Raw

It isn't so often that I am real and transparent. This truth is rather ironic given that I push everyone else to be completely real with me, yet in reality, I create versions of myself to suit any given situation. I become who I think I should be in order to please whomever I may be around or to get attention or to gain acceptance. No wonder guys think I'm a silly little girl whom they can toss to the side when they're done without a care in the world. Upon first impression, to someone with little insight and understanding, I portray myself that way-a silly, pretty little play thing who's bubbly and light hearted. I get paid to be that girl too. I sell that character when I bartend. People love to talk to that girl who's feisty and sassy, a bit flirty, and seemingly quite flighty. She's not real though. I made her up. Essentially she's an alter-ego.

The real me is jaded and cynical, rather harsh, very no nonsense, kind of a bitch really, hardened to the world around me, deep, pensive, complicated, and a terrible mess. I drink. I smoke cloves and cigars on occasion. I have horrible language. I have most certainly messed around with guys. I do not come in a dainty, pretty package with some pristine tale to tell. My life is not perfect by any means. I have made many mistakes and will continue to make more. I do not regret any of these aberrations. I accept them for what they are. I know that they do not define WHO I am, but they simply are things I've done.

I look at my love of fashion, and when I seek a deeper meaning behind that affinity, I wonder if perhaps it is because I can use it to mask who I am, or I can dress up who I am and play a part. Perhaps it isn't simply a love and appreciation for the art of design. Perhaps it is just another veil to hide behind.

I used to not be this person. I knew who I was, what I believed, and what I stood for. I had no misgivings about my thoughts and ideas. I accepted myself, a beautiful mess, wholly instead of piece meal as I do now. As it stands, I'd like to compartmentalize some of me so no one knows the "bad" things, but that's truly a travesty to with hold from humanity a raw truth that could potentially relate to someone else and bring light and hope to a darkened world.

My life, though not perfect, has not been terribly arduous. The things I have gone through pale in comparison to many people in this world. However, they have affected me, and surely there are others like myself who have the same questions and sentiments and have had similar life experiences. I was told I need to tell my story. In order to do so, I will have to get dirty and simply hope for a forgiving audience.

Cataracts

Cataracts fill the eyes and distort vision, eventually making it impossible to see. As I sit here thinking, it is as though my eyes are beginning to get cataracts. Not in the literal sense of course, but in a manner such as this:

I have lost my inspiration. My creativity is waning. My life has lost its direction.

I have become rather complacent with where I am. My life is relatively easy. There are few challenges, and my daily routine is mundane. Life. Is. Stagnant.

For a short bit, I was all right with this because it was safe, and for so long, I felt like my life was a roller coaster. I needed some stability. Now though, I need the tides to turn. I need an escape from the ordinary.

Fortunately, it is early on in the disease. I can stop it. The damage is not yet irreparable. How to fix it? I need to find inspiration and allow myself time to have an outlet for the creativity that fills my mind. I am certain that a fair amount of this inspiration will come from living my life in the world instead of behind a bar. I need and want to experience people and places of all sorts. I then want to write about these experiences, paint them, and draw them. I need to breathe life into myself and clear away that which is blocking my vision. I need to see clearly.

All hail, the Once and Future King

Today is Palm Sunday. I went to Trinity today for the first time in quite a while. I am so grateful that I went back though. I realized some things today...

Lately I have been a bit out of sorts and have, unknowingly to myself, been trying to do everything on my own...again. It seems that I have a habit of doing this. I'm very independent and am generally quite content to do things myself, but then, like anyone, I get very lonely and realize that I have essentially cut myself off from the world. In the process of doing this, I have ultimately cut Christ out of my life.

This morning the sermon was about Mark 11:1-11...when Jesus basically commandeers a donkey (or a colt depending on the translation) and rides into Bethany. The pastor this morning took this passage in a new direction from that which I've heard in the past. Today he spoke about how this passage speaks of Christ as a king. Historically, monarchs retained the right to commandeer anything from anyone within their realm of ruling. As a king, Jesus had every right to that donkey. He need not ask permission to take the animal or to make prior arrangements to borrow it; he simply had to say he was taking it, and it was done. Also, the Jews removed their outer garments and laid them in the street, much like rolling out the red carpet for celebrities today. In this time period though, this ritual was equivalent to laying down one's own life for the king or queen whom tread upon the clothing. The Jews were not intimate enough with Jesus to know him as a great teacher or as the Messiah upon whom they waited. They did this though because they hailed him as a king.

The point of this sermon is that so often in our lives, we accept Jesus as our Savior, but we do not allow him to be King of our lives. We attempt to withhold parts of our lives from him, when in fact, as king, he has every right to commandeer any part he chooses at his leisure.

I sat thinking to myself today about how I have withheld so much of my life. I am always holding back my heart, not allowing him to rule over me as I should. I sit and wonder why I am alone. Well I am alone because I try to do things my way. I am somewhat content, but truly I am in need. My life is empty and seems mundane because I have not given God what is rightly His in the first place.

Hence forth, all hail the Once and Future King. The King that was, and is, and is to come.

One Love

I am somewhat perplexed by life, and more specifically by love. If one has much love to give, why is that no one seems to want it? Or perhaps a few people think they want it, but in reality, those people are not in fact the true love of the other person. Why is it that so many seem so fascinated by me right off, only to turn and walk away as soon as the shiny newness wears off? How is it that I am so easily dropped? The people who think they want me...well, they don't really want me. I seem to always be the cool, kind of unique girl who peaks interest for a brief moment, but just doesn't quite fit the mold. Why is the "mold" the status quo? What's wrong with slightly different?
Ugh, this is not some profound entry at all. Much more so it is simply me whining. Why? Because I'm tired of these lame guys playing me for a fool. It is better to be alone than to simply be toyed with time and again.
This much I know...
I have an immense capacity to love someone, the right someone, and I am waiting to give that person all I have. I do so very much wish all of these wrong someones would go and waste someone else's time though. Life is short, and I certainly don't have time to waste with these ridiculous people. I have time for the one love...wherever he may be.

The Past and the Present

Recently due to unfortunate circumstances surrounding my best friend and her family, I have been reminded of my own past. You see my friend's father had to undergo major surgery and the outlook initially was bleak. As I stand by my friend through this stressful affair, my mind wanders back over memories so vivid they seem as though they happened only yesterday...

I remember the cold, sterile hallways, the beeping machines, the click of the life support machine as my dad's chest would rise and fall. I can still smell the scent of the cleaning supplies and feel the scratchy sheets between my fingertips. I can hear my dad trying to tell me he loved me through strained gasps of air. I can feel the tightness of his skin, stretched out over his body bloated with fluids and ridden with cancer. I can see his deep brown eyes rolling back in his head as he took his last breath. This place is where my mind goes during times such as these.

I was young when he passed away, only fourteen. Most girls at that age are just getting interested in boys, makeup, and "Seventeen" magazine. Not me. I was more interested in getting straight A's in school and building up walls around my heart so no one could see the fear and hurt I felt. I was determined to be strong and to never let anyone see me crumble. Not once in the nine months that my dad was in and out of hospitals from Baptist to Duke did I let my friends see me cry. Just like Smokey Robinson said, "My smile [was] my makeup".

That was then...

Now however, I'm working on breaking down those walls. I see how jaded and cynical I have become at a young age due to various events in my life. I'm twenty-eight now, twice the age I was when my dad died. Certainly I am old enough to let go of the past and move into the here and now. I do not regret anything that has happened in my life. I most definitely do not regret watching my dad die. I am grateful to have seen his face as he was leaving this world. I do not even regret that I have had a failed marriage. I believe that these circumstances serve to build character and are but small things when I look at the possibilities the future may hold. To allow my past to dictate my present, and God forbid my future, would be a travesty. And so for these things I am grateful, and I shall take them, learn from them, and move forward in freedom.