I love pepperoncini peppers. They are spicy and bite me back when I chew them. I love them because they wake up my tastebuds and smack me in the mouth and make my upper lip sweat and still keep me coming back for more.
Something about them makes my heart perk up. A familiar sentiment.
Sometimes this is what I want in love.
Except for the "smack me in the mouth" part, obviously. :)
Challenge me, boy-I-haven't-met-yet. Make me think. Shake me up inside and make me wonder. Make me sweat and keep me coming back for more. Because I will challenge you, if you let me. I will make you wonder. To see stars and rocks and water and trees and cupcakes like you've never seen them before.
Change my mind. Open my eyes. Teach me something new. And flip the switch in my brain that sends butterflies careening down to the bottom of my belly.
In the meantime, I'll keep munching on these little peppers. And think of you.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tricks We Play
It is 7:52pm on a Monday night. A deep darkness fills the
night sky. I have turned on all the lights in my apartment. It is a trick I try
to play on myself from time to time, in an effort to lift the weight of winter
from my mind. My kitchen smells of leftover jambalaya just warmed in the
microwave. The inside of the microwave is clean. I marvel at this for a moment,
and realize it is probably yet another trick I play. A clean microwave means a
clean kitchen, right? The sink full of dirty dishes behind me would surely
growl in disagreement if it could. I curl up on the end of my couch with my
laptop and realize I am still wearing my workout clothes. Tonight is full of
trickery, I conclude. Another one of my favorites: changing into my workout
clothes after school, yet never going to the gym. After standing in front of the
full length mirror earlier, I had decided that I am not yet horribly jiggly
enough to require any kind of crazy work out regime. (Read: any kind of work
out regime. At all.) My tolerance threshold for flab hasn’t quite yet been
breached, apparently. For now, my workout clothes trick works. I settle
comfortably in front of my laptop and eat my bowl of jambalaya. Slightly
bothered by the way my stomach bulges underneath my sweatshirt, but not bothered
enough to let it move me from the couch. Sigh...
A quote I read earlier today floats through my mind. “The
future is completely open, and we are writing it moment to moment.”
How long will I trick myself out of this present moment?
My stronger self reminds me. This morning, driving to work
in your “monster Monday” mood, you had no clue that several great things would
ever happen to you today. In fact, this morning you climbed the stairs to your
classroom with a bit of gloom hanging over you, grateful simply to be clinging
to your mug of slightly bitter, mulled apple cider. Yet today brought you
sweetness after all. You weren’t even asking for it. You were encouraged in
your teaching by a supervisor. (Your lesson made “her heart pitter!”) You were inspired
to start a blog on teaching. You were touched by two students who came to you,
all flushed and bursting with excitement, with a wonderful science question.
“Miss K! We found a rock! We don’t know what kind it is, though. We thought it
may have been pumice because it has little holes in it but we put it in water
and it didn’t float so we know its not pumice. But what could it be? It looks
so cool!” You were so happy to see their eyes all wide and curious that it
broke your heart and made you laugh out loud all at the same time, especially
since you had to tell them that they had uncovered not a rock but a tiny piece
of concrete. Today was beautiful, indeed. Yet this morning, you had no way of
ever knowing this, and no motivation to even be hopeful for it.
If I can’t even imagine or anticipate a Monday being so
sweet and wonderful, then how horrible am I at envisioning my infinite future
being bright and hopeful and happy? Am I letting the tricks I play (to get
through this moment so I can hurry up and get to the next one) determine my outlook on the future?
Dear future,
I love you. I trust you are beautiful. I embrace you. In
this moment. And all the moments I will write tomorrow. I am going to try hard
to keep embracing you, and all the hope and love and possibility you represent,
instead of the little tricks I usually hold onto tightly. Thank you for being
patient with me.
Love, Leah
Love, Leah
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Greater expectations
My little dream of a happy life has always been to find my soul mate, get married (and *stay* married), have a few kids, and grow old with my husband. This has always been my biggest hope and dream. For the most part, the rest of my life has been all about waiting for the aforementioned one to really begin.
But the problem with my expectation of a happy life is that it leaves me feeling lost and sad and incomplete, since in my current situation, I am single, childless, and alone. Disappointment is a familiar friend. And fear creeps in when I start thinking, "What if I never have this dream of mine? What if I don't ever meet my perfect mate? What if I never have children of my own?"
Or ... *LIGHT BULB MOMENT*... Is it that if I never met him, never had those children, then I could somehow rest assured that the alternate reality of my future would be equally fulfilling because... I made it that way?
Hmm... Perhaps I have more control over my own future than I ever realized. A powerful thought. I can choose to be disappointed. Or I can choose to find fulfillment in the present moment, as well as whatever future I find myself occupying. I know this, somewhere deep inside me, but to be THAT strong? THAT content? Do I have it in me? Do I *want* it in me? (Why do I feel like I push against a hardwired baseline of discontentment? Where the hell does that come from?!)
I am sitting in a box. It is one of those big refrigerator boxes like my brother and I used to play in as kids. Except now it is sealed shut. With me inside. I haven't minded the darkness. Or the close quarters. Until now. I found a little crack in the corner, and a little beam of light cuts through me like a knife. Pressing my face to the cardboard, I peek through the crack. THERE IS MORE OUT THERE?! My whole world suddenly becomes very, very small. For a long time I just sit and let the reality of my discovery sink in. Then I start to feel cramped and uncomfortable inside, yet mortified of what lies outside my safe little cardboard world.
Today I am sticking my head out of a hole I've cut in the top of my box. Just looking around, content to feast my eyes on all there is to see, and determined to be gentle with myself. I may not be out of my box, but that's okay. Where I am, in this moment, is okay.
I am okay.
Side note: I am a control freak. And a planner. I know this for certain now. It is one reason why my cardboard box is so small. I made it, and I control it, and it makes me happier when I feel in control. I ask myself "Could I be THAT strong?" without realizing that it actually may require more strength to try to control and plan everything that I do on a daily basis. It may be easier, and require less strength, to simply LET GO. And it amazes me that I can turn something so simple as "letting go" into some gargantuanly difficult task that I have to "be stronger" in order to do.
Sigh. :)
But the problem with my expectation of a happy life is that it leaves me feeling lost and sad and incomplete, since in my current situation, I am single, childless, and alone. Disappointment is a familiar friend. And fear creeps in when I start thinking, "What if I never have this dream of mine? What if I don't ever meet my perfect mate? What if I never have children of my own?"
Or ... *LIGHT BULB MOMENT*... Is it that if I never met him, never had those children, then I could somehow rest assured that the alternate reality of my future would be equally fulfilling because... I made it that way?
Hmm... Perhaps I have more control over my own future than I ever realized. A powerful thought. I can choose to be disappointed. Or I can choose to find fulfillment in the present moment, as well as whatever future I find myself occupying. I know this, somewhere deep inside me, but to be THAT strong? THAT content? Do I have it in me? Do I *want* it in me? (Why do I feel like I push against a hardwired baseline of discontentment? Where the hell does that come from?!)
I am sitting in a box. It is one of those big refrigerator boxes like my brother and I used to play in as kids. Except now it is sealed shut. With me inside. I haven't minded the darkness. Or the close quarters. Until now. I found a little crack in the corner, and a little beam of light cuts through me like a knife. Pressing my face to the cardboard, I peek through the crack. THERE IS MORE OUT THERE?! My whole world suddenly becomes very, very small. For a long time I just sit and let the reality of my discovery sink in. Then I start to feel cramped and uncomfortable inside, yet mortified of what lies outside my safe little cardboard world.
Today I am sticking my head out of a hole I've cut in the top of my box. Just looking around, content to feast my eyes on all there is to see, and determined to be gentle with myself. I may not be out of my box, but that's okay. Where I am, in this moment, is okay.
I am okay.
Side note: I am a control freak. And a planner. I know this for certain now. It is one reason why my cardboard box is so small. I made it, and I control it, and it makes me happier when I feel in control. I ask myself "Could I be THAT strong?" without realizing that it actually may require more strength to try to control and plan everything that I do on a daily basis. It may be easier, and require less strength, to simply LET GO. And it amazes me that I can turn something so simple as "letting go" into some gargantuanly difficult task that I have to "be stronger" in order to do.
Sigh. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)