“When you get to the end of all the light you know, and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.” – Edward Teller
“…so I just sat there, uncomfortable, with my nose running and one blurry eye. I wasn’t getting up to fix it, I couldn’t spare the minutes. After all, I could claim a whole 12 as “me time” if I could just stick it out for 37 more seconds. I’ll tell ya, if it weren’t for the anemic cheers from the broken Cheetos under my chair, I never would’ve made it.”
“Vive le bourbon scones! Vive le bourbon scones!”
Yeah, they’re French Cheetos.
Sunny day
Sweepin’ the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street
Come and play
Everything’s A-okay
Friendly neighbors there
That’s where we meet
Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street
It’s a magic carpet ride
Every door will open wide
To happy people like you
Happy people like
What a beautiful
Sunny day
Sweepin’ the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street…
How to get to Sesame Street
How to get to…
Found this in a pile of my random rants:
Once upon a time there was a girl who had a mental breakdown because the world was just too much to handle. She just sat in her chair all day long muttering, ‘French Fries, French Fries, French Fries’ until one day her friend, whom we’ll call Bourbon, said ‘Hey crazy girl, wanna ride the rainbows with me?’ We’ll slide down the cherry slides and swim along the purpley purple until all your worries are rationalized away. Then the crazy one-eyed leprechaun monster will make you bathe in a rusty bathtub at a cheap motel until you can’t cry any more tears. The end
i feel like a day old, room temperature cocktail of anxiety and lethargy.
Dear Nicole,
You turn fourteen next month and, as usual, I sit and wonder how you’re growing up so fast. This has been your biggest year of changes so far. I can see the difference in you and I’m trying to encourage you the best I can. I’m in a tough spot though because all I want to do is hold you and protect you. Logically, I know you need to do these things on your own and sometimes learn the hard way (because you’re just like me), but the mother in me wants tell you where the obstacles are and how to avoid the heartache and hard times. And you, all you want to do is break free and experience everything you can. I’m so proud of you for this enthusiasm and eagerness to experience life but just know that it scares the hell out of me.
Our relationship has suffered a few dings this year but nothing too major. I’m trying to find the balance between giving you more space and enforcing the rules and you’re not sure how to handle all of your crazy mood swings. Sometimes I desperately want to go back to the days when you thought I was your everything and we were inseparable. But, I know you need this space in your life right now. You need validation you can do things yourself without me guiding you or hovering close by in case you fall. Trust me when I say I’m trying. Also trust me when I say I have all the faith in the world that you’ll succeed.
You’re becoming your own person faster than I can adjust. You have opinions, intelligent ones you can defend. You have ideas, creative ones that challenge normalcy. You have a sense of self, one that sees and appreciates how unique and wonderful you are. So far you’ve been level headed about things that other kids your age are going nuts about, like boys for example. Other girls your age are wearing extremely low cut shirts, clinging to boys, doing everything they can to get their attention. You, however, are very cool about the whole thing. You’ve taken a step back and you’re looking at things from a different perspective. You see how they’re acting like fools and you separate yourself from them. This is useful tool to master my dear. This will help you make better decisions and see opportunities where it appears there are none. I see how you’re different from the others, and I know you see it too. You might feel like you don’t fit in because of it. And you might feel like you’re always on the outside looking in but that’s just because you’re making your own path in life, you’re not following others. Hang in there, it won’t always feel that lonely.
Just know I’m always here for you. And every day I look forward to experiencing the next new thing in your life and seeing what an amazing young woman you’re turning out to be.
Love,
Mom
I just finished reading The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. It’s about the last lecture he gave at Carnegie Mellon University called Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams. I’m not going to get into the finer details of the book here except to say READ IT, IT’S GOOD.
There’s a section in the book called Get in Touch with Your Crayon Box. His intention, during the lecture, was to give everyone a crayon and have them close their eyes and feel the texture of the crayon and smell it while he was talking about childhood dreams. I was so intrigued I put the book down and went searching for crayons. My daughter is 13 now so we don’t have them laying around. I finally found a small plastic bag of them in a box buried in the closet. I pulled a few out, closed my eyes and felt the texture of the paper and wax, then held it up to my nose and took a big whiff, just like he instructed in the book. I didn’t realize a little crayon could be so powerful! It took me right back to my childhood, to a time when my dreams were larger than life and before cynicism and self doubt moved in.
Two days after my crayon experience I was in the office supply room at work and there on the table was a coloring book. Wow, what are the odds right after my crayon encounter that I find a mysteriously unowned coloring book. I couldn’t help myself, I took one page out for my very own. Lucky for me, I found that treasure right before leaving for the day so I didn’t have to wait long to break out those crayons and start coloring.
It sounds like a silly exercise but it was inspiring and I urge you to do the same. If you can’t find any crayons around the house, go buy some, take them home, find a comfortable spot and reconnect with your childhood dreams. Remember when you dreamt of being a fireman or owning the biggest candy store in the world or being a princess or playing for your favorite sports team? Remember when you had no doubt whatsoever you would accomplish those things and anyone who told you different was just crazy or too old to understand?
Unfortunately, I don’t remember too many of my childhood dreams right now. But when I do, even if they aren’t dreams I have for myself today, I want to feel the way I felt when I was seven: that I can do anything, that nothing can stop me from being what I want to be or doing what I want to do. Not money, not parents, not society, not friends and most importantly – Not Myself. When I look back on my life and at all of those ‘I wish I would’ve‘ times, I realized that I have been the reason why I haven’t accomplished my goals. I have gotten in the way of my dreams. Me and my self doubt. I cherish this nugget of wisdom and knowing this has created so many other paths for me to explore.
What were your childhood dreams? Did you accomplish them? Or do you have that same wide-eyed abandon to your dreams now that you did when you were a kid?
If my life were slightly different I’d be a drug addict. A heroin addict to be exact. One who self-medicates. I don’t think I’d go so far as to be a junkie, I wouldn’t kill or rob or steal for my next fix – I’d be a functioning addict. I’d hide it from everyone and tell myself as long as I didn’t shoot up alone, I didn’t have a problem. I’d look forward to it and find more reasons why life would be better at that moment if I was high. I would rationalize and justify, I’m not stupid you know. I’m an intelligent adult and I know what I’m doing. You just don’t understand me, I’m complicated. I have all these emotions and feelings that no one else has. They’re exhausting to feel every hour of every day. I can’t escape it. I negotiate, I beg, I threaten but they won’t go away. Smack would be my savior. My lover. We’d fuck to make it all better. One continuous run of make-up sex. Don’t judge me, I’m not an addict, I’m managing my pain. My intangible pain, medically unexplainable pain. And it’s angry but it’s mine. Sometimes it’s a drunk and jealous ex-boyfriend, sometimes it’s controlling father, sometimes it’s a crazed murderer. I get no warning. But this, my heroin, it calms the storm. It rocks the pain to sleep and tip-toes out of the room. It talks it off the ledge. It pries my finger from the trigger. It never let’s me down. I’m not an addict I just need it.
I’m not an addict.
My brain and I are wrestling today. She wants to play Queen of the Kingdom of Empathy and beseech her Minions of Emotions to fester in my chest until I unravel. I, on the other hand, would like to process things like you humans do with filters and compartments and recycling bins and conveyor belts – wiping down after each one in preparation for the next. She’s relentless and has a good argument:
“You want to be a writer”, she asks, “Then you have to feel all of the feelings as if they were your own, then your pen will know the words to write.”
My less than feeble reply placates her for now, “If you call off your Minions at once I promise to read to you every night so you can experience a rainbow of emotions and spare my poor soul your voracious appetite. I will put my pen to practice day and night until I find my voice.”
