Ready at 19?

I drove and I drove and I listened to the words and I chewed my bottom lip and I thought.

"Live for the one I love, love as no-one has loved, give asking nothing in return."*

Over and over I turned the words in my mind.  Trees and clouds and yellow dashes passed by in a whirl of color and oblivion outside my windows, and still I thought.

"Live for the one I love."  Sure, it's an overstatement.  Probably not as much an overstatement as "Love as no-one has loved," but still, an overstatement all the same.

But...  There's truth there, no?

I ran a distracted hand through my hair and changed hands on the steering wheel.

In my mind, I saw the  lyric as a To-Do style list- the three commands posted as bullet points under the heading "How to Love."

HOW TO LOVE:

• Live for the one you love
• Love as no-one has loved
• Give asking nothing in return

I wondered what each bullet point meant- what does it look like to live for someone else?

Theological allusions from my strong Calvinist background immediately flashed into my mind.  As Christians we are called to live  our lives for Christ, which is supposed to be a reflection of the way He loved us enough to die for our sins on the cross- for if He died for us, can we not also live for Him, too?  So how we view marriage should be a similar interpretation of that.  Live for your mate, as you live for Christ, and as Christ lived for us, etc. 

I thought about each one distractedly..... until I focused on the last one.

"Give asking nothing in return."

I thought to myself...  Love with forgiveness.  Love with patience.  Love with understanding. Love with compassion. Distantly, I pondered what that might mean for someone like me.

"Give asking nothing in return." The second time, the words seemed to settle in much more.

And then my heart quickened. My throat constricted.  These words, standing on their own, floored me.

Deep down in the murkiest fibers of my being, I felt something stirring.

I realize now it was the desire to try.  

Being an overtly mature nineteen year old girl is extremely difficult.  Please understand I don't mean to sound arrogant or selfish in any way.  I think if you take the time to understand what I'm trying to say, you'll see I mean that with the deepest gravity and blaring insecurity I can muster.

A friend said to me in passing a few weeks ago, "You know how it is when you're nineteen- you're not thinking about marriage, or commitment- all you're thinking about is, hey, I like his smile and, oh my gosh, he's holding my hand!"

I smiled and nodded my head, but the words struck solidly into the center of my gut.

I realized suddenly I felt extremely uncomfortable with myself- I was uncomfortable with what I was discovering to be true about myself:  the fact that I'm the exact opposite of most nineteen year old girls.

Sure, those things are nice, but at the end of the day whenever I get lonely, I don't want to think about a cute someone with a great smile who is new and exciting. I don't want to gush with my girlfriends about "maybe he likes me" and "maybe this could be the real thing" and "maybe I'm falling in love,"or any other sort of maybe.  At the end of the day, when I'm lonely, I don't want maybe- I want familiar.  I want committed.  I want to be past the new and the rush and the headache and the butterflies. That's not what love is. I've been through that roller coaster more times than I can count- I hate the beginning. 

At the end of the day, I want someone to already know what I want before I do. I want someone who knows I can't function at table conversation well until I'm fed properly.  I want someone who knows that sometimes I really crave ice cream, and am willing to go to Dairy Queen in my pajamas to get it.  I don't want someone to go get the ice cream for me.  I want someone who is willing to ride shotgun while I go get it, and is okay with me probably stopping at a red box because this someone knows that watching movies is like therapy for me after a long day. 

I want someone who knows that tapioca pudding is what I always want when I'm sick, even though I make a point not to ask for it because I don't want to sound needy.

I want someone who accepts the fact that he doesn't understand the way I can't sit still when I'm thinking about writing. 

I want someone who will argue with me about petty things like Super Bowl Halftime Shows, and why people who don't understand the proper usage of grammar should all be sent to live in communes together away from the rest of society for the betterment of its function.  (No, I don't really believe that.  But that's what makes the argument petty, anyways, which are always the best kinds of arguments because they're not actually full of aggression.  Just stubbornness.)

When I'm sick, when I'm sad, when I'm lonely, when I'm tired, I don't want someone to fix me.

I just want someone to be there.  Day in and day out.

People these days seem to be afraid to see the same face beside them every day for the rest of their lives-

Are you kidding me?!

There's nothing I wouldn't give to be in that position right now.  Right here.   Even though I'm only nineteen.

What I really want, more than anything, though, is just to make someone happy.

Sure, some days suck, and I find myself thinking, "I could really use a man to make this all better."

But most days, it's not about what benefits I could reap from being in a relationship.

I don't want to be desired- I know what that feels like. A girl can see it in a boy's eyes, she can see it in their smile, and she can definitely feel it in the way they talk to her- she knows in the deepest center of her being when all they want is to conquer her. It's heartbreaking, and I've had enough of that.

I don't want someone to want me- I want someone to need me.

I just want to make someone happy,  you know?

I think I could be really good at that.  My whole life, I've been raised to take care of other people. I have been raised to be a wife, to be a mother.  To create a home, a haven, to build a life out of four walls and a kitchen...... You don't spend nineteen years of your life listening to every Celine Dion song on every album without learning a little something about giving all of yourself to make someone else happy.

I have all of these friends who are so strong and independent and who fight the good fight on the front lines for women and equality and feminine strength. I admire their passion, and then I shrink backwards into the shadows of co-dependency and I realize I am too old-fashioned to be a feminist. I love men too much to hate them. 

 I look around now and I see my mother- and I see her lifelong commitment to making my dad happy and I realize that that's what I'm craving. I want the chance to sacrifice things, to give all that I have, to dedicate my entire life to loving and nurturing and supporting and following someone I believe in.

I listen to my sisters talk about their families and I see the physical representations of how happy they make their husbands and I want that.  I want it so badly.

It's not simply that I want to be loved- because I am loved.  I feel loved.  By all of my family, by my girlfriends, by my boys- they all love me deeply and without cause.........  But I can't make them happy the way I could make you happy.

And that's what I want.   The chance to make you happy. The chance to give you everything and ask nothing in return.

So where are you? Who are you?

Sometimes I pray, and I ask God to send you messages somehow, through light and space and distance- I just pray that you get them.  I pray for your subtlety, and your compassion.  I pray for your love of laughter, and your mellowness.  I pray for your love of art, and culture, and of movies, and walking, and food.

I pray for your leadership and your love for Christ.  I pray for your calm, gentle way with children.  I pray for your passion, and your heart to be broken by the things which break Christ's heart, too.  I pray for your motivation, I pray for your aspiration.  I pray for your love of learning. I pray for your respect.  And, admittedly, I pray for your multidimensionality.  I pray for a little bit of a rebellious streak- and I pray for sarcasm.  That's right.  I pray for your sarcasm. 

I pray for your speedy arrival, although I don't think that's how God generally works in these areas.

I pray that you will love to travel.  I pray that you can teach me things- so many things.  I pray that you will be easily moved to forgiveness, for I am sure I will need it daily.  I pray for a deep appreciation of 80s music. I pray for your thoughtfulness- and your acceptance of people in all forms and mannerisms.

I pray for your fight.  I pray that whatever you do, you never, ever, ever, EVER give up until you accomplish your goals.

I pray that you will love dancing. I pray that you will learn the vital importance of putting others first before yourself. And I pray that you will understand the balance of protecting me without smothering me.

I could go on and on about the depths and heights and widths of my desire for co-dependency, for love, for marriage, for companionship, but I promise I will stop here.

I know God has a plan, and that this too, like everything else in life, will pass.

It's a struggle, everyday, to find contentment- no matter what it is you're fighting.

I just feel like I'm ready, that's all.

Of course the mere fact that I just said "I'm ready" probably means I'm nowhere near actually being ready.

Figures.

Either way, I'm thankful for the opportunity to pour my heartaches out to a loving and understanding God.  And I'm also thankful for a Holy Spirit who will intercede my prayers for me, when my groanings are too deep for words, and carry my heart straight to the Father. 

And sometimes,  just sometimes,  after a lot of tears and almost-pathetic sentiments are extracted from my lips, I look up at my ceiling with a half-smile on my face and I ask the Almighty,

"Can you please just find me somebody to love, already?"

And I think that sometimes, just sometimes, He looks down on me, and He laughs, and whispers, "Oh my darling, you have no idea what's coming, do you?"

*"Live For the One I Love" - Celine Dion

Sunday

Lovers,

I started out this morning by stepping into the bath to shave my legs.

I am a firm believer in a good day inevitably following a morning ritual of shaved legs.

Indeed, today has been great.

Today I went on an adventure.

Last night, a coworker catalyzed me into writing again.

For the past few months, I've been toying with the idea of creating a new food-story blog/website project based on restaurants in the Portland area.

My idea is to visit a new restaurant every week- and with a notebook in tow-  stay at that restaurant until the atmosphere, smells, taste and people inspire a short piece of fiction which takes place in the setting of the restaurant.

Each short story will be titled by the restaurant it takes place in.

Well, toying with the idea is something I am a professional at.

Initiating effort to bring it to life is not.

But....  That's where Eddie came in.

In a simple conversation a few weeks ago (between expediting drive-thru customers and making frappuccinos) about art, editorials and literature, I told Eddie about my idea.

Everyday I've worked with him since, he has demanded to know whether or not I've started yet.  And every single day I've had to hang my head in humiliation and murmur a pathetic, "no."

I even stopped trying to come up with excuses after a point.  I realized I had none.  I was just lazy.

Well, last night, Eddie had enough of my laziness.

He promptly (After a few moments of short sentences involving the words "DO" and "IT" and after much waving of the half-eaten banana in his hands) stated,

"Look.   I don't mean to sound harsh.  But I'm getting the sense that nobody is kicking your ass into doing this.  So, sorry, but I'm going to kick your ass until you do it."

I shrunk back into the chair, defeated.

".... Okay, you're right.  Okay.  I have the day off tomorrow.  I promise, I'll do it."

"Girl, you better."

And so, partially out of the fear of letting Eddie down, and partially out of mingled curiosity and excitement, I ventured out into the world.

To WRITE.

I've grown meek in the past months, lovers.

I couldn't even decide where to go so I just went where Eddie told me to go.  My lack of gumption astounds even me, looking back.

I got there.  I parked.  I stood in front of the door.  I almost couldn't open it, I was so paralyzed by self-doubt and long-term stagnation.

But it smelled amazing.  And I was STARVING.

So I went in anyway.

And when I came out, I came out a new woman.

I felt honestly good about what I wrote, and I felt GREAT about what I ate, and even though I think today was more of a practice-round in the game of food-writing, I'm still proud of what I did, and how I did it- and am brimming with new ideas of how to accomplish this goal.

So, all thanks to Eddie, and that banana, I've reignited my writing spark.

And now I feel I owe Eddie a great, big, Godfather-sized debt.

And I'm not sure how to do that.

Although, I could always find out if him and his fiance like cheesecake.  Because I can make a mean cheesecake.  And personally, I would LOVE to be repayed a debt in cheesecake.

I've been thinking about cheesecake all day long, really.....

So.

In celebration, I ventured into Powell's and bought Gatsby, because I've been longing to brush up lately, and Isla Negra by Pablo Neruda. (So thrilled.)

Also, this fancy, standard-sized black moleskine notebook, which makes me feel like Tennessee Williams.

 I also treated myself to a white mocha and a key lime tart (there was no cheesecake today) from my favorite little coffeeshop, Singer Hill.

I managed to fall back in love with writing, downtown, and to remember how good it feels to be treated like a local, all in one day.

And anytime I buy new books, magic is on the verge of happening.

It's been a long, cold, lonely winter.

But here comes the sun, little darling.

It's alright.

It's all.... right.

Eleanor Roosevelt Days

Traveling isn't as hard as it sounds.

If you make it a priority, you'll get there.

This is the attitude I'm charging forward into 2013 with today.

January was a bad month paired with an extremely despairing attitude and my nights spent wallowing in my own self-deprecation.

So life still kind of sucks. Who cares?

Stand up and be a man about it, Hannah. "DO ONE THING EVERY DAY THAT SCARES YOU."

You know what scares me?

Life. Living everyday life. I am afraid of the mundane. I'm afraid of becoming stuck, of having too-big-of-goals to ever accomplish, of today. Of right now. Of how I'm going to make the most of the next 24 hours.

I'd much rather focus on tomorrow than confront what lies in front of me today.

You know what I say?

I say balls to that.

I may not like the way 2013 is shaping up, but I don't have to like it.

What I need is to still LIVE it, even though I may not love it. Because everyone knows that even if you start out hating something, in the end you always find something to love about it anyways.

And even if it's not what I want, it's still going to be good for me.

So here's what I've decided for 2013.

NO MORE EXCUSES.

I'm going to live. And I'm going to fight for each day that I have.

I'm going to skate more. Why? Because I love it. Why don't I skate now? Because I'm afraid of it.

I'm going to shoot more. Why? Because its therapeutic. How? I'm going to take classes and I'm going to get my concealed weapons license because its a dangerous world and I'm tired of living in fear.

I'm going to travel somewhere this year.

I don't mean I'm going to take a vacation to disneyworld or to spend ten days watching Netflix with my sister in Massachussetts. (Not that those aren't great, because they are. But this year needs to be different.)

I'm going to buy a plane ticket by the end of the year to somewhere REAL. I want to travel for the sake of traveling. Not for the sake of arriving.

Maybe I'll go by myself- maybe I'll take a friend- maybe I'll bust my sister out of mom-hood for a few days and drag her along on my adventure, with me. (Sorry Hal, but it's coming. Sooner or later you knew this would happen.)

I may have to stay in this place for longer than I anticipated.

But that doesn't mean I can't leave it once in awhile for something better.

And even though I may not have that glorious "see the entire world by the time you're 26" future that I truly thought I would.... I can still see the world. On my own time. In my own way. With my own schedule.

Because even though it'll be hard and will require lots of discipline, it's important to me and I'm going to make it happen. I'm going to make it a priority.

Where am I going to go?

I don't know yet. I don't think I have to know for awhile.

I know that when I was awake at 4am this morning, I remembered the way Rome smelled in the early morning. I remembered the birds, the cars, the churchbells.

I'd give just about anything to hear those churchbells again.

I also know I've wanted to drive from LA to Panama with my best friend for over 2 years now. But that trip is an undertaking of mega proportions and won't happen for a long time, if ever.

However, that doesn't mean I can never go to Panama on a quick plane trip.

And that doesn't mean I can never hop a bus from Panama City to Santa Catalina, which I'm firmly convinced may be the most beautiful place on the planet, from the pictures that I've seen.

So maybe it'll be Santa Catalina.

Or maybe I won't have enough money by the end of this year to fly internationally.

So maybe I'll just hit up Hawaii at the end of next year. Pipeline takes place in December on North Shore, and that is something I've wanted to see my whole life. Not to mention I have friends there.

So I don't know how I'm going to do it, or where I'm going to go, but at least I'm making a plan.


2013.

Get ready.

I'm a-comin.

Observation

I think I'm killing the plant at work.

At first, I was just trying to save it- it's paper thin leaves dried and brittle- barely clinging to it's former life, and former glory.

So I started watering it. Nobody else seemed to notice it's sad presence.

I'm only at the restaurant two nights a week- I didn't think that would be enough.

It's one of those succulents, I think, used to arid climates and little water.

To be frank, that's probably why my no-nonsense, minimal upkeep boss has it in a planter on the counter in the first place.

Anyway, I got real caught up in saving this thing.
I guess it turned into one of those superior-heroic-save yourself through the regeneration of the organism- things.....

I really felt like I was doing something, even if it was a small something.

Tonight I went over to dose it with my regular pitcher-of-well-intentioned-love, and I realized the planter was full of water.

It had seeped through the plastic container, the burlap cloth it was sitting on, and had filled the ceramic bowl it was resting in.

The leaves are green, but it's life is inevitably doomed.

I felt embarrassed. I hope no-one discovers my secret.

I walked away.

My green thumb is horrendously orange.

10 Steps

Step 1: blend.

Step 2: brew.

Step 3: shower.

Step 4: clear the chaos. Clean the disruption. Your imbalanced room is a reflection of the imbalance in your mind. Create peace in your domain.

Step 5: write, write, write it down.

Step 6: it's okay to nap, if need be.

Step 7: read your future.

Step 8: make yourself pretty.

Step 9: work hard and smile graciously- from your liver.

Step 10: practice early bedtime.

I may not know how to make my own day great- but I know how to keep myself from sinking further below the surface.

Don't forget to love yourself- and don't forget to forgive yourself.

Do not become angered by your valid human emotion. Recognize the Automatic Negative Thoughts. Kill the ANTs. Become the powerful ANT-eater.

Be your own gentle hero, today.

A Losing Game

You know how some people have that "learn something new every day attitude?"

Sometimes I can't stand those people.

Although, today, I guess I am one of those people.

Today I learned that listening to Amy Winehouse makes me feel like a queen.

A mildly sad queen- and exceptionally lonely, perhaps-

But a queen nonetheless.

Lovers, it's been a long three weeks, hasn't it?

January is almost over- and if this month is any indicator of what the rest of 2013 looks like, then I have to say this is not going to be a very good year for me.

Personally, I'm fine with that.  I can't exactly  expect every year to be like the past year has been.

From the very beginning, it was sort of.... ill-fated.

I spent New Year's Eve trying my hardest to fall asleep before 11pm because I had to wake up at 5 the next morning, and I ended up crying at the sound of the fireworks at midnight because all I could think about were all the people I wished I was spending that moment with.

And then I fell asleep.  And I worked all of January 1st.

And all of January 2nd.

And all of January 3rd.

And then I started to glaze over. And the days just ran together.  And I worked.  And then I had ten days off.  And I had to spend a large majority of two of those days in the waiting/visiting rooms of a hospital.  Which, as many of you know, is not exactly a walk-in-the-park for me.

I have a bad history of extreme panic attacks in hospitals.

Something about spending far too much of my childhood in the wings of a particularly depressing hospital.  Coincidentally, that exact hospital where I spent so many hours of my eleven-year-old life waiting for my mother's cancer to just go away, is also the exact same hospital in which I was born.

And where I had my appendix taken out.

And where my dad had a heart palpitation scare.

And where my mom had several major surgeries.

And where she had most all of her chemotherapy sessions, and radiation sessions, and not to mention that was the hospital where I was sitting in the waiting room when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

And the hospital where I saw my very first dead person.

I don't particularly have fond memories of hospitals.

I digress.

Anyways, this time 'round, it wasn't so bad.  And it wasn't so drastic of circumstances, either.  In fact, there were several incredibly funny moments.  There's nothing weirder than laughing in hospitals, though.  It just doesn't feel right.

After that was over, I did a lot of sleeping for the rest of my time off.  I felt like I could hardly move most mornings.  I watched a lot of Duck Dynasty and tried real hard to finally finish season 7 of Buffy.

I didn't even try to hang out with friends.  Truth is, I haven't wanted to see anybody this month.  I just don't really have the necessary gumption to carry on conversation. It's borderlining on pathetic.

Towards the end of my mini-vacation...  I went back to the beach.

Which was great.  And revealing.  And hard.  And incredibly uplifting, and yet sorely depressing at the same time.  And in hind-sight, even though I had a lot of really impactful conversations, and learned a lot about my future and myself that I really needed to discover, I'm not actually certain going back was a good idea.

Because in all honesty, I've been really depressed since I've gotten back.

Some mornings it's been really hard to get out of bed.

I think the hardest thing I've ever had to realize is the fact that you don't necessarily belong where you feel the most at home.

I do not like being where I am right now.  At all.  I don't like a single part of it.  It's been a really big letdown, actually, because I thought moving back home might be really exciting.  I thought maybe I could explore all the nooks and crannies of downtown, and I could get plugged in to this church I really liked, and I thought I could reconnect with a lot of old friends that I've almost totally lost touch with....

But it hasn't been anything like that.  I never have any desire to go downtown because after living on the coast for the guts of a year, downtown is extremely stressful.  I also have no  desire to spend the gas money.

And the church I really like?  It's good.  But it's not a church home.  And most weeks I don't even go- because it's downtown, and far, and so I either listen to sermons at home, or ride with my parents to their church, which I don't even like... which just makes me feel more dissatisfied and frustrated because the only church I ever feel truly at home in is over 100 miles away.

And the friends? Nope.  Just nope. That's all, really.

But underneath all of the dissatisfaction and discontentment is the simple truth that I 100% know this is where I'm supposed to be right now.  That's why I moved home in the first place.  I knew it was where God wanted me to be.

And I know that means I shouldn't be discontent.  Because where God wants me, is the best possible place I could ever hope to be, EVER.

And I KNOW that.

And so mostly I swallow my frustration and I try not to think about it because I don't want to be ungrateful or unworthy or unappreciative of the good things I have here.  A warm bed, parents who love me, two good jobs, a beautiful, rapidly growing niece who is full of gurgles and cuddles and kisses.

And I was doing pretty well until I went back to the beach.

Because I saw these faces-  all these beautiful faces of all of the people who I need on a daily basis.  At least, I feel like I need them daily.  I think about them all daily, anyway.  I miss them daily.

And I walked these streets- where every single street corner has a priceless memory.  Every single inch of that town has a memory attached to it.

And I stood next to this ocean- this incredible, raw, titan of terror and energy and glory.  And I felt so small, and yet so welcomed and so loved.

And I went to church on Sunday morning, and for the first time in a long time I was filled.  My cup ran over.  And tears streamed down my face- because underneath all of that beauty and balance, my sinful, human soul was crying over and over "IT'S NOT FAIR.  IT'S NOT FAIR.  IT'S NOT FAIR."

Well, lovers, the truth is it's NOT fair.

But life seldom is fair.

But God is fair. And when the world turns cold, He is never cruel.

And even though I'm not a real huge fan of my life right now,  and even though I'm real bad at hiding it sometimes, I'm still blessed.

And God still loves me.  And I'm still breathing.

And He is always forgiving.  Even when I don't deserve it, because I complain and I despair and I fret and I visibly( and vocally) grow angry, and I stubbornly try to remind Him of my unhappiness, He gently nudges me with a loving Spirit and opens a small window of opportunity in a long hallway of closed doors.

His grace is overwhelming.

And He's a great listener, you know?

So no.  I don't know what the rest of 2013 looks like.  I know what it doesn't look like, though.  It doesn't look adventurous.  And it doesn't look like Ireland, anymore.  It doesn't look like Adams St. or Avenue T., or Fir St.  It doesn't have a 97110 zipcode anymore. It doesn't hold Monday night bible studies with my beach family. It doesn't smell like peaches.  It doesn't have a lot of time to watch sunsets.

But what it does hold?  I have no earthly idea.

In all honesty, I'm getting the sense that the theme for this year very well may be solitude.

But solitude isn't a bad thing.

There is growth in solitude.

There is acceptance in solitude.

There is melancholy in solitude- but there is also healing.

And there will always be beauty in the breakdown.

Oh dear.

John Mayer over Adam Levine.

Tony Stark over Captain America.

Colin Farrell over Gerard Butler.

Heathcliff over Mr. Darcy.

Kanye West over Lil Wayne.

Edgar Allen Poe over Wordsworth, Longfellow, Whitman and Hawthorne.

Tennessee Williams over Fitzgerald and Hemingway.

Marlon Brando over Gregory Peck, Cary Grant AND Humphrey Bogart.

Shaun White over Michael Phelps.

Murtagh over Eragon. (That one was for you, Lexi)

Ethan Hawke over... Gulp... Leonardo DiCaprio. (Color me a traitor. And ashamed.)

Jack Nicholson over all his contemporaries.

Sonny Corleone over Michael Corleone.

Draco Malfoy over.... Everybody.


Lovers:

I seem to have a problem with favoring the douchebags.

Multidimensionality. The perfect and passionate desire of ultimate fulfillment... And self-destruction.

Bad boys.. They're just so beautiful, aren't they?