As I climbed the stairs to my apartment this evening I couldn't help but laugh to myself a little. I had just bumbled across the parking lot with a backpack slung over my shoulder and an assortment consisting of a camera, winter jacket, tattered folder, keys, and sneakers clumsily collected in my hands. I was barefoot and soaking wet as I trod ground that hadn't seen any rain, wet strands of hair hanging in front of my eyes and poking my face. Yes, I really must have been quite a sight...

Florida was showing my companions its splendor as we walked between meeting site and cafeteria. The entire day had been one of brilliant blue skies, soft teasing wind and gorgeous hues of sunlight. It was everything I love about the state that has become my home. It also looked promising that the pictures for the afternoon would come out as nicely in the viewfinder as they had in my head.

Fair weather doesn't last forever though, and by the time I exited the guard gate droplets were hitting Milo's windshield. I hesitated, then thought better of it and found a place to make a u-turn. The skies gave me no reason to believe it, but somehow it would all work out.

The rain picked up a bit as I walked toward the entrance of the Visitor's Complex. A combination of the 5pm hour and change in weather motivated the crowd to begin trickling out to their cars. The park officially closed in half an hour and I was the only one trying to arrive. Facilities was emptying trash from a row of closed ticket booths as I passed and the automatic doors to the building failed to open though they certainly tried.

There was only one option left. I ducked quickly through the "exit only" door as it began to whoosh shut and found myself face to face with a slightly puzzled security guard. This was it.

"Is there any chance you'd let me through? All of the ticket windows are closed," I said as I flashed my badge, "and I wanted to go in real quick to see the wall."

He said nothing, just looked at me as he leaned over and opened the gate next to the turnstiles.

The rain was falling with a slightly greater sense of purpose when I emerged from the welcome building. Most of the tourists were making their exit or ducking into the souvenir shop as I passed. Then I saw the white back of the memorial blending in with the grey sky as the last of its visitors left.

The wreath and sign from Saturday were still there. To the right a new wreath had been added; an "unofficial" one wearing a ribbon with what looked like the word "Star Fleet" scribbled sloppily in blue marker across it. I remembered the group clustered behind me at the ceremony and knew immediately where it had come from. To the left was a new sign with seven familiar names and faces and another flower arrangement.

Saturday the area had been packed with people and the fence covered with flowers they had woven into it under a clear blue sky. Today it was empty, save for me. Wet, cold, only a single rose tucked through the fence in defiance of nature as it battled the wind and rain.

The camera came out of its case, Emma's Astronaut came out of her folder, and the rain beat down with even more force. I don't know who the guy was that arrived as I stood there, but I caught him smiling slightly as he looked at the wall. He snapped a picture or two before leaving me alone in a soggy moment again.

I paused there in the rain looking between wall, solitary flower, and lonely space. I paid my respects to people I'd never known in life. I prayed again for their families. I thought about the construction paper threatening to melt between the covers of the folder and turned away from a moment I couldn't have arranged if I had tried.

It was the only stop I would have risked her safety for. Back in the welcome building I asked for a plastic bag and explained the story of the astronaut I was trying to protect from further damage. I thanked the security guard again on my way out, but it was clear he didn't remember me. "I hope you had a nice day on your tour," he said.

By the time I reached the car I was drenched from head to toe. Puddles had turned my gazelles and jeans a deeper shade of blue, my contacts were blurring at the water being dripped into my eyes, and a faint scent of shampoo told me I shouldn't be so hasty during my morning showers. And though I was soaked with my mind racing I was also smiling.

Every now and again in life we are blessed with a moment that touches us in such a way that is impossible to verbalize. Somewhere between the kindness of strangers, standing in the rain, and removing my shoes at a stoplight as the south skies opened up, I found one. Once again I have been shown there is beauty in even the most difficult of places.

Captured At:2308

"It was good livin' with you..."

Though not perfect, my apartment is the cleanest I have seen it in about two weeks. A day that was nearly lost to the same lazy indifference that characterizes many of my free hours somehow turned itself around before the sky began to darken.

Within about thirty seconds of completing that sentence I looked around and determined the place still didn't pass. I immediately abandoned the post and the tea bag I'd left soaking in a large black mug so I could set to tidying up a bit more. I don't know much about tea, but the lukewarm liquid continuing to cool at my feet has easily been demoted to honey-flavored water.

As I lounge in my favorite chair I can hear the dishwasher whirring distantly in the kitchen. The dryer has just come to a stop and I know what my next task will be, but for the moment I'm content to relax and let my mind wander.

The John Mayer song that has been looping through my head serves as the perfect background music for a string of moments such as these. It immediately set a gently happy tone the first I listened to it that further instills in me just how simple and sweet life is. I'm contentedly dreaming and reminiscing as I sit alone here, the hopeful wishes for my future lethargically dissolving into memories of reality much like the swirls of steam that rose from my coffee cup and united with the air just a short time ago.

As the song continues to play it becomes the soundtrack for the life that's flashing before my eyes. The images are in black and white, flickering and fragile like an old filmstrip telling the story of innocent days. I see my family and friends smiling as we play or indulge in the joy that is merely being with each other.

It's a silent film, but I know my father is singing while he pushes us on the swings, as is my mother as we bounce around the living room. The expression on the faces of my brother and sister can't tell of anything but laughter. If I hold my breath for just a moment I can hear them. All of them.

I see kids speeding around the neighbourhood on their bicycles, selling brownies at the end of their driveways, splashing in pools, exploring forests, playing in sandboxes, and intently clutching Nintendo controllers as they race for the POW that will beat the cards out of each other.

I'm hovering in the dorm rooms and apartments of my college days, drifting behind tour groups, dodging Frisbees, and observing the latest freshman class forming a reluctant circle around their orientation leader. I'm watching the parade floats take shape. I can see the antics on the stages and at the parties. And we're laughing and celebrating and loving every moment we have as if there's nothing else in the world.

I'm in love; lounging around apartments I may as well have lived in with boyfriends I never knew I could enjoy having. The warmth and safety of snuggling on a couch permeates monochrome visions reminiscent of childhood. We're cooking together or beating on each other with pillows enjoying everything that's right in life as if we're wide-eyed and innocent again.

I see what doesn't exist yet, sculpting it from the best of what was and what I believe will be if the good Lord continues to be so kind. And as I fight back overwhelmed tears of being I find the sensitive little part inside of me feels ready to burst. I want to cling to this moment with every ounce of strength I have even if it means an eternity curled up alone in my apartment.

Here, right now on this timeless reel cycling through my head, I have everything. It's my little piece of heaven tucked away inside; one so small I lose track of it when I'm not careful. And there's hope in it and love in it and gratitude in it because it has been good spending my life with the people who, however briefly, have moved through it. I remember them. I remember these things. And I know the heart of life is good.

Captured At:2059

In My Own Little Corner...

I don't think anyone can disagree with me when I state that there is a lot of negativity floating around the world today. Yes, there are some very positive things as well, but it's the negative that somehow draws the most attention. Look at Lisa Nowak. I think she got more press for the incomprehensible manner in which she lost her mind than she did for being on the crew of the first 4th of July launch in NASA history.

But I digress.

At a certain point - one different for everybody - the negativity gets to us, and often we turn it inward. I can't count the number of times I have heard it said how important self-confidence and a positive self-image are to living a happy, balanced life. It is said we shouldn't worry about being pretty enough or thin enough or smart enough or rich enough or popular enough because those aren't the things that matter, and we're often told that we should be ourselves and enjoy who that is. For some it's an impossible assignment.

In two and a half decades of basking under the starlight, being myself is one of those things I have never been able to cease doing. A vast majority of the time I really like who she is and on rare occasions - like now - I'll actually say that. But sometimes I have to wonder if it's really me I like and not the vision of her I've crafted in my head. And whichever it is I like, perhaps I think a little too highly of her.

There are some who would wonder if such a thing is possible. How can a person who so frequently knocks herself down countless pegs say she thinks too much of herself? Surely I jest.

Yet time and again I'm disappointed when I don't recognize the image in the picture or the mirror. When all of the ways I was going to make the most of the day never happened. When the relationship isn't as strong as it had seemed. When the grand schemes never amounted to anything. When I acknowledge that the only people I regularly have real conversations with are the ghosts of friends hovering somewhere in memory...

If I'm honest, my world exists very much inside a mind where fact and fiction aren't easily separated. The realist and the dreamer engage in an endless tug-of-war, neither gaining ground for very long.

I can't quite explain what it's like. I cannot describe the frustration when the reality doesn't live up to the fantasy or when the dream refuses surrender to indisputable truth. When I ponder what's wrong with me, this is the source. When I'm confused or I doubt, this is why.

I believe things without being able to say why I believe them. I look at me, so small and uncertain, pausing at the foot of this mountain that I know possesses one of those incredible views I live for. I can imagine myself at the summit absorbing every splash of color and every breath of wind, but I have no idea how the trail I'm walking possibly gets me to the top.

What reason do I have to think I will ever actually be there?
What happens if I make it?
What happens if I don't?

The logical side of me can't discount reality. The whimsical side refuses to release its grip on the dream, whatever the fantasy of the moment might be. They both have a place. I need each of them even if I don't always understand how they're supposed to play nice in the same sandbox. Even if nobody sees or understands or accepts it.

This is what it means to be myself.

And somehow I still think she can do anything.

Captured At:2246

"We never win, but the battle wages on..."

I only turned the car off partially after pulling into one of the most coveted spaces in the parking lot. The engine went silent but I wasn't ready to silence the song yet. I watched the blades of tall grass in front of me and how they seemed to twist in time with the music, humbly surrendering themselves in worship of the wind. They became intertwined with and untangled from each other. Sometimes they bounced slightly, others they were tossed violently by a force that would have carried them off were it not for the anchor their roots provided. Their fragile dance and the way it mirrored life mesmerized me. Everything else disappeared as it became all I could focus on. That, and a strange feeling of inadequacy when comparing myself to a simple bush.

It's times like these when I envy any living thing that doesn't have to think; doesn't possess any sort of consciousness or self-awareness. It can just be as it was made where it was placed and all is well. And even if all isn't well it doesn't have much way of knowing the difference. Packrat tendencies aside, I am, at heart, a minimalist. I like things simple. Life, however, is seldom that.

The longer one does something the more proficient they are expected to be at it. The assumption is made that time cultivates improvement - be it skill, knowledge, or any other appropriate attribute for the endeavour. Based on things such as my age, education, upbringing, and employment history one would have certain expectations of me. The hope is that all of these would have taught me and molded me into a better example of the species we call "human being".

For a little while I could see it. I looked at what people told me and was able to notice a difference between a series of unbounded theoretical slices of "then" and "now". And I liked what I saw. The perpetual "work in progress" that I have always believed myself to be seemed to be coming along nicely.

Lately, though, I feel like I've taken a huge step backwards. Things are appearing in my life that I thought were successfully being controlled or eradicated. I'm noticing the return of emotions, habits and thoughts that I haven't experienced in a long time; none of them good. I'm unhappy about that. I don't know where they came from. I'm frustrated because I don't know how to shift things back toward a positive direction. I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't figure out how to control it, and every possible debris path I can imagine is pretty bad.

It's only in writing this down that a moment of clarity occurs. The other morning I woke from another bad dream. I wouldn't put it into nightmare class like the last, but there are parallels. This time there were several giant monsters - not an accurate name, but the best I have - who had emerged from somewhere underground. I hadn't seen them, but my understanding was that they were causing destruction as they searched out the pieces that would make them complete and were expecting me to help reassemble them. I sensed another being with me as I found myself near where they had been resurrected. Packed in the rubble was a stack of horseshoes - seven of them to be exact - and in the opening created by the "u" I could make out text ancient in appearance that I couldn't read. The horseshoes were critical and I was struggling to free them from the dirt when the monsters found me. I only saw three or four, each slightly different because of the layers and sections missing. Somewhere in their slow advance I snapped out of the dream.

I understand now that these monsters are the very thoughts, habits and emotions I was just talking about. They're in pieces because I hacked away at them before burying them prematurely. They weren't dead, though I wanted to believe they were. They see an opportunity to reestablish themselves as part of my life and they're looking for me to allow it so they can regain power, and in doing so rebuild themselves.

It's not monsters that are after me, it's me.

I don't know what the horseshoes in the dream were for. Were they to complete the monsters or destroy them? Or maybe both? Did I fight back or was I frightened into submission?

I guess that's really the choice I'm being given now, isn't it? I want to fight. I'm trying to fight. I'm losing, and my dissatisfaction at that knowledge is being carried over to other avenues where I simply cannot afford to have it present. I have to win this. These monsters are not who I want to be.

So what do I do?

Captured At:1529

"It's not much, but it's the work of my hands, and it's given with every good wish I have."

The other night my mom ended our phone conversation because my grandmother was calling her in to watch one of their regular programs. I'm not really a TV person as most everyone knows, but something compelled me to join the fan base of this wildly popular series for a night and tune in also. Amid the usual drama was a moment where one of the male characters told his female superior that he'd notice if she disappeared. I have no doubt fans everywhere took this as the sign they'd been waiting for that these two will finally hook up, but I think there's something much more important tucked away in there.

One of the stories making headlines over the past couple days is about a 70 year old man found dead in his home. The part that makes it incredible is that nobody had seen or heard from him since 2005. He didn't have anybody like that young TV character. When he disappeared nobody noticed.

For anyone who looks behind the black and white of the newsprint or through the glow emitted by the TV screen these two situations evoke many questions. First, what is it I'm doing with my life? Am I making a positive difference and having the sort of impact where others would feel that something was missing if I were gone? That question needs to be asked not so the answer can feed the ego, but to extend our vision outside the bubble of self-centered existence most of us live in a majority of the time. There are billions of people on this planet and it is physically impossible for the world we stand on to simultaneously revolve around every single one of us. Life is not about one person; we're all in this and riding along together.

Next, what sort of condition are my everyday relationships in? Do I even have people I interact with on an almost daily basis? Taking today's technology into consideration, are the people in my life real? What percentage of those interactions is face to face or over a telephone and what percentage in the vacuum of cyberspace? How many people do I actually know within a reasonable radius of where I live and work? Other than the companies sending me bills, to whom am I regularly accountable and how far does that accountability go?

How much attention do I actually pay to the needs of others? What is my role generally like? Am I able to anticipate where a person needs something (active) or am I always waiting until they ask for help (passive)? Do I help willingly or grudgingly? Do I discriminate in choosing who I'll put myself out there for based on what I think I can get as a result?

Some of these are questions we can't answer ourselves, and those of us who care hope that the people in a position to would respond favorably. I don't have it all down perfectly, particularly in the areas that require the courage to get out there and extend my sphere of influence. My hope is that one day I'll find it.

They way I see it, dying alone or disappearing unnoticed isn't the tragedy. They're sad things to be sure, but not the worst. The real tragedy is never truly touching or connecting with another person in a way that makes some positive difference in their life, however small or momentary. We don't get to take anything with us when we go. What we give here is all that matters.

Captured At:1301

"Something tells me you're here with me..."

There are times when I think we have no choice but to accept that at any given moment the universe has different plans for us than we do. I took one look at the sky as I exited my sister's apartment and my mind was already lost on a beach somewhere as the sidewalk swung around her building. It was a nice thought, but I was exhausted and had every intention of going home.

Something got to me though. I found myself making a right turn too early and following a familiar route I hadn't seen in well over a year. I recognized the buildings. I parked in my old space. I pulled out my laptop desiring nothing more than to write as I sat by the water, but it wouldn't power on. I abandoned every previous plan and just began walking.

How many hours had I lazed away on that beach? Remember the fireworks that 4th of July? No, you couldn't possibly. How many times did we engage in that Sunday ritual of stumbling over with glasses or bellies full of margarita? How many hopes and secrets and frustrations were shared under those stars? How many homework assignments skipped or moments of napping stolen?

At the top of the stairs I could do nothing but hold out my arms to embrace the wind battering my body. I did the same moments later as I stood a few feet from the waves. I wanted to absorb it with every possible inch of me. I looked up. I looked along a dark and deserted beach...

When I shivered it wasn't induced by the chill of the breeze. It was something deeper; something from inside. The infinity and timelessness of the universe had slammed into my tiny speck of a body with a force that nearly squeezed tears from the corners of my eyes. I was completely overcome.

Today I have been in the grip of something amazing; a high stronger and deeper than that of being in love. I can liken it only to locking eyes with somebody your soul has connected with in ways unprecedented and exchanging an eternity of words without uttering a sound. It's a faint fluttering in the chest that fills your body with an ecstasy so incredible you can barely endure it, yet you desire nothing more than to close your eyes, give in, and let it sweep you away...

For a moment I was almost convinced I could feel something I'd lost. I suppose I still like to believe in the impossible.

I did the only thing I could think of: reach out to somebody else. There was no answer. "I'm on the beach," I said. "Your beach. It's gorgeous. And here's what it sounds like..." I extended the phone and let it pick up the sound of the waves until the voicemail cut me off.

I turned back toward an ominous staircase. Orion sat in the clear sky behind. It seemed little me was suddenly standing at the base of some ancient temple I barely had the courage to climb. I didn't want to tear myself away, but I had to go. At the top I turned around and glanced back as is customary to absorb the scene as if I might never see it again. The moon reflected on the river as I crossed the causeway. I made the trip in silence with my mind wandering to a hundred things I knew I wanted to put to words but would never say. You have to wonder what sort of person will drive 20 minutes out of their way because they can't go to a beach, they have to go to that beach. I still don't know what I was doing there, and I still haven't shaken the feeling that something else is tugging at my insides

When I got home the first thing I did was pull out my laptop. I was shocked to have a machine that was dead an hour before power up on the first try without being plugged into the wall. It didn't make sense. Slowly, though, I began to write. There are times when I think we have no choice but to accept that at any given moment the universe has different plans for us than we do...

Captured At: 107