I'm not so sure we did evolution right

Last night, while reading my ritual "How many BuzzFeed posts can I read before my head starts to hurt", I came across one about space. Not necessarily what I normally read, but for some reason I clicked on it.

As I read it, I remembered being in science class. Sitting, listening, marveling at the thought that our Earth, which we feel is so impressive, is comparable to a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things.

Thinking about it is one of those mind altering trances. You know, those spaces where your mind seems to have unlocked the secret to the universe. Those times when you ponder "What happens when I die?" or "Is God real?". Those peculiar moments when your brain is pulled straight out of your skull and you can see clearly, even for a few brief moments, that all is not as it appears. The test you did so poorly on the other day no longer matters, because at the end of the day, is there a purpose for math anyways? Is there a purpose to your life? Or are you as insignificant as one of the millions of ants you accidentally killed in the driveway yesterday.

It's kind of tough to think about really. To pull outside of your own selfish shell and ponder the enormity of the world around you in comparison to yourself.

To think that if we shrunk the Sun to the size of a white blood cell, and shrunk the Milky Way on the same scale, it(the Milky Way) would be the size of the United States. Mind. Blowing.

So as I sat, swooning in the revelation that life is not all it appears, I was aghast to think that I myself, am the creation of some 55 million years of evolution. Yes, me and you and everyone you know or know of are those who survived, and made it through the evolutionary process.

And it made me sick. My stomach churned and I felt my chest constrict to think that a world more focused on Kim Kardashian's ass and viral videos is what we have evolved to become.

I'm not saying this to preach or bring out a whole new moral lesson, or to even say that I've "become a new person, and will focus my life's efforts on whateverthehellitisIchoosetodo". I'm just sharing because it scared me.

It honest to god scared me that I am the end product of what is supposed to be a beautiful process, and most of the time I can't pull my own head out of my ass to worry about something useful.

So I'm not sure what I should do to change this. And I'm really not sure of what you should do either. All I'm saying is, out of every random piece of information you read on the Internet in the next three weeks, maybe you could remember this. That you are a product of some pretty damn impressive evolution. We as a human species have done some pretty amazing things, and we can continue to do so.

We just have to remember that there is more out there than just us.There are people that live all around us. Animals that live all around us. That whatever exists in the dark places of the solar system is here with us as well.

If there are aliens probing our brains at night, the least we could do is show them the things that make us extraordinary humans. Our compassion, our ability to care and love. Not the things that pull us down -- the drugs, violence and hate that permeates our culture today. Then maybe they can show us some compassion too. Everyone loses their way every once in awhile -- it just feels like right now it's our whole world.

At the end of it all, whether you choose to remember this or you just choose to think about it for five minutes until your next video loads, maybe we just need to work on remembering the things that helped us beat evolution in the first place. The ingenuity, the passion, the respect for the world around us. Maybe then can we be something evolution is proud of.

"The biggest communication problem is that we do not listen to understand. We listen to reply"

I just want to be heard

I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed right now, and I'm beginning to doubt myself. Its crazy how easily one small sliver can wriggle in and take root underneath your sternum. How even now, sitting here, lazily typing, I can feel it stretching its limbs and beginning to root under this vein, than another. It is taunting me every minute that I am not in front of a book, every second that I am not furiously typing at the next assignment. I've felt behind from the moment I've started and this feeling is only getting worse. I'm scared -- that I'm not as smart as I think I am. I'm scared that I have no clue what I'm doing. I'm scared about money, and jobs, and life, and even just breathing at this point.

When does the light kick on, that I'm okay. When does the fear get ripped out by the root and let me continue on in peace?

I don't want to be scared of something so controllable. It just feels like sometimes I have no outlet in which to talk. To actually talk. To sit and have someone listen to me, for once.

Moving home I've begun to lose myself in the doldrums of work, class, and working out. I'm no longer a separate entity. I have been consumed by the address; taken under the wing of safety that resides there. It's hard to ground yourself when you can't help ground others. So not only am I losing my grounding, I'm losing it fast.

I'm not really sure what this post is meant to be about. I'm not really sure if there was ever a point besides the fact that the swirling vortex of my subconscious needed to be emptied, and Chip really isn't the greatest listener.

Maybe that's it. I just wish I had someone to listen. Because it feels like I spend a helluva a lot of time listening to everyone else when all I want to do is scream. I want someone to listen, and to actually  listen and to actually care and to not brush it off.

I'm just like everybody else -- I want to be heard.

So, do it. Decide. Is this the life you want to live? Is this the person you want to love? Is this the best you can be? Can you be stronger? Kinder? More Compassionate? Decide. Breathe in. Breathe out and decide.

-Grey's Anatomy

Inspiration comes in the simplest forms, and sometimes a simple quote is all the reminder I need to live a simpler, kinder life. 

You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge. Apologize for mistakes. Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone — profusely. But don’t apologize for being who you are.
-Danielle Laporte

I love that I found this quote today. It reminds me to my core to cherish myself. 

It's also a good tie-in to a poem I've been slowly working on. 

Maybe this is my sign to buck up, and write it. 

Share it with the world. 

I mean, I have a voice for a reason, right? 

I don't want no mediocre

I haven't written in a while, so I want to share something I wrote awhile back. I've progressed since this point, and feel much less consternation with the male sex, and the hunger and hate that comes along with them. However, I  do like the reminder that I need to work more on fulfilling the words and statements that I so easily shout into the abyss. Habits take time, and this is one habit I'm trying to form. Hell, if I can stop biting my nails, I can sure as hell do anything. As is consistent in my life, I refuse to be mediocre. Now, it's time to start accomplishing that.

I guess what really bothers me is I just don’t understand.

I just don’t understand why you stopped talking to me. Why you stopped replying to me. How you just decided one day to cut me out of your life and didn’t even give me a chance. I guess I just don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell me. Why you had to be an ass and stop responding. Why you couldn’t just be upfront and tell me that you didn’t think things were going to work out between us, instead of letting me sit with unanswered questions and mass amounts of hope filtering through the air.

I just hate that I assume it’s because something is wrong with me. And I wonder, what could I have done differently? How could I have changed the course we took by my own words, my own actions, my own being.

I hate that I automatically assume responsibility for a failed relationship. I hate that this embedded idea of being written off as some ‘crazy bitch’ has me accepting responsibility for other people’s actions, and inaction. I’ve worked so hard the past few months to come to terms with myself, and to begin accepting myself for who I am, and who I want to be. I hate that this can so easily be taken away from me by you.

I can sit here and say over and over to myself, that I refuse to feel belittled by men anymore, and that I refuse to let this bother me. But I’m tired of wasting words and my breath on statements that hold no substance. It makes me feel the weight of throwing useless words and proclamations of change into the air, only to have them rest heavily upon my shoulders until I fulfill them. Right now, I have hundreds of statements sitting there. Perched precariously, given life only by my thoughts and my own actions to let them live. And there they sit, waiting for me. Waiting for me, to put substance back into their glassy shells; their silken carcass holding no matter but still weighing more than a hippopotamus. 

So I accept, that my heart feels torn. That my demeanor is sulky at the thought of not being good enough. I accept that sometimes, these feelings are inescapable, as I have sadly been brought up in a world where woman are deemed as crazy, and men are seen as the be all, end all. I accept that I feel bad for myself, because I have so much love and not enough outlets.

I however, do not accept letting you off of the hook.

So this is it. I will have another day long pity party, where I wallow for the fact that I have not yet found someone. The thing is though, I’m open to whomever comes my way. At least I have the chance to find something real, while you cower behind your schedules and responsibility.

So in the end, I feel bad. But I won’t feel bad forever. However, you will.

It's super irritating that a bad hair day, and three little numbers on a scale can cause my day to become such an downer.

I also find it irritating that for some reason, these small reasons allow me to pity myself even though there is no reason to feel bad for myself.

It's ridiculous that I can be so self-absorbed that these simple things could ruin my day if I let them. That the human reaction is to allow yourself to feed into these self-serving and self-loathing.

A human controls their own happiness. I allow myself to be upset due to a lack of weight loss, or ridiculous curls. I allow myself to feel unnecessary pity for unnecessary things.

I refuse to let my own unhappiness become a limiting factor in my life.

Shake the system

I want to get my nose pierced
feel the cold metal
piercing the skin
with a small
pop.
To have it sit
balanced in my nose
a shiny reminder
glittering in my peripheral

I want to get a pink streak
a hot pink streak
in my hair
so that it slyly sneaks
into my fancy up do's
accented by classy earrings.
To have it shine
with a bright reminder
of my dreams
to be a princess .

I want to wear heavy makeup
with the dark kohl
creasing in the lines
that furrow through
my tender eyelids.
To feel the smudge
as I accidentally rub
my eyes
and rub off this mask.

I want to wear high heels
so high that it feels like
you are about to teeter
off of your toes
and into an abyss.
To make my feet
remember the solace
of solid ground.

I want to get a thigh piece
of flowers
and fish
obscuring the hair follicles
and stretching as I squat.
To pulse as I run
to show my hobbies
colored on my skin.

I want to shake the system.

I am dying for productivity that makes me feel alive.
I am dying to be able to feel like I've accomplished something.
I am being suffocated by my own laziness.

Please don't mind what I'm trying to say,

 'cause I'm, I'm being honest.
-Cartel, "Honestly"

I just want to write. 

I want to take all of these shut doors and smash them in. 

Smash in the wooden panels and escape the claustrophobia of letting 

'everything happens for a reason' 

become my mantra.

Watch the fragments splinter and feel the rush-- 

of blood to my hand

as it begins to turn the vibrant pink of pain

of adrenaline

as my heart begins to beat out

a new frantic pace

of warmth 

as the light streams in

from the outside world. 

I want to take back the keys

To decide when the doors lock

and when they open

I want to crush out the rhythm

of voices telling me 

to let things happen

to escape the nagging

of my own subconscious

to do more

be more

I want to take all of these ridiculous words

and find something constructive for them.

I want to use my words 

to smash sense into the ignorance around me.

I want to understand the misguided intentions of selfish people

and selfish endeavors. 

I want to stop wanting

and to start being. 

Maybe Someday

Maybe someday
You’ll find it in your heart

To branch out
To reach out
To take the tendrils of your soul and embrace
The incongruity
In continuity
Of the human existence


Maybe someday
The ache you feel pulsating inside your chest
Will no longer be a painful reminder
Of the things that you missed
But instead

They will be the gateway
    Stairway
      Hidden hallway

To your innermost soul


Maybe someday
You will crack open your rib cage
And bare out your soul
Challenging
  Captivating
    Catastrophizing
Urging those who ogle
to turn the pages
Of your mangled soul
Rub their fingertips through the gouges
Left by harsh tongues
And even more dangerous silences


Maybe someday
You will allow your soul
To be painstakingly reworked
Carefully plundered
From the scrap bin in which you have banished
This burnished soul


Maybe someday
Maybe someone
Will carve their way
So deep into the crevasse
Between your sternum and spine

That where one of you begins
And the other one ends
Are no more than some dreamers
Lucid belief

Maybe someday
You will allow
Your soul to be exposed
To the exfoliating scrapes
Of true love
Whatever the fuck that is


And maybe someday
You’ll realize that every tumble and tarnish
Every chip and every crack
Was absolutely worth it
To unearth
Whatever
This is


Maybe someday

All that I'm after is a life full of laughter

The clarity is streaming through my veins with the ferocity of a lioness on the prowl. It's overwhelming when the cliche light bulb is lit and suddenly you see your surroundings in an entirely different way. All of a sudden, the light is showing me those hidden pieces, the trap doors that have been lurking in my adventure. Maybe the incessant listening of love songs isn't because I lack in having love, but maybe because I have so much. Maybe, the feeling of loss isn't about a boy, or any number of the sort but about girls. About the 50 girls this year, and the 50 girls last year, and the 50 girls next year.

I love this job. I love these people. I love the feelings that emanate from the building and the sense of home that envelopes me as I breathe in the stale air and the heart beats.  So maybe this 'loss' that is thrashing it's way in my subconscious isn't because I'm searching for someone to fill a void, but because I'm afraid of the void that may appear. That as this chapter of my life closes, I will lose these memories and these important, these so very important people, in my life.

I'm anxious about a void that isn't there.

I have so much to give, and so much love to share that there will never be a void. That someday, I will find another place that my heart fits perfectly, but only because my heart is outgrowing its surroundings.

Its time to move on. I know that. I know that this change will not kill, nor maim me. My heart has run rampant these past two years and maybe it's time for the course to change. Maybe something else needs my undying devotion, and love.

Maybe, it's time to love myself and let my life's adventure play out because I know that I have too much to offer to not share my love again. My time here has been so varied and colored that it's hard to imagine loving anything else, but it will happen. My best passion is my passion for life, and that is why I know it will all work out.

I am sad, and that's okay. In reality, all I am losing is a title. The rest of it? The relationships, the experiences, the undying passion and love -- that's all me.

So I'm losing an outlet to share it. That's okay. Like I said before, I'm going to be someone, do something.

I will grieve this loss but it will be because of love. A love for this world, this journey, and these people. These love songs remind me that there is life after love. Sometimes, it just comes in different forms than we expect.

I hope people read my blog, look at my Facebook or creep on my Twitter and just marvel at the incredible level of intelligence and resilience that I have.

I'm going to be something, do something. Shock the world and make it hurt.

Don't you forget that.

My room is becoming this real life representation of the channels of anxiety that are burrowing in my skull.

I'm done though. I'm taking it back. Starting today. Gone will be the clutter and useless dead weight. I am starting now, to refresh and renew.

I am enough.

I am more than enough.

I am spectacular in so many facets that it's hard for me to figure out where my path leads. As hard as that is for me to accept, due to need to control my game of life, I'm working on releasing my white knuckle grip.

It's a bit more time consuming than can be described and involves plenty of falters, and re-grasping of the safety of familiarity and routine. However, each time I work to let my control loosen and the easy flow of living life by the day instead of the fear it becomes easier. My knuckles are the bright pink of happiness for longer and longer. Every now and then a set back makes me grip tighter and longer than I have in awhile but that's normal. Everyone has their set backs as they attempt to grip onto what is safe and known. It just so happens I've spent my whole life gripping the safety bar.

So I'm done. I'm letting it go, at least for now. I'm going to focus on what I can control, and how I can continue on my path, whatever in the hell that means right now.

Starting now. My room will become a comforting space once again, and I will relinquish my hold on material objects. This summer, I will find my body again through the sun, the water and the pavement. This summer, I will use not only my intellectual brain but my creative one as well. I will take pictures daily, and I will smile often. I will spend hours wrist deep in dirt planting the flowers I love and getting scraped up playing tag with the dog. I'm taking myself back. I am recreating myself around the scars of anxiety.

Tick tock tick tock faster than the fastest clock

Can you feel it

Can you feel the pulse within your veins and power coursing through your chest

Grab it

Harness it

Don’t let it get off just yet

Don’t get rid of your biggest super power, your hidden secret, the one that defines you and only you the one that encapsulates your entire being and just generally makes you, you

Find that passion that burns its way through layers of epidermis as your body temperature rises

Find that passion as it cuts through your vocal cords, straining them with the need you have to let the words fly off of your tounge

And pierce the awaiting ear drums of those around you

Take that fire that burns so deep within your gut that sometimes you think you have an ulcer

Just because the only thing that could possibly calm it is the sugar clasped between your hand

Tick tock tick tock

Your heartbeat screams as it pounds out a symphony across the xylophone splayed over squishy organs, as it smashes out the guitar riff from simple tendons straining to constrain your enthusiasm

Feel the pulse build one step two step three step four as it pours through the rivulets of sweat that bead down your face, as your exhaustion catches up to you

Tick

Tock

Your heart murmurs softly as your head sinks back and your chest moves to the easy languid beat of the satisfied cat who lives around the corner

Tick

Tock

Not A Bad Thing

So I wrote this slam poem the other day, to read at our Self-Acceptance Week Open Mic night on Friday. I just thought I'd share.

Heart pounding

Palms sweaty

Knees weak

Arms…..spaghetti?

Isn’t necessarily a bad thing

Adrenaline pumping

Head swirling

Stomach contracting

Chest constricting

Doesn’t mean there is something wrong

Anxiety

Is normal

So why doesn’t it feel

Normal

Why am I trained to believe that I

Am the problem

That I’m the crazy one

That there is something

Wrong

Deeply wrong

Like,  ‘What in actual fuck’ wrong

With me

Nothing

There is nothing wrong with me

So I’m anxious

So what

So sometimes my head plays games

And a small ailment

Can become the next path to death

So what

So sometimes I get overly concerned

About having a schedule

And being on time

So what?

So sometimes I fall too hard

And I fall too fast

Because I want you to love me

Before you think I’m crazy too

Because sometimes

I believe them

I believe all those lies

That I’m not ‘normal’

That I have problems

I feed into the expectation

That as a woman

A strong,

Independent

Free thinking woman

Who doesn’t put up with shit

Who just happens to sometimes

panick until my chest constricts

And then the tears come without stopping

This

This all means I’m crazy

But you know what?

Fuck that

Fuck this ridiculous belief

That’s been shoved down my throat

And so deeply engrained in my brain

For 21 years

That makes me think that I’m crazy

Because I am not

I am not crazy.

It just so happens

That one of my traits happens to be due

To my unbalanced levels of serotonin

That my trait means that instead of running

Perfectly balanced

Sometimes I get a little high strung

This one little trait

In hundreds of genes

has founded this  this ridiculous belief

That I am crazy

I have plenty of other great traits

I’ve got some damn nice eye’s

And a face that freckles faster in the sun

Than an ice cube can melt

I also have thick thighs

An obnoxious laugh

And a verbous vocabulary

These are all traits that are accepted

So why can’t I accept the fact that

My heart beats quickly

And sometimes I have to take my shoes off

To balance my internal temperature

Why can’t I accept that

I’m not crazy

That there isn’t anything wrong with me.

It’s taken me a long time to get here

A longer time

Than I can portray in a poem

A selection of words

But I’m here.

I’m standing here.

And you know what?

I’m not crazy.

I accept that sometimes I get worried about missing my alarm

And so I don’t sleep at all

I accept that sometimes my adrenaline gets the best of me

And sometimes

Even picking where I go to dinner can be a life or death decision

The thing is though

I’ve made the decision to accept that

To accept that maybe my brain runs a 112 times faster

Than your average car

And I’ve come to accept that

I need to fix my thinking about myself

I’ve come to accept myself

So no longer will I feed into this fucked up notion

Of crazy

Or this ridiculous belief that

I am flawed

The only thing that’s flawed with me

Is that sometimes I eat too many twix bars

And that i swear a bit too much

Beyond that

I am accepting myself

I hope that you can accept that too. 

So much more

Six short weeks and I'll be handed a piece of paper that is supposed to solve all of life's problems -- a college education hidden beneath an ink and pulp mixture. A thin sliver to represent the past four years, 8 semesters and countless hours of my life. Another sheet to slip between the folds of card stock, shuffled into a drawer in hopes of showing my worth by the words upon it. These words, all of these damn words mean so much. But what about what I actually did? But what about the people's live's I've impacted, and those who have impacted mine? These thin slips cannot fully emulate the past four years. They cannot show the struggles of anxiety and fear, or the late nights filled with tears over those not worth them. They cannot dull the ache from missing those important people who actually are important and they cannot hold the joy over the new important people that have been inserted in my life. These stacks of colored ink spell out what will be left once I'm gone, but they will not be able to breathe the life of what the words actually mean into the air. These thin slips of paper are what I'm supposed to hold close, to remind me of these things I've 'accomplished' within these years. That's not what I want to leave behind though. I don't want to die and leave behind a small pile of ash to be buried within the soils of favorite places, with the various papers littered with my so called life floating their way to be recycled. These fragile accomplishments can only mean so much and for so long.  I don't want WHO I am to be lost in WHAT I have done. I want to leave behind something stronger than syllables and synonyms. I want to leave behind the passion behind the pixels, the fire within the fury of the want.  When they empty my house, I want them to feel my presence, and the undying urge of passion that accompanies my soul. When the drawers are shaken free from their stiff locks, I want the folders to be filled with so many words that they cannot be ignored. But I don't want the words to be meaningless. I want the words to be proof of the faith I put into the world. The faith I put my will into, to make the world something for everyone. I want the words to be a reminder of it all, not the only record left of what supposedly made me who I am. I want the words to show that who I am was just as much as what I have done. I don't want the words to be meaningless to those who search them. I want them to be reminders of the things that left a real mark, a scorch upon the green sculpted world we are supposedly living in. I want the words to hold meaning, and not just letters to represent forgotten experiences. I don't want papers to make up my life. I want to make a life outside of the papers, a life that can stand the wind swept plains of change. I want my life to be remembered by the papers, not told by them. My degree is not me. I am so much more than that. I will be so much more than that.

I'm having a helluva time finding the right words for right now. The right syllables to encase the fragile glass structure that is my current life. The words to lend their steel strength and protect my flower petal soul. The phrases to penetrate my calm exterior and exfoliate the scars of anxiety to let the new experiences leave their precious mark. Please, let me find the words to begin to live my wild and precious life, and share it with the world.

But maybe that's what it all comes down to. Love, not as a surge of passion, but as a choice to commit to something, someone, no matter what obstacles or temptations stand in the way. And maybe making that choice, again and again, day in and day out, year after year, says more about love than never having a choice to make at all.

-Emily Giffin 

I am so incredibly proud of my ladies tonight.

It just made me realize how much I'm going to miss them all next year.

It made me realize how much I'm going to miss my staff, and being an RA. It's made me realize that as much as I will miss them, I know that pursuing a career in Student Affairs is the right choice.

All those things

I have these vast expanses of Word documents, littered with hundreds of words. Slam poems, inspiring quotes, thoughts from my day, anger, happiness, questions, feminism -- you name it, I've got a word document somewhere brimming with texts from my mind.

It's overwhelming sometimes because I just have so many things I want to share. There are so many thoughts, and things I wish to bring to the world and I'm afraid that I'm going to run out of time. I'm afraid that I don't have enough days to share all the things I find, or that I don't have enough words to bring about my thoughts. I listen to music, wondering why there isn't a more suitable way to get information out. Everyday I find something else that interests me, something that makes me think. Researching medical marijuana has been insanely gratifying, just for the sole purpose of more information, about things I don't know. I love reading things that other people write, seeing pictures, hearing stories. I love listening to all the different plots on the spectrum of sexuality there are, and I love hearing about people's experiences finding themselves outside of the gender role norms. Religion, or any faith based beliefs wrap themselves around my mind as I wonder about the balance between the having good values and using the church to encourage these values. I wonder about the belief of a higher power, and I wonder about finding the higher power in myself. How did the Buddhists wander around the country, and what exactly did they find in their enlightenment? What sort of experiences cemented their ideas about life and the path they had chose. The volcano that's brewing underneath Yellowstone? How tornadoes form? What is the plot line of Doctor Who, and what exactly does 'Bad Wolf' mean?

Why do young women not value themselves, and why are gender stereotypes still alive? How do you play the guitar, and how does a person have a good singing voice? Is it part of your vocal cords, or something in the data in your brain?

I spend so much time thinking and learning, and processing that I find myself running out of time in the day to put my thoughts to good use. I want to share my knowledge with people, and I want to encourage them to find their lust for information. I want to remind young girls that they don't need a man to be complete, and that they don't need someone else to be whole. I want to remind people of the struggles going on within our own country in terms of sexism, poverty, and sexual assault. I want to open people's eyes to the complexities behind weather, and the actual definition of mental illness. I want to educate people on anxiety, and how to take care of yourself. I want to help people the way that other people have helped me.

I am going to help people. I am going to do something with this information. Even if it means being a motivational speaker who lives down by the river in a van, god damn it I will.

So there really isn't a point to any of this, besides the fact that I haven't posted in awhile and I wanted to clear my mind of all the things that are circulating throughout it. Or at least clear them of the miscellaneous so I can focus on the fact in one week, I might be interviewing with a future employer and figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with my life. No big deal of anything.

I really just wish I could be the next Andy Rooney. That would be the best way to put all my ridiculous talents together.

I do my thing, and you do your thing. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other - it is beautiful. If not it can't be helped.

-Fritz Perls. 

I am so calm, that it almost makes me feel claustrophobic. This light veil of calm is shrouding me in the presence of everything and everyone who needs a piece of me these days. It's not the normal adrenaline racing, skin busting blast of so many things pouring out of my pores that I can barely breathe as the essence gushes forth from every crack within my self-made armor against the anxiety and stress. The fear that threatens to split the seams of the body I am wrapping around my soul tighter and tighter, in efforts to protect it's fragile glass encasement.

No, it's like wearing a silken cloak that swirls and holds me together while protecting me from the outside world. Not protecting me from my own misplaced actions and reactions, but guarding me against the gaping black hole of society. I am no longer working to protect my mind from myself but to protect myself from the mind of the masses.

The calm gives me protection as I control myself. As I control every aspect of my self and my being. I am no longer threatened by my own mind but embrace my ability to control it, and use it wisely.

It's almost scary the sense of control I have, even as the world around me shifts again, the next big shake of the continental plates as my world evolves. The safe haven of Pangaea and young adulthood is slowly being ripped apart as the real world beckons outside.

Inspiration

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

I've had a cleansing day.

Who would have thought a snow day could carry off so much weight off of your shoulders?

I am thankful

for the fact that every single day,

I know that I am something 

to value. 

I know that I am worth more than

some guy who doesn't treat me right.

That I,
 in fact, 

deserve so much more

than a fleeting romance. 

I deserve someone who cherishes me

and thank god I know that. 

That even on those days that I may not feel

like the prettiest girl in the world,

or the smartest, 

I know that I am worth more than someone

who treats me inhumanely.

Who treats me as if I am something disposable, 

that is only kept around for when it is convenient 

for them.

That I value myself, 

to know that I deserve more

than a selfish relationship

based on the physical 

attractions

and interactions. 

I deserve someone who can 

challenge me mentally. 

Encourage me to delve into the things

that make me, me. 

Be proud of the fact, 

that I don't be put up with crap

and I plan on doing something with my life.

And you know what?

Whether or not I ever find someone

who thinks these things about,

I think them about myself.

I'm proud of myself.

That, in itself,

is a lot more than many other people can say.

I don't say that enough though.

I don't recognize the things I do every day

to make a difference. 

I'm always so focused on being

better, faster, stronger

that I sometimes overlook the fact

how strong I really am. 

I am graduating college,

and have so many opportunities ahead of me

because I am EXACTLY who I am.

Not because I bend to fit someone else's

mold of their complacent friend,

girlfriend,

or everyday human being.

I may not be the picture perfect

human in every respect but damn it. 

I am doing good things. 

I am a good thing.

I have graduated from the Student Leader Fellowship program,

completed three out of four Superior Edges,

been a successful Resident Adviser,

a successful Student Office worker,

been an active member of Mortar Board,

Special Events Committee,

Hall and House Governments,

 an extremely active member of Women for Women,

serving on and chairing the Hear Us Roar committee 

multiple times, 

while also being the secretary for one year

and now the Vice President.

I have achieved a stellar grade point average,

and made the Dean's list every semester at college.

I have earned outstanding reviews on 

my performance both in my job, 

and in my internships for my major. 

I have received numerous awards,

served on the board of directors 

for the children's museum

and so much more 

that I can't even remember off of the top

of my head. 

And I'm not done yet.
I'm nowhere near done. 

As scared as I am, for the imminent doom

of graduating college, 

I am so passionate about what I am going to do.

I love Student Affairs, 

and I will excel in it. 

Whether it be here at Northern,

or whether it be somewhere five states away.

Where ever I am,

I will be making a difference. 

In ten years, look for me with a doctorate, 

paving my way to changing campus life

in whatever way that may be.

 I will continue to be the strong, confident, capable woman that I am.

Word covered thoughts, pixel covered ideas

I love having inspiration while I sleep. The fact that I was having dreams about sharing my writing, and writing more, just makes me realize how important it is to me. How using my vocabulary to express my inner workings is more calming than a bubble bath and a good book. How the black and white stains the clean page in front of me, and in doing so, cleans the dirt from the lenses within my brain. By writing, I achieve the equilibrium needed to continue, the motivation to continue throughout my path. I need to remember this, as the never ending list of tasks looms, that sometimes it is okay to take a moment to reflect upon myself. To regroup, and move forward clear headed and refreshed, rather than continue on dirty and tired.

Writing to me is so much more than an easy come, easy go pastime. It's fuel for an artistic soul hidden beneath overly analytically mind that functions best on lists and order. The secret staircase to my soul, one that I haven't even fully explored yet myself. It is the step by step descent into freedom, and darkness. Its like a never ending adventure, to find myself. To understand the complexities in the world around me, and to ponder the human race. To define myself in broad spectrum terms, to somewhat encapsulate myself in a way that can be understood. To take the world and pick it apart, and decide what things intrigue me the most.

Writing is my safety, for when my emotions betray me and the crying begins. It allows me to articulate myself and use my words swiftly and correctly. Sometimes, when my emotions overcome me I find myself stumbling through a minefield of words, trying to find my tongue to extract the syllables from my throat. When I write, it's like water flowing through my mind. The words come freely and uninhibited, and bind themselves to the ideas that are floating, wordless and lost; bubbles looking for a protective shell to carry them out in to the harsh reality we live in. The ideas that cannot take shape because the words need to bring them safely into reality are hidden beneath my subconscious.

Writing to me is personal, which may seem contradictory as I post these pixels into the vast internet. Writing is what I do for myself. Writing is how I take myself past the plane of boring college student, into the young adult I find that I am. Writing, is how I think I will make my mark in the world. Writing is not just a facet of me. Writing is so much more.

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

People are not disposable entities, things that you may keep around and recycle for years until one day you decide you no longer have a use for them.

People are things that have meaning, things that you nurture and care for like a family heirloom, or a special book from your childhood. They are not the fads of crop tops and leggings. People are not things that you may use carelessly and then toss to the side until you might have a need for it three months from now.

People have feelings.

So before you start up what seems like a harmless flirtation, or go back to an old flame because you're lonely and in between girls, stop.

Think about what you are doing.

Would you want someone to treat you like that?

As high and mighty as this might sound, it's not meant to be. I'm judging, but mainly because as I write I am judging myself much more harshly. These are things I need to remember. People are not convenient, and if I expect a friendship to last, the proper care and time must be placed into it. The effort to keep it safe, and repaired is required.

Today, I am starting with the woman in the mirror.