Small reminders for living a life of heart. Brain and fist are optional, but recommended, as they are invariably helpful.
Living a Life of Quality
Friday, September 26, 2014
De-clutter. Simplify. Quality over quantity. Practicing moderation. Making the choice, every day, to be happy, live well, and with character. Let every moment be a special occasion. Have self-pride, self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-love. Work for your happiness, and though you should not feel entitled to the fruits of your labor, you should feel accomplishment and content for doing good work.
The Desert and The Vows
Friday, September 5, 2014
It's been a minute since I've blogged (as Kanye might say, if he still had a blog - does anyone else remember that?), and lots have happened. For one thing, we've been traveling. A lot. Like, Tokyo, Taipei, Kaohsiung, Hong Kong, San Francisco, Palm Springs, a lot. If I'm feeling ambitious in the next week or so, I'll be back with pictures and stories; if not, just know that it was all extremely exhausting and incredibly, swelteringly hot, but, still, great fun with lots of yummy food.
Today, I want to write about the desert. And the wedding vows, which up until now, have not really crossed my mind as anything urgent, and have just kind of been 'something I need to do sometime before the wedding,' but which now have become 'ohcrapIhavetowritesomethingthatotherpeoplewillhearmeread.' But first, the desert.
The first time I truly saw a desert was earlier this year, when we went to Marfa for a glorious weekend. That was when my love for the desert really blossomed and became a real and solid thing. That was when I knew that, while trees and grass and general greenery are lovely and while oceans and lakes and rushing waters are quite amazing and sometimes exciting, vast stretches of dirt and sand that roll into hills and then flatten away into a nothingness are breathtaking and heart breaking. The little bits of plant life, whether green or brown or spiky, seem to be impossible, and that impossibility makes them mesmerizing. And the sky. The hugeness of the sky with the infinite of dark and glittering stars feels both gigantic and, somehow, miniature, and to gaze upon it in the sea of dust and heat can make a person feel like floating, at first, and then falling slowly up into the deep.
I get that feeling, sometimes, when I stare into a Rothko painting. It takes me by surprise, because, one second I'm just staring at a piece of canvas on the wall, and then, dreamily, it feels as if I've fallen down a rabbit hole through the paint, and it seems as if time has always just been the sensation of slowly falling, where up is down and down is sideways and it doesn't really matter because it's all just space, anyways, and there's not really a top or bottom. It's the feeling of infinity, I think. Or, it's how I think infinity would feel. Which is terrifying and frightening and too much for a single brain to deal with alone. And I have always had a strange fascination and attraction to things that terrify me.
For example, I am quite terrified of having people I know actually read things I've written while I am still in the room. I'm not afraid of giving speeches, or standing up in front of a crowd, or of writing whatever I'm feeling, however ridiculous and foolish I may sound at the time; but I think I get quite panicky at the thought of writing something that is meaningful to me, and then having someone read it with me standing there or having to read it aloud to people myself. It might be fear of being judged by others, as I am shamefully aware that I have a tendency to do this towards others, even though I know it's petty and silly, or it might be that I am manifesting some trauma of having written very personal and meaningful things to people, and having them not have the reaction I was expecting when they received these words in some way. Judgment and expectations, I think, is what has me nauseated at the thought of having to prepare my own vows for my own wedding in ten weeks. Nauseated and, quite literally, trembling.
It's pathetic, when I stop to think about it. But I'll do it. Obviously, I'll do it. Partially, because I love to write and I love A with all my heart and I think that the one thing I'm reasonably and decently skilled at in this world is writing about my feelings, so it's not even a question of whether or not I'll do it, and partially, because, for some reason, I am equating this challenge with my entire writing block that has been stumping me for the past...5 years?! And I feel like if I am able to write my own vows and read them out loud for our family and friends to hear and survive, then the fear of writing something cliche and stupid and not worth reading will, hopefully, dissipate and become a resolve to sit down and actually write again.
It'll be a rite of passage, both into marriage and that next chapter of life, and also maybe out of this tunnel of fear and self-consciousness that has been plaguing me and that I don't know how to get rid of with normal pep talks and the standard words of encouragement. So. First the vows, then, fingers crossed, the writing.
And, because it feels relevant, and is one of my favorite poems (of the few poems I actually have read and know by heart, which includes Jabberwocky, because, well, you'll see):
The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and You—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As Sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—
---Emily Dickinson
Today, I want to write about the desert. And the wedding vows, which up until now, have not really crossed my mind as anything urgent, and have just kind of been 'something I need to do sometime before the wedding,' but which now have become 'ohcrapIhavetowritesomethingthatotherpeoplewillhearmeread.' But first, the desert.
The first time I truly saw a desert was earlier this year, when we went to Marfa for a glorious weekend. That was when my love for the desert really blossomed and became a real and solid thing. That was when I knew that, while trees and grass and general greenery are lovely and while oceans and lakes and rushing waters are quite amazing and sometimes exciting, vast stretches of dirt and sand that roll into hills and then flatten away into a nothingness are breathtaking and heart breaking. The little bits of plant life, whether green or brown or spiky, seem to be impossible, and that impossibility makes them mesmerizing. And the sky. The hugeness of the sky with the infinite of dark and glittering stars feels both gigantic and, somehow, miniature, and to gaze upon it in the sea of dust and heat can make a person feel like floating, at first, and then falling slowly up into the deep.
I get that feeling, sometimes, when I stare into a Rothko painting. It takes me by surprise, because, one second I'm just staring at a piece of canvas on the wall, and then, dreamily, it feels as if I've fallen down a rabbit hole through the paint, and it seems as if time has always just been the sensation of slowly falling, where up is down and down is sideways and it doesn't really matter because it's all just space, anyways, and there's not really a top or bottom. It's the feeling of infinity, I think. Or, it's how I think infinity would feel. Which is terrifying and frightening and too much for a single brain to deal with alone. And I have always had a strange fascination and attraction to things that terrify me.
For example, I am quite terrified of having people I know actually read things I've written while I am still in the room. I'm not afraid of giving speeches, or standing up in front of a crowd, or of writing whatever I'm feeling, however ridiculous and foolish I may sound at the time; but I think I get quite panicky at the thought of writing something that is meaningful to me, and then having someone read it with me standing there or having to read it aloud to people myself. It might be fear of being judged by others, as I am shamefully aware that I have a tendency to do this towards others, even though I know it's petty and silly, or it might be that I am manifesting some trauma of having written very personal and meaningful things to people, and having them not have the reaction I was expecting when they received these words in some way. Judgment and expectations, I think, is what has me nauseated at the thought of having to prepare my own vows for my own wedding in ten weeks. Nauseated and, quite literally, trembling.
It's pathetic, when I stop to think about it. But I'll do it. Obviously, I'll do it. Partially, because I love to write and I love A with all my heart and I think that the one thing I'm reasonably and decently skilled at in this world is writing about my feelings, so it's not even a question of whether or not I'll do it, and partially, because, for some reason, I am equating this challenge with my entire writing block that has been stumping me for the past...5 years?! And I feel like if I am able to write my own vows and read them out loud for our family and friends to hear and survive, then the fear of writing something cliche and stupid and not worth reading will, hopefully, dissipate and become a resolve to sit down and actually write again.
It'll be a rite of passage, both into marriage and that next chapter of life, and also maybe out of this tunnel of fear and self-consciousness that has been plaguing me and that I don't know how to get rid of with normal pep talks and the standard words of encouragement. So. First the vows, then, fingers crossed, the writing.
And, because it feels relevant, and is one of my favorite poems (of the few poems I actually have read and know by heart, which includes Jabberwocky, because, well, you'll see):
The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and You—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As Sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—
---Emily Dickinson
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