Forgive My Complaints.

Soon I will be 18. And I am not excited. I used to look forward to birthdays like Christmas morning, but I'm dreading this birthday like AP testing and saying good bye. I dread the expectations that are married to February 23rd because as Billy Shakespeare said, "Expectation is the root of all heartache". I try to prime myself by waking up and putting my normal brain in and normal face on, but you can't help but try a little harder to be positive and pretty since you took your first breath so many years ago today and you feel like people should recognize you for it. 

I hate walking into school and feeling a little miffed when people pass me in the hall and forget to say those two silly words: "Happy Birthday". I hate reminding people it's my birthday and making them feel stupid for not saying anything. I hate the week before where you want to shout to the world that your special day is coming up but you don't want to sound self-interested and self-ish. I hate that I want to have a crazy party but I feel dumb having a party centered around me. And I would feel just as dumb having someone else throw a party for me because I still feel awkward being the focal point in a large group. And yet I still long for some recognition?

Mostly, I am not prepared to become that scary number. 18. That number gives you so much responsibility and stature. That number means you are old enough to move out and step onto that ominous platform called "REAL LIFE". I've always looked up to these seniors in high school as being mature and ready to move on from the stress and party that is high school, but I never realized that just because you have been elevated to seniordom does not mean you are ready for adultdom. There is still a child in my bones that wants to spend every afternoon exploring the creek in the back yard. And the last thing I want to do is lose that curiosity and zeal for life. 

I don't want to grow old. 

So forgive my complaints, but a birthday is what I dread the most this year.

I Long For The Forest.

When I used to get down, I would climb up. I would wipe away my tears and run to the park and scale the tallest tree I could find. This one pine was my favorite. He was my best friend. Each branch was placed perfectly so I could climb higher and higher until I found the tip of his finger that touched the sky. And there I would sit, observing the cars passing by.

No one else's opinion mattered but his. He accepted me in his embrace no matter how many knots were in my hair or how many sap stains were on the back of my pants. He liked my bare feet and torn t-shirts. And he enjoyed afternoons of watching me eat food out of my lunchbox. I was at liberty to be myself with him. No pretend smiles or curtesy laughs. Ugly cries and joyful hollers welcome.

Me and my friends.

I miss him.

And I miss that me.

Words Left Unsaid

Amidst the rivers of saliva

 and the taste bud mountains 

is the forest of 

words left unsaid. 

So long have these words 

lived on the tip of my tongue, 

that they have taken root 

and sprung into an evergreen wood. 

Their leaves are reaching for the sun 

that is your ear drums. 

And they long for that vitamin D. 

Your presence is like an ax 

threatening to cut this forest down, 

and I haven't decided whether I am a 

fiery conservationist 

or an angsty deforester.

Inspired by Tyler Knott.

My new typewriter and other matters of the heart...

My dearest darling,

I acquired a typewriter today.

This typewriter is old but it is also classy and romantic and has the ability to create beautiful things. 

Our love is a typewriter love. Maybe not always your first choice, but it will last longer than any HP or Mac. 

Our love is timeless. 

Our love is poetry and hot tea and ink smudges--not perfect to onlookers, but perfect to us. Because when you and I are intertwined, nothing else matters. 

Except our typewriter.

Always,

Me.

Vali-freakin-dation

What would happen if I died? I promise you, whoever cares to read my brain child, that I am a joyful soul and I do not plan on dying anytime soon. But I know I'm not the only one that has wondered what would happen.

I mean seriously.

Who would shed a tear if I just fell off the face of the planet? Would anyone come to my funeral? Would that freckle-faced boy have any last words? Would people even notice I was gone?

Who would care?

As I drive, I almost always think about if I were in a crash right then who would be there for me in an instant. If I were rushed to the hospital and I were in vital condition, who would actually make the effort to come see me?

Would anyone show?

If I started crying in the hall, would anyone stop to encircle me in their arms and tell me things were going to be ok? 

Who?

Most of us walk through the halls and figure that we are pretty insignificant. Even the most confident people feel a little unimportant. What I really want when I daydream about a guy showing up and saving me from the broken glass is validation.

Just a reminder that anyone acknowledges that I exist. That if I disappeared, people would miss my presence.

Most the time I'm pretty confident--confident that people could drop my friendship like it's hot and they wouldn't miss me at all. 

This post is not to tell you all (all one of you--I love you Mom!) that I am insecure, which I really really am, but it's just a reminder that you are not the only one that feels a little invisible.

You are not the only one that feels alone in a crowd.

So as cliche and cheesy as it is, call up your friend, your grandma, your dry cleaner, your second cousin twice removed (does that even exist?), your secret crush, or your crazy sub and let them know that they aren't invisible. "Hi. I see you." Those four words could make the difference.

And now I present a short film to you that will make you smile and cry. It is 16 minutes and 24 seconds so please watch.

It would really validate me if you did. 

Also if you commented I would feel pretty good too. 

Because as confident as I act, I am vulnerable. And I'm terrified of people seeing right through me.

Tug-a-War

My childhood and my future both walked up to me today, tied ropes around either of my wrists, and started pulling in opposite directions. I looked from one to the other in a panic because my arms were being stretched to their limits and then I had one of those "time stands still" moments. I peered into the eyes of my childhood and found comfort and my Mother's loving arms. I found friends who I care about more than anything and experiences that showed me who I am. I saw my Dad holding my seat as I learned to ride a bike at the bus stop and the doll house that sparked my imagination and habit of day dreaming. I saw all those times I sat in the car with my best friend talking for hours or laying in the grass enjoying the silence. Although my arms were aching with the constant struggle, I smiled into the eyes of my childhood. They were so familiar and kind despite the incessant tugging. 

Then I turned and met eyes with my future. What I saw there terrified me and made me laugh and cry. So much excitement was in those eyes yet so much unknown. I couldn't see my friends or my doll house. It was just this hazy blur. I wanted to relent to one side but the other was pulling just as hard. 

And now my heart is conflicted. I'm being pulled in two directions and it's tearing me apart. Because half of me is so tired of high school and being a kid and people that treat me like I'm nothing, but the other half is wanting to stop time and make this era last forever. 

I am blessed with the dearest friends and my life is full of joy. I have so little responsibility and I don't know if I'm ready to enter adulthood. But mostly I'm not ready to let people go. Not only am I losing all the guys to missions and all the girls to different colleges, I am losing myself. Different friends bring out different Michaelas and I'm not ready to give up the Michaela I am with each of these people. I kneel by my bed every night to send my plea heavenward: "Dear God, bless me to enjoy these moments while they last. Amen". And I'm sure one day I'll read back on this blog post thinking what a dramatic teenage girl I was because probably none of this confliction will matter, but right now, the girl behind this keyboard is deeply feeling these emotions and has no idea what is ahead for her. I dread it. I long for it. And I'm terrified. 

Do You Hear The People Sing?

Les Miserables has changed my life.

I walked into the movie, not planning on crying, and walked out with tear stained cheeks. I cried for Fantine as she gave away her pride to save her only child. I cried as she sang "I Dreamed a Dream" and longed for the life she thought she would have. I cried for Eponine and the love she had for Marius, who could never fully return her affection--I know exactly how that feels. I cried for the unfailing love that Jean Valjean had and the mercy he showed even to those who fought to bring him down. I cried for Cosette and Marius--well, mostly I just cried for myself because I want a man to pick me out of a crowd and love me just as dearly as I love him. I cried for all of the passionate men who died fighting for freedom and for Marius who lost all of his friends in the fight. 

But I mostly cried in the last scene when Valjean dies and joins the ranks of people on the barricade who had died in their war for freedom and who had finally found liberty with God. "Do you hear the people sing? Singing the songs of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!" We have been singing this song of freedom since before the earth began and it will forever be the ageless fight. Behind every war is a longing for liberty to live and worship and exist as people wish. And on that barricade in the final scene were not just French revolutionaries. There were men, women, and children throughout time that have sacrificed their lives for this greater goal of liberty; for that is all that we truly yearn for. 

Liberty to dream a dream and freedom to break loose from the depths of hell to achieve it.