Time means nothing.

It’s amazing how long the heart can hold on to love. It’s amazing how it keeps hoping when there’s nothing left to hope in.
Love is not logical, reasonable or understandable. We try to make it fit into theories and boxes and books, but how can anyone objectify something so brilliant, unknown and complex?
Love moves and morphs and ages and changes… Over and over and over, making time and distance irrelevant.
I can't comprehend it. After so many years, I see that since God is love, and I can't understand God, then there's no way I can understand love either.
Love just is. It defies time; It defies logic... Yet we have to choose it every day.
Love is everything.

And the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free. - Paulo Coehlo

Chocolate is deceiving.

I've been suffering from writer's block lately, or at least that's the excuse I use. Whatever the excuse, it's keeping me from the one thing that keeps me sane. Maybe I'm afraid of what's going to appear on the paper once I give myself space to think. Maybe I'm tired of it because when I sit to write, my mind and fingers get disconnected and I stare dumbly at the screen until I give up and just read a book. Or maybe I don't write because when I let my heart in on the writing action, my fingers take off and pretty soon I have pages and pages of things I'd rather not think about.

Just thinking about it makes me stressed. And stress makes me crave chocolate. Speaking of which... I'm an addict to these little Dove dark chocolates that come with little sayings hidden in the wrappers. One piece of "advice" I keep getting over and over is this: "Follow your heart - it will never steer you wrong." Um, yeah. That's a bunch of crap. It's because of my heart that I get into so much trouble and wind up in such existential angst. My heart often has a mind of it's own, and it rarely cares what the rational side of my brain has to say. And since I usually keep my true feelings and thoughts cooped up in my heart all the time, when it does decide to speak, there's no stopping it. My heart is idealistic, irrational, whimsical, demanding, and oh-so naive, which is why I tell it to shut up so often. Maybe too often.

I'm sure there's a lesson in all this, which I'll be sure to mull over some other time. As for now, the only advice I can take away from Dove (and this blog) is this: don't listen to chocolate.

Here comes the sun.

So, it has come to my attention that my blog title is a lie. Most of you who know me well, know that I am an eternal pessimist. If there is a negative perspective on anything, I'll take it. If there's a gloomy book in a 3 story library, I'll find it. If the glass is half-full, I'll empty it out. Eeyore and I could have been BFF's. I have a blackened, shellacked heart that beats in tune to every emo, rock ballad that comes on the radio.

You get the idea.

I used to think that pessimism defined me, that I couldn't be anything rosier. But then I got a clue. Why the hell do I HAVE to be a certain way? Why can't I change my perspective, fill up my glass, flip on The Kooks and rock some rose colored glasses? I can be optimistic if I want, damn it. And I will!

It turns out that optimism takes practice. Since I wasn't born as a Miss Merry Sunshine, I'll have to work at it. Optimism is a daily practice that will hopefully become a habit, which will then become a permanent part of ME. And I think now is the best time to start... With the beautiful sunshine, spring weather, fresh produce and happy people, I can do it.

Bring on the happy!

"I'm only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are going wrong
I only listen to the sad sad songs
I'm only happy when it rains..."
- Garbage

And it feels like letting go.

The weather is gorgeous today: clear blue sky, whispy streaks of clouds, brilliant yellow sunshine and enough allergens to make your eyes swell shut. (Okay, so it's gorgeous minus that last part.) So naturally, I spent part of today driving around familiar country streets, listening to happy music and basking in the glory of the day. It was fantastic.

But every time I experience a day like today, I always feel a small twinge of something I can't quite understand. Regret? Sadness? Boredom? Congestion?

Seriously, days like today remind me of all the previous times in my life when I've experienced weather like this. Usually these memories entail other people I used to be close to... friends, family members, loved ones... People that have, in some way or another, left my life completely. I think of these people on beautiful days like today, and sometimes I feel them again. I can see their smile or hear their laugh, or I remember a stupid joke they would always tell or song they used to always sing...

Memories are powerful things, leaving behind vestiges that sometimes feel so real you have to double check to make sure you're not actually losing your mind. They bind us to people in ways that don't even make sense sometimes, making us associate them with little, seemingly inconsequential things. For example, every time I drive by this deserted mailbox in Cedar Park, I think of an old friend who I've lost touch with over the years. This person and I never actually visited the mailbox, nor did we ever come close. But when I see that box waiting for mail that will never come, I'm immediately brought back to days when I too waited for them to return. (Or maybe I'm just a romantic, poetic freak who likes to make connections that are just ridiculous and cheesy. Probably the latter.)

In any case, weather like today's is a good chance to practice the art of letting go. Letting go of people, places, memories, feelings, thoughts, confusions... Letting go of things that were once ours but left in the night when we weren't looking. Letting go is necessary and freeing. What, if anything, do we really have control over or possession of in this life? Not much. But hey, that's how it should be. Letting go doesn't mean forgetting or not loving. Letting go is freeing yourself from the pain that comes with missing someone so much it hurts. In this you can forgive yourself, appreciate the memories, and move on a little lighter than before. Maybe those people will come back. Maybe not. Whatever the case, you have those memories of them to turn to on beautiful days. The good memories, the beautiful ones that can carry you through the darkest times, are the ones that will stay whether you hold onto them or not.

Days like today are perfect for letting go.

"The time of departure is not mine to choose; I must find my way alone in
this darkness...
Love likes to wander from one to another,
as if God willed it so. My darling, farewell."
- Wilhelm Müller

Being Zen in 2010.

In the beginning of two thousand and ten, during the second hour of January the 2nd, a youngish girl sits down to write her first blog of the new year...

And hits writer's block. Ouch.

Hopefully, that's not an indicator of how the rest of the year will play out. I need my brain to be fully functioning this year, damn it. It's going to be a year of change and growth and art and love and peace and faith and hope!

Maybe.

Which reminds me, I'm going to try to be more optimistic this year. And productive. Also, having a mindful, zen-like attitude wouldn't hurt either...

Anyway, since my mind is otherwise blank, I'll go ahead and end this little excuse for a blog...

Here's to an optimistic, productive, mindful and zen 2010!

Feel and Forget

What does being forgotten feel like?

Does it feel like no one sees you or hears you? Does it feel like a constant cloud hanging above your head, threatening to drench any mote of hope or happiness even before it’s brought to fruition in your head? Does it feel as if you could fall or crash and nothing would break, because you were made of nothing in the first place?

Being forgotten is being numb, ignored, cheated, neglected and pushed aside. It’s a horrible, haunting reminder that your life is seemingly insignificant simply because others deem it so. Being forgotten is the realization that someone you put importance in, someone whom you gave substance and form to, someone you placed faith and hope in, turned away and left as if you were no more than the last breath they exhaled: used and unnecessary.

Insignificant.

But how can we forget anything that houses a soul and spirit? How can we discard something as precious as another living, breathing, thinking being?

And yet, some of us do it so easily. We do it to the overworked cashier who smiles good morning, even when we can’t be bothered to look them in the face. We do it to the people on the street. We do it to babies in the womb. We do it to people we once loved more than ourselves; people we’ve whispered promises to in the dark; people we’ve given our own tears and sweat and souls to...

We do it over and over and over. We do it unfeelingly, or with so much feeling that it becomes impossible to feel anything anymore.

We forget because it's easier than carrying the burden of memories. We forget because we're weak or tired or scared. We forget when we all know that deep down, forgetting isn't permanent. Forgetting is just throwing the dust cover on a piece of furniture you don't want anyone to see. It's pretending.

Forgetting can't be permanent.

The Face

Men make many faces when they speak to women. But there is one that stands out above the rest.

Most women have seen it; most men have no idea that they do it. It's a face that's made usually while the man is gazing at the woman while she's speaking, or while he's speaking directly to her.

His eyes go half mast, the lines around them smooth out. His cheeks relax into a soft, little smile, a smile that barely raises the corners of his mouth. This smile is quiet and still, yet unexpected. His gaze may flicker from the woman's eyes, down to her mouth, and back up again. His eyes are deep and brilliant and full of secrets.

The Face is always welcome when it comes from a man you like. In those moments, The Face is beautiful and causes all kinds of butterflies and bashfulness. For example, the man and woman are on a date, and when the woman is talking about her job, the man inadvertently reveals The Face. The woman immediately senses it (we're good at this) and all of sudden, everything looks different. It looks BETTER.

However, The Face is not welcome when it interrupts an otherwise platonic man-woman conversation. For example, a man and woman are having platonic coffee, and he shoots her The Face while she makes a joke about sports or something. Said woman sees The Face, is immediately alerted, and switches to "WE'RE JUST FRIENDS, BACK OFF" mode.

The Face is real and without pretense. It's a glimpse into the thoughts of men that so often elude the rest of us.