Learning to lose

"The Art of Losing isn't hard to master."
No,
it's easy to lose.
Set your keys down and they appear somewhere else.
It's not losing that is hard -
it's admitting that you've lost.

That you've lost your phone,
lost the word
the thought
the name
your mind, memories
yourself.
To admit you've lost means to find defeat.

defeat in ever finding her again.
defeat in the idea of looking into her eyes and say -
there she is.
there's my companion,
mother,
friend.
defeat means knowing  to give up.

give up on the hope of progress
give up on the idea of sanity
give up until you run out of things to lose
give up until you can admit you're lost.
until you can admit your loss.

"the Art of Losing isn't hard to master."
Perhaps not, Elizabeth Bishop.
But learning it - that is the disaster.

Searching for Her

Where is she -
the girl I once was.
Did I give her away as I opened up?
Sharing everything, every thought;
she was selfish.
Where did she go?
Did I love too much-
until she learned to break?

I remember alone,
I remember happy - self-sufficient.
Was that so bad?

The lost child, the lonely child
Never the scared child.

Where is she?
If I try hard enough will I find she's still in me?

Do I want to find her?
Become her again?
Am I  happy with who I am now?
Who I might become?

But where is she?

A Letter to Me - A Letter to You

Strength.

We work so hard - pump iron, run for miles, swim until our skin is blue, all in the name of becoming stronger.

We fall in love, we create friendships, we put ourselves out there and are rejected constantly; all because we know "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Here's a secret about strength -  it never goes away. When we are young we are strong. Some of us develop this strength sooner than others, but we fall and we rise and we fall again, each time learning to be faster when we get back up.

This strength does not leave. You are always strong, but sometimes you're scared to be strong. Sometimes it is easier to say, "I can't do this, I'm not strong enough" and the world will admit you are weak. You can lean on the people around you until you find your strength again. And this is good.

The problem is when you forget that you are always strong. The problem is when you believe your strength only comes from the people around you. This is when you are weak.

You are weakest when you only know yourself through others. You are weakest when you can only be if the people around you create you. You are weakest when you cease to exist without people. You carry a strength inside you always - you are weakest when  you forget this.

But this is hard to remember. It's easier to lean on others than to admit you can stand alone. But you have to. If you can't stand by yourself then there is no reason to stand at all. You have to build your own strength, push yourself to do the extra mile, a few more minutes, to stand back up. And you can do it.

It's hard. Nothing is harder than believing. But you can do it - you will do it. Force yourself to forget about the snooze button, to put down the phone, to smile at a stranger. Force yourself until it is habit. Find your strength and force it to grow. Then maybe, one day, another person will lean on you and you can support them until they too realize it's time to find their strength again. Grow and share what you have done, how you've learned. Grow until the whole world is strong.

Training to run

I don't run.

I will walk, I will skip, I will crawl if I have to; but I don't run. Except for lately.

Now I find myself running all the time. Running from people who care, running from bills and every fear I have, running from myself. I'm exhausted and have no calf definition to show for all of my efforts. I run from my emotions, quite sure that if I keep going they won't catch up. I won't have the time to stop and think and find myself more lost than I've ever been. At least, if I keep running, it will look like I know my destination.

But my brain is faster and definitely used to moving quickly. Fueled by caffeine and anxiety, it races ahead of me - taunting me. I watch as it easily hops from conclusion to conclusion, the entire time I grow weaker. It's pointless to fight. It's impossible to escape. At every turn my brain is there, showing me ideas I don't want to see - ideas that terrify me and make me fall apart. But that cannot be my brain's goal.

The brain is a part of me, if I fall apart so does it. We need each other to survive...so perhaps I am in training. With actual non-metaphorical running your muscles are weak until they fall apart, but over time they grow stronger. They rebuild and are able to face any challenge - it's only a matter of time. Maybe I am in training.

Maybe I am learning to fall apart and break in order to build myself up and be stronger. Soon these ideas will just be hurdles that I fly over. Soon I will run for hours, brain in my head, and we will work together to face any challenge. We can do this, my brain and me. And this time, we have something to run toward.

You are My Sunshine: a Search for Understanding

Maybe the point of falling is to teach you to get back up. Maybe the purpose of losing is to teach you how to celebrate a triumph. Maybe the point of hurting is to teach you how to heal and maybe the purpose of goodbye is to remind you to cherish every hello.

There once was a couple who wished for a child. They prayed every night for a joyous little boy and every morning they woke to an empty crib. The world saw the grief this couple held and pitied them.

To the sun she cried, "Brother sun, it is I sister earth. See this family, so lost and in the dark, give them light - a bit of sunshine to hold onto."

Moved by the earth's pleas and the cries of the couple the sun agreed. That night, after the couple had gone to bed, the sun began to flare and collected his energy forming it into the shape of a small child. At sunrise the couple awoke and there they found him; their sunshine, the answer to their lost cause, their forever.

And I wish, dear reader, that this was the end of the story. I wish that the couple lived a life full of light, love, and sunshine. But we are told to write what we know and not what we wish. And I know too much about how this story ends, so I choose not to write the ending, but rather the middle.

In the middle, the sunshine boy was loved. Though the couples love for one another died, the little boy was never without love. His family encouraged him to grow and flourish and his light shined on the world. He was a boy filled with courage, laughter, music, and joy. All of which poured out from him and into everyone he encountered. He made friends with strangers and fiercely loved the familiar.

Though made of the sun, he was a child in every way. He played, he cried, he napped, he made turtles out of green beans and told silly jokes – which only caused his light to grow. He shined with such power that even now, with all of the darkness in ending, his light warms those who hold his memory. We are filled with his love continuously and he won’t let go. The boy was and shall forever be in every hug, smile, and laugh shared among people. The sun may set, but it is never completely gone – simply shinning somewhere else.

Maybe we are given questions so we can celebrate certainty. Maybe we are given tears to remind us to appreciate the smile. Maybe we get lost to teach us to love every moment we know where we are – and maybe we are given darkness. We are given darkness to turn our faces to the light.

Find Me

It's funny how quickly, in times of pain, you can lose sight of who you are. During these past six months she's watched her mother disappear into a stranger. A rare sighting of the woman she once knew leads to hope, a path that can only be followed by sorrow. But she was so distracted watching her stranger mother, that she hadn't noticed. She hadn't been able to watch herself become someone else - and now the stranger lived in her.

"Who is this new person? This woman who is so unsure, unmotivitated, and damn emotional?"

She wasn't fully aware of her possession until she found herself bawling over a diaper commercial. And suddenly she knew, this was not the person she saw in the mirror each morning...or maybe that person was no longer her. Maybe the body she saw reflected back was hers, but barely. Now it belonged to someone who was lost and searching for anything to hold onto, searching for anyone to hold her.

"Find me," she prays silently, "find me here, waiting and hoping. Find me and carry me away from all of this mess. Find me and find the one in me who is strong. Find the me that can continue to suffer without crumbling.. Find me."

Every day she pleas to the universe, to the trees, to the traffic. Every day she whispers it to the dogs passing by, the children laughing, to the clouds that fall. Every day he prays this to God, she prays this to her friends, to the world; to herself. She screams, she cries, she laughs, she keeps silent and prays. Knowing one day, one day she will be found.

This is how it feels to try

I hold an ocean inside me.
I feel it pushing against my skin, pulsing, crashing, swirling.
There is a storm inside me and the walls are crumbling.


I am crumbling.
My walls are falling down and my body falls apart.
I am drowning from the inside, but I'll tell you I'm fine.
That I can wait it out.


"In the eye of the hurricane there is quiet"-
on the outside I am the eye,
but there is a storm inside that I cannot keep at bay.
I feel the waves in my veins destroying me.
But I'll tell you I'm ok.


Tears are salt water
they relive the storm, allow the waves to crash-
but I don't have enough to show.
The walls are high, turning to sand but I can't let go.


I don't ask for assistance,
I don't rely on others to sand bag against the rolling sea-
and yet my hand tries to stretch out,
the only barrier is me.


I am 99% ocean and 1% human.
I am drowning from the inside.

imagery

In front of me,
white-blank-endless possibilities.
Yet, to fill the emptiness I need ideas. I need thoughts.
I need to know where I'm going next.
It's hard to know where you're going when it's endless-
space for any future.

here I could make a boat.

Wide stern, made of polished wood.

a sail boat, elegant, slicing through the cool waters.

the sail pregnant with wind, pink in the early sun.

turn your face to the sun,lose yourself in the spray.

here is a boat.

And here, here is fresh bread.

the crust smooth, buttery, and warm.

inside the bread is a porous world of air.

every bite is light and filled with a home.

created now, in the nothingness is bread.

But here, here can I create me?
5'6" with ever changing hair
 eyes that are not 100% of one color.

Here-

can I bring myself to life here?

spunky, wild, and ever moving.

Or maybe I am here?

maybe this is my spot.

though I don't quite fit.



do I sand down my edges?

erase some lines-recreate connection?



it's easy to create a boat.
floats into the brain.

bread is easy to imagine,

often shown on TV.

but me?

how do I create me?

A Map of Being Lost

"You are here."

But where is here, oh yellow dot? Where is that pinpoint that you so helpfully highlighted? Perhaps where you are, on the map, you know where here is. Perhaps you understand the meaning of the squiggly lines and topographical designs. If this is true then you are the only one. You are the only one who knows what it means to be here.

The only one who knows...that seemed to be the theme of her life. How many other people had been in this exact situation? How many other single, only children of divorce had to help their mother struggle with dementia? If there were any she didn't know them and if there were any she wasn't sure she wanted to meet them.

"You are here, no one else is. Sucky time to not know how to read a map."

She was pretty sure that had been the right direction. She thought for sure that she had been heading south and was definitely headed toward an exit. However, the new "you are here" dot seemed to disagree. Somehow she was further in the woods and had three options to choose from. Most people would take this moment to make a Robert Frost joke and go merrily on their way, but she had a mission. She was determined to understand the map. After five minutes of intense staring she realized that it is not merely enough to just stare at the map and hope for divine intervention,one must have some idea of where to start. The only thing she understood now was that she was lost, but that was her normal. Being sure, that was the unusual.

"Ironic, I'm more lost than ever, but I've found myself at least a thousand times."

She had found herself sharing feelings and thoughts with people, a place she had never been before. Suddenly she was opening up about why she was angry, sad, or crying. Other people were helping to carry her burden. Never had she found herself here before, she put down a flag.

She found herself admitting defeat. When the disease began to change the memories in her mother's head she didn't fight it. She didn't offer up corrections or try to remind her mother of the truth; there are some battles you will always lose. She knew that now and she marked that lesson with a flag.

She found herself to be a mother; the most interesting of accidental discoveries. Here she was, 23 and a mother of a 55 year old. Suddenly she was the one with the power, the wisdom and the pocketbook. She scheduled doctor appointments, bought clothing, discussed housing and financial aid with a committee of people looking to help her make the best choices. She picked up this new baggage and marked its arrival with a flag.

She found herself lost. Not the familiar lost where she physically had no clue of where to go; no, this was new and different and it crushed her. In this lost there wasn't a constant fear, in fact if she was busy or distracted it was easy to give in, just ask Alice how comfortable it is in Wonderland. Its easy for those who wonder to forget they are lost. But then it would hit her again. She would remember and the world lost it's color. She had found herself lost and she had never been more scared. 

This time there was no flag.

The marker -

A disheartened figure,  beaten by the rain.

Clocks Make the Best Metaphors

Submit

Its funny, how often clocks are used in stories. Perhaps they are a metaphor for a person's life or a tool used to show days going by in a movie, the hands rapidly circling the face. But this clock has no face. Only black and white numbers flipping with every passing minute. This clock, the one that shows the date, the time, and the day of the week, is not special. It's not a talking clock that helps the subject understand some life lesson, it does not sing or dance in a french castle. The only aspect of this clock that makes it special is its name.

Brand New Alzheimer's Clock!

• Brand new Alzheimer's clock for sale. 
• Date, Time, and Day
• Only $59.99

"I have to buy it, The Mother needs it" she thought to herself, hoping that if she ignored the name it would indeed, simply be a clock.

In that moment she wasn't sure what was more strange: calling her mom "The Mother" or buying a clock for this stranger her mom had become. She decided it was the later and put in her credit card information.

The clock itself was not the issue. In fact, she had thought about buying herself one as well, but on further reflection realized that was why she had a cell phone. No, it was not the clock's fault that its presence made her want to cry, but rather its very crude and obvious name. Alzheimer's clock...why would they name it that? Its bad enough that the family has to deal with the Alzheimer's or any other form of dementia, bu then to name the clock after the disease. That was the horrific part.

She stared at the order form in her inbox and the name teased her, reminding her of the reality that had not yet sunk in. It was easier when she could blame the medication, the seizures, the broken shoulders, or anything other than her own mother's brain. But the dreadfully named clock being shipped to her made it clear; time could not go backward and neither could her mother's mind.

Her mother's mind, much like the old antique clocks one finds on a mantle in their grandmother's house, was frozen. There was no room for new minutes or new hours, time would not go on. New memories would not be marked with the cheerful ticking of a second hand...there was nowhere for them to go.

A Story in Progress, part one. Braided essay format.

She had lost it.

Similar to the way one looses her keys or her hat; she had forgotten. It was as if she had set it down, only for a moment, turned away at the call of her name...only to find it gone. She didn't lose it on purpose, she hadn't even been aware she was at risk of losing it, but here she was and it was gone.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster 

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. 

The art of losing isn’t hard to master. 

Elizabeth Bishop knew how it was. How easy it is to lose all the things that you hold onto as if your life depends on them. This isn't a new experience for our subject, she lost things every minute. But this time there was no one to help her find what was lost. No one knew how she had lost it and no one understood where it could have gone. Much like the keys set down on a table. Poof. As if they never existed. 

"Keys, where are my keys?"

"I'll look, give me your purse. Give me your purse! Let me look. It's faster if I do it."

Her daughter had long ago stopped playing the game. When she had been little they would laugh about how quickly items disappeared in the house. They would joke and blame the dog, blame the elves, blame the angels. But eventually the truth was found and continued to show up during the searches. The truth was, the items weren't lost. They were forgotten. And this caused fear in her daughter's heart. 

Growing up doesn't cause children to lose faith in magic.

No, it's the presence of reality sinking in

opening their eyes to the truth.

Truth drives out the magic-

emptying them .

It is important to note some children empty faster than others.

This is Why No One Writes Songs About Being 23

"What do you want?"
"What can I get you?"
"What are you doing?"
"What are you looking for?"
"What things are you interested in for your future?"


I'm 23 and these are the five questions that are controlling my life. Lately this is how I've been answering them.


"A sandwich."
"That sandwich."
"Watching my life fall apart at the hands of fate."
"A nice billionaire who can allow me to not have to make big life altering decisions that will haunt me forever...or a nice, funny, cute guy."
"I just need a job, okay? I can't think about the next hour without needing to find the nearest couch and roll into a ball; don't ask about my future."


Or at least that is how I would answer them if my life was a teen movie/sitcom and I was the quirky, loudmouth girl who says everything that pops into her head. But its not. This is not a Netflix comedy and my answers mean something; so why can't I think of any?


The first people I blame are adults. The ones who say "You can be anything you want if you work hard enough."


This is not true. Here's a list of everything I can't be no matter how hard I try.

1. Any animal that's not a human
2. An act of nature; storms, cloud, etc.
3. An type of plant life
4. A priest

And lastly, a mathematician.


Look parents, past teachers, and strangers on the street! Right there! There are five things I cannot be, so lets stop telling people that they can be anything. But, I know this isn't all your fault.


Most of the blame falls on my head.


I believed you. I seriously thought that if I worked hard enough I could be anything...and believing that made me imagine every possibility so that I no longer know which path to take. There are too many roads untraveled, I want the one that will make the difference. But it has to be the right difference.


I need to know which path will lead to happiness, to success, to my own personal utopia. There are just too many paths, too many possible dead ends that I'm scared to even choose left or right.


I'm 23. I've reached what I used to consider "adulthood." I'm supposed to be running my life and know all the answers, at least that's what I used to believe, so why am I constantly being questioned. Why am I constantly plagued by questions? When does it get easier? How long are people so unsure? And lastly what...is your quest?

Icarus

Am I throwing myself off a cliff?
Diving into this unknown...but what is known is there is no safety net at the bottom of this jump. There is no hand stretched out to guide and save me. This is all on me. Have I melted all the wax off of my wings? Have I been to the sun and now I fall into the water, flames embracing my body? Or have I not gone far enough...does space still wait for me. If I jump - is it possible I'll do more than float, but I could fly. I could climb, soaring into the stars, the clouds, the air.



I'm running. I'm fleeing. I need to escape, to cut myself free. I need to jump.

And suddenly it's all new.

The world is color I have never seen.
Grass fresh from under the snow,
Light too bright to love, to warm to despise.

Suddenly I am new.

I am flying and falling all at once,
terrified to be so excited.
Excited to feel so strongly.

I float until I accelerate.
Entering a new.

What's in a legacy?

Hamilton, every good blog that even has the word theater in it has a Hamilton post right? 

Alexander Hamilton came to America knowing what he wanted; he was going to write his way out of poverty and create a legacy. Guess who knew what his number one talent was and how to use it to be successful?  "Alexander Hamilton, my name is Alexander Hamilton."

But what about us? The founding people of the United States of America, circa 2017? How do we reach success? Most of us have gone to liberal arts schools and have a number of talents we could use in our life, which do we pick? Which skill is going to help me get my face on a piece of money or Lin Manuel Miranda to write a play about me?

As I finished the application, aforementioned in my last blog, I found myself wondering...what if I'm wrong?

What if I shouldn't be a communication major who loves theater? What if my skills aren't natural enough, not good enough? What if with this click of the submit I'm ruining my life? Did I throw away my shot?

Currently I'm a daycare teacher and a pretty good one if you ask the right people. What if this is where my legacy lies? But here's the thing about legacies; they out live you. You never know if your legacy is going to be successful because you'll be dead by the time it's created.

"A garden you never get to see." I don't know a lot about gardening, but the few I have had I've planted a thousand seeds and hoped for one to grow. I have it wrong now...a legacy isn't just about one skill, 

Alexander Hamilton knew he was a good writer, but he didn't limit himself to only writing. He led troops, he worked in office, he raised children. He did not have only one shot. He had many that he never threw away. He looked at them all without fear, wearing his glasses, and he faced them. 

If you want to create a legacy then the only thing you can't do is limit yourself. You aren't given one specific skill, one perfect seed that will bloom into the perfect flower. A garden isn't one flower, it's a thousand working together to create something beautiful. 

I've planted my legacy as a teacher, it's time to add onto this garden. It's time to make it flourish and more beautiful. Maybe these new seeds won't grow into anything, but what kind of gardener would I be if I didn't take a risk?

(I would be Aaron Burr, that's the answer).

Photo Credit:

Hamilton: https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/473311-im-not-throwing-away-my-shot

 Legacy by Grrrenadine.deviantart.com on @DeviantArt

Embrace the Joy

Today I started something that terrifies me to no end. Today, I started a job application.

Now, I have no idea if I am qualified for this job. I don't know if I stand a chance at getting this job, I don't even know if I want this job. But for some reason I need this job.

The moment I saw there was an opening I knew. I knew I at least had to apply, I had to throw myself off that cliff, even if I don't have wings.

Not a lot makes people feel this way anymore, but when you find an experience, an idea, a thought that makes you want to sing and throw up at the same time - go for it. Grab that feeling and use it as a parachute if you fall. Grab that feeling and let it help you grow wings, you might fly.

So much of the world will tell you to be practical, stay with your feet on the ground. A plethora of voices will scream at you to embrace your fear and let it weigh you down...but those voices are always there. They aren't rare or hard to find, don't hold onto them.

No! Hold tight to your hope, hold onto your nerves, and your excitement. Let your happiness fill you, because at least, if even for a moment you will have been happy. There's nothing worse than knowing you could have had joy and letting it pass you by, don't watch it leave. Embrace it. Consume it.

Today I started something that scares the hell out of me and I have never been more excited to witness the end.