precisely.

wording is important.

at least, I believe it to be. Anyone who has received an excessively long email from me can attest to that fact. I explain and explain and explain until the message is long enough that I am certain the mere sight of it is daunting to the reader. I do this because I want to be precise, and more importantly, because I want to be understood. I want to convey exactly my thoughts as closely as possible so that people can best understand my heart. what i believe, why i believe it, where i am coming from. what all my theories are based upon.

even simple phrases we use each day imply a certain philosophy or worldview. Recently I have been pondering this one, "fall in love/fall out of love." I am certain I have used this phrase. But i don't believe in it.

I don't believe in the idea behind the wording. to say "i fell in love" implies that it was something i did not intend to do. almost that it was something that just happened to me. as if one day i was walking along and i tripped over one of those breaks in the concrete and love is where i landed. Of course, that is not the case. First of all, I believe that in order to "fall in love", you have to be willing to "fall in love." though i suppose i should say "be in love" rather than fall. Loving someone is not a passive feeling, but rather an action. It is something that takes a great deal of our time and energy and thought and emotion. It is vulnerable and frightening. Before we can be in love, we must be willing to love. and that is not an accidental, serendipitous happening of fate; that is a decision.

i do fully admit that there are some bits about being in love that are beyond our control. Particularly, that bit about who it is we are in love with. We don't seem to have full control over who that is...this is a mystery i will just never understand.

Even more than i disagree with the notion of "falling" in love, it is the notion of "falling" out that i despise. as if love was a place, like a floating island in the clouds, and by taking a wrong step you may just slip off and land right back on earth. We don't fall out of love, we stop loving. And those are very different concepts.

in fact, let us, for just a moment, imagine love to be a floating island in the sky (because really, that is kind of fun). If one is truly in love (on the island) then that is a place they have decided to go, and they don't fall off, they leave. In this scenario to really be in love means that you don't go anywhere that even presents a danger of "falling off" the island. you don't go near the edge, you don't test the boundaries. you don't explore dangerous territory alone. you choose to stay right in the center of the island. even when you tire of the company and even when other places seem to have much greener grass.

We don't fall out of love because love isn't something that happens to us, it is something we do. or don't do.

Sadly, these phrases have become so commonplace. (We have all discussed falling in or out of love. Even as I was writing this it was hard for me to think of other descriptions.) And because These ideas are frequently used, our culture has embraced the implicit philosophy behind them. Particularly the falling out of love side...I have heard many people claim the reason for their separation from their boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife is that they just fell out of love. People are relying on the empty idea of live rather than the alive reality. And that is part of the reason people are so afraid of love. Isn't it terrifying to think that one day someone could wake up and say, "I don't love you anymore" or, for that matter, that you may wake up and look over to the person next to you and think, "I don't love him/her anymore."? of course it is. The idea that we have no control over when love comes or goes would leave anyone hesitant...but it isn't a reality. Even when we don't feel like loving, we can still love. and that is the idea we should be spreading about love.

that is why wording is important.

have you missed me?

oh blog....it has been so long since i have shared my thoughts with you. Have you missed me most terribly? i thought you might...

to make up for my absence, i will share with you a most peculiar and slightly embarrassing fact:

I am terrified of taking a shower in the dark.

i have no idea why.

just the idea of it makes me shudder....*shudder*....

the christmas-y spirit.

I read this every year. I think it is so perfectly written and beautiful. I am very glad to believe in Santa clause and all the unseen wonders in this world.

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

texts from my dad. Volume 6.

"Ashaleeeeeeto

i miss you toooooo.

hope you're over the cold and doing great things. won't be long before we'll be cooking together.

Love, Dad"

some truth.

"Let no one who loves be unhappy, even love unreturned has its rainbow."

-J.M. Barrie

"Dear Zachary"

I cry in movies.

that is just a fact. I can't help but become connected to characters and stories; to become invested in the journeys. Even when I try really hard not to cry (because, let's face it, it is a little embarrassing when you are caught weeping through "Lilo and Stitch") I am unsuccessful. Those darn tears just come and make a mess on my sweater...

I am in a documentary phase. I go on netflix and i search the instant play documentaries until i find one i think will be interesting. So one day I found this documentary called "Dear Zachary: A letter to a son about his father". I read the brief synopsis which basically said it was a movie this guy made because his friend was murdered and he wanted to create something so that the victims son could know who his father was. It sounded very tragic but it also seemed like it could be something really beautiful. I knew that I would cry because the very nature of the story is a sad one, not to mention this was a documentary and not a fictional story so that just made the whole thing more weep-worthy.

I started the movie and, as predicted, i started crying. Nearly immediately.

this movie was different however, because i literally cried the whole movie long. Usually I have some reprieve...

And then, somewhere near the end of the movie something so utterly heartbreaking happened and I suddenly felt like i wasn't sure my body could handle it. I don't think I have ever wept so deeply in my whole life. I felt like i couldn't breathe and my body was heaving and, if i hadn't been trying my very hardest to be quiet because my roommates were sleeping, I am certain i would have screamed. It was an emotion i have never felt before and it was so thorough and gutteral...and frightening.

the movie ended and i just kept on crying. and when i finally stopped all i could do was sit and be awed and be thankful.

the movie was tragic. tragic beyond what you think anyone could survive. but it was beautiful. It was about someone who was loved, in the truest sense of the word. I will always be haunted by it.

always.

here it comes

yesterday I got myself ready to

make the pilgrimage into the

city and I gathered all my

things and

walked down the stairs to the

exit of my apartment. I opened

the door and breathed in... and

there it was. Right when I

wasn't expecting it. That

perfect, clean scent that

absolutely nothing

else can replicate. That

intoxicating aroma that

invigorates you from your

head, all the way down

to the tips of your toesies.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it

smelled like snow.

Now it was much too warm to

actually snow, but its promise

is there. It is lingering in the

near future. All at once I am

equally thrilled and weary at

the prospect (because walking

to the bus

stop and waiting for the bus in

the snow, not to mention

riding it on icy streets...I mean,

come on

people. you would be worried

too). But no matter what,

I love the smell of snow.

cheers

has the mail arrived?

"The power of regular letter writing cannot be overstated. Even if all they consist of is the minutia of everyday life, letters maintain and even strengthen intimacy, no matter how many thousands of miles separate the sender and receiver."

I wish there was some sort of profession in which I could write people letters all day long...

I love letters. I love to write them. and i really love to receive them.

I think they are powerful and beautiful and significant.

is this adventure?

When I went to the airport for my final departure from California I learned that the security guards are really nice to you if you look like you have been weeping and you don't really intend to stop anytime soon...

note: in the future when i have to make any kind of significant departure i will do it in the morning because it is a little bit brutal to have to say goodbye over and over all day long. My flight was leaving at midnight and from about 6:00 on I had been intermittently weeping. I wondered why on earth I had even bothered to put on any make up. that was just silly.

I told rachell we needed to stop at the grocery store so I could buy some tissues. I just wanted to buy one of those small packages. the kind you can fit in your purse. However, it seems you can only buy a case of like six of those small packages...and i was crying a lot, but not 6 packages worth. But there I was carrying 6 packages of tissues around in my purse. Just to add to how ridiculous i already felt.

So then rachell and mikael drove me to the airport and when we arrived we got my luggage out of the trunk and then I hugged rachell and then I hugged mikael. Mikael and I both just started crying and from then on i could not stop. (that is how i learned about the security guards...).

I trudged my way to the gate and sat down. They were playing the most melancholy music in the airport which was not helpful to my state of mind. Then I read the letter Mikael gave me. Commence even more weeping and significant amounts of embarrassment while i sat there with my packages of tissues and thought to myself, "This is ridiculous. who chooses to leave everyone they love on purpose? this was a horrible terrible idea"

And then I thought about how you rarely actually see anyone crying in the airport. It is a place where people say hello and goodbye, but usually the space in between the two isn't large or unbearable. I thought how strange it was to be nearly certain that I was the only one in that airport gate making permanent plans to leave the people who had become my family, my heart. what a strange, lonely feeling.

And then I thought about this part of the adventure. I had always considered my move to new york to be an adventure. Really, the first big uncertain adventure i had ever made. And up until the moment i was sitting in the airport I thought it was going to be really fun and full of intrepid outings and funny moments. I never considered the part that actually made it an adventure: The fact that it would be hard. That it would try to break me. That it would involve a fight. When we think of adventure we almost always just think about the triumph of it all and we forget about the parts that almost defeat us. But we usually think of adventure from the outside. when the adventuring is over, or before it has begun. When we are in the midst of the adventure we don't refer to it as adventure. We tend to refer to it as life, and we frequently don't like it.

For a long time after I got here I was really sad. I am still sad, in truth. But less sad than i was. Mostly, these days I am just thankful i have people i love so much that it hurts to be away from them. There are so much worse aches to be had, and I am grateful for this one. This is my adventure. My first adventure, i will not forget to appreciate it as such, because once I come out of it I will be able to see the epic worthy moments of triumph, such as apartment decorating last night and sleepovers in the city with my best friend. And I will move forward in hope and I will carry my homesick heart with gladness and I will protect it and remember how many people i have to help me protect it. even from far away.

how i love you all...

timing

Timing. Timing is of the utmost importance.

In my first few weeks here in the city I have learned that. You can no longer be running a couple minutes late while you are getting ready and think to yourself, "Its ok, i will just be five minutes late." Because if you are even one minute late you have missed the bus. Now you are waiting at least a half and hour for the next one. Yes, I have chased down a bus. i only had to to it once, and it wasn't really my fault as the bus was actually early on this day. Sue and I were going to an audition and so we were both dressed nicely and we were making our way to the bus stop and we got to corner and we saw the bus we needed start to drive right past us. We looked at each other a bit panicked and then we both took off! we ran right into the street and down two blocks and we abandoned all our modestly as our skirts flew much higher than a skirt ever should...but we made it to the bus. Also, I have missed the bus. Timing.

And then on the other hand, you can rush down to the lightrail station only to get there and see that the next train doesn't arrive for 17 minutes. And then you have to wait around till it gets there and you wish you would have checked the schedule so you could have arrived in a more timely fashion. and then it takes 45 minutes to get to the city instead of 20. Timing.

Too late. Too early. both aren't good.

but of course, I am not really talking about transit.

life and death and the spaces between.

I have a friend I met at pepperdine, her name is Greta. I haven't talked to her in a few years, but she was my small group leader at my church in malibu. She is, and will always be, one of the most beautiful, brilliant people I have ever encountered. The picture above is from an album she has on her facebook page entitled "Thank you notes". Each picture in the album has a caption underneath it which thanks God for some glorious bit of life as we experience it here on the earth. It is a truly lovely album and I look at it frequently as she adds photos every week or so. Yesterday I was looking at it and I came across this picture and the caption she wrote for it which states, "Thank you for a dying swan dahlia, and thank you that she will come back again someday."

And in one of those rare moments, my breath caught. And I had to stop and listen to my breath and give myself a moment to ponder.

This time in life is an interesting one. It stings frequently. In moments you don't expect. There is a lot of triumph and heartbreak to to found all mixed together, and sometimes it is hard to decipher the two as the thoughts and emotions intermingle. For the past 5 months or so I have listened to a lot of people share their various wounds and their fears and the things that break them. many have found themselves in dark places. I have found myself in a dark place. And it is that which makes me ever thankful for the small inextinguishable light that is hope and for the way I found it in this picture.

Perhaps people are more like flowers than I ever expected. We are fragile and we need care and sun and rain. sometimes we are surprisingly resilient and we refuse to give in and sometimes we find that we have done a face plant into the dirt and we try to hold onto our color and we try to stand tall again, but sometimes we cannot. Sometimes we die. And perhaps that is ok. Perhaps that is what is supposed to happen. We all accept that flowers die. The winter comes and it gets the best of them and they always die. But they do come back someday. As do we. sure enough the spring always follows the winter and we find our heads lighter and easier to lift. Death has not conquered us.

"Thank you. Thank you God, for people and for all their broken places and blocked paths and the bits that feel as though they can't be mended. Thank you for the people who seem to be dying, and thank you that you can bring them back someday"

Until Death do us part

These are my friends who got married on October 9, 2010. Rebekah and Ryan. Aren't they Beautiful?

I was a bridesmaid. This was my first time to be a bridesmaid. I was really quite elated about it, but I didn't think it would be a very big deal. Walk down the aisle, hold some flowers, smile, watch bride and groom kiss, follow them outside. I was not unfamiliar with weddings. I have been to a few and I have watched them on tv. It seemed a rather basic principle, but somehow it became so much more to me.

This wedding was by no means extravagant. the flowers had been arranged by the bridal party the night before from flowers bought at costco. The bridesmaids all wore dresses of their own choosing which the bride had not even seen until the day of the wedding. We all did our own hair and make up. We put up all the lights ourselves. It was a simple wedding, but to me it was stunning. It was everything a wedding should be, because it wasn't about the wedding at all. It was about the fact that people were getting married. And that made the whole thing feel extravagant and full. Every time I would ask Rebekah a question about some sort of mindless aesthetic thing she would say something to the effect of, "I don't really care, whatever you want. I just want to get married." I hope someday that I can keep this same mentality when I find myself engaged.

I always thought that I would make it through my own wedding without crying until I got to the father/daughter dance, but when i found myself weeping as rebekah walked down the aisle at the REHEARSAL I changed my mind. I now fully expect to cry all through my wedding...which is a little bit unfortunate...but what will be will be. The rehearsal was the day of the wedding in the morning and I must admit that until we got there I was still a bit stunned by the fact one of my best friends was getting married. I had a bit of a fear of marriage, largely because I regard it as so important and I never want it to be taken lightly. But I think being at this wedding calmed many of my wedding related anxieties. By the time we actually started the rehearsal it felt so natural and perfect and filled with an ever bubbling joy and I decided that I love love weddings. Every part of them. And as I stood there on the stage waiting for rebekah to walk down the aisle I was struck by the symbolism of the wedding party and i felt so very honored to be a part of it. The wedding party represents the fact that the couple entering into the marriage covenant acknowledge that they cannot make it through without people, friends and family, supporting them on both sides. That is the way it should be. and being a member of the wedding party is the same as making a decision to make sure you help to support the marriage and remain dedicated to keeping the two people together in the way you live and the advice you give and the prayers you offer. It was all so lovely and I was so glad to stand in support of people who were giving themselves to each other with the utmost love, repect, and reverance.

I saw weddings in a new glowing, golden light I had never understood before, and I will always remember it.

I love weddings.

just around the corner.

I have always believed God to be intricately involved in our lives. I don't think God is the kind of God to create something and then abandon it...particularly if it is something He loves enough to have sacrificed His son in order to save...That kind of love requires more care and depth than I can really understand. But, all that to say, I do Believe God to be intricately involved in the in's and out's of our daily lives.

However I was wondering the other day just precisely how exactly and intricately involved He is. Does God have a hand in which parking spot I chose to park in? or (now that I live in a city and have no car to park) what about the streets I walk down? There is a never ending series of ways I could end up in one place. If I have to go both north or south and east or west the thing that decides which streets I walk down is the "Walk" or "don't walk" sign. Say i am on 38th and 6th and I need to get to 42nd and 8th and I am walking north on 6th but when I get to 40th the "don't walk" sign is on. Then I would just turn and start to head west toward 8th. and if i hit 7th and the "don't walk" sign was on then i would turn again and continue to go north until i hit another "don't walk" sign or reached 42nd st. And this could happen at every street. I could change directions ever other street, or I could end up walking all the way north and then turning west. And in the city the varying streets offer so many different things. My walk to port authority could be completely different depending on one varying street because there are so many people and so much to see. Is God involved in that? Is God orchestrating the street lights in order to direct what i see or experience on any given day? And if He is, then He is doing the same for everyone else....and that is a lot of streetlight organizing. Of course, God is big enough to manage that I suppose, even though I am kind of baffled by it. And I am just baffled by the number of people and streets in New York City, let alone the rest of the world.

Whoa...

tree house

I want a treehouse. someday.

Ever since I was a kid I have been rather enamored with tree houses. (tree house. one word or two? treehouse.) Usually, you find that as you grow the desires of your childhood fade, such as my deep deep desire for one of those little barbie cars you could actually drive, but I think I will always want a treehouse.

For me a tree house represents escape and adventure and lots of time and space for big and little thoughts. It is beauty and wonder and I would keep lots of blankets in it so I could still sit inside during the more crisp months of the year.

if i had one, i would invite you over to hang out inside with me.

I want a treehouse. someday. soon.

unsaid

sometimes when my computer is off I type all sorts of secrets and thoughts and things i am too scared or not ready to say. or things that are just too rude to say. all the horrible all too human bits...my keyboard knows them.

I have loved you beautifully

i heard this song today on pandora. I was just listening to some music while i made dinner (which was quite delicious, thank you very much) and i was suddenly aware of the lyrics and i thought to myself, "wait, did that song really just say that!?" so i promptly went and looked up the lyrics. And it did in fact say that. I thought to myself that this was just a terribly sad song. Then i finished cooking dinner and ate and went on a walk with sue.

But i can't get this song out of my head. it is haunting me. I understand this song...in many ways, at many times i feel like it could be about me. And i do still think it is so sad.

but at the same time, despite the tragedy inherent in it all, no matter how many people i have not been beautiful enough for i think it has always been worth it to love them that beautifully. To love someone beautifully, at least to me, means that you love them so fiercely and with so much grace and acceptance of their humanity. You love them as a person. For who they are in that moment. for who they could be. for who they will be even if they never reach their full potential. To love someone beautifully reaches so far beyond the realm of romance. And yet, it is the romance part that stings so deeply. and it does hurt. beautiful love is risky...but if we don't try it, we miss everything.

"Beautifully" by Jay Brannan

Every time he goes, she dies
Every time she comes, she cries

He was her long, bright future
In the middle of a wrong, dark road
He loved her, but he wasn't too sure
If he could return the love she showed
When she said, my love extends
Beyond the realm of being friends
He kissed her head
And quietly he said

It's not that you're not beautiful, you're just not beautiful to me
She said, how beautiful do I have to be?
When I look in the mirror, you're the only thing I see
And I have loved you beautifully

Well, ten thousand tears passed by
But she never let him see her cry
And he called up down one night
He said, let's get in the car and just drive

He talked a lot about loneliness
But why, she didn't know
And some song about Memphis
Was playing on the radio
She said, let's stop the car and slow dance
Won't you just give me a chance?
He took her hand
And hoped she'd understand

It's not that you're not beautiful, you're just not beautiful to me
She said, how beautiful do I have to be?
When I look in the mirror, you're the only thing I see
And I have loved you beautifully

Well, she'll burn that bridge
And build a house
And swallow the smoke in her mouth
She'll feel the burn
And then make the choice
To put the fire in her voice

It's not that you're not beautiful, you're just not beautiful to me
She said, how beautiful do I have to be?
When I look in the mirror, you're the only thing I see
And I have loved you beautifully

thank you sir.

About a month ago a friend told me he was going to take me to dinner and a show. I was pretty excited. and so on the evening we were going to go I spent far longer than usual getting ready and tried to be fancy. I wore a dress and heals and more makeup than just mascara and chapstick. i put a flower in my hair. and i felt pretty.

then i got in my car and drove over to my friends apartment. Once i arrived there i had to wait for someone to come and open the gate to let me in. while I was standing there waiting there was another man standing at the gate. He had a big van and he was waiting for a pair of women who were coming out of the apartment complex. The van had a wheelchair ramp, as one of the women was in a wheelchair. We stood there next to each other for a few moments and awkwardly glanced at one another in a brief greeting. Then, just as the women were almost to the gate he looked at me and he said something. I couldn't quite understand what he had said, so i said, "I'm sorry, what?" and then he looked at me and said, "you look like a queen." that took me quite off guard, and so there was a brief silence and then i replied, "oh...well, thank you!" and then i walked inside the gate and went to meet my friend.

I still think about this short interchange. And i am so thankful for that man. That man made me feel beautiful and lovely for at least a whole month. Anytime i felt like anything less, i remembered that that man thought i looked like a queen.

there is so much power in the tiny small things we say, and the next time i think someone looks "like a queen" i hope i have enough courage to tell them because it might just lift them up for much longer than i ever expected.

Try to remember the kind of september...

a little while ago a friend and I were discussing memory. We talked and laughed about the things we remembered and why our minds choose the things they do to hold on to. I have some very distinct and vivid memories of childhood which seem to me to be rather useless. I have no idea why i remember them. But then there are other things, such as singing "what i did for love" in show choir, that i have absolutely no recollection of. none. i still wouldn't believe we had sung that song except for the fact that i watched myself do it on videotape.

we mused about this topic for awhile, and then she mentioned that our brains can only hold so much. so many memories. She said that this is why older people can go on and on about memories from the past, but it is hard for them to remember more recent events. Their mind is simply full.

I feel a little bit sad about that.

I feel like during this time in my life, last summer in particular, I tried to store up every possible moment. Every sensation, every smell, every new thought, all the funny jokes and the way it feels when you hug me. I wanted to keep it all. I still want to keep it all. Anyone who knows me knows that i truly listen. I try to be fully engaged in the moment with whoever i am with. That is why i am good at remembering things people said and birthdays and lots and lots of moments in life. And i am glad i have all those things, all my shimmery memories. I need them.

I don't think there will ever come a time in my life when I am not going to want to save all the memories i can. I want to remember as much about this life as i possibly can, and it breaks my heart a bit to think that one day so many things will be gone, like that memory of "what i did for love".

But for now, i have heaps of lovely memories and moments to stop and revisit throughout the day. And I am thankful for them. and i always will be.

a pile

I find myself having written down a pile of 5 things to blog about. And i do want to write these blogs...

but do you ever just find yourself sitting there thinking, "It is 2:30 in the morning and I am exhausted. why am I awake?" Well, if you have found yourself in that position then you will know quite exactly how i am feeling at this very moment as i watch the clock continue counting the minutes even further into the wee hours.

and so, there shall be no blogs on this early morning. but there shall be sleep. and i hope it rains again tomorrow. except i hope it stops just long enough that i can make the walk to the grocery store without completely soaking my jeans. :)

My favorite thing today

This video brought me very much joy.

it made me smile like this :)

"Marcel the shell with shoes on"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TL3oaHKCko