Growing Pains

Growing Pains
Current mood: calm
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

Growing up.

This phrase has continued to baffle me as I make the great change from being claimed on my parents' taxes as a dependant, and now listing my own name under "head of household". In many ways, I now have the life that most consider to be an adult one: I have a real teaching job that includes benefits and my own set of keys, I recieve my mail addressed to a 1920s Spanish style cottage where I now reside and I have a finance book where I not only log my earnings, but make decisions about investments and future vacations I will take.

These things seem to qualify me as an adult , but there are still moments when I wish I could be a kid again. I long for someone to tell me to "play outside until dark" for my own good, and I wish my mom would make me homemade juice bars and bring them to me by the pool. I'm past the age when I can vent my feelings through a temper tantrum, or spend the entire day without worrying about the adult pressures of deadlines and future plans.

I guess the funny thing about growing up is that it is never stabilized until death, because it is something that you spend every moment partaking in. So I'll guess I'll just file my own taxes, and try to make time for that juicebar, and revel in the small victory of making it this far, with so much more to look forward to. Afterall, my days of being a senior citizen are WAY into the future!

Oxymoronic Girl

Oxymornic Girl

I'm the sort of person that both anal and laid-back people both dislike.


This has been confirmed as my family has often struggled in determining my "true" personality.


I am not a compulsive list maker, ironer, or even clothes-washser. I sometimes go to sleep with eye make-up on, and there have been even a few occasions when I have forgotten to brush my teeth. I pride myself on skipping "hair washing" days, and shaving is not a daily occurence. It doesn't bother me that my car appears to have "leprosy" from the peeling paint job or that my tire has gone bald (even though I know the horrid risks that occompany this phenomenon). I am happiest when time seems to have stopped, which most likely for me is when I'm in a cafe reading a book. My mother still tries to talk me into wearing a watch, and this Saturday night we will be buying "shelf paper" for my new place to put her mind at ease, because she knows I don't see the need for it.


On the other hand, I loathe being late, and I hate been caught off-guard. If there are places to be seen, there had better be a plan on how this feat is going to be accomplished. I hate it when foods mix on my plate, specifically when it involves jello or juice. My books are all organized by genre, and I hang my clothes by my own system according to how they make me "feel". My biggest pet-peeve is when anything (people or things) are inefficient, and I will leave the house without perfume, but never mascara. I will literally hunt for the details of a song online, so I can label it on iTunes with every piece of information accounted for (yes, even including the Album name and genre). My shoes will always match, no matter how "unconventional" my outfits seem to be.


It has occured to me that perhaps I am slightly insane, but many assure me that I have one exclusive, whacky personality that is all my own.


Instead, I came to the conclusion that I am a product of my parents: one anal--err--obessively organized, and one who could just be content to "let things happen" as life unfolds.


While I am fully aware of the negative "Dr. Jekyl-Mr Hyde" persona, I beg to differ that my state of paradoxical living is what instead allows me to befriend and inhabit environments with people who live beyond and in between these extremes. I can burn incense with the soulful, musical wanderer who could care less about worrying about where life will lead them next. I also appreciate the organized principal who has printed agendas with deadlines and dates and doesn't allow staff meetings to become sessions for off-topic diatribes.


After traveling, talking and interacting with people who span the personality charts, I've realized that the differences we have even in ourselves help to illuminate those qualities in others.


Perhaps if we even looked at our own oxymoronic tendancies, we would understand that we are all more alike than we eve realized.


In the meantime, I'll be "wasting time" reading my latest novel, and after I will return it to its marked place, where it belongs.

Another Candle on the Cake...

Another Candle on the Cake...
Current mood: nostalgic
Category: Life

When I was a little girl, my birthday was the one day where I had license to wear a glittery crown, request my favorite dishes, and relish with glee as I was allowed to open gifts; still one of my most favorite activities. My wish was always some grand and lofty scheme that usually involved all of my dreams coming true.

Now as I'm adding another candle to my cake, I've sometimes felt that I have to psyche myself up about the passing of time. It's not that I am afraid of aging or getting older, because as an eternal optimist I've always looked forward to embracing what lay ahead. Instead, my sentimental self wishes that I could just sit awhile with my comfortable old memories, if even for a moment longer.

As I get ready to cast aside my driver's license due to expiration, I can't help but wonder if perhaps there are little parts of my life that are expiring as well. I'm realizing that transitioning into my mid twenties brings with it a new guidelines that include putting myself on a financial plan, realizing that my excercise program must match my calorie intake, and the elusive question of when I will finally "settle down". I still don't know when I became old enough to have friends who are married with children when I can still remember my own childhood years with such vivid details.

My dad always jokes about how hard it is for me to let go of things, which is a testament to my boxes of keepsake items, scrapbooks, and copious journals that I tend to reread along with yearbook entries. I still can easily recall each outfit that I wore on the first day of school each year, and even restate test questions that I had in 7th grade. It's almost as if everything that I experience plays like a continuous movie reel inside my head, which is why I suspect it is hard to move onto to the next tape when the old ones are so familiar.

I suppose that is a large reason why it feels so surreal to be standing on the brink of my adult life with my third graduation robe hanging in the closet and my dream job awaiting my arrival. As I glance back, I see how all the smaller steps connected together to prepare me for this moment, but my adult face is not the only one I see in the mirror. I also see the oblivious three year old lifting up her dress at church, the seven year-old clad in a peach sweatsuit losing her first tooth, the awkward 7th grader with headgear and a ridiculous haircut, the sparkling eyes of the tan girl at her sweet 16 party, and even the newly red-highlighted teacher in Thailand sitting in the park, journaling about how time had flown by, and fretting about all the things she had yet to learn.

Yet, with all these different faces of my past staring back at me, perhaps the childhood version of me wearing the princess crown surrounded by favorite foods and gifts got it right after all. For what is a birthday but the celebration of all those faces that we grew into, and the acknowledgment that comes with understanding that we aren't the same individual that we were a year ago? So perhaps this year, I'll wear a proverbial crown, eat my favorite foods and open my gifts not thinking about all I have left to learn and accomplish, but rather celebrating the path that led me this far. Because on some levels, I know I'll always be childish enough to wish on that candle for grand and lofty schemes where all my dreams will come true.

And in many ways, perhaps they already have.

Comfortable

I had a rare experience this past weekend. For two days, I got to spend time with the two people who I count as my best friends. As we sat upon a beach in silence, raised our lungs to a dorky radio song, or just giggled together while watching TV, the best feeling in the world washed over us: comfort.

I've had the luck to make many friendships over the course of my life, but with these friends, everything is different. At first glance, we would not be even placed within the same circles.

Exhibit "S" loves Brittany Spears, the color pink, and has her arylic nails desinged according to the latest trend. We all secretly hate her ability to eat all the junk food that she can obtain and still keep a slim figure without a thought of exerise. When we go shopping, I have to walk S L O W or else I get the evil eye and a sarcastic comment. She makes no apologies for her bubbly signature that often is adorned with hearts next to it, or the fact that she would watch "Friends" over the news anyday. She has the biggest heart I've come across, and when she talks about the preschool children that she teaches, she makes even the worst nightmare of a child angelic through optimistic attitude. We have the kind of friendship that doesn't even require talking, but we do it for fun anyway. For hours at a time without ever slowing down or even noticing that anything around us is occuring.

Exhibit "J" is the quiet one of the three of us, but she has the ability to suddenly make witty comments that shock us all. At first glance she appears uncomplicated and even simple, but her fresh-faced look is also contrasted with her sparkly jewlery that she wears on occasion. Just when you think you have her figured out, she will say or do something utterly surprising, and leaving you realizing that there is always more to her than what appears on the surface. She is the unshakable one of the group, and is not afraid to stand up for the things that she believes in, even if it means having the courage to state what others will not. She is tall, and is someone who will always be on the other line to hear you vent about your day or just to share a stupid comment with. Her laugh is infectious, and makes you feel that life isn't as serious as you think. She'll let you talk about the things that do not particularly interest her, and is the encourager of the group. She accepts every part of you, but always reflects the best version of yourself.

Over the years, I've made many great friends, but these two girls are the ones who I know I'll grow old with. Perhaps it is because we've changed and grown together, and they understand all the things that I never bring myself to say outloud. They are the only ones who know when it is appropriate to challenge me, and when I need a tub of ice cream, a sappy movie, and no words of advice; only sympathy. We can experience exciting adventures and travels, or be content sitting with our drinks, watching the world walk by as we comment. We chose different college, carry diverse politcal views, and have never liked the same guy.

But what we have mastered is comfort. We know that no matter where we live or how our lives turn out, the friendship we have built will only continue to grow stronger, because we chose to commit to it through all of the bumps and messes. It might not be understandable or even perfect, but it is ours. And when we are reunited, there is no place that I'd rather be, because through everything, there is happiness.

Bubbles of Restlessness

The time of here has come when all I want to do is grow wings and fly far, far away.

Throughout my childhood, I had always assumed that "spring fever" meant that my eyes would become red and watery, and I would have marathon sneezing attacks with excessive allergies brought on by the pollen of new life.

While I still have those annoying allergies, I did find out the real meaning of spring fever.

My senior year in high school I found myself with a bad case, and as a result I completely stopped doing work my last quarter of school, knowing that I had already been accepted to college, and no one would even bother to look at my transcripts. Consequently, my dad did look at those grades, and was not happy at all. However, when he found this out during the middle of summer, my graduation robe had already been turned in, and the checks from relatives had already been put safely in my bank account.

Now, as I face that same fate, and am greatly tempted to just slack off, and I can't help but wonder why I just don't seem to have the urge to finish strong. I could blame it on the spring sun that is luring me to lie down beneath it, or all those final memories that I want to make before I rush off to the adult world, but sadly, I suspect that beneath all that, there is more.

I only find it slightly ironic that all the major things that I have quit in my life have occurred in spring...my sophomore year I quite the softball team, my freshmen year in college I quit the gospel choir, and my first senior year in college I decided to quit everything and move to Thailand for the year. Now, as the start of May kicks off, I don't find it strange that I spent an entire afternoon looking at cheap flights out of LAX to anywhere but here.

The thought of not having to deal with my honors project, marching at graduation or turning in my final portfolios is actually more tempting than it I know it ought to be. I suppose I know that I am not the only one who has caught this bad case of senioritis, and I know even more so that it seems to always come on when I feel that I am nearing the completion of something. I have no doubt that my body is telling me that it is time to close this chapter, and move on to the next thing. Perhaps I am just a little early on the memo.

At any rate, even though every fiber in my body is telling me to jump on a jet plane or slink off early to the life that I know awaits me, I at least have the sense to nag at myself, because I know that either way, my dad will see the final grades. And of course, like with everything, I know that most of this isn't about me. A good chunk of what I do is outside of myself, and I need to make him proud. Especially for the times when I just can't see across the finish line that he is standing at the end of, cheering me on.

Maintenance Man Mike

When I graduate from college in a few months, I will miss a small, rectangular piece of paper that rests in my drawer that says, "Women's Residence Maintanence" on the top. Currently, anytime I come across something in my room that is inadequte, I simply write the problem down on the lines provided, present it to the front desk, and within a few days my wish is granted. Within reason, of course.

Those slips of paper have unclogged my drain when it became overrun with Ramen noodles and long strands of slippery hair, and they have seen me through several light bulb changes. I feel comfortable knowing that with so many loose ends that seem to float around in my life, I can always depend on those slips for fixing the small issues in my life without much thought.

Mike, the main maintenance man, has become somewhat of a fixture to my college experience. If truth be told, I see him more than some professors or the deans, as he wanders from project to project, with a whistle on the tip of his tongue. At first glance, with is faded baseball cap and fair complexion, he reminds me of a smaller Ron Howard spreading out his toothy, humble grin.

I was surprised when I learned that Mike had been living in the girls dorm, and resided in a small room that didn't even boast a kitchen. Even more strange was the fact that he had seemed to master the line of being friendly and personable without being creepy and unwelcome. Perhaps it was partly due to the fact that we knew he was always close by in case a toilet got clogged, or when the dryer decided to stop working. Or maybe it was because his smile just seemed genuine and sincere...like the quirky uncle that shows up at family reunions and likes to tell stories about his expired glory days, hoping that by talking with out, he will perhaps become young again.

It was a lazy Saturday morning when Mike stopped by as I was working the desk. We easily fell into conversation about my student teaching experience, and whether or not Southern California was prepared for a large earthquake with all of the added development. In five minutes, I had learned that he had lived in Italy, owned and managed several successful restaurants in Northern California, and he had grown up in Lake Arrowhead, not far from where I am from.

Curious as to why he stopped by the desk in the first place, I asked him if there was anything that he needed. He requested the keys to the chapel, and I wondered what had broken and required attention on a Saturday morning. Without too much thought, I delved into my Anne Lamott book.

After a few moments, delicate piano music wafted throughout the lobby. Thinking that perhaps someone was playing a CD too loud, I didn't deliberately focus on the sound. Within another minute, my ears picked up the melodies once more, and this time I realized that it was not the product of speakers. I walked towards the chapel door, and with each step, the vibrations became more tangible. I peaked through the small glass window and saw Mike the maintenance man intensely running his fingers up and down the black and white keys. It didn't matter that his worn blue jeans and faded baseball cap did not seem to match the formal grand piano; he possessed the posture of a concert pianist.

I returned to the desk, and closed my eyes for awhile while I let the rythms and melodies float about me. It is not everyday that you are offered a private concert. Especically by the man who is on hand in case a pipe breaks.

I now realize that perhaps it isn't the rectangular slips that I will miss after all. I know that I am capable of replacing a light bulb and unclogging sink drains. Even if it became important, I could figure out how to replace burnt out fuses and exchange shower heads. Instead, I realize that it is the idea of those slips that I will miss. The fact that even though I could take care of those little issues, it was nice to have someone available to give you a hand, as it was once less worry on your brain. But more than that, I shall think I'll miss the stories, the floppy ball cap, and the small secrets that you discover from the quirky people who waltz across moments of your life.

If you are paying close enough attention, perhaps you can be treated to an exclusive viewing of their private performance, and for a small moment you can witness the passion behind the daily portrait.

Missing

The worst feeling in the world is waking up, and discovering that you are not where you want to be.

When I first moved to Thailand, I was surprised that I never once awoke and missed my childhood daybed and cranberry comforter set. My friends would tell me how their stomachs would instantly tangle in knots when they dreamed they were back in old comfortable beds, and the wave of confusion that washed over when they opened their eyes and saw that blank, white walls stared back instead of framed familiarity.

I felt relieved when I traded in my alarm clock for the school whistles and birds that became my wake-up call. I would stare out the large window, and peer into iridescent skyscrapers, and felt charged by the possibilities that the day held. It was not that I didn't miss the familiar things I had left behind, but I didn't really need them like I had before.

I relished the clean white sheets that always seemed fresh and uncomplicated, and the way that my room had one wall that was rounded without sharp edges and corners. My toes grew to love the sensation of stepping onto cold, smooth tile squares. I never had a neck ache from sleeping the wrong way, and my back had never been more supported. I suspect this is because box springs are non-existent and I never tossed or turned.

For an entire year, I slept easily, and dreamed often.

Now I am back in California, and I no longer hear the school whistles outside my window. The birds seem different, with less character, and my alarm clock now sits beside my pillow. Carpet is more fashionable than tile, and I can't get away with only having white sheets and not a blanket. The weather is colder here. Strangely, I wake up to one of the most beautiful views in the world with a tree right outside my window, but I find myself mourning the loss of skyscrapers. Every morning on the way to work I crack the knots out of my neck.

I keep trying to give myself the well-meant advice I know to be correct. "Soon it will pass, it will feel like home, You are where you meant to be".

I hold onto the words, praying that they are true.

Because for that moment, I would give anything to wake up to those blank, white walls once more.

Triggers

Triggers scare me.

I've never fired a gun, but in movies when people wrap their fat little knuckles around it, you can feel the anticipation build up after you hear that faint little "click". In reality, everything would remain safely inside the gun if it weren't for that trigger that seems to change everything as soon as it is pulled and released. The bullet isn't what makes me cringe, because there is nothing mysterious about it. I know that a bullet, when placed in the correct area at the target impact and speed, will kill, harm or cause serious injury. The gun which contains the bullet will fire at the precise speed, and will for the most part perform the same function wherever it is aimed. In all of these "constants", the trigger proves to be the variable, where the entire showdown occurs. I can't control variables, and this is why triggers scare me. Not the gun. Not the bullet.

Today as I was listening to my ipod on the way home, a song came on that triggered an entire strings of memories in precise sequence. My eyes were focusing on highway 29 in front of me, but all I saw were the pictures swirling in my mind stirred with deep emotion. There are instances when I enjoy escaping to old familiar memories that accompany musky Cool Water cologne or the site of a worn out leather-bottomed Jansport backpack. Mostly though, I am irritated, because the triggers that are most often set off are those where I don't feel much closure. Like gunfire, they rapidly are shot into my conscious mind, wounding me through continuous recall.

I know the recall will pass, and I know that memories live in the past. It's the uncertainty of when the trigger will be pulled that scares me, and the wounds that never seem to heal.

Pavement

There were a few times that I caught myself staring at the pavement more than usual today.

The first time occurred when Jordan and I stepped outside of the classroom with the intent of arriving at a logical explanation as to why he was kicked out of music class. I kept fighting my urge to send him straight back, as I realized my precious prep hours had been lost to his bad decision. For a second, I stared at the pavement and watched the tiny sparkles of embedded rock glint in the sun, and I silently prayed for patience as I looked Jordan square in the eye with my best "I mean business" teacher look. His whiny voice began to mutter excuses as he cast the blame for his dismissal on everyone but himself. Apparently, he had told another student to "shut up", and I fought the ironic twist as suppressed myself from saying those very words. When I asked him the natural follow up question as to why he would act in such a way he knew was inappropriate, he clammed up and refused to speak another word. I became calm in the silence, and we just stood there, staring at the pavement together. Strangely, I wasn't irritated and and his goal was not to challenge me. Sometimes, you do need to the world to just shut up.

At the end of the school day I lined my students up at the door for P.E., and was immediately irritated when I realized that the precious pavement and basketball courts were being used by a certain 5th grade teacher.

He's the type of guy who borrows a book report form, adds a final closing statement, and then markets it as his own brilliant work. The worst thing is that he doesn't even realize it is irritating, because he's built his career on that kind of survival. He installed speakers in his classroom, and he relishes in presenting lectures through his cheek mic so he can hear the sound of his voice from every angle of the classroom. The principal says he got it so that his students can hear, but I've heard his voice. He is plenty loud at the lunch table. I also find it odd that everyday for him is "Bring Your Wife to Work Day". I haven't figured out why she comes and hangs out in his portable classroom, listening to him present lessons while secretly living the dream of a motivational speaker. I once tried looking for her electric shock collar, but she caught me staring.

I gave him a fake smile as I lead my students--who had been promised elbow tag on the pavement--to the small strip of cement outside the classroom door. I knew relay races weren't as much fun, but we didn't have enough space to do anything else. Somedays, you just wish you had more pavement to play on.

On my way home from work, I rubbed my nose as I sniffed and sneezed. The sun had finally come, but so had my allergies. People are always shocked when I get started on my sneezing attacks. In high school, I was on choir tour riding in one of those large buses with the bathrooms in the back, and a tickle in my nose resulted in 108 sneezes. I remember the exact number, because everyone on the bus joyfully counted, much to my embarrassment. My greatest fear is that I'll have an attack while teaching or driving, and lose control of both situations. I sped along, focusing on the music and cars around me rather than my watery eyes, and suddenly I noticed the pavement once again. This time, delicate and vibrant poppies caught my attention as they sprang up from the cracks in the pavement on the side of the road. I couldn't help but wonder if in addition to silence and space, a little beauty sometimes makes everything not seem so tragic.

From the Land of Smiles

Sweat 'n Shopping in the land of Smiles! ;)

Greetings Gals and Guys!

So here is a little spiel about Thailand for those who have been requesting it...I walk outside and in .35 seconds, I can feel sweat collect and drip down my back. But soon I find myself chilling to my ipod as I speed down the soi on a motorcyle taxi. I will end up in one of many coffee shops, but usually I sell-out to Starbucks and read (yes...I'm a NERD!). I then hop on the BTS (Skytrain) and tutor the cutest prodigy in the world (she speaks 4 languages and is 9) where I get paid a lot of money to sit and listen to her read my favorite books! If its a Tuesday, I might be watching a great foreign film for less than $3 in a theater that boasts leather seats and a great mocha frappacino. Other days I could be found in the park writing my latest memoir, watching skateboards fly by or procrastinating on lesson plans for my darling 4th, 5th and 6th and 12th grade students. If its the weekend, I'm shopping at the local markets trying to figure out how I will get all this great stuff that I "just have to have" home with me in a few months. Hi...my name is Lauryn and I am a consumer! If its a really good weekend, I could find myself on a plane, train, automobile or bus heading towards an island, a new country or even just a new restaurant that might also have a great dance floor...sometimes when I turn my key in the door of my apartment and find myself suffocating before I can turn on the air-con, I miss the frosty Angwin mornings and wish I could remember the last time I needed a sweater. In the same way, speeding down the streets in a Tuk-Tuk also helps me realize that my lungs are aching to breath So-cal air...yeah all you "Inland Empire Haters"...the smog is worse in other places! ;) But as much as I miss old friends and laughing at inside jokes that no one here knows, I love this "land of smiles" and my $.50 Pad Thai and the fact that for the first time in my life, I am a slacker, laid back, and loving it! So I'll deal with the sweat dripping down my back for now, and perhaps even miss the smog just a little...

Proverbs of Hell

Proverbs of Hell
Current mood: Contemplative
Category: Religion and Philosophy

The following thoughts are taken from William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell poem. This work was designed to derive at the idea that when contradictions are evaluated, through comparison truth is found. Whether or not you want to start discussing the entire argument about the necessity of evil in order to appreciate good (hmm...ala Nietzche, Milton or Swendenborg anyone?) these quotations, taken from the "Proverbs of Hell" section, do cause one to think. So at any rate I challenge you to ponder, disucss or react.

I didn't post all of them, but they did not connect from one proverb to another. If they don't make sense to you, blame Blake! :) On the scale of "food for thought", I would rate this as a "bitter banana" to add my own contradiction into the mix!

"The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom"

"The cut worm forgives the plow"

"Dip him in the river who loves water"

"A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees"

"He who gives no light, shall never become a star"

"Eternity is love with the productions of time"

"The busy bee has no time for sorrow"

"All wholesome food is caught without net or trap"

"No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings"

"A dead body revenges not injuries"

"Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by incapacity"

"The most sublime act is to set another before you"

"If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise"

"The nakedness of woman is the work of God"

"Excess of sorrows laughs, excess of joy weeps"

"The fox condemns the trap, not himself"

"What is now proved was once imagined"

"One thought. Fills immensity"

"Alwasy be read to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you"

"Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth"

"The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow"

"Expect poison from standing water"

"You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough"

"The weak in courage is strong in cunning"

"The thankful reciever bears a plentiful harvest"

"If others had not been foolish, we should be so"

"Damning braces, blessing relaxes"

"The best wine the oldest, the best water the newest"

"As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible"

"The crow wished everything was black, the owl wished everything was white"

"Exuberance is beauty"