Well it seems I've been deceived

It has been a real treat to be home. It's been amazing to see old friends, visit with new ones, and rediscover my old haunts around town. I've taken to running to the public beach two towns over and sitting in the sand for a while watching the waves and people chase their toddlers up and down the beach playing chicken with the waves. It's wonderful to be home but I'm finding something haunting about it that I have yet to shake.

When a relationship ends, sympathetic spectators are quick to pat you on the back and tell you how glad they are that you've learned something from the experience. While I frequently arm myself with such convictions, I've been thinking of late how tired I am of feeling like the very beach upon which I rest my sneakers.

Family, friends, lovers, strangers, and trespassers alike have left traces of themselves in the form of sandcastles, doodles, and the occasional trail of footprints passing through. There are memories I like to sit with once in a while and soak in their warmth through remembrance. It's never much but it's enough to keep me going so long as I don't dwell in them for too long. Being back here--being home--keeps me close to the company of ghosts I keep and these memories with which I like to sit once in a while have been in my mind from the first morning stretch to when I close my eyes at night. They're at their worst when I'm out for a run.

It seems strange to be haunted by happy memories but this nagging fear in the pit of my stomach suggests crimes of more than missing, wishing, and remembering.

It is also completely unhelpful that City and Colour's "Confessions" has been stuck in my head for days on end. I will shake this.

learn something new every day

If there's one thing I always say when talking about my family it's this: we're complicated. I can never keep up with the various multi-decade long family feuds, who's speaking to whom, who swore they'd kill the other on sight, etc. We're Irish, German, French, Austrian, etc. and quite dramatic apparently. We're a family in which different groups gather for the various obligatory holidays and that's about it.

This afternoon, a few members of my family got together to eat dinner with a semi-long-lost uncle from Claifornia I haven't visited with since I was twelve. This afternoon has been really nice, an actual family occasion (granted there are only 5 of us here) where uncles and aunts came over to exchange hugs, stories, and copious amounts of food and where I unexpectedly learned a bit more about myself.

Today, I learned I'm related to Leslie LaGroves, a graduate of MIT, West Point, and the project manager "master mind" of the Manhattan project "responsible for killing all those Japanese people" as my aunt phrased it. LaGroves was also responsible for the CIA's operational policy of sharing information on a need to know basis, a topic of much discussion at the dinner table--more so than our family's hand in the dropping of the atomic bomb. Casual tidbit of dinner conversation I'm sure. Why hasn't anyone mentioned this before?

I also learned...as my other uncle pointed out, that I have double jointed thumbs. Sweet.

you might roll your eyes at this

For all my optimistic rambling, I've become much more quiet than I used to be and there are days I "live inside my head" as my friend scott likes to say. Scotty lives almost entirely inside his head. He swears it's safer there where you're freer from judgement and guilt. I can't really agree on my part but perhaps that's the difference between us. It's not as gloomy as one might think. That very phrase "living inside your head" has the tendency to incur sidelong glances and raised eyebrows everyone save the most understanding of friends. It's more pensive than anything and all I can think about is that line from "My Favorite Chords" by the Weakerthans that repeats over and over in my head:

"You are a radio. You are an open door. I am a faulty string of blue Christmas lights. You swim through frequencies. You let that stranger in, as I'm blinking off and on and off again."

More than anything I keep remembering the summers that have come before and I crave with an intensity I can't describe to relive every waking moment of the past four years of my life (the good, the bad, and the ugly) if only just to have for one second the chance to feel that kind of love again.

The most important relationship you'll ever have

I played catch up with my best girl friend from home over salads at Panera's yesterday. We dished over school, grades, guys, and that pesky ex-boyfriend my friend couldn't seem to get away from. She'd met lots of guys at school but she always seemed to compare them to him--no one got her the way he did and although he wasn't always so great (we all do seem to have our moments) settling for him seemed like a much better idea than being alone.

I couldn't help but ask why. Why was "settling" so much better than being "single" and what could being in a relationship offer you that you can't find in the comfort of yourself or a close group of friends--besides the obvious and how important is sex to you that you'll stick around in a relationship that does more mental and emotional damage than good?

My friend didn't have an answer and balked at my suggestion that this time could be time taken for herself, to develop the most important relationship anyone will ever have in their entire lives...more important than the ones with your parents, more important than the ones with your extended family and friends, and far more important than those connections with your myspace/facebook friends list. I suggested that she could take this time to develop a stronger relationship with herself by spending time doing what interests her rather than worry about finding, pleasing, and maintaining the interest of someone else.

How much time, really, do we devote to the persuit of others? How much energy do we spend wondering if they like us, if we're attractive to them, good enough, intelligent enough, or just enough? As women, how much time do we then spend trying to live up to those expectations by becoming less of ourselves--a smaller size and a more conplacent voice--in the disillusioned mindset that if we change ourselves and our bodies, others will change how they treat us.

We are not empty voids or parts of something needing to be made whole. We don't need to be in a relationship as confirmation that we're good people worthy of someone else's time, energy, and affection. I feel that everyone is deserving of that and I personally don't have that incessant need to go looking for someone else to make my life--my self--any better than it already is.

Now as for me, I feel like women could spend every minute of every day in efforts solely for others or just thinking about it and that's not to say that living a little for others is a horrible idea but I think it's important to remember to live a little each day just for yourself. Even if that little bit means unpacking all your crap from school, jumping on your bed, and taking a nap in the sun outside your window. :)

All that being said--and I feel almost compelled to write this after that near declaration of single status--I don't think there's anything amiss in being with someone who compliments your life and perhaps adds a little more color to it.

My best friend is an amazing, talented, and driven woman who I hope one day encounters someone who appreciates her hard-working and down to earth spirit. I think she deserves that.

Last night I curled up in bed and did something I haven't had time to do in months--I picked up one of my mother's magazine's (this month's edition) and read for fun. I came across an article about a forty-something woman struggling with her own concepts of aging. The woman she saw in the mirror just didn't fit with the woman she felt and thought she was. She complained about it to her father who stood her before a mirror with his hands on her shoulders and explained that we will forever be unable to see our true selves because "our spark" gets lost in our reflections. Nothing will ever compare to the experience of being and we will never see ourselves as we are unless we learn to look through the eyes of another.

I had a boyfriend in high school who used to call me "beautiful soul" in German. Although his part in my life was drastically short-lived, the name resonated in my head and became something I unintentionally aspired to be. I asked him why he'd begun calling me that (although I'm now sure it was just something he did with girls) he simply replied that "You are exactly who you are and you don't pretend or want to be anything else...that's beautiful." Now, putting all of S****'s later transgressions aside (he did drugs, dropped out of high school, traveled across country, came back and asked if I was disappointed I hadn't tried to change him--the answer, no), maybe our 15 year old selves were onto something back then. If nothing else, he gave me my first glimpse of what it was to see yourself through the eyes of a much-less-critical someone else and recognize positive attributes--something we often forget to do.

It's amazing how easy it is to forget that the people we see ourselves as in our mind and within the mirror often lack that intangible "spark" and fire that others are able to recognize. We forget to give ourselves credit for all of our effort, good intentions, and for being...well...ourselves. Who can be yourself better than you? :)

I've learned...

It's inevitable that you'll encounter a number of toads along the way. Some might help you learn a little more about yourself--how your strength and resiliency can shine through even in the most unhappy circumstances. Others will teach you a thing or two about what you don't particularly care for in another individual.

Sometimes toads can be decieving and weeding out genuine people from those who play pretend can take time/energy. But in some cases, thankfully, possible toads weed themselves out for you. For that, I'm glad.

karma

Try as I might, I couldn't avoid pulling an all nighter for my enameling class. I could have left a few hours ago ready to hand in some half-assed piece--after all, it's no longer my major--but I wanted to end on a high note and do this right. For the very first time (ever), I've made a piece I'm proud of. The plan held my attention and for some reason, I was pretty motivated to see it through to the best of my abilities. Of course, now that the pressure is off, I catch my second wind. No matter. I'm very nearly done and excited to catch what little sleep I can.

Watching the sunrise is surreal.

I've had so much on my mind the past few days it's been helpful to occupy my hands to help clear my head. I would try to articulate just what I mean--what's on my mind, but I lack explanation.

At the very least, I am excited to go home for the first time in a very long time. I'm excited for my summer job in Maryland (amazing, a perfect fit) and for my new job and new position on campus when I return in the fall. So much is going on--endings, new beginnings--I'm struggling to wrap my head around it. Lack of sleep is probably not helping but I don't have time to crash until late tonight. I'll survive somehow.

Finer Feelings

I found it strange to walk by teams of custodial workers washing positive chalk messages of unity, love, and peace from the sidewalks and cement walls this morning.

Why are we so quick to rinse these away?

Modern Love: The College Essay Contest

A few months ago, my mother sent me an article from the NYTimes advertising a college essay contest they were holding, asking for "the plain truth" about what love is like for our generation. While I didn't end up writing or submitting my own essay, I did pause to consider my own opinions considering the subject and came up surprisingly short.

There are things about which, at some point in time, you feel you understand completely--that you are an expert and the only one to have had such miraculous revelations. As time passes and experience wears on your optimistic naivete, you come to understand just how little you know about the subject.

If nothing else, I am fortunate enough to have known it once--maybe, one day, I'll know it again. In the meantime, here's what the winning author had to say.