Whistful

What I really want in my life is to have a room full of children, and be able to teach them anything I want.

This room is large, clean, and contemporary, with high ceilings and artsy lighting. I would teach them about art, english, music, God. We would start together when they are in first grade, and I would move with them over the years.

My role in their lives would change. I would begin as part-time caregiver and babysitter, then gradually move to teacher, then coach, then mentor, and eventually peer. These children would become much, MUCH smarter than I am.

On the weekends, I get to travel and share my art. I have a husband who makes considerable amounts of money, enough that I don't feel guilty for spending my time doing fickle things like art and music. We go to a phenomenal church that has incredible worship music, and I know everyone by name.

We were married for 8 years before we decided to have children... as we decided to travel as much as possible before we had kids. We go to galas and art shows, theatre, opera, coffee shops, book stores, and to zillions of movies. We drive awesome cars.

I have friends of all types. Intellectual conversations are had by all, as well as many, many laughs. We drink white wine with dinner (which I am hosting. with the apron.)

I have connections, and therefore have dinner at nice restaurants and always get in right away. I go to New York to see my sister in a play. Holiday events are always lovely (although we are more than ready to go home after being with the in-laws for so long.) We play cards.

Terrible things happen, as they tend to in life. Disappointments, hard decisions, and sadness can be found often. But these situations turn to beauty, as they are used to glorify my creator. Sometimes the sweetest things come from pain.

In this future, change doesn't terrify me. We move the furniture often, and I feel refreshed.
Fear doesn't hold me back. I go to the gym without feeling dumb. I take chances.
I let people in. No more walls.
Insecurities melt, and I am humble.
and NEVER perfect, thank God.

In this future, I have learned from my mistakes and forgiven myself. There is no guilt in my conversations with God. I smile freely and laugh easily.

I sing to my children as they fall asleep.

Florescent Futures

I have this weird thing where I see situations in colors.

Memories form into different color palates, generally highly evocative of the mood or feeling I have towards such memory. That is to say, memories of middle school appear under florescent lighting against stark backgrounds and unfriendly shades of beige and navy. Memories of summer are warm and vibrant and contrasting in colors. When I think about uncomfortable conversations, I color them with cool colors and empty spaces. Time spent in the company of friends generally takes on blues and oranges.

This bizarre habit is what, I believe, has allowed me to manipulate colors into moods on canvas. It also has turned me into a freak about lighting. I HATE when there are harsh overhead lights and no warm lamps or natural lighting. The florescent travesties found in PE gyms, office buildings, and doctors' offices immediately affect my mood.

I therefore, see my future in shades of colors. Understandably, I have dismissed with ease the idea of working anywhere with office lighting. There are deeper reasonings behind this as well, of course, but this is the one that comes quickest to mind.

And when I imagine myself happy as a music teacher, I see my classroom with warm lighting, christmas lights, sophisticated paintings, posters of composers smiling and vibrant xylophones sitting against the wall. There are silly and happy things, such as bean bag chairs and magnets on the board saying "Never never never give up!" I am laughing with the children in my classroom, playing the guitar with happy faces singing along.

Now, I realize fully that colorfully painted xylophones, posters, and specific lighting are not what will bring me happiness in my job. But when I imagine gray walls, harsh lighting, children with overly pale faces and greasy hair, the room too large and unwelcoming... I begin to panic. I picture myself standing at the chalk board, writing out scales and enthusiastically encouraging children to participate. I swallow hard, no one responds.

When I picture my future in this lighting, buried fears spin out of control. Without the happy colors, I realize that I may be inadequate for this career path, that I am having to work twice as hard as everyone around me, that I will not be paid anything at all, that I will never marry due to my plaguing unhappiness, that I will regret every decision I've made since high school for the rest of my life. I clearly should have been a chemist. Certainly I would be happy in my science lab, filled with cool blues and beakers that reflect the light in interesting ways and crisp and clean lab coats.

I'm fully aware that this is a poor way to make life decisions... but still.

I should probably just be an artist.

Jedi mind tricks

I do not find myself to be an incredibly influential person. On the average day, I probably come into contact with, oh, 34-102 people, depending on my day's activities. If I'm at work, I will greet and serve caffeine-starved customers. If I'm going to class, I will participate with the other students and ask questions of my teachers. I'll see people working at front desks of dorms, behind counters in the dining center, perhaps I'll say hi to someone on my way from here to there.

Random thoughts that come to mind bing around cyberspace, via the various social networks of our time, and perhaps a certain amount of fellow socialites will read them, maybe even agree. Maybe I'll make eye contact with the person next to me at a stoplight, maybe I'll get pulled over and talk to a not-so-friendly lady cop. I'll see a friend in the grocery store, or recognize the guy at starbucks taking my order too often because I just can't help myself.

These relationships range heavily from momentary glances at mere acquaintances, to hours spent on-end with the ones closest to me, having conversations that are general earned through time and love. The bonds between humans spring up everywhere, spider webbing into a mess of hello's, may I help yous, stop its, see yous, nice day isn't its, bye byes, hahas, and I love yous. Yet I don't find my personal self to be incredibly influential. Nobody reads about my life in magazines, names libraries after me, or thinks, "by-golly. good thing that Lindsey was around to save the day!"But it still matters. I still talk to 34-102 people a day. The way I choose to present myself to those around me can affect their mood, their attitude, their outlook on their own day. Kindness is contagious. And so are curses, angry gestures, and rude remarks.

I wake up on the average morning at about a 6 on a scale of one to a great mood. Generally, I believe that each day has the potential to be a really good day, but I let myself rely on others to propel me towards 10 or let me sink to one. I have this terrible knack for soaking up what other people are feeling around me, allowing their disheartenment, anger, and stress leak into my thoughts. Some days I feel like an air-hockey puck... just cruisin along in my straight little line, until someone gently taps me and I go spinning off into some other direction.

I have been learning lately to control this. I have began to understand that I cannot let others dominate the way I feel, that I have to be confident enough and strong enough to stay centered in myself. To not find my joy based on my circumstances. As I have been reaching this realization, my eyes have also been opened to the way I affect others. I have become increasingly aware of my power... not my social prowess or my jedi-mind tricks... but rather the way my smiles can turn someone else's day towards 10.

It's so easy to run around in a fog so concentrated on self, mentally ticking off lists of tasks thinking about nothing but the end goal. It is important to look around.

opera and juice boxes.

I feel as though I am growing older. Wearing glasses, watches, necklaces from boyfriends. Always having my car keys, room keys, debit card, credit card. College ID, driver's license. Textbooks, smart phone, forwarded emails. Sift through literature, listen to opera, work at multiple jobs. Argue about politics, write about religion, read everything uncensored. Listen to the news, think about the suffering. Have a fight, kiss and make up. Be a role model, use spell check, print resumes on nice paper. Own sensible heels, pencil skirts, sweaters, and dress pants. Appreciate poetry, chat with scholars, build relationships. Think about your future. Think about it more. Write about it. Write 20 pages on anything. Budget money, make money, spend money. Regret. Depression. Organization. Poise. Drive. Passion. Professionalism. Older.

I feel as though I am regressing. Taking multiple naps, watching Disney at night, eating lunchables whenever. Juice boxes seem like fantastic ideas. Carry backpack, wear tennies, jammies, and scrunchies. Wear rainboots when it's drippy out, keep your fuzzy socks dry. Vegetables are yucky. Ask your teachers zillions of questions, because it just seems too hard. Laugh. Feel pretty. Like to be kissed on the forehead, have my hair brushed, wear bows, be taken care of. Taken to the doctor. Daddy buys me paints. Block the world from sight, shut the window, watch a kid's movie. Hug the pillow. Sing do re me and play kum bay ya. Tee tee ta. Make funny faces at people in cars. Be told what to do, again, and again. Giggles. Curious. Fear. Slow down. Uncertainty. Slouch. Trust. Regress. 

Life's colors are deeper and more complex than anticipated. 

Questions from little-girl-me.

Alas, it is January third. You know what that means?! High schoolers have to go back to school. Bahaha. But you know what ELSE this means?! It's my birthday! Hooray, I am 19 years old! Not really sure what good this does me... but cool nonetheless. I'll always take another year. Birthdays are good for you, ya know? The more you have, the longer you live.

And really, in another quick year, I will be 20. Hmm. Am I prepared to be 20 years old? Have I lived enough life to qualify as someone in their twenties? Will I simply blink and my early twenties will have flashed by, and suddenly I'm 25? What will my life look like when I'm 25? Will I have a degree? Will I be married? Will I be a trapeze artist somewhere in South America? Will I have hosted SNL yet? Will someone have named a statue after me? Will I be pedaling hot dogs in New York City? Will I have turned into Liz Lemon?!? so many questions! But I'm getting a big ahead of myself now, aren't I?


I wish I could talk to little-girl-me and tell her what her life is going to look like when she is 19. I'm sure she would have been beyond excited to know. She would ask me what it feels like to drive... whether or not it is strange to look at the road from the other side of the car. She would have asked if I feel cool getting up in the morning and putting on makeup. She would ask me how I knew I wanted to go to college, and why I decided not to go to beauty school, be a real-estate appraiser, be a nurse so I could use a stethoscope, write children's books, or do any of the other zillions of things I wanted to do when I was young. She would want to know why my hair is so big and curly, seeing as I've had naturally stick straight and ridiculously flat hair my entire life. She'd ask about my boyfriend, my professors, my job, the rings I wear, the height I am, the purse I carry, and all the other things that seem so foreign and far away to a little girl. She would want to know if I felt like a grown-up yet.

I would have so very much to tell her.

I think these kinds of things ALL the time. Like, how if someone had told me last summer that this is what my life would look like by winter, I would have just peed my pants. If they had thrown in the details of all the seemingly impossible hoops I would jump through, particularly in school but also in relationships, I don't know whether I would have mustered up the courage to go through with it. Makes the future seem kind of uncertain, doesn't it?

Life is so very funny in that way. Time speeds by, racing through twists and turns and colors mixing into memories and REM cycles and years spent waiting in lines, people entering and leaving a busy building, some bustling their way to wherever else they need to be while others stay close, revolving around as though attracted by a magnet. Cars and phones and TVs and fashions and news stories fade in and out, flickering in the background and out of focus. Moments seem frozen, highlighted by fear, or nerves, or adrenaline, or laughter, or love, or goosebumps and fireworks.

The minutes go by slowly... yet the years escape quickly and unnoticed.

January One

This morning, the world woke up to a brand new year. I always like the idea of a whole new number to be used whilst recording dates. How exciting, right, to be able to use "11" at the end of a six digit date at the corners of papers. That hasn't been done in, what, 100 years? And writing out 2011, well that's just something else entirely.

Oh yes, I love a new year just as much as anybody else.

However, I have never been one for resolutions... And I will tell you why: the idea is terrifying. The thought of taking little ideas and goals and aspirations and putting them into one year ultimatums! VOMIT! Run for the door! Only leaves room for failure. At the end of the year you will undoubtedly look back on the year and dwell upon that which you have not accomplished. Resolutions leave behind trails of hopeless stupid cranberry diets, one-size-too-small-jeans that will never see the light of day, visits to loved ones that were never made, blank-number-salaries that were not accomplished, and hair improvements that were not ever plausible in the first place. Lofty goals set too high spin and spiral out of control, leading to the certain and unmistakable signs of failed resolutions upon the following December 31. Fake smiles, occasional sobbing, questionable company, and poor outfit decisions display the residue of hopeless resolution failure on any given New Years Eve.

No sir-re. Resolutions are not my thing. Chalk it up to my fear of change, knack for satire and pessimism, or even my hatred for poorly constructed Sarah Dessen novels that more often than not begin with doomed failure and glimmer into hopefulness through self-improvement (which, do not be deceived, I gobbled up with teenage adoration at the time.)

As an alternative, I generally choose to look back on the things I actually did accomplish and smile about them. I like to make mental lists of "atta-girl"s and marvel at the life changes that came at me at neck breaking speed with a general lack of warning. When looking back on a year, I can easily recognize that it is impossible to realistically look forward to the coming year and have any grasp whatsoever on what life may hold. I believe that life, via God, has a grand sense of humor that will never cease to surprise, frustrate, and amaze me. Therefore life plans are often destroyed and changed without grandeur or mourning. My view of the empty space that 2011 holds changes considerably when thinking about things this way.

Okay, enough babbling, here's the point; I will not be resolution-ing for 2011. Instead, I plan to take it in with wonder. I am going to enjoy each instance of mess, all my mistakes, and every moment of love. After reaching this conclusion, my brain then led down the path that I will need some way to document such marveling.... and so this blog began. Ta-da!

So, if anyone ends up reading these ramblings, get excited for some excellent run on sentences, occasional made-up words, intense sarcasm, and scattered concrete thoughts. Cheers,  and hello 2011!