Scribbling: Wings

(Today I felt like trying another Scribbling Challenge. I’ll only get better at writing if I keep practicing . . .)

Moving out of my parents’ house was the best risk that I have ever taken.

Yes, I was a hopelessly naïve 23 year old, renting an attic room in a city I was unfamiliar with and with very few friends nearby.

Yes, I spent many evenings crying from loneliness.

Yes, I was horrible at managing my meager salary, often scraping together rent money at the last possible moment, eating ramen for dinner and vending machine food for lunch.

Moving forced me to learn how to live on my own, to put myself out there and make new friends, to go out on the town by myself and explore the world outside my door.

My parents loved me very much, but as their oldest daughter I was eager to please them. I never dated, never went out, was always at home trying to be helpful whenever I wasn’t spending long hours at work. My father is a very controlling sort of fellow, so I never wanted to test the boundaries at home. I mean, I was staying there rent free . . . and they were my parents . . .

But I was stifling there. I HAD to move out. There was a world out there I wanted to see . . . and besides, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to date anyone under the watch eyes of my dad – as protective of his “little” daughters as he was . . .

So one October weekend, I packed up my stuff into a small van and threw myself out on my own, jumping out of the warm, cozy nest, hoping that I could one day spread my wings and fly.

Fast forward almost fourteen years, and here I am. I’ve still got a lot of work to do in the confidence department, but somehow I managed to eventually get my own apartment, go through a few jobs, meet some amazing people, do some fun and fascinating things, get married to a very cool person, and have a pretty easy-going, interesting life.

Having wings means being open to risk – to put yourself out there high in the air with nothing but hard ground below and just see what happens. To thrust yourself out in the world with an idea of where you are going, but depending on which way the wind blows, you could end up anywhere. Sometimes you fall – and that really hurts! A wing breaks and you have to put yourself through the hard work of healing . . . and then somehow work up the nerve try to fly again.

It may be easier to stay in the nest, but in the long run it is always better to use those wings and try to fly.

Scribblings: Puzzled

I am puzzled

I am perplexed

I am flummoxed

I have no freaking idea how we found each other.

I am baffled

I am stumped

I am mystified

Why did you stay? How did I not drive you away?

I am dazed

I am bewildered

I am confounded

How you are still with me after all of these years.

I am grateful

I am thankful

I am beholden

You are my rock, my sounding board, my love, my friend.

I am flustered

I am thrilled

I am delighted

Being a constant in your life and you a constant in mine.

I am frightened

I am petrified

I am puzzled

Will this be able to last forever?

Saturday Scribbling: Crush

From the 2002 edition of the Oxford Pocket American Thesaurus of Current English:

Crush (noun) crush on, crush on the teacher

infatuation with, fancy for, liking of/for, love of/for, passion for.

Yes, I am such a literal person – I had to look up the word somewhere in order to be able to talk about it . . .

I don’t like the word “crush.” It sounds so cheesy and middle school and immature.

Yes, crushes are ultimately those things when you get down to it, but when you have a crush I believe there is something a bit more sinister going on . . .

To me, having a crush means that you think yourself unworthy in some way. You have feeling for a person – you are infatuated with them, you fancy their ways, you like the way they speak, you love their sense of humor, you adore them because you have a passion for the same things, but deep down you intuit that on some level you are unworthy of their attention. They are so darn awesome - why would they want to talk to me? They are so cool - I’m not even in their league!

A crush is a statement of low self-esteem. A statement of being unsure of yourself. A way of having feelings about someone, but not taking a risk of either getting hurt . . . or finding out something wonderful. A crush puts another person high on a pedestal, instead of having to deal with the messiness of another human being.

Having a crush is a safe choice, a way to have a bit of fantasy in your life without enduring any heartache or pain.

I really don’t mean to be so negative. I’ve had crushes in my past too. But as I get older, I feel like crushes are a big waste of time and energy . . . Life is too short for middle-of-the-road, waiting, dreaming, holding on to a cloud-type feelings.

Either go for it or don’t go for it. Do or do not. Put your heart out there. Feel the sharp, tearing pain of rejection. Feel the euphoria of acceptance and reciprocation and love. Feel something.

By feeling, there is growth. By risking, lessons are learned and absorbed. Have the confidence in yourself not to have crushes. Have the confidence in others to accept that they too are human like you.

Let’s move beyond the middle school feelings and reactions that seem to govern so much of adult discourse these days . . .

That’s one idea that I’m infatuated with at the moment anyway . . .

Yummy

I’ve being trying to write something for this week’s Scribbling Challenge (“Yummy”) but I am having a heck of a time trying to put something coherent down on paper. Why is that? What does “Yummy” mean to me?

Yummy, for me, means that when you put something in your mouth, the taste overloads your senses. Something that tastes so darn good you hold it in your mouth for a little bit and let the flavor just sit there a while as you also appreciate the texture and the temperature. You stop there for a moment and try to etch the experience into your brain, eyes closed, smile on your face . . . ahhh, yes! A moment of sublime pleasure!

I’ve eaten food in very expensive restaurants that I’ve spit back into my napkin because it was just SO horrible. I’ve also eaten lovingly homemade food for which I have felt the same way. What makes something yummy is something so intangible that you can’t explain it. The people you are with. The way the food is prepared. The pleasant combination of ingredients. Your presence of mind at the time. A confluence of factors has to come together to make something “yummy.”

The most delicious Cinnamon Dolce Latte I have ever had was when I was sitting in a Starbucks with a good friend of mine. I’ve been to that store a number of times and had similar drinks, but that one . . . yum! Even going back a week later, the same drink did not taste as smooth and creamy and nurturing.

The most delicious Thai food I’ve ever had was eating with my sister at a restaurant in Old Town Alexandria. I’ve been back since and had the exact same thing – it was good, but not the same.

I’ve eaten a piece of cheap milk chocolate while sitting at my desk at work that tasted as if it were nectar to the gods at that exact moment.

It is so hard to pin down what “yummy” is, I am unwilling to do so. It is a feeling you know exactly what it is when it happens, but you can never fully describe. It cannot be sought after, only randomly found.

May you all experience a yummy moment this week – a moment of transcendence that snaps you out of the day-to-day drudgery and allows you for a second to experience a bit of metaphorical heaven on earth.

Monday Scribblings Challenge

I’m a day late on this (just found it on Thinking About . . .) – it was a Sunday Scribblings Challenge [ http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/ ]

Who have I had to say goodbye to? What kinds of goodbyes?

When I was in second grade, I had to say goodbye to a classmate who was playing hooky from school one day and was found strangled with an extension cord - by guys who robbed his parents’ house. I had no real concept of what that meant at the time . . . but as the years went on, I gradually grasped the enormity of what happened. How horrible and scary and unfathomable . . . he was only 7 years old . . .

I had to say goodbye to the few girl friends I had in elementary school, when I left a year early to go to Doogie Howser.

I said goodbye to a neighbor family who had three little girls, two of whom were the same age as my sister and I, who moved to Eastern Maryland because of the father’s job. We had had many years of slumber parties and outings and trips and dinners at each others’ houses – all of which came to an abrupt end in 1983.

I said goodbye to all of my friends and classmates at Doogie Howser and everything I knew, when my family moved to Virginia right before my junior year of High School when my dad’s job transferred down here. It is a goodbye that, in some ways, I still struggle to deal with even today.

I said goodbye to my Grandpa in 1987. He was only 62 years old when he died. I miss him still.

I said goodbye to high school later that year. I was not ready. I was not happy. I did not feel closure, being in the strange land . . .

I said goodbye to my other grandfather and grandmother. We were not close, I was one of many, many grandchildren.

I said goodbye to many friends I met in the workplace – people who come into your life, hang out together, forming after-work bonds that sometimes last well past your time at that particular office, but always somehow growing apart and disappearing from the scene. I miss all of you.

I said goodbye to other friends who move away and lose contact, due to life changes or whatever. I miss you guys too.

In 2000, I had to say goodbye to a little person who hadn’t some into the world yet. It is amazing how that goodbye changes one’s world view . . . you learn that no matter how much you try, there are certain things in this life that you cannot stop from happening.

So many goodbyes I have said . . . so many more that I must say in the future . . .