I Am...

It is difficult to imagine correctly how one’s life will go when there are so many unknown variables that are sure to come into the mix. My process of becoming who I am has not given me the experiences I always imagined, but I am who I am without apologizing for it and I am thankful for what I have. There have been struggles and obstacles that I did not account for as well as joys and blessings that I did not expect. Back then, I did not quite know who I am, but now I do.

I am against the grain. I am not what most people perceive me to be. Many people think too soon that they have me figured out or they give up when they think it’s taking too long and I think they miss out by walking away. I am rougher around the edges than most others see. I am not bragging when I say that I am very complicated. Only the ones who really invest, dig and persevere in getting to know me can truly understand me. Not a lot of people have enough patience for this though.

I am not the sweet social butterfly, admired by all. I am not an instant best-friend-maker. I only have energy for a few, deep friendships. Any shallow relationships wear me out. I am attracted to the outcast and the loner. Not a lot of people would guess that I relate better with them because I often feel the same. Shallow, girly chit-chat makes me gag and want to say something to pop their bubble. I do this a lot, even though I know that I probably shouldn’t. I have no respect for girls who have to pathetically flirt with guys in order to be their friends and I have absolutely no respect for the guys who encourage them by giving them all their attention. However, on a friendship scale, I relate with guys much better than I do with girls.

I am not the girl that beats off amazing guys with a stick. I am usually “the friend.” I am primarily attracted to jerks because I always feel a pathetic need to save them. I have always been told that I am marriage-material, not dating-material. I have a high standard because I know exactly what I am looking for and I would rather be alone while waiting for the right one than date around just to feel wanted. However, there was a time when I did not feel that way and now I regret all the losers I have wasted my time with. 

I am never the one with a clever phrase always at the tip of my tongue. I say awkward things and think of the perfect thing I could have said later. I have been the brunt of rumors. I have hurt people. I have rubbed people the wrong way. I am repelled by sicky-sweet people because I cannot relate. I do things out of spite. I am a realist. I get a sick pleasure out of bursting people’s bubbles. I am way too serious deep down. I am not trashy, but I confuse people because I thrive on being edgy, weird and shocking. If I could, my hair would always be like a rainbow and I would wear my leopard-print pants all over the place. I wear make-up to the point where people always ask why I’m dressed up. I’m really just putting on my lipstick so I can feel ready for the day, even if it involves staying home. 

I am hot pink and black. I am brown and blue and green. I am silver, not gold. I am blue lipstick. I am nomad. I am written words. I am dark chocolate. I am underdog. I am ocean waves. I am romantic drama. I am heroic action film with an epic conclusion. I am fantasy. I am windblown palm trees in the sun. I am overcast skies and rain. I am wind. I am yellow Plymouth Prowler. I am fufu coffee. I am ripped jeans. I am fast driver in the country. I am classic literature. I am heart-filled instrumental music. I am loyalty. I am rose. I am imagination. I am smell of pine in the morning. I am spaghetti. I am mud fight. I am saint. I am imperfect. I am Joan of Arc. I am Audrey Hepburn. I am Tobymac. I am C.S. Lewis. I am nostalgia. I am goodbye kisses. I am loving hands. I am loud music.

31 Journals

Yesterday, I finished my thirty-first journal since I was eleven years old, beginning early in the year 2000. I have spent eleven and a half years of my life as a dedicated writer, and that’s not counting the sporadic fiction I have written since the first grade.

I just spent about half an hour organizing and recounting them. Some of my journals are pretty sizable and others…not so much. Some of the entries were neatly written and others were written in a messy rush. Some were in exquisite covers with actual flowers pressed into the thick paper. Others were composition notebooks. Many of them were gifts and some I chose myself from a bookstore. All of the dates allowed for me to put them in order.

Except for my very first journal, they were all written in cursive. I read quite a bit from the second journal. It actually did some good for me to read from it. I found it surreal to visit that girl again. She was so innocent. Such a big dreamer with a genuine and childlike love for Jesus. She had much simpler things to write about and a much more limited understanding of the world. Even back then, she just wanted to please God and make her family proud…and she had crushes on way too many boys.

Most of it was so long ago that I was pleasantly surprised with much of what I read. I hadn’t remembered that I had included a few pictures in one of the journals. I was reminded of events and rediscovered how I had felt about them. I got a glimpse into how everyday life used to be for me.

But then, in contrast, I also felt so much of it coming back to me that I vividly remember writing what I wrote on the day that I wrote it. I came across one entry about my dog that I grew up with, Dodger. He was always so vicious towards other dogs because, before we had gotten him, he had spent his first year around a couple of big, mean dogs who constantly tormented him. I wrote about our attempt to have him meet my aunt and uncle’s new puppy, Rusty. Dodger tried to bite Rusty.

As I grew older, I began to write about more serious things. In my progression, I reached a point where I realized that I was writing to no one really. If I could be writing to anyone at all, I should be writing to the Lord. After all, He knows me most intimately and, by addressing my most intimate writings to Him, I am actively taking part in deepening my intimacy with Him. So then, it’s not a one-way relationship and I can train myself, within the privacy of my thoughts, to shift my focus from being all about me to thinking of Him and others. Now, my journal entries are prayers.

I am so thankful for these personal, hand-written records of my life. In recent years, I have been disappointed to find that I have actually blocked out a lot of memories from my growing up years. Although I certainly did not write about everything (I skipped some weeks pretty often), I am glad that I can look back and remember where I have come from and have those things there with me as I discover where I am going.

Nostalgia Overload

Nothing bad is happening but, for some reason, things feel really hard right now. I think I’ve been holding everything in life at arms length lately because I’m not ready for life to start happening again. I’m afraid of what will start happening once I open up to it again and that it will get out of control, that things will start happening that I don’t want to happen, that I’m not ready for. Realizations that will shock me about life after school that I did not expect and will not like.

One thing I think I’m missing about school is being comfortable living like a grown-up. I mean, I took care of myself completely on a day to day basis and now I feel like I have nothing to take care of myself for. I feel like I am mostly being taken care of now. In school, I knew how things worked. I got up in the morning and went through my list of things to do as best as I could. I went to class, I did my homework, I took care of business in the right offices, talked to my professors when I needed to, went to the store, worked, carved out some leisure time so I could be refreshed and think again. I got all my meals when I could get around to it and, rather than planning my twenty-four hours of every day around getting up in the morning and going to bed at night to get the necessary rest, I planned sleep around my schedule and, usually, only when I could afford time to pencil it in.

I knew how to operate in my world then. But what is my world now? I’m still trying to figure out what my world is exactly. What are the main components? I know one will eventually be a job, but I’m not even sure what that will be, which idea I should pursue. I know logically I should just apply for everything I can think of, but I want to find a field I like. I’m afraid of not finding anything, that my degree will not make a difference in this competitive world of work. But it is very possible the opposite might happen. I could be faced with choosing between a few things.

I think this sounds really shallow. Here I am complaining about identity and what my life is going to look like when I know there are so many worse circumstances that other people live in and wish they could escape. I should be thankful for having a roof over my head and for even having options. And I am, but I just don’t know how to operate this way when I lived in a mentally intense environment for so long. Really, I’ve been in school since I was five. I always had that path to follow. Now, for the first time, it’s not there. It’s all fair game. And I know the answer is not to keep going to school simply because it is all I have known.

Not to mention that all this time to think of other things is forcing me to think about things I haven’t wanted to deal with, random things that really are not even issues anymore but just come to my memory more often and cause for me to reexamine things in a different light, simply by being home.

Like my grandpa’s death a couple years ago. I haven’t felt like he’s really been gone because I’ve been away at school. I felt like he was just back at home where I didn’t get to talk to him. I was away from the place where I was used to his presence. Being home makes me feel like he's gone because I see the places we used to go, talk to the people that he knew and pass by things that will bring back a certain memory of him. And things like that are everywhere in the least likely places.

The same thing is happening with other countless things. Hurtful things, sad things, happy things. I’m nostalgic while I am both sad and afraid. I’m being overloaded with memories of the past while thinking about and figuring out my future. Of course, I know I don't have to figure everything out on my own. I know God has my life all planned out. I really just need to clear my head somehow.