Healed

I am a religious and spiritual person, but normally I keep things neutral on my blog. Today I am going be a bit more personal. I would ask that if you have nothing nice to say, you say nothing at all.

Earlier today I went up to my roof to hang my laundry. I have come to really love line drying because it makes me slow down and I take the time to focus on my actions. As I headed up, I grabbed my ipod. After I carefully hung and secured my laundry, I turned on my tunes and began to dance. (I've never seen anyone else or their laundry on the roof, so I figure I have the place to myself.) I leapt, swayed, tapped, spun, shimmied and let loose. There was no one to see if I looked like a fool, so I let myself believe I looked as good as I felt. After going full throttle for three or four songs I felt delighted and out of breath. I kicked my legs up in a faux toe touch like I was an actual ballerina or cheerleader. I lifted my leg up and lay it out along the half-wall of the terrace and stretched.


I came back inside with a grin that felt like it came from the core of my very soul, and then I cried.

For four years of my life I suffered from intense back problems. They began suddenly and caused me total agony from day 1--by the time I was at my mental and physical breaking point four years later, they were twenty times worse and more painful than I could've imagined at the start. The reason the pain went on for so long was because no one could ever diagnose the cause behind it. When it didn't go away after a few weeks, my mom and I began venturing to chiropractors, physical therapists, etc. That was the fall of my senior year of high school. I did physical therapy for a while on a whim, but I never felt any better and I was frustrated being treated when we didn't know the problem--it was ridiculous. Over the following years there were multiple rounds of X-rays, MRIs, more attempts at PT, and everything else. The pain went from agony in my lower back and a bit of pain in my right leg, to complete agony in my lower back and severe pain all the way down my right leg that left it often entirely numb (like the pin-prickly feeling of something falling asleep, but constant). I wish I could really describe what this felt like. It was all the time. By the end, my spring semester junior year of college, I would wake up with a hitch, a limp, that would last until a few hours into the day--I hated walking to classes, trying to compensate and walk normally when really I was in misery.

I tried to live normally, and I would say I did pretty well. I went abroad and didn't lose any momentum because of my pain. I hiked hills and mountains, walked entire cities, and did everything else with my friends. But when I came back for spring semester, it was unbareably worse, and it was taking a very serious mental toll as well. I was completely depressed during that semester, and I know a lot of it was from how weak and tired I had become from the pain.

Over the years, I spent countless nights sobbing in bed and praying, begging God to just take the pain away. I asked for a miracle. I just wanted to wake up and be better. I wanted to wake up and find that there was no stabbing pain in my leg, no fiery inflamation in my back. But every morning I woke up and the pain was still there and I felt a bit more heart-broken. My problem was finally, and I mean finally, diagnosed as a herniated disc and it would require a disectomy. The truth is, I let the problem go on longer than it needed to after the news because I was so terrified of surgery. I tried everything else--I had an epidural in my back even though the doctors said it would at most quiet the inflamation for a few months and then the pain would likely resume. (And the epidural never even ended up working at all! Ugh.)

Once upon a time some months ago I came across a blog (apologies if it was yours!) where a girl told her story of injuring a disc and being in total pain. It went on for a few months and she found she would need surgery. One night she prayed hard that God would heal her instead. She woke up pain free and never needed surgery. It was a miracle. I have to admit that my thoughts were ungracious. I felt angry that she made it seem so simple. I felt angry that this had worked for her and not for me. Four years. I must have prayed in the deepest throws of misery dozens of times for a miracle. Many nights I fell asleep chanting "please God, make it go away." Why had she been more deserving? Why after only a few months was she healed and my pain went on and on and worsened?

I have a testimony of the fact that God absolutely answers prayers--but he does so in his own way and on his own time and always will. I believe this, but that doesn't mean it is always easy for me to remember or understand. I also know that often times the answers are difficult for us to recognize until later on; that we don't see the little miracles in our lives until we look back at the path that unfolded behind us. In my moments of need, I take comfort knowing that my prayers will be answered, but that doesn't mean I am patient waiting for the answers and I am usually blind to the way they come about.

So it wasn't until now, 2 years after the back surgery that changed me life and renewed my hopes for the future, that I see that God did answer my prayers for healing. I got my miracle. It wasn't right when I asked for it, but it did come. One day I did wake up and discover that my pain was gone. After years of sobbing from pain and the depression it caused, I spent the summer after surgery sobbing from the relief and amazement I felt to have my body back. Everything was a first again and my parents shared with me in wonder as I proudly told them my legs and feet weren't numb and my back didn't hurt. Just walking around was thrilling. And with every day I went to bed or woke up without the pain and the limping and the rest of it, I just wept. When I returned to school for my senior year, I would lie awake at night and pull my legs up and test my flexibility--for four years I hadn't been able to raise my legs higher than a few feet without radiating-dizzying pain. I would lift my toes to touch the ceiling (lofted bed) and just giggle to myself.


Of course, over time the every day thrill has lessened a bit as I became accustomed to this new, good way of life. I don't wake grateful every day that I have fallen asleep and woken up without pain consuming my thoughts, although I should. But still so often the world finds ways to remind me and I get a thrill in something little that others wouldn't--dancing, stretching, lifting my legs, and even just falling asleep without pain still makes me giddy.

My back isn't actually 100% pain-free; there are times when the nerves in the area become inflamed again. I used to panic and start crying because I thought it was all coming back, and in fact if I'm not careful it could come back (re-herniate). But I know now that the slight pain and swelling is a reminder to me that I have a responsibility to mantain my health and take care of my back--this is my second chance. A little advil quells the immediate pain (in the height of my back problems no amount of advil did anything) and by re-dedicating myself to keeping up with my pilates, which is my PT, I can strengthen my core which in turn protects the area from re-herniating in the future. God can provide miracles, but it is up to us to do our part as well.


One of my favorite verses and equally the one that I have the hardest time truly putting my faith in is this: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." Matthew 7:7-8

But it is true. If we have the patience and the scope of vision, we will receive our answers. Sometimes we already have long before we realize it. Be patient and take heart. This is something I work on daily.

Today it is the two year anniversary of my microdiscectomy. The doctors and my Heavenly Father changed my life that day and made it possible for me to be a happy capable twenty year old instead of a girl weary beyond her years and crippled inside and out by her pain. I never doubted God was with me as I struggled or faced fear upon going in for surgery, but I regret that it took me so long to realize just how thoroughly he answered my prayers—all of them. I don’t wish for my pain back, but I am glad I went through the trial that I did because now I appreciate my health far more than I would have…and with each stretch and care-free movement I find a reminder of what my God will do for me when I ask him for help.

The Printed Word

I am a huge {understatement} fan of the printed word. I have been an avid reader since I was a wee little thing, I’ve interned in a bookstore, and I majored in English Literature and Creative Writing. When walking around my beautiful college campus for the last time, I only got really emotional…as in I sobbed…when I went to walk around my dear library by myself. It was deserted for summer and I went from spot to spot that I’d spent lifetimes studying in. Then I wrote a little note and hid it away.

I love real books—paper and ink, yellowed pages, crumbling covers. (New ones are quite nice too.) I am of that group of true bibliophiles who likes to smell a good book like it’s a fine wine. Have you ever seen Gilmore Girls? When Rory prompts the prospective student she’s hosting at Yale to smell the books—that’s me.

I have been famously career-clueless for years now. I waited it out during college, expecting a revelation to hit at any moment. Freshman and Sophomore years passed and it was no big deal, quite fine really that I didn’t know what came next. Junior year I panicked. I did career-counseling, took endless career/personality tests, researched and prayed. Senior year I settled in to a sort of comfortable peace with the fact that I was officially aimless and clueless about my future. I did a PR/Marketing internship in a local independent bookstore that I adored and really loved it, but wasn’t sure that was the field for me. Actually, what most of my career journey has been is figuring out which careers aren’t for me. I don’t want a high-competition job; I’d much rather a collaborative community environment where I’m doing some good.

The one thing that’s consistent when I explore career possibilities is that they always end up involving books, in one way or another. So you can imagine how disheartening it is these days to have everyone and their publisher harp on about how the printed word is dying. Books are on their way out, they say. Soon everything will be digital, online.

Sigh.

For one thing, I don’t believe it. I refuse to. The truth is, I have a Nook. It was a birthday gift from my sister before I came to Spain. It’s been very practical to have a device to carry around dozens of books on when I’m traveling and had to pack up my life in 2 suitcases for 9 months. The fact was, I just couldn’t bring a whole bookshelf. (Plus I don’t have access to books in English here.) But I will always prefer and love real books more. Once I am back in Colorado I will head back to my library and frequent my favorite book store (Tattered Cover) again. I know I am not alone in my love for the feel of a real book in my hand, the words on a page versus a screen, so I refuse to believe books will go extinct.

I recently had a breakthrough in my career journey. It was a revelation by God, really. While meditating the answer popped into my head—books & reading. These were the things I am passionate about. I also like working with children and the community although I do not want to teach. I began googling and when I found “the answer” it felt so right and a peace settled over me (followed quickly by giddy excitement) that I hadn’t felt in 5 years of searching. I am now planning to study for the GRE and apply to Grad School to get a Masters in Library Science, with a Children & Youth specialization.

As I begin to research my new potential career, it is rough to find page after page of discouraging remarks about the lack of jobs and the possibility that they will soon disappear altogether. But I know what I want to do and I have to have faith that our culture won’t altogether abandon the printed word and the sacred places that house it. Even when our books move online, won’t we still need an advocate to introduce our children to the love of reading? Won’t we still want our children to experience the feel of paper printed with bold words and bright illustrations in little hands?

And for all of this talk of books going extinct in lieu of the internet, I have one final observation to offer: If books are going south, then why do popular bloggers and internet sites “make it big” when they are offered a book deal? Answer me that. If it’s more sophisticated or practical to be online, why is the publishing industry interested in taking material that is free and available online, and turning it into the printed word?

Well, I for one, can’t wait to see Hyperbole and a Half printed up as a book.

Long live the printed word. Long live the readers who cherish it.

My, Myself and I in Palma de Mallorca

Last Friday I took planes, trains and automobiles to make my way to the island of Mallorca for a little mini-holiday.

This is the first trip I have ever taken completely alone. I have traveled plenty by myself…as in I’ve spent many an hour alone at an airport, on a plane, on a train, on a bus, etc…but I’ve never gone somewhere without someone to meet me at my destination. When I first arrived in Spain and the realization that I would have no friends to travel with sunk in, I decided my fate was sealed and I would be miserable and do nothing for 8 months. My attitude sucked. Of course my family encouraged me to travel anyway but I deemed it impossible. This weekend I found myself journaling a lot about cliché things that are absolutely true, and here’s the first one: We set our own limits; impossible usually only means something you are not willing or are afraid to do. This was definitely the case with me. However, once I warmed up to Spain and my confidence grew, I began to change my attitude. First I just learned to be comfortable being alone in town or taking small trips into Córdoba. Then, I decided to book a flight to Edinburgh for the holidays—sure I was meeting a friend, but I was still being progressive. Step by step things started feeling less impossible and more possible. Suddenly, the idea of traveling alone didn’t seem devoid of joy or just too scary. It seemed…well, kind of potentially cool.

I knew I had a puente (a break) at the end of February for Día de Andalucía and I began to feel that the time was right for me to consider taking a trip…alone. I was ready to be bold. When my friend Meredith (who is living in Greece this year!) emailed me a BBC article about the top 5 places to go in February and I saw Palma de Mallorca on the list I said “hey, why not?” and began to plan. Within the week I had booked plane tickets, a hostel, an excursion and was busy researching Palma de Mallorca.

So, there you have it. I decided I was going to do this traveling alone thing and so I made sure my attitude was adjusted to be open and confident and adventurous.

And thus, I had the most incredible first (but not last!) solo trip ever!

I know I am going to be like a fondue pot in this post (filled with cheese) but I can’t contain it. This was one of those experiences in my life that just filled me with thoughts and revelations.

Revelation #2: Alone but not lonely
Being comfortable alone has been a personal struggle and journey for me, and this weekend I felt how very far I have come. In college I had such paranoia of being alone that I couldn’t even eat in my college cafeteria by myself without panicking over what others thought of me. I would either dial my parents and talk through the whole meal, bring food to my room, or pretend to study. Slowly I made progress on this and by Senior year I could totally handle eating alone without the props, but I wasn’t completely comfortable either.

This weekend I was a hundred percent content to be alone and remarkably comfortable in my own skin. I have never before felt as secure alone as I did this weekend. I would sit and journal or read my book with a glass of wine or coffee, but this time these weren’t props but sources of complete happiness. As I sat at a string of cafes throughout the weekend surrounded by couples or groups of friends, I didn’t once panic at what they thought of solo me.

On top of that, I was thrilled that I never felt lonely on my trip. I was admittedly worried that eventually at some point during the weekend it would sneak up on me, but it never did. There were a number of times that I wished for my friends or family to be with me, but only because I was having such an incredible time and seeing and doing so many cool things that I naturally wanted to share it with them. But I was more than happy to be with myself! In fact, sometimes I saw a grumpy looking group of travelers and I would think, “I feel bad for you—I am having such a blast!”

Revelation #3: Being happy with your own company
Of course this goes a bit with number 2. You know that cheesy cheesy thing people say about how you have to love yourself before others can? I’m not sure that’s 100% true because I’d like to think my family loves me pretty hard even with my past self-doubts….but I will concede that I felt a new level of understanding and appreciation for this statement this weekend.

I decided moments into my first café visit that this would be a date weekend with myself. I would treat myself and I wouldn’t be jealous of those with significant others or friends because I am good enough company. I am worth it.

And my, did I have a blast! You know what? I am good people. I’m just going to say it. I think I am pretty great to hang out with! I am full of joy, I have a passion for life and learning and travel, and I appreciate fully the little beautiful moments in each day. I had a really excellent time seeing Palma with myself. I can’t wait for my next adventure!

Revelation/Truth #4: Traveling alone is amazing and allows you to meet excellent people

I am going to preach this like a Sunday sermon. Oh my gosh, every little bitty cliché twist on this statement anyone ever said to me is absolutely the gospel truth.

People have told me time and again that traveling alone is great because you can make all the choices and meet new people and do whatever you want. And you know what I thought? Whatever, I love traveling with my friends—who cares about making decisions and meeting strangers I’ll never see again?

Ok past Kate, you were so misguided.

I adored the solo-traveler lifestyle. I basked in it. At times I did struggle a bit only because I am indecisive by nature so having all the decisions to make was a bit much at times. But on the whole it was glorious. When I wanted to wander, I wandered. When I wanted to stop on a dime to see whatever caught my eye, or taste a treat, or take a picture, or drop everything and journal… I did it! I felt so free and at ease and relaxed. I could change my plans in a heartbeat if that was what I wanted and no one would have anything to say about it. I made general plans and then I just let the day guide me.

And I totally loved the way I met people! I wasn’t even really trying, but I think that there is something about being open to the world that attracts like-minded people because I literally met most people by them coming up to engage me in conversation. By being alone but not closed off it was easier to have rewarding interactions. My favorite encounter was when I was leisurely strolling the markets in town my first day and happened across an artist’s tent that I quickly fell in love with. I wanted to buy out her stock—I ended up going home with 3 pieces. Well I was there vacillating for so long that she started talking to me. We chatted for ages! And I went back to visit her every day. We talked about our lives, her art, her home back in Argentina, and everything else.

Another cool encounter made possible by being alone: I booked an excursion on Sunday so I could see some stuff outside Palma…and I ended up being the only English speaker on a tour bus full of Germans and Spaniards! Luckily my attitude was so flexible that I didn’t let it faze me and I told the tour guide I could probably keep up with the Spanish. Well I took one of the only seats left open next to a young woman and after a while I ventured to ask her what language she spoke. Turns out she’s from Germany but living and teaching English in Spain like me! She speaks German, Spanish and English fluently but we conversed in Spanish until another German joined us and then we switched to English, our only common language.

I realize I have yet to say a lot about what I actually did or saw in Palma, and realizing how long this post is (but how much I wanted to write it) I am going to post this and then do a new post with all the actual fun details. If you read this, I appreciate it. I hope maybe it’s inspired you to take a solo trip too!

A few closing thoughts (as if I haven’t said enough)…

As this plan came about and during my time in Spain in general I have had several generous friends tell me how brave I am or that they could never do what I’m doing. The thing is, I have never thought of myself as particularly brave. This has simply been a growing process in which I discovered that you have to take ownership of your life and your happiness. I was not a pillar of bravery and strength when I got here (nor am I now). Those of you close to me remember my tears, my desire to leave or just sleep through the months. And then I began to get over it and I realized that nothing was going to change unless I changed it. I could continue to say “I will sit here in my piso and I won’t leave and I won’t speak to anyone and I will cry tears into my café con leche until it’s June” or I could start making plans. So all I want to say to you is you can do this. I am no braver than you. I have only been put into situations where I had the opportunity to make new choices and rise to the occasion—if you were in my shoes, I know you could and would do it too. If you want to be as “brave” as me, then decide to be and seize the day. After my weekend I cannot encourage you enough to take a trip by yourself. But of course, I think attitude is key, so make sure if you do you are ready to open yourself up to the world and all it has to offer.

(And now of course if you are the type, and I have many friends who are, who have always loved and been comfortable traveling alone then I know you probably find the big deal I’m making out of this silly. But it was a big step for me.)

Ok! Please come back to hear all the fun details about the trip and hopefully--fingers crossed--see some photos!

Date a girl who reads.

This is shamelessly stolen from my minxy friend Nicole who linked to it and posted it as a note on facebook. Of course, the real credit goes to the author, Rosemarie Urquico. I can relate to this so intensely that it makes me ache for all the books I have loved and will love and all the words I hope to write.

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

~Rosemarie Urquico

Source

{I love to read...sometimes even in Spanish. Just for the record.}

{And if anyone's wondering, I would definitely rather receive books than flowers or jewelry. You can hold me to that.}

For you.

If your name is….

Patricia. Richard. Jennifer. Christopher. Graydon. Leonor. Mitchell. Jose. Dolores. Patti. Judy. Tom. Jim. Ivan. Anna. Jane. Michael. David. Stephanie. Elise. Jen. Jenni. Megan. Sue. Donny. Cristina. Samantha. Kelley. Katherine. Ja. Taryn. Scott. Ali. Janie. Haley. Kellie. Anne. Kelsey. Stephanie. Laura. Shannon. Lauren. Katie. Katie. Katie (there are so many Kates/Katies in the world!) Elyse. Rocío. Irene. Kelsey. Liz. Anne. Alex. Carmen. Carlos. Liz. Andres. Amanda. Allison. Ted. Teresa. Justine. Nicole. Lisa. Sabs. Jori. Liss. (Your name here.)

Then I love you.

(I'm sorry I didn't name everyone specifically. The list would go on forever!)

Once upon a time you changed my life. It might’ve been a brief encounter, a small gesture that meant the world to me. Maybe you’ve been a long-standing part of my life. Maybe you once spared me a smile and kind word when I needed it most. I don’t discriminate with love.

Sometimes people say “love” is an overused word. They’re not wrong. Do we really “love” that new shirt? That piece of chicken? That blog? But when it comes to people, I think we should never be too careful and closed off with love. I am a very open person with my love and friendship. I am eager to love you as a friend, an advisor, a confidant, a family member, romantically, a kindred spirit, or whatever the situation may be. Yes, this means that I open myself up to a lot of hurt. By not withholding my love I have put myself in situations where I was hurt by friends many times before. But I have no plans to change the way I function. In the end, I live a much happier life being willing to love without reservation than by closing myself off.

Today, I am sending a little love your way. Remember that you deserve it, no matter if you’re single, dating or married. I hope you have plenty of love in your life—remember it comes in many different shapes and sizes. Love is so much more than just the romantic kind. If you’re not afraid to give love out, you will see how fully you get it back.

{Related: This Post}

as small as a world and as large as alone

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember he troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.

--E.E. Cummings

E.E. Cummings is one of my favorite poets. I posted once about my favorite love poem of all time, which is his poem “i carry your heart with me.” If you’re not familiar with E.E. Cummings, I will point out that part of his poetry is the actual display of words and punctuation on the page. So, any lack of spaces, capitalization, strange punctuation, etc., is completely intentional.

I discovered the above when I took poetry during my sophomore year of college. Although the class was ridiculous because of my absurd teacher, I loved reading through our poetry anthology on my own. This poem has a childlike sing-song manner and imagery about it, but the last two stanzas stirred something in me when I first read them, and still do today.

Yesterday I made sure to get out of my piso for most of the day. After a very cold week the temperatures finally rose to a pleasant 13 degrees and it felt incredible to be outside. I ran errands, met with a friend, and window shopped. Finally, I headed up to my favorite bench in Parque de los Pinos. It faces east, and over the lines of rooftops I can see out to the campo. It was around 5pm when I sat down with my book, my journal and my thoughts. The sun was warm on my back and I played with the images my shadow projected onto the ground for a few minutes before letting my thoughts just flow out and into the breeze.

I once told my mom that I considered myself an outdoors-type and she laughed at me. She pictured what we probably all picture when we think “outdoors-type”: hiking boots, white water rafting, cutting down wood for a campfire and catching your own fish to cook over it, etc. Ok, I am not that outdoors-type. But I do love to be outside. I need the green, the open-air, the sounds of water or crinkling leaves or waves. When I first got to my pueblo, I felt suffocated by the small streets with tall buildings closing me in. After a few weeks I discovered the park at the top of the hill by the library that offered me a tiny respite from stone and concrete. I also discovered little bits of nature all around me and stopped taking them for granted. When I walk down the steep hill that leads from the center of town to the barrio bajo (lower neighborhood) where I live, I can see out to the countryside and I feel relief. Every morning when I walk to the end of my street and across the river to head to my school, I feel a little exhilaration and a little decompression. I see the flowing murky water, the various plants growing from the embankment, the jagged hillside and the smooth hillside flowing together, and the various colors of the sky on that particular day.

I may not be a hard-core outdoors girl, but I need nature. I love going to the coast and seeing the water stretch out and on into infinity. I love going into my precious Colorado mountains and seeing how the view changes with each bend in the road and I love hiking high up into the sky and away from the worries and problems of everything down below. Open fields, creeks, wide lakes, dessert sand, rolling hills, winding rivers—I love them all. Every type of nature and scenery has its own glory.

What’s more, I think that being outside helps me discover things about myself. I feel like I can do my best thinking when I’m not confined by walls. I find things I thought I’d lost in myself. I redefine my world and its limitations. I let things go and breathe more deeply.

When I first read the last two stanzas of Mr. Cummings poem, I identified with them. They speaks to something I know. I appreciate the light and care-free subject of the poem mixed with what I find to be a very powerful ending.

“For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea”

And beyond all that, I just love the way this poem sounds rolling off of my tongue.

Side note: Thanks to the beautiful homage to writing and its importance in the book “Matched,” I have taken on a little goal of trying to study and memorize some poetry this year. I was really moved by the idea of keeping words inside of us because there they cannot be destroyed. Anyway, I felt I was getting undue credit when I mentioned that I recorded the Shel Silverstein poem from memory—while that was true, it was a recent memorization and not one from childhood which I think is what some of you thought. In reality, I selected that poem as my first. I love having the words with me. I find myself using them to brighten up when I’m feeling sad. The poem in today’s post is my second memorization.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins.

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

-Shel Silverstein

{Recorded from memory.}

In 2011, I want to spend more time where the sidewalk ends.

I think I'm off to a good start.

Happy 1st of January.

I've never been too into resolutions, but I do love lists and fresh starts. Recently there's been a thing going around on the blogs where you list things you want to do before your next birthday. For example, if you're turning 23 your list would be 22 things to do before 23. Well, I originally thought I wanted to make a list like this but then I got lazy when I realized my 23 things were not all simple and I would only have until August. Then I started to make a list of 11 things to do in 2011. But 11 wasn't enough. So I did a mash-up. Here is my list of 23 things I'd like to do in 2011. I tried to make them specific so that I'd hold myself more accountable, but some of them are general. (These are in no particular order and I reserve the right to change the list, ha!)

{23 in 2011}

1. Learn how to knit booties or a hat. Knit said booties or hat for my nephew.
2. Paint a picture.
3. Spend more time doing good deeds for strangers.
4. Spend more time doing good deeds for friends and family.
5. Have a job in the U.S.A.
6. Find a church to attend.
7. Visit Cristina in NYC.
8. Learn to love insane AZ heat by spending as long possible visiting my sister, brother-in-law and new nephew.

9. West Coast road trip.
10. Reunion with my Salzburg girls.
11. Take a dance class.
12. Go on a date.
13. Read 23 books (or more).
14. Become a regular somewhere.
15. Find a volunteer effort to join.
16. Get better at sending mail!
17. Write a poem.
18. Keep a daily gratitude journal.
19. Write something I like and let someone I love read it.
20. Move into my own apartment in the U.S.
21. Photo shoot on top of Pike’s Peak.
22. Meditate on a mountain hike.
23. Pick a cookbook and fix every recipe.

I hope everyone feels content leaving 2010 behind and ready to welcome 2011! May it bring us all happiness, prosperity and love. You know what it's for sure bringing me? A nephew!

Próspero Año Nuevo!

P.S.: I'm still actually gone on my exciting New Year's vacation. Check back soon for recaps of my trips!

Letters Home; On Courage

Dear Mom & Dad,

Thank you so much for my lovely Christmas gifts! For Christmas you gave me:

1. An amazing pair of new boots. They are now broken in and I love them!

2. A heavy black sweater to hopefully keep me warm in Scotland.

3. That “Nina” by Nina Ricci perfume I’ve had my eye on since August. Every time I go into Bodybell I spray a little on and dream about buying it. When I checked out the sale’s lady asked me if it was a gift (aka did I need it wrapped). I said no and then corrected, “si, es un regalo… ¡para mi!”—yes, it’s a gift… for me. We both had a good laugh at that.

While I loved all of these gifts, I loved the little Christmas package you sent even more.

The package was full of good music, candy canes and Christmas cheer (thank you for the ornament, Aunt Judy!). But best of all was the little booklet you included on “Courage.”

I remember this series of booklets from my childhood. They are called “Elf-help” books and they feature drawings of cute little elves along with little bits of wisdom. They are silly but kind of neat. I immediately recognized the book, but this time around I am enjoying the little lessons…I think as a kid I mainly focused on the illustrations. I’ve decided to read one lesson on courage a day.

Yesterday, I was really struck by the lesson I read. You see, just last week I had a long conversation with my friend Shannon about the difficulties of owning who you are. I personally struggle with being myself, through and through. I like who I am…and yet, sometimes I find myself denying or hiding parts of myself depending on the company so that I seem more sophisticated, serious, cool, etc. I hate when I do this. I always scold myself later. I shouldn’t change who I am to fit who I’m with; I should always be myself and let the world decide whether to accept me for that or not.

Well, here is lesson #5 in the “Courage” booklet:

“Courage means daring to let your true self be known and be vulnerable. When you dare to let your true self out, you become alive and whole in your own eyes and the eyes of others.”

(Everyday-Courage Therapy by Linus Mundy)

Abs-o-lutely. I think this lesson will be one I read and remind myself of daily.

Thank you for the Christmas gifts, Mom and Dad. But thank you even more for the invaluable wisdom—both yours and the book's.

Love always,
Su hija Kate

If Only...

…When people had disputes, instead of throwing around foul language and malicious threats, we all expressed ourselves like an Austen character:

“I take no leave of you … I send no compliments to your mother…I am most seriously displeased.” --Pride and Prejudice

I mean, really, BURN.

And speaking of that fine novel, which I am just about to finish re-reading, I pretty much want to punch Lydia in the face all of the time. Can I get an ‘Amen’?

P.S.: Oh the irony of me complimenting the art of intelligent insults and then following up with something as elementary as “punch Lydia in the face.” This kind of hypocrisy is a talent, my friend.

P.P.S.: Do you like the film versions of Pride and Prejudice? Which? I prefer the Colin Firth/Jennifer Ehle version, although Keira Knightley’s is all right as well. She is just not Elizabeth Bennet to me and Colin Firth will always be my Mr. Darcy. Of course, the actress playing Jane in the Keira version is a drastic improvement on the BBC Jane. Anyway, now that I am finishing the novel I wish I had the BBC version to watch!

In Retrospect

Do you read postsecret? I do. I’ve been a loyal Sunday reader ever since High School. I love reading postsecret because it is such a mixture of funny, heartbreaking, moving, a bit disturbing, or completely relatable. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I, in fact, did not write a secret that feels like it’s in my head. Well, today I read this on postsecret and it was one of those “this! this is my life!” moments:

Recently I was speaking with my college bestie, Cristina, and we were bemoaning how good we had it at Rhodes and how we foolishly never realized it at the time. Tina and I spent a lot of time miserable over school work, stress, and general discontent with our college and where we were in our lives. Well, now we’re both exactly where we wanted to be and it turns out our dreams coming true isn’t working out quite as we'd imagined.

I’ve been thinking about life in retrospect a lot lately. I am the queen of loving things way more in memory than in the moment. It’s kind of a depressing problem, actually, because it seems that I am not able to enjoy life fully as it’s happening, but rather I look back on certain time periods or places with a bittersweet nostalgic longing. I did not love college. It had its moments, but the majority of the time I felt unhappy. Yet now, I look back and it all seems so fantastic—and it probably was, but I didn’t see it at the time.

Truth is: I am not happy in Spain. I don’t think it’s a huge secret but I try only to blog when I have something positive or quirky to say because recounting things I’m not happy about helps nothing. I try to keep negativity out of this space as often as I can. However, I am afraid that I am not seeing the full picture of my life here. I am afraid that I will be fairly miserable for the duration, return home in June, look at pictures in July and start sighing over how wonderful it all was and how I miss it. Because that is what I do.

Enjoying life in the moment seems easier said than done. Of course, it's not that I never ever enjoy anything in my life, on the contrary I usually enjoy many. Instead of constantly torturing myself thinking back on how great college was and how I wish I was back there right now, I should focus on improving my life here so that I can miss it when it's over without regretting that I didn't enjoy it while it was happening.

My time at Rhodes is over. I am sorry that I didn't always appreciate it while I was there, but I am happy that I can look back at pictures and recall memories fondly now.

It's time for me to focus on my life here. I can't wish myself back to any other time or place no matter how hard I try, so I might as well do my best to embrace the life I'm living instead of resenting it. This may never turn out to be the dream year I'd cooked up in my head, but it doesn't have to be underappreciated either.

Well, it's a start.

Poco a Poco

Before I left for Spain, I had a myriad of friends and family (and sometimes strangers) assure me that I need only give myself one month here and I’d be speaking Spanish like crazy. One month was the popular answer everywhere I turned. One month and I’d be fluent.

This is a complete lie.

To be fair, everyone told me this as an act of encouragement. I was a nervous wreck about surviving with my minimal Spanish skills and I needed the confidence boost.

Upon arriving and finding that I was indeed way in over my head in a sea of Spanish, I clung to my one month deadline like a life raft. One week passed and I had barely spoken any Spanish beyond the necessary words to order at a restaurant or direct a taxi driver. I was just trying to make it to my town and get settled. The second week I was on my own. My job hadn’t started yet, I was too nervous to speak much with my roommate, and I spent most of my days holed up in my piso or wandering the streets by myself with no opportunity or reason to speak to anyone else. The third week I had a little more exposure to the outside world in general. I was able to speak with both English and Spanish speakers as I ventured back and forth to Córdoba capitol filling out paperwork and attending orientation. And my job finally started, which meant I needed to fumble through my Spanish to talk with other teachers in the staff lounge, like it or not. (For the most part I do like it; I like the practice even when I sound hopelessly foreign and probably end up saying things like “I she goes to the city two week past.”)

The thing is, though, I am still struggling hard every day. It has yet to feel easier or more natural. Some days I feel as though I’m beginning to improve. I understand most of what is being said to me with minimal need for repetition. But then the very next day I’ll feel as though my head is made of cotton candy and my brain is dissolving quickly as I barely make out five words in a conversation the entire day.

Luckily, just when things feel hopeless, I find wisdom around me. This first piece of advice—or rather truth-- comes from a new American friend I’ve made who is in her second year of teaching in Puente Genil. She has much knowledge. What she had to offer was this (paraphrased):

The process of Spanish immersion is indeed bash-your-head-against-the-wall difficult, there is no shortcut, and the truth is that the “timeline” for fluency is really more like six months, not one.

Although this is an overwhelming piece of information that might at a different time (say, before I left) have made me feel terrified, now it makes me feel hopeful. Hearing this literally made me feel like I can breathe again. I have been given a reprieve—it is ok that I am not fluent yet. I have not failed. I have more time. Finding out that in actuality it takes most learners much longer to “get there” with Spanish has renewed my optimism that I can do this. Slowly, but surely. Or should I say, poco a poco.

There is one thing that people say to me all the time here and that is “poco a poco.” My fellow American friends promise me “poco a poco” and the warm Spaniards who take the time to speak slowly and talk with me reassure me “poco a poco.”

Poco a poco means little by little. It means little by little I will understand more and little by little I will speak more. Little by little I will make fewer mistakes, feel more confident, know more people, understand the Spanish lifestyle, be a better teacher, etc.

Every time I feel completely overwhelmed looking at the next eight months as a whole, I try to remind myself to focus on one day at a time. That’s truly the only way to do this—poco a poco.

And...I still have 5 more months 'til I have to panic. ;-)

To Old Friends & New Adventures

September 11 means a lot of things to me.

9 years ago it meant tragedy. It is my fervent prayer that someday we will be able to mark this day with love for our fellow human beings--ALL of them-- instead of the hate that started it all in the first place.

This year it meant joining over 600 others in an "Out of the Darkness" Suicide Prevention walk.

2 years ago it meant leaving my home for my semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria.



This was my home. This will always be my home.



(If you don't recognize this house, we should probably talk about what you missed out on during your childhood.)

As much as I miss Salzburg, I will always miss these girls more.

(January '10)

Luckily, we find ways to meet up for fantastic weekends in California. I know that we will always be an important part of each other's memories and hopefully each other's future lives.

I miss what I had in Austria and I know Spain will be a completely different experience. My time there holds an immovable place in my heart, but there's still room for what's coming next.

I can't wait to begin.

The 'F' Word

This is a topic that has been on my mind and my heart a lot lately. I worry what reaction my opinions will meet, but this is my blog, and I have a great desire to express my feelings on this issue. I have literally wanted to write this post for a year.

I am not necessarily a feminist.

I am a very big post-feminist.

Did you know there was a difference? Some of you might not have.

I want to begin this post with a brief history of the feminist movement so that maybe you can understand the evolution and where my point of view comes from. If you already know the difference between the 3 waves, please skip, but if you thought “feminism” had only one connotation and definition, I would urge you to read this:

The feminist movement is actually divided into three specific parts. First wave feminism was the era where women first began to take a stand for their rights, beginning as early as the 18th century. Think Mary Wollstonecraft. Think suffrage (the right to vote). Think Susan B. Anthony. Second wave feminism is probably what most people think of when they think of feminism, particularly when people wish to paint it in a negative light. I’m not arguing whether second wave feminism is “right” or not, but let me try to give some of the facts. Second wave feminists did take a radical approach. While first wave feminists focused on legal issues, the second wave focused more on social issues of inequality. They believed that the only way to gain respect from men, their own rights and equality was to shed feminine habits and prove their equality by matching men. You might be thinking bra-burning, man-hating. This isn’t entirely correct, but it isn’t entirely wrong either. The nature of second wave feminism was to group together with other women in solidarity—think “Ya Ya Sisterhood,” think “Sex and the City.” Finally, we have third wave feminism which began in the nineties and is alternately referred to as post-feminism. After the radical movement of the 60s/70s/80s feminism, the next generation of women rebelled against that seemingly abrasive form of feminism. Third wave feminism is more about each woman being empowered on her own, and more importantly, being able to do absolutely anything she wants to. Before I realized there was such a thing as post-feminism, this is exactly how I would try to describe my own feelings to people---I believed in women being able to do anything, whether it be stay home and raise kids or go be a high powered lawyer. Post-feminists also shunned the idea that you had to act like a man to have equality…aka you can dress like a girl if that’s what you want. Now, think “Legally Blonde,” “You’ve Got Mail,” etc.

Let me be the fist to disclaim that this is an incomplete picture and also that I am only summarizing based on my own knowledge gained from various college classes. I did not re-research the topic to write this post or consult the technical definitions. I’m putting it all in my own layman’s terms.

What distresses me greatly is how many intelligent and wonderful women I have met in my life who use the word “feminist” like a curse word. They hastily disassociate themselves and their opinions from being feminist. To some extent, I get it. I think it is because of the idea that some people have that there is ONE type of feminism, the extreme (the second wave, will you) and I don’t agree with that, either. However, I truly don’t understand how any woman in 2010 can NOT be a feminist to some extent, even if they are a post-feminist. I can’t help but believe it comes from a misunderstanding of what feminism means. Let me tell you about myself:

I am a post-feminist. Someday, I would love to be able to stay home and raise kids. I don’t think chivalry is dead and I hope someday my husband opens doors for me. I have pretty traditional values, although I am politically liberal. I love to cook and bake and would be happy to do so for my family. I love to dress in vintage clothes. I love skirts and dresses and lipstick and hats and tights. I am girly. Being a feminist (or post feminist) does not mean you have to be stronger than a man, or do a certain job, or not live for your kids and family if that’s what you want.

However, I find it completely unacceptable that in 2010 a woman can do the exact same job as a man and get paid less. Or that sexual harassment still slides by under the radar. I understand the arguments that women are not the same as men and that we each have different strengths that compliment each other—I agree with this, I like this. However, I find that often times the defense of being anti-feminism is sugar coated. The harsh reality is this: What if you were married with kids and, God forbid, something happened to your husband and you had to work to support the family….what if that happened, and you couldn’t be paid as much as your husband was for doing the same job? Would you be against the continued fight for women’s rights then? What if you were molested or raped and because of your sex and what you chose to wear (a privilege feminism gave you, by the way) that day, the crime was dismissed?—the U.S. has made great strides on this issue, but did you know in Australia a rapist wasn’t convicted because his victim wore skinny jeans? (The defense was that she had to have helped him take her pants off.) These are the kinds of intense issues feminists are still dealing with. Feminism does not mean you have to wear pants or hate men or go to work if you’d rather be home. Feminism means wanting safety and the freedom to choose and only the best for yourself and your daughters, sisters, and friends.

I also don’t think many anti-feminists realize how much their own lives are actually affected by feminists of the past. Even the women who feel the most traditional are probably benefiting in ways they don’t readily recognize. If you have ever gone out with friends without a man’s permission (this is different than running it past him to be polite, I mean real permission), if you occasionally like to wear jeans, if you went to college, if you pick out your books, movies and music without a man’s approval, if you have a blog, if you have ever held any type of job, if you drive, if you can openly discuss “hot” men, you have been affected positively by the women’s rights movement and if you want to continue having and doing all of these things, you’re probably partially a feminist.

My mission here isn’t to make any non-feminists change their mind. I can’t do that, and I believe we are all free to have our own opinions. I just hope that more people can understand exactly what their dismissing when they throw feminism under the bus as a negative thing, when they spit it out like a curse word. I want women to understand that if they feel at all strengthened as a woman by whatever life they live, they might just be a post-feminist after all.

Brownies for Breakfast

Today I didn't get anything done that I needed to.

But, in the words of my best friend Tina, I didn't fail, I just didn't succeed. ;) Yes, she is a master at finessing the English language.

I slept in. I had a brownie for breakfast. I went to a late lunch at "On the Border" with bestie Tina and she drove so that I could have a Margarita (true friendship). She helped me work on interview question answers for a mock interview and we talked about a little of everything. We wandered through Book Star and were disgusted at their lack of a children's section. We rediscovered a childhood favorite of ours, Betsy-Tacy. Don't know it? You need to. I think B&T books may have been my Anne of Green Gables. Tonight, we went to an on-campus play to support our friend.

And now I am snacking and catching up with my friends Harry, Ron and Hermione in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince."

No, I didn't get anything done that I needed to today.

But as bestie pointed out, "what does it say at the top of your white board, Kate?" {She may have been mocking, I'm not sure.}

It says: "Live the day that you won't regret tomorrow."

I don't regret a moment of today.

"Tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it."

Lately, I’ve found myself thinking about my everyday failures too much. You should know, I’m obsessed with to-do lists. I make a daily list of things I need to and want to get done on my white board and I take great pleasure in crossing things off of it. The problem is, my love for lists leaves a lot of room for me to think of myself as having failed when there are certain items I can’t cross off of it—and there are hardly ever days when I do cross every item off. Sometimes it’s the fun or silly things that are left undone: “Spend an hour pleasure reading”; “Catch up on Gossip Girl.” But sometimes it’s the big important things: “Write half of the big paper”; “Email so-and-so back”; “Spend a half hour reading the Bible”; “Exercise”.

Yes, lately I’ve been scolding myself for my many daily failures. And even if it’s just a thing or two left undone, I subconsciously write the entire day off as a failure.

You can see how this mental attitude isn’t helpful to my sanity or my self-esteem.

Luckily, I’ve become aware of this recent trend of “failure” thought and I’m working on remedying it. I’m trying to focus more on what I have accomplished and look at each new day positively as a chance to begin again.

And so my recent mantra is a quote from my *newly beloved Anne of Green Gables:

“Tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it.” –Lucy Maud Montgomery

I absolutely love this. I’ve even written it at the top of my white board, where it remains right above my daily list as a reminder. Maybe I didn’t get everything checked off today, but I can start fresh tomorrow and try again. It’s not failure, it’s a new opportunity for a new day.

*I’ve fallen in love with Gilbert Blythe and left my heart in Green Gables. I read Anne of Green Gables for the first time over Winter Break and then followed up by watching the movie versions of both Anne of Green Gables and its sequel (Megan Follows/Jonathan Crombie version!) over Spring Break. I now realize that my childhood was entirely lacking without Anne Shirley in it. However, I’ve now remedied the situation and am glad to have these stories in my life. Oh, how I swooned over Jonathan Crombie’s portrayal of Gilbert Blythe. Oh, how my heart beat waiting for Anne to realize her love for Gilbert. Yes, these are stories I will definitely treasure from here on out and will share with daughters (if I have any). *Happy Sigh*

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It's my Blog {And I'll be Sappy if I want to}

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, sipping an Oreo Blast milkshake (extra chocolate, please) working on a Spanish Essay while Project Runway plays in the background. I text my mom about my midterm grades—solid B+s across the board, & I’ll take it—and she’s proud and sends me an adorable clapping emoticon via text. Spring Break starts tomorrow but for now I feel annoyed by my homework and all the work coming up when I get back from break. Hard stuff. The big paper that is the culmination of my four years of college needs to be written between now and the end of April. L-dawg and K-money text me off and on and make me laugh out loud. I take another sip of my milkshake while staring at the Spanish words on my computer screen and it hits me: I am so lucky.

In May, I will have a college degree from a prestigious school. I have been afforded so many opportunities that so many people do not have. I sit in my furnished apartment, with food in my fridge and cabinets. I have clothes in my closet, and even if I think they’re boring and unfashionable, I am always warm and protected from nature by sturdy materials. I have a bed to sleep in, books and movies for entertainment and education, a laptop to work and play on, and the endless support of my family. I have been blessed with opportunities to travel and live abroad, experiences that have changed my life and influenced who I've become. I have a solid religious background that provides me with truths that give me great comforts when I’m feeling low. Why do I so often feel pity for myself or upset about the course of my life? Why do I fret over hard work that is part of an education I am fortunate to be receiving? I am so lucky.

Jen calls. Mom calls. Friend Stephanie calls. A stream of people who I love, reminding me of my small but important purposes in life: to comfort, to share, to encourage.

And that’s just what I’m feeling tonight.

{Venice, October 2008}

A mess is still a moment I can seize

There’s a radio in my head and it’s always switched on. Songs pop in and out of my head at their own leisure. Sometimes it’s easy to pinpoint why (…because I’ve just finished listening to that song ten times in a row) and sometimes they come from nowhere (…hey, I haven’t listened to that song in ages!)

Yesterday, I was worried. Those who know me well will be tempted to inform you that this is nothing new. While I do have a heightened tendency to worry I’ve been doing better at calming myself down and controlling it.

{Matthew 6: 25-34 helps quite a bit. "Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself." I’ll admit to reading this passage most days just to remind myself. It instantly brings me peace.}.

Still, yesterday I couldn't stop worrying.

Around bed time when my mind was exhausted from a long day and the worrying part of my mind was really taking over, “All Will Be Well” popped into my head. I claim divine inspiration. I settled down for my nightly prayers and let this favorite song of mine continue on in the back of my mind.

I listened to the song as I fell asleep and let the lyrics sink in. They mean so much to me, and I added bolded emphasis to some lines that stand out to me. I am thankful that I was able to remember this song last night when I needed it.

All Will Be Well by the Gabe Dixon Band

A new day dawns
And I am practicing my purpose once again
It is fresh and it is fruitful if I win

But if I lose
Oh, I don’t know
I’ll be tired but I will turn and I will go
Only guessing ‘til I get there then I’ll know
Oh, I will know

The winter’s cold
But the snow still lightly settles on the trees
And a mess is still a moment I can seize
Until I know

That all will be well.

Even though sometimes this is hard to tell
And the fight is just as frustrating as hell
All will be well.

You got to keep it up, and don’t give up
Chase your dreams and you will find
All in time

And all the cars running fast along the interstate
Can feel the love that radiates, illuminating what I know is true

All will be well
Even after all the promises you’ve broken to yourself
All will be well
You can ask me how but only time will tell

my heart's a flood that rises

Many days I feel hopelessly overwhelmed by life. I am overwhelmed by anxiety, with feelings of inferiority or inadequateness, with fear that I cannot complete whatever task is before me. I become overwhelmed dwelling on the unknown and fearing it—will I make friends after college, find a job I love (find a job at all), have a love life ever?

In the moments when I cannot see the good, I listen to “Overcome” by Juliette Commagere.

{The correct lyrics are no where to be found online so I have to admit I’m improvising from what I hear}

Through hills and tributaries,
wild mountains, distant prairies
What kept me burning now I passed it off out sea to ferry
These backgrounds know no glory
With humble arms they hold me
From someplace else I see the moon and now I can see clearly
I am overcome

Our distance grows and widens
But my heart’s a flood that rises
Spills out my restless eyes
I feel you most when we’re divided
Lay down a song for me and
Know that I’m not lonely ‘cause
We’re gonna ramble round and break the back of this old country
I am overcome

I am overcome

Something about the combination of the music and lyrics completely resonates in my heart.




I am overcome by the gift of life and my existence.

I am overcome by the incredible beauty and destruction of nature and the amazing diversity and distance of the world we live in.

I am overcome by God’s unfathomable love and the comprehension of what it means to have faith in my life.

When I listen to this song I feel humbled and overjoyed and at peace because I am overcome.

And at moments when I feel so entirely overwhelmed I listen to this song and embrace instead the fact that I am overcome.

Please check out Juliette Commagere's Myspace to listen to "Overcome".

So this is the new year

"And I don't feel any different...

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions."

-Death Cab for Cutie

That kind of sums up my feelings about new years hype. I don't usually do resolutions because, while I understand the human desire to look at the changing of the date as a fresh start, I also can't usually think of any attainable resolutions and I don't want to make a list of things that I'll fall short of. Also, I like to believe that we can create change and form resolutions any time we'd like. Maybe October 7th will be the day I decide to clear my slate. We don't need to feel like January 1st is our only chance.

Of course, I am human, and I do find a comforting feeling of a new hope with the new year. It is nice to find ourselves facing a blank 12 months we have yet to fill, stories yet to be written.

This year I graduate college. And then....

Well, I really don't know. And from where I'm standing that's equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

I'm fascinated at how I've come full circle in four years of college. I began having no idea of what major/career I wanted to pursue, I slowly figured it out, I did some internships and realized I may not want to do what I though, I worked with our wonderfully helpful career services and now I'm back to not knowing what I want to do. Only, I'm nothing like I was four years ago. I've made peace with the uncertainty of the future, even if it is still terribly daunting at times, and I'm game to create my own path in life and figure things out as I go. You can't force passion and you can't demand knowledge before its time. I don't think I'm supposed to have it all figured out.

Happy New Year, friends. Make it what you want it to be and never be afraid to redefine what it is you want.