For Nights When You Need a Light House

Little rusty...let's take it a litttttllleee  easy on me eh...

Dusting myself off.

After college, I had accepted that fact that things were never going to be that way again.  The same way every student realizes that the consistency of the past four are inconsistent with the new. The expiration date comes and you've got to go. 

You laugh when they tell you you wont be ready, and cry when they make you.

I'm old enough to understand I know absolutely nothing......except this: you are going to stress yourself out. You are definitely going to have a certain degree of a meltdown. You will go through waves of self loathe and moments of peace. You will literally go through tidal waves of chaotic confusion. I dont know if it was my first job (gateway to hell), or when fall showed up and reminded me of brick roads and the smell of my favorite Miami sweaty bar.... but I literally was touching fray ends of electrical cords. 

One of my soul sisters,  who only is a year older, but 20 years wiser told me this:  Nothing.makes.sense when you're 23 and 24. You will cry, stress out, and then you need to laugh it off. 

That girl didn't know how right she was.

One  other small thing that saved me... while I was in college,  every time I found or saw something that interested me whether it was an assignment,  a lecture, person, article, blog, location, book, hidden library spot, something chiseled in a desk, etc.. I would write it down and find out why it intrigued me. I bought myself a tiny notebook and I carried it with me everywhere. ..literally.. . everywhere.... my friends laughed at me for how weird I was about it.

 I would forget my ID before I would forget my notebook.

I still have it. Oh yeah, I carry it around with me like it's some sort of roadmap. It's pages of complete randomness: quotes, names, my favorite dog breed, short passages in books, tidbits of conversations I've heard (where did ya think accolades One, Two and Three came from) Anything that made my ears perk would be written in my notebook

I never read through it until I was trapped in the car between two broad shouldered brothers, and nothing but corn fields for five hours.

But being their arm rest left me with nothing to do but read. That little leather binded notebook... saved me.

It's. how. I. got. here.

I never believed it more so than now you land in certain places, at certain times, to meet certain people, to change certain things. You will go places or do things throughout that time that hit you differently, but remind you of something or someone. The first time I stepped on my college campus was the first time I knew I would be ok being far(ish) from home, and I could do it. There was an instinctual feeling about being in Oxford that made my heart pound. The same instincts I feel now living in a new city. I felt that same heart race when I got to New York. Reminders, are everywhere. The things I wrote down, the things I once noticed, the things that surrounded me everyday that I've always loved. I find them here, they make me... find me  

My best advice is to pay attention. The pages I wrote are .dots. to roadmaps. The snippets I wrote looks like organized chaos that makes no sense-- until it starts to make sense. If you go and search for the randomness that intrigues you-- it finds you right back. 

If you always have it together, and if you got everything you wanted early in the game, you would get bored.

Be hungry, foolish, write, scribble and laugh when you lose your sanity.

Dedicated .You. know who you are. 

-xoxo-

THE SOFT OPENING

I saw this. And thought it was a nice way to start again:

Inspiration

New Fall Tunes

Colder weather means new playlists

New air always makes me think of is a time of possibilities.

The first time I wrote about the seasons changing it was senior year of college. And although a lot has changed since--it makes me feel good to know that so much hasn't as well.

You can change rooms, homes, locations, occupations, cities, etc... but there are small signs of familiarity nestled in the nooks and cracks of our bones. And once in awhile they remind us of something/someone that is different but still the same.

Lately, I've been getting caught. I'll be walking and all of a sudden a breeze will whistle through the air. I can smell that same smell that I've known and loved sense I could think back. The quite hum of seasons shifting. It's only August in New York, and the intense humidity is still infecting our once straight hair. But when I get a hint of it--  I can't help but smile. I remind myself of going back to school. Running around campus-- seeing everyong I missed for the summer. Sweating out cocktail and making laps at the bars I had history with. I remember football seasons and banners lining up High Street. Sylabus week. Class crushes. New faces. Old faces.

High school in the fall was the same way. The leaves would change and all of a sudden, things were romantized. It was strangely cliched and unnervingly true. We rode around in cars with the windows down, screaming the summer songs that were over played. We would kiss our glows goodbye and bring in the bottom half to our pants.



I walk around New York. I see little kids hold their parents hands. They dance on the sidewalks and glitter with excitement over an ice cream cone. But i love that my excitement over the possibilities of a new season can match there still. They have more than half their lives ahead of them. We have more than half our lives a head of us. It's great to know that some of the best days of our lives haven't even begun yet. The end of summer is approaching. Fall is in the air. Happy New Beginnings.

"There are two types of people in the world: those who think they're normal and those who know there's no such thing.”

THE MANIFESTO OF ENCOURAGEMENT

THE MANIFESTO OF ENCOURAGEMENT

“right now:

There are Tibetan Buddhist monks in a temple in the Himalayas endlessly reciting mantras for the cessation of your suffering and for the flourishing of your happiness.

Someone you haven’t met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.

Someone is writing a book that you will read in the next two years that will change how you look at life.

Nuns in the Alps are in endless vigil, praying for the Holy Spirit to alight the hearts of all of God’s children.

A farmer is looking at his organic crops and whispering, “nourish them.”

Someone wants to kiss you, to hold you, to make tea for you. Someone is willing to lend you money, wants to know what your favourite food is, and treat you to a movie. Someone in your orbit has something immensely valuable to give you — for free.

Something is being invented this year that will change how your generation lives, communicates, heals and passes on.

The next great song is being rehearsed.

Thousands of people are in yoga classes right now intentionally sending light out from their heart chakras and wrapping it around the earth.

Millions of children are assuming that everything is amazing and will always be that way.

Someone is in profound pain, and a few months from now, they’ll be thriving like never before. They just can’t see it from where they’re at.

Someone who is craving to be partnered, to be acknowledged, to ARRIVE, will get precisely what they want — and even more. And because that gift will be so fantastical in it’s reach and sweetness, it will quite magically alter their memory of angsty longing and render it all “So worth the wait.“

Someone has recently cracked open their joyous, genuine nature because they did the hard work of hauling years of oppression off of their psyche — this luminous juju is floating in the ether, and is accessible to you.

Someone just this second wished for world peace, in earnest.

Someone is fighting the fight so that you don’t have to.

Some civil servant is making sure that you get your mail, and your garbage is picked up, that the trains are running on time, and that you are generally safe.Someone is dedicating their days to protecting your civil liberties and clean drinking water.

Someone is regaining their sanity. Someone is coming back from the dead. Someone is genuinely forgiving the seemingly unforgivable. Someone is curing the incurable.

You. Me. Some. One. Now.”

- Danielle LaPorte