One Day At A Time

I walked for three miles this morning.

If I could help it, I'd still be walking.  I wouldn't stop.  I can still feel the rhythm of the sidewalk underneath the soles of my shoes.

I had a lot to think about this morning.  I still have a lot to think about.  My brain uses the perpetual movement of walking in one direction as a backdrop in which to let go, and to roam freely.

I walk and I think and I don't get freaked out by my thoughts, because I am walking, and walking is a rhythm and rhythms are calming.

I listened to this playlist I made when I was 14 called Things I'll Never Say, about the first boy I ever loved.  A boy who has long since forgotten me, and except for passing moments of curiosity and nostalgia, I must admit I have forgotten too.

But the playlist remains as the single, solitary best combination of songs I have ever put together.

I walked and I crunched the leaves underneath my feet and I tried to avoid stepping on cracks because ever since I was a child I have been afraid of the responsibility of breaking my mother's back.

Summer is officially over.  Redundant, I know, because it's October 9th and you're all thinking, "Hello, Hannah, summer ended almost two months ago."

I didn't want it to end, though.  And so I held on to it.  But it ended this past weekend.  I went back to CB for 24 hours.  It was for Bek's birthday, and it had been on the calendar since we left the beach in September, so in that respect, I hadn't let go of everything because I knew I was going to be back in a few weeks.

Which was acceptable and I don't regret that.

But I'm home now, again, and I've grown a little bit sad because I've realized this time it really is goodbye.  It's not just goodbye because I don't have a set date to return and see everyone again, it goes beyond that.  It's goodbye because I have to let it all go, now.

It's goodbye because now it's time to move on.  I can't carry the life I had this summer over into the rest of this year.  The life I had this summer doesn't fit the life in front of me, here.  That's....  A little bit painful.

There are lessons I learned that I can use in my life now, undoubtedly.  There are people who will never leave me alone for long.  There are memories that I will never lose.

But the days and the moments are gone. The mindset has changed.  The worldview is shockingly different here, and so are the people.

Home is exhausting, but God has made me strong.

I must not let the will to experience wither.  The past nine months have been all about experiencing new things, conquering fears, feeling alive, breathing in and breathing out, staying active and achieving happiness.

Discontentment did not  exist when I lived there.

Here, that old frightful Devil whispers constantly in my ear about what I don't have, and how many things are happening that I don't want to happen.  His companionship seems omnipresent.

But what he always seems to forget, or just refuses to acknowledge, is that I have God.  And he can whisper all he wants, but that's all it ever is: whispering.  And even though I am tempted to fall into his trap of discontentment every now and then, I remember that I am  exactly where God wants me to be, and that He will not leave me here alone.

And He has proven that.  Yesterday I spent some time researching Ballymaloe again, with a concentrated tone of seriousness this time, and my eyes were opened.

I had forgotten my love of Ireland.  My love of food.  My love of gardens.  My love of sunny, yellow kitchens.

Lovers, I finally sucked it up and contacted them.

They called me back this morning, bright and early.  I didn't answer, because I was still asleep, but they assured me they would call back and if I had specific questions in the meantime to email them.

This was another reason I walked for such a long time this morning.  I needed to process.

I'm committing, lovers.  Next September, the 16th, in fact, is my first day of culinary school.

I'm not at the stage in my life where I can plan out the next 5-6 years.  Some people are. I don't know how to possibly understand where in life I will be when I'm 24, or who I will have in my life. I know who I want to be there, desperately, but how do I know for sure? Some people are lucky in the way they can do that, some people seem to have it all figured it out...

But I can only foresee about a year into my future right now, and even that seems like forever and a day away.

I remembered that I committed to Bible School a year in advance, though, while I was walking, and that put a lot of things into perspective, because I remembered that year going by insanely fast and this one is bound to go by even faster.  When I start to get overwhelmed just thinking about that, I remember that living at home again is simply about taking one day at a time.

But God is full of blessings, because I realized yesterday as I was falling back in love, He is answering my dreams.  2 years ago, I dreamed of living somewhere on the coast of Ireland, writing and cooking and basking.

So where does He send me, three years down the road from then?

He sends me to a place called Ballymaloe Cookery School, located in the county of Cork, minutes away from the eastern coastline of Ireland.  A place where I will cook with fresh ingredients grown, fed, and harvested there on the grounds.  A place where I can learn how to milk a Jersey cow, and churn my own butter.  (Which if you have learned nothing else about me from following this blog for the past few years, you should have picked up on at least one aspect of my character: this sort of thing appeals to me. Wildly.)

A place where I can roam, and explore and be touched by a race and a culture of people that I have always admired and longed for passionately.

A gentle, safe, encouraging place where I can learn and soar and expand my knowledge tenfold.

A place with roaring waves, towering cliffsides, thunderous caverns, rolling hills, green and purple and hazel and golden fields, quaint cottages, ancient history and country lanes- all of which inspire my writing to no end.

A place where I can wear wool sweaters and rainboots and scarves every single day and never get tired of them.

A place full of moments where life as I have always known it, ends, and something new begins.

So this morning I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and I thought, and I thought, and I thought.

In some ways, I'm still thinking and my spirit is still outside, walking on endlessly.

The leaves on the trees are red, and yellow, and so many shades of autumn that mirror the reflection of my golden soul.

Roman Candles

The way sunlight filters through maple trees in September.  Just before they turn yellow fully.

That liquid, listless ray of gold and the remnants of early morning's fog burning off to make way for the rest of the day...

Where does it go?  How does it burn?

These are the same questions I asked myself about you.

The way sunlight filters through maple trees in September reminds me of the way I ran as a child to the strong pillars of comfort in my family.

To my sister, calm and rooted in laughter.

To my parents, nurturing and smothering and rooted in worry but also love.

The way the sunlight heats the patch of denim exposed to its beam as I sit here by this window and it constricts and heats and begins to itch and burn the skin underneath reminds me of the way I'm running away from the over-arches and bridles of home.

Where do you go?  How do you burn?

Where do I go?  How do I ignite?

Nebulous expanses of time and gravity and single cells and shafts of flagrant, vagrant light whirl and blend in a spectacle of gypsy magic, tragedy, passion, first meals and last meals, first meetings and last meetings, first memories and final partings.... And I'm frozen in time.

I'm suspended in motion.

I'm caught in a crossfire.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I- I took the one with fewer trees.

Fewer shafts of glittering, laughing, filtering sunlight.

Less spectacle.  More deliberateness.

My road has taken me to the edge of a ravine.  I have reached my grand canyon of light and I catapult over the dizzying cliffside and explode into the air.

A magnificent Roman Candle, errupting violently into the starry night sky.

Come.

Burn with me.

Things I Need To Remember

Time heals.

Cells regenerate.

Stars are born.

The liquid gold scent of hayfields at dusk.

 God covers us when we step out in faith.

Puffins mate for life.

There will never actually be a day when the music dies.

Saltwater stings.

He is not my everything.

Soulmates are everywhere.

Driving calms.

My mother loves me unconditionally.

Shut windows can always be opened.

I inhale oxygen into my lungs and I exhale carbon dioxide.

Cuddling my 9 month old nephew is a small fulfillment of the desires of my heart.

I am worth all of it.

The sun is always shining, even behind the clouds.

Everyone has at least one guardian angel.

Compassion is everything.

Everything will be okay in the end, if it's not okay, it's not the end.

Sept 18th.

Lovers,

Happiest of September 18ths to you.

I'm currently sitting in front of a very large and intimidating macbook pro in my sister's cozy green office, in the middle of her colonial, New England-style home at her brand new Massachussetts address, and wondering just what it would take for me to get to this place in life someday.

Lovers, I have fallen in love with the East Coast.

I know I say the phrase "I have fallen in love" more than the average person should in their lifetime, but this time I really mean it.

The air here is thick with the desire to write.

Every single day I've been here my mind has been buzzing with overwhelming and distracting rabbit trails.

I was making cookies earlier this evening and I couldn't even do that without outlining a miniature sitcom-esque dialogue in my mind about a reunion and an argument and a pair of decadent brown eyes the same color of chocolate chips.

I halfway considered writing it down.

Luckily, I reconsidered.  It was cheesy with a side of nauseating. But still.  It was there, and I haven't been doing that sort of plot developing in years.

I even pulled out my notebook in a coffee shop, surrounded by my family members and wrote for a solid 10 minutes, completely ignoring their presence.

I've never had the balls to do that.  Even though I've had the desire to tune them all out and write down my thoughts more times than I can count.

I finally did it. Something about the way that even the sunlight filters through the trees here is different than the west coast, and it inspires me to no end.

The first thing I told my sister the morning after our plane landed was "Hallie, I could write here."

And she told me she felt the same way, for the first time in 6 years.

Not to mention the Atlantic Ocean is teeming with powerful reflection.

The Pacific Ocean captures my heart and my feelings and the way my blood coarses through my veins.

But the Atlantic Ocean captures and reflects all the shadows of my mind, and that is so much more important to a writer, because finding a place that mirrors your genius, your very psyche, is extremely rare.

I don't want to leave here.

I want to relocate here.  Semi-immediately.

Distractions, distractions, distractions.

God just keeps sending them full-throttle into my life.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever actually accomplish my original goal: Ballymaloe.

It's like, the road to get there has taken me through all of these random pit-stops, captured in essence by beach towns and memorable visitors, unforgettable locals, schools, vacations and now a writer's paradise.... I've gotten so lost in the moment I've forgotten where I'm going.

And yet there's still a small voice in the back of my mind whispering for me to stop worrying about it.

The road is long.  The journey is unwritten. I'm one of those people who needs distractions in order to passionately focus on the end goal.

And maybe the end goal isn't even the end goal.  Maybe the end goal is just a door through which to pass into my beautiful and distraction-laced future.

I could get used to that.

Who says I can't be free?

Goodnight, lovers-

Sweet dreams.

8 Days

I've been avoiding this post for awhile, mostly because I am stubborn and I hate to admit when I have been found wrong, or when my plans have changed, or when I have to face something new and unknown.

Here it is, though.

I don't want to make a huge to-do out of nothing, and I apologize in advance for this being more dramatic than it needs to be.

I have been told I have a flair for exaggeration.

Lovers,

I'm leaving Cannon Beach.

Trust me.  I don't really understand it either, and in light of a post I wrote a few months ago raving about how I never thought I'd leave, it may sound surprising.

It is a surprise, though.  It surprised me about three weeks ago, when I was sitting at Waves of Grain in Tolovana, sipping on a Cafe Au Lait and thinking about life as I knew it.

Thoughts pass in and out of our brains in an exceptionally unpredictable manner, you know?

One second I was thinking about how in that moment, at that little table, in that crowded coffee shop, I was a part of the happiest existence on earth.

The next second, I looked up at Becca and I frowned. "Bek....  I'm going to be in Ireland a lot sooner than I think I am, aren't I?"

"What do you mean?"

I paused.  I stopped.  I looked around me.  I felt an overwhelming sensation rise up. "I'm not supposed to stay here anymore."

Ever since that moment three weeks ago, life has been an insane whirling spectacle of apologies, love, seawater, goodbyes, and magic.

I'm tired.  I'm overworked.  I'm at a standstill and I have no plan to fall back on. I'm scared and excited and nostalgic at the thought of leaving Cannon Beach. Full of regret, full of acceptance.

I'm ready to move on, even if it means saying goodbye to the places and the people who suddenly mean the most to me.

I don't know how they've all done it.  I haven't put them in that place of supreme significance.  If it were up to my awful, selfish, small-minded self I wouldn't have let them touch me with a 10-foot-pole.  I don't make it a habit to trust people.  I don't let people in.

Yet here I am at the end of the summer, saying goodbye to a group of incredible individuals who, over the course of about 4 solid months,have completely changed my life.  They managed to work, and sneak, and weasel their way into the very depths of my cold, cold heart, and for that, I am eternally grateful, because from the inside out they have created heat and warmth and light and I value each and every one of them more than they know.

They are priceless treasures to me.  They have done more for me than most have in my life.

Some of them are responsible for that P.S. I Love You moment.  The one you have to look out for.  The one where suddenly, life as you know it changes, and your eyes are opened.

Some of them are responsible for my newly sharpened sense of adventure.

Most of them are responsible for the priceless gift of reminding me that when I am young, I am young, and there is life to be lived because of it.

All of them are responsible for making me feel loved, valued, cherished,  and because of that I am admittedly a lot less, well, bitchy.

Not that I didn't ever feel loved or cherished before, it's just different this time. I think mostly the whole experience of moving out and being self-dependent has mellowed me out a ton, and when you mix that with new relationships, you get a whole smorgasbord of love and happiness and good, fuzzy feelings.

And all I've got is 8 more days of this town and this lifestyle and these memories and these friends.

I guess I owe it to them to make the next 8 days count for all they're worth.

I'll be home soon, Portland.  And even though I'm going to miss my beach life, I'm excited to come home a new person with a new outlook and a new stockpile of memories to take forward with me.

Things are gonna be different, this time around, babe, and I'm looking forward to the opportunities this move is going to bring me.

I love you,

I love you,

I love you,


Goodbye. <3 br="br">

"You. Me. 5 bucks and good conversation."

Lovers,

Lately I have realized a series of facts that start off with the phrase "There is nothing quite like...." and usually end up with some obscure or obvious declaration on life. 

I would love to say that I've taken to writing them down.

I would also love to say that I recently won the lottery.

So here I am on this beautiful gift of a sunny day, thinking of all my "nothings" and ready and willing to compile them here. 

The most recent one I came up with was "There is nothing quite like watching the stars through a sunroof."

• There is nothing quite like coming home to a bouquet of fresh Sunflowers on your kitchen table.
• There is nothing quite like a morning routine of vanilla soy lattes and a fresh quiche of the day from a local coffee house.
• There is nothing quite like sitting on your new skateboards after a night of skating, quietly talking and rolling and watching the stars with your best friend. 
• There is nothing quite like awkward employee dance parties, in which your 40-something year old boss requests Raise Your Glass by P!nk and proceeds to jump across the dance floor, all by herself, singing all the words with all of her heart, and your spirits lifting at the sight and laughing because even though it's strange and awkward, you really, truly are having an amazing time with coworkers that suddenly turned into friends.
• There is nothing quite like being told that you've made someone proud.
• There is nothing quite like being loved enough to be missed when you're not around.
• There is nothing quite like the Oregon Coast when the sun is shining.
• There is nothing quite like being asked to dance by a 90 year old man named Jordan, when you're in a red HRAP jacket and rainboots, and then being swung around while he gracefully sings Isn't She Sweet just because he's happy to be alive and healthy. 
• There is nothing quite like hearing Hey Jude when you need it the most, when your day was stressful and you're at wits' end. 
• There is nothing quite like a text that says, "Come over to my house," from a friend when he just knows you're feeling sad. 
• There is nothing quite like the combination of sunny days and songs with "na na nas" in the chorus line.
• There is nothing quite like the sound barnacles make when they are circulating water within their tiny systems.
• There is nothing quite like the sound of the word 'enrichment' when you used to work at a zoo. Music to your conservational ears.
• There is nothing quite like receiving a book in the mail from a friend who just wants to share something new with you.
• There is nothing like living your life in the moment, unafraid to fall, unafraid to shame and unafraid to make mistakes. 

Life is full of little tragedies. 

Take them as they are.  Ride your melt. There is nothing quite like being alive.

Sorrow

Sorrow comes in waves.

Sometimes she slips in through the back door, with the barn cat, or with the pitter patter of little feet tracking mud all throughout the house.

In all of the commotion, she enters quietly, unnoticed, and slides deftly into the old walls, into the creak of the floor.

Sometimes I see her staring back at me through the eyes of a loved one.

I want to yell and scream and claw her out of her possession over the defenseless body, torn in pieces and weak from sleep-deprivation, but suddenly she's gone again.

And then I feel her in the thick, misty air that hovers over the sea.  As I walk, as I sit, as I look around me, I breathe her heaviness into my own lungs.

I am fighting a battle I cannot win.

Today, sorrow is everywhere my constant companion.

This morning I could taste her despair in my vanilla soy latte.

I sat in my car with my breakfast, overlooking cliffs and sea stacks and grey, grey ocean, and I saw her in the eyes and felt her in the hands of a beautiful friend who stumbled upon me.  I wanted to cry as I looked in his eyes and could see the fresh pain of a million looming goodbyes he'll have to make in a few short weeks.

I don't know when I'll see him again.

Again at work she struck me when I received a text from Becca, who is beginning to say her goodbyes to a beloved grandmother- a body riddled and racked with tumors.

The text read, "It is sad here."

I closed my eyes, and could feel sorrow's deathlike grip surrounding Bek and her family, leaking into the picture frames on their mantle, and flowing underneath the door frames into all the many rooms of that huge, empty house.

I felt sorrow creep into my own cancerous memories.

And now, I sit on a beach I never wanted, that has somehow become the only one that truly belongs to me, overlooking sand and stone and set after set of slate-colored waves.

The pelicans and the scoters and the gulls all fly in a frenzy, feeding and squawking and pressing their wings against the endless sky.

Sorrow sits next to me, compelling me to a time of pen-to-paper, a time of powerful reflection, a time of slowing down.

Goodbyes weigh down my heart and sit awkwardly in my chest cavity.

I lift my eyes and scan the beach up and down desperately, seeking something- anything- a familiar face or name to rescue me from this battleship destined to sink.

But there is no one.

I am alone.

And when I am alone, sorrow quietly grabs my hand and whispers in my ear:

"It's okay.  You and I will always be together."

I nod my head, no longer fighting back tears, and rest wearily on her shoulder.

Somewhere, a lonely, black-eyed gull tumbles into the pounding surge.

And sorrow smiles.