Saturday, January 2, 2016

thoughts from a girl with my name.

a girl i know wrote something, and today i had the pleasure of reading it.

in short, she wrote about the beauty of epiphanies -- within this word, she
elaborated upon the idea of letting go, accepting life, acting without worry,
love that is unhindered, and writing, writing, writing.

basically, she's a girl after my own heart.
and her honesty -- honesty like that is rare in people.
anytime a person can be raw with his or her feelings,
i'm all ears and filled with admiration.


all week, i've been reciting tolkien to myself: it is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.

i just can't get past the message of the words --

how, in a moment of feeling overwhelmed by the future and what i should
be doing/should eventually do with my life, i can remind myself that a brilliant man
(a brilliant writer) knew that there was something about simplicity.


for my senior thesis paper i wrote about terrence malick's the tree of life.
coincidentally, this was the last film that i watched for my film class.
out of my own studies and from my professor's lecture on the film,
i learned that what might seem to be mundane in life might actually be sacred.

-in the film, a woman washes her feet with water from a hose --
and each time i watch that scene i can't help but be reminded of days
growing up, running around the neighborhood in the heat, and eventually
finding relief from the cool water that flowed from a hose and onto my face.

-then, a mother is chased through the house by her boys as they hold a lizard --
and i can't help but laugh at the pureness of a child's sense of humor,
and wonderment with very human reactions to aspects of life:
such as a mother's fear of reptiles (much like my own...).



today, when looking at job and internship listings, i couldn't help but
feel a sensation of suffocation burning within me.

i am baffled with my own age --
how old i've grown,
how young i still am,
how i seem to have so many years left,
yet by now i know how fast the tiles of life fall to the floor.

some days, i am so clear in my thinking that i firmly
trust in god's will for my life.

99% of my days are spent speculating, plotting, worrying, controlling
what that plan should look like, how i should go about it, how i might ruin it, etc.


i dream of anything but the mundane.
though i realize that the spectacular couldn't be spectacular
if the mundane did not take precedence.

and then i think, must the mundane live up to the word? can't it mean something more? can't it be a secret of sorts.

like the coolness of water from a hose onto a warm, dirty foot.
like the laughter of a child and a mother's playful engagement.

like the way i looked over at you during the film, and i was
filled with more joy as a result of your laugh and the warmth of your arm against mine
than i was from the beauty on the screen before me.

it is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.


i know that dreaming big is a great thing to do.
but i'm finding that the small dreams are just as good, just as healthy, and just as god-given.

i am often told that i have too many dreams --
i want to help people?...great.
i want to be a writer?...when?...how?
i want to travel?...with what money?...what about marriage and children?
i want be open to change and discomfort?...you'll grow out of that.
i want to fall in love again?...you're too young...what if you wait too long?...what about your morals?
i want to marry young?...what about your other dreams?
i want to move away from home for good?...where will you get the money?

and the most recent one:
i want to be a wife?...you're not meant to get married, you're supposed to be a writer.

seriously.

these answers have all been used towards me.

they're not even that bad, sure.

but they've been enough to challenge and belittle the idea of a simple life.

tonight i was picking out kitchen dishes, and i asked my mom why i love house things so much.
and she said it's because someday i want to make a home of my own.

without thinking i retorted, but i can't. that's so selfish.

and then i walked down the aisle wondering where such a statement came from,
and why so much fear was hurled within it.


these past few weeks i've had an epiphany of my own or, rather, it's more of a question --
what does a simple life look like? and how can it be great?

so, sure, i have collected numerous dreams.

big dreams.

and i have a lot of fear that i will feel like shit if i don't accomplish them.

but i am in the very early stages of learning to accept the smaller dreams,
to acknowledge the goodness within them,
to note their validity,
to respect that they might even be more sacred than any worldly success i could ever attain.



there is a man in my life,
for now he's a friend,
and in such a short amount of time he has illustrated the idea of dreaming the quieter dreams.

from my perspective, he's seemed to have lived many lives.
i know he's seen a lot,
experienced a lot,
and explored more than i have.

i know he has big dreams,
but what stands out to me even more are the small dreams
that he seems to welcome with ease.

his ability to accept the smaller dreams is something that i envy in the most admirable way i can.

whenever we are together, i have to keep myself from prodding him with questions.

i could ask him a million questions and just listen for as long as he'd let me,
but what i always want to get at his how he dreams the way he does,
and what those quiet dreams look like in his head.



for me, i keep having this one dream in mind.
it's so small and dainty that it's nearly a whisper,
but it's there through and through.


there's a handsome man in my home, and in the morning he
makes our coffee.

wooden floors creek in the earliest hours of the day as the house begins to stir.

the days are filled to the brim with business, but thank god for saturdays and sundays
when we can stay in bed and catch up on reading and shows and sleep and each other.

there's a baby in it, too. and i bring it to bed on those cool mornings.
and i am still young, yet exhaustion makes us feel old.

but the man -- he makes me laugh. god, i hope i'll always allow him to make me laugh.
and he doesn't let fear weigh him down like i let it weigh me down and rob me of hours.

on those quiet weekends, he and i relish in the mundane.
i wear his shirts upon my back and his socks on my feet,
and he lets me kiss him whenever i want.

there's a record player that hums in the corner,
and an old heater hisses within the walls.

and sometimes we look back on the kids we were before this small dream came to be.
and i can't dance, but in the kitchen he places his hands upon my waist, pulls me close,
and sways me to the humming record.

and perhaps a million other people live a similar life,
but no one will ever live ours exactly like we do.


and with this is my epiphany --
people can long for the same things,
have the same dreams,
and perhaps that might be somewhat mundane.

but the moment those dreams come to be--
whether mine are screamed loudly upon a film screen or whispered
within a home on a quiet piece of land during one of thousands of saturdays--

they are simple,
but not mundane.

and such a simple dream come true is no bad thing.

1 comment:

  1. Madison, this is so beautiful. Thank you for your writing. Thank you for inspiring me & thank you for being you.

    ReplyDelete