Coffee, Mints, & a Red Skirt

Yesterday I had the pleasure of talking to one of my GT friends. And by talking I mean, texting. But nonetheless, the conversation was refreshing and my face wore a bent skyward curve because of it.

A few posts ago, I had written about losing the “fun gene”. The concept, though poorly executed on my part, was that as I get older I often feel like I am losing myself. But after writing that post, I put the idea on the back burner of my mind and zombied on. Until yesterday…My friend sent me a message. She had read the post and felt the exact same way about herself too! Of course, she is a bundle of fun so I thought it was absurd that she felt the way she did.

I started to think. In fact, I burnt my Veggie Sticks cheese toast (doesn’t that sound delicious?! haha) because my brain was solely spotted on two very provoking questions: “What causes us to lose our fun gene?”  and “How can we get it back?”

You see, everyone has that time in their lives where they just are blissfully happy.

It was after the region champ baseball game. My friends and I had just come down from the press box where they had watched the game and I had announced it (too highly pitched for NJCAA Mens baseball I might add). The boys had just won and the guy I was “talking to” (this time the term means dating…not texting) was the catcher. We were throwing an 80′s themed party at my apartment afterwards where I lived with two of my best friends. Life was good. We bought chickfila sanwhiches, turned on the latest and greatest  dub step, played board games, flirted with card games, and divided into teams for guitar hero smackdowns.

Entire 80′s themed hair, clothes, makeup and jewelry flooded our apartment as all of our small Ju-Co people were there celebrating the guy’s fresh victory. With pink bows tied to my giant silver hoop earrings, my zebra striped shorts, an aqua belt and black tights, my catcher “friend” in his array of neon colored clothing, took me by the hand and led me outside where he kissed me in the rain…

So there I was- the happiest, luckiest person alive. I had the honor of living with my two best friends, all of our friends were over, the baseball team had won, and we were wearing the goofiest clothes and having a great time doing so. It’s funny but I have a picture of that night. I found it on my laptop via webcam the next day. We were so young and carefree.

That was 13 months ago.

The one bad thing about pictures is that it helps you hold on. Holding on can also blind side you. In that single Polaroid, our great yet giant group of friends was shoved into one tiny frame, barely fitting us all. We had the loopiest laughing lines around our eyes and mouths. We were happy. When I look at that picture, I see what my eyes detect first and I find the memories that support what I’m seeing. Joy. What I do not see is what happened after that moment; the next step that wasn’t captured on film. My two best friends got in a fight. One of my best friend’s boyfriend was cheating on her. My catcher “friend” was lying to me about a serious drug problem he had. Then two guys got into a fight (over the video game of course) and broke our tv screen…

The heart always wants what it thinks it once had. Now, don’t get me wrong…I loved that night. I still love all of the people that were there. But whenever I catch myself  crying because I feel like I am lost inside this work-work-coffee-work-sleep cycle and have no fun gene left, I remember the moments after those photographs. Sure, it looks like fun. And for a time it was fun. But it was temporary fun.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you can still be fun. Just because you are in a harder, more serious grownup stage of life now doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun. You haven’t lost anything. Don’t always believe those pictures. Instead of focusing on what you had then, please focus on what you have now…how you can make now as fun as then was PLUS MORE!

Today I am wearing a red pencil skirt. I’m at work enjoying my coffee and I just found some mint mentos in my briefcase. I have decided that, even though I am at work, I can make this day fun. I’m going to start by kicking off these ridiculous heels!

The Carrots in the Carrot Cake

Did you know there are REAL carrots in carrot cake? There are also raisins, and something brown…nuts perhaps. All in all, carrot cake tells you what it is, but those who eat it are constantly surprised at what it has to offer.

I’m a strong woman. However, I’m not an emotionally available one but I’m following the learning curve. I’ve set the goal to become the woman I was made to be. And that is frightening. God asks us to reach the potential He has given us all. As daughters of Eve, we are called to be vulnerable and strong. But the amount of tears that have walked the vertical line of face taught me that I cry because I have been strong for too long. How many of you have felt that way? Your tears don’t belong to the event that released them. They belong to their source- multiple past events that build up like the wall you wish you could bury them in.

Learn from my problem. I hide. I bury my fears and let my insecurity blanket me. This causes me to miss out on life- every moment you are alive is an important one. However…

Not anymore. I’ve never been fond of pickles. I’d tried them and hated them- the smell, the texture, the way the juice is Hulkish and the wrong color green. But one day I woke up, bought a jar on a whim, gave them a whirl. I gave pickles a chance and I liked them! Halfway between my third and fourth pickle of the day I got hit by a lightening thought- “What else am I afraid to try?” With pickles, I just didn’t like them. But with events in life, I’d opt to skip or make up an excuse because I didn’t like myself.

I may still not like myself. But I’m no longer focusing on that. There will ALWAYS be flaws. And for other girls out there who are like me, just give in. Giving in doesn’t mean giving up. It just means letting go so you can go; so you can go places and not have anything holding you back.

Go and let life happen. You may like the pickles in it’s jar.

It’s Like Being Inside a Lime…

Today I went for a long run in the Botanical Gardens. It was like being inside a giant lime- everything was so green!

Summer has finally arrived and the months of May and June are the emerald moments before July sets the southern world on fire. This morning, Lesta and I celebrated by going to Athens church where we heard a guest speaker, John Woodall, preach the last part of his Vengeance series. His wife looked like a blonde Sarah Palin!

Usually church is an eye opener…I sit in the cushioned chair constantly amazed at the simplicity of the message and how it coincidentally relates to my life. My open mouth and big set eyes give me away every time and I’m convinced I’m not the only one sitting in the service thinking that the pastor is speaking directly to me. “How does he know that?!”

Vengeance is “blood”. But I’m saving that for the Blood Mountain hike my roomies and I are trekking next weekend! Pastor John made the sermon sound so simple. It starts with Hurt. When you are hurt, it is because someone wronged you by insult, ignorance or other. There are three stages to handle hurt. The acronym is W.A.R. First, you Wrestle with your hurt. You don’t know how to handle it and it becomes a mini obsession, a battle that haunts you all day or presents itself to you late at night. You wonder why that person said that about you or how he/she could dump you so easily.  Secondly, when you are hurt God puts a person in your life to give you Advise. You know, that stuff you do NOT want to hear? Advise is a key part of handling hurt. Listening to a wiser person’s advise will teach you to handle Response. Response is the last part and the deciding factor of how hurt will play a role in your life. With Response, you either chose to live and approach the ones that hurt you OR you push those people who hurt you away in a box so they can’t hurt you anymore. That’s called death- maybe not physical death, but a life without people is a hard life. Your heart will be hardened.

My heart is hardened. My heart is dead. I once wore a crown of fake diamonds and pearls as I stood before my peers. They had elected me homecoming queen and I was shocked. I never had a continual close friend. I was just nice to everyone; I was nice but never close. Looking back, none of those girls and guys are my friends now. Somewhere along the way, misunderstandings and hurt have been placed. I’ve shoved them all into the “I’m done with you” room. I have one best friend left and a few new friends. But two months ago, I didn’t even have my best friend in my life. I had shoved her into the “You hurt me so I’m going to Ignore You” room. The few new friends I have now are ones that God has placed in my life to teach me to open up to, to love. I struggle with that every day.

I’ve been broken and the world has trained me to react with a hard heart. But I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want my soul to die. I don’t want my “I’m done with you, you’ve hurt me” room to be at full capacity. I don’t want anyone in there anymore.

How about you? Do you have anyone in your life that you’ve put away due to being hurt? I’m not saying send them a typical Christian email with the following “I forgive you” lines…that’s just dismissal. Reach out to those you’ve been hurt by and keep the lines of communication open.

Be alive.

Soft Silver

It’s a golden silence.

It hints at above.

Deliverance has place.

It’s rescue never subtle. 

So Kiss my lips. 

I am your Lover. 

Soft silver shatters when thrown off the tower. 

STOP.

The pumping begins. 

Listen still-

My means to an end. 

A Lunch Room of Fun…

I think I have lost my fun gene.

It’s 6th grade and the kid, who’s dad owns the local jewelry store, is eating candy for lunch…again. You watch him put the king size Hershey bar in between his Pb&j as you gag silently to yourself. The boy from Texas is eating sushi and the fish smell wafts your way. Your best friend grabs your juice box, absent minded. Your thermos of soup is half-melted from your attempt to microwave plastic. It’s 6th grade and the idea of fun is mixing chocolate with bread and burning cups. Fun is so simple.

It’s 8th grade and you’re suddenly concerned with the way food makes you feel, with the way it makes you look. You just want to fit in. The boys eat double and the girls wave it away. You sit at a table swiping the peanut butter and jelly from the inside of your sandwich because your stomach’s growling but your boyfriend says you don’t really need the whole sandwich. Do you? Of course not. It’s only your growing years but you decide to crumble, to stunt yourself emotionally as well as physically. You loose sight of fun.

It’s 10th grade and you have a new best friend. She’s your teammate and loves to eat. You both have the same math class during lunch period. You both get to eat with the teacher because he is also your coach. Lunch is suddenly fun and interesting again as you giggle 16 years of your life away. He is cute and you begin to plan matching him up with your older cousin. Suddenly, lunch is your favorite part of the day. Fun is restored with a single crush.

It’s 12th grade and your boyfriend doesn’t go to your school. But he does bring you candy for lunch occasionally. Bags of Starburst he faithfully drops off at the front desk. The donation is always anonymous but you know who it is. Only, you hate Starburst. He knows that. You wonder why he chooses the one candy you dislike. Everytime. You’re the editor of the yearbook so you spend all your lunches in a classroom writing, designing, talking to people. You give your best friend the bags of candy and smile sadly that your boyfriend is making a point to ignore what you do/do not enjoy. Fun becomes work and work becomes more fun than candy.

It’s sophomore year of college and you’re a collegiate athlete. You eat with a bunch of teammates from all over the world. The conversations are interesting and the amount of food at the table is enormous! You could definitely feed a country but those seven miles you ran before breakfast make it alright to organize mounds of calories on your plate. You’re surrounded by opportunities to enjoy life and find the fun you keep losing. Your life is more than one lunch table. You can identify with a variety of people. Your fun becomes diverse.

It’s now. And now is the time where you realize the moments. There were a few defining integrals that marked the bane of your subconscious definition of fun. You wonder, looking back, where it went. Where did fun go? You were young and fun was simple. Fun was sneaking candy bars for lunch. Then fun was crushing on cute guys. You grew up faster than fun was ready for and you lost it. You met new people in a new environment and let loose. You thought the fun would never end. But now. Now you eat lunch at 4 o’clock. You eat when it’s fast and you eat alone. Doing things fast and doing things alone is not fun.

I’ve lost my fun gene. I don’t know where it went. But I’d like to find it.

 

 

A Walnut Tree

“A woman, a dog, a walnut tree, 

the more you beat them,

the better they be.”

There are certain things that make my pit of butterflies flock to new heights: filling my parents stockings at Christmas, discovering a new flavor of frozen yogurt, breaking a record on a run and public speaking. But pulling a college final all-nighter just isn’t one of those topsy-turvy moments.

It’s 3:30 a.m and I could have promised my hidden pack of pistachios that a minute ago it was 3:40 a.m. Could Time have been that affected by my desperateness that it felt the need to award me more minutes of studying by receding ten? Or is the ratio of rice milk to black Folgers unbalanced enough to create hallucinations? “Am I tripping?” And if the answer is “Yes, you are tripping on UGA life” then my only request is that my face land in the books and that a photograph be taken for professoral evidence…hey, A is for affection to the amount of effort you tried to put in. Oh wait, I don’t go to Gainesville…This is UGA.

I can only imagine what the Tech-ers are doing right now…

Who am I kidding? They’ve probably cloned themselves and are sleeping peacefully while one version of them studies in the black and yellow library leaving the third version of them to greedily grab a basket of chicken and fries from DQ for only $3.99. Hey, a vegan can dream right? Forbidden fruit. Too bad I’d have to work 45 minutes on a Stairmaster to justify smelling the promising meal deal. In fact, I bet there is another version of them working out to nab some extra endorphins and yet still another version of them already taking the test! If Time can grant me ten extra minutes, why wouldn’t Time fast forward a clone into another dimension?

Oh man…am I sure I drank coffee? What does organic mean anyway? Sigh…I know what this is. Procrastination. And Imagination. And a teaspoon of Desperation. SuperCaliFragilisticExpealidocious. Da Da Da Da Da Da Da…something something…ATROCIOUS! Finals are just that. I mean, most of it is pure memorization. After the test, the brain relaxes and the retainer is emptied of it’s files. Basically 30 seconds after we walk out the door, we’ve lost over 84% of the knowledge we “learned” for the final. And cumulative…really? Now that’s just RUDE.

Just this afternoon a girl asked me to compare my college experience with my university experience. I refused. They are not one and the same. There are similarities sure, but there are differences as well. The two can not compare fairly because they are not on the same playing field. That’d be like asking Pee-Wee soccer kids to go against Man-U. Pee-Wee wouldn’t win. It couldn’t win.

The one thing that brings all school this time of year together is finals. Finals week: when Facebook statuses are more ridiculous than Celebrity TV Awards, when libraries and study rooms have waiting lists, when coffee consumption is more frequent than an Elder’s IBS,  when computer crashes are a major world crisis, when crying is so common that if you are not crying there is something wrong with you, when parents don’t hear from their kids for weeks, and when no one showers…seriously, lowest water bill of the year is in May.

No one needs to beat me like Micheal Vick’s dog.

I live, for a month, under a log. 

No one needs to shake me like a walnut tree.

Finals, Finals will do that to me.

Levels of the Mind Pt.4

A boy in a black car drives by the porch I am enjoying blaring “Mama Mia”. Of course, I have to put down my mango juice Popsicle to get a good look at him.

The air is warm but deliciously warm- the kind of warmth that is comfort, like snuggling in a white down comforter or holding a silver baby bunny. It is times like these that I remember why I love living in Georgia. One can sit on a porch, with a frozen ice Popsicle and a good book, just listening to things as they go by- be it the airplanes above, the people below, their cars or the soft seduction of an occasional wind’s whisper. No wonder people move their couches out here. It is lovely indeed.

The sweat glides across my shin more smoothly than a razor. The trail it leaves behind is milky white from my vanilla coconut lotion and when I reach down to wipe it away, the skin is left gleaming in the sunlight. It is 4:45 p.m and I feel alive.

However, there are sunglasses on my face. Usually, as in almost always, there is no problem with that. Sunglasses are a way of shielding  the eyes from an irritating light. There is no wrong in wearing the summer necessity. But my purpose was flawed. I wore them to hide my face. Earlier, when I was at the pool (a big step for someone like me, so full of insecurity, so full of hidden doubts) I wore no makeup but that regurgitating feeling of shame bubbled up. I wanted to apologize to the rest of the population, “sorry I look like this. Sorry I am this way”, but instead I covered my face as best I could in a pair of borrowed sunglasses and my guilt for not taking better care of myself.

Thank goodness I love to read. While worrying if my morning run was long enough to justify taking my pool towel off and exposing my body, my skin, to more than just the sun, I dropped the towel and quickly threw myself onto the nearest chair the furthest away from the rest of the pool partakers. I began reading this book I was given. Inside the book, the author discusses women and beauty more in depth than just “beauty is in the inside” and blah blah blah…all those things we tell ourselves but never fully believe.

Insecurity is a deeply rooted problem. And my heart aches when I see one of my friends struggling with it. But now, sitting on this porch revisiting the memory of myself at the pool today, I wonder how ridiculous and anti-social I must have seemed. And I really am not an anti-people person. But the easiest way for me, and girls like me, to not be insecure is to hide. We hide ourselves so that we won’t get hurt, so that people won’t reject us, so that we can feel safe.

But God’s intent for women was not to be a hidden character. How can a person truly live their life the way God intended if that person only surfaces for food, school, or work? As Taco Bell’s newest commercial catch-phrase puts it: “Sometimes, you’ve got to live mas!”

So this week, I am going to begin reshaping my mind… living mas. And with God’s help, I think I can do it.

Post 110

This is my 110th post. You’d think I’d be more excited about the 111th- that seems to be the more patterned number.

But I don’t like numbers!

You know what I do like?

Today I took a morning shower after a long overdue run. I liked seeing the sweat bead off my arms. I liked the feeling of hard work and I liked even more the insecurity leaving my body. Today I took the fastest morning shower ever recorded in Rabbitt history- due to the fact that a strange, singing Croatian was tearing apart my apartment floor for renovations. I didn’t even fix the top of my hair. After straightening a few layers on the bottom and taking all of 4 minutes to do so, I pinned and tucked the straight strands into the messy curly bun my short cut barely made. Out the door in 20 minutes, I left the emphatic European to his vocals and to the washer moved from the kitchen to my room, temporarily.

I met a girl who saw my testimony from church. She was the second person who identified me from my personally vulnerable display during the sermon’s series. I left the conversation with her feeling grateful for God’s timing. I left the conversation feeling more trusting than ever. Apparently, I feel more confident when my hair is in a tiny tiny bun.

Last week I bought more cereal. That is all I can cook. Cereal. But I had run out, I needed more cereal. Not opting for the regular bran flakes (nom nom I know) I found a similar calorie counting cereal called Chocolate Cheerios- vegan style! Of course nothing goes better with chocolate cheerios than chocolate soy silk milk. It’s just such a shame that it tastes so good. The amount of servings one carton of chocolate soy silk milk contains is 8. I had 8 glasses of chocolate soy silk milk today. And 5 of those servings were guzzled straight from the carton in the car on the way home. Guess I will have to go back to the store for more tomorrow.

Good thing it is a $1.99.

Time was on my side so I made the early bus to school. I went after hours to the photolab at the perfect tick of the tock…when all my classmates were there. One of them was bound to know how to use a MAC. I copied the movements of my friend, Remy. He brought maple-glazed donuts to photo class one day. That was the day I cheated on my vegan life. Copy catting can pay off. Remy and I finished our projects, got out of lab early, and became Facebook friends.

I like pickles now, and that’s a surprise. I used to hate pickles…that use to be my thing. But now I love them so I have no “thing”. But I didn’t even care. After my fifth glass of CSSM (chocolate soy silk milk), I had four pickles. Lunch? Indeed. I even licked my fingers. The day continued on in a ridiculous rainbow of ease- made a new friend during a photoshoot, met up with an old friend who got an internship at CNN…

When you start the day out right, it’s bound to carry throughout your day.

 

 

No Matter How Cold

I stayed at home today, to do audio and other activities before signing my life away for the summer.

Since I had no need for a campus visit, I forgot which day it was. Tuesday-it’s Tuesday by the way. When my eyes opened to the breaking dawn I knew. It was a gut feeling and I rolled out of bed heading straight for my hair dryer. It was so cold. I plugged in the Pink Breast Cancer Awareness color and aimed it towards the rim of my toilet. I hear the Japanese have perfected the heated toilet seat. In that morning moment, I was envious of the Japanese households in possession of such bliss.

Trying on everything and finding nothing to wear, I resorted to dirty sweatpants after a dissatisfied shrug in the mirror. Trumpy Tuesday. It was then that I permanently decided no one would see me today if I could help it. Then came the morning facebook check with a dreadful message no one wants to hear- the two month old German Shepherd puppy I had promised to adopt in two weeks, whom I had already named Molly, was dead. I felt completely guilt-ridden and out of control. I spent the day in that spot until the Ibuprofen hit and I found warmer socks.

I literally had run out of my running shoes. I looked down at my toes and knew the triple blood blisters were not norm. But what to do? The day’s first tiny miracle- remember that?- was a pair of Nike Free Runs online in my size for $40.00. Which you would know, if you’re a serious runner, is amazing for such high quality training shoes that usually start at $100.00 plus!

With determination and a sense of urgency, my audio project went from 12% complete to 60% complete. Pretty productive for a porch sit. The wind was wasting away on my chopped hair, but it felt good and my mind was focused. With the day progressing, the sun digressing, things were working out and looking up. I love not going to school!

No matter how cold I was when I woke up, no matter how sad the news I received when I woke up was, no matter how terrible I looked (and probably smelled) when I woke up, God brought to me a sunshiny day. A day that, despite it’s unusual amount of hiccups, turned out to be another day my heart could rest in His grace, at peace with everything that had happened.

He gave me a hairdryer to solve the cold. He gave me friends and family to console with me. He gave me time to finish projects. He gave me comfort in the promise of another day, completely different from the one I had today.

 

 

I Love the Cleaning Lady

The Cleaning Lady, in her over-sized brown tank, has one hand on the running while the other grasps for her ringing cell phone.

“Good Morning!” I yelled over my headphones (LMFAO was playing Sexy and I know it but I did not feel sexy- more like, sweaty and I know it!)

She smiles as she talks to her “sweetie” on the device.

And so, like a creepy college kid or a bored housewife, I watched her. I had nothing else to do and a treadmill run meant I’d never really go anywhere except up and down at 7.0. But it wasn’t just the lack of entertainment that had me focusing on her. The gym had T.V’s playing Law and Order. I had an ipod as tiny as a cheezit at my fingertips. But I don’t really care about technology. I really care about people. And she had a servant’s heart. It was very obvious. So I watched. I watched her so I could learn.

I hit 40 minutes and shed my pink sweatshirt to let my dad’s old football tee-shirt breathe underneath. I was dreaming of a pickle and pesto hummus sandwich for breakfast (a surprising 165 calorie protein filler-upper). The Cleaning Lady was wiping down the runner to the treadmill on the left of me. Her phone call was finished and as she came around to the other side, she bent over to pick up my sweatshirt I had dropped to the ground.

“I’m Sorry!” I yelled again but this time because I was out of breathe (I had turned my headphones off 15 minutes ago to better balance my breathing).

“Just keep going, honey.” She replied as she leaned over to see past my right shoulder. “You’re almost done!”

Sure enough, my timer blinked 58 minutes. Exhausted but on a second wind, I pumped my arms a bit faster to prove her right. I could finish. She went about tidying up the place, a towel in her back pocket, her glasses murky with the residue of Kleenex. She held on to my pink sweatshirt, keeping it off the floor even though I didn’t mind it being dirty. She did. She cared about my sweatshirt.

When the treadmill stopped, she came to my side and personally handed me my article of extra clothing. It sounds rather lame. But I watched her for some time. She went above and beyond and didn’t say much. But she inadvertently took care of me.

I love the Cleaning Lady!