purge

inspired by a friend of mine who forgave herself. i thought i should give it a try.

i forgive myself for being messy and leaving my clothes on the floor

i forgive myself for being a procrastinator

i forgive myself for not being able to find a job

i forgive myself for not being as faithful as i should be

i forgive myself for all the things i know i should not feel

i forgive myself for not having a boyfriend

i forgive myself for caring that i do not have a boyfriend

i forgive myself for having doubts

i forgive myself for not being skinny

i forgive myself for being scared to sing

i forgive myself for being shy

i forgive myself for being afraid of breaking the rules

i forgive myself for not knowing how to use any technology

i forgive myself for not enjoying most sports

i forgive myself for the days when i feel sad

i forgive myself for not liking dogs

i forgive myself for not trying harder with you

i forgive myself for being scared to leave

i forgive myself for wanting to be married someday

i forgive myself for not calling enough

i forgive myself for my moments of cowardice

i forgive myself because i have been forgiven, and if God can forgive me, then i should forgive me.

I forgive myself so i can try again tomorrow.

a day at the park.

i had some friends come to visit me last week. on saturday we spent an hour of adventure exploring the wonder that is ikea, and then we went to the park. Earlier in the day we had stopped by the dollar store to find some things to play with. We got a package of buzz lightyear bubbles, a mini bowling set, and a foam rocket launcher. our ages are 22, 22, and 28 respectively. We proceeded to play with the bowling and bubbles and rocket for a long time in the park, constantly rolling gutter balls and popping bubbles and shooting the foam rocket at each other. we laughed a lot. the sun was shining. there was a breeze. there were tall trees. it was perfect.

i feel so grateful to have friends who can enjoy simple childlike wonderment with me, because that is how i felt on that day. and i loved it.

we must hold onto our wonderment and the small simple pleasures.

genie of the lamp

my friends helped me finalize my list of my three wishes i would make should i ever come upon a genie.

1. I wish for a magical wallet that always produces the exact amount of money i need whenever I need it.
2. I wish to fly
3. I wish to be able to eat whatever i like and always remain healthy and in shape.

unless of course i need to free the genie with my third wish. then i will just have to do a lot of flying for exercise...

the string around my finger.

sometimes I forget about romance...
of course this is the moment that anyone who reads this blog says, "LIAR! almost every other post on here is about romance of some kind!" and they would be right in saying that. I think about romance and love and relationship a lot, but i think of it in theories and in my imagination, but I frequently forget about romance as an actuality. I think i stopped thinking about it as something that could happen in my life. it is hard for me to think of it that way because i have always been so removed from it. At this point considering any romantic happenings actually happening in my life feels as realistic as considering that the next time my doorbell rings there might be an alien there. I wish this was an exaggeration, but it is not. I cannot even imagine being asked on a date because that feels almost otherworldly to me...and i have a big imagination.

anyway, all this to say that I think I am becoming something I don't want to be. I don't want to roll my eyes at romance. I need to remember these things. I need to remember romance. I need to remember it as a reality.

to protect myself from feeling hurt i usually try to make myself feel "above" romantic things. truthfully i will probably still do that to some degree, But i need to remember to be receptive to romance. I hope that someday i meet someone who tells me all sorts of cheesy lines (because cheesy is perfectly acceptable to me as long as it is sincere), and I hope I can take them all and enjoy them and remember them. And i hope they make me smile and laugh and I hope i let myself believe them.

i will remember romance. at least i will give it my very best shot. and if i forget, hopefully i will remember tomorrow.

Kitchen, dancing in the

I love dancing in the kitchen. Ever since I was a kid i would always try to make my dad dance with me while he was cooking. I rarely succeeded as my dad is not a big dancer, but i could always get my mom to spin me around the kitchen. As i grow up i find this practice loses none of its joy. i have danced and sung and clapped around the kitchen with all my roommates. Kendra and i have slow danced ever so dramatically. Mikael and i have danced in the kitchen. Sue and i just had a little mini dance party to a song we just watched steve martin perform. I love to dance in the kitchen.

I feel like the kitchen is such an alive place. It is a place where all your senses are engaged and that makes me feel so aware of what an experience it is to live. And then you add the dancing and it is even better! i hope i always have people to dance with me in the kitchen.

you know what i mean.

Ingrid Michaelson knows precisely everything i want to say...

i love almost every single one of her songs. I feel like they are my songs.

"Snowfall"

I want a snowfall kind of love
The kind of love that quiets the world
I want a snowfall kind of love
'Cause I'm a snowfall kind of girl
I want a snowfall kind of love
That lights up the sky from below
I want a snowfall kind of love
That brings people to their window
Won't you bury me in your quiet love
Oh bury me in your quiet love
Bury me in your quiet love
And we will blow away
I want a snowfall kind of love
The kind of love that keeps you in bed all day
Oh I want to walk through with you
And watch it all melt away
Won't you bury me in your quiet love
Oh bury me in your quiet love
Bury me in your quiet love
And we will blow away

and from "Are we there yet"

They say you're really not somebody
Until somebody else loves you
Well I am waiting to make somebody somebody
Soon

beautiful.

texts from my dad. vol 3.

"Ashaleeeetoooo

iron your gown

so that you can walk down

after the crown.

we'll meet in your town.

celebrate your time around.

love DAD"

thanks friend.

texting with my friend

me: I miss you, just so ya know....i wish we could hang out and watch a movie you would fall asleep during...

you: i miss you too, i think you're beautiful, and i am jealous of all your tortured artist friends that get to see you all the time.

somehow, you always say precisely the thing i need to hear. thanks friend. i do miss you.

another text from my dad...

here is another installment of "Texts from my Dad"

A:

Happy Easter.

Looking out the window i can see a little brunette, white shoes flashing, racing across the lawn. Easter eggs to be found. First one, then another, pretty soon there can't be any other. full basket, mother's camera, little sister's yammer. ah easter morn.

Well, babe we're going to miss you. i'll have to eat your share of the prime rib, i think i can do it. you guys will have to buy a chocolate bunny and have a nice dinner.

love, Dad

is he the best or what?

willingness

Something ended last weekend. It was bittersweet. It was my last performance in the official APU theatre season before i graduate.

I was in The Most Massive Woman Wins. I was Carly. Carly is so different from me, but i will miss her. I am grateful for her. she helped me learn about me.

This show was, without a doubt, among the most frightening things i have ever done. It is in the top five for sure. At the end the four women in the cast have to stand on stage in their underwear. this is not something i am inclined to do. it never got easier.

But i am proud of myself for doing it. I am proud of myself for serving the story. and i am secretly thrilled that i had it in me to do it. I feel a little bit like i felt after i got my tattoo; like i had done something no one expected from me. no one would expect me, this shy girl, the one who rarely talks in class, and who occasionally avoids eye contact with people, and who doesn't really like to share, to stand on stage and disrobe. but i did.

but it wasn't bravery. I don't think i am brave. maybe i don't think there is such a thing as bravery. maybe there is only willingness. willingness to do impossible things.

mission

This is on one of my friends facebook pages and every time i read it i am struck by it. I love it. I am adopting it.

Life mission:

To spread goodness and cheer like Santa Claus.

To fight for justice like Wonder Woman.

To adventure like Magellan.

To think like Solomon.

To love like Juliet.

why am i posting this!?

Dear Mikael,

if you read this before i see you tonight:

I wrote this, but i don't think i can share it at the coffeehouse. i'm sorry.

-ashley

Mikael asked us to write our own vagina monologues based on the prompt "what would your vagina say if it could say two words" to perform at the women's coffeehouse for theatre of the oppressed. at first i felt weird about it. i felt like it reduced me to being my vagina. But in talking about it i realized that a great deal of my personal "heartache" does have to do with a kind of "vagina issue." I don't think i can share it though. i am not a real big sharer... as evidenced by the fact that i have given 4 people the url to this site.... i think it is just too deep in me to share like that. i'm not ready. but i will post it here. for 4 people to see. because i am ready for that. so here it is, my vagina monologue:

Why would you want to hear about my vagina? I guess you could say all women have a vagina monologue, and, since that is true, I just have a hard time thinking that you would care to hear about mine. There are much more important vagina monologues out there. Ones that are meaningful and actually heart wrenching and ones that can make you stop and wonder about the state of humanity. Ones that can make you laugh. Ones that are less pathetic than mine. I hate mine. I hate that it matters to me. I hate that no matter how hard I try to will myself, I can’t change it. And I hate sharing it right now.

When I was a kid I never went through one of those “boys have cooties” phases. I always liked the boys. Of course I put on the appropriate show for the rest of the class should we all have to hold hands for prayer or something. I would make faces and try to pull the sleeves of my sweater all the way down over my hands. I would make some loud proclamation about how I would need to wash the sweater the moment I got home. But secretly, I loved it. I loved holding hands. I loved that at the end of one of the songs in show choir I had to sit on Andrew’s lap and pose cheerily. I loved being assigned a swing dance partner. I always loved boys.

Around the time I turned 12 my parents told me that I was not allowed to “date” anyone until I was sixteen. I didn’t really mind. I couldn’t see the point of dating anyone when I was twelve anyway. Neither of us could drive or anything. What would we do? I was always rather practical…except for this one notion, which escaped my carefully executed logic and reason: For some reason I thought I would have someone to date when I was sixteen. I just assumed that by the time I was sixteen some handsome fellow would be waiting in the wings. That was not the case.

16 passed. So did 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. and 22. High school ended. College began. And ended. For a really long time I still believed that someone would want me. It was just around the corner. It could happen tomorrow. I watched each and every one of my friends get a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I listened to the stories of their first dates and first kisses. I rejoiced with them and I helped them put their hearts back together if it ended. I waited patiently for my turn. I had a lot of friends. I liked who I was. Other people liked who I was. I was appreciated as a good friend and as intelligent and talented. I still felt happy for a long time.

Most struggles become easier over time. We learn how to handle them and we can move on, but not this one. This struggle only gains fuel as time goes on because each day is another day that no one noticed you. I noticed a few people over the years, but they never looked my way, and I started to learn things. I learned that no matter how smart I was, or how supposedly talented, or how funny, or how interesting, or how many hours I spent hanging out after midnight, or how much time I gave listening, or how many other people who say you are perfect for each other, or how much of myself I shared with someone-- there would always be someone better. There would always be someone he wanted more. And I would find myself watching the two of them walk away together under the stars at our group camping trip, or I would see him at the airport and then I would see her and then I would watch him kiss her and not be able to move my eyes. Or he would move away without even saying goodbye to me. He asked my best friend to the dance. I became the consolation prize, time after time. If he couldn’t hang out with her, I would do.

And now I realize that it does not matter how many times I have been appreciated for my mind because no one even wants me enough to hold my hand. Let alone have anything to do with my vagina. And all I want in this world is for someone to hold my hand.

Lots of people have told me I am pretty, but I am not beautiful enough for anyone to want me. I mean really want me. To want my mind and my body. To desire me. Everything I am always adds up to a little less than the girl next to me. So he picks her. It’s simple math.

What would my vagina say if it could say two words? Nothing. It doesn’t have anyone to talk to.

chocolate. mmmm.

I love chocolate.

As it is officially february and valentines day is rapidly approaching, there is an overload of chocolate all around the world. it is everywhere.

I was having a particularly strong craving for chocolate the other day and I was thinking about how lovely and delicious it is. if you have ever had a craving for chocolate, then you will know that it is among the worst cravings in the world. it must be satisfied....or else.

but anyway, i began to wonder what i would insatiably crave if i had never experienced chocolate?

but i suppose it really doesn't matter because i do have chocolate.

oh my, this blog. what silliness...

i apologize.

the choice

I was watching Grey's Anatomy today. Christina was asking everyone if they had to choose love or surgery which they would choose, because she was trying to figure out this very thing. A patient came in who was a singer. He had cancer in his lung and he spoke about how he did not want to live without singing. As they were operating they discovered that they would have to take out more of his lung than expected in order to save his life. however, one of the surgeons decided they would try another, less sure, procedure in order to salvage his singing career. When the surgery was over Christina went to talk to the surgeon and she said, See you get it. you changed the procedure to save this man's singing because he didn't want to live without his gift. I choose my gift.

And so she chose surgery over love.

and i was thinking about my gift. I love to perform. I love to sing. I love to dance. I don't think i am the greatest in the entire world at any of those things, but i do think i have some talent for them. and when i am doing them it feels wonderful. it is like i have come home and i belong there. i cannot even describe it to you in words. I love it.

but

if it came down to it. a gun to the head decision. there would be no contest, i would choose love. but at the same time i kind of think that love is my gift. I would still be choosing my gift. I would be choosing something that made me feel whole and fulfilled and alive. Much of what art accomplishes is accomplished through love of some kind. Love is its own kind of art.

I cannot imagine my life when i am seventy without children or grandchildren. As much as i love performing, i love people more. For as much as i talk about wanting to be wanted and as much as i whine about wanting a boyfriend who takes me to the movies and brings me a flower on occasion, i think the thing I am most excited for about all that is that i will also have someone to want. I will have someone to be completely invested in. I will have someone i can build up and challenge and make them feel like they are the best of who they can be. I will have someone who i could text everyday and not worry about it. i will have someone to rejoice with and mourn with and to be a team with.

life is about how you share it. i choose my gift. love.

Skeleton

The other day I was sitting in class and something strange happened.

I was sitting with my elbows on the table, with my face in my hands. I started to move my fingers along by cheeks and I could feel the hardness of my cheekbones underneath my skin. Suddenly i was very aware and awed at my skeleton. I don't think about having a skeleton very often. Even if i am looking at one at the museum i rarely identify with it, or really even consider that i have one beneath a few layers of flesh. how odd it seems to me now.

and as i was sitting there i felt like i didn't know my skeleton. i felt like by skin and my face and my hair and my organs and muscles were all a part of what made me, but my skeleton was possibly someone else. like perhaps it should have another name, because certainly it was not a part of ashley.

and then i felt my arms and felt for the bones in my wrists and then i moved my hands along the sides of my ribs. Still, i didn't know my skeleton.

but i know that we are fond of each other, my skeleton and me. we have a bond. she gets me. she doesn't (usually) do things i don't want to do, and she is always supporting me.

its still weird....

42 pages of friendship

42 pages of friendship. now there are more. probably more like 48 pages...

When you sent me the first message who would have guessed that this would happen? I suppose it is just one of those blessings God puts in your life to remind you that He knows you.

I don't suppose i ever would have thought i could have so much to say to someone who i have only spent a few hours with in "real life." Yet, somehow, that doesn't matter at all.

And now i can see our friendship in a way i have never been able to see a friendship before. I can see it in 42 pages of shared life. and i can go back and read over it whenever i please.

Thank you for your pages.

texts from my dad.

Every so often my dad sends me the most amazing text messages. they make me giggle so much.

this is the one he sent me a day or two before i came home for christmas break. they always start with "A:" and end with "love dad"

A: A trip, you are taking a trip.

bip.

that's so hip.

i think i will bake a cake and take a nip

have a nice trip.

love dad

haha! and he did, in fact, make a cake.

things that last

"We all know that something is eternal. and it aint houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars...everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you would be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. there is something way down deep that is eternal about every human being"

Our Town

right out loud

I have a distinct recollection of a conversation i had with a friend when i was younger in which i told her i would never, ever, be the first one in any relationship to tell the other person i loved them first. when i think about it, it strikes me as a bit funny that i thought that even from such an early age.

It has never been an easy thing for me to tell people how i feel about them. I always feel remarkably awkward, and my voice usually shakes, and i lose any eloquent words i have, and my face becomes about 3000 degrees. It is not generally an enjoyable experience for me, at least in the moment i am trying to do it.

I have become a great deal better at telling people how i feel in the past few years because i think it is such an important thing to do. and i always appreciate it so much when people tell me how they feel about me. it can change your life. being honest and sharing your heart and telling others what you see in them makes for secure relationships that are free from the pain of wondering where you stand. games are avoided, and hearts are visible. of course it is that very reason that makes it all so scary. it requires the ability to lay down your pride and let down your walls to tell someone they matter to you. sometimes it feels embarrassing. it almost never gets easier to do this....but i have always found it worth it.

in most of my relationships i can't remember the first time i told the person i loved them or the first time they told me they loved me. it was just something that happened and we both just knew and the moment of saying "i love you" wasn't really momentous. i have never been in any kind of romantic relationship so i never had any kind of "in love with you moment" either. those kind of moments were foreign to me.

however, i am currently involved in a friendship that is different from all the other ones i have had. This relationship required that "i love you" be intentional and acknowledged. and it was funny because i thought i would be afraid to tell this person i loved them. i thought i would be nervous and i thought it would be hard to get the words out. But, it was not. at the moment the most important thing was that he had to know that i love him.

and i have discovered something; when you actually love someone you don't give a damn whether they love you back, you just love them. you just want them to know.

in "my best friends wedding" one of the characters says, "when you love someone you say it. right then. out loud."

i couldn't agree more.

let the countdown begin

it is new years eve in the year 2009. somehow the end of the year always surprises me and reminds me of the fact that our years here are, in fact, numbered. This was a beautiful year. it was filled with surprises and hurts and joys and lessons and moments of absolute breathlessness.

It was, in many ways, everything a year should be. I am grateful for it.

happy new year...