the archaic process of printing baseball tickets.

i went swimming the other night for the first time in a while. i signed up for a half-marathon & i am trying again. i swim sometimes because it is good for me, but also because it feels wonderful. the fluidity of water feels almost blissful against your skin. almost magic. almost home. i do not understand it, but i love it. there was only one other swimmer at the pool and if my memory serves, his name is patrick. he is blind & deaf. he is astounding to me. he has an interpreter who helps him in class. he puts his hand to her hands and reads every nuanced movement. he is astounding. between leisure laps, i listened to the quiet pool. the life guard was studying so there wasn't any music playing. patrick swam 2 lanes down & i just watched, because i am fortunate enough to do that. i dont know much about swimming, but i know that lines are important. your strokes should keep you in a line, utilizing your own energy to provide the best possible output. the more crooked your path & the less rhythmically in-tune your stroke, the slower & more labored your lap. so i watched this helen-keller-esque 20 year old swim. with perfect lines. and perfect rhythm. no stroke out of place.

he is blind & deaf. 

i think he has maybe slight hearing, or a sliver of vision. enough for someone to argue, "oh well he's not really.." as if it is any less impressive. the kid cant see or hear, and can swim in a straight line.

i wondered for a while how he does it. maybe he can see a little bit & can manage the thick black line across the floor of the pool. maybe he can hear the water lapping the lane ropes, or the gutter. maybe. but i bet he can just feel it. logan used to comment that i shouldve tried swimming when i was younger because i can feel how my stroke should look without anyone saying anything. i can feel the water when im swimming poorly, and my strokes are no longer aligned. i can feel it when im not swimming clean. so i tried swimming with my eyes closed.

 i hit the lane rope in 3 strokes.

i tried to visualize swimming in a straight line, utilizing prophetic muscle memory. i mirrored strokes to keep my form locked & my core strong. not any more successful. 

patrick blind and deaf. he cant see when he's moving crooked. but he can feel it. the guy cant hear & cant see, but he can swim. he is astounding. he has minimal external data to wield his life. at first, i thought how terrifying it might be. and maybe it is, i do not know. but how incredible is patrick. and how resilient. how many times did he have to get in the pool with someone to learn how to swim. how many times did he hit his head on the wall? how exhilarating was it when he kicked off the first time? did it feel like flying? were the topical nerves in his skin going ballistic with joy? was it freedom? i think so. 

i like to start from the block because it is fastest i can move. i am a half decent swimmer, but i cant crank out race speeds. i can jump though. i can throw myself pretty far. for the half second before i hit the water, i am alive. it doesnt stop when i break the surface. i wear my hair down when i swim sometimes because the water gives you that perpetual state of wind blown hair. assuming you can swim for that long of course. before logan & i broke up, he taught me how to utilize the dolphin kick. i enjoyed calling it the pelvic thrust but i guess thats not the technical term. i can fly for 20 yards, give or take. i dont have to break the surface till then because my lungs are clean & full. 

i wonder if that is why patrick swims. because the freedom was worth the fight. getting back up was worth the fall. he cant really listen with his ears, but i bet his skin could tell a hundred stories with what it knows. i bet swimming between the world of breathing & not is incredible because for him, there is no repetitive black line. there are no flags to mark the final breath. the concrete at the bottom adds nothing to the monotony, because for him there is no monotony. there is familiarity. there is feeling the water move over & around your skin. there is a splash from each stroke. try to imagine swimming in general, and try to imagine it without sight or sound.

it is freedom. it is bliss. it is magic. it is home.

"that future is almost gone,
but it is not lost"
-LOTR3.

"don't promise when you're happy,
don't reply when you're angry,
and don't decide when you're sad"

i read some good quotes. I'm going to dinner with my roommate, but when i get back i will finish the thoughts. oh accountability

a shooting star.

this past week has been good and connective. i am grateful and present and that is good. but it is also a sad week. a couple important people in my life are moving this weekend and that is sad. tyler & taylor & dr williams, who can make me cry still just thinking about him. he is a good man.

but hannah is leaving and that makes me the saddest of all. my best friend of the last 6 years. the best most honest version of grace. the goofiest of giggles on any given sunday. and I'm sad about it. we will be okay. but it is still sad. we've hung out a good bit this semester, and more intentionally (how is that possible?) in the last week. and each time, it has been goofy and laugh filled. but at the end, our deep parts come out to play. and we share the good things we see in each other. what we've learned and what we can still laugh about. it is already nostalgic. CS Lewis has a quote about friends in a group & how each person is important for more than just themselves. each person has something unique about them that draws out another quality in someone else. i always think of hannah cause no one can get me to laugh the way we do when we're together. no one thinks its normal to add "pants" or "city" to the end of any given word. how many exchanged words at the raise of an eye brow.

she is moving and i am sad. and it is okay to be sad. there is no world ending, no clinging, just simple sadness. its real. the whole thing. this weird world is real. and we're in it.

brad and i worked together tonight and on our walk back, it was my favorite kind of cold. i love it. brad turned on his street and i finished my walk. i looked up and stared at the stars because they are my favorite winter things. even more than snow flakes. i saw a shooting star. and it wasn't just a glimpse, that sucker was hanging out for a minute. and then it faded, cause it really wasn't a plane. it was a good star. and i saw it cause i was looking up, not down and not around. just up.

so even in sadness, there is a hope. it is real and I'm connected to it somehow. even with my best friend moving across continents, we will still laugh. even with tyler moving, we will still find the finer things. even with dr williams moving back to kentucky, we will wrestle with theology. we will keep going because what is left is resilience and hope.

and i am connected to it.

this too i remembered.

i would write more, were it not for the long days.
but the longs days are many in this season. not to say they are bad, simply, at their ends, i can muster strength for a glass of wine, a laugh, and a collapse into bed. but typically the last one.

but this too i want to remember.
sometimes, all it takes to make things feel sacred is christmas lights hanging from your bedroom windows. just enough light to make shaving your legs in the dark bathroom manageable. because sometimes it is better to do things while forcing yourself to ask how it feels.

i walk barefoot some days just to feel the earth. i sit on my porch some nights, regardless of my exhaustion, just to feel the cold on my face. just to know my irish cheeks will turn red. just to be. just to feel. in hopes of knowing.

i got coffee with my professor the other day and i let her see me. i was seen. and i was not afraid. she was kind, and i shared. i did not give, but i shared. they are different some days. she was so kind and so wise and so willing. i did not share everything, nor did i need to. but she let me give her a context of me. i connected to the Better Good. i can look at my life and know its goodness. i can see it & perceive it. but sometimes i can't connect to it. sometimes i can, and when it is there, i am happy. but for many of the past days, i haven't been able to. and then i did. i connected to the Better Good. the Really Real. i connected. and i felt hopeful afterwards. i am motivated. i am trying. i am feeling grace again. i see my bags. i know where they are. some are getting unpacked again. but i can carry them a little better, because i am connected. "if we could do it on our own, we would". we are wired for connection, and designed for struggle. a good life holds the two in tension, and says, "come in. you can come in here. you are welcomed."

that is the better good. slowing down is nice. breathing is good. vulnerability leads to connection, and connection aids a whole array of ailments, both internal and external. love is the thing that says yes you can, and i will be here with little concern of the consequence.

so hip hip hooray to trying. as it was, as it is, and as it will be.

thanks i think.

i think it is thanks. i think thanks is the thing i keep thinking of.

it is the kicking screaming thing i mean to say when i am hurting
it is the silent thing i want to say when i am sitting on my cold porch
feet propped up, watching cars pass

it is thanks
it is ugly and i am not good at it

i walk around kicking gratitude like it will somehow fall from my lips
but i think you can hear me anyways

when i pray it in front of other people, i can hear myself checking off a list in a familiar tone
the hiding tone
the one where i say the right things at the right time
to pacify any potential questions

yea, I'm hangin out
yea, just living life
yea, just feeling nothing and producing catch phrases

gotchya.
on that one.

but then i was seen, and always i have been known.
even the most intimate tender parts that i try to offer others
the ones i cannot reach, though i think i can
the ones i can't touch, hidden away

behind all the things

i would like to give them away sometime
i would like them to see the light
to know and be known
within myself, with others, without fear

i would like that

but i can't do it yet
i am too many directions
too frazzled
too scared
too much

so many automatic doors that drop down
i know you didn't mean to, but it didn't matter
like a back up system that i can't see
it all goes into lock down

be kind
abort abort, do not display
show nothing of the sort
nothing on the face
or in the tone or anywhere else

oh wait.
you saw that too i think
it is not even that i am surprised
it is that i am sad

i know its a lot of work
i know the mazes are tricky and i have automatic bombs that go off when you get too near
i know

i wish i didn't.
know, or have them.

but i do.
there are land mines and i don't own the map
there are things that would make mr jones' skin crawl

maybe not.
he didn't seem like the skin crawling type.

but either way, i know its there
i can't reach it
I've been taking rakes and shovels but i only have two hands
its just a lot
i think id like for you to help me move some of it
find a dark abyss to toss all of it
a wormhole with no end

maybe not, maybe just a different place
a wall instead of a pile
a place for it to be

cause all the Stuff wants gentleness too
it wants to be loved and not tossed
like all the stuffed animals were alive
like the toys needed to be played with equally
the Stuff needs some loving too

but i don't know if i can do it all myself
i think i need your help to love the things i have
i think i have thanks to give
cause its my stuff
a lot of it was given to me
you should say thanks when someone gives you something

so teach me please
or help me to be better
help me to give more thanks.

drew schwartz.

"One key to happiness is to see sorrow not as its opposite, but as its complement; in other words, sadness can improve happiness. Another, related and equally important is that feelings are only so important--try to have the patience to outlast your emotional reactions to things: we've all got them, and they tend to be rash. 

This can be really revealing, and in my experience, almost always a positive thing for both myself and the object of my desire/revulsion. Take a good look at the people you dislike, and they will probably share--and exhibit--your own flaws, or things you perceive to be (but may not actually be) weaknesses. This last is usually related to low self-esteem or an aversion to vulnerability. 

Lord knows this is true of me. It can be a painful and sometimes frightening process--for instance, realizing how much I was like my parents and how much damage they unwittingly inflicted was terrifying and agonizing--but I assure you, it is worthwhile. And a small gift is that equanimity makes maturity easier, friendships deeper, and life in general richer. 

And so, I give it to you."

my friends are brilliant.

post at the eye doctor.

im listening to the best of you by the foo fighters & i cant think of another song in the world that makes you feel any more invincible.

and its probably just because its honest.

summer is officially coming to an end and the school year is starting up. transition from camp to real life is always a pretty intense transition, but it became a little more distinct this time. i got home saturday night, sad to leave & fell into my bed exhausted. half a day later, i was broken up with.

it still sucks. the reasons were half hearted & in my glorious inability to feel, i said, yeah youre probably right, this is the best thing. delayed emotional responses. suck. and i walked through it all, found out more, and finally examined the red flags that i waded with through our relationship.

its not fun. hearts dont split without consequence, no matter how inevitable the result. i knew. he made up his mind long before he tried to tell me. and i watched it unfold in the nature of things broken apart. i watched lines fray & i saw the distance. things that break bear consequence. there wasnt any more could do, so i walked and watched.

 i know that when you enter a relationship
you are committing to a risk, accepting the  consequences, whatever they might be. sometimes it ends well, and sometimes it doesnt. i know that & accept it. but looking back hurt. i saw the signs. the end was ugly because i knew the moment where he was done. i wasnt convenient & he already moved on to someone new. bills were haphazardly left for me to deal with. none of it was mindful.

im moving along pretty well in it. im not some wounded dog on the side of the road and notdrinking myself into oblivion. im not attacking him with messages. its done. but i no longer champion the qualities in him that had potential. they arent there. maybe they will be one day, but they weren't while we dated. i dont have to champion everyones cause. 

sometimes thats life. sometimes you win & sometimes you stumble. its not a fun season. but in all of this, i am hopeful. im

letting my circumstance speak into my life & letting it mold a few things. im giving voice to my experience & im not running. im trying & walking. im not drinking, save very specific company & unbelievably motive checked intentions. ive got a few dents, and as bri said, maybe a scratch for good measure. but nothing that i cant bring out into the light. nothing that the Lord doesnt see, that God cant hear. im heard. my voice doest hit every note, but it hits my notes. ive got some more of my notes and i like that. 

life has it moments, but it also has its graces. ive got a lot of those. ive got good friends who look out for me & people who hear me, regardless of whether or not im saying anything out loud. there here in town & in other states. its is good to know that youre loved, but it is something wonderful to be able to feel it too. id even say better.