Chasing/Facing/Embracing Your Fears

What are you afraid of?

Anytime that question pops up, I always answer it the same way.

1) Losing someone I love
2) Not living up to my potential

Those are my deepest fears. Sure, I'm afraid of things like snakes and spiders. I have a raging case of vertigo. I'm not necessarily looking forward to my own death. But nothing strikes the immobilizing chill of fear in my heart like those two biggies listed above.

Bettina, one of the characters in Six Feet Under (played by Kathy Bates), once told Ruth (as played by Frances Conroy) that being afraid of something is a good reason to do it. I tend to agree with her. I don't think that I need to go out and provoke a snake in an effort to face my fear of those slimy reptiles. I think there are some damn good reasons to be afraid of snakes, or at least the poisonous ones. Not to mention the ones who can squeeze the shit out of you.

It's not about being a daredevil. It's about living. Giving each day your best shot.

***

I hate calling my dad on the phone. I've never enjoyed it, but ever since he's been in the nursing home, I've developed an even stronger aversion to it. I appreciate hearing his voice, because it clues me in to how he's doing. I like touching base with him, because on some level it may make a difference to him (and it certainly does to me). But I don't look forward to making the weekly call. It makes me feel heavy. And sad. Because each minute-long conversation reminds me of how I've always longed to spill my guts to him and have him understand. We will never have that kind of relationship. It hurts me each time I re-realize that.

But still, I call. And I tell him I love him. I used to be so scared to say those words to him, because I never knew if he would say them back. I guess I had a good reason to be afraid, because he rarely returns the sentiment. However, he always has when I've needed him to.

But now that fear seems kind of silly to me. I can love my dad, and I can tell him so. Sure, I love hearing it from him. But it's more important that he hears it from me. I don't want him to feel alone.

So when I call, and when I say those three magical words, I'm giving our relationship its best shot. I don't want to have regrets.

***

My husband is my hero. He always looks embarrassed when I tell him that. He works with developmentally disabled adults as a (sort of) social worker. When he decided to get his Master's degree in Rehabilitation Counseling, I was very excited for him, because if anyone should be working with those less fortunate, it's Roy. He is as steadfast and patient as a rock. A very caring, loving, gentle rock.

Back in September, we went to a sports expo for people with disabilities on campus. I saw some amazing, wonderful things.

Wall climbing



Baseball





Basketball




Kayaking




I spent the majority of that day blinking back tears, thinking of how incredible it is for people with disabilities to be able to do the things that we take for granted. (I am especially rooting for the young man below.)



And then I did cry when I realized that these are the people Roy works with everyday. It's so hard to be faced with those who are disabled in some way. They remind us of our own fragility. And yet my husband helps them every single day. I love him for that.

***

My main goal in life is to live. I've taken a lot of risks in my 30 years on this planet, and I don't intend on stopping now. I'm not going to max out our credit cards (that's just stupid) or parachute out of a plane (well, maybe someday). But I'm going to call my dad and tell him I love him. I'm going to admit when I'm wrong and try to make amends. I'm going to write and take photos. I'm going to continue to take huge chances, like quitting my day job. I'm going to pursue what makes me happy. I'm going to do what's best for my family.

I may not ever win a Pulitzer. I may not be Mom of the Year. But I want to leave behind a legacy of courage. When I see those people with disabilities doing the best with what they've got, it makes absolutely no sense for me to be afraid of failing. Because I will fail sometimes.

I just never want to stop trying. I never want fear to get in the way of living.

***

So, tell me. What are you afraid of? And what are you going to do about it?

i heart youtube, volume six

Time for more of my favorite videos of the week!

I saw this one in one of my classes last year but was reintroduced to it on The Year in Pictures. It's one of those that really makes you reconsider the world around you, if only for one second.




This next one features Amy Walker, who has 24 different accents. I found it on A Cup of Jo.




And finally, from Cute Overload:

i heart youtube, volume five

Once again, my favorite videos of the week!

I found this first one via Aline's blog. Hilarious.




This next one is from my love for you is a stampede of horses, just for all you other creative types out there. Be warned: it's a little creepy (but way cool).




Lastly, I found this one on d. Sharp's journal. So awesome!

i heart youtube, volume two

My favorite videos that I have found or rediscovered this week!

Very socially conscious set to very good music, from Black Eiffel (who always posts the best videos):




Very funny, from Cute Overload:




I can't remember how I originally found this one or whose blog I saw this on again recently. It is so cute (definitely worth a watch or seven).

A Healthy Dose of Idealism

I feel the need to put down my thoughts now more than ever. This will probably end up being a long and twisty tale with an ever-forming conclusion. But I want to remember these feelings, because I will not always have them.

I began graduate school in 2005 with the hopes that it would answer my burning questions about what I should do with my life. That is one of the more important reasons I went to grad school, actually. Sure, I also wanted to attend grad school for educational/personal enrichment/job reasons, but I also felt the need to put off the big decision of choosing a career. You see, by the time I was set to graduate with my BA, I realized that I wasn't any closer to knowing what I wanted to do with my life (meaning I didn't know what realistic career I wanted to pursue). So I figured I might as well continue on with my education.

And so I did. I took classes on rhetoric, the contemporary American family in novels, theory and criticism, and eco-poetics. I slaved over multiple drafts of papers, cried over writer's block, and tried to understand key theories in the literature and composition fields. Somewhere along the way, I got engaged and then married. During that time, I was highly distracted and unfocused: the wedding trumped my education by far.

I began this school year the same distracted student I'd been for a year or more, only now I was married. At first I really wasn't feeling the school vibe: I truly just wanted to stay at home with Roy and enjoy being married. Over time, something other than newlywed bliss began to stir in me again. It was this little cry of desperation deep inside, begging me not to ignore it any longer. I'm not sure what to call this thing, but its cry got louder and louder as certain things happened. First, I wrote this poem, the first decent poem I'd written in a very long time. Then Roy bought me my camera. Then I took a creative writing class. Then I signed up for my internship in an advanced poetry writing class. Then I began writing a poem and posting it with a photo every day for project april. And while all this was going on, I began reading different blogs that began to inspire and influence me. Oddly enough, quite a few of them are design blogs.

And then, that voice of desperation was silenced as it all became clear to me - what I should be doing with my life, that is. And oddly enough, I've known this entire time. I've known my whole life even! I've just been ignoring it for the past few years. I've been denying myself my dreams.

I need to do something creative with my life. I have been writing since I was a little kid; I have always known that writing was my calling. I got a lot of encouragement as a child, but as I got older, people stopped encouraging me so much. As a matter of fact, when I would talk to people about wanting to be a writer, most would say, "Okay, so what are you really going to do?" As if writing isn't a good enough choice for a career! Phooey.

Well, after hearing that over and over, I eventually started to lose hope that I would be able to make my living from writing. And ever since then, I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out what I'm going to do career-wise. I've been looking for that perfect realistic career that I enjoy that will also afford me the opportunity to write on the side. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like I'll be settling if I do anything but devote myself to my passions.

Yes, passions - as it turns out, I actually feel just as passionate about photography as I do about writing. And while I know I'm not great at either one, I know that I have good moments and that I will get better the more I work at both. And frankly, I think it's silly that these things that I love so much have to be put on the back burner in favor of my crappy job that pays the rent. It feels like a trap, one that leaves me so tired by the end of the day that I don't have the time or energy to devote to my passions. I have been keeping myself trapped for years, and I don't want to do it anymore.

So I have decided that with my graduation (which will hopefully happen in December), I am going to make a valiant effort to find my own little niche. I don't know yet what that niche is or what it will consist of. I know that it will be hard and that I will probably have to continue to have a day job that will pay the bills (at least for awhile), but I don't want to settle for the sake of money, benefits, or resume-building. I don't think it's too much to ask that I look forward to the weekdays as much as I look forward to the weekends. I want to love what I'm doing for a living; otherwise, what is the point of even doing it?

Someone once told me "Be true to the art, and the art will be true to you." And I believe this now more than ever. Now that I am actively writing and being creative again, the world feels like a benevolent spirit that's ready to show me good things. Life seems to be responding to the choice I've made to re-explore my creative side. For the first time in a very long time, everything feels so utterly....possible.

This is why I have been feeling content. While it totally sucks that I am sitting in the same beige office day after day, pushing paper and getting sucked into office drama, I know that there is an end to this misery. And while I do (and will) get discouraged, one thing I don't (and won't) do is give up. I am a go-getter at heart, and when I want something, I am very good at making it happen. As cheesy as it sounds, I need to hold onto some simple truths: 1) Life is too short to settle for less than what I want, 2) It's important to do something meaningful with my life, and 3) I just need to believe in myself. If I can just hang onto these feelings of possibility and realize that there is a place for me in this world, then I know I can break free and do something I love and actually be successful at it.

I am ready.

i heart youtube, volume one

My favorite videos of the week!

My friend Jessica sent me this one:




This one's from the wonderful Cute Overload:




And this last one I found via Black Eiffel:

Lately

I have been busy but content.

I have been stressed, but inside me there is this feeling of inner peace that I don't quite understand.

I have been inspired by the world around me and the world within me.

I have written some crappy poetry for project april, but I am happy just to be writing at all.

I feel that someday, perhaps sooner than I ever anticipated, I will finally take the chance I need to take in order to do something worthwhile with my life.

It's a strange place I'm in, but I like it.

This hits a little too close to home.

Thanks again, Black Eiffel.

smells like teen spirit

Today I am wearing my new shoes, blue jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, a grey hoodie, a spoon ring, and minimal makeup. My hair is long and straight. I listened to this on the way to work.

I am a dead ringer for myself when I was 14 and a freshman in high school - almost 15 years later.

Everyday is like Sunday...

Well, it's Super Bowl Sunday, and it's dark, rainy, and quiet here at home. Roy left hours ago for a Super Bowl gathering. I stayed home to work on random things for school and am not anywhere near finished. I spent the whole week being entirely too productive, so I'm not beating myself up over the dirty laundry, the sink full of dishes, or the unfinished school work. Instead I've rather enjoyed reading in bed and watching the entire apartment slowly darken as the day progressed.

Currently I'm reading Corpus Christi by Bret Anthony Johnston, who was a creative writing professor at my school until he got a job at Harvard a couple of years ago. I had the privilege of meeting him my first year of graduate school when he came to my research class as a guest speaker. I found him very inspiring and down to earth. Once I learned that he was from south Texas like me, I felt an automatic kinship with him like I do when I meet other people from the South. I haven't spoken to him since but will have the opportunity to again, as he is coming to my creative writing class as a guest speaker (which is why I'm reading his book).

Anyway, Corpus Christi is a book of short stories, all of which are set in and around - you guessed it - Corpus Christi, TX. (Corpus Christi is about an hour and a half away from my hometown.) Reading these stories makes my childhood and early adulthood flash before my eyes. If you couple that with the fact that I talked to my mom on the phone for an hour and a half today, then you'll understand why I have a major case of nostalgia for the place that I was itching to leave as a 21-year-old.

Texas isn't all bad. It's filled with wide open spaces, thunderstorms, and BBQ stands. Most importantly, my family lives there. And today part of me feels like there's nothing I'd rather do than sit on the porch of my huge childhood home and hang out with my mom. She told me today that she's thought of coming out to California on her spring break to spend some time with me. If only her spring break coincided with mine, then that would be a real option. I hate logistics. I miss my mom and would love to see her again - sooner rather than later. Sometimes it just doesn't seem fair that my heart led me so far away from Texas. And because of this, I often feel conflicted. Texas isn't the place for me, but I have an undeniable connection to it and always will.

To continue on the subject of following my heart, this weather makes me want to pack up and move to Portland right now. I simply cannot wait until we are able to move there. (I am crossing my fingers that we will both be able to find jobs there.) I love everything about that place. It just feels like where I'm supposed to be, although I wouldn't object to ending up in northern California or Washington either. Part of me is sad and scared at the thought of leaving southern California. I've only been here 6.5 years, but I've built a whole life for myself.

I don't suppose life is ever easy or uncomplicated. Lately, though, I keep trying to peer into the future. I keep wondering if I will ever look back on my time here in our snug little apartment in our charming neighborhood and think about how simple it all was for us back when we were a couple of poor grad students who'd just gotten married and were working crappy jobs just to pay the rent.

I have a feeling that life will only get more chaotic and more rewarding.