Trying to Plath it off...

Again with the stops and starts in my postings--I am consistant in my inconsistancy. So what now? I am still here, I haven't abandoned this venture to head back toward warmer and more familiar climates, so I guess I am ok. On time off I've been reading the Plath biography that Lizzie gave me and through that (amidst other events) I've come to remember how much I simply love to write. Her inspiration has give me inspiration, though I hardly plan to end up with my head in the oven or married to a Hughes-type character. I have found my creative candle rekindled. My writing is probably the only behavior that my mother has ever encouraged, so the conversation I had with her yesterday was plesant and almost enjoyable. I was discussing Plath and mentioned that I read "The Bell Jar" last year and she said, quite suddenly, "I read that too--I loved it but I haven't read another word of Plaths; I understood her too well and that frightened me." I was thrown back by my mother's statement; for it was the same reaction I had to Plath. It was disconcerning to think my mother and I have something in common, but in all seriousness it gave me insight into who my mother is as a person. I understand a bit more about that side of her I've never known, and thus maybe a bit of where that darkness in me came from.
(I apologize for the subject's title; it's such a bad pun I had to use it.)

The Future in Hindsight

As I stand on the edge of the future God has made for me I can't help but look back on what I had dreamed about and what was lost. If I didn't have these back problems and back pains, what a kayaker I'd be! I'd own boats and I'd teach--maybe I'd end up managing a company or working for a maker. Where would I live? Who would I know? What stories would I tell? Would I be able to play guitar more w/o those headaches and neckaches? Would I perform again?
God has me where he has me for a purpose and a reason, but tonight I can't see it past my present physical pains as I mourn the loss of What Was.

"Feeeeeeelings, Nothing More Than Feelings...."

Today I had the 6.5 hr drive back to VA to pick up the last of my things and attend a wedding. Driving is always a sort of therapy for me as it forces me to think on things I've avoided. Today's thoughts were on feeling, or more specifically, the heart. How is it that humans have been in existance for thousands of years yet we've only been able to understand the first few inches of a depth of tens of leagues within the human heart? My friend Liz and I were talking about those things that have portions of our hearts, and how reserved we are about confessing that for a multitude of reasons, some well-intentioned but most mere self-preservation. We don't own what is in our hearts. I think on this because I have a sincere desire to give Christ my whole heart, yet if I don't even know what's there, How am I to know what I'm giving over to him? I want to know what I give him--not so I can control and censor what I give, rather so that I may give more freely and willingly. If Christ has my heart and a desire in my heart continues to grow, who am I to supress and deny that desire? We downplay it, we brush it off, keep it secretive under the guise of "making sure it's God's plan" but if you've prayed about it earnestly and you've sought his will and guidance and yet that desire still grows, who are you to quell it? I want to learn to own what I feel; what I am passionate about and what distracts me. In my life it's a person who I've recently realized means more to me than about anyone else on the planet, and his happiness and wellbeing matter more than my own. It has little to do with us being together (though frankly I wouldn't mind); I just genuinely love him for who he is: my friend. I don't think I would be able to own that before now, but if it fails than it fails. If I regret it than I do; if I am broken then I am and I know who will heal me. But if I don't own it, I lose feeling something. Feeling is a gift--both physically and emotionally--it is the difference between bland food and spice, between cloudy days and cloudless skies, stoic faces and wide mouths of surprise--it's like a self-check on living. God gave it to us for a reason and I've sqandered it in the names of strong independence and selfish pride for too long. I want to own what I am.

Next Bold Move

I haven't posted in a while--its not that I haven't had anything to say, in fact it's quite the opposite. I've had too much to say, too much thought, too much action, too much change. I don't know where to begin to wrangle and wrestle such unbroken ideas into sentences or linear thought.
I am in New York now. Wow. I have an apartment. I have a roommate. I don't have classes. I am doing what grown ups do. Overwhelming in its own regard. And what of leaving? Crabfest was the closest thing I may ever come to having a wedding reception--it was some of my favorite people on the planet gathered together to finally meet face to face. It brought tears to my eyes to even consider it a possibility. My sister will be 11 on Friday and I am there no longer. At the time in her life when a big sister may matter the most I am 500 miles away. Do I trust God to love and hold her close as the vines of self-doubt and teenagerdom threaten to strangle her innocence and trust? Oh hold her close, I love that little girl.
It's hard--I go through bouts of lonliness and overwhelming meloncholy--but if this is indeed the place I am to be in my life, then here I will stay, sensitive to the next bold move.

Quicksilver

I don't know what to say; maybe I've forgotten how to say it. Today is the first day I've actually had to myself, off from work, since mid-July. Wow. It hasn't felt that long though--days stretch and coalesce until they form one undulating mess that is time. I guess time is quicksilver.