A Semester Gone..

A semester gone, and another awaits the new year.

The bitter chill of December has brought about many changes. I experienced another wonderful birthday among climber friends with Daft Punk fueling the whiskey shots and dance moves as we all joyfully played a game of poker. I saw real snow for the first time on a spontaneous trip to Burnsville, North Carolina, with Bryan and his character-like roommates. The four day trip included skiing, hiking, snow ball throwing, drinking, cooking, and some climbing in Asheville. (all of which I carefully documented by my Nikon D3000!) I added onto my family tattoo by placing a bare tree around it, with the tree trunk twisting into a delicate teardrop. It's inspired by a quote I found--"Tears water the roots and make them deep; Family is the tree." I found it suiting due to the fact that my family and I have been through so much in the past few years, and it's only made us stronger.

Christmas is quickly approaching as I sit in my apartment, writing away about the joys of the season. I've taken a much needed break from the Bee's to enjoy my free time climbing, doing errands, and hanging out with old comrades who have made their way back to Tallahassee after their first semesters of college. After Christmas, I will find myself journeying to Wesley Chapel, FL, to visit Bryan, his family, and his friends. Hopefully we'll stir up some trouble in some way or another...a few parties, hitting up Vertical Ventures, and meeting some new, interesting people.

As my last blog post for The Fall Of New, I'm carrying some good news. There will be a new blog called The Spring! It will pertain the same casual reflections, but it will be packed with more daily goodies such as pictures, ideas, and anything else I can think of.

To all the people who have kept up with me this semester, I thank you for reading.

To all the people who inspired me to write this semester, I thank you for being you.

See you in the spring!

A Rock-Hard Friendship

Inspiration comes in so many forms. For me, it's mainly people and nature.

Item one of discussion, people.

The Tally Rock gym is the most magically places in Tallahassee. In it's sweaty, powdery establishments is a climbers fantasy- top rope and bouldering routes of all degrees, jammin' music, and of course, shirtless men with extremely strong backs and wonderful manners. Mmm, yummy mountain men.

Before my terrible climbers elbow, I was a complete gym rat. I talked about the gym if I wasn't there, I dreamed up routes that I wanted to send during my classes, and I promoted the tar outta the place. Literally, the tar bits cover my bedroom and bathroom floor.

But besides the amount of finger tearing, body stretching, and endless pursuit to send, send, send, its the people that keep me coming back. I could list them all, each of them and their unique qualities that make them who they are, but it wouldn't even come close to what they mean to me. They are a new family that I will hold onto for as long as possible. My fingers have gotten a lot stronger, so holding on shouldn't be too difficult!

Nature is without a doubt something that connects these people with me. When you go out on a trip, you bring only what you need- a tent, a sleeping bag, your climbing shoes, bag of chalk, clippers, tape, Climb On, food, water, and a change of clothes. It's nature; you rely on it to take care of you.

After packing in a car like sardines and a few hours spent laughing, we finally make it to our gypsy campsite of 20+ tents. Everyone has the firewood going, smoke slowly protruding from the beginnings of a group campfire. There's laughs, drinking, and stories to be told as friendships are being made and deepened. Night climbing consists of head-lights and gentle remarks of encouragement, due to the fact that I am such a baby climber. The most spectacular part, though, is that I'm never scared. My fall would be soften by the reaching hands of several spotters. Most of these people have only known me for a few months, some for only a few weeks. And I trust them with my life.

I even fell 15 feet down Merlin, a beautiful slate in HP40, and landed gracefully on a crash pad due to Gabe's spotting, the coaxing of Caleigh and A.J., and the others watching quietly on the sidelines.

I blame our connection on the rocks.

I blame our friendship on the rocks.

And I thank the rocks for doing so.

mother mountain

she's around 55. probably closer to 60. deep skin colored like a deer’s hide, with splotches of blush on her nose, cheeks, and forehead. too much sun in her youth has given her 'happy lines' that trail from ear to ear. if you didn’t look close enough you would miss the dirt speckles underneath her sunken green eyes. these dirt speckles mix into her thick strands of hair that whisp over her ears and forehead. her mane is painted grey here, dark brown there. a combination everywhere else and matted none the less. she pins it back with a few bronze bobby pins that shine in the light when she waters the ferns, azaleas, heaths, and lilies that endlessly grow from the front to the back porch. it's a jungle that just so happened to swallow a house whole.
she moves well for a middle aged woman. hands with a firm grip but a soft touch. she gracefully dashes from plant to plant, giving each its own undivided attention; they do deserve their 'special time' with Mother. when Mother moves its like a form of dance, pointed toes as she reaches over the railing, hands fluttering above, searching for fingertips of the clouds.
age has come well for Mother. she went to a university in the south, studied the arts and went on road trips with groups of other nature-loving people like herself. she once traveled across the Middle East and Asia, where she discovered the greed of the white and the heart of the yellow. her perspective had been changed and she fully learned the meaning of a dollar, how to bear the bitter cold of the night, and how giving the world can be.
one might wonder, "Does Mother have a family? A husband? Anything?"
but Mother doesn't worry about the labels of society and what is deemed acceptable by American standards. Mother learned of the women of Bali, who need no mans say in what they do. instead, the Bali women make the decisions, do the finances, and fix the marriages. That’s if they even want to be married.
although Mother would have, indeed, been a good Mother, she has no fruit of her own. after college and her years of travel, she settled into the place that you see now. a single story mountain house painted dark green, with black, tattered shutters, and sturdy, carved wooden door, and a large front porch.
in truth, Mother has everything. the air that gives her breath, her lungs that help process the air, her eyes that see all that can be seen, a heart that sees what her eyes can not, and the happiness of a woman who has been from one end of the world to the other. not many people can say the same about their own structured lives. the fast paced city life was no place for Mother. the suits, ties, and tan panty hose was no attire for a trail blazing woman like Mother. the bitter, boring role of a house wife was no life for a driven, adventurous woman like Mother. the everyday morning coffee, cream cheesed bagel, 9 A.M. clock in, 8 hour work day, stuck in a cubicle endlessly typing away about taxes, bills, and credit would have never fit a woman like Mother. she belonged in the wild among those who accepted her for her curves, her slightly turned smile, her boyish laugh, sly remarks, and unkempt ways. Mother was exactly who she wanted to be.

and all she had to do was choose happiness.

it's all a game i don't want to play

A dear friend of mine once gave me a wonderful book- The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Now it is one of my favorite books of all time.
This book contains the most beautifully sad poem I have ever read. I wanted to share it with you because it has personal meaning for me as it did my dear friend. Knowing that he too had shared this pain, showed me that I am not alone in this game.


"once on a yellow piece of paper,
he wrote a poem
and he called it "chops"
because that was the name of his dog.
and that's what it was about

and his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
and his mother hung it on he door
and read it to his aunts

that was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
and let them sing on the bus
that was the year his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
and his mother and father kissed a lot
and the girl around the corner sent him a
valentine signed with a row of x's
and he had to ask his father what the x's meant
and his father always tucked him in at night
and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem called "autumn"
because that was the name of the season
and that's what it was all about

and his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
and the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
and left butts on the pews
and sometimes they would burn holes

that was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
and the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see santa claus
and the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
and his father never tucked him in at night
and got mad
when he cried for him to do it

once on a piece of paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
called "innocence; a question"
because that was the question about his girl
and that's what is was all about

and his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
becaue he never showed her

that was the year that Father Tracy died
and he forgot how the end
of apostle's creed went
and he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
and his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
and the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
that made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
and at three a.m he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
and he called it "absolutely nothing"
becaue that's what it was really about
and he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
and he hung it on that bathroom door
because he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen"


Growing up ain't easy.

Ghosts and Sidewalks

Every time I walk on to Florida States' campus, I am reminded that I am forgeting something very, very important.

I forget that I am the happiest I have been in a year.

I get so lost in the joy that my old home brings me- my family, my friends, my childhood. I enjoy every experience like a scene from a movie- I can play it over and over.
In it, I'm a ghost.
A ghost floating above my very own head, watching my actions and knowing what is coming at the same time.
God-like, but no comparison otherwise.
I see myself smile.
I see myself laugh.
My ghost does the same- and I know it's real.

With every step, my ghost is there, while my earthly body is trapped in Utopia. My ears are plugged with headphones blarring 2A.M. by Three More Shallows. Hands in pocket, stepping to the beat, lost in the sound.
Between the long stretches of clean pavement I walk, there are those nasty, weed-filled cracks. I'll trip here and there; I might even take a fall. But I'll never stop learning from them.

One major promise has been filled this past month- I respect myself again. I was put to a test twice, and both times I succeed with flying colors; and oh, how bright they were. Nothing can make me go back to feeling the way I once did. I'm clinging to my happiness like a baby blanket that I will never let go.

Pure happiness does not come from another persons good soul, but the reborn soul of your own.

The Pursuit

Trust:

Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.
Custody; care.
One in which confidence is placed.
Reliance on something in the future; hope.

In my own opinion, this is the most difficult ability for me to do. I can't find the point of letting go of my self, my fears, or my heartache.

In this note, I won't fix it. It's just not possible. But some how, putting it down on paper, publishing it to the wandering eyes of unknown followers, gives me an invisible strength to work on making it better.

I know my fault and I accept it as a part of me.

In this seemingly, never ending process, I will steadily remove the solid cement from the walls that separate me from the things, human and non-human alike, that matter the most. All it takes is time.

In this process, Time has become my best friend. But one that I can never love. It will never work for me or work against me. It will never please nor fail. Time is its own and it serves no one, yet it serves everyone. Time will break the mold, only to make it again.



In order to understand the definition of trust, I have to write down the definition of another word--

Human.
Subject to or indicative of the weaknesses, imperfections, and fragility associated with humans.

In order to be human, I can not understand the world completely. Being able to trust is just a weakness that makes me who I am: human. I am imperfect. I am fragile. Incredibly fragile.
I won't ever have all the answers, and trying to figure them all out will only lead me to habitual stress, wicked anxiety, and an early death of sanity.

I'm in the search of meaning; with or without the answer.

A Step in the Right Direction

Whirlwind, spin me 'round. Never let my feet touch the ground cause the clouds is where I'm gonna lay my head. Spending time wishing and hoping, for yet another night like this.

This has been one of the most intense weeks I have gone through in a very, very long time.

I started college with new hopes, new goals, and new perspectives. I've broken myself in a matter of hours, to be filled up again- whole and reborn. I enjoy all of my classes, for the most part. All of them are liberal arts classes that you must take in order to graduate. Thanks to college credit from high school and the semester at Lynn, I have a total of 26 hours as I start beautiful Florida State. Although the Lynn credits didn't transfer as requirements, but instead electives, I'm taking classes with mostly freshmen. That should change next fall after I apply for my major and hopefully get into the College of Communication.

My first topic is one that must be absorbed into everyone who reads this, college and high schoolers alike:

Do not come to college with holds. For example, a new love interest (exceptions do exist) broken friendships from the year before, regrets, and past struggles. They will wear you down, breaking you at any defeating moment. And it'll push you further down a rabbit hole you don't want to go down. No one knows how far that rabbit hole is...you just keep falling.

So my 'defining moment' came early. Like 3 days into my first week early.
I discovered that buried in my optimistic mind was a depression forming. A memory of a loved one who had left this world in such haste.
I had kept it with me for so long that I forgot that I could still cry about him. Everything about him and his death shaped me into who I am right now. My reactions weren't the best; not even close.

I had to give up my self to God on one of those red faced nights. I sat in my car, in front of an intense house party, drunken kids filling by me without notice. I just couldn't help it. I really believed I was about to do something drastic. I was so angry, so sad, so full of problems. I did not know what step would lead to the beginnings of my healing.

I let it all go. I begged God, over and over,

FIX ME, PLEASE! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I DON'T EVEN KNOW MY OWN PULSE!

I can recall only one time I felt God's presence at the exact moment I was praying to him. This was my second. And he did wonders.

I'm involved with the rock climbing club. I go three times a week at the loss of soft girlie hands.
I'm all moved in, with the exception of a few old paintings.
I've met friends who won't just last for the season.
I've danced salsa with the most handsome guy ever at a house party.
I've lost my voice, crashed the stage, stage dove into a mass of sweaty, punk kids and walked away with bruises I'm proud of.
I've gotten healthier and lost a total of 10 pounds.
I'm calling my parents on a regular basis.
I adopted a kitten and named her Olive. She's my love child. She loves everything about me.



It's been 4 days now.
God, it feels so good to be alive again.