An Arc

Here's the thing about wanting something so badly it consumes you, when it's a desire so real you can touch it and hug it and kiss it goodnight: when you don't get it, it destroys you.

It's like a star that falls from the sky and into your hands, and it seeps through your veins and into your blood and it becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back in the sky. And it's the hardest thing you've ever done. And then you blame yourself; why did you lose the star? Did you say something that made the star realize it was better off somewhere else? Why did it fall from the sky and hit you in the head and why were you given the chance to hold starlight if, in the end, it was to be ripped away from you? And what kind of a thought is that? That star was never yours. And you can't lose something that doesn't belong to you.

I think self blame is the most cancerous and incapacitating feeling there is. It eats away at the good inside of us, cripples us from moving forward, and pulls our focus away from the best parts of us. Self Blame is Self Love's predator.

I've tried to be a fighter against Blame and Fear, to recognize that I'll never have to face more than what one day has to throw at me. I can handle today. And I can say that again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that.

But sometimes I give Blame and Fear visitation rights. Because sometimes one day -- one moment -- can absolutely wreck you for the unforeseeable future. And when you feel shattered and you don't know how to put yourself back together again, how can you handle everything else the world is demanding of you? If you're stuck in a moment that crushed you, how can you bear the weight of the next days, the next moments that are hard?

Listen, I'm going to stop being cryptic. I was a Simon Scholar finalist. This was something I wanted for months and months and months, a dream that has followed me around since last summer. Everyone had faith in me; so much of it that it flowed out of them and right into me and I had faith in myself, too. And I didn't get it. It's not the end of the world. It just felt that way when all I was left with was shattered hope.

I could say that I'm fine now; I mean for crying out loud, I'm Flower Girl! I'm Yellow Girl! I'm The Girl Who Always Wears Dresses And Is In Choir And Loves Swimming In The Ocean And Improvises The Most Artistic Symphonies Of Words When The English Teacher Calls On Me!!! It feels like people should be saying "That makes sense. Things were just too damn good for that girl who never stopped talking about how happy she was."

I digress. I could say that I'm fine now; that I've realized the hard truth of Life Goes On and that I've arrived at the grown up place of It's All In What You Make Of It. That would be the right thing to say; the characteristic thing to say. But sometimes what's real is more important than what's right. And what's real is that I wanted that scholarship so badly that I didn't leave any room for self forgiveness.

So I've had my Crushing Moment Cry and my Aftershock Cry and my Mid-Shower Where No One Can Hear Me Cry/Sob and my In The Middle Of Baking Cookies Cry and my Cry To Counselor/Friend/Choir Teacher, respectively. Hey, it makes sense! Things were too damn good.

This feels like it's getting too angsty. I am sad, yes; but I am so grateful. For all of it. The honor of being a finalist is huge. And thank God the Simon Family Foundation and I share the same view: that people are wonderful and strong and worthy of so much greatness.

And since I'm also Wants To Be An Author Girl, here's my last thought. This is just my very own character development. And if I know one thing about character arcs, it's this: they always make the story worth reading. And they always make the character better. Character arcs are where the growth happens. Character arcs, no matter how painful, lead you away from the horrible fear of oh God, what if I always feel this way? And straight into the self actualization you need. The kind that makes everything worth it. The kind that cancels out everything, until there's no room for anything but happiness.

And one more thought: the foundation made beautiful choices. Their new scholars are wonderful people who I love for their resilience and optimism and for everything else. I am thrilled for the foundation because they get to know these people.

I regretted my application for a moment last week. But I never will again; because the things I've learned -- the things I will gain -- are valuable.

Feeling It

I started writing this post at 2:50 with plans to furiously tap my keyboard, add some pictures, and hit publish by 3:30. It's 4:15 4:54 5:28 now. Between then and now, I got distracted -- played chord progressions on my brother's guitar, looked at every picture in my phone's gallery, went out for Mexican food with my sister, and now I'm in the public library.

Really though, I went to write several times today but I didn't really feel it.

I like the way it feels when I'm inspired to write. I like to wash dishes when I'm in the mood -- I love the way hot water suds when you add one drop of soap. Or forcefully scrubbing mad circles on the bathroom floor because, at that moment, the world will not go on until my knuckles are bleach burned and that tile is spotless. I love to cook when the kitchen is clean, music is playing, my hair is tied back, and I'm two seconds away from texting all my friends and telling them how much I love them. I like to dance when the roof is on fire.

But there are things we have to do regardless of whether we feel like it. Wake up to 6 AM alarms, go to school, take the trash out, solve quadratic equations. But to feel it? To act on a burst of inspiration that makes us breathe deeply, think, sing, smile, write, run; it's so different, A moment of that kind of passion accomplishes far more than hours of robotic output. And when you feel it, the outcome is a million times more glorious.

My friend Kimberly and I have been talking about "feeling like it" a lot this week. It came with its drawbacks ("sorry ma'am, I know that project was due on Monday but I'm not really feeling it yet.") but I've arrived at the conclusion (justification) that feeling it is powerful, and the rewards are huge. 

I find myself feeling that Come Alive-ness more often now. Maybe it's experience or conditioning or actively seeking it, but I'm constantly craving inspiration and an adrenaline rush wherever and whenever I can find it, because I know what it's like to have it. And I want more of it. It's why I go on the biggest roller coasters and swim so far out into the ocean that when I go to put my feet down onto something solid, my stomach drops when there's nothing there and I realize that I'm the only person past the point where the waves crash over your head. It's why I spin in the sand and climb rocks at midnight and sing in guitar class. It's why I wear red lipstick and dresses and go to art walks and hum every second of the day, why I hang twinkling lights around my bathroom mirror, why I blister myself on hot glue guns, and why I close my eyes and almost cry when I'm listening to live music.

There. Now for the weekend.

We had a last minute sleepover where we watched a horror movie and couldn't sleep until we made each other laugh enough to convince ourselves we had forgotten about that movie which "wasn't even scary." Then we woke up and had french toast and bananas and milk and picked Madi up and went to Bates Nut Farm, which, I'm convinced, is the epitome of Fall in Southern California. We had a grand time.

Autumn is treating me well. Have a beautiful week.

It's creative flood time. I never know when it's coming, which is half the fun. It just arrives, like a tsunami, sent by the universe to swallow me whole. I want to inhale books and buy flowers and write poems and paint masterpieces and dance and listen to new music and log ideas in notebooks and try new lipstick colors and cook amazing food and send compliments to my friends and paint a rainbow step stone path all the way up my staircase.

Flowers. Which, when you are a kid, and especially when you are a teenager, are very exciting.

Also ranking in exciting things: The weekend. A new jar of peanut butter. I played the G progression flawlessly on guitar today. The possibility of California getting rain (EL NIÑO!!!). Knowing Stephan for a year. HALLOWEEN??!! Writing remains my passion. Rachelle is bringing us cupcakes tomorrow. Sleep. I have somehow maintained an A+ in most of my classes. And the leaves are actually changing and falling this year??

And just when I start dropping terms like "snow" and "cold," as if California can't live up to rest of the country's performance during Fall and Winter, California must have gotten really mad. Like "I'll show you. You want to compare me to the snow? I'll have the last word."

And it did. California, with its kaleidoscope skies and salty waters, had the last word.

My phone won't let me add anymore pictures, so just imagine the kaleidoscope skies and salty waters.

We are a month into the school year, and I'm realizing I need to simmer down a little. Summer was full of days where we said yes to everything -- yes let's have another bonfire, yes let's go to cafés, yes let's go to street fairs. And then SCHOOL started and we're all tired and busy. Except, I resent it because I am adventurous and like to push myself by nature. I kind of feel like an overenthusiastic puppy. Jumping, panting, chasing my tail, looking for someone to play with. Hey, want to go to the park? Hey, want to go to the beach? Who wants to have a water balloon fight? Let's go! Let's see! Let's do! And I'm going to get sick, inevitably, if it continues. So yes, I'm trying to simmer down.

The earth must be shifting. Or Saturn is crossing over Jupiter or whatever it means in the planet world when things are miraculously out of the ordinary. I know this because I've kept up with my clothes for two. weeks. straight. I tried to pull something out of my closet the other day, and an entire pile of folded clothes came tumbling out. And that's actually okay, because HELLO, the clothes were folded, a feat always worthy of applause in this home. My clothes are all organized, and now that I've got this groove, I'm obsessed with not losing it.

This post is all over the place and keeps jumping away to other subjects, which is also how my mind works, so this seems like a good place to stop. Have a lovely weekend!

This Month

I am quickly learning that life trumps writing about life. As a result, blogging is on my mind but constantly pushed to the side.

I feel like I should begin with a public apology to the bird on the beach this weekend.

Dear bird,

Just... I'm sorry. If I knew where you lived, I'd send you the fees for the therapist I'm sure you'll be seeing for the next few years. If it means anything, we block sidewalks to rescue snails and my sister-in-law spent years helping other birds in animal hospitals. In all fairness, you could have flown away. When you wake up in a cold sweat after nightmares of my dog chasing you over the sand and her crazed "CATCH IT" barks, please know, it was done in love. She thinks you're great, and she just wanted to play. I hope you're okay and that your heartbeat has returned to a calm steady rate.

Love, Naomi.

The last month of my life. People have always told me that I should be a teacher, so let's do this outline style, shall we?


Cats in the Grass

 

Joel loves this grass (so do Benjamin and Abby, even though she has crazy allergies and spends an hour scratching her ears and biting her paws every time she goes on it). Rolls around in it and takes naps in the shade and chases the butterflies in the sun.

I think he's pretty cute.

 Friends with Benefits

And by benefits, I of course mean, cousins that drive you to Boomers.

My friend Kate has those cousins, and if you know us, you'll know that I didn't even blink when Kate texted me that morning with, "You're coming to Boomers with us in an hour." We don't clear these things or plan them. Spontaneous adventure, please.

 

Waiting for a Catch

Got nothin'. Except a clump of seaweed, which sat on the pier with us until it was dry and cracked and I read facts about our city and burned in the June Gloom. I'll have you know it was very fun. Especially once we finally admitted our failure and then fed the leftover squid to pelicans. We could write a novel -- How to Spot a Tourist 101. They will flock and gape as you dare to step that close to the birds.

The Sunset

The sunset worthy of a perfect, Olympic 10. I saw the imaginary score cards. I heard the clapping. We sat on a bench and talked about ridiculous social standards and health and the whole time, we kept careening our necks back all cramped up to watch this glorious sky show behind us. The beauty can not be measured by pictures.

 

 

(The above two pictures were taken by wonderful Madi)


Spinning in the Sea

It looks like someone stuck us in a painting, with big waves and crazy winds. I love this girl and the place I live. And how the whole beach was occupied but we found this little empty spot that we had all to ourselves, until a little boy swam by us and laughed at us and shouted "YOU GUYS ARE SCARED?"

 

And Rachelle looked like a 50's catalog model.

Sleepover

We ate a lot of pizza and watched a lot of movies. And did each other's makeup and painted each other's nails and had a feathers-flying-everywhere pillow fight. The last sentence is a lie.

They have quickly become some of my favorite people. Not a lie.

Bonfires

We can just conclude that, four weeks into summer, we've had a lot of bonfires and I can't keep track anymore. But they've all been fun and they've all made me really life is so rich and grand and fulfilling and beautiful kinds of happy.

o wrinkled toes, damp beach towels, wet pony tails, getting your feet wet, finding the streams, following the current, diving in, family swims, making waves and coming up for air when you must - See more at: http://kellehampton.com/page/5?s=enjoying%3A+almost+summer#sthash.LKdHfZK7.dpuf

To wrinkled toes, damp beach towels, wet ponytails, getting your feet wet, diving in, marshmallows on fire, making waves, coming up for air when you need to.

We're going on a big road trip next week, and feeling extremely excited about it all.

I thank God every day for this life.

Have a beautiful week!!

Greatness

I felt like writing all day yesterday. I had the feelings and the words for them and my thoughts were constantly slipping into that fancy way of transition between emotion and prose -- "The cerulean sky is absolutely breathtaking today." And when I can't write those kinds of things down, I start saying them out loud. It's obnoxious. Needless to say, though I was filled with inspiration, I didn't write yesterday. I used the surge of energy on other things (like organizing all of my writing materials and walking my dog down the street. Very important things).

And last night, just when I felt the guilt for not using it to update this blog, for example, my friend questioned me about when I was planning to write a new post. And I told him exactly what I told you above (except, not as dramatic). I trusted that the inspiration would come back, and sure enough, I felt it breathing late this afternoon, and here I am. Inspiration spun into the magic it intended being, a day late.

(for future reference, "***"s translate to "Hey, this blog post has no theme. Prepare for jolting subject change.")

***

Apparently a heat wave is sweeping through parts of California, but it is mild and cool here and I've found myself in anything from shorts and flip flops at the beach, to sweaters and blankets on cold morning walks.

Last Friday (and the Saturday before) included both sets of apparel. (Swimming in the cool and unpredictable pacific under the breathtakingly cerulean sky, and gathering around the blazing warmth of fire in the chill of oceanic night. I told you it was obnoxious. Also, Stephan, read that sentence again and tell me it doesn't sound like poetry.)

(Rachelle took this picture, and it might be my favorite from the entire day. Or ever, for that matter.)

I think the waves flipped most of us under at least once, and by the time I had gotten a mouthful of salt water and that panic attack moment of this is how I'm going to die, and then continued facing the ocean, I decided that I want my entire life to be like this. Freezing, submerged in water for a moment, but then back in the open air and going further out into it, knowing the knockdown could happen again at any moment. But the experience. That's worth it. Always.

Waves make good metaphors for life.

Moving on, more important than the location were the people. I could not know better people to spend days like these with. They are perfect. Warm and colorful and full of life in so many ways. (Lots of hugs) It is wonderful to know that we're all doing this great big thing -- facing challenges and finding ways to overcome them and connecting with each other and living out the very start of our lives, and it's even better to know that we're not doing it alone. That, actually, is the best part.

(the context of this photo and what was going through our minds is the opposite of those pleasant thoughts above, but I'm not going to mention the agitating middle schoolers we shared our bonfire pit with. Oh, wait.)

For me, it was definitely one of those, "Wow, this is really happening," days. People who love each other and talk about being together more over the next few months -- here we were, in the middle of the sand, at the beginning of the summer, together. And we stayed together and talked until the sun had long since gone down, over the glow of firepit flames, and the reality that life can be found where you least expect it just came spilling out of that place. The bonfire was my favorite part. Singing. Laughing. S'mores. I am so happy to be in the presence of such greatness.

Even the not so fun moments like lugging all of our crap across the beach was evocative of nothing but goodness, really. I love the sunshine and sea breezes and the warm pavement on bare feet and going coatless and wind blowing through bubble wands, and I love my friends.

To an entire summer that matches that evening's greatness.

Savanna, Hulisa, Alysah, Kimberly, Fernando, Stephan, Kate, Ashley, Madi, and Rachelle - I love every single one of you.

Explorer of the World

Hi. This is my blog. (There. I typed the first sentence.)

I don't even know where to start. I've been staring at a blank screen for half an hour and I'm really not sure which words I should begin with.

For starters, we'll use Elissa Elliot's. Because they illustrate what I'm intending to do here.

"You are an explorer. Your mission is to document the world around you as if you've never seen it before. Take notes. Collect things you find on your travels. Document your findings. Notice patterns. Copy. Trace. Focus on one thing at a time. Record what you are drawn to." (Elissa Elliot, How to be an Explorer of the World.)

My friend Stephan (upon my telling him of my plans to start this blog) asked me why exactly I wanted to do it. That's the answer.

This is my documentation.

 

I think people are wonderful. They are swirly, messy mixes, like carousels, like constellations. 

I think a lot about that when I look at the kind of person I am and how I am perceived, especially when I start trying to compartmentalize those things (Is good, tulip-loving girl my jam or am I the person who laughs at inappropriate jokes and then reblogs them on Tumblr? For the record, I am both of those people).

But we don't have to worry about those things. We're already all of them, all at the same time. We are friends and people's children, and we can have A's in the arts and C's in math and science and be really bad cooks that sometimes do yoga but mostly just wear sweatpants. We can love fast food and eat it whenever we want (waffle fries, you know it) and also workout and eat healthy breakfasts every morning. We can be people who like peace and happiness, and yet, we can cry over spilled broccoli (me, yesterday, on the hardwood floor).

 

I think the reason we try so hard to put ourselves into one category is because we are always doing it to other people, trying to understand them. Lately, I've been trying to find contradictions in others instead of trying to make sense of them by restricting them to one thing. My friend Kate is a fierce feminist and also loves cute dresses and accessories and anything she deems "kawaii," which I'm still trying to figure out. She can also cook anything perfectly if she's seen it before, and she has a passion for sewing. I think she'll be an attorney or some other big-shot job, making 6 AM calls to Japan while she crotchets in a cafe. My sister is a vegetarian, and I don't think I've ever seen her eat a vegetable. She has always cursed the ground that our school sits on, but yesterday, she had a panic-attack moment of not ever wanting to graduate from it. (She'll still be doing so in two days. She's great. She'll be fine.)

What I'm saying is that I am full of contradictions. As such, this blog will be.

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself." - Walt Whitman

And since I love quotes, here's where the blog name came from.
 

"A life lived in love will never be dull." - Leo Buscaglia

 

I hope my documenting is worthwhile.