Category: hopes


a permanent imprint

November 12th, 2010 — 2:39pm

When I was a little girl, I was fascinated with my parent’s wedding rings. Any chance I could get, I’d pull their rings off and put them on my tiny fingers, twirl them around on my thumbs, run my fingers over their once-sharp edges, now smooth after decades of living.

What intrigued me even more, however, was my parents’ actual fingers. I couldn’t believe the imprint left behind once the ring was removed. The skin there was so smooth, with a deep ridge where the ring stopped and the rest of the finger continued. I was amazed at how a simple piece of jewelry could actually change a person, or at the very least, change the shape of a person.

I remember sitting next to Mom in church, clutching her wedding ring in one hand and examining her fingers with the other. I remember feeling amazed at how her skin, already so soft, could be even smoother where her wedding ring lived. My dad’s imprint was particularly impressive to me, since his hands were so big and rough (my mom always says he uses his hands like hammers). There on these thick, strong hands, hidden away on my dad’s ring finger, was this incredibly smooth patch. Soft, as if nothing harsh had ever touched it. Protected for years and years by his wedding ring.

I’m not exactly sure why these indents on my parents’ fingers captivated me so much, but there was something enchanting about it. It gave me this feeling of permanence, endurance, and safety. I liked that.

A couple weeks ago Bryant and I celebrated our three-year anniversary. Yesterday I slipped off my wedding rings to give them a little scrubbing, and I noticed something on my hand.

Can you see it? It seems I’m working on an imprint of my own. Three years and counting. I feel pretty happy about that little patch of skin. I’m excited to see what it looks like a few decades from now.

3 comments » | hopes, nostalgia, pictures

good omens

September 16th, 2010 — 2:11pm

I’ve consumed a lot of fortune cookies lately, and I’ve noticed something. I think the Powers-That-Be (or rather, the Powers-That-Be-In-Charge-Of-Fortune-Cookies) are trying to get through to me. Each crumbly little cookie has delivered the same type of message. Take a look:

I sense a theme, no? Moral of the story: Be on the lookout for opportunities. That’s a hunt I was already on, since I’m looking for a job at the moment. Hopefully this is a good sign. Think I should bring these fortunes into my next job interview as proof that they should hire me?

Bryant’s fortunes have had a pretty sweet theme, too:

Phew! What a relief! Here’s hoping there’s something to all of that.

3 comments » | for my amusement, good things, hopes, junk food

forever ago

August 12th, 2010 — 2:03am

I just found this:

I happened upon some of my old journal entries from many years back, during some of my darker days when just being alive was hard work, and this was one of the things I found.

It’s so strange and funny, and sometimes shocking, to read things written in the past. Because I don’t think I always realized what I was saying… how true and real the things I hoped for could be. How now, years later, I’d still be me, but be so different. That I’d have such a new view. That Me Now would be reading these words from a place that Me Then would have wanted to be. That it’s possible to grow. That those growing pains back then were just a part of the whole, long, messy process. They were a part of my “failing and continuing on anyway.” They were—in some terribly inconvenient and uncomfortable way—a part of my dream.

3 comments » | hopes, nostalgia, what's inside

succulent

July 2nd, 2010 — 11:33am

I’m really excited about my recent addition. I’ve had kind of mixed luck with my plants lately, though. I’m hoping that since a succulent can survive the desert, it will also be able to survive me.

1 comment » | hopes, pictures, while i was out

on remembering, on forgetting

May 28th, 2010 — 12:11pm

Student of memory.  I remember some things and have forgotten others.  Louise Erdrich, Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

Driving home yesterday, I was wishing I was better at remembering. Remembering everything. Foreign languages, cranial nerves, the names of my friends’ siblings, and just the regular details of living.

I was thinking about the stories old couples tell. I love hearing them recount how they met fifty years ago, the hard times they went through together, the funny thing that happened that random day so long ago. I wish I could remember all the details of my life like that. I know they don’t remember everything, and their retellings likely change with time, but I am still amazed at the minutia they can conjure up. I was thinking as I drove, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to remember everything? To be able to tell those stories to your grandkids, so they could learn how you “knew it was right,” how you got where you are, and all that other good stuff. But I already feel like I’ve forgotten so much. So many of my memories are already hazy. I’ve never been terribly confident in my memory.

Really, we are our memories. All we are is what we remember. If every day, we forgot everything we knew from the day before, we’d never survive. I mean literally. We wouldn’t be able to do anything—walk, eat, talk. What we remember makes us who we are.

There in my car, wishing I could remember everything better, this quote from my favorite book came to mind: “Student of memory. I remember some things and have forgotten others.” I’ve always loved that. Something about it just feels right. It’s calming. And sitting there at a stoplight, I realized it’s ok to forget some things. If we are what we remember, I’m glad I’ve forgotten some things. I thought of this woman I saw on a show a while back (coincidentally, I can’t remember what show) who remembered everything she ever saw. It wasn’t just a photographic memory. She actually remembered everything. She said it was a curse. To never have traumatizing memories fade? To never be able to quiet your mind? I hadn’t ever considered it before then, but it seems being able to forget is a blessing.

I am a student of memory. I forget some things and remember others. I learn from the things I keep. I just hope the things I remember and the things I forget are the right ones. And I hope the things I remember stay in tact in my mind for a long, long time to come. (And I hope the material from my anatomy class stays in tact at least one more week… long enough to pass my last two exams.)

2 comments » | books, hopes, quotes, what's inside

slow and steady

May 19th, 2010 — 5:53pm

Remember how I mentioned that I was teaching myself that song?

Well, it’s taken four months, but I finally got it down. Top to bottom by heart. Feeling pretty happy about it.

I think I might try this one next? But probably only if I get to wear coattails like that.

3 comments » | good things, hopes, music

big changes

November 19th, 2009 — 11:50am

Well, I figured it out.

I don’t know how it happened, but something clicked, and suddenly everything is right.

Remember my drought of ideas? How I struggled to muster up my go-power? How I was afraid of leaving my comfort zone? Or how about my inability to make big decisions without stewing over them f o r e v e r first?

I hesitate to say this because it sounds a little foolhardy, but I think I’m over it. At least for now. I know I’m not a different person—I still have the same personality flaws and weaknesses—but in some small way, I am different. Less hesitant, less fearful, more optimistic, more willing to step into the unknown. I found my momentum again. And let me tell you, the momentum is picking up.

Big changes are happening in my life. And what’s better, they’re big changes that I feel excited and confident about. I should probably admit that sometimes my confidence wanes, but those times always pass if I don’t cling to them. And since I’m being honest, you have to know that there’s still a little fear and nervousness with me in all this, but they don’t control me. Plus, I think those feelings are understandable. Especially considering what we’re doing.

We’re moving. To Seattle. That’s a place I’ve never been. We’re going without a place to live or a job lined up. Bryant and I are packing up our little cave of an apartment and simply driving away. I guess we’ll figure it all out when we get there. Oh yeah, did I mention, all this is happening really soon? Cause it is. In just over three weeks. Oh yeah, did I mention, I’m going back to school? Cause I am. Class starts the first week of January.

Oh, and did I mention, I couldn’t be happier. :)

4 comments » | hopes, travels, we live here now, what's inside

roll the window down (hit play: passenger seat)

September 25th, 2009 — 11:42am

I was the only one on the road for miles. No lights shone before or behind me, only the stars above and the glowing half-moon. No lamp posts lit my way ahead on the curving canyon road, only my own cockeyed headlights.

Death Cab’s “Passenger Seat” began to play (listen to it in my player over there on the right), and I rolled my window down. Cold, night air poured in. I turned on the heater. I know it might seem ridiculous, but I couldn’t ignore the necessity of an open window as I drove through the deep night in such a tranquil canyon with music like that playing. And since the autumn mountain air is a bit nippy, a blowing heater takes just the right edge off. It’s a method my roommate and I perfected on stressful college nights when we needed a release. Call me crazy, but try it sometime and you’ll understand why I do it.

There was no stress tonight, though. I felt deliciously content. Happy. Beautiful dark mountains, changing seasons, the freedom of a full tank of gas, and the irreplaceable feeling of someone waiting for me at home.

Michael Stipe was telling me about how he’ll take the rain as I drove down the highway and approached my exit. His voice flooded my car. It filled up every possible space, rushed into every corner, to the point of bursting. Nearly.

It was quite possibly a perfect night. The ride up the mountain was just as refreshing as the ride down, as was the company in between.

It’s good for me to change my rhythm every now and again.

Remember being a kid and riding in the car with your friends, the windows down, singing along with your favorite song at the top of your lungs? How come we don’t do that as adults? I hope, many years down the road, after much more life has happened to me, I still find occasion to sing at the top of my lungs with friends in my car.

3 comments » | hopes, music, nostalgia, the great outdoors, travels, what's inside

brain crack, and the space between zero and one

September 21st, 2009 — 12:38pm

Is it lame to post someone else’s ideas about a topic like this? Mmmmmm… I’m still doing it. I am, after all, a victim of brain crack.

Aaand along those lines…

I stumbled on these videos at the show with zefrank (after first stumbling across his stuff at Writing to Reach You). I’ve only watched a few, but I generally get a good kick out of them.

I get what he’s talking about. Why has it been so hard for me to find that “get up and go”? To do something with these ideas I’ve been toying with for years? (Years!) I recently realized that as a result of me sitting on so many ideas for so long, new ideas simply don’t come as often. Similarly, I’ve discovered that holding out on tackling a dream doesn’t just make that dream more difficult to accomplish; it makes it harder to dream about anything in the first place.

But my life has been exciting lately because now that I’ve realized all this has happened, I’m able to change it. I’m feeling those dreams and new ideas start to churn again. It’s similar to that sensation when you suddenly recall an old, pleasant childhood memory that’s been buried away and forgotten for ages. It’s startling and exhilarating.

It’s not frustrating and doused in guilt, like it’s been so often in the past. It’s exciting and energizing. Still a little scary, but mostly motivating.

(pssst, sorry for the cursing at the end of the first video, ma.)

2 comments » | hopes, quirks, what's inside

to relax

June 18th, 2009 — 5:15pm

I’m posting these for no other reason than they feel good to me. Sort of like they fit in with my day. And sort of like they’re what I wish my day was.

- – -

- – -

- – -

(Each of these comes from Shutter Sister’s “the daily click”.)

1 comment » | hopes, lists, pictures

Back to top