Day 1 | Go Get Your Converse
I have noticed patterns in my own writing, and I usually begin with commentary about my black leather notebook and black ink pen. I attempt to always keep my first draft on pages, but sometimes the words come faster than I can write.
I have an affinity for the classics and particularly enjoy dropping my middle school vocabulary words. I spent my summers between the golf course, the library, and Lindy's house. I am not quite sure how to broach this type of writing or how to describe it exactly. My mind becomes overwhelmed with short stories, memories, and things that I have imagined.
I embark on a journey, yet I find myself in the familiar. I find myself in the storybook town where I grew up, sitting next to my best friend, accompanied by a latte while I have my beat up backpack and worn in cardigan and even more worn in converse. I am not anywhere crazy, and I am not doing anything out of the ordinary.
Nothing is really new other than I got into wearing lipstick about a year ago or so. I wear glasses that I do not need and a striped pair of black and grey socks from a trip my parents took with United Airlines going overseas.
My response to pain has been nothing short of hilarious: manically making things... going out and interviewing random Wheaton College students, a portrait series on people on the Chicago streets, redesigning my website, filming, making random Youtube videos, pulling together footage, making dramatic Spotify playlists, writing poetry, speaking in haikus, making dinner for my family at 2PM, fielding phone calls, going to mass, cleaning my room, and cleaning my room again.
One of my immediate reactions is to write, so anytime I begin to feel sad I start composing in my head. My other is to book flights to random places. I have pulled boarding passes for Hawaii, Israel, and Rome countless times. I googled the distance between Nazareth and Bethlehem because I thought it would be pretty sweet to make a pilgrimage between the two during Christmastime, completely forgetting the whole West Bank situation.
Although I feel quite ordinary this Sunday afternoon, I feel as if I were on the brink of something quite extraordinary. I have been reading through various writings from the past few months, and I knew that this journey was coming. I knew that I would be weary, and I knew that it would be hard. How strange it is to already know the end of the journey, as well. I am just as curious as to where what shall happen. It could be everything or absolutely nothing, but is that not the best thing to do with a friend: everything and nothing and just be.
During this time of waiting, wait with me in Ireland. I think that is where I shall go this week. Wake up and go get your converse. We are going on an adventure in this Advent.
June 1, 2016 | Glenbeigh, Ireland
I have never spent very much time near the blue. The colors of my childhood were green and gold. I knew mountains from airplane windows and a sea gale from stories. The sun idles in the sky, and the hours tease me as I get lost in this day. I am not sure how I ended up here, but I know that it was one flight and a drive from Dublin to Glenbeigh.
It does not feel real, but I hear the hum of my music and birds greeting the evening gold. It is a place that was made for a story even if there have been many already set here.
Purple flowers shyly peep from rock walls, and the colored stores huddle together resting by the sea. It is a foreign place to me, no matter how hard I work on my accent. I know this month is a story, so for you I shall try and capture it. I am stuck somewhere between time, yet I know this same light and know He is here. He is always.
Tonight, I shall close my eyes before the sea closes his, but I pray that my heart swells with the tides of unspoken dreams.