"On a scale from one to ten, how scared are you right now?"
I said ten.
Looking back, I still say ten.
This was in February and I was clinging to a rock. Below me was a 10 foot fall to some more rocks. I was with my friend Ryan and my boyfriend Austyn, who was celebrating his birthday, so this was a birthday hike. I hadn't been on very many, but I knew Ryan and Austyn liked to hike, so I thought I would try it out. Little did I know, hiking to these boys also meant bouldering (minor rock climbing without any harnesses). So by the time the trail ended at rocks, I was surprised and a little nervous, but I'd been rock climbing in gyms before so this couldn't be that different.
It was very different.
There were many points on our "trail" where I had to be lifted up out of crevices and coached through my fear of heights (which I thought I had already conquered, but it conveniently returned). I had just been pulled out of one of these crevices by Ryan, Austyn was behind me, and we were sitting on top of a big rock. Ryan goes ahead onto the next boulder to conquer, salamander slaps himself against it and shimmies up to the next ledge about 8 feet above us.
I start looking around, the wind is blowing through my hair, and we are totally on the edge of a cliff.
"Okay, you're turn. Flatten yourself against the rock like Ryan just did. Don't look around. Go into tunnel vision, just look at the rock in front of you, and army crawl up. I'll be right behind you, Ryan is above you waiting. You can do this."
I didn't want to do this. I was terrified, my legs were shaking and I just wanted to go back down the mountain.
"There's no way back down. The only way to go is up."
Austyn was right, so I sucked it up, kept my eyes on the rock (which had no foot or hand-holds, by the way) and crawled.
That was a ten, and still is a ten. I have never been more scared in my life. I was easily imagining all the ways I could slide off that rock and to my death. I was forced to put full trust in two teenage boys to lead me up this rock. I didn't know what was next and waiting for me on the other side of that ledge, I didn't know how much farther until the summit, and I didn't know how much strength I had left.
Right now, my life is at a ten. I'm just starting college, I have some kind of idea of what I want to do, but not much. Mistakes and wrong decisions have more weight now than they did in high school. It's so easy to see all the ways I could fail. I don't know what the next four years will have in store for me, I don't know what kind of career I will end up in, and I don't know how far away that "summit" is. I don't know if I'm prepared for what life is going to throw at me. As far as my life goes, I am in tunnel vision. All I can do is stick to what I know, look at the weeks to come, and army crawl through it.
Not knowing is terrifying. It's a ten. But in times like these, I am lucky enough to know I have someone that I can put my trust in. I know there is someone up on the ledge ahead me, who can see where I'm going, guide me to where I will go, and knows how to get me to the summit. That's what faith is. That's why when there's nothing else I can do, I don't give up. I just keep going. I trust, because there's nothing else to do.
And no, it's not easy, and it never has come easy, and it never will. That hike was not easy. After climbing over that rock, there was still another half-hour of rocks to come before we got to the top. But it was well worth it. I was surprised by what my body could handle and I was proud of myself for keeping up with the guys.
And man, the view was beautiful. So I have hope that my life will be too.
~Kat
"Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope" (1 Peter 3:15)
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Too Cool for School...?
I got lost on the way to my first class. I somehow ended up in the music building (I think my subconcious was leading me to where I actually wanted to be). Anyways, after finding the right building, I tripped up the Women's stairs. I say Women's stairs becasue the sign for the stairway also indicated a women's restroom. At first glance it looked like the stairs were gender specific, just waiting for me to be able to fully express my femininity as I climbed them. I got a nice little chuckle out of that one. But the Women's stairs betrayed me, because when I tripped up them, any illusion that I was cool, calm, and collected was chucked out the window.
I was one of the last people to show up to class, so I plopped down in the back of the room. I was nervous being in a room filled with people I didn't know (except for the girl sitting next to me, I knew a little bit about her). I was brought back to that Freshman english class on my first day of high school where I knew not a soul, and any progress I had made the past few years with coming out of my shell and gaining some social skills seemed to have been left at home.
Then an angel in disguise stumbled into our class about 15 minutes before it was over. I vaguely recognized him as someone who was in my high school class. Then I remembered he was a senior standout, so a pretty popular dude. He was super frazzled and sat down in the last seat available right up front. He started rustling around in his backpack and then looked around and realized everyone is staring at him. Hi, are you in the right class? my teacher asks. No, he was not. After about five minutes of confusion, he realized his class started in a half hour and he was very early. So he packed up his stuff and awkwardly left.
I cannot tell you how much that poor little lost soul of a boy helped me out. This kid was very popular in high school: he had a beautiful girlfriend, tons of friends, was a total Rico Suave. But even he was out of his element, and it looked like the first day was hitting him much harder than it was hitting me. I couldn't help but smile.
Truth is, nobody is cool on the first day. No one. Not even Rico Suave. So really, there's no use in trying. Because face it, you're not cool. Any illusion that you were cool in high school is gone, because this isn't high school, and you probably weren't even that cool in the first place.
The rest of my first week was magic. The nerves were gone and I was able to meet some really nice people because I was freed from trying to keep up the facade of being cool, whatever that is. I was just trying to be myself. The kind of person who tripped up the Women's stairs and then on the way back down hit herself with the door.
~Kat
I was one of the last people to show up to class, so I plopped down in the back of the room. I was nervous being in a room filled with people I didn't know (except for the girl sitting next to me, I knew a little bit about her). I was brought back to that Freshman english class on my first day of high school where I knew not a soul, and any progress I had made the past few years with coming out of my shell and gaining some social skills seemed to have been left at home.
Then an angel in disguise stumbled into our class about 15 minutes before it was over. I vaguely recognized him as someone who was in my high school class. Then I remembered he was a senior standout, so a pretty popular dude. He was super frazzled and sat down in the last seat available right up front. He started rustling around in his backpack and then looked around and realized everyone is staring at him. Hi, are you in the right class? my teacher asks. No, he was not. After about five minutes of confusion, he realized his class started in a half hour and he was very early. So he packed up his stuff and awkwardly left.
I cannot tell you how much that poor little lost soul of a boy helped me out. This kid was very popular in high school: he had a beautiful girlfriend, tons of friends, was a total Rico Suave. But even he was out of his element, and it looked like the first day was hitting him much harder than it was hitting me. I couldn't help but smile.
Truth is, nobody is cool on the first day. No one. Not even Rico Suave. So really, there's no use in trying. Because face it, you're not cool. Any illusion that you were cool in high school is gone, because this isn't high school, and you probably weren't even that cool in the first place.
The rest of my first week was magic. The nerves were gone and I was able to meet some really nice people because I was freed from trying to keep up the facade of being cool, whatever that is. I was just trying to be myself. The kind of person who tripped up the Women's stairs and then on the way back down hit herself with the door.
~Kat
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Dear Fresh Meat at the Lunch Bunch Picnic,
and anyone else who is going to be experiencing a little bit of change in the months to come.
My first day of freshman year I spent an hour trying to figure out what to wear because I'd never had to pick out my own wardrobe for school before. Instead of plaid and polos, I chose jeans and a sky blue V-neck that was too big for me. I woke up the next morning and was exhausted when I realized I had to do this again. Nothing that I chose ever seemed to be good enough.
I have woken up and put on clothes for 1,339 days since then. They fit better now.
My first class of freshman year was english, and our teacher asked us to call her by her first name. I can still remember the group of girls sitting in the back corner of the classroom, chit-chatting every morning. I sat in the front row, an observer of their friendships and intermingling pasts, wishing I still had my old friends with me. Every once in a while I got the courage to say something to them and interrupt their already put together lives, hoping maybe one day I will have friends like that again. The first friend I made in high school was that english teacher.
Four years ago, I never would have believed it, but I have friends like that again. Although, I'm still friends with my english teacher.
Change is scary and uncomfortable. It's like when you have the flu and you promise you would appreciate normal so much more, if only you could get back to it. I've never liked change very much, but I've learned there is no going back. I've gone back to my old school, visited with old teachers and old friends, and it's not the same as it once was because they have all changed too. Change comes, and when it did, I had to learn the hard way not to fight it but to let it take me.
A friend shared a great metaphor with me, and being a surfer, it involved the ocean. He said that there will always be instances when you wipe out and get thrashed around by a wave. Your first instinct is to swim and find air, but when you're underwater and being rolled around, you don't know which way is up. You could very easily be swimming down. What you're supposed to do is the exact opposite of what you instinctually want to do: you are supposed to go limp. You don't swim, you let the wave take you. Once the water has calmed you open your eyes and you follow the bubbles, because the bubbles float up.
I had to let the change take me, and had to trust that the calm would come and I would be able to breath once again. And it did. The loneliness of freshman year subsided and I eventually did make friends. But it took me a long time, and if I could go back to my fifteen year old self and tell her one thing, I would tell her this: don't forget to swim. The water calms, but you can't lay there limp forever, you still have to swim. You do. I was so scared to speak up or join a conversation. So scared to ask if someone wanted to hang out after school, or sit together at lunch. I thought people would think I was weird, or make fun of me, or that their lives were already so figured out they would have no room in it for me, so I wouldn't even try.
Friends aren't going to just fall out of the sky. That took me a long time to figure out. Yes, sometimes someone would come around that was brave enough to start a conversation with the scared little me, but I had to make the effort on my own. It was scary, but it was worth it.
The past week I was reminded of this while watching presentations in an AP Language class. A girl was talking about what it means to be human, and how important human interaction is. She mentioned Maslow's hierarchy of needs. At the base of that pyramid is the essentials, but the next two things (safety and love and belonging) require people. I feel safe because of my parents. I feel love and belonging because of my friends. Only through their help was I ever able to gain self-esteem and self-actualization. According to Maslow, and what I've found to be true in my life as well, is that we will always need other people, because those people help us find ourselves.
So yes, change is scary. Having to meet new people is still scary for me, and the idea of having to make new friends all over again next year while still staying in touch with my old ones is daunting. But I will start those conversations because I know it is worth it. I will miss my school, my teachers, and my dear friends. Ironically, many of my dear friends are those girls from my freshman english class I was so intimidated yet enthralled by. The relationships I've made the past four years have made me feel safe and loved and wanted. Through that, I slowly became more confident in who I am.
I have changed a lot since my freshman year, but it isn't anything crazy or bad like I was scared I would change into. I am fundamentally the same, the only difference is I am more fundamentally myself.
~Kat
P.S. Thank you, Mattie. I've been wanting to write this for a while now. You're writing matters and you matter so much to me. It's what wrote this piece. You will swim and you will breath.
My first day of freshman year I spent an hour trying to figure out what to wear because I'd never had to pick out my own wardrobe for school before. Instead of plaid and polos, I chose jeans and a sky blue V-neck that was too big for me. I woke up the next morning and was exhausted when I realized I had to do this again. Nothing that I chose ever seemed to be good enough.
I have woken up and put on clothes for 1,339 days since then. They fit better now.
My first class of freshman year was english, and our teacher asked us to call her by her first name. I can still remember the group of girls sitting in the back corner of the classroom, chit-chatting every morning. I sat in the front row, an observer of their friendships and intermingling pasts, wishing I still had my old friends with me. Every once in a while I got the courage to say something to them and interrupt their already put together lives, hoping maybe one day I will have friends like that again. The first friend I made in high school was that english teacher.
Four years ago, I never would have believed it, but I have friends like that again. Although, I'm still friends with my english teacher.
Change is scary and uncomfortable. It's like when you have the flu and you promise you would appreciate normal so much more, if only you could get back to it. I've never liked change very much, but I've learned there is no going back. I've gone back to my old school, visited with old teachers and old friends, and it's not the same as it once was because they have all changed too. Change comes, and when it did, I had to learn the hard way not to fight it but to let it take me.
A friend shared a great metaphor with me, and being a surfer, it involved the ocean. He said that there will always be instances when you wipe out and get thrashed around by a wave. Your first instinct is to swim and find air, but when you're underwater and being rolled around, you don't know which way is up. You could very easily be swimming down. What you're supposed to do is the exact opposite of what you instinctually want to do: you are supposed to go limp. You don't swim, you let the wave take you. Once the water has calmed you open your eyes and you follow the bubbles, because the bubbles float up.
I had to let the change take me, and had to trust that the calm would come and I would be able to breath once again. And it did. The loneliness of freshman year subsided and I eventually did make friends. But it took me a long time, and if I could go back to my fifteen year old self and tell her one thing, I would tell her this: don't forget to swim. The water calms, but you can't lay there limp forever, you still have to swim. You do. I was so scared to speak up or join a conversation. So scared to ask if someone wanted to hang out after school, or sit together at lunch. I thought people would think I was weird, or make fun of me, or that their lives were already so figured out they would have no room in it for me, so I wouldn't even try.
Friends aren't going to just fall out of the sky. That took me a long time to figure out. Yes, sometimes someone would come around that was brave enough to start a conversation with the scared little me, but I had to make the effort on my own. It was scary, but it was worth it.
The past week I was reminded of this while watching presentations in an AP Language class. A girl was talking about what it means to be human, and how important human interaction is. She mentioned Maslow's hierarchy of needs. At the base of that pyramid is the essentials, but the next two things (safety and love and belonging) require people. I feel safe because of my parents. I feel love and belonging because of my friends. Only through their help was I ever able to gain self-esteem and self-actualization. According to Maslow, and what I've found to be true in my life as well, is that we will always need other people, because those people help us find ourselves.
So yes, change is scary. Having to meet new people is still scary for me, and the idea of having to make new friends all over again next year while still staying in touch with my old ones is daunting. But I will start those conversations because I know it is worth it. I will miss my school, my teachers, and my dear friends. Ironically, many of my dear friends are those girls from my freshman english class I was so intimidated yet enthralled by. The relationships I've made the past four years have made me feel safe and loved and wanted. Through that, I slowly became more confident in who I am.
I have changed a lot since my freshman year, but it isn't anything crazy or bad like I was scared I would change into. I am fundamentally the same, the only difference is I am more fundamentally myself.
~Kat
P.S. Thank you, Mattie. I've been wanting to write this for a while now. You're writing matters and you matter so much to me. It's what wrote this piece. You will swim and you will breath.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Paradox of Love and the Buttmunch Syndrome
Paradox: n. a statement that apparently contradicts itself and yet might be true.
Last night I was babysitting for two little boys, ages 4 and 6. I made them dinner, we played outside, had dessert, went through the whole bedtime routine, read a story, and then I put them to bed with the hall light on (not the bathroom light) and the door cracked open at about an eighty degree angle, so no monsters can creep into the shadows. After they were asleep I did all the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, picked up all the toys in the playroom, and tucked them neatly away.
I didn't have to do any of that. My job as babysitter was to corral the little monsters and keep them from self-destructing. Once they are asleep, my job is done. Yet I cleaned the whole house anyway, even though I don't really know these people all that well, and I'm not being paid any extra to do it. I just did, without thinking about it.
Thursday night I was home. Mom made us dinner. I was watching Netflix, happily enjoying my time not doing homework. I ate the dinner that was made for me, said thank you, and went back to watching Netflix. My mom cleaned up dinner. She just did, I didn't think anything of it.
The paradox is this: although I clearly love my mother much more than I love the family I babysit for, if you looked at my actions, it appears I love the family I barely know very much, and am impartial to my mother.
I was thinking about this tonight as I was voluntarily cleaning up after dinner, a rare occasion especially when I'm not prompted. And really, I was only doing it as an apology for royally screwing up lately and giving my mom some grief. That made me then think how mindlessly I will reach out to help people I barely know, and how just as mindlessly I will talk back or be immensely rude to my family, the people I love the most.
I can't really begin to understand why this is the way it is and how it came to be. But when I realized it, it scared me. The people we love the most should logically be the people that receive the majority of our kindness. I shouldn't have to feel threatened in order to clean up the kitchen. I shouldn't have to be prompted to clean my bathroom. And I definitely shouldn't so easily slip into the worst side of myself, spewing accusations and raising my voice.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have yelled at someone outside of my immediate family. Yet the times I've fought with my family are innumerable. I think it's because I know they will always love me, so there is no risk of being kicked out or never talked to again. So isn't it ironic that because our families extend this unconditional love, we then see it as a free pass to take advantage of?
Like I said earlier, I don't know why this is the way it is. If you do, feel free to enlighten me. In the meantime, I'm going to try my hardest to be slow to anger and quick to kindness, and show all the love I feel through my actions. Maybe that's the point of Mother's Day and Father's Day, to remind us all that even though we can be real buttmunches to eachother, we do still love eachother. More than anything.
~Kat
P.S. Mom, sorry for being such a buttmunch. And thanks for living with me anyway. Love, the pill with a capital P.
Last night I was babysitting for two little boys, ages 4 and 6. I made them dinner, we played outside, had dessert, went through the whole bedtime routine, read a story, and then I put them to bed with the hall light on (not the bathroom light) and the door cracked open at about an eighty degree angle, so no monsters can creep into the shadows. After they were asleep I did all the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, picked up all the toys in the playroom, and tucked them neatly away.
I didn't have to do any of that. My job as babysitter was to corral the little monsters and keep them from self-destructing. Once they are asleep, my job is done. Yet I cleaned the whole house anyway, even though I don't really know these people all that well, and I'm not being paid any extra to do it. I just did, without thinking about it.
Thursday night I was home. Mom made us dinner. I was watching Netflix, happily enjoying my time not doing homework. I ate the dinner that was made for me, said thank you, and went back to watching Netflix. My mom cleaned up dinner. She just did, I didn't think anything of it.
The paradox is this: although I clearly love my mother much more than I love the family I babysit for, if you looked at my actions, it appears I love the family I barely know very much, and am impartial to my mother.
I was thinking about this tonight as I was voluntarily cleaning up after dinner, a rare occasion especially when I'm not prompted. And really, I was only doing it as an apology for royally screwing up lately and giving my mom some grief. That made me then think how mindlessly I will reach out to help people I barely know, and how just as mindlessly I will talk back or be immensely rude to my family, the people I love the most.
I can't really begin to understand why this is the way it is and how it came to be. But when I realized it, it scared me. The people we love the most should logically be the people that receive the majority of our kindness. I shouldn't have to feel threatened in order to clean up the kitchen. I shouldn't have to be prompted to clean my bathroom. And I definitely shouldn't so easily slip into the worst side of myself, spewing accusations and raising my voice.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have yelled at someone outside of my immediate family. Yet the times I've fought with my family are innumerable. I think it's because I know they will always love me, so there is no risk of being kicked out or never talked to again. So isn't it ironic that because our families extend this unconditional love, we then see it as a free pass to take advantage of?
Like I said earlier, I don't know why this is the way it is. If you do, feel free to enlighten me. In the meantime, I'm going to try my hardest to be slow to anger and quick to kindness, and show all the love I feel through my actions. Maybe that's the point of Mother's Day and Father's Day, to remind us all that even though we can be real buttmunches to eachother, we do still love eachother. More than anything.
~Kat
P.S. Mom, sorry for being such a buttmunch. And thanks for living with me anyway. Love, the pill with a capital P.
Monday, March 3, 2014
The Paved Road
Sometimes when I desperately need to move, I freeze. Sometimes when something desperately needs to be said, I'm speechless.
The fear of taking the wrong step, or conveying the wrong message is somehow greater than the looming apathy that ensues when there's something to do, but nothing's being done.
A friend once told me that she didn't want her indecision to be the deciding factor. For her paths to be taken over and accepted back into the uncharted jungle of opportunity because she just didn't feel like keeping it clear anymore. Looking down the road less traveled, considering all the work it would be with no guarantee of a safe return, and choosing the paved road instead to live a sure life of normalcy.
Not applying to my dream school because I didn't want to write my life in 1000 words or less, to be judged by a stranger who decides whether or not my existence is worthy of their acceptance. But it was only one essay. One essay too much, for which I'm sorry, UCSD. You've been crossed off the top of the list, a transcript left unsent. Watch me slip into normalcy at SDSU should have tried harder.
I turned onto that paved road, and now I walk along it, looking at my shoes and the black asphalt beneath me. And it looks dark. I know I can raise my head, and there will be blue skies above me, filled with white puffy clouds and silver linings galore. This school will be fine for me, I can enjoy my home and showers sans sandals. But I can't help but wonder what that sky would have looked like a few miles off the well-beaten path. And whether there would actually have been any room for me.
But here's the moral to this all too true story:
If there's something you love beyond a doubt, never hesitate to seek it out.
Press Send.
Write the damn essay.
Ask them out to prom, the worst they could say is no. The best they could say is hell yes. And you'd be surprised, maybe there's a room full of people waiting for the chance to say that to you, if only you'd ask.
And so to neutralize the sad story of the time I was too scared, here is a story of bravery:
One day a girl was getting ready to see her best friend's band play their first big gig. He was her best friend, but he was never just a friend for her, not for the two years they'd known each other. Her ride was on the way when an idea popped into her head that she couldn't shake out. She grabbed a marker and poster board, and quickly wrote a message in all caps to be held up during the last song. Before she could think twice her ride was there and they were on their way. They arrived, the band played, the final song came along, and with sweaty palms and shaking hands she held up the sign that read "Encore, Will you take me to homecoming?" Little did she know, and would later discover, that was all he needed to work up his courage to finally ask her out, officially, after two years of uncertainty. And they couldn't be happier together, four months later and counting.
This story is all too true. But it only happened because I asked.
~Kat
The fear of taking the wrong step, or conveying the wrong message is somehow greater than the looming apathy that ensues when there's something to do, but nothing's being done.
A friend once told me that she didn't want her indecision to be the deciding factor. For her paths to be taken over and accepted back into the uncharted jungle of opportunity because she just didn't feel like keeping it clear anymore. Looking down the road less traveled, considering all the work it would be with no guarantee of a safe return, and choosing the paved road instead to live a sure life of normalcy.
Not applying to my dream school because I didn't want to write my life in 1000 words or less, to be judged by a stranger who decides whether or not my existence is worthy of their acceptance. But it was only one essay. One essay too much, for which I'm sorry, UCSD. You've been crossed off the top of the list, a transcript left unsent. Watch me slip into normalcy at SDSU should have tried harder.
I turned onto that paved road, and now I walk along it, looking at my shoes and the black asphalt beneath me. And it looks dark. I know I can raise my head, and there will be blue skies above me, filled with white puffy clouds and silver linings galore. This school will be fine for me, I can enjoy my home and showers sans sandals. But I can't help but wonder what that sky would have looked like a few miles off the well-beaten path. And whether there would actually have been any room for me.
But here's the moral to this all too true story:
If there's something you love beyond a doubt, never hesitate to seek it out.
Press Send.
Write the damn essay.
Ask them out to prom, the worst they could say is no. The best they could say is hell yes. And you'd be surprised, maybe there's a room full of people waiting for the chance to say that to you, if only you'd ask.
And so to neutralize the sad story of the time I was too scared, here is a story of bravery:
One day a girl was getting ready to see her best friend's band play their first big gig. He was her best friend, but he was never just a friend for her, not for the two years they'd known each other. Her ride was on the way when an idea popped into her head that she couldn't shake out. She grabbed a marker and poster board, and quickly wrote a message in all caps to be held up during the last song. Before she could think twice her ride was there and they were on their way. They arrived, the band played, the final song came along, and with sweaty palms and shaking hands she held up the sign that read "Encore, Will you take me to homecoming?" Little did she know, and would later discover, that was all he needed to work up his courage to finally ask her out, officially, after two years of uncertainty. And they couldn't be happier together, four months later and counting.
This story is all too true. But it only happened because I asked.
~Kat
Monday, January 6, 2014
A girl.
Have you ever witnessed something you know you weren't supposed to see? Something that you can't quickly un-see?
About a month ago, I was driving home from a friend's house rather late at night, maybe 11 p.m. or so. The whole neighborhood was asleep. Then I see someone running down the sidewalk, which was kind of unusual since it was so late. As I drive by, I realize its a heavy-set girl, and I start to recognize her. She goes to my school. I don't know her name, I have never met her, don't know what grade she's in, but I have seen her in the halls.
First it was just, huh, that's peculiar. Then it was I wonder why she'd be running so late at night. Then I started to connect the dots. She's a high school girl, in sunny swimsuit San Diego. She doesn't have the body of a Victoria's Secret Angel. She wants to be healthier, thinner, so she goes for a run at the only hour she could be sure no one will see.
I said to myself out loud in my car, at 11 p.m., "Wow." There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to think. At least not right then. But by the time I was home, her image was branded into my head, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since.
I'm not exactly sure why this has stuck with me as strongly as it has a month later. It was but a second of my life, a second that happened to intertwine with a moment of her's. I felt sad, upset, and inspired all at the same time. And it's because while that was just a second of my life, that is her life.
She has probably had to deal with dumb kids making fun of her, enough to make her recede into the night. She has to see the skinny girls at school in their crop tops exposing their perfect waists that look like they were personally pinched between God's own fore-finger and thumb. Something He conveniently forgot to do to her. She's had to watch the boys crane their necks at these girls, while they look right through her. Every day.
I don't know this girl, but I'm inspired by her. She wakes up every day and deals with stuff like that. She gets up at 11 o'clock at night to go for a run, something I haven't even been able to motivate myself to do even in the day time. She's dealing with what God gave her, and is doing her best to stay healthy. And I incredibly respect and admire that. She can't go to a gym, because the only people who go to the gym are already fit. And ironically, that's enough of a reason to stay away and avoid comparisons. She can't even go out for a run at a convenient daylight hour just around her neighborhood. She's probably had people tell her there's no use, you won't lose the weight.
But she went out anyway. And she ran, leaving all that behind her.
She may not know it, but she has a fan cheering her on. I hope she finds her finish line.
~Kat
About a month ago, I was driving home from a friend's house rather late at night, maybe 11 p.m. or so. The whole neighborhood was asleep. Then I see someone running down the sidewalk, which was kind of unusual since it was so late. As I drive by, I realize its a heavy-set girl, and I start to recognize her. She goes to my school. I don't know her name, I have never met her, don't know what grade she's in, but I have seen her in the halls.
First it was just, huh, that's peculiar. Then it was I wonder why she'd be running so late at night. Then I started to connect the dots. She's a high school girl, in sunny swimsuit San Diego. She doesn't have the body of a Victoria's Secret Angel. She wants to be healthier, thinner, so she goes for a run at the only hour she could be sure no one will see.
I said to myself out loud in my car, at 11 p.m., "Wow." There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to think. At least not right then. But by the time I was home, her image was branded into my head, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since.
I'm not exactly sure why this has stuck with me as strongly as it has a month later. It was but a second of my life, a second that happened to intertwine with a moment of her's. I felt sad, upset, and inspired all at the same time. And it's because while that was just a second of my life, that is her life.
She has probably had to deal with dumb kids making fun of her, enough to make her recede into the night. She has to see the skinny girls at school in their crop tops exposing their perfect waists that look like they were personally pinched between God's own fore-finger and thumb. Something He conveniently forgot to do to her. She's had to watch the boys crane their necks at these girls, while they look right through her. Every day.
I don't know this girl, but I'm inspired by her. She wakes up every day and deals with stuff like that. She gets up at 11 o'clock at night to go for a run, something I haven't even been able to motivate myself to do even in the day time. She's dealing with what God gave her, and is doing her best to stay healthy. And I incredibly respect and admire that. She can't go to a gym, because the only people who go to the gym are already fit. And ironically, that's enough of a reason to stay away and avoid comparisons. She can't even go out for a run at a convenient daylight hour just around her neighborhood. She's probably had people tell her there's no use, you won't lose the weight.
But she went out anyway. And she ran, leaving all that behind her.
She may not know it, but she has a fan cheering her on. I hope she finds her finish line.
~Kat
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
This is Love.
This has been long overdue. My posts have paralyzed in wait for a soliloquy, a metaphor, a simile, about you. Past posts have been close, "Spread the Love" was in preparation for you, "Crushed" was scared of you, "We're Just Friends" was for you, and "Lightbulb" was in spite, yet inspired still, by you.
But this post is you. This is Love.
You, Love, have always been there, disguised in a slough
Of faces, ballads, flowers, and sunsets.
But it's always been you.
I have never been ready,
Never quite understood,
How to greet you, or treat you, or if I should
Because if I didn't know how
What made me think that I could
Dabble in Love, which appears like magic
When I'm no magician
And the tricks up my sleeve
Are unknown to me.
But Love, what you've taught me
Is that the show will go on
Love will continue its trickery
With me to tag along
So I'll reach in my hat
Fishing for a bunny
Even though you can't assure me
I won't pull out a rat.
With its pink wiggly tail
and its squeak squeak squeak
which sounds a lot like weak weak weak
Love, you taught me that a rat is not a fail
But that I should hold it by the tail and bow anyway
And as I look at my feet
I see how far I've walked
But my soul and my shoes are not worn yet
I still have places to go and people to meet
So I look back up at the audience before me
Who just witnessed my rat of a bunny
And as they clap politely
I know there are other fish in the sea
Other shows to be had
There is more to this trickery
Love will turn up again
As it always had
And I know that is true
Because when I look at you
I know I have found it once more.
This is love.
~Kat
"Nothing is more practical than finding God, falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what your read, whom you know, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."
~Fr. Pedro Arrupe
But this post is you. This is Love.
You, Love, have always been there, disguised in a slough
Of faces, ballads, flowers, and sunsets.
But it's always been you.
I have never been ready,
Never quite understood,
How to greet you, or treat you, or if I should
Because if I didn't know how
What made me think that I could
Dabble in Love, which appears like magic
When I'm no magician
And the tricks up my sleeve
Are unknown to me.
But Love, what you've taught me
Is that the show will go on
Love will continue its trickery
With me to tag along
So I'll reach in my hat
Fishing for a bunny
Even though you can't assure me
I won't pull out a rat.
With its pink wiggly tail
and its squeak squeak squeak
which sounds a lot like weak weak weak
Love, you taught me that a rat is not a fail
But that I should hold it by the tail and bow anyway
And as I look at my feet
I see how far I've walked
But my soul and my shoes are not worn yet
I still have places to go and people to meet
So I look back up at the audience before me
Who just witnessed my rat of a bunny
And as they clap politely
I know there are other fish in the sea
Other shows to be had
There is more to this trickery
Love will turn up again
As it always had
And I know that is true
Because when I look at you
I know I have found it once more.
This is love.
~Kat
"Nothing is more practical than finding God, falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what your read, whom you know, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."
~Fr. Pedro Arrupe
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