Independence Day

Back in 1993, Martina McBride released a song called "Independence Day". Now, while I'm not a huge fan of country music, and really paid very little to this song when it was a hit, this past year of my life has given that song new meaning, and those of you who know me best will understand why.

One year ago today, after nearly three years of playing a cruel game that nearly broke me in two, I got my independence day. I'll be honest, as I was filling box after box with almost thirteen years of memories, every one as vivid as the day they happened, carefully wrapping them up in a year's-worth of plastic Walmart sacks that I had accumulated in the garage, especially for that inevitable day, I felt far from independent. There was no joy or triumph that day. No pride. No enthusiasm. Only exhaustion, bewilderment, and a U-Haul truck full of fear and unknown, as I sat alone on the wooden steps of my then empty, echoing home, with a faceful of tears, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I stood up. I walked out the door. Closed it. Locked it. Drove away, and never looked back.

Across town, seemingly in another universe, was my new home-- our new home. The kids and me and the dogs-- all dumped into this 100 year-old house, along with a life's worth of cardboard boxes, all waiting to be dealt with. Half of the house was without electricity. The stove wouldn't light. It was bitter cold. The bathroom was dark. The shower curtain came down on me while I was showering (in the dark). Nothing about my "new life" was remotely encouraging.

There was no time to assemble beds that day, so we took the boys' two twin mattresses, and Quincy's crib mattress, and pushed them together on the floor in the boys' room, and piled in with every blanket we could find (and two of the dogs). The kids (and dogs) were quickly asleep, as I wandered around the house, cold, drained, and overwhelmed. After giving up on the idea of even trying to begin unpacking that night, I shuffled back into the boys' room, where I saw something I will never forget. There was my family-- what was left of it-- sleeping in a pile, on makeshift beds, in a home that was a far cry from what we'd been used to, peacefully, despite the cold and chaos. I knew then that we were going to be just fine.

Standing there, absorbing that moment, I never could have predicted what the next 365 days would have in store for me. They have been, by far, the most... significant?... influential?... memorable?... of my life.

People lost. I had to face the day I had been dreading since I was a child, when I got the phone call that I never wanted to get, but knew was coming. I hung up, took the kids to their dad's house, came home, and began absently packing a bag to drive to St. Louis to bury my Grandma. I remember, standing there in the doorway of my closet, looking in at the color-coded racks of garments, thinking how dumb it felt to be standing there, in that moment, choosing clothes for the funeral of someone I wasn't sure I could live without. I love clothes, but in that moment, nothing felt suitable. Nothing would ever be right for that event. Choosing something to wear meant that I had to acknowledge that it was happening, and at the sake of sounding like a child, I thought, "You can't make me." The days that followed were a blur of tears, miles, vodka, and tattoo ink-- except for the smell of the flowers and the weight of her casket, hanging like the weight of the world in my left hand. Those are as clear as day.

People gained. Despite loss, this past year has graced my life with many new faces and relationships. People who have pushed me to work harder and be better. People who have pleasantly surprised me. People who have inspired me and made me enormously proud. People who have put me in my place. People who have made me laugh, and ones who have made me cry (and ones who have let me cry). People with whom I've shared talent, war stories, sushi, inside jokes, Oreo pizza, battle scars, conversations that lasted until the sun came up, the occasional coffee or drink, and great music. All wonderfully-enriching experiences that only these particular people could bring to the table that is my life. People who have reminded me that life lies in hope and change-- not in expectation.

People remained. I can't forget the ones who have been around for the long-haul, despite my many neuroses. It's stunning how, as we get older, our true circles begin to show themselves through the people who stick around, no matter what. No matter how scattered I've become over the last year, my "people" have patiently tolerated the growth of my new wings-- supporting me, cheering me on, and calling me out. I would be floudering, still, without them.

Professionally, I hit the jackpot. I wound up in a position that I truly love. Granted, that position has left me with a wicked scar on my forehead, bite marks, and bruises, but I can honestly say that I have belly-laughed every single day I've worked there, and not many people can say that about their jobs. Photography took on a life of its own and finally evolved into something that has forced me to take another look at where this once-hobby is taking me. There is a huge sense of responsiblility that comes with seeing and reflecting the beauty of the world, and I thank God every day that my life experiences have helped me grow into a person who can do that, and do it well.

Making money isn't what makes for a living. Before January 15, I had not truly been "on my own", since, well, I was 19. Crazy. Not that I wasn't prepared, but there came an odd and startling dichotomy of freedom and responsibility when I left my suburban marital home and settled into my much more urban surroundings. Truth be told, it's what I had always wanted-- An ancient house. A view of downtown. My rules. My design. However, exhaustion and sometimes overwhelming pressure to set up shop came hand-in-hand with the freedom and satisfaction of being on my own. Luckily, the thrill that comes with real independence has won out over being absolutely spent at the end of every day, and when I come barreling down the highway entrance ramp every morning on my way to work, and see the sun rising over downtown, I am happily reminded of how that gorgeous view was hard-won-- how I won.

This last year has been lived. On top of being surrounded by wonderful relationships and success:

-I was mere feet from Josh Groban.
-I was able to travel to all over.
-I got to watch loved ones get married.
-I was kissed by a drag queen.
-I had the privelege of witnessing an adoption.
-I stood in the inner circle at a U2 concert, with the Irish boys directly overhead, in 110-degree weather.
-I was fortunate enough to be able to help a family rebuild their lives after a fire.
-I got the news that I was going to be an aunt again.
-I adopted a turtle, a guinea pig, a puppy, and now a cat.

All within the span of a year. Hot diggity-dog.

Yeah, at this time, one year ago, I didn't know where to begin, what to think, or how to move forward. A year later, I don't know how to stop.

Now I ain't saying it's right or it's wrong, but maybe it's the only way.
Talk about your revolution, it's independence day.

The Present

Look at us. Running around, always rushed, always late. I guess that's why they call it the 'human race'. What we crave most in this world, is connection. And for some people it happens at first sight. It's, 'When you know, you know.' It's fate, working its magic. And that's great for them. They get to live in a pop song, ride the express train. But that's not the way it really works. For the rest of us, it's a bit less romantic. It's complicated and it's messy. It's about horrible timing and fumbled opportunities, and not being able to say what you need to say, when you need to say it.

--Jason Bateman, "The Switch"

Time. It's the inevitable, fleeting, precious thing of which we never seem to have enough. Our lives get filled up with careers, traffic, deadlines, homework, trips to the gym, grocery shopping, soccer practice, reality shows, and dirty dishes. Perhaps "filled up" isn't the correct choice of words, because I don't believe that it's these things that make our lives "full". A better description would be that our lives are "consumed" by these things-- swallowed up, leaving time for little else that actually implies "living" at all.

It is as if nobody wants to stand still anymore. Why is that? Is it that we feel such a sense of obligation to the things that eat up our time that we can't justify dropping everything in order to really remember what it's like to breathe, and if so, why do we feel such a loyalty to the aspects of our lives that keep us from truly living? We are so hell-bent on moving on to the next thing-- the next job, the next car, the next step-- that we rarely, if ever seem to absorb the step we are currently experiencing in our lives. Equally tragic is when we feel pulled backwards, trapped by the things we can't change, the wrongs we can't right, and we end up caging ourselves to the point that present and future opportunities get blown, or worse yet, go completely unnoticed altogether.

Why does it have to be a race? Do the dishes have to be washed tonight? Are you going to get more out of watching people compete for a million dollars on television, or laying down in the grass, closing your eyes, and listening to the world around you? If you take a day off of work, or blow off an assignment, just for a few hours of happiness, is that a bad thing, in the grand scheme of your life? Why must we make everything so complicated and dramatic? Does that fulfill us somehow?-- No, of course not. It only serves to devour more of our time. As human beings, it's as if we have become obsessed, and it's not with the good stuff.

However, if we're lucky, and if we're aware, we can make those almost magical connections that make life more inspiring. We can find ourselves relating to a song, crying over a television commercial, meeting someone who challenges us, or feeling at home in a new city. I believe that the reason we crave connection is because it always leads to self-growth, and sadly so many of us put self-growth on the back-burner to far less important things that demand our time. We become stuck in the past or so focused on the future that we forget that the present is where it's at. The past is done, and the future may never happen, so the here and now is really all we have.

This has been my soap-box for years. The fact that so many of us take the present so much for granted, mostly because life isn't perfect, and yet we all seek that pristine life that doesn't exist-- the pop song. Even when we're fortunate enough to have those pop song moments, we grow dissatisfied with their staying power, instead of appreciating how lucky we were to have them in the first place. Life is complicated, and it is messy, and that's awesome, not scary. Timing sometimes blows and then opportunities pass us by, but rather than learn from those things, we tend to ignore them, and keep holding out for the good stuff-- for that perfect timing that better fits our obligations or baggage. We miss the message entirely and lessons go unlearned until it's all one big blur, and we're left realizing how much we missed out on, wishing we would've taken that complicated, messy, ill-timed ride.

There are no "do-over's"-- there are "do now's" and "be now's". In a life of take-it-or-leave-it, I, for one, would much rather take it, good or bad. Fear of the future shouldn't rule us, and neither should regrets of the past. Present. Savor that. (I love the word "savor"-- it implies so many wonderful things). The past and the future only seem to exhaust us, but the present carries with it an energy and beauty that can be found nowhere else. Live for the goosebumps, because they are our bodies' way of letting us know how much we are truly feeling life, inside and out.

It's been an insightful week for me, full of talk and reminders of the brevity of life. I am so grateful that I absorb mine, and I encourage you all to do the same. You just never know.

(This video is so full of the energy and beauty that we should all harness from the present).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLqHDhF-028

I Think This Could Be The Opening To My Book

Tonight, I exhaled, for probably the first time in nearly three years.

I have been told by many that this day would come, and that I would know it when it hit. They were right.

Tonight, in the spirit of purging that has taken over my existence since I began unpacking at my new house, I decided to tackle my three tiny desk drawers-- you know-- for good measure. I mean, if you're going to be thorough, you might as well invade every nook and cranny. Sure enough, my top drawer was a creative assortment of laptop cables, iPod accessories, lens filters, permanent markers, you name it. Amongst the hodge-podge were three packets of blank 4x6 photo paper, which I decided could be consolidated. I flipped through each packet, because I had a bad habit of storing extra prints in them, and there it was-- the single image that started my entire journey into motion.

In the past three years, I hadn't been able to look at it without cringing or feeling gut-wrenching remorse, sadness, or embarrassment. Often, the sight of it would actually startle me. Tonight was incredibly different. It was odd. I was able to study it closely, without a single flicker of emotion. It was clean, crisp, simple-- and most importantly-- it was honest. I know you, I thought. I remember you. Finally, finally, after nearly three years, I smiled at the sight of myself, and I swear I felt my very soul exhale.

So what does one do to celebrate a moment like this? Well, she grabs a small loop of packing tape (because it's all she can find amongst the piles of moving boxes), and she slaps that 4x6 right onto her desk, so she never, ever forgets again what it feels like to breathe.