Stairs to Dreams

                                 You should go and live your dreams.

                              Yes, every single one of them,

                          From the most lofty, to the

                        Humblest, because, we 

                     Are young, and that’s
                  What youth does:

                Explore.

            But

         I hope 

      That maybe, 

   Just maybe, you’ll 

Take me with you...

Connections.

Connections are incredible.

Have you ever just looked across the room and seen a stranger and simply known—known that you were going to be friends, or even that you would love that person forever?

Or maybe, you’re a long way from home, and it’s been weeks since anyone has even hugged you, and a new friend touches you gently on the shoulder, and it means so much to you that you go and sit in the car and cry for the next few minutes because it was just what you needed.

And perhaps, you feel like you’ll never experience a deep, soul-kind of connection with anyone ever again, and you've almost resigned yourself to a lifetime of mediocre “’How are you today?’ ‘I’m fine, thank you’” conversations—when suddenly, you find yourself talking throughout the night with someone who just gets you.

Connections.

How does this happen? How is it that you can feel so strongly linked to certain people, yet not to others? Is it chemistry? God-ordained meetings? Both? I don’t know. But what I do know is that these people are special. You don’t have these kinds of bonds with everyone you meet.

For example, I know a girl who is the nicest person on the planet. We used to do a lot of stuff together because we lived close, traveled in the same circles, carpooled together, and were often thought to be like twins because we were so similar in every way. Yet, there was always just something missing.

And even in the past, I've gone out on dates with some of the most pleasant guys, yet, the conversation dragged and in the end, we just didn't click. There was no spark, no magic, no great burning desire to know everything and anything about each other. Before long, those kinds of relationships were reduced to cookie-cutter conversations that never amounted to more than “’How was your day?’ ‘Lovely. How was yours?’” And no amount of trying or digging for deeper questions can fix that. That connection just isn't there.

But when it is there, it’s wonderful, always catching me off-guard in its wonderfulness. Just when you feel like life might be a little dull, and you may never feel those deep connections again: BAM! You happen upon someone who understands you. These are your best friends. These are people who will take up permanent corners in your heart. Those are the people who will treasure your soul and bring out the best in you.

Connections.

The Girl I Am Tonight

I've lived so many lives, 

Each one of them vastly different. 

I've been innocence,

I been evil,

I've been love,

I've been hate. 

I've known joy 

And I've known loss. 

I've been cherished,

And I've been scorned,

Cast aside and crushed. 

But even so, 

Life has been beautiful 

And still holds grand touches of magic.

Beneath it all, 

With all the people I've been 

And the lives I've lived, 

I want you to know one thing:

No matter how I change 

Or who I become,

There will always be a part of me

Who is still the girl I am tonight. 

So please, when I'm old,

And my curls unravel 

And my cheeks aren't so rosy 

Remember me. 

Remember the person I am right now. 

Remember my smile,

(That it was all for you)

And cherish me

As you cherished that girl on that evening so long ago--

Just to remember, 

That she will forever live on in me.  

Only When I'm Breathing

“You know, these last two years have been the hardest ones of my entire life,” I said. “If I took all of the bad, tragic things that have ever happened to me, about 90% of them happened between 2013 and 2014.”

“I know,” my mother answered on the end of the other line. “It’s true. It’s been that way for us too."

***

I was coming home from work last night, a little later than usual, and I saw a guy jogging. At first I thought it was Hot Shirtless Jogging Dude, but as he got closer, I saw that it was actually Matt. Our eyes met and locked. I hadn't seen him all year. He lives in my neighborhood, yet we almost never cross paths. He passed by, and I shamelessly watched him as he jogged away.

I had felt cute all day. I’d walk by guys at work and smile, because I thought my hair and my clothes looked good. But when Matt looked at me, I didn't feel cute anymore. I felt drab. My clothes were boring colors and not as flattering as I had thought. My hair was childish and frizzy. The moment I looked into his eyes, I saw myself through his, and I was old, dull, and countrified—as if I had never left the cornfields I grew up in.

And then it hit me. The guys I've dated since him never really mattered. Sure, they were a lovely distraction for a while, and maybe I even learned a few things along the way. But I never really loved them—not in the way I loved Matt. And when we broke up, I was sad for a little while over them, but within a month, or even in one case, just a few days, I discovered that it wasn't these most recent guys who I missed. It was Matt. It had always been Matt.

A friend had once asked, “Do you miss him?” To which I answered, “Only when I’m breathing.”

It’s been a year and a half, slowly creeping into 2 years, and I still miss him with that same kind of regularity. I have a friend who recently lost her boyfriend of 4 years. I want to tell her that it’s going to be alright, that the pain goes away in time. I want to pat her hand and smile as I offer words of encouragement. But I can’t, because I don’t even have that kind assurance for myself. So instead, I just tell her, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

***

These have been a hard two years. But oddly enough, I wouldn't undo them. I wouldn't ask for Mom Mom and Carvey and Anita to come back, because they’re better off. They don’t suffer anymore.

I wouldn't wish that I had never met Matt, because with him, I learned I can love and be loved as I never realized was possible. I really wouldn't change any of these things, or even the unmentioned ones that I don’t talk about here, because out of these dead hopes and dreams and empty spaces in my heart, grew some things that are even heartier than what I lost.

God talks to me now. You know, back home, I was safe and un-rattled by life. I didn't need comforting, so God didn't have to comfort me. But now, some days, he’s the only one here, and I need him. God knows I need him. So he talks. Sometimes I hear him, sometimes he sends words through friends, sometimes he sends me physical, tangible messages. And you don’t know joy or amazement until you've heard God speak.

And my friendships are deeper. Yes, I had wonderful friends when I lived back home. I have a very strong support system in my little circle of girlfriends, but I never knew how strong until I moved away. It’s one thing to be friends when you live close by and can visit whenever you wish, but it’s another thing when the people you love make the long drive, spend money on the hotel room, and come to see you simply because they miss you, or because they want to surprise you at your very first play in a new theatre. I didn't know how strong my friendships back home were until I moved away, and I wouldn't replace that for anything.

***

So it’s hard, but I’m breathing. I miss those who are gone; I miss those who moved on without me. But I’m breathing. Missing them, but I’m breathing. 

A Diamond for a Lonely Woman

I

Started

Off alone.

Then you came

Along and you took my

Hand. Suddenly we were two

And it was the most wonderful thing.

Then you left and my world got

Narrow. I was alone again.

Now I’ll never

Be us. Just

Me. 

Caught off Guard

I had a quick thought today of the Peake Players—the theatre group that I used to work with back home. I can’t even remember the exact thought, but it made me think of Anita, the director of group. I had a brief moment of, “I should message her and tell her…” and then the thought stopped there. Then I remembered:

I can’t message her. 

I can’t talk to her. 

I can’t send her a card or give her a call.

And my brain just sort of tripped out for a moment. That’s never happened to me before. In the past, when I missed someone I always had the option to contact them in some way. And even if I didn't end up talking to them, it was still a comfort to know that I could if I wanted to.

This is the first time I've thought of someone and not been able to reach them in some way. And it freaks me out. I've never had this feeling before. It’s weird and I don’t understand it. You’d think that after living for a quarter of a century that you've had all the “feels” (as the kids are saying these days) that you’re ever going to have. But that’s not true. There are still so many more things to feel, to experience—still so many things that are going to hurt you.

I guess I was caught off guard.

5 Things I Learned About Being an Adult

1. Adulthood is about always being tired. Seriously, I think I’m more tired now than I was when I was a student. In college, I kept weird hours. I had classes scattered throughout the day, interrupted by some hours of shift work, so my schedule was always changing. If I was tired, I could go home and crash after a class or a shift, catch up on my zzzzzz’s, and then be fresh for the rest of the day. When you work a regular 8-5, you just go home tired every day. There is no “catching a nap” anymore.

Adults have to deal. Growing up, I rarely saw adults crying or showing grief. Recently, after my great grandmother passed away, I watched my family. So few people seemed absolutely distressed. But, after talking to some of them and hearing about some of their quieter moments, I realized that they all were heartbroken and grieving. Appearances are deceiving. Everyone was suffering. They just carried on, dealing with it quietly and in their own ways. I admire that kind of strength.

Adulthood is painful. I know I was lucky, but I had an idyllic childhood. Nothing bad really happened. My parents protected me and my siblings from a lot of hardships, and I spent most of my days running and playing in the woods and farm fields. It was magical. But then adulthood hit, and I've come to find that it’s full of death, broken relationships, disappointment, and heartbreak. Now, that’s not to say that I don’t have a great life, because I do. But it’s a different sort of wonderful than my childhood was. While my adolescent years blurred together as one big hazy time of play and joy, my adulthood has been marked with significant times of pain and loss.

 Adulthood is about pretending you know what’s going on. I think few people actually feel like an adult. Often when you ask someone how old they feel, or how old they think they behave, the person will say, “I feel 18,” or “I act like I’m 12.” Adulthood kind of creeps up on you, and down deep, I think we all still feel unsure about our lives, where we are going, what we are doing. Few people (if anyone) have their lives figured out. As a kid you think that adults know what’s going on, that they fully have a grasp on taxes, politics, or how the world works. But in reality, we just pretend that we understand all those “grown-up” things so that we can get by, so that children feel safe. As adults, sometimes we just pretend to comprehend what we think everyone else expects us to know.

 Adulthood is about learning. It’s a journey. As a kid, you think that when you've reached adulthood (first it’s 18, later it’s 21, and later than that you realize it’s probably never), that you’ll have everything figured out. You’ll think that you've “arrived,” that you fully know what you believe, your stance on politics, religion, etc. But in truth, the learning never stops. It shouldn't stop. How we see the world, what we know about the world is always changing as we grown and learn. And that’s a beautiful thing…even if it is frustrating at times.