Week One of College

Be messy and complicated and afraid and show up anyway.
Glennon Doyle Melton 



That, my friends, is how I felt about this week. My first-week of school of my last semester before I graduate with my associate’s degree (that’s a crazy thing to write down, by the way). On Monday, knots were in my stomach, not because I didn’t particularly want to start school, but because the thought of starting school meant that I’m moving one step closer the next part of my life and I don’t quite know what that next part holds. I’ve been itching to get out of this season that I’m currently in, but now that I’m actually on the verge of doing so, I’m back peddling.

Why am I doing this?

Why and I swimming back upstream when all I wanted for the longest time was to move faster down it?

To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t know why this fear grips me so tight. I think it could possibly be the unknown. The fact that, even though I plan and have an idea of where I’m going to go or do what I’m going to do, it’s never for certain, there is always the possibility of things falling through. There is also the fact that it could not be like I imagine it would be once I get there.
Never the less, all these feelings came up on the first day of the last few months before things change. This is the time before it changes. The calm waters before the hurricane. And Just thinking of it all made me afraid.
I showed up anyway, though. I showed up, even with my messiness, my complicatedness, my afraidness. All of it. And you know, moving toward a new area of life isn’t so bad ( and my French III professor is this nicest one professor you could ever have).
So all of this is to say, I made it through, the first week, at least. And I’ll keep making it through, through the normal and through the change and through the new. Through all of this life, I’ll make it.

You will, too. Despite the mess, the complex, and the fear show up anyway.

4.14.17

Life has gotten to me again, but today, I’m stopping it all and taking a moment to enjoy the weather, iced coffee, a book, and the greenness that has flooded my back yard. I haven’t been able to write these past few days so getting to take the time to sit and type a few words is a nice thing.
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I went and bought a fern, a cactus, and a few succulents today. Lowe’s was as busy as you would expect it to be on a sunny spring day. People clamoring like ants around the herbs, potted flowers, and hanging plants. Some trying out the outdoor cushions and couches. I went straight to the sea of green. All the plants and grasses and succulents make me feel at home and full of life. Green is my favorite color and that’s one of the reasons why. 
It took me about 10 minutes to pick out which fern I wanted. There were big ones and small ones and one that looked like they contained a small jungle under the leafy greens. I picked one that was sort of in the middle, small enough to hang on my hook at home but still had the jungle likeness to it. I picked out a flowering cactus and a few succulents, too. 
After I made it through the checkout, fought traffic, and make it back home, I realized I didn’t have any potting soil, so I had to go back out again. This time I went to Menards, which was a good choice because compared to Lowe’s, it was completely dead and the soil was cheaper.
The second time I pulled up into my driveway I was ready to tackle the task of putting the succulents in their pots with the potting soil. I forgot how much I love potting plants, making them a little home to grow and bloom. The soil got under my fingernails and made the palms of my hands black as cole. It was soft and moist and pure. It was reliving, sticking the roots of the plants down into the soil, giving them a chance at life and a new surrounding. Planting seeds are the same way, only you’re waiting and praying the little seedling break through the topsoil with little green leaves. Growing up towards the light, higher than high.
That reminds me of when I was little. I used to love plants but I was never able to have them. I always thought that if I was just about to get the seeds, then I could take some dirt from the garden out back and use the pot I painted for school. I remember once I tried to use the seeds from a fruit. I can’t remember what fruit it was, an apple, I think. I extracted them from the core and the rushed up to my room to get the pot. Inconspicuously I when outside and collected the dirt I needed, then slowly, I placed the seeds down into the soil and watered it with tap water. 
The seeds didn’t grow like I hoped they would. There were several things I did wrong. I planted the seeds too deep in the soil and I used our softened tap water. It was then I learned that soften water is never good for plants. Once my mom figured out what I did she and I went out to the store and bought a packet of flower seeds and then she helped me plant them the correct way. The flowers poked through the soil grew little sprouts and turned into colorful blooms. Now that I’m sitting here thinking about it, I’ve always had a love for plants like that, in all their greenness. 
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Sitting outside listening to the birds’ chirp is a nice way to end the evening. My dog is running around getting into mischief every now and then. She’s so curious and full of wonder. When you’re only four months old, the world is a whole expanse just waiting to be explored, even when the world is just your back yard. 


“I’m headed home with three plates of food and two bags you can’t look in, easter is coming you know.” – my mother to me while talking on the phone. 

note to self…

Write. Don’t write about your longing to write,  just write. Don’t think about it too much. Write about the dreams and the hopes in your soul. Write about the days that seems to never come. Write about the days that have come. Write about the things on your heart, the things pegging your mind. Write about the raindrops on your windshield and the swear words you mutter under your breath. Write about the way their eyes look when they’re excited about something, or thinking about something deeply. Write about the four old ladies sitting in front of you in the theater. Write about the feeling of the keys on your fingertips. Or the pen in your fingers and your hand on the page. Write about breathing, about feeling, about loving. Write truth. Write the raw, harsh truth that comes with living life. You only get this time once.

Go write. 

Open Arms



Normally change is a quiet, slow-moving person. Normally it creeps up and around in the most mondain ways. Only when you look back into the past, can you see how it worked. But right now, I can feel it. I can feel change coming. I can see it on the forefront, shifting day by day. Moving like the wide, deep ocean. 

Change it coming. I can feel it, I can see it.
 And I’m welcoming it, with open arms.



smudgy ink

I have a mess of thoughts in my mind that I can’t collect into words quite yet. There is an exhaustion of pages and smudgy ink that I have toiled over, again and again. Trying to etch down my thoughts, but they haven’t come like I hoped. The words wont run smoothly on the page just yet. I think they need more time to soak in the vast light that is not the written page. I’ll give it a few days, then I’ll come back again and try again.  Maybe they just weren’t meant to be smooth and elagent, maybe they are just supposed to be the truth.