Roots and Wings

I graduate college next year. I graduate college next year, and honestly I think that I’m a little terrified. I mean, that’s usually the natural response to something like this. Or at least it has been for everyone that I’ve known that’s graduated already. But they eventually picked themselves up and have started to make something out of themselves.

I just hope that transfers to everyone that turns their tassels come graduation day.

The only difference between me and most of them is that while they are laying down roots I’m trying to figure out where my next travel destination will be. There’s so much more of this world that I have yet to and want to see and explore. So, unless I get a job out of college that lets me travel and work at the same time that I actually enjoy than I may be forced to start rooting myself. That would be cool if Missouri was where I wanted to stay all of my life. Which I don’t. I’ve lived here for going on 26 years, and while they’ve been some good years, they haven’t made me want to stay much longer.

A while ago during a late night Facebook conversation. a friend of mine pointed out to me that I was restless. Of course I am. I’ve seen five countries in the span of two weeks and what I saw was very little. Of course my natural inclination right now is to fly rather than fight.

A few things that I’ve noticed while I travel is that that big black cloud of depression that likes to hang over me in my daily life seems to dissipate and the straight jacket of anxiety tends to loosen up its hold. So, obviously I’m doing something right. Right?


I have this nagging feeling deep inside that I want to lay down some roots or something. I think what it is is my desire to want to take care of something and in turn be taken care of.

While I’m quite fond of being the independent woman that I am (I think I am), I have also been single for going on four years now. I realize that that’s not a lot of time compared to some people. For example, my mom; she’s been single/divorced for almost eight years now and she seems to be doing pretty well. But there are days when I know that she would do anything to have someone by her side to help carry some of the weight of her stressful life. For that I don’t blame her either. If anything, I want her (and my brothers by proxy) to be happy.

I come from a family of tough, driven and stubborn women so it could be years before I reach whatever it is I really want out of life. So for now I’ll just have to work at chipping away at this shell that I’ve built up around myself by myself.


Destroying Magazines to Rebuild My Own Heart

My emotions have been all over the place lately. I’ve talked to a counselor, I’ve attempted to get lost in a rotation of at least four books at one time and even in my studies, and yet, nothing seems to work when all of my emotions and nerves feel like they want to push themselves out of my skin and just leave me in a heap on the floor.


Except for one thing.

I’ve taken to collecting random issues of Glamour, Marie Claire and even a Cosmopolitan magazine or two and reading them and then sharing them with my roommate & then cutting andtearing out random inspirational things that I find in the rags. I then proceed to put the emaciated models and the beautifully placed pictures and semi-cliched but also words of wisdom on the  doors in my room to serve as a reminder.

A reminder of how awesome I am and that my anxiety and weighty depression will not win. No matter how hard they try to pull me down.

I actually used to do this when I was younger but with copies of my sister’s Jane, Delia’s,  J-14 and the occasional Glamour and Cosmo. As they got older and started to pass the Holy Grails down to my other sister that was close to my age and I relished the days when we got a new “magazine delivery” from just a few feet away.

Instead of having walls and doors to plaster the beautiful pictures and inspirational words I kept them tucked away in my bottom dresser drawer in an old glass case that once held a shop’s worth of my sister’s makeup in it. They didn’t stay locked away for long.

When I started to get allowances, I used to buy a lot of random journals from the grocery store by our house because I really really wanted to be a serious writer when I was 12. I had a crazy notion at that age that if the outside of the journals that I hoarded were going to be beautiful then by God so were the inside covers!

I spent hours after school and on weekends poring over the glossy, sweet, perfume-sample filled pages trying to find any and everything that stood out. Thankfully some of the magazines of yesteryear weren’t quite as terrible as some are today and I began to find myself in between the pages.

Now, at the ripe old age of nearly 25 I am still poring over the glossy pages of multiple random magazines on weekends and after school for hours on end and looking for things that jump out at me that make me feel like more of a human.

Only now the magazines are inspiring and shaping my future and creating a sort of solace in hunting down those words and images and cutting them out and exacting the edges to fit in the front and back covers of my journals.

There’s something about taking care of something else, even if that something is as simple as cutting the perfect edge around an oddly placed grouping of words to size, that can make those of us that feel like they’ve been forgotten by those they hold closest feel like they will be okay in the end.

Even finding the perfect placement for the found objects in the covers creates a purpose that has been left dormant for days, months or years and the pieces just seem to fit together perfectly, eventually.

I wish I had a “person”

Meredith Grey had Christina, Lorelai had Sookie and Rory had Lane…but I feel like I have no one.


At least that’s how it feels anyways. I probably do have someone that is my “person” that I can tell any and everything to, but I think that the fog of my mild depression that I fell into last year is still lingering. Even though I have my own room and am trying to do more to get involved at school this year by doing RHA and participating in our 48 hour film festival later this year but ever since I moved out of my community oriented dorm I have felt like I am missing something, even though I do work there there’s still something that feels off inside of me. I just can’t put my finger on what it is and it is killing me!

Now, I do realize that I am surrounded by a bunch of wonderful people and that I have access to resources that can help me sort my stuff out like counseling and RA’s that are supposed to be there for you, but on those tough nights where you need someone to just hold you and tell you that things will be okay, they can’t be there for you, because some are much older than you and they aren’t really your friend’s they’re your confidants.

I realize that I’m probably overexaggerating (I have a tendency to do that a lot) or that I’m probably just being a big baby, but looking back over the years of my college experience I’ve only had one really great year and that was freshmen year with a bunch of random wonderful things up until this point and I know that I need to work on making myself happy before I even begin to entertain the idea of getting into a relationship again one day and I really want to be happy. I just don’t know how to get there by myself.

“No, it’s not so bad. I’m lucky, I know. I just. . .I feel like I’m never gonna have it. . .the whole package, you know? That person, that couple life, and I swear, I hate admitting it because I fancy myself Wonder Woman, but. . .I really want it – the whole package.”

– Lorelai Gilmore (who has been like a second mother to me this week & for a good portion of my life)

What do you do when you’re feeling extremely vulnerable?