restless.

So it's been a while, eh?

I am going to try my very best to get back into this whole blogging business. First of all, because it is just good for me to write, no matter how trivial the posts may seem. And second of all, because I think it helps, in a small way, for me to think through things a bit. Even if the thoughts are still half formed and sloppy when they find their way here.

So, here goes.

I tend to keep my life full to the brim with jobs, classes, volunteer opportunities, etc, etc. Although my nerves are constantly frayed, I find a strange comfort in it all. But whenever I find the time to just be still, this awful, gnawing restlessness sets in. Because in those quiet places I start to wonder if all this responsibility is worth it in the end.

So here I sit, three days into Christmas break, and already my mind is ill at ease.

Maybe it's the wine. But I don't think so.

Revelation: I am afraid of waves. Ripples, even. And unbeaten paths. And risks or unexpecteds or spontaneous, irresponsible actions with unclear consequences.

Revelation #2: I don't think I'm ok with that.

For the last year or two I've enjoyed tossing around all these lofty ideas of what I could do after I graduate. Working with a dear friend as she provides a loving home for disabled orphans in Uganda, moving to a big city (just because I can), teaching English in Europe and traveling anywhere and everywhere on the weekends... For the first time in my life the possibilities and adventure were intoxicating rather than frightening.

But now, a year out from that freedom, I find myself rifling through all the "what-ifs" and the "buts", leaning towards the much safer, more responsible, more predictable route of settling into a job here, at home. Staying with my parents to save money if need be. Doing what I'm supposed to do.

When a friend mentions that we should go on a road trip for spring break, I immediately spring into my excuses about money, working, and making sure I'm rested when we spring back into classes.

When I try to clear my plate a bit for the coming semester, I find myself guilt-ridden about leaving one of my jobs and completely unable to turn down new responsibilities that people want to throw my way for fear of letting them down.

Vomit.

I think it's a little bit sad that tagging along on my dad's business trip to China is an adventure for me.

But I think it's a start.

hollow.

A gorgeous bouquet of pink roses and lilies, dinner at a classy waterfront restaurant where the sun set and the sailboats slid by, and he opened every door. Perfection.

Then he asks to steal a kiss as his truck idles at the foot of my driveway.

Memories come flooding back. Past loves I knew inside and out. When they held me they held ALL of me: the lovely, unique, ugly, quirky, and flawed.

What did this stranger want to kiss?

So shyly I smile, shake my head, and feel my heart turn heavy as I trudge up the driveway.

One day I'll get the real thing.

secret recipe.

This post has been percolating for quite a while, now. First the hustle and bustle of finals got in the way, then my refusal to do anything that felt remotely productive for the first few official weeks of summer vacation. I may be biased, but I think I earned it. :-)

Anyways... I have a sneaking suspicion that I've written about this before. Please bear with me if that's the case... Also, please forgive any cheesiness. I was having too much fun with the metaphor. Ha.

But I have this terrible tendency to want to skip the journey. Forget baby steps. If I could, I would teleport myself to the finish line this very second. It's the reason that I don't like starting big projects or papers unless I know I can finish them quickly. Leaving things half-finished makes me feel inadequate. So I try to find the quickest way to lay it all to rest, and in doing so I bypass the lessons I need to learn to actually be able to conquer it all. This habit of rushing through challenges obviously makes for some pretty big messes.

It's like baking with a child. They don't know that you have to crack eggs carefully to keep shells out of the dough. They don't know that you need to cream together the butter, sugar, and vanilla separately before you add the dry ingredients. They don't know that you need to add the flour gradually. And they, of course, have absolutely no patience to learn these things. They want to start heaping things in the bowl to just get to the cookies already, goshdangit! So you have to pry the wooden spoon from their tiny fingers of steel and ask them (to no avail) to be patient, please, and don't eat all the chocolate chips or there won't be any in the cookies! Generally such endeavors end with grimy hands, flour EVERYWHERE, and a tearful tantrum on the kitchen floor.

I am that child.

Thankfully I am blessed to have a wise, godly, loving, caring woman in my life to remind me how bad the cookies turned out last time. Despite her busy life, she makes the hour drive from home to school every Thursday just to pour love into my life and support me in my walk. Here in this blog I will call her Mother Willow (Or Mama W for short. Because that's just more fun.).

So it was a typical Thursday a few weeks ago when I began spouting out my plans to Mama W about how I was going to make it to the finish line when she did just that. She gently reminded me that maybe, just maybe, I needed to stop my plotting and listen to my Heavenly Father. After all, it's his secret recipe.

Immediately I felt silly. How many times had I found myself in the midst of one of these self-made messes? And still I hadn't learned to take my grubby little hands out of it. Immediately I got that image of myself sitting in the middle of my Heavenly Father's big old kitchen of life with floury tears rolling down my cheeks. How frustrated must he be with me?

I detailed the whole thing for Mama W, and she listened patiently in that wise way of hers. How I felt like a child and was frustrated with myself for all the frustration I must be causing Him and all the people that have to eat my rock hard, eggshell encrusted cookies. I realized how disappointed He must be with me. After all, no matter how much you love your child, during those temper tantrums you have to admit they're a bit of a brat.

When my words finally ran dry, she smiled simply and said, "Katie, He's just happy you're in the kitchen."

Thank God my Papa is patient. :)

solitude.

So many thoughts swimming around, but I'll wait to spill them out another day. For now I have only one. And that is this:

I LOVE time to myself. Possibly an unhealthy amount. To the point that I am wondering if this is something I need to work on. Something to ponder this summer, I suppose. For now I'll just enjoy. :)

My mantra for the summer?

"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no whenever you don't want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you're doing here. Believe in kissing."
-Eve Ensler

Dear heart of mine,

If you could, just this once, be rational. Please?

Love always,

The rest of me.

obliterated.

I will always be amazed at the mind's incredible capacity to lie to itself. I mean, really. It's absolutely amazing. If it doesn't want to do or face something difficult, it can merely sidestep the issue by dreaming up a world in which its problems don't exist. Just concoct a pretty new list of truths, of laws to operate under, and voila! You have a lovely new problem-free world. But here's the paradox: in order for that world to blossom, the mind has to convince itself that this it is real beyond a shadow of a doubt. As impossible as it seems, I think it happens far more often than any of us would like to admit. Absurd.

Of course, wandering around operating under such pretenses causes problems. It's like denying the existence of gravity. No matter how strongly you believe you can fly, you're going to sink right back down to earth every time you step off that roof.

These pretty fantasy worlds can last for a while, but eventually we're going to run into something that our laws can't reconcile. Our minds may be able to overlook a couple of these contradictions, skilled little fabricators that they are, but there's always going to be that one undeniable truth that crashes through our consciousness and flattens our make-believe world. It's like "Somewhere in Time." That tiny copper coin tore down his entire universe.

For me, it was a letter. An atom bomb waiting in my mailbox.

Currently I find myself sitting in the aftermath of the explosion. Dazedly wrenching myself from the rubble, trying hard to get my bearings. So far so good, I think... I just hope I handle it better than Christopher Reeve.

I'd much rather assimilate to reality than... ya know... die. Wish me luck...

lasting fingerprints.

As I've mentioned before, I'm blessed with an incredible circle of friends. They're not the bum-around-when-it's-convenient-just-to-edge-away-the-boredom kind of friends. Those are a dime a dozen. Mine are the catch-you-when-you're-falling, revel-in-your-triumphs, love-you-even-when-it's hard kind of friends. We numb each other's heartaches with Dairy Queen blizzards. We make each other big pots of coffee and eggs when life has scrambled our brains. We celebrate even each other's smallest victories; we feed each other's dreams. Many days they're the only screws that keep my head from spontaneously catapulting itself off my shoulders in protest of this madness called college that I thrust upon it daily. They are my rock, and I love them.

Every once in a great long while, however, someone will come along whose influence reaches far beyond satisfying those everyday emotional hungers. Naturally the more exasperating, infuriating, and impertinent the person, the more enthralling, refreshing, and precious the impact. They're the ones that aren't afraid to tell us when we're boring or stupid or selfish or rude or any other number of things. They care far more about our fulfillment than they do our comfort, and they wrench us from our cozy bubbles and boxes and dare us to live a better life. We usually stick a toe out just to appease, then scramble back to our snug little ways. But they lovingly, painstakingly urge us farther each time, inch by inch. Usually we're relieved when they finally give in, leaving us to snuggle in our secure little pocket. We nestle down deep with a thankful sigh, happy the struggle's over.

But unbeknownst to us (and them), that loved one's dropped a tiny seed of discontent deep in the belly of our beings. Before we know what's happened we find ourselves gladly leaping outside our bubble, seizing opportunities with a boldness not our own. They've infected our very being, leaving us with a crucial, beautiful, life-changing piece of themselves. Long after they're gone, we can see their fingerprints on every day we live.

I like the idea of adding pictures to my posts, so I Googled "fingerprints on my life" just to see what popped up. There were a lot of photos of Robert Pattinson. That made me a little sick. Then there were a lot of pictures of people with their loved ones. That made me smile.

A couple's engagement photo.

A group of friends sporting big grins and goofy Halloween costumes.

A brother and sister playing together in a sandbox.

A beaming bride surrounded by her best friends.

A man in his cap and gown, diploma in hand, with his proud children hanging off his shoulders.

A precious baby girl with a big smile and a pink bow in her hair. (Obviously my fav)

As I perused the happy faces, I found myself wondering if any strangers had softened this way after stumbling across a picture of my loved ones and me. Could they see a glimmer of selfless love in our eyes? Did our iron-clad friendship bring them hope, too?

As I scrolled a bit lower, this little guy caught my eye:

And I smiled again. :)

Why are you chopping up my heart?

So my 92-year-old great-grandfather (I was a titch off earlier) finally made his way to heaven last Friday night. It had been a tough couple weeks for my family as they watched him suffer and fade away, but when I asked my mom how she was doing, she responded, "He's up in heaven partying with Grandma and Jesus. Why should I be sad?" So his passing was a celebration of sorts. He lived a full life, a happy life, and--as evidenced by the friends, family, fond memories and military honors present at his funeral--a meaningful life. Now he gets to go home and be with his maker. :)

His passing also meant that we all got to traipse up to Chicago to be with my extended family. Now my family is stark raving mad (most are, I think) and I absolutely adore them. We are, however, terrible about making the time to see one another. So while it certainly wasn't the best of circumstances, I'm always grateful for any opportunity to get the whole crazy bunch together.

My family isn't large by most people's standards, but our nasty habit of only getting together once in a blue moon means there are quite a few fuzzy faces wandering around at weddings and funerals. This was, of course, no exception.

Since we were close to my great-grandfather, we planned to be there for the full six hours of the visitation. We even arrived early to set up the collages of pictures and memories that my mother had lovingly pieced together over the past few days. The first family members to trickle in were ones I knew well: my grandparents, my Aunt Sue with her boyfriend and three girls in tow, my great-aunt Sheri--who is more like a sister than an aunt to my mother in age and rapport. We spent a little time hugging, catching up, and generally enjoying each other's company.

It wasn't until a little later that the hazy and unfamiliar third cousins twice removed began to trickle in. Although I didn't know them well, they all had something comfortably familiar about them: a flash of my great-grandfather's bright blue eyes, glimpses of my my grandmother's delicate, rounded nose, the tall, lanky blondness that is a manifestation of the Dutch blood that runs through all our veins--all a comforting presentation of the familial ties we don't necessarily feel.

As much as I was enjoying the time with my family, I knew that missing two days of school would be difficult. So after dinner, when the conversation had lulled, I retreated back into the kitchen to pull out a stack of plays to grade. Just about everyone had eaten their fill and made their way back out to the main hall. Only a few of my mother's cousins (some of the blurry ones) remained. I gave them a smile, made my way to a table on the other side of the room, and dove into the pile of scenes.

I hadn't made it halfway through the first before I noticed a tiny pair of hands slide their way onto the edge of the table across from me. I looked up to see a little girl with bright blonde hair looking right back.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm grading papers," I responded.

She gave me a shy smile and looked down at her hands. She was about five years old, and I'd never seen her before in my life. We exchanged names and chatted a bit, but we fell right back into silence. Not knowing what else to do and assuming she couldn't possibly have any more interest in what I was doing than I did, I turned back to my work. Those little hands, however, skirted around the corner of the table as she slid into the seat next to me. I looked up again to see her beaming silently at me. I couldn't help but smile.

"I think I have some paper and pens in my bag. Would you like to draw?"

She nodded enthusiastically and squirmed excitedly as I dug into my purse to find the pad of paper and multicolored pens. As she drew, she chattered on about the things she sketched and bombarded me with question after question. Since I found myself far more interested in my new friend than my work and was unable to say no to such a sweet face, I pushed my papers to the other side of the table and joined her. Soon we were joined by another little girl about her age. Her shiny blond curls were pulled into a low pony tail, and she wore a pink t-shirt covered in sequins and glitter. She was considerably more reserved than my new friend, but her smile smile was captivating once coaxed out of her. I pulled out another pen, ripped a page from my notepad, and she, too, began sketching away. Her first drawing was a picture of the three of us standing hand in hand under a big, bright sun. "You're the one with the big feet," she said.

Soon my cousins, brothers and sister joined us, crowding around the tiny little table. Apparently our coloring party was far more interesting than the boring adult drabble out in the main hall. DUH. We all took turns making absolute fools of ourselves for their amusement, and by this time both my new friends (The first, I now know, is my first cousin once removed's girlfriend's little sister. The second is my second cousin.) had lost all inhibition and completely devolved into silly giggle puddles.

We picked up a few more little ones as the night wore on, and my sister dove into her backpack to find more ways to amuse them. After all, my purse only holds so many pens. To their delight she pulled out two tiny tubs of Play-Doh, one green and one blue. The girls sculpted the dough into various animals and shapes before they decided that pounding it into the table was much more fun. At that point my little second cousin turned to my sister and asked her to use a plastic knife to cut the Play-Doh pancake into a heart.

Once the heart was safely back in her hands, she turned to me, handed me the knife, and said, "Now cut it in half!"

My sister, of course, immediately protested. I, however, couldn't say no. I mean, you should see this girl. "Precious" doesn't do her justice. Once I had my laughter in check, I carefully took the gooey heart and sliced it in two, right down the middle. I laid down the two pieces in front of her and carefully handed her the knife. She then proceeded to chop the heart into lots and lots of tiny little squares. My sister objected rather loudly.

"Heeeey! What are you doing that for?"

"Doing what?" she answered with a giggle. The kind that tells you she KNOWS she's cute.

"Chopping up my heart!"

"Becaaaause I liiiike it," she said mischeviously. Terribly pretty and frigidly cold. A heart-breaker in the making, I'm telling you.

"But I gave it to you special!"

"So?"

"I don't think that's very nice."

And then she turned to my sister rather matter-of-factly and unfurled a simple but profound response: "Well, then you shouldn't have given it to me!"

So there you have it. My plays remained ungraded and most of the drawings were snatched up as the girls' parents rounded them up to go home, but I gained some astute words of wisdom from a stinkin' adorable four-year-old girl that day: be careful who you give your heart to, because you never know who's going to chop it into little pieces just for fun. :)

P.S. I have a video. Be on the lookout.

seesaw.

You know, it's funny. I haven't posted on here much, though it's not for lack of trying. You see, I'm a perfectionist and I generally need a lot of time to write. Obviously my busy life isn't conducive to my ideal writing conditions. I have, however, tried to get in the habit of hopping on here to at least start a draft when I'm struck by something. And let me tell you, that has taken a lot of discipline. I HATE leaving things unfinished. It makes me feel so unproductive.

But here's the trouble: almost every time I return to finish a post, I find it's not relevant anymore. That happened to me today. I started a post just this afternoon, and now reading through it less than twelve hours later, I find that my thoughts and feelings have already changed. Knowing my unsteady, volatile heart, however, I'll probably be feeling that way again tomorrow. Or next week. Or maybe even a month from now. I have a tendency to bounce back and forth that way. A little like a seesaw.

Cute, eh? Credit

This flip-floppy inclination of mine makes things like planning for the future or healing my heart particularly trying. I'll be feeling great, confidently gliding along one day and then BAM! I crumble again. Or vice versa, of course. And you know, I'm shocked every time my inconsistent little heart does that erratic about-face of hers. Eh. One day I'll catch on.

sunshine.

I am absolutely sick of this awful, gloomy weather. Indiana winters are usually pretty merciless, but this is definitely one of the worst I can remember. And I've been here a long time. On top of the usual freezing, soul-numbing cold, we've been bombarded by several inches of solid ice and buried under what felt like an endless assault of snow. Of course now that it's finally time for the world to thaw, Mother Nature has to find a way to give that knife one final twist, and she sends a terrible thunderstorm (complete with tornados) that dumps so much rain on our poor little city that our streets, cars and houses flood with water and, in some rather unfortunate cases, sewage. Awesome.

Unfortunately it's been a harsh winter in more ways than one. So many people I know and love have been trudging through a lot of pain and disappointment in just the past couple weeks. We lost a member of our theatre family to leukemia. A 19-year-old girl from my friend's church died in a car accident near her school in Tampa. This week my grandparents rushed home from Arizona almost two months early to say their goodbyes to my 93-year-old great-grandfather who's in the hospital and suffering from dementia. All this on top of the usual broken hearts and everyday disappointments seems to be a little more than any of us can take. I'm thinking we could all use a healthy dose of sunshine.

As rough as the past few months have been, I know that a lot of good has come out of it, too. It's all encouraged me to slow down and remember just how blessed I am. Cliche, I know, but it's true. Usually I'm such a perfectionist and so goal-driven that I rob myself of so much. I'm so focused on the future that I miss out on the moment. I'm so focused on fixing the flaws that I don't see the beauty of the whole. Lately, though, I've been taking the time to pause and revel in the beauty around me. The quiet strength, perseverance and loving nature of the incredible people I'm surrounded with absolutely fill me. Those quiet moments where I recognize just how blessed I am to have such incredible people in my life have been my makeshift sunshine for the past few weeks.

Now don't get me wrong, I am still anxiously awaiting the day I can swap out my sweaters for sundresses, but I'm so thankful that I'm learning to cherish the blessings in my life. For as we all know too well, midwest weather is volatile at best. My fabulous friends, however, will stick with me whether we're walking through snow, sewage or nice green grass. Nothing's better than that. :)

just thoughts.

Following J's adventures in France and C's misadventures in this charming college town of ours has moved me to start a blog of my own. Just a place for random thoughts when I'm feeling inspired, I suppose.

We'll see what it turns into... :)