"Perfect" is the Scariest Word in the English Language

This week has been good, very good. It has been ever so slightly scary.

I have been watching the pieces come together, found answers and clarity. The cynic in me says it's too good to be true.

My father wrote me an e-mail today:

I have been praying for you a lot and sense God’s favor is resting on you right now. As you move out in faith, the Lord is going to give you the land your foot rests upon. I’m not sure what that all means, but He longs intensely for you and desires your attention. So, give heed to His voice whenever you sense it and ask Him where you are to step, so that His grace goes before you into the land. I think some things are breaking loose, so be ready for some positive changes and walk boldly into them. Faith is spelled R-I-S-K

I wonder if this means I should "risk" believing that it is possible. I wonder when believing in the good in life became so hard to do.

I know life is not perfect, so when it feels like it's getting too close, I pull myself back. I don't want to be disappointed. Not in people, not in life, not in God. I would say I take the coward's way out by just dismissing any desire I cannot acquire for myself. I think it is more of a survival technique than cowardice though.

It may be time for me to stop surviving and just live fearlessly. Love and dream and hope without inhibition. I'm learning. Aren't I always?

Today has been hard. Despite the beautiful life around me, my brother's struggles brought out an unexpected rage in me. The anger made me start questioning all the good, believing the easier version of the truth where everything falls apart.

Thing is, nothing is made to last forever and that's okay. Things could be beautiful forever without them being the same. I think if they did stay the same, they would lose their wonder.

Yes. I am going to try to believe that life can be perfectly, divinely beautiful. I am going to try to believe that God is willing to give that to me. By now I should know that he gives me gifts I could not have imagined for myself. I once read that desire and longing are the lifeblood of the soul. I want to live, even if it hurts sometimes. Life is too long to hold onto pain and too short not to risk it.

Hearts heal, regrets last forever: here goes nothing!

Me and Tippi

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon. I looked at the eggplants downstairs and promptly bought a coffee and bagel and wandered back upstairs. I need to go back down their and get one of those eggplants, some parm and some bread. Maybe some mozzarella too. The dish is going to be beautiful, but today is as grey as an old movie, so I am putting that off and settling in with the melancholy vibe. I am looking that bad boy in the eyes and just letting him sit there and stare right back.

I have been on a total Tippi Hedren kick lately. I am thinking about dying my hair the same shocking color blond. Flipping through old photo's of her, I came across the one above, which I simply adore! Sitting calmly with the object of her terror, lighting a cigarette with a match from his beak. How striking, how appropriate!

At a certain point you come to accept those things you dislike, stop running from the man in black and simply invite him in. There is a certain relief in this. I was looking at my old photos earlier too.

It is extraordinary how much of your life can be captured in a simple snapshot! I laughed at the tacky younger version of myself! Shiny jackets, long nails and big hoop earrings. I enjoyed seeing the thinner and thicker versions of myself. I looked closely to see what has changed over the years. I look older now, but I can't figure out what it is. I don't have wrinkles or anything, just older. My bone structure is more pronounced, which I love! I always wished for sharp cheekbones growing up, I guess good things come to those who wait. I looked at pictures of my little brother, the buff marine and the little boy, God I adore him! I laughed like crazy at a picture of him when he got fat!

I also looked at the pictures of D and I. The cake I made him for his 29th birthday, the gigantic one I made for his 30th, pictures of first dates and homes and family gatherings. They broke my heart a little, but they also made me smile. I miss him so much sometimes. God we look so different! How can you get that much older in less than four years? I am not a masochist, but I am tired of running. It is much better to just sit with these things every now and then and calmly look them in the eyes, then put them away again.

So, what is my object of terror, my flesh hungry crow? Am I afraid of being alone, or of regret or simply of pain? When I really think about it, it is not any of these things exactly. I suppose I am afraid of becoming someone else. I am afraid of becoming that deeply sad girl again. I am afraid of becoming that girl who desperately sought love, who let that quest preoccupy her mind. I am afraid of losing all the strength and happiness I have gained over the years. Looking at this fear, right into his beady little bird eyes, I think that perhaps it is as imaginary as a the idea of a flesh eating crow. I have grown-up and I will never be that little girl again.

That knowledge not going to stop me from grieving, or worrying from time to time (if only there was something to cure me of these, but I am still a woman!), but it does allow me to stop running. I can lean-in and calmly let my benign avian stalker light my cigarette. He poses no real threat, there is nothing left to run from.