Thursday, August 6, 2015
three
i am
a collector of dreams. - My bucket list is overflowing with random odds and ins. trips to distant places. art, pottery, yoga, and horticulture classes. concerts to attend. foods to taste, books to read. My list is never ending. Literally. In nearly every day of life i live, i see or hear about something that sparks my soul and ignites a desire. Life is just so rich! The world is so magnificent. People and cultures are incredibly diverse. There are places and people, mountains and buildings, rivers and roads that are pulling me. Pulling me away from my little life in this corner of the universe. Calling my name. No, not calling. Shouting it. Begging me to explore and learn and touch and see and feel.
and yet
there are little things. much smaller than far-away places that are oceans, mountains and valleys away. There are bike rides to the canyon and drives at sunset.There are so many paintings and poems to birth. So many Sunday naps to take and farmers markets to attend.
i lead
a small life. it's a simple one, really. But i have somebody to come home to every night and wake up next to every morning. and that was always number one of my bucket list.
i am
young. terribly, wonderfully young. And yes, there are moments. Day's even. That i wonder. Maybe even worry. that this is all so fast and so much and so serious. This life i live. Being a grown up is hard when you still feel like a kid most of the time. The Challenges of married, adult life aren't for the faint of heart. and maybe that's why so many people just opt out of this gig. But i wouldn't opt out. even if i had the chance to.
Because
i know this is the biggest and best adventure i'll ever have. The most rewarding challenge i'll ever take on. This is the journey in which i will experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows and the deepest feels that are capable of being felt. I'm building a life with someone. My soul is His. His soul is mine. We are one. And i'll tell you what, as many times as my mind travels to distant countries and cities and beauties, it always travels back to my person. and my little life in this corner of the universe.
And i am home.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
two
I am a day-dreamer. As cliche as I feel writing that down, its a fact. I spend a considerable amount of time each day inside my head. I've always been this way. Quietly thinking up best and worst case scenarios. Imagining the future and reflecting on the past. Its habit. So its no surprise, that my head often travels to beautiful places and stays there for a while. One of my favorite beautiful places to dream up is the beach with the person I love most. My head and heart have traveled to that location and date and time over and over and over again.
Sandy toes and fingers. Sunshine far too warm for springtime. Ocean air, tangled hair and salty kisses.
I thought I understood it. I thought i grasped the idea of what a day-dream like this one would consist of. but the fact of the matter is so much clearer to me now.
There was a moment. A moment I'll hold like a face in the palms of my hands and look at for the rest of my days. Its almost sacred to me somehow, that moment we shared. It was simple, really. Standing on Newport Pier right as the sun was hanging low in the sky, about to dip beneath the deep blue water. It was that time of day when everything is warm and soft with the setting sun, but light enough that the world is still softly glowing. As we stood there on the pier, and put quarters in the coin-operated binoculars and began to twist the nob, focusing the lenses only to find the love of my life, the man I'm going to marry at the other side of the pier. There he was. All six feet three inches, long arms and legs - fingers and toes Standing on a weathered wooden surface with swaying palm trees and a sandy beach behind him. He let out a little laugh and shyly waved a hand as he began to walk closer - that same smile growing bigger with each step closer. And that's it. Thats when my heart nearly bursts. There he is. The man I'm going to marry. The father of the babies we're going to have someday. The person I'm going to sleep next to every night and kiss every morning when I wake. My person. There he is. Right there. I found him.
I found him five years ago as a high school student in my orchestra class.
I found him when he picked me up for junior prom and remembered that I love sunflowers.
I found him the morning after he graduated as we watched the sun slowly rise and felt our lives changing forever.
I found him late in the summertime as we sat on my trampoline and talked about our latest adventures to the desert and Europe.
I found him after he left for college and still remembered to call and check on me.
I found him when the leaves changed and our whole world turned orange, red and gold.
I found him when he first kissed me and held my hand at age seventeen.
I found him that time we slow danced in my kitchen.
I found him when we played in the snow and spent Christmas together.
I found him when I said goodbye to him for two whole years.
I found him in every letter he sent.
I found him when he walked off an airplane after those 24 months and hugged me like nothing had changed.
I found him when I fell in love with him all over again.
I found him every time we've ever sat in the car with tear-stained cheeks because long distance is so damn hard and saying goodbye again and again is exhausting in so many ways.
I found him when we began to talk about starting our life together.
I found him when he got down on one knee and asked me to be his forever one month ago today.
And I found him again on that pier at Newport Beach.
I find him every day. When we're at the grocery store and he takes a good fifteen minutes to pick out mouthwash. When we're at church and he holds onto my hand during sacrament meeting. When we're walking back from the college campus and we talk about the babies we're going to have and the places we're going to visit and the things we're going to do. I find him in little moments. every day moments. folding laundry and making dinner, a call during my lunch break or while we're driving around town. I find him.
That same person who I climbed around the jetty with - who picked me up and carried me into the ocean - who kissed my mouth with salty ocean lips - and held my hand, covered in little grains of sand as we walked across the beach? He's the same person who looked at me across the pier and made my heart stop all over again. He's the same person who I loved at 16, love at almost 20, and will love at 30,47,62,80,105 and into eternity.
Eternity. I choose him not only today, or tomorrow, but forever.
The thing that made this "real-life" daydream so intense and overwhelming and "soul squeezing" is that fact that life is always so much more raw, and deep and breathtaking than you'd ever expect it to be. And that's because it's real. I love this person because he's real. Because his realness is what makes my life and my story beautiful. My person - I found him.
Sandy toes and fingers. Sunshine far too warm for springtime. Ocean air, tangled hair and salty kisses.
I thought I understood it. I thought i grasped the idea of what a day-dream like this one would consist of. but the fact of the matter is so much clearer to me now.
There was a moment. A moment I'll hold like a face in the palms of my hands and look at for the rest of my days. Its almost sacred to me somehow, that moment we shared. It was simple, really. Standing on Newport Pier right as the sun was hanging low in the sky, about to dip beneath the deep blue water. It was that time of day when everything is warm and soft with the setting sun, but light enough that the world is still softly glowing. As we stood there on the pier, and put quarters in the coin-operated binoculars and began to twist the nob, focusing the lenses only to find the love of my life, the man I'm going to marry at the other side of the pier. There he was. All six feet three inches, long arms and legs - fingers and toes Standing on a weathered wooden surface with swaying palm trees and a sandy beach behind him. He let out a little laugh and shyly waved a hand as he began to walk closer - that same smile growing bigger with each step closer. And that's it. Thats when my heart nearly bursts. There he is. The man I'm going to marry. The father of the babies we're going to have someday. The person I'm going to sleep next to every night and kiss every morning when I wake. My person. There he is. Right there. I found him.
I found him five years ago as a high school student in my orchestra class.
I found him when he picked me up for junior prom and remembered that I love sunflowers.
I found him the morning after he graduated as we watched the sun slowly rise and felt our lives changing forever.
I found him late in the summertime as we sat on my trampoline and talked about our latest adventures to the desert and Europe.
I found him after he left for college and still remembered to call and check on me.
I found him when the leaves changed and our whole world turned orange, red and gold.
I found him when he first kissed me and held my hand at age seventeen.
I found him that time we slow danced in my kitchen.
I found him when we played in the snow and spent Christmas together.
I found him when I said goodbye to him for two whole years.
I found him in every letter he sent.
I found him when he walked off an airplane after those 24 months and hugged me like nothing had changed.
I found him when I fell in love with him all over again.
I found him every time we've ever sat in the car with tear-stained cheeks because long distance is so damn hard and saying goodbye again and again is exhausting in so many ways.
I found him when we began to talk about starting our life together.
I found him when he got down on one knee and asked me to be his forever one month ago today.
And I found him again on that pier at Newport Beach.
I find him every day. When we're at the grocery store and he takes a good fifteen minutes to pick out mouthwash. When we're at church and he holds onto my hand during sacrament meeting. When we're walking back from the college campus and we talk about the babies we're going to have and the places we're going to visit and the things we're going to do. I find him in little moments. every day moments. folding laundry and making dinner, a call during my lunch break or while we're driving around town. I find him.
That same person who I climbed around the jetty with - who picked me up and carried me into the ocean - who kissed my mouth with salty ocean lips - and held my hand, covered in little grains of sand as we walked across the beach? He's the same person who looked at me across the pier and made my heart stop all over again. He's the same person who I loved at 16, love at almost 20, and will love at 30,47,62,80,105 and into eternity.
Eternity. I choose him not only today, or tomorrow, but forever.
The thing that made this "real-life" daydream so intense and overwhelming and "soul squeezing" is that fact that life is always so much more raw, and deep and breathtaking than you'd ever expect it to be. And that's because it's real. I love this person because he's real. Because his realness is what makes my life and my story beautiful. My person - I found him.
Monday, April 6, 2015
one.
I like starting over. I like clean lines and fresh foundations. I like the plainness of an empty canvas.
I crave simplicity and the slightest hint of newness.
The thought of a clean slate and a fresh start call out to me, and the idea of a completely new adventure terrifies and excites me in the most exhilarating way.
My life has changed so much since the last time i consistently wrote and let my thoughts and feelings take flight across cyberspace. When I was sixteen and a semi-angsty adolescent, i wrote or "blogged" if you will, to sooth my soul. I wrote to give life to all of the passions and ideas and feelings that at the time, I thought nobody else was capable of feeling let alone, understanding.
Its been a few years since then. And to be completely honest, I still have days where my passions, ideas and feelings seem a little more out of control than the rest of humanity. I wear my feelings like an old sweater. When I look back, I regret letting the fear of other peoples opinions control me like they have. I quit writing because i quit being open and expressive and apologetically myself. When I stopped allowing myself to be vulnerable, I didn't have anything left to say. And because both heaven and hell know that I'm a terrible liar, I stopped writing completely.
I realize now, that that choice was unhealthy in so many ways. Because not only did I blanket the most pure and genuine parts of my soul, I also suffocated the parts of myself that crave to be free and openly expressed. I stopped writing and feeling and living for myself as I worried too much about everyone else around me. In that process, I lost myself a little bit . I can openly admit that I let go of some of the best parts of myself out of my fear of being judged, criticized, or made fun of.
I've spent the last two years picking up the pieces of who I was and who I know I'm supposed to be and worked hard at putting this old soul of mine back together. But I'm ready to try again. I'm not together, but I'm getting there.
As strange as it sounds, I miss the vulnerability that comes from this kind of public self expression. And although I never really have, nor will I ever write for anyone other than myself, I miss the idea of being heard. Even if the only one hearing what I have to say is the heart beating in my very own chest.
I miss opening up a little window and letting some light in. I miss taking the time to listen to the thoughts inside my head and then trying like a mad-women to somewhat organize them. It's been forever since I let my hands hit the keys at a scrambling speed and allowed them to just - Go. Its been longer than I can even remember since I was honest with not only everyone around me, but also with myself. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't missed being real and being open. I miss everything about it. I miss the finished project. I miss stashing all the feels one person is capable of feeling and writing down in a matter of a hour or so, and then being done with it . Turning the page and then moving along to the next window.
This is all kind of scary for me, beginning again. Because being real, means being vulnerable and being vulnerable means completely owning who you are and expecting the hate and the criticism to come flowing in from any direction. But i'm ready. I've spent the last few years learning to be OK with that Concept. Now that I am, I'm ready for this empty canvas. This clean slate. This fresh start. I'm ready to nurture the parts of myself that need extra attention, to speak when I need to speak, to give life and breath to my passions and ideas and feelings. Because they deserve to be freely and openly expressed. My soul needs room to breathe and grow and the only way it will have the space to do so is if i write. So that's what i'm doing. Starting now.
I crave simplicity and the slightest hint of newness.
The thought of a clean slate and a fresh start call out to me, and the idea of a completely new adventure terrifies and excites me in the most exhilarating way.
My life has changed so much since the last time i consistently wrote and let my thoughts and feelings take flight across cyberspace. When I was sixteen and a semi-angsty adolescent, i wrote or "blogged" if you will, to sooth my soul. I wrote to give life to all of the passions and ideas and feelings that at the time, I thought nobody else was capable of feeling let alone, understanding.
Its been a few years since then. And to be completely honest, I still have days where my passions, ideas and feelings seem a little more out of control than the rest of humanity. I wear my feelings like an old sweater. When I look back, I regret letting the fear of other peoples opinions control me like they have. I quit writing because i quit being open and expressive and apologetically myself. When I stopped allowing myself to be vulnerable, I didn't have anything left to say. And because both heaven and hell know that I'm a terrible liar, I stopped writing completely.
I realize now, that that choice was unhealthy in so many ways. Because not only did I blanket the most pure and genuine parts of my soul, I also suffocated the parts of myself that crave to be free and openly expressed. I stopped writing and feeling and living for myself as I worried too much about everyone else around me. In that process, I lost myself a little bit . I can openly admit that I let go of some of the best parts of myself out of my fear of being judged, criticized, or made fun of.
I've spent the last two years picking up the pieces of who I was and who I know I'm supposed to be and worked hard at putting this old soul of mine back together. But I'm ready to try again. I'm not together, but I'm getting there.
As strange as it sounds, I miss the vulnerability that comes from this kind of public self expression. And although I never really have, nor will I ever write for anyone other than myself, I miss the idea of being heard. Even if the only one hearing what I have to say is the heart beating in my very own chest.
I miss opening up a little window and letting some light in. I miss taking the time to listen to the thoughts inside my head and then trying like a mad-women to somewhat organize them. It's been forever since I let my hands hit the keys at a scrambling speed and allowed them to just - Go. Its been longer than I can even remember since I was honest with not only everyone around me, but also with myself. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't missed being real and being open. I miss everything about it. I miss the finished project. I miss stashing all the feels one person is capable of feeling and writing down in a matter of a hour or so, and then being done with it . Turning the page and then moving along to the next window.
This is all kind of scary for me, beginning again. Because being real, means being vulnerable and being vulnerable means completely owning who you are and expecting the hate and the criticism to come flowing in from any direction. But i'm ready. I've spent the last few years learning to be OK with that Concept. Now that I am, I'm ready for this empty canvas. This clean slate. This fresh start. I'm ready to nurture the parts of myself that need extra attention, to speak when I need to speak, to give life and breath to my passions and ideas and feelings. Because they deserve to be freely and openly expressed. My soul needs room to breathe and grow and the only way it will have the space to do so is if i write. So that's what i'm doing. Starting now.
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