Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Hipsters United.

I used to be a music snob.

I never listened to pop.
Only the newest songwriters and bands with the most abstract ideas and peculiar melodies.

Bonnaroo of 2010 was epic, I would boast.
Now the hipster trendiness of the music scene that haunts Nashville on every offset avenue, I just can’t take it.

Something about the too-cool-for-school demeanor, it irks me.
I’m over it.

Yes I still love the beats, lyrics and musicality of a good band but I guess you could say I’m over the whole “scene”. The completely unnecessary listing off of my Itunes collection just to make a point about myself.

Feels good to be real.

The Golden Gem

Peace Talks.

What are they?
Why do they exist?
Why isn’t peace just part of regular talk?

It’s like we just polish that word onto something official to make it mean something, to give it spizazz. It reminds me of polish you might paint on a wooden fence to make it shine so all your neighbors become jealous.

I wish I had a glowing fence, they all disclose with their eyes, all sad and swollen. 
Just standing, staring. And then the wishes evolve into demands.
A demand for newness.
A plea for the latest and the best.

When did peace become such a rarity?
A golden gem among the gritty nature of mankind.
The thought sickens me.
And I am stifled by it.
Curbed by my disparity.
Plagued by my innocence.

But craving it more than ever.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

The Transport

I love movement.
Like, LOVE it.

A much-needed walk after a day of sitting at work.
Moving in a car, watching the trees fly fast in green blurs outside the window.

Movement of all kinds- it is beautiful. 
And I need it DAILY.

I feel like God is actively breathing air into my lungs whenever I am in motion. Like He is blowing up a balloon, preparing me for something big.

I also love listening to movement in music. There's nothing like hearing a progressive build-up that transports the listener with its every millisecond of sound toward something huge and then blows up at the end.

I love movement in life.
Moving toward people.

Something about being in action toward something else, or someone else... that’s powerful. 
That’s what we were made for, I think.


This whole yoga thing is really something else.
It genuinely and indisputably has changed me.
Moving me into deeper layers of my breath. 
My bones. 
My being.

For a long time, I would always admire yoga from the shoreline. Just standing, staring. Pointing my finger and “ooh-ing” and “aw-ing” with a smile as wide as the ocean itself.

I would watch her swim out to the deep blue colors of the water, resisting the urge to yell out and save her, tell her to come back in to avoid the sharks.

She never seemed to listen or look back, anyway.

She would swim for miles and miles. She would float underneath the sun, all of her skin being warmed by its breath. Kissed by its fire.

My toes dig deeper into the sand, its grainy texture melting to my skin.
I can’t take my eyes off of her.

She is bold.
She is brilliant.
She is calm.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Memory Lane

My mother’s veins pop out at her hands. 
Like blue channels of water on the way to join the river. 

Mine do that too. Whenever I see them, I think of her. As a kid, I would see her hands like that and get nervous. Why did this happen to her? It didn’t seem normal. Now I laugh at the thought.

We had a white picket fence around the front of our house growing up, like the kind people talk about when they jokingly, or not-so-jokingly, refer to the "Modern American Home". 

2.5 kids.
A dog.
A white picket fence.
You know... like that.

My favorite was in the spring when flowers of all kinds would erupt all around the fence and really, all over the yard. It was like heaven just appeared out of nowhere in every color and shape. Every petal and stem. I think it glittered everyone’s eyelids up a bit as we breathed in all this new color.

When I started getting more into long-distance running after high school (before I was strictly a hard-nosed sprinter, never willing to run more than a mile at a time), I would get lost in the lap after lap around my neighborhood. The uneven pavement became an adventure for me as I was forced to keep watch of my feet like a new parent to their first-born, making sure I wouldn't journey to the ground and cause a scene.

I loved seeing dogs out on my run. The ones that really knew how to play, never running out of energy or spazz. Always keeping their owner on their toes. Sometimes I felt like the owner being dragged by my spirit, unable to keep it on a leash. My spirit like the dogs, never running out of energy or spazz.

One family on the back side of the neighborhood loop had a tire swing. 
The kind you just can't resist, no mater how old you are. 

Once a friend pushed me in it, higher than EVER, and then stood admiring her strength as she forgot to realize there was a tree a little too close to the swing on my way back. I saw it in her eyes once she became aware of its existence, but at this point, I was flying full-speed and about to slam into the tree. 

I did.
And we laughed for hours on end.
It’s fun to get a hurt a little bit. 
Good for you, I think.

I used to chase after my brothers and their friends yelling “Sohn” and “Sames”. I don’t necessarily remember struggling with my J’s, but for some reason, I just couldn’t get their names down for some while. 

My brothers played a lot of basketball growing up. And that ball would beat against the backboard long into the night as they practiced their “fakes” and all-star free throw shots. It was a comforting sound in a way. You always knew they were having fun as they fine-tuned their skills, making accuracy and detail their very best friends.

One brother took pride in his coaching skills and taught me a few things. I must say, when parents would watch my 10-year old self suddenly “fake someone out” on the church basketball court, they all had the same thought- She has older brothers.

I took pride in that.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

The Tantrum of the Wild

I like watching how people choose to parent their kids. Maybe it’s the babysitter in me. I don’t know, there’s just something about it that’s really intriguing to me. 

Some choose to reprimand their child’s every move, their finger pointed as straight as the nose on Pinocchio, eyes wide with aggression, naming all forms of consequence with the ultimate stare of death. 

Others simply gaze silently as they wait for their child to calm down, trying desperately to distract themselves with anything and everything in sight. I always wonder what’s going on in their heads at that moment. Are they counting? Cursing? Probably both.

But what's even more interesting to me is the way a toddler releases emotion- whether it’s anger, sadness, or joy. It reveals tiny pieces of their personality, I think. Do they scream for attention? Cry for help? Or giggle uncontrollably to the moon and back?

Sometimes I wish adults could candidly wail in church or scream at Starbucks. 
There is freedom found in expression. 
Raw expression.

The tantrum of a child, something never meant to be fully understood.
Just envied.

Just a Walk

I decide to walk to Kroger instead of drive. My feet crave the pounding against pavement. I need a closer look at the trees on my street.

Best decision ever made.

Nothing has changed, really. The same twin cats sit on my neighbor’s porch, so relaxed it makes you wonder if they are still breathing. The same boring brick house sits passively on the corner, relaxed just like the cats. Watching the cars go by in all shapes and colors.

Yet this walk gives me a newfound energy, the kind of energy that vitamins and caffeine simply fail to supply. The kind of energy that makes me feel untouchable.

My spirit sings.
My heart beats loudly.
I really do love this neighborhood.

The Cave

Something about being talked down to in a sympathetic tone, I just can’t deal with.
It cuts a whole in me.
I am like an empty cave with an end that never comes.

I wander nervously through this cave within myself, uneasy and fragile, desperately trying not to wake anything hiding away in the corners.

I feel small.
Like a child... in the needy sort of way.