Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Gratitude Journal
I probably won't be writing much in here except for once in a blue moon, but as a self-care project, I've been writing in a gratitude journal online. It probably won't be interesting to anyone else, but just in case you're curious, it's here: a-gratitude-journal.tumblr.com. It's not for any purpose but to simply appreciate the positive things in my life - no competition, no trying to come off a certain way, just giving a little space for my heart to shine through.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
The Gift of Gray
We tend to think of being gifted in black-and-white terms,
The artists or the athletes, or perhaps the academics. But perhaps
We too often overlook the quieter gift, the gift of gray:
The heart-centered ones. They may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow. They are the ones, perhaps, with their heads
Bowed downs over books and journals, or smiling to themselves
At the sound of a songbird. They are the ones, perhaps,
With few friends, but holding those precious loved ones dear.
Tears fall easily onto their cheeks, in the same way joy comes easily
At the sight of a dog or the way a leaf falls onto the ground.
Pressure might shake them, the noise from the world might
Upset them; perhaps they are not the straight A students,
The societal success stories, the gold medal-winners,
But oh, how they feel, how they try, how they love.
Perhaps they are the nurses working long hours,
Breaking their backs to help heal, or the counselor who tries
Because they, too, have been there. Perhaps they are the story-tellers,
Or the people-watchers, or the volunteers who give their time
Without recognition. Perhaps they are the mothers, or the fathers,
Or the uncles and aunts who have no children of their own
But would take a bullet for their nieces and nephews.
Perhaps they are the ones who take the time for self-care,
Perhaps they are the ones filled with the most self-doubt.
The heart-centered ones may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow, as they touch the world with quiet devotion.
The artists or the athletes, or perhaps the academics. But perhaps
We too often overlook the quieter gift, the gift of gray:
The heart-centered ones. They may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow. They are the ones, perhaps, with their heads
Bowed downs over books and journals, or smiling to themselves
At the sound of a songbird. They are the ones, perhaps,
With few friends, but holding those precious loved ones dear.
Tears fall easily onto their cheeks, in the same way joy comes easily
At the sight of a dog or the way a leaf falls onto the ground.
Pressure might shake them, the noise from the world might
Upset them; perhaps they are not the straight A students,
The societal success stories, the gold medal-winners,
But oh, how they feel, how they try, how they love.
Perhaps they are the nurses working long hours,
Breaking their backs to help heal, or the counselor who tries
Because they, too, have been there. Perhaps they are the story-tellers,
Or the people-watchers, or the volunteers who give their time
Without recognition. Perhaps they are the mothers, or the fathers,
Or the uncles and aunts who have no children of their own
But would take a bullet for their nieces and nephews.
Perhaps they are the ones who take the time for self-care,
Perhaps they are the ones filled with the most self-doubt.
The heart-centered ones may be easy to miss, but once found,
Light illuminates from their chests in the most tender
And comforting glow, as they touch the world with quiet devotion.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Untitled
Something shifted in me during those summer months -
Maybe from the sun-peppered waves of the Caribbean Sea,
The flesh of papaya, the yellow fibers of mango stuck in teeth,
Or the sincerity and depth of his horizon-blue eyes -
And it stripped away my layers, left me bare and reduced to nothing
But the unconditional love at my core. And from this place
I will rebuild, restore and re-nourish my life until each day
Lifts with heart-song and is streaked with summer’s ease.
Maybe from the sun-peppered waves of the Caribbean Sea,
The flesh of papaya, the yellow fibers of mango stuck in teeth,
Or the sincerity and depth of his horizon-blue eyes -
And it stripped away my layers, left me bare and reduced to nothing
But the unconditional love at my core. And from this place
I will rebuild, restore and re-nourish my life until each day
Lifts with heart-song and is streaked with summer’s ease.
Morpho
In my mind, today is reminiscent of
Translucent-blue morpho butterflies,
The way their wings madly beat
Low vibrations into the air. I am
Aimless, wandering without purpose,
Lonely and seeking. Give me hope,
I tilt my head to the sky, my prayers
Also vibrations, transient and fleeting.
Translucent-blue morpho butterflies,
The way their wings madly beat
Low vibrations into the air. I am
Aimless, wandering without purpose,
Lonely and seeking. Give me hope,
I tilt my head to the sky, my prayers
Also vibrations, transient and fleeting.
Deer
This afternoon, I went for a walk, repetitively counting my sufferings
Like prayer beads, one-by-one. Not noticing the chilled air and sunshine,
My footsteps quickened - hurried, little rivers rushing - until something
Called out to me, caught me from the corner of my eye: a small and lone
Deer. A child, perhaps? Where was its mother? The sweet, little body
Paused, I slowed my walking, and we peered into each other’s eyes
From a safe distance across the frostbitten lawn. Something in me resolved -
My sorrow still weighed heavy, yet it didn’t seem so important anymore.
I carried on, my footsteps easing into a gentle drum-beat, and I began
To notice the robins, the white berries, the way my exhale curled in the air.
Like prayer beads, one-by-one. Not noticing the chilled air and sunshine,
My footsteps quickened - hurried, little rivers rushing - until something
Called out to me, caught me from the corner of my eye: a small and lone
Deer. A child, perhaps? Where was its mother? The sweet, little body
Paused, I slowed my walking, and we peered into each other’s eyes
From a safe distance across the frostbitten lawn. Something in me resolved -
My sorrow still weighed heavy, yet it didn’t seem so important anymore.
I carried on, my footsteps easing into a gentle drum-beat, and I began
To notice the robins, the white berries, the way my exhale curled in the air.
Opening the Curtains
Just wait; when it overwhelms you, just wait.
Let yourself go to sleep, then greet another day -
Even if the curtains still have to be drawn closed -
And just wait, because these thoughts will come
And go like water brushing against the sides of an oar
And they will pass on, they will be gone. And when
It becomes unbearable, when you cannot stop
Reacting to every rise and fall of the wave,
Wait some more; you are of the nature to grow,
To extend towards the light, and touch the light
You will. Wait, and then wait some more.
Sometimes I feel so claustrophobic I could scream,
You say - that’s okay, I promise, just wait. The walls
Will gently shake and loosen and fall to the ground,
And you will find a way to freedom as effortlessly
As winter finds spring, infant finds breast, rain
Finds soil. Just wait; one morning your fingertips
Will reach for the curtains and sweep them open,
Will want them open. Nobody is asking the oars
To stop rowing, the water to stop flowing; nobody
Is asking the same of you. Nobody wants you to be gone.
Just wait; one day you will find the mother in you
And realize she, too, has always wanted you to stay.
Let yourself go to sleep, then greet another day -
Even if the curtains still have to be drawn closed -
And just wait, because these thoughts will come
And go like water brushing against the sides of an oar
And they will pass on, they will be gone. And when
It becomes unbearable, when you cannot stop
Reacting to every rise and fall of the wave,
Wait some more; you are of the nature to grow,
To extend towards the light, and touch the light
You will. Wait, and then wait some more.
Sometimes I feel so claustrophobic I could scream,
You say - that’s okay, I promise, just wait. The walls
Will gently shake and loosen and fall to the ground,
And you will find a way to freedom as effortlessly
As winter finds spring, infant finds breast, rain
Finds soil. Just wait; one morning your fingertips
Will reach for the curtains and sweep them open,
Will want them open. Nobody is asking the oars
To stop rowing, the water to stop flowing; nobody
Is asking the same of you. Nobody wants you to be gone.
Just wait; one day you will find the mother in you
And realize she, too, has always wanted you to stay.
(Note)
The next few poems I'm going to share are ones I wrote a few years ago... I'm rereading them because I find that, in some ways, they're still relevant, and reading them gives me comfort. <3
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
9.27.16
I wasn’t always afraid, you know.
When I was young, I would climb up the “big rock,”
My wide feet perched atop lichen and moss, concentrating,
Inhaling and - fear and all - taking the leap
Until I was laughing beside my father.
I bounced in my airplane seat, giddy with excitement
At the chance to feel turbulence. And I held wooden oars
In my hands, building callouses, strong and steady
As I helped row across the lake.
I climbed trees, scraped knees, felt alive as plum juice
Trickled down my chin. Balanced on logs, sprinted as fast as I could,
Constantly stretching my boundaries so that I could,
Once again, feel the blood pumping through my legs.
And even now, I’m not always afraid.
Getting knee-deep stuck in mud, rain boots making
A suck-sucking sound as I laugh wildly, trying to reach solid ground.
Inter-tubing down Rio Suerte, playing soccer against Costa Rican boys,
Feeling confident in my womanly body.
A summer filled with biking across gravel roads,
Skinny-dipping underneath a flock of herons, laying on my back
On the Caribbean sea, walking barefoot while trying to sidestep
Leaf-cutting ants; this time, mango juice dripping down my chin.
And smaller moments: skating on a frozen river, laughing
With nervousness and glee as ice begins to crack beneath us;
Dunking myself into the Puget Sound; swimming alone
As I will myself to smile at strangers.
And I know this to be true, that this is my authentic home:
A place where courage and heart join hands, so that I may feel alive,
Over and over again.
When I was young, I would climb up the “big rock,”
My wide feet perched atop lichen and moss, concentrating,
Inhaling and - fear and all - taking the leap
Until I was laughing beside my father.
I bounced in my airplane seat, giddy with excitement
At the chance to feel turbulence. And I held wooden oars
In my hands, building callouses, strong and steady
As I helped row across the lake.
I climbed trees, scraped knees, felt alive as plum juice
Trickled down my chin. Balanced on logs, sprinted as fast as I could,
Constantly stretching my boundaries so that I could,
Once again, feel the blood pumping through my legs.
And even now, I’m not always afraid.
Getting knee-deep stuck in mud, rain boots making
A suck-sucking sound as I laugh wildly, trying to reach solid ground.
Inter-tubing down Rio Suerte, playing soccer against Costa Rican boys,
Feeling confident in my womanly body.
A summer filled with biking across gravel roads,
Skinny-dipping underneath a flock of herons, laying on my back
On the Caribbean sea, walking barefoot while trying to sidestep
Leaf-cutting ants; this time, mango juice dripping down my chin.
And smaller moments: skating on a frozen river, laughing
With nervousness and glee as ice begins to crack beneath us;
Dunking myself into the Puget Sound; swimming alone
As I will myself to smile at strangers.
And I know this to be true, that this is my authentic home:
A place where courage and heart join hands, so that I may feel alive,
Over and over again.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
9.3.16
Chickadee-dee-dee,
Chickadee-dee-dee.
The apples are growing fat, fertile, red and ripe,
Any fallen ones decaying on grass that is still rough
And dry, scratching the skin of the fruit
And of my bare legs.
The leaves from the birch tree are blowing in the wind -
I want to use the word tinkling, although I hear no sound.
A crow perches on top, guarding, following the self-preserving
Pull of its black body.
Chickadee-dee-dee,
Chickadee-dee-dee.
I can almost smell the lake in the wind, the sweet scent
Of willows and freshwater. The light, already dimming -
Over two months past summer solstice - brings
A bittersweet ache to my chest.
And isn’t that the way with autumn? The nostalgia
It somehow drags out from deep within us? The way
I begin to hear in the key of A major,
Seeing red, like the apples.
Chickadee-dee-dee.
The apples are growing fat, fertile, red and ripe,
Any fallen ones decaying on grass that is still rough
And dry, scratching the skin of the fruit
And of my bare legs.
The leaves from the birch tree are blowing in the wind -
I want to use the word tinkling, although I hear no sound.
A crow perches on top, guarding, following the self-preserving
Pull of its black body.
Chickadee-dee-dee,
Chickadee-dee-dee.
I can almost smell the lake in the wind, the sweet scent
Of willows and freshwater. The light, already dimming -
Over two months past summer solstice - brings
A bittersweet ache to my chest.
And isn’t that the way with autumn? The nostalgia
It somehow drags out from deep within us? The way
I begin to hear in the key of A major,
Seeing red, like the apples.
Friday, September 2, 2016
9.2.16
The beginning of September, and autumn
Has come quickly. This morning, darkness
Lingers in rooms, comforting and sleepy,
And indigo clouds move briskly
Against the not-quite-sunrise sky.
—
A tropical storm has landed in Florida,
And we sip coffee while telling stories
Of typhoons in the Philippines. Meanwhile,
Here, in this temperate rainforest,
It barely descends as more than a drizzle,
The ground in a constant state
Of mist and morning dew.
—
It rains hard for a few minutes -
The fast and heavy kind, as if in Iowa, the kind
That floods the rivers and soaks the cornfields.
Child in my arms, we open the door to watch,
To listen, the earth inside of our bodies
Thirsting for more.
—
Having lived in the Midwest for so long,
The man I love reminds me of our fortune -
That here, in this temperate rainforest,
Life flourishes in the wintertime:
Verdant moss drapes the trees,
Moisture exposes the scents of soil,
Evergreens loom tall and protecting.
—
And we may see the signs of life,
Should we only choose to open our eyes.
Has come quickly. This morning, darkness
Lingers in rooms, comforting and sleepy,
And indigo clouds move briskly
Against the not-quite-sunrise sky.
—
A tropical storm has landed in Florida,
And we sip coffee while telling stories
Of typhoons in the Philippines. Meanwhile,
Here, in this temperate rainforest,
It barely descends as more than a drizzle,
The ground in a constant state
Of mist and morning dew.
—
It rains hard for a few minutes -
The fast and heavy kind, as if in Iowa, the kind
That floods the rivers and soaks the cornfields.
Child in my arms, we open the door to watch,
To listen, the earth inside of our bodies
Thirsting for more.
—
Having lived in the Midwest for so long,
The man I love reminds me of our fortune -
That here, in this temperate rainforest,
Life flourishes in the wintertime:
Verdant moss drapes the trees,
Moisture exposes the scents of soil,
Evergreens loom tall and protecting.
—
And we may see the signs of life,
Should we only choose to open our eyes.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Night-Blooming
Heavy-hearted, she stood in a field of sunflowers -
All tall, bending towards the light, handsome and bold -
While she, a night-blooming flower, kept her petals
Tucked, hidden, closed. Once darkness came, she opened
Herself fully - ecstatic in the moonlight - but no one
Was awake to see.
One day, she tried to muster up strength to reveal herself
In the sun. This is me, this is me, someone see, she cried.
But the sunflowers turned the other way, shouted at her
For looking so weak. Try harder to hide yourself, they shouted,
Embarrassed and angered by her drooping petals
And wilting stem.
And so she tried, harder and harder to hide the colors
Within her that begged to explode, dreaming of a desert
Where succulents danced beside her, gathered round and held her,
Singing softly, oh yes, we know who you are. Come, come, you belong here.
Where she could unfold, praised for her vulnerability,
Her twilight-tinted heart.
All tall, bending towards the light, handsome and bold -
While she, a night-blooming flower, kept her petals
Tucked, hidden, closed. Once darkness came, she opened
Herself fully - ecstatic in the moonlight - but no one
Was awake to see.
One day, she tried to muster up strength to reveal herself
In the sun. This is me, this is me, someone see, she cried.
But the sunflowers turned the other way, shouted at her
For looking so weak. Try harder to hide yourself, they shouted,
Embarrassed and angered by her drooping petals
And wilting stem.
And so she tried, harder and harder to hide the colors
Within her that begged to explode, dreaming of a desert
Where succulents danced beside her, gathered round and held her,
Singing softly, oh yes, we know who you are. Come, come, you belong here.
Where she could unfold, praised for her vulnerability,
Her twilight-tinted heart.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Inner Strength
Something that I'm realizing is that sensitive people are strong, resilient, and brave. We feel things deeply, which just means that we allow ourselves to be more vulnerable, and we also feel things like love, peace and relief that much more strongly, too. The courage it takes to feel deeply, and to think about things deeply, is enormous. I really think the most important thing is recognizing how brave, strong and resilient you are by being sensitive, by trusting yourself and your inherent strength. You can handle this, even more so by being sensitive, because you're connected with yourself and will think about things deeply and creatively until you find peace. Sensitivity is a strength all of its own - a beautiful, graceful, fluid, fierce strength.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Reflections from Caregiving
I'm sorry if this is a heavy post, but it's something that's been weighing on my heart and mind so much recently.
I think it's largely influenced by my current caregiving job, but I've been thinking about death and losing loved ones, and it's keeping me up at night in fear and grief. During the day, I can busy my mind enough to not think about it, but lately at night, I can't hide from the realizations of future loss... of my own life, of my loved ones' lives. It breaks my heart every night, and I'm having trouble finding solace.
With these feelings comes another wave of emotion, hard to describe... regret, maybe? More grief? How I can be so stingy with outward displays of love, even though on the inside, I'm begging to hug my loved ones so close to me, cuddle them in bed, no walls and no tension, and just keep saying to them, I love you more than you'll ever know. I can guarantee this to my loved ones: I love you more than you'll ever, ever know.
I think it's largely influenced by my current caregiving job, but I've been thinking about death and losing loved ones, and it's keeping me up at night in fear and grief. During the day, I can busy my mind enough to not think about it, but lately at night, I can't hide from the realizations of future loss... of my own life, of my loved ones' lives. It breaks my heart every night, and I'm having trouble finding solace.
With these feelings comes another wave of emotion, hard to describe... regret, maybe? More grief? How I can be so stingy with outward displays of love, even though on the inside, I'm begging to hug my loved ones so close to me, cuddle them in bed, no walls and no tension, and just keep saying to them, I love you more than you'll ever know. I can guarantee this to my loved ones: I love you more than you'll ever, ever know.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Home
I hope I find my home someday,
Where contentment seeds and spreads
Like morning light, where gratitude
Seeps into each moment, a gentle grounding.
___
I can almost see it in my daydreams,
The pleasure and delight coming in blurs:
Maybe madrona trees by the sea, or
Sand dunes, or some small, yellow house.
___
I feel safe deep down to my bones.
Love wraps me in her arms, and even
When it is raining, I am warm,
Feeling relieved at the sight of this land.
Where contentment seeds and spreads
Like morning light, where gratitude
Seeps into each moment, a gentle grounding.
___
I can almost see it in my daydreams,
The pleasure and delight coming in blurs:
Maybe madrona trees by the sea, or
Sand dunes, or some small, yellow house.
___
I feel safe deep down to my bones.
Love wraps me in her arms, and even
When it is raining, I am warm,
Feeling relieved at the sight of this land.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
March
Days fall into a quiet rhythm;
The gentle lilt of spring beckons me
Forward, towards light, towards peace.
The sun shines, softly, while the breeze
Carries the scent of blossoms - pink, white,
Budding, falling, then budding again.
I close my eyes, and feel my own petals
Slip off my skin, only to bud before
Bursting into color yet again.
The gentle lilt of spring beckons me
Forward, towards light, towards peace.
The sun shines, softly, while the breeze
Carries the scent of blossoms - pink, white,
Budding, falling, then budding again.
I close my eyes, and feel my own petals
Slip off my skin, only to bud before
Bursting into color yet again.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Looking for the Good
One of my biggest weaknesses is making comparisons until I feel bad about myself. I really think Facebook makes this way too easy, but I do it with so many things, such as where I want to live and what career I want to have someday. This makes it so hard to feel good about where I am, no matter where I am, because the grass is always greener on the other side.
Something I'm trying to remember is that, rather than making comparisons and searching for that perfect location/career/life, it's so much more fulfilling and meaningful to look for the good, and also to nourish the good in your life. There's beauty in most things if we look deep enough.
Lately, I'm noticing the beauty of spring rains, of how good it feels to cozy up when the weather is blustery, of cherry blossoms sprinkling pink and white petals on the ground, of catching glimpses of great blue herons and even a seal momentarily peeking out of the water, of the sense of renewed love and joy in relationships.
Something I'm trying to remember is that, rather than making comparisons and searching for that perfect location/career/life, it's so much more fulfilling and meaningful to look for the good, and also to nourish the good in your life. There's beauty in most things if we look deep enough.
Lately, I'm noticing the beauty of spring rains, of how good it feels to cozy up when the weather is blustery, of cherry blossoms sprinkling pink and white petals on the ground, of catching glimpses of great blue herons and even a seal momentarily peeking out of the water, of the sense of renewed love and joy in relationships.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
When Life Takes Hold
The old man walked slowly along the beach,
Stiff toes in sand, scanning the shore for seashells.
Finding half of a manila clam, he picked it up,
Tracing the ribbed skin with his thumb.
The smell of the sea blowing in the wind,
He closed his eyes, and began to cry.
He remembered how he used to collect
Shells for her, how he used to scatter
Them around the house, tucked them in
Nooks and crannies for her to find,
Paired with a love note underneath:
Your love will be safe with me.
He cried harder now, remembering how
Life took hold, and how the shells became
Less and less, how the paper became barren
Of words, how her face with the expectant look
Of surprise withered with age. How much
He wished he could give her a shell now, slip it
Under her pillow, wake her up to the morning sun,
Kiss her, and let her know that he was the luckiest man alive.
His tears staining his lips with salt, he peered out
At the ocean, the cold gray-blue of the Puget Sound.
I hope you know that I never stopped loving you;
I only ever loved you more.
Throwing the shell into the water, he hoped she could hear him,
Would wake from her eternal slumber
And forgive him, face filled with joyful surprise,
Realizing that all along she was loved
More than she could have ever known.
Stiff toes in sand, scanning the shore for seashells.
Finding half of a manila clam, he picked it up,
Tracing the ribbed skin with his thumb.
The smell of the sea blowing in the wind,
He closed his eyes, and began to cry.
He remembered how he used to collect
Shells for her, how he used to scatter
Them around the house, tucked them in
Nooks and crannies for her to find,
Paired with a love note underneath:
Your love will be safe with me.
He cried harder now, remembering how
Life took hold, and how the shells became
Less and less, how the paper became barren
Of words, how her face with the expectant look
Of surprise withered with age. How much
He wished he could give her a shell now, slip it
Under her pillow, wake her up to the morning sun,
Kiss her, and let her know that he was the luckiest man alive.
His tears staining his lips with salt, he peered out
At the ocean, the cold gray-blue of the Puget Sound.
I hope you know that I never stopped loving you;
I only ever loved you more.
Throwing the shell into the water, he hoped she could hear him,
Would wake from her eternal slumber
And forgive him, face filled with joyful surprise,
Realizing that all along she was loved
More than she could have ever known.
Sunday, February 7, 2016
February
We walk, basking in the early signs of spring:
The sunlight touching the tops of mountains,
Turning the snow shades of orange and pink.
The Japanese apricot and cherry blossom trees
Beginning to bloom, buds begging to unfold.
The cormorant birds streaking the sky
With their sleek, black bodies and long beaks.
Our eyes, opening in childlike wonder,
As we look for life and rejoice, together.
The sunlight touching the tops of mountains,
Turning the snow shades of orange and pink.
The Japanese apricot and cherry blossom trees
Beginning to bloom, buds begging to unfold.
The cormorant birds streaking the sky
With their sleek, black bodies and long beaks.
Our eyes, opening in childlike wonder,
As we look for life and rejoice, together.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Simple Things
Lately, I've been craving those moments where things are simple... where I don't have to spend money, where I can just enjoy the simple pleasures of being in nature. Yesterday, it was going to the beach, watching the small waves, smelling the salty air, and feeling the welcome sun on my skin. Today, it was finding a bench at a small park, hearing the wind blow through the tall trees, and watching the sun gently shine through the branches.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Thoughts on the Future
I know I'm kind of being a broken record, but it feels like things are falling into place right now and I'm so happy and grateful. All of these things coming up in my life - working, taking classes, job shadowing - are making me feel energized and excited, and I finally feel like I have more direction in my life. I can so easily compare this time of my life with my last years of college, and how much has changed for the better. I'm excited for the future, rather than apathetic, and I feel more connected with people, rather than isolated. I'm definitely feeling like my best self, and I know a lot has to do with circumstances, so I'm just trying to give thanks as often as I can. Life is filled with seasons, and right now, I feel like I'm in a rich, productive and happy one... like fruits blossoming on a tree, ripe and basking in the early summer sun.
Since I feel like I can envision my future more clearly, something I've been trying to figure out is how I want everything to fit, especially with traveling. Traveling is such an important part of my life... maybe because it's how I spent my childhoods, maybe it's because it's how I met Cody... but I think a large part is because it's the one time in my life where I define myself as being brave, rather than anxious and afraid. Traveling pushes me outside of my comfort zone, fills me with curiosity and enthusiasm for life, and helps me learn and grow.
I'm afraid that as I settle down into a career path, life will get in the way and traveling will fade into the background... something that I'll do "someday" but never really do. I hear so many people say that traveling is so hard, near impossible, to do when you're older, and honestly, it makes sense... getting time off from work, finances, etc.
There are a few things I'm trying to remember, though. For one, I'm trying to remember that I can always prioritize traveling when I plan out my finances, and I can make certain sacrifices if it's what I really want to do. I also want to remember that there are so many ways to travel cheaply, as long as you do your research. I want to remember the concept of "slow traveling," how even if we don't have as much time to travel, we can move slowly and really soak things in, even if we can only stay at one place. And finally, I'm trying to remember that traveling is so much more of an attitude than anything... the attitude of having eyes open, being curious, and practicing being brave. Even if it's just a weekend camping trip, if I have the heart of traveling, then it can still help satisfy that craving.
Since I feel like I can envision my future more clearly, something I've been trying to figure out is how I want everything to fit, especially with traveling. Traveling is such an important part of my life... maybe because it's how I spent my childhoods, maybe it's because it's how I met Cody... but I think a large part is because it's the one time in my life where I define myself as being brave, rather than anxious and afraid. Traveling pushes me outside of my comfort zone, fills me with curiosity and enthusiasm for life, and helps me learn and grow.
I'm afraid that as I settle down into a career path, life will get in the way and traveling will fade into the background... something that I'll do "someday" but never really do. I hear so many people say that traveling is so hard, near impossible, to do when you're older, and honestly, it makes sense... getting time off from work, finances, etc.
There are a few things I'm trying to remember, though. For one, I'm trying to remember that I can always prioritize traveling when I plan out my finances, and I can make certain sacrifices if it's what I really want to do. I also want to remember that there are so many ways to travel cheaply, as long as you do your research. I want to remember the concept of "slow traveling," how even if we don't have as much time to travel, we can move slowly and really soak things in, even if we can only stay at one place. And finally, I'm trying to remember that traveling is so much more of an attitude than anything... the attitude of having eyes open, being curious, and practicing being brave. Even if it's just a weekend camping trip, if I have the heart of traveling, then it can still help satisfy that craving.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Compassion Meditation
I breathe in love for myself, breathe out
Love for you. How I wish I could pour my breath out
And give you ease, give you lightness,
Give you joy that shines like a firefly
Forever delighted by its own flight.
Love for you. How I wish I could pour my breath out
And give you ease, give you lightness,
Give you joy that shines like a firefly
Forever delighted by its own flight.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Looking Forward
I'm grateful that it feels like things are starting to fall into place. I'm hopeful about working a caregiving job and taking classes on the side, and I'm excited to take steps towards my desired career path. I'm also grateful to be surrounded by my loved ones, and to be reminded continually that I have such good people in my life. I wish I could go back in time, and show my senior-year-of-college self that I have all of this to look forward to!
Monday, January 18, 2016
What I Want You to Know
When my words fail me, when I hide
Behind walls, when I retreat
To the safety of my thoughts -
I struggle to show you the love
That is always present in my heart,
That is always desiring to be expressed
But never thoroughly can.
And so I hope, in a place beyond words,
Beyond the awkwardness of my body,
Beyond what I struggle to show -
That you can know, and trust,
My love. Like how the sunlight streams
Through the window to warm your face,
Or how to the rain quietly taps on the window
To soothe your fears - my love may be shown
In other forms, but I am always here,
Holding you tenderly in my arms.
Behind walls, when I retreat
To the safety of my thoughts -
I struggle to show you the love
That is always present in my heart,
That is always desiring to be expressed
But never thoroughly can.
And so I hope, in a place beyond words,
Beyond the awkwardness of my body,
Beyond what I struggle to show -
That you can know, and trust,
My love. Like how the sunlight streams
Through the window to warm your face,
Or how to the rain quietly taps on the window
To soothe your fears - my love may be shown
In other forms, but I am always here,
Holding you tenderly in my arms.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Volunteer Park Conservatory
It was such a treat exploring the Volunteer Park Conservatory on this rainy Sunday with my loved ones. Nothing relaxes me more than humidity and the smell of flowers :)
Friday, January 15, 2016
Paper Cranes
Pockets filled with paper cranes -
So delicate, I try to walk slowly
To protect them. Don't tread too heavy,
Or too far. I hear some crying,
Some laughing. My pockets
Weigh heavy as if by stones.
I go to the riverbank at dusk,
The water dark and whispering.
Grabbing the creased bodies in my hands,
I let them go, releasing them
To the moonlight.
Crumpled wings begin to flap, pit-pat,
Pit-pat. I watch as they fly away,
Leaving for the stars.
So delicate, I try to walk slowly
To protect them. Don't tread too heavy,
Or too far. I hear some crying,
Some laughing. My pockets
Weigh heavy as if by stones.
I go to the riverbank at dusk,
The water dark and whispering.
Grabbing the creased bodies in my hands,
I let them go, releasing them
To the moonlight.
Crumpled wings begin to flap, pit-pat,
Pit-pat. I watch as they fly away,
Leaving for the stars.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Welcome!
Hi there, and welcome to my blog! With all these changes going on in my life, I decided that I wanted a space where I could embrace the seasons of my life through a creative outlet. It is my hope that I will use this blog to write poetry and personal reflections, and to also post photographs of things I find inspiring.
Well, like I said, this time of my life is filled with lots of change and uncertainty. From quitting my job, to traveling, to moving to a new place, to trying to put down some resemblance of roots... I've definitely been feeling lost, and just trying to make sense of things. Sometimes, life feels overwhelming and I lose my appetite due to fears, and at other times, I feel incredibly excited and hopeful. Most of all, though, I know that this time of my life is a blessing... I'm close to family, I have so many opportunities for growth at my fingertips, and I get to create a life for myself with my best friend by my side.
My life is truly a blank canvas right now, but I'm still trying to decide how to paint it.
Recently, I've been thinking of a quote by Sylvia Plath, because I can relate to it so much, as I know so many of us can.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
The thing I'm trying to remember, is that there are so many paths to happiness. No matter which fig I choose, I can appreciate the beauty and nourish the love in my life. It's going to be okay.
Well, like I said, this time of my life is filled with lots of change and uncertainty. From quitting my job, to traveling, to moving to a new place, to trying to put down some resemblance of roots... I've definitely been feeling lost, and just trying to make sense of things. Sometimes, life feels overwhelming and I lose my appetite due to fears, and at other times, I feel incredibly excited and hopeful. Most of all, though, I know that this time of my life is a blessing... I'm close to family, I have so many opportunities for growth at my fingertips, and I get to create a life for myself with my best friend by my side.
My life is truly a blank canvas right now, but I'm still trying to decide how to paint it.
Recently, I've been thinking of a quote by Sylvia Plath, because I can relate to it so much, as I know so many of us can.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
The thing I'm trying to remember, is that there are so many paths to happiness. No matter which fig I choose, I can appreciate the beauty and nourish the love in my life. It's going to be okay.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)