I thought I knew what "Mother" meant

I don't remember the day, or the place, or the event.

I think it was a bible study. 

A friend said (and others joined her opinion)

that being a mother was the greatest calling in life. 

I (silently) disagreed. 

Mostly because I did not have the wish for a big family, or for

a small family, for that matter.

I didn't see myself raising children.

No. I saw myself with a job, 

and maybe a dog, and 

lots of vacation time to go off and travel the world. 

"Mother" hadn't been in my future.

Fast forward about 10 years, 

and you see me in midwifery school. 

Oh, the irony. 

At 12, I claim to want nothing from that section of the world,

and at 21, I am steeping in it, day and night, 

Breathing the stuff. 

And then a few more months go by. 

And I realize:  

Motherhood is the greatest calling in life. 

I think the realization came during a birth we were at, probably 

when the mother first caught sight of her baby, picking it up and placing it on her chest

that moment when the pain is forgotten and the only thing that matters 

is that there is a tiny human in the room, and she 

had made it. 

Any other profession - pastors, doctors, volunteer workers, search and rescue, and yes, midwives - 

pales in comparison to the long nights of moaning and sweat,  

labor and birth, and then joy. 

Let me break it down for you, in a generalized fashion:

Most mothers spend the first three months feeling nauseous, flinching for the wastebasket at each new smell. After the first three months, the weight starts to set in. Usually by halfway through the pregnancy they start saying 'Wow. I feel huge." And the midwives express sympathy, thinking, "Lady, wait until you're 41 weeks 5 days. Then we'll talk." After the halfway point, its all growth and please-don't-go-into-labor-just-yet. And that's just from the midwife's point of view. The mothers are the ones who actually have to deal with the symptoms. They can't lay on their backs, they can't lift anything, they swell, they puke, they feel exhausted, they can't eat sushi, coffee (good gosh they give up coffee), plus anything and everything which may make them sick, and then they add in a crap ton of protein, so much water, prenatal vitamins that turn urine bright orange, iron supplements that I've been told taste SO BAD, and goodness knows what else...

And then the labor. If you take an average of like, 5,000 women, labor supposedly lasts 12 hours long. That's like, a long workday, right? No big deal? 

IT'S A FREAKING AVERAGE, PEOPLE. Some moms have one and a half hour labors. (THEY PUSH A BABY OUT OF THIER BODY IN AN HOUR AND A HALF. DO YOU KNOW WHAT GOES INTO THAT. GO AHEAD. LOOK UP HOW LABOR WORKS. AND THEN CRAM IT INTO ONE AND A HALF LUNCH BREAKS AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT.) Some moms have 48...64...72 hour labors. And maybe its not like, active labor where you have to focus on pushing....BUT THREE DAYS OF A CONTRACTING UTERUS. Period cramps are bad enough. I cannot imaging three days of early labor. (Men, stab a knife into your belly. That's what a period cramp feels like. Now multiply that by 10. That's labor. Also you have to push an eight pound object out of your butt hole while enduring those sensations. Have fun!) (By the way, sorry for the yelling. #endofrant #kindof)

So that's the first 10 months...

Going on the rest of your life. 

From this point, the tiny human will rely on you for e v e r y t h i n g. 

Food. Clothes. Shelter. Love. Warmth. Probably college tuition. Probably enough emotional counseling for ten people (junior high is rough, you know). Guidance through life. You get to teach them how to use a toilet, put on clothes, coordinate clothes (as much as I love a three-year-old's style, it just doesn't work when you're 25 and doing job interviews as an engineer or a secretary), handle finances, drive a car, deal with people and friends and co-workers. Moms influence what their kids believe, how they act, what foods they like and continue to like. Moms wipe their kids butts, wipe their kids faces, their hands, they wipe grins off their faces when their in trouble and wipe frowns off when there's nothing to be sad about. For goodness sake, moms let kids breastfeed for sometimes what seems like forever, sometimes for as long as they can, and sometimes for less time than anyone wants. 

Moms make people. 

Somehow, I didn't see this. I mean, I'd heard the phrase, and I'd laughed thinking 'wow, that's true'...but then, it hit. 

Being female is one of the greatest things you can be, because it gives you the capability to be a mother.

Being a mother IS the greatest thing you can be. 

Right now, with school, I'm immersed in pregnancy, labor, and birth. I'm immersed in breastfeeding, in motherhood, in family life, in bringing new life into the world safely, and even with that sometimes all you can do is watch. Usually, I watch in awe, because the job of motherhood itself is so unique, but every mother-in-the-making does it differently.

 

I never thought I would say this. But, I'm going to, because now it's true: 

Someday, I want to be a mother. 

Someday, I hope to be as incredible of a mother as my mother was to me. My mother is constant. I know that if I call her, she will answer, I know that if I ask for help, she will give it, and if I ask for guidance she will steady me. 

Next to God, she is the greatest support I have ever had. 

Somehow I never realized this? Somehow I had passed it by, somewhere in my 21 years I had overturned the stone with this fact under it and then covered it back up again without realizing how important it was, thinking I knew it already. 

Somehow, I thought I knew what "Mother" meant, but I actually didn't. 

I probably still don't. I've probably missed a whole section.  I mean, we didn't even touch on high school, with the staying up late worrying because the kids were supposed to be home 37 minutes ago. We didn't talk about dating (oh gosh, no let's not) or marriage (panic mode, panic mode), or the grand babies (help. please. stop.). We didn't talk about the hours spent on bent knee, praying for God's mercy and protection.  

Being a mother - and I probably still don't get it all the way - means creating the next generation. It means making people. And not just their bodies. You make their souls, and their minds, their likes and dislikes. 

Mothers, the people you make? You make them who they are, who they become. This is indeed the greatest job, the greatest calling, anyone could ever have, and we are eternally grateful; we cannot thank you enough. Happy Mother's Day!

And to my mom: 

Mom, you're amazing. I mean it when I say you are the most incredible person I could have ever met, much less have been raised by. Thank you for the time you've put into my sisters and I. Thank you for the sacrifices you've made, for the worrying, the effort, and the time. Gosh, I wish I could reciprocate even a fraction of the debt I owe you for making me who I am. And I shall try. But in all honesty, I do not think I could ever repay you. You are the greatest mother. I love you! Happy Mother's Day! 

if places were people no. 5

i never thought i'd see you as a person,

except now that i found you it makes sense:

you became the place we hated.

you formed as i slept,

so i woke to your enormous cancerous thought processes

and your hopeless breath

that blows as mercilessly as the wind.

i woke to you being a mountain,

and i dangled off one of your cliffs.

you rise steeply

from the endless plain floor.

not sunshine falling from heaven,

but rock wishing to rule above grass,

tough as meat and

those shard-like word ledges threaten from miles away

sharp collarbones and jawline and thin thighs

my intention was to never climb your type,

but i'm the only one close enough to try.

now, when you aren't slicing with your obsidian edges,

you're mixing in dirt, breeding infection, reveling in the primal.

hungry green eyes.

you're wild, snarling,

edging away at every flower,

the ones that do bloom are tiny and dull and only last a week or two,

and then your thin breath suffocates them.

seeds only last so long underneath your snow.

your endless winter,

and the longer i spend in you the more i realize

why no one lives

here anymore

your hands used to hold mine and now they

hold me in the sunshine, mocking, until my skin burns.

your skin is dirty and rough and darkening with every day spent so close to the sun

your eyes used to make my own light up,

and now i shiver away at your glance,

afraid of what it might mean.

every car going in the opposite direction seems to call my name,

and i want to go with, but

from where i sit i can see the gravestone that holds childhood memories

and if you will not guard in then

i will

although i think even the memories have crawled out and left

i don't think you even know where the graveyard is,

though it continually fills with your victims,

and you know it not.

you only know when i'm in the area,

your arrows made of steel and the knowledge of my weaknesses

seek out not my heart, but the

arteries pumping towards it.

you aim for my limbs, not

my organs.

you look for targets to maim,

not to kill.

you would hate to be a killer.

you would hate to be anything horrid,

anything blatantly wrong.

but you don't mind the label of desert.

or rock of a mountain.

you don't mind the fact that people climb you to die, not to live.

or that they only come visit you when you smile,

not when you snow your black snow, dark thoughts.

you don't mind that everyone calls you no-mans-land,

no-woman's-land

the forbidden and hated and avoided land.

you say you don't mind, anyway.

but it must be lonely.

it must be quiet.

and i know how you loved the music in the city squares.

how you loved it when people smiled at you

and i know it because you loved it before you changed,

and you say it's an act but i will be honest

i do not believe those words of yours.

i try to bring it to you, the music,

but it isn't the same without the crowds of dancers

and anyway,

your shale mountainsides cut my feet when i dance for you.

it must be trying,

having everyone hate the way flowers grow rarely

so i try to plant a garden,

but your winter comes to soon

for sprouts to push out of the ground.

it must be

so

terribly

hard

to be a mountain in a country

where everything dies.

and yet here i am,

sitting with you,

because so far i have always been a mountain person

and i am starting to think that i have changed,

and that maybe the ocean is more of my style

except i don't want to leave you.

not like this,

not when you've run out of victims so you're turning into one yourself.

not when i can see the structure of the mountain,

and the covering is starting to fall.

the skin is starting to sag and stretch and

you're getting thinner.

i don't want to leave that grave of childhood

the snows came early this year,

i think you crave the ice water more and more.

there was one day this winter when i couldn't make it to the grave.

when i went the next day,

your forced laugh of a wind had felled a tree

breaking the headstone.

i think i will catch one of those cars now,

because who knows when the snows will melt.

i think i will go to the ocean

to see if less thin air will bring clarity of mind.

i think space

between us will make your

visible ribs seem less knife-like.

maybe space will make me miss you.

maybe i will like the thin air when i come back.

maybe the flowers will grow more, if i'm not watching them.

maybe you will have a bouquet for me when i come back.

maybe you will not be so hated when i come back.

maybe it will be better

when i come back.

if i come back.

you stabbed me from behind, when

i turned to walk away today.

an ice shard through my thigh

so that when i do walk, it will be painful.

i can still walk.

but i don't know

when i will come back.

if

i will come back.

too many scars from your arrowheads will

make it harder to climb your

unscalable peak

if i come back.

YO ALL!!! i'm still alive. (seriously i keep saying that. why. maybe because i have multiple not-so-near-death  experiences so i SHOULD be dead.) (i was busy.) (and there was a lack of coffee.) (don't ask.)

SO YEAH. there's another super-downer for you. in my defense i TRIED to find something uplifting. what can i say. i listen to too much chopin to be an expressively happy person. OH WELL. 

xoxo

if places were people no.3

I thought you were a shortcut.

You took us the long way 'round.
With stops at every station.
Pauses after every sentence.

We never went
faster than
50 miles an hour.

26 hours is a long time to sit and stare
memorize each other's faces, skin lit up by
dimness of walkway lights, reflecting off the scratched, plastic-y windows.

Maniacal laughing clatter of steel wheel against steel track
annoying complaint of rubber window lining against foggy glass to the outside
Almost distant stubborn stomach grumble of the machine taking us to somewhere

You are that in-between place
That interpretation
That 'please wait while document loads' symbol.

You will always come back
But sometimes you will sleep
And Destination will take your place

Sometimes you will go on holiday
And Preparation will visit
To get us ready for you again.

Sometimes your face will change.
You'll grow a beard, or something else ridiculous will happen,
Like the time your eyes changed colors.
And sometimes I will need to memorize that face
Over again.
Take the journey twice.

Sometimes you don't make sense.
And yet you are almost constant and consistent
But you are nothing twice
You are never the same
You are In-between

We had better get used to it because
Consistent is different than static
And change is different from chaos

And sometimes you will drive the train backwards
And north will be west
And east will be south.

And I don't mind.
I love you very much, more than I thought I would,
Because I thought you were a shortcut, someone
I could pass by without a second glance
And you very much weren't.

Which is to say
I like your scenic routes better.

In-between is nice.
Even though it is the definition of patience
and You never had a dictionary.

Which is to say
I thought you were a shortcut
And you showed me the world
And stole my calendar
And my time
And my heart
And now,
I live for the limbo
The in-between
The changing
The unexpected hairpin curve that says
Pay attention.
You don't have time for second glances.
You may not come this way again.

(WHAAAAATTTT. Yeah. Hi. I'm not dead or anything I just haven't posted in FOREVER. Sorry 'bout that. But anyway, if you're interested, the idea for this one was from the train trip we took last October. Fun stuff. LOVE Y'ALL. I'm going to post again soon so stay tuned.)

(ANOTHER NOTE BECAUSE I FORGET THINGS: remember last year when i did that blogtober series? I NEVER DID DAY 18 (the horror) but it was supposed to be "This week I..." and really, that week before the 18th i had gone on a train trip, which is what this post was based on. basically: i finally finished blogtober and its july. isn't that great?)

neon

^ it isn't neon. but it's light. same change. same difference.^

there's a tipping point.
a spot in the journey where it is realized
that change must happen, or we'll
slip off the edge of an ever-tilting world.

we get slapped in the face and realize
that its not right.
for once, realize
that something has to give,
and that something is self.

in that moment
we are not infinite
we are not finite
we are not average
we are not special
we are merely changing.
we are neon.
we are bright
like new-born stars
like dying stars

we change.
flashes, on-off-off-on-on-off
inside to out
out to in all of the above
back again
and we
change
to neon.

like flares in the wilderness
distress signals
black boxes.

send out the warning,
the message
the decleration.
i've changed
i'm lit up.
i'm neon.

NOTE TO SELF: fifteen

last one, guys. :) don't stop looking for the little lessons. 

when the cat scares you half to death

i did this gem of a post a while ago. i'd rather forgotten about it.
but then the this other thing happened (see below) and i was reminded of said post (really though, i didn't lock myself out of my caddi...) mostly because  I thought that my world was going to fall apart due to a situation was completely and 100% out of my control.

i was house sitting for these people that we've known for basically forever. their daughter was my first real friend. i know them, they know me, i've been to sleepovers at their house and know their animals and really house sitting shouldn't be a big deal, right?

WRONG. i realized after the first two nights that i had always stayed there when everybody else was there. the house had always had people in it other than me. i've tried everything - i've tried sleeping with the dogs in the same room, i've tried the exhaustion method (staying awake until you're so tired you could fall asleep anywhere), I've tried watching funny videos and listening to music right before I go to sleep, i've tried walking through the house every time I hear a creak. And let me tell you - there were so. many. creaks.  The 10-pound dog could walk down the hallway and it sounded like a bunch of 300-pound assassins playing football tag. The perpetual thought that maybe I wasn't the only one in the house was making me a little paranoid. 

Back to the point though: nothing helped. No matter, I thought, I'm almost done with this job anyway. It'll be fine!

Oh, the hilarity.

I was woken out of a sound sleep to the two dogs wanting fed and let out - as usual. It's early morning, so I fulfill the requirements and catapult myself back into bed. Laying there, half of my brain is still asleep, half is sprinting through the ideas of today and what it will look like. 

And then the yelling starts. I kid you not: it sound like a small child who's arm had gotten chopped off. A small child yelling help. Over and over and then BAM - the sound gets super loud. that three year old was standing in the kitchen. Help, help, help, help...in a solidly round voice with minimal pronunciation.

I grab my phone (honestly I'm wishing for something much larger and heavier that I can use to protect myself with but there really isn't anything in the bedroom that fits the description and I don't want to lug the lamp through the house because that is the farthest thing from subtle that there is). ANYWAY - the phone, and I'm pressing send because Mom was the last person I called. I start to make my way down the hallway towards the noise. Help. I tell myself to be prepared for anything (and anything at this point in my mind looks like child with blood everywhere and a missing arm) (too much NCIS, dang it). Help. The phone line buzzes in my ear. Help.

"Sam? Good Morning!" Mom's cheery voice goes up that the end, and I realize that I've either woken her or she's still in bed.

If you hadn't caught on by now, I AM TOTALLY FREAKED OUT. Yes, I'm still pretty groggy. Yes, I'm normally a really logical person. Yes, this situation SHOULDN'T BE FREAKING ME OUT BUT DANG IT I DON'T KNOW HOW TO REACT WITH ANY OF THIS. Why do i want to grab something to protect myself? shouldn't i be grabbing helpful items if the sound really is a wounded person?

And then part of my mind is going over the idea that if it is a kid that's hurt, what am I gonna do about it and are we both going to end up mentally traumatized from this? 

And then I'm thinking that I really hate the idea that I am going to try to be a midwife, but this whole scenario has got me jittery. I'm going to have to deal with probably a lot worse than this.

All this is racing through my brain while I'm trying to figure out how to make words to greet my mother.

The old orange cat walks around the corner, yowling the same sound that sounded so much like a wounded child.

"HEY. HEY MOM. SORRY - SORRY I DIDN'T MEANT TO - EVERYTHING'S FINE, MUM, I'M OKAY, EVERYTHINGS FINE SORRY - SORRY I JUST THOUGHT THAT UM, I'M OKAY YEAH EVERYTHINGS GOOD ITS JUST THE CAT."

"What?" My mom sounds utterly confused.  

"Ahhhhhh....The cat was making a really freaky noise but I didn't realize it was the cat until I called you. No worries!" I look down and my entire body is shaking. Like, uncontrollable, earthquake-is-happening, haven't-eaten-anything-in-17-hours shaking. I'm that scared.

And by now my mom has caught on that something is not quite right. So I tell her the whole ordeal and the cat keeps yowling and there's a part of me that wants to figure out all those ways to skin a cat because this one almost gave me a heart attack. 

___

moral of this little tale: (or tail...cat's tail...ok i need help.)

on little sleep, an attempt at a youthful heart attack, and kind of a second look on where I'm at emotionally (i.e., little things get me worked up), this idea popped into my head:

I'm an introvert. I'm fairly to the point. I don't like all the small talk, the aimless chatter. I try to make things comfortable for people but I would so much rather everyone just not care and do whatever they like. If someone has a problem they can leave. 

That makes me sound pretty cynical? Pretty closed off? Harsh? I'm a jerk, right? 

WRONG. I'm not all of those things together. I can be those. Sometimes I'm even really good at those. But in reality...when I thought that there was a bleeding infant in the house, i was freaking out because i didn't want them to die. I wanted them to be safe and healthy and, well...alive. I care. Just because i have the capability of being a mean person doesn't mean that i don't have the ability to be nice and caring. just because someone comes across as a little cold-hearted doesn't mean that's all the deeper their personality goes. usually they just have a wall up, or are preoccupied or have had a different upbringing from you.

maybe they're just having a bad day.

so before you judge - take a minute: how are they really coming across? do you think that their actions and words are based not out of a hatred for you, but maybe on their circumstances and life?

don't treat someone differently or wrongly just because they're not like you.

(wow. i'm starting to sound like Pocohontas.....i would totally be okay with that. i want her skin color.)

Next time you hear a yowling cat, think about this story, and think about how you are interpreting other people.

NOTE TO SELF: nine

NOTE TO SELF: seven

NOTE TO SELF: six

lend me your ears...or eyes. whatever.

hello lovelies -

so here's the deal. i went to norman, ok, right? and it was a wonderful trip. we did a lot of amazing stuff while i was there:

 - Milk tea with boba

 - College campus, libraries,  backpacks, and sore feet

 

- taking pictures with my iPad, so they're not anything special, unless subject was awesome then I did use my regular camera.

 - piano music in Beaird Lounge

 - the little stationary/journal/neat artsy stuff shop that was like, three blocks away from campus.

 - trying (and failing miserably) to food blog 

 - drinking water because dehydration is not fun.

 - LEARNING. (aka: an honors class in which I learned that one interpretation of government is that it harnesses the ambition, vanity, and ego of human nature, and pits it against itself. Ambition against ambition, ego against ego, want against want. I NEVER KNEW THIS and partially hated government for it. it always seemed like government was supposed to be above human nature. But when it is described like this is offers the idea that government uses human nature and it totally makes sense now.)

 - people watching and stereotyping, which I would normally protest against, but while on college campuses and in airports it's basically a sport.
 - takeout thai food (MOST FAVORITE EVER.)

 

- our own attempt at thai food - which was rice made with coconut milk, beans, and curry powder sprinkled over the top (it was really good.)

 - late nights that turn into study times that turn into music jam sessions with four female voices and a guitar and a ukulele that turn into wall-sits and planking (the roommates have accepted me as one of their own. I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF.)
 - first time flying on a plane. which was awesome, and terrifying, and terribly liberating. (see?)
 - visiting my awesome friend who showed me all over campus and we got to talk about EVERYTHING. (Okay well maybe not everything but she really confirmed my suspicions: she's seriously the coolest person in OK right now.)
 - #pianohandsami and #travelbug...check out my instagram @saminuxoll.

this trip to Norman was what i would consider my first solo adventure (i've been on many trips with groups of people, aka my family, but this one i was on my own...for at least part of it.) (basically this was me.) and so i'm like, YAY NORMAN, but then i'm like, oh. home. and then i have to decide, and i end up with the conclusion that travel is wonderful and new things will always be lovely and visiting friends in their lives and worlds are usually wonderful things, but home will always be my world which is okay. because that's my world, and they have theirs. and we can visit each other. And maybe even I will get stuck in their world sometimes but that's okay. Good, healthy even. (Yeah I totally just quoted Flynn Rider. #bombdiggity)

SO THE TRIP WAS GREAT.
the thing is, while i was there i got an email from a previous professor of mine. he was the one that taught me to love writing. and he says "sami, i'm starting a creative writing course, and i know you're getting ready to go to midwifery school and you need to save money for that but i also know that you love to write so if you want you can audit this course" and i'm like "TOTALLY. COUNT ME IN!!" because i mean really: it's poetry and creative writing.
and so one of the assignments for the class was to write a memory and/or place using imagery and assertion, simile and metaphor, and make it live. so i get totally excited about this assignment and i end up writing about norman.  and then i realize that i love writing places into people, and that's how this poem about norman looked and i'm like:

I SHOULD BLOG THIS.

and so I'm writing and writing and I end up with this poem about how Norman was kind of a place-fling for me. don't get me wrong: i loved norman. its just that norman wasn't for me. it was flat and i'm a mountain kind of girl, and the museums were great but you can only go through so many museums before you get sick of them. so this poem is kind of how i feel about places, which is basically I LOVE new places but in the end i will always return to mountains. particularly MY mountains, to home. and so then I'm thinking about how i could try writing a lot of different places as people - the ocean where we've always gone, the cabin that we have in the woods, Arizona when we took that road trip, even downtown in my hometown and then by my house and the next thing I know I'm like:

I SHOULD BLOG THIS.

And so just a note:   i swear this first post about Norman is actually NOT how i feel about dating people. And the rest of these posts in the series are not how I feel about family or friendships or PEOPLE in general. It's just how I see places - how I relate to places and maybe even how my pen took over my brain for the length of the poem. 

This post: it's a bookmark: it's a colon: it's me saying BRACE YOURSELF because the series that's coming? If Places Were People.  It's gonna be awesome. Mostly because I'm stoked about it but let's be real: sometimes that's all awesomeness needs to get started, is a little excitement. 

enjoy!

-XOXO-

Sami

if places were people. no. 1

if norman were a person, norman would be curiously normal.
normal norman.
whirlwind romance across flat squares and circles and grey veins of unleafed trees.
we spent a week together and only took pictures
of some things. remember how we met?

remember how some days i wore a dress and you made sure your sky suit was blue
and your breeze flirted with my hair and for a moment
you had all my attention?
i almost remember thinking that not even my long-term relationship with mountains could taint that.

but at the end of the week the whirlwind took me back to my mountains.
and you tainted the mountains with your ink of red clay and azure atmosphere and because you tainted my mountains, you faded just a little.
now the pictures are faded too.

you were just a fling: a moment where your flat land hands held up my feet
and your skies let me breathe for a week
and it was good except it really was just a fling so
i didn't stay.

i think i'm the player because
i think that will happen with every place i meet
i think they will love me for however long i'm there
and then one day i will get up and leave nothing more than a note written

in the sand in california. in the dirt on the outside of an english moat, maybe i'll scratch it into the stones of paris or into a papyrus leaf in egypt or maybe even into a palm tree in the carribean or indonesia. maybe i'll put
the note in a bottle and toss it into the ocean.
all i will leave is a note
and the absence of the perfume that i don't wear.
the note will say "thank you." that's it.
you will be the person i couldn't spend the rest of my life with.

you will be the place where the museums were nice and the skies were blue for the most part but other than that there wasn't much to say or do. there wasn’t much of you.
and now we’ve bumped into each other, 30 years late, and you are the same. maybe
a little grayer. but still flat

with squares and circles of plots where people have pushed you over
and plowed into your dirt. your veins of unleafed trees are a little deeper, still a dull paper gray.
and the only reason that i say "hi" and not "how are you" is because you are still just normal.
you couldn't keep me happy then, and you still can’t now. you’re normal norman.

and maybe that's wrong of me.
maybe one day in another 30 years i'll come back to say that i'm sorry and
i’ll mean it.
maybe one day the whirlwind will take me back to you and we will laugh and watch children play in 

your fields but i will be remembering the way your hand brushed mine 

as you reached for my fallen books and the thud when they fell against the concrete path

the ringing of my phone that made me drop them in the first place.
i will almost remember the painfully normal day before
i met you, when the whirlwind had just set me down.

i can promise you that if it does. if the whirlwind does bring be back to you
i will only stay because my wings have been cut off,
and my feet have blisters that won't go away
i will only stay because i can't leave

and you will write your vows on the other side of the note that i left
and i hope to god
that i don't ever have to see you again.

Adventure is out there

Adventure is out there, I tell myself as I step into solidly cold wind 

wee hours of the morning, not enough coffee and a heavy suitcase.

Light heart. Anticipatory, open brain.

Adventure is out there, I say, as I leave my bag with the man and his cart, up the steps into the cylindrical tube that will be hurtling me through the air 600 miles every hour

6 miles up there.

6 miles. I can't even run that far.

I am a fifth of a century old and I have never flown in an airplane. 

I'm beginning to hate the Wright brothers. What is wrong with horse and carriage?

What is wrong with car? Train? Roller skating? Land travel is SO MUCH SAFER. 

But no. Onto the plane. Into my seat.

Seatbelt, even though we won't be leaving the ground for another twenty minutes.

Breath. Adventure is out there

The words chasing my terror around my head,

Children in a game of tag.

Terror? ...pretty sure that's what that is.

Adventure is out there

Black dawn yawning hungrily at me through tiny window.

Adventure is out there

Taxiing down the runway

Adventure is out there 

Engine noise overpowers all other senses until it is all I know.

Adventure is out there

Heart and stomach switching places with my esophagus and 

Tongue turning to sandpaper

Adventure is out there

Lights flicker

Adventure is out there

Plane begins to tilt

Wheels begin to lift

I think for a moment that there is no way that we will not crash, tail over wings

27 casualties, 48 wounded, remainder of passengers and crew in critical condition

Adventure is out there

Mocking me from its seat belted position in my brain

Adventure is out there

Wheels lift off the ground and 

Adventure is out there, in the air:

WE ARE FLYING.

Two airports later (one landing, one takeoff, one landing later - let's face it: the landings feel like roller coaster rides gone wrong) - we have arrived on time.

We have arrived alive,

We have nurtured my traveling soul we have located our taxi and obtained coffee

We have moved forward in control

Confident travelers.

Our bus fills with smoke.

Nothing to do.

Gauges fine, gas fine, heaters and airconditioning fine

Everything is fine

And yet I can trail my hand through the sunshine lit fumes that swirl plentifully.

We open windows.

We wait, amid flying hair and silent mouths, surrounded by strangers.

We arrive at the hotel, 

70s style room...it has gold light fixtures. 

Rest. 

Before I sleep, before my father wakes me with his dead-raising snore,

Before I cleanse myself of the dirt of travel.

I am haunted, greeted, wrapped in a thought:

Adventure is out there.

But adventure is not always without trouble. Adventure is not always pure. Adventure is not always what we think it will be. Adventure will trick us - 

For that is the essence of adventure: to not know, yet plunge in. 

authentic

have you ever gone shopping for something specific?
and as you're looking, you find that something specific, but its one of the originals.
its authentic.
its old, but still usable and still loved.
it might not be perfect
but who cares?
its the real thing.

the same goes for people.
i've watched girls tear themselves apart
because they weren't beautiful
skinny
cute
funny
smart
dating someone
liked by all

the thing is
usually they are.
they are always the most loved, they have the cutest figures
they are the most confident and the most funny
they are able to figure out the problems or they know how to work around them.

somewhere in the last 20 years, we've started lying to ourselves.
i did it.
i lied to myself.
years of i'm not worth it.
so what, i'm smart. i've got pretty hair.
so what. i'm nothing.

and then i caught a glimpse of myself in
someone else's mirror.

and i didn't see someone who wasn't worth it.
i saw someone who was accurately outpriced.

i saw someone who was unique, authentic.
there were some chips and scratches,
but i was real. there was some old paint where i had tried to
cover up qualities that were actually good.
scratch that off, and suddenly,
i was worth a lot.

being me, rather than covering myself up,
hiding myself away
that old thing? oh, its nothing...
screw that.
i'm fabulous.

and you know what? you are too.
girl, you are fabulous.
join the club.
your body rocks.
your smile, your face. 
dude. your face is AWESOME.

the way you smile, the way you laugh,
your sense of humor - screw your grades, they don't really matter -
dating is overrated and i'd bet you my bank account that everyone likes you. (or almost everyone. there's always that 20% that doesn't, but that's their loss, not yours).
girl, you are adorable. you are loved.
you are wonderful beyond all comparison.

and you know why?
its because you are authentic. 
there's only one of you.
there's only one Sami.
only one Lexy
Hannah, Elisa, Abbiee, Kate, Cait, Taylor, Morgan, Alyssa, Rachelle.
there's only one
Madeline, Anna, Caylen, Keziah, Kelaiah, Abby, Courtney, Sarah, Karissa, Jana, Jill, Noe, Nicole, Randi, Leslie, Elly, Breann, Joelle, Eliza, Sarah, Jessica, Isabella, Nicole, Virginia, Sarah, Lindsey, Emily, Lisa, Allison, Ryann, Annika, Emma, Claire, Alexis, Sabrina, Emilie, Esther, Catherine, Abbey, Lizzy, Pam, Mindy, Serena, Jennifer, Whitney, Jenny, Emma, Katelyn, Katie, Kay, Sara, Alyssa, Zurisadia, Olivia, Tiana, Becca, Dawn, Anna, Heather, Morgan.
there's only one you.
THERE'S ONLY ONE YOU.

only one.

there's you.
there's no two of any of us.

like, that's pretty exciting.
When i meet Allison, she's the only one. WHAT? SO EXCITING.
When i meet Claire - and i start thinking like this - its like CAN I SHAKE YOUR HAND BECAUSE OMG OMG OMG I'M MEETING AN ORIGINAL. SHE'S THE ONLY ONE.
when i meet Morgan - i'll never meet anyone else like her.
i'll never meet anyone with Serena's smile
or Anna's innocence
or Tiana's laugh.
Abbey is the only one with that much fire in her.
Eliza is the only one who giggles like that.
Kelaiah can only play violin and piant and talk and be like Kelaiah.
Courtney can only think like Courtney.
Karissa can only act like Karissa.
Jana can only photograph like Jana.
Whitney can only sing like Whitney.
Kate can only write like Kate.

we are each only ever ourselves. no matter how much you dig and try to hide and try to rebuild yourself - you're you.
and you're the best you that could ever be.

your mind is the flint and your voice the steel
your body the fuel for the fire
if you light it at the right moment,
you can set your whole world on fire
and rule it like the fabulous queen you are.

queens are fabulous.
antiques are valued.
you are fabulous.
you are valued.
you are you.
you are authentic.

Source: Pinterest

All the Light We Cannot See (book review #6)

WINNER OF THE PULITZER PRIZE
From the highly acclaimed, multiple award-winning Anthony Doerr, the beautiful, stunningly ambitious instant New York Times bestseller about a blind French girl and a German boy whose paths collide in occupied France as both try to survive the devastation of World War II.

Marie-Laure lives with her father in Paris near the Museum of Natural History, where he works as the master of its thousands of locks. When she is six, Marie-Laure goes blind and her father builds a perfect miniature of their neighborhood so she can memorize it by touch and navigate her way home. When she is twelve, the Nazis occupy Paris and father and daughter flee to the walled citadel of Saint-Malo, where Marie-Laure’s reclusive great-uncle lives in a tall house by the sea. With them they carry what might be the museum’s most valuable and dangerous jewel.

In a mining town in Germany, the orphan Werner grows up with his younger sister, enchanted by a crude radio they find. Werner becomes an expert at building and fixing these crucial new instruments, a talent that wins him a place at a brutal academy for Hitler Youth, then a special assignment to track the resistance. More and more aware of the human cost of his intelligence, Werner travels through the heart of the war and, finally, into Saint-Malo, where his story and Marie-Laure’s converge.

Doerr’s “stunning sense of physical detail and gorgeous metaphors” (San Francisco Chronicle) are dazzling. Deftly interweaving the lives of Marie-Laure and Werner, he illuminates the ways, against all odds, people try to be good to one another. Ten years in the writing, a National Book Award finalist, All the Light We Cannot See is a magnificent, deeply moving novel from a writer “whose sentences never fail to thrill” (Los Angeles Times).

GOOD: STOP EVERYTHING AND GO READ THIS BOOK. seriously guys, it was amazing. it is now the best stand-alone book i have ever read. like, gaaaaahhhh.... *flails* *falls over* *cries silently* *lays still* *takes a deep breath* GAAAAAHHH. Here's why: 
a) this book is written from two different view points. you may have heard me rant about the difficulty of this. Doerr NAILS this. i've never read better. Werner is quiet and thoughtful, a constant battleground for good and evil. Marie-Laure is a forest clearing filled with forget-me-nots and daisies, always seeing the good even though her eyes don't let in the light.
b) description: one character is blind, the other is not. seriously, the chapters switch like that. Marie goes by smell, taste, touch, and hearing. She goes by memory, she goes by instinct. she is a sponge for knowledge and her chapters in the book are steeped in it. she is also obsessed with 3-D maps (you'll get that later) and the ocean. Werner, on the other hand, sees everything. His eyes are the sponges, flitting about, pulling in information and analyzing not only the facts but the feelings, the emotions, wondering why at every opportunity. and his chapters. oh golly. his chapters make me cry. and he loves radios. seriously, this kid makes. my. world. although he kinda breaks my heart at the same time.

BAD: there's some language. there's also some really heavy real life stuff. which is difficult to swallow sometimes. one girl gets raped. one character is willing to blow up half of Europe (oh wait, that was Hitler. okay, blowing up the continent would be an exaggeration but you get my point) in order to heal himself. characters are blown up, shot down, impaled, frozen by water in the middle of the night, and some are taken to prison camps. you know what? i fully expected all of that. this is a book written in the middle of the Second World War. There were bad things happening then. a book that doesn't detail these would be lacking historical accuracy and depth. 

DIFFICULTY: the undaunted book queen in me says not hard at all. i mean yeah the book was more than an inch thick BUT HEY who's counting? however, the tiny little girl in me disagrees. for it was indeed a difficult book to read considering the fact that there would be one sentence describing how the field was full of daisies and you could hear a cow's bell in the distance and you could smell the sea and life was normal, and the next sentence would be talking about how the character hadn't eaten in three days and they were on the brink of wishing for death. this wasn't an easy book to read as far as content goes. definitely not for the weak of heart. 

1-10 SCORE: 10. All the way. This book won 6 awards. and it won 6 awards for a reason. it will break your heart and then heal it again. for me, it is forever on my favorites shelf. 
let me put it this way: i normally don't buy books. normally i just borrow them from the library. 
i bought this book. 

OVERVIEW: All the Light We Cannot See is intense, a web of stories and people and facts and myth and time that weave together into one grand climax and leaves you wondering what the purpose of life is. It makes you wonder how you are living today. It makes you think about what you notice, what you give into the world. It changed the way i think. i don't see bad things anymore. i see empty voids capable of good or bad, equally equipped and with equal opportunity to take over that space. at one point in the story Werner is trapped in a basement, listening to a radio. there's absolutely no light, and yet he doesn't feel scared, because the voice that is transmitting over the radio carries light with it. it lights Werner's soul. this scene left me wondering if physical light is not the most important. maybe it is the light that's felt, and heard, the kind that changes our hearts, i think that's what matters. and oh how much there is of it, all the light we cannot see. 

that's what i got out of it.