Over the past month, a couple of people have asked if I had written on my blog recently. It's ironic, really, how time has a way of getting away from us, of speeding up, with no sign of slowing down. I've noticed that when time moves quickly, as it seems to do when we age, we come to points in our lives when we are challenged to catch up to it. One day, I'm 20 and the next, I'm nearing my 30's. One way that has personally worked for me in the area of pausing, is to intentionally reflect on life through activities that bring me joy.
Within the past week, I returned from a bus trip to Canada. I forgot how long a ride in a tour bus could be. After hour # 2, I had recollections of my college days, where I travelled to New Orleans, Louisiana for 2 spring breaks to where I worked with a team from Habitat for Humanity and the St. Bernard's Project to rebuild houses from Hurricane Katrina. A piece of my heart was left in New Orleans, as that famous song is noted for saying, and I hope to be back again one day. I seek to return to the areas I loved the most and those where I developed the strongest connection: The Lower Ninth Ward, Blair Grocery. The French Quarter was a nighttime favorite, listening to the strain of jazz music by favorites such as Louis Armstrong - with the hurt and passion of the years following Katrina, spill out of clubs in perfect harmony through the haunting sounds of my favorite instrument section of all: the brass beauties. The lingering sounds and melody of trumpets, trombones, cornets, etc. swirl in and out of the bars and restaurants as I walk on cobblestone road, living in a time and an age so different from my own, yet in a way, eerily similar.
On my bus trip, I was reminded again of how much I love books, of the pleasure of reading, of being satisfied with traveling to different worlds through the turning of a page with my fingertips. As time sped up and slowed in between traffic through the vast and breathtaking mountains of Maine, the time change was evident outside my window through the position of the sun, I realized that I need to take time to enjoy life, not just the occasional moose and deer that navigated in and out of the trees as our climb up the mountains ensued. I feel that during the hot, dog-days of summer, I am much more open to unstructured times of learning about myself, of growth and maturity, and of investing in my life and those around me. However, this same mindset needs to be applied throughout the school year as well and I need to be more mindful of replacing obvious open pockets of time with hobbies and activities (such as reading, writing, and painting) that I enjoy rather than staring at my phone through social media.
One of my goals this summer is to make more of a personal effort to do these things and engage with people that share different mindsets and outlooks on life than I do, in order to learn more about my world that I inhabit everyday.
You see, as I get older, I realize and understand that life is not a race. It is not about speeding up and slowing down in a bus on a highway, just brazenly passing in and out of exits and the on-and off ramps of life. It is not merely stopping the bus to view a "sight" or a "historical monument" and then continuing on our journey. Instead, it is getting lost in the moment, learning from others, having wisdom to refrain from the teaching and allowing myself to "be taught." Following a path where the destination may be foggy or unclear needs to be my prerogative rather than always the clear and certain path. Because, it is during those unplanned road trips, that the greatest learning ever takes place: the one inside of you.
Sunday, July 2, 2017
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Musings from the Miss
Sometimes, I notice it more deeply, like when I drive home after a long's day work, or I sit at the kitchen table, eating my supper of defrosted frozen chicken soup, watching the sunset hide away for the night. Even still, it happens when, by chance, I have a spontaneous idea that I'd like to do, but no one to share it with. I've always been an independent woman, which directly stems from my upbringing, but I've experienced, firsthand, the trials, the roads, and the growing that has blossomed me into the woman that I am today.
I notice it in my house by myself; the way that the golden hour caresses the exposed brick in my living room, the way that the light is so inviting over my paw print blanket, illuminating my cats whiskers to a softness that even a mother towards her newborn can't fathom. I hear it in the church bells and at times, I see it at the grocery store with the elderly couple hand-in-hand. I see it in the way a father cuts up pancakes for his daughter over breakfast.
This sense of "togetherness," of "longing," of wanting to share one's life with someone else is that which I speak of. Sometimes, it hits me at the most inopportune times, while other times, I "store" that memory in the back of head, waiting until I spot that characteristic in a man in which I can experience that someday.
It's true, I believe, how "society" says (or whatever your view of "society" may be), that singleness is a season. For some, that season can be long, and for others, that season may be short. Still, that season may have spurts of togetherness and separation, such as a widow. Hopefully, in every season, you grow, and you're pruned, and you blossom, and you bud, and you grow some more, and are pruned, yet again. In fact, I would argue, that for all of our lives, we seek to grow more into the people that we are created to be, regardless of our belief system(s).
Honestly, as a late twenty-something, it's hard to pick up where you left off with friends when a majority of them are either married, in relationships, having kids, have moved, or are newly married. Unlike that group, I only have to be concerned (though not self-centeredly, to say the least) about only one person: me. To be truthful to all of you readers out there, when I have an idea of something that I'd like to do, like go out to eat a restaurant, or see a movie, or go painting, I think of a friend I'd like to go with and then immediately, my options begin to narrow. Just like a thesis statement, I go from the friends who are married, to those who have kids, to those who are in relationships, etc. Most of the time, I go by myself, because 'why not?' Why wait for someone when you can experience it for yourself? Later on, I can sure the memory with a significant other.
And, social media is a feat all in itself. I've been trying to take small "spurts" of time away from this type of technology to realign myself with what's most important in my life; the values, and beliefs, and mission that I find essential to a fulfilling and satisfying day, week, month, and year.
To be fair, this season of singleness has come with it's perks. For example, it's nice prepping food for the week for just "one." Even from grocery shopping to a little "retail therapy" (hey, we're all guilty of that, right?) to those infamous trips to the country store where I long for that 25 minute car ride to just "think." I've been so happy to be able to use this season of being single to grow as a woman in both my career in teaching, through my local church helping kids, establishing relationships with my seasoned neighbors, and just last year, starting to explore and travel the world for a bit on my own.
Some people may talk about the "freedom" that singleness brings; and, I'd be amiss if I didn't touch upon that, too - at least for a few sentences. I love the freedom to be able to go to a coffee shop, sit with a good book, a cup of tea and just read without the thought of having to go "do something" or "meet with someone." It's in these times, where I love to "people watch." I enjoy watching the interactions that people have with each other, at coffee shops, bookstores, libraries, and other frequented places.
And, it's at these times where I feel the most at peace with myself (and even with my cats on a long winter's night) where I am truly content and think "it would be nice to share this "moment" with another person someday. I now realize that's what my parents have hoped for me all along; that is, to be established in my career, exercise my independence, travel, and be happy.
Being happy with myself, with my job, and with life, in general are things that are all very important to me. And, I love doing acts of kindness for people that I may or may not know.
Recently, I've come to the understanding that my parents want for me what they have had together for all of these years: to be happy with myself in life, and, on the other hand, to experience that happiness with another person.
And, it will come in time. "Every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of Heavenly lights." God is just prepping my heart, kind of like the same way that I prep a lesson plan.
-cheers.
I notice it in my house by myself; the way that the golden hour caresses the exposed brick in my living room, the way that the light is so inviting over my paw print blanket, illuminating my cats whiskers to a softness that even a mother towards her newborn can't fathom. I hear it in the church bells and at times, I see it at the grocery store with the elderly couple hand-in-hand. I see it in the way a father cuts up pancakes for his daughter over breakfast.
This sense of "togetherness," of "longing," of wanting to share one's life with someone else is that which I speak of. Sometimes, it hits me at the most inopportune times, while other times, I "store" that memory in the back of head, waiting until I spot that characteristic in a man in which I can experience that someday.
It's true, I believe, how "society" says (or whatever your view of "society" may be), that singleness is a season. For some, that season can be long, and for others, that season may be short. Still, that season may have spurts of togetherness and separation, such as a widow. Hopefully, in every season, you grow, and you're pruned, and you blossom, and you bud, and you grow some more, and are pruned, yet again. In fact, I would argue, that for all of our lives, we seek to grow more into the people that we are created to be, regardless of our belief system(s).
Honestly, as a late twenty-something, it's hard to pick up where you left off with friends when a majority of them are either married, in relationships, having kids, have moved, or are newly married. Unlike that group, I only have to be concerned (though not self-centeredly, to say the least) about only one person: me. To be truthful to all of you readers out there, when I have an idea of something that I'd like to do, like go out to eat a restaurant, or see a movie, or go painting, I think of a friend I'd like to go with and then immediately, my options begin to narrow. Just like a thesis statement, I go from the friends who are married, to those who have kids, to those who are in relationships, etc. Most of the time, I go by myself, because 'why not?' Why wait for someone when you can experience it for yourself? Later on, I can sure the memory with a significant other.
And, social media is a feat all in itself. I've been trying to take small "spurts" of time away from this type of technology to realign myself with what's most important in my life; the values, and beliefs, and mission that I find essential to a fulfilling and satisfying day, week, month, and year.
To be fair, this season of singleness has come with it's perks. For example, it's nice prepping food for the week for just "one." Even from grocery shopping to a little "retail therapy" (hey, we're all guilty of that, right?) to those infamous trips to the country store where I long for that 25 minute car ride to just "think." I've been so happy to be able to use this season of being single to grow as a woman in both my career in teaching, through my local church helping kids, establishing relationships with my seasoned neighbors, and just last year, starting to explore and travel the world for a bit on my own.
Some people may talk about the "freedom" that singleness brings; and, I'd be amiss if I didn't touch upon that, too - at least for a few sentences. I love the freedom to be able to go to a coffee shop, sit with a good book, a cup of tea and just read without the thought of having to go "do something" or "meet with someone." It's in these times, where I love to "people watch." I enjoy watching the interactions that people have with each other, at coffee shops, bookstores, libraries, and other frequented places.
And, it's at these times where I feel the most at peace with myself (and even with my cats on a long winter's night) where I am truly content and think "it would be nice to share this "moment" with another person someday. I now realize that's what my parents have hoped for me all along; that is, to be established in my career, exercise my independence, travel, and be happy.
Being happy with myself, with my job, and with life, in general are things that are all very important to me. And, I love doing acts of kindness for people that I may or may not know.
Recently, I've come to the understanding that my parents want for me what they have had together for all of these years: to be happy with myself in life, and, on the other hand, to experience that happiness with another person.
And, it will come in time. "Every good and perfect gift comes down from the Father of Heavenly lights." God is just prepping my heart, kind of like the same way that I prep a lesson plan.
-cheers.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
You Always Remember Your First Love
First loves.
It's a thought that has crossed my mind more than once recently. Intersections, forks in the road, gravel dirt roads, all leading to that "first" love.
One of my favorite things to do when I find myself in the presence of a seasoned couple, a pair of newlyweds, a "just friends" (c'mon, we've all heard or been a part of that story before!), is to ask the question, "How did you first meet?" I'm fascinated by their "stories," of how couples meet through a mutual friend, at a party, on a dating site, in a coffee shop, in their professions, or even, as high school sweethearts. For me, I enjoy being a part of "their" audience, for however long or short that conversational story may be, as they reel their members in with a simple, quaint, rocky, or challenging dialogue of how their love came to be. The gleam in their eyes says it all. It's amazing to see how much they recollect from their first times of an initial meeting. Our brains have ways of remembering those finite details that may seem insignificant to the listener, but oh, so important to the couple at hand. From the striking red dress she wore, to the dapper looking robin egg blue eyed guy, to the way he looked at her, as though looking through her as she passed by, to the way he opened the car door for her (proof that chivalry is not dead). Perhaps, chivalry just resurrecting in a modern way for our 21st century.
I think it's safe to say that we tend to think of "first loves" in the romantic form. And, there is some justification in that line of thought. For many, we learn about love from our parents, relatives, siblings, coworkers, an experience we had when we were little, or a combination of all. Gosh, there are many instances in which I can recall examples of what love "is" and what love "is not."
Yet, my experience of "first loves" is probably not like everybody else's. First loves can be, and should be, for that matter, so much more than the "romantic" aspect. First loves, in my opinion, extend far to the crevices of the mountain, beckoning the artist within all of us to come forth and create a beautiful masterpiece of life. Years later, we shall look back, and reflect (though the "act" of reflecting may be something that we do everyday. As a teacher, I can relate to that. I'm constantly reflecting!) First loves reach to the corners of our hearts, in which we can only know beyond good measure that they are there. They expose our deepest desires and inner passions that God has put within us to share with the world.
As a young woman in her late twenties, I've come to this realization more and more each and every day. A student teacher recently asked me the question "Did I always know that I wanted to be a teacher?" And, as I sat in that chair in my classroom, I saw that same gleam in this student teachers eyes that I see in my friends eyes when I ask them about how they met their future spouse, boyfriend, or girlfriend. I soon harbored that twinkle in my own eyes, too - explaining my love for dance - that this part of me is still alive, though I do not dance anymore. I recalled those 13 years of dance fondly and look forward to a way to tie it in with my teaching sometime in the future.
Through writing, I feel connected to something greater than myself. As cliché as that may sound, I believe that my grandfather is present with me when I write; though I unfortunately do not have the luxury to get to do it often. Through poetry, grading college papers, planning for elementary school, and working on ways to help the teachers that I coach, I see my grandfather in every aspect of it. I must admit, on some days, the work becomes grueling, but I always remember the phrase he said: "Don't worry about the time on the clock. Just get your work done and then you can take off your socks." Yet still, another phrase, one of my favorites, "If it starts to become like a 'job' to you, get out." For him, teaching was always equated with "mission work," rather than a profession, a job, or a 9-3 work week.
Whether preparing a lesson or writing a poem (there is something so powerful about putting a pencil or a pen to paper!), the act of creating and developing my series of "first loves" brings me great joy. To be honest, I need to do a better job of creating more pockets of time within my workweek to hone in on these "first loves." For example, when I dabble in the painting world, I feel connected to my grandfather, too. I've never taken any painting classes, but have tried to practice when I can. Sometimes, I go months at a time without picking up a paintbrush. I am reminded of my grandfather, who was an artist (though he was a serviceman, a teacher, and Principal, among other things, too.) And I hear his words, "keep practicing." When it's something that we want and that we are passionate about, we will work at it.
Sunday afternoons in my kitchen are phenomenal. No kidding! Though it signals the start of another work week and setting my alarm to 5:00am once again, I do enjoy my times in the kitchen. You see, I learned to cook from my dad, when I watched him on my tippy toes in the kitchen as a little girl. Cooking, like baking, relaxes me. As I prep my meals for the week, I get so excited when I see the color and arrangements of food in my head, that I immediately have to put them on the plates. It's so refreshingly satisfying, like a glass of iced cold water when you finish from a long run or a workout. You step back, and look at what you have created with your hands. Our hands are powerful tools in this world, ya know :)
My friends, writing, painting, cooking, and more- those are my first loves. Having a good book in my hands with a cup of tea reminds me of my mom and the love of reading that she instilled in me as a young girl. I loved our trips to the library. Sometimes, I wish I could relive those simpler, innocent days again. I long for those times where I can walk into a bookstore, pick up an opened book off the shelf, be the first to crack it open, and smell its pages. It's like Christmas every day!
So, you see, first loves don't have to be the "romantic" kind. Yet, I would be amiss without sharing just 1 story about a "first love." Lets make that a "few stories," as it began when I was in daycare.
There was this boy that attended the daycare that I was in (well several boys, if you must know :) that I was absolutely smitten with. My first kiss was when he backed me up against the metal fence and planted one on me right on the lips.
We all had our share of elementary and middle school "crushes," and hormones getting in the way of our studies. Remember those days? I live for the days when we can write handwritten notes to each other again. There were those "occasions" where I perfected passing notes back and forth between rows and feet dangling under desks.
High school brought its own share of transitions. As I explained to the student teacher about my first love for dance, I realized that a part of it tied in with a guy. As all good love stories go, yes, I had a high school crush, well a few- but they all fizzled away rather quickly. Like I always say "lots of boys, but no men."
Yet, throughout my primary, secondary and college years (both undergraduate and graduate), I had guys that I liked, but my focus was always on my schoolwork. My parents instilled that mantra into me from a very early age and I guess, I just didn't have time for "boys," really, because I was always busy writing a paper, being chauffeured to basketball, 4 hours of dance on a Saturday, French horn and piano lessons, horse back riding, skating, and summer camps. These activities kept me "busy" in a good way, "out of trouble," as you say, and saved me from a lot of unnecessary heartache growing up. Even now, as an adult, I had a few "first loves" that I fell for incredibly hard, but learned after several years to "let it go" as the flowers fade with the passing of each season. Ever experience those times where both of you are too shy to name the elephant in the room but quite content to be "just friends?" Yet, when you get together, you "feel" that "electricity" between the two of you?
Only when we truly allow ourselves to "let go" of past experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts, can we open the door for new experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts to permeate our homes, our hearts, and our minds. And, as a single lady right now, approaching her almost 28th year, that is precisely what I am seeking to do. Though I've never "officially" had a guy to call my own (and honestly, men and women aren't objects, but that's another story for a different day), I've experienced that feeling of "love." Though in all respects, love is not a feeling. It's a "doing." Love is an action. And, the sooner that we realize that the love between two people is an "action" can we experience love in its entirety the way that it was supposed to be. As I sit here, waiting, I am reminded of everything in its right place and time. "As the flowers bloom and fade, so the word of God stands firm forever."
So in a world of "first loves," and "love stories" and countless movies making box office millions, lets remember the first loves that some of us have that include our passions. Romance will come in time, as it is not something that you can plan for. Though you can increase the likelihood of meeting someone, I'd rather wait and see my own love story unfold, as long as that may take. For now, I'm dabbling in my own "first loves."
Now, where did I put my paintbrush?
cheers!
alex
It's a thought that has crossed my mind more than once recently. Intersections, forks in the road, gravel dirt roads, all leading to that "first" love.
One of my favorite things to do when I find myself in the presence of a seasoned couple, a pair of newlyweds, a "just friends" (c'mon, we've all heard or been a part of that story before!), is to ask the question, "How did you first meet?" I'm fascinated by their "stories," of how couples meet through a mutual friend, at a party, on a dating site, in a coffee shop, in their professions, or even, as high school sweethearts. For me, I enjoy being a part of "their" audience, for however long or short that conversational story may be, as they reel their members in with a simple, quaint, rocky, or challenging dialogue of how their love came to be. The gleam in their eyes says it all. It's amazing to see how much they recollect from their first times of an initial meeting. Our brains have ways of remembering those finite details that may seem insignificant to the listener, but oh, so important to the couple at hand. From the striking red dress she wore, to the dapper looking robin egg blue eyed guy, to the way he looked at her, as though looking through her as she passed by, to the way he opened the car door for her (proof that chivalry is not dead). Perhaps, chivalry just resurrecting in a modern way for our 21st century.
I think it's safe to say that we tend to think of "first loves" in the romantic form. And, there is some justification in that line of thought. For many, we learn about love from our parents, relatives, siblings, coworkers, an experience we had when we were little, or a combination of all. Gosh, there are many instances in which I can recall examples of what love "is" and what love "is not."
Yet, my experience of "first loves" is probably not like everybody else's. First loves can be, and should be, for that matter, so much more than the "romantic" aspect. First loves, in my opinion, extend far to the crevices of the mountain, beckoning the artist within all of us to come forth and create a beautiful masterpiece of life. Years later, we shall look back, and reflect (though the "act" of reflecting may be something that we do everyday. As a teacher, I can relate to that. I'm constantly reflecting!) First loves reach to the corners of our hearts, in which we can only know beyond good measure that they are there. They expose our deepest desires and inner passions that God has put within us to share with the world.
As a young woman in her late twenties, I've come to this realization more and more each and every day. A student teacher recently asked me the question "Did I always know that I wanted to be a teacher?" And, as I sat in that chair in my classroom, I saw that same gleam in this student teachers eyes that I see in my friends eyes when I ask them about how they met their future spouse, boyfriend, or girlfriend. I soon harbored that twinkle in my own eyes, too - explaining my love for dance - that this part of me is still alive, though I do not dance anymore. I recalled those 13 years of dance fondly and look forward to a way to tie it in with my teaching sometime in the future.
Through writing, I feel connected to something greater than myself. As cliché as that may sound, I believe that my grandfather is present with me when I write; though I unfortunately do not have the luxury to get to do it often. Through poetry, grading college papers, planning for elementary school, and working on ways to help the teachers that I coach, I see my grandfather in every aspect of it. I must admit, on some days, the work becomes grueling, but I always remember the phrase he said: "Don't worry about the time on the clock. Just get your work done and then you can take off your socks." Yet still, another phrase, one of my favorites, "If it starts to become like a 'job' to you, get out." For him, teaching was always equated with "mission work," rather than a profession, a job, or a 9-3 work week.
Whether preparing a lesson or writing a poem (there is something so powerful about putting a pencil or a pen to paper!), the act of creating and developing my series of "first loves" brings me great joy. To be honest, I need to do a better job of creating more pockets of time within my workweek to hone in on these "first loves." For example, when I dabble in the painting world, I feel connected to my grandfather, too. I've never taken any painting classes, but have tried to practice when I can. Sometimes, I go months at a time without picking up a paintbrush. I am reminded of my grandfather, who was an artist (though he was a serviceman, a teacher, and Principal, among other things, too.) And I hear his words, "keep practicing." When it's something that we want and that we are passionate about, we will work at it.
Sunday afternoons in my kitchen are phenomenal. No kidding! Though it signals the start of another work week and setting my alarm to 5:00am once again, I do enjoy my times in the kitchen. You see, I learned to cook from my dad, when I watched him on my tippy toes in the kitchen as a little girl. Cooking, like baking, relaxes me. As I prep my meals for the week, I get so excited when I see the color and arrangements of food in my head, that I immediately have to put them on the plates. It's so refreshingly satisfying, like a glass of iced cold water when you finish from a long run or a workout. You step back, and look at what you have created with your hands. Our hands are powerful tools in this world, ya know :)
My friends, writing, painting, cooking, and more- those are my first loves. Having a good book in my hands with a cup of tea reminds me of my mom and the love of reading that she instilled in me as a young girl. I loved our trips to the library. Sometimes, I wish I could relive those simpler, innocent days again. I long for those times where I can walk into a bookstore, pick up an opened book off the shelf, be the first to crack it open, and smell its pages. It's like Christmas every day!
So, you see, first loves don't have to be the "romantic" kind. Yet, I would be amiss without sharing just 1 story about a "first love." Lets make that a "few stories," as it began when I was in daycare.
There was this boy that attended the daycare that I was in (well several boys, if you must know :) that I was absolutely smitten with. My first kiss was when he backed me up against the metal fence and planted one on me right on the lips.
We all had our share of elementary and middle school "crushes," and hormones getting in the way of our studies. Remember those days? I live for the days when we can write handwritten notes to each other again. There were those "occasions" where I perfected passing notes back and forth between rows and feet dangling under desks.
High school brought its own share of transitions. As I explained to the student teacher about my first love for dance, I realized that a part of it tied in with a guy. As all good love stories go, yes, I had a high school crush, well a few- but they all fizzled away rather quickly. Like I always say "lots of boys, but no men."
Yet, throughout my primary, secondary and college years (both undergraduate and graduate), I had guys that I liked, but my focus was always on my schoolwork. My parents instilled that mantra into me from a very early age and I guess, I just didn't have time for "boys," really, because I was always busy writing a paper, being chauffeured to basketball, 4 hours of dance on a Saturday, French horn and piano lessons, horse back riding, skating, and summer camps. These activities kept me "busy" in a good way, "out of trouble," as you say, and saved me from a lot of unnecessary heartache growing up. Even now, as an adult, I had a few "first loves" that I fell for incredibly hard, but learned after several years to "let it go" as the flowers fade with the passing of each season. Ever experience those times where both of you are too shy to name the elephant in the room but quite content to be "just friends?" Yet, when you get together, you "feel" that "electricity" between the two of you?
Only when we truly allow ourselves to "let go" of past experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts, can we open the door for new experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts to permeate our homes, our hearts, and our minds. And, as a single lady right now, approaching her almost 28th year, that is precisely what I am seeking to do. Though I've never "officially" had a guy to call my own (and honestly, men and women aren't objects, but that's another story for a different day), I've experienced that feeling of "love." Though in all respects, love is not a feeling. It's a "doing." Love is an action. And, the sooner that we realize that the love between two people is an "action" can we experience love in its entirety the way that it was supposed to be. As I sit here, waiting, I am reminded of everything in its right place and time. "As the flowers bloom and fade, so the word of God stands firm forever."
So in a world of "first loves," and "love stories" and countless movies making box office millions, lets remember the first loves that some of us have that include our passions. Romance will come in time, as it is not something that you can plan for. Though you can increase the likelihood of meeting someone, I'd rather wait and see my own love story unfold, as long as that may take. For now, I'm dabbling in my own "first loves."
Now, where did I put my paintbrush?
cheers!
alex
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