hotel song

Friday, March 28, 2014

at the beginning of the year, c and emily played a wonderful song late at night in our living room. I sat with my body curled up on the yellow chair, secretly filming them and secretly wanting them to never stop playing. listening to a guitar being played late at night is something that I will always want.

and so this week I finally realized what that song was, hotel song, by regina spektor. and although it is not acoustic guitar like the first version I heard in my apartment, it is still wonderful.

here is the secret video of my roommates, and I apologize for the terrible cell phone quality. but it still holds something beautiful to me.

hello, vancouver

Thursday, March 27, 2014

early this week was vancouver with my roommates. six hours of I5 south and I now feel as though I am a most accomplished driver… and an even better driver-while-snacking-on-popcorn.

the most common response to, "we're visiting vancouver for spring break" was: "why?" some people go to mexico or arizona or somewhere warm, we headed north for some city walking and pub exploring. the market was beautiful and the flowers were bright and sunny.

my cousin Katie showed me her art at her college. these are only a few snapshots, but she has some truly amazing work.

and then on our way out of town, we stopped at Secret Garden for high tea. so much sweet. so much tea. so beautiful.

and that was vancouver.

where the end of winter quarter has left me

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

when you walk through here it feels like snow is falling down upon you (nope, just cherry blossoms)

winter quarter was a difficult quarter. not in the classes, no, I can handle school - but in all the changes and the personal struggles. this past year has been a lot of internal angst & perhaps I did not realize it until yesterday afternoon.

walking home from my last field trip,
down the bridge,
realizing, "I might have to move out of the city,"
realizing, "everything is different,"
realizing, "in this moment I am so sad,"
and feeling like someone from my past was placing her hand on my chest and pushing me backward,
saying, "just stop. just stop because everything has changed and you can't handle it."

do you ever have those moments?

you are twenty and you want to walk home … but home is not the place for which you pay rent.

that has been a challenge for me this past year, and especially this school year, as I moved to my own apartment in the city and moved out of my parents' house.

and yesterday, I was told that I may have to move back.
and in that moment, of admitting that everything was changing, that the end of winter quarter was bringing me frustration instead of excitement, I wept.

swallowing back the breaths in my throat and trying to get air in through my nose,
determined to look straight ahead because if I looked down and focused on my thoughts I would waste some tears.
I was that girl.

and I am not proud of her.
I am not proud of where winter quarter has landed me, emotionally.

I am getting better, because I am always getting better.
but I can always be better than I am today.

today I am doing better and that is a happy thought.
today I am determined to do better.
and tomorrow, again.
and the day after that.

the history of love: nicole krauss

Friday, March 14, 2014

"Are you the happiest and saddest right now that you've ever been?" 
"Of course I am. Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you."

at night, I read until my eyes were sore from reading and crying and reading and then crying some more. books do that to me, this book did that to me. I finished it in the morning, lay in bed not moving, until it was done. and once it was done it was not gone. 

I feel it throughout the day. its words are inside of me, because I am the happiest and yet the saddest I have ever been. I can be the happiest because I've got a trip to Norway secured. because I have a new job in the forest on weekends. because I see him playing guitar or staring at me with one eye covered by the pillow next to me. but I am the saddest. I am the saddest because I feel like I am carrying around with me a tightness in my chest and love in my throat that no one knows. that I can't begin to explain.

this old man, Leo, is living his life, loving a woman he has loved his entire life. and he has lived his life doing things for him, and he can unlock any door in the city, and he has written his life in words on a typewriter, and he goes around the city living his day - and yet no one knows. no one knows that he loves a woman, and that he wants her to be happy, every day, and that he is constantly thinking of her.

and when I go downtown to the shopping center, I wonder if the woman at the counter sees it in my eyes. as she's showing me lotion and I smile and nod, I wonder if she knows how much my eyes are feeling right now. they are taking in everything, from the sparkle of the soap to the black on the ground, and yet they are taking in nothing.

I am noticing everything, and yet everything in me is not being noticed. 

and when I sit on the bus, I wonder if the person next to me can feel it when my leg presses into the seat. I half expect them to turn to me and say, "I understand." but they only see the library books sticking out of my bag, they see my rain jacket with the fuzzy velcro, they see my hair braided back away from my face. that is what they see. 

and when I am in my apartment and it is night time and I've watched six episodes of gilmore girls in a row, and my roommates are all getting ready for bed, I wonder if they notice. notice that by the second episode I'm not fully engaged. notice that by 1am, in an unlike olivia fashion, I am still awake and staring at the side of my wall and not crying but not smiling. 

because I am the happiest that I have been, full of hope and a mind of great things in the future, but I am the saddest I have ever been. It is a sweet, romantic sadness that I have never felt. it is the first time I have felt this much hopeful love (maybe that's the correct word) kept up inside of me. but because of what the words in this book have pinpointed, I am carrying around a feeling that I do not know how to express because I do not know the words. 

"When will you learn that there isn't a word for everything?"

on pictorial social media

Thursday, March 6, 2014

photo taken this summer in my parents' garden

I would love to tell you that going on sites like pinterest and instagram make me unbearably happy. that seeing images of beautiful homes and lovely outfits and cool new braiding techniques make my life a lot better. that I've just seen a picture that sums up how my life ought to be and now it is perfect.

but that's just it. sadly, it's not perfect. 

my life is built up of more than visuals. it is the spirit I feel when I take a walk through the forest, when the air is silent, and then little pine needles and twigs slowly drop from the trees. it is the satisfaction I feel when I've completed a full quarter at school, when I've secured a new job, when I've woken up early and gotten a multitude of things done by noon. it is how I feel when I'm kissed, when a stranger tells me I have a nice smile, when I witness kindness through people I do not know, when I wake up in the morning with the sun pouring through the window and the sound of someone breathing beside me. these are the things that contribute to a life I love. and yet...

often times, I get sucked in, to scrolling down my instagram feed, wondering what new foods that stylist has prepared, curious as to what those cute children are up to today. and that's okay, to look and admire other lives - to be curious. curiosity is a wonderful thing. but curiosity about visuals that you wish were your visuals, to the point where you stop trying to improve your own life and live in social media outlets … that's my downfall.

and so I need to remember. to constantly remind myself. there is more than someone else's life - there is your life. your life, through your eyes, through your camera if you do so please, but not solely through your phone.


Monday, March 3, 2014

snow, always.

cross-country skiing as a child was such a challenge. I wasn't strong enough to get up the little hills, and the downhill part never felt long enough. but now… why is it now that I would rather go slow than speed down? I like the uphill parts because I can get up, now.

halfway through, I felt done. the wind was starting to scratch my face and the snow was icy against my cheek. can I just be done? can I just go back to the lodge and relax and be comfortable?

but I kept going. you have to finish the hard parts before you can relax & be comfortable. it's so easy to turn around and be comfortable. but the hard parts are the most rewarding.

march 2014

Sunday, March 2, 2014

more photos of norway / "there is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for" / figuring out how to apply to the peace corps for next year / goals : no more nail biting, no more lazing on the bus / wreaths, white walls, and brown wooden chairs via amanda jane jones / love, always.