Beautiful Things & Big Swings

Ha. I get to say it first.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!

Cause on this side of the world, it’s your birthday.

The world is better for the forty-one years you have spent on it. Truly. Every day I walk by memories of our time together in this beautiful beautiful place. Every day I smile because of the things I am able to do as a result of your teaching. Every day I get to think “Man I’m lucky that my mom helped me out with that.”

You say this time will be spent showing me where you went wrong. I say this time will be spent showing me how I can now follow my right. Because if you f*cked this up, than you did it the best way I can think of.

There are lots of favorites that you fit into or gave me in my world. My favorite touch is a healer’s hands. My favorite moment is whichever one makes me happy. My favorite thing is people. My favorite phrase is “beautiful things.” My favorite life philosophy is live in the moment. My favorite action is traveling. And you are my favorite.

I love you alllllll the way to the moon and back. And that’s very far. Even farther than I am physically from you right now so I think we will be okay. In all our wild differences and all our silly triggers, I’m not really going anywhere and I love listening to you. Have a day as inspiring and soul expanding as you are, because that’s what you do for everyone else.

Happy Birthday, Emie

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Sugar Glazed Stories

Please don’t float by this representation of someone’s pain. Please take a moment and reflect on what this means for humanity, how we need to change it.

Please. Just. Understand.

Or perhaps I don’t want you to. Perhaps your prolonged moment with this piece would only mean that you take advantage of a silent space to dwell on your own pain. Those skulls made of sugar and resin are not representative of you only by some grand cosmic stroke of luck. Maybe comprehending that would drive you mad in some curious way.

That’s what I’ll tell myself. That way, the next time I see one of you breeze by with your eyes flickering over art as though they were only moving images from a bus window, I can have a story. I can have a reason for why I feel sad that you didn’t hear someone else’s story.

Or maybe I’m just not hearing your story.

Soggy Dancing

I sat by myself in the Wellington Central Library. I felt soggy. I knew my journals and books were feeling the same way. I was dreading the walk home. It would be 45 minutes in the rain, and that was taking the bus to get rid of an hour of the walk.

I just wanted someone to talk to. A friend.

Wellington libraries have free Wifi, so I was able to talk to a friend at home, but I was well aware of the fact that if I did not stand up and find a physically present human to talk to, I would go home feeling lonely and sorry for myself.

“Just don’t be desperate,” was my chant as I wandered around searching for the librarian that I knew would engage me in conversation. All desperation does is make you a rather difficult individual to be around, as well as propelling what you are seeking far far away from yourself.

Finally, I just decided to use the restroom. I had to anyway, and I had a sense that after I was forced to wander through a different part of the library, I would be able to find a conversation.

Sure enough I found a group of three friendly librarians sitting at a desk and within minutes I was able to have a connection that drew the four of us into what became a conversation about politics, New Zealand versus American rape culture, travels, geography, books, and how I could find the three of them every Saturday at the very same desk.

Damn. It always works out.

On my way out the door, a librarian I had talked to previously engaged me on the beauty of books, music, film, and how being surrounded by so much knowledge and story and just creativity in general is one of the most life giving things you can experience. My smile was too big for my mouth as I skipped back into the rain.

And then as I was waiting for the bus, one of the initial three librarians I had conversed with was waiting at the same stop. I was able to have a third wonderful conversation with someone that I know I can find and talk to again.

My extroverted heart feels at peace. There are always interesting people out there and always a way to start a conversation.

It’s prompted a thought. If there was no music, what would make you dance?

Mine would be people. People make me dance.

 

(Featured photo is edited. I will no longer be saying when they are edited. I typically use VSCO for post processing my photos. If you have any questions, please ask. All photos will continue to be my own.)

Front Porch Cactus

Setting poetic intention aside, there are days where I wish I was more like a cactus and less like some kind of flower or whatever image I am that draws people I really have no intention of ever talking to or caring about into my world for far longer than I really care to even think about them.

just saying.

Maybe that is why I’m not afraid of being old and having parts of me not working properly and turning brown, while other aspects are just beginning to grow. Because once I reach the age where I actually look 80 or so, I can say whatever the hell I want and watch the world either accept it, pass it off as nonsense, or listen.

Some might say I voice whatever I want anyway.

I don’t.

On my worst days I curl up in a ball on my bed wondering what it would be like to tell pieces of the world that no matter what you tell me, I will do exactly as I choose. I will sit and do nothing. I will push myself to places that your nightmares are too scared to go. I will let my heart scream bad words and not get married and walk slow kilometers with my thoughts chasing passing cars. I will search for the chaos that my brain is desperately asking me to avoid. I will.

 

 

And yet, I always come back to this: I love too hard to always say what I think and my furiously perfectionist heart wants to do things right.

And so my cactus spines will remain largely hidden, because maybe this way, I can make the world a little kinder.

 

(Featured photo edited with VSCO)

life is beautiful

And so I picked flowers. They’re sitting on the counter in a tiny yellow mug. Their white blooms poking over the lip of their vessel.

And so I stopped in an art gallery. I made a mental note to return to this particular space. Art is a form of home for me and so with each new gallery, I feel more and more comfortable knowing that I can find these places wherever I go.

And so I took deep breaths when my back caused me to limp to the bathroom. I know it will heal and with each passing day I learn more about my injury that allows me to let pain go.

And so I felt a melancholy smile when I missed my mom deeply. It was both an eternal and fleeting moment. I walked home craving a conversation with her and thankfully I got one.

And so I engaged a librarian in conversation about graphic novels. My reading list expanded and my backpack weighed more with the promise of curled legs and quiet smiles between well loved pages.

And so I pulled my adventure buddy into a steampunk shop. I thought of friends at home as my wide eyes took in the corsets and handmade hats.

And so I blushed when I didn’t know how to use the bus system properly. Mix ups of the new country kind are inevitable. I’m just glad mine occurred next to someone who knew what they were doing.

And so I ask for a hug from a friend as my tired eyes pull forth small tears. It’s a new season and in no way will I pretend that life stops its hard moments for fascinating new places. I will however keep saying ‘Life is beautiful’ because no matter where I am, I believe that will be true.

 

(Featured photo is edited.)

My Batsh*t Crazy Love

I’m fairly certain most would say love is a tricky thing.

And in many ways it is.

I say love is the essence of Life.

Love is wanting to know a person so deeply that you spend years pursuing their friendship. Love is reaching into your child’s soul and saying “I see the pain I caused you, may I listen to it?” Love is telling your friends “I see your agony as you try to keep sh*t together. I give you permission to say all of it, none of it, somewhere in between, and I will not tell you that you need to do anything about it.” Love is trying to see how someone’s past is contributing to their current behavior. Love is saying “Wow. I have never thought about that before, and I’m not sure I agree, but for you I will try to understand.”

Love is seeing someone, acknowledging their humanity, and touching them with a piece of your soul. Love is the effort taken to notice the beautiful and to give space for the hard. Love is smiling at those who pass by. Love wanders. Love pauses. Love moves forward. Love changes and yet stays the same. Love demands that you love yourself before you are able to honestly love another.

This is how I define true love.

Raw. Difficult. And created to understand.

Don’t delude yourself that all of love’s purpose can be found in one person. Next to making a plan, that is the fastest way to make God laugh.

Trust me. I’ve heard it.

 

(The featured photo has been edited.)