Seemingly So

Funny how a flash of memory from years past can snap into your present, tumbling you down a path of nostalgia and dropping you swiftly into reflection. For me these moments are often seemingly insignificant in comparison to memories I am reminded by others that I've forgotten. There was a moment in my early middle school years, I often get pulled back to though, which I find interesting, and thought I'd share with you here.

On the usual walk down to school from up the hill where my house sat, dusty trumpet case in one hand, and jacket wrapped tightly to combat the ensuing winter nip, a glint of shimmer caught my eye.

In the morning light and brightened by beams fighting to remain free of the clouds they'd just defeated, I saw a leaf. 

An icy sheen coated its veined skin and tiny, frosty crystals reflected the signs of early morning dew, which took responsibility for its current beauty. Naturally, I picked it up.

What happened then is the lesson I recall.

Slipping my fingers under its cold crust, I was shocked at the uncomfortable chill of my leaf-laden hand. Up close, the gem seemed ordinary, soggy like the rest, which lined the suburban sidewalks. Dull even.

I flipped it over.

The backside, once a crisp and familiar green, was mid-transformation in emanating the beautifully golden hues of autumn. Lacking the glamor of chilly glitter, it seemed now to be the more genuine, more raw and natural side. 

It was this thought- what I had deemed beautiful by quick and sudden judgment, what had the power to initially catch my little eye, had turned sodden in a instant- and its backside, which I took no notice of at all, held the truth to its undiscovered beauty.  I remember thinking, all those years ago, how wrong I had been, how cold the beauty I'd deemed best really was, and what hidden allure lie within, bursting with invisible potential, if only one chose to see beyond what seemingly was. 

Window to the Soul

They pierce. They spit fire. They fill with subtle, invisible ease. They identify and bear witness. They gaze and they wander. They judge and they mislead. They softly comfort, and they carefully tease. They connect. They communicate. They convey. All in a blink.

They see. 

With what clarity, we can only hope to guess. 

Intentions of the Heart

Poolside Reunion

The trouble with being old enough to seek out dreams in faraway lands?? Separation. Stress. Loneliness.

I knew it would happen, we'd grow up, and if I'm honest, I've wished it upon myself since tike-dom. But like many things which go too quick- I realize somewhere between hours spent aching for a snapshot of my first REAL apartment and calculating how many nights out I'd forgo to afford supplies to clean that chic-as-shit apartment, it happened.

I didn't register that part- the part where I was told that growing up meant one sister living across the country, and the other a state away, feeling equally as distant in my heart.

The part where thinking about the stresses of finding passion in your work and still zeros in your bank account (please note the plural here, for it is essential...) would be both the light and stress in life.

The part where leaving on a jet plane is reserved for rockin' out... alone, rather than boarding one to go, well, anywhere...

Well its all those parts I maybe should've paid more attention to, for now, they are my serious realities.

That's why this weekend was so wonderfully bittersweet, for jet planes were boarded, engines turned over, and down came the house- my parent's house that is. All together and lounging poolside, coronas in hand and tunes on our lips, we fell together again.

The routine's changed slightly, but the emotion, not at all. I love these people to the ends of what I can imagine, and being with them was a sip of a sweetness I'm now rarely allow a taste. These five people, entirely their own, yet always holding a sliver of each, came together for a time unspokenly short, and loved hard.

It's what life's about. Mine at least, and if not yours, come hang out for a bit, and I bet you'll make it your own too.

One of those days...

You know the kind, we all have 'em- the kind where you need a little tighter hug, a little softer explanation of something new, an extra big cup of coffee (or three if you're me...)

Sometimes no matter how hard you try to pull yourself out of a funk, focusing on the funk itself only causes more funkiness to ensue. I went to bed in a bad mood, and woke up in a worse one.

Sometimes you can't count on fate to give you what you need, and rather than trying to decipher what may be the root of a rotten day, embracing the funk and releasing any understanding you might attempt at its arrival, is the only way to glide through.