bliss list #1: the symphony of a storm

i lie down and open up my newest library rental, meg wolitzer's "the interestings". i suppose page one is a good place to start. pete is curled up at my feet and mr. darcy is purring, cuddling my arm. i'm already relishing in the awesomeness of my life when it begins.

there is no warning, no build up, no intro, no climb. the rain simply begins pouring, thumping against the roof in forceful persistence.

the beat is steady. not necessarily fast; it's more than that. fuller. it's constant. not like a heartbeat. more like a line of a thousand little drummer boys, beating to the rhythm of their fears.

i love the sound of rain. it is a tangible reminder that dry grass can be green again, that what once appeared dead can be given life once more. tonight, it is my lullaby.

thirty-one

my birthday surprised me like fireflies littering the sky with bits of light on the first night of summer.

a few weeks ago i felt like august 5th was forever away. a few days ago, i felt like it was probably coming soon. the night of the 4th, nearing midnight, as my roommate ran through the front door exclaiming an enthusiastic "happy birthday!", i found myself surprised.

another year come and gone.

another year of desperately trying to get things right. of trying to treat people with kindness. of trying to show grace and receive mercy. of trying to become a better version of myself.

another year of sometimes failing miserably. of saying or doing the absolutely wrong thing. of losing my temper over stupid milk spills. of clinging to my stubbornness as if being 'right' meant anything at all.

another year of sometimes, just sometimes actually succeeding. of exploring new avenues. of learning new things. of allowing myself to love and be loved.

with my birthday coming as a surprise, there is no list this year. at least, there isn't a list today...

throughout the next year, i'll be creating my bliss list. the list will be comprised of things that bring me joy. because sometimes it's a good practice to silence the chaos for a moment, take a deep breath, and be reminded of all that is good and pure and wonderful in this world.

so, stay tuned, friends, for the bliss list awaits.

counting sheep

do you know what happens when your phone has to be rebooted and you lose your contacts?
you lose all the numbers of the people from your past.

you don't lose the people in your current life - they call and text and their numbers reappear.
you lose the people from your past.

funny how quickly they can be erased, as if they never existed.

i didn't have any hesitation when curtis at verizon told me that i may lose my contacts and photos. i told him to do it anyway. i must say, he was pretty shocked with my determination to move forward.

the downside? no late night phone calls with the ghosts from your past. so you just have to lie in bed, counting sheep, or whatever it is that normal people do.

why is it that the dark of night brings out the dark in us? like the midnight sky can somehow veil our poor decisions and desperate reaches for connection.

it can't.

...back to counting sheep.

troubleshooting

my phone has had issues for a while now. it won't call out when i try to then will randomly call people without being prompted. it's like it has mind of its own.

a few days ago, i had some time to kill so i stopped in a verizon store. curtis was a young associate and he tried his best to troubleshoot my problems.

after describing my frustrations, he took a look at the hardware and eventually made a call in for some additional help. he explained to me that he would need to reboot the phone and that there was no guarantee that my contacts or photos would be saved. i confirmed that it was fine, and to try everything he could to make it better.

while my phone rebooted, he told me that my phone was pretty old and tired and that it might just be best to say goodbye to it. he then tried to nonchalantly talk me into buying a new phone.

his speech started out with the question, "tell me about yourself." i gave him a skeptical glance and said, "well, i want a phone with a good camera and..." and he cut me off. "no," he said, "i didn't ask about the kind of phone you want. i want to know about you. what do you do? do you work? do you have hobbies? tell me about your life."

brilliant sales strategy, curtis.

so, i told him a little about my job and told him about the kinds of things i like to do with my friends. he used what i had told him to pick out three phones he thought would be a good fit for my lifestyle.

first, he tried selling me on the newest iphone. i've carried an android for so long though, that i just don't think i want to make the switch to the iphone. plus, it seems like everyone i know who has an iphone has trouble with it at some point. i mean, i've never had a screen crack on my droid... i'm not going to jump on the iphone bandwagon just so i can drop my phone and have to pay hundreds of dollars to get the screen replaced.

next, he showed off some huge phone that might has well be a tablet. seriously, it was huge. he boasted that the phone could run two different apps at once. apparently it has a stellar camera. i said it wouldn't matter because it couldn't fit in my pocket. the fact that he thought i would like this phone is simply laughable.

finally, he introduced me to a "mini" phone. i assume he picked this out based on my overt laughter over the gigantic size of the last phone he tried to sell me. by this point, i've stopped really listening and mostly i've given up on curtis' ability to help me. he tried to get really serious with me and said "look, i don't get anything from selling you a phone. i promise i'm not just trying to sell you something. i'm trying to help."

but i didn't want a new phone. i liked my phone. i didn't want what everyone else has. i didn't want anything more than i could handle. and i certainly didn't anything he had to guilt me into buying. i just wanted my phone to work the way it did three years ago when i bought it.

curtis fixed my phone, and it's working pretty well right now; but i know it's just a matter of time before it can't be bandaged and rebooted anymore. sooner or later, it's going to be time to trade it in for something new.

honestly, maybe it's time.

just because i'm comfortable, doesn't mean it's right. right?
and just because i've had it forever, doesn't mean that it's still working well for me. right?

maybe i should give curtis another try.
sure, there may be breaks and there may be laughable blunders.
most importantly, i need to stop trying to dictate what i think should happen, stop judging and stop talking long enough to truly listen.
who knows, maybe we'll find something work taking home.

persuasion

all week i had planned for my manicure date with cori. i wanted to try something different, so i searched a little online and found some pictures of what i wanted: a french manicure with light blue-green tips instead of white. i had a plan. my mind was made up.

well, i got the manicure yesterday. i arrived at the salon and carefully chose my color: the perfect shade of a bluer sea foam green. it was very light and somewhat transluscent. it was perfect. it would be a little bit fun without going over the edge.

for the first part of the manicure, everything went as planned. then, it came time to add the tips. the manicurist looked down at the first nail with the color and studied it a bit before asking if i liked it. clearly, she didn't like what i had picked out. she wanted me to be bolder and to use a brighter turqouise. i didn't put up a fight. i actually went ahead and just asked her to pick out a brighter color for me. 

i am too easily persuaded.

heck, i don't even give myself the chance to be persuaded. i see the persuasion coming and make a premptive strike, changing my own mind before someone else can change it for me.

my nails are nice and all. i don't necessarily regret going with the brighter, bolder color. i guess i just wish i had stuck with my original plan.

sometimes

sometimes, when it's late at night and i'm lying in bed worrying about what tomorrow will bring...i miss
you.

and sometimes, when i'm in a crowded room and my introversion is paralyzing me...i miss you.

and sometimes, when the movie score swells and the lovers reunite in a perfect kiss...i miss you.

and sometimes, when i overhear an amusing conversation and i desperately want someone to laugh about it with...i miss you.

and sometimes, when i awake to the sound of birds singing outside my window and i can't help but smile even before my eyes are opened...i miss you.

i guess what i'm trying to say is...i miss goodbye.

i'd start with "i'm sorry"

things i would tell you, if i could:

1) i'd start with "i'm sorry."

2) because i hate that i hurt you. i hate that we hurt each other.

3) because although i'm sure you've moved on and don't think about it anymore, i'd hate for one of us to be gone tomorrow and for hurt and anger or even complete indifference to have been the last feelings between us.

4) and i'd say it again: "i'm sorry."

5) and that it doesn't matter why it ended. it doesn't matter that i still feel like you don't understand me, just as i'm sure that you probably don't feel like i understood you either.

6) because at one time, we did understand each other.

7) because at one time, we never thought we would ever be the ones to harm the other.

8) because at one time, we only had smiles and laughter and the good kind of cries between us.

9) because at one time, simple apologies were enough.

10) then, i'd end with "i'm sorry." even then, knowing it wasn't enough.

empathy

with the polar vortex rearing its chilly head here lately, i've been sipping on a lot of warm beverages in the evenings.

each night, after dinner, i fill up the kettle and put it on the stove to simmer then go back to the couch to cuddle up under the warmth of a mom-original afghan with my furry family (a.k.a. pete and mr. darcy).

in the movies, the tea kettle sends a lovely high-pitched whistle into the room to gently announce that its ready to be mixed with whatever delicious flavors have been prepared in the decorative mug of choice.

in my house, its almost as if the water feels lied to by the movies as it gurgles like the groaning of a hungry stomach until it screams at the top of intensity with utmost assurance "GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!!"

tonight, as i rescued my hot water from its claustrophobic kettle and poured it into my favorite mug, marrying it with the havaleh-made hot cocoa mix inside, i couldn't help but whisper a defeated "me too..."

the best lecturer

storytelling was the original lecture. before pulpits and podiums, we earned our wisdom by listening to our elders around mealtimes and fires, through stories told in poetry, prose, song and dance.

it's no wonder that some of the best modern teachers are the ones who find creative ways to incorporate passionate storytelling into their style.

i took a class on storytelling in grad school, but my fascination with educational storytelling was sparked years before when i had a history professor who modeled for me the impact storytelling can have when intentionally woven into the fabric of education.

like most college freshmen, my schedule was heavy on general ed requirements. one of those courses was a history class with dr. mahoney. of all the classes in my schedule, history was the one i dreaded most.

i wasn't a history major. and i may have worked at a historical village through high school and college, but history has never been my thing. i think the only reason i thrived at the village was because i got to immerse myself in the history and live it. my job was more about acting and crafting than it was about history itself.

i struggled with history in high school. actually, i took all of my high school history classes in summer school format. i used the excuse that my art, choral and band classes took up too much of my schedule, but another reason was that i probably would have struggled in a year-long history course. summer seemed like an easier option.

so, history in college? not something i was looking forward to. funny, then, that one of the professors i have talked about most as an alumna is dr. mahoney. his lectures were delivered so brilliantly that it felt like you were sitting in a theatre, listening to the lively dialogue and watching the scenes unfold before your eyes. at the end of class, he would end not with a reminder of homework but with a "stay tuned" message and a preview of the next chapter of our story worthy of any prime time network television drama.

dr. mahoney was the best lecturer. he had you on the edge of your seat, wondering what happened next. he made the characters come off of the page with passion and heartbreak and stupidity and valor. he made history something to care about, something to ponder, something to listen to.

even at a small private college like wesleyan, i was never close to dr. mahoney. he probably wouldn't have recognized my name or face had we run into each other on campus. we didn't connect outside of the classroom, like he did with so many of my friends and sisters. still, he had an impact on my life. what a testimony to his dedication to teaching and his passion for connecting students with the stories of our past.

i was saddened to hear that this world has lost one of the greatest storytellers. in the wind tonight, you'll hear a distant whisper. you may think its mourning students grieving the loss of a beloved teacher, but if you listen closely you'll instead hear the telling of a story. you'll hear those of us who had the pleasure of learning from him sharing the story of a man who taught us the art of telling the stories worth sharing and inspiring us to live our own stories worth being told.

playing pretend

as a child, most of my playtime involved playing pretend.

when i played with legos, i wasn't just building structures - i was building the stage for my stories. when i played with american girl dolls and barbies, i wasn't dressing them up and fixing their hair - i was dressing them appropriately for the next scene of the play.

after all these years, i'm still playing pretend.
i think a lot of us do.

like when i let the near stranger hold my hand as we walk down the hall. or when i close my eyes as he kisses my forehead goodbye. just to have one small moment of intimacy with another being.

but it's a false intimacy.
we're playing pretend.

because to me, holding a hand means that i'm yours. it means that i'm not alone. that you're journeying beside me, facing what's around the next corner with me.

and a kiss on the forehead? that means that you know my insecurities and you love me anyway. it means that you know my struggle as well as my strength.

in purest form, these cannot truly be shared with strangers.

i can assume that some of you are thinking, "wow, havs - these are pretty innocent interactions and you're placing far too much weight on them."

maybe i am. maybe you and i are different. and that's okay. for me, though, holding a hand is more intimate than any other touch, kissing a forehead more intimate than any other embrace.

so when we play this age-old game of pretend, we fake the intimacy we desire. like if i let him hold my hand, maybe i can forget for a moment that this will be short-lived and i'll be on my own again in a few quick hours. 

i've come a long way since playing with dolls as a child,
but sometimes i wonder if i'll ever stop playing pretend.