New Spin, Old Habit

My newest adventure began when the plane left the tarmac at the Orlando airport in the 7 o'clock hour. The window I sat next to gave me an incredible view of the sea of fluff carelessly drifting above the land I had been standing on hours before. The sun cast amazing colors over them and I was almost sure I wouldn't lose sight of it this time.

I now know that even airplanes cannot catch the sunset. The sky was dark as I took the train between gates at DFW. Aside from the view from that window the airport was all I would see of Texas. I arrived at SEA just after midnight local time in surprisingly better shape than I expected.

One thing that stands out from my first leg of travel is that I ended up in some sort of conversation with all three of the people I found myself sitting next to. This never happens. As I say that a hope they have all made it to their families and final destinations safely crosses my mind.

The time on this post is going to be off because I started it after I woke up this morning and didn't get back to it until much later at night. Today was spent eating and doing touristy things around Seattle. My impression so far is favorable, but I think this town has the most chaotic road system I have ever seen. It's a strange mix of highway meets countryside that turns, drops, and criscrosses without always giving warning. I'm also curious as to why the fine for not wearing a seatbelt is $101. Was the extra buck really necessary or had somebody just watched too much Disney?

In choosing a picture to post for today I find myself torn between two. I have chosen this one because of the time I spent watching the little boy in blue taunt the fountain he was intermittently brave in approaching. It's not a fantastic picture or even one that clearly displays that I made it to Seattle, but it touches me in a way I cannot quite explain.

Captured At:1241

From the mountains...

Truth be told I'm at quite a loss for words right now. They're completely evading me and I have no idea why. This will be short because of that, but I suppose there are a few things I can mention.

I continue to enjoy my trip. For any number of reasons I'll be sad to leave on Tuesday morning. I'm not sure I'm ready to go, but it appears I have worn Melissa out. She commented on that today - in a nice way I hasten to add - as we climbed up one of the paths on Mt. Rainier.

Dajie chose to stay home so it was just the two of us versus the volcano. Between driving and walking we made it up about 5600 feet. The view, both of the mountain and from it, blew me away. I have never seen anything like it in my life and possibly never will again. Some of my pictures came out nicely, but I got the impression that my adventure was supposed to be internalized. I have no idea how to accomplish that given that I was on sensory overload. From spectacular views to stops in small towns to brief ventures off the beaten path I cannot even begin describing all of it.

I can, however, brag about what I have been referring to all day as "battle damage". On the side of my face, about level with my right eye, is a nice red scratch running about an inch and a half in length. Melissa helped a tree branch beat me up. I was caught completely off guard and am very thankful it wasn't better directed or my eye would have had some serious problems.

The picture I'm posting tonight was taken at a stop we made returning from the park. Looking at it I'm torn between disappointment and a strange curiousity as to how one accomplishes such a thing - if you can call it an "accomplishment" that is...

Captured At: 237

Waiting for the next explosion...

My final day in the great state of Washington has drawn to a close, but has done so wonderfully. I cannot quite explain why, but I am beyond glad that I chose to come out here and Dajie and Melissa were willing to have me.

With Melissa tired from yesterday's excursions on the volcano I wasn't quite sure what we would end up doing today. The answer was split up, this time will her staying home and Dajie and I setting out to explore. He and I have never really spent time together so this was a wonderful opportunity. We wandered Seattle's waterfront, historic district, and international district for hours chatting and stopping to take random pictures we thought had the potential to come out well. He was as content to walk around without a set destination as I was.

As we walked through the historic district a man who appeared to be one of the city's homeless told us to have a nice week. I smiled, said "thank you" and wished him the same. His response to this was "Thank you for that smile", and proceeded to tell me that smiles and laughter are the best medicine. I agreed and wished him well as we continued moving in the opposite direction to cross the street.

There was a very twisted song on the radio back when I was in middle school or high school that contained the line "you never know just how you look through other people's eyes". I told Dajie I had never been thanked for a smile before and how touched I was by that. He said he was surprised that didn't happen often because I'm always smiling. I cannot say I ever considered that to be something people would say about me, but of all the things possible I'm glad that falls on the list.

We caught a beautiful sunset over the lake once we got home, and returned outside not even an hour later to watch the fireworks show taking place at the park next door. I wish I could explain what happened to me as I watched the colors light up the sky. It was something inside that took me back to every fireworks display I could remember and left me somewhere between sad, missing the people I had watched with, and overflowing with joy and gratitude.

As the show progressed the importance I saw in the holiday rushed over me in a way I haven't experienced since I was small. The blasts pounded inside my chest and I was thrown back to imagining what it was like when those noises were heard echoing from the battlefields that held our destiny as a nation. I wondered how many other people had really connected with what the Fourth of July was about and how many took it as a day off and another excuse for beer, a cookout, and playing with fire.

This country was founded by people who believed in something so strongly they were willing to die for it. I look at what little I know of the political scene today and wonder how many of those people complaining would be willing to give their lives for their cause. Do we even fight for things greater than ourselves anymore, or are we too wrapped up in our own personal gain to really consider what is truly right or best? I look at cases like the ones against the pledge and the display of the ten commandments and I have to question how trying to ban religion is any different than trying to enforce it. We have strayed so far. Still, I cannot express how thankful I am to have been born and raised in this country.

My attempts to take pictures of the fireworks were highly unsuccessful. I grew tired of trying to watch through a lens and gave up. Much to my surprise I actually got a decent one or two in there. So, in the sprit of a holiday essentially over now, Happy Fourth of July, two thousand five.

Captured At: 359

Seattle Revisited

Looking back at my last few posts they were a lot shorter than they could have been. I didn't want to be inconsiderate by spending time writing so many thoughts went unsaid. I suppose this is my attempt to recollect them and fill in a few blank spaces.

Melissa and Dajie's apartment sits on Lake Washington. Looking over the water there are hills all around with the exception of one valley through which the Seattle skyline can be seen. The building strikes me as more of a condo, probably because of how different it is from any of the ones I have seen down here.

Being in the apartment was interesting because I found several very different places fighting for my memory. Their complex seems to use the same oil fragrance in the hallways that spills from the bathroom into the bedroom at one of my friend's houses. Inside the actual apartment it carried a scent that took me to another friend's house, and it had the feel of my accommodations as an exchange student in Germany. Somehow, in all of that confusion, I felt comfortable.

As comfortable as I can be, that is. I never really make myself at home in other people's places. I don't leave shampoo in the shower or a toothbrush on the counter. Every article of clothing I have only comes out of the bag to be worn and goes right back in after I've changed out of it. I'm very careful not to throw things around or leave anything behind. I would like to say that's because I'm trying to be as little of an inconvenience as possible, but when I take into account that I exhibit similar behaviour at hotels and visiting home I can no longer find any sort of logical explanation. I'll chalk it off as one of my (hopefully) charming quirks and not stress too much over it.

As a whole I really liked Seattle. True there were tall buildings and crosswalks everywhere, but I didn't get that overwhelming "country mouse goes to the city" feeling at all. The size of the Space Needle surprised me; I was higher off the ground standing on the roof of the VAB to survey the Cape than on the observation deck to view the city. From the way the pictures display it you would think it's a much larger structure.

The area really is as green as everybody says. I found it interesting to listen to Melissa comment on the color of the trees and the sky because I'm often saying many of the same things about my sweltering Florida. Perhaps it's the departure from what we've come to consider "normal" that really strikes us.

Again, Mt. Rainier was amazing. We stopped twice - one due to a desire to capture a "volcano evacuation route" sign on film - in little "everybody knows everybody" towns, and even passed a place that boasted a population of two. The view as we drove and walked was too spectacular for words. I mentioned the wound I received from the tree branch, and now have a picture to go with it.

Strangely enough I actually wouldn't mind if it became a scar. There would be a much more interesting story behind it than the one on my elbow, in my eyebrow, or the ones dotting my legs.

For as much as I can say about the trip, there is probably an equal amount I cannot. Describing what goes on inside a person is difficult. I lack understanding of many of the thoughts and emotions that filled me as I wandered wide-eyed through a new city, watched people with no idea they had caught my attention, and soaked in landscapes too beautiful to capture.

This is strange to say, but somehow I find contentment in not knowing. Some things are so amazing in and of themselves that they can simply be; no further understanding required. Unlike butterflies they're impossible to catch, but you never know when their fragile beauty will come to rest upon you.

Captured At:1635

The wonderful thing...

He sat on the bed waiting patiently until his heart leapt at the sound of keys echoing through the rooms. Much to his delight he was pounced on the moment she came through the door and found him there as if she had never left. Her eyes smiled as she pulled him close saying how much she had missed him. He absorbed every possible bit of warmth from the embrace, his insides dancing with joy to be reunited. She squeezed tighter, pulled away to look into his eyes for a moment, then buried him in her arms again.

This was the girl he had come to love so dearly. He would never have thought it possible, but with each moment together he loved her more than the last. From the magic in her laughter to the innocence in her tears he knew beyond a doubt how unlike any other she was. Pairing this knowledge with the realization that she was his never ceased to fill him with wonder and amazement. Could such a thing really be possible? What had he done to deserve her unending affection?

A week earlier she had sat with him saying how much she wished she didn’t have to leave him behind. She hated the thought of him there alone and knew her sleep would be different while she was away; nothing else her arms encircled felt right anymore. He watched her move around the room gathering her things to leave, but each time their eyes met she dropped what she was carrying and clung to him again. And then it was time. She looked at him from the doorway and told him to be good before turning away one last time.

Somewhere during these exchanges she had looked at him and realized what a sad turn her life had taken. Her reflection in his eyes showed a starvation that frightened her, but instead of pulling away she clung tighter. Nobody would understand. This sort of thing simply wasn’t acceptable, but right or wrong, crazy or sane, he was all she had. She continued to pour every ounce of love she had into him regardless of what she told herself or what others would say. It was real love. Misdirected perhaps, but real. Both wonderfully and stupidly, it would endure.

Captured At: 004

Milo is now resting safely in the lot outside. While my desire to run hasn't changed, the motivation behind it certainly has. One piece of advice often given out is that if you get lost you should stay where you are so somebody can find you. In moving you run the risk of missing those trying to bring you home and delaying or preventing a safe return.

There's certainly wisdom in that theory, but there is a flaw in that it assumes the existence of some sort of search party. If nobody is aware that you're lost how can they ever know to go looking for you? How are you to know that anyone has even realized you've gone missing?

So do you wait or move? What happens when neither works? Do you continue tracing the same steps and following the same pattern or do you give up? What does giving up look like anyway? If you go you've given up waiting, if you wait you've given up going and your condition hasn't changed with either action. So what do you do? How do you ensure you don't remain lost forever, and how do you deal with the desperation that sets in when you finally realize how badly you need to be found? What's worse, how do you handle the knowledge that even if reunited with any member of the party you had been split from they wouldn't be able to lead you the right way? The problem remains unsolved.

Knowledge clearly can be a huge curse. I know more than I would like about things I don't want to, and I know much less than I should about the things I need to. I cannot say I'm sure this bodes well for my survival. I'm fighting in every way I know how and it's not enough. I need help and I have no idea where to find it.

Captured At:1755

"Well you may find your religion, you may find your attraction..."

The moon is rapidly descending in the west, turning a shade of orange that closely resembles the low fuel light that appeared on my dashboard while driving home. An intelligent person would see this as an indication that they should be headed toward sleep as well, but clearly I'm not intelligent. Not tonight at least.

A constant distraction to me today is the skin slowly separating itself from my body. I got a terrible sunburn working at the Press Site before launch that, quite literally, made parts of my face look as if they had melted together. I can now boast a new nose, forehead, and cheeks, as well as what's well on the way to being new upper arms. Oh, and new ears. I had never burned my ears before - especially not the inside - but I sure pulled it off this time.

Yes, I know. Sunscreen. Sometimes I forget that the climate in which I currently live is vastly different from the one I grew up in where spending a day in the sun didn't result in a severe burn. On the plus side, I realized the blisters popping up while I was outside had nothing to do with how bad the burn was, but rather that I was sweating and the fluid was building up.

That said, what has me up at this hour is a return from my most recent Dave Matthews Band concert. I have seen so many of them that I've lost count, but I'm not tired of them yet. They played for nearly three hours this evening closing with "Two Step", which is easily my favorite song live. Yes, even above "#41".

I think examining attitudes and behaviours toward constants in life is one of the best ways to really see evolution of self. DMB has been one of my constants for over a decade now, and as I bounced along with the music this evening I couldn't help but turn my thoughts inward.

Sitting in front of us tonight were two girls - I should say "women" as they were both married, though they looked as if they could have been younger than myself or even the friend I went with. At some point in the show one of them says to her friend, "I need him to see me" and proceeds to stand on her chair.

I was that girl once. Not in the respect that I needed Dave to see me or even that I'd smoked as much pot as she had (I'm proud to say I have always been drug free), but in that I did get yelled at once for standing on my chair at a show. I was also seventeen. I can still bounce along with the best of them, but I'm well past that point.

Back then the music was pretty much everything to me. It was both where I found joy and where I escaped to when I needed something to keep me holding on. My time was spent learning as much about it and the people who made it as possible. It provided guidance and advice. It connected with me in a significant way, showing me that I wasn't alone in the things I felt or thought. I'd go to the concerts and there was nowhere better in the world to be regardless of where I was seated. I'd dance and jump and yell and shout, direct the lights, throw my arms out and sing to the sky. Everybody else in the venue disappeared leaving only me and the five men playing on stage.

That girl of seventeen often comes to my mind as I stand in church scanning the crowd. It's a different venue, different band, different purpose, but what it stirs in the people is clearly very much the same. That's easy to see, a little harder to feel, and leaves no doubt in my mind that God truly is in that place at that moment.

What it does call into question is me. At times I still ask myself what I'm doing and feel once again like I'm standing in a room where everyone can see right through me, waiting for them to tell me I don't belong there any more than I have ever belonged anywhere else. Why is it that I walk out of that building unsure what progress has been made by listening to what was said, yet I can stand in an ampitheater as a song I hadn't considered the possibility of hearing kicks me as if to ask, "Are you listening to this?"

It's all backwards. What I should be questioning is why I keep paying to put myself in the uncomfortable position of being in a large crowd of people who are drunk and stoned so I can spend as much time standing around hoping the next song is one I actually like as I did driving between there and home. Put that way it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, does it?

Regardless of the questions I am or should be asking, my hope is that as I continue to grow and change the balance works itself out. Until that time I think I remain left with more questions than answers and still searching.

Captured At: 207

Home From Another Show

I have just returned from the House of Blues and can cross off the third of four concerts I had on the list for this month. Liz and TJ joined me this evening for the Pat McGee Band/Vertical Horizon show. We saw the opening band and PMB, but when VH decided to take forever to come out we gave up on the idea of catching a few songs before returning home. We all have jobs now and staying out late in the middle of the week is a bad idea. I know, we're not fun. That, and too responsible for our own good.

Liz and I last saw PMB in Raleigh the day after my twenty-first birthday. I remember talking to Pat after the show and him saying how surprised he was that I was up and moving because after his he didn't move for three days. That was just over three years ago now; we've been waiting quite a while to see them in Florida.

I like HOB as a venue. We were close enough to the stage that I could feel the air wooshing out of the speakers brushing against the hair on my arms. It wasn't nearly as crowded as when I joined Tom and Derek for Ben Harper about two years ago, but I prefer the smaller crowds.

Before the show started I asked Liz what she thought PMB would open their set with. Her response included the fact that they would have to start with something everybody knew, and she nailed it. I may have it slightly wrong, but the setlist to the best of my memory is as follows:

Runaway
Annabel
Beautiful Ways
At It Again
Now
Haven't Seen for a While
Lost
Passion
The Chain (Cover)
You and I
Must Have Been Love
Rebecca

Overall I had a good time. It was nice to get out for a little while to catch a group I don't get to see very often. Live music falls high on the list of things I enjoy and it's made that much nicer going with people who are into the band we're seeing as well. I also picked up the newest CD to help keep me occupied during my commutes and working hours for a little while. "Wonderful" is currently stuck in my head.

Liz's away message today says "yay PMB!" I think that sums it up nicely.

Captured At:2355

"And listen to the stories we could tell..."

Stories are everywhere. We read them in books, journals and newspapers, posted on websites, and find them told through movies and television. Even our friends and relatives add to the mix. Each tale ranges from true to almost true to completely made up and has the power to educate, change, or inspire.

In an age where information is available at our fingertips we still lose a great amount. The bigger story of human existence is constructed from the stories of individuals throughout time. Every day people pass from this life taking their lesser known tales with them. Even if we could ensure that such a thing didn't happen, no library in the world could hold it all.

When considering how long people have lived on the earth I find myself wondering if any story is truly unique or if any thought is actually new. Since the human imagination is limitless and the human nature generally unchanging, can we ever know for sure that what randomly zips through our brain hasn't made the same trip through somebody miles or centuries away?

I have been given a moderate amount of encouragement to write. A variety of people over the years have indicated a belief that I have the skill to do so and, going back through four years of this website, I'm almost able to agree.

Almost.

What I lack is a muse. Every so often one pops in, but they're such fidgety things that I cannot keep one still long enough to see any real benefit. Text that reads well to me one day is easily despised the next.

Let's say I did decide to sit down and put serious effort into writing. How do you remove the influences of what already exists? How far must something be twisted before it isn't obviously true to life? How do you know that what you're putting your effort into is even something somebody would be interested in?

What I have realized is that just writing a story wouldn't be enough. All of the text in the world wouldn't matter if my words lacked purpose. I wouldn't want to merely entertain, I would want to communicate. That, to me, is far more important.

The question is how. What do I possibly have to say?

Captured At:2339

Old Faces, New Faces

This morning I met one of our users from another center for the first time. When he and the new employee he'd brought with him departed a comment was made about it being nice to put a face with the name. Up until that moment I can't say I had even considered what this man might look like.

Most often when I encounter somebody I have communicated with in a less personal way they seem surprised when we finally meet. They all expect me to be older than I actually am or figure I have been an employee here for years. Even this morning, as I shook hands with the two men I was meeting for the first time, I thought I detected something in both pairs of eyes that said I was not what they had expected.

This sort of thing is common when encountering somebody new, but it happens just as easily with people I know yet don't see every day. Though I've known her since she was a freshman I almost didn't recognize Laura outside the pass building today. I was even further surprised to be greeted with what was easily the most genuine hug I have received in quite a while.

I watched a lot of faces today between meetings and random stops. I know so little about the people behind them; who they are, what they're about, things of that nature. I wondered what the expressions I saw really meant and how true to life some of the projected images were.

Faces new or old, my world is full of strangers. This, and this alone, is where any source of discontentment with my life lies. I see people that mean nothing. I speak words that are empty. I stand in places invisible and hear voices that fail to touch me.

Smile.

Yes, I can pretend.

Captured At:1550

Her whole life I have watched her even when she didn't see. I have followed her down streets, across the country, around the world. I delight in her laughter and fall silent at her tears, my love for the child unending.

Again it is my time. I see her there set apart from a crowd flooding through the door she holds open. The echo of her heartbeats spell out words she isn't saying. I know this sound as the sweetest, softest, and often saddest melody weaving through the sky.

It is love that drives the desire to have her near. It is greater love that grants her the freedom to make her own choice, but on this night she is too far away. I exercise my power with care knowing the calling is one she cannot leave unanswered.

"Come to me."

She glances briefly then turns away. In another second her eyes are searching the sky for confirmation.

"Yes."

Minutes later her vehicle comes to rest in an empty parking lot. She emerges from it more beautiful to me than any butterfly about to dry its wings for the first time and walks nervously toward the stairs. Three from the bottom she stops to sit and look upon me.

Even in the dim light I have provided I can see through her. The weight inside her head has shifted to one place and the enchanting light that fills her eyes barely sparkles. The same pleas are made, the same questions asked.

She soaks up the love I stretch across the water in response not seeing it for what it is. A light wind blows across the deserted beach and I can feel her sigh.

"Can you keep it forever?"

Although she won't say it she knows the answer. It's the only conclusion she has found in our time, but calling her tonight was not so she could get answers.

One day she will understand that the same things weighing on her heart are the very ones that make her receptive to my voice. She has been gifted with an ability to connect deeply with what I show her. When she severs those ties nothing is enough. Once she truly sees this she will stay.

She bows her head and squeezes her hands tighter together for a moment before getting up. Now three steps from the top she turns and looks back one more time engaging in a habit telling of her nature. As she turns again to walk away I hear her only clear thought. "I have yet to become a pillar of salt, but one day this will destroy me."

I watch her drive in silence reflecting on the place she has left. The appearance that she does not remember her own warning is deceiving. She is searching again for me. She wants to see through my eyes.

Captured At:1014

At the moment I find great difficulty in writing. I'm struggling between the side of me that wants to make some sort of insightful statement and the side that just wants to ramble on with excitement. Do I respond as the adult or the child?

If I stopped long enough to do the math correctly I could tell you around where on I-95 Bryan is. My guess is that he's now past the halfway point between here and home.

"Bec," you might be thinking, "I didn't know your brother was coming down. You never mentioned it."

Well, that's because I didn't know. Neither did he until about 12:30 this afternoon. It started as a harmless talk about the launch that evolved to meeting in Georgia to exchange a video camera, and later to him coming all the way down to watch should we finally put the shuttle where it belongs. Slowly I dissolved the excuses he was giving and continued prodding him to action. He claims he hates me, but I know it will pass. :)

As a result of this change I'll be giving up my viewing spot at the press site. I decided I wasn't going to send Bryan out on his own or leave him stranded in a town he doesn't know his way around. When we talked before he left I told him that if there was any way I could get him on site I would, but my plan was to take the day off and we'd watch from the beach together.

I'm very excited to have him coming down, even if it's only for a few days. Naturally I'm also pleased with myself for exercising one of the joys of being a big sister - talking younger siblings into doing things they wouldn't have otherwise.

The general thread of sibling relationships has been twisting around inside my head since Liz's birthday. Yesterday, as we left Capt. Hiram's, we saw a girl wearing a "Birthday Girl" blindfold being led to the sandbar by some of her friends. TJ made a comment on how much trust it would require to let somebody do that to you.

My response was that of all the people I know there are only a few I would actually let get away with it. I told him I knew I would trust Liz. While laughing I also told him I knew she wouldn't trust me. She agreed.

Naturally this brings the question of why. One could conclude from her agreement that I am an untrustworthy person, but I do not believe this to be the case. While I can't say I know her reason(s) exactly my guess is that the answer has to do with the nature of our relationship. She knows I'll do things just to get to her. They're all in good fun on my end, but sometimes I really strike out.

I'm not always sure I do well at being the oldest. Then again, how am I supposed to know what doing that well is supposed to look like? It's not as if I had an example to watch. I do my best but here, too, sometimes I really strike out.

Time has made me come to appreciate the two people I call my siblings. I found a great quote the other day that said, "They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long." How true and how wonderful that is.

Captured At:1805

The Vision begins...

Yesterday was a perfect example of why assumptions can be bad. Bryan called me shortly after I finished my last post saying he had been detoured due to an accident in South Carolina and had yet to reach Savannah. A few hours later he called again from Florida after being detoured onto I-4 because of another. The poor kid spent about twelve hours making a trip that should have taken between nine and ten.

He arrived just after 12:30am. I made him something to eat and engaged in the customary post-drive dialogue before going to bed. The alarm was set for 4:30. Bryan was woken up at 5.

My mistake of the day was trying to take a gate into KSC where the pass building is closed. We sat in traffic on SR-3 to pull a U-turn and sit in traffic on US-1. It took at least twenty minutes to get off at the 405 exit. Once we reached my building I took Bryan down to the people who had helped us out by getting him on base. He listened in on several conversations that I joked had destroyed his idea of what NASA people were supposed to be like and certainly learned some things he never would have known otherwise.

Then, of course, there's the launch. I have to admit that it was an incredible feeling to be able to park my car somewhere and walk until I liked the view that spread out in front of me. Naturally there is a temptation to get as close as possible, but in staying off the busses and out of the volunteer pool I had a freedom that would have been absent otherwise.

For just a moment I'd like to take you out there.

We're standing on a stretch of grass. The Press Site and VAB are well behind us, water bobs peacefully to the right, a group of guests are herded back and toward the left, and half of the shuttle is cearly visible directly ahead poking above trees. A muffled voice comes through distant loudspeakers providing updates we can't understand. There isn't a countdown clock in sight, but our watches tell us it could happen at any moment.

Suddenly cheers and applause break out from other onlookers as smoke curls over the treeline. The ship responds to this encouragement and lifts away from the pad, ripples running through the long flame pushing it further into the heavens. A roaring crackle then tears through the distance between us and the launch site, both echoing in our ears and pounding at our chests.

America is back in space

Captured At:1035

As of five to ten minutes ago Bryan is on his way back to North Carolina. I have to admit that I am sad he left; spending time with him over the last few days has been awesome.

It's amazing the currents that can run through a family. The stories he tells both clearly display what a wonderful young man he is and carry themes to them that aren't unlike some of the things I know Liz, my parents, and myself to have experienced. I see that we're all different yet very much the same, cut from a cloth with a pattern completely unlike the one that produces so many of the people that surround us. Every family has their quirks and conflicts, but at the end of the day I could not have asked for finer people to share that bond with.

Captured At:1015

"And I'm getting older too..."

This afternoon while at work I remembered my dad had emailed a large zip file of pictures to me last night that I hadn’t retrieved. I logged in to find that not only did I have our May trip to Disney according to Mom, but an email from one of my aunts as well. Her message contained about a dozen pictures of my cousins’ daughter the last time the family had gathered at her house.

I feel bad for not being able to say how old Lily is. She’s approaching one year I think, though I can’t say I’m sure. Regardless, these images completely blew me away. There on the screen was this little person who hadn’t even been thought of a few years ago and now she’s part of my family. It’s incredible.

Distance has put me in a position where I have never met the child and quite possibly never will. Still, I looked at the pictures and wondered what she’ll be like when she’s older, which of her parents she’ll more closely resemble, and where life’s journey will take her. I also looked at her and could not believe I have reached the point where an entirely new generation is being added to my family.

I think of the life stage my cousin is at right now and I can’t quite imagine being there. Me? Married and pushing a baby around on a pool float? You’re kidding, right? I’m too young for that. I must be.

Reality then knocks and tells me I’m not. Before I know it Bryan will have a serious girlfriend and I will have already watched Liz walk down the aisle. Time will continue to accelerate past me until I find myself grey haired and confused how I got there.

The other thing the pictures made me think of was how long it has been since I was last at my aunt’s house. I can remember it as a kid and all of the changes they have made to the place over time. My thoughts can dance back to playing video games or watching my fearless older cousin do flips off the deck into his swimming pool, and yet I cannot identify the last time I was there.

In many ways that’s very sad to me. It makes me miss “home” and my childhood. I look at how I grew up and realize that, with the way my immediate family has scattered, if I had children their extended family would be barely known names instead of memories and faces. Then again, I have no relationship with my cousins whatsoever. Maybe they wouldn’t be missing anything at all.

Through all of this reflection of life and change I find I remain sitting still. I continue to watch others go on around me and try to find happiness in their victories. Some would say it’s only a matter of time before my waiting is done. We can hope, but none of us ever really know what lies ahead. I honestly don’t think we’re supposed to.

Captured At:2041

If I were to sit down and create a list of everything I’m bad at, planning would probably fall near the top. Given how much I have had a hand in over the years this might surprise some, so I will narrow that down further and clarify that I mean planning with regards to me and my life. When the standard Friday question of, “What are you doing this weekend?” is asked my response, as it was yesterday, is often “nothing.”

It would have been accurate had Liz not messaged me last night to inquire if I would go dress shopping with her today. I am the last person in the world anybody should take shopping with them – especially for dresses – but I chose to accept the invitation happy for the opportunity to get out and spend some time with her.

The occasion: an evening wedding on Cocoa Beach during which one of TJ’s fraternity brothers and a girl Liz and I know from Ambassadors will vow to spend the rest of their lives with each other. I told Liz I’m glad there’s only one wedding I’m planning on attending and am even happier I won’t have to shop for it. She said the joke is on me because she gets to pick the dress.

Of the two of us Liz is the shopper, and that’s not saying much. Despite this we somehow managed to find something in the last place we looked, and then proceeded to Victoria’s Secret where we were outsmarted by their merchandise in a quest to find the appropriate piece to go under it. This only further proves my argument that I suck at being a girl.

Liz’s dress is nice. It’s simple and can easily be worn should she and TJ find themselves out for a nice dinner or going to another show. I enjoyed watching his face change when she walked into the living room to model it for him. She’s a beautiful girl and I really hope he tells her that often. It never hurts to be reminded.

Once free of the mall our next stop was a new Italian deli/bakery Liz wanted to check out. We walked away with some sandwiches and a loaf of Italian bread. The rest of the afternoon was lost watching “Into the Woods” and a few other random things on TV. It was a simple way to spend the day, but relaxing and also successful.

Leaving her apartment the scent in the air was a combination of fallen rain and charcoal. I found myself walking a familiar sidewalk unsure how I actually felt at that moment. I feel like I’m thinking stuff lately that doesn’t fit with my general mode of operation and I’m trying to understand why that might be.

Driving home helped me realize there are a number of things I want to do, but I don’t feel I have the means to carry any of them out. Things like time, money, uncertainty, and common sense get in the way. I also cannot convince myself that anything I do at this point is more than some fleeting notion existing only as the hopeful product of an inactive, unchallenged mind discontent with slowly decaying away.

Everything I have attempted in the last several months has failed to keep my interest. I have a stack of unread books on my shelf, a sketch pad collecting dust under the table, and a scrapbook waiting for more pages. My furniture has been rearranged and put back. I fill my fridge every few weeks believing I’m actually going to cook this time, but it doesn’t happen. I see no value in any of it.

My life at this moment is a waste. Everything I have tried to do is a waste. Everything I can see to stuff my life with is a waste. None of it has any purpose. None of it has any meaning. None of it makes any difference. I say this not out of despair, but out of frustration. I can’t keep living like this and I can’t do a thing to change it because nothing in my power yields anything that matters. This puts me in a place where I don’t know whether to break down sobbing or punch a wall until my knuckles bleed, and neither of those options fixes anything anyway.

::sigh::

I feel like such a whiner. “Look at me, my life is so bad. Someone pity me.” That’s not what I’m saying though. It’s that I’m missing a whole heck of a lot and I can’t figure out what will actually fill the gaps. The idea of spending the rest of my life in this apartment on a cycle of work and sleep is so unappealing I think I would choose death first if the option were given to me. That’s not what life is supposed to be like. I know I’ve said I give up, but I can’t settle for that. I just can’t.

Captured At:2117