What is your view?

Perspective. It all depends on where you are. I used to be very preoccupied with the present but lately, questions about the future seem to be more prevalent. I was in a hotel recently where my mom and I stayed on the 18th floor. And in Orlando, you can count the number of buildings that tall on two hands. I could see for miles and miles. And it made me think: up here, my problems down there don't seem so big. Or maybe that they don't seem so dire.

As I search for a sense of purpose in life, I can't find the right perspective. I feel like I don't even have any. I had a plan (Go to grad school) now that that isn't happening I don't know where to go from here. I had applied to two schools and felt optimistic about either. When it did not happen, I am left with a void where my passion and perseverance once stood. The fighter in me knows I will never stop writing, but is it what I am meant to do? I don't know any more.

All I ever wanted for the last 5 years of my life was to write books and get them published and teach. And it was a dormant goal, one that was hibernating in me for a long time. I never knew I wanted to be a writer. I just loved to write. I never thought about making a profession out of it until about two years ago. I was having a heart to heart chat with some girlfriends over 5 (yes 5 don't judge) bottles of wine shared between all of us. After dispensing some romantic advice to her, my friend Katie looked at me and said "I cant wait for you to write books that I can buy someday." This was not the first time nor the last time I heard a friend make a comment like that to me. And it took many times over for me to believe that I might have something worth while to contribute to the world in print.

That night, the seed of hibernating passion came out from a restful winter. It is a passion I hold so strongly now. I know I must do it. Now, I just don't know how. I thought grad school was the path. Now, there is no clearly defined path. I don't feel compelled to keep trying to apply at lots of places. I did feel that way after the first time. Now, I feel as though perspective is my present goal. What does this mean for my path and my passion?

It's all a matter of perspective. I guess it feels like the end of the world to me but hey, I am still breathing, writing, and trying to make a meaningful life outta my one shot. It took my 18 stories up to see there are many roads to get to your destination. So I hit a dead end. Now I just have to turn around, take a look around, and see where the next road leads.

From this day forward

So much of life is about two things: thinking about how far you've come and how far you would still like to go.

I can't think of a day that I don't think about the miraculous things I was able to survive thus far in my life. A corrosive ex-fiance, a car crash in the ice that could have been fatal, a cross-country relocation (twice so far), dark days of depression, a ruptured appendix on Christmas day just to name a few. But in ten years from now, what will I say I overcame?

Or maybe I'll ask - how did I get the joy back?

I used to have these moments, moments where I was so happy to be alive, so happy to have survived, so happy to have gotten so far by my own measure. I would be in that moment so completely. I would close my eyes and smile at the landscape of my life and thirst for more, for the joy that future would bring. Slowly in the past couple of years, those days seem to have dried up like a piece a fruit cut open, left susceptible to the elements, decaying slowly. The life of those moments dried up when I was cut open by something along the way.

Ever since getting turned down from grad school again, god took away the dried fruit all together. There is nothing left to wither away now. There is nothingness left. It feels so heavy on my soul. It's ironic how heavy something that is absent can feel.

Maybe it was because I used to travel more. Maybe it was because I never felt a lack of purpose in my life till recently. It's like I was reading the most amazing book and suddenly turned a page to find the next one empty. The text stopped, right in the middle of all the action. I want to keep reading but there is nothing I can see. The pages are blank. I can't see what is supposed to be there.

I feel like lately, god has given me a mission to stop planning, to stop trying so hard to be something and focus on just being. And that doesn't sit well with the restless Aries that I am. Give me a mission, I will tackle it. Unless the mission is to do nothing. I just keep staring at those blank pages in frustrated rage, thinking that if I can just will it to, the story will continue. But it doesn't. I've been doing that for the past week, trying to will the future to come to fruition to me.

The quote "we must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us" keeps playing over and over in my head, like a song on repeat. It's like god is bashing that suddenly blank book on my head saying "do you think getting all huffy will help reveal your path any sooner?"

I have been known to take the long route when trying to get somewhere. I like to bang my head against the door for a while before making a decision. My uncle once said "Well you'll keep banging your head against the door long enough that when it hurts enough, you'll stop." It's maddening I tell you! How can I keep wanting and searching for a plan so badly when it seems to be the one that keeps eluding me lately? How can a smart girl like me do something that crazy when it is so frustrating? Wait....don't answer that. If I knew the answer to that question, I could have saved a lot of doors and not just my own.

Call this my quarter life crisis. It feels like it is. It is as though that book I was reading wasn't just any ole book, it was a map. And there are no directions now. Just whiteness. And I don't expect it to be something someone else could tell me. I know it's something I need to discover. I look back at the cover and remember something important: the road doesn't stop just because you can't see it in front of you. "Margo's survival map of success" is a guide but with no guaranteed routes. It only tells me that first and foremost, I will survive. It can't promise me where I will go, only that I can succeed where ever I choose.

So maybe the blank pages are really just a choice, a success, a joy that has yet to be. The blank pages aren't as antagonistic as I think they are. They are not saying (as I fear they were) "there is nothing from here on out." What I think they are really saying is "----------------->here is your future joy and success, whatever the future brings."

And maybe I have to think that to keep hope. But I'm really ok trying to keep hope alive when there is nothing but blank pages right now. I think the best of success in life is first grounded in a strong cement slab of hope. So I'll keep holding on my suddenly blank book in hopes that the future pages will be filled up soon!

Waves......

Waves. There are so many different kinds. There are the small waves that tickle your toes, wash away the sand, and leave you feeling renewed. There are the messy waves that knock you off your feet, that splash salt water in your eyes. There are waves that are like paintings; sandy blue with messy edges that are best left to roll forward while we watch. Then there are the big ones. The waves that you don't see coming, hidden behind the peaceful waves. They sneak up on you, blindsiding you. You loose your balance instantly, forgetting which way is up or down. Everything becomes blurry, disorienting, scary. Those waves suck you under, causing you to gasp at breath. You are merely just a puppet dancing in waves of strings. And swimming through it, you are, tangled, lost, drowning.

I've had that experience once surfing. I thought looking "up" that this was it. I might not make it to the surface. Then, by some twist of the waves, I bobbed up like a life vest jumping to the surface. I screamed to a friend nearby. He swam over and gave me short hand paddles and I plowed back to shore as if my life depended on it as it very much did at that moment. I loved to surf. I haven't surfed since that day.

Waves are stronger than they look. They don't just knock us off our feet. They can carry us away. That day at the beach, it felt like strong hands reached out and pulled me down. But waves don't just take you, they absorb into you.

I never quiet understood fully, until recently, why people talk about waves washing through you. Waves of sadness have no other route but to pass through.

You could be talking to someone about weddings, thinking about your favorite movie, writing an email, and BAM. The wave washes through you, seconds that linger like years passing by. You forget where you are. For a time, however long or short, you forget that you exist outside of that wave of sadness. It encompasses you. It swallows you.

Then, how ever many moments later, you remember that it was just a wave. It has an ebb and flow. So as it flows, it will also always recede. But those kinds of waves, they don't leave us completely right away. They leave a residue. It leaves us tarnished. It is as though while the wave washed through us, it stole something from us when it retreated.

As waves have washed over me in my life, both literally and emotionally, they have always taken their toll. Those waves while surfing took away my confidence to keep surfing. Present waves of sadness rob me of my endurance, perseverance, my sense of purpose. Even if it's only momentary, it still absorbs the possibilities around me, eliminating them from my view. And all I am left with is the feeling that I am permeable, susceptible to damage by even the smallest wave.

Maybe I will have the opportunity, and faith, to surf again. And maybe, I will be better able to avoid those waves that have blindsiding me. Till then, I will let the waves wash through in hopes that they will carry me through the dark waters to the light.

Rejection

Rejection. It’s personal. It’s painful. It’s agonizing how deep it strikes the core of who we are. Like someone reached in and took out your most intimate scary bits and shook them around in your face saying “how does it feel to fail?”

I never thought of myself as the type of person who would have to try so hard to be accepted. But there are many kinds of acceptance. In my case, it is regards to graduate school.

As I sit at my desk, my cheeks are painfully red, hot tears pouring over my eyelids. I have tears that are falling from my face to my leg and sliding down to my ankle. The sadness and pain roll over me, just like the tears over my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I cried from such a vulnerable place.

Grad school application #2 – rejected.

I would love to say that I cried a few tears and then wiped my face and made my next plan of attack. But I haven’t. I did that last time when I was rejected from another school. Now, fate seems to be throwing me a curve ball I don’t know how to interpret. Keep going or change course? Buck up and keep fighting? Find the will to prove them wrong and apply again?

There is no will to try again.

I have no energy in me to hope. Not yet anyways.

Pain like this feels like there a viewing gallery in the heavens, where there must be more people watching me fall apart than I can see. I feel that exposed the emotion so near to the surface that it is literally on my surface in the form of tears. God must have invented tears as a way to let the pain to get out. There is no biological way pain of such depth could remain inside the body.

Maybe you have to feel like shit before you can feel better about something so painful. And it’s only painful because I wanted it so badly. I found the perfect program. I would be able to do my degree without moving, I could study and travel, I could get the education I so desperately desired.

But that’s the thing about desire. It’s a drug that takes ownership of our confidence, of our hope. And when the possibility of it is eliminated, all you are left thinking is “Where the fuck do I go from here?”

I just so desperately want to prove to the world that I am good at writing. It seems like the universe has been pulling me towards trying. As if I have found my mission in life and no one I try to convince believes in me enough to help me make it happen. And feeling like I am all out of "try" (at least for today) is more crushing than the disappointment.

Rejection makes you question everything. “Why am I not good enough? Why didn’t they want me? What could I have done differently? Is it worth getting this upset about if I could pick myself up and make a new plan tomorrow? Should I even try again?”

There is light for me, even if I can't see it today. But damn this shit sucks. And I have never been ok with things being shitty. But acceptance, the final stage of grief, is looming around the corner, a very BIG corner. So I am going to continue not being ok till I have no other choice but to be ok.

I have never been fond of “no” and it has now been cemented as my least favorite word. Nor fond of possibilities eliminated.

I am in the emotional place equivalent to laying on the cold concrete floor in a parking garage ten levels underground down where you can go down no more.

I guess I should see that as positive right? If you can’t get worse, you can only get better from here.

And old hair stylist and I once decided that all great stories start with someone on the floor. Here’s to my great story to come.