I love telling stories. I don’t do it because I want to enlighten neurons in your brain or to slowly waste my breath that just filters in and out of my lungs but I tell stories because I want to relate. That’s my way of relating to everyone I come into contact with.
“Oh, you went to the beach last Saturday? How was it? Oh great! Yeah, I love the beach, this one time when I went…”
That’s me. I hope it doesn’t sound boastful or like I don’t want to hear your memories and good times but when it comes to me I just randomly spew my knowledge through my experience. I’m a doer, I learn by doing, and if I want to help I try to let you know what I went through to also share in on the same key note of understanding.
That’s why I want to cram my life with weird, adventurous details so I can learn. Life is boring if you’re not learning or putting yourself through the rigors that God sets out for you. I feel like that’s why we can’t escape difficult situations. They shape us, like little rolls of dough– but that’s another tangent for another cloudy day.
Go create stories, share them, and don’t let anyone tell you your stories aren’t worthy for telling.
Today is pretty dreary with a side of hope. It rained last night but only enough to wet down the top soil. Most of the clouds are stubbornly sticking to their spots in the sky. It’s cool enough that my Mom and I planted a ton of flowers in hope of some sticking with us this summer. I planted sunflower seeds and hopefully not in vain. They’re usually a hearty seed but not strong enough for ants to sink their jaws into. Last summer I planted so many and watered an empty hole repeatedly but hopefully this summer it’ll be different. All I’ve got is hope, guys.
Well, since I’ve got all this time on my hands from work being so slow I’ve decided to go on more day trips. Upon entering the real world and graduating college, God put traveling on my heart-and actually this blog was suppose to be a travel blog, but I never really went anywhere consistently. I went to London. I went to Los Angeles. I talked about Charleston, SC- I think. Travelers Rest, heck, even western Pennsylvania.
And then I stopped. Life just got in the way, but here I am ready and willing to say I’m gonna be doing that again, even if it is in smaller ways. Baby steps, guys, baby steps. I’m trying!
And don’t forget to check out instagram for some updates as well! @thedarlingloon
I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I love to work. The harder the better.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I hate waking up after the said hard day when my back feels like it’s broken and my feet have been replaced by open nerve endings and I can’t seem to place them anywhere. I hate that- but when I think back onto the hard day and what I’ve accomplished I feel good. I feel beautiful even. Strong.
I think maybe that’s why I like to go on hiking trips and camp. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I don’t mind getting sweaty. But I love when I can wash away the grime and dried sweat and just be able to relish in what I’ve possibly done for the day. It feels good. Especially now in the season (working retail during the holidays) where I can make someones day with helping them choose a gift or even finding that said gift, or just going the extra mile for them.
I might regret later all that I’m saying in this post but for right now, I’m excited for rest, I’m excited for nourishing myself and I’m excited for what I’ve come to learn.
Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
So I went and saw Fantastic Beast tonight and as I was perusing the interwebs for fandom I stumbled across this. Check out what JK Rowling is doing with her charity Lumos. Instead of hating on everything wrong with the world look for what you can do to help it.
If there was one thing I could remember of James I would say he was calm. He loved us and we loved him. He did my makeup for Beaux Arts then went on to work for The Walking Dead. How awesome is that? He was talented, hardworking and always there, always supportive, and will always be my friend.
After graduating from UNCSA together, James and I spoke here and there and caught up from time to time. I remember at my best friends wedding we rode from the reception to the “after after party” and what a gentleman he was. I just remember sitting in the hotel lobby and chatting. I don’t remember what we said, I don’t remember what hotel it was or even the color of his tie- I just remember his presence. His calm. His lack of judgement on anyone and the utter interest he had in what was around him, even if it was a tired bridesmaid with swollen feet.
He was smart. He was brave, and he understood. I hate to say was, because that just identifies someone to be in the past but what’s so great about remembering is that you can keep that person with you. You can pull them into the present and sit with them again with swollen feet in a hotel lobby at 1:00 in the morning.
I wish I had a picture of her. She was wearing this vibrant yellow skirt and a floral top with a thatched floral yellow purse. Her name was Wilma. She was 84 and the most eclectic older woman I’ve ever met. I learned her whole history within the 30 minutes talking to her today. I learned she had cancer. I learned her husband died 9 years ago, and that she calls herself a hillbilly. I also learned that she was so unafraid to be herself.
It was awesome.
I want to be like that. I guess it may come with age-the older you get the cooler you become. The less you care about what people think. I also imagine you have more stories to tell too. Her bottom middle teeth were missing but she lit up every time she spoke about her family. How amazing it must be to just be who you want to be and say whatever. Thank God for Wilma.
I hate proofreading. I hate re-reading a story I just wrote and going through and picking out what I did wrong. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe I’m just really lazy to the point I hate re-reading… But I’m in a constant state of it.
As of right now, yes, I made it through my CELTA course (yay), I am applying to grad school. Going from one school to another! I’m actually really excited about it but it’s stressful to think about rewriting… Blegh. I wish that whatever I wrote would just come out magical and perfect like JK Rowling, Audrey Niffenegger, or Stephen King. That would be awesome, but alas, even they rewrite… The world won’t ever contend with my wishes, will it?