angelina ballerina

Celtic Daily Prayer

2007-05-14T15:31:00.000-07:00

From The Book (p. 774):

When mystery hides Thee from the sight of faith and hope;
When pain turns even love to dust;
When life is bitter to the taste and our song of joy dies down to silence;
Then, Father, do for us that which is past our power to do for ourselves.

Break through our darkness with Thy light.
Show us Thyself in Jesus suffering on a Tree,
Rising from the grave,
Reigning from a throne with all power and love for us unchanging.

So shall our fear be gone and our feet set upon a radiant path.

(Psalm 80: 4-7, Isaiah 54: 6-8, Revelation 7: 13-17.)

Will You See?

2007-04-14T10:18:00.000-07:00

I am so tired of being a box. I don’t have six sides and I’m not square, so why do you box me? I am more than what you think, trust me. I have breasts and a vagina but that’s not all. My vagina does not define me for you. I am a woman but I am no woman like you think I am. Don’t take me into your brain, your bedroom, and play chess on my ass. I am not your toy or your game or the hand that strokes your ego. If I am beautiful, don’t hold it against me. And don’t hold me to it. My ugly is my harbor. I am lovely and brave and I am dark and afraid. I will love but I will hate. I will harm you and I will like it. I will watch you bleed. I will feel sorrow and shame and will hunger for repentance. I will cry and ache. I will swear to love you and I will stab my heart with your bloody sword. I am a warrior, a shepherd, a queen. I am a child, a storm, and a blaze. I am both a womb and a tomb. I will breathe life and I will suffocate. I am death and resurrection. I am no god but I will try. I will bring warmth and the blueness of ice. I will make you wonder. You will starve with dissatisfaction, trust me. You will see my back but at least you will see me at all.

You will see my brilliance, my grace. You will find joy in my laughter and rest in my love. You will scream with frustration and dance with celebration. You will love me and you will want to leave me. You will fight for me and against me. You will find wealth and glory. Free me from this box. Free me from this box and dance with me. I am more than what you think. I am not my vagina. I am this and I am this and I am this. I am not that. Will You See? I am not that.

Blog Help?

2007-02-23T11:28:00.000-08:00

Hey fellow bloggers!
I need help. For some reason my blog now says "Bryan & Angela," has a different picture, and has the set up of our wedblog. How did this happen? How can I change it? Any ideas? HELP. I want to be differentiated from our wedblog!!!

A Beautiful Woman

2007-02-22T17:25:00.000-08:00

A Beautiful Woman

She sits before the class. She’s probably 60, with Mardi Gras beads around her neck for Fat Tuesday. She’s spunky, she’s fun, and she’s inviting. She looks like my old kindergarten teacher. Her hair is auburn with a bit of gray. Her mouth wrinkles with years of laugh lines.

She has AIDS.

She was an elementary school teacher. She loves children. Her husband worked in a factory and was a blood donor whenever given the opportunity for the paid time off and free juice and cookies. He found out over the telephone that he was HIV positive. She got tested. At 31, she too was HIV positive.

He had an encounter that contracted him the virus. A one night stand, a one time thing. She took care of him until he died. He was 39.

When asked how and why she stayed with him she said, “I loved him. He was my partner. I’m more pissed at him for leaving me here than having the affair.”

She went on to offer advice on anger: “I’m a fan of holding anger. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve made myself 3 rules: 1.) I can’t hurt myself. 2.) I can’t hurt anyone else. And 3.) I have to clean it up."

She now speaks to schools and training classes of her experience living with HIV/AIDS. She is an educator. A survivor. A fighter. A lover. She is a beautiful woman.

me in a nutshell

2007-02-18T21:14:00.000-08:00

check out the wedblog for an updated post!

if walls could talk...

2006-12-07T00:31:00.000-08:00

so, the location of our school is finally moving. it's big, it's beautiful, it's by the water, and we love it. to sort of pay homage to the walls that have housed us up to this point, we were asked to write stories speaking to where in the "old building" had we seen the face of God. we had our last student leadership meeting in the building tonight. my last class in the building is a week from tomorrow. my story to a sweet farewell?

I can't possibly be diggin' him, can I? I mean, he's just so not my type. But I can't take my eyes off of him. I watch him across the room, mingling with all sorts of people. We're just friends, I think. He's a good friend, fun to be around. That's all it is. I don't like him, like him. Do I? I wish he was in my group. These bookmarks are so lame. It would be more enjoyable if he were in my group. I mean, as my friend.

It was New Student Orientation. September, two thousand six. Large Classroom. He was wearing a plaid blue and white shirt with shiny white snaps down the front and jeans. I found him instantly in the crowd of students and faculty. We were just friends then. I tried to talk myself out of his irresistible charm and cuteness. I was not dating for a year. Not anyone. And that was final.

Two weeks later we kissed. One year later he proposed. Eight months from now, I'm walking down the aisle to marry the man of my dreams. I met him and have grown to know him within these walls. And in this story, I have seen many times the face of God. I see God often in the face of the man wearing the plaid blue and white shirt with shiny white snaps down the front and jeans.

of mind, body, and blood

2006-12-02T21:40:00.000-08:00

Lying in bed, my eyes glued to the pages. Comfortably leaning against my wall with two fluffy pillows at my back and a fan blowing in the background, I was entranced by the author's insight, wisdom, and phenomenal articulation of a master-mind theory. I couldn't get enough of this book. It was brilliant.

Suddenly, I needed to reposition the 600 pages in my cramping hands. As I was rushing to finish a page's last paragraph, I noticed the strangest feeling spread across my fingers. Reading the last word of the page, I glanced down at the fingers supporting my new favorite text book. My eyes met red. Dark red. Blood red. My brain finally caught up with the images absorbed by my eyes as I watched streams of blood trickle down my thumbs to the protruding bones of each wrist. I licked my lips, blotted them together. Blood? Yes, blood.

I threw off my covers, launched the book onto the floor, and searched to find the spout of the fountain. My t-shirt was drenched. Spots of blood on my chest, my sleeves, and down the belly of the shirt. I searched frantically. One would think I had started my period in some sort of explosion. I traced the blood lines from my wrist bones up to my thumbs. I found spouts on each of my thumbs, where my flesh was torn to shreds, as if massacred by a thousand needles. I brought my fingers to my mouth, placing them gently on the lowest lip. I felt a tinge of pain shoot up the back of my neck. The outer layers of skin across my lips must have been attacked by the same needles. The lowest lip was tender, wet with blood, and swollen in all the wrong places. I used my already tainted shirt to wipe off the trickling blood. I lifted the shirt off of my confused and trembling body. More blood. It was coming from a scratch on the left side of my chest...only skin away from where my beating heart quivered.

Just as I have yet to adequately explain to myself all that happened in those moments between the book, the author, my stories, and me, I will not attempt to make sense of it for you. I write this sort of to remember the connection that is the human body. I was reading a book that as far as I knew consciously, I really enjoyed. I also was reading a book that somehow, someway invited me to direct my emotional experience onto and through my very own flesh. I was reading a book that intruded into my subconscious and discovered things that maybe my conscious mind would rather not see. My mind, conscious and not, was connected by means of mutilation to my body...and my body was connected to my soul by means of a well-placed scratch right above my bleeding heart.

futuremrsnixon

2006-11-09T18:34:00.000-08:00

holy smokes, i'm getting married in something like 268 days!!! let me tell you, i'm so ready! i never knew agony until i watched bryan walk down my front porch steps on his way home the other night. ugh, just to be able to say goodnight to him and not have to watch his back as he walks away. it's likely to be a long nine and a half months...

fortunately, the planning aspects are coming along quite well. after a few tearful breakdowns (okay, so maybe i'm a bit emotional...) with regard to the budget and the time frame for the ceremony and reception...things seem to be falling right into place!!! whew!

if you've checked the wedblog, you've seen that we're having the ceremony at Bastyr University Chapel. it was originally to start at 6pm as i have been planning on an evening wedding...and lo and behold, once we finally found a workable reception venue- at the last minute, the chick told us that there is a 10pm curfew and we'd have to be the heck outta there by ten!!! WHAT!? so...frantically, i called everyone i knew as i felt completely incapable of making such a decision all by my lonesome. i thought maybe i could move the wedding to 5pm??? bec said i'd be too rushed. she suggested moving the wedding to the afternoon. i gasped, "OH NO!" ....and with a hint of a whine and a dash of desperation... "but the song i'm walking down the aisle to is 'On a Night Like This!!!' I can't walk down the aisle to 'On a Night Like This' at toooh oh clawk in the eeyafternooooon!!!!!" bec replies, "ang, it's clearly your wedding and you need to do what you want but these things tend to take longer than you'd expect and i don't want you to feel rushed." i left in a huff only to hear my dad suggest the 5pm time (because "this isn't a family reunion but a wedding and you will have other things on your minds than talking to a bunch of people"...seriously, i think my dad was talking about sex- YIKES!) and my mom was leaning towards not wanting "such an important event to be rushed for some dumb curfew!!" then, only minutes later, some friends at school reply, "maybe you could change the words of the song? or get a new song?" and THAT my friends, is just NOT an option!!! finally, the guys said, "do what you want, ang. it's your wedding. make it perfect for you...but if you have a 5pm ceremony, you'll only be at your reception for a couple hours." hastily under my breath, "gee thanks." with my options narrowed to plan A or plan B (A being: have the ceremony at 5pm, with an appropriately titled song, with only 2 hours for us to be at our reception...and plan B being: have the ceremony at 2, with a nighttime song, with sunglasses to be provided for the guests, with a reception that can last as long as our little legs can dance...), i call ruth. ruth says she thinks it's okay to have the song at a two o clock ceremony. ruth asks phil. phil agrees. so i'm hopeful. but i have to make another call. i call maigen. maigen tried with everything in her might to make it work for the evening wedding...then finally, she sighed and said, "ang, really, i don't think you have any other option than to move the ceremony. i'll be the first one to put on some sunglasses!" i was encouraged...though not convinced. i had one last phone call to make. last but not least- it was the most important..."bryan...(tears already forming in the inside corners of my eyes)...i want the song but the reception place says we have to be out by ten which means we would have to have a two o clock ceremony with a nighttime song- that i am NOT changing!!! what do you think?!?!"

lo and behold...after such anxiety and chaos...it is working out! we did move the ceremony to 2pm...and our reception will begin immediately following at hotel nexus where we will party the night away- at least until 10pm!!!! check it out, we're excited to have something lined up that is nice, has affordable catering, and offers a variety of rooms for our out of town guests!!! whoo hoo!!!

ps...bring sunglasses. 8-)

detox

2006-10-27T16:40:00.000-07:00

It's not fun, in fact it might just be the most traumatic experience of my life...

About 8 months ago, after moving across the country, beginning grad school, being away from my parents for the first time, oh, in my entire life...and starting a new relationship with a boy whom would later become my fiance'...I started taking Effexor. What's that, you ask? Effexor. It's a drug. A drug that I quickly became attached to. Dr. Matin prescribed the drug to me after a long list of failed attempts at finding an anti-depressant, anti-anxiety medication to suit me. If they didn't help the depression, they amped the anxiety. If they didn't amp the anxiety, they made the depression worse. It was frustrating and scary. So when Effexor walked into my life, balanced my depression and my anxiety, I fell in love. We were an inseparable pair. I have spent everyday of the last eight months with 150mg of Effexor running through my body with little side effects. I was grateful.

About three days ago, I went to my medical doctor and said that I would like to start weaning off of the Effexor. That I have definitely responded well to it but that I think I am doing well enough that I would like to taper myself off of the drug. She said that would be fine and she sent me home with 6 weeks worth of 75mg capsules (free of charge as I don't have health insurance and she's a kind woman) of my beloved Effexor.

About two days ago, I began my day with 75mg of Effexor, half of the dose I had become accustomed to. I went to work and went about my normal daily duties. About one day ago...I repeated the activities of the previous day...however, didn't quite get to all of my normal daily duties. At about 12 oclock noon, I started feeling a bit like I had been run over by an old, rusty dump truck. I wasn't able to move as quickly as usual and my muscles were achy. Then I started to feel nautious and a bit dizzy in the head. Before I knew it, I was bent over, heaving, howling with pain, and spewing ounces of yellow stuff that tasted worse than the worse thing I've ever tasted. Really. It was disgusting. I hadn't quite made it to the bathroom before the first rocket blew, so after my body cleansed itself to even the deepest crevices within, I had to go clean the yucky lemonade off the couch. But it wasn't really lemonade.

I felt a bit better for a few minutes. At this point, I was convinced I had the stomach flu as the kids I had been nannying for were recovering from the painful bug. I still had 4 more hours of work and decided to push through.

Twenty minutes later...I asked Sam (who is four years old) to get me a bowl from the kitchen. "Angewa? Are you going to thwoah up?" "Yes Sam. It's a possibility." His little legs ran rapidly into the kitchen and he came back with a plastic bowl from his little sister's play-kitchen. "Thank you, Sam," I say, as I head instead to the bathroom. Yes, more heaving, howling, growling, and lemonade. Only it wasn't lemonade.

At this point, I was hardly able to stand, sweat was dripping from my brow, and my eyes were bulging out of my head. I called Ed, my employer, and he said he'd be right home. I didn't feel as though I could drive under these conditions, so I called Bryan who said he'd be right over to pick me up.

Twenty minutes and a few cups of lemonade later (only it wasn't lemonade)...I was sitting in the front seat of Bryan's car, heading to my home sweet home with my home sweet bed. Following Bryan's recommendation, I had a 12oz plastic ziploc bag in my lap. The 12oz plastic ziploc bag came in quite handy...twice. Then we were home and I didn't need it anymore. I had the bushes...and the mail box...and the yard.

Bryan tucked me in my bed, with a large bowl for lemonade (only it wasn't lemonade), a bowl of ice chips, and my cell phone. He had to leave for a couple appointments. A few more lemonade rockets launched and finally, finally, I was able to fall asleep. Incredible as it was, I woke up 3 hours later feeling like a brand new woman! Life was grand. No more heaving or howling...no more rockets. I was cleansed.

Deciding I needed to refill my entirely empty self, I went into the kitchen for a drink. Standing wasn't as easy as sleeping and I started to feel queasy. I knew just the remedy! I'd take a nice, relaxing bubble bath.

Thanks to my roommate's Vanilla Bean bubble bath, I enjoyed a long, warm (not too hot) relaxing soak. Bored and wrinkly, I decided to get out. I stood up, reached for my towel, and...Oh crap. The room was spinning. My brain was shaking. My eyes were foggy. I just wanted my bed...my home sweet bed. I slowly got myself up the stairs and plunged into my bed. Only it wasn't as comforting as it had been just a few hours before. I was still shaking, now trembling. My brain hurt and my eyes hurt. I couldn't stop. Then I started crying. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I can't stop. I 'm crying and I can't breathe. My muscles are aching. Ow, my back hurts. Ow, it really hurts. It hurts when I breathe and I can't breathe. I can't stop crying. I'mmm having an anxiety attackkk...help, help. I'm all alone. Call someone. Call someone to come. I just want someone to hold me still. I can't stop shaking. Make it stop. I'm so scared. What's wrong with me? I'nm out of control...make it stop, please. I call my parents. They try to talk to me but can hardly understand through tears and yelps and sobs. I can't stop crying. I feel so out of control. My dad sings to me. My dad sings to me to calm me down. I'm scared. It hurts so bad. Please stop....

Two hours later, Bryan is over, rubbing my back and talking me through all that had happened. He called a nurse at his hospital and asked if this is a possible side-effect to dose changes of anti-depressants. She said yes.

In that time, I felt a bit of relief to hear her say that. I wasn't going crazy but my body was having some pretty severe chemical reactions...literally withdrawal symptoms from a drug. All I wanted was for it to stop. I wanted to take anything...I wanted to take another pill if it would fix the trembling, the tremors, and the pain. I wanted anything but to feel what I was feeling.

Then it dawned on me, this must be similar to what people in drug rehab facilities experience. I can't imagine though how much more intense depending on the drug. There were moments yesterday in the panic, that I wanted to die. That I just wanted everything to stop and I didn't care what it took for that to happen. It made me realize just how closely connected I am to those who deal with different addictions than my own...that I am but a few steps away from being right where they are. In this experience I've learned two things. One, don't mess with meds. Take them like you're told and don't screw with them. Two, have compassion for those who are so deep into their addictions that they feel hopeless. Be considerate but don't give up on them. The addictive cycle is maddening. The withdrawal symptoms are greater than any pain or anxiety we might could imagine. It is no wonder people go back.

nixonwedblog

2006-10-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

We're getting married!!! Ahhhh!!! We just started a wedblog (I know, we're so cute)...check it out and get frequent and up to date information on the planning of our big day!!!

www.nixonwedblog.blogspot.com

Borrowed Hope

2006-09-21T22:50:00.000-07:00

Another day. You don't know what you're doing or why you're even doing it. You can't believe in yourself and you sure can't believe in this thing called life that you spend your everyday "doing." What's the point anymore? It isn't working out. You sacrifice relentlessly for those things for which you are passionate. You actually choose to die to yourself for the sake of these very things. You are willing to bleed and bleed and bleed just because this thing, or these things, are worth it. Then it starts to feel like the world is closing in on you. Everywhere you look you see only darkness, like looking down through the tunnel of a well. You realize that it's getting a little harder to breathe. You're fingers are florescent white and you're feeling cold. You might be shivering but you can't tell for sure. No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to keep your eyes open. You keep trying though because it's worth it. This is what passion is about, right? Well, you aren't so sure now but you aren't willing to give up. Not yet. But you can't endure the pain of suffocation and your only desire is to find a place to sleep...for a long time. You're so tired. You're so cold. You're so exhausted...you're just lifeless: without a glimpse of hope left.We've all been there. We've shed much blood fighting like warriors the battles over those things for which we are so passionate...because we hope for something more: for us, for them, for me. And we have given ourselves over to this thing called hope. But it isn't hope. We haven't really succumbed to hope at all. We've lost ourselves to our own feelings of defeat. We feel like we've failed. It hasn't happened as planned. Even if we won, our victory was short lived. If we lost, we have nothing to show for our painful efforts. And the most frustrating part about all of this? This defeat? Is that there is still something within us that knows it, whatever it is, is worth fighting for. But we just can't pick up our sword. Not this time. You're out.This is where he comes in or she comes in. Maybe they come in. They've fought the battle right alongside you. They have suffered through the storms and blows. They hope for it too. You trust them. They love you. And you know they love it too otherwise they wouldn't have endured the slashing that has left them and you marked for life. He, or she, or they walk up to you, take your cold, lifeless body and drape it over theirs. You raise your chin in an unsuccessful attempt to help carry your weight. Your head is but a limp attachment to your neck...your feet, dragging behind. He or she or they explain to you, in the fierce absence of words, that they have you. Rest now. You try to fight them. It needs you. You haven't followed through. You wish you had strength left. You know that you should. You used to eat, breathe, and live for it. You know you did. And now you've...well, you surely have failed. Then he or she or they tell you no. It isn't true. You're not giving up. You're still on the journey...you're moving forward...they're just carrying the burden for awhile. They are choosing to suffer. For you, for it...for passion. Not because you can't or won't. But because they have hope. They have hope for you, for it. In your own hopelessness, will you choose to borrow theirs?

It's Missing

2006-09-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Life moves through my body
My breath in a perfect pause
Muscles are tense, fluid like rain
I move slowly, carefully, freely
I lose sense of noise, hear every beat
Note
Chime
I see not beyond this space
But feel your energy in my blood

Please don’t make me stop
I have not finished yet
You gave me the tree
Her sap
Her roots
My life is in her soil

The thing inside me
It’s fierce
It’s mad
Must I ignore or destroy or die?
It is all I know of desire
All I know of God
There, is the loveliness in me
Must I walk away?
I cannot
I see not beyond this space
But feel your energy in my blood

HOLY CRAP!!

2006-07-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

last christmas, bryan won a drawing at work that granted him a gift certificate to a quaint little bed and breakfast on san juan island. so one weekend in february, we packed our bags and ventured "inn to the woods" to spend a few days soaking up the beauty of the landscape and the sweetness of fresh air. we arrived on friday afternoon and spent most of the evening basking beneath the stars in our bubbly hot tub. the next morning we awoke to homemade apple pancakes and fresh squeezed orange juice...quite the treat for me as i don't usually eat breakfast and i definitely don't usually have the opportunity of enjoying homemade apple pancakes. yum, yum, yum. it was all you could eat and i ate, well, all i could. after breakfast we visited with the owner/chef/maid/maintenance man and his wife...and then mosied into the living room to peruse the vast library of dvd's, vhs's, and books, books, books. bryan continued perusing as something across the room caught my eye...a puzzle! whoo-hoo! puzzles i love! i sat down at a table where half of a 1000-piece orca puzzle was spread out. the puzzle's box was propped up for guidance. i always begin puzzles by organizing the pieces according to color so i know what pieces might go together. i had a pile of dark blue, a pile of light blue, a pile of green blue, a pile of purple blue...and a pile of "extra blue." this puzzle wasn't going to be a 2 minute success story. the dilemma about my love for puzzles is that i am also OCD. i cannot start a puzzle and walk away leaving it unfinished...NO MATTER WHAT. if i start it, i do so with the intention of completing it. if i can't finish it, i don't start it. nohwuhimsayin?
i'm in the chair, my blue piles are neatly organized, and bryan is comfortably plopped in a chair skimming through pages of 3D art. eyebrows furrowed, tongue out, brain working...i'm raring to go. nothing can stop me now...me and the orcas. me and the orcas. me and ...oooh, a stomach cramp. it's okay. just the digestion of breakfast. keep going. focus angela. you can do this. focusing on the dark blue pile...let's see...this piece looks like it will go with this one....ooooh, another stomach cramp. i think digestion is complete and is on to the next phase. shoot. i don't have time for this. must finish puzzle. finish puzzle. okay...now, where was i...yes, these pieces connect over here...and where was that...oooooh, scooting butt across the chair...must go to the bathroom. very uncomfortable feeling. must finish puzzle. okay...now...this piece here and...ow, ow, ow...ahhhh...silent fart. smelly but satisfying. feeling better, thank goodness. me and the orcas. me and the orcas...oh perfect! this set will connect right here and ah, we can see where the water meets the sky...so lovely...so...shoot. here it comes again. silent fart? push it out. it will feel better. oh no. not a silent fart. it's the real deal. great. i made it worse. now i'm crowning. no time for this. must finish puzzle. still crowning...dilating maybe? stomach cramp. okay, sit on foot. heel under butt. give us more time. me and the orcas. must finish puzzle. okay...can't finish puzzle but will at least finish this pile of blue. oooooh, squeezing cheeks. grinding teeth. grimacing. wrinkling nose. ow, ow. hold on...almost done with pile. must finish. must finish. crap! bryan! i have to go to the bathroom! ahhhhh!
i run into the bathroom and sit on the throne of relief. ahhhhhhhh. such pressure. such relaxation. such stench. the deal was done, no pain involved. i stand up, raise pants, reach to flush and HOLY CRAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
bryan! get in here! right now! hurry up! bryan! hurry! where are you?! come in here!!!!! what? what is it? are you oh-- HOLY CRAP!!!! bryan's on the floor. his face looks like a tomato resting on his shoulders. he's holding his laughing belly. knees to chest. he can't breathe. where's my camera, ang? that thing came out of you? it must be like...3 feet long! no exaggeration! omigosh! it's like wrapped around the bowl!!! how did you do that? i have never seen such a thing! unbelievable!
i know! i was shocked too! that's why i had to show you! no one would believe me! and this sort of thing, you just can't experience alone!
we both stand up. we stare at the toilet in awe of my effortless but impressive job well done. we hug. we say a few words to honor its greatness and with a sigh, we flush...and watch the beast break into smaller beasts and slowly slip into the cave. we say our goodbyes and nod to each other knowing we have just been marked by the beast.

one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish

2006-07-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

Spare Change Anyone?

2006-07-13T00:16:00.000-07:00

Despite what you’ve been told and prefer to believe, change hurts. In fact, sometimes it just plain stinks. Not the spare kind that you find between the sofa cushions, under the car seats, or what you get when you pay a dollar for a 74 cent half-ice diet coke with one pump cherry flavor. No, this is another kind. This is the kind that never fails to happen when your Pointe shoes finally feel wearable and the blisters aren’t so bad and your teacher tells you at the end of your ballet lesson that it’s time to replace those old shoes (that you’ve spent only the last four weeks breaking-in). The old shoes had formed around your calloused-in-all-the-right-places feet. If you’re a dancer, this tune rings well with your soul. If you’re not a dancer, you’re probably thanking your mom for the piano lessons you hated.

Dancer, no dancer, it doesn’t really matter. Unless it comes in the shape of a circle and is gold, silver, or bronze, change, for any of us, can be painful. So, why do it? Why change anything? Why venture into the unknown when I’m finally comfortable with what, where, and who I am?

Who am I kidding? Contentment couldn’t find its way into my soul if I drew it a color-coded map. I want change and growth and I want to be (with a drum roll and the heavenly hosts of angels singing…) disrupted and impacted and transformed!!! …and in the same breath on the same day with Colonel Mustard in the library with a fork, I just want the ease of complacency, the drag of the mundane, and the safety of routine.

Every single day I wake up and have a decision to make. Will I today embrace the struggle for the sake of my soul or will I lose this day in the search for Colonel Mustard the library, and the fork? I’ve witnessed too much the glory in the struggle. I’ve reaped the benefits of transparent and available souls who have chosen the struggle for the sake of change, for the sake of more, for the sake of all. Because I have seen the passion and the redemption and the blood, sweat, and tears… I simply want nothing less and I simply want nothing more. I simply want.

One Step at a Time...

2006-06-22T22:30:00.000-07:00

sooooo....this is me...this is my baby step attempt at entering the sophisticated cyberness of blogville. it's such an odd dichotomy: online journaling and blogs. writing those things which are most significant to you for others to see...knowing that in that, you're inviting them to do what they want with your words, your ideas, your heart. i used to think that's why people journaled in the first place: to have an outlet for the things that you did not want anyone in the world to know. and now, we have stopped locking up our precious diaries and instead we actually write our entries to a faceless (or face-full) audience. and even in that, we're assuming that there are actually people who care to know what we think, who will actually take the time to not only read the words of our hearts but also to engage us with their experience as well. it's absolutely baffling. i'm still hesitant, honestly. but i don't like to knock what i haven't tried. so, this is me trying. my toe's in the shallow end. and it's cold. but refreshing. baby steps. nice and slow...