Adventures

I was determined to make this year a better year.

My year started out with the huge decision of deciding what would be my next step.

Should I find a full time job? Should I continue on in school?

If I do go back to school, what do I major in?

All these questions required answers, none of which were easy to make.

Having made the decision to go back to school to acquire a Bachelors in Elementary Education, 

I suddenly realized that I'll have spent the majority of my 20s pushing myself to the limit and killing myself

over school. It's not the life I wanted. I don't want to look back on my 20s and see that the only accomplishments I made were in school. I don't want to look back and grimace at my 20s.

I don't want my life to be just about school. I want to live.

2014...a brand new year, brimming with possibilities, and welcoming us with the fresh pages of ideas and activities and newness to fulfill. I didn't want to waste this year, this opportunity.

Adventures...it's what I wanted, and it's what I've been accomplishing.

I wanted to see new places, so I took up hiking. 3 mountains down, how many more to go??

I wanted to push myself, so I tried rock climbing & discovered the wonderful puzzle it is, both mentally and physically.

I wanted to fly, so I went skydiving.

It's only June and here I am filling my days to the overflow! I feel alive, I feel adventurous, I feel happy...I feel real. But what I've learned is that adventures don't come to you...you have to pursue them, you have to push for them, you have to *find* them. And adventures aren't easy -- nor should they be! Adventures are simply that, adventures, because they aren't easy! It isn't just the satisfaction you get from accomplishing something that makes it an adventure, it is the process, the hard work, the energy, the sweat that makes it the adventure. I'm pushing myself and I love it. Suddenly I'm seeing myself as a totally different person. It's 2014 and all about the adventures.

What adventures are you seeking?

Only Human

I covered it's been hard for me to embrace who I really am. In fact, I think I should admit that I still have no bloody idea who I am exactly. I'm attempting to discover myself, the person, the girl I am deep underneath the layers and layers of nature and nurturing I've acquired over the years of my life. Asking the questions, 

"Is this really me? Or is it a remnant of who they wanted me to be?" 

"Do I really think like this, or is this left-over from the fake me?" 

"What *is* my style?" 

"What do I think genuinely about this?" 

I find myself wondering who the hell I really am. I attempt to extend myself grace as I learn the little things about myself. I attempt (and fail) to love myself. As I ask these questions, however, I sometimes forget that this self-discovery is just not that: self-discovery. It is more. It is the discovery of who I am to the world as well. It is the discovery of who I am to other people while finding myself.

Am I the girl who loves herself only to forget to extend that love to others? Or does it make me more susceptible to extend grace and love? I find myself struggling to take in grace and to give it.

I am harsh with myself, loathing of all the negative qualities that seem to consume my life. But not

only that but I am also not as giving as I could be when it comes to others and the negativity I face 

from them. 

I think of my best friend and the qualities about her very self that tend to rub me the wrong way. There's nothing wrong persay with what she does, but it annoys me and as a result I look at these actions as offensive, my sensitive mind glaring at her because she's late and I'm early, she's stubborn in the moments

where I am not and I am stubborn where she is not. You'd think we balance each other out quite nicely, and we do. Normally I just smile and roll my eyes because we are best friends and that's just what best friends do. We irritate each other. 

However there are the days where I am just not easily amused and want to speak harshly.

And while I don't, because I'd feel much too guilty to say anything, I do tend to lock these feelings up inside, harboring them. What good is there in harboring feelings? When, one day, I was faced with a sudden realization that I was the one being completely unreasonable and selfish in my expectations of those who surround me in life. 

I was reading John Green's Paper Towns. And a friend of the main character says to him: 

“You know your problem, Quentin? You keep expecting people not to be themselves. I mean, I could hate you for being massively unpunctual and for never being interested in anything other than Margo Roth Spiegelman, and for, like, never asking me about how it's going with my girlfriend - but I don't give a shit, man, because you're you. My parents have a shit ton of black Santas, but that's okay. They're them. I'm too obsessed with a reference website to answer my phone sometimes when my friends call, or my girlfriend. That's okay, too. That's me. You like me anyway. And I like you. You're funny, and you're smart, and you may show up late, but you always show up eventually.” 

This is my problem. I keep expecting people to not be themselves.

How can I expect the world to accept me, the real me when I am unable to accept others for who they are? 

Real acceptance isn't about embracing the likable parts. It isn't about accepting the bits we like about each other. It is about accepting each other as wholes. Not a part of me, not a part of you, not halves, not pieces: all of each other. Taking the good with the bad, extending grace to one another for the screw-ups, showing forgiveness for the hurts, acting kindness for the mistakes, and above all being loving through the moments when we least feel like it. 

I have written on my hand, "Only Human", because I am that obnoxious girl who writes on her hands.

But also because it is the reminder I needed this week. The reminder that I am only human not only as I struggle to find and understand myself, but also as I learn to grow and live with those around me. I want to remember that not only am I human, but so is the rest of the world. I do not live in a bubble, I do not live alone, nor do I want to be alone. And because of this fact, I want to remember that those around me?
They are only human too.

Living Life...

One could always come up with some perfectly adequate excuses for not having kept up with blogging...
one could say, "I've been swamped at work..."
one could say, "I've been dealing with family stuff..."
one could say, "I've been in the hospital. Dying."
one could say, "An alligator bit off my right hand..."
one could say, "I lost the password to my blog..."

Wait, let's go back to the alligator one. It's much more interesting. But if we're going to be completely honest with each other, I've simply been lazy. I really have no legitimate excuse, as I work part-time and have plenty of time to keep up with updating my blog.

Would some photos make up for the absence of newsiness? Yes? Okay, let's start with the prettiness.

In spite of the laziness of my life, I've filled my time with the little things of life that keep you occupied. Nothing particularly worth while to creating change in the world but little things that make your heart happy, boost your esteem, and fill your soul with vanilla-pudding kind of peace. (Smooth and creamy...now I'm hungry.)

Those little moments that we so often just glide by without even a second glance. Little moments of magic, moments that if we just stop long enough to capture with a capture, we'll see just how beautiful they are. This is my life at the moment...because in spite of going crazy with no school and only a part-time job to keep me occupied, I am also distracted by the little, good moments.

I'm taken back in time with the dance of a pen in my hand as it begins a letter with, "Dear Rose..." and the up and down loops of f's and g's and y's in my cursive. It's an old and well-loved motion, a piece of my life on a piece of paper. Enclosed in its envelope home, it'll fly it's merry way across waters to reach it's new destination. Magic. 

There's the moments where you come home and you hesitate over a book or a movie. But then your soul decides it needs some uplifting...no, it needs some spilling. And you let it pour out of you as music floods your soul and words drift onto the page of your journal. Sometimes it means exclamation points, italics as only a very Emily Starr soul can understand, and sometimes it means words all in caps and illustrations and word circles. Sometimes it means an EXPLOSION of words. From the comfort of your bed, from the vividness of your mind...you treat your soul to word therapy and you realize what this is. Magic. 

There are mornings when you drown yourself in cup after cup of tea, and you let yourself sink into the energy that flies from your fingertips. The snap of the shutter, the whir of the photos uploading onto your laptop. The excited breathing as you click through each photo, looking for the gem you made through a lens.
The excitement of multitasking as your fingers quickly ease over the keys, editing each photo, tweaking it just a skosh (Skosh: a form of measurement) to perfection, and figuring out your schedule. Making your photos while you cross each day that has slipped by, realizing you've not even come close to capturing enough of the moments in your life as each day goes hopping by. Magic. 

I may give in to my laziness of avoiding posting on my blog, but this doesn't mean I'm just letting my life slip by unnoticed or unappreciated. I am filled with love for these beautiful moments that I'm too lazy to always capture on my blog. Mugs of coffee, cups of tea, random photo shoots, music blaring, journal-, letter-, and novel-writing, spontaneous dance and tea parties with little sisters, movie nights with besties...I am living life and I am loving all these little moments of magic. 

Photography Journey: Part 3.

My second semester was an improvement over the first, mostly because I was more in-depth in my photography classes, surrounded by other photographer-wanna-bes, and finally feeling like I was being initiated into that club I so wanted to be a part of. That second semester, I made friends, slowly and quietly found myself entering a small group within the photography classes where inside jokes were born and where we all worked hard alongside each other, the competition absent and instead a sense of encouragement for one another and acceptance. We didn't see each other as "the competition"...we were in it together, we were friends. It made school so much more bearable.

The classes weren't easier or the work load smaller, but working with others made it easier in a way.
And I threw myself into my photography classes. They only reassured me that I was where I was supposed to be. I loved every part of it (except perhaps those damn tool caddy assignments!).
The more I learned, the more I became part of that club. My first class in-studio was
extremely intimidating. The more advanced students knew wherever went, and how to set everything up, while I stood to the side, helpless and feeling very much the part of a newbie. But I also remember the semester where I, too, walked into that studio, the pro. As my friend Kate stated, "For once we're the pros and not the newbies..." Such a good feeling, let me tell you!

2012: we weren't competitors. We were friends.

School still wasn't without its share of tears. The studying was a killer. Late nights...the night I sat up until 3am, bawling over math because I had a test the next day...the headaches, migraines over studying....the notes galore, the photos I snapped...it all went into the days of school.

Along came my required Business class. I went into it still determined to have my own photography business one day. Then the class came and smacked me across the face. Who knew that to run one's own business, one has to devote 99% of her time to business and only 1% to photography in order to be successful? While some can be passionate about both photography and business and easily combine them, I just cannot. Business is NOT a passion and I decided there was no way I could start my own business. Perfect. I knew I loved photography but now I had no idea what I wanted to do, outside of perhaps work in a studio. The class made me question my priorities...did I love photography enough? I did, it turned out.

I entered 2 photographs into the Spring Exhibit at my school and one of my photos was chosen to hang in the exhibit. I was *thrilled*. Imagine my nervousness as I sat in the school cafeteria for the honor's night. One photo from the exhibit would be chosen as Best of Category. Would mine make 2nd place? I sat, surrounded by my family, barely noticing all the other awards being handed out for all the graphic design categories. Finally it was time. I heard my name. I heard the applause. I saw the blur of people and the floor and the walls as I got up and walked to the front. My photography teacher stood there, his hand outstretched and a grin on his face as he shook my hand and handed me the certificate.

For the first time in my life, I was proud of me. 

For my last semester, instead of taking just my last, four, required classes I decided to add a fifth class: photojournalism. Just as my first semester was hell, so was my last one in a way. Between the mixture of tough classes, confusing teachers, and mix-ups involving my classes and graduation, I found myself feeling very discouraged. On top of that, all the friends I'd made had graduated with their certificates in Photography the prior semester. I told a friend, "School can't let me leave without a fight." This past fall was difficult. I studied my butt off, feeling like it was never enough. Still feeling like a failure even though I hadn't acquired a grade lower than an A- in the past. My GPA was high, and yet I still felt like I had to fight to accomplish anything. The last 6 weeks of classes felt like they dragged on forever. And then finals came. And then. They were over. Time has sped by since then. And then, the other day the mailman dropped a white, thick envelope in the mail. I ripped it open and pulled out that little black book with the tiny piece of paper inside.

I did it. Two and half years of tears, fears, heartaches, headaches, constant tiredness, struggling, fighting, killing myself, feeling like a failure...and a tiny piece of paper saying it was all worth it. I'm not a failure. I accomplished something. I did this. I DID this. In spite of everything, in spite of the times where I felt like I couldn't, the times where I felt worthless and felt like giving up...there's a tiny piece of paper saying that I made it and that I did well. A friend asked me, "How do you feel to be DONE?" It feels...weird. It feels...great. But on one hand, it feels like...it's not done...it feels like just one step up a staircase. It just means I'm facing the next step. But I'm not worrying about that now. I'm taking delight in the fact that I'm done! I'm graduated! I've finished this chapter!

I did it.

Photography Journey: Part 1

2008

I remember the day I got into photography...I was 18, bored, and it was a rainy day. I picked up my mom's little Canon point&shoot camera and walked around the house with it. I just looked for anything "interesting" (I seriously question my idea of interesting!) and shot anything and everything.
I shot a photo of one of the little girls holding...a bouncy ball. Yeah. A pink and white stripedy bouncy ball. It was as lame as it sounds. My composition was all about dead-centering everything and never knowing when to zoom in or NOT to zoom in!, lighting was provided by on-camera flash (aaaah the red eye days!), and I had no idea what the hell exposure, white balance, ISO, and all that "mumbo-jumbo" meant! Auto was my tool. Heaven forbid!  But I loved it. So much that I bought my beloved Booth, a Canon Rebel, who will be turning 6 in April.

2008: Raindrops didn't need to be in focus: artsy!

As before, I shot on auto, no idea what I was doing, but I was happy doing it. Raindrops on leaves was an especial favorite. Doesn't matter if they were in focus or not...blurry just meant artsy, right? (Hahahahahahahaha).

I decided I wanted to take photography lessons, because I finally discovered that my Canon Rebel did not only have an Auto function but, believe it or not!, it also had a manual function where some interesting words like exposure and lighting and f-stop were a true photographer's second language. It was like being in a club and I wanted to be in that club. I looked into taking private lessons from a photographer, even emailing him about what he charged and how such a lesson would occur. The parents vetoed my taking lessons alone with a guy, so I turned to the internet. I managed to find a photography course and paid $90 for the class. 

2009: Rule of Thirds? I really wasn't as clever as I thought.

I think I completed...3? lessons worth before I discovered how rubbish it all was. So I went back to just snapping photos as I liked em. I even discovered the "non-flash" function and how it sometimes worked better than flash! Oh and placing the subject of my photo in other "sections" of the photo instead of dead-center? I thought I was so clever and unique to compose differently.

As I grew older, I realized that reality was drawing nearer and the fact that I would have to eventually support myself was finally dawning. Marriage wasn't happening any time soon...so what better solution than to start my own photography business??

2010: I realized I loved photography!

My first real photography "gig" was my older brother's engagement photos. With my mom as a "partner", I shot photos of my brother and his fiancee in the lovely town of Amherst. I shot and shot, taking hundreds of photos (did I mention, I just snapped and snapped and snapped without stopping? It seemed much more professional to me if you could hear the shutter repeatedly clicking!), and the more I clicked, the more excited I became. I LOVED shooting. I loved the interaction, the posing, the capturing of so many pretty photos. This shoot was the first time I realized that photography was definitely what I wanted to pursue in my life. It was the first time I felt passion, the first time I loved doing something.

After that, I tried to fill my days with photo shoots, a mixture of senior portraits and engagement photos amongst my friends and family. I told everyone I was going to start my own business. I was warned that in order to succeed, I should probably go to school, but laughed and shook my naive little head. Why go to school when I could just start a business on my own? Why spend all that money and leave my comfort zone to just take some stupid classes? I thought I knew everything at 20. 

2010: I thought I knew everything.

Coffee

Coffee

It deserves its own blogpost, don't you think?

I have a love-hate, bitter-sweet, half-n-half (hahaha) relationship with coffee. It gives me some very high highs and some very low lows. It's been known to make me the most loving, most friendly, most awesome person on the planet. And it's been known to make the most annoying, the most loud, the most dead person on the planet. It gives me energy or it gives me a migraine. I never quite know how my body is going to react to the caffeine. Is it worth the risk? Probably not, but it tastes so damn good.

Can we talk about the amazing coffee? My favorites? I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a huge Dunkin Donuts fan (what can I say? you can't drive 5 min. without running into one here, whereas you have to go into the cities to search for a Starbucks!)...their Pumpkin Spice lattes are *amazing*. All those cracks about girls going berserk in the fall for the pumpkin spice lattes? Well, I'm that cliche. I could drink them all year round.

Now that winter has set in, however, the peppermint mocha coffees (hot, preferably, though iced is not insane for a New Englander in the middle of the winter...it tastes amazing either way) are fabulicious.

Does this mean I have the $$ to blow every day at DD? Sadly, it doesn't. So I have to resign myself to making a cup at home. I like to brew a cup of DD's myself but lately I've been guzzling the wondrous delights of a Dark Chocolate blend that a friend sent me. Sadly, I can't remember what brand it is, but normally I find that the funky flavors aren't as good when you make them at home. This time was an exception. It is delicious!

My bestie Genny occasionally runs out to grab me a coffee and knows exactly how I love it. As she puts it, "Lotsa cream and VERY sugary." Such a girl. And it may seem like the cliche thing to be the photographer that walks around with her camera in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, but that's okay. I like being the cliche. :) There's a reason why I'm called CoffeeGirl.

Here's to many more years of a rocky relationship with coffee!

Kindness

It is so easy to get captured in my own head and to believe that my pain is all that matters. My tears, my fears, my hurts...what you feel is what grabs your attention. In those moments of feeling lost and alone it is easy to believe that there is no pain greater than your own.

As an INFJ, it is very easy for me to see others' pain and to empathize, but even I sometimes put my pain first. Having been raised with the mindset that humbling means putting others first, I struggled to ever care for myself. Then, one day, I accepted that it was okay, it was even good to put myself first.

Your own pain and tears and fears are real. They matter. How I feel matters. Sometimes, I have to put myself first because not to do so would mean breaking down, falling to pieces, not functioning. Our bodies and our minds, our physical and spiritual beings need the attention and time to recover. I say this because I do not want you to feel that I am promoting NEVER putting yourself first. Because I'm not.

However. What I've discovered in this journey of self-healing and self-discovery and allowing myself to grow and mend, is that it is so easy to put yourself first all the time. To avoid things that cause you discomfort, even things that could help others.

I have realized that it is very easy to be kind only to yourself and redirect the annoyance and the grievances you once would push on yourself on to others.

Learning to love yourself, being kind, self-healing...it's not about pointing the hatred and the annoyance and the drive of perfectionism onto others. It's about disposing of these feelings altogether so that you are not filling your life with them or someone else's life.

It is easy to get into the habit of thinking, "I've had greater pain than she has and if I can pick myself back up, then she can too!" When you direct kindness inward, don't forget to direct it outward too. Clean out the hate, the vile feelings, but don't just push them out into the world. Throw them away.

It is hard to choose to be kind sometimes: to yourself and to others. What I don't always realize is that kindness is a choice. I don't want to lose the empathy I have as an INFJ, I don't want to lose my characteristic of always rooting and fighting for the underdog, I don't want to lose my sensitivity to others' pain and my urge to help those in need, no matter how great or small their need is. I also do not want to lose the art of being kind to myself, stop my practice of learning to forgive or accept myself. It is a hard balance to achieve. I want to blow out all my anger and self-hatred into a place where it cannot hurt, instead of redirecting it from myself to others.

I want to choose to be kind. Sometimes this means putting others before myself...sometimes all it means is being patient, even when I feel like people should suck it up. Sometimes, it means sucking it up myself. Whatever I do, wherever I go, whomever I become...above all, I want to be kind, the kind of kindness that God instilled in my personality. It's a choice, kindness is...so 2014, let's be kind: both to myself and everyone.

I'm Not a Sad Story

I know these will all be stories someday. And our pictures will become old photographs. We'll become somebody's Mom or Dad. But right now these moments are not stories. This is happening...I can see it. This one moment when you know you're not a sad story. You are alive, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. 

- The Perks of Being a Wallflower 

I've had moments in my life where I feel sorry for myself, feeling lost and alone and wondering why I'm always a victim. Is it because I choose to be a victim? Is it because I was a victim and it's hard to shake that mentality off?

I've gone through a lot in my life. I'm not special or especially unique in that I'm alone in pain. I have baggage like everyone else, prying my fingers one by one off the handles.

I flip through the pages of my journals from over the years. The words: lost, alone, scared, exhausted, worthless, fear...sad stand out from the pages. If I get too close to the pages, all I can see is the struggles and I can fool myself into thinking that my life is a sad story.

If I step back from the pages, remove my magnifying glass perception and see the journals stacked, one on top of each other as tall as a tower, and examine them as a whole, I see a live story.

My story isn't sad. It holds sad moments, a lot of sad moments, but that's a page or two or a hundred in a complete story. If I step forward again, examining the separate pages of my journals, this time the word: full, joy, peace, forgiveness, love, brave, strength...happy also grace the pages.

I've stood in front of these books, filled with moments and I wonder at them. These moments are happening, they are live and real. When I touch these journals, I touch moments...the feeling of emotions flowing through me, the tears and the laughter, and I stand in wonder of my story.

This one moment when you realize you're not a sad story. You are alive. 

I Am Not Who I Used To Be

Jan. 1, 2013. 

2013 was a long and hard year, full of self-discovery and struggles. I can see how I am still the same person I was on Jan. 1st, 2013 but I also see the changes, the growth. 

I'm not who I used to be. 

While I feel like in some ways I took two steps back for each step I took forward, I know that I've learned so much in 2013, about life, about myself.

I learned it's okay to love myself, that I don't have to be perfect in everything to still be worthwhile.

I learned it is far easier to ask forgiveness than to grant it, which is sad.

I learned that I am strong, I am smart, and I am worthwhile.

I learned that it's okay to be different...I am not the girl who wants to go out and party and have the same experiences as most adults in their 20s. I am quiet, I like being alone, I am bookish, nerdy, a planner, and not as spontaneous as some people wish me to be. And that's okay. 

I learned that it is not always easy to love others, but it is worth it.

I learned that the hard things, the struggles make the triumphs even more valuable.

I learned that opening myself up, being completely vulnerable is as scary as hell, but sometimes life calls for me to be vulnerable to those around me.

I learned that I make a difference in people's lives. Even though it is in the smallest ways, I do matter. 

I learned life's never going to be easy but fighting my way through the world transforms you into the person you were meant to be.

In spite of everything, I've learned that no matter how many hours, days, weeks, months, seasons, years go by...

I am still me.

Jan. 1st, 2014. 

I am Sam. 

And for the first time in forever, I love being me, imperfections and all.

On and On

New England is famous for its autumns. Clear, blue skies...the brilliant foliage...cinnamon, pies, pumpkin spice lattes, and...apple picking. In spite of school and the stress of homework, I treasure autumn and it ranks high up there as one of my favorite seasons.

Summer is beautiful and wonderful in all of its goldenness, but there's something equally magical about fall. I look around me and see the difference in color of the sunshine, the way the dark comes earlier, the last vibrancy of colors clinging on before winter comes, and I smell the difference in the air.

I was driving toward my sister's place yesterday, Mat Kearney's "On and On" playing as I rolled down my windows. The breeze was cool, the sun still on green leaves, looking like summer, but the taste of fall in the air.

It's hard to imagine goodness, happiness, love...it's hard to know that I am not alone...when I'm at my blackest. It's hard to realize that there are patches of sunshine shining through the dark woods, until you're standing in them. It's hard to smile through fears.

Mat Kearney crooned,

On and on and on we pray, we can break into a brighter day. Nothing worth anything ever goes down easy.
On and on and on we go. I don't understand this windy road. Nothing worth anything ever goes down easy.

And he's right. Nothing worthy anything ever goes down easy. Winning the fight makes the prize that much more valuable.

Facing the fears make the confidence in the end worthwhile.

The smiles and laughter when you've grown through the tears suddenly feel so much more special.

As a photographer, when you look through the lens, you don't just look for the beauty. Your eye scans through the eyepiece, searching for the ugliness, in order to diminish it and exposing the true beauty.

You compose, you expose...you shoot to make beauty your focus. You work to make the perfect picture in the end. You don't just snap the button and have magic. You get magic it by working for it.
You use the ugliness to your advantage.

As I walked through an apple farm with my family today, falling in love with autumn all over again, noting the way the color of the light made everything feel...captivating...I noted that somehow it was worth it all. It is worth the working all week long, the constant studying, the stress, the tears, the fears of the work week to enjoy special, happy moments.

The hard work makes the moments of relaxing that much more restful. Wearing comfy clothes, laughing with little siblings, drinking apple soda...I soaked it all in. Memorizing details, capturing images in my mind as well as on my phone.  Nothing worth anything goes down easy, yet we struggle on and on. Because these moments are worth it all, in spite of the hardships.

Happy Autumn!

To Laugh

Do you know what I loved about my job at summer camp? Who I was.
Not to say I was someone other than me, that I had switched personalities or anything...on the contrary, I was simply me. The beauty about my job was that, it didn't matter what I wore, how how I looked...the kids still loved me. They still hung out with me, they didn't give me weird looks, they didn't expect me to look polished. All they wanted was my attention, for me to laugh at their jokes, to spin the jumprope for them, to hold hula hoop contests with them, to draw pictures with them, to talk to them, to connect with them, to be silly, to joke, to smile, to make silly faces, to laugh...

I was more me than I've ever been on any job. And the beautiful thing was, being around those children made me confident that who I am, as a person, is okay. In fact, it's more than okay...I'm great as me. These children boosted my confidence in ways that no one else could!

Tiny hands slipping into mine as they said quietly with ease, "I love you, Samantha." *heartmelt*

Strong, small arms gripped around my waist as they yell, "HUG TIME!"

Sneaky grins as they shout, "Heads up!" and throw frisbees at my head.

Bursts of giggles as they watch me demonstrate the hula dance moves we learned...very, very awkwardly.

So much patience as they taught me to hula hoop properly.

But best of all, shared laughter as we proved just how silly we could be, how silly *I* could be. The fake voices, the idiotic dances, silly songs, fish faces, and the confidence and self-esteem to pull it all off without once feeling self-conscious.

Because with my kiddos, it didn't matter. There was no feeling self-conscious with my kids. They saw me for who I was, whether or not I looked a wreck or looked awkwardly dorky. And they still loved me for it. They probably loved me all the more because of it. And instead of feeling incredibly self-conscious or embarrassed, I found myself laughing. Not really at myself or at anything in particular...just laughing because there was the love to laugh all around me.

At camp I found that life is surrounded by opportunities of laughter. When you feel like a dork, when someone does something silly, even when nothing is particularly funny but you feel a surge of happiness you just laugh.

Shyness, tears, loneliness, grumpiness...it's all taken away when you sit down next to a child and begin to talk, to share stories, to grin, make silly faces...all leading to laughter.
Those kiddos of mine showed me how wonderful it is to be me.

They taught me to laugh.

To Breathe

"Sam! Sam! Sit down!" Tiny hands attached to one of

my kiddos grabs mine and pulls me to sit on the curb

next to her. 

"What?" I ask. 

"Watch this. I'm going to

breathe like a fish." She puckers up her lips and tries to

breathe as she squishes her cheeks in and out. She can't

hold it for long, bursting into giggles.

"You try."

I fail miserably.

"No, no, like this!" She places her sweaty palms on my

cheeks and squishes them.

"I'll teach you to breathe!" she says.

Breathing. Lately, I feel like I haven't had much room for breathing. My inner alarm clock wakes me promptly at 5:30 a.m., upon which, I wake up in a panic every morning, thinking I've slept past my real alarm...the one on my phone. I grab my phone, yanking it out of it's charge-mode and frantically press the button, head crashing back down onto my pillow when I see, "5:32 a.m." glaring white at me. It's useless to try to go back to sleep, as I have to get up in half an hour. 

6:00 a.m. brings on the rushing to get ready, the scramble to scoop up a pair of clean shorts, my staff t-shirt, socks...socks? WHERE THE HELL ARE MY SOCKS??? ...and then dashing into the shower. I am in the car by 7:20 a.m., heading to work. From 7:30-12:30, I am in charge of my kiddos, laughing, playing, running around, jump roping, counting, and on my feet for five hours. 

I rush home, stopping only long enough to grab something to eat, shower and change before heading to my second job at the library. From 1:30-5:30, I am swamped. The system is down, books are piling up to be checked in...the kids yelling, mothers looking for books, and a sewing class to help teach. 

I get out of work, stopping to grab paychecks from my 1st job and make a pit-stop at home to grab something to eat for dinner. I then head back out to do the errands I have no time to do during the day. 

I make it home, put things away, gather up my laundry and start a load. I tidy my room, check my work email, and finally collapse. 

I sit here, remembering my kiddo teaching me to breathe, realizing that it's those tiny, in-between moments when I do stop to breathe. When tiny hands pull me to sit down. A moment at work where I stop to say hi to a co-worker. A moment of driving in my car, listening to Two Steps From Hell. A moment of reading a letter that arrived in the mail. A moment of pausing in the middle of a work email to smell the newly cut grass smell drifting in the window. 

Short, brief moments during a crazy rushing day, where it feels like I breathe on autopilot. Each day has it's moments of craziness and moments where I feel like my head is completely heavy from tiredness. But my kiddos? They stop me. They pull me down, place their fingers on my cheeks and teach me to breathe. So I'd make a bad fish (seeing as our group name is the Sunfish, that's awkward!), but they make me laugh, they make my day, they melt my heart with their cute ways of showing me they like me. 

They teach me to breathe. 

To Smile

Smile. 

I am working as a camp counselor at a day camp. I am in charge of the younger children's group...the 5-7 year olds. 

As I stand watch over them at lunch time, I look across the pavilion, and the eyes of one of my kiddos catches mine. 

Their whole face lights up in the widest smile you can imagine. It is so infectious, that you can't help but smile back. It is so sweet and adoring that you just grin with delight. 

I stand, watching my kids playing, getting along. I smile as I see my youngest kiddo comforting her older friend over a scraped knee. 

I smile as I see the lil boys admiring the blood they acquire from a fall. 

I smile when I see a kiddo running toward me, arms out-stretched, ready to tackle me in a hug. 

I smile when I'm greeted each morning with a, "SAAAAAM! Guess WHAT??" The excitement, the enthusiasm, the delight, the joy I see every day in my kiddos. It is addicting, it is infectious. 

Even on the days that my kids are dropped off in tears because they don't want their moms to leave...minutes later, they see me and turn those frowns upside down. 

These kids teach me every day to greet life with a smile. To smile through the tears, to seize each moment with utter delight! To be so enthralled with life and the opportunities in front of me with such enthusiasm. To love life to the fullest. 

These kids teach me to smile. 

Gummy Bear's Picnic

My friends will tell you...I have a decent sense of humor.  I find shows like Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Raising Hope, and Community funny. I find kids funny and how they talk and the weird stuff they say. I find comic strips to be funny. (My favorite's Zits. And Pearls Before Swine.)

But when I combine my love of gummy bears with humor, I seem to creep people out. This is the beginning of what I hope to be a series of gummy bear humor. 

The teddy bear's picnic has never been so gummy...I mean, yummy. 

Revenge is sweet. Literally. 

Bounty Hunter with piercing eyes.

I crack myself up. :)

Part 3: I Am Loved

As I said already, even I struggle with accepting someone, showing them tolerance when they are so very different from myself. It's hard in those moments when you really don't understand why someone is the way they are, or why they make decisions as they do. But sometimes, when you make the deep connection of true, real friendship, you just *do*...there's no thought or question in your mind that you will accept them, you will tolerate them, because they are your bosom friend. 

Amy already shared with you her side of our story, now I am going to share mine. 

Amy was right...we are very different. And yet somehow it works. When I first met Amy, she had become a new member of a girls' only forum I ran. I intimidated her (me! intimidating HER of all people!!) and she...well, I distinctly remember thinking she and her sister were the two sweetest girls I'd ever met. So sweet that it didn't feel POSSIBLE. Boy, was I wrong. ;) It is possible. But that sweetness also hides a mischievous nature and an abundance of silliness. 

We both struggled as teens, discovering who we were, trying to become the perfect godly women we *should* be, and often we would nearly headbutt over how to go about that. Almost. But never quite. Because even during that time of being completely different, we tolerated each other. We accepted each other. All because we loved each other. 

I remember the one time where we each were intent on converting the other. And we agreed to present our case to each other. I sent her a book on keeping the Saturday Sabbath and Biblical Feast Days. She sent me the DVD of "Amazing Grace: The History & Theology of Calvinism". I laugh now, looking back...the two of us so determined not to be changed but wanting to be tolerant, and both of us digging into each other's beliefs to debate with each other at a later time. I remember our discussion after we both read/watched each other's book/dvd. I was growing frustrated that Amy wasn't appearing to understand and then I realized...she was probably thinking the same thing about me. And then it changed for me. I learned to accept that it was okay. 

That wasn't the true test of our acceptance for one another. In fact, when the true test came, I didn't even see it as a test. But looking back, I see how much I put Amy through and my heart just overflows that she stuck through the worst of times...for me. 

My best friend died. Quite suddenly and the impact of it all caused me to break down. In just a matter of days, I shoved everyone out of my life to grieve on my own. The sympathy, the love, the desire people had to show me they cared and wanted to talk and wanted to be there for me drove me crazy. I could not stand it. And I remember getting so angry and frustrated that Amy would not leave me alone. I was so blinded by my depression that I could not see that she was genuinely concerned for me. That she loved me so much that she wanted to stand with me while I hurt. Over and over and over again, I kept pushing her away. And it hurt her. So much. Now, it breaks my heart that it did. 

But. She did not give up on me. She waited. And when I finally let her back in my life, my testing her hadn't ended. I had changed through my depression. I was a completely different person. I'm sure I was overly-serious to the point of being obnoxious, I was even more blunt and I probably had a "I don't give a shit" kind of attitude toward the world. 

She accepted me, all the same. All because she loved me. 

To this day, Amy and I are still vastly different in so many ways. Seriously. How can my bestie love "The Newsies"?? THE NEWSIES! And Justin Bieber! *facepalm* And yet, if you talk to her, she'll say, "How can MY bestie love 'Harry Potter'??? And 'Napoleon Dynamite'??"

Oh, gosh, can she STILL drive me crazy! This girl is the energizer bunny compared to my tortoise self. She is always going going going, no matter what. And I am the evil Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde if I don't get enough sleep! Man, this girl puts up with so much crap from me, it's ridiculous! Oh, yes, and the creepy way she gets me to sing Taylor Swift in the car is just...embarrassing. I don't know how she does it.

But you know what? It doesn't matter. As the days and years go by, we seem to grow more alike in what is important. And when you agree on what's important and when you learn how to accept and tolerate differences, nothing holds you back in creating a beautiful friendship. 

Amy. This wonderful girl is amazing. She listens to my every rant with nothing but love and encouragement. She prays for me, no matter what the issue is. When we talk about getting together, she never puts it off. She is always ready to commit to a plan. We connect every. single. day, whether it be text or Facebook. People think friendship can last through random visits and sporadic chats. And maybe it can. But a best friendship lasts because of the strong commitment between two people. Amy is committed through not just the good times but the worst of times. She never gives up on me. And you don't know how that makes me cry. To be so accepted because of a strong love. 

Amy doesn't judge me. In fact, I learned through her example what true acceptance looks like. True acceptance is unconditional love. Do you know how rare it is to receive unconditional love? I thought about it and realized just how FEW people in my life right now love me unconditionally. How FEW friends love me unconditionally. And pretty much at the top of the list is Amy. 

I am going to make a reference that Amy won't get since she is so not a nerdy person who watches Doctor Who. *AHEM* *COUGH* *LOOKS POINTEDLY AT HER* 

But Amy, my bestie, so to speak, really is "...the girl who waited". She waited for me through the bad time and was still there when I returned to her. Her friendship, her sweetness, her acceptance, and most importantly, her love was stronger than ever. 

Do I understand her, with all her energy and silliness and her intense dislike of coffee (seriously, how are we even friends??)? Not always. But her love for me and her acceptance of me reaches beyond the petty things. And that is what connects us. Our love and acceptance for each other. Amy taught me to love unconditionally as a best friend. A love so strong that not even separation, whether it be caused by depression or bodies of water, can end it. 

Amy accepts me. And I know that because of her, I am loved. 

Part 2: I Am Accepted

Part 2 is written by guest poster, Amy, on the topic of acceptance. 

Acceptance - it's something that we hear about all the time in this culture. And for the most part we think we do - sure - I accept that person who is different then me. But when it really comes down to it, do we really understand the true meaning of acceptance? Do we understand what it means to have someone close to us - like a best friend let's say, who is very different then us, and believes differently than us, who likes different things, who has a different personality, and be able to accept them for the person God made THEM to be. To accept them even when they drive us crazy or believe things that we don't. When they do things we don't agree with - do we know what it is not to judge them but to embrace that person and love that they ARE different from us?

I have a few girls who are my best friends - we are all totally different. And yet, somehow we stick together through it all. We can stick together because we love each other and accept each the other for who she is - not for who we think they SHOULD be. We don't try to change each other or judge the other when they believe differently or do something we don't agree with.

I want to talk specifically about one of my very best friends. You probably know her at least a little bit if you are reading this blog ;) But you probably don't really know her like I do - so I'll introduce you - her name is Sam. NOT Sammy (If looks could kill I'd be dead right now for the looks I've gotten for calling her this one ;)). Sam is an awesome person and friend - she has been there for me through a lot of stuff. We met when I was about 16-years-old and she had just graduated from high school. I was very legalistic and she and I believed very differently - about pretty much everything. Looking back neither of us were comfortable in our own skin, but we both were trying to pretend we were. I'm dead certain God was the One who made us friends because otherwise how could two people so different end up being such good friends? Sam was a godsend to a girl who barely had any friends, who didn't have her own real opinions on things yet. 

Like I said - Sam and I are very different - throughout the years we have grown up a lot and we believe a lot more alike now then we ever did, but most of our friendship I would say we have disagreed on beliefs. We even disagreed on movies (still do - I often like movie's she likes but she often hates movie's I love ;)). Yet somehow we can tell each other everything, and even when we were young we accepted each other - we'd disagree but underneath it all we always know that the other one will still love us. 

That doesn't mean we don't have hard times in our friendships or that we don't drive each other crazy. Honestly, sometimes she makes me want to pull my hair out. There was even a time when I didn't know if our friendship was going to make it - and honestly I felt like crying every day during that time. And yet looking back at even that time I realize that God brought us through that for a reason - I know He was teaching her stuff and He taught me a LOT about accepting and loving a friend - being a best friend - even when I wasn't sure some days. To make me realize to be best friends means that sometimes you have hard times - but you stick through it and accept the other person no matter how different then are. During that time she changed rather fast, I felt like I couldn't keep up - granted I changed a lot over the last several years, but my changes I felt were slower (maybe because I was living them?) - she changed faster and I have to re-learn things about her and her personality and beliefs that weren't there before - or that I hadn't been able to see before. Yet when we came out of that time of learning and changing we both still were there - Sam was still there. We had never abandoned each other. We were different, but we were still ourselves - in fact we now are more ourSELVES then we ever were before. Because of what we went through it made us stronger and closer. 

We now can encourage and accept each other when no one else seems too. We know the other won't judge us by the movies we watch, the songs we listen too, the words we use. If we are mad or hurt or upset and need to rant - we know we can go to each other because it doesn't matter what we say or do - the other person will still be there. We can be ourselves. When we are going through hell in our lives at the end the other person will be waiting. 

We are so different, but that's good - we sharpen each other. We have a blast with each other and it's ok we are different. 

We are so different but underneath it all we LOVE each other like crazy - I can't imagine life without her. And when you love someone it makes it easy to accept them because you get excited to see how the other person is changing and finding themselves. You get excited when they come to you with some new thing they love (even if you hate it personally like *cough cough* HP ;)). 

Learn to accept each other, because God made each of us differently. But He also made us to need each other. Knowing Sam has taught me so much. She taught me to branch out - to let go of legalism. To become my own person. To do what I wanted to do in life. Being her friend taught me to accept others for who they are and to love the gifts God has given them.

Do I always understand her or why she does certain things or believes certain things? No. But I accept her. I'm proud of her. I love her no matter what. And I know she does too (because if she didn't we'd be in trouble cause I'm really quirky and weird once you get to know me ;)). 

Love you Sam - I have no clue what I'd do without you and I'm glad God gave us the grace to stick through our friendship because my life would suck without you! 

Watch for Part 3: I Am Loved

365

Day 144:

Quote of the Night

Day 145:

Driving past wet fields

Day 146:

Oh yes I did. ;) 

Day 147:

Happy B-day K!

Day 148:

"I am a piranha from the AMAZON!" 

Day 149:

Waiting for Gen-Gen so we can do our 3-mile walk

Day 150:

D'aww, it's a family now!

Day 151:

Here's a group I love!

Day 152: 

So much giddiness...

Day 153:

Love em. 

Day 154:

Gotta love A. A. Milne!

Day 155:

I work so hard. :P 

Day 156:

Morning run

Day 157: 

Books!

Day 158:

I like to Shoot. Yes indeedy. 

Day 159: 

June isn't June til the roses come out.

Day 160:

Coffee with my morning facebook!

Day 161:

Reading while waiting for din-din