I'm Moving!!

The best picture I managed to take of the Space Needle!

I know it's been a right age since I've written anything on this blog. I'm not exactly the best at keeping up with the twenty-thousand things I do on the internet (especially when it comes to writing: my passion and my bane).

Curled up in a chair at my parents' apartment in Paris, I am forcing myself to actually sit down and write this partially because I miss doing this, partially because Mom hasn't woken up yet to go to the bookstore with me, and partially because I've been too stressed in the last few days to do anything but think about this move . . . so I might as well get something productive accomplished from it. 

So here's the big news: I'm moving to Seattle. 

The first question I get every time I tell someone this bright bit of information is: "Why Seattle?"

It's a fair question, but one I find a bit difficult to answer. It's a lot of little things combined, I suppose. I've grown tired of living on the outskirts of Dallas and it was time to get out of my parents' home (even if I was the only one in it, seeing as they live overseas). I wanted to move to a big city and have a bit of a fresh start in a new place. 

Seattle seemed like the right place for a plethora of reasons. I've always liked the idea of Seattle. It's the coffee capital of the nation and known for it's quirkiness and love of art/artistic expression. It's rainy, but I've always loved the rain more than the sun. It's a new place, far away from the old, where I can decide for myself where to go from here.

I should also mention that it is the #1 most literate city in the world. If you know me, you know that's ridiculously cool. I mean, we are talking about a girl who is both an aspiring writer and librarian here.

The second question I normally receive is: "So who lives in Seattle?" Meaning, who do I know in Seattle?

The answer to this one is much easier. I know no one. I'm not moving up there to be with anyone, nor do I need someone else to go with me in order to make it. I know that people have the best intentions when it comes to this question, but I want to make it clear that I can do this on my own. Of course I've received helped from my family and my friends, but this is my adventure to take and no one should ever let fear of doing something alone keep them from doing that thing which they desire. This is your life; live it.

Lastly, people generally end their inquiries not with a question, but with a comment: "Wow, that's really brave of you. I would be too scared."

Let's get one thing straight here: I am scared shitless. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I have spent the last few days having a near heart attack because now that I've gotten my apartment pegged down, this is real. (Not to mention, I am literally going to have 2.5 days to pack and say goodbye to everyone because I can't come home early from visiting my parents.)

I struggle with anxiety on a daily basis. It's a constant staple in my thought process and therefore definitely a big part of my life. One thing it has taught me, though, is that fear of a thing shouldn't always keep you from taking part in it. I have a long way to go in overcoming my personal anxiety, but I sure as hell don't want it to keep me from living my life. Therefore, I have to make the conscious effort to subvert it.

This, of course, doesn't mean that my anxiety about the move won't keep me up at night of put me on the verge of panic attacks (if you've never experienced one of these, count yourself lucky).

Let's also keep in mind that I'm predisposed to at least be a little more well-versed in something as big as this. After all, I've moved away from everyone I know more than once. And let's not forget just how many schools I transferred to and from. I still get asked if I was in the Witness Protection Program when I tell people my school history. It's one big, jumbled mess.

I guess the point in that is that I don't find myself particularly brave. I'm just unwilling to stay where I am out of fear. I'm filled with wanderlust and a need to explore that, for now, outweighs the terror of being the new girl once again.

And if I have to move back or decide Seattle isn't for me after my year's lease is up? Well, then that's how the cookie crumbles. I won't view it as a failure, but as an adventure and a risk I'll be glad I took. I'd rather know I tried than forever regret being to afraid to go.

Well, if all else fails, at least I'll still have my cat. She's coming with me at least. ;)

Stifled

My dad was home for the weekend, which was awesome. I rarely get to see him and it's always a treat when he comes to town.

While the two of us were driving to see a movie yesterday, we somehow managed to get on the topic of my future. Right now, I'm living in their home (in America) while they're overseas (in France). My aunt (Mom's baby sister) and uncle recently moved in since they don't have anywhere else to stay and she's pregnant with her first baby (Hank!). I work as the Assistant Store Manager and a video store not far from my home.

To be honest, I hate it here. I feel stifled where I live, like I'm constantly on the verge of a panic attack. The suburbs have never been the place for me and I'm pretty sure they never will be. I love my job and I love my friends, but I'm ready to be out of here. Yet it seems like my plans keep getting pushed back.

Or maybe I'm just too scared to make the leap . . .

Anyway, I was venting about all of this when my dad brought up a way I could move a bit sooner. He was telling me that if I could find some way to further my writing career in Seattle (the city to which I'm wanting to move), if I could convince him that this would be a viable option that would actually help me make progress on that writing career, he would figure a way to set me up so that he could help me live there and be able to eat without working my ass off 24/7.

Of course, he's basically referring to college. Though he was talking about the possibility of a trade school, or something of that nature, that would strictly teach writing instead of requiring the student to take all of the other pointless classes that they will probably never use. *cough* Maths. *cough*

It's tempting. It's sorely tempting. Right now, I feel like I would do anything to get out of here and feel like I'm actually doing something: moving toward my future. I spent a good portion of my free time today looking for something like what he said. I found one or two promising universities, but those are so expensive and I've been so certain up to this point that I don't need college and I don't want to waste my (and/or my parents' money) on something I'm not absolutely certain I need for the future I desire.

It's not that I have anything against going to college. I think that, for a lot of people, it is the right choice. But I also think that not everyone has the same path and, for some, that means choosing not to go to college. I thought that was the path I was going to choose.

Then again, how are you supposed to know which way to choose? I mean, that's a pretty big decision there. How can I know whether my initial choice was the best or if I ought to change my mind before it's too late? I mean, I could always use more training in the skill I enjoy so dearly. I'm sure there's plenty to learn, but I'm also sure I don't want to get in debt of any kind.

As you can see, I've been having quite the inner dilemma. I don't do well with these sorts of issues. Thankfully, I managed to quell the panic attack that was on the verge of breaking loose tonight, though the nausea is still present. I don't really know how to explain my emotions on this any better than that. I mean, it's probably not a good idea to get me started on my social anxiety and all the things that crop up when I think of having to attend classes again (of course, this contributes to why moving is scary for me anyway, though my desire to get out of here is greater than my discomfort at the very idea of social interaction).

I hope I don't sound whiney, or worse, like a sociopath, but these are my general thoughts on my current situation and the decisions I feel like I need to make. I'm terrified and hopeful and entirely conflicted.

I just hope that, in all of that, I'll be able to figure out what is best for me, regardless of the other factors that play into the making of this decision. Writing this out helped, as writing out my emotions generally does, even if it hasn't quite led me to a solution.

Phobias

I've never been ashamed of my phobias. I mean, everyone's terrified of something. I happen to be terrified of enclosed spaces and deep water. It's not a big deal as long as no one puts me in an enclosed space or forces me to get on a boat. I've written a post on my claustrophobia (which you can find here), so you can tell I'm not ashamed of it. I feel like it's a pretty legitimate phobia. I mean, I do hate having it. I hate that I can't enjoy the Hezekiah tunnels the way my tour group did and that I started panicking when my family went into a partially underground tomb in Ireland. I hate bursting into tears and having trouble breathing. And I especially hate when that happens on a crowded Metro car or in front of people who like to tell me afterward that I'm probably over my fear now. (Sorry, but throwing spiders at an arachnophobic person isn't going to make them stop fearing the little buggers. It's going to make it worse. Claustrophobia works the same way.) 

I've been embarrassed by people witnessing my reactions to my phobias, but never of the phobias themselves. Until now.

I've recently noticed that I am growing increasingly fearful of elevators- a problem which I'm not okay with. I believe it's a mix of my claustrophobia and that time my sister, niece, and I got trapped in the library elevator. It seems that every time I find myself in an elevator, my heart rate goes up and I catch myself holding my breath until the doors open up again. 

It's almost comical. I mean, I get claustrophobic on planes, which are clearly the more dangerous of the two, but I seem to panic more on elevators than the metal birds I seem to find myself sardine-packed into every couple of months.

Frankly, it's embarrassing. Elevators freak me out. Then again, so does claymation and I've never really been ashamed to talk about that one. I just think it's irritating and odd that I've somehow managed to find another thing that makes me want close my eyes and pray for it to be over. At least I haven't gotten to the point where I'll only take the stairs. I suppose I'm a bit too lazy for that one. 

Exhausting

Chilling with Aiden, the little boy I nanny. :)

Does anybody else ever feel like their life is moving too quickly and yet they don't know what they're meant to do next? I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. In fact, it's a pretty common feeling, from what I can tell. I think it's especially apparent in the transition from graduating high school to encountering the rest of your life.

Right now, I'm working at a video store, taking a semester off from school, and living by myself in my parents' home while they're living overseas. I'm trying to figure out what my next move is going to be while saving up money and trying not to freak out over the fact that I don't have any substantial plans yet.

I mean, even a few days ago I was worrying over the fact that nearly all my coworkers at the video store work two jobs and thinking that maybe I needed to get another one when I realized I already have one working as a nanny (at least, that's if he starts calling me in more often--which it looks like he will).

*Sigh* It's like I know what my major goals are. I have a good idea of where I want to go. It's just the periods in between that stare back at me like a blank page just begging to be written on, but writer's block keeps holding me back.

I have plenty of stuff to take care of in the meantime. Lately, I feel like I've just been running from one thing to the next with barely enough time to keep up with everything that's important to me. It's just exhausting worrying about what my next step is going to be while trying to take care of everything else that needs to get done.

What I really need to do is put more trust in God and his ability to lead me through this and make sure I end up where I need to be. But honestly, that's easier said than done. Still, it can't hurt to start now.

I guess I just wanted to get that off my chest. I know I can deal with this and everything will fall into place in it's time. Sometimes I just have to remind myself of the fact that He makes all things work together for my good.

I can do this. I can make it through. I can accomplish my dreams.

Motivation and Reflection

I've just finished cleaning my desk in the hopes of spurring on my creativity by being organized. I feel like I've been slacking in my writing for the past couple of weeks, churning out my work just before my self-imposed deadlines (which I only end up enforcing because others are waiting for that work) and dragging my feet when it's time for me to write. I'm hoping that I can jumpstart my "writing juices" by getting myself to learn to sit down and focus more often than I normally do.
Thus the cleaning off of my desk.

It seems I get both reflective and motivated at night. Motivated in the sense that I do some of my best writing at night, probably get the most cleaning done (like my desk), and generally strive to create goals for myself or seek how I can do things differently, therefore improving my way of life. I become reflective in the sense that I start analyzing the things that are going on in my life, which inevitably ends up making me emotional because I tend to focus on the negative things. It was in that mood and state of being that Growing Up, my last blog post, was written.

This is where I find myself right now. I'm thinking up goals for myself and planning out art projects I'd like to complete quite soon. I'm mourning the impending and likely inevitable loss of a friendship while stressing over the job interview I had today.

I suppose I get restless when I'm up late and this causes my mind to slingshot through emotions and such. It's a bit irritating, but I learn a great deal about myself during these late night forays into the depths of my own mind. Sometimes I'm not sure if this is something to be desired or cautiously avoided. There are times when it hurts to mess with old wounds or try to clean up new ones, but if we don't examine those wounds, we can't clean them and ultimately stimulate healing. It's a frustrating chain of events. I'm the sort that likes to coddle my emotional wounds and bottle them up until they become unhealthy and begin to fester. Let's just say I'm not great with emotions.

It's probably quite obvious that I'm writing this late at night and I wonder if it will even be coherent to all of you. Oh well. Maybe that just means I need to start getting some sleep and cut down on the "exploration of my inner self." It's rather uncomfortable, after all.

Then again, some of the most beautiful things emerge from discomfort.

Growing Up

My brother. Yes, that's a half-chewed grape in his mouth.

Growing up is a terrifying ordeal.

I guess I'd better specify exactly what it is I mean by "growing up." When I refer to growing up, I am basically referring to the age group consisting of seventeen to twenty-two year olds (and possibly older). This is a time in nearly everyone's life where they are trying to figure out exactly what they want to get out of life and how they are meant to make that happen.

This sentiment -- this feeling of terror in the face of the unknown -- is one that many are familiar with. Still, the realization that others are dealing with they exact same questions you are trying to tackle somehow doesn't make you feel much better. This is likely because we all realize that these aren't questions that anyone else can truly answer for us; rather, they are decisions we each have to make on  our own.

Up until now, our parents have been the decision-makers in most of the big dilemmas our life has presented us with. They generally had the final say at the very least. Now we're supposed to strike out on our own to "find our fortunes" ( that's a Howl's Moving Castle reference, for those who care). It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

On the one hand, it's scary trying to move from being supported to supporting yourself, finding where you fit, and where you want to be. On the other hand, it's wonderful when you feel like you're finally getting closer to accomplishing those dreams you've desired for so long and it feels like the world is at your fingertips.

Coming from my own prospective, I have the potential and the desire to become a published author. There's much I have to do in order for me to accomplish that dream, but it feels doable now. There are times when I can almost taste it. But there are also times when I feel like I'm looking through the wrong side of the telescope and all of my goals are comically out of reach. I feel out of place in my hometown (particularly after living in Paris, France) and I'm literally itching to get out of here, but my circumstances have determined that I stay for now.

It's like those cartoons from when I was a kid where the person trying to get the horse to move dangles a carrot in front of its nose to keep it going, but the carrot is always out of reach. There are times when I wonder if I'll ever reach the carrot at the end of the line or if it'll always just be a dream and never a reality.

I realize I sound a bit melodramatic and I apologize for that. Still, it's a legitimate feeling that I know I'm not alone in experiencing. It's a big world and there are so many opportunities to shoot for the moon; but at the same time, there's such a potential for failure that it can nearly paralyze a person at times.

All in all, I know its all in the hands of God. He knows exactly where I (and everyone else) need to be and if I listen and follow, I'll be able to finish the race. Trusting Him is key and listening to His voice is more than necessary.

Still, what I wouldn't do for a couple of neon signs to point the way for me right now . . .

Following Your Dreams

Ice skating: Not one of my greatest talents

My time in Paris is coming to a close soon. I leave on March 31st and it's such a bittersweet thing. On the one hand, I am super excited to see all the family and friends I have at home; but at the same time, there are so many wonderful family and friends here that I will be leaving.

The prospect of going back to Texas both excites and scares me. As much as I've loved my time in Paris, it has felt quite a bit like I'm putting my life on pause. Now it's time to press the play button and start moving full-force toward those dreams that I have been looking forward to and holding so close to my heart. All those plans I have been making are going to become actions soon enough. It's exhilarating and terrifying.

One of the things I have loved so much about Paris is all the amazing people I have met. So many young people are giving their everything to follow their dreams and they aren't afraid to take a leap of faith or two to get there. It's so inspiring to see these wonderful people fulfilling their heart's desires.

At times, my own dreams seem so far away and nearly impossible. It seems like every time I give voice to a new goal or another part of my dream, there's always someone who responds with, "Yeah that all sounds well and good, but logistically . . ." and it makes me want to scream! Every day someone does the impossible. Every day someone reaches that dream that once seemed to be the most unlikely thing possible.

What I've learned from all this and from each of the people I've come in contact is this:
Always chase your dreams. No one else is going to chase them for you. And if you let others convince you that your dream isn't valid, you'll spend the rest of your life wishing you had chased it instead of listening to the people who were "just looking out for you".

I understand that people will always have concerns with the way I live my life or the way I follow my heart, but that's something that ultimately comes down to me. I have to make the decision to do what I want to do or to listen to the skeptics.

I can't wait to see what lies in store for me in this journey of life. It promises to be one amazing trip and I can't wait to see who else I will meet or what else I will accomplish along the way.

Writing Hindrances

There are two major things that hinder me as a writer. Honestly, there are probably more -- it varies from day to day -- but I'm here to discuss the top two.

First of all, we have distractions.

I'm very easily distracted. And in this day and age, there's more than enough distractions readily available to do the trick. From the internet to movies, from TV to books -- none are specifically bad for me except when they're keeping me from hitting the pavement on something I consider my passion and what I hope to do with my life.

I'm serious. Even as I was pondering writing about this topic for my blog post, I was scrolling through Pinterest for at least half an hour.

I guess I need to learn to sit down and set boundaries for myself. It's not like it's a punishment or anything. Telling a story that's been bouncing around in my head is one of the greatest joys I've had the privilege of experiencing. Spinning a tale is as much a pleasure as drinking coffee or eating a really good brownie.

(Trust me to make some kind of connection between writing and eating . . .)

Secondly, I have trouble getting frustrated with the fact that the story isn't always perfect when I first write it out. A huge part of writing is the editing, I know that, but I love it when the story just bleeds from my fingers on the first run. If I feel like it's not on par with some of my better work from the get go, I tend to lean toward giving up. It's stupid, but it's how my brain works.

It reminds me of my exploits in art class when I was in high school. I loved art and I was relatively good at it, but it was so frustrating to me that it wasn't worth the effort. I didn't want to do it if I couldn't make it perfect. I've always had trouble with stuff like that. It's my own brand of perfectionism, I suppose. It's a good thing I love writing as much as I do or I would have given up a long time ago.

Learning to let go would probably be my best advice for myself in this case. I need to give myself permission to suck sometimes. Editing can be as enjoyable as writing and can provide new opportunities to make the story loads better than it would have been if I'd just shotgunned it.

Well, now that I've got that covered, I suppose it's time to sit back and start working on that novel of mine. Maybe, if I work really hard, you might just be reading it in a year or two.

The Hezekiah Tunnel Incident

My sister is visiting us in Paris for Christmas and tomorrow is her last full day here. We've been cramming in as many fun sight-seeing events as possible in the time we're here and tomorrow is supposed to be proceeding in much the same fashion.

First on the agenda is the catacombs. Now I've heard little tidbits about the place before, but we haven't been yet. It's basically these underground caverns full of arranged bones. They were cleared out a cemetery and put on display down there years ago. Now it's a huge site for tourism. I even found out they have a sign that says, "Stop! This is the empire of death!" (That's what it says in the picture.)

Sounds awesome, right?

Wrong. It's not awesome because I can't go and I'm super pissed about that. Okay, it'll probably still be awesome for my brother, sister, and dad-- but it sucks for me. You see, I'm claustrophobic. Like, I have panic attacks from claustrophobia. Panic attacks including tears, snot, and plenty of hyperventilating. Turns out the caverns are pretty narrow, which means it's definitely a no-go.

We don't need another Hezekiah Tunnel Incident.

"What's that?" you ask. Well, the Hezekiah Tunnel Incident is basically the story of what happens when I underestimate my level of claustrophobia. When I was told my tour group in Israel this May was going to walk through the Hezekiah tunnel, the tunnel Hezekiah travelled when he and his army were attacking Jerusalem in the Old Testament, I thought, "Sounds like fun."

I should have known better.

My first red flag was when we watched the informational video at the beginning. I saw a clip of some guy having to crouch to get through part of the tunnel. I quickly asked about the narrowness of the tunnels, but was assured that it wouldn't be bad. I'm thinking, "Oh, they must've just been exaggerating. The tunnels are probably pretty big. I mean, if an army is going through them, it's probably, like, five people wide."

Oh, how terribly mistaken was I.

It only took about five minutes of walking through the tunnels before it was narrow enough that I only had to move my shoulder about three inches to the right or left to hit the walls. Then the roof lowered to only a foot above me. I tried to stay strong, I really did; but it wasn't long before I was reduced to tears.

I cried for twenty out of twenty-five or thirty minutes of the journey. God, it was terrible. The only thing that kept me from hyperventilating the entire time was knowing that if I managed to make myself pass out, I was going to just get trampled as I drowned in the calf-high water. By the end, I was practically pushing the others out.

That was probably THE most terrifying ordeal of my life. I was shaking at the end of it. Then some of the adults on the trip had the nerve to go laughing about how I was probably over my claustrophobia now. Yeah? Far from it. If anything it's probably worse.

So that's why I'm not going to bother trying to "tough it out" in the catacombs. It was a bad idea the first time and the sign of insanity is to do the same thing multiple times and still expect a different result. No thank you.

I think I'll just meet up with them at the Napoleon Museum.