Ain't Nothin'

Life is more than Hundred Dollar Bills

I feel pulled, lifted from my very transient spot on this earth.

I just don't know how to say it, without sounding like a naive, idealistic young person. Obviously I can just be written off as not knowing; ignorant of what it takes to enjoy life, to get ahead.

Obviously I haven't had to live through house payments, disillusionment, scraping by each month, just barely able to pay the bills. How could I know what really matters and what is just silly youthful wishful thinking?

I have to trust God. I can't know these things, and I won't presume to. But I trust God.

What I do know is what I don't want. I don't want "to get ahead," I don't care about "room for advancement." I don't see qualifying for low income housing as a reason to change my career goals. God knows what I need. And He is faithful to provide.

All this to learn that I am not a potato.

Its been a crazy four months. Perhaps that would explain my absence from the blogging world (at this time I refuse to use the term "blogosphere"). Four days after the end of the craziest semester of my life, I feel refreshed enough to blog again. And I have more than enough to talk about. The past marathon week has been incredibly tiring, but infinitely fun.

Sarah's birthday party included the Sarah Cupcake- banana cake with rose cream filling and raspberry frosting. And yeah, it does taste like Sarah May. (?) Sarah's 21st began with margaritas at Sancho's (virgin for Julie :( ) and continued with four hours of wine tasting. From Silverhorse on the east side, to Jada and finally Opolo on the west side; the highlight of the day, for everyone, was Opolo. My friend Jeff gave us a private tasting, and we all walked away a little tipsy. And with wine.

Andrew, I can't believe you bought a Zin. Even if it was a dessert wine. Gross.

In between finals this week, Sarah and I bonded. And Julie and I bonded. I love me some May girls (That sounds totally sketch).

We had some drinks and made a Snickerdoodle cank. Not in that order. Thank you for coming to Sbux to give me hugs when I am a sad emo. Now lets go watch a Pixie Disnar film. Stat.

Wednesday Jen and I went to San Francisco and hung out with her sissy, went thrifting, learned about the eating habits of the giant squid (who knew they ate cobbler?) and ate Indian ice cream. Next time, the cardamom rose. Next time.
We rode the BART, which I dug, but Jen didn't know how to use. Ha. Then Kim left and Jen and I went over to Oakland... and didn't get raped or mugged. However, we did see the Decemberists do a BITCHIN show at the Fox Theater. Although my legs didn't really fit at the Fox Theater, the show was awesome, and Jen and I left pretty much stunned. And then we almost died, due to my driving, on the way home.

Sorry Jen.

The fun with Jen continued on Saturday. We started off at Joebella with May (and a triple americano), and then got on the Beerbus to go to Beer Fest. Ha. Never expected to go to one of those, in all of my days. And it was slightly underwhelming. Essentially, it was like a giant Poly Bros and Hos party, at Avila. Funnily enough, I ran into Paulceratops there. Ha. Nough said.

And as soon as I got home from said Fest, I packed up Otis and rumbled northeast, to Reedley. Since getting here on friday, Bay Melissa and I have watched an obscene amount of NCIS (whilst still in Pajamas, whilst drinking tons of tea, and whilst eating many Cheezits). We also photographed a Wedding (Renewal of Vows Ceremony for this incredible Philipino couple's 50th anniversary), and we made a cashier laugh when I announced that the best way to solve problems is to have a Dance Off to Tpain. Cute.

I need to upload pics. I need to do some other stuff. But its summer. and I don't really care.

Goin home tonight. Goin to work tomorrow.

Loves you lots.

Assignment

**I'm turning this in for my creative writing class. Yeah, I borrowed parts from previous blogs.
Bite me.


Lately, my life has sounded like Jazz music, blunt, unwieldy and unpredictable, at once soaring high with all the good notes, then dark and low with the minor keys. It is as rapidly and with as little warning as a key-change that I move from a state of peace to one of utter and complete hopelessness.
I'll be perfectly honest, it’s getting old.
Today life seems exciting. Life seems bursting with possibilities, so much potential, so much to see, so many words to say. I started reminiscing today, reminding myself of where I've been this past year. It is incredible how much I've changed. The person in the mirror sometimes seems unrecognizable.
I’m 21. SWF, terribly awkward, and learning to live comfortably undone. It is a part of the age, I think, this questioning of everything I’ve ever known, this constant and nagging uncertainty. I grapple with this every day, romanticizing the time in my life when I had dreams, and was actively working towards them, juxtaposed against my current state of affairs, that can be summed up neatly in one word: discontent.
This wasn’t where I was supposed to be by now; this was anything but the plan. In an awkward fashion, I’ve tripped through the past couple years, fumbling relationships, and grasping for a purpose. This all-consuming uncertainty has been fruitful in one thing, though: producing self-discovery and learning in me, almost as if it has stripped me down. By having nothing to fall back on and feeling empty inside, I’ve learned what I am made of.
I have come to terms with my role as the family rebel, the trouble child. Anything but content, and full of dreams, I received high marks in school to ensure a college education. It was with great zeal, and not a little trepidation, that I boarded my first airplane at eighteen years of age, and left the only state I’d ever known, intent on acquiring a Music Business degree at Belmont University, planning on a life-long career in the Christian Music Industry.
Two years later I was welcomed home, to a place that I no longer felt that I belonged. I had not been successful in my studies; though my academics had me on the Dean’s List and I had more industry contacts than all of my friends combined, I no longer felt called to the field. I came home jaded and lost and feeling alone. Nashville gave me a taste for adventure though; a sense of what life can be like, and what it feels like to follow dreams. Maybe this is the key of my learning to live in a state of perpetual “undone.” Even though I have no plan to speak of, I still have a goal. I still have hope.
I have learned to put my discontent to action: not willing to give up on an education, I continued to take classes at Cuesta. Intent on having a social life I ended up blessed by more friendships than I’ve ever enjoyed in my life. And after five years of thinking about it, I faced my fears and got a tattoo, all on my own. I have a problem of doing things for myself; I have a chip on my shoulder and aim to do everything for myself; sadly, often to my detriment. For this reason, my solo six-week trip to England and the Czech Republic this past fall was the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life, but also one of the most rewarding.
Life goes on, and not a lot has changed since my return. I am back on the right academic track, slowly moving towards an English/Business double major. I’m back at work. I’m back at home, without a clear plan for the year; learning to live one day at a time, tripping over the same roadblocks and the same disappointments as always.
There is beauty in this uncertainty though, abundantly evident in the friends that surround me, and buoy me up. I am even coming to appreciate the minor keys, like the plaintive and mournful D minor. These dark and somber notes seem to fit my life right now, and for the moment I will take heart, knowing that it is only by the lows that I can appreciate the highs; the pure notes and the golden moments of life.

Narrative

I remember learning to drive, in this same dented old truck, on this same windy road. I remember one day, in particular when my dad and I climbed in, armed with my learner’s permit and our buckled seat belts. We drove west on Highway 46, towards the sea; the truck jolted and shook like crazy. Two days before an earthquake had lifted parts of the road 4 inches above other’s, shifted the lines by half a foot in places. Today the road is even and the air is warm and smooth on my skin; it’s January and it is days like this that I fully appreciate living in California.
My dad and I are driving to the cove, singing along to old Johnny Cash tunes; songs that bring my dad back 40 years, to a time that I think of in black and white. The meanings are entirely changed for him, but it seems like something out of a movie to me- the picture of us in the busted old pickup, singing the stories of a rebel country legend.
Something about the day is special, something about having nearly no purpose is freeing. I’ve gotten good at running from moments like this; I keep my days full of moments of distraction. Today is different.
I woke up late this morning; not depressingly so, but close enough to nine so that I was completely rested, entirely refreshed, and ready for a day with entirely no plans. After my tea and a small bowl of Captain Crunch and soy, my dad told me to come fishing with him. I could see it in his eyes; he wanted me to. These are special moments for us. My dad and I relate to each other in many ways; fishing is only one of them. I walked to my room and pulled on some shorts, put my hair up in a scarf, grabbed my sun glasses, camera, knitting and a blanket, and climbed into the dented Chevy S10 that was waiting outside, fishing rod hanging over the edge of the bed.
We stop once for bait (my dad says that mackerel is the secret to surf perch fishing), and join the small crowd already at the cove, sun worshipers and surfers, kids armed with boogie boards, and bikini-clad girls getting a jump start on their summer tan.
We gather up the bait and rod, bucket and my bag and blanket, and head down the beach, under the pier. My dad used to work here, when I was little. He made just enough to drive everyone insane, including my mother; it was just enough to keep us going, not enough for him to quit, and sometimes not enough to pay the rent. But I was young, 5 or 6, and it didn’t make any sense to me, so I asked for things, like a violin and lessons, without any idea of what kind of strain it put on my family.
My brother was well aware of the financial status of our family, and took it well to heart. He was three years older than me, and with just as many dreams, but much more tact than a six year old. He considered himself the sacrificial one- he never asked for, and he never complained. My dad did what he could; worked tirelessly for years, attempting to make ends meet, succeeding in funding five years of violin lessons (and even buying me my own violin). Sometimes the ends couldn’t meet. Money can only go so far. There were times when bags of groceries showed up on our front porch, no name or note attached. We were always provided for. So while my father couldn’t enjoy the satisfaction of providing a comfortable living for us, he could enjoy Gods goodness and grace, and the knowledge that the Lord was providing not only food, but a time to grow my father’s faith.
My dad missed out on a lot of things while I was growing up. I never understood that it wasn’t because he loved his job. It wasn’t because he enjoyed being out on the sea so long each day, or cleaning hundreds of fish for a charter from Bakersfield that he knew would not be tipping that day. One time, a little older and a little more angsty, I got mad at my dad for not being around. I blamed him for the fact that he and my brother don’t have much of a relationship. It had the effect of a slap in the face on him, and he answered me quietly, with a mix of sadness and disappointment in his voice. He told me how he had never wanted to deprive my brother and I of making our dreams a reality; he explained how he missed the Sunday at church when I was baptized so that he could put food on the tables, and allow me to continue my musical training. He never got mad at me. He never raised his voice. But all the same I could tell how disappointed he was in me, that I didn’t have the foresight to see past myself, my wants, and my feelings. In his eyes I felt all the chastisement necessary.
My dad and I went deep sea fishing from here before, back when Virg’s owned the landing. We went out on the Harbor Pathfinder, my favorite of all the boats he has worked on, and I caught the jackpot fish for the day. One of the employees at the landing took a Polaroid of me: nine years old, big glasses, and a string of reds on the gaff in my hands. I was the captain’s daughter that day, and as such didn’t get to enter the jackpot, so I didn’t win any money. But I still got the pleasure of hearing my dad brag about me to the rest of the crew, to the rest of the salty old men on the boat that day.
Today dad and I walk under the pier, through the stripes of hot sun and cool/moist shade of the pilings, past an elephant seal that has overnight become a tourist attraction. We open up two lawn chairs, and I settle in for a warm afternoon, while he makes his first cuts into the mackerel. By the time he casts his line into the surf, my number 15 knitting needles are clicking away.
We don’t need to talk much. We are both comfortable enjoying the unseasonable warmth, and the roar of the sea. I’m mesmerized watching the waves; I unfocus my eyes as a set of waves roll in, and as the wave uncurls, it looks and sounds as if explosions are going off; the sound of a watery machine gun.
Every once in a while my dad gets excited; he’s got one on the line. He will jump up and walk swiftly towards the water, walking into it with his jeans tucked into his knee-high rubber boots. The reel makes a clicking sound with ever turn of his wrist, bringing the line so many inches closer to him. I can tell by the smile on his face and the shake of his head that the fish came off as he was reeling it in. It’s a disappointment for him, but he is a fisherman through and through, and enjoys the moment for what it is. He sits back down and my 15’s keep click-click-clicking, The sun rises higher in the sky and I get lazier and lazier and soon even knitting is a more strenuous activity than I want to be enjoying, and so I spread out my blanket on the sand. I lay down and stare up at the sky and wonder that I used to take this blanket in the same bag, from my dorm room, down the road to the park at the corner of 12th Avenue South and Kirkwood Avenue, and watch the Tennessee-blue sky just like I am doing now.
Nashville was a brilliant time in my life, but it’s not for now, and there’s no point to living in the past. There’s too much going on in my life for that now, anyway. My life is more full than its ever been; full of incredible people and amazing opportunities. I experience moments of doubt frequently, wondering if I care less about others and more about distracting myself. It’s true, lately, that I feel as if I’m running a race, and I’m only a hair in front of loneliness, and isolation, and depression. They are all at my heels. But after my moments of doubt, I come to the same conclusion every time: God has put these amazing people in my life to help me stay in front of loneliness. These people are not just here for me either; it’s a two way street and I am in their lives for a reason as well.
I roll over on my stomach, hoping to darken the back of my legs and shoulders too, and I run my palm over the sand at the edge of my blanket. I smooth the sand down, light and loose, and trace the letter “I” and a heart, and then the names of my sister, and my best friend. I have so much to be thankful for.
I take a call from a friend who is staying at my house this week, with 6 other people, and then a voice mail from Portland. Melissa calls me a few minutes later and I make plans to go see her later this week; to stay at her house out in the middle of the orange groves, and light her month-old, dry Christmas tree on fire.
It’s hot and my skin is pink and sticky with a salty residue and my dad has given up, good-naturedly. Both of us are hungry from our long morning of doing nothing, and so we end up at the Main Street Grill. We get cheeseburgers and share fries, and he tells me about how he remembers when the Grill wasn’t a touristy sports bar, but a tiny trailer back in the ‘70s. But the food is still the same, and we wrap it up with swirl ice cream cones, and I feel like a kid, and for now, the world is right. I know when I get home, and when darkness falls, the aloneness will come. It’s a wonder to me, that it’s possible for me to feel so alone when I have so many people in my life, caring about me. But the feeling never rests, and my mind keeps racing, and my heart keeps hurting.
But as we drive back home, back on Highway 46, with our ice cream cones dripping sloppily down our fingers, the sun shining, and my hand playing in the wind out the window, my world is right.

Past/Present/Future

In a few short hours another year will have begun for me, another link in a chain that is hopefully very long. While 2007 may have been a year of questioning, and a year of searching for me, 2008 was a year of action.

January brought with it my first semester at camp Cuesta (my first real semester; I don't count the class that I took in High School as my first time at Cuesta). January was cold and rainy and I was as excited as ever about buying new notebooks and pens and paying exorbitant amounts of money for textbooks, yet again. I was with Iain when I saw my first Cuesta Bunny. Cuesta was difficult at first; I tried not to have an attitude about what I believed to be a substandard education, compared to what I'd been used to at Belmont. I was probably copping an attitude and getting on everyone's nerves. Cuesta turned out great though; I didn't make a bunch of new friends there, like I'd hoped, but that was ok because the friends came later, and better than what I could have anticipated. In January I went to the post office and got my passport, and wrote a blog in which I said, "I'm going places."

February started with my Kidd's birthday, a bowling party; february was the start of some new friendships. I think february flew by, because all that I remember was doing homework, making coffee and questioning, every day, whether or not I should move back to Tennessee. Every week I checked craigslist, still feeling as if this was not my home, still missing what I gave up when I moved back home. And every other week I changed my mind; God wanted me here, God wanted me there. February I must have still been getting on everyone's nerves quite a bit.
The first thing that comes to mind when I go back to March is my nosebleed, that lasted 2 hours, that I nearly had to go to the hospital for. As is my custom, I got sick for the entire spring break, starting the friday that school ended, with a 103 degree fever.

In March I continued questioning where I belonged, while still enjoying living in the amazing place I do. I ventured out to Shell Creek on the recommendations of Pablo and Adam, and saw the most incredible display of wild flowers I ever have. March included the first hour and a half long drive to get ice cream at Superior in Hanford, many more of which would occur throughout the year.

The beginning of April was dominated by one question: was I going to drink on my birthday? I'd always said I wouldn't drink, and had not ever had any alcohol. But in april I began questioning my motives. I believe in doing things purposefully, and after some self examination, I had no good reason to not drink, and one reason why it wasn't a bad thing. The day before my birthday Andrew, Sarah, Michael and I drove to Hanford again and gorged ourselves with ice cream and then came home and ate cake. The next day we went to the Hofbrau for lunch. I went to dinner with my family and had my first glass of wine, which I didn't like, so I let my dad finish. April was a month of building up, up, up...

May brought with it the end of a couple things, school was the first. Camp Cuesta ended on a high note for me: 4.0. In may I needed to get away, so I booked a flight to Nashville and to Orlando in a couple weeks.

My trip to Nashville brought closure. I was only in Nashville for 5 days; I got to see Justin and Mo and the rest of Fireflight at their showcase at the Rutledge, I got to stay with Sammy and Luka and drive their car, flying north on 65 past my old work. I drove by Belmont, went to Bongo, shopped at Pangaea. I hung out with Ricky and Taylor and Heath and saw fireflies and loved being back where it felt like home. I stuffed myself with Krispy Kremes, and got a tattoo- all by myself. Nashville was amazing, but for the first time I felt God, nearly audibly, tell me: "not now." So I continued on to Florida to be with my sister, to be pampered, to be loved unconditionally which is something I don't feel any of us get enough of. I ate alligator and had Wendy make my hair bright pink, and came home refreshed, recharged and knowing that for now, California has always been, and will continue to be, home. Oh yeah. The braces came off in June. And I couldn't stop smiling.
In June I also started a new job, working two at once, incredibly grateful for the opportunities constantly coming at me. In June I listened to the Knife. A Lot. (I thought you were the Handy Man?)

July was when My Kidds got married; I seem to feel like July was intensely busy. Melissa was over a lot, there were trips to pool halls in Pismo with Jen and Kels and Mo and Shelbs, and of course my first trip to San Francisco (dominated musically by the decemberists and mutemath). I believe it was in July that the Fair Trade Friars Bicycle Gang was formed; for the rest of the summer, Jen and Kels and I frequented La Linda de Michuacan a lot.

August was when Kelsea took off to Portland. August 1st I decided to book a flight to England; my first trip out of the country. I was at work when I booked 6 weeks that I knew would change my life. I started counting the days until Wendy came home and got married, and I took off.

September was another month of ratcheting up; maid of honor duties, dress fittings, preparations for what seemed like an eternity in another country. I was working like a crazy person, still making the coffees and still personally assisting, trying to see everyone before I left. In september I squeezed in what I thought might be the last fishing trip for my dad and I of the year. In September I also learned to knit, thanks to Dorothy.

October was a whirlwind. I quit Joebella, Wendy arrived, and for 5 days my life revolved around the wedding; it was bittersweet knowing that I'd leave for Europe before she left for Florida, and when I came back, she'd be back to being 3000 miles away. The wedding went off entirely too perfect though; definitely the most beautiful wedding I'll ever see. Three days later my dad dropped me off in LA, kissed me goodbye, and I got on a plane for Pennsylvania. I hung out with friends for 5 days, and then flew from New York City to London, to stay with a woman who was essentially a stranger, for 6 weeks. In October I went to Prague by myself for four days, which was probably the high light of my entire trip. I made incredible friends in Kent, friends that I hope will some day come to California. I spent October with a camera pressed to my face at all times, 5000 miles and an ocean away from anything I'd ever seen.

November brought a new President elect to America, and a trip to Scotland for me. I cannot wait to go back to Scotland some day, because I know I will. But a few days into November I started to get home sick, and so by the time November 17 rolled around, I was overjoyed to fly back to America, with a new sense of what it means to be a citizen of this country, and an appreciation for my roots, for my history. I threw myself back into work, with no time for jet lag.

December was dominated with work work work, muffinfest 2008, so so so much baking (it should be illegal to bake that much), power knitting, my pirate, Christmas Parades in slo with Jen and Adam and Iain, Vine Street, tuesday nights with Breanna, ginger baking with Sarah and Julie until 4am, and oh yeah, the first time I ever got drunk. On Christmas eve I walked into my room to find a Christmas surprise at 9pm- 16 hours brought Kelsea home for the holidays. The next days were spent knitting and eating mexican popsicles with david and adam and jen and kels, trips to strangers houses and getting to see Moriah, who I hadn't in ages. December has been incredibly busy, and to be honest, I'm exhausted. This year has been exhausting. It has had a lot of firsts. A lot of mistakes. A lot of moments that were painful and ugly to look at, as well as more beauty and appreciation for what I have than ever before. This year I've been blessed with more incredible friends than I've ever had in my life, more opportunities than I should be receiving. I am entirely undeserving of it, and the only way I can explain it is to say that it is confirmation that this is where I'm supposed to be right now.

So enough looking back. I will learn from 2008, and look forward to 2009. January will bring with it more classes at Cuesta, which I'm terribly excited about. Jenny is coming in March, Stephie is coming in March, and hopefully Wendy and Brian are moving in March. This summer Kels and I want to go stay at a Chateau in France for a couple months and write, because we've both decided to become writers. In May I'm supposed to go on a food road trip of America with Matt and Ricky... and that is just the next 6 months. In the back of my mind I'm also wondering about the ABC summer missions trip to the Czech Republic... but thats a secret. Don't tell.

So I'm hopeful. It is with an incredibly thankful heart (I said that just for you, wendy), that I welcome 2009, taking another step closer, another day further, towards the future God has for me, letting HIm guide me and mold me and use me.

That is my prayer for 2009.

I love you all.

PS. A little free association from 2008. 24 Marathons with Melissa (butter toffee peanuts), Fairtrade Friars, Alison Krauss at the Santa Barbara Bowl, "if you were a muffin, what kind would you be?", not being hookers, Switzerland, the Knife, quadshots, the office, paletas, peanut butter popcorn with jen, mike doing michael bluth impressions, the duct tape duo, the Holy Bowlers.

Circles

Sometimes I can laugh all the day long, sore at the end of it. I can float along, seemingly free of the worries and pressures and anxieties that enter my head when the sun goes down. Friends and projects and the world around me fill my time, at times astounding me, at others simply serving as filler, but keeping me occupied nonetheless.

My world spins madly on, out of control and yet perfectly in God's plan. I feel like sometimes I'll get sick if I stop and try to focus on one spot too long.

As the sky darkens, my heart seems to speed up. My head decompressing the days events, shattered dreams, and answered questions. I love the night. I love that I saw a shooting star two nights ago. But it is at night when I feel most alone, suffocating.

Sometimes I cannot make any sense out of anything, and I am daunted by the idea of trying. It is so much easier to pretend, and to dream, to let sleep take over, or to just lie to myself. I'm too honest with strangers, and yet I deceive myself.

The darkness seems all enveloping now, pressing in on my chest. I don't want to breath, but I fight to. I want to scream, but I'm silent.

And then the morning comes, and my head clears and my heart is calm and as I watch the sun warming the silent day everything seems alright with the world, a new chance, a new start, perfection only tainted by the anticipation of the sun's rotation.