There are days when I feel like a vagabond- wandering place to place. When I was younger, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, I thought I knew what that feeling was, what it meant. I was born with the traveler's bone and John Denver's music in my heart. I was restless. Longing for an adventure of brave and daring and other cultures, countries. To be surrounded by the beauty the world possesses which haunts a writer and poet with dangerous alluring. When I was twelve, Europe called out among the hills of Ireland and the bold histories of Rome. Older and Africa and my heart were torn by this feeling that I was missing someone, something, so much, so dear to me, in a part of the world I'd never been to. It surprised me and intrigued me. And the feeling faded. I fell into despair when I realized that many of my teenage dreams seemed to be just that- dreams. I am the forever idealist. Nothing is worse than when mind plans do not come to fruition. But I grew older and I grew wiser and John Denver's music still stirred my heart quietly..
Flash-forward to a twenty year old college student with no job, driving 90 minutes back and forth every day for extended education that will help get a job to pay for all the gas spent and books bought and tuition paid. That degree will end up being helpful, but the girl? Knowing her, she'll still end up making minimum wage and, I guess in some ways, she's still holding on to that traveler's bone and the dreams that made up her childhood of adventure and working alongside people who need her, love her, want her to be apart of their lives.
Looking at me now is formidable. I never thought about twenty or my twenties. I alway figured when I was that age I'd be traveling Europe so there's no point in thinking about them. Now I feel more like a vagabond than I ever did before. Sure, I'm still at home, but mama's been gone the past month helping someone dear to us and I think when she left, home went with her. I text her every day and call her every other, and see her sometimes in the middle of the week, but it's different. Me and my brother have to depend on each other. And last week was the first time I've had a hot meal in a month. It's the good kind of hard, trying to make it through the day, knowing you're not really coming home at the end of it. Home is where my mom is right now, and that's ok. But the aching overwhelming exhaustion and feeling of no certain future haunt me. There's all kinds of ways a dice rolls and I'm lucky I'm still here and my heart is still beating and my lungs know how to breath spring deep inside and I have a warm bed and a funny puppy and a brother who makes me think and a cracked iphone that still works and an insane family who drop everything to help someone hurting. My vagabond self still feels lost, still hasn't quite come to terms with it's body and soul and what it's meant to do. It's hard. But it's good. I think we're all vagabonds in our own way, creating beauty and poetry by how we live. This wide eyed poet with joy- the only thing to cling to- will keep moving, keep moving, keep climbing, keep laughing. It is good.
Much love
xxx
3/16/15
3/9/15
selfie fail, but who cares?
Sunshine, and sunburns on the first "hey it feels like spring!" day of the year. March, bipolar weather, daylight savings time, and daffodils mean warm dayz are around the corner! Also, weekends are like the best thing ever.
Much love, guys!
xx
2/1/15
Embrace
2015. Fresh, new, odd numbered year, welcome. Odd numbers work really well. They stand up, shout, and make people notice. Even numbers are thought provoking. That's my theory anyway. There are so many 'news' in this year already. Maybe not ones I can actually point out, but rather the feeling you get when something good is close by. Or maybe it's the fact that I'll be 21 this year and I'm weirding out. Odd numbers right?!
Lately, I have been pondering hard things. Things about myself, about life, and about everything I have ever believed. The past year and a half were difficult. Much happened and much hurt deep. I walked out of those times broken and bruised.
But the Lord said joy.
Right in the very beginning, He said joy. Hit me hard with it. Opened a door of grace, walked me through it and shouted joy. I went to Haiti. I learned things I could not comprehend, but knew I needed to follow. I came back, and life was still hard and hurt. So I shut down and kept wishing joy could just happen.
But the Lord said open.
Right in the very beginning, He said open. College happened. My worried, stressed out self dreaded other people and wanted to study and quit humanity forever. I wanted to make a name for myself and hide from reality. Ironically absurd, but introverts can understand a bit. Funny thing is, I met people. People who were (guess what?!) hurting too. The socially awkward, talented, weird, happy, cool, amazing people around me became my friends. My heart cracked open a bit.
And the Lord said embrace.
Right in the very beginning, He said embrace. At the start of 2015. I wanted to define this year with a strong, bold word. One that would challenge me and teach me and grow me. I thought of several words, but embrace came in quick and fast and surprised me. I didn't want embrace. It sounded too weak. But I couldn't think of any one more perfect. So I claimed it. There was something freeing in claiming embrace as my own. It lifted up my face and it's taught me to forgive and it's helping me see how joy is an action word and open is a habit and embrace is how you live every moment. And that was all in January.
Sometimes you can't wrap your head around things, but you can open your eyes, embrace opportunities and smile joy. That's what I am finding. That's what the Lord keeps showing me. That's what I've been called to for years. A life of full abandon and laughter and action and joy. That's what I think we're all made for. Those rough spots in the road, the ones that gave us bruises and left scars, they really are a means to lift our heads and open our hearts wider. It's not an instinct, but I want to make it one.
Maybe this is all a month late but it's 2015 and it's a year for brave. For joy. For that feeling in your gut that this is were you should be. For loving people. For crazy, beautiful, wild, courage and laughter, dangerous and free. 2015 and it's a year for living every second with abandon and open and sharing stories and traveling and trusting. For hope. A year for grace and good and conquering fear and the impossible. 2015 and it's a year to embrace.
1/20/15
street kid
So my brother is a model. And he can pull of the street kid punk like nobody's business. I'm cool with that.
