Accepting myself on the Whole

Goodmorning me,

23 hours ago you loved yourself. You saw yourself doing good things, thinking of others, having confidence and peace and aspiring to live out the light inside you.

12 hours ago you were sick of yourself. You saw a gossipy, self-important, rambling version of you.

You are all of this. All of the time. Always capable of every good and every cruelty.

Feelings aren't answers.

(Love is an insufficient word sometimes),
Sarah

Porcupine

Sometimes I feel like my expectations of people must be too high. Then I consider what an arrogant statement that is, and I retreat for a while in order to come to terms with the realization that it was me all along who wasn't meeting the bar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_qhdPflUb8

Games

G'day reader,

It's been too long. I'm largely writing this blog to get my gears working before embarking on a paper for school. This is also a good way to procrastinate. Killing two birds with one stone.

Now on to the matter in my life today: Games. I have had a rollercoaster of a year relationship wise, and my goal through it all was to stay completely honest to myself and to the other person involved. So far so good, that is until I got sick of dating and just wanted to be in something long term. Oh how the cold weather makes you wish for someone to lie next to.

(Word of advice, if you are in a relationship and are considering ending it, wait at least until spring. It will be much easier to cope with the loneliness when you're not freezing. But if he/she is hitting you ignore all of that and get out! And then send your ex-lover my way because I could use some sense smacked into me after what you're about to read.)

This shift from confident and easy-going to lonely and desperate that flooded in with the change in seasons had me resorting to mind games. This was sort of my final desperate attempt with someone I care about to see if I could manipulate him into wanting me (again). Now, the fact that I am writing this blog I hope indicates to you, dear reader, that I 1.) realize the error of my ways and 2.) am only reasonably crazy. The tactic I applied was to make him think, after he apologized to me for nearly cancelling our long await plans, that I had better things to do anyway. I know, I know, that was not an especially clever move and really just kind of bitchy, but I wanted to be bold and see where it got me. Needless to say, I got owned at my own game. Maybe I'm out of practice, or possibly I had already established a tone of honesty for our relationship which would explain why he was able to call me out saying, "We're not playing some sort of game, are we?" That question had me anxiously denying all such accusations. I immediately resorted back to my honest tendancies, breathing a sigh of relief that I didn't get myself in any deeper.

The moral is obvious: When you're me, honesty is the best policy. That, or get better at your game, but I like to stick with the former. Had I been honest in that moment I would have been able to tell myself that lonliness is temporary and all based on one's perspective. Also that it is better to examine conflict from a birds eye view before taking anything personally, as to avoid emotional flare ups. Both of those contribute to the larger issue: Stop trying force relationships. It's a worthless past time, and completely counter-productive.

Certainly, there is a reason the moral typically comes after the story, but that being said I need to work on my foreshadowing skills. All in time to write a paper.

Thanks for reading.

Refreshing Radio

Lately I have taken a break from my iPod and listened to the radio in my car instead. Refreshing. I listened to the radio a lot on my drive from Colorado to Chicago and one of the songs I fell in love with was "You & Me" by Dave Matthews Band. There is something about acoustic guitar that uplifts my soul, and this song gave me the pick me up I was looking for when it came on the radio the other day. I've been listening to it all week now.

It's nice to be reintroduced to the things we love. Radio, acoustic melodies, DMB, thanks for stopping by and brightening my day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD9CrZODlNA

Conflict with Age

Today was the closing night of the One-Act I directed. It's called "The Falling Man" and is by Will Scheffer. To me this play is about identity and how we are often at a loss to understand who we are. How often forces in our lives shake our very core and leave us grasping for some solid place to latch onto; cause us to fall.

My actors performed beautifully and I dressed up for the occasion. Black tights, black lacy skirt, black top, black shoes. Sounds like funeral attire, but I looked good. I had a lot of friends coming to the show, so I wanted to be at my best. To set up for my later point, every one of these friends has either graduated college or is in grad school currently. They are all older than me.

The performance ended and I was very happy to see everyone. It's tricky to talk to people after shows you've created because you sort of always want to avoid actually talking about the show, as if avoiding being arrogant or avoiding any awkward conversations if people didn't it. Instead I talked to my friends about my birthday that is coming up. My TWENTY-FIRST birthday. I am in eager for its arrival. Finally I will be old enough to hang out with my friends in public places and not just at houses where I'm drinking illegally (embarrassing to put it that way). Anyway, we chatted and then all went on our own ways.

My way happened to cross the path of "Highlighter Party: Junior Class Event!!" Yes, that would include me, a junior in college. The music was blaring from this small house and a couple of people I know were outside on the stoop trying to escape from the body heat inside. They encouraged me to go in, and I figured I was looking pretty good, why the hell not (something I've been saying a lot to myself lately and later regretting). I go in and everyone is in white t-shirts, covered in highlighter, running into each other as they danced drunkenly under a black light. Now remember, I'm in all black. Upon arrival I assume that to these people I look like an asshole, like I'm trying to rebel against the conventions of the party. And I was certainly treated like I was the asshole. Several dirty looks, lots of ignoring. One guy actually offered me a t-shirt which I nearly accepted until I explained that I was on my way out soon, and being my luck, this offended him. So I did leave, feeling somewhat rejected but mostly not caring.

So here's the thing: All of those people are my age and I was completely out of place with them. I tried to join and dance and be nice, but that really just left me looking pretty lame. I have never made a serious attempt to hang out with these people, but have always smiled and said hi in passing. It makes me increasingly aware of how they view me when I am in situations like that. If I could read their energy toward me it would say "What is that goody two shoes doing here?" Which is humorous because for people that do know me well, I am nothing of the sort.

Jumping back to my birthday conversation with my friends, this is something that makes me hyper aware of how much my age I really am. My display of birthday anticipation is highly juvenile in comparison to their cool, collected attitudes. That's perfectly fine, because the fact of the matter is that I am 20 and that means I am entitled to act 20 when I feel like it. Funny though, how when I am with other twenty year olds I feel like I'm at least 40. All of this to say that I have a conflict with age.

When I consider what my age contributes to my identity I have a difficult time putting my finger on any definite explanation. However, what I do know, and what "The Falling Man" has brought to my attention, is that no matter how much I am at a loss to identify who I am, the only thing I can do is live in the moment. Forget age, it's only a number which has connotations that aren't necessarily even based in reality when you consider the confusion that is time. It is in the now that I live and therefore now is the only place that I can feel alive.

I write to 4 of you.

Hi Leigh, Nigel, Sasha and oh apparently Jon now, welcome to the elite. I trust all of you are just fine, as you were when last I saw you. Take care of yourselves... and maybe I'll do the same.

Lead on Psychedelic Guiding Force

Friday: Classes done. Plans made. Prepping to walk out the door. Oh what's that? A phone call? Hey Anna Eisenbraun! Say what?! Flaming Lips tickets? Yes, I accept your overwhelming generosity.

Friday Take Two: Classes done. Plans cancelled. Adventure to the Flaming Lips concert ON!

My life is awesome, and I'm sorry, mostly to myself, that I have not written down the situations and happenstances that have made it that way for such a long time. Oh well, here's one experience that will not be lost in the abyss of my memory.

This semester was like many others. It ended with some serious procrastination. Lately my avenue of procrastination has been watching countless numbers of MGMT interviews on Youtube. The attitude of these guys resides closely to my own, or at least that's how I perceive it while I stare blankly at the idiotbox. This attitude that resinates with me is one of no bullshit, just honesty, brevity, and beauty. They aren't rude to people, but also aren't schmoozers. They keep their answers short and clear, are sometimes goofy and sometimes psychedelic.

Anyway, that's the kind of attitude I put forth during finals. What I mean to say is that I treated finals for what they are: the pain in the ass that cause students way too much anxiety. I realized that I've gotten through the finals process too many times to let myself freak out yet again. Instead I figured stressful studying was going to get me the same grade I would get without the anxiety. Rather I set my mind toward the psychedelic, and instead of studying for countless hours, I made plans for some great creative strides. Enter Art-Cult. (Oh yeah, I can't tell you about that, only that it's a cult for art where the only death is the death of inhibitions.)

When it came to my first final on Friday all that was going through my mind was MGMT music, and then for some reason Brittany Spears' "Circus." Jump to that evening just before the psychedelic Flaming Lips show, I'm eating at a Subway with my best bud Caitlin who I had told about the odd mixture of songs running through my head that morning, and what else should start playing but Brittany Spears' "Circus." Sure this is a popular radio hit, but at the time I had not heard it for at least two weeks because I had no car and therefore no radio to listen to. The fact that it popped into my head during an accounting final felt bizzarre to me, and therefore when it started to play that evening, right after making the spontaneous choice to venture to this concert, hearing it felt like a clue that I was on the right path. Possibly a path to great psychedelic adventures.

This is how I choose to look at my life. Like it's something incredible and mysterious.