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.

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