My Best Friend's Wedding

Within moments of entering the corner shop in a nondescript strip mall our entourage is timidly greeted by a young salesgirl who points out the racks of interest. I've learned from other outings that it's best to step aside and let the others set to the task of shuffling through them, so I wander a few steps behind making the standard sarcastic comments about how perfect the hideous outfit I'm holding would be for the occasion.

A few feet away an argument is heating up between two large Hispanic women and the shopkeeper. They've dubbed her incompetent and unprofessional between comments about how they should slap her, threats to take her to small claims court, and snide remarks that she'd better hope her check doesn't bounce. Resolution comes as she hands them a final check and demands they never set foot in her store again. She issues an apology to everyone remaining after the pair goes out the door with shouts of "We don't plan to" and "You should go back where you came from."

"I just feel sorry for my bride," she says. "The ceremony's at 3 and now she's down a flower girl..."

Shortly after this altercation, attention returns to me and the large number of garments waiting outside a dressing room at the back of the store. The time has come.

Outside I can hear them conversing as I change. "So how long have you two known each other?"
"She's my sister."
"Oh, well isn't that nice."
"She says she's only doing this once," another adds. "How are you making out in there?"
"This thing is ruffles from Hell," I state emerging from the curtain. Even the saleswomen laugh and nobody seems to disagree.

All concept of time is lost as I acquiesce to being paraded onto boxes and in front of mirrors, and to requests to stand on tip-toe to more accurately mimic the height I will be on the day of the event. My attempts at not tripping over the extra fabric hanging from my body are less than graceful. Only one dress is deemed a possibility before we move on to repeat the cycle at another store.

The advent of the Girliest Moment of My Life has caused a small stir among those who know me. Pictures are already in demand, and I'm being paid well in the friendly harassment guaranteed to increase over the next 10 months as the event approaches. When I show up with my nails done for the first time in almost 26 years, they'll laugh. When the inevitable injuries arise from learning to walk in heels, they'll laugh. When I offer more evidence as to why I'm not winning "Maid of Honor of the Year", they'll laugh.

As all of this happens, though I'll roll my eyes and snap the characteristic witty retorts back, I'll be reminding myself of one thing: She's my sister, and I'm doing it all because I love her. There's no place for the selfishness inherent in focusing on my own discomfort; this wedding is about her and her happiness, not about me. Sure I may cry when the music starts and I see her coming down the aisle looking as beautiful as I've always believed her to be, but I'll also consider it a privilege to stand up there and share in one of the most important days of her life. I won't care what costume came with it.

And that's what love really is.

Captured At: 337

"And the night's as empty for me as for you..."

**Author's note - after posting this I did head east to walk by the water. I got about half way to the other park when I noticed the excited dance of a pair of shadows at their discovery that an entire flock of baby sea turtles was frantically making its way toward the waves. Naturally, I stopped to watch. I'd never seen anything like it.

When I finally walked away from that little patch of sand I was half laughing, half crying. The only words I could find as I looked up at the sky were, "You win". I still hurt, but in that moment I had to concede that life is still absolutely amazing. I was right; I'm not alone.**

My away message currently says that I'll be going to the beach in about an hour. That's the plan, though we'll see how long it actually takes to write this up.

I've just returned home from a 9.5 hour day at work. I got a late start, having continually made the conscious choice to return to the absurdity of whatever dreams I'd been having because somehow their nonsense seemed more appealing than the glow of an 8 o'clock sun. The latest completed puzzle is on the table next to me, as is a glass of cherry coke - no rum please, violates rule #1 - being chilled by what few cubes I could break from the hunk of ice in an otherwise empty freezer. In retrieving said beverage I noticed there's still a box of Diet Code Red Mountain Dew sitting on my closet shelf. I wonder how long that stuff is actually good for...

Last night found me on the beach as well, the lone shadow trekking north under the moonlight toward my split-stair park. Low tide was approaching making the overall feel very calm and peaceful. There was a silhouette at the top of the stairs when I finally reached them, and it nervously started to move away as it saw me approaching. He didn't return to his perch until I was at the back of the pavilion, sitting on a bench facing east. As I watched him, I wondered what was on his mind. There must be something if he was out on the beach by himself at such an hour. When I finally got up and descended the steps he didn't move.

"You have a good night," I said.
"Thanks. You too." I continued to walk away, not believing that would be true for either one of us.

Of course I wouldn't believe that because I was assuming him to be just like me. Maybe he was just admiring the water. Just because I'd spent my entire trip talking to no avail didn't mean he was in the same position. It's time to be honest. It's time to be real.

Two years ago I know exactly where I was and what I was doing. I also know that within the next few weeks it will be exactly two years since the pre-orientation suicide that had everybody shook up at the start of the Fall '04 semester. This time last year I was tumbling farther into horrible shape myself. Even death didn't seem like escape enough, though I certainly would have welcomed it at that point. I don't remember much from then, but that's probably just as well. The few things I have heard are terrible.

This year is better. I'm thankful for ever day I get, every opportunity that presents itself. Last week, when asked if I was content, I said yes.

But...

I'm going to let you in on a little secret that I will deny with every breath in my body and avoid conversation about completely, so don't even bother bringing it up.

The truth is, on most levels I'm happy. That's what I'm focusing on, that's what I'm trying to spread around. That's the face I'm trying to show and enjoy with the world. And by and large, I'm succeeding.

The truth is, beneath all of that I hurt. I'm wondering what point it is I'm missing that can't make the whole picture come to life in the vibrant colors I want to see. I'm wondering what's wrong with me, why I can't lets go, and how long this will go on for. I did a lot of talking as I walked last night. I've identified the whys behind my own hesitations and fears, admitted to a number of things I don't like, yet I can't shake it and it's not being taken from me. For as good as life has been there's still this huge, aching hole that the sheer existence of would be enough to make me angry if I was choosing to go that route.

I feel like I'm absolutely starving. Not because I'm not eating, but because I'm craving the sweet chill of my favorite ice cream and all I'm being given is bread. And it's good bread - warm, fresh bread absorbing soft butter into its every crevice. But I want ice cream. My body is begging for it. I want ice cream and I can't find it anywhere. The restaurants are closed, the stores are sold out, and the only truck to chase has driven so far up the road the music has faded. I'm frustrated beyond all belief, but nobody sees it because day after day I chew my bread with a smile, sharing with whoever will take some as if it's the best thing I've ever eaten. And it makes me feel so ungrateful because I can remember when I would have given anything for a crumb.

I have just about everything I should need and it doesn't make a bit of difference in the world. I guess I really am defective.

So tonight it's back to the beach. It's back to walking under a nearly full moon, watching the waves and wondering what it is I'm waiting for and why I'm still not going in the right direction. I've come so far up the coast, yet the shore stretches infinitely on.

And I know I'm not alone.

Captured At:2201

"To change the world..."

Treadin' Trodden Trails...

The pavement I traveled with the pack of other latecomers laid out the proper paths to get from A to B. Either would do fine, though some chose to turn left while the rest continued straight on. I opted for neither, and thus became the lone pedestrian cutting across the tiny patch of grass between the two. My conclusion as I neared the church was that sidewalks fall on the list of things I have a blatant disregard for. I'll go where there's no path if necessary, and I don't care if I do it alone or how anyone else feels about it.

It's evidence of a series of traits that range from being the best within me to the most difficult. I recognize them for what they are, battling and embracing each as appropriate.

In contrast, the week was one of traveling familiar paths through the forest of my past. It began as I sat under a tent in the dorm quad and, for the first time since I had graduated, watched freshman discover their new home. As an orientation leader move-in day was always a time of busy, hectic excitement; of goofing off with old friends and meeting new ones. I walked toward my old freshman dorm realizing that I didn't know anyone on campus anymore when I heard somebody yell, "BEC!" and caught a flash of bright orange running to tackle me. I cowered corrected as the only one who could have found me did. New face, old place, old reaction.

I saw people that day I hadn't talked to in years, who I thought were long gone and who thought the same of me. I saw one who told me they hadn't been able to make fun of the president since I left because, while the other kids had been nice, they weren't as fun as my predecessor and I had been. The day flew as quickly as my five years there seemed to and I was glad I went, but being back is always bittersweet. Much like my childhood home, I miss it for what it was to me. I also know that while I'll always have a soft spot for it there's nothing there for me anymore. That's a hard one to admit.

Reliving scenes from my new life, I walked the empty hallways after hours feeling much like I had last autumn and winter. There's something both sad and magical about the solitude at that hour which I suppose attracts me because in it I see a reflection of myself. We're all narcissists at some level whether we choose to admit it or not.

I continue to work hard, appreciating where I am, who is around me, and the chances I've been given. In so many ways it's better than I could have dreamed, and I hope that one day I feel like I've found a real place there. The future will remain bright as long as I keep believing in it.

This week I went back to the park for the first time in recent memory. Scenes both real and imagined sparked to life as the crowd thinned, the sky dimmed, and the music played on. So much of my life has been spent living in worlds that don't actually exist no matter how closely the people and places resemble this one. I can never decide how that makes me feel, yet I continue to do it regardless.

One night I stayed on the IMer until well into morning with a friend who used to be a fixed window on my computer screen. I'm always happy to see names pop up after a long absence and to chat for as long as there are words to say. I assured them I wouldn't regret the choice. "Work's not important anyway," I said. "People are." It's probably not a habit I should get into, but the fact that they responded with a smile only confirmed that on this occasion I had made a good decision.

Friday night I met a recent alum at a restaurant I once frequented with an old boyfriend. It had randomly come to mind as we discussed where to go and even now I lack any idea why I suggested it. Unlike the first time I'd been there with somebody other than him, it didn't seem that the waitress/owner recognized me or shot strange looks at my companion across the table. Somewhere in conversation I was given a compliment along the lines of being proof that there are still good people in the world. I often wonder if people would still feel that way if they could see in me what I do. The dominance of the dark side has diminished, but I still catch myself thinking things I'd rather not own. I suppose it's a good thing I have a conscience; if it weren't there I'd be horrible.

After leaving there I navigated side roads I used to travel on autopilot to reach my friend's beachside home. I could see the place as it was when I walked in on so many occasions, and for a stretch I forgot that wasn't my destination. With the stop sign came the reality that he had moved out almost a year ago and I'd never set foot through that door again. Standing under the stars that night I thought of the group assembled for the Leonids in 2001 on a beach I haven't seen in about two years. In that moment we had everything.

At another familiar restaurant today I sat looking through eyes I hadn't expected to see. They seemed lighter, softer, more interested, and happier to have me as their subject than I ever remember noticing before. I should have told their owner; given everything I think he'd be glad to know there's still life tucked behind the building indifference.

Tonight I sat in a former bedroom at a desk that for three months served as mine. In the other room I could hear my sister excitedly exclaiming to her fiance, "We're getting married! I'm going to be your pain in the ass wife until you die," and couldn't help but laugh at a girl most people never see. I drove a familiar route home, watching the lights on the Eau Gallie causeway and remembering the first night I traveled in its direction hitting my breaks at every intersection because I didn't know which road would actually get me across it. It doesn't seem as far from Palm Bay Rd. as it used to.

They're ghosts I'm thankful to have, but they haunt me just the same. Tonight I've looked up that word for the first time and I'm glad to see there's nothing about scaring tied to the definition. They're just here with me always, reminding me of their existence and the life I both once had and currently possess. It's another part of who I am; another piece I battle and embrace as appropriate.

And somewhere in the madness I find I'm surprisingly content. I reflect on the conversations I engage in and realize that I know where most of the people are because I was once there myself. I wish I could make it better. I wish I could hand them the magic key that unlocks every door between where they stand and where they want to be, but they need to find it on their own. They need to walk that road we all come to - some of us multiple times - before we find our peace.

For me, if I knew it were all going to end as the sun came up, I'd be okay with the idea. A year ago that statement would have been a reflection of resignation and a lack of desire to continue on. When I say it tonight, I say so realizing that in only 25 years I've had a full and wonderful life of a caliber some can't even imagine. I don't see these familiar paths as a painful memory; I see them as a gift.

As it nears 1:00a my eyes are fighting to stay open, the knots moving up the right side of my neck and face are screaming, and my head is telling me that my words are too poorly written and thought out for publication. Truth is I've been at a loss for words, but I wanted to say something. Right now this is the best I've got to give. This is me tonight.

Captured At: 102

The Island Remains

It's a mystery to me how I determine which small details or snippets of conversation are worth holding onto. I've been building them for a few days now, and only this morning did the connections finally come together. Part of me wants dearly to write about it, but I won't.

And that's precisely the problem.

What I need to understand is why not talking is the choice I'm making; a choice I make consistently. I need to understand where along the road I determined that feeling was an unnecessary evil to be suppressed at all costs. It happened so long ago and has become so deeply ingrained that its origin is seemingly impossible to locate. I don't even know what difference it would make at this point were I to identify it.

Of course, if I knew and I understood maybe then I would be sculpting words to portray this teardrop reflection coming into focus behind my eyes. I'd be verbalizing those truths I don't want to admit to a world that neglects to recognize their existence because they are of no consequence to it.

What I'll share instead is the excitement of seeing a product of the sim team I'm tied to play on NASA TV. I watched phases of its construction and fell into the loop of communicating who was doing the narration and when. I was sitting in the KSC conference room that was participating in the agency-wide Exploration All-Hands where it made its debut. And on Tuesday afternoon I did somebody the huge favor of taking a copy I had delivered to them fresh off the DVD burner and driving it out to the press site so it actually would make it on TV as it was supposed to. It was a role of the most minor and insignificant proportions, but it was the first time I've seen something I'm related to - something I've actually touched or watched come into being - reach the general public like that. I don't care what anyone else says, that's pretty darn cool to me.

Talking about work is easy. I can do that no problem; it's the rest that doesn't flow so well. There's a blockage somewhere in the pipe, and the whole defective system is me.

Captured At:1352