A few clicks and I’m blinded by the white glow that indicates my word processor has opened for another round of composition. I’ve tried to find some common train to transport the smaller cargo of recent days and weeks to my chosen medium of expression, but that’s difficult. As I work longer days – by choice I might add – I leave myself with less time for both the productive and destructive fancies that could occupy the extra time. Tonight there is no plan, no theme, no consistent thread.

~*~

Again I am amazed at how much joy there is in the simple things.

~*~

High school. English class of some sort, though specifically what I cannot recall. Stevens Elementary was within walking distance, and one of our assignments had involved a fourth or fifth grade class. We were each paired with a student to acquaint ourselves with, and would then have to write a story that featured them as the main character. Sadly I cannot remember my little girl’s name, but I thought up a fun tale about her meeting a purple alien named Flurp. I printed out the final copy leaving enough space on the pages to set my colored pencils to work on illustrations of this creature – who had appeared as a doodle in the notes from some other class - and the world I had written the two of them into. On sharing day her class visited my school, and we sat outside in groups reading our stories together. My work earned me an A on the assignment and several compliments from my generally oblivious peers, but what meant the most was how visible it was that she loved what I had created for her. She took the story home that afternoon, and I can’t help but wonder how long she kept it for or if she found it one day and smiled.

I’d like to leave that as the nice story it appears to be, but that isn’t true to life. The project had taken place during my senior year and I got a letter from her sometime during the summer before I left for Florida. I am almost positive I didn’t write back, and it hurts even now to imagine her checking the mailbox and never finding any word from me. How long does it take before you give up hope that some sign you haven’t been forgotten will arrive?

This connected to a dot involving the same school and what I believe was a service activity as part of Honor Society. I was in a classroom full of kids who were building rockets. I can only vaguely recall fitting pieces together for some of them, and while I can’t see it as clearly as many of my memories, we launched the finished models behind the school. No sooner would the rocket blast into the air than a group of kids would sprint after it.

Rockets. Enter memory three courtesy of high school physics. The vehicle: a one litre soda bottle outfitted with whatever kind of parachute we thought would keep it in the air the longest. The clock started when it left the pad and stopped when any part hit the ground. The fuel: good old water pressure. I woke up early on the morning of launch to test the plastic bag parachute I had wadded into a paper cone by jumping as high as possible on the trampoline and letting go of the bottle. Fairly confident it would function, I headed off to school.

Something called me momentarily from class, so I didn’t get to see how we had actually performed. The kid I had paired with (though I had done all of the shoddy, last minute construction that morning) told me that we would have won because our bottle easily stayed up longer than anyone else’s. Unfortunately, somewhere in the force of the launch the tether for the paper cone had come loose. The bottle drifted slowly back to the field, but the cone tipped point-down and fell like a rock within three seconds. Stop timer.

Curiosity certainly had the best of me that morning. I couldn’t figure out why I’d woken up half in a fog, half retrieving random memories about school projects that focused on aliens and launching homemade devices.

Months ago I slowed my walk to watch two guys launch a rocket in the park. Their family had moved safely to the other side of the road and I detoured through the grass to their left. I remember tracing it upward and thinking, “Wow. I want to launch rockets.” There was a complete mental pause before reality kicked in with, “Oh. Wait…”

::shakes head, laughs:: Yeah, my NASA family loves me.

~*~

If you could only see...

It wasn't the conversation I meant to get into. Once again I was seated at the round table in another office being told that, even though I don't see it, there is tremendous value in my work. A discussion of this nature seems to be the standard response when I ask what it is I'm doing, and all I can figure is that I haven't discovered the proper question to ask that will provide me with the sort of answer I'm after. Another coworker, who had entered part way though, only added one sentiment as we walked out of the room together. "When you write a resume, make sure you have him read it." They both seem to believe I would minimize my accomplishments. My thoughts overlooked this and simply asked, "What do I need a resume for? I'm going to die here."

There are awesome things happening for others around me right now, and I couldn't be happier for them. They have a plan for the future, some greater goal, and they're moving on to accomplish more in their lives. It's great to watch and share in their joy as each new step materializes, but it also makes me wish I had some indication I would eventually be making progress as well. In more ways than I can begin to explain I feel like I'm being left behind.

I drove home wishing for a friendly voice on the other end of the phone, but the closest I got was scrolling through a list of names that were eliminated one by one before I put it back in the cup holder. Talking remains a hopeless cause. I lack a relationship where I feel completely comfortable speaking freely, which makes opening my mouth all the more difficult. I hurt people, I worry them, and I never feel like my message is getting across. For all that has come and gone through my life the loss I mourn the most is that of feeling understood. Not an interaction passes where its absence goes unnoticed.

When the phone did ring it was with another announcement of good news, and it took every ounce of effort I had to respond with some semblance of the enthusiasm that would have come naturally on any other day. All I could do after I hung up was cry. I didn't know what for, but I hurt.

The next afternoon I was once again in the office with the round table. Usually he says nothing after a conversation like the last and I can never figure out how to apologize for it, but this time some remark crept in that afforded me the opportunity to try. Every sign of confidence disappeared; the tone was quieter, sound paused frequently as the words struggled to fall into place, and no eye contact was made. I always feel like there's so much I want to say that I never actually get out.

"You're doing cool stuff," he says as he puts an arm around me for an encouraging half hug. "Stuff that we could only dream about before."
"And that's great. I'm glad I can help you guys do that. But it would be nice to know what it is I'm dreaming about. And it's not your problem that I don't..."

What I'm supposed to take away is that it's alright. If I'm having a day like that it's okay to come down the hall and say so. They're my friends, and he hopes I consider them as such.

He's one of a handful of people at that place I'm most thankful for. I don't think any of them realize what a tremendous impact they have, and I wouldn't know how to tell them that my quiet, painful, uncertain world is better for having them in it. And even if I say nothing, I want to go back day after day because I know that's where they are. I work harder because the distances I keep are incapable of conveying the true level of gratitude I feel and, though they've asked for nothing, doing well for them is the only repayment I can think of.

I would prefer to give more than I take.

Captured At:1702

Ba-by shark doot doot, doot doot do doot

This weekend I had the opportunity to play Advisor for a group of students in one of my former organizations as they attended a conference the school hasn't been represented at since 2000. It wasn't an event I had been to before, but participating in other student conferences always served to motivate me. My hope was that the same would be true for this small delegation of seven.

While I can't say for sure what they took away from this conference, I came out with much more than I could have expected. The opportunity to get to know those who will be carrying the group that helped lead me to where I am was wonderful. It's clear they want to see the organization succeed even though they might not know how to make that happen. Things have changed quite a bit since I left - unfortunately not for the better. A number of the things that used to be traditions or standard procedure have fallen away, but I suspect this current group will put things back on track having seen the advantages other organizations have derived from them.

In addition to the sessions, we had two speakers address us during meals. The first, who spoke mostly about racism, provided me with perspective. The stories he shared about this and other issues in an aching world were far from uplifting, and they made me see how sheltered I have been. Racism, murder, and violent hatred have never been a part of my life. I have no concept of how anybody could carry that much negativity towards people they don't know for no reason other than that they're different. This is an area I'm content to be oblivious of, though I have no idea what that says about me. I can't tell if it's a sign of being apathetic, or an indication that there's something good in me that doesn't want that sort of poison in my system.

The second speaker brought reinforcement. Her talk was on leadership, and began with a series of statements about the disparity between being a good leader and being popular. All I could do was look at the oldest member of the delegation I was with and nod in agreement. She then said she was going to spell out what made a good leader. When the ambassador two seats over spelled out "Bec" in response to this, all I could do was smile and say thanks.

Listen, Example, Accountability, Dream, Empower, Reach. Each item she discussed was an idea I had tried hard to follow during my tenures with various organizations, and one I continue to strive for now that I'm in the working world. As I reflected on this simple formula I realized I don't know where my definition of leadership came from. I know how I approach things, but I don't think I could have broken it down like she did. My actions were almost always driven by what seemed right. It appears I may finally have to concede natural ability in this area and admit that I'm good at it because it's part of what I was made to be.

Most importantly, perhaps, this weekend afforded me the opportunity to play. Any number of silly chants from ice breakers or to show school/state pride are running through my head. I have new memories of visiting a McDonald's drive-thru to ask for directions, face painting, napping in a cluster of hotel chairs with four other people, goofing off in Wal-Mart and on the mini-golf course, another night at Margaritaville, and a few more hours of bus rides watching others play through the music in my headphones.

Like most things it was bittersweet, but more than anything I'm thankful for having been given the opportunity to join in on a few days of fun and education. I want to see good things for this group and continue to believe in its potential. It won't come without effort, but I honestly believe they'll get there. These kids are every bit as enthusiastic as I was told. As long as they keep that, the organization will be in good hands.

Captured At:2340

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Like many animals, human beings are creatures of habit. Each scheduled or repetitive action we make begins somewhere, though we're often unaware a new pattern has developed. Tonight I left work at six thirty. Something made me pause for a moment and remind myself that I don't have to work a twelve hour day even if I can set my mind to something that would occupy it for that long. With only nine hours behind me I gathered my things, locked the door, and left.

I walked out of the building to the sounds of Guster playing through my ears. The combination of a warm evening and the dimming sunset I drove into took me back several years to calming, happy memories. Navigating the roads I pondered what I could do with the extra hours my uncharacteristic departure afforded. Each option would have been good on some level, but I knew only one was truly reflective of me. The beach pavilion it was.

When I got out there something happened that I hadn't expected. After a minute of sitting on my usual perch I decided I needed to be closer to the water. I walked back to Milo to swap shoes in the back seat and was soon descending the stairs with "Dodo" serenading me each step of the way. Within two feet of the surf I suddenly came alive.

Under a clear black sky, low tide to the right, half moon overhead, I was gifted with an incredible energy I simply could not contain. Next I knew I was twirling, skipping, running, and bobbing down the shoreline in comedic celebration. This goofy, uncoordinated series of bounces and flops carried me north to the closest park and back. I was grinning with each exaggerated motion and every word of the lip sync I had engaged in, laughing to myself as I passed confused, judging silhouettes.

For all the highs I have experienced, all the random indulgences of my precious freedom throughout the years, I have never felt that carefree in my entire life. I had never danced beneath the stars before.

As I worked my way back down the shoreline I wished the people I love most in this world could have seen me. The reasons behind that desire are too elusive to explain, and it deviates so greatly from the norm that I cannot begin to understand. This is the only way I know to share such an incredible, indescribable moment that scarcely seems real as I struggle to capture it in words that could never do justice to the experience.

Joyfully playing, laughing by the ocean, dancing under the stars, enjoying the amazing world around me simply because I can. That's the way I want people to think of me. That's how I want to remember my life.

Captured At:2213

"Then you become what you are"

The world is littered with witty maxims. Plastered on billboards, tucked into fortune cookies, broadcast on the airwaves and dotting internet profiles, these lexical concoctions and the wisdom they profess are inescapable. Be they our own words or somebody else's, we proclaim them shamelessly in the medium of our choosing. There's no mystery in the motivation behind this action. We share them to make a point. Because we can relate. Because we desire an opportunity to wallow in the perceived intelligence that accompanies them. We share to make people think or, sometimes, because we've been challenged ourselves.

One of the churches I pass on the daily commute to work drew my attention this week with a sign stating, "Character is doing the right thing when no one is looking". As an individual given over to intense self-examination and possessing a natural curiosity about what makes us who we are, this set the seas constantly churning in my head to eroding a new dune of thought. Was it simply a trite phrase, or did the words contain some deeper, profound truth?

On the surface their lesson can be summed up in one word: accountability. But their statement is only partially correct. The natural human desire to belong often leads us to make poor choices. It's also entirely possible to be meek, considerate and agreeable when it's convenient, yet manipulating, judgmental and selfish otherwise. We do the right thing with the wrong reasons behind it hoping we don't get caught in the lie. Combining all of these ideas, character is actually based upon what we do, when, and why.

It could be argued that character is external, determined by others as they peer into our lives. Clues are offered by everything from interactions to what's on our computer and the items on our shelves. Mine, which in a twist of irony currently places Gregory Maguire's Wicked next to The Bible in the row of "books in progress", serves as a reminder that appearances are of limited value.

I believe character is an intrinsic quality in constant refinement. It's demonstrated in words and silences, tested by the need for discretion. It's marred by failures and strengthened by the lessons gained while struggling to become upright again. It's shaped by deeds as well as intentions. Character is quiet restraint that calls no attention to itself, yet is unmistakably evident in those who possess it. They need not speak of its attributes within them, and understand that doing so whittles tiny pieces of it away.

If asked, I could not offer any description of what my character is. I am constantly aware of what I strive for, but I'm not standing in the position of an outside observer to know whether that actually comes across. Those who know me, barely know me, and truly know me interact with different parts of who I am. My hope is that the truth is evident somewhere in each of them.

All of this, however, ignores the largest mistake in the message. This church forgot about God. Everyone inclined toward faith knows there is never a moment when "no one is looking" because there is an ever-present higher power to be answered to. It's not as intrusive as it sounds, but it is important to realize. We are never truly alone.

Captured At: 230

Last night it was a sunset by the river. Tonight it’s watching the reflection of a full moon swirl upon the outgoing tide. These moments to pause remain precious to me. The strength and simplicity, the solitude and beauty; in many ways these moments are me. Should a day come when I won’t go out of my way to experience them I hope my physical death is not far behind, for the life in me will already be gone.

Three nights ago I left work to have my memory swept away from me by the wind. It floated to a beach well south of Melbourne on a July evening where the moonlight wasn’t unlike it is tonight. I thought of the shadows it cast, the gentleness of the breeze, and the view from my blanket as I sat with arms wrapped around my bent knees. I suspect I was bundled in the traditional blue warm-up pants and the well-loved tennis sweatshirt that had been one of my prized possessions as a teenager. There was a calm contentment by the ocean that night; a warmth and a peace too great to imagine. I laughed as I recalled my mistake of licking the side of a paper cup to catch the dripping ice cream it contained and finding myself with a tongueful of sand.

Perhaps I would have wandered there instead, but that particular beach was closed off after the hurricanes of 2004. If it’s accessible again I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been back since.

Tonight I left my building and stopped walking halfway through the parking lot to soak it all in. Where I am right now is so familiar - the rising moon, the pale hues of twilight, the palm trees swaying in the wind… From the thoughts and feelings to the way I leaned on the car door in hesitation before finally getting in, I knew them all. Of everything in this world I wish I had the answer to the same things continue to return.

It was strange being the only one who didn’t make a trip to Raleigh this weekend. I don’t think I’ve ever had the experience of knowing my entire family was somewhere without me before. In one of our last conversations my mother pointed out that being alone was a choice. There’s certainly truth to that, but alone and lonely are not corequisites. I had my time weeks ago; this wasn’t my trip to take.

Sometimes we don’t realize the place something has occupied in our life until it’s gone. Others we suspect it, yet are still surprised when the confirmation comes. Although I have plenty from today to smile about it all seems so unimportant. What should serve as encouragement and reinforcement seems more like a diversion, as if maybe by focusing on those I’ll forget what continues to slosh below the surface.

I feel the need to offer some sort of disclaimer but, much like the moments to pause, I wouldn’t be me without the divided mind. I’m okay on several levels, and that’s what’s most important. That’s what needs to win out. I have faith that it does, it’s just a matter of remembering.

Captured At:2046

Keep Your Temper

About eight stairs from the sidewalk my sentimental side was once more caressed into surrender by a warm March breeze. This feeling of spring carried me down a different staircase to the covered awning where I would enter my vehicle and drive to campus, perhaps on one of those free Fridays I treasured so much during my final semester. I surmised the tendency to drift to this specific time was purely because it was the most recent and searched for others as a challenge. Additional memories of campus and home flashed before something specific captured consciousness.

It was field day. Pashley's entire class of 1992 was out on a spring afternoon competing to see who could run the fastest and kick a soccer ball the furthest. Success in previous playground challenges had landed me position #2 on my homeroom's four-girl relay team. Many recesses had been spent practicing to be sure we'd get our passes right, and I was excited for the chance to compete.

I remember the anticipation that afternoon. The fastest girl in the entire fifth grade was on my team, and as one of four homerooms it was almost assured we'd get a ribbon. When the whistle finally blew to begin the race I was standing half-way around the track waiting for the handoff from our starter. I could pick out her shout of "go!" from the spectator's cheers as she approached, and began my pre-handoff jog. This was it. Baton in hand, acceleration was the only thing on my mind.

Until the whistle blew again, that is. Confused, I stopped running only to be informed that we had been disqualified because we had gone out of bounds. We could, of course, finish the race. The gym teacher instructed me to start running again.

But, as I said before, this was the fifth grade - the year I became the bad kid. Instead of compliance, I argued. What did she mean we had gone out of bounds? Where? When directed back to the track, I threw the baton to the ground and crossed my arms in defiance. The race finished around me, and we were sent back to our seats in the shade. I don't think I spoke to my team for the rest of the day.

When I got off the bus that afternoon somehow my mother already knew what had happened. I suspect my nemesis, the wonderful Mrs. Collins, had called to rat me out for yet another display of what was often referred to back then as my "attitude problem". Mom, being the parent she was, would have none of it. That sort of behaviour from her children was unacceptable. Next I knew we were in the van returning to school after hours so I could find the gym teacher and apologize.

Mom took me back to apologize to more people than I can remember during my childhood and I always hated it, but I believe this is where I learned to take responsibility for my actions. Recalling all of this as I got in my car I was thankful those days had past and I had learned to be a more patient, cooperative person. By the end of the day I would discover that irony strikes when we least expect it.

I am on a project in which I have no personal stake, but I want to see it succeed for the people who have been trying for years to conquer the problem it aims to solve. I am also, unfortunately, the "expert" right now (their words, not mine). This, to me, means I carry a certain level of responsibility with regards to making sure construction of the application is solid enough to withstand the adoption they aspire to. Until five days ago my warnings had been ignored. and attempting to address them only created a bigger mess.

And finally I lost it. I was frustrated, upset, and made enough of a commotion in a co-worker's cube that two others walked down to poke their heads in. Those uninvolved didn't fault me for it and assured me there was no reason to worry. I told them I had to. I said a bit more than I would have liked, but in all of it I finally got a chance to let them know how much of a difference they make by being there, listening, and looking out for me.

That evening a drive spent in half-claimed tears ended at a familiar body of water. The full moon reflected onto it, framed neatly by two thin pine trees on the shore. What began as an innocent rocking motion gradually increased to a violent tug-of-war as the majority of my body fought to push the swing forward and my arms struggled to pull it back. I rode faster and higher watching my shoes outlined against the sky and thinking maybe, if I kept it up long enough, I'd be transported. Maybe if I dared to let go I'd fall through the now. Maybe everything around me would be changed. I pumped until my body was on the verge of collapse with no success.

I spent most of today feeling like I had been beaten up. Surely the subduing of the party responsible for the previous day's egregious display would surprise the team at our next meeting, but within ten minutes my voice was raised and on the defensive. It appears the message has gotten through. We'll think things out more, get everything together that we've failed to collect, and make sure we do it right. Problem solved.

Were she here, I'm fairly certain my mother would have walked me up the hallway to issue apologies to everyone I had offended or disturbed. What's most surprising here is that a behaviour I'm appalled by has been essentially excused by everyone else. Some told me they're proud of me. When I frustratingly exclaimed that I should just take the month off one laughed saying, "She's so cute!"

Then there's the one who had me follow him back to his office afterward so we could talk as he packed his things to leave for the week. I was told I did a good thing and was given a list of positive traits I had shown in the situation.

"But no tact or control," I added as I stood up and pushed in my chair.
"Like I can really talk?! I declared war on Rockwell when I wasn't more than six months older than you."
"But that's you and you're okay with it. I'm me and not... There has to be a better way."

Captured At:2131

To Take from Today

I have learned that by simply standing there long enough even things he didn't want to say five minutes before will come out. Names, events, the struggles of a situation he never imagined being in - I hear it all. I never push for information; just remain in a position to listen when he's ready. Up the hall she tells me about the latest phone conversation with her shaken youngest daughter whose boyfriend has recently been sent to Iraq. His caravan of two vehicles was moving through the desert when the one in the lead hit a mine. He watched half of his platoon die right in front of him, and the only reason he's not gone is because he got on the right truck that morning. She's not sobbing, but I can see the well of tears filling her reddening eyes.

Lesson #1: Every day we're surrounded by people who need somebody to listen, even if only for five minutes to never speak of the interaction again.
Lesson #2: A pause to lighten another's load is more than worth it.

Every so often those slightly stupid notions we entertain become reality. Mine tonight had many distracted opportunities to vanish, yet I pushed forward anyway prepared to die in the process of facing this self-imposed challenge. My legs quivered as I gently moved the swing afterward, almost as if to tell me they'd really had enough. I'll be coughing for the next week, but the mile and a half I traveled more than doubled my expectations. I also survived. I could not have been more thankful.

Lesson #3: Any day where you surprise yourself has to be good.
Lesson #4: If it's something you like to speed to in your car, chances are it will carry you through the run as well.

I just received my latest letter from Pensacola, complete with pictures. What strikes me most about them is my friend's smile. Often I would pick on him for the stock expressions frozen into every photo but, despite the torture I'm sure he's enduring at OCS, he looks genuinely happy. A bit bald, perhaps, but happy. I think he's finally found his place, and all I can do is smile back at the images. He now has the one thing I always wished he would. It's a beautiful thing.

Lesson #5: When you find that thing you truly love, everyone will know it. You won't necessarily realize it's written all over your face, but they'll see it. It's impossible to hide.

Captured At:2332

Amalgam

The word of the day waiting for me this morning serves as an appropriate title for this post. My mental gears have been given a flood of electrons to squash, however until I can generate characters at the speed of thought I must accept the inevitability that I will lose some threads along the way. In the end I suspect nothing I actually wanted to write about will get said.

In very rare cases there is no middle ground for me. Work – on anything, I hasten to add – is one of them. If I am determined to finish something, it will get done regardless of the cost in terms of sleep, food, well being, or any other potential sacrifice. If it’s a task I don’t wish to undertake, forget it. In fact, the net effect is often negative as I’ll distract others in the process of avoidance.

I never did put much stock in awards or titles, but between an On-the-Spot and being named IT’s Employee of the Month for April, it’s obvious which side is winning. Even without them everybody knows I work my tail off, so those I told were both surprised and proud that I was choosing to go home.

The beach was simply beautiful. I indulged in a dish of ice cream and ate it as I wandered though the low tide away from the crowd, flip flops in hand. It always amazes me how gentle and clear the water is at that phase in the ocean’s cycle. How could I have avoided the beach in the daylight for so long? Directly in front of me a sailboat traced the horizon. I smiled as I watched and wondered what his view was like.

There was an entire pod of them in the area fenced off by 518 and 192. Driving over the causeways on a day like that always makes me want to be on the water. I was never inclined toward the aquatic life, but it seems such a shame to waste these beautiful afternoons.

Being on the beach when I normally would have been behind a desk was wonderful. Every moment prior to that melted away. I felt free, and that freedom never comes alone. I was free and sublimely happy.

I had read somewhere that this book does a great job of making the Wicked Witch of the West a misunderstood villain. This is partially true, and at times I could easily relate. Her good intentions continuously failed her, as I often feel like mine do. She was looking to make sense of her life and thirsting for forgiveness she never received. She longed for love and acceptance from others while losing what she loved most. Life is difficult; I cannot fault her for struggling.

At the same time, though, she did have a choice in how she reacted. The more she lashed out, the more difficult it was to remain on her side. Perhaps this is just me, but I have found far more happiness in life treating people with genuine kindness than I ever did when filled with selfishness, anger and hatred. Knowing that there isn’t another human being I harbour any sort of ill-will toward brings with it an incredible sense of liberation.

I simply cannot understand why anyone would choose an attitude that can do nothing but suck the joy out of their life. And these things are choices. Again, we do control the reactions. It’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination and I still have my moments of failure, but choosing love over hatred and sympathy over condemnation has undoubtedly made a difference in my life.

I remember as kid how people had those friendship necklaces that broke apart so one person would have one half and their friend would have the other. I never quite understood. Maybe that’s because I never had one.

“Forever” has always been a difficult concept for me. It was something I never believed in. I never had faith that anything would last or the trust that anybody would stick around. There were, however, circumstances I expected would always be there. This is the first disconnect with that lack of belief; the second comes on a larger scale. I could never imagine the end. Being unable to think, speak, see, and hear, especially while life went on, was unfathomable to me. Nothing was forever and yet, at the same time, somehow everything was.

Then there are the best friends. As I folded the pages for another letter today I thought about the content of the messages going back and forth. How they begin, what they say and, most significantly, how they close. At times it’s almost like the writer had a different recipient in mind.

Though preserved in our memories, people themselves do change. It’s hard, but sometimes we need that contact to remind us what’s real. This one’s not the happy optimist, that one’s not the introverted innocent, that one isn’t spitefully plotting, this relationship would never have worked…

I have an ex I haven’t talked to in over a year, yet a while back a new feature on my IM application revealed a buddy icon of him and a girl snuggled on a couch. It was a tiny picture, but he wore an expression I knew well. I could remember it as if he were standing in front of me, and all I could do was smile. We each did our share of being bad to the other, but at that moment I realized part of me had always loved him the right way even though I knew our lives weren’t supposed to be spent together. He, too, was now happy.

Generally I like my mind to be stretched. In some places the argument seemed to make a good point. Others it felt like he was prattling on hoping to sound like an authority on stuff he knew nothing about. There were even a few places where I felt he was dead wrong. Something in his “logic” didn’t seem logical at all, though I can’t tell if this is laziness on my part or if I’m just old and closed-minded at the ripe age of 24.77. My interest was gone by page 66, though I continued just the same hoping it would be rekindled.

One thing he touched on that I did completely understand was the idea of self-delusion. I know I’m guilty of it. I actually call myself on it every day. There’s what I tell myself and there’s the truth. Most of the time I know what I’m selling and why, but “reality” has yet to be replaced with reality. Of course as I type that all I can hear is Morpheus saying, “You think that’s air you’re breathing”, and all I can do is sigh.

Sometimes I wonder why there have to be so many questions. We’re never going to have all of the answers, and those of us who can put arrogance aside know that even if we had them we probably wouldn’t understand anyway.

Sometimes I wonder why it can’t just be simple. We’re here. Why? Because we are. No reason changes that fact. So let’s just take care of each other, appreciate what we’ve been given, and enjoy the ride.

What tells me it’s not that simple is the fact that I cannot conclude with a statement like that no matter how good it may have sounded. I tried, but my mind and my fingers wouldn’t let me do it. God’s gaze does fall upon us. I can’t ignore that.

Captured At:2329

In general I don’t tend to ask for anything from people. Last week I did, and my request was for what is easily the most valuable resource any person has – time. Out of my own insecurities I had put off doing this for weeks, but the days were winding down and I knew I would be disappointed with myself if I didn’t step out of my comfort zone to ask for something I was fairly certain I would not be denied.

And I wasn’t. In fact, I got more heartbeats than expected.

My intentions were both simple and genuine. I wanted one more chance to talk with him one on one; to see how he was doing and if he was happy so I could remember that as being how I left him. It’s silly, really. Usually it’s the superiors who do the checking in, not the other way around. But I wanted to know. Given everything else, somehow it seemed like the least I could do.

I’m not sure anybody would really understand, but I feel like I owe this man a great deal. Whatever he saw that first day we sat down to talk was enough to make him take a chance on me; one that has had a tremendous impact on my life and afforded me experiences I never would have imagined possible. I know I’m in a better place now because of him.

And perhaps my gratitude is out of proportion with reality, but I don’t know that I will ever feel the words I have said are enough. There are better things coming his way and I am excited to see that for him. Still, I wish I didn’t have to say good-bye.

Outside his building Florida was celebrating winter’s end. I glanced between palm trees and blue sky as the warm and a light breeze embraced me and a song danced through my head. The morning’s high had dwindled leaving me content, yet sad. As I walked further away I felt my insides perform that special contortion which indicates tears are not far behind. Finally, two silent streaks slid down my face. I had no idea what to make of them.

I honestly hadn’t expected that sort of reaction, and it called into question the strange attachments I seem to form. I don’t know how they come about or why, they just exist. As I considered the next person I was likely to encounter I wondered if he would notice the sadness in my eyes. I doubted it, but if he asked I knew the answer. “I’m sorry to see him go. Same as I will be when you do.”

And it feels like the whole world can see right through me...

Captured At:2355

Things to smile about:

- Reaching that magical time of year where I don't need an alarm clock because the sun wakes me up early as he rolls out of bed.

- How amazing State Road 3 smells when the orange trees are blossoming, and the way the scent drifts all the way to the cape so that I can detect it the minute I go outside. No matter how deeply I inhale, I can't seem to take in enough.

- That 24 hours elapsed and somehow it was still "Bequita's Day".

- Smiling softly inside as I shared the nickname my parents were the only ones to ever use, wondering how long it's going to be before it's pulled out since I've stressed that "Becky" isn't as endearing as he seemed to think. There's something kind in the fact that I was asked.

- Having a supervisor I can play with. "Blatant disregard for authority" may very well end up on my next evaluation, and all I'm going to be able to do is laugh - especially if it says "Lucy."

- Somebody overhearing my "exhibits blatant disregard for authority" comment and thinking it was about them. I guess it's no wonder they say the things they do. I'm so toasted.

- Driving into a brilliant golden sunset.

- Finally returning to church after a few weeks of absence. It felt good to be back. It also didn't hurt that Mr. Potatohead was part of the lesson. Grown-ups with toys always get bonus points.

- Tang!

- Knowing that my brother considers me somebody he can call up and talk to, both on the good days and the bad. Seeing his name buzz my phone always makes me happy. He's a great kid, and despite all the past bickering I really do love him.

- Riding a high as the spring rolls in and truly believing it's only going to get better. This is the me I think I like the most. Anything, and I do mean anything, is possible.

Captured At: 010

"I keep laughin' so they don't pick me..."

You can't force inspiration. That's the lesson for today.

Last night I was writing down something that I knew had a point to it, but it wasn't coming across correctly. This afternoon, as I stood in my room juggling tennis balls so they get some sort of use, my newly revived "All Buffett" playlist switched to "Twelve Volt Man". What have I always believed this song is about? Knowing who you are and being yourself no matter what that might mean. I think I can connect the dots now. The tennis balls have been left on a messy bed in the interim.

Friday afternoon my entire organization gathered together for the last meeting with our outgoing director. As I finish typing that line "Trip Around the Sun" has come on. It makes me think about the last two I have had at this job because of him, and only serves to reinforce how thankful I am for what he's made possible and how sorry I am to see him go.

Somewhere to the right, just within earshot of where I was standing, a group had gathered. And somehow, despite all of the noise around me, I caught my name within their conversation. I should have ignored it, but instead I left a perfectly good conversation with four guys about their children's science fair projects to find out what was going on.

"I heard my name over here. If you're going to talk about me you may as well tell me what you're saying," I stated as I climbed onto the nearest picnic table. One of the guys in that cluster tried to fill me in, which resulted in some confusion about whether or not it had been stated that I need implants and the originator of the remark if, in fact, it had been made.

The supposed source was a woman who has always been vocal about the difference between women and female engineers, making sure I knew I fell into the latter group. She says they need to educate me so I can learn about men and sexuality and being a woman.

My dad once told me that one of the best things I have going for me is that I really don't care what anybody else thinks. I can take being the target of the jokes and toss back my own smart aleck comments in good humor, but the fact that this is a recurring theme really bothers me. I actually like who I am, and I don't take well to people trying to convince me it's wrong or that I need to be something else - something I don't have any desire to be. I am unwilling to compromise myself just to they'll think I'm good enough.

Ironically, this is the same woman who has often told me I would love her son. She was so confidently referring to me as her future daughter-in-law that others in the group actually thought he and I were somehow involved. This became one of the topics those gathered in our corner of the pavilion kept returning to, and I stood there adjusting my reactions appropriately. As I said, I'll take being the target.

What I don't care much for is when others outside the conversation are wearing the bulls-eye. When this combined with the above got to be more than I wanted to listen to, I looked for somebody else to run away to. The choices were slim, and I ended up with the pair that had been the most recent subject of the whispering.

"Help," I said pitifully as I walked over to him. He put an arm protectively around me and I turned into it to hide in a very child-like way.
"What are you guys doing to Rebecca?" I'm glad the question didn't come to me because I would have been unsure exactly how to answer.

I don't know what their response was, but there are two things I know. First, it got them to stop for a little bit. Second, it didn't win me any points. A slightly annoyed, "Rebecca, get back here!" confirmed that. Like a scolded child, I complied.

This is one of the reasons I don't do well in groups. I don't like the gossip. I don't like having to guess which persona is real - the one a person exhibits alone or the one shown when with others. I don't like how catty and critical women get, especially of other women. I don't like how that's magnified when a guy is involved. If that's what "being a woman" means, I think I'm okay remaining "uneducated".

It's interesting to me to note that the assumption is that I must need that education just because I'm not girly. I know more than most realize, but choose to remain outwardly oblivious. I learned a long time ago that people are going to pin their own motives on me even though I don't play the games. There's something threatening about being different - and I want to clarify that "different" does not equate to "better". Perhaps the desire for others to be like us is driven by a need for reassurance that we're okay.

As one of the women pointed out much later, anybody who's worth it is going to love me just the way I am. I agreed. There are plenty of people out there who already do.

Captured At:1428

I had a mission. The project under way - which would either be seen as the sweet gesture it was meant to be or look completely foolish - needed one more piece, so I stayed late even though there wasn't any work to be done and waited for darkness to cover the windows. When the last co-worker left for the night I closed the door behind them, put on the headphones, and spent the next hour bouncing around the office juggling and playing. I found myself lying on the floor a few times just laughing, and wondered what the reaction would be should somebody return unexpectedly. I probably would have only laughed more and, hopefully, they would have joined me. It felt absolutely fantastic.

"Scars and Stitches" came on as I packed up the remainder of my things and walked outside to a familiar sense I desperately wanted to place. That emotion, that high - I was sure I knew it. And the answer came to me almost immediately as I pulled out of the parking lot.

It was love.

An examination of circumstances provided no logical explanation. It was just there, and I was swimming in it.

My subject towered against the deepening black as I drove north. A parking lot usually packed with vehicles was mostly empty now that the first shift had long been over. Outside of the LCC "Live Like You Were Dyin'" was being broadcast across the deserted pavement ocean. It's a song I never cared for, but I stood through it tracing the outline of the VAB against the sky. A slight chill blew short strands of hair in front of my eyes and I pulled my crossed arms in closer for warmth. I had found myself in another moment I wanted to save forever.

I thought about the song and I realized that if I were dying - which, really, we all are - I wouldn't do anything differently. I've never been a thrill seeker; there's no real meaning in that lifestyle to me. Every day I try to focus on what I think really matters. I have reached a point where I try not to leave things unsaid. I would still exert the effort to thank those who are making a difference in my life. I would still be found under the stars, walking the beach, or in a tree next to the river. And I would still look for the wonder and beauty in every new sun.

Finally I worked up the courage to go inside. I had never gone alone, never been there at night. I entered like a nervous child, both in awe of and intimidated by the sheer size of the place. It felt like forbidden ground.

I identified the thick base of a platform, and through the beams I could make out a white cylinder stretching toward the ceiling. Every now and again a hiss of unknown origin would echo up the transfer aisle sending a mixture of delight and terror up my spine. It was as if the beast were alive; like I was in a large cave and at any moment an angry dragon was going to detect the intrusion to its lair. I would hear the rumble and be singed by the resulting fireball before I could even turn to identify the source. Cautiously I walked back to the gate. The child wanted to run.

Monday's lesson was that even the simplest plans can yield surprising results. I went for a picture and I left with vivid memories film is unable to capture. As I'm demonstrating, words don't even get it right.

Captured At: 010

The descending sun has cast the buildings across the river into shadow and is stretching a thin column in my direction over calm, rolling waves. A light breeze teases strands of hair rebelling against a placement imposed by the sunglasses perched on my head, and they tickle my cheeks and eyelashes in victory. Around me the world has melted away replacing sounds of traffic with the calm lapping of water on the rocks and leaves rustling over my head. In three sentences a blinding golden sun has turned a muted, deep pink, and is slipping ever lower behind the horizon. In a moment, it will be gone completely.

Yes, there he goes…

I look at moments like these and wonder how I could ever explain. This passion of mine isn’t easily vocalized, and experience has shown me its true power takes a very special person to understand.

And that was the conclusion I came to as this final parting drew nearer. I wanted to do something to sincerely express my gratitude, which is the strongest element mixed within a cup of emotion I have yet to fully understand. The attachments we form are amazing to me - especially those capable of blooming with seemingly little encouragement.

The idea was simple, evolving slowly over several days, and I spent the majority of a weekend I later shrugged off like any other when asked about it pouring my time into the project. The final picture was taken Monday night. Three days later I walked an innocuous manila envelope across the street and left it sitting below the monitor on an otherwise empty desk.

It contained a small collection of pictures spanning nearly two years to show him the world as he had given me the chance to see it and a very open letter that I hoped would succeed in saying everything I wanted to make sure he knew. I talked about the first time we’d met, a few conversations we’d had, and said how glad I was that God had used him to touch my life. I thanked him for everything from smiles and hugs to the chance I still felt he had taken on me. I told him my recent recognition meant something because he was there to see it, and that I hoped I always did things in a way that would make him proud.

When trying to do something nice I find one of two things happens: I either hit the mark dead on or miss it completely. Perhaps this was too much; an expression desperately out of proportion from what would be understood and accepted. Of course, how could it be? It was the truth.

Honesty is a dangerous business; perhaps the most dangerous there is. When exercising it in such a vulnerable way one can’t feel anything but a combination of relief and fear.

I returned to my desk and sent an email saying I had left something for when he came in the next day. It was immediately responded to with a remark about how he was looking forward to it, and when the party died out last night he told me I’d be getting a phone call in the morning after he saw what it was. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be there when it came through or not.

As it turns out, I wasn’t. I returned from my supervisor’s office to find the light blinking and nervously dialed the number for the voicemail.

The message he left said he was going to try back later because he wanted to talk to me, then proceeded to add that my album was the best gift he’d received all week; one he’d treasure. Something in the tone of his voice told me unmistakably that I had hit my target dead on.

About two hours later I walked across the street to return something to the main office, and as I was talking he came through the door with the book in his hand. I don’t know how many people he showed it to, but those I have seen think I did a really nice thing for him. He says he’s going to keep it on the desk in his new office; off to Massachusetts a little piece of me goes.

Since we had already been through the good-byes as if it were the last time I was surprised to find us face-to-face again. Still, I was glad for it. I am among many who would rather not see him leave, and walking away hasn’t been easy. We exchanged words again with a final tight, long hug that now joins other significant ones in my memory from people I care about. As with all of them, I didn’t entirely want it to end.

“You’re right. I will be watching with interest,” he said as we slowly came apart. “You’ll be fine.” I looked up at him, smiled, and nodded my head as I responded with a slight air of confidence.
“Yeah. I will.”
“And I will be proud of you.”
“I hope so.”

The thin crescent moon chasing the final traces of twilight into the ground caught my attention as I slid out of the tree. There still remains something magical to me about that sight even if it’s slowly evolving into a sign of change. Somehow, though, tonight I feel as if I’ve gained something rather than lost it. Maybe it’s because I think I actually succeeded in making that connection.

Captured At:2151