Two Years

I’m sure that everyone can name at least one person who has held a place of influence in their life. Some people are fortunate enough to name several, or many. I consider myself to have known and loved some truly fantastic people in my day, but there are those special souls—those comet-like individuals—that shoot through the sky of your life and light it up with wonder. I was changed by a little light named Clara Quinn Phillips.

Today marks 2 years since that precious light left this earth, but not a day has gone by since that I have not mourned her passing and been grateful for the joy and laughter she brought to others while she was here. When she was just a little bit of a girl (not even a year old), I had a near shrine to her hanging in my cubicle at work; her smile was THAT infectious. Every time I felt even the slightest bit stressed out, I would just look at her face and remember that there were much better and more important things to think about than worrying about some meeting or project deadline. I don’t think there was a Facebook picture or video of her that I ever missed seeing (or liking, or commenting on); her cuteness was unparalleled, and I was a huge fan. She was her mom’s little snack-eating sidekick, and she was always a part of our interactions and stories, whether she was physically present or not.

Since that day 2 years ago, I have experienced a lot of joy in meeting and growing to love Clara’s baby sister. I have laughed and looked at hundreds of photos and shared stories and memories in my times with her mom. I have also cried a lot of tears, and I cry even more as I write this now. Clara’s name is never far from my tongue, nor her face from my thoughts. I have a birdcage decoration on the wall of my bedroom, and on it hang a few little artifacts that remind me of the things I want to focus on. Clara’s picture is front and center. Because more than just mourning her death, I want to continue honoring and celebrating her life with how I live my own. One evening in early spring of 2017, after a long visit with Clara’s mom and dad, I drove home in the darkness, tears streaming down my face. The sadness was almost too much to bear. I knew that, on some levels, it would make sense in the face of so much grief to protect my own heart from any further pain or discomfort—to dial in to ‘business as usual.’ It was a pivotal moment for me, though, because I also knew that being broken open like this was an opportunity to head in a new direction with my life...to stop being afraid of some things and to make some real and lasting changes, to get my priorities in order. This one thing I knew for sure: I owed it to Clara’s legacy to run headlong into the unknown and risk failing and being hurt for the possibility that I might find something much greater in front of me. 

And I did just that. Over the next few months, I chose to dedicate some efforts in my life to Clara—things I may share publicly at some point, and some I may never tell another soul. But in my heart, I know that Clara knows. She inspires me every day in the way that she loved her friends, her mom and dad, and even her dog Miller. She loved to dance and be silly. She loved music and singing. She wasn’t afraid of who she was, and she was living her best life. She deserved the very best. We all do. 

Clara’s mom told me one day a few months after Clara’s passing that she and her husband had been taking a walk in their neighborhood and had found that Clara carved her name on the stop sign at the end of their road, where she used to wait for the bus. I kept that little detail tucked away and recently stopped one day after a visit to see if I could find it. I admit I was hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and I was both thrilled and pained to see her name written there. Clara made her indelible mark in that place—in this place. She left behind pieces of herself, of her spirit, in this world, and I like to think that some of those pieces are inside of me now, too. 

Clara, sweet girl, I’ve made many promises to you over the last 2 years that I won’t let you down—that I’ll be there for your mom and dad, that I’ll be the best friend to your little sister, that I’ll never, ever forget you and do my best to ensure that no one else does, either. You’ve changed me for good, little light. You’ve left an indelible mark on my heart. I will always carry you with me, and with sadness and joy, I remember you today.

Love always, Sarah

new year's eve, 2016

It's the last day of 2016, y'all. Hard to believe we've made it another trip around the sun. A friend just asked me whether I was going out or staying in to celebrate, and I told him I was staying in - but not to celebrate. I just don't feel like it. It's not that I'm not glad on some level that this filled-with-tragedy year is coming to a close, because in many ways, that's true, but this morning I had a stark realization: 2016 is also the last calendar year when Clara was still here with her mom and dad. She was here for almost 25 days of 2016, which feels, in retrospect, like the blink of an eye, but SHE. WAS. HERE. Still full of joy and hope, still happy and silly and goofy and kind and smart and amazing. 2016 started off with her in it, and because it's ending without her, I just can't bring myself to toast to something new right now. I need one more day (at least) to remember a year when her parents carried everyday burdens like everyone else and not the profound sadness and heartache that they struggle to shoulder now.

No matter what happens this year (or any other year ahead), I will ALWAYS keep Clara's memory alive. I will ALWAYS treasure that precious girl. I will ALWAYS love and support my dear friends in whatever way I can. This year has taught me a lot, but what it really reminded me more than anything is that LOVE is the only thing worth investing yourself in, and if you see it in the actions of others, then you know the feelings are there to back it up. Just as faith requires deeds/evidence to demonstrate its authenticity, so, too, does love.

So tonight, I will watch the clock quietly wind down without fanfare or champagne. I will say goodbye to 2016, with both tears and thanksgiving, and I will turn the page to the next chapter and get on about the business of real love. To all my friends and loved ones: In good times and in bad, may you know this kind of love every day, all year long.

And Clara, sweet girl, you are missed and loved as much as ever - for always 

On Grief and Loss: Springtime Edition

March came in like a lion and brought with it more sadness and death. I swear, this whole year so far has been a series of obituaries and hard news. I'm not trying to be negative; it's just true.

And as ever, I'm sitting here just trying to process it all. My heart breaks at least once a day (but often many more times over) and tears are not often far from me lately. I feel like that raw place that you keep skinning again and again that never quite heals over.

Now, to be clear, I'm not saying all of this as a complaint—far from it. I really do consider it an honor to 'mourn with those who mourn' (Romans 12:15), but it is a reminder to me that every time you open your heart to love anyone (or anything), you also open yourself up to loss. And sometimes, that's a really hard pill to swallow.

I have a friend who keeps most people and most feelings at a distance from himself, and though he's never overtly shared with me why he does this, I know that he has deep hurts and wounds that have never healed over. He's felt safer retreating into a shell than opening himself up to more loss and hurt, but in doing so, he's also missed opportunities to really give and receive love in a deeper way.

It is quite easy in the face of profound grief, hurt, and loss to understand why someone would pull away and allow those wounds to scab over (though I would submit that true healing can only come from really going through the fullness of our experience rather than running from it). It's terrifying to think of enduring the kind of pain that will last a lifetime.

But then, what is living, really, if we avoid any feeling that might lead to pain? What is the meaning of our time here if not to love and experience all the richness that life offers—even if some of that richness hurts like hell?

Every time I am tempted to wall my heart off and cloister myself in a tower of numbness, I am reminded of a favorite poem by Edgar Lee Masters:

George Gray
I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me—
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire—
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

If I'm being honest, I have fears, too, of losing what I hold dear and of being hurt. Is there anyone who doesn't, on some level? But I am convinced that to try and avoid pain really causes more loss than plowing ahead with abandon and taking your chances. Though everyone's time here reaches an end eventually—and those who are left behind are changed forever as a result—it is important to remain undeterred from the quest to lift the sail in our own lives. It may end in madness, in grief, in realizing your greatest fears, but it may also end in your heart getting what it really needs: a way to fill that hunger for more.

Love is.

To quote John Mayer, "Love ain't a thing. Love is a verb." I think about that often, especially on Valentine's Day when sentimentality runs high and there is this notion of 'the loving feeling.' No disrespect to those who are giving cards, chocolates, and flowers or writing sonnets or limericks on construction paper hearts. I'm all in favor of love, but it's the feeling part that always falls flat to me. Besides, in the midst of all of Cupid's arrows being slung hither and yon, I think about people I love who are out there in the muck of life enduring the hardest moments you can comprehend. In the midst of tragedy that hits close to home, your mind starts shedding dead weight and getting down to the heart of the matter. And in between the tears, you begin to formulate a plan for how you can make a difference...how you can take what little you have and try to bring some measure of hope or happiness to your loved one. Flowers wilt in a matter of days and cards get packed into boxes, but real love? It has a chance to flourish in the midst of what feels like emotional ruins. 

In my mind, love is palpable. It is proactive. It is the choice to put in work. It is presence, support, and hugs. It is grief and sorrow for another's pain - and for your own. It is generosity and patience. It is remembering important moments and the random, mundane ones as well. It is swallowing pride and selfish ambition to see another happy and successful. It is protection. It is safety. It is knowing and being known. It is laughter over drinks and dinner. It is giving advice and lending a listening ear. It is choosing kindness over anger when you're in a bad mood. It is organization projects and peanut butter sandwiches and picking up band-aids at the drugstore on the way home. It is acceptance. It is telling the truth, even when the words are hard. It is nicknames and birthday presents and inside jokes. It is the tears running down your face and onto someone else's lapel. It is sacrifice and joy. It is filling up and pouring out. It is admitting when you're wrong and being gracious when you're right. It is the song that sticks in your brain for weeks on end. It is prayers breathed into the wind. It is beach vacations and long drives with the windows down. It is trips to Target and heart-to-heart conversations in a quiet office at work. It is the promise that, even when things are messy, you'll stick close by. It is also moving on and letting go if/when the time comes. It is wishing someone the absolute best and extending true forgiveness after years of anger and frustration. It is celebrating every miracle, big and small. It is light for the path when all around feels like darkness. It is the quiet whisper of birds taking flight in a field. It is the gentle touch and the tight squeeze. It is the strength to keep trying. It is the signs that follow you everywhere you go. It is the push of labor that brings you into this world. And it is the grace that, in your last breath, leads you home. 

'So you gotta show, show, show me.
Show, show, show me
Show, show, show me
That love is a verb.'

'let the river run....'

last weekend, i traveled to the land of the great lakes (well, one of them) to see one of my most favorite people and her almost-9-month-old daughter. leaving my charming city was also on the agenda; i needed to get out of dodge for a few days to clear my head and go to a house in a remote location with a river lazily drifting by out back. a river, i might add, that was more than 3 feet above what it should normally be. this also meant that some fields...and front yards...looked like mini lakes. it also meant that the grasses were already lush and green with spring despite the snow that fell the night before i arrived.

i spent 2+ days in a house with the darling bebé, along with a sweet, huge yellow lab, a brand-spanking new golden puppy, two cats, and a partridge in a pear tree (to say nothing of the mr. and mrs.). in the midst of this little family, making its way in the world, i was reminded of something: i am like that river, solitary and kind of mucked up and moving through life almost without even realizing it. no one depends on me for anything outside of work. i come home and i eat dinner (or not), wash dishes (or not), do laundry (or not), and talk to anyone (or no one) as i see fit. no one will die if i don't feed them. no one will object if there are socks on the floor of the living room. i have no one's mess to clean up but my own. and it's lonely. but it also can bring a measure of peace and calm.

that's the thing about life, i think: you have to find that balance between total independence/solitude and constantly surrounding yourself with other people/animals/things that need your attention. life on either end can be exhausting and make you feel like you're being sucked under by the currents, but if you can find that sweet spot in the middle, you can swim along happily for quite some time.

in the moments (few and far between as they may have been) i have been in that sweet spot, i feel the most like my pure self. there is a kind of sanctity in those times, and if i could bottle them up, i would. but the river of life continues to flow, and with it come the changing currents, the mud and sticks and other crap collected from distant shores, the knowledge that everything is temporary and what is good must be enjoyed now before it gets swept away in an instant.

now hear me: i'm not saying all of this to be negative. if anything, i feel encouraged and reminded that, to find that sweetest place in life, i must open up to the uncertainties...to what lies around that next bend in the river's path. i must continue to be vulnerable and to put my heart on the line for the things that i want. i must seek to avoid regret and invite the cleansing and renewal that new waters bring. it's not natural for me to do this, you see, but i figure if i'm going to conquer my own destiny and find the life i want, i have to plunge head-first into the rushing waters rather than simply allow life to float me along. and yes, that also means that the possibility of drowning is real, but i have those swimming lessons under my belt from 30+ years ago and just enough hope to keep me afloat. it's a start.

To have and to hold....

This morning found me at the funeral of the father of my high school best friend. I sat there in the church, hard pew beneath me, and thought about how time passes so quickly (truly) and how much I wish I had given less of a damn for so many years what others thought and had worried less about what ‘might’ happen if I had chosen my dreams over the safe path. But my road was my road. And my pain was my pain. It’s best, I think, to make peace with that while one can before half your life disappears out from under you. A hard truth to feel…more uncomfortable than the cushionless pew beneath me....

The service was a basic catholic Eucharist, and I managed to hold it together for much of it until the priest was wrapping up his homily. He recounted that toward the end of his life, my friend's dad was trying to communicate something to her mother, his wife of 43 years, but he was struggling to speak. When he finally got the message across, he repeated it to his bride, over and over: 'to have and to hold...to have and to hold....'

In his final breaths, it was the LOVE that mattered most. It was the love for her, for his family, that he wanted both to leave behind and to take with him into his final sleep. It was that love that, beyond the grave, left me in tears that still, hours later, continue to catch in my throat.

Days move quickly lately. Months slip past, almost unnoticeably. Years are gone in a matter of breaths. It is the LOVE that carries us through. It is the LOVE that makes the hard pew of life more bearable for one more day, one more hour, one more minute.

I don't know what to do with myself, half the time, but I do know what I want. I want the 'til death do us part kind of love. I want to make my peace with what still needs to be surfaced in my own life...to put to rest the things that are preventing me from living more deeply, from having what I want out of life.

And although I am sad that it was death that brought me to these thoughts this morning, I am profoundly grateful for the chance to redirect myself while there is still daylight to burn. It's life I'm after. It's love I want. It's continuous perspective I need. I'll take these gifts where I can get them. However they come, let them come.

'the answer, my friend....'

at the risk of baring my soul here, i have to take a moment and speak 'aloud' (a.k.a. fingers to keyboard) some truths that have been gradually surfacing in my mind and, therefore, my life. see, for a long time now, i was kind of shut down to my own emotions about certain areas of my life, because, quite honestly, it was easier to 'go there' than to feel the disappointment in its place. work has been busy with new challenges and opportunities, and i didn't have to try that hard to dig in and give myself the space to pursue my career, all the while knowing that there were parts of my life that were getting no air time. to be honest, this wasn't ideal for me, but the relative barrenness of my social landscape seemed to create the opportunity for a time of pulling back.

well, i had that time, and i was grateful for it, in a way, because it was very clarifying for me. and as a result, i came to a few conclusions.

first (and foremost), i am ready for a great adventure, whatever that may mean. in a conversation with a friend recently, i was mentioning some aspect of a past relationship that had always frustrated me, and the other person said, quite plainly, 'it doesn't sound like you're past all of that.' this statement caused me to sit back for a second and listen to those words i had just spoken and ask myself how they must have sounded coming out of my mouth. and i realized in that moment that my friend's statement wasn't the truth. the truth was that i hadn't changed the way i was talking about the situation, even though my feelings had changed.

this small kernel of awareness began to enlighten other areas of my thinking and made me realize that, in the area of relationships, i have been feeling more and more ready to be out there, to give and receive the love i've got inside of me, but hadn't yet said it to myself, to God, to the vast unknown.

so last week, i was in my car late in the evening, driving down the dirty, barren streets of my city, and i just began to speak my own truth out loud. i can't say that i was entirely praying, but i can't say that i wasn't. i just knew that everything inside of me - my fears and hopes and intentions - needed to come out and be given the air time they deserved. and the most important outcome of all of this is not so much that my world turned on a dime, but that i began to really open up, more expectant of and ready to receive all the beauty and love and good things that can come my way. (and, by extension, that anything UNhelpful can go....)

this has clearly been a long time coming and it couldn't have happened at a better moment in the grand scheme of things. a couple of weeks ago, i posted as my facebook status that i am 'open to possibility.' well, i just AM, and since cracking open the door to my heart, i am here to say that i have already noticed a shift in the wind....

methinks it's time to let my hair down....

bmore. be more.

it's been almost two months since i moved into my new apartment, and i've been trying to give myself the room to bond with my space, my neighborhood, my new understanding of life from the 19th floor. i'll be honest, though—it's been really challenging for me to connect lately. i'm not sure if it's because my mind is awash with projects and deadlines and schedules, or whether this change has shaken me up enough that i simply cannot yet adjust, but i've felt so transient and disconnected over the last 7 weeks. it's enough to drive a girl a little crazy.

within the last week, though, things have begun to shift a bit. last weekend, i walked up charles for a mini street fair, and i was loving just being out and about, smelling and seeing and feeling everything around me. and last night, salimah came over and we walked to a local pub up the block, and as i sat there taking in the conversations and smiling giddily at the waiter (i'm sorry, but he was a smidge adorable), i realized something: this is my neighborhood. mine. i LIVE here.

so now it's saturday night, and i've just had a day out gallivanting around the city i call home, eating and drinking (caipirinha, anyone??) and shopping and wandering, and now i'm back in my quiet, cozy apartment, and i just feel grateful. for all of it, really, but mostly for the shift that has occurred in my life to bring me to this place. it has thrust me out of the rut i was in (geographically, anyway) and made me uncomfortable enough that i'm starting to wake up and remember all the things i haven't been doing lately. like feeling anything deeply.

suddenly, i'm experiencing emotions that have been lying dormant—some good and some not so great—and i'm realizing that my life, as cher horowitz would say, is screaming for a makeover. if there's anything living downtown has reminded and inspired me to do, it is to give my love and life away again. every time i've been in a place where my soul seems shallow and stagnant, i need only to look outside myself, to start serving others and giving joy and sustenance to people i may never meet face to face, and suddenly the world around me is vibrant once again.

as someone who believes in God, i cannot live my life stowed away in my 19th floor 'tower,' looking down on all that lies around me and failing to get dirt on my shoes and the smell of the city in my hair. there is so much humanity down on those streets, and i want to be part of it. i'm not quite sure what this means yet, but somehow, i will stretch myself...become uncomfortable so that someone else can have a better life.

i was reminded recently that loving others isn't something you can do with restraint. it's either go big or go home in matters of the heart. i have always known this, but day-to-day life has taught me to hold it back for fear of overwhelming another. to be careful, just in case that love isn't returned. well, you know what? i don't care anymore. if people can't deal with my heart, then so be it.

all i know is that, for the time being, i call this city home. and i love it. i love being here. i love the crazy people who talk to themselves, the ridiculously friendly waiters at my favorite haunts, the snarky older dude i always ride the elevator with, the woman working in my garage who nearly breaks her back every morning just to stick her head out the window and wave at me, the tired-faced people walking home from work just as i'm leaving to go to my job, the traffic, the ball games, the fireworks, the police on their segways, the steam pouring out of the gutters, the church bells pealing, the screech of the lightrail, the sun setting over the abandoned buildings every evening.

this is my underdog city, the place where my heart first opened up and started to really take the world in. and in all of my uncertainty and fears and hopes, my arms—and eyes—are open up here on the 19th floor. my heart is ready to connect again...to do and feel and be more. so get ready, baltimore. i'm really just getting started with you....

'is it worth it, let me work it....' (a.k.a. thoughts on the coming year)

it's the last day of 2009 and i'm resisting the urge to review. of course it's natural to think back on the year and ponder all the good, the bad, and the ugly, but really, this new year's eve, my heart is looking forward. i'm actually just ready for 2009 to become a series of memories so that i can forge ahead into what's next.

here are (some of) the reasons why....

1. i have some fitness and weight loss goals that i want to bring about. no time like the present to get moving!
2. i have a stack of books that are calling my name, just waiting to be read.
3. i have fun plans on the horizon in less than a month.
4. i have lots of new cookbooks to peruse and use as inspiration to create fun, healthful meals.
5. there's always the possibility of professional growth and new opportunities. at the very least, i still have a great job, and i'm super thankful for that.
6. i have some beautiful people in my life, and some of the ones who are far away, i may even get to see this year. that makes me sublimely happy.

there are probably a million more reasons, but the bottom line is this: tomorrow holds promises that today could not fulfill, and i'm ready for what lies ahead...not just what will come to me but what i can and will bring about by my hard work and dedication.

i'm well aware that some of my dreams may not come easily, but where's the satisfaction in having life handed to you like some type of freebie? putting in hard work means that, at the end of the journey, you understand the worth of what you have.

and me? i'm ready to have it all. so let's get to work!

happy 2010, everyone. may this year knock your socks off!

'never find a love like this....'

tonight i am missing my grandfather more than i can express in words. i feel that subtle ache in my throat from the sadness that wants to come out but cannot. there is no room, you see. i have much to do before bedtime. in the background, my cable is playing one 'adult alternative' hit after another...some slightly upbeat, some melancholy, some filled with aching hope. i'm down the hall chatting on IM, cleaning up my desk, and trying to create some semblance of order before i hit the hay (cleaning lady comes tomorrow). i already checked in with my bff, my mom, and my work e-mail (check, check, check), and i'm longing for the quiet of an empty room and the white noise of a fan to drown my thoughts about tomorrow and all of its worries.

last night, my mom was sewing and i was in the living room doing work, and it hit me so heavily. mom, i miss grandpa, i said.

i know, she said, i miss him, too. every day.

every day. yeah, that about sums it up. it's been almost 15 years since he died, and there isn't one day that goes by that something doesn't stir up his voice, his spirit, his ways of answering questions, his quiet knowing. these days i look for glimpses of him in every man i meet. most don't possess even a shade, but there are some...a few...whose character and very essence hearken back to a time before they crossed my path...to a person they've never met and, on this earth, never will.

when my grandfather was a young man and not long married, he had to go overseas in WWII. during that time, he wrote my grandmother letters (letters i knew nothing about until after she died five summers ago) telling her of his days and instructing her to watch this or that aspect of her health and the health of their young daughter (my mother). amidst the medical advice (he was a doctor, after all), you could sense his love for her and his longing to be back with her. and as an old man, there was never any question that she had been his love all those years. through their arguing and sometimes even yelling (conversations, they called them), he looked at her with the kind of certainty that bespeaks something so much deeper than movie screen love affairs and flowery poetry. it was the kind of love that had seen war and death, birth, blood, sickness, hard financial times, difficult relational times, children, and the putting of hands to a plow (or hammer, or stethoscope) to put in an honest day's work—side by side. it was a love that never gave up, never walked out, and never needed proving with empty words and meaningless tokens.

it was a love that spilled over into four children, six grandchildren, and hundreds of devoted family and friends. it was a love that changed my little kid heart every time he held me tight, called me sweetheart, or asked me to sing him a song.

every day. yes. every. single. day. i still feel that love. i still miss it. i want it again. and obviously, though it won't be the same (nor should it), it will echo of times past. of honor and forbearance. of believing in someone's dreams and promises and hopes. of wanting the best and laying down your life for that to happen. of knowing what you want and never, ever letting it go.

'love is not a victory march....'

many people have sat down at a computer much like i am and written a post on how they feel (i include myself in this group) at any given time. you know what i learned again this weekend? that can change on a dime. emotions are the most fickle things, completely swayed by what is (or what seems to be) right in front of you at the time. but the real deal...the stuff that dreams (and poetry, and literature, and art, and blogs, even) are made of is SO much harder and long-suffering and sometimes downright gross. it's not a end, not a goal, not something to be grasped or won or achieved. it is the act of saying

i hear you. i choose to hear you. i also choose to let you hear me and to let you in on what scares me and what thrills me and what i whisper under my breath when i'm alone. i want you to see some part of this picture and keep seeing it and add your own 2 cents to it and be there whether it looks good or sleepy-eyed or dirty or tear-soaked or old. and if there is truth to be known, speak it. and if there is fear, let's conquer it together. and if there is loneliness, let's remind one another that two really IS sometimes better than one.

there are no pat answers when it comes to another person's heart...no clichés that can be universally applied...no 'put slot a into tab b' type of directions that will ever suffice. it is about knowing another person and allowing yourself to be truly known. and that scares the hell out of a lot of people.

but you know what, though? i'm not one of those people. i'm not so easily frightened by the thought of feeling that way about and acting that way toward someone. and believe me—there is so much i AM afraid of, but putting my heart on the line when i think there's reason to do so isn't on the list. and maybe that's why i've been hurt as many times as i have—because i'm willing to try. and maybe i'll be hurt again, but you know what? i'd rather try (and keep trying) and, as a result, feel the agony of another closed door than miss out on the gorgeous moments of discovering another person's heart and having that person discover mine.

this love is serious business. it's the stuff of legend. it's the stuff that makes men sing. it's the stuff i want from now until the end of my time here, in whatever way it avails itself to me.

it's not a cry you can hear at night
it's not somebody who's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah

hallelujah, hallelujah

some things i've learned maybe even this very day

love is brazen. it often shows up unannounced and, sometimes, at the most inopportune times. it leaves deep marks on your skin, on your heart, on your mind. it must weave itself into your DNA, because there's no other reason why, when it goes, its leaving is so particularly painful, so utterly undefinable, so seemingly impossible in every way.

sadness, i've realized, is often love's less than lovely twin (or at least sidekick) and possesses properties that are very much the same. in my own life, i have seen it dwell in places i didn't even know existed. and depending on your circumstances, it may very well hang out in all of the places love frequents. it feels indelible....and sure, it may fade, but i find that it never really goes away somehow. there are always traces of it. and you can be living your life, unaware of a shift in the emotional sands, so to speak, and there it is, ready to deliver a one-liner so brilliant and seductive that it slays you all over again.

the human heart - my heart - really IS so very, very fickle. so confused. so often misguided. so in need of reminding where it belongs (and where was that again?). i guess i say all of this to say that i've been going through some rough patches over the last few months. my times of respite have been due mainly to some little people that i don't even know but with whom i've been connecting in subtle ways.... the best thing in the world is to focus on someone OTHER than yourself. the rest of the time leaves you swimming about in your own situations. too often i find myself drowning in them.

it would be easy for some people, perhaps, to allow their emotions to be dictated solely by circumstance. i'm not really there anymore. it amazes me, actually, how some things in my life can be 'working out,' or at least moving in that direction, and how i can still feel utterly desolate...trapped under the thumb of a grief that is greater than myself. feeling like the only one who really DOES get it is God, and He feels entirely too far away from me. so it's easter and i'm alone, and sadness is luring me with its siren song, and i'm aware of feeling about a million things at once. and i wish it weren't true, but what i really feel i need right now is some cool sheets to surround me and maybe some advil to ease the pounding behind my eyes. i've gotten nothing figured out except that i'm teetering on the edge of something that feels good and something that feels bloody awful.

and maybe tomorrow i'll be able to stop the madness and know something real for once and maybe, just maybe, love will be brazen with me again. i've got a chance. i really have no other choice but to take it.

sushi, love, and acid-free paper

yesterday, devika came up from our nation's capital to hang out with salimah and me (originally, it would have been also for salimah's thesis reading, but since that went out the window last week, it was just girl time - our preference anyway), and we went to sushi hana for the most delish lunch (devika, thank you SOOO much for the treat!).

after stuffing ourselves silly and then stopping by starbucks for a quickie beverage, we dropped devika off at the train station and headed back up to my neck of the woods. i gave bella a bath at the exxon (which involved some hijinx with these slight miscreants who were trying to get me to pay them to wipe my car off with some rags...um...right), went to the bank, and then we came back home for awhile to hang out before making the decision around 9:30 or 10 to head over to kinko's. i had high hopes that the whole process would be easy-peasy, but we were brutally rebuffed by the dude behind the counter (mental note: i will not be patronizing that particular establishment ever again), and we wound up trekking over to white marsh to complete the deal.

oh, and i should mention that, while there, these two random nightcrawlers had come in to use the internet. it was just the weirdest thing at 11:30 on a saturday night to be sitting in a copy store under artificial lighting, feeling like these men were up to something no good, and in the midst of this, my fake bling earring kept falling out.

the bottom line, though, is that we got everything salimah needed, and after a late-night snack of some greasy food, we headed back home to collapse into our beds.

intermingled with our adventures, though, was some seriously good conversation with salimah about our views on love and men and expectations and how those things have changed over the last couple of years. i have realized something about myself: i haven't lowered my standards...on the contrary, in fact...but i HAVE loosened my grip on some of the unrealistic expectations i once had about the state of a man's heart and what that really means at the end of the day. we also talked about struggling against the judgmentality we see in so many churched folks we've known (and loved) - of their own standards of what is 'right' for someone else and their inability to see outside the box of conventional 'wisdom' on various matters of relationships and other things. i found pain inside myself during this conversation - realizing that i have been wounded deeply by past exchanges with people who once professed to be my friends....but i have learned to take it all in stride and know that God is the only one who will deal with me and each of those individuals in a way that will have real meaning in the end.

so, it's sunday all over again, and tomorrow is the last monday i'll have to be at work before it is 2007. to say that thrills me is a serious understatement. there is much to do before the holidays, but i'm hanging back a bit this year, even from my usual festivities. i'm reevaluating, even if just for this time around, how much energy i can put into certain endeavors. in the end, i find just as much peace with a clean house and a bit of quiet at the end of the day. i don't need a tree with sparkling lights and all my trinkets hung about.

and besides, with all the joy that this holiday encompasses for me, there is a bit of sadness wrapped up in it as well...the awareness of all the loss this year has brought...the terrifying hope that next year will be more about birth and less about dying...for now, though, i'm just thrilled to love the ones i love and to be loved in return. i'm richer than i deserve to be and lonelier than i want. but perhaps in the coming days and weeks and months, that, too, will begin to iron itself out.

one never knows what the holidays will bring.