beauty

When I was a little girl, maybe around the age of 6 or 7, I used to beg my mother to take me to this Art Deco furniture place on Poplar Ave, just down the street from Dan West. Its still there-- small, packed with colorful furniture, crazy mirrors, and lamps. I never wanted to buy anything, but could spend literally hours running my little stubby fingers over the vibrant red fabric of love seats, and lying on the royal purple fainting couches, marveling that anyone would make furniture this bright and beautiful (and uuuuncomfortable, but beautiful-- in other words, everything ours was not). Mom didn't get as much joy out of going there. Whether it was because of the haughty Asian owners that glared at her socks-and-clogs combination or the price tags stuck to the surface of the very fragile mirrors I loved to twirl in front of, I'm not sure. Because of this, it was a rare occasion for us to actually set foot in the place. Most times I just begged until I was blue in the face. But on the rare occasion that she stopped the car, it was magical every time.

The world is obsessed with beauty. Beautiful people, beautiful homes, beautiful stories. We delight in the "perfect" marriages of glamorous stars and marvel at the bright art deco furniture only the very wealthy could afford. The thing that blows is that even though we know deep down (sometimes really deep down) that the glittering surface is merely a facade and there's no way it is actually as perfect as it seems, its still becomes the ultimate desire-- "if only I had a house as beautiful as so and so" "if only your father looked like Brad Pitt" "if only we made enough money that he wouldn't have to buy broken down Hondas and fix them up" (oh that last one is just me, eh?) The grass is always greener, insert every cliche under the sun. Bottom line: we aren't happy with what we have because the world tells us we need more, and that if its beautiful, its right.

Its my number one Achilles heel, beauty. Somehow it got twisted into my mind that if I could make the surface appear beautiful, it would spread throughout. If I could appear okay on the outside, surely I would heal on the inside. If I smiled, I would be happy. If I loved others more, I would love myself more. And honestly? It just doesn't work like that folks. (Shocker, right? Most lessons I learn daily, a kindergartner would roll their eyes at, so its okay to judge me...)

How many times do I have to learn that I love everyone more (including myself) by loving Jesus more? How many times do I have to learn that happiness is fleeting and joy is eternal? How many times will my strive for worldly beauty affect my strive for eternal beauty?

I am an imperfect person. Couldn't possibley be more imperfect. But the truth is, I have been given a gift of the greatest beauty, so far beyond anything this world can offer. And daily I take a shit on that beauty. And the next day it is given back to me, shining and as beautiful as ever. I have been purchased and paid for, I am a SLAVE to freedom. How insanely amazing is that? And still, I strive to find the best product to make my mile-high hair a quarter of an inch closer to my head. Huh.

It almost makes me sad to think about those times, because now when I look at the Art Deco store on Poplar just down the street from Dan West, I see a store filled with tacky, overpriced crap that would never be comfortable or durable. The childhood wonder is gone, and I'm left with a realistic view of the world.

I guess the trick is knowing the truth, and seeing the beauty in it anyway.

side note: I drove by the furniture store yesterday (after I pondered this post that I had written most of in July) and found it is gone. Fitting.

truth.

This is going to sound morbid, but hear me out. Have you ever thought about what the world would be like if you died? How your friends and family would react and how it would affect their life? I feel like that's a sick and twisted thing that everyone thinks about (if you hadn't before, you're thinking about it now). Around the age of middle school, I thought about that scenario a lot (again, I am not suicidal, these are not warning signs. I was a very happy child)-- sometimes I would think about it too much and it would make me weep, which is really weird and twisted to be crying over your own imaginary death... but anyway, I'm getting off topic.

Anyway, these past couple of days, saying goodbye to people and talking about leaving is kinda -- in a semisick way -- like when I imagined how people would react if I died. It sucks to leave and change is a terrifying thing, don't get me wrong. But it does make me feel good in a backhanded way that people are really going to miss me. Because I'm going to miss them so, so much.

Being honest is difficult. One of the more difficult things I've had to do thus far. But you know all those cliches about truth? "Honesty is the best policy." "The truth will set you free." They are kind of like, absolutely accurate. Though I am sad about moving on with my life and leaving Tech, I feel lighter, freer, and just way more awesome than I have in a long time. Lying doesn't really solve anything. Its something I'm really going to work on over the coming months. Because pretending you're Miss Sunshine when you're not feeling that way doesn't really help anyone. I'm not saying I'm going to go around throwing mud at people and flicking everyone off. But I don't think saying "eh" when someone asks me how I am is really going to blow up the world. Which is saying something, because if you had asked me 2 months ago when I wasn't sleeping through the night and living life in constant denial, how I was, I would have grinned, touched your arm, and said "never better."

Lies.

Why do we tell them? To cover our own ass, to fit in, to avoid hurting someone's feelings, to appear as if we have it all together. In general, I justify lying as a general way to not burden anyone else with my problems. You know what? That's bullshit, honestly. Because your friends and family love you despite your bullshit, and they have plenty of their own that you put up with gladly. I love my friends because of their problems, not despite them. So I have to get real. Face things I don't want to.

And breathe.

(It's easier now.)

be careful what you wish for...

okay, daughtry's kind of lame...but these lyrics are so accurate they make me sob.

I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.

The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love remains true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.

So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,

Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don't want.
Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old.
I said these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
I'm going home.


Change is coming, folks. God is good. I will be soon, too. I have so much hope, its spilling from me, and I feel like I can finally breathe. I feel like everything I have blogged about this semester and every event that has taken place has completely guided me to this decision. It doesn't make me any less terrified. But it gives me peace. I have God's grace (and my parent's). And grace and peace is an excellent way to start.

fear

Fear.

Its universal, language-less, inevitable, obvious, illogical, and inexplicably complex. And its something that's been plaguing humans from the time that effing Eve plucked that juicy apple of evil from the forbidden tree. Okay, so its not really fair to put that all on Eve, but still. A little self restraint would have been great, Eve. Thanks.

I can't remember ever being as scared as I was last Friday night.

This past week, I decided I had a difficult week, I was a little sick of everything here in Atlanta, and I just wanted to get away from it all: away from homework, away from sorority crap, away from tired routines. As a solution, I decided to drive my sad, injured little Honda to Montgomery, Alabama to visit my favorite aunt and uncle, and just have some general R & R. The weather did not want this for me. I (stupidly) failed to check the weather forecasts before I left around 7:30 after initiation was over, and thus was plunged in between two storms, one in Atlanta and one originating in eastern Alabama. I was literally trapped on the road, with no where to turn but to plunge onward into the storm.

Now, to paint the picture of my emotions clearly, you should know that I am that kid that goes around gathering food, pets, blankets, flashlights, radios, extra batteries, and scoffing parents at the first sound of a siren. We spent many a night stuffed in my closet until the sirens stopped-- me, my father (who's from Kansas and brags about having stood beneath funnel clouds before), my mother, my dog, and two cats. Usually those nights consisted of me going over every word the weather man said in a far more worried tone, my dad staying all of two minutes before he would excuse himself, assuring me he'd be back at the first sign of trouble (the SIREN is the first sign of trouble, DA-AD!), and my mom trying to separate the feuding cats that I would not allow to leave (what, I'm going to let them get blown away like Dorothy's house?). So, very, very healthy fear of storms. One I really haven't shaken.

Back to Friday. First came the rain, steady in its approach. Until I could literally not see anything in front or behind me. I was slowed to 5 mph on the highway, with my emergency lights blinking, unsure whether to stop or continue because I COULD NOT see what anyone in front or behind of me was doing. I kept going at 5 mph, praying I wouldn't hit anyone or get hit. I couldn't pull off the side of the road because I was in the stretch of construction on 85 that last for 29 MILES with those obnoxious concrete blockages that make me feel nervous and claustrophobic at the same time. Trapped. I have never felt more desperate or helpless. I had lost all radio signal and cell signal at this point. It stretched on for what seemed like hours, me screaming "oh my god" and "fuck" intermittently for about 10 minutes.

Then dead calm. Absolutely no rain. I breathed for what felt like the first time. I tuned the radio back in, playing my dad's words, parts from the movie "Twister," and every cliche ever ("calm before the storm", "eye of the storm") in one jumbled heap in my mind. It last 30 creepy minutes-- light rain, pale orangey yellow sky.

Then came the lightning. Its never bothered me before, lightning. That was until I saw a billboard get struck, and set a blaze, and also before it hit the ground and I could almost feel my tires jump off of the pavement from the force of it cracking the ground. Don't like it much more. That lasted a while too, the lightning, without rain, lighting the sky as if it were noon on a clear day. Every time I passed a mile marker with my location, not a second later my radio would declare that particular county in immediate danger. Did I mention that I hadn't passed any exits in, oh, 20 miles?

But the worst was the wind. That came right after the lightning, right after Auburn. Circular wind, blowing me to the side, hard enough that I had my hand turning the wheel almost 30 degrees to keep my car going straight. Literally saw formations of funnel clouds. Never been so scared. I just kept driving and praying aloud because I didn't know what else to do. I finally got to Mary Beth's, after a 5 1/2 road trip from hell that was supposed to be 2 1/2.

The worst part of the trip was the uncertainty and the fact that I was completely alone. Fear is a horrible thing, but it festers and feeds off of darkness and a lonely imagination. Dorothy Thompson once said, "Fear grows in darkness...Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live."

That in itself makes me nervous, because I am so full of fear, I am positively brimming with it. About everything. What I'm going to do with my life. Where I'm going to get my next bit of money. If I will ever get married. When my parents will die. How I'll deal with it. What tomorrow will hold. I know you can't let yourself get bogged down in those questions, but sometimes its just really difficult not to feel as if you a shouldering more than your own weight of fearful questions.

The unknown. Its what most people fear the most. People with the strongest faiths continue to try "live longer" schemes just because they have that hint of doubt-- that small place in the back of their mind that is reserved for the question "What if I'm wrong..?"

Why do we fear the inevitable? 0%. That's the survival rate around here on earth. Not such good odds-- or really, really great ones, depending on your wager. Because, folks, we are absolutely, positively gonna kick the bucket. I fear the inevitable in every aspect of my life (the best definition and tangibility of procrastination I have found), and its so ridiculous. Because I make it WAY worse in my own head than it actually is when it comes into fruition.

Fear comes in so many different forms- eerie quiet, harsh winds, pouring rain, or quick, violent flashes. The form isn't what matters. Its what you do with it, actively. The actions and the confidence you find in yourself (and Christ) is what overcomes the "what ifs."

"Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact." -Henry James

hats

If this blog was my Grandma Eunice, it would say, "Well, well, if it isn't Liz! It's been a long time." I feel the need to apologize for not penning (er, typing) my thoughts as of late, but then again, I'm fairly certain that no one except me reads this. Oh well. I forgive you, self.

Anyhoo, we're on the week after Spring Break, which really just gives me time to mull over things that happened (or didn't happen) over break. I spent my 10 sublime days off from this fine [mental] institution (just kidding...) in Memphis: home of Elvis, the only BBQ that I will deem "BBQ," and yours truly. The glorious thing about going home for Spring Break is knowing your friends are doing way more fabulous things in places with infinite sunshine and alcohol (sorry for the bitter sarcasm tonight, I just can't help). Okay, so it really wasn't THAT bad going home for break, but it really did suck a little that I had other options and was forced to be "good daughter Liz" and do exactly what my parents wanted me to do. While my parents took off for 6 days to that place with infinite sunshine and alcohol (we'll call it "Florida"), I stayed put with my beautiful, energetic, and kind-of-a-handful dogs, Otto and Zeus. Confused as to why my parents were trading me my Spring Break? Me too.

This rant has a point. I promise.

Sad to be home alone with my only company the speechless variety, I promptly texted my cousins, Maggie and Sara, letting them know that they could frequent the parent-free zone as often as they wanted over the next days (they too were lucky enough to stay home during Spring Break-- high school SB, that is). A few hours later, they were plopped on my sofa, bored and looking for me to entertain them. Though they were sometimes frustrating, sometimes overstayed their welcome, they were the best part of my Spring Break, because I just got to soak in a part of Liz that is completely honest and true: the Liz ("Cousin" to them) that my family knows.

Ever notice how you act one way around your family, one way around your friends, one way with new people, and many different others, based on the situation? Gosh, I hate that I do it, but I'm pretty sure every human on Earth does it. (If there are humans elsewhere, I'm pretty sure they do it to-- that phrase "every human on Earth" was kind of redundant and stupid, sorry. (also sorry for this aside, I should have just deleted it. (any rule for how many parenthetical statements you can have inside one another? (in Math, it's fine, as long as you close all of them.)))) Sorry. I told you, feeling snarky tonight. Anyway, I often wonder, of those various personality hats that I wear, which is the most purely me? Is it just one? A combination of a few? Of them all? None? Interesting, isn't it?

I'm still not sure the answer to that question. (The one before "interesting, isn't it?" because clearly I think its interesting or I wouldn't be wasting my time...) But I can say this much: who I am when I'm home is VERY close to the pure Liz. I guess that's one of my favorite things about going home, because there's no pressure to be cool or impress any one. These people have seen me since diapers-- my uncle still calls me "Weezy" sometimes, a nickname not derived from the rapper, but after my toddler tendency to breathe so heavily while I was walking that my parents could hear me coming down the hall before they could see me.

Back to my cousins. Because I am this "honest Liz" while home, I know that everything I tell my cousins is in its purest form of sincerity too-- I try to avoid the "sage, college advice," mostly because its crap, but also because I hate when people talk down to me like they know everything, especially when they've only been doing something I haven't for a small amount of time. So I got to share my truthful opinions about choosing colleges, majors, whether or not to drink. And sometimes I surprised myself with my opinions. Best revelation: I have never--not once--done something my parents didn't want me to do. Okay, so when I was 8 I stuck my tongue out at my mom and got my mouth washed out with soap. I'm not talking about those kinds of actions. But all of my major (and minor) decisions have been made to favor what my parents thought was right.


Okay, fine, I did vote for (and still support fully) Barack Obama, which my parents viewed negatively. But STILL. I am dying to be my own person and rebel.

The pure fact that I was home, dogsitting, while my parents relaxed in the Keys is prime example of how I have not put this new discovery into action. But one day, I am going to rock their world. Its coming.

Promise.

music [addition]

On the subject of my last post...

If you only listen to one thing I ever say, listen to this: you MUST listen to THIS.

So EFFING FANTASTIC.

I haven't been this excited about a song since I first heard "Oceans."