Sometimes my mind gets so filled with thoughts, I feel like the only way to calm my spirit is to either go for a quick walk around the block or a long walk up a mountain. It's 12:12 AM, so this will do for now.
A quote sent to me by a friend of mine (and excellent physics tutor might I add), has been intriguing me and my mind's been reeling trying to figure out why ever since. He shared the quote with me and we exchanged thoughts through the personally intimate form of "google chat". Don't pretend you're above it. I've dropped out his name....just in case :) Some of it has been pasted below:
wise boy @ gmail.com: anyway there was this one passage that really stuck out to me. it's from a chapter called "You Need a Commitment Strategy Not an Exit Strategy"
me: ohh cool hmmm. i like it.
wise boy @ gmail.com: "Would you go into a relationship planning the breakup? Would you write the prenup on a first date? Would you meet with a divorce lawyer the morning of your wedding? That would be ridiculous, right?
You need a commitment strategy, not an exit strategy. You should be thinking about how to make your project grow and succeed, not how you’re going to jump ship. If your whole strategy is based on leaving, chances are you won’t get far in the first place.
…Don’t be that guy. If you do manage to get a good thing going, keep it going. Good things don’t come around that often. Don’t let your business be the one that got away."
(side note: of course we both automatically apply the above advice to relationships. this is because we are both in our mid-twenties and thus the topic is incessantly talked about, laughed over, cried for, analyzed too much and has been frequently prayed for to just go away)
me: awwww i love it. you should post it as your status. its a good word
wise boy @ gmail.com: that's a long status
me: i think sometimes boys forget to hold on with both hands. and then girls get insecure and think the boys don't care when they're only holding on with one. so then we let go of the other hand to protect ourselves. and then theres no more hand holding
wise boy @ gmail.com: oh wow, what a nice illustration
me: thanks
wise boy @ gmail.com: I like it
me: you can add that to your status as well ;)
wise boy @ gmail.com: ha ok we'll see
me: or ill blog about it
wise boy @ gmail.com: you should blog about it
me: :)
and we here we are.
This is not to dog men. At all. Or women. Quite the opposite. In fact I think both sexes are quite lovely. And if people have been figuring out how to make relationships work for the past thousands of years, then we here in 2010 will probably be ok. I just realized that the girl who lets go is me. And, yes some of my friends. Maybe all women, but I don't know all of them, so I'm not going to make that generalization.
My bottom line(s) is (are) this (these). Boy meets girl. Girl and said Boy like each other. They hold hands. Boy gets distracted/thinks girl knows how much he cares/takes time to figure himself out/has other crazy things in life going on. Boy lets go just with one hand. Just for a quick second to get things figured out. Girl notices IMMEDIATELY. Girl tries to play it cool- this lasts about 3 seconds. Girl is insecure and automatically assumes boy never has nor ever will care about her. Girl lets go of Boy's hand to protect Girl's heart. Boy comes back and is bewildered (? maybe. I'm not a boy, so I don't know).
Boy and Girl both learn. Boy tells girl he's going to let go, for just a bit, just with the one hand. Girl trusts Boy and also trusts that God made her something worth being held on to.
Mid- twenties relationship dramas find themselves extinct and decide to settle down nicely in the 7th grade with their cohorts "acne drama' and "I hate my (fill in the blank) drama".
The End.
July 23, 2010
July 20, 2010
found it
I've had beautiful on the mind lately. I think it started to stick with me as a concept when waiting to wash my hands in the bathroom of a West Seattle bar. I stood "in line" behind the one sink while I watched a woman apply and reapply her lipstick. We were the only two women in the bathroom and to say the silence was awkward would be a severe understatement. Often in these situations, I find myself making small chat just to bring down the level of discomfort in the situation. But not this time. I just watched. Impatiently. Though I found it top priority to sanitize, this lady had puckering up at the top of her list. I stood there for about 3 hours (45 seconds really). Is that sexy?, I thought. Hot, pretty, or attractive, to have lipstick on. Is it beautiful? Would she be embarrassed to go back out there without it on? Who does she have waiting for her that really cares? Does she have multiple shades for different events? Will it matter she has it on once she's taken the first sip of her drink?
She finally stepped out of my way without making eye contact- I was ready to have a stare down. My image was revealed in the mirror. After spending the better part of the afternoon and evening at Alki my hair is up in its usual pony tail, wind whipped and starting to curl from the moisture in the air. I have on a sweat shirt that reeks gloriously of bon fire. The shorts I was wearing were actually jeans last year until a 100+ day requested me to grab a pair of scissors and cut them off. I can't remember if I put on mascara that morning though I'm assuming I did because I have not yet been carded at the bar. Is this at all sexy? Hot, pretty, attractive. It's undoubtedly genuine. But is it beautiful?
I think we throw around this word "beautiful" like Steve Pool throws around the term "sun break". It always sounds nice, but do we ever actually see it? Know what it is? What it feels like? I think
She finally stepped out of my way without making eye contact- I was ready to have a stare down. My image was revealed in the mirror. After spending the better part of the afternoon and evening at Alki my hair is up in its usual pony tail, wind whipped and starting to curl from the moisture in the air. I have on a sweat shirt that reeks gloriously of bon fire. The shorts I was wearing were actually jeans last year until a 100+ day requested me to grab a pair of scissors and cut them off. I can't remember if I put on mascara that morning though I'm assuming I did because I have not yet been carded at the bar. Is this at all sexy? Hot, pretty, attractive. It's undoubtedly genuine. But is it beautiful?
I think we throw around this word "beautiful" like Steve Pool throws around the term "sun break". It always sounds nice, but do we ever actually see it? Know what it is? What it feels like? I think
deep down in our souls all these questions are answered with a resounding YES! What about more towards the surface of our souls? Do we see beauty there? Feel it? Know what it is? Do we believe it's as projected on to other people as our friends tell us it is. Do we scoff when people tell us we look nice? That we're attractive? Gorgeous? Worth a Savior?
Not a single answer tonight. Nothing profound is coming to mind ( not to say that profound is my "norm"). And hey not to dog on lipstick here either, if I had the pucker upper's who knows what color tints I'd be sporting. Just thinking things through. Because when I opened up my laptop tonight I saw this picture on my desk top. Ahhhh. There it is.
Not a single answer tonight. Nothing profound is coming to mind ( not to say that profound is my "norm"). And hey not to dog on lipstick here either, if I had the pucker upper's who knows what color tints I'd be sporting. Just thinking things through. Because when I opened up my laptop tonight I saw this picture on my desk top. Ahhhh. There it is.
July 07, 2010
Just a girl. And her dad.
I had myself "A Week' a few weeks ago. Nothing horrible happened. There was nothing to grieve (except maybe my pride- I tripped down the stairs while an attractive man was coming up them. I told him to not take the stairs lightly. He didn't understand my humor. All I have to show from the incident is a dented ego and a bruise on my left thigh). There have not been any drastic life changes and despite the injured thigh and hurt pride, I have managed to persevere (imagine that!). No, nothing horrible. Just rough. It was chalk full of tough conversations, hurting hearts, overwhelming thoughts, running from one thing to the other, ending a job without having a new one, trying to figure out why my computer only shows 2/3 of the screen, and way too much physics reading. My precious Rav 4 has also not been herself lately. And so, being the single, 26 1/2 year old woman that I am, I did what I would like to think any other peer would do in the same situation. I went home and told my dad.
"How about this," he says, "if you pay for the emissions test, I'll go ahead and take care of your tabs." A relief floods over me. As he tells me to go grab my keys, for a moment I am irritated. I had an afternoon planned of physics and maybe a nap, then car crap. I check myself and my selfishness, find my keys, and meet him out front. It is a dreary day and feels more like early March than late June. As we drive out of our neighborhood I know what question is coming first. "So tell me what's going on in your life," he says with genuine interest. I smile, so glad he has asked. It doesn't get much better than debriefing life with my dad. Except for maybe chatting about it with my mom and best friends. I hesitate for about a second and then tell him everything. My stresses about classes, money, my future. Boys, lack of boys. My insecurities, my confidences. He understands my sarcasm (ie my love language). I tell him about some of my friends. I talk to him about God. All the while he listens and responds with reassuring responses. Encouraging me to share more. As if he, at 65, can absolutely understand and relate to me.
After I dish it all out in between emissions tests, figuring out my fuel injector issues, and filling my car with gas ("Why don't I go ahead and fill up your tank, sweetheart"), he says the words I don't know I am longing to here. "You know Court, I am just so proud of you." I am shocked. After hearing about all my crap and inadequacies, the man who is most caught up on all of it, is proud of me. We chat about who I'm becoming and what that means. We talk about men and time and how sometimes things with men take time. He makes me laugh about my plights and sees my life as something that has so much hope and so much brightness. He reminds me that there is a bigger plan for my life and in his own way, points me back to Christ. I got into the car earlier in the afternoon feeling like $1.50. By the time we are back home, I feel like a million bucks and then some.
He is not perfect, and he is often (though not always- sometimes he needs my help) the first to tell you that. And our Lord knows we butt heads. Where my mom has the sweet, quieter demeanor of letting things work themselves out, I have embodied the other part of the gene pool that involves passionately verbalizing how I feel, when I feel it. Believe it or not friends, this can at times lead to communication breakdown. Despite, and perhaps even because of his imperfections, my dad is my hero. In a world where a girl can feel like she is nothing without a great career, a husband and babies to show for herself, my dad is consistently present. He humbly loves God. He loves his wife well. And he is proud of his family. Of course I strive to look to God first. But my dad is pretty great.
It's late on a Tuesday night. I have no job to wake up for. No career to focus on. Yet. Not a whole lot of money in the bank account. I am not confident of what my future holds- I am more concerned about what it doesn't. Yet, I will sleep well tonight. I am a girl loved by her dad. Beautifully rreminded of how much intimately more her Heavenly Father must love her.
“You parents—if your daughter asks for a loaf of bread, do you give her a stone instead? Or if she asks for a fish, do you give her a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11
"How about this," he says, "if you pay for the emissions test, I'll go ahead and take care of your tabs." A relief floods over me. As he tells me to go grab my keys, for a moment I am irritated. I had an afternoon planned of physics and maybe a nap, then car crap. I check myself and my selfishness, find my keys, and meet him out front. It is a dreary day and feels more like early March than late June. As we drive out of our neighborhood I know what question is coming first. "So tell me what's going on in your life," he says with genuine interest. I smile, so glad he has asked. It doesn't get much better than debriefing life with my dad. Except for maybe chatting about it with my mom and best friends. I hesitate for about a second and then tell him everything. My stresses about classes, money, my future. Boys, lack of boys. My insecurities, my confidences. He understands my sarcasm (ie my love language). I tell him about some of my friends. I talk to him about God. All the while he listens and responds with reassuring responses. Encouraging me to share more. As if he, at 65, can absolutely understand and relate to me.
After I dish it all out in between emissions tests, figuring out my fuel injector issues, and filling my car with gas ("Why don't I go ahead and fill up your tank, sweetheart"), he says the words I don't know I am longing to here. "You know Court, I am just so proud of you." I am shocked. After hearing about all my crap and inadequacies, the man who is most caught up on all of it, is proud of me. We chat about who I'm becoming and what that means. We talk about men and time and how sometimes things with men take time. He makes me laugh about my plights and sees my life as something that has so much hope and so much brightness. He reminds me that there is a bigger plan for my life and in his own way, points me back to Christ. I got into the car earlier in the afternoon feeling like $1.50. By the time we are back home, I feel like a million bucks and then some.
He is not perfect, and he is often (though not always- sometimes he needs my help) the first to tell you that. And our Lord knows we butt heads. Where my mom has the sweet, quieter demeanor of letting things work themselves out, I have embodied the other part of the gene pool that involves passionately verbalizing how I feel, when I feel it. Believe it or not friends, this can at times lead to communication breakdown. Despite, and perhaps even because of his imperfections, my dad is my hero. In a world where a girl can feel like she is nothing without a great career, a husband and babies to show for herself, my dad is consistently present. He humbly loves God. He loves his wife well. And he is proud of his family. Of course I strive to look to God first. But my dad is pretty great.
It's late on a Tuesday night. I have no job to wake up for. No career to focus on. Yet. Not a whole lot of money in the bank account. I am not confident of what my future holds- I am more concerned about what it doesn't. Yet, I will sleep well tonight. I am a girl loved by her dad. Beautifully rreminded of how much intimately more her Heavenly Father must love her.
“You parents—if your daughter asks for a loaf of bread, do you give her a stone instead? Or if she asks for a fish, do you give her a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11
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