really i just want to say: hallelujah for the sun, for youth, for barefeet, for shorts, for stunna shades, for driving around in nicks sauna of a 1984 volvo singing to lady gaga, for flowers (have you ever been to pikes market in seattle or whatever its called and looked at their flower selection? it is the most incredible thing i have ever seen, ever), for loose tees, for road trips, for water, for bbqs, for the beach, for all of the secretssurpriseshappinessesjoy that comes with heat and light and being able to go outside barefoot in the morning to get the newspaper (even though nick and i dont have a newspaper subscription). summertime is magical.
ps. summertime has made me realize all of the requirements i have for a dream job: be allowed to wear tshirts and flip flops to work, be allowed to see the sun midday, be allowed to wear a messy, chlorinated bun, be allowed to wear my stunna shades at all times. which leaves me with one option: wild rivers lifeguard.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
prayer to waiting. and eating my feelings.
so i feel like people feel similiar to me in a lot of ways--not sure what their path is in life, whether it is the road less traveled or the road more traveled or not even taking a road but just hacking at the trees off the beaten path and creating their own road, and ive been thinking about it a lot. how we all live little lives and have little worries and try to do the right thing and sometimes feel nervous we dont know what that is, or that somewhere there is this lifechanging thing we are supposed to be doing, and somehow we are missing out, accidentally eating little ceasars pizza and watching the outsiders on dvd when in actuality we are supposed to be obamas foreign policy advisor or writing a novel that will change the world. and then you look back on your life and gasp and think if i hadnt made this decision this wouldnt have happened or if my mom hadnt gotten sick and i had taken a year off school to go take care of her i would have never met my together, nicholas floyd cottrell, because i would have been gone from the state of utah, and sometimes you see how all these puzzle pieces fit together to form your perfect puzzle of the eiffel tower, and you get nervous that maybe the pieces wont fit so well together next time or oyure picking up the wrong pieces or youre missing one or something. or maybe only i feel like that.
so nick and i have been trying to make these decisions and things keep cropping up and different surprises show up and then we end up not sure where we are supposed to be or what exactly we should be doing. and though sometimes it makes me cry and sometimes it makes me sad and sometimes it makes me eat a lot of jelly beans, it also has taught me a beautiful concept that i had never really thought about before: waiting. waiting can be a beautiful thing, and i think it is something i am learning slowly. to look before i leap, to ponder before i go for it, to pray before i jump. to be still. to hold on. to wait until an answer comes my way, or to wait until it feels right to make a decision, or maybe just to wait. i am not saying staying in a constant state of indecision is a good thing--limbo makes me crazy. insane, actually. but sometimes it is important to wait.
i think about all of the people that have waited, patiently, quietly, and with hope and faith, or even have been forced to wait against their will--the pioneers in missouri, thinking it was the time of the second coming, the world waiting for Christ to redeem them, those who have a hard time getting pregnant, my mom as she waited for her life to end, the people on the titanic as they waited to live or die, the jewish people in the holocaust that waited in hiding until it was safe for them to come out and be seen, people who wait their whole lives to fall in love, people in world war 1 and 11 and every war there ever has been for the people they love to come home, waiting waiting waiting. sometimes the waiting ended up despair, or heartache, or the waiting never ended, or maybe there are some that are still waiting. i have reverence for these people, for their patience, for their ability to wait, especially for those forced to wait. i admire their dignity, and ability to pause.
in no way am i comparing my situation to any of these waiting situations. i am not being forced to wait. my life is not in danger. i am not waiting for my fiancee or brother to come home from war. but i do have reverence and appreciation for the people who have come before me, and waited. and i hope i can learn from their ability to wait, and be inspired and ready when it is the right time to make a decision, and remember their examples of fortitude and patience. their endless waiting, maybe never fulfilled. i hope i can learn to be still.
until then, i will be consuming vast amounts of jelly beans.
so nick and i have been trying to make these decisions and things keep cropping up and different surprises show up and then we end up not sure where we are supposed to be or what exactly we should be doing. and though sometimes it makes me cry and sometimes it makes me sad and sometimes it makes me eat a lot of jelly beans, it also has taught me a beautiful concept that i had never really thought about before: waiting. waiting can be a beautiful thing, and i think it is something i am learning slowly. to look before i leap, to ponder before i go for it, to pray before i jump. to be still. to hold on. to wait until an answer comes my way, or to wait until it feels right to make a decision, or maybe just to wait. i am not saying staying in a constant state of indecision is a good thing--limbo makes me crazy. insane, actually. but sometimes it is important to wait.
i think about all of the people that have waited, patiently, quietly, and with hope and faith, or even have been forced to wait against their will--the pioneers in missouri, thinking it was the time of the second coming, the world waiting for Christ to redeem them, those who have a hard time getting pregnant, my mom as she waited for her life to end, the people on the titanic as they waited to live or die, the jewish people in the holocaust that waited in hiding until it was safe for them to come out and be seen, people who wait their whole lives to fall in love, people in world war 1 and 11 and every war there ever has been for the people they love to come home, waiting waiting waiting. sometimes the waiting ended up despair, or heartache, or the waiting never ended, or maybe there are some that are still waiting. i have reverence for these people, for their patience, for their ability to wait, especially for those forced to wait. i admire their dignity, and ability to pause.
in no way am i comparing my situation to any of these waiting situations. i am not being forced to wait. my life is not in danger. i am not waiting for my fiancee or brother to come home from war. but i do have reverence and appreciation for the people who have come before me, and waited. and i hope i can learn from their ability to wait, and be inspired and ready when it is the right time to make a decision, and remember their examples of fortitude and patience. their endless waiting, maybe never fulfilled. i hope i can learn to be still.
until then, i will be consuming vast amounts of jelly beans.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
prayer to small inspirations, preferably in a pop-punk format.
when it rains, it pours. maybe ill post every day in june. im just that surprising.
so this morning i went on a run. during this time i tried to think about everything except for "when is this going to be over?" so naturally i spent the duration thinking "when is this going to be over?" i used to be able to run 15 miles no sweat (well, a lot of sweat actually, but you know what i mean), but i spent the winter teaching school and eating little ceasars pizza with my husband, which is really unfortunate now that i have gallons of free time in which i prefer to be hiking, swimming, running, endangering my life in exhilarating ways, and doing anything in the beauty that is utah in the summer. so i was going to run 3 miles, the first 1.2 miles of which i blamed my discomfort and shrinking will to go on on my ipod music (too slow, too boring, not getting me pumped enough), and then on my outfit choice (these shorts give me wedgies, my winterwhite midriff is being exposed every time i take a step), until realizing that the real issue was my entirely out of shape body. which made me laugh, because isnt that just like life? when you are unhappy with yourself, you tend to blame it on others, or if you are as entirely human and flawed as i am, you tend to see what you hate about yourself in others. when i had that realization, that it was not that beyonces your loves got me looking so crazy right now or ace of bases i saw the sun that had lost their energy, but me, i felt slightly ashamed that i had been so hard on these poor inatimate objects. and then i felt bad for all of the times i have taken out my frustration or anger or sadness on someone else. because, ive said it before, but ill say it again, i really believe that the only thing you can control in life is yourself, and the sooner you figure that out and stop trying to help perfect and change and criticize those around you, the happier life becomes. which means, it is not ace of bases fault i am a slow and sucky runner, or even little ceasars pizza. it is my own.
anyway, when i am running is usually when i have my greatest breakthrough moments or thoughts or ideas or whatever. that is usually when i am in shape though and not counting second by second until my run will end. so i reached mile 1.2, and decided i would turn around. i cant do this anymore, my legs are burning, my lungs are collapsing, i have become those people we used to see at mcdonalds that would order 2 large fries and my dad would shake his head in disgust and say "this is what has become of america." and then, a miraculous thing happened. the last thing i would expect to help me forge ahead came along and got my legs pumping: "mr brightside," by the killers came on my ipod shuffler, and all of a sudden i was hauling. the killers helped me keep going. the killers.
the killers is a band that stars on nick and is regular sarcastic banter, as in, we dont listen to them and often make fun of them in mean spirited ways. but there was mr brightside, and all of a sudden i was running, arms flailing, singing at the top of my lungs inappropriate lyrics that i will not post on this blog, wind in my hair, and i believed in myself again. it would take work, dedication, and admitting that i was out of shape, but i could do it! i could be the physically fit person i once was! and mr brightside is what made me believe.
i think there are a couple of lessons to be learned from this: a.) you never know who might come along and help you along when you really need some help b.) dont judge, because those things you judged may end up being your inspiration, c.) you can do it, and maybe listening to the killers mr brightside will motivate you, as it did me.
maybe you dont want to be able to run 15 miles. maybe you want to be able to sew a dress or sing like mariah carey or make really really good omelets. maybe you want to star in a movie. i dont know what it is, but give it your best shot. the killers believe in you, and so do i.
p.s. the best part of my run was when i passed by a middle aged group of jolly, pot-bellied men fitness walking together, weights in hand, discussing their favorite types of sees candies. life is good, people, its very good.
so this morning i went on a run. during this time i tried to think about everything except for "when is this going to be over?" so naturally i spent the duration thinking "when is this going to be over?" i used to be able to run 15 miles no sweat (well, a lot of sweat actually, but you know what i mean), but i spent the winter teaching school and eating little ceasars pizza with my husband, which is really unfortunate now that i have gallons of free time in which i prefer to be hiking, swimming, running, endangering my life in exhilarating ways, and doing anything in the beauty that is utah in the summer. so i was going to run 3 miles, the first 1.2 miles of which i blamed my discomfort and shrinking will to go on on my ipod music (too slow, too boring, not getting me pumped enough), and then on my outfit choice (these shorts give me wedgies, my winterwhite midriff is being exposed every time i take a step), until realizing that the real issue was my entirely out of shape body. which made me laugh, because isnt that just like life? when you are unhappy with yourself, you tend to blame it on others, or if you are as entirely human and flawed as i am, you tend to see what you hate about yourself in others. when i had that realization, that it was not that beyonces your loves got me looking so crazy right now or ace of bases i saw the sun that had lost their energy, but me, i felt slightly ashamed that i had been so hard on these poor inatimate objects. and then i felt bad for all of the times i have taken out my frustration or anger or sadness on someone else. because, ive said it before, but ill say it again, i really believe that the only thing you can control in life is yourself, and the sooner you figure that out and stop trying to help perfect and change and criticize those around you, the happier life becomes. which means, it is not ace of bases fault i am a slow and sucky runner, or even little ceasars pizza. it is my own.
anyway, when i am running is usually when i have my greatest breakthrough moments or thoughts or ideas or whatever. that is usually when i am in shape though and not counting second by second until my run will end. so i reached mile 1.2, and decided i would turn around. i cant do this anymore, my legs are burning, my lungs are collapsing, i have become those people we used to see at mcdonalds that would order 2 large fries and my dad would shake his head in disgust and say "this is what has become of america." and then, a miraculous thing happened. the last thing i would expect to help me forge ahead came along and got my legs pumping: "mr brightside," by the killers came on my ipod shuffler, and all of a sudden i was hauling. the killers helped me keep going. the killers.
the killers is a band that stars on nick and is regular sarcastic banter, as in, we dont listen to them and often make fun of them in mean spirited ways. but there was mr brightside, and all of a sudden i was running, arms flailing, singing at the top of my lungs inappropriate lyrics that i will not post on this blog, wind in my hair, and i believed in myself again. it would take work, dedication, and admitting that i was out of shape, but i could do it! i could be the physically fit person i once was! and mr brightside is what made me believe.
i think there are a couple of lessons to be learned from this: a.) you never know who might come along and help you along when you really need some help b.) dont judge, because those things you judged may end up being your inspiration, c.) you can do it, and maybe listening to the killers mr brightside will motivate you, as it did me.
maybe you dont want to be able to run 15 miles. maybe you want to be able to sew a dress or sing like mariah carey or make really really good omelets. maybe you want to star in a movie. i dont know what it is, but give it your best shot. the killers believe in you, and so do i.
p.s. the best part of my run was when i passed by a middle aged group of jolly, pot-bellied men fitness walking together, weights in hand, discussing their favorite types of sees candies. life is good, people, its very good.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
and just to lighten this tension filled mood,
the husbands g-chat response to my boring post:
3:26
good post, looks like you and i are in the same boat
3:26
good post, looks like you and i are in the same boat
just so you know, this is a boring post. but its my blog, and i want to be boring right now.
this post is just going to be a mish mash of whatever has been on my mind lately, because i don't feel coherent enough at the current time to figure out what the theme is or how it all matches or how to make some sort of sense of everything, which is i think is okay, and im trying to be okay with that. but i do want to write, because i havent in weeks and weeks and weeks, and because sometimes writing it all out helps me make sense of the puzzle in a way that i cant seem to do in the hollows of my own mind. but be forewarned, this is all enormously boring.
the purpose of this blog is not a personal diary or play by play of my lifes events, but instead small prayers to those beautiful things that make my heart keep beating (as ee writes, those times when the "singing reaches of my soul spoke the green"). for me it is those small moments of clarity, those prayers to a greater force, those "poppies in october" (slyvia plath) which are "a gift, a love gift, Utterly unasked for By a sky," and it is these moments or poems or flowers or blue sky or handholds or perfectly written sentences or perfect mountains, moments of ultimate beauty, that make my insides cry out "O my God, what am I, That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers." To translate into mormonspeak, these moments are tender mercies in the middle of the forest of frost, miliseconds when my spirit seems in perfect harmony with the world's spirit. As Goethe once so eloquently wrote in his masterpiece Faust, "Art is long, time short."
the reason i write about these lovegifts is because they keep me sane, and they keep me believing that the world is more beautiful than ugly, and because i think in the hustle and bustle of real life duties we tend to ignore these small moments in which the heavens are opened and the Universe makes himself known, . that being said, i can tend to be the opposite of normal--the partaker of love gifts and the shunner of real life, which is a doomed way to live when life is composed of an endless cycle of everydays, and love gifts may feed the soul but they cannot feed the mouth.
i guess the concept of everydays and practicality has been on my mind because nick and i are at a crossroads of sorts, trying to figure out which path is ours for the taking. ive been thinking a lot about robert frost's poem the road not taken, especially in light of its generally accepted misinterpretation. I will post the poem here for your reading pleasure:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The general public has pegged this poem a beacon of inspiration, a tribute to taking the road less traveled. in actuality, the tone of the poem is probably ironic, a jab at the tendency of humankind to rationalize their decisions and in all likelihood is probably hinting that taking one or the other will not end up making an enormous difference. but we still worry and worry about which path is right, and then once our minds are made up, we think of all of the reasons we are right. i dont know why this poem has been a scrolling marquee in my bogged down brain, but it has been. maybe because i wonder if in the end the road less traveled is over-rated, or what my personal path should be. we're in the middle of some serious decision making--staying in utah is the practical choice, we would be turning down a big chunk of change not to, but i dont want to be in utah, and dont plan on being here for any extended period of time. but sometimes i feel idiotic in the middle of a recession to turn down promotions for the sake of following my heart, when i know following your heart is not always the most correct principle. ive always been one to chase the adventure--i want to live in kenya, or uruguay, or anywhere not in the country. i want to do crazy things. i want to see everything. i know the greater purpose of life is to serve others, to serve God, and to become internally the person you are meant to become, but what is the purpose of life on a day to day scale? i think it is probably different for everyone, and unique for everyone. but its hard when you hear that you should be buying a house and thinking about the future when really you just want to be living in a big city and giving homeless people lollipops.
i could wax philosphical all day long. i could even throw in a dozen or so philosophers to help me figure out this conundrum. in the end, i think which path you choose does matter. i strongly believe there is a divine plan for me, and i was born thinking im going to do amazing, world-changing things (my mom said i was born with confidence you've never seen). i think everyone has this capability and amazing, world-changing things to offer, if they choose to follow the right path. my dad says most choose the path of least resistance, which i try to avoid so carefully sometimes i arbitrarily choose the path of most resistance. maybe there are a series of right paths. who knows. all i know is, i dont want to be in utah, and im deathly afraid of settling or not getting advanced degrees or not choosing something, but just ending up with it because i happened upon it, which makes sleeping at night rather difficult.
this is a boring, rambling, ridiculous post. but i told nick last night that in most general, daily conversation i never really say what im thinking about or what i wish to be saying, because i know the other person isnt interested in a discussion of aristotle or a debate on gun control, and sometimes i just want to say what i say.
OKAY? SO THIS IS ME SAYING WHAT I WANT TO SAY. GET OVER IT.
if anyone has guidance on the topic, or can help me figure out the right plan for my life, let me know ASAP. i also want you all to know that this is a more specific, daily worry, but that overall i am confident God or the Universe or whichever higher power you believe in, will lead me the direction I need to go to accomplish those big, world-changing things. and i keep reminding myself of that.
okay everyone, the boringness is over. please excuse when the enormous, overanalytical, nose-in-a-book nerd inside of me pushes her way past the skinny jeans.
the purpose of this blog is not a personal diary or play by play of my lifes events, but instead small prayers to those beautiful things that make my heart keep beating (as ee writes, those times when the "singing reaches of my soul spoke the green"). for me it is those small moments of clarity, those prayers to a greater force, those "poppies in october" (slyvia plath) which are "a gift, a love gift, Utterly unasked for By a sky," and it is these moments or poems or flowers or blue sky or handholds or perfectly written sentences or perfect mountains, moments of ultimate beauty, that make my insides cry out "O my God, what am I, That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers." To translate into mormonspeak, these moments are tender mercies in the middle of the forest of frost, miliseconds when my spirit seems in perfect harmony with the world's spirit. As Goethe once so eloquently wrote in his masterpiece Faust, "Art is long, time short."
the reason i write about these lovegifts is because they keep me sane, and they keep me believing that the world is more beautiful than ugly, and because i think in the hustle and bustle of real life duties we tend to ignore these small moments in which the heavens are opened and the Universe makes himself known, . that being said, i can tend to be the opposite of normal--the partaker of love gifts and the shunner of real life, which is a doomed way to live when life is composed of an endless cycle of everydays, and love gifts may feed the soul but they cannot feed the mouth.
i guess the concept of everydays and practicality has been on my mind because nick and i are at a crossroads of sorts, trying to figure out which path is ours for the taking. ive been thinking a lot about robert frost's poem the road not taken, especially in light of its generally accepted misinterpretation. I will post the poem here for your reading pleasure:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The general public has pegged this poem a beacon of inspiration, a tribute to taking the road less traveled. in actuality, the tone of the poem is probably ironic, a jab at the tendency of humankind to rationalize their decisions and in all likelihood is probably hinting that taking one or the other will not end up making an enormous difference. but we still worry and worry about which path is right, and then once our minds are made up, we think of all of the reasons we are right. i dont know why this poem has been a scrolling marquee in my bogged down brain, but it has been. maybe because i wonder if in the end the road less traveled is over-rated, or what my personal path should be. we're in the middle of some serious decision making--staying in utah is the practical choice, we would be turning down a big chunk of change not to, but i dont want to be in utah, and dont plan on being here for any extended period of time. but sometimes i feel idiotic in the middle of a recession to turn down promotions for the sake of following my heart, when i know following your heart is not always the most correct principle. ive always been one to chase the adventure--i want to live in kenya, or uruguay, or anywhere not in the country. i want to do crazy things. i want to see everything. i know the greater purpose of life is to serve others, to serve God, and to become internally the person you are meant to become, but what is the purpose of life on a day to day scale? i think it is probably different for everyone, and unique for everyone. but its hard when you hear that you should be buying a house and thinking about the future when really you just want to be living in a big city and giving homeless people lollipops.
i could wax philosphical all day long. i could even throw in a dozen or so philosophers to help me figure out this conundrum. in the end, i think which path you choose does matter. i strongly believe there is a divine plan for me, and i was born thinking im going to do amazing, world-changing things (my mom said i was born with confidence you've never seen). i think everyone has this capability and amazing, world-changing things to offer, if they choose to follow the right path. my dad says most choose the path of least resistance, which i try to avoid so carefully sometimes i arbitrarily choose the path of most resistance. maybe there are a series of right paths. who knows. all i know is, i dont want to be in utah, and im deathly afraid of settling or not getting advanced degrees or not choosing something, but just ending up with it because i happened upon it, which makes sleeping at night rather difficult.
this is a boring, rambling, ridiculous post. but i told nick last night that in most general, daily conversation i never really say what im thinking about or what i wish to be saying, because i know the other person isnt interested in a discussion of aristotle or a debate on gun control, and sometimes i just want to say what i say.
OKAY? SO THIS IS ME SAYING WHAT I WANT TO SAY. GET OVER IT.
if anyone has guidance on the topic, or can help me figure out the right plan for my life, let me know ASAP. i also want you all to know that this is a more specific, daily worry, but that overall i am confident God or the Universe or whichever higher power you believe in, will lead me the direction I need to go to accomplish those big, world-changing things. and i keep reminding myself of that.
okay everyone, the boringness is over. please excuse when the enormous, overanalytical, nose-in-a-book nerd inside of me pushes her way past the skinny jeans.
Friday, May 8, 2009
happy birthday to my mom.
today is my mom's birthday. she would be 51. normally i dont tell people personal information like that because it is holy to me, but i decided to let it loose on the web because i want everyone to celebrate my mom's birthday, because it is a special day. a day for dancing and loving and smiling and feeling like your chest is going to burst because life is hard but it is also incredibly full of beauty, and sacred and precious. i decided this morning that this beautiful day would be a celebration. a celebration of life and love and wings and bluebirds and beating hearts that are so real and holy and all the beautiful things my mom taught me. i have done a lot of crying, and a lot of loud singing to arcade fire and beastie boys and the now 27 cd, and more crying. on a sidenote, i would like my funeral to be a group singalong to wake up by arcade fire. and now that that is published on the worldwideweb you must all fulfill my wishes when im through or else my ghost will come back to haunt you when im gone.
i know some of you probably think i am crazy for calling this day a celebration. but it is a celebration. it is a celebration because i had (and have) the best mom ever. she taught me and millions of other people in this cold and lonely world about their inner possibility. she believed in people. she believed in me. she loved children, and they loved her. she served with all of her heart. she was selfless. she was everyone's best friend. she suffered horrific cancer and cancer treatment twice with dignity, grace and incredible compassion. the only time i ever heard anything that could slightly resemble complaining come from her mouth (even through terrible pain and the deterioration of her body) was the time we were late to the doctor and we were in the car and my dad didnt turn when he had a chance and the sh word slipped out of her mouth. she was on a lot of drugs at the time that were messing with her mind, and she cant be held responsible. but it sure made me laugh, and love her even more.
my mom was many wonderful things, funny and beautiful and fun and remarkably intelligent, but more than anything she embodied charity. one time when she was in terrible, excruciating pain as her life ended, down to less than 80 pounds and unable to eat or drink, she started to scream from the unbearable nature of the disease overtaking her body. the hospice nurse nor anyone else could calm her down. i was there for every moment of my mom's slow spiral toward death, but this moment was too much for me. i began to cry, unable to control the pain i felt at my mom's physical suffering. she opened her eyes, put her hand on mine, and in slurred and drugged speech told me, "its okay shanny." even in the midst of her own horrific suffering, suffering i cannot imagine, she was more concerned about me than herself. in the worst moment of her life, she was looking outward. she was the very definition of charity, a tumor-filled cancer patient with a heart that could not be conquered by drugs and pain and disease. that was the last conversation i ever had with my mom, and the one that has defined my life from this moment forward. she was released from her life on earth because she had figured out the secret of living, that true, real joy is found in loving others.
because of that today is a celebration my friends, because even from the ugliness of cancer and disease and death can spring lovely, wonderful things like charity and hope and life. because even though thinking about my mom hurts my heart, it makes me want to be better and more like her and more like God. it is a celebration of healthy bodies, of toes and eyes and hearts and the ability to jump and move and eat without pain, because for the last seven months of her life she did not have that, and it is a precious, precious gift. it is a celebration of possibilities, the infinite possibility within each person and the hope that we can all see that possibility within one another. it is a celebration because my mom taught me, at the tender age of 19, the secret of living, of really, truly, completely living, even if you are dying from terminal cancer. the secret to happiness, come what may. that conversation will forever remain etched on the landscape of my mind, a reminder that cancer is no match for charity, and that compassion lives on forever, and is a force much bigger and greater than we could ever imagine. for that i am profoundly grateful, and for that i sing and dance and eat candy and celebrate. and for that i choose, this day and every day from now on, to try to remember to live, to really, truly live, as my mom did, no matter what may happen or how many melanoma tumors choose to enter my body.
so dont worry about me today. celebrate life and living and charity. eat some candy. say hi to your neighbor. do something youre scared of. stop thinking about yourself. listen to someone. do them a favor. buy them some pop rocks. lend someone your now 27 cd. give someone your favorite coat or shoes or whatever, because its good for the soul. look for their possibility. believe in them and their potential for greatness. im going to try to do this today, because everytime i get down and miss her so infinitely much and want her here to hug me and listen to me and make everything better, i try to do something nice for someone else. and thats when she comes, teaching me how to live, the touch of her soft hand and the sound of her soft voice whispering, "its okay shanny."
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
stay golden. you and me and charlie are artists.
(picture shown to me by eric cottrell and i cant remember who photographed it, but hes good dont you think?)“every child is an artist. the problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”--pablo picasso
sometimes i have small panic attacks that i am becoming an adult and that somewhere the artist inside of me or the creator or the free bird with wings that is ready to sing is slowly being silenced, being covered by health insurance and church callings and the mundanity of everyday life. breathe shannon i say. calm down. i see kids all day but sometimes i wonder if the one inside of me is gone, if the the details and bills and paperwork are somehow slowly chiseling away the creativesoul inside and that all of the things that made me shannon elizabeth mehner as a child have become subject to the difficulty of just keeping my head afloat in this great big grown up ocean. this grown up business is tricky.
as a child, teenager, and well into my college years functioning as a normal person was not my strong suit. matching clothes and clean rooms, even remembering to turn off the lights, was not a part of the calendar year. one time i was cooking macaroni and cheese but i was reading this beautiful book and i knew it was burning (the macaroni and cheese, not the book), i could smell it and hear it and a part of my brain knew, but i just kept on reading until whitney's pan was scorched to the core. sorry whitney, i never bought you a new pan. see, im so bad at this stuff.
that book was a dream though.
but deadlines and paperwork and all of those details, man, not my thing. i liked books and poetry and art and imagination. i liked to create, and be in awe of creation. one time during college i hopped in the car with lucky (the very embodiment of a bluebird, marching to the beat of the craziest drum ive ever heard) in our onesie pajamas and drove to montana and listened to john lennon and danced by the side of the road next to a ram on a mountain and ate so many animal crackers i almost died and told stories about truck drivers, intricate, detailed stories about imaginary truckdrivers and their lives on the road. we arrived at my sisters house at 3 am and left the next day at 7 pm. in all grownup standards, it was ridiculous. but boy we danced next to those montana mountains in that brilliant sun. and i felt alive.
during my sophomore year of college i painted one shoe bright pink and one shoe bright green and i wore them to school everyday. i loved neon. neon was life. at the time i thought my dad was going to get an ulcer from how ridiculous i looked and i did look ridiculous. but it just felt good you know, to wear neon. to wear what i wanted. i felt like me in those shoes. i liked how that felt.
nick and i talk a lot about how life is a balance. boy do i know it. i am trying to learn balance. sometimes its just so boring though! i work fulltime, i wear normal, boring, professional clothes, i try to be productive. gone are the days of cutting out snowflakes in the attic until 2 am and then pasting them on the ceiling. gone are the days of writing millions of random thoughts on very small pieces of paper, and dispersing them in random places on campus for random people to find while they are going on with their everyday lives. i go to bed at a decent hour. i have a routine.
its not all bad. some of it is very good. i am much better at functioning in life now. there are no loaves of bread under my bed molding, unlike high school. i have not burned anything in a while. i take care of adult things that i never thought i would be able to take care of. but sometimes i miss wearing neon shoes and writing down my thoughts in a secret journal and reading poetry in the middle of the day on a bench and crying because it made me feel so incredibly alive. i love to feel alive! sometimes i miss hiding in the closet so i wouldnt have to clean the bathroom and reading bridge to terabithia for the 600th time and marveling at the fact that it just gets better everytime you read it. sometimes i miss being golden, and i worry that all the golden parts inside of me are rotting.
i dont think all grownups lose the child inside. i hope not. i think it is always there if we look for it. being a grown up is inveitable. progression is important. this i know and believe most of the time. im glad that i am better at paying bills. but i hope that no matter how deep i wade into the ocean of adulthood, i still keep a foot in the kiddie pool. i hope i still make irrational decisions and believe that imagination is the most important thing in the entire world and read poetry sometimes in the middle of the day even though the kitchen is a disaster. i hope my bluebird never goes into too deep of a sleep because im so focused on getting everything done that i forget how beautiful just living and breathing and being can be. i hope sometimes i still wear neon. i hope i always dance like no one is watching, and i dance often. i hope i never worry too much about what other grownups think.
i hope too, that i always find time to create, and to appreciate creation in all of its forms. picasso is right when he says every child is an artist. smart man that picasso. maybe not every child is a painter or a writer or a reader or a muralist, but every child appreciates spiderwebs and leaves and snowfall. every child creates worlds and stories and imagines they are batman or babe ruth or a butterfly or a princess. every child can make a toy out of yarn or a paperclip or even their own hand. im always amazed at recess that the kids are never cold, but they dont even notice the frosty weather. they are busy creating.
i know grownup world comes with responsibilities and worries and real life things to address. but i hope you still let that child out sometimes, okay? is that okay? i hope you still think spiderwebs are a wonder, and try to create something everyday because the world is too big and bright not to, and you are an artist. worlds, paintings, good vibrations, a toy out of yarn, whatever you want. i think you should sit back and soak in the world sometimes too. i was babysitting yesterday and we sat on a bench, charlie, jillian and i, and we watched two men cut down an enormous oak tree and it was beautiful being there in the sun watching this enormous tree come down branch by branch, so big and sad a little that its life was over and done, and i sat back and watched and charlie and i talked about how tough tree cutters are and i felt glad to be there. content. when we were coming home four-year-old charlie turned to me with big eyes and a golden soul and said in all earnestness, "life is awesome." i agree. and i hope that no matter how busy i get or how many worries life brings or how easy it is to let all of the golden inside rot, i always see it the way charlie does.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)