Into A Daybreak That's Wonderously Clear

January began with a lot of ignorant sisterhood. I still thought I was being honest with myself. I thought the resentment I felt was my own character exhibiting its many flaws. I didn't know. I had no idea. I applied to Lawrence at the last second. I wrote acrostic poems. I was still in love.

February. Fiddler started. For once, I didn't have to fight to prove my own worth. After almost two years, it felt good to have strings under my fingers again. "What you meant to say was singing is your entire life, besides me." I thought I had escaped mortification. My voice was quiet. Second period made me think that maybe I could be a whole person by myself. I liked a boy. I worried that I wouldn't sleep in New York. I dreamed of Wisconsin. I was still in love. I was a phoenix in its dying days.

March. I don't really know how to talk about March still. I remember New York in excruciating detail, but the weeks after that are lost to me. I left that city a completely different person than I arrived. In short order, the city showed its effect on me. I relaxed into bold honesty. My beautiful friends dared me to believe in my own independence. Every second I could, I wrote in my book everything that happened around me.  I loved the weather. The performance in Carnegie Hall was absolutely everything I ever dreamed it would be. I am in the process of understanding what exactly happened inside me the night before we performed. But I know this: I was so completely shattered as a person that I was forced to rebuild myself from the ground up. I knew then that it was over. I learned that I can do exactly what I want with my words without raising my voice.  When I came home, I was not in love anymore. My voice changed.

April. I threw myself into Fiddler and everything else fell by the wayside. The Corner saved my life.  And the wedding dance.  I could have ripped myself up from the inside out. Third party validation on several fronts made me believe that I had done what was best for me, no matter how difficult it is to start over in a pile of ashes. I retreated into my notebook. One night,  I wrote one of my best pieces in the space of twenty minutes. I got accepted into Lawrence. I started swimming again. I started being honest in situations where it wasn't welcome. I realized that I am an introvert, not a blossoming extrovert. I spent time with people who knew how to care about me. My resentment grew more harsh. I stopped dismissing myself. Someone ran a red light and destroyed my dad's car. For a few days, I knew no one. I left Anatevka for the first time.  It was too late for sisterhood. I realized that I would be an English/Gender Studies double major. I gave a senior speech on closing night.

May was when I realized how lucky I am to have a life so stable and full of love and knowledge. I got stuck at a pot party. I liked another boy, and we made prom plans. I had a hysterical breakdown every day for a week. My church asked my to write for the summer show. I tried to process the middle parts of New York and couldn't. I was a loud and proud bass, and I fell in love with German.

June was good. At prom, we talked about Klipspringer and he held my hand. I wrote about the lights of Los Angeles and started work for the summer show. I planned for Fiddler, again. My last Costa choir concert was perfect. I felt content in The Corner when I should have been panicked. I wrote a monologue at the last minute and it was about Sunday morning in New York and I presented it and almost broke down. I surprised everyone with my voice in the senior recital. I didn't care about yearbooks at all. I decided to be optimistic about the future. (To Me, Choir Is...) GRAD night was the worst.  But I had great friends.

July.  My one-act was controversial and popular and important. I found Tracy and was liberated. I answered the audience's questions with enthusiasm and poise. I forgot that I was supposed to be feeling lonely. I cut off my hair for the wrong reasons. I wore a bikini for the first time. My admission was questioned, and I planned to run away to Vermont. I couldn't do Les Mis, but I didn't really want to.

August. I ran Asher tribe in Vacation Bible Explorers, and it was the best accident of the summer. My eleven kids were (are) fantastic. I talked to Lawrence and booked my flight for Wisconsin. I counted the days. I realized how beautiful my friends are. Fiddler was incredible. I let Maggie go without saying anything, which was a mistake I won't make again. I realized the extent of my damage. I put my cello away for maybe the last time. I started reading again. I realized how essential to my mental health writing is. I got my tattoo.

September. My first few days in Wisconsin were wonderful. Our hotel staff was dumb, but Appleton was charming and beautiful, and I really liked spending time with my dad. My choir audition went really well. The choir retreat was wonderful because I decided to not be afraid to meet new people. My first performance in studio was not awful. My classes were fantastic. I made friends(!) I had a breakdown about clarinet. And I had to make some really difficult decisions about that. I realized I can't stand Geology.

October. I realized that sometimes, women are so beautiful that I can't breathe. I realized that I have a lot of things to work on. I realized who I really miss from home. I realized that people at Lawrence  care about you and are really intelligent and wonderful. I auditioned for Appletones and not Conchordance, which was a mistake. I saw Michelle Obama! I realized that I'm not a light weight. Halloween was stupid.

November. I voted. Wisconsin went blue and put a lesbian in office. I decided to trust the people around me. I remembered again how much I love musicals. I was able to control my rage when I wrote about New York. I read at a few poetry readings. I  liked a girl. I hit a wall in terms of being away from home, and then pushed through it. I realized what good friends I have at school. I decided to stop being so timid. Tenth week was merciless, but I passed my first term. I flew home by myself. I didn't reach fifty thousand words. I felt restless in my house.

December. I turned nineteen. I kept working through New York. I realized how much I miss school. I realized how much I've changed in three months. I gained weight and didn't care. I realized how difficult it is to have friends so far away. I fixed things with my band director, and my mom taught me that sometimes, bad things happen to good people because the world has to learn new things.  I liked a girl. I sang a lot with wonderful people. I didn't go to the ocean.

Resolutions:
1. Don't wait until tenth week.
2. Avoid being hurtful.
3. Pay back every opportunity.
4. Have the courage to  always be honest.
5. Let go of old shame.

Untitled California No. One

It’s ten thirty three at night.
The living room is empty, but I
still don’t feel like singing.
It’s colder than it should be in California regardless
of the imminent winter.
Your lowercase love notes are not for me,
and neither is this disheartened rain.
Monday has already arrived in Wisconsin,  and I
think maybe I should go back, or at lest call
Even though the storms there frighten me,
Because fear is better than nothing at all
and the rain here couldn’t care less.

Layover

I don't feel any different.
Nothing feels any different.

I just know what I mean now.
(And apparently I have an accent but I don't really hear it.)
Maybe I don't hear anything else yet, either.

We'll see next week.


Anyway. I'm really glad to be home.

Holocene

I was not magnificent

I still need to be alone. 

But what I've found here is the will to meet my potential.

I can taste the freedom in that. 

It fills my bones. It's indescribable. 

And I can see for miles, miles, miles...

Asher

Volunteering for Vacation Bible Explorers was literally one of the very best choices I have made all summer. My eleven kids were incredible and I just want to watch them all grow up. They read and sing and giggle, and  despite the fact that I still have “Awesome God” stuck in my head, I wouldn’t change anything that happened this week. It couldn’t have been better.

Smashing Asher, we're the master!

I feel so excited to leave. September the first speaks to the Potterhead in my heart. My roommate is great and my dorm is substance-free and my auditions are nothing to be worried about. For the first time in a long time, I feel legitimately fantastic about going to school, apart from my inclination to feel awful about how much money my parents are spending for this school. 

This next part of my life is going to be very, very good.

What We Saw From The Cheap Seats

The piano is not firewood yet

• I cut off my hair. Finally. 

• To me, choir is a collection of I-don't-know-why-I-didn't-cry. 

• I accepted the end of the year sitting alone in the band hall with you. I would rather duet with you any day.

• Yet again, this show is proving me wrong. I think it's the wonderful company. 

• I am of the opinion that whatever happens will be for the best in the long run. I could always go to New York(!) 

•  I should be writing every day. 

• I think too much about what this will mean in twenty years. 

• Nothing is ever going to be exactly as it is now. 

• Well maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe

Closing

     The golden age was wrapped in a brilliant darkness that flowed in the spaces between them, in the universes between their eyes when they met. 

     For several years, it was lost to me, to all of us, and the night sky was empty of the sorrow and passion and inexplicable timelessness that was so palpable when the great stars shined before. 

     But tonight, I looked out at the celestial ceiling and found a darkness so full of Clair de Lune and irrevocable navy homesickness that contrasted so sharply with the ephemeral light in my kitchen, I nearly fell to weeping. 

I haven't the words to describe just how quietly the eternity of love slips away.

Liberated

The wee hours of the morning are my favorite, always. Between two and ten o'clock, the world is astoundingly clear and astoundingly beautiful.

I am ready for today. And tomorrow. And for poetry(?!) and tech and opening night.

I'm not ready to close. Not yet.

That's alright. I will be.

Tainted

I. The insecurities I’ve held beneath my skin since I walked into Deadrock are running rampant. I feel them in the blanket of scars covering my arms, bleeding out inside me.
a. For something that felt like a lifetime, (seven minutes), I truly believed that you thought I was worth more than the stars at the tips of our fingers. Perhaps that’s why they’ve crossed me so.
b. I was tempted to scream “I love you” at the slate afternoon to see if I could ever be loud enough for you to hear me. But in a year, it has never reached far enough. My voice is tired of berating the retreating sunlight.
c. For an hour, I sat still in a place reserved for panic in a home that is no longer mine. I listened as the rhythmic lesson in self-worth floated to the floor of my mind.
d. (I have known you as the sky itself. I believed in you as one may believe in creation or the end of the world.)
 - When I needed a place to hide from the constant beating of the sun and rain, cracks appeared in the floors and walls, and dissonance leaked into the home of resolution I made for myself.
 - ‘Safe’ is but a small word for immeasurable illusions.
 - I have nowhere left to go.

Lawrence University

I am over the moon about it.

The Blue and the Dim and the Dark

I pulled aside curtains the shade of unremarkable nights lost and with absentminded curiosity unlocked the window. It reluctantly opened a few inches, and the indistinct sound of quiet souls searching for closure in city lights slipped in for a moment, and then was on its way. Outside, I could see the single windows of every other room in my wing, all shut tight against the forlorn captivity of their fellow occupants. A million weary bricks were stacked to infinity around the small pockets of human insecurity, building a fortress that greatly exceeded the vision of my own obstinate window. By craning my neck, I barely made out the tiny points of the bright otherworld that lay so far out of reach, just beyond the fingertips of the "angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night."

New York

I stepped onto the plane terrified. But quickly, (a word which in this instance can be defined as 'in about two hours') I realized I had nothing to be worried about. Stability is as stability does, and flying is still the safest way to travel, so.
There was a moment when I first got to my room. I just stood there and let it sink in. New York City. I looked out the window and saw nothing but brick. I grinned like a fool.

In short order, the city showed its effect on me. I relaxed into bold honesty. My beautiful friends dared me to think about taking care of myself. They've placed their full trust in me, which is a very nice feeling. Every second I could, I wrote in my book everything that happened around me. I didn't freeze. I loved the weather. My literal fear of freezing was a mere whisper in the back of my mind, overwhelmed with the feelings of the city. I like walking everywhere.

Wicked was unbelievable. Defying Gravity brought tears to my eyes. The set was so intricate and the pit was so clean I just. My goodness. It rained after, and on the walk back to the hotel, I basked in it.
Anton Armstrong is wonderful. I love the way he ran rehearsal, though I like my music to be grammatically correct and well-written. I sang loud. Thank you New York. Saturday was a very proud day for me and our whole department. With my favorite six-year-old holding my hand, my family and I explored the city. The Stardust Diner made me want to be on Broadway. I got home in early that evening and took three hours for myself.

On Sunday, I didn't eat. Instead of waking up to go to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, I lay in bed making the conscious decision to not make a rash or reckless choice regarding my mortality the day before my biggest dream came true.

I smiled all day on Sunday. Arm in arm with my favorite nugget and my pretentious friend, I stayed warm in spite of the efforts of the chill creeping in on me. Before our final rehearsal, I thought to myself, This is the performance of a lifetime. This dream has lasted nine years and no person has come close to breaking that record. This is yours and no one can take it from you.
Despite the fact that I was nearly falling off the risers and very scarily close to fainting, the performance was everything I ever wanted it to be. Something I have no name for filled my heart when I stepped into the hall and it still hasn't left me. There was a bit of a free-for-all in the halls that evening, but I kept quiet. I'm ignoring the rumors about what happened outside our little sanctuary.

St. John the Divine was stunning. I sat in quiet reverence, not daring to breath as Come Sweet Death echoed in every crevice of the cathedral. The Italian food was wonderful. The plane ride home, initially hopeless and loaded with questions I didn't want to answer, ended very cheerfully. After another series of moments of quiet friendship, I turned on Things and retreated, finally letting myself feel fully everything I needed to feel. I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful scene I've ever been fortunate enough to witness. I decided I like flying. I like it very much. I wrote a lot.

I feel as though I've been in New York for weeks or months, not five days. I feel out of place here. But I didn't feel completely in place there. I feel alone, but in a nice way. I feel like finding myself is going to be a very wonderful adventure.

Tomorrow morning, I am going to get on a plane and fly toward my dream of nine years. All day, I've been grinning uncontrollably.

But sitting in my living room, watching my family pack, I felt unease nagging at the corner of my mind, quietly draining my excitement. All I could think of was how it would feel to leave home and not come back.

I don't want to be worried. I am living the dream.

Maybe it's the break-up in the airport. Maybe it's the flying. Maybe it's something I don't even recognize yet.

I wish my mind was quiet.

Before I Die, (A Short Excerpt)

Finish school, (but never my education)

Perform on the stage of my dreams

Publish a book

Live in New York City

Be the one who leans in first

I wanted to be eloquent with this.

Oh well.
I am terrified. All I know how to do is unrequited. I've never known anything else. Anything other than that is just... I don't know.
The thing is that I have to let go. I have to let go of what's been in my heart since day one and make room for the rest of my life.
And as tears threatened to overwhelm the gates of my lashes, you rolled the windows down and turned up the music. Glory filled the car and I knew that everything is going to end up exactly as it should.
(Thank you)

Note to Self -

You have a great deal of self-respect. You don’t need anyone in your life who only wants you when they’re trashed. You are better than that. You deserve better than that. And if that means using the last ounce of your patience and good judgment, so be it. You’ll be in control always, and that’s better than wasted emotion and blurry intentions.
Stay prudent. Stay proud.

Light

     Early evening is one of your favorite times of day, most of the time. Not tonight. You're not thinking about it tonight. Emotions have replaced thoughts, emotions that are idly reflected in the pastel bubbles floating across the screen of your laptop. Instead of shaking the mouse to clear them from your conscience, you look away, out the window, wishing the little orbs moved slower.
     Outside, a much larger orb is leaving your world for the western horizon. An endless pale grey shadow coats the inhabitants of you east-facing window in shades of dull surprise. The yellow glow of your lamp is the travesty of a replacement for the brilliance of the nearly-departed star.
     As the sun finally escapes the suffocating Los Angeles sky, your computer attempts to fall asleep. It's as tired as you are of staring at the corners of maple lakes, the place where eyelashes meet. The PC doesn't understand why you exhaust your energy trying to describe that miniscule, unfathomable place where radiance is born. You see the sunrise every morning; Isn't that enough? it asks silently.
Street lights flicker on, casting mediocre spotlights on asphalt as dark and unforgiving as the night itself. They too are attempting to replace the sun. It crosses your mind that such a feat it impossible, but the idea is meaningless to you, and it lazily drifts away.
     Nighttime seeps in through the open window. Your lamp seems even more ridiculous than it had a moment ago, dimmer and more pathetic. You know you are like the lamp; useful in the absence of the sun, but worthless next to its full glory.
     You are not saddened by this comparison. Slightly mortified, yes, but nothing more. It's too late to entertain defiance or irritation, and fatigue effortlessly drowns any semblance of pride you had in the warmth of this winter's late morning. All you can do is keep the lamp flickering until the sun rises again.

Desperate mediocrity at its very best.

Definite article
Used to mark a proper noun, with specializing or particularizing effect
Used with or as part of a title
*Used to indicate the best known, most approved, most important, most satisfying, etc.
————————————————————
Noun
Resentment against a rival, a person enjoying success or advantage, or the success or advantage itself
*Mental uneasiness from suspicion or fear of rivalry or unfaithfulness
Vigilance in maintaining or guarding something
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Noun
Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc. of a person or thing; Confidence
Confident expectation of something
*Hope.