Stay Or Leave

It all began during last week’s travels. I went to Providence, then New York, and on the train ride home I could not stop myself from scribbling words of inspiration down on paper. “What are you doing?” My boss asked me. “Writing,” I replied. “My creativity is completely squashed back home.”

“So move to New York,” she said to me. “If I didn’t have children I would move.”

We began talking about other opportunities within the American Lung Association and my wheels began turning. I saw myself in another lifestyle. In another place and time.

I went home and after only one night of too-casual interaction- I broke up with my boyfriend. “I need more,” I told him, remembering the thrill of Time Square and the rush associated with walking down memory lane in Providence. “This place holds me back.”

I am now sitting inside Starbucks, staring at my blank computer screen- once again.

What have I done?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the true meaning of the word home. I, after all, don’t see Columbia, Connecticut as the land where my heart soars. It is a place where I grew up, a haven where my family resides. I feel happy when I am surrounded by the people I love, but I know that it is not enough. Since I’ve been single, I’ve spent maybe twenty hours in my room. (Hence the Starbucks visit.) I yearn for a place that has activity- that doesn’t lull me to sleep after the sun sets.

And that’s why I think that “home” resembles a feeling more than a destination. I could be “home” with a significant other, as long as I am filled to the brim with contentment. I could be home in a cozy coffee shop. I could be home enjoying a fabulous glass of wine with friends at a local bar. “Home” to me doesn’t necessarily mean a place on the map.

I’m searching for that special something, a feeling that will fulfill me wholeheartedly. Perhaps it is a multitude of sorts. Maybe it is not a move at all.

But my heart hurts and my mind is racing and I know for sure that this type of transition is not what I had in mind.

The Garment District- New York City Inspiration

The Garment District

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plaid and neutral hues, buttons
Circular and square,
Diamond studs and golden duds
Add stylish bits of flair.

Timeless tweed and wintery wool
Warms, even on the rack.
While breezy textiles quake each time
The entrance door blows back.

Hangers chime with sheer delight
As scissors snip and tear
At swatches for next season’s trends:
What everyone will wear.

Cleaning reels halt to
Black suits, all tailored, tamed, and pressed.
Plastic casings shelter each
Red-carpet worthy dress.

Silk and satin sashes loosely
Slung on slabs and bars
Charm the window wanderers
Into the craft bazaar.

“Come And See Me, Sing Me To Sleep”

The room was dark but I could make out his profile as he sat up and perched his head in his hand. The faint light of the moon found his blue eyes and illuminated the perfect lips that had gently kissed my entire body just moments before. “I love you,” he whispered into the blackness. I shot straight up. “Excuse me?” I questioned. It had only been three weeks. This was only the first sleepover. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “This is crazy: Everything just feels right.” He leaned over then, and pressed his lips against mine. Chills ran through my body and as he put his hand behind my head, I knew that I could melt away and be content for a long time.

“You don’t feel that?”

~

I purposely put my phone on the other side of my room before finally shutting out the light: It was one-thirty in the morning. I blew out my candle and decided to leave my playlist on- the dreary acoustic lullabies of Damien Rice filled the space and sparked mid-night fantasies. Scenes played in my head and projected themselves onto the floor; I imagined him opening my bedroom door and muttering “oh boy” after recognizing the playlist and eucalyptus spearmint scent. This wasn’t the first dark hour in our relationship history. He knew the songs and the melancholy rituals- he usually was the one to save me from myself.

I had no one last night. I asked him not to save me, because I knew that eventually the sun would come up.

And it has. And I can engage myself in the world and all that it has to offer, just like I did yesterday and the day before.

I haven’t cried after a break-up in years, though. And as I changed my relationship status on Facebook post-blog entry, I felt myself lose control. Tears cascaded down my face and I proceeded to weep until my body shook. Muscles contracted as I rolled into the fetal position, the skin on my arms burned as I pulled my pillow in.  For the first time in a long time, I let myself experience the pain associated with…really anything. I feel like the honesty of my blog opened up a lot of old wounds- life and love indentations that had scarred abnormally due to lack of care.

And the vulnerability has been received by others. At 9:46AM, fifty-six readers had read last night’s post. I am shocked- this is the first time numbers have spiked in weeks. Months.

I wrote to my best friend this morning and confessed her prediction to me: Last night was rough. She had already read my blog as well though, and when I asked her about my moral obligation to confidentiality, she assured me that this was the best way to move forward and grow.

This is me without a filter or mind to the backspace button. My co-workers, friends, past lovers and future acquaintances may read this, and I ask that you all do just that- Read. I do not need sympathy in this period of time- I don’t need encouragement. I know myself and what I am capable of: I know the path that I am destined for and am confident that I will be okay. So I ask that you just stand beside me and swallow the optimistic clichés. I need my lonely hours to dig deep, and wish to challenge myself by creating my own magic. Find my inner voice.

This is my essential therapy.

Midnight Pacing

I caught up on some much needed cleaning today. I did four loads of laundry, dusted my room, painted my nails and braided my hair. I dressed for a cool spring afternoon and ventured to the nearby car wash. I vacuumed,  polished, and threw away old necessities.

I went to my best friend’s house with a coffee, to warm us while we walked the Mansfield Hollow Dam. After the sun set, I stayed for dinner. We then went to a movie.

It is now 11:30PM and I look like I have obsessive compulsive disorder. My curtains are closed, but shadows still depict the back and forth pacing from outside my second story window.

I was perfectly fine when my keys turned the lock to the front door. I was tired. I entered my bedroom, saw my laundry pile, and had every intention of throwing the clothes on the floor and tossing a clean sheet over my body.

But the vast queen four- post bed stared at me in the entranceway, snickered at the fact that I was walking in alone.

I undressed and combed my hair. I lit a candle and closed my eyes as melancholy guitar and violin instruments filled the space. Slow, soft voices promised to lull me to sleep.

But then I started to fold.

After twisting lace bras and storing them in my bottom drawer, after bending several boxer briefs in half and putting them in another pile, I had to get up.

I made my bed. I went back to the clothes pile.

Fuck- I’m exhausted.

My downhill spiral began a few nights ago. After being encouraged to sleep in my own bed, I decided to browse my Facebook account before closing my computer down. I scrolled through some of my old notes and began to read each one.

I was surprised by own writing skills. Words flowed across the screen freely and with so much passion- I was taken back to the place and time period of origin. Instances of love were portrayed in such a realistic yet eloquent form, yet nothing was fabricated. Magic was infused into each letter and space.

I miss writing like that. I honestly didn’t even recognize myself. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I read comments returned, of praise and astonishment toward my ability to pierce my soul and cast its inner secrets on paper.

Long ago I inspired others to have faith, dig deep, love deeply without holding back. I was able to reveal to my audience the highs and lows of break-ups, make-ups, and an extraordinary land of the in-between: I had no shame back then. I was able to connect with my lover. I was able to connect with the world.

I’ve lost the ability to do both these days. I stare at my significant other in a room of deafening silence. I stare at a blank computer screen and wait for magic to flow through my fingertips.

Nothing.

I feel like I have failed at my forte. I was embarrassed to unleash true emotions, and the build-up became a brick wall to my art form. I wrote instead about my ho-hum lifestyle and quick fixes. I wrote longer excerpts that foreshadowed my inner frustration, but spoke about situations in the third person.

I actually had a friend say to me one day, “You are great at giving advice, but you don’t take your own. You write blogs and send solutions for happiness into the universe, and sometimes it sounds as though you are trying to coach yourself with the notions- but then you close your computer and return to a life of coasting along.”

I promised myself that after a year of lessons in 2011, big things would emerge in 2012. I was going to be a bolder, better version of Britney Martin. And that is what I intend to do. In just seven short days, I have been to my old Providence stomping grounds, have frolicked around New York City, have partied with my sister for her 21^st birthday… I have spruced up the world around me and have made plans for the calendar year. My climb and Costa Rica are mere months away…

And I pray that my walls will begin to break down with each passing day. I will become a bit less tense… and I will be able to return to my true self, will be able to write about the daily highs and lows without hesitation.

I have been blessed with a gift of seeing the world with sheer optimism- whether rich or poor, in sickness or in health, in love and in limbo. I also have the ability to put it all on paper in a way that is relatable.

I wonder if everyone in the world can relate to feelings of loneliness and angst.

Today marked a new bend in my road, but this only the beginning. The funny thing about loneliness is that it’s self-inflicting, yet so painful. Lost love tortures you from the inside out, clouds your memory with the best times and reminds you of the importance of forgiveness.

Especially in the darkness… Loneliness can taunt even the strongest of hearts.

Sunday Postsecret- Starting Off The New Year Right

Need Inspiration? The Goal List

-2012 Habits & Goals-

• Organize my home and work space for the new year
• Download phone applications to help me achieve my goals
• Buy a 2012 calendar for the black binder, the office- use my gmail account to plan
• Declutter my existing wardrobe and belongings
• Create a vision board for the future
• Begin purchasing Quote Canvases for my future in-home workspace
• Purchase charms for my existing places visited: 2009- Providence, RI, Charleston, SC., Columbia, SC, Las Vegas, NV, Salem, MA, Austin, TX. 2010- San Diego, CA, Hollywood, CA, Bennington, VT, London, England, Empire State Building, NYC 2011- Valley Of Fire/ Vegas, NV, Beacon Hill, Boston MA, Atlantic City, NJ, Columbia, CT, Meatpacking District, NYC
• Begin studying Spanish
• Book & visit Costa Rica with my best friend
• Read one book per month
• Complete the Gotham Writer’s Workshop Class
• Attend a free workshop in New York City
• Write in my blog to trigger the imagination
• Read “Sarah’s Island” to date to reinspire
• Plan a winter/spring/summer trip to Block Island
• Complete a rough draft copy of my first book
• Continue with projects that once sparked the creative process- personal postsecrets, 5 daily feel goods…
• Exceed 200 daily views on WordPress
• Move my records to new, local doctors
• Take vitamins
• Cancel my existing gym membership
• Work out with friends
• Lose 10 pounds by February 1
• Execute a Pin-Up Photo shoot with Walt
• Delve into other aspects of photography and words
• Open the lines of communication with my parents
• Continue to visit Uncle Sal and family members more often
• Visit four wineries
• Learn to fish
• File my taxes early
• Consolidate my loans
• Pay off my Best Buy Credit Card
• Pay off my Bank Of America Card & close that account
• Open a TD Bank Checking & Savings Account
• Save for an apartment- Begin collecting items for the move
• Move out of my parent’s home
• Exceed goals for the FY12 at work
• Raise $2,000 personally for the Tackle the Tower at Hartford 21 climb
• Update my resume and LinkedIn Profile
• Look into Sandler Certificate & CTNonprofit Certificate
• Become more involved with the Glastonbury Chamber
• Enter a photo contest
• Take photos of Avery Point in the wintertime.
• Visit Prospect Park at night
• Visit Rhode Island once per month
• Visit Niagara Falls
• Visit Washington DC in Cherry Blossom season
• Visit Jason in NYC twice in 2012
• Get on a train and sit in a coffee shop of NYC- write.
• Write in Bryant Park, NYC
• Write on lunch breaks (Make A Sign)
• Go ice skating
• Go snowboarding
• Go sledding at Mansfield Hollow Dam
• Watch more sunrises
• Wish on more shooting stars
• Explore downtown Hartford, New Haven, Connecticut in general
• Host a “Minute To Win It” Party
• Update my music collection
• Attend at least three concerts in 2012- Start a running list of concerts seen to date
• Purchase a bike and ride the East Bay Bike Path
• Plan the family 2012 apple picking reunion
• Get my bird and creative writing tattoos
• Experiment with my sense of style
• Experiment with food
• Limit my expenses by making my lunch, limiting myself to coffee only at Dunkin, and eating out only once per week
• Learn to push myself passed my comfort zone
• Learn to take my own advice

-Lifetime Goals-

• Visit five new destinations per year until I am thirty years old.
• Graduate Johnson & Wales University with a degree in Advertising/ Marketing Communications, and a Concentration in Political Science.
• Move out of my parent’s house before I am twenty-five.
• Obtain my pistol license.
• Take a CPR class.
• Own a star.
• Go skydiving.
• Own an amazing board game and DVD collection.
• Try out for a sports team.
• Audition for a game show.
• Become a Wine Expert- Visit the CT Wine Trail & branch out.
• Blog about EVERYTHING- Learn to listen to my heart and follow my own advice.
• Publish a book before age thirty.
• Attend a Postsecret Seminar. Read the additions every Sunday. Write about them.
• Encourage my children to write. If there is no homework, give them a writing prompt to complete at the kitchen table. Put the best stories on the refrigerator.
• Dance in the rain.
• Build an adult tree house: A getaway for adults only.
• Learn to cook. Purchase a recipe book and experiment.
• Embrace good company by hosting purse parties, BBQ’s and family dinners.
• Live near the water, whether it be on a lake, ocean, or stream. Find a place of tranquility and savor it.
• Strengthen the relationship with my family.
• Learn how to drive standard.
• Visit Niagara Falls.
• Obtain a passport.
• Roadtrip for the hell of it. Stop at local landmarks. Just GO.
• Eat lunch with my favorite author, Nicholas Sparks
• Make a difference in the lives of others
• Purchase a really good camera. Capture every moment on film.
• Swim with dolphins.
• Visit a rainforest.
• Hold a monkey.
• Ride on horseback.
• Ride an elephant in Thailand.
• Purchase a kayak for leisure days on the water.
• Always have a “hookie” pack in the back of my car that includes a football, wine glasses, and a good book.
• Teach my children to crab the way I learned how.
• Visit the mansion from time to time.
• Follow my heart at all costs.
• Work to live rather than live to work.
• Never let go of the child within.
• Compile a portfolio of professional pictures.
• Splurge on the wedding of my dreams.
• Learn how to make sushi
• See the Northern Lights.
• Stay in an Ice Hotel.
• Run a 5K.
• Master my own signature mixed drink.
• Never turn down Jack Daniels
• Dance. Whenever possible.
• Learn how to dive.
• Learn conversational Spanish- be bilingual.
• Never let the passion die. Discover and rediscover intimacy so that the flame never goes out.
• Learn to trust. Learn to forgive when trust is broken. Let go when trust is abused.
• Fly in a hot air balloon.
• Buy a puppy.
• Sing karaoke.
• Buy everyone in the bar a round.
• Kiss on the Empire State Building.
• Take pictures at the Eiffel Tower.
• Stargaze.
• Learn how to play blackjack/poker.
• Throw an amazing party.
• Climb Mount Washington.
• Go camping with nothing but a sleeping bag.
• Get my backhandspring once and for all
• Coach a cheerleading squad.
• Host a dance class.
• Be on TV.
• Letterbox.
• Commit to a healthy, active lifestyle. Never “let myself go.”
• Do something completely crazy and out of character.
• Fly a kite.
• Get a tattoo.
• Fall madly in love and be loved back.
• Go on a cruise.
• Visit a castle in England.
• Sit in an Irish Pub.
• Take a writing course.
• Go on a vacation alone and act like a local- go for coffee, write in the park, embrace the solitude.
• Visit Italy and explore my roots.
• Host a party for my parents.
• Get a psychic reading.
• Never let go of the hopeless romantic within.
• Hang my degree in my home office.
• Compile a list of all concerts I’ve attended. Reach 100.
• Speak to a crowd of 5,000 people.
• Visit the cherry blossoms in Washington DC
• Visit Seattle
• Party in Abiza
• Have two maids of honor for my wedding: My sister and Caitlin.
• Go on a trip while staying in hostiles.
• Purchase a bike
• Watch at least 5 sunrises and sunsets per year
• Always sacrifice sleep for time well spent with loved ones
• Always express and experiment with music.
• Sleep on the beach.
• Always hold hands.
• Visit Stonehenge.
• Create photo books of all travels
• Wish on shooting stars.
• Always prefer candles to lighting.
• Skinnydip.
• Catch fireflies.
• Visit at least 10 lighthouses.
• Preserve old friendships. Make the effort to make them last.
• Ride a motorcycle.
• Hike through a jungle.
• Kiss in the Space Needle.
• Have dinner in a place that overlooks the city.
• Ice skate in Rockerfeller Center.
• ATV through a canyon.
• Gamble and win.
• Shower in a waterfall.
• Hail a taxi.
• Float down the Farmington River.
• Go white water rafting.
• Venture to a nude beach.
• Attend Mardi Gras.
• Celebrate New Years Eve in NYC
• Strive to be honest with myself.
• Pay off my student loans.

Buh, Bye Boo-Year: Happy New Year!

I was sitting with my best friend the other day in a trendy New Haven hot spot- we decided to get lunch while working in the area and ventured out of our comfort zone to somewhere new. “We should do this more often,” I said to her while munching on potato bacon pizza. “We work so hard: visiting new places like this may perk up the daily grind.” We continued to reflect on our routines and ho-hum year in general, and I thought aloud, my stream of consciousness. “My year has revealed a lot of life lessons- and all I needed to do was fill the voids with things that matter. Traveling makes me happy- I spent my money on stupid things. I was home while my mother battled breast cancer- which is a blessing- but instead of carrying the anxiety with me I could’ve taken drives, seen friends… celebrated my life since that was the “bigger picture” after all.”

It’s true: My year was lacking in substance- because I didn’t push myself to create substance. I am only able to focus now on the pitfalls because I didn’t resurrect those dismal moments for instances of joy.

My friends travelled home and I didn’t push myself to attend the girls nights. I waited and waited for my boyfriend to take me to Block Island, when I could’ve bought the tickets myself. I could’ve gone alone.  I went to Las Vegas and was the first one asleep each night.

It’s crazy- I accomplished so much in the last couple of years. When I was in college, I was the girl who went out on a Tuesday night, just because bedtime sounded so boring. I celebrated my birthday in a three day span of mayhem. I worked three jobs to go on vacations, I drove to Bristol countless times to watch sunsets by myself when everyone else was too busy, I wore “that dress” because “I could.”

I came home in 2010 and became really grounded- learned about the importance of family and priorities, and created a daily routine for myself. I feel like I lost my inner drive though, to fill each day with that “something special.”

My New Year’s resolution is this, then. I’ve got to stop waiting for life to happen: This is my life. We tend to settle for nothing when our options aren’t good enough, and it ends up sabotaging us even worse. We don’t want to go to the local bar because it isn’t as fun as the New York city nightlife. So we sit at home instead and look forward to the next weekend, the next birthday, the next New Year. We refuse to dress up because we feel overweight, when we know that we will never be 110 pounds ever again. We can never just “own” ourselves.

Last night I went out with my sister and her girlfriends for her 21^st birthday. I was the oldest one at the concert, sober and driving home. I listened to them curse their bodies and silenced my own urge to scream, “I’m 30 more pounds than you!” Instead, I danced like no one was watching. I smiled for the camera and made amazing memories with my sister and friends, without a nap in between the workday and party. It felt wonderful.

Tonight is New Years Eve and I refuse to go to bed without a drink, many laughs, and a kiss at midnight. I have so much to look forward to this year- my amazing boyfriend just got a new apartment, I booked a trip to Costa Rica with my best friend, I will be hosting the 5^th anniversary of the Hartford 21 climb, I will be turning TWENTY-FIVE… there is no reason to settle for the ho-hum day-to-day. I vow to push myself- to do things that I am afraid of or that may seem inconvenient at the time…. And to not worry about settling for second best instead of nothing at all. I am still living at home for the time being but that gives me time to save for a fantastic place- my options are open this year. It gives me money to go on vacation. It gives me the opportunity to play house with my boyfriend, get the hang of cooking dinners and keeping the place clean without the “I’m Moving Out!” fights. We are able to get a six-month crash course on living together, and I am so excited for that.

I am so blessed, and it took a year to make me realize what matters most. I am a family enthusiast, a hopeless romantic, a friend who listens, a world traveler, a nature lover, a drinking buddy, a 24-year old conquistador and an optimist for the future. Those things about me-make me who I am, and no one will dull my edges.

I’m on a new quest this year, and the fire within is back.

Happy 2012, everyone.

~

Bar Buddha

He saw him sit down through the glass backsplash of the bar. The room was dimly lit, but the somber look on the young man’s face was apparent in the reflection. The body collapsed, elbows hit the countertop, and his baseball cap made a muffled sound when it fell into open palms.

“What’ll it be tonight, my friend?” the bartender said when he turned around.

Still staring at the tiles, the young man’s voice was low. “Something to take away the pain.”

The bartender reached around and poured a scotch on the rocks. Putting it down, he tended back to cleaning the shelves.

Then he heard a voice.

“I don’t get it, dude: A Facebook comment? She wants to end it all because I don’t leave her sweet little messages?  I’m sorry: I thought that relationships involved two people: Not man, woman, and seven-hundred sixty five friends. She leaves smileys on my wall, she tags me in posts on anniversaries- People know that we are together. Do I really need to thank her on Facebook for buying my favorite six pack?

She reads other posts out loud to make me feel bad. “Max just updated his status, said he is so blessed to marry his best friend.” “Jenny just watched the sun set with her boyfriend.” She fills all filler words with “aww’s” and sighs, but to me, it all sounds lame. I even remember her running around the room one night screaming, “I’m deleting my Facebook account if I see one more engagement on my news feed! Cindy Wittingham is getting married before me!” Who the fuck is Cindy Wittingham?”

The bartender watched him swirl the glass in his hand before taking a long, hard sip.

“And I’m not the kind of guy that buys flowers, I’m just not. Never have been. But she wants them everywhere- sprinkled on the bed, in the kitchen with a little love note… She came home the other night and mumbled something about her co-worker getting a surprise delivery. It’s a waste of money, don’t you think? I’d rather save the fifty bucks for dinner and a movie.”

There was an extended pause. The young man thought for a moment.

“I don’t remember the last time that we did that though, come to think of it. We’re just so busy now. We get home from work, watch a couple episodes of The Office, and one of us falls asleep before we get to the “Love You’s.” Usually it’s me. And I know that I’ve been tired lately, and a little lazy. She complains about wanting quality time: Time for sex, time for conversations, time for long drives to nowhere in particular. Who has the gas money for that?”

He snorted aloud as the scotch began to melt away his edge.

“She’s got money stashed away somewhere… she just does things without me now. “Girls Nights,” she calls them. I hate when she whips out her black dress- my favorite black dress- God, she always looks amazing. I used to tell her that. All the time. Now I sort of just watch her put on her make-up before she shuffles out the door in her dress and Ugg boots.” He smiled. “She’s one of those girls.”

He trailed off. “But she’s not, though. She’s good to me. She always comes home, even after those girls nights, and tells me how much she’s missed me. She lights candles, tries to keep that thing alive. I can bring her around the guys, I can show her off to my family- she watches football with me and does the dishes at my mom’s house. She’s nuts: Dances around in her underwear and jumps on the bed and falls in love with every child or animal that crosses her path…”

“I walked into the bathroom this morning and I heard her crying in the shower. I pretended not to notice but knew she was trying to hold everything in while I brushed my teeth. I don’t know how we got to this point, of her being so unhappy.”

The bartender sighed and hung the last martini glass on the hanger rack. Crystal ornaments clashed and signaled an intervention.

He rested both hands on the table and zeroed in on his only customer.

“And what is it that do for her? I know what she does for you- she shows the world that she loves you, she shows you that she loves you, she surprises you, she tries to keep the romance alive- she sounds like an amazing woman actually. She sounds spontaneous, and fun, and sexy… I would like to get her number.”

The young man slammed his drink down. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, actually” the bartender replied. “Night after night I listen to stories of remorse. Lost love is the number one regret of mankind. Men and women both sit here and ramble like you just did, when their selfishness is manifested again by being at the bar instead of fixing things. If you want to lose your girl forever, then I’ll pour you another drink right now. It will be on me, out of pity for you. Because if you lose this love of yours, you will never find anyone better.  Instead you will have to deal with constantly wondering, for the rest of your life, how hers is while in the arms of someone better. She will find someone who will buy her flowers and put roses on the bed and get up to watch the sunrise, and she will show her appreciation and support and love like she was never able to in your relationship.

Two grown men stared at each other with tears brewing under tired eyes.

“My hope for you… is that you pay your tab and get the hell out of here. Her family will tell her that she can do better. Her friends will tell her the same thing. You want to reach her before she starts to believe it herself.”

With that, the bartender took the young man’s ice and threw it into the sink. Grabbing a sponge to clear the ring, he whispered so faintly, the young man had to lean forward to hear.

“You never want to call that girl your friend.”

My First Writing Assignment: The Window

This week has been rough, to say the least. Work has been busy, my personal life has rolled off a cliff, and I have been too crabby, tired and uninspired to even look at my assignments for my Creative Writing class. Last night, however, I decided to come home at a decent hour, shower, paint my nails, curl up in bed and be comfortable on my computer.

I looked at my first writing assignment and banged my head the side of my four-post bed.

I write best when I am elated or miserable. Creative writing is not my forte, because I am forced to imagine rather than pull emotions from my heartstrings. It is hard to take the “me” out of a character and write about a hypothetical subject or situation.

But now, I guess this is where I will see whether or not I have true talent.

Assignment Week One: Start with this title: The Window

Then, using this title, begin writing something. You may write about something true, something made up, or something halfway in-between. Up to you.

It’s fine if you turn in something incomplete. And don’t worry about writing something great. Or even good.  Just get something written.  That’s all that really matters here.

Remember, this is play.
—

The Window

She peered into the window of the old shop and immediately detected the sharp smell of coffee beans. The aroma seemed to seep through the wooden foundation and watered her palate: She pressed her face into the glass for a better view.  

The interior looked like a timeworn ship, with vertical planks on all walls and reflections. Burlap coffee sacks made clever window treatments and countless glass canisters sat on shelves throughout the space.

Two young students played chess on a wobbly wooden table- she watched them lean forward in anticipation, then jerk back every time black and white pegs quivered. Book bags and notebooks were scattered on the floor.

Another girl with wiry hair sat Indian style on a loveseat, nestled into weathered green corduroy pillows. A book was perched in her lap and she took a sip from her mug every time she turned the page.

Others sat around and enjoyed lattes, vanilla chai’s, and the favorite daily brew.

She noticed foreign names on coffee container labels: Peruvian French Roast, Paupa New Guinea Import, Santa Fe Blend. The robust flavors lingered toward the scribbled words and started to move them across the white, three inch canvas. The letters rocked back and forth, from left to right.

She felt herself lose her balance as the ship began to sway- Her senses could only grasp the complicated potencies of a newly aquired Ethiopian Oromia Yrgaceffe brewing in the galley.

Black and white pegs danced. The wooden table wobbled. The young boys threw their heads back in amusement; the wiry haired girl beamed while enjoying the ride through unknown, unchartered waters of her book.

She stepped off of the porch of “The Port Hole” then, and smiled at the shack that resembled more of a cultured world voyager.  “This place has character,” she thought to herself as she continued her stroll down Wickenden Street. “This place certainly will do.”

—
It took me nearly four hours to write less than 400 words. I started stories and used the backspace button to delete all incompetant remains. I stared at my blank word document for 15 minutes at a time. I think I even screamed at one point and thrashed around in my bed.

But “The Window” turned into a “Porthole” as I continued to write. My favorite Rhode Island coffee shop turned into an eclectic vacation vehicle. I was stunned that as the short story began to take form, it was doing so without me. I just had an image of a girl peering into a glass pane.

I feel like my brain stretched and cracked last night like an old crippled back. This is going to be hard… Really hard. But I think that if I stretch everyday… I will be limber soon enough.

 

Slow Speeds Ahead

I was taught to always have a plan.

If I studied for a test, I’d get a good grade. A high GPA. The college of choice.

If I saved up my money, I’d have the funds for new clothes. An apartment. A vacation.

And if plan “A” didn’t work, I wasn’t allowed to waste a single moment: I had to immediately search for a second and third plan. No money equaled more hours at work, a second job. A failed semester meant moving back home temporarily until I had enough to move again.

My mind is now a refined problem solver: I am always thinking of new ways to enhance my daily routine to the fullest, to live in the moment with ease and to plan for the best future possible.

…I learned today sometimes life dodges all of your strategies and leaves you to rely on nothing but faith.

There is one problem with faith, however. Plans involve constant action, constant moving so that you never reach that low point in your life. There is something to always look forward to with a plan. You are in control.

Faith requires slow, quiet reflection. It can sometimes lead to a melancholy mindset before the bigger picture is revealed.

I’ve never waited around long enough for the bigger picture, and I don’t really know how to step on the brakes now.

…I’m scared to let go:

It feels a lot like giving up.