I guess I really just need to bite the bullet and face it: I'm really struggling, once again. Maybe even worse than last time. Before, at Pepperdine, there was this sort of underlying unhappiness in everything I did. At times, that unhappiness was not so underlying. But that's all in the past. What's going on now is strange.

Most of the time, I feel happy. Or, at least, I don't have time to feel sad. I am in classes I love that keep me really busy; for once I'm motivated to do my work ahead of time! I am working like crazy- between nannying for Lillian and working at the salon, and my new job at the child development center, I'm never home and always tired. Burton and I are better than I'd ever imagine we'd be- he's really stepped up to be the boyfriend I wanted and needed. I can convince myself I'm happy, and I try to. Yet I am often reminded, when I sit at home on a Friday and Saturday night doing homework, that I am not doing very well. I really have made no friends since coming to Drury. Literally none. I have sorority sisters who i've met, and even a couple I've hung out with once, but never more than once. I have a little sister in my sorority but I feel like I'm constantly letting her down by not having the motivation nor the connections to go out and introduce her to everyone on campus.

I thought by coming to Drury I'd be the big man on campus- smart, pretty, confident- a recipe for making friends, right? Yet here I am, halfway through my first year here, and the only people I spend time with are my boyfriend and my sister. I deleted my facebook to take away the constant reminder of how well everyone else is doing and how my only friends are moving on. I resolved to graduate a year early, since Drury has little to offer me besides academics.

What happened to me? I always thought of myself as good at making friends. Now I talk and get an awkward response, and no friendships ensue. Believe me, I want friends, and I'm kind of trying, but my self confidence is way down and I feel like I don't have a base to push off of.

I (and most of us) have always been taught that we are special and that we can do anything. Like the quote on the top of my blog says "She believed she could, so she did." Or i'm sure you all are familiar with the ever popular "shoot for the moon. even if you miss you'll land among the stars." Blah blah blah. You get the idea. We're all special, most of us are gifted (well at least I am), and if we believe in ourselves, we can do great things.

But where is that now? I feel lost, like I have no one rooting for me, and honestly, I'm not even sure I'm rooting for myself. I'm not sure what I'm good at, or what makes me unique, I'm not sure what my strengths or weaknesses are, I just feel really average. And I'm not quite sure if that's a good or a bad way to feel. My heart tells me I want to be special. I want to be recognized, to be celebrated. My years of relative success and constant pushing from my parents have left me with an ego that does not like to be told that it's not the best. But my mind (or really, my boyfriend) tells me that being average is what most people are. That realistically, that's what I am. It doesn't mean that my good qualities disappear. It just means that overall, well, I'm just like everyone else.

My recent decisions (bad grades first semester, a knack at truancy, transferring back to Drury, and best of all, getting a tattoo) have left my parents quite disappointed with me. That, coupled with my boyfriend's depressing realism has left me (usually my biggest fan) doubting myself. I'm having trouble dreaming, fantasizing, imagining myself doing great (or even just really good) things. My days of wanting to be Dr. Tay are over and now I'm left wondering what else I'm really capable of. My days spent taking care of my little Ozarks babies are seeming more to me like a foreshadowing of impending doom rather than just a summer job.

So what's the "good" in all of this? Should I bend to my parents' wills, straying from who I am? Do I give in to Burton's mindset, accepting that I am no one of importance? Both of those just feel like options that really aren't me. I am a dreamer. I am a rebel. I do things because I want to and they always seem to work out okay. I somehow have this ridiculous (and maybe unwarranted) confidence that powers me through some strange decisions and I usually end up happy. And yes, parents, I am not living life the way you want me to. And yes, Burton, I may be unrealistic in my expectations. But that's just me. And I'm just still struggling with this whole growing up thing. Because growing up feels like I'm being forced to abandon who I am. So, internet, what do I do?

California Easter

You get what you pay for, as the aphorism goes. A 250 dollar round-trip, direct flight airplane ticket thus results in an unadjustable seat belt, a lack of complimentary beverages (disappointing) and a lack of SkyMall catalogues (even more disappointing). "It's the journey, not the destination," is another old chestnut, although the speaker invariably failures to mention what, exactly, "it" is. In any case, the first saying seems to hold true, but the second has proven patently false on this particular journey. Although he did, indeed, get what he paid for (rather, what SHE paid for), "it" was, in fact, the destination. How could it be the journey? No self-respecting voyage of self-discovery lasts for three hours. For a young man to hear the call to "go west", there is no need for romantic idealism, even if that's what the young man wants.
California is the most populous state in the union, a long land of desert and canyon and forest and beach and beautiful tanned hard bodies and bleached blonde hair and chicos and chicas and orientals and continentals and just about anyone who wants their own slice of paradise. Explains why so many people write songs about it. It's probably why she wanted to go to school here. She wanted to find paradise - and she did, for a while. More like heaven on earth, really, if you wanted to use the nomenclature of her chosen university. But that paradise faded, and she said that she Needed him, with a capital N, so he came, on the cheap jet plane with no SkyMall and no beverages and tight seat belts and fat, sleeping men and bawling children and stepped foot in California for the first time on a Thursday afternoon, in terminal 5 of Los Angeles International Airport.
Her car blares country music, which he hates, but it reminds her of home, which she loves. If she didn't love it, there's no way he would put up it. He has waited for an hour at the airport. He is tired. He is hungry. It is stretching him to deal with everything. He tries to calm himself down, but can't help but make caustic remarks, like he always does. It almost turns into a fight, but they both know where to stop. At least, she does; he's never quite sure where that line is. He puts on the only good music on her iPod, Fleetwood Mac. He's a little happier, she's a little happier. Everything is new to him, but he also feels like he's seen it all before. It's almost too perfect. He has too much Puritan in him to enjoy anything without a hint a guilt. Except, perhaps, food. He wants fish tacos. She wants barbecue. They get barbecue. They see people she knows at the restaurant. They see people she knows on campus. They see people she knows everywhere. Everyone is beautiful, almost perfect, young gods walking around heaven. Her roommate is beautiful, her friends are beautiful. He marvels at her campus. It looks out over the ocean, reaching outward and upward to heaven. Maybe that's the point. He loves it. She hates it. But she smiles at everyone she knows and he is, as usual, dumbstruck. She doesn't know that there isn't much different between shallow and deep friendships. If she does, she acts like she doesn't; maybe that's worse.He just takes it all in. Beautiful. Beautiful.
The drive down a winding road, away from heaven, and they stop at an ugly motel. She has more bags than he does. She has bottles of inebriation. He carries for her what he can. The motel clerk is a Latina, middle aged, slowly wasting away at this motel desk. She is working with an obese, chain smoking, middle aged white woman. They make small talk. They are colleagues, not friends. They are bound in misery. But the young lovers do not have time to think about the motel clerks. Well, the girl doesn't. The boy does. He can't stop thinking about them. He feels bad for them. He thinks he knows them, knows their boredom and misery. Maybe he does. Anyway, he pushes it out of his mind. All she is thinking about is him. They go up the motel stairs, put down their bags, and go straight for the bed. He feels for her with his fingers, with his tongue. She comes violently, knocking the headboard off of the bed. They laugh, as only the young and carefree can laugh.    
He rights the headboard and they go at it again, and he slides right inside her, and soon he, too, orgasms. They drink a little. He is not sure whether or not he wants to get drunk, if getting drunk is even worth it tonight, if he NEEDS to get drunk. She will drink if he drinks. She bought in excess, like everything she does. Before they leave, they will pour whole bottles down the motel sink. They fuck again. They fall asleep.
In the morning, they ascend to the heaven on earth. They are both happy.She is happier than he is, but that's usually the case. He is astounded at her presence in this place - she truly does seem to know every single person. Moreover, they are all happy to see her, or they pretend to be. She is happy to see them, too - or she pretends to be. He almost never pretends. What an asshole. They hear the pretty, perfect people, the denizens of this heaven, worshiping. One of her best friends is singing. The girl says that her friend sings like an angel. He thinks she sings beautifully, but there is nothing remarkable about her voice. He enjoys it, but she pulls him away to the library, and goes her own way, to class. She is going to Spanish, which she loves, because it is soft and beautiful. He studies his French, which he loves, because it is hard and beautiful. She comes back to retrieve him - her class is cancelled. The sun is shining. The sky is clear. They are young. Facts, facts, facts, that add up to a mutual desire to go to the ocean, hands clasped as they stroll over the sand, never sinking in. She says she doesn't go to the beach often. He feels the sun on his bare chest and the warmth of her hand and hears the sound of the waves moving in and out, making love to the shore, and can't think of anything to say.
She says she wants to do something uniquely Malibu. She wants to get cupcakes. He doesn't. They get cupcakes. They are made by a New York company. They go to the city to walk and watch and live. He bitches her out because of the cupcakes, and because he's an asshole, and he knows she doesn't deserve it but he does it anyway. But he loves walking and watching and he might love her, too, but he doesn't want to think about that, so he pushes it out of his mind with the hotel clerks and the excess wine and the fat men on the airplane. They go back to the motel. He rolls a blunt and smokes the marijuana she bought him, with a lighter that he bought, because he wants to be cool and isn't sure how, but he vaguely remembers someone, somewhere, telling him that rolling blunts and smoking and using Zippo lights is cool, so that's what he does. He does love being high. He's happy. He doesn't have to think. She feels good, the motel hot tub that they lounge in feels good, and fucking in the motel bed feels good. She thinks he's amazing. He just wants to be good at something.
They go to an observatory. It's a long walk, which he loves, but she hates. She does it though, because it makes him happy, and she loves being with him. They gaze, Whitmanlike, in perfect silence at the stars. He tries to explain the universe to her, and quantum physics, and astrophysics, and fails miserable because he has the barest sliver of rudimentary knowledge about any of those things. He feels like a phony. She gets depressed. She doesn't like to think about things outside her own bubble of existence. The universe is too big! she says. It's all meaningless, she says. It's necessary to create your meaning, he says. The beauty in life is in the pure act of living, he says. She already knows this, at her core. She lives this way. He knows this in the abstract. He doesn't. Maybe that's why she's happier. She's never thought about all this, which he can't believe. Her life was unexamined, yet it is worth living far more than his is. Although, right now, he has to admit that he's happy just to look at the stars. At the motel, they both smoke, she for the first time. They talk. They sleep. They dream.
They wake up.They fuck. They go back to heaven, but they can't find the church, the church she promised would be there. Instead, they sit on a bench and gaze at the ocean, and they are both very content to be together, and to be in heaven. They go get California sandwiches. They go get California tattoos. Hers is about children. His is about life. It is the last night, and they go to dinner, and he is still bleeding from his tattoo. It's his body crying for life. And he gets it, with a beautiful girl and a hot bowl of pasta and a drive to the beach. The sand is cold, and the waves are crashing, and Los Angeles glows like an eternal sunset, and they are both very happy. They are still in heaven. And then they drive down, down away from heaven, through the twisting canyon, to the motel, and they are exhausted, so they sleep. It is not clear why they are tired. Perhaps it is because being happy and sad at the same time is difficult. They are happy to be together. She is sad to see him go. He is sad because he is always sad. They get up early in the morning. They drive in silence. It is Easter. Christ rises with the California son, he thinks. That is why he's quiet. He's not sure why she's quiet.
The airport is goodbye. It is a quick kiss and a slow embrace. She is driving to spend Easter with her friends (for, pretend or not, shallow or deep, they are still her friends). He is on a plane, without beverages, with too-tight belts, with fat men. He is thirsty, and buys a two dollar airplane juice that is too sweet, too perfect. He sighs and pushes it out of his mind, as he always does. He thinks about his California Easter. He thinks about his Midwest home. He already misses not being there. But, he reasons, it's cheap. And you get what you pay for.

Last weekend was surreal. You flew in on Thursday, and I picked you up, late, at 5. You looked so handsome in your short sleeved button up your mom picked out for you. I felt bad I was so late. I was anxious all the way there; I didn't mean to be late. But California life is rushed and always has too many things in too short of a time. Welcome to Cali. We drove around and looked for that delicious barbecue place. We finally found it, but you were hungry and frustrated and I was just frustrated. I hate driving, hate the California traffic. While we were waiting for our table, I noticed on facebook that your mom had discovered you were going to California. She was less mad than I would have expected. Dinner was amazing. I was so hungry. You didn't want barbecue, but you put on a happy face and appeased me. You are always appeasing me. I was appeased. We had a little two person booth, with room enough for one on each side, but by the end of dinner I had made it over to your side. I was so happy to see you. I just wanted to be able to touch you. You were here, you were real (you hate it when i say that). But it's really amazing when your relationship with someone is almost completely without touch.

Your penis was so happy to see me. Oh, you came so quickly the first time. It was just the first round of such a sexually charged weekend.

We both slept terribly that night. Just flopping around and waking up. I was afraid that all the nights would be like that. Luckily, I was wrong. We were both probably just nervous. Friday morning was so sweet. You were so kind, so loving, so cuddly, so kissy. You just wanted to snuggle. And I was so happy laying there in your arms. I'm pretty sure I said it was the best feeling ever. And I meant it. Having your strong arms caress my tummy and those raw, soft kisses on my cheeks and down my neck was the most satisfied I've ever been.

I never remember enjoying kissing you so much. Or anyone really. Kissing was just always something you did before going farther, or because you wanted to show affection. But this weekend, I really enjoyed it. I wanted to be touching you, feeling you. Expressing my affection in every way I could. I wanted to feel your passion when you kissed me. You have the best lips with the most gentle kisses. I appreciated them so much this weekend.

I got in the bath to shave my legs and you kept popping your head in and bothering me. It was adorable. It's amazing that when I'm at my most vulnerable (naked scrunched over in the tub so all my stomach rolls show) having you there is so nice.

We went to school to see some of Celebration Chapel. I think I enjoyed it more than you. "How do all these people know the words?" you asked. We went in and watched it from the library. Steph's singing had me in a trance. I think you were bored. I dropped you off in the library and went to Spanish, only to discover it was cancelled. You were so ready for me to come back. You kept texting me. Probably because you were stuck on a foreign campus, but I liked to think it was because you missed me. Typical me.

We went to Ralph's beach. It was so warm, perfect weather, but neither of us wore our swimsuits. We had a picnic lunch and walked hand in hand. We talked about your summer plans. We talked about everything. You tried to push me into the freezing cold ocean. We played and you picked me up and I enjoyed the cold water around my feet. I loved being able to curl my hand up in yours. I can fit my whole hand in between your thumb and pinky. Just snuggled into your hand, my hand rubs against your three calluses at the base of your hand with every step. When we came back to our towel, you put your head in my lap. You seemed happy to talk to me. You were affectionate, even though we were in public. Maybe you were doing it because you knew it meant something to me, and maybe you just felt affectionate towards me. I leaned down and kissed you spider man style, upside down. It was so lovely. We were actually the infatuated couple at the beach. I wasn't pretending, wasn't trying. We just were.

I had to think so hard about what we did next. It's only been a week and my memories are dissolving. That's why I'm writing them down.

We went to Santa Monica next. But first, we got Crumbs. Toffee for you, cherry for me. Brown for you, pink for me. They made you feel sick and you started being a beast. Definitely the grumpiest the whole trip. But I've learned how to deal with you better. I apologized, and eventually you got over it. We got out and walked around, and things returned to normal. You bought cigarillos. You gave money to the man asking for it and I was so, so impressed. That showed such compassion in your heart. Compassion that I really needed to see. I lost my phone while we were guessing the stories of that old jazz duet. Best friends since childhood in New Orleans. We couldn't find a bathroom for the life of us. Oh man I had to pee. What kind of Barnes and Noble doesn't have a bathroom?? But, a bathroom was found and we returned back to the motel. We almost went to the pier but I couldn't find parking and I was tired and getting soooo grumpy. Oh I was getting very grumpy and very frustrated. Oh, and you bought that zippo. With the guy who thought we might have had a fake ID. It's in my pink bag now. Can't wait to return it to you.

We had about an hour where I took a nap and you worked on homework. I couldn't believe I was comfortable enough to just conk out next to you. Apparently I was. You said I was snoring. Embarrassing. But a good sign. A sign that I am that comfortable with you. Maybe we've reached a comfortable, happy place. I hope. You smoked, then we got in the hot tub after that. Oh, you were so happy. You said you couldn't stop smiling and that it was rigour mortis. You told me I looked like a doll. We got in the cold pool and you swam a couple laps. You were just so happy. You held my hand and kissed my cheek and looked at me and told my I was beautiful. It was romantic. And so little with us has ever been romantic.

We got ready and headed out for dinner at Subway (classy, right?). I was just craving it. And you spoiled me and appeased me. We drove all the way into LA and parked far away and trekked to the observatory. It was a long ass walk. I wouldn't have done it without you. We got there and went inside, and that guy talked to us about how the earth rotates. We looked at all the exhibits, and I was interested, but not fascinated until I saw the one with the size of the stars. I really started to comprehend how insignificant our earth is. We went outside. Oh it was amazing to look at all of LA. You stood behind me, and I leaned back on you, and you explained to me our place in this world.  It really hit me and I cried. There was that funny asian couple next to us. "You should be a city planner. What would you change about this city if you could?" "YOU!" I laughed through my tears. That moment with you was really phenomenal. I could have stayed there forever. There, in your arms. There, with the big city stretched out in front of us.

We went up to the top level. I sat on the ledge cross legged and you stood next to me. You told me about the beauty of life. You convinced me. I thought about poetry so much. We left.
We walked back to the car. I was so scared that you were walking so close to the ledge- your life is so precious to me. There was that scary guy. I shoved my hand into your pocket where your hand was because it made me feel safe. You're a good protector.

I smoked that night, for the first time. I think it was friday night? I'm already forgetting. It burned my throat. But I've never been happier to watch Enchanted. I was so frustrated with the color order of my gummy worms. We had such an in depth conversation about depth perception and why people have two eyes. I've never been so fascinated. I've always been hesitant to smoke. But I wasn't hesitant that night. Maybe because I've been feeling spontaneous lately. Maybe because I wanted to make you happy.

On Saturday morning I woke up before you. I took a shower and crawled back into bed before you woke up. You were so happy to see me in bed next to you. You held me and kissed me and told me how good I smelled. I'm pretty sure we had amazing sex after that, but I already don't remember. I just remember being warm and happy and snuggled up into you. In the mornings, when you are so gentle, I like to think that's what you're really like. Before you start thinking so much and worrying and putting on a mean front, you're just this gentle, adorable, loving man. We got ready for church. I was in that creme lace dress with wedges and you were in khakis and that green pullover. You look so nice dressed up. I felt so special to walk next to someone that handsome. We walked around to look for church, but just couldn't find it. I still don't know how I missed it. I feel bad about that. We walked back through alumni park and it was so romantic. You carried me over the bird poop and we snuggled on the bench looking out at the ocean. It was beautiful outside.

We went to John's Garden for lunch. You loved your sandwich. Some surfer one with lots of sprouts and avocado. It made me happy to see you so happy. I guess i'm using the word happy a lot in this. It might be a writing faux paus, but I mean it every time I use it. We take happy for granted. But I was so happy this weekend. We went back to the hotel for more sex and to get ready for tattoos. The sex made us late for tattoos. The tattoo people didn't mind. They were so laid back. It was a little awkward, but in a cute way. Neither of us were completely comfortable (I mean, it was a tattoo parlor!). Mine hurt like hell. So badly. You were across the room getting yours and couldn't hold my hand. But mine finished quickly and I could sit there and watch you get yours. I don't think you wanted me there while you were getting yours as much as I wanted you there while I was getting mine. Il fault cultiver nostre jardin, right? I don't speak french but I think that's what yours says. I remembered something.

We tried to go to Duke's for fish tacos but the wait was so incredibly long. I pulled that illegal u turn and we went to Marmalade's instead. Alex Miotti was our waiter. I got chicken pot pie and you got some seafood pasta. Oh mine was so good. Mmm. I might need to go back and get that some time this week. I got to hold your hand and we acted like a couple. We were a couple. We are a couple? We found that perfect little beach afterwards. We climbed down and it was chilly. We laid the blanket down and tried to sit but it was just so cold. The waves were incredible. The way they crashed on the rocks made the most remarkable sound. You stood behind me with your arms around me and we just looked and listened in silence. The stars were so beautiful; the night was so clear. I remember thinking that as beautiful as this scenery was around me, I felt even more amazing inside. I felt so enamored with you, standing there in your arms.

The most beautiful thing about the weekend wasn't even an event, I think. It was the sweet morning kisses, the way you hugged me just because you could, the way you held my hand in the car like you never had before. It was the spark I had been waiting for with you, the spark I was afraid would never come.

Courtney's Dream Log

Now, I am not sure what importance dreams have in everyday life, but I know I have the most intricate, vivid dreams that often leave me feeling incredibly inspired (and able to remember most of the dream!). I woke up this morning after having a particularly romantic dream and just had to write some parts of it down so I don't forget it.

I was experiencing love. Not questioning, Do-I-Really-Love-Him love, but just a sure thing.
Every kiss was just too short. Every kiss conveyed passion, desire, and longing.
He wanted me. He wanted me so, so badly. Every little peck was torturous to pull himself from.
His love for me was obvious. It was something I just felt.
I felt secure in our relationship, knowing he'd be there whenever I needed him.

Is this too much to expect out of a relationship? It's certainly never something I've experienced. I am constantly examining aspects of my own relationship and thinking about love, and it's nothing like this. But, is real love like this?

Courtney's list of most unfortunate things #2

Is there anything more disappointing
than waking up
and wondering why your puppy isn't in your room to kiss your face
then realizing it's because
she is 1500 miles away.
And you are alone.

Great Books Lesson

In Francois Rabelais' story: Gargantua and Pantagruel: The Abbey of Theleme, the characters are establishing an abbey. This abbey has only one rule: Do what you will, "because people who are free, well-born, well-bred, and easy in honest company have a natural spur and instinct which drives them to virtuous deeds and deflects them from vice; and this they call honour. When these same men are depressed and enslaved by vile constraint and subjection, they use this noble quality which once impelled them freely towards virtue, to throw off and break this yoke of slavery."

How amazing is it to believe enough in the goodness of human nature to trust our instincts and live our lives through our own inherent will? I find myself really internalizing this quote. Maybe because I like doing whatever I want anyways, and finding serious literature to support that is nice, but I really do find myself believing in the goodness of human kind. If I am a good person, my natural instinct will lead me to do "virtuous deeds." If a bad person, I'll act according (and wouldn't it just really suck, to be born a bad person? I feel like this text makes it seem like people are born either good or bad). Either way, I am trusting myself and being true to who I am. I really like that idea.

March 11, 2011

What do you do when your good isn't good enough?

You paste a smile on your face. Frozen, it hardens, and cracks.

On the inside you scream, you hit, you clench. But on the outside you smile.

Tears roll down the dimpled cheeks.

but tears, they're luminescent. Easily mistaken for something much happier.

So you wait, and eventually the tears dry. Then they, too, harden and crack.

Ted Hughes

He got out of his bed,
maneuvered around the piles of clothes and books that littered his room, and went to his closet to get dressed.
He stretched in front of the mirror, admiring his toned body. More defined than toned, really. He flexed his muscles, one at a time. Arms, pecs, back, legs. He inspected himself, noting areas for improvement. Still stark naked, his manhood hanging limp but still impressive, he seemed the picture of masculinity.
After many long, silent minutes in front of the mirror, he dressed and headed to the bathroom.
He took good care of himself. He meticulously washed his face, brushed his teeth, and flossed (and who actually flosses anymore?).
He was tired, but probably more hungry than tired, he noted.
He reentered his bedroom obliviously, thinking about this, put on his shoes, and walked back out the door.
As he sat at a table in the cafe with his late-night sandwich, he thought about his academic life. Like any college student, he was struggling with his major, his career path, and his grades. He loved to sit and think about his life like this. His phone vibrated in his pocket with a call, but he silenced it without looking at it; he didn't want to be distracted from his thoughts.

Back in his room, she wistfully hung up the phone without leaving a voicemail. He'd been gone over an hour and she had a feeling he'd forgotten that she was still there. Oh well. He'd come back eventually. She would wait. She would always wait. Because in the end, he'd have to come back.

Malibu

The slow breeze carries upon it the sweet smell of pretty girls' perfumes and

the muted sun warms tan skin and makes them shine.

This beauty can be peaceful, and

peaceful is admirable.

But at the end of the day I am left feeling utterly uninspired.

Courtney's list of most unfortunate things #1

I've been reflecting a lot lately on opportunity without maturity. How lucky is one who gets an amazing opportunity? Accepted to your dream college. Offered a six figured job after a year of unemployment. Asked for your hand in marriage by your soul mate. Whatever the dream. Sometimes fortune shines down and we are given what we've always wanted.

But what happens when the timing is wrong? What happens if you are accepted to your dream school but just absolutely can't afford it? What if this job tears you away from your family? What if you're homosexual and your partner proposes before your marriage could be legal? You get the idea. Perfect opportunities become less than perfect situations when the timing isn't right. And the thing about opportunities is, you usually can't control them. So sometimes amazing things come along and we just aren't ready. So what do we do?

The best resolution I can come to is to give your opportunity up and keep going. Now, it doesn't work in every situation, but in general, timing is something defining that we just can't change. If the timing is wrong, then the opportunity isn't right. One of my very favorite people here at Pepperdine was recently offered the position of SLA. Long story short, she ended up giving up the position in favor of something else, though SLA was something she really wanted and giving it up was really hard for her to do. But, the silver lining is so apparent to me. SLA spots are hard to come by, and the application process is very selective. Many people are let down when they don't get accepted. And by giving up her position, my friend gave that opportunity to someone else, someone who really wanted it. So while you may be disappointed when the right thing happens at the wrong time and you have to give it up, take comfort in the fact that you are helping someone else get the opportunity they've been waiting for.

I find myself in a similar situation. Here I am, at Pepperdine, with this amazing opportunity to learn academically and spiritually, all at 75% off. Because of the of my scholarship, I have the opportunity to live in Malibu, California and experience a life most only dream of. This is undoubtedly such a crazy opportunity that I've got. Yet I really think it came along at the wrong time. Though I originally thought of myself as incredibly independent and ready for life as far away as home from possible, I couldn't have been more wrong. I find myself emotionally unready to accept and thrive in this opportunity I've been given. People don't understand how I can be unhappy in my situation: I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world, getting a great education, surrounded by unimaginable people. Yet because this opportunity just came at the wrong time for me, I'm simply unable to appreciate my opportunity to the full extent it deserves.

So what do I do? By giving up this opportunity and going home, I can prepare myself in to the best of my ability to become independent, so if another opportunity comes along, I'm ready to accept it. By giving up my spot at Pepperdine hopefully someone else gets to come here. Hopefully someone will get my scholarship and it will let them live out the opportunity I wasn't ready for. So, I've decided. I'm going home. It isn't an ideal situation, but it is what it is. I'm optimistic that another life changing opportunity will come along sometime in the future, though hopefully when I'm ready for it.

Human Touch

There is an overwhelming beauty in that loving hold.
in that desperate grasp.
in that familiar caress of body.

There is an alluring excitement to his touch.
in that spot
in that enjoyment of knowing each other.

There is a flooding of peace when eyes are closed.
in that comforting warmth.
in that savored moment.

Minds may be miles apart.
But when bodies are together
souls are sparked
and connect
if only momentarily.

There is a painful yearning in his loving hold.
in that room that one must leave.
in that embrace that is never tight enough.

There is a preemptive disappointment when eyes are closed.
in that anticipation of the future.
in that fleeting moment.

There is a dissonance in the human touch.
in that unknown tomorrow.
in that tortured brilliance of human relationships.

Courtney's Goals to Get Her Life Back on Track

Just posting it here so I have something to keep me accountable, and so I don't forget it as soon as I think of it. I've been struggling lately. I've not been happy, and I've succumbed to my unhappiness, which just perpetuates this depression. As Burton wisely pointed out tonight (though a little harshly), I've basically exhausted my options. I've got meds and therapy. That's all I can get. The rest is up to me. And since I refuse to live the rest of my life like this, this is how I'm going to change it:
-When I get sad, I'm going to reach out. If I'm sad because I feel alone, I'll text someone to talk. Who goes to Pepperdine.
- I will stop taking people for granted. I have so many amazing people in my life AT PEPPERDINE. I need to show them I care about them more, with time and affection. I will try my hardest to hang out with people several times a week and text the people I care about as often as I think about them to remind them how loved they are.
- I have to stop going to Valencia. It should be a reward, not something expected every weekend. I will go for the weekend of March 17th, for Kelsey's birthday, and one other time before the end of the year. That is it.
- I have to honor my obligations. No more skipping chapter or rescheduling coffee dates. No. Being involved and around people makes me happy, and no matter how lazy I am, I need to pursue that.
-I will stop complaining. Talking about being unhappy isn't helping me be any happier. Fake it til ya make it.

It's only 3 days til Friday, the start of spring break. It's not long, but three days of honest effort is more than I've had in...maybe ever. So here's to three hard, rewarding days.

Just a thought.

Read this quote today:

"Life brings you to unexpected places.
  Love brings you home."

A Response

"This is what I hate about her.

She doesn't remember, can't remember, anything. Anything with a capital A,

Just like how she is a child, and yet doesn't remember what it actually means to be a Child.

She doesn't remember what it means to love Art, to love Quality, if she ever even knew

Or if she ever even cared to know.

She is too happy with herself. She loves the world,

(but maybe that only bothers me because I hate the world)

And she gives in to it, and herself, too easily

And I think I love Her, but I don't love her

Or at least I hope I do.

She doesn't remember anything.

This is what I hate about her.

But this is what I love about her.

She's not innocent, but she's Innocent,

She loves the world, but she the funny thing is

I'm not sure that the world loves her, and yet

She wouldn't care either way. 

She's not pure, but she's Pure; Genuine, not genuine.

And I think she wants to love me and really wants to love Me, and though she understands me I wonder if she'll ever know Me.

I need her to know Me

Or at least I think I do.

She loves words, and I love words, but in the end that's all they are: words, not Words. 

Maybe one day they'll be Words.

This is what I love about her."

She was 19. But she was still 6. Every year she grew up, but she never grew Up. It wasn't clear whether she chose to stay 6 or if she was incapable of becoming any older. She wasn't sure, really.  Growing up made her realize that her friends were also growing Up. But not her.

All she knew was that most things made her happy. Sunlight made her happy. Company made her happy. Laughing made her happy. At 6, you don't really question why. She knew people didn't like her when she was sad. So she tried not to be. She was Sad, but most days she was happy. She didn't understand how to be Happy. That was grown Up stuff.

She loved words. She liked arranging them into pretty patterns. She liked making them flow. She liked making people like her with words. They were playthings to her. She loved words, they might have been her greatest asset. But she didn't understand Words like the grown Ups did.

She accepted things, and Loved them. Love was something she was good at. Maybe Love comes easily to six year olds. Probably. Her love was spontaneous and deep. She Loved, but was loved. All those grown Ups just didn't seem to understand Love. But they were her peers.

The grown Ups got frustrated when she didn't understand. She tried sometimes, but she was only 6. It's hard for someone who's 6 to understand grown Up stuff like that. But she knew her birthday was coming up soon. And things like Happiness and Words are much easier to someone who is 7.

She was scared though, that turning 7 would make her forget how to Love. And most of the time she thought that Love was the most important thing she could Know. And she already knew that.

All I Have to Say About This.

She sat there, looking at him. So many things were going on inside, but on the outside, she tried to remain blank. Unaffected. She couldn't think when she was looking at him, just feel. And all she felt was sad. You know, the kind of sad when one hears something they were hoping they wouldn't? Made just a little worse by the surprise of it, she just looked at him.  As her heart lay there, at the bottom of her stomach, it felt like it was falling apart. Not viciously, aggressively torn apart,
but as she felt the little, anxious flutter of her heart it felt like her heart was falling away from itself. Just separating itself into tiny pieces, like a completed puzzle falling off a table. Not harsh, or intensely painful, just a sad, disappointed, aching kind of pain.

And he was upset with her? That he was entitled to a "college experience"? Maybe. Maybe he was. When she was looking at him she couldn't think. She could just feel. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was the rational one. But she could only feel, and all she felt was sad.

But he didn't feel sad. That morning, before he told her, he looked good. She commented that he looked happy. He was, he said. He said he was happy because he was figuring things out.
She had no idea. He had written a song about her that morning. He woke her up with a text telling her that. Before he told her he played her a song she said she wanted to hear. He learned it for her.  They talked about love that morning before he told her. She told him he might be the first one she said that to. She didn't feel like that after he told her. They talked for a long time that day before he told her. She thought it was important enough to mention first. He said he did that because he missed her, because she was so far away. She didn't understand.

She felt sad. A little used. She didn't think he felt bad enough. He was happy that morning.  He was going for a run later that day, he said. He was smiling before he told her. He was the one who ended their conversation, because something she said was making him unhappy. She had stopped talking. She sat there, looking at him as blankly as she could. She couldn't talk any more because she didn't want him to see her tears. But when he was gone, she couldn't cry. Just a few, painful tears to wipe out of her eyes. She didn't feel like crying. All she could feel was sad.

It wasn't the usual kind of sad caused by a boy. She'd been hurt by boys before. Yelled at, broken up with, cheated on.   She'd lay on her bed and sob, in intense emotional pain. He'd made her feel like that before, too. That kind of sad was different. She wasn't the angry kind of sad, passionately resolving to never talk to him again, deleting his number out of her phone to try and hold to it. No, that kind of sad was different. It was the dull ache that might never go away. The idea of a girl getting to experience on a whim what she so badly pined for. The idea that her affection could be replaced. The idea of him falling asleep with his arms around her, while she snuggled up to her pillows every night pretending they were him.  The idea of him waking up and her being the first thing he saw. The idea that these were choices he made. That kind of sad is different. Yes, this kind of sad is different.

The Reality of College

I remember the first time I had an anxiety attack. It was the summer before fifth grade and I was living in St Louis with my mom, my sisters, and my grandparents while our house in Springfield was built. I was still young enough to be in the stage where you could just play for hours on end. I'd go outside with my cousins and the neighborhood kids and play in the sticky Missouri heat. A delicious homecooked dinner would be a welcome intermission between sweaty, breathless afternoons and cooler, country evenings. At nine or ten or so our parents would round us up, distributing the kids between their respective houses, where baths and bed would follow. I'd sleep in a room with one or both of my sisters, and we'd fall asleep talking after momma had tucked us in and given goodnight kisses. We repeated this almost every day for a whole summer. Until one day my mom told me she was going to Springfield for the weekend to look at our new house. I didn't want to leave; she told me in the middle of the day while I was busy playing with my friends. I told her I'd stay in St. Louis with my grandma, while she and my sisters stayed at a hotel in Springfield. I was too caught up in playing to even notice her leaving.

That night, everything went as usual. Grandma knew the routine and everything went regularly. And then I was laying in bed, all alone. I couldn't fall asleep. Minutes ticked by. I got out of bed. Grandma told me to get back in bed. It was 11. It was 12. And the later it got, the more worried I got that I could never fall asleep. My anxiety of not falling asleep was keeping me from falling asleep. I cried. I kept my grandma up. It wasn't a lot of fun. I just attributed it to missing my mom and feeling lonely. And that's probably what it was. For the next two nights, the same thing happened. I was a mess. I couldn't sleep, I cried, I just...hurt inside. I couldn't explain what I now know was a panic attack. I loved playing with my friends during the day, but when night time came I felt so...alone. I wasn't close to my grandma at all; I might as well have been staying with a stranger. What started as a little insomnia morphed into a panic attack because I had no one to turn to when I was feeling vulnerable.

And in a lot of ways, that's how I feel about college. A difficult situation without someone to rely on for emotional support quickly spirals into something much worse. I can enjoy myself immensely during the day here, and like the people I'm surrounded by, but at the end of the day I feel really isolated. The little problems like homesickness and boy problems turn into anxiety and depression when I have no one to help me.

But, maybe that's just life. Life isn't always being as socially successful as someone else, or making lifelong, deep connections as soon as you meet someone. Life isn't always perfect, and it's not always going to work out the way I want it to. Life is working through the difficult times. Life is getting my sad ass out of bed and going to hang out with people, even though I feel like it won't help. Life is pursuing the reward, while realizing it doesn't happen as frequently as the struggle.

So what do I do? Do I just write off my problems at Pepperdine as part of life, and try to persevere through them? Or do I take the opportunity I have to transfer home to family and friends who already love me?

I do have so many things at Pepperdine to be thankful for, and I don't give those enough credit. I DO have amazing people in my lives. I just feel like I can't appreciate them fully because I'm so caught up in feeling like I don't belong.

Boys and College.

Is there such a thing as a perfect fit? or does everything require work? I find myself in two situations where I just keep asking myself when it's worth it to keep trying, or when the chemistry isn't there. Most people would agree that to cultivate a good relationship (with a boy or with a school), effort is required. Right now though, I am struggling to decide how much effort is too much effort. Is one semester at a school too short a time to decide that it is not the right school for me? Is "x" amount of time talking to a boy far too much? I am just struggling to understand at what point I should expect harmony, and seek change if that harmony isn't reached.

Mylea.

Yesterday was Mylea's fourth birthday. It seems like such a short time ago I was meeting her for the first time as a three week old little baby. Now, four years later, she is undoubtedly my favorite person, the number one in my life. It's so hard to watch her grow up, to change from the beautiful, happy little baby she used to be to the rough, crazy toddler she is now. I miss rocking the tiny infant to sleep, and I miss walking around and singing the 18 month old to sleep. I miss being called her "dotie," and I will most likely carry her around until she's 8, but it's amazing to see the person she's becoming. I've suffered a fat lip from her headbutts, laughed until I've cried when she does funny things like tell her cousins that Santa is fake and kiss 2 year old Colby on the lips, and she continuously melts my heart when she snuggles me or kisses me or randomly tells me she loves me. I just can't believe she's four.

A Subtle Kind of Love- A story by Jake Christie

Found this while stumbling yesterday. Did not write it but absolutely had to share it. No, it's not really relevant to my personal life, but it could be one day.

http://www.jakechristie.com/smallstories/subtlekindoflove.html

He loved her in a distant kind of way, the same way the sun heats the Earth. If she were to disappear completely, he knew through pure logic that it would have no great, disastrous effect on him. He would not cease to be; he would not stop breathing; his heart would not stop beating; the world would not stop spinning. The sun would keep shining, radiating heat, if the Earth were not there. On a certain, purely physical level, her absence would have absolutely zero effect on his person.

And yet...

He loved her in an abstract kind of way, the way a bee loves honey. He wasn't sure why he wanted to love her, but he wanted to love her just the same. Maybe somebody told him once that he should be in love with somebody, so he felt a need to pick somebody and it just so happened to be her. Maybe. Being in love was nice, sure, but he didn't need to be.

And yet...

He loved her in a removed kind of way, the way a butterfly's wings can start a tsunami halfway around the world. He knew that it had an effect on her, but he wasn't sure how great. On a certain level he was aware that if he were to stop, if he were to disappear, it would have a drastic effect. For him it would be one less flap of his wings, in a manner of speaking, if such a thing were possible without him falling from the sky.

And yet...

He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn't the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn't the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.

And she loved him just the same.