have you gone to a restaurant, a movie, a grocery store, and a complete stranger has leaned over and joked about something with you? we're the only ones of our kind who admit to and accept eavesdropping.

i'll miss you, texas.

this isn't goodbye, texas, this is just "see you later."

leaving.

2009-07-11T22:23:00.005-05:00

i might throw up.

i'm moving.
the boxes are being packed, unpacked and repacked.
it's an incredibly complicated process.

on the 21st of july around 9 a.m. central time i will be saying goodbye to the dallas skyline until the month of december. i will be flying out of my beloved dfw on a one-way ticket to a little place i enjoy calling "the district."

there, around 6 p.m. eastern time, i will be greeted by my best friend at a baggage claim where we will claim two large suitcases which will then be routed directly to the metro and onto a comfy apartment in arlington.

yes, i am moving.

you ask, "brianna, you're crazy. you said you were staying."
as any good reporter knows, don't put anything in print unless you know for certain. which is why we thank God for the internet where no ink has to dry and our mistakes can be seen
faster.

staying didn't feel right. dallas didn't feel right. the sun seemed hotter, the asphalt brighter and the air dirtier.

dc just feels right. it felt right in january. and it felt right in july. and it'll feel right until it's time for chicago which also feels right. i'm feeling a lot right now.

i don't have a job. i don't have an internship. i have a small bank account and a couple of credit cards in case of emergency. this is me - leaping. either rocks or waves will be at the end of my jump, here's hoping to waves.
i've applied to a couple of internships that i would love love love to do. of course, only fate can tell me if i am meant to do this. if not, then there will always be something else. i learned to follow my instinct a long time ago and it hasn't let me down yet.
i'm still scared. and sad. and lonely. and excited. and thrilled. and expectant. and second-guessing. it wouldn't be an adventure, it wouldn't be life, without these emotions.

i am strong enough for this. that's one thing i forget. what i've accomplished, overcome and survived. we all need to cut ourselves a little slack.

so here's to hoping for the best. praying for the future. believing in oneself. and having supportive loved ones.

please send thoughts, hopes, prayer, well-wishes or any other amount of positive karma or extra currency my way.

"yesterday, when you were young, everything you needed done was done for you. now you do it on your own but you find you're all alone, what can you do? ...but in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself." - the weepies

strangers.

2009-07-06T17:28:00.010-05:00

oh hello there.
i am currently sitting in the dimness of a basement apartment in dc. the room is quite and cool with only the sounds of passing cars, upstairs footsteps and snoring of the dog with mollie asleep only a few feet away.

well,
this almost didn't happen.
i almost didn't make it to the grand ol' district. but here i am thanks to the kindness of a few strangers and the encouragement of good friends. while it looked like i might not have a place to stay on my trip - it all worked out when a call was placed and i found myself the temporary tenant of an apartment with two strangers. oh yes, strangers. i love strangers. there's nothing better than strangers. sometimes, strangers are better than friends and they are usually much better than acquaintances.

anywho,
late wednesday night i proceeded to drag my luggage out of the pouring rain and onto a waiting bus and then a few blocks to where a warm bed waited. yes, a bed. a perfect stranger gave up his bed for me (southern gentlemen do still exist, though in higher demand in the east coast).

if there is one thing i have learned- it's the trips that have flaws and complications that usually end up to be the most memorable. it's the trips were everything works out that i tend to question.

there's too much to write about what i've learned in dc. in short: friends can always be family, crying together is almost as good as laughing together, direct honesty is the best policy and taking a jump/leap of blind faith can always end well because at least you will have learned something about yourself.

we went to a church on sunday titled "national community church" (apparently it's kinda a big thing) and while reading my copy of "a thousand splendid suns" i came across their bulletin i've been using as a bookmark.

listed on the back of the bulletin are their "core values." usually this list includes words such as trinity, holy spirit, community or son of God. this list tends to deviate from the norm (as the church does - which is why i liked it). three of these sentences grabbed my attention. they are as follows:

1. expect the unexpected (obviously).
2. playing it safe is risky (advice i should take to heart concerning relationships).
3. everything is an experiment.

at times our heart knows more than our head can even process. and while the heart may be the hardest advisor to heed, it can also be the most correct.

now, if you'll excuse me i believe i have a date involving chinese food and a man named lincoln.

(p.s. "a thousand splendid suns" is another one of hosseini's great works. it'll make you cry, grimace and smile).

a ship in harbor is safe - but that is not what ships are for.
- john a. shedd

staying.

2009-06-30T14:48:00.006-05:00

sometimes it's just as adventurous to stay as it is to leave.

i am the queen of leaving.

this is the girl who decided the week before returning for sophomore year of college that she wasn't going back. a few weeks later, i moved to san antonio. a few months after that, i moved back to plano then on to baylor.

i drove 10 hours one night to alabama because of a moment of indecision.

i've been all over the world. all over the country.
so now. i'm staying.

i'll be living with my parents for the next 6 months before i venture to the world of the great lakes (aka i'm moving to chicago in january to start grad school at northwestern). this is a moment for me. i don't like having to rely on anyone so it takes a lot to move back in with my parents, live under their roof and revert back to the life before college.

but i'll be ok.
mainly because i took that facebook quiz "what age do you really act?" and got the answer "12." good, my parents will have an adolescent in their home instead of a legal drinking age adult.

but now that i have stated i am staying. i have to leave.
for dc that is. for a week.
(because while i may be settling down for a bit - my wanderlust still has to be quenched).
don't worry. i'll update this blog more. mainly becaus i have no idea where i'm staying while i am on my "vacation" so hilarity/adventure will ensue. but also because lessons can occur where we least expect them and there's nothing more enjoyable than informing a large group of people about my mistakes/humble moments.

"in the South, the breeze blows softer...neighbors are friendlier, nosier, and more talkative. (by contrast with the Yankee, the Southerner never uses one word when ten or twenty will do)...this is a different place. our way of thinking is different, as are our ways of seeing, laughing, singing, eating, meeting and parting. our walk is different, as the old song goes, our talk and our names. nothing about us is quite the same as in the country to the north and west. what we carry in our memories is different too, and that may explain everything else."

- charles kuralt in "southerners: portrait of a people"

voices.

2009-06-08T09:55:00.006-05:00

when a person dies - it's the sound of their voice that you miss the most.

it's the knowledge that you'll never hear them speak again. there are always photographs and stories but i never thought to pull out my recorder to capture the sound of their voice. that's the hardest.

death is the real heartbreaker. sure, heartbreak can occur when a relationship ends or you are misled, but it's different. even if you continue to love that person, there is still the hope that you'll run into them one day and can see them, feel them, hear them even if you can't be with them. then of course, you either move on or you don't. (chances are you fall in love again). but death - it takes something from you that cannot be replaced. you know that the person you loved is no longer breathing your same air or staring at your same sky.
they aren't here anymore.

my great-grandfather's voice sounded like coffee. a coffee drinkin' prophet.
it seemed like he had legs of iron - ironic because one was fake, a result of an overprotective mother cow. he was coffee in thin china cups, cowboy hats and long prayers. his hands were marked with age spots and he had the strongest grip. he died the day after i got back from spending three months as a camp counselor. i remember getting out of my sister's car at his funeral and not wanting to go into the church because i didn't like the dress i was wearing. i was a junior in college and about to cry because i didn't think i looked cute. then i realized i wasn't about to cry because of the dress. i didn't even care about the dress. i don't remember if i cried during his funeral. probably not, i tend not to cry, but i know i cried before and after in private. and although it's been two years, i still almost cry when i think of him.

my grandfather died this year. i miss the sound of his voice.
i have this intense fear that i'll forget how it sounded and i'll lose just another small piece of him.

i'll forget the noises he made with his cheeks when he got out of a chair or how he answered the phone "hell-O?" as if he was about to tell you a joke. i'll forget how he always offered to call MSU and have his 30 hours of college transferred over to me. how he could remember anyone's phone number and never wrote it down or his recaps of the news and the latest "married with children" rerun. i'm afraid i'll forget.

he was a blue pickup truck with me riding in the middle, megan on my other side. he was flintstone orange pop-ups at the gas station and trying not to bang my skinny kid knees whenever he changed gears. he was the leather workgloves in the truck's toolbox. the pecans littering the driveway collected by his granddaughters little gloved hands. the chair in the living room where he'd watch the world walk by his front door.

with my grandfather, i did get a small kind of goodbye. he was lying in a hospital bed with a tube down his throat. he looked so uncomfortable but also as if he had fallen asleep in his favorite chair with his mouth open. he pulled through that time. my grandmother wouldn't leave his side with fear in her eyes even though she was recuperating from knee surgery. i don't think i realized how much they loved each other until just then. my family tends to show their affection for each other with fighting and my grandparents had a lot of affection for each other.

but now, now i see real heartache in my grandmother's eyes. i look at her overwhelmed with depression and i catch a bit of it myself.
my heart has been wounded before and i've tasted my share of heartbreak. but every time i look at my grandmother- all i can think is, "that's real heartbreak. that's the kind of heartbreak where the man you lived with for more than half your life isn't lying beside you in bed anymore. you can't call him to tell him about your day or a story you know he'd like. he won't make you eggs for breakfast and you can pack the extra quilt that kept him warm at night."
it's the kind of heartbreak where you want to share something with the person who you've always shared things - but it's not possible.

how do you get over something like that?
the answer: you don't.

which is why death sucks.
plain and simple.
but every now and then i'll take a minute to recall their voices.
just so i won't forget.
because one day i'll have to describe them to my husband. my children. my great-grandchildren. i'll have to tell them about two of the most important men in my life they never got to meet.
until then, i might just use my recorder for other things then newspaper interviews.

lessons.

2009-06-06T22:24:00.005-05:00

it's amazing how you can grow so much in just a few weeks.
how clarity can hit you and suddenly there's this tiny little glimmer of understanding. that "aha!" moment when you understand exactly the inner workings of yourself that didn't make sense but suddenly... suddenly you have such an insight into life and you smile that little smile to yourself of pure joy.

it's amazing how confusing we are to ourselves.

i've been getting antsy lately - ready for the next big adventure. but you see - this is my adventure. these nights alone when i go to sleep staring at my ceiling knowing that i am completely alone - that's an adventure. i don't even put a chair in front of the door anymore. the fear is fading - which means it's time for another adventure, more fear.

my life lessons occur daily. movies, lyrics, books, long drives. i search for these moments of clarity, insight into life. i devour these items on a quest for answers, the understanding that someone else has reached that i can learn. i want to learn from them and add their wisdom to my mental bookshelf.

some of these are just reminders. a movie will remind me of an important lesson i somehow forgot, a book will bring up a conversation where i had an eye-opening experience. but these lessons and reminders can happen in the least likely places.

i need something to remind me daily how strong i really am. how dreams are achievable, love is true and friendships are essential.
because if i had my way - i'd just be a hermit.

i can't really say why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
but in the end, the only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself
- the weepies.

poppies.

2009-06-04T23:39:00.009-05:00

we're all looking for a little romance in the world.

waiting with baited breath for a moment that sparkles and shines like lights on an abandoned street at night.

but i've started to realize that romance isn't all hearts and kisses and sighs. no, romance is so much more than that.
the definition of romance includes words such as "love" and "emotional" and "affair." but it can also mean:
"a strong, sometimes short-lived attachment, fascination, or enthusiasm for something"
"a mysterious or fascinating quality or appeal, as of something adventurous, heroic, or strangely beautiful."

the only part of that definition i don't like is "short-lived." this is mainly because i don't want romance in my life to be short-lived. i want to find fascination in the every day things like white linen, the perfect summer breeze, shorts that fit perfectly and a conversation with a good friend.

because i think romance can be found outside of a relationship between a man and a woman. i think mystery, fascination, enthusiasm can be found in life without the promise of a future relationship. i think romance can be found even when we're all alone.

romance is a field of poppies. finding a new bookstore. a painting you suddenly understand. a good quilt. the smell of a peach. the taste of cheesecake ice cream.

romance is also the unknown.
i have so many doors open to my future right now that i'm waiting for one of them to close, hoping that i'll pick the right doorknob to turn. but until then, until that moment of clarity.... i'll soak in the romance of it all. the romance of the unknown, fear and uncertainty.
it's all just so romantic.

"how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."
- annie dillard

lyrics.

2009-05-31T11:57:00.003-05:00

i didn't go to church this morning.

i woke up on time. ate my toast and orange. put on my makeup. picked out my dress. drove. parked in the parking lot. sat in my running car. then pulled out. drove home. washed off my makeup. took off my dress. and sat on my bed.

sometimes church isn't about a building.
sometimes all i need for church is words and music -two things that are such a major part of who i am. i think a lot of people don't understand that - that sometimes, a church building is the last thing a person needs and a quilt, open window and early morning air is perfect.

and so, my church consisted of my ipod and "sex God" the latest book i'm reading.
a really good book, mind you.

i won't go into the semantics as to why i didn't go to church - that would be a rather long blog concerning friends, connections, moving, etc. instead, i'll just tell you about my church service with relient k.

the thing about music is that i really feel it brings you closer to God. no matter if the song is intended to be "christian" or not - it can be spiritual.
the thing about relient k is, sometimes i'm not sure what the meaning of their songs are but i think what matters is what a song means to you more than what it meant to the writer.

which is why i'm not going to explain what these songs mean to me or even give you my favorite lines - no, you'll have to determine what they mean to you without my influence.

"there was no thief"
"let it all out"
"who i am hates who i've been"

diving.

2009-05-27T17:54:00.000-05:00

i've started a blog.
yes.
the day has finally come.

there isn't much to write. a recent college grad, i sit on my couch turned bed, watching a chick flick while listening to my washing machine churn my clothes clean.

i'm at a crossroads right now. and i don't mean britney spears "crossroads" complete with sun and songs. no, this crossroads involves moving, jobs and the heart. that's the thing about being a college graduate not attending graduate school til january - a freedom that seems both exhilarating and frightening.

i love it when you put something in the oven completely unsure how it will turn out. this is usually how i cook. it's an endless adventure that reaches its peak as you suddenly catch a whiff of the smell emitting from the oven. ah. at least it smells good. tonight's creation involves tilapia, spinach, mushrooms and asparagus. cooking is just one of the recent joys i've rediscovered in my recent days of freedom.

another is reading. fill-ins. dvr. phone calls. sleep. the possibilities are endless.

but while the freedom is enjoyable - it's also unnerving. i don't know how to not be busy. i'm used to full schedules, every second filled, a to-do list for every day. not that i still don't have things to do - like look for scholarships, finish organizing my itunes and learning how to run. but it's different. i'm alone. no room mate. no close friends. no lulabelle.

i'm learning how to be alone. and that's scary.
but mainly, it's boring.
there are things that are enjoyable about not having a room mate - such as the shedding of clothes, but then there are times when being alone isn't fun - such as when the cable isn't working or critters have invaded your room.

right now, i'm just being. sitting. breathing. reading. enjoying. thinking.
thinking about the future, tomorrow, the next day, a month from now.
no plans means plenty of time to make plans.

if only someone could hand me a fortune cookie that says "choose this path, brianna! it'll bring you the most happiness!"

because we all know i am an expert at making bad choices.

"when someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision." - the alchemist.