meh.

"Life may not be the party we had hoped for; but while we are here we should dance." -unknown

Here we go.  Another mid-year. Another "meh" moment.  Another time that may be nothing at all.
But what if...

I love the what ifs. They are terrifying and exciting. They are triumphant and heartbreaking.  They are what life right now is made of. What ifs and perhapses.

I have a hard time living in the now.  I am really good at past and future.  I can paint myself in really awesome colors from the past: "I lived over seas." "I raced cars." "I played soccer." All true, but all fairly distant from the modern me.

The future seems pretty cool, too. I have big plans: Opening a bar.  Traveling the world.  Finding someone to fall madly in love with (and have him love me too).  My wedding pintrest board is incredible, I must say.

But the now? The now is meh.

The now is being on the cusp of 30 and waiting tables.  The now is having a degree in photography in a world of digitally made pros.  The now is being a year or two too late to get the one I want.


But what if the now is the best part.  I mean. At one point, the now was racing cars, living over seas, and playing soccer.  Did I know then that I was living awesomely? Right now the now is meeting new people, and who knows there that will lead?  Hiking the Appellation Trail tiny bits at a time and getting to practice photography regardless of if I needed that degree or not.

I love How I Met Your Mother for so many reasons.  But one thing that I love is that every moment is great on that show.  In fact, everything that happens on that show may in fact be legen-wait for it-dary. True story.  But the thing that I loved today is that through it all, we know he gets the girl.  We know that though all of Ted's antics, he is going to find that girl with the yellow umbrella.  Today's show had an awesome speech by a german guy with a song in the background that I love (The funeral by band of horses) and I got so much (probably too much) out of it.  It was about not settling. It was about finding the perfect for you.  It was sad and happy and hopeful and amazing.  It was what ifs and perhapses. It made me cry a little. (lame. judge me if you want.)

There is a verse that I half love half hate: Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Prov 13:12

Lets hope that the deferred part goes away.  That the now is awesome and journal worthy. And that the future is a tree of life (whatever the hell that means.)

"the past is over. the future is blah blah blah the right now is a gift blah blah somethingerother... present." is that how that quote goes? I don't know.  Maybe I should get that one down.

 But for now, I am going with this one:

"here's the mini cherry on top of that regular cherry on top of that sundae of awesomeness that is my life." -Barney Stinson

My life is pretty awesome.  Even in the meh.

someday.

I want you to realize I am the one before I realize I am not.

a blank page in an open book.

writing.
writing.
writing.

If i keep doing this will something worth while come out? Is it like trying to figure out someone's name by going through the entire alphabet 'till something rings a bell?

"a... b...br...be...bi...c...d...da...de...di... LINDSAY!"

I am not thinking so.

I have always been able to write. My nightstand of leather-bound ramblings attests to this. So what's up this year that my words have not been legible? I pick up a pen (or a keyboard) and nothing comes out. No truths. No quippy little do-dads. No lovely poetic tidbits. Nadda.

So, an entry on nothing is what we have. In hopes that this will lead to that. And that will be worth something more.

I feel, lately, that I have lost a bit of passion. A passion that is woven into some sort of readable version of myself.  my "openbookiness."

There is this question.  It was asked of me the other day. "what are your three greatest passions?" (or something along those lines.)
My answer:

family.
friends.
creativity.

Maybe these can be written about later.

Passion preludes eloquence.

by then, I will be me.

I will see you in a while.

But for now I will buy myself some flowers.

I will write.

and I will enjoy this middle, undefinable time.

I will see those things differently.

I will figure out what I can fix and what was not mine to hold in the first place.

and I will be totally transformed by the time you come around.

what's wrong with 365?

I have been working myself up to starting a 365 blog.  something... anything that I could try to do once, just once,  every day. baking? photoing? writing? I duh know.

And yet, the only thing I seem to be able to do every day is procrastinate and do nothing at all.
I think I am so afraid of failing, of missing a day and having the wrath of myself come down upon... well... myself. or even worse, miss a day/ week/ month and not even care.
I am not all about failing.  Especially when I have a choice to blend in and not have anyone realize I am failing by not doing anything at all.

so, I feel it bubbling up. something. something to be dedicated to.  something other than facebook to be slightly obsessed with.  something that I may even find myself passionate about.  And who knows? I could be the new "Cake Wrecks" of the blogging world.  who. knows.

Here is to tomorrow. Here's to one more night of procrastination.  Here is to reading this blog in a month and remembering what I had wanted to do (nah. no cheers to that. we will see change this time)

remember?

As a twenty-something, about to be a twenty-something-more, I cannot help but come out of this a little bit wrinkled and grayed. I am not saying I am old. I have too many who are old surrounding me to think that of myself. But I certainly am aging.

But in this process, part of me just wants to go back.

I woke up late, today. And instead of laying there basking in the beginnings of my day, filled with glee at the thought of waking up, I pressed snooze so that I would not have to deal with the problems I knew the day would bring. I woke up late. And instead of enjoying it, I hurried to catch up with the fading sun.

I took my kids out to recess and worried about my too-tight shirt and my wind blown hair.

I saw my crush and worried about my too-tight shirt and wind blown hair.

I went to the store and worried about my too-tight shirt and wind blown hair.

I also worried about my bills. other's bills. starting a business. doing laundry. having enough change to do laundry. crying in front of the wrong people. my mom's health. my dad's sanity. my sister's job. my brother's runny nose.

How do I look? How do I feel? How do I appear? I hope these are all different. because I know the answer to one or two of them.

Remember when all you had to worry about was if there was enough puff paint on your denim jacket, if your teased bangs were puffy enough, and if you would get to tag your crush on the playground? When going to the store only meant begging for a toy, and having the electricity turned off just meant you got to play with candles?

Actually. I don't remember those times either.

Sometimes remembering is hard. Not harder. But hard.

I, like you, am afraid of writing. Afraid that I will only hurt them. Afraid that they will not understand that I have forgiven, but I do not have to have forgotten.

Why is it that in the midst of remembering a moment of peace, a torrent of other thoughts flood in?

I remember eskimo kisses

I remember recorded Saturday morning cartoons

I remember cool-aid popsicles

I remember yelling

I remember love

I remember leaving

I remember crying

I remember needing

I remember soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a long bus ride away from home.

I remember purple fingerprints on a bruised neck.

I remember making myself only cry out for "mommy" after years of also having "Daddy"

I remember Birthday cards.

I remember Christmas cards.

I remember Valentine's day cards.

I remember being terrified.

So I guess I was wrong. No part of me wants to go back. I just wish I could retrieve it, go back and rub its head and say "It will all be okay. No one will die. You will be happy. Promise. Now use that sun-block, because you may have early signs of aging if you don't, dear."

Problem is. There seems to be no reprieve. They still leave or just never come around. The electric still gets turned off, but candles are not as fun. There are no more fingerprints on her neck but her medication runs out and she falls down.

Good news is. I am not alone.

Other good news: I never felt like that was unbearable. It just was. It just is. Life sucks sometimes... but that is life, right? I am still happy. It does not have to feel like sucking. It just sometimes feels heavy. Sometimes my chest hurts. Sometimes I cry at recess.

Maybe I just need some cooler candles and another container of cool-aid, and perhaps some puff paint.

absence.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Memories more desirable through layers of reflecting fragments.

Like shattered glass covering a muddled mess.

Dangerous to tread.

Beautiful to remember.

A forgotten fear.

An enticing boredom.

A mask of recollections made up with the concealer of time.

How beautiful, a past blurred with forgetfulness.