Reincarnation of the Happy Book.

So yes, as you could've guessed from my previous post, I am resurrecting the Happy Book.  Except, it's not going to function in quite the same way as it did before.  Here's how it's going to work.  I'm not going to write Happy Book entries into a physical notebook.  They are going to be posts on this blog with multiple happy things listed in each post.  They'll probably all be titled, "Happy Book Post of the Day" or something.  I won't make a minimum or maximum as to how many happy things I can list so I don't limit myself.  Each post will be as many happy things as I can think of or feel like writing at that moment.  I will also start with entry #1 even though my last entry in the physical Happy Books ended at 9,196 because this is an entirely different medium which denotes a slightly different approach and accessibility than its predecessor. 

There are several reasons why I want to do this and why I want to do it in this particular way:

1. I think it'll be good for my soul.  Especially for this particular season in my life, I need to get back into the habit of focusing on the blessings God has given me.  I'm also just such a different person than I was back in high school and the beginning of college, so it'll be interesting to see how I've changed.
2. I think it could be of encouragement for others.  This, of course, may not be true.
3. In the case that it would not be encouraging for others, I think it would just be interesting to read.  
4. It'll be a good exercise to help me post more frequently, since I have a lot of posting "down time" - the long periods of time between what ends up becoming my lengthier life posts.  The Happy Book posts won't be as tedious to read through.  I think they'll be a nice break from my other life posts.
5. After perusing YouTube videos and other random people's blogs, I've always wanted to try a categorical kind of approach to mix it up and I think this is one that fits who I am.

You may realize, since you might have contributed to the old Happy Books before or just read the story I wrote about how it came into existence, that there's a very important piece missing from this format that the books had:  participation from others.  That, however, will solely be up to you.  Now, I don't know who still reads this blog as I really have no way of telling, but I will warmly welcome anyone who would like to contribute to my Happy Book posts.

Here's how you can contribute to the Happy Book posts:

1. At the end of each Happy Book post, I'll ask you, the reader, what makes you happy.  That will be my invitation and reminder to you that you are more than welcome to share the things that make you happy.
2. Feel free to leave a comment or email me anytime with the things that make you happy that you want me to add in the next Happy Book post.  
3. If you want to be anonymous, indicate as such.  Otherwise, I will put some combination of initials and names, but not full names (i.e., John D., J. Doe, or J.D., NOT John Doe).
4. Then, the next time I write a Happy Book post, I'll add everyone else's, too.

That's it!  Here's to the start of a new Happy Book era.

The story of the Happy Book.

Once upon a time, there was a high school girl named Tammy.  She had wanted to be an author and write a book since she was nine years old, so she often perused websites that would help her with her writing and her writing life.  One day as she was looking through articles on the Writer's Digest website, she came across an article titled, "Create a Happy Book!" in the Personal Writing section.  She was inspired to make her own, so she picked up a small spiral notebook and started to write.  Thus, the Happy Book was born on January 19th, 2006.

Tammy thought the Happy Book was a brilliant idea.  It was small enough so that she could carry it around with her without adding much extra weight, which meant she could write down things that made her happy when she needed a quick break from homework, was waiting in line or at a doctor's office, was bored on a bus or car ride, or just needed to focus on something that would help pick up her spirits. 

One day, she noticed that she would run out of things to write at the moment, and since she was sometimes in the presence of friends and others, was curious about what made others happy.  So she came up with another idea.  She decided to try sharing her Happy Book with her friends, family, and even strangers!  She asked others around her what made them happy and would proceed to write their initials or name next to it so she could remember who said what and to remember that it wasn't her own entry. 

The Happy Book was bursting with good things.  With her friends and family, it sparked great conversations and brought people together.  She got to learn more about what made her friends and family happy, and in doing so, they were creating happy moments!  Tammy found that the Happy Book created opportunities to make new friends and meet new people because she or someone else would ask what made him/her happy and invite him/her into the conversation.  She also found that the more she and others wrote, the more she saw how the Happy Book documented where, when, and with whom she was interacting and the memories created in that period of time and space.  It was becoming very much like a scrapbook of happy things that bound together memories, common ground, new ideas, the building of old relationships and creation of new ones.

Tammy and her friends and family wrote so many happy things that the list reached 1,000 entries.  But of course, they kept going.  Soon enough, they finished the entire spiral notebook with 2,999.  But of course, they didn't stop there.  Tammy and her community went on to fill 3 1/2 small spiral notebooks with 9,196 happy things!

As the Happy Book began to produce a whole family of Happy Books, Tammy's life was moving on.  She graduated high school and began to make it through her first year of college.  She kept writing in the fourth Happy Book all throughout her first semester, since there were so many things in her college life that made her happy.  But soon she discovered that there were so many things to be happy and joyful about that the space the Happy Books created that she once appreciated was now already built into the contexts she placed herself in and the people she was surrounded by.  She was immersing herself in living out the happy things, not just writing about them.  And in that way, along with probably many other reasons, the Happy Books were almost obsolete and became artifacts of a season Tammy once had in her life. 

I share this story with you, dear blog reader, because there has been very recent consideration that perhaps this is not the end of the story.  Perhaps the Happy Book series is not entirely dead as many thought they once were.  Perhaps is it not 'The End,' but more accurately, 'To Be Continued...'

I leave you, dear blog reader, with this - the inscription written on the first page of each Happy Book on the other side of the title page:

All the things 
that make me happy,
my friends happy,
my family happy,
the world happy

to keep going,
reminding ourselves 
how many little blessings
and BIG blessings
God graces us with
to conquer all the sad things
that burden our hearts.

My hunt for a 20-mile march.

I attended a couple of conferences almost back-to-back in the middle of August.  First was the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit, and the second soon after that was the InterVarsity NY/NJ Regional Staff Conference.  There were a lot of things I immediately gleaned from the prior, but it's been a bit tougher trying to figure out what I've soaked in from the latter.

However, there was something from the staff conference that I've been thinking about recently.

If I remember correctly, Bill Sweeting, our speaker for the conference, quoted something from John C. Maxwell who said, "The toughest person to lead is always yourself" (read about it here).  In the midst of a million things to do, goals to work towards, and feeling like I'm just moving backwards and will never achieve great things or simply do things I like or want to do, I recognize how incredibly undisciplined and faithless (unreliable) I am.  It takes me a long time to do things, especially when it comes to processing things that feel like they're really important or are really important to me.  And a lot of times in the process of pursuing those things, I end up completing the minimum to get by with what I can or it begins to look like a hanging carrot I just cannot physically reach.  

It's probably why I've always felt like I never had any big dreams.  Maybe the reality is I probably don't want anything bad enough to keep at it, or somehow I'm afraid of actually succeeding (isn't this sounding ridiculous and not at the same time?).  Here, take a look at some of the things I could potentially pursue:

Since I was nine years old I've always wanted to write and publish a novel.  It's a big dream, but not impossible.  But over the years I haven't been willing to practice writing.  I haven't written any short stories unless I had a deadline for a creative writing class, I haven't entered any contests, I haven't submitted any pieces for publications or just wrote some chapters or story ideas for fun.  I've been limiting my writing to blog posts.  I don't give my writing the time or space to grow and develop.  It's like any musical pursuits (which, by the way, I also don't really work on at all) - if you want to get better, you need to practice.  You need to make mistakes and learn your craft and cover the basics.

Look at my big dream to own and run a cafe/bakery/bookstore/gift shop/inn/community center combo thing.  You don't see me reading books about small businesses/non-profits, baking or designing greeting cards at every opportunity I can get, or asking questions to those who may have experience in those areas.  I can say, "I want to do that!" all I want, but if I don't actually put anything into motion, it's not going to happen.  I don't have a lot of drive or discipline.  And I'm aware of that.

But I want that to change.

During the Leadership Summit, Jim Collins gave a great talk based on his new book, Great By Choice, which addresses why some companies excel despite chaos.  One of the concepts Collins focuses on is the idea of a "20-mile-march," which encompasses the evidence that successful companies "embrace a paradox of control and noncontrol."  They're disciplined in their commitment (i.e., marching no more and no less than 20 miles) everyday, whether or not the circumstances are beneficial or not.  Collins provides the example of Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott, two adventurers who were on the quest to be the first to reach the South Pole.  While both explorers experienced the same uncontrollable climate issues, Amundsen "adhered to a regimen of consistent progress, never too far in good weather...yet pressing ahead in nasty weather to stay on pace," while Scott "would sometimes drive his team to exhaustion on good days and then sit in his tent and complain about the weather on bad days."  Amundsen stuck to his 20-mile-march and successfully reached the South Pole.  (Collins explains it a little better his article here)        

And so I've been thinking about I'm the toughest person I'll ever lead, and how if I'm going to leading others on a constant basis, then I need to really learn to lead myself.  And if I'm going to lead myself, I need to accumulate the discipline to really, truly pursue something.  I've also been thinking about what it means to live a good story, which requires wanting something enough to overcome conflicts.  The problem is, I don't know what I really want.

So maybe I should figure out what I really want first, but I can't help but think of some daily 20-mile-march ideas...  

• Write one blog post.
• Memorize one Bible verse.
• Practice guitar/singing for 30 minutes.
• Read a novel for 30 minutes.
• Run x miles (every week?)
• Bake something (every week?)
• Read 5 news articles.
• Write and mail a letter to someone.

I would say, "Feel free to pipe in with your vote/opinion on which one I should pursue or suggest your own," but I guess that's going in the opposite direction of trying to figure out what I want.

The origins of a writer.

In the middle of the week of NYCUP's Spring Break Plunge, we watched the documentary Waiting For Superman, which talked about the brokenness of the education system by following the stories of a few children trying to get into charter schools.  I was excited to watch it because it's one of Pam's favorite documentaries and she has been encouraging me to watch it for a few years now.  I was surprised to find that it was actually pretty similar to The Lottery, a documentary on the education that we had watched at last year's NYCUP.  But one of the things I appreciated the most about Waiting For Superman were the little animations that visually further explained the breadth and depth of the systems and concepts.

By the end of the film I was shaken.  What in great heavens could I possibly do to be a part of restoring this extremely broken system?  The issues were so complex and so deeply ingrained in our nation that it seemed impossible to tackle or even make a dent.

But as these question marks of anxiety and worry swirled in my mind, Jonathan Walton called us to a time of prayer.  He reminded us that our God is bigger than this vast issue - He is sovereign.  Jon called us to pray and praise God for the ways we had been blessed - for the people who invested in our education, for those who made sacrifices on our behalf and those who believed in us.

My mind was blown by the deeper understanding of how great our God really is.  This issue was no surprise to our mighty Lord.

So as we started praying, I started counting some of the many ways God had blessed me over the years.  I realized how I managed to have such a good slate of teachers growing up, but as we prayed I focused particularly on one teacher and my parents.

A note I wrote to myself at the beginning of 5th grade.

Even though have many reasons to be grateful for my parents, I thanked God specifically for parents that really taught me to think outside the box and strive to go beyond what's expected of me.  Bringing me up that way really set a foundation for my inclination towards creative problem solving, crafty projects, optimistic/hopeful outlook on life, and encouragement towards others to do the same.

I give credit to them for instilling that in me in such a way that gave birth to my love of creative writing.  You know how in elementary school you'd get a list of spelling words and for homework you'd have to make sentences out of each of them?  I think I didn't really enjoy the assignment because it seemed boring.  A single sentence doesn't tell all that much.

My first recorded story made out of spelling words.  What a terrible story. ..and terrible grammar.

I don't know where the idea exactly came from, but one day in the fifth grade (I guess, since I don't have any previous record) I decided it would be more fun to write a story out of my spelling words.  It was obviously a little harder because now not only did I have to come up with one sentence, but I had to come up with extras in order to put the sentences together to make sense and flow together in a story structure (not that I necessarily consciously thought about these difficult factors).

All right, there's some improvement here.

I don't know if I asked my teacher for permission or I just did it and continued doing it ever since she approved it.  There were definitely a few times where I was too lazy and just wrote single sentences.  But for the most part my spelling notebook was filled with random stories built with spelling words as the blocks.  I think this was around the time where I started gaining more interest in not just reading stories, but creating my own...and not because it was some homework assignment.

Look at that, I wrote a terrible poem with my spelling words!

Even though I had all really great elementary teachers, I particularly praised God for my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Hamilton (I wrote a previous blog post about her here), simply because of the influence and impression she made in my life.  She was a tough teacher that clearly loved her students believed the very best in each of them.  She taught us how to take notes in a lecture setting (she literally read history textbooks to us and we had to take notes on everything because she would give us a quiz on it afterwards), taught us about the life cycle of a fruit fly, gave us 20 pages of math homework nearly every day, and made us memorize poems and recite them to her for a grade - even on the bus on our field trips.

A stanza from one of my favorite poems I had to memorize in the 4th grade -
I actually turned the first stanza  into a fun song to help me memorize it...
I still remember the tune!

When I was moving all of my stuff to Binghamton last summer, I found that I still had about 1/2 (maybe a little less) of the poems I had to recite in the 4th grade.  I'm really glad I found them but wonder where the other ones went.  But every time I look at these I think about how much Mrs. Hamilton believed in me and sacrificed her time to continue developing me and other students.  She gave up her lunch time to give us "advanced readers" more experience in reading books of a higher reading level.  It's where I fell in love with Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables when we read with the girls and read The Hobbit when we joined with the boys while we ate the mini chocolate bars she'd hand out before we got started.  It was definitely my favorite part of the day.

From my elementary school autograph book

I really believe Mrs. Hamilton inspired me and shaped my character at such a young age of my life that many of those things have become a part of who I am.  I probably should give her credit along with my parents for laying the foundations and tilling the soil of my love for writing and desire to create characters, worlds, and stories that people would be inspired to be a part of as they read.

I want all kids to have a chance of having good teachers like Mrs. Hamilton.  Where would we be without them?  I praise God so much for the wonderful education I've been given.  Our God is truly a great God.

Houses in Binghamton.

First of all, I have to tell you - I went running in the morning...twice this week.  Crazy, I know.  Now, granted, both runs were not very far and it weren't for very long, but it's pretty significant.  In case you haven't been following my blog for very long or never stalked any of my posts from previous years, I normally don't enjoy running...at all.  And this week was no exception.  But the weather has been perking up ever since I returned from California, and for the past few months (with a number of fast-paced walking excursion exceptions) I've been making excuses like, "It's too cold outside," to justify why I decided to stay inside rather than do some cardio.  So I don't really have that as an excuse anymore, and I really do want to get some more exercise.  And I want to finally get my behavior to match my head that knows it's actually something I need, not just something I should want, especially with my high cholesterol.

I just wanted to tell someone I went running because even though it's not really Oscar-worthy to most people, it's pretty important to me and I'm going to pretend that you're all mentally encouraging me to keep going because I can do it and maybe one day I'll knock, "Run a 5K race" or "Run a 10K race" off of my bucket list (I know, they're actually not that big of an accomplishment to some, but again, this is me we're talking about).

But I digress.  I actually prefaced this post with me running because I wanted to talk about the houses I see when I run or walk around the neighborhood.  It's something I really appreciate about my neighborhood - all the houses are so different from each other.  In NYC a lot of the houses look the same or have the same style or are renovated to look like all the other same fancy houses or just oddly stick out that make all the other houses subtly say, "We're not worthy."  It's kind of bleh.

But I love looking at houses in smaller towns or areas like Binghamton because each house is pretty different from the one next to it, not just by street or area.  A lot of them seem a little rustic or run down, but sturdy and homey.  I know this sounds cliche, but I feel like they've got a deeper sense of character than a lot of houses I've seen in NYC.  And I like that.

Have you ever looked at a house (or car, even) and tried to imagine who lives there and what their life stories are like?  It's something I did all the time when I was little and when I'm not the driver I still do it to this day.  It's really fun.  If you haven't done it before, try it the next time you're on a bus or are a passenger in a car.  What makes it interesting is that even though the things you may see around the house sometimes give hints to the people living inside (e.g. pets, welcome mats, eclectic lawn gnomes, extremely neatly cut green lawns, funky mailboxes), the truth is that what is portrayed on the outside of the house doesn't always reflect what's going on inside of the house.  Don't forget that the responses to conflicts and the development of different relationships are what really makes a story unique and interesting.

That's why it's such an interesting and unique experience to imagine what the stories of people's lives are.  But after you've tried that for a couple of houses a few different times, try advancing to the next level (ha - as if this was a game or contest) and imagine how one house interacts or thinks of another one just down the street that's really different.  How do the people living in the run down, bright, sea green house interact with the people living in the expensive looking, neat, two-story house?  Is there a sense of hostility?  Jealousy?  Camaraderie?  Superficial, too-polite-it's-disgusting kind of relationships?  In the stories you're imagining, what if those things changed?  What would change them?  What would be an development that we wouldn't expect?

Ah, so much fun.  Mmm...makes me want to try my hand at a couple of short stories.  My dad asked me this weekend if I was going to write some stories soon or work on writing/publishing a book like I've always wanted to do since I was 9 years old, and I realized that I haven't written - or even thought of writing - any stories in a couple of years.  It makes me sad to think about how I've diminished my story writing over the years into "silly ideas."

A work in progress.

Through the darkness of the night
I'm granted hope to endure the fight
Keeping my head above the surface of
The swirling lies and desperate cries
That drown the truth and smother the joy that pave the path unto the light.

Though I feel like I'm not capable
I believe that He is faithful
Despite deep oceans of my emotions
That carry fear, I know He's near
For He's my refuge and my anchor when my world remains unstable.

Native paths to foreign places.

We often say we take two steps forward and one step back
But really it seems like in life we only move forward
And look back over our shoulder
More times than we need to.

Stepping out of an old friend's house today
Made me appreciate the freedom to walk home,
To walk anywhere.
Growing up we never really needed to drive somewhere
To reach a familiar face
Or drop by the home of someone who'd take care of you.

The air weighed heavy with moisture,
Rubbing against the summer
That hung overhead.
My body brushed through the barbecue perfume
Coming from one of the houses down the street,
And I crossed the road past my elementary school
Whose inner dwelling was more comforting
Than the ghostly walls that stood before my eyes
In the middle of its off-season.

Francis Lewis Boulevard didn't discriminate who she'd let pass
Of her border between Bayside and Fresh Meadows
Or the other way around -
She'd only warn you to look both ways and be careful.

Water tickled my legs as a sprinkler waved hello,
Lifting a bit of summer's burden as I passed right through,
And a nostalgic helicopter leaf propelled its way
Down
To the ground below me.

Some streets seemed abandoned
While others had an occasional smattering of people
Watering their grass.
They were strangers to me,
But they seemed almost like strangers to each other.

Along the familiar path
I glimpsed into someone's backyard
And spotted an unfamiliar hammock,
And I nearly stopped.

A hammock would be nice.
Yes, a homemade one.
I don't know how to make one,
But I'm sure it can be done.

This started spinning a dream 

Of a life with neighbors passing through

Coming in and out,

And a homemade hammock sitting between two trees,

With evenings at dusk spent crafting

New things

New worlds

New ideas

With people who were learning how to deeply care for one another

Sharing stories

Sharing hearts

Sharing dreams

With endless invitations for new people to become new neighbors.

This is the world you are called to create

Wherever this is,

Whatever it looks like,

This is where you are called to be.

My path grew more and more familiar

With every step and every turn,

And I knew where I was going

But my mind felt like I was going the wrong way,

As though this familiar life was telling me to leave it be

And take all of its memories like seeds

And plant them somewhere else,

Somewhere else that isn't here.

Let someone else grow their branches here

Deepen their roots here

But this familiar life was telling me to leave it be - 

You are called to branch out somewhere else.

And as I pulled out the ordinary key
To the house I'd always known,
And Mom swings opens the door before I even touch the knob
To the home I'd somehow outgrown,
I rush into my haven,
Excited that I had met some inspiration
To nourish my craving
To write.

Reminder: get a flashlight and a bunch of candles for my new apartment.

Sitting in the pitch dark at 9:30 at night without any electricity gives you a space to think or motivates you to do some things you haven't done for a while.  And it makes you sleepy a little earlier than usual.

During our little black out while my mom desperately turned on a portable radio to try and find out who won Dancing with the Stars, I decided to read through some of my old writing on my word documents.  I used to try and give myself some writing exercises by either going through a book with writing prompts or just wrote whatever story ideas came to my mind.  I read some of the unfinished exercises and sometimes wondered where I was trying to go with the ideas, or what my initial thoughts were.

It awakened an old dream I had of writing novels to change the young adult genre.  I wanted to write novels that were geared towards teens but inspired them to go beyond the high school drama and dreaming of independence.  I wanted to write novels that shared the stories of those whose voices were silenced and showed teens how much value and worth they have, that they don't have to be looked down on just because they're young.

Most of the different forms of media today removes that worth that God sees in them and instills a sense of fear and insecurity.  It's frustrating and difficult to watch as even the strongest Christians and people with the strongest sense of self-esteem can easily fall into the temptations of listening to those voices - and even scarier than that, they can fall without even realizing it.  And since "everybody's doing it," it makes it harder and harder to fight.

I'll be working with college students as far as I can see into the future, and I can see the strategy behind reaching this age group (especially seeing changes in my own life and others through college) and am excited to mobilize students, but my heart doesn't break just for college students.  

I don't really have a particular passion to reach any particular age group.  My heart breaks for those who are lost, for those who are weary and desire physical and spiritual restoration.  It breaks for those who are searching for their worth and value and don't even realize it, for those who are tired of searching, and for those who have been searching in all the wrong places.

You can't really label an age on those categories.  

New song in progress!

I'm really excited about it.

People have been asking me how I approach writing songs - particularly if I write the music or the lyrics first. Of course, I've been so tainted so that whenever I hear the phrase "music and lyrics" I think of Drew Barrymore and Hugh Grant duking it out about which one of those elements was more important in their romantic comedy, "Music & Lyrics." You might think it kind of ruins it, but I think in a way they kind of make a point that it's pretty much a marriage of the two that makes the song a song.

And I guess that's kind of how I start coming up with songs, too. I don't come up with the music or lyrics in its entirety right away. It either starts with a spark of inspiration or this itching to write a song, or both. Maybe a particular phrase or word catches my ear, or I'll start playing around with my guitar to see if something strikes a chord in me (hahahahaha pun totally intended!).

It's like ice skating: you slide one foot forward and then the other. For me it'll be a little phrase of words or music that glide forward, allowing space for the other to slide forward. And soon its gets into this rhythm where things just start flowing. Sometimes I'll re-work something or whatnot, but if I have a relative idea of direction and the inspiration, I'll be excited enough to keep going until I think it's ready to say hello to the world.

Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

We prayed this prayer, along with the Lord's Prayer every day during NYCUP. Jon Walton reminded us that everything we do should be covered in prayer because we cannot do anything without God's power. It reminded me of Dickinson's Small Group a few weeks ago when we studied 1 Samuel 8, and in one of the verses it says, "But when they said, "Give us a king to lead us," this displeased Samuel; so he prayed to the LORD." And in response to this line I wrote, "Prayer is not usually our first response to things that displease us." And on the top of my paper I wrote, "Prayer should always be our first plan of action." Praying the Lord's Prayer and the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi have been good disicplines, reminding me that everything I do should not run on my own strength or efforts but by God's power and to His own glory.

Prayer should always be our first response to everything, whether it's something that displeases us, something big, something small, something we did or something we did wrong, or anything in between.

Let's pray. Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed by thy name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory forever and ever.
Amen.

Alias (Part Three)

Read Alias (Part Two) and then read this post. This is a long post, I must warn you, but to me it's a necessary one, so if you don't feel like reading, I won't be offended (not that I even know who you are that's reading this - I guess I can't be offended if I don't know)

Protecting yourself by pretending to be someone you're not can get extremely exhausting.

It takes a lot of work to keep up with the different roles, expectations, and acts that we've taken on for ourselves. We assume different identities when we're with different individuals or groups and juggle these elements (i.e. happy faces, telling people we're just fine, cracking jokes) around, putting on a show that we have it all together until we're not with them anymore. The masks come off, the balls we're juggling drop, and we wallow in the puddle of loneliness we had just created for ourselves.

And we can pretend that it's not true until that puddle of loneliness grows into a pond, and then an ocean where we try to deal with it by swimming in it. Then it gets to the point where our feet can't touch the ground anymore, swimming gets tiring, and soon we're just treading water. We get so tired to a point where we just let the tides of expectations lead us, pushing us this way and that. And when the storms come on those days when you least expect them to, we find ourselves drowning to a point where all we want to do is come up for air - to make it to the weekend or at least get through the day, so that you could have some chance of breathing.

As I describe it that way, I think about my senior year of high school because that's when I particularly began to get fed up with all of these acts. Throughout my life, my natural optimism, desire to excel in my responsibilities, self-discipline to always try to do the right thing, and guilt I poured out on myself if and when I felt like I had failed lay the bricks for others to build upon this idea that I was some sort of innocent, perfect, always-had-it-all-together kind of person. Somehow people's views of me perpetuated this identity into something more than it really was.

I let it drive people's perceptions of me because honestly, who doesn't like to be thought of as "the good one" or "the responsible one" or "the dependable one"? Who doesn't like to be spoken of so highly by others?

I'm not saying that this is all together a bad thing, but the problem was that I held so tightly to this identity to a point where I refused to let people in to see otherwise and would make decisions that would protect myself from breaking down that identity.

I had a hard time saying no, wanted to bring change to the world around me, and believed that I could and had to handle everything and do it all by myself. It was a terrible combination. By the time I reached my senior year of high school I was forcing myself to get up by 5:15 every morning, went to school for a full day of classes and then did my best to excel in my responsibilities as an Arista National Honor Society member, the Seekers Christian Club Praise Leader, JROTC Logistics Staff Captain, JROTC Drum Corps Commander by attending meetings, organizing/planning/executing special events, investing in those I led, and get home by 6:30pm every night to eat dinner, do my homework, prepare for college and start all over again the next morning. On the weekends I led or attended special events or activities for JROTC, invested heavily in my youth group, and went to church several times. And all the while I dealt with all the drama that came with my relationships with people, and did all I could to maintain this image that I could do everything, do it well, and do it all by myself.

And let me tell you, I definitely wasn't perfect or had it all together all the time. In fact, I was far beyond it. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally strained, but because I believed that I was strong, independent, and needed to have it all together, I saw this strain and exhaustion as a weakness rather than a sign of the reality that I needed people. Whenever people pointed out that I looked tired or sad or asked me how I was doing, I told them I was just fine and internally processed their comments to mean, "They can see my weaknesses. My protective identity is failing."

In a way I guess you could say I kept people at a distance. There were a number of reasons why I didn't open up to people, even my closest friends:

• I didn't want to burden people with my troubles.
• I was afraid they wouldn't understand.
• I was afraid they wouldn't want to listen.
• I was afraid they would say something I didn't want to hear.
• I was afraid they'd say something I already knew.
• I didn't want them to say anything and was afraid they would.
• I was afraid to be wrong.
• I was afraid to be right.
• I wanted to protect people from myself.
• I recognized that people go through way worse things than me, so I saw my own troubles as plain selfishness and less important.

So I kept people out, but at the same time, I desperately wanted someone to come in. It wasn't that I was creating a fake identity for myself by acting the way I was - I really was just being myself. But it wasn't the whole me and I wanted someone to know my struggles and my fears and let me know that everything was going to be okay.

I resented a few people, but for the most part I understood that this kind of loneliness was a position I had put myself in and figured it was something only I could figure out how to get myself out of. Thankfully by the grace of God, I constantly turned to Him and music instead of other dangerous ways to help me get through high school. I held on tightly to hope that rested in God because there was nothing else I felt like I could put my hope in.

A big reason why I can say that confidently and not arbitrarily is because of the journal I kept during the last half of my senior year in high school. That journal is like a museum that gives tribute to who I was and how I viewed my life at that time.

Here's an entry I wrote to God:
Dear Heavenly Father,

Wow. What a day. WHAT a day. I was so excited for the end of school. It went by really fast. I was really excited for the lock-in. I really was. Maybe in hopes that I'd bond with some people and maybe break down some barriers.

Well, they definitely weren't the barriers I thought I'd break.
I thought I was going to break barriers between me and other people - but it turns out You wanted to break barriers within myself. The water dams broke. When Uncle Tim asked me to lead the praise team for the retreat, something snapped in me. I was falling, but Pam & Libby were there to catch me.
Pam was giving me encouragement and saying positive things to me as I cried, and she made some good points, points I think You've been trying to tell me for a long time. You told me that I can't hold everybody up. I can't be superwoman. I'm such a hypocrite. I've been telling Aiko that she's not superwoman and that she doesn't have to suffer so much, but here I am, convinced that I've been doing the right thing this whole time, trying to carry the worries of the world while trying to unscramble and de-code my own. It's not humanly possible.
I'm trying so hard, Lord, and I've learned that that's never going to be enough. I'm stressed, I'm tired. I want to do so many more things but just don't have the time to do so.
I'm thinking of talking to the Seekers Leaders about not being the Praise Team Leader anymore. I've been praying to You, Father, and I think You've answered me pretty straight-foward.
I am not superwoman.
I am not superwoman.
I'll see You in the morning.

With all my effort put aside,
Your daughter,
Tammy

If you read most of my other journal entries, you see a theme of how I go back and forth, trying to figure out how to get out of this vicious cycle (I listened to Lifehouse's "Sick Cycle Carousel" a lot) of wanting out of this alias that I and those around me had spun together.
High school was where I built and maintained these aliases, and found the desire to break them down. College was where I began to turn that desire into action.

Get ready for Alias (Part Four)!

More memoir stretching.

So, I'm still working on my memoir. People keep asking me to read it, but it's not done yet. Especially after it was workshopped/critiqued by my class, I'm in the process of making a lot of changes.

One of the main things my classmates had trouble finding was the cause for the change. And, even though I've been making some breakthroughs since my emotional breakdown, what has been frustrating me is that I've been searching through this vague cloud of "I don't remembers" and "I don't knows" for finding that cause. I wanted to leave it at that, at the idea that I couldn't pinpoint any kind of reason because I just assume it was a process. But I needed some kind of scene to show that it was a process.

And I was reaching back into my old files of memories in my mind, still searching for answers to help me make sense of it all.

And I found it. It was tucked under a lot of old memories I didn't really care to remember, even though it was really important. And I know why.

It's because it's stupid. So stupid. Really, it's stupidest thing ever. No joke.

And now I have to write about it in my memoir, because it's a pivotal part of tying everything together. Now I'm not frustrated that I can't figure out what I've been missing. Now I'm frustrated that I have to write about what I found.

I know, I know, this all sounds very vague and mysterious. Maybe I'll explain one day. Or you'll just have to read my stupid memoir that's taking me forever to write.

Cautious fearlessness.

I called my parents the other day to ask them about what I was like when I was younger so I could work on my memoir for creative writing.

The first thing the both of them said was that I loved climbing things. I'd always climb to the top of the jungle gym, even when other mothers warned mine that it was dangerous for a three or four year old to go that high. I loved climbing the tree in our backyard. My dad said I was a rambunctious child that ran around a lot and climbed whatever I came across.

My dad said I was fearless.
My mom said I was cautious.

She said when I climbed the jungle gym I was very careful with how fast and how high I was willing to go and very deliberate with where I placed my hands and feet. She said I always climbed trees and chairs, but I never tried to climb tables or couches.

I asked my parents if there was anything else they could remember or think of that could help. My dad said he remembers when I was one or two I fell asleep with my face in a pile of spaghetti. My mom said I would bully my cousin Mike but I would never pick on anyone taller than me.

I told them that those things weren't really helpful and asked them if they noticed any significant changes in my personality from when I was little to the way I am now.

My dad said I was less fearless now.

In high school I'd definitely agree with him. Freshman year in college? Yeah probably. But nowadays, I just might disagree a little. Just a little :]

Hello! My name is Not A True English Major.

I was planning for a while to make this post a rant about how I feel alone in the English Major world here, and how I can't seem to connect with English Majors on a social level that I'd like...

And then I'd be all harsh on myself about how I don't meet the "good" English Major standard, how I read so slow or don't have time to read more books, or don't have time to write stories or poems, or how I process things slow, or how I need huge blocks of time in order to really get anything done because I get nothing done when I only have 1 or 2 hour slivers of time...

But then I was going to rant about how I was having a semi-crisis of identity because I have no drive or passion to work hard and discipline myself to do all I could to strengthen my more easy-to-spot potential (writing, singing, baking, etc.)...

And then I was going to go into this whole ordeal about how I really don't want to look for jobs or consider grad school in the future because I don't think any of those things fit where I am right now and how I want to just explore life and my potential and the places where God can take me if I were to actually spend time doing the things He actually made me to enjoy doing...

Which would transform into a rant about how I hate how everyone asks me what I plan to do with my life or puts a downer on my optimistic outlook that I could find a job I actually enjoy doing, or how I know that I know I don't have to have this clear-cut straight path but it's so difficult to feel okay with that because of the pressure our society puts on us....

But now all I want to say is...best friends and cleaning/organizing things are two of the best therapeutic gifts from God.

Junior High Flashbacks.

So for my Creative Non-Fiction class I have an assignment where I'm supposed to write two contrasting scenes - both showing a different identity I have when I'm with certain people or in certain situations.

The first thing I thought of was who I am when I'm around any friends from high school. You know how my facial expressions explain everything and I shake my head with disapproval? Well, it's usually ten times more frequent when I'm with anyone from high school. With a handful of exceptions, most of them are pretty shallow relationships that I always wish I could change. I want my friends to know who I really am, and who I really live for and wish that they could experience the same things. But when opportunities arise I chicken out, with the same old weakness I have of being a people-pleaser. And our conversations end up being about something very generic or gossip about the people we know - two things I don't particularly enjoy participating in.

This assignment somehow inspired me to pull out my boxes of old things I kept from my high school years all the way back to my junior high years. And lo and behold, I came across a diary/journal I had kept back in middle school.

I didn't plan to, but I read the whole thing. I didn't fill the book, which was no surprise(I never finished writing in a journal until my senior year of high school), but what I read intrigued me. There were a number of things I knew I'd find in there, but there were a good number of things I wrote that kind of surprised me - either because I didn't know I thought that way back then or because there were some things that hadn't changed about me.

One common theme I seemed to pick up on besides my boring "I did this today" spiel was that I was really imprisoned by my own fears. Fear drove me a lot more than I remember. I don't remember being so scared to do or say certain things for the sake of keeping peace and harmony amongst my relationships or for the sake of looking "less cool" than I already was. I identified myself very interestingly - I always thought I wasn't as cool as any of my friends, but I never thought of myself as a loser because I clearly knew who I was in Christ. And my identity in Christ was what kept me from trying to do certain things to "fit in" with the popular crowd. I hung out with the popular crowd, but I never felt like I was truly one of them.

I actually laughed out loud at a whole bunch of stupid things I wrote - or maybe not stupid, but at least the way I wrote it sounded really silly. For example, I wrote about the time my ridiculous 8th grade English teacher yelled at me and made me cry for something I felt I was unjustly threatened for. In my diary/journal I told the story of what happened and then ranted about how incredulous it was, and at the very end of the rant I suddenly wrote, "I'll pray to God to change his hard heart." Hahaha I was so weird.

I realized later on that I was actually procrastinating from doing my actual assignment, but it was nice to check in and say hello to my old self. Just...if God ever takes me away unexpectedly, please don't read my junior high school journals. I'd be so embarrassed - although, it might explain some things about me that you didn't know, but I don't know if the risk outweighs the cost. You can read my high school/college ones. Just not my junior high ones.

Dang. I still have to figure out what I'm going to write for my Creative Non-Fiction assignment.

Catching Clouds

I'm itching so bad to write a new song.
I'm terrible at coming up with good melodies on the guitar because I don't know that many chords and don't really practice enough to stretch the skill. But I love trying to come up with lyrics. I guess it makes sense for my personality and skills.

I'm performing for the Singer/Songwriter Tent at Spring Fling on May 1st, and I realize that I haven't really written a new song since I last performed there last year. So sad. And really, I haven't written a song I particularly really like to perform except "Girl." And I already played that one last year. So now I don't know what to play.

There a few ideas swimming around in my mind, but it's like jumping up and catching clouds in a jar - not really that easy at all. When I think I caught something, I close the jar only to find that the cloud melted into droplets of condensation streaking down the sides of the jar. And the clouds keep moving in the sky even though it doesn't seem like it. I guess I gotta stand still, point at the sky and say, "Ooh, that one looks like a..." And then write it down. See what happens.

Get off the sidelines.

I've been thinking about how poor my story-writing skills, with my 2-D characters and predictable plot-lines. It's interesting how my unrealistic characters and stories from my 9-year-old writing days has still carried on with me to my 20-year-old writing days.

I think I don't have a good grasp on how complex people are. I guess I take what I see, hear, and feel and don't really process how things change with every situation over time. People don't necessarily react to different things the same way all the time. We put people into categories to try and tangibly hold something, anything, in understanding their humanness and the unique being that God created them to be.

No matter how long you've known someone, you constantly need to keep learning about them. I think that's why I've always liked reading/following any kind of series with books or television shows. Because I like to see if the characters will react the way I predict, or surprise me completely. I like seeing how they grow from one situation to another. It's what makes a character complex and realistic.

But I think for me I've been self-absorbent, waiting for those learnt experiences to be offered to me on a platter all nice and prettied up. That's the thing about book series or tv series - I wait in anticipation for the next one, the next lessoned to be learned. But in life it doesn't work that way - time keeps going whether you're caught up or not. Sometimes those complexities will happen on their own. The rest of the time you have to be the one to look for it, to cut beneath the skin and straight to the heart.

For too long in terms of characters and writing, I have sat down on the sidelines and people-watched, thinking that was the answer. I gave up and thought the only way to really learn about people was by observing - observing their actions, who they interact with and how they react. Even just observing how the "pros" do it - reading more books, reading more about how authors write and get into writing mode, etc.

But writing is just like a sport - you need to learn by watching, but you really build up muscles and skill by practicing, which entails falling down and getting back up, not getting it the first time.

I can tell you that I think in order to create great characters you need to observe, constantly ask probing questions, and really get inside their head and their heart, but I'd need to try it out myself to see if it really works or not.

In order to see their real character, I constantly need to probe and learn from first-hand experience who they are and how/why they think/do things, instead of assuming I know it all just by watching from the sidelines.

cheesy, i know.

I was going to recap the first two weeks back at school in a narrative style, but too much time has passed and too many things have happened since then to do anything about it now.

I was even in the middle of writing another blog just the other day, but something came up that my post didn't seem so appropriate anymore...so oh well.

All I can think of saying is: the leaves are always changing colors, no matter what season it is.

So many colors have changed their colors, and yet so many are still green.

heart pounding.

kenzie just emailed me back. i haven't talked with her in a long time. like really. and when i told her i stalked her in my thoughts (i wonder what she's doing, how's she doing, etc.), she told me she stalked me on my blog.

and my heart started to pound.

i'm not quite sure why. it did, however, inspire me to blog. it's a little creepy sometimes, finding out that someone has been reading your blog but i had no idea. like, seriously, the only people i truly believe read my blog are: tuttle, boaz, libby, priscilla, and maybe mary. and maybe michelle. i don't know if michelle still reads this. she probably does. anyone else and it's a surprise to me. like when carrie left a message on one of my blogs the other day i was like, "whoa. i had NO idea carrie read my blog." but at the same time i'm kind of glad i don't know exactly who's reading my blog. i think somehow it would change how i blogged.

to be honest, for the most part i blog for myself. i write about things that i just need to put out there. i'm not writing to entertain others, or to please others. i'm honest about the thoughts i need to sort out from my mind and put into words. i'd say i blog about 80% for myself. the other 20% goes out to all of you readers. i like to skim over my blog a couple of times at the end of writing it to check for spelling/grammar mistakes, to make my writing as clear as possible (i may still have mistakes because i'm not obsessive over checking my english, so don't hold any grammar mistakes against me!) so it's readable and understandable. i try to write creatively to make it more interesting to read, but i don't sacrifice my integrity for it (like, i'm not going to make something up or embellish or whatever for the sake of creativity or entertainment). i try not to write things like, "oh, i did this and this and this and this today. this happened and that happened. the end." this is isn't my diary. now length, that's tricky. i was reading an excerpt of this "how to blog" kind of book at barnes and noble once, and they were saying you should make your blogs short and sweet for people to want to read them. now, as you can probably tell (if you're one of my regular readers), i'm not a short-and-sweet kind of girl. and that's not going to change (in regards to this blog - speeches and public speaking, well, that's got to change). sorry, kids, the length is for me. i'm not going to make it short for the sake of gathering more readers. i don't care how many people read my blog. i just want to write what i need to write. if it's too long for you to read, then hey, don't read it. that's okay with me :]

i like updating, i do. i haven't blogged for the past week or so. i've wanted to, but wasn't really sure what to blog about. but there have been a few things on my mind lately, which partially leads to why i haven't blogged in a while.

notice how my first week here i blogged like almost every other day. notice how since then, my blog has been a bit scarce with entries.

reason?

the same reason why i haven't talked to God in my every waking moment: there's no desperation.

i was telling karen a little bit about this a few days ago during one of our evening talks. btw, talking with karen every night is great. it's awesome experiencing what true accountability partners and prayer partners and fellowship is. anyway, i was telling her that something i wanted her to pray about was my desperation for God. the first week here at binghamton, i was praying and talking to God like crazy. it brought me comfort to know i wasn't alone. i let out my frustrations, my fears, my complaints, everything to God because i was desperate.

and God opened my eyes. He kind of knocked me on my head and say, "HEY! i'm taking care of you! stop complaining! this is what you wanted, wasn't it? isn't this the prayer you wanted answered?"

i've been hanging out with all kinds of groups of people these past few weeks. last week christina came up to visit for the week. i hung with her, chris, joe, paul lee, and jess zhu sometimes at UP. i hung out with her and carrie another night. lucy, the awesome secretary of dickinson that has been taking care of me so well, invited me, raquel, and sarah (two RDs of dickinson) to her house for dinner, and that was cool. i got to meet her good kids (13, 14, and 17 years old), and went to her really clean and beautiful home. on sunday i went to twin orchards by myself (which was a little weird, i have to admit), and rachel mapes invited me to go bowling with her and some friends, so i did. i call them the filippino crowd :P it was clarissa, james (who was just visiting for th weekend), rachel, destrie, and their two friends antoine and erica. and it wasn't awkward at all! it was really fun and really great to hang out with them even though i've never hung out with them before. and yesterday i went over to han's place and hung out with jon yee, rich, jade, kate, andrew, jen han, han, and ife for a little while. it was nice :] and earlier in the weekend i hung out with one of my housemates ali and her bf (who was visiting for the weekend), and their friend tyler for a little bit. they're all on BSSL (the stage, sound, and lighting group on campus) so that's all they were really talking about, but it was still good.

see, so i've been spending time with a lot of different people that i don't normally hang out with, and i think it's great. it's another step out of my comfort zone that i know God is guiding me through all the way.

but even so, that desperation is lacking. which, of course, is okay, i'm not saying it's bad. i'm just saying it sometimes makes it tougher for me to rely on Him, and i realize it. you know what i mean? it's easy for me to fall into the trap of, "oh hey, God. i'm doing fine now. You gave me friends, You gave me people to hang out with, people to take care of me, so i don't need You anymore," kind of thing.

things are good. but i know i still need God. and i don't want to let satan get a foothold on my heart.

my productivity slowed down a bit last week as i was hanging out with people and being lazy (just watching tv when i got home from work and then ending up doing random whatnot stuff) but i'm starting up again. last night at like...12 something i had the sudden desire to put together a spreadsheet for the hospitality teams for next fall, even though i was mad tired.

i'm getting revved up again. dancing (not balancing) with God in the swing of fun and work isn't easy, but He teaches me the steps. He's asking me for the dance, but i have to get off my lazy butt and accept His hand.

i told you i'm learning!

the beauty of excellence

the beauty of excellence is that it is art.
you make it your own.
you want more color? pour on the color.
you think it needs music? bring the music to life.
you think it's easy? heck no it isn't.

the complex thing about art is that there is a standard,
but it's taking a step beyond that standard
or breaking that standard
that makes it unique,
makes it beautiful,
makes it art.
that's the beauty of excellence.

what's remarkable about this beauty of excellence
is that it can't be found in this world we reside in,
but only in God.
He finds superiority in our brokenness,
our sufferings,
our weaknesses,
when we find inferiority.

if we strive to meet the standards,
we'll fall short.
so why strive at all?

the beauty of excellence is that if the standards of the art aren't broken,
you wouldn't be able to find
grace so deep or
mercy so wide
that it mends the brokenness
we once fought to prevent.