Happy Fall. . . on being Alone

Tonight I am alone.

I am house sitting. And dog and bird sitting. I just watched the movie Elizabethtown and cried on the couch. With the dogs at my feet.

Alone.

It's been six months now--since the great debacle of 2013. It's been six months of making sure I am surrounded by people. By my parents. By my co-workers. By complete strangers. By college kids. By foreigners. By my sisters.

I have gone out of town almost every other weekend for six months straight. Really. Only twice have I stayed in town two weekends in a row. This has resulted in not only an entirely depleted bank account, but also an uneasy, discontent inner struggle with simply being. . . still.

I love being single. I love being single. I love not having to answer to anyone. I love living for myself and not having to worry about someone else. I love the feeling of boldness, moxy, sex appeal, regained independence--the pure courage that comes from looking life in the face and doing it on my own.  I love being FREE.

I do not love being alone.

I do not love not having a person to share life with. To share delicious food and independent films and road trips and future world travels with. I do not love not having a person to people watch with, and to hop into a car with two total strangers and rideshare from Fayetteville, Arkansas to Los Angeles, California. And I absolutely do not love not having a person to share the holidays with. The ugly Christmas sweaters with. The stocking stuffing with.


I do not love waiting tables either. Not even kind of.

But I do love my Little Hills family. I love that half the staff I work with is in high school. It makes me feel 16 again. . . ish.  I love that my food is everyone else's food and everyone else's food is mine. I love that all food and drink is shared, almost 100% of the time (Lexi--thanks for NOT sharing your sweet potato fries last night as I starved the night away). I love that we sing in the bev-room and rake up piles of leaves as if we're going to jump in them just to pass the time and give ourselves something to look forward to (even though in reality we know none of us will be jumping into a concrete pile of leaves). I love that I am working under some of the kindest, most caring managers I have ever had. I love that I work on a historic cobblestone street. And I love that the majority of customers are not only from out of town, but often from out of country.


I love that I am listening to "Montana" by Youth Lagoon right now.

Phenomenal.

I love that I was able to go on a hike today with my entire immediate family. All here in the U.S. All here in St. Louis, MO. For the first time in ten years. And although there are a lot of things I don't love about life right now, apparently there are also a lot of things I do.

More than being alone means physically not being with another person, it means being alone with my thoughts--which, quite honestly--is what terrifies me most of all. But it is during those times I am forced to face my fears. To analyze my current state of being. To dig deep into myself and find what it is that steals my Peace. What makes me feel alive. What breaks me down. Who has hurt me. Whom I have hurt. How I have lived well and how I have fallen short. And how to live better. . .



I don't love being alone. I don't think I ever will. But I hope to learn at least-- to be still.

Give a Farm

When I traveled to Uganda for the first time in 2009, I was blind to many harsh truths concerning the humanitarian aid being poured into the continent. In my mind, anything I could give to the people of Uganda was a gift that would better their lives for years to come. I loved seeing the smiles on children’s faces when I handed them candy, shillings, clothes, food, shoes and school supplies. I was helping the less fortunate Africans. I was changing the world! Or so I thought. . .

What I didn’t realize, but would come to learn a year later when I returned to Uganda to drill a well, was that my handouts were not helping the locals. My handouts were enabling them. There is a reason that an American cannot successfully walk the red dirt roads of Africa without hearing constant screams of “Mzungu(white person), you give me money!”

It is because we do.

We do give them money. When they ask for money, we give them money. When they ask for clothes, we give them clothes. When they ask for food, we give them food. And what does it teach them? It teaches them that if they need something they need not attempt to acquire it for themselves, but rather, can rely on humanitarian efforts to fulfill their needs.

We have created a continent of dependence.

Back in high school, I went to Mexico every year around Christmas time to build homes for the homeless. And since then, I have partaken in numerous humanitarian efforts. My intention was always good—I wanted to help people. What I didn’t realize back then was that for the most part, I was learning how to give temporary relief rather than lifelong sustenance.

I want to change that, and I want you to help.

What we can do together is change the world, one life at a time. We can give the power back to the people. We can provide them with a means of sustainability, rather than give them temporary aid that not only enables them, but hurts their local economy.

I want to give the Abba House orphanage and the fourty-two children therein a farm. I want to hire the locals and the boys from the orphanage who have aged out of the system to work the farm, thus creating opportunity for employment. I want to give them goats to fertilize the land and create additional income through breeding and selling. I want to give them the opportunity to provide for themselves. To feed themselves. To sell the surplus at a profit. They need a tractor. They need money to clear the land, farm the crops and hire work so that eventually, it will be self-sustaining.

Will you join me?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bk3844r6e_I

www.firstgiving.com (Kewl Farm Project)

25 Things

Many moons ago “25 Things” was going around Facebook. Someone made a list of 25 random facts about himself and then passed it on to others who were to read and do the same. I don’t remember if I ever did it. . . but due to the fact that my blogs have been quite heavy in nature the past—always—I figured it may do us all some good to make a ridiculously random list of facts:

1.     I am obsessed with plaid flannel shirts. If you are ever unsure what to get me for any birthday, holiday, peace offering, etc., you absolutely cannot go wrong with a plaid flannel shirt. My friend Carrie says this is disturbing, and also believes it is my deep rooted longing to wed a ‘country boy.’

2.     I am incapable of passing up a pile of leaves, no matter how small, with out running through them or jumping in them. This often times makes for awkward moments—especially when I am walking down Main Street with two nearly strangers having casual conversation and suddenly veer off the beaten path to crunch the leaves.

3.     I have never broken a bone in my body. Knock on wood, of course. I think Tomlinsons must just have incredibly strong bones, because now that I think about it I don’t think any of my siblings have broken a single bone in their body either.

4.     The coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life is swim alongside a 100-year-old sea turtle in the coral reefs of Malaysia. I felt like I was on the set of Finding Nemo during my entire snorkeling excursion. IN-credible.

5.     I have seen the movie ELF over 100 times. By over 100, I mean I have very likely seen it a thousand times, but that sounds slightly unbelievable, so I go with 100. When I was in college, I would stay up until 3 or 4a.m. almost every night ‘studying.’ I hated being the only one awake  in the apartment as it got lonely, so to provide background noise I played ELF on repeat throughout the night. . . every night. . . from October 1- January 1. These three months have affectionately become known as “Elf Season” by all who partook in such college madness.

6.     Every year, I cut down a small ‘Christmas’ tree on the side of the highway, or anywhere I can find one. I’m not entirely sure this is legal, but nonetheless it is a tradition. One year we accidentally cut down an entirely dead spruce tree. We got it home and upon realizing it was brown, I purchased a can of ‘pine’ colored spray paint and proceeded to paint my Christmas tree. It looked marvelous, in the end. We also had insanely painful spruce splinters for the remainder of the year as they became ingrained in our apartment carpet permanately.

7.     I once ate a fish eyeball while in Uganda, East Africa. It was really awful. I also ate roasted grasshoppers but those were actually quite tasty.  The most disgusting thing I have eaten in my entire life was cow intestine. I do not recommend it. Ever.

8.     The most beautiful place I’ve ever seen is the farmlands and surrounding mountains of Lewisburg & Mifflinburg, Pennsylvania. I have been more than a few places in my lifetime. Some exotic, some mountainous, some beach, some jungle, some forest. . . But I think what made PA so beautiful was that it was unexpected. I was there for a funeral and I was all kinds of broken. Not only that, but after recently returning from Thailand and India I just didn’t expect anything to be as beautiful. But it is. It is right here in my America. And I am grateful for that.

9.     I hate scary movies with a firey passion. ALL scary movies. Even barely scary movies. HATE them.

10.  My freshman year of college I play intramural football on a team called the ‘Nosepickers.’ We were not very good. The following three years I played on a team called the ‘Wonderwomen.’ We were WONDERful.

11.  I love country music. And yes, I am ashamed.

12.   I have a severe phobia of moths. Snakes? No problem. Spiders? Piece of cake. Cocroaches!?!? Fine with me. Moths? No-please. Not ever. Not even tiny ones.  I could tell you a really ridiculous story involving myself, an ATM, a moth the size of a sparrow, shrill screaming, forgetting my car was in drive, smashing my car door on the ATM poll, dollar bills flying everywhere, and my car coasting through the parking lot while I flail violently trying to get the bird-moth out of my car. . . But I won’t bore you with the details. . .  Also, I once did not shower for three days because there was a moth the size of my thumbnail in the shower curtain and I was too terrified to get it out and knew it would attack me while I showered.

13.  Stargazing is my absolute favorite thing to do in life.

14.  I cannot avoid puddles. Whether in my car, on a bike, or most especially on foot, if I see a puddle I absolutely must go through it. This causes a great deal of anxiety for my friends who happen to be mothers. They are not pleased with me at all when their children decide to follow my lead.

15.  If I could play any instrument perfectly, I would play the violin. I think stringed instruments are fantastic. I sometimes wish my dear mother would have forced violin upon us rather than piano. But, I am grateful for the piano talent/knowledge she did give me.

16.  When I was young, I used to pretend my bicycle was a horse. Really. I went as far as to tie a rope around it’s ‘neck.’ And name it. And feed it. And lead it along. And of course I wore cowboy boots and cowboy hat while I did all of this. I was an odd child. (Weren’t we all. . . ) And also one that wanted, since five years of age, to live in the country, but instead was raised in the suffocating suburbs of St. Louis.

17.  My brother shot me with a BB gun in the leg when I was ten.  His immediate response, as any protective older brother’s would be, was, “Don’t tell Dad.”

18.  I believe in Santa Claus. I’m not kidding. I leave cookies and milk.

19.  From kindergarten thru twelfth grade I was the Teacher’s Pet every single year.  Then college happened. And so did a 2.4 GPA. Go figure.

20.  I am INSANELY good on a pogo stick. I can do it with no hands, holding a plate, eating dinner, for minutes and minutes on end. I sometimes brag about this but no one believes me and there’s no way to prove it because let’s be honest, who has owned a pogo stick since. . . never.

21.  I can ride my bike with no handlebars.

22.  My sisters are my very best friends.

23.  The first time I ever got pulled over, I was sixteen and, according to the cop, was doing not one but six illegal things. Expired plates. Lack of brake lights. No seatbelt. No blinker. Speeding. Rolled a stop sign. I have been pulled over more than 25 times since then. Way more. I just quit counting after 25 because it became really depressing.

24.  My three favorite birthdays of all time were my 10^th, my sixteenth, and my 25^th. My tenth birthday was a surprise party. My sweet sixteen was just freaking awesome. (Thanks, Mom & Dad) and my 25^th was spent in Uganda, East Africa with my travel partner in action Stacie and the 42 orphans of Abba Home orphanage.

25.  Ask away. . . 

Bulls**t

My mom called bullshit on me today.

I am 29 years old. And for 29 years I have heard a number of rants and raves but never have I heard my mother say, “bullshit.”

Or just plain “shit.”

Never.

I live with my parents. It’s true. All the cool kids do, you know. I left Korea after teaching for a year and had quite a large sum of money saved up. But then I traveled Southeast Asia for a month. And then I bought a car in cash. And then I roamed the States, volunteered, made a movie, visited friends and remained unemployed for a while. And then I got a job waiting tables part time. . .

So, I live with my parents.

This morning my mother dragged me out of bed to have a chat. I sat, half asleep, bundled in my bathrobe, inhaling my coffee on the couch while she and my father attempted a life intervention.

“Listen, Rosie. I need to say a few things and if you choose to move out because of it, then so be it. I will mourn your absence, but so be it. . .”

She then went on to tell me I was not carrying my weight in the household concerning cleaning. I was given a list and I did not follow it. This was unacceptable, as I am living and eating there for FREE.

I agreed, and attempted to explain that the reason I do not follow the list is because I am still in denial that I actually live there and keep thinking I am merely “in transition” to my next destination. My next city. My next country. My next adventure.

I am not.

I live with my parents.

Then my mother asked me what my ‘plan’ was. I did not have one. I merely began shouting out words. “Broke!. . . Surviving!. . . Sub-teaching!. . . No!. . . Back to school?!. . . Waiting tables. . . Living on less than $300!!!!!!!!”

Somehow we got on the subject of piano playing. My sister had played a few days ago for hours at the winery I work at and I sat down for a couple minutes myself to play a piece or two. Apparently later that evening my sister’s friend told her I was an incredible pianist and full of passion and power. I mentioned this to my mother, and said I may want to start playing again. . .

Mom: Well, why don’t you? Why don’t you play, like your sister? You could play at weddings, at restaurants, at hotels. Why don’t you???

Me: I have stage fright. You know this.

Mom: Well get over it! It’s not that you have stage fright. It’s that you never practice! You’re not disciplined.  You even admitted that, in high school. You said your teacher always said she could tell you had been practicing and you would laugh because you hadn’t been practicing. You were just that good.

Me: I did practice! I practiced that one song. Over and over and over. I practiced it endlessly. I perfected it. And then, on the day of the recital I botched it. How do you not remember this? I never played again. That’s why. Because I ruined the one piece I could play perfectly because I was terrified.

And that’s when it happened.

Mom: Oh, Bullshit!!! You know I don’t ever cuss. Not ever! But there’s absolutely no other word for it but that! You are incredibly talented and it’s bullshit that you’re letting it go to waste!

My mother then went on to tell me that I am “mediocre at many things.” Yes. She said this.

She told me I am mediocre at many things, even really good at many things, but excellent at nothing because I entirely lack discipline. She told me I could be a phenomenal pianist, because I already have the talent, I just refuse to make an effort. She told me I could be a phenomenal photographer, but I’m not, because I never did take the time to learn my camera or take a single photography class. She said other things, but was resonated most of all, as I said, was

Bullshit.

I am thankful for my parents. I am thankful that my mother chose this morning to say bullshit to me, because the fact that it took her 29 years to say it made it mean all the more.

She is right.

I am mediocre at many things, and it is due completely to my lack of self-discipline. I own a nice camera, and have plenty of opportunity to take classes and further my business. I have a 40,000 word manuscript that has been in the works for four years now and an editor in Ames, Iowa waiting for an e-mail containing the last two pages. I have interviews and footage and song rights from a well-established band that is all part of a funding campaign for a sustainable farm project in Uganda, East Africa. I have a four-year degree. I have a piano collecting dust in Fayetteville, Arkansas.

When I first moved back to St. Louis I learned to embrace my freedom as a single, career-less, carefree woman. And I loved it. I still do. But now I spend my days thrift shopping and drinking with money I don’t have. Waiting tables for pennies. Complaining about waiting tables. Complaining in general.

I am happy with my life. I am having a blast and embracing my age and my job and the fact that I am back in St. Louis. I really am.

But my mother is right. I am a waste of talent.

I can play piano with ridiculous passion. I can write. I can take damn good pictures. I can advocate for a good cause and successfully raise money for it. I used to mentor young girls. I used to drill wells in third world countries. I used to sit in a classroom full of bi-lingual, 6 year old Koreans and teach them Laughing Yoga before class and then force them to listen to bluegrass while we journaled. I used to ride elephants.

And now I wait tables.

And I drink too much.

And I spend too much.

And I am mediocre at many things.

I went for a drive after my shift today. My goal was to find ‘the countryside’ of St. Charles County and I did. I drove for three hours. I roamed and took back-roads and found fields and horses and cows and corn and barns and river subcultures and used googlemaps to pin drop “Perfect Stargazing” spots. I blasted the heat and rolled down the windows and screamed “’I’M FREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” at the top of my lungs as I fully embraced and found full joy and pride in my singleness. And my ability to do whatever I want in life, if I so choose.

And then I got a text message. My best friend’s sister had just committed suicide. I pulled over and sobbed uncontrollably.  I imagined losing my own sister. I remembered a time when I wanted to take my own life. I wondered if there was a single thing I could say to my dear friend to ease the pain.

There wasn’t.

As I broke down in my car on the side of the road a middle-aged man in a neon yellow jacket rode by on his bike. He had headphones in and was singing at the top of his lungs. I wanted to yell at him out my window, “SHUTUP!!! Someone just died, you know! A life just ended! How can you be singing???”

He was singing because he was embracing the life he still had.

I will do the same.

*Disclaimer: Waiting tables is in no way a profession to be ashamed of or one that means you have ‘settled’ in life. Some people are realllllly good at it and can even make a career of it, and those people I am honestly impressed with. . . . But I am not one of those people. I am not the best server. I am a mediocre server J Therefore, I do not wish to do it the rest of my life. That is all. . . .

In Memory

I haven’t been to a funeral in eleven years.

I realized this when I was rummaging through my closet to find a black dress. I wondered aloud, Well, what did I wear to the last funeral I went to? I couldn’t remember. It took me a minute to realize it was John’s funeral. My high school classmate who died in a freak car accident on the first day of our senior year.

Eleven years ago.

Eleven is quite a long stretch of time during which I did not lose a single person. Not in death anyway.

The funeral I was headed to this time wasn’t for someone close to me. It was for someone I had never met. I was going to my best friend’s sister’s funeral. She had taken her own life and I was flying to Pennsylvania to offer the only thing I possibly could—myself.

There’s nothing you can say to someone that has just lost a friend, a daughter, a mother, a sister. There’s nothing you can say to take away the pain, or even to quell it at all. There’s nothing you can do to convince them one day they really will feel okay again. One day they really will laugh again.

When I arrived in Lewisburg and saw Fern I embraced her, and immediately felt sick to my stomach. We were surrounded by her family. She is one of ten children and all of her siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews were present. I cannot begin to express to you the sickening, overwhelming feelings of loss, regret, guilt—pain that permeated the air from that moment through the following days.

I cannot comprehend such a loss. I tried to imagine my own sister in the coffin and I simply could not. Even still as I sit here and write it seems like a bad dream, just as Fern said.  It is unreal.

I told Fern I did not know what to say. I told her I did not know what to do. I told her I was not going to pretend to understand because I simply don’t. I told her I could offer an embrace, an ear, my presence. I told her between sobs that I’m sorry I cannot fix her. I told her that I’m sorry I can’t take away the pain.

Being in such an environment felt so foreign to me. Not because I was at a funeral, but because I was amidst broken people. I realized something quite eye-opening during that few days. I realized that I could not remember the last time I took on someone else’s pain.

I could not remember the last time I looked outside myself.

The last few months have been painful. I lost someone I cared deeply for and though not in death, it sure felt that way. It has been a crazy ride. At times I have grieved and at times I have been numb. I have been sorry and I have been pissed. I have felt anger and finally, I have felt Joy. But more than anything, I have thought only of myself. I have wallowed in my own pain and loss and misery for so long that I have been entirely unaware of anyone but myself.

And so, for Miriam. . .

Miriam. I did not know you and I will not pretend to. I do not know much about you at all because regrettably, I never got to meet you. But I did spend four days with your family as they mourned over you. So I can tell you what I saw.

I saw your mother, father, sisters and brothers sit on the front lawn for hours at a time talking about you. They talked about who you used to be. They talked about how you used to laugh. They talked about how at one time you were such a lover of life. They talked about how deeply you loved your daughters and what a good mother you were. They talked about how your daughters were your world, and it tore you apart that you could not be more a part of their lives. They talked about how they were sorry. For not trying harder. For giving up. They talked about how badly they wish you could come back. They talked about how they were all better people for having known you. They talked about your COURAGE.

Miriam. The world is a better place because of you. I know this as I said, not because I ever got the privilege of knowing you personally, but because I witnessed the legacy you left behind. Your daughters will be treasured, and everyone in your family will live a fuller, truer, braver life from knowing you.

Thank you for teaching my sweet Fern to be brave. And thank you for teaching Me how to look outside myself.

Please see link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b0LNhIaGAUw

"Comes And Goes (In Waves)"

-Greg Laswell-

This one's for the lonely, the one's that seek and find

Only to be let down time after time

This one's for the torn down, the experts at the fall

Come on friends get up now you're not alone at all

Oh oh oh, oh oh oh

Oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh

And this part was for her

And this part was for her

This part was for her

Does she remember?

It comes and goes in waves

This one's for the faithless, the ones that are surprised

They're only where they are now regardless of their fight

This one's for believing if only for it's sake

Come on friends get up now love is to be made

Oh oh oh, oh oh oh

Oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh

And this part was for her

And this part was for her

This part was for her

Does she remember?

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

It comes in goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

Why I, why I try

This is for the ones who stand

For the ones who try again

For the ones who need a hand

For the ones who think they can

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

It comes and goes in waves, I

Am only led to wonder why

Why I, why, why I fly