Carry On

For the first time in a very long time, I am not holding any extra baggage inside my head or heart. One of my weaknesses has always been holding on for too long. It's like I'm standing at the airline counter and they say, "Will you be checking any baggage today?" Nope! I only have a carry-on these days! I suppose that's what growing up is all about. You learn to move on and actually leave things behind you instead of dragging them behind you like a bulky suitcase that won't fit in the overhead compartment.

Why do we pack away feelings and thoughts of people and events from our past? Do we hold onto them because we are afraid of that "Oh, I forgot something" feeling? The trips we take throughout life require us to pack for the occasioin. Maybe we pack items from our past because they are familiar to us. It's kind of like how some people have to take their own pillow with them when they travel. It's a comfort thing. It's what they're used to. So, if a person finds herself repeating the same mistakes over and over, it becomes a comfort zone. Perhaps an uncomfortable one but still a zone she knows best. It is less scary to just pull the baggage you know behind you than re-pack the suitcase.

Any emotional baggage I had been holding onto I didn't pack into my car for Maryland. I let it go somewhere between Carolina and the Eastern Shore. Does that mean I dumped my entire past and the people in it? No. It means I learned how to pack with care. Some things are meant to be carried on, but those can usually fit inside the compartments of your heart without weighing you down. There's no chance of lost luggage when you carry on either. All the things you need are right there with you, never leaving your side. Life seems to carry on, so why shouldn't we?

**
Currently reading:

My Own Chapter

"Let your decisions be your own."

I read that quote today in a magazine while waiting for my oil to be changed. What was really getting changed, however, was my understanding of why I'm so content with my new relocation. In my early twenties, my gypsy soul moved up and down the east coast in search of something I couldn't define. In hindsight, I realize that the reason I didn't settle was because I didn't know what I was looking for. I most likely told myself I needed to "find myself" but if you have to tell yourself that, is that really what you're looking for? I don't think anyone finds themselves while they're looking. It's that whole idea of being too close to a situation to actually see the situation.

Back then, my motivation for moving usually involved someone of the male persuasion. I chased polo players down to West Palm Beach. I tried to play house with my first adult relationship in Wilmington, NC. Then, I tried to hold onto that relationship by going to upstate New York. My move to Washington DC in 2007 could have worked out if it weren't for that boy I couldn't let go of in Aiken, SC. All those times, I thought my choices to move were decisions made for me. If they had been, things might have turned out a bit differently. I always ran away because I never went to those places for my benefit. It was always about someone else. However, I don't regret following my heart [even foolishly at times] because I don't regret the lessons I learned along the way.

Knowing my own "running" history, I have been scared to death that the gypsy soul that hides inside of me will scratch her way to the surface here. This had been bothering me in the back of my mind until today. I figured out that the only reason my little gypsy kept uprooting me was because none of those places were where I was supposed to be. Furthermore, it isn't even about where I am now. It's why. I'm in a new place opening this new chapter because the decision to move was my own. There are, of course, bonuses to the current location but at the very core of the decision, it was because I needed to open my own chapter for me. All the chapters of my life before now have had something or someone else as the title.

I have spent the past year of my life lost. Every day here, I finally feel like I'm finding myself. That wasn't my original plan with this move. I didn't have much of a plan at all really. I just knew there was a little voice in my head that told me I had to leave Aiken. Again though, it had less to do with the place and more to do with why I wasn't happy. A drastic change was necessary because I was living in my own Neverland and it was time to grow up. I had to see that for myself before I could make the change though. The last thing I wrote was titled, "Almost Home." We can drop the almost now.

almost home

I have to drive across a bridge every day when I go to work. I look out over the water, see the sailboats, and a smile always creeps up on my lips as I think, "I love seeing this on my way to work." I even like seeing it when I'm stuck in traffic on the days I leave the studio at 5:00. I know at some point I'll take that view for granted and won't smile whenever I go across that bridge. For now though, it's nice and who knows, maybe I will keep smiling at that small joy.
I have been in Annapolis for almost four weeks now and every day feels more comfortable than the day before. I am learning the roads without constantly referring to my GPS [and running off the road in traffic!] Today, I even got lost on the way to the bookstore, yet managed to right myself just by my little knowledge of highways.
I managed to land myself an awesome job by the luck and magic of Google. I searched for one thing which led me to randomly send my resume to a company that I never thought would hire me. Getting the job was a great reassurance that taking chances can certainly be worth it. Some nights I am actually in bed before midnight if you can believe that and my internal clock is actually waking me up each day around 8:30am. Who would have ever seen that one coming, right? As a former insomniac vampire, I actually enjoy my head hitting the pillow and don't feel like I'm missing out on anything by going to bed early.
Perhaps the biggest change so far has been my social life. Small town girl goes to big city and yes, it does feel like being a little fish in a big pond. However, I know that in time I will build a social circle here as well. In the meantime, that is the piece of home I miss the most...my friends. Although, I can't say enough about how great it is to be living with my best friend and making up for lost time. When she used to visit me in Aiken, we would try to squeeze in as much fun as possible in the short span of a weekend. Now, there is no rush and we are perfectly content watching our shows in the evenings on our respective couches in the living room. [She gets the big couch, but I'm quite happy having the loveseat all to myself!]

I thought I'd be writing more once I got here, but I suppose I have been concentrating mostly on getting settled. There hasn't been much time for me to throw ideas onto paper [or should I say, onto blog?] It is also something I know that will come with time in this new place. I think my head has to get used to the idea of being here first before I can begin to formulate my writing in this new world. For now, it's almost home and every day feels like a new adventure. I can't wait to see what tomorrow has in store.

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I am currently reading:

the "if" in Life

There are two types of people in life: the ones who make things happen and the ones who let things happen. However, both start with the same notion, "If [blank] happens, I will do [blank]." The difference between the two is action and inaction. For quite some time, I have focused on the latter. I seem to be waiting for something to happen in my life without realizing that often it is up to us to make anything worthwhile happen in our lives.

Tonight, someone gave me a great compliment and said they admired me for always being a "go-getter" no matter the consequences. I suppose I have, in the past, gone and done things most wouldn't think of doing. The majority of people are happy to stay in their comfort zones and do what society dictates as normal. I have never been that type of person. I have always prided myself on doing everything against the norm. I always knew that I never wanted to be like everyone else.

It seems I was so busy not doing what everyone else was doing that I don't seem to be doing much at all for myself. I believe it's appropriate to quote the Doors here when I say, "The time to hesitate is through." It's time for action. No more waiting to see what happens. I have dreams and goals that I have ignored for too long now. I have let fear motivate me instead of courage. There is too much inside of me that can be used to better this world. It is a waste of space on my part if I do nothing with it. I have been afraid to grow up and made the most being one of those who followed the "inaction" philosophy. I successfully avoided adulthood and now, I'm over it. It's time to embrace the future and become the woman I am meant to be.

If I don't embrace that now, I will be forced to endure the same cycle of failure over and over in a small town that has nothing here for me. If I don't get out of this town, I will be bitter and cruel by the age of 35. If I get out & try to do all those things I dream of, I can look back and at least say I did it. Regardless of where it will lead, the goal to get out & try something new is the difference between staying in Neverland and growing up. If I listen to that inner voice that says, "Do it!" then perhaps I will finally find my own way and be happy. I have been searching for quite awhile to find happiness. My resources have dried out here and it's time to go to greener pastures.

The "if" in life is whether or not you take those chances to make yourself happy. If I do this, I will make life better for myself. If I do this, I will change the pattern I have been living in and make something of myself. If I stop worrying about failing, I might actually find a way to succeed. If I follow my own theory of not letting the "what if" pass me by, I will end up exactly where I'm meant to be. "If" is only a two letter word...the four letter ones are always much more fun. Especially "life."

A Piece Offering

"Arrange whatever pieces come your way." - Virginia Woolf

The most important pieces in our lives are people. As we travel down the road of life, we encounter people that are both insignificant and significant. The art of deciding which kind of people they are to us is one that must be lived to be learned. We learn as we get older based on our life experiences and how our pieces from our past fit into our lives. Often, we are not given the option to decide the significance of those that come our way. Some people are just apart of our destiny. It is very easy sometimes to overlook a person that appears out of, what seems like, nowhere. Fate is perhaps too gentle with their pushing, so we ignore this piece for others that we think are significant. Life is about timing. Maybe sometimes a person comes our way before we are ready for them, so we cast them aside as commonplace instead. They become significant to us when the timing is right.

Perhaps people's significance to us can shift  through life depending on our experiences and the others surrounding us. We may not have control on which pieces come into our lives, or what happens to us; however we certainly have control on what we do once they arrive. We have the choice to make them apart of our lives, or to ignore their presence. It is best to take advantage of all of our pieces, as Virginia Woolf points out. To make sure we don't miss out on anyone, everyone should be given the equal chance to be a significant part of your path. Fortune will sometimes lead the pieces to show us our path has a few different options to consider. It is hard not to stare so hard down one path and maybe miss out on the path right under our noses.

We don't always have to be the one doing the arranging either though. It is also important to allow ourselves to be arranged into someone's life. Our own piece offering can be just as scary as opening up to someone new to accept their piece placement into our worlds. What if they don't want us in their arrangement? What if the pieces don't fit like you thought they would? There is no way to tell. You just have to go with it. Every piece will find it's place. Besides, arranging is nothing more than living. That's the fun part, right?



 

A Cold Day in June

** Published in the Metro Spirit on December 23, 2009, 3rd place winner of their annual Short Story Contest **

I have gotten used to those random thoughts of my first love that happen in everyday life. It has been awhile since William has been gone, but the memories still float in and out of my head daily. I wonder if it is still normal to think about him that much. I remember when memories used to bring tears and then smiles. Now, they are just there. They creep up on me without warning and come and go as they please. It is not often that I allow myself to become immersed in the sadness of it all. But, every so often, I do. I allow myself to delve into the memories of that day in June 10 years ago when I got the phone call from my dad that changed everything.

My father spoke through tears with words that he knew were going to break his daughter’s heart.

"Sweetheart, it's William," he whispered, "He crashed in his car. He's dead."

One of the only things I remember from the aftermath of that phone call is sitting outside looking at the stars, like William and I used to do, trying to let it sink in that he was gone. I say “gone” because it is still hard for me to use the word dead when it comes to him. I could not say how long I sat there, tears burning my eyes and making the stars look hazy.

Every memory we ever shared came crashing back to me as I tried desperately to remember all of them. I was afraid if I did not think of every moment he and I spent together right then, I would lose them. The rest of that night is all a blur to me. I can only remember bits and pieces of my grief. I guess that is what shock feels like.

I stayed up all night going through every piece of us that I kept in a pink and white striped Victoria's Secret box. The box first contained a Christmas present from William, but now held countless notes, cards, movie stubs and keepsakes from our life together. In the weeks following, his mother, Dorothy, would discover a box just like mine in his closet that he kept on the top shelf behind shoe boxes.

"You should have it," Dorothy said, smiling gently and pushing the box into my hands.

"No, it should stay right where he left it. That way I can always know where to find it," I said, declining her offer and lifting up on my tiptoes to put the box back in its place in William's closet.

I never knew about that box until then. William never said a word. Then again, he was always full of surprises.

The day after the tragic phone call, I drove to William’s house. I wanted to see Dorothy. I knew she would understand my pain, even though I was nowhere close to feeling what she must have felt, as a mother losing a child.

As I stepped out of my car, two girls who went to high school with us were leaving. They stopped to hug me with tears in their eyes.

"Oh, Lindsey, it's so terrible! You must be so upset!" one of the girls gushed, throwing her arms around me.

I did not hug her back. These same girls used to talk trash about me when William and I broke up. They had said I did not deserve to be with him and he was too good for me. All these things were true, but obviously none of their business.

"I'm doing okay," I said, stepping back awkwardly from the girl's embrace, "Thanks."

I gave a small wave goodbye and started towards the back door. I realized there was something wrong about entering that way today. So, I walked through the front door of William's house for the first time. I signed the visitation book like you’re supposed to do and walked into the living room. I will never be able to erase the look on his mother’s face when she saw me, and how she fell into my arms. As we cried together, I realized the woman I had come to for comfort was finding comfort in me.

Dorothy whispered into my hair over and over, “All I saw was him... all I saw was him when I saw you."

We held each other for awhile sharing soft sobs until she pulled me down the hallway to see William's sisters and then, into his bedroom. I sat in William’s room on his bed for an hour after that.

I laid my head on his pillow, remembering all the naps we took in his bed. I opened his closet and smelled his shirts. I thumbed through them, pulling out the red polo he was wearing the first time I met him and the green sweater he always let me borrow. Being surrounded by his smell was comforting. I did not want to leave, but it was the polite thing to do.

I never was one for crying. I think William cried more in our relationship than I did. I had too much pride back then. All our close friends knew that about us, especially his boys. At the visitation the following day, I walked through the line just like everyone else. I looked around at all the girls who cried and found myself numb and unable to just let it out. I stood beside Brett, one of William’s best friends, as he broke down in front of his coffin. I could not really bear to look at William like that, in a wooden box in the middle of the high school cafeteria. So, I hugged Brett until he got a hold of himself and we continued on to the family.

I hugged both of William’s sisters, telling them how sorry I was for their loss. His older sister told me that I was his world. It was something I always knew, yet took for granted. Dorothy looked relieved to finally see me and wrapped me into her arms.

She shook as she cried and said, “It looks like he’s asleep, doesn’t it? Remember how much he used to love to take naps? He’s just taking a nap.”

I knew she had been waiting for me to greet her because she knew I was one of the few in that room who did actually know how much William enjoyed taking naps. She held onto me tightly and it was me who had to break away from her. I didn’t want to, but there was a line of another hundred people who needed to greet her. I had to follow visitation etiquette, doing the “polite” thing once again.

William’s father had been waiting patiently. He gave me a gentle hug and grabbed both my hands in his. He squeezed them tightly and looked directly into my eyes.

“You were the love of his life. You know that, right?”

I nodded, pressing my lips together tightly to keep from losing it. I could not break for him. William would have wanted me to be strong, especially for his father if no one else. I hugged his dad again and turned to walk away.

I found myself alone in a crowd of mourners, not seeing anyone I had come in with. I stood there for what felt like hours and it felt like all eyes were on me, waiting and watching. Then, someone gently grabbed my arm from behind and led me over to the group we had walked in with. None of us quite knew what to say. Someone broke the silence by suggesting we go out to eat together and then maybe hang out at someone’s house. I tuned all of the chatter out and waited to be led wherever.

It was another one of William’s boys, Lance, who noticed my silence. He pulled me a little to the side.

“You alright?” he asked.

I nodded, still keeping up appearances and not letting it go. I did not want these other people to see my hurt. These hundreds of mourners who did not even know us. I am glad William touched their lives, but who do they think they are? Crying and sobbing as if they loved him like I did. They did not deserve to see my love for him spilled out in tears. They would not understand. They would think I was just trying to get attention, which was a rumor I had already heard was being passed around about me. Lance did not buy my act and said the thing that finally broke my strength.

“Still aren’t going to let him see you cry, huh?”

In a second, the reality of that statement hit me like a ton of bricks, just like William always said it would one day. The tears came before I had a chance to stop them. Lance pulled me into a hug and told me to let it out. And I did. I do not know how long we stood there, but I know his shirt was a mess when I was done.

The next day I watched them lower William’s coffin into the ground and cover it with dirt. I was one of the last ones to walk away that day. For many months after he died, I could not ride past the cemetery without stopping. Sometimes that would mean I would stop more than once a day to visit his grave. I ignored what everyone said and kept telling myself that everyone grieves in their own way. As time went on, my visits became less frequent and I realized that I was starting to heal. I used to curse the saying that "Time heals everything," but now I am living proof that it does.

I have returned to his grave every June for the past 10 years to pay my respects. I kiss my fingertips and press them onto the ground where I imagine his lips would be. I sit on the bench that his family had placed at the grave site instead of a tombstone and tell him about my life. I do not cry when I visit his grave now. I reminisce about the first boy I ever loved and then I take the long way out of town to drive past the place where his car crashed. I blow a kiss to the heavens at the exact place where the angels took him away.

Then, I go back to my life. I go on living without regrets because that is what he would have wanted for me to do. I go on searching with the hope that one day I will find that kind of love again. It was William who taught me how to love and the only way I know to honor him is to do just that.

Chicken Soup for My Soul Today

"After awhile, you'll learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
You'll learn that love doesn't mean learning
and company doesn't mean security.
You begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises.
You learn to build all your roads today
'cause tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.
After awhile, you'll learn that
even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So, plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
You'll learn that you can endure,
that you are strong and you have worth..."

For some reason today, my little brain remembered that poem from back when I was sixteen and the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" books were new on the market. The above poem was in one of those books. It got me contemplating how I must have interpreted the poem then in comparison to how I interpret it now. I imagine at sixteen that I didn't really grasp what any of it meant; however I held the faith that age would bring understanding and wisdom for those words later. Perhaps the reason I did think of it today is because I am beginning to plant my own garden in my life. I have been so busy helping others water their gardens that I neglected my own. I no longer wish to live vicariously through others...I would like to live vicariously through me.

I find myself looking up at a wall of seeds and deciding which ones I would like to plant. The first seed I have chosen is courage, which will be needed for the new journey I am about to undertake. So often in the past, I let fear and laziness come in between me and my dreams. I should have known to weed those fears, but if I had not given in to them before I would not know to avoid them now. My daddy recently made a joke about how as a little girl I used to love to blow dandelions, not realizing I was doing nothing but spreading seeds for weeds all over the yard. I laughed and said, "Sounds like a metaphor for my life." Until now, that is. I always fancied the dandelion and thought it was unfair that the tiny golden flower was a weed. Funny how in life, the attractive weeds can sometimes disguise themselves to make us show sympathy when we most likely should not. I certainly have planted more weeds than flowers in my garden, but no better time than spring to do some pruning.

In late June, I will be plowing my way to a new city to start a new garden. There, I will plant the seeds for a new job, new friends, and a new life. I will also be sure to water and fertilize properly one of the greatest and most honest friendships I have ever known with my kindred spirit, who has been kind enough to offer her home to become mine as well. After living apart for almost 10 years, I am excited to finally be apart of her life as best friends are intended to be (instead of sharing joys and hurts from 500 miles away!) Ours is a friendship that is like ivy...you planted a tiny bit of it and every year since, it has multiplied and grown until it covers most of your garden. Her ivy has indeed covered most of my heart and I am thankful for that, especially recently when she has shown support in a way I didn't think possible from so far away.

I have never waited for anyone to bring me flowers, because I knew I was capable of growing my own. I just have not had enough faith in myself to actually do it. I am arming myself with a good set of gardening tools and new soil to do all those things I have been too afraid to try. It must be something in the spring air, but as the saying goes, "April showers bring May flowers." So, my flowers of courage will be blooming just in time for the "great escape" in June. I cannot wait to see how my garden grows!