But I Don't Wanna Grow Up

"Surrender to what is.  Let go of what was.  HAVE FAITH in what will be."

Today one of my best childhood friends had a baby. 

You know how I feel like this?  

I feel like, "WHAT THE FUCK," that's how I feel. 

Another of my friends-- my best friend since I was 7 years old -- is getting married in a few months.  70-some days, I believe the countdown is now. 

Again ... what the fuck. 

These kinds of things have been bothering me quite a bit.  Everything.
Me teaching.  

The people around me --these women who were just little kids with me like, yesterday -- doing all these grown-up things like marriage and babies.

And my irrational desire to go back in time and do something simpler. 

Now that I'm in my second year of this really uncomfortable and seemingly endless stretch of life, I'm realizing my problem: 

I am FREAKED THE HELL OUT about growing up.

I mean, I'm in this deep, existential crisis about it.  Like now that I'm technically, unarguably an adult with a career, I have no fucking idea who I am anymore.  

I feel like, in my classroom, I should be one of those little people screwing around in the back of the classroom.  That's where I belong.  That's where I am comfortable. 

Instead, I'm the one with the lesson plan in hand bossing people around.

REALLY!?!? 

What the fuck.  

That's all I can say, most of the time. 

I wish there was a rewind button. 

Or a pause.
Or even a fast forward. 

I don't know.  Something. 

Everything is just...uncomfortable. 

All the time.

But what is there to do?  What the hell is there to do? 

All there is to do is keep living through this thing.  Keep moving forward through this life that gets turned over on its head all the time.  This existence that is constantly confusing.

All there is to do is to move forward.  To not panic and give up, to know (well, to trust) that God is doing something, taking you somewhere good, even if it is somewhere that you really don't want to go at all. (e.g. adulthood)

Onwards, we go.

Onwards

"There are far, far better things ahead than anything we leave behind."

-C.S. Lewis

This is so difficult for me to believe -- that good things lie ahead.
As I mentioned in my last post, I feel like I'm getting quite a bit older. 

Yes, I'm 23.
Yes, "my whole life is ahead of me."
Whatever. 

I miss some of the old things.
And I sure as hell don't like not knowing what comes next.  

I miss old friendships and less responsibilities, having a little more time to do those things I love and not having to deal with quite as much of this running around panicking about how am I going to finish these lesson plans for tomorrow, how am I supposed to have time for these three heaping baskets full of ungraded papers, and, of course, how the hell am I supposed to keep all these damn crazy kids in control? 

Yes, I am only 23.  But life has become significantly more difficult.  

I know it's important to embrace the future, let go of things in the past that no longer exist and, well, just to live today.

Isn't today enough?  

I suppose so.  

I'ts just that today can be a real bitch sometimes.    

And if today's such a bitch, what does tomorrow look like? 

That being said...onwards, I guess.

Ah, To Be Young Again

I miss writing so much! I miss everything! I miss being young (I am 23 and very old now) and creative and artistic and having so much energy for everything and wanting to stay up doing cutesy artsy things! I teach middle school. And even though I'm 23, I feel some days like I'm 53. I AM SO TIRED. Lately, I've been calling the building in which I teach a "living hell." And it's not because of the kids, or the teachers, or the curriculum, or anything like that. It's because of the heat. It's fucking hot on the second floor. Just like I imagine hell is. It is exhausting. Last year was my first year teaching, and it kicked my ass incredibly. It was the most stressful, most difficult year that I have ever had. That being said, I'm a little insane and decided to go for year two. Here I am. My point is this: I don't write like I used to. In many ways, that's good. I imagine it's healthy and normal for me to grow out of my 18-year-old mentality. There were a lot of really stupid parts about me as an 18-year-old. There were quite a lot of lessons that I hadn't learned, truths that I hadn't yet discovered. But there were some that I had. Just a few. And I wrote them down, and they were beautiful. How shocking. Five years later, I can still say that I wrote beautiful things. What I miss is writing beautiful things. I still write, here and there. It's a habit that I don't think I'll ever be able to break at this point. But I still miss this. Writing for an intended audience. Telling stories. It's different from the journal writing that I usually do. It's nice to censor and edit myself every once in a while. It's nice to have an audience, even if it IS imaginary. I will try to record some stories, here and there. I'll try to pick this blog up again. I don't want recognition; there's a reason I'm writing from this old high school e-mail address and not my current one. I don't need to be noticed, not at all. I just want to be doing something that I love. And keep doing and doing and doing it. Here's to [parts of] being young again.

Young, Alive, and Lost and Academia

I'm in the library finishing my last paper of junior year before I go abroad.
I hate working, I hate staying up late, I hate giving so much of my energy to something that I just don't care about ...

so why do I feel like I'm going to miss this?

♪ Bliss

It's been an anxiety-filled week, and driving home for 90 minutes in the snow today would have been absolute agony if it were not for : EELS and the excellent work of music that is Tomorrow Morning!

Holy wow!

What a drive that was! How in love I am!

I highly recommend this.


<--- Pretty hot, this one.
<---So romantic to me. How I would love to be "Spectacular Girl."


<---And this -- the epitome of a wonderful day!

Yowza!!

Agony of a Good Song

There are few things more exciting than finding a really good song. This morning I was browsing through some new titles online and with this one, had to get up from my chair and play air guitar for a while in my kitchen.

It hurts, almost. When a beat or melody pierces in such a way, it's painful to think that every moment of this life is not so musical. In a matter of seconds, the desire arises to be behind a keyboard, a drumset, a guitar -- something (regardless of how well I can play it). It's like I won't be satisfied until I'm in a room with nothing but music, with nobody who's not playing something equally well. Life won't be good enough until I can somehow become music itself.

AAGGHGHGHHGGH. It kills me.

But here's to trying.

♫♪♫

Why I Do This Thing

Since my freshman year of high school, I've kept fairly dedicated journals. I had a colossal amount of teen angst and heavy destructive crushes, and so writing became the outlet in which to pour out some of my anxiety.

I had an odd inspiration the other day to dig out some of my old notebooks. And I have to say: my younger self has amazed me.

For one thing, my writing several years ago is so much better than I thought it was. Despite the fact that it never really follows any kind of structure or rules, and especially despite the fact that it conveys my embarrassing teenage girl attitude, I find it incredibly moving.

It's pure.
It's honest.
It's flawed and painful and confused, but at times it's some of the most beautiful stuff I've ever read.

Yeah. Arrogant. I know.

But this is why I write.

There's something about sitting down and sorting through your own words that is more truthful and clean than any other kind of communication.

Maybe it's just me. But I have a hard time writing without pouring out a good portion of my soul. And that has just about always been the case.

So much of my teenage ranting was written almost with a sense of shame, a fear that I'd grow up to look back on that writing as something silly and stupid, and that I'd have some crazy urge to destroy and forget it all.

And yeah. There's a lot of insignificant crap in those notebooks.
There's a lot of pain and confusion that I probably could have avoided.

But it's an amazing thing. That writing was probably the most honest and accurate reflection of myself and my thoughts. And no matter what that is, it's going to be beautiful.

I think most human beings have a hard time not absolutely loving sincerity. When I think about the people that I love and respect most, a good number of them aren't particularly very nice or friendly people. Some of them are, in fact, outright assholes most of the time.

But they know who they are. So gosh darn it, they're going to be it.

And that's what I find so shockingly beautiful about my old teen-angst ridden self. I couldn't be anything but that. While sometimes stupid and terribly misguided, it was still something real. Something pure. And like I said -- it's pretty hard not to love something like that.

So it inspires me to keep doing this thing.

I continually say I like to write; and somehow I've earned in my circle of friends the big title of “Writer.”

But here's a secret:
All I do is this journal thing.
That's it.

I take the mess of thought in my head and I throw it down on paper. Then I move on and forget about it.

No cute little stories. No poetry. No fiction.
No published work. Hah.

But somehow, this is enough. The random snippets of excessive thought and emotion are somehow more beautiful than anything I could think of or create on my own.

In most cases, I think truth is the most beautiful, incredible, and astounding thing out there. So it's what I'm going to stick with for now.

The best-selling work of fiction might come later.
(Again, hah.)

What I find especially hopeful is that in another three years I'll look back on my writing of today and be totally amazed again.

Not that I'm discovering all kinds of daily epiphanies or anything.
I just think I'm always going through something amazing.
Always.

Life is like that. It rarely makes any kind of logical sense. We plow through it without any kind of clear idea of where we're going. Through pain and through joy, we keep on doing this, and somehow, in the midst of it all, there is something beautiful.

Unfortunately, that's the best I can try to describe it.
And that simple phrase “Life is beautiful” doesn't quite seem to be enough here.

But it is. Life is beautiful. Despite everything.

I could go on, but I'd run myself into circles. I'm not the best candidate to write philosophical wonderings on life's inherent beauty.

All I know is that it's there.
And it's why I write.

So, like I said: let's keep doing this thing.

:)