I don’t think I exist. I don’t think this is real. I’m fluid. I think I flow through the wind, spanning distance, time, worlds. I’m there with you; I’m in the past with you; I’m in your future. I’m in love with my campus and I’m in love with the hills I wander in Oregon. I’m looking at the Puget Sound and I’m standing in the waves at Agate beach. I’m walking along the McKenzie and I’m watching the sunset at Tillikum. I’m deadly responsible and wildly reckless. I have a plan and I have no idea. I must not be real. But you think you know me, so either I’m real or you’re not either. No one’s real. We’re all figments of imagination, crossing into each other. That river I love, those trees and those hills, they’re all in my head. Maybe if I focus hard enough I’ll be able to trick myself into thinking I’m there. I am there. And I’m here. I’m everywhere. A wisp of fascination. I’m not real, but I’m alive. I live. I live for right now. Not for tomorrow. Not for five minutes from now. Not for you. If I die here, at least I’ll die happy. If it’s instant I’ll die mid laugh. If it’s prolonged I’ll picture the McKenzie and imagine hugging you goodbye. I live minute by minute, second by second. I live life by life, world by world. I span time and location. I am fluid like the wind or the roaring ocean. I drive. I sing. I laugh. It’s fine. But I stay alive. I’m not real so I can’t die. I live for you. I won’t die because I won’t do that to you. I know what it would do to the world I’m currently a part of, to the world I just recently left behind, and to the world I haven’t met yet. There are so many worlds I want to meet. So many trees to see, so many waves to feel, so many skies to smell. The world is amazing and I’m wonderful. I’m so happy to be here. To walk through this campus. I’m here. I hope you’re as good as I am. I hope your life is as rich as mine is. I can thrive here. Because it’s not real and I can encompass all the wonderful places, things and people that support me no matter where or who or what I am.
This is poorly written and redundant. But I didn’t have anything appropriate to say.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
lights
Can you hear this? When my eyes are closed I can hear those cedars calling my name, that river singing to me; do you hear it? Am I alone? When I find myself missing the comfort of your presence in my life, do you feel me? Do you walk past a tree and see me? This is just where I’m supposed to be. This is not where I belong. My body fits in naturally, but nothing here really knows my soul. Relationships here are easy, effortless and right, but no one here knows what I’m feeling deep down. What am I feeling deep down?
Nature. Nothing sounds better than sitting at the top of Mary’s Peak. Walking along the bank of the McKenzie. Hiking up Dimple Hill. Talking with you in the thick trees. This building accepts me, but it doesn’t understand me the way the sky does. I miss the stars. I miss standing in the cold and loving its sharp sting. There are no cuts in my soul that Mother Nature needs to heal but without contact with her it starts to compress, the brilliant green starts to fade.
I walk through the empty campus. The night air kisses my cheeks. The lamps just illuminate the trees so that their rich green and brown is just visible against the dark sky showing through them. Stars are visible despite the glare of the city lights. The buildings shine in the night, like closer but so different stars. I can feel the mountain looming behind me in the darkness. I can’t see it. I can’t even be sure of where it is. I’m not sure how to get there and right now it’s impossible for me to. But I know it’s there. Somewhere in the distance. I know you’re there. I can’t see you, but I can feel you. We’re not together, but we’re not apart. Nature is not wrapping its arms around me, but I’m not away from it.
The waves of life undulate; rise and fall, crash and lay calm; wash against the sand and rest on top of the rocks. We turn away from the ocean and walk into the land. Always where we’ve been but on our way to where we’re going. Together despite the distance. In the woods despite the buildings. I’m not alone even though there’s no one around. I can hear the world and I know you can hear me. It would be great to see you, to be in nature with you, but I’m so good here.
Nature. Nothing sounds better than sitting at the top of Mary’s Peak. Walking along the bank of the McKenzie. Hiking up Dimple Hill. Talking with you in the thick trees. This building accepts me, but it doesn’t understand me the way the sky does. I miss the stars. I miss standing in the cold and loving its sharp sting. There are no cuts in my soul that Mother Nature needs to heal but without contact with her it starts to compress, the brilliant green starts to fade.
I walk through the empty campus. The night air kisses my cheeks. The lamps just illuminate the trees so that their rich green and brown is just visible against the dark sky showing through them. Stars are visible despite the glare of the city lights. The buildings shine in the night, like closer but so different stars. I can feel the mountain looming behind me in the darkness. I can’t see it. I can’t even be sure of where it is. I’m not sure how to get there and right now it’s impossible for me to. But I know it’s there. Somewhere in the distance. I know you’re there. I can’t see you, but I can feel you. We’re not together, but we’re not apart. Nature is not wrapping its arms around me, but I’m not away from it.
The waves of life undulate; rise and fall, crash and lay calm; wash against the sand and rest on top of the rocks. We turn away from the ocean and walk into the land. Always where we’ve been but on our way to where we’re going. Together despite the distance. In the woods despite the buildings. I’m not alone even though there’s no one around. I can hear the world and I know you can hear me. It would be great to see you, to be in nature with you, but I’m so good here.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Rocks and Windows
The quality of the early morning light is obstructed by the storm coming in. Even the weathered locals don’t wander the shore this morning. I am totally alone with the roaring ocean. After running south to the twin rocks—to the beach that was beyond important to my preteen self I stand and watch the waves. The rain whipped by the wind has left me completely soaked and I can’t deny that I’m cold. But few things have ever felt as right as this does. The salty air tastes like joy and I inhale deeply, letting it reach down inside of me, wrapping its hand around any frustrations and throwing them away as I exhale.
The view of the rocks is beyond nostalgic. But my reaction isn’t to dive in to the memories; I don’t even watch their reflections. I know that they’re there, but they’re not so important anymore. The rocks don’t say “look at who you were” instead they sing “look at who you are, look at what you’ve done, see what you can do?” And I know. I am not average, already I have not had an average life, and I won’t. There are a lot of things I can’t do. I won’t be a doctor, I won’t find a cure for cancer, I won’t even direct a band. But I will do something that makes a difference. I will make the people who supported me proud; I will make you say “I knew her when…”
I know who I am. I do not know who I will be, but I know the type of path I want to follow and I look forward to when I meet that person. I look forward to when I get to introduce that person to the people I love and admire. But I’m not just spending my time watching that horizon, counting the times the sun sets behind it. I’m spending my time watching the ocean waves, breathing with the trees, smelling the rain. I’m spending my time writing in spiral notebooks, reading influential words and keeping current on what I’m passionate about (if I don’t know what has to be done, how can I ever make a difference?).
The sky grows darker and darker through the window panes. The Wilderness World of John Muir rests on my chest and I am warm in my sleeping bag. I can smell the perfumed aroma of someone showering. I can hear muffled laughter and TV from downstairs. Friendship so easy and honest that even I can’t undervalue it. Exactly what I worried I would never find. I will go downstairs and cook for us, we will eat and talk and play games. And now, in an rare occurrence, I am as content inside as I was out. These are the people who will let me go wherever I need to, and who will help me become as influential as I can.
For a sneak peak at something that makes my heart race: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/01/asian-wildlife/christy-text
The view of the rocks is beyond nostalgic. But my reaction isn’t to dive in to the memories; I don’t even watch their reflections. I know that they’re there, but they’re not so important anymore. The rocks don’t say “look at who you were” instead they sing “look at who you are, look at what you’ve done, see what you can do?” And I know. I am not average, already I have not had an average life, and I won’t. There are a lot of things I can’t do. I won’t be a doctor, I won’t find a cure for cancer, I won’t even direct a band. But I will do something that makes a difference. I will make the people who supported me proud; I will make you say “I knew her when…”
I know who I am. I do not know who I will be, but I know the type of path I want to follow and I look forward to when I meet that person. I look forward to when I get to introduce that person to the people I love and admire. But I’m not just spending my time watching that horizon, counting the times the sun sets behind it. I’m spending my time watching the ocean waves, breathing with the trees, smelling the rain. I’m spending my time writing in spiral notebooks, reading influential words and keeping current on what I’m passionate about (if I don’t know what has to be done, how can I ever make a difference?).
The sky grows darker and darker through the window panes. The Wilderness World of John Muir rests on my chest and I am warm in my sleeping bag. I can smell the perfumed aroma of someone showering. I can hear muffled laughter and TV from downstairs. Friendship so easy and honest that even I can’t undervalue it. Exactly what I worried I would never find. I will go downstairs and cook for us, we will eat and talk and play games. And now, in an rare occurrence, I am as content inside as I was out. These are the people who will let me go wherever I need to, and who will help me become as influential as I can.
For a sneak peak at something that makes my heart race: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/01/asian-wildlife/christy-text
Friday, January 1, 2010
Changes
So, I started this blog with the plan of using it to work on writing beautifully. While it will naturally reflect on the recent happenings in my life, it is not designed to be a “here’s what I’ve been up to” type of blog. Hopefully, those happenings will often times be more hinted at than directly or specifically addressed. Just offering a simple explanation, after a handful of posts, before a new year of words begins.
On most holidays I am a much more stereotypical Hallmark American teenager than I would ever like to admit (to myself or others). I enjoy getting presents on Christmas, looking at lights, and listening to music; I like the romance and sweetness of Valentine’s Day; on Easter I hide eggs and eat candy; the list goes on and on. In a sense, New Years is no different.
I’ve never really made resolutions, I’ve never taken seriously the road tradition of wish papers, I’ve never really used it to let something go. School years, even birthdays, marked more of a distinct passing of time than a random night in winter did. The calendar year changes, but not much else. But, every New Years Eve, I can’t help but feel nostalgic, and hopeful. Every year, I sit down and I write about the year that happened, what I remember, what I’ve learned, etc., and, thoughts on what the new year can and will bring.
2009 for me was the year of greatest change. It held more monumental events for me than any other year, almost in all years combined (though that may be a very sentimental over exaggeration). Duke was diagnosed with cancer and after a painful battle I held him in my arms as we put him to sleep. I went to All Northwest. My friends and I finally went on camping trips. A college was decided on. Several monumental relationships were established. My life in the CHS band program ended and then high school. I experienced the first death that would impact me and my life. College started, my (professional—if it can be called that…) music career ended. I made new amazing friendships and fell in love with a new life and a new home. My first semester of college ended and I successfully had what I thought may be an impossible confrontation. While I was already 18 when the year started, this year I became an adult.
But there’s so much more to this past year than those events. There’s how those events shaped me. Because, I can confidently say, I’m a very different person right now than I was a year ago--- more so than ever before. At the risk of being obvious or redundant I won’t go into specifics of what each monument of ’09 did to me. While I think I was pretty strong beforehand, I’m much stronger now. For the first time in almost the full decade, I’m living without a hyperfocused plan. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I have a lot of things I want to do, and a better understanding about how to live. I’m living for the moment, for the now, not for the next turn of a decade. I have relationships with people that are natural, easy, and rewarding. I’m calmer and much wiser.
The year for me is easiest to think about if split into three sections--- the end of high school, summer, and the start of college. All three sections had their share of shit dark times; the loss of Duke and drama with MP, Danny’s death and job drama, the struggle with music and facing life. There’s no doubt I’m extremely glad to see 2009 become a memory. But I’m also glad for who it turned me into. And I’m not so caught up as to not acknowledge the good times; the overall win of music and graduating, the relationships that were developed and rediscovering my love for nature, friends and a new life. My writing abilities aren’t capable of describing how I’ve changed or who I am now. I know I’m very different, and I like who I am more than I liked who I was. And ultimately, that’s what matters.
So, cheers. 2009 came and went and 2010 will do the same. Here’s to a year of growing and experiencing and learning behind us and to one ahead of us. I’ll remember ’09, but I am extremely excited for what’s ahead.
On most holidays I am a much more stereotypical Hallmark American teenager than I would ever like to admit (to myself or others). I enjoy getting presents on Christmas, looking at lights, and listening to music; I like the romance and sweetness of Valentine’s Day; on Easter I hide eggs and eat candy; the list goes on and on. In a sense, New Years is no different.
I’ve never really made resolutions, I’ve never taken seriously the road tradition of wish papers, I’ve never really used it to let something go. School years, even birthdays, marked more of a distinct passing of time than a random night in winter did. The calendar year changes, but not much else. But, every New Years Eve, I can’t help but feel nostalgic, and hopeful. Every year, I sit down and I write about the year that happened, what I remember, what I’ve learned, etc., and, thoughts on what the new year can and will bring.
2009 for me was the year of greatest change. It held more monumental events for me than any other year, almost in all years combined (though that may be a very sentimental over exaggeration). Duke was diagnosed with cancer and after a painful battle I held him in my arms as we put him to sleep. I went to All Northwest. My friends and I finally went on camping trips. A college was decided on. Several monumental relationships were established. My life in the CHS band program ended and then high school. I experienced the first death that would impact me and my life. College started, my (professional—if it can be called that…) music career ended. I made new amazing friendships and fell in love with a new life and a new home. My first semester of college ended and I successfully had what I thought may be an impossible confrontation. While I was already 18 when the year started, this year I became an adult.
But there’s so much more to this past year than those events. There’s how those events shaped me. Because, I can confidently say, I’m a very different person right now than I was a year ago--- more so than ever before. At the risk of being obvious or redundant I won’t go into specifics of what each monument of ’09 did to me. While I think I was pretty strong beforehand, I’m much stronger now. For the first time in almost the full decade, I’m living without a hyperfocused plan. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I have a lot of things I want to do, and a better understanding about how to live. I’m living for the moment, for the now, not for the next turn of a decade. I have relationships with people that are natural, easy, and rewarding. I’m calmer and much wiser.
The year for me is easiest to think about if split into three sections--- the end of high school, summer, and the start of college. All three sections had their share of shit dark times; the loss of Duke and drama with MP, Danny’s death and job drama, the struggle with music and facing life. There’s no doubt I’m extremely glad to see 2009 become a memory. But I’m also glad for who it turned me into. And I’m not so caught up as to not acknowledge the good times; the overall win of music and graduating, the relationships that were developed and rediscovering my love for nature, friends and a new life. My writing abilities aren’t capable of describing how I’ve changed or who I am now. I know I’m very different, and I like who I am more than I liked who I was. And ultimately, that’s what matters.
So, cheers. 2009 came and went and 2010 will do the same. Here’s to a year of growing and experiencing and learning behind us and to one ahead of us. I’ll remember ’09, but I am extremely excited for what’s ahead.
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