Things, they are a-changin, finally. I've spent so much time waiting for them to, I forgot that I had to make them do it. Wishful thinking is good, magical thinking is better.
As we all know, I buried myself in the past. It was suffocating. Now that I'm allowing things to happen, they do. Do I have to open the doors myself? Most of the time. I'm not used to chivalry anyway. I'm flinging them wide open, peeking inside and slamming them shut if need be.
Point is, taking chances, putting myself out there, being optimistic about the outcome. Lessons learned.
So, I'm feeling good, is what I'm trying to say.
Because
I can still get in the car with my best friend and drive all day and night just for a few hours of fun.
I forgot how good music feels in my soul.
My friends are all still there, still have my back.
I'm doing things for myself.
I'm not beating myself up for what I'm not doing today.
Cause I'm doing what I want to today.
Saying what I mean, meaning what I say.
And, OK with doing that on your terms if it'll reach you better.
Memories can be the best and worst things about life.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
writing about writing.
Yesterday was good for my soul. For the first time since college, I put my writing back out there in front of whoever stumbled upon it and the encouragement I received has re-lit a fire I thought may never find a spark again. Yes!
When I was a 15 year old girl just starting to figure a thing or two out about myself, I had surrounded myself with music and music magazines and shut the world out because no one really understood it like that silly little song did. I began writing a little in a journal and then a little bit online and something felt so right about it. About that time I had an English teacher who assigned us to write journal entries about more than what this character represented in this novel, they were about me and she would write notes in them as she graded them and she wrote, "please keep writing. have you ever thought about joining the newspaper staff" (she was in charge of it). Nope, not really. Then, I watched Almost Famous. It was as if this world had totally unlocked itself to me. Hey, I love music and I love to write, too. Why can't I be a William Miller? I did end up on the newspaper staff and for the first time ever in high school my peers would stop me in the hall and tell me they loved my story in the paper. My work with the high school paper got me some state and national awards. The fire was lit.
I realized this was a dream that could come true for me. Decided to pursue it in college. Had some great opportunities find their way to me and all along the way the little nods from family, friends, peers and strangers found their way to me and no matter what they said, what I always heard was "Keep going!" I made my way up the chain on the college newspaper and people there saw what I was doing and even bent some of the rules for me to let me do it. I got some more awards. And, the fire grew.
My dreams changed a bit in college. I worked for pretty much the entire time to get a spot on a music magazine. After having an internship at one and seeing behind the scenes and that, it turns out, they're used more as marketing tools for record labels these days, I backed away. Those aren't the terms I wanted it on.
I took a class in college that totally re-directed me just as I lost hope in the Almost Famous dream. Apparently, my more personal writing connected better to people anyway, maybe I should write books. My favorites are all memoirs maybe I can put my experience to the page and someone, somewhere will connect with it and it can move them the way those books moved me?
I graduated and basically stepped in a trap I had set out for myself. Turns out, I didn't want writing to be my "job," I want it all on my terms. I didn't ask for anyone to accept those terms and just decided I would have to find my own way and seek out opportunities myself. The fire started to die a little.
I got sucked into a black hole of myself for the next almost four years. I allowed myself to believe that no one cared again. No one understood it like that silly little song. The fire went out.
Turns out, you have to ask for what you want and maybe someone will take a chance with you. And, no one can light that fire for me, but they sure as hell can make it grow. Some silly little blog I wrote for some silly little web site was all it took. Who knew? Well, someone did and she encouraged me to ask. Someone else picked right back up where he left off and became the person I needed to read it before I even did to let me know if I should keep going. He didn't really have to this time, never really did I now realize.
So, me and writing, we broke up for a while. And it may never win a pulitzer, become a best seller and even make it to the eyes of more than a few people, but we're on again.
When I was a 15 year old girl just starting to figure a thing or two out about myself, I had surrounded myself with music and music magazines and shut the world out because no one really understood it like that silly little song did. I began writing a little in a journal and then a little bit online and something felt so right about it. About that time I had an English teacher who assigned us to write journal entries about more than what this character represented in this novel, they were about me and she would write notes in them as she graded them and she wrote, "please keep writing. have you ever thought about joining the newspaper staff" (she was in charge of it). Nope, not really. Then, I watched Almost Famous. It was as if this world had totally unlocked itself to me. Hey, I love music and I love to write, too. Why can't I be a William Miller? I did end up on the newspaper staff and for the first time ever in high school my peers would stop me in the hall and tell me they loved my story in the paper. My work with the high school paper got me some state and national awards. The fire was lit.
I realized this was a dream that could come true for me. Decided to pursue it in college. Had some great opportunities find their way to me and all along the way the little nods from family, friends, peers and strangers found their way to me and no matter what they said, what I always heard was "Keep going!" I made my way up the chain on the college newspaper and people there saw what I was doing and even bent some of the rules for me to let me do it. I got some more awards. And, the fire grew.
My dreams changed a bit in college. I worked for pretty much the entire time to get a spot on a music magazine. After having an internship at one and seeing behind the scenes and that, it turns out, they're used more as marketing tools for record labels these days, I backed away. Those aren't the terms I wanted it on.
I took a class in college that totally re-directed me just as I lost hope in the Almost Famous dream. Apparently, my more personal writing connected better to people anyway, maybe I should write books. My favorites are all memoirs maybe I can put my experience to the page and someone, somewhere will connect with it and it can move them the way those books moved me?
I graduated and basically stepped in a trap I had set out for myself. Turns out, I didn't want writing to be my "job," I want it all on my terms. I didn't ask for anyone to accept those terms and just decided I would have to find my own way and seek out opportunities myself. The fire started to die a little.
I got sucked into a black hole of myself for the next almost four years. I allowed myself to believe that no one cared again. No one understood it like that silly little song. The fire went out.
Turns out, you have to ask for what you want and maybe someone will take a chance with you. And, no one can light that fire for me, but they sure as hell can make it grow. Some silly little blog I wrote for some silly little web site was all it took. Who knew? Well, someone did and she encouraged me to ask. Someone else picked right back up where he left off and became the person I needed to read it before I even did to let me know if I should keep going. He didn't really have to this time, never really did I now realize.
So, me and writing, we broke up for a while. And it may never win a pulitzer, become a best seller and even make it to the eyes of more than a few people, but we're on again.
Monday, October 10, 2011
loose ends.
I feel like I keep stumbling upon these things that I just left sitting in the past. I never really acknowledged them then and I sure as hell forgot about them for a long time and all of the sudden it's like they pop to the surface to say what's up.
What do I do with them? It was so long ago is it even worth going back there? But, if I don't will there always be a "what if" or will they just slip under the surface again just to resurface in another five years? I'm not OK with that.
So, I either need to get it together and tie that loose end up or just move on. I don't want to do either.
It's just this constant fear that I'm fighting. Fear of what? What will I really be losing because, I mean, I never had it to begin with? Fear of maybe I remember it being something better than it was? Fear of just being so damn nostalgic about everything why can't I just move on?
I just want to have a bunch of tied bows staring back at me. They don't have to be pretty, just good enough to seal it.
Cause, I mean, these circles my mind keeps swimming are just absolutely exhausting and I'm not going anywhere anyway.
What do I do with them? It was so long ago is it even worth going back there? But, if I don't will there always be a "what if" or will they just slip under the surface again just to resurface in another five years? I'm not OK with that.
So, I either need to get it together and tie that loose end up or just move on. I don't want to do either.
It's just this constant fear that I'm fighting. Fear of what? What will I really be losing because, I mean, I never had it to begin with? Fear of maybe I remember it being something better than it was? Fear of just being so damn nostalgic about everything why can't I just move on?
I just want to have a bunch of tied bows staring back at me. They don't have to be pretty, just good enough to seal it.
Cause, I mean, these circles my mind keeps swimming are just absolutely exhausting and I'm not going anywhere anyway.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
one wing.
It's fall, ya'll. Seasons, they're what's up.
Fall and Spring are the best because they're such a welcomed relief from the extremes you endure, no matter how fleeting they are in Louisiana.
And, October, I think you may be my favorite month.
I just happened to be off on Oct. 1, I stepped outside with my cup of coffee and posted up on my patio for pretty much the entire day and almost every waking hour I've spent at home since. I felt ridiculously inspired and worked on my first assignment in years and just felt this overwhelming feeling of relief when each one was near completion. I've known for years that part of my personal unhappiness has come from my inability to really write and it be what I meant to say, but now, I think that those quiet years were neccessary to fuel what is now spilling out onto the page, because dammit! I've got something to say!
So, I'm committed to the process. Stopping what I'm doing and putting it out there immediately, very few things are as important. Laundry can wait and so can that phone call I don't really want to answer anyway.
And, really, the root of it all is, I'm ready to say it and I'm not as worried about who hears it. I believe in what I have to say and I believe who I'm finally starting to become.
Fall and Spring are the best because they're such a welcomed relief from the extremes you endure, no matter how fleeting they are in Louisiana.
And, October, I think you may be my favorite month.
I just happened to be off on Oct. 1, I stepped outside with my cup of coffee and posted up on my patio for pretty much the entire day and almost every waking hour I've spent at home since. I felt ridiculously inspired and worked on my first assignment in years and just felt this overwhelming feeling of relief when each one was near completion. I've known for years that part of my personal unhappiness has come from my inability to really write and it be what I meant to say, but now, I think that those quiet years were neccessary to fuel what is now spilling out onto the page, because dammit! I've got something to say!
So, I'm committed to the process. Stopping what I'm doing and putting it out there immediately, very few things are as important. Laundry can wait and so can that phone call I don't really want to answer anyway.
And, really, the root of it all is, I'm ready to say it and I'm not as worried about who hears it. I believe in what I have to say and I believe who I'm finally starting to become.
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