On Finishing Chapters

"We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us." -Charles Bukowski

As I begin the process of turning the page and ending a very important, fundamental chapter in my life, I can't help but feel a little shaken that I am off schedule. My friends are finishing their chapters, a long time ago when I set out my "reading plan" (let's just drag out this metaphor here, shall we?), I was due to end this thing soon and get on with the rest of this book, whose table of contents was perfectly outlined. 

Well, as it turns out, this chapter needed a little longer to do its telling. And for that I am so grateful. Sometimes I get overwhelmed with how absolutely beautiful life is, and my heart swells with the goodness and the brokenness of it all. I love the in-betweens, the moments that aren't meant to be anything but end up being breathtaking in their normalcy. This recognition is the kind of innate trait that wouldn't have been allowed to come to fruition if I had forced the pen to keep on keeping on instead of telling my story the way it needed to be told.

The hard thing that comes up in all of this, though, is that I must now learn to balance this inspired, whole self with the life and rules laid out by a previous tyrant. The me that built up the plan I am currently carrying out is not entirely the me that I am today. I think a lot of people nearing the end of school, especially one with a high-pressure, high-stress, high-stakes environment, can say the same. Don't get me wrong, the girl who hedged her bets and shot for the stars and clawed her way up to something new and scary and big is still very much inside of me. And put me in a room with someone who sounds like they are lecturing and I will 100% always still search for a pen and paper to take notes. But the girl who lived a calculated, manipulated, gray, stepping stone to stepping stone life is here no longer. College consists of these four weird liminal years in which your edges get roughed up and your priorities begin to rearrange. And if, like me, your experiences cause a paradigm shift in your being and you come to realize that the whole, this whole, is so, so much greater than the sum of all these little parts, it can be really difficult to figure out how to finish what you started before this shift occurred.

How do you fit this rough, outlined peg into the straight, iron-rimmed hole you originally set out to conquer? I don't think there is an answer; there is no right or wrong. This is one of those times when you just have to do--take every day as it comes. For me, that sometimes means a lot of confusion. Sometimes it means the siren call of past demons beckoning me to rejoin them--"Look, how easy it would be to exist here if you just came back to us!" with outstretched arms. They are right--it would ease the internal/external disconnect. But it would be completely miserable and an experience I am not willing to settle for. I've worked entirely too hard to let a small blip in my timeline throw my stability completely off. Instead, every day requires a mindful approach of just acknowledging the discomfort, the loneliness that comes from forging a new way for yourself amongst the ever-present burden of the ruthless status quo. From exams to projects to papers to meetings to fraternity back-lots to Monday morning lectures, you just march on, allowing your lips to curl up a bit as you notice the difference in the way you experience "the grind"-- when you allow yourself the freedom to not know, to not plan, to just be and keep being.

And so I venture on, through all the twists and corners of this place. There are ghosts and memories around every corner, but there are also new layers to be added. As I finish out this chapter, I can't help but go back and doodle on the pages, filling up the stark white with bunches of bright and beautiful blooms and long, hanging vines and promises of light. I think my novel may be becoming more like a scrapbook, but that's the way I like it. It is my internal collage, unique to me, solely for me. And right now, that means I am finishing out this one piece, this corner of a much greater page. To me it has felt like an eternity, but I persist because of the promise of the sweeter infinity that is just pages away.

In the words of Robert Frost, never cut what you can untie. I will go through the motions with grace, savoring them for the lessons they have taught and the time that they are. And when it is done, it will be done. Until then, find me in the stacks, in the piles of books, in the depth of the pages. My life is for the expanse, for the stretching and the searching. Write on.

xx mm

On Mixtapes

Last Dance, Federico Bebber

Music is incredible. Enchanting. Haunting. The way it can make you feel--something, anything, an emotion that may be intangible, that you can't put into words but you can feel pulsing through your veins like the humming of a melody, the beat of a chorus. One of my favorite things about sharing music, whether through sharing platforms, playlists, or old school mix tapes, is that you can learn so much about another person just through what songs they have selected to put together. The sharer may not even realize it, but their choice of song order and song type, even if totally "random" was still directed by some subconscious force that knows what soothes your brain, what your soul grooves to. A dear friend of mine in high school used to make me mixed CDs, and through these I learned about the art of song order and album making. My friend used to sprinkle intros, interludes, three second commentaries strategically throughout the playlist, making the sides of my mouth turn up because it was like he was in the car next to me, playing DJ. He introduced me to songs that I would have never considered listening to, solely because I would have only given them five seconds before deciding I wasn't into them and hitting next. My friend hated that--he made me give every song a far chance, and  I had to listen to the playlist in order, from start to finish. Couldn't interrupt the rhythmic flow he had crafted--and crafted he had. 

Unbeknownst to him, those mixed CDs got me through daily hour long drives to appointments I didn't want to attend, people I didn't want to see, conversations I didn't want to have. That song I wouldn't have given a first chance thanked me for its second chance by being the soundtrack to my muffled cries under the steering wheel, the bridge rising as the windshield wipers kept the time better than any metronome. That song with only one sentence of lyrics was the mantra of my long drives home--I didn't care what they said, only that I could repeat them the whole way home, like the string of words was the kind of numbing fuel I needed to put myself on autopilot. That last CD, that was the one I played when it was sunny and I would roll the windows down and make myself smile. Then after a while, I didn't have to force it--Track 01 began, smile immediately formed. A Pavlovian thing, almost, to condition oneself to forget the bad and the words and the feelings as soon as a certain string of chords is struck. 

But the songs that really intrigue me even still are what I call the "filler" songs. You know what I'm talking about--those songs on a certain playlist that you would never listen to just on their own, you'd never actually seek out probably, yet they fit perfectly right there on Track 05, not the beginning and definitely not the end. Not striking enough to be the intro, but also not punctuating enough to be the finale. They kind of just keep that flow going, a steady transition. A la Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (looking at you, psychology people), these are the songs that put you in the zone and can continue to play while you are there. You don't want anything too loud, but you also need that steady beat to keep you going. No annoying lyrics, but still something to inspire. I have so so many songs like this floating around in the back of my head, the songs that I immediately know I know but have no idea what the name is. They are those songs that sometimes come on in places like the little independent coffee shop downtown or at that random person's backyard barbecue you were somehow invited to. You bob your head and surface from your conversation for a second--"hey, I know this.."--but then, you're back under, dipping down below the melody, ears hearing but brain tuning out, because that's what fillers are for--background, flow, transition.

I think that I am like these filler songs. I have come to play this role in people's lives--enter, quietly, slowly. Then they notice me--if I'm lucky, I'll get a wow, I like her, I wanna know more. Maybe they'll even look up my name, my album title, my artist. A quick Wikipedia search yielding little information because I am more than likely a one hit wonder in their eyes. I don't confess this in complete sadness--I do serve my purpose. We have a few weeks, months, maybe even years, of a relationship. Magic, fun, blissful, always learning but always only me left wanting more. Dancing on rooftops, your smile in the morning, the way that he had to look down his eyelashes at me because he was so tall, making his face look softer. Doing pirouettes for you, belly laughs on wooden docks, promises made on pillows in the dark. 

But my kind of song doesn't really seem to be the main theme. It's good while it lasts, but there is more to come for the listener--or so they think. In real life, when your playlist is hidden and you don't know when the next song will come along, and if you will like it, and if you will have the ability to press next or press pause, it's always just a guessing game on which song should get the most air time. So I'm a filler song--full of so many memories with so many people who meant a lot to me, but this imprinting of those moments, those feelings in my stomach and those thoughts in my head, wasn't reciprocated, and so I'm left here stuck on repeat. Because the only song I know how to sing is the one I have always been singing, and if that's not a platinum single for anyone then I guess it's just not meant to be the main melody. If my song is just the buildup, just the bridge, then I will sing it loud and proud and it will be the best transition you've ever heard. 

Maybe I am meant to just be a stepping stone, a learning block, a lesson to teach others about themselves. A pit stop before moving on to better and brighter things. That song you scribbled down on a sticky note and stuffed down in your glove compartment. I hope one day you'll find it, uncrumple it, and remember what that tune once meant to you.

xx mm

On Tornadoes

i am terrified of tornadoes. when its storming and then everything stops and the sky turns green and the birds are tricked into coming out of hiding—that is when i experience the deepest terror. the thing about tornadoes is that they are built into the fiber of the earth’s heartbeat, they are part of the rise and the fall, the deep breaths and the sharp inhales. i am terrified of this tornado life—what if all i can hope for is that five minutes of calm before the wreckage, that stillness that does not come without a price? what if my whole life i have been riding out this storm, my passionate heart rumbling on like the deepest thunder and my impulsive, racing brain shooting ideas and bursting out of confines like the sharpest streak of electricity across the night sky, just to realize that there is no end, no penultimate happiness, no comfort in finality? what if my instinctive, blind, conditioned response of sheer terror to tornadoes is part of a larger consciousness that finally understands the necessity of preluding the word ‘romantic’ with the word ‘hopeless’? what if the lower atmosphere will always be warmer than the upper atmosphere and the resulting unstable pressure system is inevitable—the tilting of the wind shear much like a life trajectory that has no destiny, gusts of air that are fated to constantly change direction? it is not the lull of stoicism that i crave but the internal stillness that i dream comes with growing roots deep enough to experience tranquility even in the midst of unpredictable squalls. what if we are all actually isolated thunderstorms that occasionally come into contact, only to eventually mess up the air front or the updraft of the other, creating a cyclone that uproots and flattens and necessitates a new beginning? isolated storms are more likely to form tornadoes than storm systems, and i am terrified that life is actually only a solitary tempest, that when stripped down it is comprised of not much more than your own pressure system and the looming threat of empty funnel clouds.

xx mm

On Being Alone

"La Dame del Lago," Antonio Mora

"If there's empty spaces in your heart,

They'll make you think it's wrong,

Like having empty spaces,

Means you never can be strong,

But I've learnt that all these spaces,

Means there's room enough to grow,

And the people that once filled them,

Were always meant to be let go,

And all these empty spaces,

Create a strange sort of pull,

That attract so many people,

You wouldn't meet if they were full,

So if you're made of empty spaces,

Don't ever think it's wrong,

Because maybe they're just empty,

Until the right person comes along.

-e.h.

Being along can be incredibly uncomfortable. You are in the company of no one but your mind, a mind unbound by the constraints that immediately wrap around your truth whenever you enter the presence of another being. For when you are alone, your thoughts are free to wander, free to tiptoe closer to the edge, to push boundaries, to go somewhere uncharted. Sometimes they get tangled but it is in this mess that art emerges—a compilation of lines and squiggles and uncalculated turns that is completely unique and more part of your identity than any inked thumbprint. When you are alone you can give in to the unpredictability of the wandering mind, you can give up control and see where your authentic self takes you. This is where some people start to squirm—their mind takes them somewhere that they don’t think they want to go, somewhere that is scary in its raw honesty, in its caustic truth. Some people prefer to live on the surface of their mind, surrounding themselves with other breaths exhaling out congruencies and ideas with straight lines and common shapes that are easier to fit into their empty spaces.

But it is only the ones who accept the gift of solitude that are permitted into a space where the scariness of the world, with all its zigzags and one-of-a-kind puzzle pieces that aren’t easily connected, can be interpreted and turned inside out and made into something beautifully sincere. When you allow yourself to stop the ever-present ticking of the other, to quiet the stream of outside opinion that usually guides you through life like a fallen leaf reliant on the current to move it from one place to another, you are free to dive past the line of acceptance and outside the strangling arms of comfort. Your solitary thoughts, in all their unpredictability, are the most veracious instruments that you will ever be given to aid you in your life journey. But it is up to you to move past the insecurities and the fears that come with the lack of outside assurance and give in to the pulsing of the truth that is hidden deep down inside yourself.

When you have allowed yourself to be alone, to be truly removed from anything that is not of your unique essence, then you can truly gain all of the wisdom and happiness and perspective that is found in time spent with others. When you know yourself, you are standing on solid ground that cannot be shaken by all the risks and unknowns that come from engaging with the world. You are a firm foundation, assured by the fact that you are the only one who you know will always welcome you with open arms after a lost battle. Your gravity is centered, so you can feel free to be swept away by the rollercoaster that is external relationships. You can participate without inhibition, and your outward actions will be an honest reflection of your inward convictions.

So today, I ask my unaccompanied self to engage me in what it only knows makes my eyes smile, what rocks my soul. The wisdom that comes from being alone has taught me that I am actually more connected with the universe than I will ever realize when I learn to relish the time spent with my rare, incomparable self.

Gray

"Your journey has molded you for your greater good. And it was exactly what it needed to be. Don't think that you've lost time. It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now. And now is right on time."

-Asha Tyson

These past few months have been truly a rollercoaster ride, in every sense. So fast--yet so incredibly slow with anticipation and anxiousness. Click click click--your stomach is in your throat, waiting waiting--you know you are going down soon enough.

Close your eyes, and just like that, you are thrown around at unprecedented speeds. Maybe it's exhilarating, maybe you even throw your hands up and laughter escapes into the atmosphere as soon as you exhale it out. Maybe you feel as if you are defying gravity. But maybe you're cowering, gripping the handle, gritting your teeth. When will it be over. Your body resisting every dip and turn; you aren't made to be tossed around like this. Silent tears, but the wind dries them up as soon as they fall. So when the car comes back to the station, everyone around you is laughing, but your knees are shaking and your brain feels confused--but the smudged mascara and hesitant steps are mistaken for signs of enjoyment, and you are left trying to fit this mold.

Yes, the past few months have seen me at all time highs, and also at pretty much the lowest of lows. Abundant joy and laughter and self-actualization have come along with darkness and days curled up on the cold tile floor and eyes glued to stark white walls. I have been living my life in extremes and let me tell you, it is exhausting. 

Tonight, after a good string of (figuratively) sunshiny days, finding warmth in my soul to power me through the record breaking cold, feeling like I had finally unlocked some secret to happiness, I was knocked back down yet again. I felt it slowly creeping back all day, from the moment my mind started to wander to when tears welled up in my eyes for no apparent reason while I sat in class taking notes on 1960s poetry. And then the night came, and I wondered how in the world I had, just yesterday, felt like a whole new, happy me, living in an eternal day?

And I started to get angry. How much of my life I feel like I have wasted, living in this black & white world! How many smiles have been stolen from me by my demons? How many opportunities have I missed because of this never ending battle between the person I know I am and the evil that tries to make me into something else? 

Then I read this quote, and it really shook me. I always say I am the strongest believer in not looking back, not harboring guilt, and living in the now. Because the woulda shoulda coulda's are the worst thing that can happen to an intelligent brain--trust me, I've been there. Maybe all of this yo-yo-ing back and forth between extremes is just evidence of the fire that is burning within me, just waiting to be set free. Waiting to warm the hands of those who feel that they are frozen, waiting to give light to those who are stuck in the darkness, waiting to burn bright but steadily, like a newly formed star, like the Sun.

If I have learned anything about myself throughout my two decades of life, it is that I am, in fact, an extreme feeler. I feel everything so deeply and so strongly--I am so determined, so passionate, so ready to apply myself, to make a difference. I think where I get stuck is in the waiting--waiting for what? I am constantly stockpiling, hoarding opportunities, preparing for the worst, putting myself in the best possible position for…what?

I have a tendency to live in anticipation mode--constantly preparing, setting up, toning, fine-tuning, tweaking, perfecting. But you know what? Life is happening right now. What am I waiting for?

It's not completely my fault--our society kind of sets us up for this kind of thinking. Do really well in high school so you can get into a good college. Once you're there, work really hard and build up that resume so you can get a "good" job. Once you get that job, do your time and don't drag your heels so you can climb up the ladder. And then…and then..and then what?

Living like this, you might as well be a hamster on a hamster wheel. Run three more laps and you'll get a piece of cheese. But once you take that bite, you'll crave more, but in order to get more, you must keep running.

Well, to this, I say I'm tired.

Tired of waiting, of anticipation. I am living in these bursts of extremes because I have been waiting for life and the real me cannot be contained behind these constraints--I need to be released. Not necessarily to go out and win a Nobel Prize, but just to take advantage of the freedom, the forgiveness, the unpredictability, that living in the gray has to offer.

So, Madeline, let your anger be your motivation. Days will continue to turn into nights and time will keep obliviously ticking, but I hope that tomorrow I can wake up and be content that all of the struggling and the ups and downs have led me to exactly where I am supposed to be--here, now. And right on time. 

xx mm

On Flowers

"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant."

-Robert Louis Stevenson

Today in the flower shop, a woman came in just to look around. I greeted her with a smile and told her to take her time. She was an average woman, in a T-shirt and jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was with a man who was a little shorter than her--I greeted him as well and told him to ask if he had any questions. Then I went about some business, letting them browse without hovering over their shoulders.

I heard them talking quietly to themselves as they approached our riser full of fresh cut flowers. "These are just amazing!" the woman exclaimed, putting her hands to her face. I walked over to them, smiling, nodding my head in agreement. "Aren't they wonderful?" I said. And then, as the woman turned to look at me, I saw the genuine love, the care, the kindness behind her eyes. She was completely in awe, carefully bringing the flowers to her nose and smelling them. "Flowers are just glorious," she said. "So amazing!"

I agreed and talked about how amazing it was to work in the flower shop and see all of the new flowers come in, each one just as beautiful as the next. The woman shook her head in awe, and said, "I mean there's photography and there's art, but then there's flowers. Not man-made…God's creation." 

I had never thought about flowers like this before. They are literally God's artistic gift to us. You can make all the tissue paper, DIY flowers you want, but nothing will ever come close to a real, fresh hydrangea. The other day I put my nose to a big, soft, blush pink rose and inhaled the most beautiful scent I have ever smelled. You know those rose sprays people buy to make their bathroom smell better? Doesn't even come close. This was a baby's cheeks, a green field, the warm breeze all gathered together and bottled up into this tender flower.

And here was this woman, seemingly just another store browser, bringing God's amazing creations to the forefront of my mind, making me grateful for my job, for the opportunity to share the beauty of nature with others. "I miss working in my mother's garden," the man said, the first thing I heard him say. I smiled, because he wouldn't be the first one I would peg as a flower lover. "I used to help her when I was little," he explained.

And now I was standing in the flower shop, surrounded by color, by light, by the fresh scent, watching as the woman's eyes filled with tears of joy as she examined each flower--here was something that was bringing us together, the three of us who probably would have never crossed each other's path otherwise. 

They didn't end up buying anything, but I could care less. I helped invite someone else into this world in the store, a world where we live and breathe to create, to make people's day a little brighter. A world where the little kid inside us that likes to make daisy crowns is released and allowed to run free, creating and arranging and making beautiful things.

As the couple walked out, passing the orchids and commenting on their color and how they looked like the monster from Jumanji, I thought about my perspective and outlook on the day. Sure, I'm at work on a Saturday, but experiences like that, that warm my heart and make me experience gratitude? Yep, worth it.

xx mm

Linger

Linger by Maggie Stiefvater