but what if i was wrong

I'm feeling more and more overwhelmed. Sometimes my head gets the best of me. Today i've had a single song running over and over through my head. (which if you know me is not unusual) but this is different...i can't focus, i can't concentrate.

For two years i have struggled mentally with God. It's far to easy to accept faith on an emotional basis and I want to be able to fully accept him with my intellect. I've been stuck for so long. Marx writes about religion as an "opiate of the masses." A drug to explain away hurt and suffering, an invention to help them survive a bleak world. This freaked me out, because I can see this being true. It's when I am trouble, that I turn to God the most fervently. It's when I hurt, that I seek him the most. Does that mean that I've created God as a solution to my problems? Does this explain why I find it so hard to live my faith when life is good and I feel fine? I've had other questions that I can't seem to absolve or set aside. They haunt me. How can I sing the goodness of God when I preach eternal damnation? Eternity is a long time. Far longer than the years a person is given on earth to seek God.

So why do I write all this? To discourage those of you who are Christians? To push away those who are not?

No.

The thing is even as I have been and still am struggling with my questions I've never doubted the existence of God. I know that there is a creator. As far as my Marx questions...the problem does not lie within God, but within my faith. I allow my faith to prove a theory. I allow a God to be a lifeline...a band-aid. But he is not.

This song that's been floating through my head...there is a line in it:

"This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creators."

I'm realizing the last few years I've replaced God with intellect, forgetting that God created my intellect and not to mention that of those around me. (wow that opens a can of worms) I guess I've forfeited my relationship with God for a time so that I can pursue these questions. I couldn't figure out how to balance both.

Another line from the song:

"This land means less and less to me without you breathing through the trees."

Christians talk about how bad life is (or how hard it is) to live without God. For me: I found this untrue. I get by fine when I don't consider God. Actually I find it harder when I am in relationship with God. But here is what I see. My life is good. But it just isn't enough without God. That line speaks to me. I feel like I've been losing passion to live and to be involved as I've lost touch with my creator.

Finally, the line that has been repeating nonstop in my head:

"Hold on to what you believe in the light, when the darkness has robbed you of your sight."

This song, I'm almost positive, was not meant as a spiritual piece. Which is why I find even more meaning it. I think God knows I've been annoyed by cliche Christian songs and such. So, he found another way to reach me.

Right now I am in the dark. I feel incredibly lost in my head. I want to hold on. I will. I can't keep holding off living for my intellectual quandaries. I have to learn how to live and seek truth at the same time. Don't get me wrong. We need to use our minds, our intellects, to pursue truth, to pursue answers....we just have to be careful to not forget to live.

I apologize if this entry felt more journal-esque. It wasn't meant to be. I just really needed to share honestly to whatever ghosts out there read this.

I've been surrounded by passionate people lately. It's reminded me what faith can be. It can be more than a group of Christians sitting within four wall discussing theology. It can be a world of people living and breathing their relationship with God.

So...I continue to struggle...to grapple with my questions (cause that is what I do) but I also continue to live and to learn what it means to be in a relationship with the creator the universe.

God help me.

inspired by: kayla, SOMA, and Mumford & Sons

Hey there

Hi

Just Thought I'd Say Hi

:)

reading Kierkegaard

There are times when word's and music move within me and stir up thoughts that I cannot define. I feel deeply, but I don't know what I feel. I feel greatness in me, but not of me and not about me. I think certain music...certain writings stir up the spiritual part of my being. That spiritual sense is the greatness I feel. A reminder that I in my weakness am not alone. It stirs and unsettles me. It pulls my attention inward and yet outward and then leaves me deep in anonymous thoughts.

When I wake up tomorrow, I won't think twice.

I will feel like myself and walk on in the knowledge of the immediate.

The stirrings inside will have settled and all I will have left is my own presence.

(All that I am aware is left, not all that is left)

I hope that someday I can hold on.

I hope someday I can stand in both realms:

physical and spiritual

immediate and eternal

oh the 20s

By the way, I'm not taking about age. well I guess I am. The 1920s. I'm reading, "This Side of Paradise." I think have 10 pages left. (I should probably be finishing it rather than writing).

But I guess I just want to give props to Fitzgerald. I'm pretty sure his writing was merely a reflection of his life, but reading it helped me see my own life with a little clarity and a new perspective. It's 2009. It's definitely not the "roaring 20s" anymore, but history repeats itself.

If you haven't read it, I'll try not to spoil it for you. Just this: the book follows the life of a certain Amory Blaine. The reader is eyewitness to his vanity, pride, and youthful romanticism. Blaine goes to college, reads books, is swayed by idealism, cynicism, philosophy, graduates and loses himself in a cycle of ....well life. Frankly, it wasn't too different then what most college students go through today. (only the details change). I was reminded how easily it is to get caught up in the moment: in an ideal, in the social life, in a campaign, a philosophy...anything really. I'm not saying this is bad, I just hope that when I am caught up my eyes are open.

perspective

well hello again.

it's been awhile

it's always been awhile

awhile since i drove away

awhile since i came

awhile since i said goodbye

and just awhile since i began to say hello

awhile since i packed up my bags

awhile since i unpacked and carefully placed things in their place. intentionally trying to rebuild my home on four white walls

my pictures, my paintings, your face, their smiles, here.

i sit with my back to the wall and remember where i am

awhile ago i was there

but now i am here

wondering what will happen in a little while.

Mr. Browning tells me the best is yet to come. i think he is wrong. i think the best is the culmination of past, present, and future. the best will be and is.

it really is all about perspective.

an attempt at conversation

       I feel like I should write…but there’s just one problem.  I’m realizing when one writes, be it blog, poetry, journal, or story it normally revolves around one’s self…one’s experiences, thoughts, ideas, dreams, disappointments etc.   But I’m tired of me.  It’s not a matter of self-deprecation; I just don’t want to talk about me anymore.

            So what should I say?  What can I feel capable of writing.  I have no knowledge or authority over any other thing in this world.  Everything I know incorporates me in to it: my response to it, my view of it.  I don’t want to talk about my past…I have not desire to muse over my future.   

            Can we talk about you?  Can we talk about life that moves on around me and without me.   Can we talk about the earth, that with a closer look, one can see teeming with life.  The plants that work hard to absorb the sun.  Their roots that push into the earth, stretching their limbs to a comfortable sprawl…they own the dirt.   The ants…the ants busily run to and fro across the soil, up and down the trees, around and across that discarded beer bottle.  They have places to be, tasks to perform.  That ladybug there, it crawls up and down that single blade of grass, somehow delicately balancing itself as it meanders the thin tight rope.  What is it doing?  Is it just out for a stroll?  Is it trying to find a good spot to bathe in the morning light?  And you.  You walk by, looking, but are you seeing?  When you see the sun, are you appreciating its warmth…or is it filling you with summer nostalgia?  Is the swaying grass merely a part of your landscape or does it stand out to you, calling out for bare feet and deep sighs.  Do you think about the life around you or are you overwhelmed with your own uncontrollable life.   No, maybe you have too much control on your life.  No, let’s not go there.  I just want to know you…to know life.  To get away from me.

calm

i feel calm. . thoughtful.  or maybe i feel as though there is something that i should be thinking about.  but for once in my life there is not a swarm of ideas buzzing around in my mind.  I am unaccustomed to this settled calm.  my mind never stops....it's always going...keeping me up at night, keeping me from making decisions, paralyzing, inspiring, overwhelming me.  but not now.  now... i sit.  i am not tired.  i have no inclination toward any activity or action, but to sit immersed in this unfamiliar quietude.   

a little bit of crazy could do the whole world good

I just finished, "Veronika Decides to Die," by Paulo Coelho.   Whenever I finish his books, I find myself staring at the last page thinking...wait.  His books touch on themes that are very cliche and yet when he writes, it is beautiful, and what has once been cliche becomes new and insightful.  The wisdom comes throughout the book, so that when you reach the end, you find yourself flipping back and re-reading trying to remember the emotions and insights you received at earlier points. 

    Veronika Decides to Die, is about living.  Moreover it's about how one lives.  One thing I found interesting was that the book pointed out that both sides of the wall, in group and out group, are living in fish bowls.   In other words, both society and the groups that resist society's demands are choosing to live in a bubble that is defined by their groups decisions.  They are dictated by what their group has designated normal....even if that means pretending to be crazy.  

Coelho writes, 

  " Life inside is exactly the same as life outside.  Both there and here, people gather in groups; they build their walls and allow nothing strange to trouble their mediocre existences.  They do things because their used to doing them, they study useless objects, they have fun because they're supposed to have fun, and the rest of the world can go hang---let them sort themselves out....What I'm saying is that life inside....is the same as the lives of almost everyone outside....carefully avoiding knowledge of what lies beyond the glass walls of the aquarium."  

   Coelho shows the faults of those who philosophize, but aren't willing to risk acting a little crazy to bring about change.  

  At the end of the book, one of the character's Maria writes, "Be like the fountain that overflows, not like the cistern that contains."   

 I don't agree with everything Coelho writes, but I always am led to think deeper after reading his books and more importantly I'm inspired to get up and act.  

the quiet life

I think maybe I'm a little crazy.  Just a little...it's all really hereditary though, so it's not my fault...right?  

First week of summer, I've read three books, pecked out sheaves (an exaggeration of course) of stories on my typewriter, watched too much t.v. and am ready to move on.  Oh yes, I hate to give in to the American Youth stereotype of discontent and in constant need of entertainment...but I'm just not used to this quiet life.  They said Seattle was rainy?  It's rained every day since I arrived in Portland.   Not a complaint though, just a fact: a detail to more colorfully portray the picture that is my life.   No it's not the quiet life that I'm discontent with, it's the lack of community.  I've been driven so far as to name my typewriter.  (His name is Smith if your interested)  Well Smith and I keep each other company.  Each click of the yellow letters, helps to chase away the solitude and works to make me feel useful.  Okay, so I'm really not being useful, but poor Smith has been secluded to the basement, where I found him caked in dust.  So I'm helping him, right?   

Right...like I said....crazy.

I was thinking about dreams today.  I'm not referring to "dreams for the future," or "dreams for my life."  I'm talking about the dreams that some times visit us when our conscious is asleep.  It's interesting really.   If anyone brings up this topic of dreams in a group of people, everyone person instantly springs into action, trying to put forth the most interesting dream they've had.  It's almost like a competition.  Few people actually care what's in other people's dreams, but for some reason, we all want to share what takes place in our own.  What is this?  I wonder if we hope that people will recognize our dreams as bits of truth.  I wonder if we desire people to see what happens when we are not tightly reigning in our conscious....we want people to know the fantastical elements of our subconscious.  I had dream last night.  I won't relate it to you.  I'm fairly sure it was meaningless, and recounting it would be a bore.  So i'll refrain....besides I've actually forgotten.   All i know is that I kept waking up in the middle of it.  I could feel myself pulling away from the surreal adventure I was in and then I remember squeezing my eyelids shut hard, trying to force myself back into that realm.  When I finally woke up....I was disappointed.  Hm.    I used to actually have "premonition" dreams.  I would dream things and then in some form they would happen.  It hasn't happened for awhile, but it's caused me to pay close attention to dreams.  I thinks dreams are our alter-selves speaking to us.  Showing us the life they live and prodding us perhaps into action.  I don't really know.  

   I'm circle thinking...and it's unimportant. . . the result of too much time.  Blast.  I hate wasting time.  (sorry if I've just wasted yours)

ouch

I just finished Sherman Alexie's, "Flight."    

wow.

    i'm not really sure what else to say.  (which as usual means i have a lot to say)

i've never felt so attune to all the voices out there that are so far removed from mine.  i watch people every day and wonder who they are and what they think.  i hear about tragedies on the news and wonder what was behind the tragedy.   this book sent me into the the thoughts behind these people and these tragedies.  it's awful, it's horrifying.  but it's good.  no, good isn't the right word.  it's necessary...?  it makes me see the potential we all have for bad, but the chance we're all given for good.  it reminds me how wrong it is to live shut off to those around you.  it's wrong to look at people in compartments.  it's wrong to solely judge by actions.  it reminds me how little i know about people, how little i care about people.  

     it inspires me to embrace the chance i've been given.  at the end of the book, the kid realizes that the world is ugly and won't get better any time soon; he also realizes that he himself is ugly....but he sees the chance  he's been given to partake in the beautiful and stand above the cruelty. 

   there's a lot more to it....but that's my snapshot thoughts after just finishing the book.  if you can stand it...read it.   

   a breathe of fresh air.... i need this

(pic courtesy of pablo)

blank

there's a build-up of words waiting just behind my lips, but every time i open my mouth they recede down the back of my throat, settling down in my gut where my stomach twists and turns with their weight.

my hands are tense, frozen: ready to channel my unspoken words onto paper, but they don't and they can't

i have this habit of storing up my words, my thoughts so long that i can no longer recognize them.  i keep them deep inside until i have no strength to bring them forth.  i become like a child who is learning to speak.  

i sit, i wait, i sigh, but i am immobile. 

so i stare at this leering screen and wish for what i don't seem to have.

Ivory Towers

I've been thinking about them

reality?  what is it?

are we all really stuck in our own ivory towers?   

Do we ever really leave them?

.

"I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment's gone"

There are books piled everywhere.  Pages and pages of narration, of truth, of lies, of dreams and illusions.  Folds of ink that run and bleed, lamenting the loss of knowledge and the desire to know.  Lamenting the loss of empathy and desire to understand one another.  Pages on pages calling out.  They will guide you, manipulate you, creep into your mind and cover your eyes from reality.  They will open windows and blow down doors demanding to be heard.   Towers of books, carelessly tossed on the floor revealing black ink that mocks the empty white pages of my own life.

I've been wanting to write.   But i've hesitated.  The other day I read someone's words and they were so beautiful....i think i fell in love (with the words, not the person).  That statement seems really dramatic, but that's actually what I thought to myself when I read them.  Anyway, since then I've felt stupidly inadequate.  I haven't wanted to write, because my words feel awkward and clumsy.  Even now I feel like I'm typing wearing mittens.  The resulting words are not always intelligible, but they are mine and here they are.

   I've been feeling incredibly stuck lately.  I've always had this overwhelming sense of time.  You wouldn't think so if you were my prof...I'm typically late where ever I go, but on the larger scale.  I don't want to waste my time here.  At the same, I know that this time of my life is short in comparison to the rest of it.  I feel this tension, between desiring action now and slamming on the brakes and patiently wading through the inactive process of life.  I feel like one of those stretchy dolls that's arms and legs can be pulled in opposite directions insanely long.   On one side I have my goals and my dreams pulling me hard and on the other side, I have the wonderful limitation of money and capability pulling me in the opposite direction... the end result: no movement in any directions...just a confused nauseous in the middle.  Sometimes I feel almost frozen in the tension.  

I know that in the long run, the decisions I make now won't really matter.  I have that obnoxious, optimistic shoulder fairy that reminds that, "no matter what it will all turn out good."  And I do believe that...I know I can make it good.   I just get stuck in the awful, "what ifs?"  

Hm...on a different note:

  Yesterday I spent time in my mother's garden.  I love my mom's garden.  I love sitting in the grass and digging my hands into the moist soil.  I like being near the earth.  It was so therapeutic to just leisurely sit there, slowing pulling at weeds...taking my time and taking in the earthy, musty smell of the the dirt mixed with the fresh smell of lilacs.  It was nice.  I had a quiet day...I painted, nothing pretty, but sometimes (most times) i paint for the process and not the outcome.   I listened to the Jayhawks and quietly hummed, "I'd run away."  (ironically fitting)  It was calm and settling and has set the tone for the week.  I feel quiet this week.  Externally quiet, but internally my mind is speeding in dizzying circuits. 

a touch of sentiment

I'm oddly awake tonight.  Calmly listening to Iron & Wine and contemplating a new painting.  Today was beautiful.  I had a strange nostalgic moment:  I was sitting in the kitchen looking at applications and options for next year and I stopped to look out the window: it was beautifully calming.  The lake still, reflecting the trees encircling it and silhouettes of the houses on the ridge with the end of the day glowing behind.  I wanted to hug my city.  I wanted to wrap my arms around all of Seattle.  I laughed at myself after realizing the absurdity of wanting to hug an entire city.  But it was moment of realizing I've really made this home and knowing that it's time to go elsewhere and create another one.  I like peaceful days like this one: where I can calmly go about life.  

ennui

i haven't written in awhile.  I'm not even sure that i have much to say.  I seem to be without words lately.  I feel like i store up so much inside of me and then instead of letting it seep out through words, it just stays within, pushing against me, leaving me queasy and unsure.  

I've been thinking about ideals lately.  Most people have ideals: relating to life, career, values, relationships, etc.   But why do we bother?  Ideals don't get us far...I looked up the definition of ideal: it's something existing only in the imagination not likely to become reality.  It's a false hope...it's what causes people to miss out on taking hold of the good around them because they're always looking for something better...that something that is an illusion.  Is this cynicism?  I don't know.  Is idealism for the naive?  I've seen few people live out their ideals and those who do are treated as childish and a step behind.  Are they truly behind...or are they bravely holding onto what they want?   This is pointless.  

Really I've been realizing lately that my life might never fall into order.  It might actually be composed of this chaotic disarrayed state of not-knowing.   I'm just going to have to learn to make it work.

fuji apples on a friday afternoon

Today was nice.  I finished a drive-by literature class and now am free to read by choice and fully soak it in...bliss.

I went downtown today...I haven't been downtown to just wander in a while.  It was so nice to be reminded I'm in a big city, to be surrounded by people moving about their lives, not to mention to be surrounded by diversity...you don't get that in the general district of my school.   It was refreshing.  

  I bought the largest Fuji apple I've ever seen, it was so sweet and juicy...it tasted like the day. I was with my friend who had bought a baguette and we wandered around Pike Place exchanging the apple and bread.  Life is sweet...or it can be...it was today.  

  Today was good, but it sent me shivers of discontent.   Why?  Where do these come from?  I keep hearing these whispers that leave me unsettled.  What am I missing?.... oh well.  

Here's to clean, crisp Friday afternoons, friends, baguette, and fresh, tasty apples!

From Wiesel to Coelho

This week I've read two books.  .  . two non-required books, which is very unusual for the school year.  I read Night by Elie Wiesel and By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coelho.     Both were beautifully written

    in very different ways.

Night was beautiful because of its content.  In reality it was horrific.  But the fact that the account was true and was a very deep revealing of Wiesel's experiences made it beautiful.  Wiesel had a purpose in writing Night.  He wasn't out to entertain, or out to make the reader think, "how awful!"  Wiesel wanted people to start looking to see what kind of horrors are going on in our world now.   The book is a call to action. . . a call to not let more tragedies go by so long undetected.  

It hurt reading it.  Because I know that every day I ignore the tragedies around me.  I refuse to open my eyes, because I feel inadequate, like a child who watches helplessly.  How can I help?

At the end of the week I read Coelho's book.  Coelho has a very different approach to life and spirituality in most ways than I do.  But when I read his books, I am awakened to the beauty of the spiritual.  I read his books and I remember the reality of the mystical, the supernatural.   It's so easy to dismiss these things as Christians...as people in general.  We compartmentalize life into "fiction" and "non-fiction" and try to do the same to our faith.   But faith encompasses so much more than that what we know.  Coelho's book talked about love about encountering the spiritual (or God) fully through love in relationship with others.  It was truly beautiful.

Anyway, it felt good to read and to enjoy...it seems like lately I haven't enjoyed reading.  But it has me uneasy.  The written word has the ability to create a world that seems impossible, a world of greatness.  When I read I am alive to the supernatural and to dreams.  So when I close a book, I feel unsettled, because I am returning to reality.  To the pale colors that are my life.  I know it can be more, but how.  How do I step out?  

a piece

This earth that seems to move

At paces ever heightening

Begs to all who’ll listen

Pleads its innocence to a deaf jury

 

Murmuring movements never stopping

Footsteps falling faster without fail

Forever forgetting today

Pushing past for a glimpse of tomorrow

 

Would that the relentless would relinquish

In a moment accept melancholy

Embracing the oddity of silence

Rather exchanging noise for quiet sound

 

That I could plunge into an ocean of whispering gold

Drowning amid the swaying stalks

Losing noisy conscious

Gaining the glory of security

 

Release the tension of knowledge

To the soothing caress of the wind

And sinking deeper into the moist earth

Encounter the rhythmic heartbeat of life

 

To be filled with the magnitude of mystery

For a moment revel in that which is unknown

Permitting it to pervade my very veins

Filling this soul until ready to burst.

Christians of the OT

It seems like lately I've become especially aware of the huge emphasis contemporary Christians place on Jesus Christ.  

What?!  Now that I have your attention, let me explain.  There's nothing wrong with this, it just seems that in attempt to embrace the act of the Crucifixion and Resurrection, people are solely embracing Jesus Christ in their faith and not God the Father.  I've been listening to the words of contemporary praise music and a great deal of it is focused on the crucifixion and the fact that our sins are on the cross.  Maybe I'm wrong, but I can't help but wonder how many of us church-raised, private school educated youth can truly grasp the magnitude of this concept.  How many of us have fallen so deeply that we are hounded by the guilt of our sin?  I'm not saying we don't sin, I'm just wondering  how much we understand and can truly appreciate the forgiveness of sins.  At the risk of being shunned, I would say that lately I've realized how meaningless/trivialized this has become for me.  So, if then we are not drawn by the forgiveness of sins, we must be pulled to the cross by a desire for heaven...escape from damnation.  Security to the ageless question of life after death.  

This seems so shallow to base a faith on.  I heard someone comment the other day that it wasn't until Jesus that people could truly know God.  Again, I wonder...would contemporary Christians believe in God if it were not for the cross?  No...(obviously because most are gentiles...but lets ignore that barrier for a moment), I can't help but think they wouldn't.   Don't get me wrong...I'm not saying I dont believe in Jesus Christ.  I believe in the full power and authority of the trinity.   But what I'm saying here is what holds us to our faith sans NT redemption plot?  

I guess lately I've really valued the Old Testament account.  Over and over we're given inspirational examples of flawed people who had no promise of security, but still lived with a belief in their creator as the God almighty.   This faith must be made of a different substance than some of the faith of today.  A faith that says, this may be all there is, but I still bow to the creator of my life and still hope in  his power...whatever that might look like.   Interesting.

"Delicous Despair"

I've been reading a book...or rather a few books on Martin Luther.  And in reading them I am finding a source of encouragement that I could not have found anywhere else.  Luther for all the glory stories one hears was in barest form a weak, imperfect, doubting, and struggling man who was obsessed with God.  In Martin Marty's (yes his name truly is Martin Marty) book on Luther, he focuses on a single word that Luther clung to and that was the german word, "anfechtungen."  Marty writes that "anfechtungen" can only be translated as "the spiritual assaults that kept people from finding certainty in a loving God. (Marty 23)"  

     Anfechtungen is imploring, it is questioning, it is begging for truth...to know for certain that the truth we have is the ultimate truth.  Luther was man torn by doubt, he was a depressed soul who was not satisfied with the answers he received from man.  Yet Luther believed that this doubting and questioning was from God and that as he, "despaired he was concurrently given grace to probe more deeply and, in each encounter, to find  a way to discern a profound divine purpose. (Marty 24)"  To Luther this plight of "anfechtungen" was a gift.  He called it, "delicious despair."  

The book goes on to describe Luther's interpretation of the story of Jacob wrestling with God.  (Really you might as well just read the book, but at the chance you don't I'll continue to sum)  Luther empathized strongly with Jacob.  Luther believes that Jacob's struggle was "not against flesh, blood, the devil, and a good angel but against God appearing in hostile form. (25)"  The interpretation may seem...well obvious.  But as I read it, I saw a young Luther, who felt guilt and shame for seeing his Almighty God as an attacker...as hostile and I resonated with him.  

    "Delicious Despair."  I won't be thinking of the 95 thesis when Luther's name is mentioned anymore, I will be remembering "anfechtungen."  I am encouraged by this.  I am encouraged to relish the painful questioning times in faith, I am encouraged to remain faithful and continue to serve God whether He is near or far.  To walk forward even as I question.

                     

A suggestion: read, "Martin Luther," by Martin Marty

a poem

I came across a thought

That wouldn’t be pushed away

 It wouldn’t fall silent

Or be buried amongst the rest

It stood in my mind

Constantly prodding

Pinching

Whispering disbelief

To my unbending mind

 

I told it go

I ignored it

Trying to choke it into submission

But it remained

A seed of disbelief

Growing undeterred 

billy and the new year

This is billy.  billy is my cat.  I feel like I'm five writing this, I'm not normally a person who gets attached to pets, but billy is an exception.  All this to say, Billy is pretty sick and despite this being sardonic i can't help but laugh.  Not in a happy way, but at the irony.  It's the new year right?  Well it's off to a slam-bang start.  New Year's Eve I went to bed sick and wasn't feeling good on New Year's Day. (sick not a hangover).  And now my cat's sick and possibly dying?!  really?  wow.   

    I'm sorry i can't write an epic "it's the new year" blog.  I finished last year disappointed with a lot of things in life: school, church, the concept of Christmas, friends, even God.  Now I'm starting a new year and would like to think about a vision, something to work for or hope for...but i just can't do it.

I'm not writing this to say "poor me."  (maybe a little bit).  I'm writing this to say...life is not a movie.  It doesn't pan out according to a typical time-line.  Things don't always happen hollywood style.  I guess life is what you make it...if you have the guts to do so.  Life isn't meant to be lived by pasting a fake grin on and charging through it (i've done that far too much)!   Life is learning how to genuinely smile each day despite the ugly and to savor each day without rushing through it.

I know better how not to live life than I do know how to live.  I know the answers I've been fed.  But I, I honestly right now don't how to live my life.

I don't know what all this is working towards.

But i do know that as I'm sitting sick in bed with my skinny sick cat sleeping beside me, that tomorrow really is a new day and tomorrow i will get up and attempt to live my life and not repeat last years blunders.  

Here's to learning from mistakes and taking steps