It’s ironic and completely subconscious that Starbucks is the most (and only) California thing about Flo-Town, Orgs. And I now work at Stars.
I get really motivated at night. I think up all these things that I should do and really want to do. But by the time I get motivated to do them, it’s way too late. So I think “I am SO doing that tomorrow”. Then I wake up and am totally NOT motivated. So I don’t do it. Then night comes and I’m like “OMG! I didn’t do that but I’m SOOOO gonna do it now.” But I don’t, because again, it’s too late. So I think I’ll def do it tomorrow… and on and on it goes.
My newly authorized litmus test for guys I date is “is he willing to move to Los Angeles, Cali?” and “would I actually want to take him back to Cali with me?” Second question is key.
I make myself laugh…. Pretty much all the time. If you can make me laugh, you’re in.
I don’t really know what “you’re in” means. I think it just means that we’re cool. Which is basically like saying that we’re friends and I think you are neat.
Did I mention that I make myself laugh?
I have a very eclectic taste in music. I can listen to rap, hip-hop, R&B, rock, pop, country, and so on. The only music I can’t stand is heavy metal, with a few rare exceptions, and pretty much all 80’s music. So 80’s heavy metal is out of the question all together. I’d rather die a slow and painfully excruciating death than listen to that crap. And that is due, in most part, to a few misfortunate relationships gone terribly wrong.
I am constantly amazed that my life has any impact on people whatsoever.
I have all these subconscious anxiety traits that, when looked at holistically, kind of concern me, which actually makes the whole issue worse. Like, I constantly catch myself holding my breath and tensing my shoulder and neck muscles… for no apparent reason. I have to remind myself to breath. I also clench my jaw and grit my teeth. Oh, and I bite my lower lip all the time.
Sometimes I hate that certain songs are forever tied to very specific memories. There are the few that stop me in my tracks to this day and my heart drops every time. I hate it.
When I was little, living in the central valley of California, I would dream of living in So Cal on the beach. It was like one of those dreams you think will never come true but you think about it every now and again anyway. Then I ended up moving there when I was sixteen. I thrived in Los Angeles. I became who I am in that great city. I had to move away to realize just how deeply I was defined by the culture of So Cal. I cherish every moment of it, good and bad.
I don’t sleep very well in Orgs. I don’t know why but I stay up all night and still wake up at the same time every morning. I stay in bed unless I have to get up for something… but I’m awake nonetheless. It’s weird and I don’t like it.
There is an angry lady who comes to Starbucks almost every day and tells me that I am a “fool for moving here”. Really, she doesn’t need to convince me that leaving So Cal for Flo-Town is like a monumental mistake, using standard, human logic. I finally had a heart to heart with her and said that although it’s lame in comparison, I’m glad that I left LA and that I’m here now. Although I won’t stay forever, and can’t wait to return to LA, it was the best move I could ever have made. I’m good friends with the angry lady now.
Remember how I said that I get motivated at night? That is one thing I miss from LA more than anything – you can do anything at any time. So when I get motivated to go jogging and it’s like 11pm, I can go down to the Strand and jog with all the other late night, beach side joggers. But not in Orgs, no way. I’d get mauled by bears or something. So I put off that motivation until morning, at which point I am no longer motivated, so I don’t jog, at all. And I become another Oregon fat abs.
Did I just say “another Oregon fat abs”? I tend to be highly offensive. That’s another little tid bit about me.
I am also laughing out loud at myself right now. I have a marred sense of humor and make jokes mostly just to amuse myself. It works for me. Oh, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to correctly spell the word “marred”. If you can help me out, I’d appreciate that.
I can’t spell. Seriously, I suck at it. And I used to hate when I was little and I would ask someone how to spell something and they respond with “look it up”. Seriously? How am I supposed to look up a word that I can’t spell? I didn’t ask you for a definition, I asked for the spelling !!!
If I could only do one thing for the rest of my life, I would choose laughing. I love to laugh more than anything else in the world.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Like Seeing For the First Time, Again.
So I’m sitting in the back of the coffee shop, where I have been banned to the high bar top table with incredibly uncomfortable wooden stools because that is apparently where the loner internet users like myself have been segregated to.
At very least, it’s a great view over looking the Siuslaw river and Flo-Town bridge.
I’m doing very important things on my computer, like checking Facebook and Twitter and tracking the NBA playoff schedules, when I hear this incredibly annoying siren.
What the hell is that? I look up and see half the bridge opened up into the air.
Holy crap! There goes a boat, sailing under the raised bridge. I have never seen that in real life before. Awesome.
I tried to contain my excitement but all of the sudden I felt like my friend’s little four year old son who loves bridges and boats and talks a mile a minute about stuff like that. For a moment I had that childlike excitement of seeing something so incredible you just can’t control yourself.
What’s better is that I totally imagined cars flying off the open end of the bridge like a giant ramp and sailing through the sky, over the river and onto the hill.
I laughed out loud as I watched the boat disappear and the bridge ramp close. Cars start driving across and everything goes back to normal.
I wish for moments like that all the time, just to get me through the day. At some point, everything becomes routine and normal and unimpressive. Life gets dull and boring and I get restless, bitter and completely calloused to everyone else’s excitement.
But in moments like these I am reminded that there is so much more to life. So much more.
At very least, it’s a great view over looking the Siuslaw river and Flo-Town bridge.
I’m doing very important things on my computer, like checking Facebook and Twitter and tracking the NBA playoff schedules, when I hear this incredibly annoying siren.
What the hell is that? I look up and see half the bridge opened up into the air.
Holy crap! There goes a boat, sailing under the raised bridge. I have never seen that in real life before. Awesome.
I tried to contain my excitement but all of the sudden I felt like my friend’s little four year old son who loves bridges and boats and talks a mile a minute about stuff like that. For a moment I had that childlike excitement of seeing something so incredible you just can’t control yourself.
What’s better is that I totally imagined cars flying off the open end of the bridge like a giant ramp and sailing through the sky, over the river and onto the hill.
I laughed out loud as I watched the boat disappear and the bridge ramp close. Cars start driving across and everything goes back to normal.
I wish for moments like that all the time, just to get me through the day. At some point, everything becomes routine and normal and unimpressive. Life gets dull and boring and I get restless, bitter and completely calloused to everyone else’s excitement.
But in moments like these I am reminded that there is so much more to life. So much more.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Conversation with Myself
I think I need a change.
Really? Because you haven’t had enough change lately?
Oh yeah. I guess I have.
What’s wrong with you?
I don’t know. I get so bored so often. Like right now I’m already bored with this post. I’m gonna go find something else to do.
Peace.
Really? Because you haven’t had enough change lately?
Oh yeah. I guess I have.
What’s wrong with you?
I don’t know. I get so bored so often. Like right now I’m already bored with this post. I’m gonna go find something else to do.
Peace.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Recollections of a Blind Man's Past
(Something I pulled out of my archives from Sept. 07)
Does anyone in our churches care about the people who are floundering? And why is our solution to their hurting always another program? Titus seems to think that the solution is for the older to come along side the younger; to teach them, to show them what it looks like to grow up in the Lord; to demonstrate the way of journeying through life in righteousness. He does not explain how to structure a mentoring program nor does he lay out a twelve step process.
We, on the other hand, see a few young guys wandering through life, making poor choices, hurting themselves and their lonely single mothers, and what is our response? We say things like, “Let’s do things for single mothers, let’s build up a mentoring program for young boys, let’s structure a process through which these boys can become Godly men.” And we all stand, applaud and shout amen.
But those programs never happen. The single mothers remain alone to fret over their lost and misguided young sons, continuing their destructive lifestyles, all the while thinking they are making a life for themselves. I suppose they are making a life for themselves, but it is not a life that I would, by any means, wish on anyone.
Why do these great and mighty initiatives never happen? Because they are just that, great and mighty. They are elaborate programs built with the assumption that they will wipe out the problem all at once. After making an initial effort, we find that the problem still remains. Or worse, we never make the initial effort because we simply do not have the man power to put together a program of that caliber.
I believe that Titus would say our efforts, although well intentioned, are utterly useless. There is no program that can replace loneliness, no church activity that can stand in the void an absent father has created in a child’s heart. It is the simple yet indescribably significant relationship of one to another that can make a difference. Mother Theresa once said that in this life we can not do great things, only small things with great love. She was one person who understood the teachings of Titus; that it is you and I who make the difference through our love. No program can provide that.
If there aren’t people, individuals, who are willing to step up and take the initiative, to enter into the lives of those they see hurting, lost and wandering, then there simply aren’t people who genuinely care. No one has caught the vision of Christ’s love, no one who has been compelled by God’s never ending heart of compassion.
Does anyone in our churches care about the people who are floundering? And why is our solution to their hurting always another program? Titus seems to think that the solution is for the older to come along side the younger; to teach them, to show them what it looks like to grow up in the Lord; to demonstrate the way of journeying through life in righteousness. He does not explain how to structure a mentoring program nor does he lay out a twelve step process.
We, on the other hand, see a few young guys wandering through life, making poor choices, hurting themselves and their lonely single mothers, and what is our response? We say things like, “Let’s do things for single mothers, let’s build up a mentoring program for young boys, let’s structure a process through which these boys can become Godly men.” And we all stand, applaud and shout amen.
But those programs never happen. The single mothers remain alone to fret over their lost and misguided young sons, continuing their destructive lifestyles, all the while thinking they are making a life for themselves. I suppose they are making a life for themselves, but it is not a life that I would, by any means, wish on anyone.
Why do these great and mighty initiatives never happen? Because they are just that, great and mighty. They are elaborate programs built with the assumption that they will wipe out the problem all at once. After making an initial effort, we find that the problem still remains. Or worse, we never make the initial effort because we simply do not have the man power to put together a program of that caliber.
I believe that Titus would say our efforts, although well intentioned, are utterly useless. There is no program that can replace loneliness, no church activity that can stand in the void an absent father has created in a child’s heart. It is the simple yet indescribably significant relationship of one to another that can make a difference. Mother Theresa once said that in this life we can not do great things, only small things with great love. She was one person who understood the teachings of Titus; that it is you and I who make the difference through our love. No program can provide that.
If there aren’t people, individuals, who are willing to step up and take the initiative, to enter into the lives of those they see hurting, lost and wandering, then there simply aren’t people who genuinely care. No one has caught the vision of Christ’s love, no one who has been compelled by God’s never ending heart of compassion.
Just Sit Down and Look Around
FreeWrite 040709: “Just Sit Down & Look Around”
I usually do this at a coffee shop or somewhere where there are people, movement, something to observe. This time I am alone in my room and everything I see is stale, stagnant, lifeless. I hear the steady hum of the heater and the on again off again swishing of the washing machine in the next room. A few heavy steps of someone walking up stairs, the cracking sound of the house settling. It is far more dull and lonely in a place like this.
It amazes me though how this can, at times, drive me mad and at others be a total sanctuary. The quietness, the stillness, sometimes seems a breath of fresh air while other times it’s all together suffocating.
I find myself stuck a great deal these days. Like right now I am stuck, thinking way too much about what I’m going to write, which is really counterproductive to the whole “free write” exercise. I get caught in my thoughts and begin to censor myself before I even begin. I wonder how often my life reflects that.
I was so much more passionate when I was younger. I literally had paper and pen with me at every moment because I believed that inspiration could strike at any time and I wanted to be ready. I would scribble down random thoughts and observations and ideas, then write about them later. It wasn’t a hobby, it was just who I was. I couldn’t not do it. To not write it down was like holding my breath; eventually I had to let it out or I’d die.
Shakespeare was my hero. I could sit and read Shakespeare for hours. Sometimes I see his books sitting on my shelf and smile, remembering the times I used to get caught up in the plays. I think, every now and again, that I should read it just for fun. But I never do.
I love books. I love art. I love music. I have all these passions and talents that just go by the wayside and every so often I think about it with a sad, that’s-such-a-shame kind of feeling, as if remembering the loss of someone great.
I look around my room and see all these things that, maybe subconsciously, I have set up to remind myself of who I am and what I love. There are books everywhere of every kind that remind me of my love of learning, reading, writing, my love of story. The acoustic guitar that rushes up memories of a more passionate time, one in which I was inundated with all things music; notes, chords, theory, rhythms. It’s not my guitar; it belongs to an old friend, one of the best I have ever had. He gave me a book about freelance writing. It sits among all the other books but I pull it down every once in a while. Strewn about the room are various literary magazines, some I hope to write for some day. On one shelf sits all my movies and CDs with my Dave Matthews Band CD cover prominently displayed in the middle. Now that is an artist.
Of course there is also the Fresno mug to remind me that my roots are in the central valley of California, the silver pale of sea shells to remind me that my heart is still in the south bay of southern California, and a barrage of photo albums telling the story of all the people who have played a part in my life.
One would think that amongst all these things I would never loose sight of who I am, what I’m passionate about and where I long to be. I get side tracked though, every day it seems. I momentarily forget where I have been, why I am here now and where I am headed. And so I sit back down for a second and look around. Suddenly this suffocating stillness turns to a renewing breath of fresh air and I remember everything with a greater clarity and sense of hope and appreciation.
I usually do this at a coffee shop or somewhere where there are people, movement, something to observe. This time I am alone in my room and everything I see is stale, stagnant, lifeless. I hear the steady hum of the heater and the on again off again swishing of the washing machine in the next room. A few heavy steps of someone walking up stairs, the cracking sound of the house settling. It is far more dull and lonely in a place like this.
It amazes me though how this can, at times, drive me mad and at others be a total sanctuary. The quietness, the stillness, sometimes seems a breath of fresh air while other times it’s all together suffocating.
I find myself stuck a great deal these days. Like right now I am stuck, thinking way too much about what I’m going to write, which is really counterproductive to the whole “free write” exercise. I get caught in my thoughts and begin to censor myself before I even begin. I wonder how often my life reflects that.
I was so much more passionate when I was younger. I literally had paper and pen with me at every moment because I believed that inspiration could strike at any time and I wanted to be ready. I would scribble down random thoughts and observations and ideas, then write about them later. It wasn’t a hobby, it was just who I was. I couldn’t not do it. To not write it down was like holding my breath; eventually I had to let it out or I’d die.
Shakespeare was my hero. I could sit and read Shakespeare for hours. Sometimes I see his books sitting on my shelf and smile, remembering the times I used to get caught up in the plays. I think, every now and again, that I should read it just for fun. But I never do.
I love books. I love art. I love music. I have all these passions and talents that just go by the wayside and every so often I think about it with a sad, that’s-such-a-shame kind of feeling, as if remembering the loss of someone great.
I look around my room and see all these things that, maybe subconsciously, I have set up to remind myself of who I am and what I love. There are books everywhere of every kind that remind me of my love of learning, reading, writing, my love of story. The acoustic guitar that rushes up memories of a more passionate time, one in which I was inundated with all things music; notes, chords, theory, rhythms. It’s not my guitar; it belongs to an old friend, one of the best I have ever had. He gave me a book about freelance writing. It sits among all the other books but I pull it down every once in a while. Strewn about the room are various literary magazines, some I hope to write for some day. On one shelf sits all my movies and CDs with my Dave Matthews Band CD cover prominently displayed in the middle. Now that is an artist.
Of course there is also the Fresno mug to remind me that my roots are in the central valley of California, the silver pale of sea shells to remind me that my heart is still in the south bay of southern California, and a barrage of photo albums telling the story of all the people who have played a part in my life.
One would think that amongst all these things I would never loose sight of who I am, what I’m passionate about and where I long to be. I get side tracked though, every day it seems. I momentarily forget where I have been, why I am here now and where I am headed. And so I sit back down for a second and look around. Suddenly this suffocating stillness turns to a renewing breath of fresh air and I remember everything with a greater clarity and sense of hope and appreciation.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
She’s So California
I had never kayaked before. I had never flown before. I had never been to the Oregon coast before. I decided to do it all in one weekend. Turns out, it was all amazing.
I watched the sun come up from inside the LAX terminal, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into. I boarded my flight and watched life as I knew it shrink down into a miniature existence and then vanish. It was all I could do but listen to the shallowed air flow steadily in and out of my lungs, concentrated and slow, mostly in effort not to panic and demand we turn back.
It is amazing how emotion can take over the human brain and memories become a total blur. Somewhere between boarding that plane and reaching my destination, I landed and re-boarded and rechecked and landed again. It was a whirlwind.
I hit the ground running in a town where geese on the runway hold up flights and I get into a stranger’s car (sorry mom). We met up with about six other strangers, loaded up our kayaks and hit the lake. It was a gorgeous day, perfect weather and calm waters winding around the hills.
As we spread out across the lake I could still hear a couple guys behind me having a conversation… about me.
“So how do you think she likes it so far?”
“I think she’s having fun… but I don’t know, she might be too much of a city girl.”
I chime in, “Hey I can hear you!”
They are a funny bunch here, I thought to myself as I smiled and drifted with the current.
It was a long flight home at the end of that weekend. Change was coming quickly and I had a decision to make. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I refuse to budge, hold tightly to what I know and risk drowning under the rapid currents of change? Do I have what it takes to embrace this moment and move forward towards something new?
As I landed back home in LAX, I felt strangely out of place, realizing that I had one foot in and one foot out. Eventually I put both feet out in front of me, picked up my packed bags and drove away.
Now I’m in this sleepy little town without a trace of anything I had before. I can’t be picky anymore about which Target to go to, there is only one to choose from and it’s an all day affair to shop there, driving down the winding, one lane mountain road for an hour each way.
I haven’t washed my car since moving here almost three months ago because there doesn’t seem to be a full service car wash within thirty minutes of my home. I suppose they expect me to do it myself. And you can forget jogging alone at night. I used to love a late night jog along the Manhattan Beach strand in California. Somehow the dark, tree lined streets of Oregon aren’t as conducive to my single lifestyle.
One thing I have yet to abandon though are my sandals. Rain, hail, wind and the occasional snow flurry have yet to deter my toes from hiding. They are brave warriors. Quite possibly the biggest adjustment has been that everything closes early. As a matter of fact, the coffee shop I am sitting in right now will close at 5pm today. Life is definitely different here.
I can’t say where exactly I will go from here. I have stepped into a whole new era of my life and am taking it all in. It’s a breath of fresh air, literally. My eyes are opened to so much more than before and though my heart is held in the grasp of California, my journey is taking me elsewhere for the time being. And I’m loving it.
I watched the sun come up from inside the LAX terminal, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into. I boarded my flight and watched life as I knew it shrink down into a miniature existence and then vanish. It was all I could do but listen to the shallowed air flow steadily in and out of my lungs, concentrated and slow, mostly in effort not to panic and demand we turn back.
It is amazing how emotion can take over the human brain and memories become a total blur. Somewhere between boarding that plane and reaching my destination, I landed and re-boarded and rechecked and landed again. It was a whirlwind.
I hit the ground running in a town where geese on the runway hold up flights and I get into a stranger’s car (sorry mom). We met up with about six other strangers, loaded up our kayaks and hit the lake. It was a gorgeous day, perfect weather and calm waters winding around the hills.
As we spread out across the lake I could still hear a couple guys behind me having a conversation… about me.
“So how do you think she likes it so far?”
“I think she’s having fun… but I don’t know, she might be too much of a city girl.”
I chime in, “Hey I can hear you!”
They are a funny bunch here, I thought to myself as I smiled and drifted with the current.
It was a long flight home at the end of that weekend. Change was coming quickly and I had a decision to make. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I refuse to budge, hold tightly to what I know and risk drowning under the rapid currents of change? Do I have what it takes to embrace this moment and move forward towards something new?
As I landed back home in LAX, I felt strangely out of place, realizing that I had one foot in and one foot out. Eventually I put both feet out in front of me, picked up my packed bags and drove away.
Now I’m in this sleepy little town without a trace of anything I had before. I can’t be picky anymore about which Target to go to, there is only one to choose from and it’s an all day affair to shop there, driving down the winding, one lane mountain road for an hour each way.
I haven’t washed my car since moving here almost three months ago because there doesn’t seem to be a full service car wash within thirty minutes of my home. I suppose they expect me to do it myself. And you can forget jogging alone at night. I used to love a late night jog along the Manhattan Beach strand in California. Somehow the dark, tree lined streets of Oregon aren’t as conducive to my single lifestyle.
One thing I have yet to abandon though are my sandals. Rain, hail, wind and the occasional snow flurry have yet to deter my toes from hiding. They are brave warriors. Quite possibly the biggest adjustment has been that everything closes early. As a matter of fact, the coffee shop I am sitting in right now will close at 5pm today. Life is definitely different here.
I can’t say where exactly I will go from here. I have stepped into a whole new era of my life and am taking it all in. It’s a breath of fresh air, literally. My eyes are opened to so much more than before and though my heart is held in the grasp of California, my journey is taking me elsewhere for the time being. And I’m loving it.
Lingering Moments
There is something about a perfect stranger looking you dead in the eye and telling you that they believe in your dream that they believe in you.
There are moments when words come from the least expected source and strike me to the very core of my being. Usually these moments are brief and fleeting. Their influence, though, lingers forever in that place we all go to when we begin to doubt.
It was an entirely random night on the streets of Portland, Oregon, and he was nobody to me. I don’t know anything about him but that he moved there to follow his dream, to pursue his passion. And from one dream chase to another, he says “I believe in you.” It was the most genuine experience I had found so far, because he honestly believed. He believed in the pursuit of dreams, in following a passion, in belief itself.
Chances are, I will never see him again. But our paths crossed for a moment and that encounter will stay with me forever.
There are moments when words come from the least expected source and strike me to the very core of my being. Usually these moments are brief and fleeting. Their influence, though, lingers forever in that place we all go to when we begin to doubt.
It was an entirely random night on the streets of Portland, Oregon, and he was nobody to me. I don’t know anything about him but that he moved there to follow his dream, to pursue his passion. And from one dream chase to another, he says “I believe in you.” It was the most genuine experience I had found so far, because he honestly believed. He believed in the pursuit of dreams, in following a passion, in belief itself.
Chances are, I will never see him again. But our paths crossed for a moment and that encounter will stay with me forever.
Hanging Up
He was gorgeous and way out of my league. We had been watching each other since he walked through the door. He finally sat down at the table right across from me. There it was, my opportunity to say hi or just smile, something, anything.
He looked up from his coffee and smiled. Our eyes met and I… I quickly looked back down at my computer and never looked up again. My inner dialogue went something like, “Oh my god! Oh my god! He’s looking at me! Oh my god!”
I couldn’t even manage to talk to myself very well, let alone this guy. Eventually he got up and walked out. And all I could think was that I hope he comes here again.
As fate would have it, he did.
I found myself sitting at the exact same table two days later when he walked in. He sat down facing me, again. I smiled first, he said hello and that was it.
This time my inner dialogue was bit more extensive, “What is wrong with me? How do I manage to wreck a perfectly good opportunity? Nice move, Amy, nice.”
I never saw him again but he has haunted me ever since; a constant reminder of my tragically stunted and underdeveloped sense of romantic relationships.
I do it all the time though; a guy walks through the door and I remain confident until he’s within five feet of my heart. Then I freak out and run like hell. Some day I’ll hang up my running shoes. Some day.
He looked up from his coffee and smiled. Our eyes met and I… I quickly looked back down at my computer and never looked up again. My inner dialogue went something like, “Oh my god! Oh my god! He’s looking at me! Oh my god!”
I couldn’t even manage to talk to myself very well, let alone this guy. Eventually he got up and walked out. And all I could think was that I hope he comes here again.
As fate would have it, he did.
I found myself sitting at the exact same table two days later when he walked in. He sat down facing me, again. I smiled first, he said hello and that was it.
This time my inner dialogue was bit more extensive, “What is wrong with me? How do I manage to wreck a perfectly good opportunity? Nice move, Amy, nice.”
I never saw him again but he has haunted me ever since; a constant reminder of my tragically stunted and underdeveloped sense of romantic relationships.
I do it all the time though; a guy walks through the door and I remain confident until he’s within five feet of my heart. Then I freak out and run like hell. Some day I’ll hang up my running shoes. Some day.
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