&hearts

I used to believe that love was this elusive thing, like February 29th or Halley's Comet, that would travel through my hemisphere only once in a blue moon. And I'd be lucky if--and only if--I were able to catch it as it flew by. 

This notion stuck with me throughout most of my young life--through the YA romance novels, the Nicholas Sparks movies, the Pablo Nerudas, the sappy yet sad songs, and especially the can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kinda stuff. 

But one day I fell in love. And everything I had previously thought seemed to be completely validated. 

It was playful, and dizzying, and exciting, and fun and just about everything else you'd ever expect from falling in love for the first time. For a while, this person held me together. My heart. My mind. My soul. Until all of the sudden, he let go. And when I fell apart, so did the very foundation of the thing I had always believed to be love.

Piecing my life back together after this was grueling. 

And there are other instances when the grout crumbled and there I stood broken. 

Break-ups. Loss. Confusion. Loneliness. Whatever.

Piecing my life back together after was grueling.  

And however inconsequential and small it seems in the grand scheme of things, heartbreak is a real, physical type of pain that manifests itself by twisting your stomach into all kinds of knots, and bringing out the ugliest of insecurities.

And it hurts. It just hurts.

But what I've learned is that if you can get through it, there is a wholeness waiting for you on the other side. (Notice the word "through" is not "over.") 

A wholeness that contains real love. The type of love that makes you confident without make-up. Independent. Fierce. The kind of love that keeps you from feeling lonely. Even when you are alone. A safe place to unravel. Laughter. 

I find it in the love of my friends, my family, and my God. 

I find it in the world around me, but most importantly I have found it in myself.

Love is not elusive anymore. It's not to be searched for. Because love is always there.

It is simply always there.

It's in the quiet moments, watching Gilmore Girl reruns in bed with your best friend. It's in those late night talks, those heated games of Kemps, those blissful drives, blasting your "Car ride Bumpin" playlist with the windows rolled down--it's there. 

I just had to recognize it.

The universe is in no debt to me. But in any circumstance, goodness is to be found.

If that isn't love, I don't know what is. 

xo.pa

This has been sitting in my draft box for a month...

I had a revelation last week. It was my half-birthday. 1.15.15. 
It went something like this: you deserve to be happy, you deserve to be selfish, and you deserve people who earn the right to be in your life.

It was in the audience of Alex Boyes performance when the thoughts rolled to me. I thought of last year and how horrible and beautiful it all was. 

And I realized that it doesn't ever really get easier to grow out of relationships and friendships. But as I've lived in a new city and made a new home and found new friends, I want to move towards a healthier peace of mind. 

I crave this new beginning like I crave donuts every saturday morning. And I want to carry with me into my new life a new sense of pride. I want to be proud of all of my accomplishments including being proud of the people I surround myself with. I want to carry those friendships that are supportive and constructive to my well being. I want to be proud not just of small pieces of my life, but to be proud of every bit of it. Because even when one or two pieces are out of sync, it has the ability to make the rest feel off balanced.

I want to cherish life a bit more. And I believe for the most part I truly have. I bike. I run. I move my body. Those things help me appreciate more. 

Starting anew means rebuilding it all, starting from the ground up. I want to cherish the things around me and notice the good things. I want to be deliberate in what I decide to allow into my new life and what choices I make for my future. I want to be tough but compassionate. I want to be gentle on myself and free the guilt I may have of being someone's downfall.

I have this feeling. I have a feeling that with the right amount of effort and focus, I can get far. I have the itch to be bold and challenge myself to do more than I think I can. And, by golly, I'm so excited for that challenge.








xo.pa

it's been a little rough

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer. | Rainer Maria Rilke








xo.pa

twenty. fifteen.

This last year has been one hell of a ride. But the thing about life being really crappy for a really long time is this: it gets better.

Which doesn’t seem like much of a consolation, I know. But I don’t think it’s meant to be. It’s not the consolation, it’s the reward. It’s the everything-after.

It gets better. And that better is a delicious and meaty sort of that thing.

It. Gets. Better.

I say that with a deep exhale of relief and exhaustion and joy.

Like collapsing onto a bed at the end of a very long and very good day.

It gets better.

Shame recedes with the waves at low-tide. And gratitude rushes in. For everything. For the whole of my life. Not a part of it, but the whole messy lot. And for the grace that is that mess. The perfect ordered chaos of it. Because for what it is, it's quite beautiful. 

It gets better and good becomes a flutter in my chest. A constant hum.  And I become aware of the musculature of my own heart—how it pulses and expands and grows. And to be privy to the physical experience of that.…everything begins to feel like a prayer. A prayer of gratitude and wonder and a delicious sort of blooming. Every action an act of faith.

Faith.

I'm a religious person. So. Faith, that's the word that wets my lips and sits on my tongue and fills what once was empty.

Faith.

The thing that rolls out like the proverbial yellow brick road.  A path before you. And you don’t know where you’re going, but you know you’re on your way.

Faith.

Which makes fear beside the point. And makes tributaries of loneliness and sorrow and grief—small streams leading to a larger body of water, important and necessary but not the point.

Which disappears loneliness—transforms it—makes it sweet in its impermanence.

Everything worthy and good I learned through the lens of anxiety and depression and heartache. Which is something I struggle to explain—baggage is not exactly an easy lead in at any kind of party.

Now standing firmly on the other side of those things, the question of how I got better is one I’m often asked. And the answer is a simple and complex as this: I had faith I would. And so I did. And I still have faith.

And that very faith is what I move forward with into this new year. That nearly overwhelming stretch of time succeeds in distilling everything dark and complex and seemingly impossible into that one thing—that one word. And that one word will break me open—make me sturdy and soft and so very human.

Faith, the invitation to my very own ever-after.

 So there, 2015, it. gets. better.

xo.pa

...

To think you can love God without being changed by Him, is to think you can jump into the ocean and not get wet. To really love Him, you must understand that your life is going to be wrecked by Him, and built again into something beautiful, something lasting. T.B. LaBerge

Quotes from the tinies:

"What are some planets in our solar system?"
"Jerkeley"
"Ploodle"
"Urawenis"

"How'd you get that scratch on you face?"
"Well...well...I got all curled up in my bed and then I was rolling around because that's how I be comfortable. Then I got all twisted up and then got this scratch. And my mom and dad didn't come!"

"Would you like to make an indian hat?"
"My mom doesn't like that."
"Well what do you like?"
"Puppies."

Back shot of the tinies because they deserve their privacy. 

xo.pa

Quotes from the tinies:

Tiny Question:
"Do you go to church? The one that learns you Jesus and God?"

Tiny remarks:
"You know I make a really great pirate 'cause I make a spyglass with my hands."

"My mom tricked me! She told me she was gonna put ice on my face and she put peas instead!!!"
(Tiny was real upset over this trickery. And said she would have preferred a sandwich on her face in lieu of the peas.)

"Miss Peri, you have a pink shirt on and I have a little pink so we're kind of cousins."

xo.pa

this past year

My mind has been swarmed with the side-effects of a sinus infection. Which has me in bed for a few days reliving.


There was a moment, about four months ago while I packed to move, when what remains of my belongings were spread across my bedroom floor.

 Something about the sky and the cloud. And not seeing the one through the other.

 I don’t know how to write about this last year. Or how to talk about it. Or even if I’ll triumph through what’s left of it.

 I've laughingly told my therapist that this has been the worst year of my life. And once I explain–provide details and facts and a timeline of events, we just sort of look at each other wide-eyed and chuckle in that nervous way that sits at the back of the throat. Because, well, yeah, it’s not been all that great.

 The worst year of my life (or one of, if we look at the spectrum despondently). Which is true, but only in the short term. Because, really, this will not be the year I look back on when I’m old and at the end of my life (should I be so lucky) and recount as a way of detailing loss and desire and pain. My humanity wasn’t revealed in the muck of this year, more my durability.

 A year of very specific lessons. And some quite expensive ones.

 But so many of the mistakes I now find myself glancing sideways at and wondering if they weren’t actually blessings.

 Not-good-things in service of better-things.

...

I saw Macy just a few weeks ago. She took my picture one of those first weekends in January. It was so cold and a few (but not many) things had already gone wrong, but we laughed and sipped steamers and talked about all that had changed and all that was now good, and how all-that-is-now-good almost always rushes in after all-that-is-really-not. 

This go round, these eleven months later, I picked her up at the PHX airport, collapsed into her arms and began to well up.

We talked about this year. The all-that-is-now-good. Begging forgiveness, immediately, for having to work and being tired in that way that sees my mind slipping off the back edge of a cliff and into the ocean below.

But it felt important to bookend the year. To finish it, in the same way it had begun. (Only this time we sipped Arizonas and I'll see her before the years end.) I wanted to see what was on the other side of the lens. Wanted to see if the last however many months were made visible on my face, for better or for worse.

They were. 

...

I own so little now. Got rid of so very much. Missionary work and moving will do that. Cast everything in a new, very harsh light. Suddenly so much was extraneous.

And so I whittled. And so two weeks before twenty-one, I quietly let go of nearly everything I own. 

Which isn't totally true, but is true enough. (Because I now own eighteen pairs of leggings.)

The pretending is over now. 

Less. Less stuff. Less pretense. Less pretending. 

...

At every turn this year I’ve had to ask for help. To say things out loud. To reach in the direction of the open hands around me. And I’ve been so lucky to be met with so much generosity. Offered work, opened home, a diet coke whenever I craved, encouragement when I felt I least deserved it.

 

But asking for help costs something. Is not easy to do. 

I talked to a newish friend months ago. A woman I've known for only those short months, but well enough to say that she is good and kind and better than most.  And talking to her, struggling to keep a steady voice and the incessant leak of my left eye, she said, Let me help you. 

No, no, I casually brushed her off. 

But the thing was, I did need help, and so I took a breath and said, Actually, yes, I need to talk to you? 

So I sat there, wiping my eye, listening to her voice. 

It was such a small gesture. And yet. And yet and yet. 

I didn’t have to ask for her to do it. 

I didn’t have to ask for help in that moment. It was offered freely. 

And it took my breath away.

...

A sympathetic pumpkin pie, an extra set of hands. A lifetime of not always having to ask. 


There's so much to look forward to. 

...

There's a Dear Sugar Essay that I constantly go back to. More like essays. But in this moment there is one that I'm thinking of: 

Perhaps the good that can come from this terrifying experience is a more complex understanding of what God means to you so the next time you need spiritual solace you’ll have something sturdier to lean on than the rickety I’ll-believe-he-exists-only-if-he-gives-me-what-I-want fence. What you learned is that your idea of God as a possibly non-existent spirit man who may or may not hear your prayers and may or may not swoop in to save your ass when the going gets rough is a losing prospect.

 So It’s up to you to create a better one. A bigger one. Which is really, almost always, something smaller.

 What if you allowed your God to exist in the simple words of compassion others offer to you? What if faith is the way it feels to lay your hand on your daughter’s sacred body? What if the greatest beauty of the day is the shaft of sunlight through your window? What if the worst thing happened and you rose anyway? What if you trusted in the human scale? What if you listened harder to the story of the man on the cross who found a way to endure his suffering than to the one about the impossible magic of the Messiah? Would you see the miracle in that?

A bigger one. Which is really, almost always, something smaller.

A pumpkin pie. 

Book endings.

Something smaller. Something less.

Less in the service of the more. 

A really terrible-no-good-very-bad-year in service of  a better ever-after: a simpler one. 

xo.pa

Quotes from the tinies:

Tiny quote:
"I'm 46 inches. I think if I eat all my vegetables I will grow to six feet by when I turn six."

Tiny conversations:
"I like your watch, Miss Peri."
"Thank you. I got it yesterday!"
"I have a watch at home. You know that?"
"Why didn't you bring it to school? How will you know what time it is?"
"Oh, I know what time it is. It's either lunchtime or it's not."

"My grandpa wears pants over his shoulders."
"Are they overalls?"
"Yes."
"Is he a farmer?"
"Yeah he says E-I-E-I-O."










xo.pa

Quotes from the tinies.

A conversation:
"Why do you have a runny nose?"
"Sometimes I have to eat spiders and stuff and that gets germs inside me. So my nose runs."
"You don't eat spiders," I said.
"I know. I'm just kidding."



A story:
"There was a pumpkin walking in the street then it got hit by a car and broke his legs. But then he got new ones from the doctor. Then he found an apple and they became friends. Then he made apple juice." (Not too sure he realizes how morbid his story ended.)



A failed lesson:
"If we plant this acorn in the ground, what do you think will happen?"
"It will grow!"
"Into what?"
"A butterfly!!!"



A quote (or two):
"Miss Peri, you know teachers have little spankers? You know that?"

"I missed you yesterday. You were with your sister right? Why'd you go gone with her?"











xo.pa

"I gave it my best half-hearted shot."

I just spent a third of my bank account on a road bike and bike equipment. 

It cost me four hundred dollars. Just for the bike. 

The first ride was 12 miles (or so) ride and I learned

that I've got some tennis elbow going on. 

--

I've always been big on the idea of following my heart.

And maximizing passion. Not only is this fulfilling, but it's also pretty fun. 

Which is  exactly how I wound up with a blue and yellow road bike. 

But even if this doesn't work out for me, don't I owe it to myself to look in the mirror and confidently say, you know what, I gave it my best half-hearted shot?

Because I'm giving it my best half-hearted shot. 

xo.pa

scenes from fall break

 

 

 

Ogden.
Salt Lake City.
Provo.
Bryce's Canyon.
North Rim.

Friends.
Fun.
And lot of diet Coke.






xo.pa

pre "fall break" post

On a whim last night,
I dyed my hair.

A streak.
Red.
A streak.
bleach.

And I quite like it.



I wrote that while on fall break. And it's been sitting in my drafts ever since  because I've been extra slow in uploading all the pictures from the trip to finish it. But they're coming soon, I promise.








xo.pa

Quotes from the tinies

We left the classroom and the sky was dark like it was about to rain.

"Awe man, I don't wanna go to bed yet."

So I explained that it was just dark because there was a cloud in front of the sun blocking the light and it was going to rain.

We passed a flag pole and one of the students stopped and says:

"Oh no, Miss Peri, the American flag will get wet and the Pledge of Alleigence will get gone."

She looked like she was going to cry. And she stopped dead I'm her tracks, put her hand over her heart, and repeated the Pledge.


"You have to stop talking over my talking!!!"


"I have hearts on my panties. You know that?"
"Well, well, (checking his own underpants) I have Avengers on my panties."


"Is Jupiter on fire?"

"I guess, yes. Its gas. And very, very hot."

"Well someone has to get over there to take water there and cool it down."


"If I turn the music any downer it will be down to the ground and we won't heard it."











xo.pa

macy

Macy is coming to visit in 11 days. 

It took me about three seconds to know this was the picture that's my favorite of us. FAVORITE. I don't throw that word around lightly. For the first two seconds I thought that it would be the picture of us after we ran a half marathon faster than all the Kenyans or parasailing over the Atlantic ocean. Maybe us doing something really sassy. But then this picture flashed across my mind. It was taken the night I came home from Mesa, and I knew it was my favorite. Not because we're doing anything outrageously neat or posing glamorously -- it's definitely not my best picture. 
But it's my favorite. 

Because this is my sister.
And this is us.








xo.pa

Word from the wise

Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness, and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns. | Anne Lamott

The important thing is the obvious thing nobody is saying. | William S. Burroughs

Man has places in his heart which do not yet exist, and into them enters suffering, in order that they may have existence. | Leon Bloy

I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us.  There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore. | Cheryl Strayed 

Everything is hard until it is easy. | Goethe

xo.pa

breakdown

This one was different.
At noon today, I knew that it would come.

I sobbed for almost an hour. My best friend held me and told me that it was okay to feel these ridiculous things because I feel them and that's enough for them to be important.

Then.

Stared at the mirror.
Washed my face.
Put gym clothes on.

And then went to a Zumba class.

It was different.
Different because I spoke aloud the words I had tucked away.
And I let myself feel them.

So I walked into the gym and let my heart race.
(Sometimes that's okay.)


And I don't know if I'm running to or running from

but I need to keep running.







xo.pa

pretending stops. reality begins.

If someone were to come up to me and say, you have to do this year again, I'd side-eye them, back away as slowly and carefully as possible, and then take off sprinting in the opposite direction.

I wouldn't do it.  No way.

And this is of note because there are like whole entire years of my life that I can't even remember--that's how bad they were.

It's also of note because there are, in fact, specific moments from this last year, that I'd absolutely do differently, if given the opportunity--and I'd like to. I'd give a yes instead of a no. More easily extended invitations. Cherished time and the close ones. Stay a little longer. Refuse to go unnnoticed. Use my time more efficiently.

But I think, that as awful as this year has been (because I kind of feel like a lightning rod of unfortunate events), it had to happen just as it did.

I had to land in the companionships from hell. I had to have seizures. Had to leave Mesa unexpectedly, which made me fall into the "missionaries who return home early" category. Had to have test after test and hospital stays and various drugs to get a non-conclusive result. Had to have that knock-down-drag-out-fight. Had to stand there with a glass of water in my hand and very rationally talk myself out of throwing it. Had to feel utterly alone. Had to say the terrible words and feel what it was to say them--to be the person who said them, and who is okay with saying them. Had to witness as very many people sidestepped the truth because it was uncomfortable. Had to see cruelty up close.

This year has been steep learning curve after steep learning curve after steep learning curve.

But it had to happen just as it did.

So I could learn to trust myself more, protect myself more, defend myself more.
So I could speak what was true with a bit less fear and a bit more volume.
So I could  understand that healing and hope are real and available.

I may not understand the will of God, or the logic of the universe, but I've given over to it. Or in to it.

Because in the face of very many bad things, there are many very good things too. And the good things are sweeter. And clearer.

And small (or very large) kindnesses have made a difference.
Have made all the difference.

I moved back to Mesa three months ago.  In with a family that has been kind and welcoming and hold true to the same values. Namely, honesty, faith, and the pursuit of pleasure. I've gone to doctors for my anxiety. And I've begun regularly seeing a counselor to help me wade through the murky water on my pursuit of pleasure.

In my last session, in expelling a particular sort of insecurity-based-heartache--and the particular moment of breaking--I came to the realization that the pretending is over, now. 

Such brutal words, acknowledged with much care and understanding, which makes them--I think--breathtaking.

The pretending is over now. The pretending is over now.

This year has been brutal. Sometimes miserable. Awful. But the pretending is over, now. And that has been the point.

Because the thing about breaking, being broken, breaking open--well, it's not such a bad thing. It feels like hell (even when you're leaning on God it feels like hell), but it reveals us. Distills us. Makes us more ourselves. But in order for that to happen, we have to turn and face ourselves, experience the full weight of who we are, and that--well that, is just not an easy thing to do.

But that's our job. We have to accept and recognize the reality that faces us. Because empathy is our human charge. But we need empathy and understanding to be grounded, and to not be grounded in the face of strong winds is incredibly dangerous and hands down ludicrous.

And so,  the pretending is over, now.

It has to be.

And I'll give thanks for that, If nothing else, I will give thanks for that.

xo.pa

Confessions Friday--a day early

1. I think I've worn jeans only 4 times this year. For the first five months I wore skirts because I was a missionary, and since I've been back I've grown a fond connection to leggings.  (I can fit way more pairs of leggings in a drawer than jeans anyway. )

2. Every time I go shopping I say at least once, "I would buy that if it were black."

3. I'm was in a predicament as to what color converse I should buy for nearly a year. The colors in the running for this purchase were: classic black because I literally wear black every day. White because it'd be a once contrast to the black that I wear every day. Or maroon because I've had my eyes set on maroon since my sophomore year in high school.

4. I bought white converse because I bought a pink watch.

5. Over half my wardrobe is black and white striped. It's becoming a problem.






xo.pa

wholly & completely

It's been a recent realization that I need fall in love with myself. Wholly and completely.

I've officially decided (after a conversation with one of my most favorite humans) to do just that--fall in love with every part of me--my body. my mind. my spirit.
You know, the works.

Confession: I'm not good at being a girl. Or rather, I'm the worst at all things female. All that stuff that guys attribute to girls--the things that drive men nuts about women--I embody them. Wholly and completely.

I think way too much. I over analyze everything. I worry. I stress over the least stressing things. I gravitate towards nuttiness. I am unsure of myself. I get lost in my head. I feel fat in my own clothes. I disappear inward. Have unknowable, unworkable thoughts. I cannot say what most needs to be said when it most need to be heard.

And at one time or another (or both) because of these insecurities,
I've felt personally victimized by Regina George.
Many women have felt personally victimized by Regina George.
But how many of us have victimized ourselves?


This all is to say that girls are full of girl-hate. Including myself.


It's a big part of our reality, body image. Whether we openly acknowledge that or not, physical appearance is important. But not just for appearance--not only for the concoction of attributes we piece together to form us, in order to have us represent others. It's important for health and being wholly healthy. For looking, yes, but more importantly feeling, our best.

That's what I've decided to do. To not only love myself, but love me because I feel my best.

This for me means:
Working out. It doesn't matter how--a zumba class or a late night walk. Whatever.
Passing on the soda at dinner and the cookies in the teacher lounge.
Actually eating vegetables because they will make me feel good.
Taking the time to get ready in the morning.

I think this will allow me to find my peace and forgive myself for all of things I never did and the person I will never be..

Because I wasn't made to like like an airbrushed 5'10' paper-thin model.






xo.pa