In a fraction of a second, your entire life can change — or terminate. Yet, so many of us often take our routine lifestyles for granted and even show feelings of hostility towards this!
I sat in bed contemplating some rather pathetic decisions I need to make in the near future. My eyes closed, the light flickered off, yet my mind continued to race. So, I turned on the TV hoping to watch something light like the Colbert Report. Instead, I see BREAKING NEWS and a burning plane crashed into someone's home. I sat dumbfounded, not wanting to believe it, praying that some how there were survivors. Anderson Cooper had no idea — he continued to say that there was only one confirmed death on the ground from the home crashed into. He announced the hot line for family members with inquiries to call. As soon as that sentence came out of his mouth, he continued to say he just received an update from the police saying there were absolutely no survivors on the flight.
I can't imagine that feeling. Both of the feelings involved in that. There is the feeling of finding out your parent, child, best friend, lover, whoever died in a chaotic fiery mess.
But what I really cannot imagine is being in that plane. How many times have I sat in a plane? Multiple times every year since I was a young child. So many times I have experienced such scary turbulence, but had so much faith in my God, the pilot and was just so naïve to believe nothing could ever happen — believing that I am invincible.
The truth is, that could have been me, and it still could be me. We are NOT promised tomorrow. And while many of us think "live today like it is your last" or "live for the moment" are idealistic and wish to apply it to our lives — how many of us actually do? We don't! We get too caught up in the mindless day to day chores.
But tonight, someone was one that plane to see a lover they hadn't seen in a while. Yet one of them is left alone. Never to touch those lips or that hair or speak to the one tangible person who understands them ever again.
Someone lost a mother. Someone lost a father. Most of these people probably feel like they lost EVERYTHING in a split second, while we sit here in our beautiful worlds, often only able to focus on the negative. What are our problems really? Especially in comparison to the majority of the world living below the poverty line, unable to experience the things even many of the poorest Americans take for granted.
What would my thoughts have been on that plane? What were their thoughts? I know all of this is morbid, but my head is spinning right now, and this is what is going through it. I was hoping some writing would help me to sleep, but it has had quite the opposite effect.
What would I have said to the person next to me? How quickly would it have all happened? Would I have had time to think at all? Would I have been frozen? Would I have been so scared that my heart simply burst within my chest? If I did have thoughts racing through my head, would I have had regrets? Would I have wished I would have taken more risks? Put myself on the line more often? Always said what I felt, even if it was completely scary and irrational? Because more often than not, beautiful outcomes come from those risks, yet we let previous wounds keep us from doing anything. We would rather be stuck with something bland than to run the risk of pain for something beautiful. And that is stupid, yet I find myself acting in such a pathetic, too-guarding-of-the-heart fashion.
So, terrible, depressing, awful plane crash, you have inspired me. I'm going to do it. I'll put myself out there one more time, while still being cautious with my fragile heart, but not so cautious that I do not let anyone else in.
But now I ask you to do the same, and to not take it for granted, because this is one of the hardest things I have ever done.
13.2.09
12.2.09
Haikus en Español
En el semestre pasado yo tuve que escribir unos haikus en mi clase de español.
Claro que he escrito los haikus más bonitos.
Los encontré hoy cuando estaba limpiando mi cuarto...
Espero que puedan disfrutarlos también... a menos que no sepas este idioma magnificoooo. :)
Mi Ex Novio
------------
Eres tan feo
Tu corazón es hielo
Por favor, vete
Mi Nuevo Novio
--------------
Él es mágico
Su boca en mi boca
Dulces cerezas
Abuela
--------------
Antipática
huele a perra muerta
Mi abuela, ¡puaj!
Claro que he escrito los haikus más bonitos.
Los encontré hoy cuando estaba limpiando mi cuarto...
Espero que puedan disfrutarlos también... a menos que no sepas este idioma magnificoooo. :)
Mi Ex Novio
------------
Eres tan feo
Tu corazón es hielo
Por favor, vete
Mi Nuevo Novio
--------------
Él es mágico
Su boca en mi boca
Dulces cerezas
Abuela
--------------
Antipática
huele a perra muerta
Mi abuela, ¡puaj!
11.2.09
Blood Drenched Towel to Victory
It's a fragile circle, some things in life. Or at least I occasionally feel like I get myself trapped in this circle — going round and round, trying to break free and create some abstract figure, but my mind and heart just take me back around the same old path. Of course, I do not think my entire life has just been a giant circle, just certain aspects, decisions, feeling and actions.
I am a rather different person in comparison to who I was even just a year ago, yet I find myself struggling not to make some of the same mistakes I made before. Most rational people might see these situations and say it’s possible this time it won’t come out like a circle — that it might not ultimately end in my bleeding wounded heart.
But take a heart that has been stabbed over and over, and it begins to remember what caused those wounds and to avoid getting itself into that situation again. A woman with the heart of a little girl can only be wounded a certain number of times before she throws in the blood-drenched towel and calls it quits. She stops trying to find something that doesn’t need cleaning up. In fact, she stops searching at all. She’s been fooled into thinking she found perfection one too many a time, only to love and not be loved in return, or to have that love abused. And I don't know what is worse.
I don’t want to give up, but I don’t want to be hurt again either. Can I handle it again, so soon? What happened to the optimism I still withhold about all other aspects of my life? Why can’t I shine that light of optimism into this sector of my world? Because this is the part of my world where I have always had the highest expectations, and those expectations have been more than just unfulfilled, they have been lowered and lowered until I basically feel like maybe I do not deserve anything. I know that’s not true, but put your heart through the works like I’ve done to mine — throw your heart at anyone pretending to be interested and watch them laugh, and that’s what you begin to feel like.
I have prayed about these things and changed some things in my life, and I do know my heart has healed from these old wounds. It is a full-functioning heart capable of loving without holding back, but it cannot help but remember the old wounds when entering a new situation where the possibility of pain is inevitable.
I want it. But I don't at all. I don’t because I do not know the outcome, and I have somewhat lost hope in positive outcomes in matters of the heart — at least for me. But perhaps it’s not what I think. Not everything and everyone are here to hurt me. And not everyone or everything has hurt me in the past.
I want to learn to love again without holding back. I want to be fearless. I want to once again believe that the trial is worth the pain, because where there is possibility for failure, there is also possibility for success and beauty. And out of failure always comes a lesson learned and an opportunity to grow — so was it even really failure? Then what am I waiting for? Someone else to do all the work, I suppose.
I cannot be invested in any outcomes in anything in my life. I just have to live one day to the next and know that I am not in control and never will be. And if I do not get invested in an outcome, then that still leaves hope for a happy ending, but helps to guard my fragile and sensitive heart. I’m not as tough as I sometimes like to pretend, and I'm finally ok with that.
I am a rather different person in comparison to who I was even just a year ago, yet I find myself struggling not to make some of the same mistakes I made before. Most rational people might see these situations and say it’s possible this time it won’t come out like a circle — that it might not ultimately end in my bleeding wounded heart.
But take a heart that has been stabbed over and over, and it begins to remember what caused those wounds and to avoid getting itself into that situation again. A woman with the heart of a little girl can only be wounded a certain number of times before she throws in the blood-drenched towel and calls it quits. She stops trying to find something that doesn’t need cleaning up. In fact, she stops searching at all. She’s been fooled into thinking she found perfection one too many a time, only to love and not be loved in return, or to have that love abused. And I don't know what is worse.
I don’t want to give up, but I don’t want to be hurt again either. Can I handle it again, so soon? What happened to the optimism I still withhold about all other aspects of my life? Why can’t I shine that light of optimism into this sector of my world? Because this is the part of my world where I have always had the highest expectations, and those expectations have been more than just unfulfilled, they have been lowered and lowered until I basically feel like maybe I do not deserve anything. I know that’s not true, but put your heart through the works like I’ve done to mine — throw your heart at anyone pretending to be interested and watch them laugh, and that’s what you begin to feel like.
I have prayed about these things and changed some things in my life, and I do know my heart has healed from these old wounds. It is a full-functioning heart capable of loving without holding back, but it cannot help but remember the old wounds when entering a new situation where the possibility of pain is inevitable.
I want it. But I don't at all. I don’t because I do not know the outcome, and I have somewhat lost hope in positive outcomes in matters of the heart — at least for me. But perhaps it’s not what I think. Not everything and everyone are here to hurt me. And not everyone or everything has hurt me in the past.
I want to learn to love again without holding back. I want to be fearless. I want to once again believe that the trial is worth the pain, because where there is possibility for failure, there is also possibility for success and beauty. And out of failure always comes a lesson learned and an opportunity to grow — so was it even really failure? Then what am I waiting for? Someone else to do all the work, I suppose.
I cannot be invested in any outcomes in anything in my life. I just have to live one day to the next and know that I am not in control and never will be. And if I do not get invested in an outcome, then that still leaves hope for a happy ending, but helps to guard my fragile and sensitive heart. I’m not as tough as I sometimes like to pretend, and I'm finally ok with that.
10.2.09
If you want to be inspired or read something deep and philosophical... skip this entry and move down a little
This was a stupid math assignment we had to do. Write a creative story about a number.
I learned a lot about math doing this assignment, and now think I am more prepared for my major in International Studies and Spanish. What a worthwhile thing with which to occupy my time. :)
Erika Hepburn
Math 203
10 February 2009
Journal #2
Our story begins on the other side of the world under a hazy moonlit sky. Tucked into an unknown corner of an enchanted forest, beneath a willow so weepy its limbs slowly sweep the ground, lay two hooded figures leaning over a cradle. Peacefully sleeping in this cradle is no ordinary child, but behold! A newborn numerical figure, whose parents christened him Nine.
Many moons previous to this sacred night, Nine’s parents, Four and Five, met par chance in a smoky bar in southern Andalusia. It was January and the moon was in its first quarter. A few evenings later, in a clover-covered field, Nine was conceived beneath an eerie full moon. Perhaps this is what led to his luckiness. For those who already know the old tale of number Nine know that he is the first composite lucky number.
Four, Nine’s mother, knew from the moment her little Nine became an embryo that he would be unique. She believed that he perhaps he was an enchanted number as her belly glowed and glittered. Four and Five spent many a night admiring their little Nine’s silhouette performing from within her womb — pirouetting and swimming, dancing and singing in a way only a precious, innocent fetus could.
Nearly nine months had soon passed. Four and Five made their way to the enchanted forest where they wished to give birth to their son in a tranquil environment — an environment just as enchanted as their pirouetting little fetus. The trees and forest creatures whispered amongst themselves, while the elusive wood nymphs made their ways to the tops of the trees throwing glitter and sequins into the air. They created a sparkling rain in the forest as a welcome to the soon-to-be-born number.
After nine hours of labor, on the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month of the year, Four gave a final push and scream, and henceforth came noble number Nine. He was a radiant and vibrant shade of green and possessed eyes as rich and red as rubies. His parents draped him in a king’s cape. The forest’s cacophony suddenly dimmed to complete mystical silence. They waited for Nine to cry laugh or scream, but he must have already realized his importance because he composed himself with such a great magnitude of dignity.
Four, Five and Nine spent the entire day together. From 9 a.m. until dusk. They ran, laughed and played — what a happy family they were, indeed! But because numbers mature much more quickly than humans, Four and Five gave Nine an inline skate, put it on his little foot and gave him a fishing pole.
“Skate away, little Nine, skate away. Live off the land like we have taught you, and know that your purpose in life is to multiply — to create larger numbers than your we ever could,” they exclaimed. “And don’t lose Eight’s phone number!” Five cried as a final piece of advice to his departing son.
Five always tried to be a man and keep his emotions nestled deep within him, but as part of him, his precious little Nine, skated off into the sunset, a single tear could be seen glistening across his cheek. He took Four’s hand and helped her into their kayak as they drifted down the river back to Andalusia.
As for Nine, he experienced a lot of adventure in his time. He learned Portuguese and once killed a tiger with his bare hands. He caused quite a lot of controversy during his visit to Russia in the early 80s when he tried to quietly settle down with Seven (a sleek and slender beauty, already married to Six). He did finally give Eight a call though, and they still live a happy life together in a cottage in the hills of Kentucky. They make a decent living running a coalmine, and can often be seen saddling up their giant turkey and taking a ride into town for fancy dinners and ballets.
I learned a lot about math doing this assignment, and now think I am more prepared for my major in International Studies and Spanish. What a worthwhile thing with which to occupy my time. :)
Erika Hepburn
Math 203
10 February 2009
Journal #2
Our story begins on the other side of the world under a hazy moonlit sky. Tucked into an unknown corner of an enchanted forest, beneath a willow so weepy its limbs slowly sweep the ground, lay two hooded figures leaning over a cradle. Peacefully sleeping in this cradle is no ordinary child, but behold! A newborn numerical figure, whose parents christened him Nine.
Many moons previous to this sacred night, Nine’s parents, Four and Five, met par chance in a smoky bar in southern Andalusia. It was January and the moon was in its first quarter. A few evenings later, in a clover-covered field, Nine was conceived beneath an eerie full moon. Perhaps this is what led to his luckiness. For those who already know the old tale of number Nine know that he is the first composite lucky number.
Four, Nine’s mother, knew from the moment her little Nine became an embryo that he would be unique. She believed that he perhaps he was an enchanted number as her belly glowed and glittered. Four and Five spent many a night admiring their little Nine’s silhouette performing from within her womb — pirouetting and swimming, dancing and singing in a way only a precious, innocent fetus could.
Nearly nine months had soon passed. Four and Five made their way to the enchanted forest where they wished to give birth to their son in a tranquil environment — an environment just as enchanted as their pirouetting little fetus. The trees and forest creatures whispered amongst themselves, while the elusive wood nymphs made their ways to the tops of the trees throwing glitter and sequins into the air. They created a sparkling rain in the forest as a welcome to the soon-to-be-born number.
After nine hours of labor, on the ninth hour of the ninth day of the ninth month of the year, Four gave a final push and scream, and henceforth came noble number Nine. He was a radiant and vibrant shade of green and possessed eyes as rich and red as rubies. His parents draped him in a king’s cape. The forest’s cacophony suddenly dimmed to complete mystical silence. They waited for Nine to cry laugh or scream, but he must have already realized his importance because he composed himself with such a great magnitude of dignity.
Four, Five and Nine spent the entire day together. From 9 a.m. until dusk. They ran, laughed and played — what a happy family they were, indeed! But because numbers mature much more quickly than humans, Four and Five gave Nine an inline skate, put it on his little foot and gave him a fishing pole.
“Skate away, little Nine, skate away. Live off the land like we have taught you, and know that your purpose in life is to multiply — to create larger numbers than your we ever could,” they exclaimed. “And don’t lose Eight’s phone number!” Five cried as a final piece of advice to his departing son.
Five always tried to be a man and keep his emotions nestled deep within him, but as part of him, his precious little Nine, skated off into the sunset, a single tear could be seen glistening across his cheek. He took Four’s hand and helped her into their kayak as they drifted down the river back to Andalusia.
As for Nine, he experienced a lot of adventure in his time. He learned Portuguese and once killed a tiger with his bare hands. He caused quite a lot of controversy during his visit to Russia in the early 80s when he tried to quietly settle down with Seven (a sleek and slender beauty, already married to Six). He did finally give Eight a call though, and they still live a happy life together in a cottage in the hills of Kentucky. They make a decent living running a coalmine, and can often be seen saddling up their giant turkey and taking a ride into town for fancy dinners and ballets.
2.2.09
Relentless Rambling...
Once inspired by vanity, unrequited love and a grand mix of things I now find repulsive, it is so strange to look back and see how one year can change a person more than 19 other years of living in this world.
Although looking back on some things can tie my stomach into knots, I would never take it back. Without that pain, without that suffering, without all of those mistakes I made, I would not have been crafted and slowly shaped into the person I think, and the person I would like to be, for the rest of my life.
It is sometimes difficult to a person to look back on his life and not regret mistakes — to not look back and wonder what would have happened had he taken the other, easier, more practical path. What he does not seem to realize though, is that this easier path would not have had this beautiful, raw ending. Had there been no pitfalls, no fights, no bruises nor ups nor downs, he would be a useless unshaped blob — so fat and purposeless, that he would eventually be stuck in a rut and never move, never making anything of his life.
I remember loving someone so much that it hurt when I thought about it, and it hurt even more knowing this love was not just unrequited, but had been used by this person to glorify himself, to make him feel purposeful and worthwhile. While I got to sit and feel worthless.
I remember doing that more than once. I remember handing out my love like a free gift to anyone who wanted it. I wanted to love and love and give and give, and I thought I never expected anything in return. But the more my love was carelessly taken and used, and the more that what I gave was taken and trashed, the emptier I felt. The more I wanted someone to simply LOVE me in return. And after years of this treatment, I was so trampled and taken from, I had nothing left to give, or so I thought. I felt like an empty shell. Smiling, pretending to be happy, but I felt like every one had to see through me. I felt like everyone had to know that I was not really happy anymore, that they had drained everything from me. I felt like they should see what they had done! That THEY should fix it! I was there for them! I gave and I gave and I gave! And now, finally, I needed something, and where were they?
They were gone. They left. The abandoned me because there was nothing left of me for them to take. I was no fun anymore. I was worthless. Or so I felt. And I thought it was their fault.
But slowly, I realized, it was my very own fault. I let them do this to me. Of course, I did not DESERVE to be treated that way, but I let them. I never said anything. I kept quiet, not wanting to make anything chaotic or break the peace. But not "breaking the peace" kept me from ever being at peace.
And so, I slowly started crawling up onto my feet again. I realized that in order to feel better about myself, I had to give to myself a little. That taking care of myself is not selfish. I learned that you do not always have to constantly give to be loved and that you cannot do things for other people, or even have anything to offer to anyone else, if you don't take care of yourself.
I had to speak up for myself. I'd faced a lot of trying things in my life, but surprisingly nothing had proven more difficult than breaking a seemingly OK habit that was actually a nasty habit of 19 years. I had to watch people I thought were my best friends stop hanging out with me because I was different. I had to constantly tell myself I was doing the right thing, while constantly wondering how doing the right thing could feel so awful. But doesn't the "right" thing often feel so terrible at the start? But the more I took care of myself, the more I realized that friends lost over this were not really friends in the first place. And as I continued to realize this I learned even more. I saw that it is OK to set certain expectations of the people you surround yourself with. Slowly, I became happier and happier with myself. I became more confident and I was on a slow path to recovery. I started to heal... and can still feel myself healing every day.
It's a warm feeling inside of my heart, even reaching into the depths of my soul... cheesy as it may be, I can find no other words within me to describe this healing process.
As a matter of fact, my trip to the Czech Republic over winter break was such a huge part of that healing process. I went there for 2 weeks with only $250 in cash. My grandma forgot to deposit my check into my bank account while I was there, and no one in the Czech Republic knew that, until maybe the very end. But these lovely Czech (and Slovak!) people took me into their homes, they drove me and took care of me, they constantly insisted on paying for me and every single day there was chilly and cold, but all of their actions warmed my heart and healed so many unseen wounds (Wounds I am sure they had no idea they were aiding). For the first time in my life, other people were REALLY going out of their way to do some absolutely amazing things for me. (And I miss them all so very much).
The point is, since I made the decision to surround myself with people who treat me right, since I made the decision to stand up for myself — respect myself, really, my life has completely changed for the better.
Changing yourself, changing something huge about your personality, something that has identified you since you were BORN practically, is such a difficult thing to do. And for me, it was even harder, because I did not think any of those things about my personality were bad.
It's hard to see the huge flaws in trusting and loving everyone you meet. It's hard to find a flaw in always offering to pay for everything for everyone. It's hard to see the wrong in smiling without cessation, and so difficult to come to the realization that not everyone is good deep down, not everyone can be trusted, and that you are always going to get hurt. And if you aren't taking care of yourself to begin with, and especially if you never expect the possibility of being hurt, the surprise and the blow of the hit might just nearly knock you down and wear you out every time.
There is a fine line to walk with all of these things. To love with caution, but not too cautiously. To trust with caution, but not so cautiously that you keep everything locked up to yourself — never allowing anyone else into your world to see all the pleasure and beauty you behold. To smile and reveal a part of yourself, without the insane connotation of "I'll take off my pants for you in a second if you lie and say you love me for just a while." Haha.. ok... perhaps I'm taking that one a little too far, I know.
That was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life, to change myself. To change these traits that had wounded me, without completely losing those friendly qualities. And it is still an on-going process. It is still a struggle at times to speak up. I still try to speak and nothing comes out sometimes. I still make some of the same stupid mistakes. But I learn. And sometimes you do just have to make a mistake again and again and again until you understand not go to there anymore — for me it was years of the same thing before I understood... and even now I still don't completely.
But this world, ever since Eve pursed her lips around that juicy piece of mango — I like to think the forbidden fruit was a mango — has never been a utopia, and sadly, never will reach that point of peaceful perfection.
I learn and grow every day.
Webster says:
To grow up, v.
a. to be or become fully grown; attain mental or physical maturity.
If reaching a complete mental maturity means being grown-up, then I honestly do not ever want to grow up. I want to grow and grow and grow up past the giant red oaks, past that waning crescent moon, further than our burning sun and the non-existent planet of Pluto, past the Andromeda Galaxy and past all of this and all of you. :) I want to learn and attain wisdom and sculpt myself daily, all while full well realizing that it's impossible to not get hurt. But also always keeping close to my heart the idea that always from the pain, grow millions of ideas and lessons so full of pulchritude.
Although looking back on some things can tie my stomach into knots, I would never take it back. Without that pain, without that suffering, without all of those mistakes I made, I would not have been crafted and slowly shaped into the person I think, and the person I would like to be, for the rest of my life.
It is sometimes difficult to a person to look back on his life and not regret mistakes — to not look back and wonder what would have happened had he taken the other, easier, more practical path. What he does not seem to realize though, is that this easier path would not have had this beautiful, raw ending. Had there been no pitfalls, no fights, no bruises nor ups nor downs, he would be a useless unshaped blob — so fat and purposeless, that he would eventually be stuck in a rut and never move, never making anything of his life.
I remember loving someone so much that it hurt when I thought about it, and it hurt even more knowing this love was not just unrequited, but had been used by this person to glorify himself, to make him feel purposeful and worthwhile. While I got to sit and feel worthless.
I remember doing that more than once. I remember handing out my love like a free gift to anyone who wanted it. I wanted to love and love and give and give, and I thought I never expected anything in return. But the more my love was carelessly taken and used, and the more that what I gave was taken and trashed, the emptier I felt. The more I wanted someone to simply LOVE me in return. And after years of this treatment, I was so trampled and taken from, I had nothing left to give, or so I thought. I felt like an empty shell. Smiling, pretending to be happy, but I felt like every one had to see through me. I felt like everyone had to know that I was not really happy anymore, that they had drained everything from me. I felt like they should see what they had done! That THEY should fix it! I was there for them! I gave and I gave and I gave! And now, finally, I needed something, and where were they?
They were gone. They left. The abandoned me because there was nothing left of me for them to take. I was no fun anymore. I was worthless. Or so I felt. And I thought it was their fault.
But slowly, I realized, it was my very own fault. I let them do this to me. Of course, I did not DESERVE to be treated that way, but I let them. I never said anything. I kept quiet, not wanting to make anything chaotic or break the peace. But not "breaking the peace" kept me from ever being at peace.
And so, I slowly started crawling up onto my feet again. I realized that in order to feel better about myself, I had to give to myself a little. That taking care of myself is not selfish. I learned that you do not always have to constantly give to be loved and that you cannot do things for other people, or even have anything to offer to anyone else, if you don't take care of yourself.
I had to speak up for myself. I'd faced a lot of trying things in my life, but surprisingly nothing had proven more difficult than breaking a seemingly OK habit that was actually a nasty habit of 19 years. I had to watch people I thought were my best friends stop hanging out with me because I was different. I had to constantly tell myself I was doing the right thing, while constantly wondering how doing the right thing could feel so awful. But doesn't the "right" thing often feel so terrible at the start? But the more I took care of myself, the more I realized that friends lost over this were not really friends in the first place. And as I continued to realize this I learned even more. I saw that it is OK to set certain expectations of the people you surround yourself with. Slowly, I became happier and happier with myself. I became more confident and I was on a slow path to recovery. I started to heal... and can still feel myself healing every day.
It's a warm feeling inside of my heart, even reaching into the depths of my soul... cheesy as it may be, I can find no other words within me to describe this healing process.
As a matter of fact, my trip to the Czech Republic over winter break was such a huge part of that healing process. I went there for 2 weeks with only $250 in cash. My grandma forgot to deposit my check into my bank account while I was there, and no one in the Czech Republic knew that, until maybe the very end. But these lovely Czech (and Slovak!) people took me into their homes, they drove me and took care of me, they constantly insisted on paying for me and every single day there was chilly and cold, but all of their actions warmed my heart and healed so many unseen wounds (Wounds I am sure they had no idea they were aiding). For the first time in my life, other people were REALLY going out of their way to do some absolutely amazing things for me. (And I miss them all so very much).
The point is, since I made the decision to surround myself with people who treat me right, since I made the decision to stand up for myself — respect myself, really, my life has completely changed for the better.
Changing yourself, changing something huge about your personality, something that has identified you since you were BORN practically, is such a difficult thing to do. And for me, it was even harder, because I did not think any of those things about my personality were bad.
It's hard to see the huge flaws in trusting and loving everyone you meet. It's hard to find a flaw in always offering to pay for everything for everyone. It's hard to see the wrong in smiling without cessation, and so difficult to come to the realization that not everyone is good deep down, not everyone can be trusted, and that you are always going to get hurt. And if you aren't taking care of yourself to begin with, and especially if you never expect the possibility of being hurt, the surprise and the blow of the hit might just nearly knock you down and wear you out every time.
There is a fine line to walk with all of these things. To love with caution, but not too cautiously. To trust with caution, but not so cautiously that you keep everything locked up to yourself — never allowing anyone else into your world to see all the pleasure and beauty you behold. To smile and reveal a part of yourself, without the insane connotation of "I'll take off my pants for you in a second if you lie and say you love me for just a while." Haha.. ok... perhaps I'm taking that one a little too far, I know.
That was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life, to change myself. To change these traits that had wounded me, without completely losing those friendly qualities. And it is still an on-going process. It is still a struggle at times to speak up. I still try to speak and nothing comes out sometimes. I still make some of the same stupid mistakes. But I learn. And sometimes you do just have to make a mistake again and again and again until you understand not go to there anymore — for me it was years of the same thing before I understood... and even now I still don't completely.
But this world, ever since Eve pursed her lips around that juicy piece of mango — I like to think the forbidden fruit was a mango — has never been a utopia, and sadly, never will reach that point of peaceful perfection.
I learn and grow every day.
Webster says:
To grow up, v.
a. to be or become fully grown; attain mental or physical maturity.
If reaching a complete mental maturity means being grown-up, then I honestly do not ever want to grow up. I want to grow and grow and grow up past the giant red oaks, past that waning crescent moon, further than our burning sun and the non-existent planet of Pluto, past the Andromeda Galaxy and past all of this and all of you. :) I want to learn and attain wisdom and sculpt myself daily, all while full well realizing that it's impossible to not get hurt. But also always keeping close to my heart the idea that always from the pain, grow millions of ideas and lessons so full of pulchritude.
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