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Posts Tagged ‘past’

I’m terrible with goodbyes. And they are everywhere. Each day has an end. Each book. Each adventure. Each person.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my trip to Ireland and my 3 months spent in Italy. It is a deep sorrow that needs to be learned to live with and accept. But before the goodbyes, there’s life. There’s love. There’s hope.

Desires can be traps. To crave something you can’t have is a sorrow deeper than a grave. Part of me craves to go back to Italy. The other part of me craves to go back to Italy with the people I had been there with, but that would mean going back in time. I can now only relive those memories in my mind. I can hit replay on the laughs, but I won’t hear them there again. I can imagine laying out on a soccer field, but we won’t again. I can see the vineyards, the buildings, the mountains in my mind, but it’s unlikely I’ll ever get to see them again except in pictures. I can tell stories, but they will only be stories. The others will never really know, no matter how good of a story teller I am.

To experience is to live. But to live is to lose. For everything we’ve experienced will eventually come to an end.

Living in the past is like being dead in the present. I look back on my study abroad in Italy, my spring break in Ireland, and can smile at the amazing chance that I was given. But then the other half of me misses it to the point of tears.

Parting is such sweet sorrow. It has been almost 5 months since I’ve been back, but I have yet to find the strength to accept the goodbye. 

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There are always those people who are really good at something, like playing guitar for example, and if they screw up a chord, or can’t remember a part of the song, they laugh it off and say something like, “No ones perfect, right” or “I’m glad I’m comfortable enough to not take myself so seriously.” But have you noticed how the people who I usually hear say that are actually really good at what they are doing, and you laugh with them and forget about it because they are still awesome at playing…

Well what if you aren’t that great at it, and you screw up? They may not try, but people begin judging you a little bit. I screwed up playing the guitar for church today, and it was the first time I had played in front of them. I’m better than that, because I’m a rockstar when I’m by myself, I’ve just never really played in front of people before because playing guitar and writing songs is something I do in my free time because I adore music and it’s one of my favorite ways to worship God. 

But everyone else doesn’t know how good I can be. I think that’s why I’m hiding in my room at the moment. 

Why do we think that we can’t make mistakes? Why is it in our minds to try and be perfect, whether it’s with our hair, makeup, clothes, homework, playing music, etc. A mistake tears us down, and we (or at least I do) begin tearing ourselves down before anyone even says anything. So I screwed up my first time trying. So what? It simply makes me human. It won’t get any worse than that because I wasn’t as prepared as I could have been. I’m going to make myself play again on Wednesday or Sunday just so I can keep the callouses on my hands and not be scared of screwing up again. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t be so hard on yourself. Be confident that you will do better next time. Learn from your mistake and let it be a little wisdom for your life. Make some new preparations so you can avoid the same mistake, and let it go. Be a role model for others who make similar mistakes, and maybe it will help them get past their mistakes too. 

You aren’t perfect, so stop trying to be, and accept your imperfections as something to live with. You will find much more happiness rather than trying to fight it.  

As for me, I have finally begun to accept myself for my imperfections. They are not necessarily things that I should get frustrated with, but simply things that are a part of me, that make me who I am.

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This is a quick short snip-it about me. But I do have a point at the end of all of it, so read anyway!

I am a solitarian. I don’t even know if that’s a word, but if it isn’t, I’m making it one right now.

I am the awkward quiet one that you know is nice so you’ll say hi, but you don’t invite to stuff. If the others start leaving, eventually they all leave until I’m left by myself…AGAIN.

I am a listener. I’d rather listen to someone else talk, or listen to the radio or sing. I’d rather hear about you than talk about me. I’d rather you pick where we go to eat or what time we should meet up for coffee. There are times when I’m really craving something, or “I’m hungry now, so let’s go eat in fifteen minutes” type thing. But when I say, “I don’t care,” it’s not to be nice. I literally DON’T CARE. I am a follower, not a leader, except for a few cases here and there when I don’t mind leading.

I was scared about my major for a long time. A lot of times I feel like my writing sucks, sometimes it really does suck, and sometimes I just don’t wanna write. But it scares me because I should be writing more than I do, but I don’t. I watch movies and TV shows or sometimes read a book instead, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but watching movies isn’t going to get me a career.

Now I’m realizing that I watch the movies and shows because I adore STORIES. I love making my own stories with people I wish I could be, people I’m glad I’m not, people I’d love to have as my best friend, parents that shouldn’t be parents, handsome funny guys that I wish would ask me out, the popular girl who you’ve always wanted to cut up her clothes and hair with a jagged scissors because someone who is such a bitch shouldn’t look so pretty.

I was the one in the marching band, the one who had a loud cheer, but was too scared to be a cheerleader because I didn’t like being out in front of crowds.

I’m not even smart enough to call myself a nerd. I was in volleyball for 7 years, but I didn’t make the varsity team, so I’m not a jock. I can play guitar and flute, but I’m not a musician because I’m not good enough to show off anything. I live on a hobby farm, but I’m not what you’d call a farmer. I can snowboard but I’m too chicken to go off any jumps because I still fall sometimes. I’m not a social butterfly or an artist or a skater. I’m not stylish, and I’m not someone you go to for a good laugh, though I have my funny moments. I’m just kinda good at some things, but not great at anything.

I’m not getting knocked up, drunk out of my mind, or wearing tiny shorts that barely cover my butt cheeks. I’m bigger than that. I’m smarter than that. And it’s about time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and realize that just because I don’t have a lot of friends, doesn’t mean I don’t have a couple of really good ones.

I am a somewhat solitary person, but I wasn’t made that way by accident. Someday, some dude  is gonna see something in me that I will probably never figure out myself and walk me down that aisle in a wedding dress that I have been dying to go shopping for, and I’ll be the bride of a good man with ambitions, family oriented, and likes the thought of  waking up next to me for the rest of his life and grow old with me; and not the bride of someone I figured I should marry because I’m having his baby.

This girl may be kinda pathetic in more ways than one, I might be too good at making awkward situations, and I’m not always as talkative as I wish I was; but you know, if we were all jabber-mouths, we would get annoyed with each other for not ever getting to say anything.

Only YOU have the power to doubt yourself. Everyone else simply has opinions, and we should let them be simply that–OPINONS.

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