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

The Girl I Used to Be

"Oh, our futures were written with crayons in coloring books

It was misspelled and outside the lines and we loved how it looked

Like the crooked hem of your favorite childhood dress

And the holes in my jeans from years of carelessness

I know since we've grown, we ache for those memories."

-"Next to Me", Sleeping at Last

Recently, I've been feeling nostalgic for the girl I used to be. It's more than nostalgia, really--its an aching deep down inside that fills me up with tears full of memories, of deep-belly laughs on the lakeshore and secret messages in glass bottles hidden in the bushes, and when they fall they leave a crooked path not unlike the one that we lined with daisies on the way to our fort in the middle of the oak trees. Its a feeling of loss, of longing for that doe-eyed, pure, untouched little girl who gazed upon the world with wonder of why in the world I was lucky enough to be given a life like this to live. I miss the girl who danced in the streets, for the whole world to see. I miss the girl who hated naps because there was too much life to live. I miss the hopes and dreams that I had for myself, when the future was somewhere far off in the distance. But most of all, I miss when I was whole. Before I cracked and pieces of me were scattered to the wind like the dandelions I used to make wishes on. Before people changed, before everyone left, before I curled up inside myself and shut the door.

But I have chosen to live my life with no regrets, always moving forward, taking everything that happens as a learning experience. While I was living my life by myself, behind closed doors, away from the world that my young eyes used to see as so beautiful and magical, I learned some invaluable lessons that have shaped me into a new human being who is growing around and in between the cracks that line my body. People always change and people always leave, but I will always have myself. Cultivating myself, mind, body, and soul, is the most important gift I can give to myself, for the present and the future. And I've been practicing seeing myself as this new person--a young woman who is broken, but is marching on despite of the holes in her heart and in her mind. And as I get further and further away from the pieces I've left behind, the cracks fade a little bit and new me grows in. Its weird to become a new person, but what's really awesome is that the new bits of me are all mixed in with the girl I used to be. She's still there, buried underneath burdens, but she hasn't left. It has taken me years to hear her voice, and I'll never completely be the girl I used to be, but I think a big part of life is becoming okay with that. I don't believe there is some penultimate person I'm "supposed to become." I am forever being molded, being shaped into the best person I can be to the world at that moment. 

The past is no place to live. There is only the present. As I grow outside of myself and learn how to live with the door open again, I catch glimpses of that girl who read stories to her stuffed animals and laid in the grass and tried to count the stars. She is me, and I am her. I have been hurt, sure, but the world is still such an unbelievably beautiful place with opportunity abounding in every corner. I use that as motivation--not some picture of a stick-thin girl with Sharpied on abs or a desired income. No, I choose to believe that no matter what I look like, no matter who leaves me, no matter what my transcript says, that I have so much to give the world and it has so much that it longs to give me in return. The girl I used to be gave me that wonder, that yearning for life, and the person I am becoming will be forever grateful for that.

xx

Memories

“Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.” 

-Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

I’m sitting on the dock in my backyard, legs dangling in the black water that is sparkling with the reflection of the million twinkling stars above.  I’m counting these stars with a best friend, delirious with fatigue and happiness and the unfathomable depth of the universe. Then we’re singing, belting out some song at the top of our lungs, letting the sound bounce across to the other side of the cove. We look out at the vast lake, and up at the crystal clear constellations, and in that moment, time is nothing and just existing is everything.

I’m standing on the porch, looking down at the lawn (far) below. I don’t remember the thoughts running through my head, but all of a sudden, I’m climbing on the railing. And I’m standing there, toes curling over the edge. I lift my arms up over my head and close my eyes, feeling the vertigo of the black swirling in front of my eyelids, my body willing itself closer to the edge. I open my eyes. And then I jump.

I’m with my family, in an unfamiliar city. Finally, we are all together, after years of being apart. We’re in a limo, for reasons I never really figured out. There’s laughter, and there’s no music, so I’m singing. I lock eyes with my brother for a second, and we both break out into cackles, because somehow we just know that something that’s in both of our heads is funny. And all of a sudden, the car is stopping, the door is opened, and we’re piling out. We’re at a monument of some sort, a monument that is roped off with a sign telling us to look but don’t touch. And then we’re running up the stairs, even my grandma, with the snow swirling around our rosy faces. I pause on the steps as my aunt tells me to strike a pose. After the camera clicks, I’m scrambling up and up, until I’m at the top. Gazing out at the city, and around at the faces of the people I love, I can’t help but smile. And really smile.

I’m laying on a bed, its not mine, it never will be mine. It’s foreign, the room is foreign, the whole place is a land that I don’t want to be a part of. I’m crying, sobbing hysterically all over the scratchy sheets that will never feel like home. I bury my head into the pillow and scream as loud as I can, just to prove to myself that I’m still alive. And no one comes running.

I put my hands to the black and white keys, and then my fingers take over, my muscles guiding them through a familiar melody. I play until I forget, until it’s only me and the sound echoing in the empty room, bouncing against the stark white walls. My fingers move gracefully across the ivory, and I'm amazed at their memory, unaffected by the events unfolding around me. I play until everything fades away. 

I’m running down the halls of my elementary school, feeling a sense of rebellion as I break the one rule that has been pounded into my brain over the years. I don’t have on shoes, and I’m sliding around on the tile in my socks. I laugh as I run faster, stop, and then slide as far as I can. I’m with friends, and they laugh and follow my lead. We pass a teacher, and my heart beats faster with nervousness. But she doesn’t scold—instead, she smiles.

I pull my suitcase over the lump of carpet that has folded up in the corner and walk through the sliding glass doors. My eyes search for a familiar car, but I can’t find it. The warm, humid air is like a big hug welcoming me home. I don’t recognize the car, but then I see her. My mom is still the same, glossy brown hair and beautiful, deep brown eyes that widen when they see me. I quicken my pace, but what is this that I’m feeling? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I drop the suitcase and am embraced in the best hug that there ever was. I crumple into her; every pore of my being feels a sigh of relief. My cheeks are wet but I’m not sad; I don’t know what I am. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m home.

xx