It is absolutely amazing how having someone around on a regular basis changes the way I see life.
Damn it, I think I need someone to come home to.
And I kind of think I'm a homebody if there is someone with which to be one.

Can't quite make up my mind, but maybe it is coming with age.
Or maybe it is the nature of my job now, always meeting new people.
But coming home to an empty house doesn't make me feel any better.

Blast.
I'm dependent.
I need people around, and consistent people at that.
I used to hate myself for it.
But now, well, I got used to it. I was a little spoiled.
I've always known because of how deeply disappointed I would feel when someone would change or leave. But I've always fought it. Suppressed it. Willed it away. Separated myself to avoid the disappointment.
But now, well, I guess I like it. Yes, it's exhausting. And yes, people disappoint. They leave. They drive me crrraaazzzy. I get annoyed with them. But when I'm alone, I get annoyed with me too! So maybe that's just something in my heart that needs to be redeemed.

So yea, I'm dependent. There. I said it. Once and for all.
A little Asian left a hole in my heart the size of Canada, but she also made my heart bigger as a whole. More space for those who follow.

"Pain is good. Well, let me rephrase that. Pain can bring good. It is necessary to help us understand and appreciate the good things we have in life- a reminder of the brokenness that is constant in this temporary world. But also an indicator of hope for better things." T. Siu

You know that feeling of dread that creeps up,
Wraps around your chest and immobilizes?
The ever potent bug of procrastination.

It spans all personalities and tasks.
It makes me irritable and brings out the escapist in me.
And so often, once the clothes are folded, dishes put away or book read,
it fades with a sigh of relief....
Til next time.
Which could be a matter of minutes or hours or days or weeks.

Someone, I think it was a parent, asked me if I knew a cure for procrastination.
I had to stop and think.
I am, by artistic nature, a procrastinator, desiring to be as fully present in the moment without care.
And yet I was raised with a good, loyal German work ethic. Not to mention, this crazy awareness of detail that I've been trying to figure out if it should be ignored or exploited.
I said, being on the receiving end of someone else's procrastination.
If it happens to you enough, your view of responsibility changes. So while the dread still creeps, you take care of things instead of hiding because you care for others.

Works great for everything but myself. I'm realizing I really don't care very much for myself. A very practical example, my laundry or cleaning my car. Neither affect other people very much so I ignore them. Don't like to take the energy to address them. But it's really not caring for myself.
Do you know how many times I have this thought when I finally get around to doing something for myself? Every time. Seriously. Working out. Yoga. Reading. Walking. Oh the list goes on and on.
I'm really beginning to wonder when I'll start taking care of myself on a regular basis.
When I'll actually see it as worthwhile to spend the money for a yoga class or to create just for me.
And why do I keep putting it off?
And what does that say about what I think of myself?

I don't want to say the fight has left me,
but something has.

No longer drowning in emotion,
how does a life burn?

No longer wallowing in sorrow,
how does a heart break?

No longer choking in anxiety,
how does a mind race?

What fills the space?
What stems the non existent tide?
Who keeps track of time?

Where do I find my life?

There comes a time when words are not enough.
When the blank stare looking back tells me I'm not getting anywhere.
How I wish it weren't true.
Yet it hardly surprises,
Leaving empty handed.

Those eyes, so blank, unreachable.
Delusional am I to think otherwise.
Yet I fall time and time again-
those shallow, fading eyes.

Hope, resistant to reason, hits pride every time.
When does it die?
And where shall I reside?

Far from its playful grasp,
Without another cry,
Silent.

Conversations at loud parties are so much fun! Frees me up to be more expressive than I would be in normal conversation without scaring the person half to death. Granted I tend to match whatever style of conversation a person has. But that's for another post. 

Talking with a friend last night, speaking to his insecurities and baggage that he carries from his pasts, made me realize I was preaching at myself. I could speak so well to him because it was like I was talking to myself without having to recognize it.

Generalization: There are two kinds of people in the world of relationships. Those who see relationships as hard work as they attempt to remain themselves and those who find them to be utter bliss in which to lose themselves. It's really more of a spectrum, one on which I fall more on the side of hard work and less on the utter bliss. I'd prefer to be myself and be alone rather than lose myself and share life with someone else.

I used to tire of all people. My annoyance with them and exhaustion from them would drive me to isolate. There are so many reasons why. Reasons I can see more clearly now that they no longer exist. My own insecurities were often reflected in the other and I could not bear to look at myself.
Those same insecurities drove me to need to be needed and kept me in situations of emotional over involvement time and time again.
Meanwhile all the time, attempting to be what the other person wanted instead of who I really was always resulted in exhaustion. Hiding is incredibly exhausting.

So you would think being set froom from those insecurities, the hiding, the confusion would mean that I'm now free to be on my own. And while it has rid me of the need to be needed, it has also freed me to be in the company of others without hindrance. It has freed me to find true enjoyment in knowing and being known. But sometimes I lose sight of that.

For instance in the last few days with the moving of my roommate, I've found myself wanting to isolate and detach from those I know because I don't like the feeling of loss. I'm aware of it but I don't always have the strength to fight it. But last night a friend urged me to come out to this party where I had this conversation with another friend about how it is good to be in relationship. Yes, you'll have those times where their decisions affect you in ways that totally stress you out (packing up a roommate's stuff in less than 24 hrs :-P) or leave you feeling a bit hollow on the inside (missing said roommate while another gets engaged), but to know well and be known well far outweighs the broken moments of this world. Fear of hurting or being hurt should not keep us in our own little worlds because we'll miss the good of life and love. That is true redemption.

Had a phone conversation with a good friend that took me back a few spaces and places in time.
to places I haven't been
to people I haven't seen
and lives I haven't lived
and pasts I haven't pondered
in quite awhile.

I don't particularly have good feelings about the place that is called Fort Wayne. The bad associations used to be attached to a specific person. But now it seems to be more general. not entirely sure what to do with that and so it is easy to speak in sweeping generalizations.

but more than that, it is what to do with it. at the root of my aversion is just plain lack of knowledge. when i don't know how to do something, i often avoid it until something forces me to figure it out. i do it all the time in my job. the timer on the lights out front is off. has been for months. i've tried fixing it, but i don't know how so it remains unfixed.

so i don't know how to deal with the fact that i am not connected at all anymore with the physical location or the people with which i spent a major chunk of my life. and now i am so different.
these things they change you.
they change how you see those you left behind.
they change how you see yourself.

and there really is no easy way to deal with it. i could go back, but it won't be like the movies. i won't come home and rediscover my lost self and decide to stay forever. since leaving i've rather found myself instead of losing myself. it's painful to deal with that disconnect.
it is painful to say to those i left, it has been better that i did so.
.repeatedly.
it is better that i left fort wayne for college.
it is better that my parents moved.
it is better that i left chicago after college.
it is better that i moved to new jersey from michigan.

I've found freedom i'd never known.
God has met me in taking those leaps of faith.
And yet i feel pride--and shame in saying those things.
in acknowledging the growth that has come in my life because i moved, changed things.
because I love where I'm at. what I'm doing. how I'm living my life.
like i've disgraced and disappointed those i've left behind by leaving and not wanting to come back.
-while still aching for someone who knows it all, for someone with which to entrust my history and live with now-
and still thinking it's pretty damn hard to keep in touch, relate, etc. with those who know and to what end?

so it's not so much that my feelings are bad in themselves, but the questions they raise aren't easily answered.

Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, 

we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. 

Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand,

 and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. 

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, 

knowing that suffering produces endurance, 

and endurance produces character, 

and character produces hope, 

and hope does not put us to shame, 

because God's love has been poured into our hearts 

through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

Romans 5

I'm a recovering pessimist--

much of my life spent attempting to stifle hope and deny disappointment.

My recovery began with a confession,

a leaving behind of the phrases of denial,

I'm just being practical, 

keeping realistic expectations, 

saving myself the disappointment,

I'm not a pessimist. I'm a realist.

For the realistic end of pessimism is death and destruction. A world where all things fade away, nothing lasts, and there is no hope. Life at the hands of blind, destructive fate is empty. Yet hope always found a way.

It bubbled up in unexpected places, catching me by surprise, smacking me with disappointment. Disappointment always shows where you've placed your hope. It shows the inevitability of hoping, how it sneaks up behind you as you're trying to stuff it down in front of you. Anything to avoid disappointment, which will always find you if that hope is put in the wrong place.

What about on the shelf with the books that I read? 

Or in my purse with the cash in my wallet? 

Why not on my wall with that degree that I earned?

Or with the (invisible) ring on my finger?

It's gotta go somewhere. Tangible things are the natural way to hope. But hoping in broken circumstances and people leaves you hopeless. It requires lowering, and lowering, and lowering your expectations for it always disappoints. It always fails. It never fully satisfies.

The first step to solving a problem is accepting that you have one. 

And I had one, still do. 

But God does not disappoint.