Part 2

I suppose there is a distinct problem with telling a story—by the time you realize you have a story to tell, you are deep in the midst of it. And often, for many of us, it is hard to tell where the story has ended—or if it has ended at all. I thought this story of self-discovery had ended nearly two years ago with my last piece of writing. But I have come to realize that every breath I take is a story of its own, and I do not intend on taking any breath in vain. Each breath, each story, is a gift I refuse to waste.

 I am a "nobody." I have spent my whole life in a small town where everyone knows each other’s name. But few know mine. Some call me a wallflower, my parents call me a "late bloomer,” and I feel like the only flower I happen to be is a weed everyone desperately wants to remove from their lawn. I am imperfect, but not in a “stunning rose” way. I am more of a wilting dandelion in the final days of summer, just before it grows in to a ball of wishes.

 I tend to recklessly disregard any sense of normality in my life. Normal is for squares, and I am far from a square. Still, no matter how far I tried to stray from “normal” as a child, I seemed to just hopelessly blend in to the mind-numbingly dull, gray tones of the lockers that lined the prison cell I once called school. My resume, however, always had the social life I never did. Once a month I would see my name in the paper for awards I didn't even know I was nominated for.

Everyone had plans for me. I was expected to be the doctor of the family, or the lawyer, or the first woman in my family line that has graduated from college with more than a MRS degree. Well, the MRS degree is included in the 10-year plan that has been handed to me. But still, they seem to think that a high school GPA and a few cheap certificates printed on construction paper, whose sole purpose is to validate my future, automatically define me.

 I’m not sure who I am. I have spent my whole life trying to figure it out. I've gone through every awkward phase in the book. There was the “emotionally fragile” phase. That lasted less than a week until I realized that there was no way to wear thick black eyeliner and not have it smudge all over your eyelids when you blinked. Needless to say, that phase of my life ended after the first time I looked in a mirror. Then there was the jock phase. I learned quickly that it was hard to live up to jock status after being knocked out cold by a dodgeball in gym class. So it was back to the drawing board. But after 21 years, nothing has ever seemed to fit.

 After years of reckless self-discovery in the form of late-night writing, I have found myself nowhere closer to discovering who I was than when I first put pen to paper. Perhaps, that was the greatest thing I had discovered-- that through these writings I had strangely decided to share with the world there was this underlying realization that I could not be categorized. And though it took me 21 years to determine that I was unique enough to avoid the categories society arbitrarily threw at me, I still continue to feel a pressure to fit in.

 I have never been a jock, an artist, a lover, a fighter, a nerd, a socialite, a beauty queen or a tomboy. Still, each of these things shone through in me. The mission for self-discovery was a puzzle I was trying to blindly piece together—each piece shed a little light, but I still didn't understand the full picture. I can’t say I’m any closer to understanding the full picture, but every time I write, I see the rawest side of myself, and that is a piece I am glad I have discovered through the years.

eternally optimistic

How much does it pay to be the eternal optimist? Is there a positive to seeing the positives?
In a world so full of instant gratification, why do we allow ourselves to get caught up on little things, such as a bad grade or even a bad romance? Why are we so prone to "on-again, off-again" relationships even after being raised on the idea that there are more fish in the sea and more frogs to kiss before finding a prince?
If love is blind, why do we have a "type"?
I start to wonder is my "optimistic" personality is just pessimism in disguise. I feel optimistic about someone, even through the worst of relationships, and I keep giving them chances to change. I wonder how many great opportunities and people I have let go for the sake of getting back in to a drama-filled relationship. Am I really optimistic about this person, or am I pessimistic when it comes to believing any other love is out there for me?
I believe there are plenty of frogs out there left for me to kiss before I find a prince; not everyone gets to have a Cory and Topanga romance. But how many frogs do I even give a chance to if they're "not my type?" Am I being optimistic in that I believe a perfect guy is out there for me, or do I shoot them down before I ever even consider the possibility of love?
In the end, how pessimistic is optimism?

confessions...

I am completely and totally in love with a guy who doesn't know I exist. The only reason I ever fell for him was because he was always there and I gave up on every other person I ever had feelings for. I even went to the same school as an old love just for one more year to change his mind, which I didn't do because I never had the nerve to talk to him and work things out.
I pretend to be an eternal optimist, when in reality I'm about as pessimistic as they come. I don't believe in love. I don't believe that friendships can truly last a lifetime, past all of the life choices that are bound to change you. I don't believe any one like me can ever be loved and I don't believe that men are ever truly capable of loving anyone in the first place.
I don't believe there is such a thing as a genuinely happy relationship. I don't believe that everything happens for a reason and that you'll be happy it happened one day. I don't believe that the terrible things that happen in this world can be overcome.
There is no reason for this post. There is no rhyme or reason to why I decided to share these thoughts with other people. I just feel like there is no way to explain why I think the way I do without explaining what it is I'm thinking in the first place.

Leave the pieces when you go...

They say that all the mistakes that come with being in love our worth making because love changes us in to the person we were meant to be. But how much of ourselves are we leaving behind in search of mister right? Can trying to be the eternal optimist lead to pessimism? Is love ever entirely worth it?
As I was sitting reading the happy ads this week, I couldn't help but feel entirely unhappy. I don't want to say that I wasn't glad that these people had found someone to spend the rest of their lives with, but at the same time it was just a jab in my side reminding me that I was alone. If you ever want to be reminded that you're single, read the happy ads.
However, I kept telling myself that as the eternal optimist for love, there was someone out there for me. In the mean time, I would sulk about my loneliness. Sure, sulking subsided at times; those times being any time I met the acquaintance of a man who had not done jail time- after all they could be a potential match. As soon as I convinced myself this person was a potential candidate in the love field, something would spring up and I would realize that I'm meant to be alone right now. I'd tell myself I'd have to kiss a few frogs before I find my prince. And thus, the vicious cycle begins again.
Meanwhile, I'm surrounded by people falling in love all around me. Maybe I was coming across to desperate? Maybe I was coming across to guarded? I would change myself daily to fit my mindset about how I was being perceived. Maybe my issue wasn't how I was being perceived, but how I was perceiving others. While my mind flooded with thoughts of insecurities about love, I lost myself, thinking that those around me were only there to judge me, not love me.
So can it be that the eternal optimist doubles as the eternal pessimist? Can someone like me fall in love? Am I ready to stop changing myself long enough to open myself up to love and the changes that come with that? Am I missing opportunities trying to find them?

I'm here without you, but you're still on my lonely mind...

On a lonely Thursday night, I'm left wondering, "Is it possible for love to survive any distance?"
As the weeks go by into this school year, pessimism sets in about relationships...especially long-distance relationships. You hear people crying over relationships ended due to "distance" and the "complications those distances bring." I wonder if we are able to define on our own whether or not a relationship is built to last until we try it.
Sometimes, you get a gut feeling about someone, and from experience, usually those gut feelings are right. But I wonder, can gut feelings be persuaded by fear? Are even our gut feelings over-analyzed?
Sometimes I question how much of our own fate we play a role in. Is it possible for fate to be interrupted by fear and personal desires? Is the end result still fate after all?
For instance, the fear of a long distance relationship can overpower feelings of love without the ability to talk things through with the other person. Was that relationship built to fail, or did we just give up? Was walking away from the relationship the right thing for us, or the right thing to shut down all of our fears?
I refuse to be pessimistic about love and distance this year. I refuse to be just another victim of fear.

I think I'd miss you... even if we had never met...

Have you ever just looked at someone and said "that's the person I'm going to marry one day?" Ok, maybe not, because you're not a complete creep like me, but I just have this gut feeling like I finally found someone meant to last a while, and for once, I'm not afraid with those thoughts. I feel like it is meant to work at between us, and it's a calming feeling. I think I've found what's right for me. For once, I think I've found what's right for me.

silence is golden

I don't know what it is, but I've suddenly lost any sort of drive towards sharing my life and thoughts with other people.
However, for the sake of my writings being a record of my thoughts and feelings throughout my life, I thought I'd try and say something to sum up this last month.
I'm not sure why, but I suddenly started feeling like I wasn't really sure about my religion. I know I believe in God and that Jesus Christ saved us from our sins, but something wasn't totally there for me.
I had a child at church camp ask me about God and why I believed in Him. When I said that I had always believed in His love for me, she continued to ask me why, and I realized that I didn't really know. There is nothing more terrifying that realizing that what you thought you believed was unsure, and I've really been battling with those feelings lately.
My thoughts always seem to focus around something negative before I tell myself why it's wrong to think that way. But I wonder if I tell myself to change my ways just to because I feel obligated to as a christian, rather than because I truly feel it's the right thing to do.
This has been circling my mind for the past month, and I'm not sure I can offer any deep insights on it. I'm just worried about what sorts of battles with my faith may come from this...