I need to cry so badly right now it hurts.
Like physically hurts.
Turns out crying is needed for all around health...not just emotional.
So wishing I could cry...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Admittance
A friend told me today that I needed to learn how to be vulnerable. How to honestly open myself up to others' care and concern. How to be willing to admit my deepest hurts.
I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. It's just not safe. But I am going to try and start. To experiment in vulnerability. I thought my blog would be a coward's out for being willing to open myself up without anyone having to know.
So tonight, in my vulnerability, I admit...
I am desperate for a hug.
Not an "okay, bye!" hug, not a "real quick as I leave" hug, not a weak hug, not a side lean hug.
A real hug.
I need to be hugged.
Furthermore, I need to be held.
I need someone who will take me in tight arms and not let go for...a while.
And possible, just maybe, if I can work myself up to it, cry. Because it is about time I did that one too.
But the only ones I can think to ask for any of that are no where near what I can access. And those I can access I can't ask.
So instead I'll just make an admittance of my longing to be held...
I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be. It's just not safe. But I am going to try and start. To experiment in vulnerability. I thought my blog would be a coward's out for being willing to open myself up without anyone having to know.
So tonight, in my vulnerability, I admit...
I am desperate for a hug.
Not an "okay, bye!" hug, not a "real quick as I leave" hug, not a weak hug, not a side lean hug.
A real hug.
I need to be hugged.
Furthermore, I need to be held.
I need someone who will take me in tight arms and not let go for...a while.
And possible, just maybe, if I can work myself up to it, cry. Because it is about time I did that one too.
But the only ones I can think to ask for any of that are no where near what I can access. And those I can access I can't ask.
So instead I'll just make an admittance of my longing to be held...
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Thinking, thoughts, drastic consequences and impossible implementation...
I was just thinking...
As I often do.
And I had a thought.
A novel thought really.
One of drastic consequence and impossible implementation.
Because, you see, my thought was a proposition. A question. It went something along the lines of:
“What would happen if for a day, just one day, I could record every thought I ever had? What if for one day, 24 hours, every musing, every pondering, every question, every observation, every thought could be recorded? Jot down. Forever marked in such a way as to be revisited?”
What would this look like?
What would this mean?
I began to wonder what such a list of mine would say. As one who is always preoccupied with one deliberation or another, I imagined this would be a fascinating list. I tried to keep track of even just my last five or six thoughts at that point and was relatively amused and intrigued by my findings:
“Wow that water gets hot really fast!”
“Man, I love to floss.”
“I hate switching water. I always breakout! What happened to my clear complexion?”
“Wait! Her name is Alexandra! Ali is short for Alexandra not Allison! I’m such a dipwad! Anika, you suck!”
“Stop looking at yourself in the mirror! You’re going to bed and you aren’t going to get any better. Check again in the morning.”
“If I didn’t feel so sick, I would totally go for a bowl of cheerios right now.”
“Why do I always have to pee 8000 times before I can go to sleep?”
And that was just from the minute or two before. All that plus the ones I could not keep a hold of. Already I had missed some. The impossibility seemed to be the over-arching drum of defeat. There was no way I was going to be able to accomplish such an ambitious plan.
Yet, after contemplating what a task, what a challenge it would be to embark upon such an endeavor, I was quite struck by the ramifications that would result. The conclusions that could be drawn.
What things I would be able to learn about myself if I could detail every thought! How man things are silly? How many of them serious? How many of the thoughts I think make no sense at all? How often am I scared? How often am I worried? What things do I say over and over in my head so that I can get them right when they come to my lips...so I won’t say something wrong? What would I be ashamed of thinking? What would be the re-runs? What actually consumes my time and attention? How does what I say really compare to what I think?
And I was struck, struck by the potentiality that if I could access a list of all of my thoughts from just one day...then perhaps others could access them as well. It drew out a panic I had only briefly encountered for the same reasons.
What would happen if, just for a day, all of my thoughts were on display?
What would I try to retract? To rationalize?
What would I be embarrassed to admit? Would I have to claim the thought that said that boy was cute or that the other was sweet?
What I be in trouble for some of my thoughts? Who would yell at me first for the pile of times I decide I despise myself, hate what I look like, or cringe at how inarticulately I spoke?
Who would ridicule the stories I tell? Who would decide I was okay to be around...having access to the thoughts I never say out loud? And who would reject my friendship for reasons just the same?
And the answers to my questions scared me. Caught me off guard and made me wonder if any of my thoughts would ever be okay.
But I was just thinking...
As I often do.
Because I had a thought.
A novel thought really.
One of drastic consequence and impossible implementation.
As I often do.
And I had a thought.
A novel thought really.
One of drastic consequence and impossible implementation.
Because, you see, my thought was a proposition. A question. It went something along the lines of:
“What would happen if for a day, just one day, I could record every thought I ever had? What if for one day, 24 hours, every musing, every pondering, every question, every observation, every thought could be recorded? Jot down. Forever marked in such a way as to be revisited?”
What would this look like?
What would this mean?
I began to wonder what such a list of mine would say. As one who is always preoccupied with one deliberation or another, I imagined this would be a fascinating list. I tried to keep track of even just my last five or six thoughts at that point and was relatively amused and intrigued by my findings:
“Wow that water gets hot really fast!”
“Man, I love to floss.”
“I hate switching water. I always breakout! What happened to my clear complexion?”
“Wait! Her name is Alexandra! Ali is short for Alexandra not Allison! I’m such a dipwad! Anika, you suck!”
“Stop looking at yourself in the mirror! You’re going to bed and you aren’t going to get any better. Check again in the morning.”
“If I didn’t feel so sick, I would totally go for a bowl of cheerios right now.”
“Why do I always have to pee 8000 times before I can go to sleep?”
And that was just from the minute or two before. All that plus the ones I could not keep a hold of. Already I had missed some. The impossibility seemed to be the over-arching drum of defeat. There was no way I was going to be able to accomplish such an ambitious plan.
Yet, after contemplating what a task, what a challenge it would be to embark upon such an endeavor, I was quite struck by the ramifications that would result. The conclusions that could be drawn.
What things I would be able to learn about myself if I could detail every thought! How man things are silly? How many of them serious? How many of the thoughts I think make no sense at all? How often am I scared? How often am I worried? What things do I say over and over in my head so that I can get them right when they come to my lips...so I won’t say something wrong? What would I be ashamed of thinking? What would be the re-runs? What actually consumes my time and attention? How does what I say really compare to what I think?
And I was struck, struck by the potentiality that if I could access a list of all of my thoughts from just one day...then perhaps others could access them as well. It drew out a panic I had only briefly encountered for the same reasons.
What would happen if, just for a day, all of my thoughts were on display?
What would I try to retract? To rationalize?
What would I be embarrassed to admit? Would I have to claim the thought that said that boy was cute or that the other was sweet?
What I be in trouble for some of my thoughts? Who would yell at me first for the pile of times I decide I despise myself, hate what I look like, or cringe at how inarticulately I spoke?
Who would ridicule the stories I tell? Who would decide I was okay to be around...having access to the thoughts I never say out loud? And who would reject my friendship for reasons just the same?
And the answers to my questions scared me. Caught me off guard and made me wonder if any of my thoughts would ever be okay.
But I was just thinking...
As I often do.
Because I had a thought.
A novel thought really.
One of drastic consequence and impossible implementation.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Answer Might Be Yes
I always wonder if I’m making a difference. If anything I say or do matters at all. If I leave any sort of lasting impression. If the fact that I was and am and live and breathe and act out of those things has any impact on the world around me.
Some days I try desperately to be that person.
That person...you know the one.
The one who says the right thing at the right time. Who hugs when it’s needed most. Who listens intently. Who doesn’t talk too much. Who doesn’t mess up. Who knows what’s going on. Who acts unconditionally out of love.
That one.
And for all of my trying, which isn’t necessarily bad, I never measure up.
Because it’s not me. Because I try so desperately to match up to a standard I have self-created around what I believe the world has set for me. Because I can never always say the right thing or act in the right way. Because for as much as I try, I so often lack the love needed to sustain.
And yet, often, I’m myself. And I don’t try. I just am.
I do what comes naturally. I say what comes to mind. I listen when I’m interested and some times when I’m not. And, when I long to be held sometimes I reach out and hug someone...because maybe they need to be held as well.
I’m not anything special and I don’t do anything stupendous. And I’m sure my lack of glamour and missing precision leaves me missing the mark on the world I want to impact.
But, sometimes, I’m me.
And, apparently, me makes a difference.
I never thought I would hear the day to have someone I’ve never met say “Oh! You’re Anika! I’ve heard a lot about you. I've been wanting to meet you. 'So and So'...I’m pretty sure she’s your biggest fan.” The person referenced is someone I know and appreciate but barely hold a conversation with once a semester.
I never thought I would have to question a kid who claims things I told him weeks ago get him through life on a daily basis and realize things about himself he never knew true. “I appreciate you so much Anika I really do” he wrote me. And I sat speechless.
Apparently being me has made a difference. For as hard is it is for me to grasp, to take hold of, to claim, I have little “Anika Fan Clubs” started around because somehow, despite myself I’ve make an impact.
This blows my mind.
Baffles me.
Humbles me.
And makes me beg God for the strength and the courage to further match myself up to Him because the world is watching.
I always wonder if I’m making a difference. If anything I say or do matters at all. If I leave any sort of lasting impression. If the fact that I was and am and live and breathe and act out of those things has any impact on the world around me.
The scary part is that the answer might just be “yes”...
Some days I try desperately to be that person.
That person...you know the one.
The one who says the right thing at the right time. Who hugs when it’s needed most. Who listens intently. Who doesn’t talk too much. Who doesn’t mess up. Who knows what’s going on. Who acts unconditionally out of love.
That one.
And for all of my trying, which isn’t necessarily bad, I never measure up.
Because it’s not me. Because I try so desperately to match up to a standard I have self-created around what I believe the world has set for me. Because I can never always say the right thing or act in the right way. Because for as much as I try, I so often lack the love needed to sustain.
And yet, often, I’m myself. And I don’t try. I just am.
I do what comes naturally. I say what comes to mind. I listen when I’m interested and some times when I’m not. And, when I long to be held sometimes I reach out and hug someone...because maybe they need to be held as well.
I’m not anything special and I don’t do anything stupendous. And I’m sure my lack of glamour and missing precision leaves me missing the mark on the world I want to impact.
But, sometimes, I’m me.
And, apparently, me makes a difference.
I never thought I would hear the day to have someone I’ve never met say “Oh! You’re Anika! I’ve heard a lot about you. I've been wanting to meet you. 'So and So'...I’m pretty sure she’s your biggest fan.” The person referenced is someone I know and appreciate but barely hold a conversation with once a semester.
I never thought I would have to question a kid who claims things I told him weeks ago get him through life on a daily basis and realize things about himself he never knew true. “I appreciate you so much Anika I really do” he wrote me. And I sat speechless.
Apparently being me has made a difference. For as hard is it is for me to grasp, to take hold of, to claim, I have little “Anika Fan Clubs” started around because somehow, despite myself I’ve make an impact.
This blows my mind.
Baffles me.
Humbles me.
And makes me beg God for the strength and the courage to further match myself up to Him because the world is watching.
I always wonder if I’m making a difference. If anything I say or do matters at all. If I leave any sort of lasting impression. If the fact that I was and am and live and breathe and act out of those things has any impact on the world around me.
The scary part is that the answer might just be “yes”...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Anticipating...
Soo...for those of you who actually read my blog and see me/talk to me in real life occasionally...this might confuse you a little, but I'll try to be as legit as possible...
I don't anticipate much.
Anticipating comes with the inclination of desire, longing, looking forward, eager expectation, hope.
I expect things. I wait for things. I have this idea things are going to happen...but then I conquer. I guess at what is to come...get ready for it...and I get through.
But I don't anticipate.
There is no joy in the wait.
So much of life has become a drudgery. A task. An assignment. Even things I thought I liked to do, things I remember giving me a sense of worth or accomplishment, things normal people get excited about. My goal was just to do it and move on.
Every youth group meeting this summer.
Both weeks of summer camp.
Appointments, meetings, designated trips.
Semesters, school years, classes.
Possibilities, potentialities.
I did look forward and enjoy time spent with certain friends and a couple key weddings. But when to the friends I had to bid farewell and the wedding days had come to an end...there was nothing more to look towards.
It occurred to me that I've forgotten how to dream, how to imagine, plan, be ambitious in hope. Dreaming comes with desire and anticipation. And I couldn't muster up what it took to create it. My greatest desire was just to get through the day. And I stopped looking forward to the next day...there was nothing there to look forward to.
Tonight...as I got ready for bed and I looked at my busy schedule for tomorrow, it occurred to me, out of the blue, that tomorrow was a day I wanted to be involved in. I eagerly began to imagine what the day would hold, the people I would meet, get to see, reconnect with. I started to dwell on the projects to get done and where those projects would take me. I felt myself build excitiment over the things I would both learn and experience. And it was the most unfamiliar feeling...to anticipate.
I don't know how long it will last. I don't know how long it will be until I am overcome by the drudgery of the day to day. But my new prayer is that I can go to bed each night with something in the tomorrow to add purpose, meaning, and anticipation to my life...
I don't anticipate much.
Anticipating comes with the inclination of desire, longing, looking forward, eager expectation, hope.
I expect things. I wait for things. I have this idea things are going to happen...but then I conquer. I guess at what is to come...get ready for it...and I get through.
But I don't anticipate.
There is no joy in the wait.
So much of life has become a drudgery. A task. An assignment. Even things I thought I liked to do, things I remember giving me a sense of worth or accomplishment, things normal people get excited about. My goal was just to do it and move on.
Every youth group meeting this summer.
Both weeks of summer camp.
Appointments, meetings, designated trips.
Semesters, school years, classes.
Possibilities, potentialities.
I did look forward and enjoy time spent with certain friends and a couple key weddings. But when to the friends I had to bid farewell and the wedding days had come to an end...there was nothing more to look towards.
It occurred to me that I've forgotten how to dream, how to imagine, plan, be ambitious in hope. Dreaming comes with desire and anticipation. And I couldn't muster up what it took to create it. My greatest desire was just to get through the day. And I stopped looking forward to the next day...there was nothing there to look forward to.
Tonight...as I got ready for bed and I looked at my busy schedule for tomorrow, it occurred to me, out of the blue, that tomorrow was a day I wanted to be involved in. I eagerly began to imagine what the day would hold, the people I would meet, get to see, reconnect with. I started to dwell on the projects to get done and where those projects would take me. I felt myself build excitiment over the things I would both learn and experience. And it was the most unfamiliar feeling...to anticipate.
I don't know how long it will last. I don't know how long it will be until I am overcome by the drudgery of the day to day. But my new prayer is that I can go to bed each night with something in the tomorrow to add purpose, meaning, and anticipation to my life...
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