Salinger Says It Best

"But on the occasion I'm anything but a short-story writer where my brother is concerned. What I am, I think, is a thesaurus of undetached prefactory remarks about him. I believe I essentially remain what I've always been- a narrator, but one with extremely pressing personal needs. I want to introduce, I want to describe, I want to distribute mementos, amulets, I want to break out my wallet and pass around snapshots, I want to follow my nose. In this mood I don't dare go anywhere near the short-story form. It eats up fat little undetached writers like me whole." Pg 107 from "Seymour: An Introduction"

[substitute brother for father and you get why I can relate to this passage.]

Tattoos, Medals and Alters

Before I address the title of this blog, I just wanted to give a small explanation of my absence from blogging. I was thinking plenty and learned a lot this past month, but could not speak in generalizations enough to rationalize a public musing. Most of you who I know intimately know how I've been and what I've been thinking about.

Friday and Saturday were wonderful days where I realized a lot. Or better yet, God let me realize them. It's amazing how seemingly small bits of events and information when connected like puzzle pieces, really do begin to assemble a larger image and understanding. There was a moment Saturday morning when a lot became connected. Joann and I were at Samovar, drinking the best iced tea EVER (fair trade of course) and were both floored at how God really carved every event to happen the night before and that morning.

We wanted to remember, but knew that in a few days, a few weeks and especially a few years, the emphasis this realization had, would fade away. And then Joann mentioned the use of alters in the Old Testament, where in order to remember and also to continue on with one's journey, they would build an alter. I remember the first time I really understood this concept- it was when I went on my first outing with my best friend Tyler's now wife, the incredible Jessica. She talked about how tattoos held that function for her: an alter to remember a significant moment in her life, but also to continue on. That's how I needed to get a tattoo to remember my dad. Of course, its meaning is different now, than when I got it, but I don't regret for a moment getting this:

I also wanted this concept to be apart of my "Future Self" Portrait for the Creativity workshop in January. So I wore my dad's old Vietnam medals, which also function as a way to remember, but also to continue:
So with this idea firmly understood, Joann and I built our alters yesterday. Joann's alter:
My alter:
Here's hoping that I am able to appreciate the perfect timing of the events that transpired and continue to feel encouraged and strengthened by what was revealed to me. I love how "God speaks to us each as he makes us" (Rilke).

Before Sunrise Describes My Anxiety with Flying Perfectly

Begin at minute 2:58- ends at 3:35

Bon Iver: One + Year Later

This isn't a photo from the show, but his hair did look this fantastic.

I loved Bon Iver's "Skinny Love" throughout my senior year of college. Paste Magazine put it on one of their sampler CDs and I listened to it over and over. I even assigned a little crush at the time to that song (it went as far as the fact he was a bean pole). But that summer, last summer, the summer post graduating college, I had finally bought the album. It arrived in the mail the day before the 4th of July. I hadn't listened to it yet when I attended the Short Shorts 4th of July party with the San Jose crew. At this point in time, I was just beginning my sofa surfing/moving multiple times months. I was super depressed and felt disconnected from all my friends. Even in their tiny shorts. I just felt everything was so empty.

So I left the party early, got lost driving to my mentor's house, for which I was house-sitting in exchange for a place to live for a week. I got into the kitchen, unpacked my laptop and desperately shoved the cd into the computer to upload. I might've just hit play, I don't remember. I just remember crying during "lump sum", not because I was depressed, but because it was so beautiful. Everything about it made me feel beauty, and that clearly this beauty meant (and still means for me) that God truly is present in my life. And I just swayed around the kitchen, dancing to myself, smiling and just feeling relieved. Knowing that in my depression and loneliness, that I wasn't actually alone. And the fact that even though I didn't have my shit together, that God wasn't going to stop creating these moments of beauty and relief in the midst of the chaos and the ache.

They didn't play lump sum tonight at the Wiltern. Justin Vernon said it was because they didn't know how to play it live. I was relieved. Its absence reminded me of this moment. And while it's association is this moment of beauty, the overwhelming sadness that surrounded that moment, is now diminished. Like utter unfeeling emptiness, lump sum can't be played tonight. And while the chaos...the emotion...the stress hasn't subsided, something has changed. This concert reminded me of that.

When I am out of words...

There is so much on my mind and heart that nothing is coming to a concise blog post. But I will share with you what I shared with Tyler on the phone this morning: I'm happy. I have these past few weeks been very encouraged by my friends in who I am, what I have to say and how I see the world/ experience God. Which makes it easier to rejoice. Joann is always giving me new terms to wrap my life around and the most recent is rejoice. Returning to joy is even more beautiful than joy alone. The turning and re-entering beauty. Helps counterbalance (but not cancel out or erase) the pain that kicks the shit out of me. Sitting here in the salon, with my hair in ridiculous hair dying papers, I realize I actually do have a blog post in me. I had started writing this with the thought that since I had nothing to say that I would post pictures from my week this week. Leave it to me, the hopeless conversationalist/extrovert/external processor who always has something to say- whether or not it is as special as the writer who really thinks through her thoughts before she writes- I will always have my word vomit to spray all over this. Too gross an image? It's usually how my words come- unexpectedly and overwhelming in amount.

Readership Accountability

After a long period of no readership reaction to my blog (aside from Joann, who always has feedback), these past two weeks I've found myself in dialogue with five different people about the content of my postings. Mostly positive feedback and one challenge. I'm so thankful for the ability to dialogue with friends about the variety of thoughts drifting in and out of my mind. Encourages me to go deeper with each statement I make, instead of just letting them pass as quickly as they arrive. It's nice to know that my words leave enough of an impression that I get asked outside the context of the blog about what I've written.

It's also slightly jarring. I guess when I write here, I forget that it will be read by anyone else besides Jo and myself. I love that people are reading my words and following up. Especially after producing 5 pages of absolute shit writing for a personal assignment that I had my friend read. I guess the informal nature of a blog allows me to not feel overwhelmed.

Perhaps what God has in mind for my writing is already happening. Bill says I am in charge of the depth of my writing and that God is going to take care of the width. So when I write, even if it is just for a handful of people, I should only concern myself with the content.

Nevertheless, hearing from folks that they agreed/disagreed with something I wrote... it makes me feel like I have something to offer. That I am being used. That I might be causing reflection, thought, emotion (even anger), etc.

I am trying my best to fully articulate how I feel... and of course am running into the wall that is the faulty nature of language. And my exhaustion that comes from an all-day author meeting at work.

But Joann is currently in her little car, driving to my city for a visit, so I know some beautiful dialogue will be occurring. I'm bringing her to my home church tonight... SO EXCITED! I love introducing my friends to this beautiful creature that is my best friend:

Am I stuck circling the room?

(small side note: my stepdad would LOVE this picture)
Joann describes wallowing in the past perfectly. It is this continuous pacing around the room, going round and round. Feeling the same pain, over and over, but completely ignoring the doors and windows. I firmly believe that we are not meant to wallow in our past pains, no matter how tragic or hurtful. We begin to decay and wilt. There's nothing wrong with having moments of sadness, but there is a distinct difference between healthy grieving/healing and wallowing. In the area of death, I don't think our US culture gives us enough time to truly mourn. It takes a long while, and never completely erases white.... just slowly fades.

I know folks who never get over certain pain, they can never forgive and move on. I never thought of myself as one of these people. But my secret worry is that in some deep down parts of my heart, I haven't moved on from losing my dad. I google-searched the news articles about him and found an article by the ventura country star that I had never read. I still feel so removed from how he died, feels like a random short story or movie plot line. These moments of reality are good, but dangerous to stay in. I think I've already walked out the door, I just look over my shoulder every-so-often.