staying.

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.

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.

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.

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