The Deep End, the Deep End

I'm pretty sure I've said it before, but this song is what it's like to live with an anxiety disorder. At least, for me it is. When I was living at my grandma's house a few years ago, I was in a pretty bad place. And one day I was listening to this song while driving to school or something and eating an entire box of Junior Mints, and I remember thinking, "Yes. They get it. This is what it's like." And I put it on repeat and belted it (an octave higher) at the top of my lungs every time I was in the car for the next week.

Every once in a while I'll binge on this song again. I have a lot of friends who get it, who live with this every day like I do, but there's something about being able to rock out and belt a song that's way too high and expend all of that nervous energy while knowing that somebody else gets it that's just so therapeutic. Because it's hard to feel trapped everywhere you go and never seem to make any progress, but as long as there's good music in the world and people who understand, it can't be all bad.

So, here. Add this song to your "I'M FREAKIN' OUT" playlist (I know you have one) and remember while you're rockin' out that it really isn't all bad.

Mantra

"I just want to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do."

"I've been here for seven years--I don't know how much longer I can stand it." I was sitting in my advisor's office at school. He was munching on little red bell peppers and I was fighting back hysteria.

"Let's take a look at your transcript," he said.

For half an hour we chatted about classes and internships and grad school applications while he created a master schedule for me.

"So, it's a tall order but if you don't mind crazy work loads, it looks like you can be done in Spring 2015." [Sam (that's my advisor's name) does this thing where he kind of shrugs with his whole body--his shoulders come up, his arms flop over, his head tilts sideways, and his eyes get really wide, all at once. Usually when he's saying "so."] He full-body shrugged throughout this pronouncement.

"You know, I think I can handle a full schedule in the summer. Could that help? Could I do it by Fall 2014?"

"Well--"shrug"--It's possible, but I don't recommend it." Shrug. "Some people do it, but since it's a block schedule, it's a lot of work in a short space of time." Shrug.

I sighed. "I've been here for so long. I just want to move on with my life."

"I know. But if you think about it, figuring out what you want to do with your life is kind of a big deal. Your education is kind of a big deal. And in the grand scheme of things, seven, eight, nine years is not a lot of time when you're going to be working for the next forty, fifty years of your life. No two people are the same, and the educational process is different for everybody. I say it takes as long as it takes. If you finish in four years, great. If you finish in ten years, great; you've learned a lot. It takes as long as it takes, and you shouldn't worry about it."

It takes as long as it takes...


I thanked him, wrapped up the meeting, and wandered down the hall to a bank of unoccupied chairs. Normally, such a statement would have driven me crazy.

It takes as long as it takes?! Pah! I should be done by now! I should be long gone! I should be running wild through the Scottish lowlands, being all international and independent and free from the burden of the last ten years of my life! It takes as long as YOUR FACE!

But that day, those were the exact words I needed to hear.

It takes as long as it takes. I'll finish when I finish. I have my whole life ahead of me to worry about my life, about bills and jobs and seeing the world. I'm here now and that's that. This is my situation and I can live through it gracefully or I can squander my time feeling sorry for myself, pining after a future that isn't certain anyway. So, live gracefully it is.

With this new philosophy fresh in my mind, the next few days were different--brighter, easier, more comfortable. And then I realized that I was falling in love with someone who had just fallen in love with my friend. And a fresh wave of lonely impatience rose up and razed my newfound confidence.

Seriously? Again, Aubrey? You're really good at this. At this rate, you'll be 65 when you get married.

I'm pretty sure I can't recognize flirtatious behavior. Or maybe I have really bad timing. Or maybe I don't know myself very well. Whatever the problem is, three times in the recent past I've fallen in love and realized it too late. Three times I've decided to risk everything on a guy the second after he picked someone else. Three frickin' times I've been shy and emotional and slow on the uptake, and then when I finally think, yeah, maybe this is it, maybe it's my turn to belong to someone, to have comfortable conversations about mundane things, to hold hands, I turn around to face this possibility and he's holding someone else's hand, tracing patterns on her palm.


Three times I've looked on and thought, if only I'd realized it sooner, I could have prevented this. But that's wrong. Prevented what? Prevented happiness? Prevented two wonderful people from developing a loving relationship? Prevented an eternal marriage, that thing so precious and sacred? In my selfishness and my cowardice, I would prevent all of that so that I wouldn't feel passed by, because I thought it was my happiness, my relationship, my late-night talks about the possibility of us.

I completely missed the point. Three times I was so far off the mark that I couldn't see this invaluable truth: it takes as long as it takes. I'm still here, I'm still alive, I haven't died of a broken heart. In fact, I have a pretty good thing going (except that my new pants smell like mothballs and it's driving me CRAZY). Obviously it isn't my turn yet, and that's okay. Really, I'm okay with that. I know that I have so much to learn and so much to do and so much to give. If I can't graduate for another year and a half, that's fine. I'll survive. If I don't find a boyfriend in the next fifteen years, that's okay. I'll survive. I'll keep learning and doing and giving and receiving so much in return and trusting in my Heavenly Father and cultivating lasting relationships because that's what's really important.

And everything else? Well, it takes as long as it takes.

~~~

Recorded 9/14/13

Mother's Day

So, at the end of the movie version of A Series of Unfortunate Events, the Baudelaire orphans return to the ruins of their mansion for one last goodbye before they set off on another ill-fated adventure.  While there, they receive a long-lost letter, which their parents had sent from Europe before they died: 

Dearest Children, 
Since we have been abroad we have missed you all so much. Certain events have compelled us to extend our travels. One day, when you’re older, you will learn all about the people we’ve befriended and the dangers we have faced. 
At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may, in fact, be the first steps of a journey. 
We hope to have you back in our arms soon, darlings, but in case this letter arrives before our return, know that we love you. It fills us with pride to know that no matter what happens in this life, you three will take care of each other with kindness and bravery and selflessness as you always have. And remember one thing, my darlings, and never forget it - that no matter where we are, know that as long as you have each other, you have your family and you are home.
Your loving parents. 

The letter is beautiful and sad and almost too perfect to be real.  But one time, smack in the middle of my big breakdown, I was digging through my bucket of memories and I found a postcard my mom had sent me when I was a small child.  There's no post mark, so I don't know exactly when she sent it, but I'm certain it means more to me now than it ever did when I was 6 or 7.  

Hi there Princess Aubrey: 

How do you like this pretty picture?  This is the temple where Daddy and I were married.  Someday, you too will be married in a temple of the Lord.  I miss you.  I'm so glad that you are there to help Daddy.  He could use your help.  Thanks for being a good (and pretty) young lady.  I'll see you very soon. 

Remember to tell Daddy where you are going at all times. 

With love and kisses
Mommy

It isn't quite as dramatic as the one from the movie, but my "letter that never came" was as beautiful and sad and perfect to me as I imagine the one the Baudelaires received was to them.  

I could write volumes about how I feel right now, but it's far too late at night, and I don't want whoever might read this to have to wade through that kind of word vomit.  I'll compose my thoughts (and condense them) and post them sometime later.

Anyhoo.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  

Skidamarkink a-dink a-dink, skidamarink a-do, I love you.

❝ HER ABSENCE IS NO MORE EMPHATIC IN THOSE PLACES THAN ANYWHERE ELSE. IT’S NOT LOCAL AT ALL. I SUPPOSE IF ONE WERE FORBIDDEN ALL SALT ONE WOULDN’T NOTICE IT MUCH MORE IN ANY ONE FOOD THAN ANOTHER. EATING IN GENERAL WOULD BE DIFFERENT, EVERY DAY, AT EVERY MEAL. IT IS LIKE THAT. THE ACT OF LIVING IS DIFFERENT ALL THROUGH. HER ABSENCE IS LIKE THE SKY, SPREAD OVER EVERYTHING. ❞  A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis

Becoming More

I'm moving.

Not any time soon, mind you, but as it's graduation season and my friends are finishing school and moving on, I've been thinking about it a lot.  I'm 80% certain I'll head off to the University of Edinburgh the minute I graduate from UVU.  On study abroad 4 years ago, I fell in love with the city, the people, the purple-grey beaches, the lifestyle, the way the castle looks like it grew out of the mountain, and the U of E's MS Creative Writing program.  I'm going to a grad school open house in November to make sure, but if I can have my way, Auld Reekie it will be.

So in a couple of years, when all is said and done, I'll pack up everything I own, sort my belongings into the musttakewithmes and the putitinstorageuntilIsettledowns, and I'll set off across the ocean.

And I'll likely be alone.

The thought of spending a year entirely on my own, on a different continent, away from friends and family and familiar streets scares the crap out of me.  It seems so lonely and frustrating and a little bit empty.  But last night I was staring at my ring, the ring my mother gave me on her last Christmas, the ring I hope to someday wear on my left hand, and I saw, reflected in that hope, a potential for significance I had never realized.

I took this picture with my left hand!

This ring has meant so much to me in the last 5 years.  It is its own language of sentiment, rich with expressions of monumental loss and the good that can surface in its wake.  And when it changes hands, when it is slipped gently from right to left by a man who means everything to me, this ring will become more.  It will speak of two great significances, of before and after, of memories cherished and memories yet to be made, of a girl who sits writing in the park alone and a girl who sits writing in a park knowing there is someone to go home to.

And if a ring can take on  new meaning, more power with such a simple shift, what can a Thanksgiving alone do?  Birthdays and holidays and Sunday nights are just days imbued with the sense of belonging granted by a loving and generous family.  They speak of many years of difficulty and the perfect exultation of bringing new life into this world and the desperate sadness of watching it go.  But the transcendent and transformative power of new experience means that spending these days alone will give them new significance.  It means I can create or discover my own language of family and love and religion and self-confidence and home.  It's an exhilarating prospect.

I know it's going to be hard.  I'm not blind to the fact that starting from scratch is tedious and difficult.  But armed with this knowledge, I'm a little less intimidated and a little more prepared.  And I am absolutely ready to become more.


Watch out, Scotland.  Ready or not, here I come.

I did not take this picture. In fact, I didn't take any pictures while I was in Edinburgh.

~~~

Recorded 5/7/13



P.S. I'm now accepting donations.  Make checks payable to the Aubrey's Sooner Rather Than Later Fund.

Holy Thursday, Batman! (not as lighthearted as it sounds)

I just realized that this is Holy Week.  I don't know how I missed it, but knowing that I squandered the days leading up to Easter and the correlative opportunity to pay homage to my Savior makes me very sad, especially in light of my (almost sacred) epiphany last night.

I haven't been giving enough of myself, and it has to stop.  Actually, I don't think that's right.  I think I need to find ways to include my spirituality, my religion, my love of God in everything I do.  It's high time I prioritize and put the Lord first, because if I can't remember that Easter is this Sunday, and I can't find the time to celebrate the resurrection of Christ and think about what it all means for me, then I'm not doing it right.

I'll start with sharing the scripture that currently occupies my chalkboard:

"If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my father will love him, and we will come to him, and make our abode with him."  

John 14:23


And making a concerted effort to keep His words.

Leaning In

I have a thing for doors.  When I was in Europe, I took just as many pictures of interesting doors I came across as anything else.  In fact, except for a waxwork of the queen and a tiny stained-glass window, the only things I photographed in Warwick were doors.  I'm not sure what it is about them that seems so romantic to me, but I distinctly remember a pink door in our neighborhood in Chicago which charmed the pants right off me, so I'm pretty sure it's a deep-seated thing.

Starting with the house we built in Alpine, my mother always painted our front door a welcoming, rustic red.  It was a little glimpse of the fiery woman my mother was, a splash of her personality right there, first thing you notice about the house and a telltale sign of the kind of life led inside.  That red door became a symbol of home, a beacon that called us to warmth and security and helped us tell people where to park.

But it wasn't the door.

We ascribe so much power to inanimate objects.

The door had nothing to do with the home, yet it seemed like everything.  I could step up onto the kickplate after a long day, bathe in the color reflecting off of the door, lean in, and know that this was the place to which I always wanted to return.  I would ache for home, and the door would take me there.

I had a long day today.  It was just another day in a series of never-endingly-long days that piled up this month.  At its close, arms full of all the stuff I take with me and never seem to need, I trudged up the stairs to my apartment.  I managed to extract my keys from my armtangle, slipped the key into the lock, and leaned into the door.  It swung open in an easy sort of way and I stood in the quiet and the darkness of an unoccupied room.

I was home.

That truth rushed in out of nowhere, filled me up, and spilled over in a thousand thankful prayers.

At work today, I read a manuscript about a woman who suffered from postpartum depression.  It's a first-hand account of her struggle to love her newborn son, the trauma the experience caused, and her life after the trial.  Near the end of the book, when the author talked about the aftermath, I had this thought:

Where much is given, much is required.  But I think the inverse is also true—where much is required, much is given.

That woman had to endure an excruciating few months, which nearly cost her everything.  But in the end, she gained a beautiful, healthy family, a deep sense of appreciation for all of the good in her life, empathy for others who suffer from similar ailments, stronger ties to her husband, an unexpected financial opportunity, and countless other blessings.  The Lord required much of her, and when she had given everything, He gave her so much more than she could have asked for.

I've been lost the last few years.  If it's possible to wander from one day to the next, directionless, confused, and desperate, that's what I've been doing.  Having spent more nights sleeping on the couch than in my bed just for a change of scenery, missed the bus more times than I can count because I simply couldn't get out of bed in the morning, and been so lonely and helpless that I cried myself to sleep every night for three weeks, I cannot tell you the relief it was to come home tonight and be home.

Truly, where much is required, so very much is given.

My door is a shabby white (and still plastered with paper snowflakes from a heart attack incident in December).  The paint is peeling in a few places, the lock sometimes sticks, and I'm pretty sure the weatherstripping needs to be replaced.  But when I turn the key and lean into it at the end of a never-endingly-long day, it might as well be a welcoming, rustic red—a symbol of home.

~~~

Recorded 3/27/13

I'm Such a Nerd

Okay, I know it's been forever since I posted anything about me and my life, and I promise I'll get to that soon.  In the meantime, lookit what I made!  I made this!  I'm just so proud of it I could look at it forever.

Except that it's two in the morning and I need to go to bed before I go insane.

Le sigh, I am so in love with InDesign.  

I never have to worry about whether the program I open this with on another computer will screw up the formatting!  I can export this as a JPEG or a PDF or a dozen other file types! It wasn't even hard to get my headshot exactly where I wanted it! 

I'm going to bed.  Hopefully I'll have sweet, sweet dreams of easy-peasy document building.

On the Way Home: A Word Doodle

I want to dogear this moment and revisit it with my pen, come back to it again and again and circle my favorite parts, and talk about it nonstop at dinner parties.  I want to fold your words into a paper heart and hang it from my rearview mirror because this is perfection. 

Perfection on a Chalkboard

Love is the only ecstasy, everything else weeps. To love or to have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.

Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

I find myself coming back to this quote time and time again.  I don't know why it speaks to me so completely, but somehow I can never get it out of my head.