On Atoms

"The finest souls are those who gulped pain and avoided making others taste it."

 -nizariat

I come from a family of healers. My father heals bodies and my mother heals minds, and the two of them together have consistently fought to soothe all of the aches and pains of their children and those they hold dear. It is crucial to point out that they have never sought the absence of hardship or the elimination of struggle for any of us. Rather, they have knit the strong roots below us, encouraging us to grow and reach and fall and stand back up again, all the while standing to the side with a watering can, waiting to fill us up when we are empty. Their incredible dedication to realizing the lessons learned from their own struggles and journeys has, perhaps most importantly, shown me how to live a life of gratitude and taught me to treat every obstacle as an opportunity.

I think it’s because of this emphasis on experimentation, empathy, and self-nourishment that I have always seemed to gravitate towards whole-souled, grounded others. My people are those who fight so strongly and love so fiercely. Another facet of this is that for a long time I think I believed I needed these fiery others to make up for the lack of something in myself. Of what, I’m not sure yet. I will never be able to shake the memory of immense emptiness, the feeling of hollow isolation, so I use these memories to fuel my present actions and decisions. Instead of using relationships to fill up a hole, I aim for all of my connections to amplify, to add on, to contribute to the life I am trying to live. Creating constellations is easy once you learn how to identify the stars that are all around you everyday, at any point in your life.

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about the type of person I want to be for others. No, not how I need to change myself, not how society thinks I should look or feel or be, not even how I think others want me to be. I’d like to be someone who fights for the well-being of others. I’d like to be remembered as a warm hug, an understanding brain, and a kind spirit. I’d like to use my relationships with others, which I value so highly, to practice and test the methods for cultivating a caring relationship with myself. Genuine is a character trait that seems to be disappearing with every passing of the day, and I think it is the one we need to work the hardest to preserve. Being raw and open to my own experiences doesn’t directly translate to the way I want to relate to others – how do I make sure to live my own experiences honestly and openly while also making sure to react to others’ feelings and not taint their moods with mine if that isn’t what the situation needs? In addition, how do I honor my personal characteristics of being very private with my emotions, protective of my heart, and tough as nails with life circumstances, without becoming alienating and closed off?

There is a fine line between making sure you are a warm, open presence and hiding any negative emotion. I think it all comes down to authenticity—honoring your own emotions but also being cognizant of the way you express them to others. So often we behave like atoms, bouncing around in our own little worlds and occasionally colliding with others, causing us to miss out on the benefits that can come from strengthening our network—like ions, sometimes the only way we can remain stable is to give or take a little proton here, share an electron there (yes, that was me making a chemistry metaphor, let’s acknowledge that and move on before things get weird..).

As I move forward into this decade, leaning into everything the world has to offer—be it opportunities for joy, for laughter, for connection, for broadening my horizons, for pure fun, or be it lessons learned from hardship, the best teacher of them all—I am developing a new list of skills I want to cultivate. Being careful to avoid the “constantly striving,” never-ending “self-improvement” hamster wheel, I find so much comfort in knowing that tuning into myself and my relationships with others and the world at large allows me to live every day like its even more magical than the last. Right now I’m finding that as I’ve grown better able to be the friend to myself that I have always needed, I’m more inclined to flex that amicable, empathetic muscle with other people.

You learn a lot about hospitality when you grow up in God’s country, right smack in between neighborhood backyard barbecues and debutante balls. As I sat contemplating the potential beneficial iterations of including the skill “good hostess” on my resume, I remembered an entry I read on the She Reads Truth blog. Guest writer Susie Davis was explaining how the story of Lydia, a woman in the New Testament, helps her live out her motto of “Life is short, make it beautiful.” Susie explains how prior to conceptualizing hospitality as impulsive, creative, and selfless, she thought it “was just another word for entertaining – a platform to show off a beautiful life.” Then she continued on with a sentence that resonated with me far beyond the definition of cordiality and the application of interior design principles. She stated, “I’ve found the most beautiful thing about a woman is not the way she decorates her house or sets her table. The most beautiful thing about a woman is the vulnerability of her heart.” 

And I think that just about perfectly sums up not only the kind of woman I want to be, but also the kind of presence I want to have in the lives of others.

xx mm

On Mountains

digital photography by Michelle Fader

these mountains

that you are 

carrying, you were

only supposed to 

climb.

-Najwa Zebian

We are told there are five stages of grief, but I wonder if the fifth stage is less an endpoint and more a warning sign. Moving from denial-->anger-->bargaining-->depression is horribly, deeply painful, but it is to be expected. Or perhaps it is that we get so used to the pain, waking up and reapplying the bandages becomes our norm, so that when we reach this elusive fifth stage of acceptance, we aren't prepared.

In the least emotional teenager, hormone-fueled way, pain can be so comforting. When you have been subjected to such immense emptiness and (paradoxically) such depth of aching for so long, pain can seem like the only constant. The only anchor keeping your feet on the ground, reminding you that you are a human who, if anything else, is here to serve the purpose of suffering. And time, time in all her relentless glory, works every cringe into your muscle memory so that after a while, you forget that you ever woke up without the heaviness of a mental battering on your shoulder. All these mountains that are supposed to be here for us to climb, to venture, to experiment, to pick up and put down, to marvel; yet here we are thinking that they are ours to carry.

For a privileged, strong, hard-working few, that stage of acceptance hits you like the feeling you get when you walk out a dark movie theater and the sun becomes blinding--you momentarily forgot that it was day, you forgot that the world could be so bright. The unbearable lightness is overwhelming--a beautiful, terrifying, unique experience that has changed me and molded me and is only awarded to those who have clawed through twilight I would never wish upon anyone. The beauty and the warmth is new and shiny and a facet of the world you will never, ever take for granted---but then what happens?

People don't talk about grieving pain. But you do. You miss the aches, you miss the familiarity of emptiness at the end of the day, the control that comes with isolation and punishment. Here, in the midst of the kind of lightness I never knew was possible, those four previous stages creep up on me and knock knock knock back onto my door. Usually its when your roots have been shaken, when life has shifted, when you find your soil is in desperate need of watering--and this is when I am reminded and amazed at the incredible strength of the human spirit. Because here you are, at a crossroads, thirsty and lost, and time and time again we rise. We choose the light, we allow the pain to be felt, even to be grieved--but we don't allow it to make its home in our hearts again.

I read a line in a post that stuck with me: "My desire to be alive has been surpassed, but only by my desire to do more than just stay alive." And that, I think, is the key to the fifth stage. You have reached acceptance, you know that you deserve so much more in this lifetime than mountains strapped on your back--but beyond that, you know you are capable of more than carrying mountains. You yearn for discovery, for the unknown. Every morning I wake up and dare pain to come calling--and when it does, I will look it in the eye and thank it for the lessons it has taught me, shake its hand and acknowledge the place in my heart it once held, and then we will go our separate ways.

Because I refuse to be stagnant. If pain is comfort, is familiarity, then I prefer it to be a short-term guest. It would be silly to think there can be a life without pain, and honestly, I don't want that either--I think sadness and grief and heaviness add another dimension to your life experience. They fill up and highlight and lengthen and add depth, making room for goodness you never knew existed. But if there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I am consistently choosing the unfamiliar, the uncharted path. And this is where another paradox lies, because the more I shake up my routine and uproot myself, the more the cycle rears up its head and tries to be heard. The mountains start to look less like an adventure and more like a burden to add to my backpack. But as long as I continue to recognize that this is all an illusion, that my strength lies in my ability to continue to put one foot in front of the other no matter the circumstances, no matter whether the mountain is ice or snow or mud or molten lava, then I have comfort in knowing that I will always reach the summit.

To all of you out there grieving your pain, wondering how in the world it is possible to miss the comfortable emptiness in the midst of all this radiance, I'm with you. I think of it like I am just adding on an extra layer to the masterpiece I am painting--another shade of the deepest orange, a stroke of the brush that gives my piece just what it needed to realize its full beauty. I dwell in uncertainty and welcome the indeterminate, and in return I have been greeted with fullness and the kind of abundance I used to never believe I deserved.

Healing is a process that I don't think ever ends. Accepting that can be difficult--but every time you do, every time you flex your change muscles and reframe the looming hills into the wonderful, exciting picture of peaks and valleys and twists and turns that they are, you gain strength that will carry you farther than any restrictive familiarity ever could.

xx mm

__________________________________________________________

For more information on dealing with stress, please visit https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/stress/ <3

This I Believe

credit Aneta Ivanova

(Had trouble with a homework assignment--"The This I Believe project invites essays that capture the core personal values that define people’s lives. In under 500 words, write a statement of personal belief. Tell your story. Be specific. See http://thisibelieve.org." so uh here it is..)

I have always been bad with declaring my beliefs. Like—really bad. To the point where I have notoriously had issues with deciphering my own tastes and preferences. Exhibit A: The fast-casual sandwich shop. Every time I used to go to Subway, and the sandwich maker would ask me what kind of cheese I wanted, I would turn to my mom and say, “Mom, what kind of cheese do I want?!” I experience the same moment of decision anxiety to this day every time someone asks me a “Favorite” question. I used to think something was legitimately wrong with me because I couldn’t figure out a favorite color, a favorite movie, a favorite book, a favorite number, a favorite shape…I was left out of many a playground conversation about everyone’s various favorites, I hate icebreakers more than the average person, and I never really had a clear answer to what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I realized after a while that this wasn’t mere indecisiveness—it was more similar to the paradox of choice. A lot of my other character traits stem from this core trait of needing to assess the ins and outs of absolutely every possibility, every option, every opinion, before I make up my own mind. I’ve always been that person who refuses to publicly announce any political position because I feel like there are so many issues I am ignorant about. This has also been the source of some of my downfalls, including chasing the elusive “perfection” and perpetual striving. Going hand in hand with this trait is my more positive, other fundamental ability to be able to do this 360 degree observation—I truly feel that I can see a subject from multiple positions, I can understand where both sides are coming from. I feel like an eternal diplomat, and I have always been jealous of people who, when prompted with the question “What do you believe,” don’t hesitate before answering.

Well, after nearly 22 years of life, I think that I’ve finally begun to see the upsides of this ability. I am a super feeler—I feel my own emotions as well as others’ on another level, I am eternally empathetic, and I find the world so incredibly beautiful. Trying to take in every single ounce of the world before you make any decision is exhausting—and I’ve slowly been learning that beliefs don’t have to be set in stone. Today I like purple and I’m into European sneakers and I think it would be fun to own some chickens and my favorite weather is the kind where the sun backlights the trees so the underbellies of their leaves are this miraculous shade of translucent green. I am in love with the world, and while my ranking of its different elements may change, I will always be able to find something truly awe-some in every aspect of it (even the not-so-pretty-on-the-surface bits like shards of glass in the back parking lot that catch the light just so, the rust on the railroad that is like Burnt Sienna, my favorite Crayola color, and the incredible rhythmic flow that is the daily commute). 

So I guess what I know to be true is that what some people see as naïve ignorance wrapped in an Underwood-esque southern lilt is really a genuine admiration for the overwhelming beauty and grace that is everyday life. I may not be the one standing on the mountain shouting my convictions, but I will always be curious to find what exactly is out there that will spark that kind of fiery truth inside of me. This I believe.

xx mm

          

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