Of Boldness and Blunders

I’m declaring this the year of being bold, I wrote with only a few hours left of my twenty-fourth birthday. Of being bold and assertive. Of pursuing dreams until God closes the door. I want to build a life that has meaning, and that it will involve doing hard things and being uncomfortable.

Such a declaration was nothing close to an automatic miracle. Waking up the next morning, all I could think about was the fact that I’m near a quarter of a century old, and its way past the point of being time. I’ve wrested with selflessness versus taking charge of my needs and desires for most of my life; I’m not necessarily afraid of rejection itself, but more so the reasoning behind the rejection. It’s almost like I would rather live with the potential outcomes than face reality head on. As I’ve said previously, the possibility of getting what I want is a lot scarier than not doing so. It comes down to having more to lose, and not wanting to subconsciously take responsibility when I might not be at fault.

For a time I associated such a word with class and sophistication, combined with a take-no-prisoners attitude. I envisioned women in colored blazers with heels, flawless eyeliner and jangling jewelry. They’re the Beyoncé’s and the Taylors and the Lady Gaga’s of the world. Bold embodies the women I met when I was sixteen years old, and have looked up to since high school. It’s strange to say that I’ve never sensed that in my own being; I’ve more so identified as the shy one, the unsure one, the one who spends way too much time overthinking and preparing for the worst. I’ve hidden away and longed for more, and regretted it every time.

When I do step up, when I take a risk and go after something, I feel a lot better afterward. More confident. Free. No longer carrying a huge weight on my shoulders. Even if things don’t go way that I’d like them to, at least I can move forward and keep my anxiety levels down. It’s not always easy or comfortable, but it’s what I need to do it order to grow. It might be the writer in me, or it might just be the perfect time to begin tapping into who God made me to be.  

This newly lit fire in my heart is a tough one to explain, and the pieces will come together in their own time.  Based on past experiences, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m capable of taking risks, and making things happen one way or the other. I once stood in front of my entire seventh grade class and read a poem that launched my writing career. I went to both high school and college in completely unfamiliar territory, and wound up meeting a number of people that changed my life for the better. I don’t have to be an expert to understand that I have it in me, and that it’s more so a matter of manifesting that kind of courage on a regular basis.

Assertiveness has many definitions, but it boils down to keeping it simple and using your time wisely. Ask for whatever it is, without embellishment or justification. I’ve never heard anyone mentioned above try to explain themselves or hand out reasons like candy; they do what they do and don’t apologize for bringing up uncomfortable subjects. Bear in mind, it’s not always about the big and monumental that go the distance. God needs people to move mountains, but I can imagine that He has just as much of a need to tackle the small things as well. Never underestimate the power of a single voice, the determination of one, or the impact of what might look tiny, but has a lot of momentum behind it.

It’s what dark horses are made of.

Proclaiming it is one part, and living it out is another. I would rather let people make their own judgements and critiques, because trying to convince anyone to see from your point of view is like running on a hamster wheel. I go with the expectation of learning and evolving and becoming…nothing else. It takes patience and perseverance, but I’m confident that it can become second nature as time progresses. I’m sure I’ll stumble and shrink back into old habits, like waiting until the “right” moment or set of circumstances to take action. I’ll probably overthink and over-analyze until I’ve worn out my slippers, and I hope that my loved ones will hold me accountable for that.

Celebrating a general new year is great, because it’s where we can recognize that we’re all human and we long to make something of ourselves. But there’s something about birthdays that’s just as special; it’s a more intimate and personal way of starting over, of celebrating all that you are and where you’ve been. The choice to be bold is not necessarily about starting over, but a continuation of what has been in the making for close to ten years. I’m just digging a bit deeper, my voice is becoming a bit louder, and my self-image is becoming sharper. When I really think about it, I’ve haven’t accomplished anything without taking a chance, along with asking for and accepting help along the way.

Here’s to the bold ones: the ones that stand up, show up, and shine because they were created to do so. May our actions demonstrate our words, and our lives become testaments of strength and continuous butt-kicking. May we lead by example, making an effort to know and understand as much as we want to be known and understood. And here’s to the loneliness,beauty, determination, frustration, triumph, and all that comes with it.

At last.

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Not-So-Hidden Magic

I've always had a child-like heart, a natural attraction toward the simple things and stories of make-believe and whimsy and wonder. I've held on to my inner ten year old for close to thirteen years, as I debated on how to nourish her while still allowing myself to grow and mature at the same time. But this past year has made me realize how important that is, regardless if people think I'm crazy, or need to "grow up" in order to be taken seriously. 

I'm not going to pretend that I know the in's and out's of sports, because a lot of it goes right over my head. I get nervous watching certain games to the point where I'm pacing around the room and beating my fist into my palm because I'm not sure what else to do. But when the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup this past June, I literally felt like a little girl at Christmas; I was jumping up and down and giggling like crazy, forget the fact that I'm twenty-three years old. I do experience a sense of magic when I'm watching any Chicago sport, even if they're losing or the team isn't doing well at the time. My grandfather and I have started an official tradition of watching the games together, or sometimes I'll go to a bar if I feel like it. Nothing really beats yelling and cheering at the TV though; aside from exercise, how else am I going to let all that aggression out? Not to mention that hockey players are actually pretty nice to look at. 

As a creative, I'm not sure how I forgot about coloring books. I heard about the ones geared toward adults a while ago, and bought my first one that was on sale at Barnes and Noble around Halloween. It's really soothing to color while playing some kind of meditation or relaxation music in the background, and I need to put that into practice more often. 

I love affection, and I love people who feel the same way. This one is kind of self-explanatory....

The majority of my favorite childhood and family memories involve being near a body of water. When I went to South Carolina back in March, I hadn't been the ocean since I was sixteen. Even though the water was too cold to swim in, it still gave me a sense of peace, and a little nostalgia along with it. 

I firmly believe that you can never be too old for Disney; I gladly went out and bought the Blue-ray combo pack of Aladdin after waiting what felt like a decade for it to be released again. I watched a special celebrating the twentieth anniversary of Toy Story with a glass of wine in hand and am currently geeking out of the anticipation of seeing the new Star Wars movie. My mom and I have a running joke that I'm going to get married at Disney World, and I will say that I'm a bit overdue for a trip. 

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I still love listening to boy-bands on Pandora or Spotify, and the city of Chicago has become like a bit of a playground for me as I've visited different neighborhoods and met a ton of people in the process. I can still eat ice cream faster than anything that's actually healthy. I kind of miss going to theme parks, even though riding roller-coasters tend to make me queasy now. 

It might look like a coping mechanism, but deep down these things are just part of who I am. When it comes down to it, embracing this side of myself is what makes me feel alive. There's nothing inherently wrong with that, especially that we now live in a world that becomes more dangerous and cynical with each passing day. Life is not having to choose between what's beautiful and what's reality, but a balance of the two. 

Someone once asked me what happened to the happy little girl that I used to be; I can now say with confidence that she's re-emerging, albeit ever-so-slowly. I'm thankful for those who are willing to appreciate and celebrate such things without making me feel like an idiot or bad about it. And yes, any man who wants to be with me must be able to bring out that side of me as well, and honor it. 

If it's now socially acceptable for kids to grow up too fast now a days, why can't adults incorporate the other aspect into their daily lives? If it makes you light up, then it shouldn't be ignored, regardless of how old you are. That kind of magic should not be hidden, because it's the kind that teaches us how to fall in love with life.

Championing Creativity

I can’t say if creativity is bequeathed at birth or somehow manifests itself over the course of a person’s life. At four years old I could talk somebody’s ear off about fairies and princesses, supposedly making up elaborate stories as I went along and apparently never shut up. In middle school I was aptly nicknamed “The Boom box” because I sang whatever popped into my head, writing poetry as though they were song lyrics. Ten years later I’d be cooking in my apartment with off the cuff recipes, discovering that a bagel sandwich with peanut butter, Nutella, and bacon is actually pretty decent.

It might have been an antithesis for my lack of athleticism, but I’ve always had a competitive streak: I grew up in an incredibly sports-oriented family, and feel like a little kid whenever I get to watch my favorite teams. I also know several who are pretty damn good on the field and with an instrument, so that’s not to say that you have to be one or the other. Yet, it’s interesting how the right-brainers are met with skepticism, doubt, and even discouragement: they’re deemed idealistic at best, and unrealistic at worst.

Creatives tend to feel deeply and take notice of everything, almost to a fault. They know it’s partly because of who they are, and partly because it’s what they’re supposed to do: if you don’t pay attention and capture the details, the moments that matter most, then you won’t have anything to be inspired by. Inspiration can be a matter of waiting, but it’s also a matter of discovering.

For some, the threads of expression become a way to survive, especially when they can’t quite grasp what’s going on around them. As a teenager I wrote myself raw, where my dreams, thoughts, and feelings came out more clearly on paper than in actual conversation. I was in that confusing in between stage of not-quite being a kid, but definitely not an adult.  Artistry, whether in the form of writing or music, was the comfort and support I craved but couldn’t get (at least not in a way that I could understand at a young age). I was told that I had a God given talent, but sharing it seemed to result in pushing people away, or frustration because of what I was going through. I developed a sense of perfectionism, wanting to protect what I viewed as sacred, not to be blotted by the opinions of those who could only see from a distance.

“So…what are you going to do with that?”  

It’s a question that most high school and college graduates are faced with, and a valid one. That being said, it’s often loaded with open-endedness and doesn’t really help in planning a future. It’s more thought provoking to ask, what are willing to sacrifice? What are you willing to give? And most importantly, how many times are you willing to pour your heart out and bare your soul, running the risk of getting sucker punched with a “You’re not good enough” at the end?

Not everyone wants to make a career (let alone a life), out of that, and it’s completely understandable. It’s a challenge, finding the balance of giving an audience what they want to see/hear, and saying what they want to say. There’s no shame in not wanting to stop loving what you do because you might demanded to produce more than authentically create. The words are in my bones, but I’m not in a place where I’m ready to devote each and every day to being a full-time writer. I’m not ready for the isolation and quiet fury that comes with the territory, and I’m certainly not in a place financially to do it. I’m young and I want to establish myself first, which is why I went into marketing and content writing. It’s still cutthroat and competitive, but it gives me opportunities to be part of a team and form relationships, which I get most of my energy from.

I have a story to tell, and I will continue to do so regardless of the professional path I take. It takes courage to bleed vulnerability, knowing that some won’t understand where I’m coming from, and might even see it as a personal attack against them. I would never say anything to purposefully hurt anyone, but I can’t promise that it’s not going to be a tough pill to swallow.

I hear the skeptics, and I respect their opinions. But if you really stop and think about it, creativity is what keeps this crazy, ever-changing world going. None of us would stay sane if it wasn’t for art and entertainment, which is why I shake my head when people gripe about the latest book or movie/television phenomenon. Why is it so wrong to take a break from reality every once in a while, as long as you know how to separate fact from fiction? Yes, there are things that are completely BS, but it’s not the job of the creator to facilitate discussion about right and wrong.

For me it’s not about entertainment as much as it is about connecting with people; I’m much better at writing than I am at talking, so nine times out of ten I’ll give them an essay or something to read first before I try to articulate whatever it is that I’m mulling over. If they get weird about it, I’d like to think it’s because they see something in themselves that’s hard to face, or they just don’t get it. And that’s OK.

It comes down to doing what makes you come alive, and what makes you feel authentic. It doesn’t just involve pursuing happiness, but pursuing what makes you whole. Stop overthinking and trying to figure it all out, but go out and experience life. Ask questions. Allow yourself to get close to God and others.

Occasionally I hear talk about schools motioning to remove art and music programs from their curriculum, and the prospect makes me sad. If this has to happen due to lack of funds or teachers, I hope that they can still incorporate it into learning somehow. Teach kids what it’s like to listen to the radio, music and movies that previous generations grew up with. Encourage them to play, be messy, and find joy while doing it. The world is certainly scary, unkind, and not the safest place to be in; but that doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful either.

Never lose that sense of child-like wonder, regardless if time or experience makes you age. Explore. Write. Paint. Build. Be curious. Play. Stitch. Re-purpose. Finish.  Savor. Breathe. Learn. Love. Live.

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