on knowledge.

{via}

Lately, I've really been struggling with this whole "I know better" guilt. 

I know that I should eat healthier. I know that I should work-out more. I know that I should keep the house clean. I know that I can be a better wife. I know that I can wake up earlier. I know that I can work harder at my job. I know, I know, I know.

So I have all this guilt for the things I'm not doing. I don't do them because I have this constant fear of not being good enough. And then I drown those feelings with more laziness and food. And that my friends, is the vicious cycle I am in.

I have this ache to paint and write and run and sing and bake and LIVE.

I just don't because I have convinced myself that I'm not good enough to find happiness in those things.

As if I have to be perfect at a task to enjoy it.

I feel this suffocating demand to be without flaw, and I know I'll never live up to that so I fall back on the knowledge that I will fail at perfection.

So why try.

But even here, I know better. I know that it is not perfection that is asked of me or of you or of anyone.

Improvement is all that is expected.

I have this text-message urgency to have everything now and reach the future now and be prepared now and have all my problems solved now.

The future isn't now. I know that too.

Knowledge isn't always what it seems. The truth is, knowledge can be crippling.

Truth seems like freedom when you don't have it.

But when you do, it comes with expectations. I just wanted to go on a cruise, but I have an expectation to run the ship.

Life isn't a vacation. I keep trying to take a vacation FROM MY LIFE, but you can't. Life follows you wherever you go. Responsibility, expectations, and structure call to you each and every Monday.

It is not a hard life, but sometimes living it is hard.

I know that I should do better, but I don't know if I can be better. I hope I can. I want to be. But that is something I just don't know.

I see my feet slip-up and my steps get shaky, and instead of working to regain my balance, I jump off the cliff. As if I meant to do it in the first place.

No one can judge me if they think I chose this. No one can make me feel bad if I make myself feel worse first.

But, then there was a break-through.

Bonnie L Oscarson spoke to me this week. (To thousands of other women too, but really to me.) I have emotionally craved this lesson for months. Her solution to all of my stresses and worries and fears came in eight words.

"Aim for the ideal but plan for contingencies."

This is my new mantra. All week I have repeated this over and over and over in my head. I can learn to accept contingencies. I can move beyond the ideal of perfection and find happiness even when things don't go according to plan.

I can get through these struggles. I can overcome. I can be better.

{via}

gratitude.

Brené Brown is my soul sister.

She is well-known for a TED talk on vulnerability.

She was also on Super Soul Sunday with Oprah, where she reiterated a comment from one of her books that gratitude is the key to joy.

---

I have been single for the majority of my life. The longest relationship I had been in, lasted a month. And I enjoyed being single.

I say this to emphasize the fact that I'm not a relationship expert; I don't have experience or any sort of knowledge on what works for everyone.

But, I wanted to share something that has been on my mind a lot recently:

My relationship has been hard. Hard because I consistently fought it. I am extremely lucky to have a man who is patient and understanding, who is obsevant and  approachable, who communicates when I can't find the words.

I am regularly insecure and often feel inadequate. For me, it seems easier to be alone. It seems easier to deal with my problems and fears in private. It seems easier because it's what I'm used to. When I get stressed or worried, I isolate myself.

Being single was easier because I could be wherever, whenever. I could hibernate and wallow and stuff my face and no one knew or cared.

Now I have someone who notices and sees and wants to fix everything. Man, boys like to fix things. And letting someone help has been terrifying. Opening and releasing my innermost thoughts nearly chokes me.

Vulnerability is the key to love, because (at least for me) love comes from appreciation. And how can there be appreciation without service? How can there be service without needs? There can't.

And in order to see the need we have to observe. In order for others to observe our needs we must communicate them.

Being transparent is frightening. But feeling understood and accepted after opening? That is the most beautiful thing I've ever felt.

That, to me, is love. It's not a perfect first kiss or a fun date. It's not arm candy or consistent plans on a Friday night. Love isn't a full bank account or a ten-year plan.

Love, for me, is sacrifice. It's in the silence after all words are spoken. Love is in the metaphorical hug that can only be felt after you jump off a cliff into their arms.

And love isn't kept once you find it.

Love is work. I always thought it was a feeling, but it's an experience. A constant choice. A choice that I believe reaps everlasting joy.

Joy that is kept when we are continually grateful for what we have and simultaneously offering good things for our partners to be grateful for.

It is hard and uncertain and far-from controllable. But it is worth that jump. It's worth the tears and the sacrifice and the risk.

Most people mistake passion for love, but I think it is more of a silent, solid trust.

I'm grateful for the honest, loyal man I have found. And I thank God every day that I didn't settle for the freedom of spinsterhood or the fleeting fun of previous relationships.

My joy is full. I would've waited thirty more years to experience this.

Don't settle for a ring. Don't settle for butterflies. Don't settle for sarcasm or empty promises.

Hold out for the lung collapse of terror when you find someone you cannot live without. Fight for the real stuff. Don't stand in your own way.

The joy will be worth the wait.

piles and piles of love.

snow is my favorite thing.

and today, the heavens opened and slowly dumped inches of beauty from the sky.

it isn't even the kind that melts in twelve hours.

it is beautiful, ideal-for-snowmen perfection.

it fell slowly, but steadily.

visibility wasn't far, but the roads were clear enough.

and all of these just seemed like a metaphor to me.

i keep thinking that this winter is an outline for romance.

i got the feeling today that i won't be single for much longer.

someone must have poisoned my water to make me fathom such a grandiose idea, but it was there. and it has stuck.

this "omen" of sorts, telling me that good things are coming. that they'll be gradual, but that it will be layed on thick. and it will stay.

there is no guarantee of forever, and i certainly wont know what is coming next. but i'll see just far enough ahead to feel safe and happy and excited.

the snow of 2013, has me full of butterflies.

dream boy.

i have been in two relationships. each lasted exactly two months from first date to break-up.
both of these boys were outgoing and funny.
both liked to cook.
both had hoards of friends.
both of them had dreams and ambitions within reach. -- both of them worked hard to make them come true.
both treated me with respect.
both spoke of marriage and futures, and both made plans.
each is a good person and each deserve beauty and love and happiness.

dream boy is different.

dream boy is quiet, he is a wallflower.
dream boy teases me, but never mocks.
dream boy does not seek attention.
dream boy listens and observes.
dream boy accepts compliments graciously, but never seeks them out.
dream boy opens doors for everyone, all the time, no matter what.
dream boy makes me feel safe.
dream boy always says thank you.
dream boy never returns animosity.
dream boy offers assistance and helps even when i deem it unnecessary.
dream boy inspires me and encourages me.

dream boy is different.

he isn't mine. he may never be.
but he has done more good for my heart than anyone else in the world.

i'd like him to be the third. the one who breaks all the patterns. the snow that doesn't melt so quickly.

when your life becomes gilmore girls.

they told me, over and over again that this was it.

but i kept telling myself that everyone leaves.
that it isn't real.

i guess, someone sees you so vulnerable and it's hard to imagine they'll see you in any other way.
that even though you've changed and grown, that they'll only remember your tear-stained face in the corner.

but then he does stay.
and he tells me i'm beautiful.

and i just can't.

there is no reason for it.

i should be in love with the person in front of me. the person offering forever.

but i'm not.

and it breaks my heart that i can't give him this one thing when he has given me everything.

crying.

epiphany on love.

You know that Ingrid Michaelson song? The one that was on that Grey's episode a while back; the one about snow. This one:


I was listening to it yesterday and had to stop my car because it hit me.

I love snow.
Snow melts.

But it doesn't matter how many times it melts or summer comes around, I still love snow.

It's almost like the snow being gone makes me appreciate it more.

Well, shouldn't love be the same way? It's supposed to be soft and quiet and unexpected.
It's supposed to shock and awe you.

Yes, sometimes it's going to fade. Sometimes the wind is going to blow it away.

But we shouldn't waste all our time being upset that it melted.
We should just be excited that it's going to come again. Maybe this time it will come faster and harder. And maybe this time it will stay longer.

Maybe this time you will be better prepared.

I'm trying to focus on the happy 'maybe's in life.

he knows i'm not good with surprises.

he opened the passenger door for me. my only instruction was to look at the piece of paper on the front seat.
i didn't know where we were going or what was waiting for us.

the paper was blank; i laughed as he walked around front and got in the driver's seat.
before i could question it, he took every color of pen from the center console and handed them to me.

you're going to draw a picture.


of what? i asked.

of everything that is stressing you out; everything that makes you mad and sad and frustrated.


then, we started driving. and driving.

twenty minutes into the desert i had drawn and written down everything i could think of.
[including a picture of the jerk-face sharks that eat baby sea turtles, which i had reluctantly watched on PBS the night before.]


we turned onto a dirt road.

is it hard to talk positively while writing negatively?


he can read minds.

we came to a stop. i folded up the paper and gave it to him.

from the back he pulled a cardboard box and placed my pain inside.

he hammered a stake into the dust and placed the box on top. a target was taped to the outside, and within seconds he placed hearing protectors on my head and a handgun in my palm.

and then i shot six rounds.

he reloaded.

i shot again.

and again.

and again.

and that was it.

he complimented my accuracy. we got back in the car and he drove me home.

my thumb is black and blue. i have a blood blister on my pinky.
battle scars i proudly show off.

but with them is a hole in my heart.
for a boy that picked me up on a saturday night, just to help me relieve stress.
when he has an even heavier load to carry.

i've fallen for your eyes, but they don't know me yet.

pouty face.

irony is seeing the man you're in love with, while you're on a date with someone else.

my friends are better than yours.

my little friend/gnome to your left is evidence of my affection for porcelain garden-guardians. [say that ten times, fast.]

for my birthday this year, mr. chivalrous bought me my first-ever gnome.

and then yesterday i was at my bff jill's house and she gave me a planter gnome, and a watering can gnome. for no reason, other than she is awesome.

So, the planter gnome on top is named Joe after bff JoAnna.

The watering can was named Patrick after I accidentally kicked him over and said, 'Sorry Patrick.'

And my wheelbarrow gnome from Mr. Chivalrous is named Carl Herbert.

You should be jealous that your friends don't contribute to your irrational collections.

since his return from a stay on the moon.

"I'm afraid that [he] might think of me as:
Plain ol' Jane told a story about a man
Who was too afraid to fly so he never did land."
- Drops of Jupiter, Train

there was this over-whelming distance.

this barrier that only needed time to fall.

as the seconds grew shorter, her heart beat faster.

his presence fell closer and her breaths,

farther apart.

she could imagine his chuckle, his soft smile.

confident dreaming could sustain her aching heart.

her mind was restless; too trusting in rumors.

until she forced herself to replace her hope

with reality.

her mind redirected, but still her heart

chased after a shooting star--out of reach.

her mind reinforced the barrier's strength.

whispers slipped through the cracks; her heart

beat on.

displaced and erased again and again,

her feelings fought through and her love,

her adoration remained for him. a boy

of few words, whose glance turned her knees

into eggshells.

**Summer-school should be forbidden for future doctors that I'm infatuated with. Okay?

it just breaks my heart.

"He saved me... in every way that a person can be saved." - Titanic

And now, that his little puppy-dog face is sad,

I just can't take it.

I just want to hug him and make everything better.

I want to punch whomever/whatever is upsetting him.

I wish I could fix everything for him.

Tear.

Poor Mr. Chivalrous. :(

because we all love sara and crying.

"Tell me why it will be good again.
All those demons are closing in.
And I don't want you to burn.
Nevermind what I said before;
I don't want any less anymore...


I wouldn't need a second chance."