...for the Child

As the early morning light seeps its way through my blinds, I peel my eyes open and stretch my hands above my head, uncurling myself out of the cocoon I had been nestled so cozily in.

Hopping out of bed, I scuttle to the bathroom then slide my feet across the carpet to warm my toes up before making the long voyage downstairs along the twisted staircase.

Grabbing onto the banister, the wood feels cold against my hands; still warm from the night under my giant white duvet cover.

I tip toe across the hard wood floor and peek my head around the corner and into the kitchen. The rich smell of coffee leads me to my destination and the navy blue plaid bathrobe confirms my initial assumption. I look up and climb into my daddy's lap as he kisses my head and slides over my designated Saturday morning reading material: the funnies.

At 8 years old, this was my weekend routine.

Wake up and read with my dad, just us two partners in crime before the rest of the house awoke.

He would fix me a cup of warm milk and honey-always served in his ceramic mug with the whale tail as a handle-and we would start our day as this; the father and his child.

12 years later and on the rare occasions my dad and I share our mornings together, we still read the morning paper. But instead of the funnies we read the front page and community sections and my milk has been replaced with a styrofoam cup filled with coffee. Black.  

12 years later, I am still his daughter and he is still my dad. That doesn't change no matter what age we reach, yet the duties alter as our age increases.

He can still set up a tent and make a mean breakfast sandwich and continues to teach me how to fix my car. He knows how to diagnose my sister's illness across the globe and can steer me home after getting myself lost, all with a simple phone call.

I was reminded last night, however, that sometimes daddy-daughter days are better to reminisce about than to look forward to. 

See, as a child I, along with many other little girls, thought my dad knew every answer to any question I asked him. 

Why? Because he's my dad.

And that's the only reason I ever had to know. 

That simple word, "dad", that could solve math equations and dry tears, the word that could build a fire and tuck me in super tight was the answer to any question I would ever have to ask.

As the world would have it, however, children age and start to learn. We learn about the world around us and our desired paths in life and we realize that our parents may not know the answer to every little thing. 

Does this change the fact that he is my dad and I am his daughter? Of course not.

It does, however, help illustrate the fact that let downs occur and circumstances change and no matter what happens on earth, there is always a Father who knows every answer to any question I ask. 

I will always be a child. 

I will always have a father.

And I will always have a Father.

When circumstances are out of my control and words are misplaced and used to hurt rather than heal, questions arise that seemingly no one will have the answer to.

When placed in these situations, I have no other choice than to turn to the one Father who never fails to provide answers in a time of such scarcity. Scarcity of knowledge, scarcity of power, scarcity of tangible solutions.

We are all children, so deeply and passionately loved on that it wouldn't make sense not to embrace all that we are intended to have. 

The most beautiful duo in all of history is the father and his daughter and I am blessed to have both a father and a Father who deeply love on me.

I can only hope and pray that I continue to constantly reach out beyond my knowledge. When I can't seem to find the answer among the bear hugs and table talks, I can only pray that I remain a child to a Father who is here to be asked questions that only He can answer.

...for the Frightened

Lying in bed at 12:47 last night, everything was still. My breathing, I can assume, was slow and consistent and the air outside was thick, filled with humidity that made even the crickets slow their bluegrass tunes to a lullaby pace. I was tangled up in my sheets, kept warm by my body temperature and the thin layer of fabric that bunched unevenly around my waist.

At 12:47 in the morning, I was suddenly jolted to consciousness. My breathing was jarred and my heart rate increased, a mixture of fear and shock. The sheets that kept me so warm just seconds ago felt distant and useless, my inner being now ice cold, craving for something to cling onto and hide underneath. A loud, distinct crack sliced through the night air and echoed just once, repeating the sound that now rang throughout my entire body. 

To the right of my quaint, suburban neighborhood is a bustling freeway, fenced off by braided wiring and separated from the sleepy doldrums by a bike path and a thick wall of trees. The sound of a gunshot, however, cut through the trees like a machete and landed in earshot of my tiny town home.

I waited for what seemed like minutes for the familiarity of police sirens, the comfort of help along the way to replace the uncertainty. I repeated a prayer and repeated again, trying to conjure up a response. An answer. A saving grace to the gaping time that stretched, holding with it the uncertainty of who was out there and what I could not see.

The minutes passed, and that was that. No one came. No sirens rang out. The rustling of my sister next door was the only response to the wake up call, and as I sat there, frozen, afraid that my movement would provoke another unwelcome sound, I pictured Alana was mirroring my same stature; eyes glued to the window, arms perched on our pillows with the slightest crevice in the blinds to peek through-our perch above the fort, the almighty protectors of our make-shift worlds. 

She stopped rustling, drifted back into a silent slumber, and life moved on. All but the hum of electricity had ceased to conjure up a noise. I wanted to assume everyone in their own cozy homes was mimicking my actions, acting as guardians of whatever the rest of the night held. Sadly, this was probably all make believe. Timers were set and whatever the real world held in its grips meant nothing to the suburban, cookie cutter perfection that we relied upon.

The sprinklers turned off and houses remained heated; timers counting down the seconds until the next rotation occurred. 

My fear in that moment, although initially provoked by the gunshot, was extended through the night by the fear of the unknown. It is all too simple and safe to assume that as a Woodbridge Village Association resident, danger cannot seep through our perimeter. That as one of the safest cities in our nation, havoc and mayhem wouldn’t dare cross our borders, afraid of what our “pleasantville-esque” society threatens to use against all evil.

The truth of the matter is, in that moment I had never experienced so much fear and so much doubt. I played worst-case scenarios in my head, envisioned all escape routes and the speed at which I would cram Alana and my mom in the closet to protect our family and defeat the monster that broke down our door. 

Fabricated and child-like, the scenarios never came into play and I talked myself down, reminded that we are once again, safe and sound. 

I woke up the next morning, groggy from a few stiff hours of forced sleep, but once again, safe and sound.

I was fearful, yes. But I am blessed beyond measure. I’m blessed that my fears were only worst-case and that this once in a blue moon occurrence would probably never happen again. 

Fear comes most commonly in my life when paired with the unknown. 

Fear is different for everyone, but it is always, always real. 

Fear is a feeling most people don’t choose to experience, unless right before an adrenaline rush, an exciting adventure approaching closer with each step. 

You may laugh at my fear, may scoff at the state my mind regressed to, but I know I was afraid. And blessed. And another experience wiser after 12:47 that morning.

Because at 12:47 this morning, I realized that fear stops for no one, and comes uninvited to dinner parties, sleepy silences, and next big life steps.

I welcome the fear, however, because with fear comes one more situation to conquer and learn from. 

I hope you welcome your fear, and I hope you know that your fears are your own, never too small or too large, as the mind creates what it will, a sea diving far beyond the measures of our wildest dreams.

...for the 'Human'itarian

I hate humans.

Did you catch that? 
I said I hate humans.

Before you jump to conclusions, follow me for a second.
Humanity, as a whole, is a pretty ugly thing. 
It is a self-destructive, wasteful creature that has allowed society to program us to look at our lives in such jaded ways that pick out everything we don't have.
We dwell on the past.
Live in the future.
And complain about never having enough time to just BE.

We are never fully present and in those rare chances we are, we are focusing on those around us. Rarely jumping at the chance to admire ourselves. 

And as much confidence I have in individuals and our will to better our community- and the confidence I have that we will always prevail- and that our true callings will come out once we separate the world's desires from God's desires, what I've seen the past few days has really hurt my heart.

My community has become an episode right out of a teen drama, with anonymous websites to share your darkest secrets, an outlet to rate and assess the "dateable" guys in our area and stereotypes being thrown around during class.

I discovered an application called LuLu, a site that pegs your location and shows you guys in your community that have been rated.
Sex: 8.0
Attractiveness: 7.3
First kiss: 10.0
Commitment: 5.0
And the list goes on and on. And for what purpose? To degrade men in the same way us women fear? 

I had resorted to this narrow mindset that left me with an unappreciated loss of hope in humanity. 

But to that, I have to say that it's my faith in the individual that will conquer the doubt.

The power of an individual seeing their potential and affirming the self worth of others creates a beautiful movement. It creates a force that pushes through the negativity in the masses and encourages others to see what the power of positivity can really accomplish.

So yes, humanity sucks.
But the individual?
The community?
That, my friends, will always win. 

So what will you do? Stick to the masses or branch out and live a life that depicts a true meaning of community. 

...for the Lovers

I met someone Saturday evening.
A little boy, hardly a week old, who happens to take the role of my very little and very new, baby brother.
Before I met Erik, I simply knew him as an idea. As this person I knew had come to exist and be placed in my life but other than that it wasn't quite possible for me to fully grasp the concept of a brother.
See, before I met Erik, I didn't know it was possible to love someone so unconditionally without even a clue as to who they were.

Other than the fact that we are, in a way, related, I knew nothing about this little man. I hadn't shared a conversation with him nor traveled through the depths of his soul and passions, likes and dislikes, but simply just knew him as a boy who was new to my life.

As I held Erik, I looked at him and all the new discovery that was going on through his eyes and I realized that this love I felt, this uncontainable, indescribable love, was one that has been given to me daily and one I have been failing to give.

I looked at him and realized that the life I have been living is unmatched to the one I have been called to live. The love I've been given by the big man upstairs has been given to me not only so I can see the beauty of my creation and the self-worth I really do hold, but so that others can see theirs as well.

Why can't we all love so deeply, so unconditionally, so uncontainably that it fills us with a spirit and a joy that can't help but be contagious?

Often times I find myself questioning my actions.
Conversations I have and decisions I make, with the fear that others might find them too forward or unconventional. 
Why should I be afraid to speak my mind and affirm those around me for the sole purpose of allowing them to see how wonderful they are?
Why?
Because we've been told it's wrong. It's unconventional. It's weird to make spontaneous friends or go up to someone you don't know.
Society has placed on me a barrier as to how and when I should show my love. And the only culprit in this victimization of my own actions, is myself.

I dictate the decisions I make and the people I affect and through it all, I got lost and wrapped up in the idea that showing love isn't normal. 

Where in your life are you placing barriers on the love you choose to show and receive? Where are you second guessing your potential and the ability you have to greatly influence the lives of those around you?

Love does. In the words of Bob Goff, when all else fails and nothing seems to make sense, the only thing that holds true is love. Because love does. Love has no limits or understanding of failure. Love holds no boundaries or time frames to act upon. Love makes sense because sometimes life is too complicated to try and understand anything other than the simplicity of that four letter word. 

I challenge you to love.
Love yourself.
Love others.
And do so in a way that makes others stop and respond. 
Love in a way that calls attention to the life you're living and the influence you hold on those around you.
Love as if there's no tomorrow.
Love. Because love does. 

...for the Dweller (here's why you shouldn't)

There was this one morning.

It was maybe 4:30 at this point and I had spent the past six hours in a car full of people I barely knew.
We jumped on in, filled the car up with gas and drove down the coast on a spontaneous whim in hopes of finding something.
In hopes of finding an adventure, or maybe finding an escape for the night.

We all lay sprawled out on an abandoned lifeguard tower down south along the shores of a small beach town and the air smelled of sea salt, stale perfume and energy drinks. The conversations hit a lull as we gazed above us and stared into the unknown, so at peace with the path the night had given us.

I looked to my left and to my right and realized I would never see most of these people ever again and with that, I was filled with this overwhelming happiness.

Because although we shared dark secrets and tried to piece together what life meant at that moment, it was perfectly acceptable that we would never speak again. We shared memories spanning across those random hours in the night that are typically filled with sleep or normal routine and it meant that we had a new outlook on life, if only for that moment or possibly just for those few hours we spent alone after we parted ways.

Thinking back to that night I realize the past few days were filled with those same exact moments- pockets of joy that I may experience if only once with people I just met.
It's those moments that make up the list of a few of my very most favorite things, those things that give me the inspiration I need:

The boys who serenaded my sorority, I thank you for entertaining the idea that men are sensitive because they have good voices.
Thank you for giving me hope, even if it's encased in a hopeless romantic mindset.

The small crowd of people who cheered for me as I shouted out my number crossing the finish line as the 8th to last paddler in this weekend's race.
Thank you for reminding me that crossing the finish line is an accomplishment, no matter what place you're in.

The woman who called me lovely and the boy in the banana suit.
Thank you for showing me genuine sincerity and light hearted moments can be shared with absolutely anyone who is willing to accept them.

As a planner and a dweller and an all-around Type A, it's the moments like these that slow my world down a bit.

Where in your life can you look at a day and realize that those times of joy- those smiles in between class with someone who catches your eye or that random hail storm that sets in as you walk across campus- those moments are intended to slow your day down?

Think of things as they were, not as they weren't.

It's times like these where all you can do is appreciate what just happened and take it as it is, because somehow you became a better person through it all and the only way to explain it is by remembering it just as it was. 

...for the Studious Students

Finals.
A time of awful eating and sleeping habits, a season where jeans are always optional and sweats are welcomed by everyone. A time where students learn how to survive on caffeine and disregard social interactions outside of academic buildings. 
Finals.
A time of stress, but also, a time of joy?

Aside from the stress finals may bring you as you rely on seasonal Pinterest and Tumblr pages to distract you from your priorities, thus creating more anxiety later on, finals week can also bring about a time of appreciation and joy. Hidden deep down in your backpack next to the chargers and free red bull, there is a little ziploc holding a handful of joy to carry you through these weeks.

Finals suck and there is no denying this, yet it's all too easy to let it consume you in every way possible. 
As I study for my last final, I repeat one simple, yet very powerful phrase. 
"It's always going to be ok."

No matter what, it will always be ok.

Whether it be a relationship that recently ended or a towing ticket that sets you back $300, even a final you may have bombed or the amount you've let yourself go during finals week, no matter what, in time it will always be ok.

The scars of the break up will heal and you'll date you for a while and appreciate the love you give your deserving self.
You will work back the money you lost or receive a check in the mail from someone who deeply just wants to support you, despite their own financial situation.
You will pass the class, either barely hanging on or with flying colors, and go on living the normalcy of whatever your life was before these two weeks approached.

In the end, the stress we put on ourselves to achieve some high level of greatness will not ever compare to the joy we can allow ourselves to experience.

I may be one of the biggest stress cases I know, yet allowing myself to remain joyful in this stressful yet very prominent holiday season is something we all deserve.
Be joyful, knowing that you are worth so much more than grades on a test.
Be joyful, knowing that you are made for so much more than we allow ourselves to live at times.
Be joyful, knowing that it will always be ok.

We have gone through some awful times in our lives, and for that I am both sorry and grateful. I'm sorry for the pain we have had to endure and the uneasiness we had to sit in. Yet I am grateful for the support found during those times and the season after the storm, the healing process and the growth. It might just be me, but finding joy in my own sorrow can be one of the best forms of healing I practice. 

So as finals wind down and the holiday season kicks into full swing, remember that this is simply another week on your calendar, a moment in time that will pass and leave way for another joyous time to appear.
Remember that amidst the stress you can allow yourself a moment of joy.
Smile.
Laugh.
Be grateful that you have something to be stressed about.
Remember that no matter what you feel now, it will always be ok. 

...for the Thirsty (literally)

So, there's this boy.
Brown shaggy hair, super trendy shades.
And well, we've just started seeing each other.
We even have a spot.
Everyday. Same time.
It all happened so fast really, but he just ran into my life.

Literally.

Well, more of a speed walk.


I was making my typical Tuesday/Thursday trek to the drinking fountains in between classes early this week when this boy walks out of the restroom and into my path, causing me to step aside to let him through. Th gentleman he is, he stepped aside once more, implying I had the right of way. I took the two steps to the shorter water fountain and as I twisted off my water bottle cap, I noticed him waiting. I looked at him and motioned to the higher of the two fountains and told him there was one available (if he somehow couldn't see past me).

"No. I'll wait."

Oh. 

Which has now shifted the entire scenario to one where I'm suddenly this awful burden. 
Everyone has been there. You're that one kid who decides to fill up their water bottle so a line starts to form behind you but you can't do anything since the water is moving at a glacial speed. Thus, you're stuck. And everyone hates you for it even though they've all been there. Yet it's just like driving; you hate the pedestrians until you are one.

Anyways, I drop my binders to the ground and double strap my backpack on so the entire process can move just a little faster. I filled up as quickly as the fountain would allow and walked away a bit confused. I brushed it off and went on with my day.

Today rolls around and I walk to my spot for a refreshing sip of water and who do I see? 
The boy.
Coming from two sides of the hall we meet at the entrance to the doorway for the fountains and what does he do?
He looks at me and without even muttering a word, extends his right hand out in a sassy maitre d sort of way as to say "again? go ahead."

I step forward and, the selfless woman I am, take the higher fountain this time, assuming he wouldn't use it the last time for some height-conscious reason. 
Yet he stood there. And waited. 
I looked his way once again, pointing to the open fountain (because at this point it's clear he can't see what's in front of him) and he rolled his eyes and looked down.
HE LOOKED DOWN. 
Like suggesting he use the fountain was the most idiotic thing anyone has ever done.
I have to say, I'm a little offended. 
What's the point of two fountains when no one insists on using them at the same time? 
The only situation that logically works anymore is a parent with their tiny child, totting around behind them. 
Or best friends. 
Because they do everything together.

I wonder if I will meet this boy in our spot again next week.
I sure do hope so because I am really eager to find out why he insists on sipping alone. 
Nonetheless, I analyzed this a bit further during the analyzing of films in my aesthetics class and felt a pang of sadness.

Are we as a generation so afraid of community that we insist on walking life alone, never allowing ourselves to interact in the slightest way with someone new?

I'll continue to ponder on this while my life plays out like an episode from Seinfeld. 

So, what will you do the next time you reach a water fountain?
Will you step aside and wait as the person before you hurriedly sips away, or will you step forward and leisurely gulp down your water, as the potential to make a new friend rests right beside you.