One Year Wordiversary

My notifications have dutifully notified me that two days ago marked my one year anniversary with WordPress. Upon reflecting, I’ve decided this blog was exactly what I needed over the past year. It was the most challenging school year I’ve faced thus far, and writing was one of the only things which secured my sanity– the other being music.

My #MotivationMondays successfully distracted me from doing what I was supposed to be doing during the school year. Though they caused more procrastination than I’d care to admit (seeing as many of my deadlines fell on Tuesdays), I don’t believe anything else could’ve, ironically, kept me more focused. In the future, I will probably drop the #MotivationMonday title, and just write about all the wonderful organizations that exist. 

So, thank you, WordPress. I had no idea what would come of aimlessly creating a blog and writing to an invisible audience, but it has been a perfect tool to help me grow. 

That being said, here’s what’s up with me in a list so I don’t ramble (let’s be real here: I probably will anyway):

1) I have become OBSESSED with slam poetry/spoken word/good rap. I’ve written a few pieces of my own, and I would absolutely love to perform them somewhere. I actually think that might be on my bucketlist from many posts ago.

2) Oh, hey, I graduated college. Woohoo! And I finished student teaching. Both were incredible experiences which tossed me into the ring without any preparation. I’ve never grown so much in my life. I am so grateful for the people who pushed and supported me.

3) I don’t really know exactly what to do from here on out. I would love to write for organizations (for example, Pencils of Promise, Charity : water, Invisible Children, DoSomething.org, etc.). I would also love to perform slam poetry. Or be an author, for that matter! I’d love to get involved with Peace Corps, AmeriCorps, or a Mission House in my area. Or become a wizard. I’d like to put my degree to use and teach in other countries. I’m applying to all of these things, so hopefully I will have some good news to report in the near future. My life could take about 100 different directions at this point. Exciting and terrifying all at once!

Alright, I think that’s a decent update. Til next time, folks! Stay gold. 

 

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81 Days Later

I’m not really sure what to tell you guys.

As some of you (may) have noticed, I’ve been gone for several months.  Each passing Monday I think about my #MotivationMondays and how much I miss writing them. Every single Monday. That’s like 11 Mondays. But anyway, the truth is, I haven’t been feeling like I’m qualified to write them. I don’t want to be hypocritical.

I’m in an unstable place in my life. Who isn’t at some point? I’ve just needed some time to collect myself. For anyone out there who may read my posts, and for anyone who may care, I will be back. I’ve started to feel the fight in me making its way back into my heart.

I guess I’ll just share with you something I wrote somewhat recently that explains everything/nothing:

I have a thirst

to run

far and fast and free

so wildly

that even I can’t

catch myself–

.

or perhaps

that is why I’m running.

#MotivationMonday: Mary Oliver & Her Two Lines

Hi : )

Alright, y’all, I’m failing at this #MotivationMonday biz.

These posts are supposed to be published so that you guys (and so I) can be inspired to take hold of Mondays and squeeze all the potential out of them. This is definitely going to be published by 12:15 a.m.-ish on Tuesday. Woops.

Well, anyway, this post is going to be really short, because I want to share the poem that slides across the marquee of my mind day in and day out.  Nearly every hour of every day, the last two lines of this poem run through my thoughts– am I really doing what I want to be doing at this very moment? Is what I’m doing honoring the one wild and precious life I’ve been blessed with?  Read away, friends:

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Since I first read this poem, I’ve carried it in my pocket. It’s never not with me. I love that other people’s words can do that. If only Mary knew that her words have made many of my decisions for me. Like she does in the poem, I marvel at life– at its complexity and diversity. As I soak in the beauty of the natural world, the unthinkable achievements of men and women, and the bottomless well of possibilities the world offers, I can only fall down in the grass and feel blessed. Haven’t you ever been there– feeling so overwhelmed by the warmth of life and spending time doing nothing but draping that warmth around you in peaceful silence?

That deep, peaceful contemplation throws me into forward motion. I have this one life. It IS wild and it IS precious. How is it I sit here and accept “normality” or anything “realistic?” How is it I have accepted to be average– to leave the waters undisturbed?

Thank you, Mary Oliver. Because of you, I am motivated. Because of you, I can’t look at a Monday, or any day for that matter, as anything less than extraordinary.

If you have any poems that do something like this for you, PLEASE share them below! : ) I’m always looking for inspiration, and I love to hear all about your stories!

Something Different

Today’s post is going to be short and sweet. I tend to be fluent in the language of over-analysis, but I want to stick with succinctness this time around.  When I began writing, I was 6 years old (I really mean when I began), and I was partial to poetry. In the first grade, I wrote my first poem called “Rushing Winds.”  It sounds better than it was. I do think I was a particularly deep thinker as a child, but… I mean, what could my mind really have been on? I’ll tell you: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Lincoln Logs. Best days of my life right there. Well, maybe simplest. Anyway, I’m going back to my roots a bit. Here’s a poem I wrote a few weeks ago called “Arbitrary” (not fully revised yet… may or may not happen):

Arbitrary

Sometimes my eye catches
the moon
in the daysky.

And I long to leave–
Leave home
Leave sadness disappointment anger–
Anything anchoring

All of everything
is out there.
All of nothing
is out there.

And yet–
I’m worried about
getting to work a minute late.

**In my notebook, I wrote this down next to the poem: “The mystery of everything is out there, and yet we confine ourselves to this country, this region, this city, this person, this thought, this arbitrary task. Don’t people see how big life is and how small day-to-day tasks can be?” Maybe that will help explain. Maybe I just ruined the fun of figuring out the poem. I guess this magician reveals her secrets.