30's

"That's what your 20's are for. You're 30's are to learn your lessons. You're 40's are to pay for the drinks."

I turned 30 years old 11 months ago. I always thought turning 30 would be a more significant event for me. I thought my mentality would change and I would begin to manifest those changes in my lifestyle. It seems...I am a little late to the party on this one. I am fairly certain that it is impeccably less fashionable to arrive 11 months late than say, 20 minutes but alas, I am here. Traffic was a bitch.

A whole gamut of things to "blame" but much time has been wasted expressing my thoughts on that topic so I'm choosing to move on. Thirty passed me by but lately, she's rounded the corner and she is an insistent little thing.

Although my over-active mind has always allowed me to fantasize about living out my ideals in big ways, my ability to procrastinate has aided me well in my pursuits of not actually doing anything. Lately though, the fire in my belly has reached a boiling point. Action is now, simply put, unavoidable.

Netflix on demand is a lovely invention. An invention that has allowed me to indulge my love for all things documentary about food, health, global warming, the food industry, etc.. My perfect escape from what I know I need to do and what I don't know how to do is to watch other people do it. Somehow, I trick myself, if only for a hour or so, into feeling engaged and involved.

Recently, I had my blood pressure taken and it was high. Just typing this sentence makes me realize that I am not a kid anymore. The fact that I'm even thinking about my blood pressure and in turn, writing about it, is mind blowing to me. My first thought when she told me? No shit. No shit my blood pressure is high. I could have told you that without the dial. Living in a near constant state of stress tends to do that to a person. Now, I know that I've always been a little "keyed up" but since my move to Florida, it's been encompassing.

In an effort to calm my mind by calming my body and learn to let the shit go and focus on the farmer's market....I'm gonna put my ideals in action and start the wheels turning. I am choosing to make my triumphs (and struggles) public here on my blog so that I can share my experiences on the road to equilibrium.

Schooled

"The most useful of learning for the uses of life is to unlearn what is untrue."

Antisthenes

Repeated lessons are profoundly effective. When we stumble time and again over the same boulder in the walkway, we tend to become fed up with the process of getting banged up and learn to walk around the road block.

Re-charting the territory a bit and creating pathways in which new lessons can be learned. Positive lessons. Happy lessons. Lessons that are the making of butterflies, rainbows, puppies and all things shiny.

Consistently a proponent of instruction that encompasses all learning styles, I'm apparently not a fan of the being disrespected in my own home variety. Who would have thought....

Kicking the damn boulder out of the way and watching it shatter into a trillion insignificant little pebbles.

Redefining Communication

Are we redefining communication or stifling it?

In an over-communicative world, one has to wonder…have we communicated ourselves right out of something to say? Have we murdered the art of conversation down to abbreviations and symbols that will fit into one text message? While avoiding data-plan overage charges is a thrifty idea indeed, I worry that we may be robbing ourselves of true substance.

In addition to the instantaneous nature of personal communication, we’re suffering from other abbreviated forms of communication as well. If, during the few seconds it takes us to sign into our email accounts, we don’t see a shocking or moving headline scroll; do we even think to read the news? Have we become so accustomed to being spoon-fed that we fail to realize the reward of digging?

Today, I remembered an assignment I had in high school where, for economics class, we were told to keep a close eye on the economic nature of our country. In order to facilitate the important lesson, we were asked to subscribe to the Wall Street Journal. I had to wonder; do students these days get the pleasure of inked fingertips and the smell of the word press? Or, are they in their self-sufficient bedrooms, seated comfortably in front of a glowing screen, hoping to find just enough information to complete their assignment; all the while, attempting to make it look as though they understand the information?

As I scrolled through the homepage of my facebook account today, I found myself debating the pros and cons of this phenomenon. I cannot, even with my closet hippie tendencies exposed, proclaim that this form of communication is all bad. After all, most likely, I will post the link to my blog on facebook as soon as I hit the submit button. The fact that I’m writing in a blog at all is evidence that I too feel the urging for my voice to be heard. But has it cheapened sentiment? Is a “Happy Birthday” or “Congratulations, you’re {insert important life event}!” really the same pumped through facebook for all to see?

As I completed tasks around my apartment this weekend, I became acutely aware of my attachment to my cell phone. I love hearing from those that I hold dear in my life but when I add it up, I am fairly certain that the efficiency of my chores would considerably increase if I wasn’t at the beck and call of a text alert.

And full circle…

Is our society so obsessed with instant communication that we ourselves have single handily held the assault weapon to conversation, unknowingly? Have we advanced so far in the “instant” that when we’re in the presence of others, we’re all tapped out of things to say? After all, how many times have you heard someone (or yourself) say, “Did you read my post on facebook?” only to be answered with, “Oh yeah, that was funny, I can’t believe that happened to you!” I find that these moments are quickly followed by a labored pause and a fleeting thought of “well, there goes that story.” Are we so quick to click on “status update” that we lose the update all together?

Just something to chew on for awhile…

There's good stuff here...

Step back....look around....drink it in.....

I have to confess that the title of the blog is actually a quote from one of my favorite shows. During the spiral down of a once sparkling connection, the man pauses as he walks out the door and says, "There's good stuff here."

I've always been a firm believer that if you were, at one time, truly in love with someone or something or some place, remnants of that force will remain with you always. Pieces will break off as the years roll forward and float into corridors of your mind that may not receive much attention but that person or thing or place will remain loved on some level.

I'm not suffering from a break-up but lately, I have been suffering from a lack of connection with this place that I was once so enamored with that I picked up and moved. Losing sight of the beauty and allowing myself to feel as if everything has gone to shit. Apologies, there's not lady like way to say that particular truth. A version of tunnel vision descended and all I have been able to see is the ugly that the sandy beaches do a darn good job of covering up for the tourists.

The truth is, there is ugly everywhere, if that's what you choose to focus on.

Even in...gasp...my beloved home state, Indiana. The emotional connection I have with so many that still live there is what allows me to think of Indiana as this magical place where everyone is kind, everyone can be trusted and no one ever flakes out on you.

I have read a few articles lately about transitioning from where you grew up to a far away land that you chose to move to. I have particularly focused on articles that chronicled the experience of those that chose to do that "alone" or as a single little one. It seems that the cold, hard facts point to the fact that this type of transition is just plain difficult. It's takes well over a year to establish a sense of home somewhere when you're building from nothing.

Shockingly, contrary to my typical patient nature, I haven't been patient with this process or the people that surround me.

Put the hostility down and step away, Liz. No one is saying that where you grew up isn't awesome. That doesn't mean that Florida can't be awesome too.

3 wishes...

"Everything you have, inside and out, can be stolen from you if you allow it to be."

So much more than material possessions. I like my bed, my computer, my chair, don't get me wrong. But these things are just that....things. What I like even more is my ability to reason and conclude from the information around me. The gift that God has given me to deduce reality in situations and act accordingly. Three truths I came upon this weekend:

1) Cigarette companies and their executives could quite possibly be wealthy (or become so) at the hand of my health and risking of life. A truth that got me through a craving today that was so fierce, I found myself pissed at nothing. But I came out on the other side of the craving, not having puffed away on something that literally has no positive attribute.

2) A week ago, I started to embrace my love of eating at home and treating my body well with "whole foods" again. Nothing fancy or impressive but it hasn't been processed. I have enjoyed both the fiscal savings of not sitting in a circular line around a cookie cutter building for half of my lunch break AND the fact that my body has felt better.

3) My opinion, if true and holistically cultivated by yours truly is not up for debate. When I say I feel something, I am not inviting the verdict as to whether others are functioning in common thought.

And so...my health, emotionally and physically is a blessing that I've been given. It's about darn time I started taking care of both. This process of rebuilding may not be easy but after the year I've had...I'm pretty sure I'm up for anything!

Thank you, Lord, for your blessings and ability to change that which has not been working since June 2010.

Love is a Shelter.....

"Love is a shelter, in a raging storm. Love is peace in the middle of a war."

I absolutely adore the song "Love is Not a Fight" by Warren Barfield. I've loved it ever since I heard it first in the film "Fireproof" and then at my friends' wedding. It's a beautiful song that talks about love being a house that we enter in to, committing to never leave.

For me, it's always spoken to the level of commitment God has to loving us and the commitment he urges us towards in our relationship with Him; obviously, it can be applied to relationships with one another as well.

There's a line from the song that says, "And if we try to leave, may God send angels to guard the door." When I listened to the song tonight, it really struck me that whether life is easy or difficult, whether our days are short and sweet or long and challenging, God calls us to the same level of obedience. He calls us to that level of obedience because He loves us and He knows that we need Him in order to be truly satisfied and at peace in life.

I have continually attempted to challenge this notion, unintentionally. I'm not sure why, exactly but I am sure it comes down to a general feeling of undeserving. Why would God want me to be His child? We all wonder that from time to time because we know how imperfect we are. The beauty is that God began loving us prior to even creating us and that means that He knew exactly how annoyingly rebellious or dreadfully questioning we were going to be. He knew it and yet, He loved us enough to create us and send His son to death for us.

Life is unbelievably beautiful when looking through the lens I have been given as God's child.

Thank you Jesus, for your love and your forgiveness. Someday, we'll laugh about my foolishness....

Throwing darts in the dark....

"Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some under culture but mainly to save themselves, to survive."

An octopus whose tentacles were detached in a tragic accident. A cat whose whiskers were singed off when curiosity got the best of him with that sweet smelling candle.

Writing sustains this little soul and allows me to feel my way through the dark.

Sometime in the last few months, I stopped courting writing, however handsome he was to me at one time. I stopped making him dinner. I stopped telling him how dashing he looked in his smile. I allowed him to whither from lack of attention...from neglect.

Shame on me.

There's a scene from a movie where a woman describes the need for a man in a remote village to create a totem pole. She details his conversations about how the creation of the totem pole allowed him to fill a hole in his heart. She admits that she cried when she saw it, standing tall and carefully carved before her.

A visually artistic bone does not exist within my being. I'd force that realization upon my friends and family by taking art classes and sending my "works" across the country to sit atop mantles but...I love everyone too much for that madness.

My totem pole may not be visually striking but striking it is nonetheless. It is my personal belief that we are not given choices as to those things in life with which we are granted the ability to do with great ease. Writing happens to be a choice I was given.

As I sat mesmerized by a new album I acquired this weekend, I almost felt as if I was sitting in my old bedroom in high school. Hours spent listening to music (some good, thanks to the musical tastes of my family. Some, not so good thanks to youth and idiocy). The lyrics were what grabbed me. The words of someone who I never had the opportunity to meet (I'm holding out for a dinner date, Ben) somehow wiggled and wormed their way into my chest and compressed and released.

I read an article recently where the author purely and simply gave an urging to souls floating who felt as though writing were their insides. He said, "Write for no pay. Spill the guts of who you are onto paper or keyboards whenever you can. Tell your story or the story of others as if someone will one day give a shit. It matters. It all matters. What's floating around in there? It has substance because it is. So write without the paycheck and click clack those heels together the day someone offers you one."

Building totem poles one letter at a time.