These are the big things.
The things you thought seemed so minuscule or even petty. The things you never dreamed you would remember as important. Look up. They are. They are important and they are grand and they are beautiful. They are the little details of life that may go unnoticed by most. But not you. No, not you anymore. You with your sentimental glances that try to take in each individual pixel of what they call “the big picture.” You with your big heart that worries and your black notebook in hand, ready to write down anything you fear might slip away. You with your outstretched arms looking to embrace this moment, this feeling, and live in it for a while. Most of the time we live our lives for milestones. Huge moments lined up one by one. A bucket list ruled by society, family, friends, religion. Check, check, check. The milestones remind me of those toys in waiting rooms, the ones with the little colorful plastic beads that you can slide down the metal wires. And you take one and move it around and around the curly line until it reaches the end. Then you grab the next one and the next until you’re all out of beads. But they’re all smashed together and there’s no more room to breathe. There’s no room for error. There’s no room for what you thought were the small things. The quiet mornings before anyone is awake when you sip tea and read a book and a cat snores next to you. The hours spent talking in a dimly lit coffeehouse. The poem written on a Tuesday night because you had to. The afternoons alone in a museum. The conversations in the car when you should go inside but don’t want to. The bubble baths and fluffy comforters and hotel cappuccinos. The rain droplets on a bus window and the cold wind that takes your breath and threatens to push you, to move you. Let it. Let it pick you up and move your feet farther than the milestones and planned out futures and bucket lists. Hit the end of the wire and go past it. Live in these moments. Wrap yourself in them. A dear friend wrote that once. Pick up that grey sweater-knit blanket you love and wrap yourself in this feeling right here, right now. It’s not small, and neither are you. Take your black notebook with you everywhere. For thoughts and ideas, for bits of conversation and book quotes that give you chills, for little details like the kind blue-green eyes and the red lipstick. And write it all down, don’t forget a thing. Because these are the big things, my friend. Look up. You don’t want to miss them. Written by Sarah
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6/6/2016 1 Comment Red LetterI bought a journaling bible. So I could put my words next to his. Maybe if I saw them together I’d feel closer.
Script letters of my own around the type that I’ve known. Letters of Paul’s I’ve absorbed. Psalms I’ve cried out as my own. Shapes of passages on pages are ingrained in my mind. All my life. Printed. Solid. There. But I am here, and that feels far away. I have noticed the people around me, and bitterness is surfacing. They throw blame around like children, like it always has to be a fight. They beat around the bush with arguments and accusations. They do not acknowledge truths, but they will tell me how they hate lies. They will tell you too. They had me fooled. They do not move. We do not ever move. We say phrases like this life thing and when you think about it and for the best. We use euphemisms like fat pink erasers. We crop to fit. It is time now for the application portion of the test. There are wrong answers. They are called mistakes. Every one feeling bigger than the last. Smudges mark where you tried to erase them. Do over. Do over. Let me start again. But what would you do differently? Let yourself make the B. Let yourself hit rough patches. Let yourself fight. Even with the people you want to protect. Protect them now from apathy. Guard them from the same. Don’t stay. Move. Move, move, move. Write it out. Write it badly. Write it quiet, sad, and secret. Write it wrong. Write it loud, red, and clumsy. Write it messy. Clean is great, but it’s fragile. Always the mess pending, threatening to rise to power. Unless you’re alone. If you’re in control, you can keep it all in line. Yeah I know that one. I recognize that face. I’ve perfected it. That mask you craft with care and relentless attention to detail. Not missing any gaps. No cracks. Nothing gets through here. And nothing comes out either. I am afraid of how anger paralyzes me. I want so badly for things to be different. I simmer in that feeling. I feed it. It starves me. I have never seen things as black and white. I always felt like I was the only one who saw gray. In everything. Now it is more red. Holly Golightly style mean reds. Make me want to catch a yellow cab to Tiffany’s. Holly knew how to move. I remember the big round yellow pencils that were before the thin ones that click. They make a different sound, those introductory tools. The sound of Here I am now. Use me. Nice to meet you, it says. We are together now. There is a rhythm of newness. It is pregnant with music. Then it changes. I’ve been there, it says. Listen to this. My shaft is sleek. Calculate with me. Figure with me. My lines are hard. You will learn them. Lead squeaks on paper between you and me. Following the ebb and flow of your lead. I want to follow you. I love the feel of a book in my hands. It is the perfect balance of weight. Heavy hearts make for heavy hands. Heavy hands carry more weight than their own. Always more than their own. Those burdened hands itch and write heavy words. In the margins of books, quick notes bear their weight. Lines of a journaling bible filled with soul-breaths. It makes us lighter. These are no small things. Hearts emptied of themselves, these are the big things. We swallow these ideas. Drink these oceans of stories. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Open. We carry these shadows like it’s our job to know the dark. We crumble under the weight of what we were never meant to bear, and we call it strength. You are whole. You are substance. You are meaning. Grace sits on your shelf. Did you forget? You have mistakes. They are your chapters. They are not you. Keep reading. Keep falling. Keep climbing. This is up, and this is down. And you have never been alone. I am here. I cannot do this without you. I need you to help me move. There are still stories, seasoned by the smiles and worn by the tears they leave in their wake. There is the tide of living and breathing, chasing our feet along the shore of good intentions. There is the horizon, broad and strong, raising a new sun every morning, calling us out of ourselves. There is still tea with lots of ice and lemon. There are still orange cats. There is still blue and white gingham. There are still raspberries in little plastic baskets. These things remain. These things we can carry. So move. “I've felt sometimes like I'd be less trouble if I'd just sit back and be quiet. But dreams are too important.” // Brittany Ryan . . . This week I am thrilled to share the words of my dear friend and fellow creative, Suzannah Thompson, who graciously agreed to guest write for us. She is beautifully talented, my role model and a hero of a friend with whom I was lucky enough to travel the world. —Sarah To read more of Suz’s thoughts, check out her blog: heldtogetherbgk.wordpress.com 5/29/2016 2 Comments FlyThe used airline ticket sits next to my morning coffee, reminding me I have left and come back before, I can do it again. I look at my body like it’s the first time I’ve ever looked at anything. I whisper a little prayer. Let this body fly. Written and Photographed by Rachel
5/23/2016 2 Comments Life is happening.There’s this phrase I keep using in the busy excitement surrounding me these last few months.
Life is happening. And sometimes it seems really stupid and obvious because of course life is happening; it happens every day. But I guess what I really mean is, life is happening in such a way that makes me happy. That makes me feel challenged and smart and loved and sometimes tired. But mostly happy. Because I think my life is pretty good right now. Just writing that was scary for me. I’m afraid even uttering those words will jinx it and take it all away. But nevertheless I’m prone to sharing. And as I sit here in my grandparents’ quiet living room with the smell of brewing coffee and the Saturday morning sunlight lazily drifting in, I’d like to share this good life. I think it’s a common misconception that writers—if I can even call myself that—have to write about the gloom and doom in our lives. And to an extent that is true. I’ve been known to be unapologetically dramatic and pour out my soul from the low points in life. Because that’s how I deal with things. I settle into an emotion or feeling and process it as it leaves my fingertips, which is a little easier to do with the things that hit me the hardest. These things I feel so deeply that I have no choice but to reach out to others with my words. But the high points, why is this so hard? It feels awkward and selfish and scary to share what is going well in my life, to share what makes me feel full. But nevertheless I’m prone to sharing. Life right now is full of new jobs and opportunities, new responsibilities and experiences, new people and places. It can be intimidating, even a little overwhelming at times, but I know it’s good for me. I’m at a point where I can focus on my future instead of my past and that is so freeing. I have people who teach me new things and people who make me laugh and people who show me how loved I am. Life is a good balance of busy and fun. I wake up earlier than I have to because I’ve grown to appreciate a quiet morning and a cup of tea. I make a list of things that have to be done that day. I tie my hair up in a ponytail and push up my sleeves. I declutter my space and my head and get to work. I see the people I love and can feel how much they love and appreciate me back. I make a new playlist that embodies this life that is happening and listen to it and smile. These things may seems simple or petty even, but they make this heart of mine feel full. Because right now life is happening and someday it will be harder again. But I don’t want to always be seeking the “happening” or anxiously awaiting the gloom and doom. I want to be present, fully here, wherever this life takes me. I want to graciously welcome those who listen to this heart prone to sharing. And I want to call myself a writer, one who can pour out her soul from the high points and the low, and one who can always find this fullness as life continues to happen. Written by Sarah 5/16/2016 3 Comments My Older Sister.Dear Caitlin,
Over the past twenty years, you’ve always been there for me. That’s two whole decades of laughing, exploring and protecting. You’ve shown me how to be my own self and how to find my own way. You’ve taught me that to be different is to be human and to stand up for what I believe in. You’ve taught me how to dream. Do you remember that time we took that road trip down to Nashville? It was just the two of us, and we were quickly running out of gas. I remember you were gripping the steering wheel tight and trying to stay calm, while I was being a normal fourteen year old and freaking out. I was praying under my breath. God please don’t let us die on this friggin interstate. Fortunately, we did get to the nearest gas station with probably half a mile of gas to spare. I love that we went on the trip, not because we almost ran out of gas, but because you let me pretend I was a grown up like you. You made me feel like I was one of your friends. Do you remember when you moved out to San Francisco? Do you remember that goodbye we had to make? I don’t recall the exact moment, but I remember how I felt around that time when you left. I was so sad but so overwhelmed with excitement for you. You never told yourself that Cali was too far away or that you would wait until you were older. You just went for it. You’re the first sister to move out of the state (first Tennessee then California). I’m so thankful you moved out there, not because I don’t miss you (I miss you all the time!) but because it has opened doors for the rest of us. None of us are scared of leaving home and trying our own thing because you were willing to dream. Kk, you’re one of my biggest role models because you’re fearless and contagiously joyful. You’re fabulous, intelligent, beautiful and so dang awesome. You’re an adventurer and explorer. You’re the life of every party. You’re hilarious and you can make friends with anyone. You’re a daughter, a sister, a wife, and now a law school graduate. There’s nothing you can’t do. I’m so proud of you for graduating law school. You are boldly inspiring to everyone you meet, but especially to me. Love you, Rachel 5/9/2016 2 Comments Where to start...I’ve never enjoyed packing. I only know a handful of people who are good at it, but sadly I was not blessed with that talent. Usually it just leaves me sitting in the floor not knowing where to start.
For me, I think it goes beyond folding shirts and wrapping mugs in newspapers. It’s the unknown waiting for my boxes or suitcases. Even when I’m excited about my destination, my next phase, it is still hard to pack up. Even when I want to go, my heart is a little hesitant to give up the familiar. Because it’s safe. It may not be easy or comfortable even, but I’ve already figured it out. I’ve learned how to live it. Even when I desperately want what is on the other side of the move, I sometimes cling to my broken-in phase of life. . . . I think a lot about lasts―I’m kind of sentimental if you couldn’t tell―but I think a lot of my firsts fly by unnoticed. The first time you traveled there, the first time you poured your heart out in that long email, the first time he talked to you for three hours. These firsts are the ones that shape your life, that help you transition into the next phase. And when I’m sitting on the floor, they tell me where to start. See that picture frame. Pick it up, look at it, remember it. Now wrap it up so the glass won’t break. Keep going. You can do this. Packing forces you to be reflective and progressive all in one swoop. You get rid of the things that don’t fit you anymore, the things you never use, and keep those that are most special. You make room for what’s to come but hold on to the favorite memories. So I pack up anyway. I fold the shirts and wrap the mugs and remind myself that the unknown isn’t always scary. It can be exciting and fun and just what you needed. And you’ll get to your new place with your new things (and some old things) and you will be alright. You will. You’ll get to unpack and create a new routine. You’ll have new people with new inside jokes. And it won’t be as scary anymore. Unwrap that picture frame. Put it here, on the new shelf. And maybe the next time things change, it will be a little easier. Maybe the next time you have to pack up and move, you'll know where to start. Written by Sarah 5/1/2016 2 Comments Chopin, Bishop and VanCurenToday was the first time I heard a professor say shit and I thought I would cry from pure happiness. Here, they breed perfection and religion. All in one hand—no room left for faith in fear that the perfection or the religion would fall through those little baby fingers. And so with that one word I awake. No, Kate* isn’t there with me but I feel her. I feel freer from the courage and I really feel like my professor is telling me something with worth. And weight—something like a Bishopian** poem or the Huck Finn book I may never understand. Those things I will keep chomping and eating until I get it or until I die (whichever one comes sooner…most likely death). Here, this weight, this word is the reason for art and emotions and life. This breaking through—through cultures and conversations and sins and dress codes and judgments and sexism and homophobia. With less hate and anger in my heart from this awakening there might be room for faith (the thing I will find even though sometimes it feels like my eyes grow dry and agitated from searching and searching). My heart might have more room for thanks. But what about the side of my heart that doesn’t have room? I fear that my bricked up side, that side formed from centuries of war and religion forming and forming until the material is so solid and firm, will never come down. Yet, I whisper shit shit shit again and again until I remember that this awakening isn’t what I do everyday, every morn. No, it’s an eternal awakening—no need for sleep or tiredness in this noon hour. And I smile! There will be time to crack and remove the bricks on the other side. Because I am not like here—with only one hand that fits only two things. I have two strong hands! And these two hands can hold on to one another in prayer. So God, my name is Rachel. Nice to meet you. I’d like to say hi. How are you doing today? And I’m thank filled (this emotion with enough power to crack crack crack at the other side of my heart) because of that professor. Written by Rachel *Kate Chopin is the author of The Awakening (which is a very good book). **Elizabeth Bishop, a poet I really like. She’s a rebel. I tend to like rebels. 4/24/2016 2 Comments Begin“We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.” – Marina Keegan, The Opposite of Loneliness I tend to fall into this. This trap between attainable success and impending failure. This person between who I’m expected to be and who I am. This place between the American dream and my true passions. Sometimes it’s like my life is laid out before me and I’m just along for the ride. High school. Graduate. College. Graduate. Maybe more college. Graduate. Get a job that pays well. Get married. Have kids. Etc, etc. But what if I find a new passion? What if I stay in college and get another degree? What if the thing I end up doing has nothing to do with this ridiculously expensive college education? What if I change my mind numerous times??? I’m learning to accept that this is okay because we are so young, my friends. I’m learning there is no acceptable reason to live unhappily because you felt like it was too late for change. Yes, people will be more accomplished; there will always be someone better than you. However, maybe that just means that there is always someone from which you can learn something new. Looking back, these are some of my favorite people. Those people who push you, who make you want to work harder than you thought possible to be where they are. The idea that it is too late to start something new is crazy. Humorous, almost. People always look at college students and say that we have our whole lives ahead of us, but why does that have to mean our lives can only take one path? If you are absolutely certain of what you’re doing with your life post-college, congrats. I sometimes envy you. To the rest of the confused individuals like myself I urge you to take a class that you don’t need but want to take, try writing poetry for the first time, find a summer job that makes you happy instead of one that simply looks good on your resume. Discover where your passions lie and know that it’s okay if there are several different places. And this doesn't just apply to college students. No matter where you are in life, you can always start something new. Never give up your sense of possibility; it’s never too late to begin your beginning. Written by Sarah 4/17/2016 2 Comments Just a Little Poem...The Wind takes a breath of me in, I am lost. Surrounded, still I’ve never felt freer. I could jump or run or cry Without ever tiring. Yes. You, my love, You are my everything. And nothing at the same time. Just a person. A human. Yet I see it in you. The way the Wind spreads across the trees, Causing the steady leaves to move. Yes, I am the tree. You are the Wind. As my toes trace the floor beneath my seat, I whisper words that have started wars, and words that have caused this world to start spinning and others to end. I whisper “I love you”. And you whisper it back. Even when my toes get cold, or I change the way I’m sitting, My toes ache for the touch of those hardwood floors. Written by Rachel 4/10/2016 1 Comment Best yearsThere’s something very strange about college. There seems to be this feeling and I haven’t found a word for it. It must be something in the water. It’s not really community and it’s not friendship and it’s maybe not love either, but there’s something. Just a feeling that others are there, where you are, doing what you’re doing.
A lot of people have regrets about their time in college. For some it may be not getting into that club or program. For others it may be switching majors five times. I tend to focus on the things I could’ve done better. Studied harder. Worked longer. Learned more. But the thing is, probably none of us will live up to this ridiculously perfect future self we have in our heads. And it’s okay. It’s okay that you didn’t do all of your homework and it’s okay that you never asked that one guy out. It’s okay if you never felt completely confident in your major all these years. College, like a lot of places in life, is full of insiders and outsiders. The insiders are living their “experience” in this fun bubble and may never see any negative about it. They’ll give their old sweatshirts to their children someday and teach them their alma mater. And there’s nothing wrong with that. And then you have the outsiders: people who don’t exactly know how they got here or how they fit into this weird place. The people who know that a lot of college is about appearances. We need to look pretty close to perfect and ignore anything else. The outsiders are comfortable not meeting these standards and try to find their own way. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But there’s something that brings us together. Maybe it’s the staggering amount of student debt or the lack of sleep or maybe it’s this feeling, this togetherness―I wish I had a better word for it. We are the small portion of the population who complain about cafeteria food and 8 a.m. class. We float in this place of post-childhood-pre-adulthood and soak in knowledge like little sponges. We go to parties and try our best to understand money things. We try to work and take 18 hours of classes. We apply for internships and things that look good on a resume but worry about who will hire us if we don’t have any experience and do we really want to do this anyway? That’s what we need. More experience. More knowledge. More work. More money. More. College is a lot of looking like you have it together when you don’t. More appearances. It’s stressful and you’ll have your fair share of breakdowns, but I hope it’s not the worst years of your life. Because college is also fun. There are good people that you need to meet― not the ones that are forced but the ones that you find and just get you. There are professors who will change your life and show you what you’re passionate about. There are places to travel and explore. But I also hope these aren’t the best years of your life. The idea that these are going to be what I look back on as “the best years of my life” is absurd. College is supposed to prepare me to do better, to be better. Even though some people will never understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. Even though some people like to remind me that I won’t make any money in journalism. I will never be a doctor or engineer, sorry grandma. I hate blood and calculus too much for that. Sometimes our road will be hard for various reasons. Sometimes we’ll have to scrap it and start from the beginning. Sometimes you’ll look back and think about your life in college. But my best years, our best years, are up ahead. College is a huge part of you and you get to take that with you. You get to put it in your suitcase when you move to New York or shove in your closet when you buy your first house in that small town that you love. You get to carry it around in your pocket when you’re a dentist or when you work for the UN or when you’re someone’s favorite professor. The future is scary and big and none of us really know what’s out there. But I have to believe that I can make it pretty great even if I don’t know how yet. So for now go to that party, take that class that sounds cool but you don’t need, study in Europe for a semester, talk to that boy you think is cute, listen to your favorite professor, sit around and drink coffee with those people that you needed to meet in college. It’s one of my favorite places, really: solving life's problems with your best friends over a few cups of coffee― pastries not required but definitely preferred. And you talk about money and school and how you don’t get any sleep and how you’re unsure about the future. But when that kind stranger at the next table who has been sort of listening gets up to leave, you notice how some people are nice even though they don’t have to be. When he looks you in the eyes, you know he’s been where you are and he knows this feeling. When he tells you that you’re going to be alright after college, you believe him. You’ll be alright. You will. Your best years are coming. Written by Sarah |
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