Wednesday November 11, 2015 1257

Yesterday I went into the house, I put my head on my Dad's shoulder and closed my eyes. I took in his smell, the feel of his warm skin on his arm, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. I remembered being a child, and feeling, smelling, hearing all these exact things with my head on his chest hearing his heart beat. I wanted to take this all in, because I can.
Life is a weird thing. It's predictable and you make plans until something comes alone and shakes you to your core. Then you figure out how to cope, until the next thing happens. And one day you die and it's all over. And what did you make of it? There's no second chances. Your active story ends there. What continues on is in the hands of those you left behind.
I'm twenty-seven. I remember not too long ago thirty seemed so old. I would see pictures and hear stories of people this age and thing they were old--they were the wives and mothers and successful whatevers with stories and their lives together. I'm twenty-seven with nothing to show for it--or so it would seem.
When I thought back on everything I would have missed had that wreck been worse, it shows me that even though I may not have a list of typical accomplishments, I have a very full life.
I would have never danced more than those first two weeks--not even enough to be known. Jackie and I would have been friends. I would have never gotten to babysit Piper or meet Bo. I never would have met--let alone live with--Kara. Never would have seen Bianca's wedding. Or Sarah's. Or Jamies, or Kim's, or Carolyn's. I never would have met Evelyn Barron. Kim would have been at my funeral. I never would have known Andie or Annika or Allison. Never would have gotten to know Hannah. I never would have gone to Munro, wouldn't know half my cousins. I wouldn't have ever done another recital or gotten pointe shoes. I never would have done Nutcracker, or met the Rowland's or Cortez's or Elizabeth or anyone else at the studio. Countless people would have had to have found a different photographer, or just not have pictures of certain events. My ballet blog wouldn't exist. Dad would have never built my house. I never would have seen Amsterdam.

The last four years have been pretty definitive for my life.
I may not be married or have x number of kids or some fancy title, but I have a pretty great life; one I'm glad I haven't missed out on. Even with its trials and hardships.
And there's still more ahead. How much more, one can never be certain.

And I'd like to think that my life is defined by more than just the number of years I'm on the earth, but rather what I do with those years. A full life shouldn't be defined by length, but rather depth. Squeezing every ounce out of every day you get to wake up again. I don't want to waste one precious second.

I'm different. I know I'm different--it's clear. I'm learning more about my differences and how to hand life living with these differences, but sometimes life is unforgiving. Change happens and you can't control it, you have to accept it as part of the story instead of an error. People die, people hurt you, things end up differently than expected. You have to handle it. But you also have to know when enough is enough and to make a change. Sit tight until you know it needs to happen--then do it. Do it and don't look back.
This is your life--your one, precious life. Don't let other people hold you back. Be kind every second you can, fix your mistakes when you make them. Apologize--and mean it. Strive to be a better you. There is always something new to learn; some way to grow into a better person than you were before.
There will be pain, and mean people, and cruel things that don't make sense. But these things don't define you, they refine you.

Never Alone. ©

Head in my hands
The pain of the day
leaks from my eyes
onto the floor.
Inhaling the reality
this won't go away easily.
I match my breathing
to the beating of my heart
pumping life into my veins.
Supplying the rhythm
that surges through my being.
I life my head and
take that fist step.
As the weather seems
to have gotten the memo,
I close my eyes,
let it seep into my skin.
The heavens and earth
understand my pain
and cry with me.

©

It's five am in Amsterdam 
Far away from where I am
I close my eyes 
Let out a sigh 
And pretend I'm there again

I don't know.

Post-Europe Depression is real.

I long for the canals of Amsterdam.
Walking the narrow streets as the bikes pass by, breathing in the crisp air as the wind graces my face. Hands in my pockets, street lights across buildings, bells tolling the hour.

I long for the streets of Paris.
Popping into museums to visit old friends on the walls, vendors enticing their goods out of green boxes, the Seine guiding me along my way, laying in a field in front of the Eiffel Tower.

I long for the rain of London.
Hopping on subways full of other travelers, tile lined station walls and stairs leading up to different pockets of life. Cafes and the arts welcoming you anywhere your head turns.

The last time I was in rain, it was in Europe. It covered me, soaking into my pours, holding me like a loved one.
It rained today.
Touching my skin, taking the place where the breeze used to blow and the drops were before.

Western rain doesn't feel the same.

Things lately.

I was flipping through the journals from the last year and a half since I moved home last night.
I'm going out of the country for 13 days and I don't want my family to read them if they pack up parts of my room while I'm gone, so a friend I trust offered to hold onto them for me.

There are five journals, not including my current one.
I didn't intend to read them, but got caught on a few parts when checking for the dates to make sure I didn't miss a journal. (Which I had. So good thing I checked.)

Things were so hard. I was so sad.
And things can still be difficult and I can still be sad, but generally life is so much better now.
I don't know if that's just because I'm leaving the country Friday and my house is almost done and all these other good things are happening, or if it's because life is actually better.
But since Oz things have been notably better. Almost as though the show was the actual catalyst. It began very difficultly, but by the end my heart was so full and happy.

Sucky things still happen.

• my friend died
• my cat died
• ballet has been rough
• work is difficult

But the way I feel during and after the sucky things has changed.
I'm not as hopeless.
The sadness doesn't feel as sad.
I have these people that call me their friend and care about me.
These people supporting me in what I do.
These people laughing with me, yet crying with me.
These people sharing the same quirks I thought I should be embarrassed over.
But I don't have to be. Because I'm not the only one.
I have these people that help me become a better version of myself.

So life is weird.
I don't know what's next, I don't know what's ahead. It feels like something is waiting for me, but I couldn't tell you what it is.
Whatever it may be, it has to be good.

Here we go again.

Initial writings after tragedy.
More to come, I'm sure.

My Eyes Are Green and Red ©

It wasn't supposed to be you. 
Full of life and promise,
That's who you're supposed to be. 
That's changed.

The drone of cheers and celebration ring in my ears 
But all I think about is you. 
You're gone now. 
And I'm at a loss for words.

It wasn't supposed to be you.

This holiday can never be the same. 
I'm sure in time I'll celebrate again 
But not without remembering 
This day. 
This moment. 
The pain I'm trying to drown until I'm left alone to grieve.

Words can never be a worthy enough tribute 
To who you are--were--and what you mean to me.

I miss you.

©

Grief hit me like a wave 
Swelling up on the typically calm shore.
But I don't know if I can surf today.
Regret sinks in the pit of my stomach 
Your voice echoing in my ears 
Deep breaths, just hold it together 
My lips are numb, this can't be real.

But it is.
And you're gone.

Fireworks lose their luster,
Dull against the dark of night. 
I hear the cheers, but I don't feel them. 
How can I when I just lost a piece of my heart?

I'm too young to have a funeral dress that has seen so much use.