Suddenly Free?

When the semester ends, I always find myself walking around in a dazed state, blinking in the sudden bright warm sunlight like a bear after winter. I'm constantly confused and anxious, feeling like I should be doing something. But I shouldn't. I mean, yes, I know I'm not totally free. I have some scholarship and study abroad stuff to take care of. I should probably start revising my novel or I'll never get around to it. I should probably review orgo stuff some before I forget everything and have to relearn it next semester.

But for now, at least, I am free. And it's weird. I keep waking up at 7:30 for no reason, when I always managed to press snooze enough during the semester to sleep in until 8:00 or 8:15...

By and large, though, I'm enjoying it. I haven't watched TV, really, in months. I haven't wandered around Tumblr for weeks. I was free to watch and participate in the Project for Awesome in which I donated to receive this lovely gift from John: a new eBook! I'm still considering doing the $10 for Maureen's laughs, too. Because, heck, it's Christmas season. And I like charities. And I'm celebrating the end of the semester.

After I finished the semester by turning in my psych paper (which was a weird way to be "done") and returned my books, I had the lovely opportunity to relax on the beach and snorkel underwater with my friends--my roommate and the fish. It was wonderful to be underwater again. I love feeling like I could live and swim down there with such beautiful and fascinating creatures, even though that opportunity depends on having a hollow stick in my mouth poking above the water... ;)

And then I worked for the next three days.

But today was especially weird.

Least stressful travel day I think I've ever experienced.

I woke up at 7:30 again, because apparently now that I have nowhere I have to be, I love waking up early. I proceeded to do nothing until about 8:30 except run into my door handle and give myself a large bruise on my arm. Fun times. Ate breakfast and again did nothing until I left at 10:00 for an appointment, last Christmas gifts, and mailing of Christmas gifts. Then lunch. Aaaaaaaaaaaand...I have done nothing since then. And I still have just under 2 hours until I have to leave for the airport.

WEIRD.

Seriously, I cannot remember ever having a non-stressful travel day. Of course, when coming to Hawaii, I have to leave early in the morning. In May we finished moving stuff to our apartment before I went to the airport (and my shuttle was late, so fun). Last December was still relatively relaxed ,though it involved sitting in the airport for 8 hours because I couldn't stay in the dorms.

I have plenty of other fun crazy airport stories involving trying to get connecting flights, almost missing flights, leaving super early, etc. But basically...

What?

Since when do I have time to run errands in the morning before my flight? Since when do I not have to rush at night to make sure everything is packed for the morning? Since when do I not even have to leave for the airport until 19:00?

What is this stress-free existence?

It's very weird. But I'm enjoying it. And I'm excited to go home. So, so excited. I hope my friends stick true to their words, saying they want to hang out with me. Because I'm in desperate need of some hugs and laughs and fun memories. I've realized that my main problem this semester has been that I don't get or give enough hugs.

I absolutely LOVE hugs. I had friends in high school who I'd hug every day. One of the reasons I love HP conferences so much is the constant hugging. And I really miss it. A hug can say so much and be so comforting. It can transfer more love and emotion than words could ever do.

I'm looking forward to hugs. And cuddling with my cat. And dinners with my family. And walks in the chilly, fresh Colorado sunshine.

The ocean will be waiting for me in January, and the salt in my blood will yearn for it until then.

For now  I'm ready for some good solid loving time at home, free from stress. I hope I can rebuild my foundation of love and stop doubting myself so much. Because, after all, home is where I was reborn 2 years ago. I think know it can happen again.

Word of the day: enantiodromic--characteristic of something that has become its opposite
Inspirational quote/photo of the day: "There are those who receive as birthright an adequate or at least unquestioned sense of self and those who set out to reinvent themselves, for survival or satisfaction, and travel far. Some people inherit values and practices as a house they inhabit, some of us have to burn that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis." -Rebecca Solnit, a Field Guide to Getting Lost
Days until home: 0.71 (17 hours!!!)

Do you want to join me?

This blog post is going to be a little bit all over the place, so forgive me. I have a lot of thoughts rolling around in my brain and I need to get them down so I can squeeze myself into a corner of the library this weekend and study/write papers nonstop.

First, I would like to return to my musings on time. I know I say this a lot, but time is a funny thing.

Yesterday
Clear night skies, Christmas lights on palm trees
Walking home
From a quiet yet busy library
Where everyone ignored the books
And sat on their now modern computers

Last week
The end of November
The end of my second novel.
My second?
Or my first real one?
How do I wrap my brain
around this strange
but lovely accomplishment?

Last month
Election night
Alternating between Twitter,
MSNBC,
And my orgo notes,
cheering and celebrating in my own secluded room
with friends on twitter,
grilled cheese,
(and a little bit of wine)
to keep me company

And what else?
What about further back?

Two years.
Let's travel back two years now.
The kitchen of
The Eating Disorders Unit,
Full of friendly faces,
families I didn't know,
and strangers...
I'd be pouring my heart out to.
Two days
Two days away from discharge
And was I ready for this?
I wondered as I sat sipping my water
I felt my body get up
I ignored the people around me
Moving, dancing, gliding, soaring
All the things my words couldn't say,
My body knew at the core
Grief and love
Hope and despair
Fear and desire
Dancing, dancing,
Always dancing...
And now I could dance with them.

My basic point with those words above is that time is one of the hardest concepts to understand. Sure, we as civilizations have divided time into minutes, days, years, centuries, millenia...But how do we truly measure how much time has passed? By what the calendar says? Or by how different we feel inside?

As the beautiful song from Rent asks, do we measure the year in minutes, seconds, months...Or do we measure it in sunsets, in the late nights spent studying, in the time spent staring at the stars, in the lunches with friends...Do we measure it with love, or do we measure a year in numbers?

On Tuesdays, I always seem to feel like the week is never going to end. I have a bad habit of always "counting down" to something, whether that thing is getting out of class, the test I have next week, the party three weeks away, or how may weeks are left until home. But then Friday hits and I somehow find myself shocked to see another week pass by.

I try my hardest to live in the present, to focus truly on how I feel and what is happening right now. But I'm still not very good at it. I spend far too much time dreaming of the future, simultaneously convincing myself it will be both grand and terrifying. Which it probably will be. I have at least gotten to the point where I no longer dream of the future as being perfect, free from troubles or stress or tears. I recognize that while things may get better (or worse), life is much more complicated than that. But, sometimes I move a little too much in the bad direction, and find myself worrying about things years down the road: graduate school, where I'll live, if I'm getting enough experience in college to get the job I want, if what I'm doing now really is what I want to do for the rest of my life, if I'll ever find a relationship, etc, etc.

Are all of those things important to think about? Yes.

But are they things I should be thinking about every day, often in that hour when I can't fall asleep?

No.

However, I think it is unfortunately just part of my nature that I get overwhelmed by too many options. Deep down, I love choices and I love change. It's exhilarating and freeing to know and really feel like anything is possible  But the dark side of myself continues to see things in black and white: if I choose this, then nothing else is possible. If this turns out to be a mistake, I've wasted my life. If I don't make friends now, I'm doomed for my future. Etc.

So, going back to the last stanza of my poem, some things haven't changed since two years ago. I still doubt myself far too often. I still wonder if I have a place in this world. I still think I'm not good enough. And when I say that, I don't mean I think I'm not good enough for my parents, for professors, for potential employers  I mean, when I say that: I'm not good enough for me. I'm not the person I should be.

I guess, I just feel like the stories you always read, the stories always portrayed on TV, are those of the second or third year college student who has all of these opportunities, so many internships, a large group of friends, the best roommate, a good job relevant to her major, a close family. Often (though not always), pop culture and the media skate over those of us who are...normal.

For my psychology class, we had to read Kay Redfield Jamison's memoir on her manic-depressive illness, which was lovely for so many reasons. But one thing that really got me when I was reading the memoir was how amazing she was in college. She got to work with all of these professors, do research as a second year student, graduated and was immediately accepted into the doctoral program in psychology at UCLA, and started teaching classes at the age of 27 (I think). All while she was, yes, suffering from manic-depressive disorder. This is not to skate over the many difficulties I know she had and I know she overcame, but in a small way, her accomplishments only fed my feelings of inadequacy.

Because I'm not doing any of those things. Yes, I had an internship this summer, and yes I have a steady job working at the library. Yes, I study hard and interact with my professors in the hope to get recommendation letters from them. Yes, I do talk to my peers. But I'm not exactly "successful." Nothing I've done (so far) is going to help me get a job or get into graduate school. I'm not the college student who goes out and parties every weekend. And, most importantly, perhaps, I'm still not sure what exactly I want.

That scares me, I think. I'm not sure why, but I feel like I should have a set path and be on that path right  now. And I definitely do not have one.

I know...I know I definitely do want a job researching the oceans, spending as much time as I can in the field (focusing on sharks if I can). And I know I eventually want a relationship  But beyond that, the future is a big white blur, full of uncertainties and too many possibilities. And I don't even know how to go about getting the things I want.

Are these normal things to worry about? Is it normal to be thinking and panicking so much that I start to feel an immense pressure on my chest and start breathing faster when walking with my head down to the shuttle, worrying and worrying?

Maybe yes to the first one. Probably definitely not to the latter.

Eurgh.

I'm not exactly sure where I wanted to go from that, so I'm going to skip the well written segue and just go on to my next topic here...

Again going back to the poem, and that last stanza:

Exactly two years ago, I was performing my dance for a room full of people I loved, but also a room full of strangers I didn't know. I opened up my heart and soul and allowed tears to flow through my blood and muscles and finally out through my eyes. Two days away from being discharged, I was starting to open up my bubble to the outside world. I remember crying to Gary, afraid of taking the leap into the outside world, even though I knew deep down I needed it. I was ready to grieve, ready to live, ready to fight and fight and fight for my true self, for the person who had (and still has?) so much to offer to the world.

I took that leap. Fighting against the critical voice in my head, I jumped into the chaos of reality, armed with my knowledge and hopes and dreams and fears and memories and love. Even despite the past, I held a lot of faith. I knew faith couldn't prevent the worst from happening (again), but holding it close to my heart could buffer some of the pain and make the cycle of the universe that much more beautiful. Things were rocky for a while, but I refused to give up. Not again. I came so close to dying, I saw the other white world, and I decided I'd rather stay in this messy, emotional one full of triumphs and tragedies.

Certainly, that faith took me a lot of wonderful places. It powered me through the end of high school and IB, brought me a lovely group of girls to talk and laugh and cry with, pushed me to college in Hawaii and urged me to connect with the people I lived with. It carried me through college and all of its triggers and issues. It allowed me to continue the grieving process.

And, above all, it pushed me to realize a very important concept: no matter my weight, no matter the clothes I wear, no matter how many possessions I own, or how many acquaintances I have, I'm not going to be happy unless I allow myself to be. I hold the power to bring happiness to my life.

I still know this to be true, but I cannot help but notice that, generally, the successful people (again, at least portrayed in the media) are the attractive ones, the ones with a lot of money, or the ones with a circle of connections (ie the extroverted people).

And I am not that person. I'm not completely sure I want to be that person.

Anyway. Three years ago, I was suffering and just beginning the headlong fall into the dark chaos of anorexia and a numb mind. Two years ago, I was starting to thaw. Fall became winter became spring, and new growths were beginning to happen.

Yet, I feel like summer has yet to come. I think I lost a lot of faith in myself this summer in Connecticut, where I was met with people who neither accepted me nor truly wanted to get to know me. Coming back to Hawaii, where I found my "friends" weren't really my friends and I'd essentially have to start over the painful process of making meaningful connections, I continue to lose that faith.

No matter how hard I tried to hold on to it, I could feel it slowly dripping through the cracks in my hand, like seawater desperate to follow gravity and just fall down. Fragile and scared, I somewhere lost the strength and force to hold on to such a fickle but imperative thing.

Everything, I feel, crashed around Halloween, and even though I loved NaNoWriMo, it did little to bring my strength or faith back to me. I still feel like I'm missing something.

Definitely, this semester has been rough. I can definitely feel the pull of home, and I hope to find some rejuvenation there. Because while home does hold some bad memories, it's also ultimately the place I was reborn, the place where I found my faith and pushed fear aside. It's where I learned how to dance through life, and breathe in the beauty all around me.

In the end, I know the classic definitions of success are not going to make happy. Having money, a steady career, a solid home, and the same friends I had in my freshman year of college....These are lovely things, but do not equal happiness.

I want to sit on a roof sipping wine and watching the stars, talking about everything from Ellen Degeneres to Neil DeGrasse Tyson with someone willing to wait and watch the sunrise with me. I want to find myself bathed in sun on a boat, doing some sort of important research. I want to find my way to Africa or Patagonia and just wander around for a while with a camera and a backpack. I want to meet a wide variety of people. I want to be a person whose heart is spread out over many places, who finds home throughout the world. Of course, a steady job would be nice and money is still important. Those things will contribute to happiness.

I don't know if it is possible to obtain all of those things, but right now I will say this: I DO HAVE FAITH. I'm not unrealistic, I don't expect to find ultimate happiness, I know there will be many future stresses and tragedies and griefs. But I have faith. Life is a beautiful, strange but lovely miracle birthed from the oldest stars of our universe. Somehow, I think, everything will work out in the end. Not in the way I expect it to right now, and not in the same way for everyone. But there is hope and love and joy available for every single person on this planet. All 7 billion of us. Money, food, oil, water...these things are not renewable resources, they involve competition.

Hope and love are our most vital renewable resources though. Always.

Okay. Again, I'm not really sure what the point of this entry was, other than to get the words jumbled in my brain out onto paper. Or, really, out into a jumble of 1s and 0s that will float around the internet for possibly thousands of years to come. But you get my point. The words are out in the universe now, and I can't deny myself the truth of my feelings or thoughts anymore.

I don't know much of anything; I am willing to admit that. I find myself racing through the labyrinth every day, but I manage to make myself look up a the stars and remember to dream. I am learning, I am grieving, I am loving, and I always try to be filled with faith. I don't know what my path is or should be, and I don't know how to get through this life we are given.

But I think maybe I can start in much the same way as my character in my novel did.

I extend you my hand, across whatever distance exists between us, and ask you this:

Do you want to join me?

Inspirational quote/photo of the day: "Hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, that despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us — so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting." -President Barack Obama 
Word of the day: orotund--speaking or singing with fullness, strength, and clarity of sound or voice
Days until home: 12

Grieving, Writing, Fearing, and Living

Well, it is now December. And as December hits  I am met with an almost overwhelming mix of emotions and thoughts:

-Overwhelming and intense grief, as yet another birthday passes without his body here. I celebrate, I dance, I laugh, and of course I allow myself to cry. I spent too long denying myself the grieving process, and now that it has come, I am not going to push it away again. Laughter and tears mix and join often, as it should be.

-A sense of adrenaline mixed with sadness and confusion, as I finish my second novel, and the first one I think may actually be worth something.

-Fear, as I continue to question what I really want to be doing with my life.

-Anticipation. Home approaches.

-Loneliness, as I continue to be plagued by thoughts of not belonging and wanting to belong and not knowing how to live as the full person I know I am. 

November, truly, passed surprisingly quickly. I didn't think it would, as I have been aching for a long time now to go home and the semester felt as though it was dragging on sometimes.

But then, yesterday...December 1st. A date forever ingrained in my memory and heart, a day of grief and celebration. Mix that with the fact that I finished writing my novel on the early morning of November 30th, and my heart was kind of a mess yesterday....

Let me tell you this: anyone who says writing isn't a real job, that writing doesn't require work or make you tired, is absolutely wrong.

I'm not going to pretend my novel is some grand production. Yes, I believe some of the words are good. The ideas are fair. The emotions are very real. But, a lot will need to change. I truly hope I can get myself to revise this book and maybe look into getting it published one day (far down the road). Or, at least, hopefully I can share the words and the story with those close to me, for once letting my heart into the world at large.

I will say, though, that I poured my  heart into that novel. I didn't even realize it as it was happening. Because, yes, some days writing felt like a chore on top of homework and dealing with overwhelming anxiety (yeah, my life is sad). Some days I wanted to give up, or doubted my story. But I kept going. I plugged on, inserting pieces of myself into the heart of that story.

And when, at about 02:00 on November 30th, when I submitted my novel, I was legitimately surprised at how drained I felt. I actually started crying. Which sounds ridiculous to me, and I'm not sure I understand 100% why. But i do know the novel required a lot of me. It required a lot of thought and honesty. The words of the main character are very much the thoughts that exist in the deep places of my brain. Truly, those words are a beautiful, slightly messy extension of me and my life.

Thus, a sense of exhilaration and sadness at finishing such a big part of my life. And thus, the tears at 02:00.

Hopefully, though, this is not the end. I do want to try my best to revise this story and make it true and real and better. And, maybe I'll do NaNo again next year. It's exhausting and emotionally draining, but in the end, nothing is more rewarding than putting ideas into words composed only of letters and emotion.

And then...there's those last three things.

Fear. Anticipation. And loneliness.

I know I worry too much. I know I suffer from anxiety, which is sometimes crippling and leads to embarrassing situations when I start crying when I cannot figure something out in lab. I know, though, that I have also come so far. From where I was two years ago. I have a lot more hope now. I am able to remember the good things when everything seems to be going wrong. And I have faith things will work out.

Sometimes, though, I will admit: I'm impatient. I see all these people around me with great opportunities, hoards of friends, fantastic ideas...and meanwhile, I sit here, the introverted college student who studies and writes and dreams, but has yet to fully find her way into the world.

I think...I think maybe I need to take more risks.

I've been thinking a lot recently about whether or not I will go to Australia. I've realized my reasons not to go all involve fear.

I'm afraid I'll be wasting money. I'm afraid I won't have anywhere to live. I'm afraid I won't find friends there either, and then also won't be able to find friends when I get back to Hawai'i.

All of those are at least somewhat valid fears. But I realized I'm not focusing on my desires. I'm not listening to my heart enough. I need to.

The bottom line? I want to go to Australia. Deep in my heart, I believe it will be good for me. Like the girl in my story, my true passion is travelling, seeing the world, and letting myself develop and grow in a multitude of places. I want to see the people I can meet and the opportunities I can grasp. I want to, for once just f***ing take that risk, live big and wide and true. The money is an issue, yes, but it's not so expensive that it is out of my grasp, especially if I can find other grants. Yes, the living situation is a HUGE issue, one that will stress me out greatly in May, for sure.

But maybe, like my dad said, I should just take the risk. And trust that everything will work out.

And if it doesn't? Well, it's not the end of the world. If I don't allow myself to make mistakes or take risks, I'll never grow.

Maybe I'm scared because Connecticut wasn't so great this summer. It was a big risk, and I didn't enjoy it much. But really, I learned a lot this summer. Not the things I was expecting to learn, but a lot nonetheless. Again, yes, I could've made more money back at home and stayed closer to friends. But, as awful as I felt sometimes, as lonely as I felt, it was a great experience. In the grand scheme of things.

Besides, if I don't at least try to change and take risks, I really cannot expect anything to change, can I? I am lonely. I am having a hard time reaching out in Hawai'i, because this living situation sucks and I'm scared and I'm tired and I feel like people don't accept me or want to know me.

So maybe it's time to leave. Take a risk, offer myself to a new place and see...what happens? That's all I can do. The worst that can happen is I lose a little money and don't gain any new friends.

And the best that could happen? New experiences in a new ocean. New friends. Education. Journeys and adventures. Future work opportunities. Studying in a beautiful place. Learning about myself. Loving myself. Finding people who love and accept me. Discovering and molding into a new culture.

The list goes on. :)

I am afraid. I am lonely.

But most importantly, I know I'm not currently living as my true self, and that pains me more than anything.

So maybe it's time for a change.

A deep breath, a pause on the edge of the cliff with my arms spread wide.

Close my eyes. Trust my heart. Keep the starlight with me.

And jump off into the abyss.

Fall, rise, fall, rise, and maybe eventually I'll find myself free, flying, loving, living. As the real person I know I absolutely am.

Word of the day: erlebnesse--The experiences, positive or negative, that we feel most deeply, and through which we truly live; not merely experiences, but Experiences
Inspirational quote/photo of the day: "The interesting thing about grief, I think, is that it has its own size. it is not the size of you. It is its own size. And grief comes to you. You know what I mean? I've always liked that phrase, "He was visited by grief," because that's really what it is. Grief is its own thing. It's not like it's in me and I'm going to deal with it.  It's a thing, and you have to be okay with its presence. If you try to ignore it, it will be like a wolf at your door." -Stephen Colbert
Days until home: 17ish

Some wishes for you on the big 2-0

My dearest Nick,

Today would be your 20th birthday. Can you believe how far all of us have come? Happy birthday, my love.

Time truly does pass too quickly. It's hard to believe it's been three years now. Three long years.

Today is both an infinitely wonderful day, a day of celebration and joy and wonder, and a day to grieve. I do not necessarily believe anymore that the two things should be separate. Grief takes its own shape, visits and passes in its own time. Life moves on around grief, and thus, celebration will always coexist with grief, love with hate, wonder with sadness.....

I can't help but wonder where you would be today, Nick. Playing soccer in college? Coming up with crazy pranks to brighten someone's day? Spreading your smile and light and spirit around a new place?

Yes, probably all of the above.

But the amazing thing is, even from so far away, even living as you do up on that deep painting sparkled with light, you are doing that last thing. You continue to spread your light and spirit around the world. I miss you and feel you and think of you in places your body never walked, but where your spirit now flies freely. You are travelling the world with us Nick, and you are travelling the universe on your own. I hope I can join you there one day.

Though I continue the grief process every day, though I miss you every day, I try to focus as much as possible on the positive.

You lived so much, my dear. So, so much. In your 16 short years, you touched the hearts and minds of more people than you could possibly imagine. With your gentle smile and easygoing, welcoming spirit, you attracted people to you with your electric field. And people didn't let go. I know I didn't.

Though we didn't interact on a face-to-face level once I continued with IB and you did not, I want you to know...I held on to your electric field. I held on to the memories of your friendship and love and laughter. I always knew where you were in the hallways, and your smile could brighten even the toughest of days for me. Here was this boy, this young man, who was so carefree and happy, who really understood what it meant to live. I tried to absorb as much of that spirit as I could. And always, I will remember you. I will remember your jokes in class, how I would carefully help you through tough concepts in classes, how much fun you and Michael made French class...

You continue to be one of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege to share this life with. And I am so grateful for that.

Mostly, that's what today is for me: a day of grace and love and celebration. For while your physical body is gone, while I will never see you grow up, or see your smile cross your face again, I know this: You are not gone. Energy cannot be created, and energy cannot be destroyed. You are invincible. We all are invincible. Our energy merely manifests in a different form and continues to travel the universe as bright, bright starlight, burning fires to create new elements and opportunities for light.

I don't know if I've done the best these past months to live, but I try. I try, and I remember your faith and love for everyone you encountered. You were not perfect, but you did not expect to be. Nor did you expect those around you to be. But you persevered, kept pushing, triumphed, failed, got up again, collaborated with people, made teams, made memories, shared tears and laughs...All the while, keeping that optimistic and contagious smile on your face.

So, that's what I try to do. I keep your spirit close to my heart, and to me you are not truly dead. I miss you, and I cry at night still, but I know I will forever carry a piece of you with me. Because of that, this piece of you will never leave this world. Not really.

Thank you. So much. For being a part of my life, both physically and, now, spiritually. You taught me so much and continue to teach me so much. Every day, when I look down at my arm, I think of you and smile. You are free, you are loved, and you are beautiful. Forever and always. Goodbye is not forever. I look forward to the day when our energies cross paths again, in whatever manifestation that may occur.

For now, know I celebrate you every day. I cry for you and laugh for you, and with you.

And still, I love you. I love you I love you I love you. Always.