My current facebook status is: Dear Roger Goodell- I know it's the middle of your football season, but if you could make a call to the NCAA about their priority level of player misconduct, I'd really appreciate it. See Lamichael James (assault against girlfriend) and Justin Blackman (DUI). Thanks. Love, Heather P.S. RTR.
Here's what won't fit in my facebook status.
I am neither an Auburn fan nor am I an Auburn hater. I am an Alabama fan because I am my father's child and the glory days of Bear Bryant run through my veins. I am not an Auburn fan because, being Alabama born and bred, I must pick one or the other, and therefore I wear red on Saturdays. While I have no over and abounding love for Auburn, I also have no hate. Auburn University has given my father a job and my best friend a scholarship to pursue her dream of becoming an aeronautical engineer and saved the life of one of the best dogs I have ever known.
Having made my loyalties known, the allegations surrounding Cam Newton are, at best, heresay. At this point and time I believe all this to be the work of bottom-feeding journalists, looking out for themselves, their reputation, and their jobs over the ability of a child to play football because it makes him happy and gives him opportunities that he may not otherwise have. I place most journalists on the same evolution level as defense attorneys and car mechanics, just slightly above Biblical tax collectors. However, if these allegations prove to be true and his eligibility to play at Auburn is under question under the current rules of the NCAA, then I am for consequences. I believe that the boys of fall are boys still and must learn that there are consequences for their actions. Unfortunately these normal adolescent mishaps are in the spotlight unknown to most 20 year old young men, but it is the price they pay for having 6 year old boys wear their number.
That being said, the punishment should fit the crime and if the NCAA stays consistent, Cam Newton should write a letter of apology in the locker room before the Iron Bowl. I am horrified at how the NCAA has handled the actual completion of crimes against others by current college football players. Lamichael James, a running back for Oregon, was charged and convicted of domestic violence against his ex-girlfriend for grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against a wall. His punishment was suspension from one game. Justin Blackmon, a receiver for Oklahoma State, was arrested for DUI while driving 92 mph while leaving an NFL game. His punishment was also a one game suspension and a place as a Heisman candidate.
The NCAA seems to be more concerned with their relationship with the NFL and their image than actually treating these young men, their teams, their coaches, and their fans with respect and fairness. I could care less what happens with Cam Newton as long as there is justice saturated in the outcome. At this point and time, I watch news reports update every two hours and the NCAA has yet to make a statement. Take your time, please, and meditate fully on how you will handle a young man's future, and make a stand on whether you'll place the crime of accepting money to play above the safety of others. In the meantime, war eagle.
Saturday, November 6
Friday, July 2
Flashlight Discoveries #2
Once again, lyrics are giving light, shining into the dark places. So here we go:
The emotion it was electric
And the stars, they all aligned
I knew I had to make my decision
But I never made the time
No, I never made the time
In the dark, for a while now
I can't stay, so far
I can't stay much longer
Riding my decision home
-“I Can’t Stay” by the Killers
And you're back out on the street.
And you're tryin' to remember.
How will you start it over?
You don't know what became.
You don't care much for a stranger's touch,
But you can't hold your man.
You never thought you'd be alone this far down the line
And I know what's been on your mind
You're afraid it's all been wasted time
Oh, another love has come and gone
Oh, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me before you went out on your own:
"Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone."
So you can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine
And maybe someday we will find, that it wasn't really wasted time
-“Wasted Time” by the Eagles
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone
There comes a time in everyone's life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone
-“I’m Moving On” by Rascal Flatts
I lost a piece of me in you
I think I left it in your arms
I forget the reasons I got scared
But remember that I cared quite a lot
You see but lately I've been on my own
Yeah one, but one by choice
You see, that's a first for me
There's only me, yeah there’s only me
And now I realize for once
It's just me
It's just me
It's just me
And I'll find a way to make it
There's no one left to stop me
Here I go
Can we take it from the top?
-“It’s Just Me” by Blue October
Though I know I'll never ever lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I'll often stop and think of them
But in my life I loved you more
I love you more
I love you more
-“In My Life” by the Beatles
In the peace of my shambled apartment, I find that I am making the right decision. The boxes around me, the memories, the finality of it all is crippling and fear-inducing. The new day is here, and I am blind to what it has for me. But it is a new day, and new days care not for should’s, could’s, would’s, what if’s. Days before new days are for crying, for allowing myself to bask in the memories and remember why in those new days, I chose to make those memories. And I did choose them; I chose to embrace those days and to move forward into Life. I choose now this new path, and I am grateful for the choice. Choice is such a blessing in the time of my life when new days have been forced upon me; but this one is mine, this choice is all mine. I can’t live between the old new days and the new days ahead; they wouldn’t be new if I clung to the old. Now it is time for another new day, no greater or more magical than the old ones, still offering the same canvas opportunities, a new canvas the same as last time. I bought this canvas, I made this purchase for a new day. No receipt, no exchange, no hesitation, no dried paint, just a brush in the hand of a girl who made a choice. This is my new day.
Monday, June 21
Complexities in Love Lessons
When I was thirteen, love was simple. I knew I liked a boy if he was cute and I giggled often; after this revelation, I spent most of my days trying to figure out if he shared those tender feelings. I was never the girl to simply ask, so I sent my most loyal corral of girlfriends to excavate information and return dutifully. If the feelings were mutual, Disney magic- we were “going out.” When it ended, and it always did, there were tears and anger and dirty looks exchanged in the hallway for a few days, weeks at most, and we moved on. My qualifications for dating were simple- he needed to be cute and we had to get along. My friends and I occasionally “went out” with the same boy, but no one really cared. When it was over, it was over; there were no re-do’s or round two’s or renewed interest. I brushed off the hurt and brief amounts of lost time and carried on to the next one.
I always imagined finding “the one” would go very simply: we would meet in a fashion that would lend itself to a spectacular “how we met” story, we would fall in love, and, through trials and triumphs, we would stay together and life as would knew it would be brighter, a happy place. We would start well and good, with dates and late-night phone calls, with first kisses and daydreams, with hours of talking and interests that were plumb-lined. Our life together would involve fights (I had seen my parents do enough of them, I knew eventually they would come) but at he end of the day, he would love me and I would love him. All of this, from phone-calls to love everlasting, would culminate with a marriage by the time I finished college or shortly thereafter; of this, I was certain. My journey would be perfect.
In three days I will turn twenty-four. I have neither a husband, fiancée, boyfriend, pet, or plant, and yet, my love life is overlapping waves of the Complicated, in ways I never could have predicted.
There has been no story paralleled to the one I wrote years ago. I have had some particularly interesting “how we met” stories, many late-night phone calls, and interest sharing, but all to nothing, to no happy endings. The sour feelings and tears occasionally lasted for weeks, but usually, they have lasted much longer. As I write this, I still hold strong to an ending from almost three years ago; but that is another story for another day.
Ten years ago, my narrowing of the dating pool was simple. Though I came to realize some time ago that more pickiness was required, I am befuddled lately at how much more picky I need to be and how complicated that makes things. So often I wish I could turn back to simpler days of attractiveness and compatibility; other days, so much of me wants more. I want values, intelligence, wit, a desire for marriage, passion, life goals, a loving family, living proximity, the ability to love unconditionally, and so many other things that exclude people who fit so well into the simpler version. I am new to the pain of excluding and I wonder, and often, if it causes more hurt than it prevents.
Since leaving high school, I have only dated one guy only one time. All of them, in some way, have turned back up, like reruns of Law and Order, on every channel, at every time of day. Today, their holds on me overlap, and with too many hands over me, I have trouble seeing the path before me. Their shadows are different sizes, but a combination of shadows creates darkness in all the places they overlap; at the present, I am in the dark. I don’t know where to turn to be out from under the shadows or if I even should. I am cold in the shadows, and, at the same time, I burn so easily.
For the complexity of all this, this love business, I was not prepared. I was not prepared to distinguish between love and in love, to deny myself those whom I crave, to love those who love others, to spend months and years waiting for their shadows to pass, to be alone in the shadows at twenty-four. In this place, I am not sure how to be. As it is with writing this, I am not sure where to go, where to find the answers to the questions life has drawn from me. I have not yet given up hope on my story and I have not yet crawled into a cave with permanent shadows. I am not sure of the way out nor am I entirely sure how I got here. I only know where I am and where I hope to be and that someday, the hope is that all these things make sense. I’ll let you know when I get there.
I always imagined finding “the one” would go very simply: we would meet in a fashion that would lend itself to a spectacular “how we met” story, we would fall in love, and, through trials and triumphs, we would stay together and life as would knew it would be brighter, a happy place. We would start well and good, with dates and late-night phone calls, with first kisses and daydreams, with hours of talking and interests that were plumb-lined. Our life together would involve fights (I had seen my parents do enough of them, I knew eventually they would come) but at he end of the day, he would love me and I would love him. All of this, from phone-calls to love everlasting, would culminate with a marriage by the time I finished college or shortly thereafter; of this, I was certain. My journey would be perfect.
In three days I will turn twenty-four. I have neither a husband, fiancée, boyfriend, pet, or plant, and yet, my love life is overlapping waves of the Complicated, in ways I never could have predicted.
There has been no story paralleled to the one I wrote years ago. I have had some particularly interesting “how we met” stories, many late-night phone calls, and interest sharing, but all to nothing, to no happy endings. The sour feelings and tears occasionally lasted for weeks, but usually, they have lasted much longer. As I write this, I still hold strong to an ending from almost three years ago; but that is another story for another day.
Ten years ago, my narrowing of the dating pool was simple. Though I came to realize some time ago that more pickiness was required, I am befuddled lately at how much more picky I need to be and how complicated that makes things. So often I wish I could turn back to simpler days of attractiveness and compatibility; other days, so much of me wants more. I want values, intelligence, wit, a desire for marriage, passion, life goals, a loving family, living proximity, the ability to love unconditionally, and so many other things that exclude people who fit so well into the simpler version. I am new to the pain of excluding and I wonder, and often, if it causes more hurt than it prevents.
Since leaving high school, I have only dated one guy only one time. All of them, in some way, have turned back up, like reruns of Law and Order, on every channel, at every time of day. Today, their holds on me overlap, and with too many hands over me, I have trouble seeing the path before me. Their shadows are different sizes, but a combination of shadows creates darkness in all the places they overlap; at the present, I am in the dark. I don’t know where to turn to be out from under the shadows or if I even should. I am cold in the shadows, and, at the same time, I burn so easily.
For the complexity of all this, this love business, I was not prepared. I was not prepared to distinguish between love and in love, to deny myself those whom I crave, to love those who love others, to spend months and years waiting for their shadows to pass, to be alone in the shadows at twenty-four. In this place, I am not sure how to be. As it is with writing this, I am not sure where to go, where to find the answers to the questions life has drawn from me. I have not yet given up hope on my story and I have not yet crawled into a cave with permanent shadows. I am not sure of the way out nor am I entirely sure how I got here. I only know where I am and where I hope to be and that someday, the hope is that all these things make sense. I’ll let you know when I get there.
Thursday, June 10
Keys
Last week, I got a new-old car and for now, we’re getting to know each other. Every car has its quirks, this one being no exception; the only quirk so far that really bugs me is the ignition. Occasionally, it takes me several minutes to get the key in just the right position to actually crank up the car. I leave the door open so I don’t roast in the Southern humidity trapped in my car, and try desperately to pay close attention in the hopes of learning some way to make this time spent shorter in the near future.
My new-old car’s ignition reminds me very much of the key I had to my last boyfriend’s apartment. Despite having two keys made on two separate occasions at a quality place of business, I still had to wiggle and jiggle to get the key to actually open the door. When I first got the key, then-boyfriend told me that it would take some time but eventually, I would find the sweet spot between the key and the lock. For the most part, he was right. A few weeks later, the majority of the times I used the key I could accomplish the task in fifteen seconds or less. Still, though, not every time; there were still evenings where I would stand in front of the door, heavy laden with a backpack, groceries, a purse that could take down a grown man, and the exhaustion of an afternoon in Atlanta traffic, desperately trying to force the key to do my will, to just open the door. These times I would eventually simply give up and knock, standing there, irritated, cold, hot, tired, impatient, all because a tiny piece of metal simply wouldn’t do what it was made to do. I had had his key to my apartment cut at the same store; his fit perfectly, a smooth turn to unlock. The fact was, the key to his place wasn’t right; whether it wasn’t cut correctly or the door was odd or the metal was wrong or the key before cutting wasn’t proper, none of that mattered, simply that the key wasn’t right.
Forty-five days later, I realize that sometimes the key isn’t right. I could have stood at the door to the relationship and waited for the key to wiggle and jiggle and hope that I could force it, just right, into doing what it was “supposed” to do. I had done everything perfectly, a checklist. Nothing worked. The key, for whatever reason, didn’t fit; it didn’t mean the key was wrong or the lock was wrong. I could have been content to wiggle the key for as long as I needed to, but one day, I was told not to come over any more and I stopped using the key. I realized sometime after that day that a key and a lock should just fit and just do what they were made for. I could make arguments for myself being the key or the lock, but either way, we didn’t fit. On my new-old car, I could get the ignition replaced; there was no need to replace the lock since his key fit, and we had already replaced mine once. The key and the lock, it just… didn’t fit.
I am happy that I had the time to wiggle the key, to see if it was just me, but I’m not content to force it any longer. I’m still not sure what was missing between the key and the lock, but I know that it was. It should fit, turn, and open the door. The door should be open, to whatever, to the inside, to where I’ve been trying to get all along.
My new-old car’s ignition reminds me very much of the key I had to my last boyfriend’s apartment. Despite having two keys made on two separate occasions at a quality place of business, I still had to wiggle and jiggle to get the key to actually open the door. When I first got the key, then-boyfriend told me that it would take some time but eventually, I would find the sweet spot between the key and the lock. For the most part, he was right. A few weeks later, the majority of the times I used the key I could accomplish the task in fifteen seconds or less. Still, though, not every time; there were still evenings where I would stand in front of the door, heavy laden with a backpack, groceries, a purse that could take down a grown man, and the exhaustion of an afternoon in Atlanta traffic, desperately trying to force the key to do my will, to just open the door. These times I would eventually simply give up and knock, standing there, irritated, cold, hot, tired, impatient, all because a tiny piece of metal simply wouldn’t do what it was made to do. I had had his key to my apartment cut at the same store; his fit perfectly, a smooth turn to unlock. The fact was, the key to his place wasn’t right; whether it wasn’t cut correctly or the door was odd or the metal was wrong or the key before cutting wasn’t proper, none of that mattered, simply that the key wasn’t right.
Forty-five days later, I realize that sometimes the key isn’t right. I could have stood at the door to the relationship and waited for the key to wiggle and jiggle and hope that I could force it, just right, into doing what it was “supposed” to do. I had done everything perfectly, a checklist. Nothing worked. The key, for whatever reason, didn’t fit; it didn’t mean the key was wrong or the lock was wrong. I could have been content to wiggle the key for as long as I needed to, but one day, I was told not to come over any more and I stopped using the key. I realized sometime after that day that a key and a lock should just fit and just do what they were made for. I could make arguments for myself being the key or the lock, but either way, we didn’t fit. On my new-old car, I could get the ignition replaced; there was no need to replace the lock since his key fit, and we had already replaced mine once. The key and the lock, it just… didn’t fit.
I am happy that I had the time to wiggle the key, to see if it was just me, but I’m not content to force it any longer. I’m still not sure what was missing between the key and the lock, but I know that it was. It should fit, turn, and open the door. The door should be open, to whatever, to the inside, to where I’ve been trying to get all along.
Monday, May 17
Flashlight Discoveries
I find so much of my life in songs. So much. In the past I had the ability to write lyrics; I could create words on paper to match my inside. I have lost this art, maybe forever; it has been almost ten years since I have written a full song. For now, I am scouring the universe and my iTunes for stanzas and choruses and bridges that click, that open the door and shine light into the dark places. This light is especially vital in times when I feel as if I’m blindfolded and stumbling through situations; I am struggling to sort out how I feel, what I want, and what’s really happening in my life. As of late, these have been my flashlight discoveries.
This is the starting of a brand new day
I never liked this town much anyway
I need this city like I need the rain
I know that somewhere there’s a north bound train
Oh I’ll make it without you
And though my bodies laying here
It’s my mouth that must be lying now
This is the starting of my fall from grace
My self esteem, it’s seen better days
But you know I’ll never let this go to waste
I’ll keep this memory on the map I trace
Back to home
-“Make It without You” Andrew Belle
I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new
Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...
-“Best of You” Foo Fighters
Change came in disguise of revelation, set his soul on fire
She said she always knew he'd come around
And the decades disappear
Like sinking ships but we persevere
God gives us hope but we still fear, we don't know
Your mind is poisoned
Castles in the sky, sit stranded, vandalized
The drawbridge is closing
-“Dustland Fairytale” Killers
I've got this energy beneath my feet
Like something underground's gonna come up and carry me
I've got this sentimental heart that beats
But I don't really mind that it's starting to get to me now
Why do you waste my time?
Is the answer to the question on your mind
And I'm sick of all my judges
So scared of what they'll find
But I know that I can make it
As long as somebody takes me home every now and then
-“Sam’s Town” Killers
It feels like everyday stays the same
It's dragging me down and I can't pull away
So here I go again
Chasing you down again
Why do I do this?
Over and over, over and over
I fall for you
Over and over, over and over
I try not to
Over and over, over and over
You make me fall for you
Over and over, over and over
You don't even try
-“Over and Over” Three Days Grace
As I look over the lyrics, they shine light into me. I am ready to move back home to Birmingham. I am done with Atlanta, I was done with Atlanta before Christmas. My heart faces westbound, ready and waiting. I am also hoping, wishing, praying that certain unspoken and undetermined parts of my life resolve themselves well and soon. At this time I have spoken of them so much and so often to so many people that I am simply tired of analyzing it and ready for an opportunity to act instead of analyze. In counseling, half one’s time is spent with the client and the other half is spent making notes, doing research, and conceptualizing the client’s situation. I have spent way more, way more than fifty percent of the time analyzing every part of my life at the moment. I am ready to go. I am ready.
This is the starting of a brand new day
I never liked this town much anyway
I need this city like I need the rain
I know that somewhere there’s a north bound train
Oh I’ll make it without you
And though my bodies laying here
It’s my mouth that must be lying now
This is the starting of my fall from grace
My self esteem, it’s seen better days
But you know I’ll never let this go to waste
I’ll keep this memory on the map I trace
Back to home
-“Make It without You” Andrew Belle
I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new
Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...
-“Best of You” Foo Fighters
Change came in disguise of revelation, set his soul on fire
She said she always knew he'd come around
And the decades disappear
Like sinking ships but we persevere
God gives us hope but we still fear, we don't know
Your mind is poisoned
Castles in the sky, sit stranded, vandalized
The drawbridge is closing
-“Dustland Fairytale” Killers
I've got this energy beneath my feet
Like something underground's gonna come up and carry me
I've got this sentimental heart that beats
But I don't really mind that it's starting to get to me now
Why do you waste my time?
Is the answer to the question on your mind
And I'm sick of all my judges
So scared of what they'll find
But I know that I can make it
As long as somebody takes me home every now and then
-“Sam’s Town” Killers
It feels like everyday stays the same
It's dragging me down and I can't pull away
So here I go again
Chasing you down again
Why do I do this?
Over and over, over and over
I fall for you
Over and over, over and over
I try not to
Over and over, over and over
You make me fall for you
Over and over, over and over
You don't even try
-“Over and Over” Three Days Grace
As I look over the lyrics, they shine light into me. I am ready to move back home to Birmingham. I am done with Atlanta, I was done with Atlanta before Christmas. My heart faces westbound, ready and waiting. I am also hoping, wishing, praying that certain unspoken and undetermined parts of my life resolve themselves well and soon. At this time I have spoken of them so much and so often to so many people that I am simply tired of analyzing it and ready for an opportunity to act instead of analyze. In counseling, half one’s time is spent with the client and the other half is spent making notes, doing research, and conceptualizing the client’s situation. I have spent way more, way more than fifty percent of the time analyzing every part of my life at the moment. I am ready to go. I am ready.
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