Self Portrait

In the process of reflection,

I’ve stretched and pulled apart,

Dissected and peeled away,

Layers and layers of filth.

The thoughts that flutter in and out my waking consciousness have now been color-coded and categorized,

Placed in their corresponding corners of the ever expanding catacombs of my mind.

I have watched hesitantly as they are pushed through the tight mesh of the flour sifter,

Falling, individually, to be seen, no longer clumped together in a mess of uncertainty.

One might think this produces clarity,

one might assume conclusions have been drawn.

Yet, I leave the board in a stalemate.

Nothing gained or lost. A defeat in a way.

I expected to feel better, justified even.

However the files that grow fatter are not the ones of merit,

Bitterness, shame, guilt, selfishness, pride,

The subcategories under “Bad Things I Do Well”

I feel less than justified, a little more ragged than before,

And for that I have reason to hope.

“When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him. When a man is getting worse he understands his own badness less and less.”  - C.S. Lewis

#1 - 100 words

Nicole has never been one for small talk, which suits her quite nicely as she sits in a small corner booth of the local coffee shop.

At first glance she appears to be working on her MacBook, occasionally sipping the brew of the day, sans cream or sugar.

However, if you looked a little closer you would notice tired eyes behind the bangs she sweeps carelessly to the side as she works to meet her deadlines.

You don’t have to be a genius to see what she’s feeling, the designs and doodles she conjures up tell her story well enough.

Initially inspired by http://www.1hundred-words.com/

In My Annotated Life

I was recently asked to map out a timeline of my last year, detailing all the highs and lows that occurred. At first I thought it was a good idea; that was until I started thinking of the last year. After agonizing for at least five minutes, I had only thought of five or so major things to put on my timeline and none of them felt like they were worth much with the exception of helping get Mosaic off the ground. So like any mature and rational person would, I ignored the “project” until the next week when everyone was supposed to share. At our weekly gathering we started talking and a couple of people read their timelines. One person’s timeline was filled with pregnancy and the birth of their first child. The next person’s detailed a year of physical and mental struggles due to a major injury. As I listened to both of these stories I thought to myself, “How in the world do these people remember this stuff?”

When it got to be my turn I freely admitted that I hadn’t done the exercise and resolved to have it done for the next week. My intentions were good, I swear, but as I sat down again I could not do it. I thought maybe it was because I’m not a feeler. Relatively speaking I never get too high or too low and the so called even keel-ness isn’t good for timelines. Or maybe it is because the life I lead is just really boring. The reality is probably a combination of the two but I came out of the questions with a different outlook.

You see, my annotated life just looks a little different. Instead of milestones there are little moments that make my life rich and eventful. My improvised timeline looks something like this:

May ’10: Beat Nathan at tennis and felt totally BA.

June ’10: Enjoyed countless barbeques with my family and laughed uncontrollably at inappropriate dinner table talk.

July ’10: Spent 4^th of July scaring the living daylights out of my friends and laughing until the point of nausea.

August ’10: Made a lot of jokes about “pulling the goalie.” Slow clapped for teenage girl too scared to cliff jump into the lake (Got scowled at by said girl).

September ’10: Had beers and smores with a great couple while throwing flour into the fire and saying Harry Potter spells. (Highly flammable and highly entertaining)

October ’10: Started actually enjoying hanging out with women and had some of the best coffee dates of my life.

November ’10: Had a really great unexpected phone conversation with an old friend that reminded me how much I love them. Developed a new friendship over gmail chat and twitter.

December ’10: Planned stellar NYE surprise with the best co-conspirator and had more quality conversations that I could count.

January ’11: Read Little Women for the umpteenth time and loved every word.

February ’11: Got a couple letters that made me feel like one of the most special people in the world. Cried for the first time in forever. 

March ’11: Had a blast in Chicago surrounded by a lot of love. Shared an amazing week at sea with my husband and our friends. Read a Nora Roberts book against my will and didn’t hate it.

April ’11: Hugged a new friend for the first time, one of the greatest hugs ever.  Shared tons of witty banter via email. Reignited my passion for sunflower seeds.

Nothing special, no major milestones, but from the looks of it, I had a really great year. 

Quiet Steps

I recently stumbled upon a song I’ve loved for a long time, one that never really gets old. However, for whatever reason, it felt particularly poignant this time and every time after as I listened to it on repeat. More than once in my life I’ve awoken to find myself in a serious state of disarray, as if someone turned on a light and illuminated just how far I’ve wandered. I know I should be more surprised when the realizations hit. I know I should feel worse but in reality succumbing to guilt isn’t something that I do well.  But it’s different now. I’m in a new stage of life, one that details very little control and extreme vulnerability and it has certainly illuminated my current state of disarray.

I know how I got here, living life one calculated risk at a time mixed in with a compromise or two. The lines of the aforementioned song say it perfectly.

“I don't remember one jump or one leap;
Just quiet steps away from your lead.”

I’ve taken quiet albeit deliberate steps in the wrong direction because frankly it is just easier. It is easier to go with what feels “right” than to be diligent to deciphering the “right” direction. It is easier to shut down the more sensitive sides of myself than to feel disappointment and heartache. So here I stand cold calculated steps away from reality, far from where I want to be and even farther from where I should be.

Call this an admission of guilt of sorts, maybe even a step back in the other direction. The only question I’m left asking myself is, “Is it worth it?” Is the journey back towards reality worth the time of naivety and false assurance? Or would it have been easier to stay put?