change

I think how quickly things have changed for me. But that’s the personality of change, isn’t it? When it’s slow, it’s called growth; when it’s fast, it’s change. And God, how things change: some things, nothings, anythings, everythings…all the things change.” | David Arnold, Mosquitoland

When I was growing up, I was terrified of anything that would invoke change in my life. The simplest thing, like painting my bedroom, would cause me to panic. Every eve of the first day of school I would spend the day pacing the halls of my childhood home and the evening wrapped in my mother’s arms. Anything to help the nerves. It seems a little silly now.

David Arnold knew what he was talking about. Everything changes. Each day is a change in it of itself. Even the mundane ones. There are the days where we walk boldly in the face of change. But, then their are the monumental days that force change upon us. Someone we love passes away. It’s like a winged letter of change has been dropped at your doorstep. Signed. Sealed. Delivered in all of it’s pain.

I think that the one thing that I have learned despite the fact that change can still knock me off my feel. There are no shortcuts in life, particularly when it comes to growing up, and change is all part of that. It just amuses me that I was and still am a little terrified of something that I am surrounded by day-in and day-out. Maybe it’s the lack of control when it comes to certain changes, Or the fact that everything can change in a simple blink of the eye. Maybe I’m just rambling.

Maybe life is just built upon the foundation of changes and the ever-changing tomorrow for our “somethings, nothings, anythings and everythings.”

Advertisements

our own self denial

This past weekend I sat with friends at my favorite neighborhood Mexican restaurant. Strong margaritas and chips and salsa that keep on coming, hell yes. The long absent Minnesota sun was beating down on my back while we all tossed our hair around and laughed as if we were in an old movie from the 60’s. We gabbed about guys, who is now married to who, recent awestruck-inducing finds from our Facebook news feed, and the like. Shortly thereafter we were greeted by old high school friends that were passing through Minneapolis for the weekend. After a few wobbly tables were pushed together we drank, ate and laughed as if we were just meandering down those high school halls, in those overly self-conscious bodies. When I think about those days it feels like another life … another me. But, for some reason being surrounded by those particular people, I was thrown back.

A couple of far too large margaritas later we were all back at my creaky apartment listening to old records and continuing our drinking bender. It’s funny because since being a college graduate and soon to be finishing my first year of teaching, I like to think of myself as being far wiser than I was in high school. Yet, when I was with those old friends from those days I was the same nervous, “self-doubty” girl I once was. I am proud of the person that I have grown to become and I don’t look illy back upon the person that I once was. That doesn’t mean I want to be her again, however.

I thanked the evening for its brevity. For, what does an overly nervous, over 21-year-old me do? Drink. I’m sure at the point in the evening that I began dancing around my living room was the moment that I started to make a fool of myself.

What I realize now, is that we cannot always escape the people that we were, not because of ourselves, but because of others. We carry on a certain persona with certain people, because we think that’s what they want, or they put a “spell” over us and make us do and say things that we think they want to hear, despite ourselves. Maybe that is why people flee when they want to reinvent themselves. It isn’t so much that a person cannot change on their own, but that the people around them hold them back.

It’s our human failing. Our inability to see things for ourselves while disregarding the sight of others.

We risk denying our true selves by appeasing those who deny us.

my own little space

When I started this blog I didn’t really know what I wanted. Other than to carve my own little space into the vast internet world. I had big dreams of becoming a lifestyle blogger and DIY extraordinaire, or maybe finding a hidden knack for photography that I never knew existed. I had all of these ideas, and none of them came into fruition. The more I blogged, the more I came to realize that this blog wasn’t going to be filled with craft projects and fun ikea furniture makeovers, but it was going to be filled with all of the thoughts rattling around in my somewhat dysfunctional mind. I like writing about love and life in the present moment … both things I won’t claim to know much about.

I am just excited that I feel like I have finally discovered what this blog is going to be …

A personal expedition of this crazy thing that we call life. A blip of my life spelled out into words, sentences and paragraphs for those of you who have any interest at all in delving into it.

For what it’s worth … I appreciate all of the support that I have experiences thus far. May this journey continue, may my writing flourish and may you all continue to stumble on my little space in the vast internet world.

my vow to vinyl

 

Last year for my 21st birthday my dad gifted me an amazing Crosley record player. Record players make music feel more raw, more natural and for that I had always wanted one. I was so high with excitement when my eyes saw this beautiful suitcase-esque record player that I could call my very own. However, for the past year I have used it very sparingly and I only have a handful of records that I actually listen to. See, I rummaged through my dad’s old collection and most of the music I am not that interested in. So, I have made a new vow.

I vow to purchase a new vinyl record with every paycheck. Vinyl that I am really invested in, or vinyl that I am just curious to listen to further. The beauty of record players is you must listen to a record from first song to last: the way that albums were intended to be listened to. I vow to choose artists that I am simply curious about, and artists that I have am unconditionally fond of.

Not only will this little “resolution” of mine help to expand my record collection and reignite new music in my life, but it will also support the artists. Illegal downloading of music is great and all, but only for the consumer. What about the musicians? The musicians are the one’s who put their blood, sweat and tears into the creation of their album. But, many fail to reap the benefits.

I vow to support music. I vow to support musicians. This is my vow to vinyl.

one year ago

For some reason I woke up this morning thinking about all the ways that my life has changed over the past year. A year is such a short time. 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,765 hours and 525,949 minutes. Well, I suppose when I put it like that it feels like an eternity. The point is: some people don’t accomplish much in one year, but for me this past year did just the opposite. I remember writing on New Years before we were graced with 2013 and I was begging the year to bring me something good. I wanted to be able to rid myself of lingering feelings for that unattainable newspaper reporter and I wanted to find pleasure in simply being me. I wanted to become someone or something that I could be proud of.

While my feels for said reporter lasted longer than I would have liked. I finally found peace with it. I no longer resented him for the way that he unknowingly led me on, or the way that he came to me house to cry over his ex girlfriend. I let it go. I let it all go.

I started to forgive myself for mistake that I had made in the past, and began to think of all of those one night stands/rendezvous as moments to learn from and move past rather than dwell on and feel somehow slutty or tainted.

Friendships with unlikely people began to sprout up in every facet of my life. I didn’t feel embarrassed to invite strangers over or to start spending time with co-workers. It didn’t take long for me realize that everyone is looking for a friend or someone to spend time with. If you make a gesture, it will be returned.

Many evenings in 2012 and early into 2013 I spent with tears in my eyes as I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough. It took a beautiful leather bound journal a new fountain pen, and many evenings tirelessly writing to realize that this wasn’t the case. I was looking at it in the wrong way. I was looking at everything in my life as a measure of self worth. Why was it that when a boy told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship I took that to mean there was something wrong with me? Or, when I misinterpreted signals coming from a friend of mine to mean something more, when they didn’t, I spent days blaming myself for being such an idiot. I was always too hard on myself.

Somewhere over the past year I stopped blaming myself and being so self critical. We are human. We make mistakes. There is no sense persecuting ourselves over them.

I don’t really know where I was going with all of this. But, there it is.

a glance at vogue

https://acommonloon.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/92a1f-voguecoverjun62xl.jpg

https://i1.wp.com/b.hprints.net/md/19/19621-british-vogue-june-1947-london-season-lila-de-nobili-hprints-com.jpg

http://va312iremakdogan.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/9f31db23762793c8_vogue_uk_1960_march.jpg

https://acommonloon.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/09468-tumblr_m7kfrmg04q1rvh1dto1_250.jpg

The other day I looked down at a two inch thick magazine, it was Vogue of course. I couldn’t help but wonder what the old cover photographs looked like? Where they similar poses but just in different fashions? I am not quite sure why, but I decided to go back through the archives and see what there was. I stumbled on these four images that were really striking to me. None of the women’s bodies are shown in these images, and in one there isn’t a human model at all. Some of the images are quite quirky while others are purely stylistic. Personally, I love how in the third image the phone matches her hat perfectly, or that the title font is changed on the fourth image. Curiously enough, the one with the goldfish on it draws me in the most. Who wouldn’t want to know why there are goldfish on a fashion magazine? I must say, I prefer these over cover photographs of magazines today. There is so much more character here. Have any thoughts? Please share.