So I'm Going to Become a Swimmer

Did you know that octopuses can recognize and familiarize human faces?

So that means that if you visit your local aquarium on an almost- monthly basis, that gorgeous 8-armed creature in the viewing tank with the narrow-slit eyes does notice you- not only does he notice you, he remembers you.

And if you're that douchebag tapping on the case, or bobbling the surface of the water, trying to get the octopus to grab your finger, and he remembers you- he's likely to turn a vibrant shade of aggressive red and retreat to the opposite side of the tank.

But if he just stares back at you, moves closer, and his coloring is smooth and pale- does not change in pattern, density or shade- he's likely to approve of your presence.

And maybe, just maybe, he looks forward to the next time you two can have another wordless conversation.

Lovers,

I've decided to become a swimmer.

I mean that literally and figuratively.  Professionally and recreationally.  Purposefully and accidentally.

2 things:

1.  I have been promised surf lessons on the condition that I train myself by working up to the physical capacity of surviving daily 45-minute lap sessions and by learning how to hold my breath for at least two minutes.  (This is not at all an impressive accomplishment- most professional surfers can hold their breath for up to 4 minutes or longer if the dangerous occasion arises, but hey, 120 seconds is a long freaking time for recreational swimmers, okay?!)

I'm fairly certain that the only reasons my friends have promised me these lessons is because they're positive I won't stick with it.  But they have no idea what my endurance is capable of- and they also have no insight into the desire I've had to surf for my entire life, and they are completely oblivious to the fire it burns in my soul every. single. day.


In effect, I HAVE TO PROVE THEM WRONG.  I must prove them wrong on a strictly competitive level, and on a level much deeper than mere competition.  If this is my only shot in life to ride a wave, then, shoot- I better start taking it seriously, right?

2. I have not only decided to swim for surfing, but I have realized recently that marine biology is, in all honesty, where it's at, future-wise.  I mean let's be honest folks, from the days of my toddling youth, scampering in the woods digging for salamanders and asking my mother to let me keep potato bugs as pets, to my high school summer days spent volunteering at the Oregon Zoo, holding cockroaches  and cleaning endless piles of goat poop and loving EVERY minute of it, to standing in the freezing, winding, raining elements for hours and hours during the day just to be able to share in a Midwesterner's first exciting contact with a green sea anemone at Haystack this past year, I'm sort of a born naturalist.

My parents used to buy me shark encyclopedias for my 8th birthday, and for Christmas, and whenever we visited aquariums, which I loved.  One of my earliest memories involves Shamu.  I had a book, I remembered the stories on the television- I was in love with that orca. 

Intensely little known fact about me: Free Willy used to be my favorite movie of all time.

The first time I ever went to Seaworld, I almost cried because I wanted to work with dolphins so bad I could hardly stand it.

Let's not forget that I watched Animal Planet and Discovery Channel more than I ever watched cartoons when I was growing up. 

Shark Week is my favorite week of the year.

Aquariums literally soothe my anxiety.  I recently discovered this, because a few weeks ago I had a panic/anxiety attack relapse for the first time in over a year and the only thing that sounded soothing was to be inside an aquarium- lucky for me, the Portland Aquarium recently opened, and so I hi-tailed it over there "ASAPLEASE" and for the next 1.5 hours as I silently watched the marine world around me, I felt incredibly calm.



I  mean, I pay money to watch the newest ocean documentaries.


All I EVER want to write about, and all I ever do end up writing about, really, are fairy tales about mermaids and lengthy descriptions of the sea and all of the life within it, and  I use wave metaphors, and sand metaphors, and ocean metaphors in literally everything I write.

Okay, okay- remember when they found that giant squid off the coast of Japan recently?

You do not even want to KNOW how excited I got about that.  I talked about it for DAYS.  Just ask my family.  They remember that, too.


I have an entire board on pinterest dedicated to the photography of coastal reefs and ocean creatures. That pinterest board makes me happier than ANY OTHER PINTEREST BOARD I'VE EVER MADE.  Including the one solely for dreadlocks, and the one for trucker hats, and the one for my ideal MAN.

.... I had a point to all of this.....

Oh yeah.  The point is, that if I do follow this marine biology trail of bread crumbs- I'm going to need to be a strong swimmer.  Especially because the path I'd like to take with it involves researching the behavioral science of sharks in the wild, which, as you can probably ascertain, involves open sea dives.  Lots of them. (By the way, I can't help but feel like that just makes me sound cool.)

So. 

Swimming. 

My new goal is to spend at least 5 days (preferably 6, in a perfect, idyllic world, 7) a week swimming for as long as I can- until I can at least get to 45 minutes a day. Then after I meet that goal, I'll probably set a new goal, of an hour- or an hour and a half.  Maybe someday I'll be able to hold my breath for 4 minutes, too.

So I tried it out yesterday for the first time- I'm already itching to get back into the water.  It's day 2 and I'm already dreaming of bumper stickers that read, "I'd rather be swimming,"  and taking classes on breathing techniques and that cool rock-walking -under-the-surface-of-the-water training you see in all the surf movies.

I'm starting off as a pretty strong swimmer, I learned young and fast and practiced often when I was little in my grandparents in-ground pool.



I didn't last anywhere near 45 minutes, but I'm staying positive.  I still felt proud of my 20 minutes, nonstop ten full laps- I wanted to keep going because even though every inch of my body was burning, I was having FUN.

But my legs were about to start cramping- and the pool was 10 feet deep, and I decided soundly that it was not quite a good day to drown.

So I packed up and went home feeling intensely invigorated.

I'm excited about this new phase of life, lovers.

Something is stirring and it feels real good.  Real scientific, and real practical- but real good.

Here's to the future, and to this summer- and for motivation, and discipline- and research.


Maybe, just maybe I'll reward myself with that December 2013 plane ticket to Hawaii for Pipeline, after all. I mean, if I accomplish my goals this year, I'd say I might actually deserve that by the end of 2013:)

Wish me luck, and strong lungs.

A Lot

Today is a lot. 

A lot, a lot.

The kind of  "a lot" that makes me want to watch The Titanic and When Harry Met Sally and write a new chapter in a story I'm working on about a beachtown. 

- it's the kind of "a lot" that makes me want to paint a picture when I've run out of words, and to fall asleep for days and days and days; to hold a sleeping baby and to be hugged and rocked and soothed for one whole hour.

The kind of "a lot" that keeps me from eating, and makes me want to lay on a blanket and stare at the sky until the world starts to make a little bit more sense.

The kind of "a lot" which makes me want to jump to conclusions and scramble for control, and to hastily find a way to "fix" things- even when at the bottom of all of those jitters, I know at my very core that the only real answer is to give everything an insurmountable amount of time.

The kind of "a lot" where I really want a pedicure, except for the fact that I don't want anyone to actually touch me.

The kind of "a lot" when you've made a sudden, overwhelming realization, and the gravity, and the depth, and the reality starts to sink in- and before you know it, everything regarding that realization feels like a 1,000 pound weight across your shoulders.

The kind of "a lot" which belongs to Holden Caulfield, and to this song, and to the fact that I just wish I could lock myself in an aquarium and watch an octopus change the density and color of its skin to reflect its moods, and wonder if I had that power, just what color would my skin be, today?

Mamma T.

Don't you just wish sometimes you could be more like Mother Teresa?

I found this picture online today- a black and white stillframe of her and a nameless young man releasing a dove- both pairs of hands thrust forward into the air.

The look of joy on her face was insurmountable.

I think she must have given the most incredible hugs, no?

Lovers, I want things.  Silly things.  I want possessions.  I want sequins.  I want parties with lights and streamers.  I want denim shorts with lace detail.  I want a tiny, snuffly Pug puppy to love me and lick my toes.  I want a small blonde child wearing a hipster beanie and a miniature-sized Ramones t-shirt with baby combat boots. I want a black Dolce and Gabanna lace dress. I want a wood deck overlooking a deep, wooded forest- on which are perched two mismatched, well-loved mugs full of hot coffee, one for me and one for my lover.

I want to marry a surfer guy.  I want an original brick accent wall in my kitchen. I want an aqua-colored trucker hat that says Be Happy! on the front. I want Greece, I want Finland, I want prosciutto wrapped truffle fries.  I want fried plantains.

I want henna tattoos and bridesmaids and overalls and a hot air balloon ride.

I want a flatter stomach and I want a kiss from a friendly elephant.  I want an entire plaster exterior wall painted in a chipped, cracking, fading, beautiful shade of Spanish yellow.

I want so many rings for my small fingers.

I want a fire on the beach.  I want more red solo cups in my life. I want citronella candles and new guitar strings and I want to sleep until I feel better.  I want everything on my Pinterest to be real.

Do you think Mother Teresa ever wanted any of those things?

Do you think Mother Teresa ever wasted any time wanting what she did not have?

Sometimes thinking about Mamma T. makes me distraught.

I am selfish, Mamma T.

I am little and scared.

Lord, have mercy on my greed and insatiable desire for everything, and nothing.

Help me to be beautiful, like Mamma T.

"There are people who can afford the luxury to live in great comfort; it is possible that they have earned the privilege by their efforts.  What irritates me is to see that extravagance exists.  It irritates me to see some people waste and throw away things that we could use.

What is a Christian? Someone asked a Hindu man. He responded, the Christian is someone who gives.

Open your hearts to the love God instills in them.  God loves you tenderly.  What He gives you is not to be kept under lock and key, but to be shared.  The more you save, the less you will be able to give.  The less you have, the more you will know how to share."

-Mother Teresa.

Honesty.

"I am colorblind. Coffee black and egg white. "

My ideal love song is Leather and Lace, by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley.

My primary love language is quality time - my second string is words of affirmation. This love tank is completely empty.

I long for the day when overalls make a comeback and are acceptable to wear in public again.

I live every day with the fear and the feeling that no-one in my life loves me. Especially during the past two weeks, I have felt to the very depth of my core, that I have been left behind by some of whom are most important to me. Even though I have no reason to feel this abandonment.

I love road trips.

I have ten fingers and ten toes.

I possess an invalid fear of the state of Utah.

I don't understand how to respect my body. On the days when I love it, I cheapen it by showcasing it provocatively, and I exploit it.

On the days when I hate it, I wish and will it so much harm, that sometimes I do indirectly end up hurting it.

Every morning I wake up a new person because of what Jesus Christ did for me by dying on the cross for my sins.

I know what it's like to love someone miles away and years apart from you.

Sometimes I wish that I knew how to play the drums.

I'm terrified of everything.

I don't trust people. Ever.

"I've got one hand in my pocket and the other one is.." ..... Not giving a high-five.

I eat my feelings.

I struggle with anxiety. Tonight I stopped breathing. I had forgotten how to.

I drive a Volvo wagon. People make fun of my car, sometimes. Sometime I think that car is the love of my life.

I would put money down on the fact that I firmly believe Julia Child loved the Rolling Stones.

In addition to bringing back overalls, I would love it if they brought back ruffled socks with lowtop converse. That look was legit.

I don't believe most of my closest friends read my blog. This makes me feel sad. Some of them do- and I'm thankful for those ones because that means they're the ones who understand my heart the most.

I feel loved when people eat my food.

I feel more loved when they look into my eyes, and they smile, and they tell me, "I love you because you are more of a Martha than you are a Mary."

I haven't heard that in a while.

I have strange abandonment issues- and I don't know where they came from because no-one in my life has ever actually abandoned me.

I am a youngest child.

When I was a little girl, I claimed to hate the color pink. But now I think it might be my favorite color.

I'm the most bitter person I've ever met- and I know a lot of bitter people.

I am forgiven.

I am heard- even when I don't feel like anyone is listening.

I've only been pulled over once, because my tail-light was out.

I feel incredible loss over the fact that I don't have a grandparent I can talk to. And the replacement grandparents just never seem to stick around for long.

I throw people away easily.

I really, really, really like taking pictures, and I'd love to take a photography class someday.

Country roads are my favorite.

Sometimes, most times, I speed.

I miss my friends, because they all seem to live far away from me- but more than anything, I miss them, missing me.

I am far from perfect.

I am blessed.

I am gifted.

This is who I am.

"Come on, try a little- nothing is forever, there's got to be something better than in the middle. Me and Cinderella put it all together- and we can drive it home with one headlight."

Thursdays

Am I the only one who feels like Thursdays are a natural affront to humanity?

They're just hard.  They're grey and blah and tend to remind me of all the things I want that I don't have, instead of reminding me to be thankful for everything I do have.

"But failure is not an option, littlest one."

Today, on my lunchbreak, I sit at my sturdy yet stylish wooden desk, drinking an Evolution carrot-orange-mango juice I purchased from Starbucks this morning even though it's making my stomach hurt.

I'm also struggling with the realization that indulging in Starbucks every morning on my way to work without a partner discount is far too expensive a habit to grow comfortable with.  I'm also acknowledging the grave fact that it has already become a habit I've grown too comfortable with, and I accept my comfort all-too-easily.

This is bad.

But my triple grande soy real caramel sauce lattes are good. And I am conflicted.

Therein lies the crux of the human race.

I've been biting my fingernails a lot, lately.  This is usually a sign that my anxiety is bubbling underneath the surface again.  Although, this time, I'm not sure it's anxiety- I have a distinct feeling it might be restlessness.

The seasons are changing again, lovers- the sun is re-emerging and the cherry trees are beginning to bloom.  Everytime I see a cherry tree I think of the line in a Pablo Neruda poem that reads "I want to do with you what Spring does with the cherry trees."

I am arrested, body and soul, by that line.

I am arrested, body and soul, then, by the sight of cherry blossoms blooming on these Portland city streets.

These arrests often cause the deepest sense of wanderlust within me.  It is often the simplest sights, the most non-profound phrase, the most ordinary beauty which sends me reeling into the desire to uproot, to leave, to be caught in the gentle breezes of the Spring and to return only when I have changed forever.

My mind keeps straying distractedly to that plane ticket I've promised myself to buy by the end of 2013.  Where will I go?  What shall I see?  Whom shall I meet?

The game of indecision and the thrill of the unknown cause my feet to tap repeatedly against the leg of my desk.  Anxiety?  Anticipation?

I feel a movement underneath my feet, lovers.  I don't know from where it has come- or to where it will take me.  Things are shifting.  The earth is rotating so overwhelmingly fast.  It's all a spectacle.

We are a spectacle!

I remember faces.  Faces from my favorite memories- faces I can't help but feel that I will see again soon.  Therefore my bottom lip is chewed over frantically by my shining teeth. Excitement?  Wanderlust?

Discernment?  Prophecy?  Faith?

Foreshadowing?

Spectacles.  Life is a spectacle. 

Spectacles like the ones which some of us vision-impaired wear on our faces.

Are they not a filter through which to see the world? A clear invisible lens which causes the blurry to become focused- the unknown to become familiar.

Spectacles. I am a spectacle- you are a spectacle- the cherry blossoms are tiny pink spectacles.

Like the rose-tinted glasses through which dirty poetic beatniks view life- la vie en rose is a spectacle, too.

 See, this is why I like you, lovers.

Cherish the people you can truly think out loud in front of.

I cherish you. I do. 

And even though it's a thoroughly-un-therapeutic-Thursday, it's still a spectacle.  And the universe will still find ways to inspire me.

The filtering Springtime sunlight will illuminate the city sidewalks with a  fleeting sort of caress, and the thrill of unforeseen adventures will guide me home.

"You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."
-Elisabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love.

So take that, Thursday.  I have not had my spectacular way with you, yet.

Xx,

Hannah

An Inspiration

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.


If You Forget Me- Pablo Neruda

Friend.

Thought about you for the first time in a long time today.  I still miss you. It's quieter now, and it doesn't hurt anymore.  But you're still there, in the mixed-up dusty corners of my soul. I think you always will be.  I'm happy that you're gone- and I'm happy that we don't need each other anymore- but I also want you to know that I never meant to let you go. Leaving you behind, was something I never wanted to do. I believe with all of my being that had circumstances been different, and situations altered, we would have made it.  And we would have been happy.  And eventually, someday, there would have been that cute little house with the crash-couch for our friends. We were not ill-fated, but our timing was wrong.  I was not wrong for you and you were not wrong for me, but we weren't ready. Things are different now.  I live in a world entirely apart from yours, and that's okay.  It's not sad anymore.  In fact, I'm happy these days.  Real happy. I hope you're happy, too. Honest.  You taught me so much about myself- you were the best platform from which to jump beyond all of my self-doubt, and my insecurity. Just know that every time I hear a Styx song on the radio, I think of you, and I smile.  And every time someone tells me about one of their heroes, I think of that summer, during that very significant time of my life, in which you were mine. And every time I remember the smell of that restaurant, and the look on your face- I close my eyes and pretend that when I open them I'll be looking into the greatest pair of eyes I've ever seen, one last time. It's funny, now, realizing that I can't move forward without saying goodbye. I think for awhile there, I thought I could just distract myself until I had forgotten.
Well, distractions, they come and they go, and while they're exciting and beautiful and I accept their presence in my life and the significance they hold in taking me further from you- I still couldn't bring myself to say goodbye fully until right now, not until right after today.

So this is goodbye, friend.

You are golden- and my memories of you are laced with fireworks and diamonds.

Please, stay like that always.

With your hands behind your back as you coast down the avenue, whistling the overture from "You Can Fly!" like you were on the very first night I met you.

You are a perfect representation of the Peter Pan who would have returned with the others to be adopted by the Darlings.  You are Peter Pan, if Peter Pan had decided to grow up, and you were so crucial in the process of growing me up, too.

Which is good, because we both know I needed it.

Be seeing you-

Goodbye.