Isn't life just such a cliche sometimes?
I kind of love it and hate it all at once, similar to the way I feel about Five Seconds of Summer Song. I'd die if the world knew about it, but I purchased a pair of American Apparel unisex underwear with an obscene shipping cost attached simply so I could stand in it.
Life taught me a cliche but crucial lesson today. One that I'm proud to say I was routing for all along, I just didn't realise quite why.
And so begins my story: I was supposed to be trading my car for my sister's old car. Why? Because hers is substantially better looking, so we all assumed it was a better car. First mistake made. My car is full of parking receipts and remnants of almost perfect conversations, dried up tears and consequent kisses and cuddles. However, she's known to my family members as "The Bash Mobile" because she isn't as pretty as the cars my sisters drive. So, my Dad told me we'd sell her on and I'd get the better car out of it, Katie's car would run better and serve me longer so I should probably just get over my sentimentality. My parents also told me that it wasn't a normal to go and sit in the garage and sing "Stay With Me" by Sam Smith at the top of my lungs, to my car. But I believe in a thorough and proper grieving process, car through to cat (who am I kidding, I don't love cats at all).
Today I reluctantly drove my wee AWK to Honda and asked, as per my Dad's instructions, for them to check her out fully and let us know which car would be best to keep. I left with a heavy heart, almost certain that I would return to the news that AWK would be on her way and ERA would be my new girl. I stupidly assumed that because AWK looks a little worse for wear, she'd be the one to get rid of.
I was wrong. I went back to pick up the car and the Chelsea, the lovely receptionist with a skirt that was the length that nobody really knows how to describe, told me that they would recommend we kept AWK and sold ERA. Although ERA looked better cosmetically, AWK was running much better on the inside, and that's what matters.
I walked away smiling, it was kind of nice to know that I'd get to keep my old friend. But more than that, it was nice to be reminded of one of life's most generic lessons; you don't have to look perfect to keep going. You don't have to be the best to be valued, you just have to keep your heart healthy and in the right place.
Sometimes it's the best thing to just be like AWK.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Lesson 201. Let rain remind you
The last few days have seen a lot of rain.
Now, don't get me wrong, it's the kind of rain that I like because of where I sit. I'm home at the moment, so it's the kind of rain that sends me to bed with Calamity Jane, My Fair Lady, and a packet of chocolate chips stolen from the cupboard while my mum was in the laundry. But I get that it's also the kind of rain that has pulled trees to pavements and floods to floors. The kind of rain that can break things, the kind of rain that can sweep you off your feet in an entirely unromantic whoosh and land you with a bruised tailbone and mud smattered trousers. The last two years and a half years have forged a friendship between my bottom and the concrete in an (almost) purely metaphorical way because of this kind of rain, so I know it just as well as I do the feeling of safety that rain can bring. It's kind of strange how something can stir everything standing or secure a feeling of safety in where you are.
Over the last few days, life has reminded me of something that I'd forgotten from my now safe stomping grounds. Wherever you sit, stand (or fall) within what rain means for your life, it must always prompt a moment of gratitude.
If you're like me and you're experiencing a time of little to no turbulence, let it serve as a reminder of how you've grown to who you are. Recognise that maybe the whole cliche that nothing grows without rain is true, and that even though you might never understand why it rained at that time or why on earth it rained so heavy, you grew. You grew stronger and taller and braver.
If you're standing where I stood not so long ago and you're fighting the floods, take a moment to be grateful that you're still standing. Because when the waters are rising, we have to be grateful that we are still there to see them rise. Gratitude has to come from a place deeper than a superficial happiness, it has to come from that place past the corner in your soul that you shut and reopened when you fell in love, it doesn't mean you don't stand in the rain in tears, it means that you see how the tears make you taller, even in that moment.
Let rain remind you.
Now, don't get me wrong, it's the kind of rain that I like because of where I sit. I'm home at the moment, so it's the kind of rain that sends me to bed with Calamity Jane, My Fair Lady, and a packet of chocolate chips stolen from the cupboard while my mum was in the laundry. But I get that it's also the kind of rain that has pulled trees to pavements and floods to floors. The kind of rain that can break things, the kind of rain that can sweep you off your feet in an entirely unromantic whoosh and land you with a bruised tailbone and mud smattered trousers. The last two years and a half years have forged a friendship between my bottom and the concrete in an (almost) purely metaphorical way because of this kind of rain, so I know it just as well as I do the feeling of safety that rain can bring. It's kind of strange how something can stir everything standing or secure a feeling of safety in where you are.
Over the last few days, life has reminded me of something that I'd forgotten from my now safe stomping grounds. Wherever you sit, stand (or fall) within what rain means for your life, it must always prompt a moment of gratitude.
If you're like me and you're experiencing a time of little to no turbulence, let it serve as a reminder of how you've grown to who you are. Recognise that maybe the whole cliche that nothing grows without rain is true, and that even though you might never understand why it rained at that time or why on earth it rained so heavy, you grew. You grew stronger and taller and braver.
If you're standing where I stood not so long ago and you're fighting the floods, take a moment to be grateful that you're still standing. Because when the waters are rising, we have to be grateful that we are still there to see them rise. Gratitude has to come from a place deeper than a superficial happiness, it has to come from that place past the corner in your soul that you shut and reopened when you fell in love, it doesn't mean you don't stand in the rain in tears, it means that you see how the tears make you taller, even in that moment.
Let rain remind you.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Lesson 200. Perfect doesn't come without practice
I'm skipping the apologies. I've decided to go straight in for the post-argument cuddles because I know that's your favourite part too. Your head just fits so perfectly on my chest, you know? I'm sorry we had to have the "Where've you been?" conversation, I'm glad we moved past it so swiftly.
Yes, you really have missed me and my hilarity (or perhaps I've missed you and my attempts at hilarity that you so graciously muddle through with me and whilst doing so validate my existence) so I won't waste any more precious text space with inappropriately long sentences.
How's your 2014 going so far? Mine looks a bit like this: excellent human beings, summer school, shingles, anger towards lack of resident parking on my street, general increase of enjoyment when it comes to all things Beyonce, and embarrassment in regards to the fact that I often forget to put my headphones in when walking home, don't realise until I get home and finally come to the conclusion that most people don't love Shania Twain any more. Ok, I'm tricking. Those things have all actually happened but that definitely doesn't even begin to cover this year and I seem to be plying you with the trivial- I'm not quite sure why but I'll do some in-depth pyschological analysis on myself and get back to you.
Last week I found myself actually learning something in my tutorial as opposed to making a grocery list or an hour-by-hour plan for the rest of my day, and it's something simple that I want to share with you. I've been struggling creatively, sitting down and staring at a blank screen, singing two lines and stopping, not knowing quite where the best place to push off from is. I sat and listened to my tutor talking about writing content, and how the only way to create it is to simply write. I then unlocked something I'd always known but never held, the ability to let go of perfectionism in order to do better.
It's a strange concept really, but one that makes sense. The more we try, the more we fail, the more we learn. The more content we create, the more likely it is that we'll stumble upon something we're happy with. The more we open up, the more likely it is that the thing we so desperately want to let go of will emerge.
So talk and talk lots, write and write excessively, love and love often, because one of these days, you're going to have a win. Perfect doesn't come without practice.
Yes, you really have missed me and my hilarity (or perhaps I've missed you and my attempts at hilarity that you so graciously muddle through with me and whilst doing so validate my existence) so I won't waste any more precious text space with inappropriately long sentences.
How's your 2014 going so far? Mine looks a bit like this: excellent human beings, summer school, shingles, anger towards lack of resident parking on my street, general increase of enjoyment when it comes to all things Beyonce, and embarrassment in regards to the fact that I often forget to put my headphones in when walking home, don't realise until I get home and finally come to the conclusion that most people don't love Shania Twain any more. Ok, I'm tricking. Those things have all actually happened but that definitely doesn't even begin to cover this year and I seem to be plying you with the trivial- I'm not quite sure why but I'll do some in-depth pyschological analysis on myself and get back to you.
Last week I found myself actually learning something in my tutorial as opposed to making a grocery list or an hour-by-hour plan for the rest of my day, and it's something simple that I want to share with you. I've been struggling creatively, sitting down and staring at a blank screen, singing two lines and stopping, not knowing quite where the best place to push off from is. I sat and listened to my tutor talking about writing content, and how the only way to create it is to simply write. I then unlocked something I'd always known but never held, the ability to let go of perfectionism in order to do better.
It's a strange concept really, but one that makes sense. The more we try, the more we fail, the more we learn. The more content we create, the more likely it is that we'll stumble upon something we're happy with. The more we open up, the more likely it is that the thing we so desperately want to let go of will emerge.
So talk and talk lots, write and write excessively, love and love often, because one of these days, you're going to have a win. Perfect doesn't come without practice.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Lesson 199. Love always has and always will bring you through.
Tomorrow is the last day of 2013. Somewhere in between arguing with my family about Downton Abbey, and eating copious amounts of chocolate and as a result feeling deathly ill (wild exaggerations are my strong point. That and eating copious amounts of chocolate, did I tell you that already? I can't remember on account of all the chocolate) I've begun the process prompted by the turn of the year most commonly known as reflection. Are you still thinking about chocolate? Cheeky, stop that, your waistline will be unappreciative of my blog posts and ban you from reading them if you so weakly surrender to the train of thought that I'm dancing around and I rather like it when you read my terribly composed rambly (not even a word) sentences.
Reflection stirs up all too many emotions at the best of times. How do you sum up 365 days of conversations and revelations? How do you choose what you want to do better next time from 8675.81 hours of blunders and battles won? Well, to put it simply, you don't. I've typed and backspaced, mentally paced in one direction and turned to the next in the hope that I might conjure up some grand conclusion of the year that has been, but I can't. It's been the worst year of my life, but I have learnt the best lessons yet, and although I will not be sorry to see the end of 2013, the details of it will remain etched in my mind for as long as I live. I have learnt that life is never what you expect, that detailed plans will always falter to hopelessness, and that above all, love gets through. Love gets you through.
And it's not the kind of love that lies within romantic gestures or pretty pictures. It isn't soundtracked or perfectly timed. It is the love within the arms that caught me when I got the voicemail message that changed my life forever. It is the love that sat beside me when I sat glued to a pew in the Bethlehem College chapel. It is the love that shows up without needing a prompt or an invitation, and offers a hand regardless of efforts to push it away. The kind of love that will carry you looks more like your Dad than Ryan Gosling, but it is unwavering and without agenda. It doesn't seek to gain, but to give. That's the kind of love worth investing in, and that's the kind of love that changes things.
It is a quiet love that often goes unrecognised, which perhaps makes it the most spectacular of all. It doesn't ask for recognition or result, it loves because it is. He loves because He is, and I have never been so sure of God's ability to pour love in abundance into the broken places. It is a love that cradles vulnerability, and is far from blind to your flaws. It more than sees them, it knows them and chooses to persist in the small moments and gifts of each day so that you know that it is always present. It is a love that consists of hand squeezes in the hard moments, shares in belly laughter in the happier, and encompasses all of the things that love should. It carries hope.
So I give you this to see in the New Year, I do not present a resolution or a groundbreaking revelation, I ask that you might acknowledge that love somewhere between 11.59pm and 12am. I ask that you might appreciate it, that you might take the time to let those who have stood beside you this year know that their quiet love has played an important part in your journey to the 31st of December, 2013. Go into the New Year knowing that no matter what it holds, love will bring you through it. Trust me on this one, there is no circumstance in which love will neglect you and your heart. In fact, in the hardest of situations, love is highlighted by people you never expected.
My eyes are weary and my mind seems to have followed them to bed, so I leave you with a cliche that I very much hope you'll consider heading into the New Year: Love always has and always will bring you through.
And it's not the kind of love that lies within romantic gestures or pretty pictures. It isn't soundtracked or perfectly timed. It is the love within the arms that caught me when I got the voicemail message that changed my life forever. It is the love that sat beside me when I sat glued to a pew in the Bethlehem College chapel. It is the love that shows up without needing a prompt or an invitation, and offers a hand regardless of efforts to push it away. The kind of love that will carry you looks more like your Dad than Ryan Gosling, but it is unwavering and without agenda. It doesn't seek to gain, but to give. That's the kind of love worth investing in, and that's the kind of love that changes things.
It is a quiet love that often goes unrecognised, which perhaps makes it the most spectacular of all. It doesn't ask for recognition or result, it loves because it is. He loves because He is, and I have never been so sure of God's ability to pour love in abundance into the broken places. It is a love that cradles vulnerability, and is far from blind to your flaws. It more than sees them, it knows them and chooses to persist in the small moments and gifts of each day so that you know that it is always present. It is a love that consists of hand squeezes in the hard moments, shares in belly laughter in the happier, and encompasses all of the things that love should. It carries hope.
So I give you this to see in the New Year, I do not present a resolution or a groundbreaking revelation, I ask that you might acknowledge that love somewhere between 11.59pm and 12am. I ask that you might appreciate it, that you might take the time to let those who have stood beside you this year know that their quiet love has played an important part in your journey to the 31st of December, 2013. Go into the New Year knowing that no matter what it holds, love will bring you through it. Trust me on this one, there is no circumstance in which love will neglect you and your heart. In fact, in the hardest of situations, love is highlighted by people you never expected.
My eyes are weary and my mind seems to have followed them to bed, so I leave you with a cliche that I very much hope you'll consider heading into the New Year: Love always has and always will bring you through.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Lesson 198. Christmas miracles happen.
If you're rolling your eyes at the fact that this is my second Christmas post this evening, please seek the help of a professional immediately because you may be severely ill. If you're about to start on about how Christmas should be confined to malls and the day itself, please imagine me performing a festive prance around you, singing Cliff Richard's classic about mistletoe and wine, and promptly placing a Christmas coloured kiss on your little grinchy cheek.
Hello lovers, good tidings of great joy. As afore mentioned, if Christmas was a man I would marry him immediately, and my preparations for this years festivities could easily be compared to that of a bride. Right, starting to sound a little bit weird so I'll press on.
I purchased 22 metres of solar fairy lights for my front porch in September. I was about to justify this decision to you and then realised that to do that would mean I think it needs justifying and that in itself is a preposterous idea. So the fairy lights arrived and I put them in one of my Christmas boxes, then tucked the box away until the time was right. Then the time arrived, so I got them out, stared at their German instructions for about 35 minutes, and then decided to just give them a go. I clambered about the porch with a few near falls, but I got there. They looked like they would be perfect, until I tried to turn them on, and failed. This continued for about a week and a half, and my Christmas spirit dwindled. They would not turn on and I had no idea how to fix them, my Lou tried to fix them but alas, they wouldn't turn on for her either. I gave up, I was going to have to go to the tacky Christmas shop up the road and purchase some overpriced lights purely for their English instructions.
Defeated, I let my light disappointment fade to the back of my mind where I keep all my minor but still painful failures. The next night, my friends were dropping me home when a rather miraculous thing happened. I got out of the car, to see my front porch lit by the very fairy lights that had caused me such frustration. I literally ran into the house and announced to everyone that a Christmas miracle had taken place, and my sister agreed, because they hadn't even been on when she'd arrived home only about an hour earlier.
So take heart and trust that sometimes Christmas miracles happen. Maybe yours is a little different, maybe it's a Christmas day where your rowdy Auntie doesn't get too drunk and insult other relatives, or maybe it's a message from a friend you grew apart from, or a smile from a someone unexpected. However small or big, celebrate your Christmas miracle, announce it with the joy and volume that it deserves. Christmas miracles happen.
Lesson 197. Miss them the best way at Christmas time.
I've been preparing for Christmas for months now. Why? Because it's the most wonderful time of the year and something about the smell of pine and overplayed Christmas tunes make my weak heart giddy. In October I shut myself in my bedroom for six hours with Christmas music on repeat and made a two metre Christmas garland, disregarding completely the fact that I had a thirty percent test the next day. Christmas time, my friends, is my favourite. But as usual, it's teaching me things about growing up that I didn't plan for or prepare whilst creating lanterns out of tin cans.
I think as you grow older, it becomes clear that the happiest moments often come with a tinge of sadness. Every day I replay singing Justin Bieber's 'Mistletoe' in the back of my year 13 english class with my best friend and how with every conversation we had about this time of year she'd tell me that I needed to drink chai lattes because they taste like Christmas in a cup. Every day I miss her, and the happy moments often come with a bittersweet aftertaste, a longing for what was. There will always be the absence of a laugh that filled my whole heart.
It doesn't make it any less beautiful, and it certainly doesn't change the fact that Christmas lights occasionally prompt happy tears. Missing someone does not detract from the joy, it simply sits beside it and acknowledges them. I'm inclined to believe it's even more beautiful when we realise that even amongst the most broken things, we experience joy. That alongside the imperfections and the struggles of life, we are capable of celebration. There will always be a space for my best friend, and I'm coming to terms with the fact that the best days of my life will be touched by sorrow, but I'm also determined to see what she would've seen and embrace each moment with the fullness of the joy that she carried. It's not about forgetting or pretending, it's quite the opposite. It's about knowing that no matter how much it aches, you can hold tight to memories and feel absolutely broken and absolutely overjoyed at the same time.
So be here, in this season, and be happy about it. Not in a superficial hiding out way, but look back fondly and thank the Lord you're still smiling when you should be. Miss them the best way at Christmas time.
I think as you grow older, it becomes clear that the happiest moments often come with a tinge of sadness. Every day I replay singing Justin Bieber's 'Mistletoe' in the back of my year 13 english class with my best friend and how with every conversation we had about this time of year she'd tell me that I needed to drink chai lattes because they taste like Christmas in a cup. Every day I miss her, and the happy moments often come with a bittersweet aftertaste, a longing for what was. There will always be the absence of a laugh that filled my whole heart.
It doesn't make it any less beautiful, and it certainly doesn't change the fact that Christmas lights occasionally prompt happy tears. Missing someone does not detract from the joy, it simply sits beside it and acknowledges them. I'm inclined to believe it's even more beautiful when we realise that even amongst the most broken things, we experience joy. That alongside the imperfections and the struggles of life, we are capable of celebration. There will always be a space for my best friend, and I'm coming to terms with the fact that the best days of my life will be touched by sorrow, but I'm also determined to see what she would've seen and embrace each moment with the fullness of the joy that she carried. It's not about forgetting or pretending, it's quite the opposite. It's about knowing that no matter how much it aches, you can hold tight to memories and feel absolutely broken and absolutely overjoyed at the same time.
So be here, in this season, and be happy about it. Not in a superficial hiding out way, but look back fondly and thank the Lord you're still smiling when you should be. Miss them the best way at Christmas time.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Lesson 196. Let yourself be happy.
I like to do a number of things when I fly. Firstly and most importantly, I like to adopt a terrible British accent and embarrass my big sister Annie by talking extremely loudly, saying 'anks' instead of 'thanks' and referring to myself as Bertha (A woman with a hearty appetite for mashed potatoes and plenty of love for her singlet-wearing pub-going beer-bellied husband Onslo)
Secondly, I like to put on a pre-planned playlist and come up with scenarios for each song. Most of the time they're unrealistically romantic and set my expectations of any male to enter into my life extremely high, but at least it's an enjoyable experience when I'm stuck on a night rider and I kind of wish I was four years old so that my Dad would carry me up to bed from the car.
Thirdly, I like to contemplate life. This is where I tell you about what I've been contemplating (If you're feeling like soundtracking this scenario, I suggest you play 'The Heart of Life" by my boo John Mayer, mostly just because he's the best and my crush on him is so large that I feel it necessary to mention him at every opportunity) At 11.06pm last night, I sat on a dimly lit plane and thought about happiness.
I over complicate happiness in every way that my muddled mind can come up with. I convince myself not to trust it too much because it will end if I believe in it, things can't be this good without taking a turn for the worst at some stage, right?
Wrong. I'm wrong about that, and I'm learning the hard but really happy way. Stop thinking about ways in which things can go wrong and start thinking about ways in which they can go right. I had a conversation with my Dad on Friday in which he told me I had to stop being such a cynic and start living with hope.
Lean into happiness, into it's shoulder or somebody's eyes. Be where you are and be happy about it, these things don't happen every day. I'm not asking you to ignore or dismiss that hardship might lie ahead, I'm asking you to give yourself a break. Don't over analyse where you are or what it might mean for tomorrow, simply sit in happiness for a moment or two and I think you'll realise that it's not about the mights or the maybe's, that the real what if is what if I let this moment pass me by. Be present and bring joy forth within that.
Let yourself be happy.
Secondly, I like to put on a pre-planned playlist and come up with scenarios for each song. Most of the time they're unrealistically romantic and set my expectations of any male to enter into my life extremely high, but at least it's an enjoyable experience when I'm stuck on a night rider and I kind of wish I was four years old so that my Dad would carry me up to bed from the car.
Thirdly, I like to contemplate life. This is where I tell you about what I've been contemplating (If you're feeling like soundtracking this scenario, I suggest you play 'The Heart of Life" by my boo John Mayer, mostly just because he's the best and my crush on him is so large that I feel it necessary to mention him at every opportunity) At 11.06pm last night, I sat on a dimly lit plane and thought about happiness.
I over complicate happiness in every way that my muddled mind can come up with. I convince myself not to trust it too much because it will end if I believe in it, things can't be this good without taking a turn for the worst at some stage, right?
Wrong. I'm wrong about that, and I'm learning the hard but really happy way. Stop thinking about ways in which things can go wrong and start thinking about ways in which they can go right. I had a conversation with my Dad on Friday in which he told me I had to stop being such a cynic and start living with hope.
Lean into happiness, into it's shoulder or somebody's eyes. Be where you are and be happy about it, these things don't happen every day. I'm not asking you to ignore or dismiss that hardship might lie ahead, I'm asking you to give yourself a break. Don't over analyse where you are or what it might mean for tomorrow, simply sit in happiness for a moment or two and I think you'll realise that it's not about the mights or the maybe's, that the real what if is what if I let this moment pass me by. Be present and bring joy forth within that.
Let yourself be happy.
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