I had been so excited to write this last post, and for weeks before the 11th rolled around I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Upon it actually rolling around, I had no idea what to say and I made my last post and let it lie: I can't leave it that way forever.
It does not feel like it has been a year. Sitting here now it feels like a month ago that I started this and over the months I've grown so attached and so in love with this project that I hate to let it go. It feels wrong to stop.
The deepest things that I wondered if I would ever reveal on here, I did not. I was not as honest as I wondered if I would be, but still more honest than I expected, and this served me well. I hoped that in being honest about myself, other people would be encouraged to be honest with themselves, and if they found some connection with what I said, would find the strength to be honest to others in return. My hope was most definitely realized.
I wondered how people would react: I feared that I would be shot down and rejected. That never happened. I found companionship in my struggles, and that was unexpected. I found that people connected with what I said: enough to follow this project to the end.
The thing that stands out to me the most in the end is the enormous loyalty that people showed. I did not expect anyone to follow this project for a full year. I did not expect new friends to go back and read everything and continue following along. I did not expect people to notice that I had not posted and encourage me to do so. I did not expect people to miss this project when I let it go for weeks on end. I did not expect people to value it enough to be sad for it to end or want to celebrate it as an accomplishment. In the end, it is not the response to my honesty that stands out the most: I think I knew what the good result of that would be. But the interest of others, of acquaintances and friends, to continually value this project because it comes from me and because they value me was shocking. And humbling. I am not a good friend: not the way others are to me. It was the loyalty and the true friendship that was shown to me that I was not expecting: those are things that I never expect to be shown.
Thank you to everyone who showed me loyalty and friendship. I am completely floored that you would find me worthy of such things, and the value you've made me feel calls me to a higher standard. You have shown me a level of friendship that was not apart of me, and I am very glad that my year of honesty revealed that to me.
I am more than honored by a friend, Brendon Perkins, who has found such value in A Study In Honesty to not want the project to die. He has started A Study In Peace to continue the journey and I encourage everyone to follow along with it. Thank you Brendon, the value you've made me feel takes my breath away.
I'll be going back and finishing this for awhile: there are posts that were never written and holes that do need to be filled. But a love for writing developed through this and I don't think I can stop here. A new kind of project will be evolving soon: 400 Years of Silence will pick up where this has left off and it will be of a much different focus.
A year of honesty complete.
The End ?
Monday, December 19, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
The Spruce Goose
She was twenty years old when she fell in love with a plane.
She slid out of the back of her friends’ car, pulling her dress down as she scrunched out from behind the passenger seat. It was only 7pm but already it was a dark night with crisp cold air. She had never been to the Evergreen Aviation Museum before, and they were all there for a forties themed swing dance. The large stone statue of a pilot before the entryway was surrounded by young, fancy, giddy women posing and taking pictures. The pilot looked serious and out of place amongst the giggling frenzy and she found much humor at his discomfort in the moment. As the others hurried to the door she fell behind and looked up at his face: she found it both ironic and fitting that he should be here to greet her. He reminded her of a young man she used to know and he held an air of grandeur dressed in uniform with a helmet under his arm. She greeted him more appropriately with distance and silence, because she knew him well, and his passion for his trade beckoned her to follow the others inside.
They all walked into the hanger together, and with all of them young and pretty, she felt just like a youthful women from the forties: sophisticated, bright, and beautiful. They walked past the flags into the presence of history and she felt the weight of the character she embodied drifting heavily down upon her. Planes encompassing years of war, cultures, and countries surrounded her and she walked with black heels clicking smartly and pencil skirt keeping her straight. And that’s when she looked up.
The large wing of the Spruce Goose hung above her and everything began to take on an incredulous clarity. Her heels clicking slowly on the white hanger floor as she followed the wing deeper into the hanger. Her laughter that came out unsteady with disbelief. She had never seen anything so huge. She had never felt so small. She had never been so in awe. And standing beneath one of the wonders of the world and only being able to take in pieces of it in sweeping glances, she suddenly felt quite beautiful: like a young bright woman of the forties with hair swooped up in sophistication, with straight modest dress communicating class, and with bright lips both innocent and smart ready to live the right way.
She walked beneath the enormous wing of the Spruce Goose, and stood dwarfed by its hull, and she fell in love. It was giving off rays from its time and she was soaking them in. They made her into Rosie the Riveter, out for a night of fun with a live band and swing music, ready to dance with a boogie woogie bugle boy. So she did: she danced under its enormous tail, and laughed, and looked at all the company of planes and cars and was very much enamored by this new large love. This wonder of the modern world. This impossible feat. This embodiment of a miracle.
She was nineteen years old when she decided she would never love a pilot again, and she was twenty years old when she fell in love with a plane instead.
She slid out of the back of her friends’ car, pulling her dress down as she scrunched out from behind the passenger seat. It was only 7pm but already it was a dark night with crisp cold air. She had never been to the Evergreen Aviation Museum before, and they were all there for a forties themed swing dance. The large stone statue of a pilot before the entryway was surrounded by young, fancy, giddy women posing and taking pictures. The pilot looked serious and out of place amongst the giggling frenzy and she found much humor at his discomfort in the moment. As the others hurried to the door she fell behind and looked up at his face: she found it both ironic and fitting that he should be here to greet her. He reminded her of a young man she used to know and he held an air of grandeur dressed in uniform with a helmet under his arm. She greeted him more appropriately with distance and silence, because she knew him well, and his passion for his trade beckoned her to follow the others inside.
They all walked into the hanger together, and with all of them young and pretty, she felt just like a youthful women from the forties: sophisticated, bright, and beautiful. They walked past the flags into the presence of history and she felt the weight of the character she embodied drifting heavily down upon her. Planes encompassing years of war, cultures, and countries surrounded her and she walked with black heels clicking smartly and pencil skirt keeping her straight. And that’s when she looked up.
The large wing of the Spruce Goose hung above her and everything began to take on an incredulous clarity. Her heels clicking slowly on the white hanger floor as she followed the wing deeper into the hanger. Her laughter that came out unsteady with disbelief. She had never seen anything so huge. She had never felt so small. She had never been so in awe. And standing beneath one of the wonders of the world and only being able to take in pieces of it in sweeping glances, she suddenly felt quite beautiful: like a young bright woman of the forties with hair swooped up in sophistication, with straight modest dress communicating class, and with bright lips both innocent and smart ready to live the right way.
She walked beneath the enormous wing of the Spruce Goose, and stood dwarfed by its hull, and she fell in love. It was giving off rays from its time and she was soaking them in. They made her into Rosie the Riveter, out for a night of fun with a live band and swing music, ready to dance with a boogie woogie bugle boy. So she did: she danced under its enormous tail, and laughed, and looked at all the company of planes and cars and was very much enamored by this new large love. This wonder of the modern world. This impossible feat. This embodiment of a miracle.
She was nineteen years old when she decided she would never love a pilot again, and she was twenty years old when she fell in love with a plane instead.
12/11/11
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Ode to the blank spaces.
There are copious amounts of blank entries in this thing, and I have felt the need to fill them all. To fill them all with myself, my experiences, things I never said but should have, things I want to say but have no more room for. I have felt as though I was failing this project, and I tried to go back and fill them with Sticky Notes, only to discover that I had sticky noted important days in which I had other things to say. But I have decided to let the blank spaces speak for themselves. They are days that I was too exhausted, to busy, to happy, to sad, to busy living life to get on the internet and write. I am okay with the blank spaces, because they speak louder than my words.
12/10/11
12/10/11
Control...and being Out Of it.
You know you're a woman when a sentimental cat video can make you cry
and when you go to sleep at 5am and are insatiably happy all the next day while you slog around.
I have had to learn that my emotions are not me.
More so than the average women
they can help or they can hinder,
but no matter how out of control and extreme they are,
which they are,
I am just fine.
12/9/11
Friday, December 9, 2011
I don't want to.
It takes a long time to change when you don't want to.
When an animal is wary of something it will slink forward to check it out, but it will only get so close. Its past experiences have taught it to fear. There comes a moment when it freezes and you know it will either run away or cautiously proceed forward. I am frozen. I am realizing that what I have been wary of has become safe, at least safer, and I am not sure I want it to be. It's here frozen that I realize what a precarious tightrope I've been teetering on, and how much more precarious it would be to cautiously proceed forward.
It's taken me a long time to change, because I don't want to.
I'm looking forward to catching up on Chuck.
12/8/11
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Simon & Garfunkel
When I was sixteen I woke up early in Rhode Island and danced to Simon & Garfunkel in the early morning light before anyone else was awake. I listened to them a lot that summer. Their sound and words still make me just as happy.
12/7/11
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Buffy The Vampire Slayer
There are scenes and songs from this show that have not only made me who I am, but apply so strongly to my life that remnants of them still echo in my mind when I think back on things that have happened to me. Songs about not wanting to go, scenes about not wanting to forget: those remnants have found a solid form to me again and it was like a tidal wave knocking me onto my back and spinning me around. Buffy will always mean the world to me. She's who I try to be when I need to be protective or ready for a fight, whose leadership I try to emulate when my moral grit starts to wear down, whose selfless devotion to friendship has taught me how to approach others, and whose experiences and reactions encourage me to heal. I grew up with those characters and learned a lot about who I want to be from them: and I still am.
12/6/11
12/6/11
Monday, December 5, 2011
The 45 Most Powerful Images 0f 2011
A friend posted this on facebook today and I wanted to share it. There is so much in the world that I didn't know about and I was floored. Number's 12 and 31 stand out to me the most. Number 12 inspires me to be more than I am and for some reason number 31 hit me hard and I had the most severe reaction to that photograph. So here you go:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-most-powerful-photos-of-2011
12/5/11
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-most-powerful-photos-of-2011
12/5/11
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Screenwriter's Will
I did quite a few things today that were abnormal as of late.
I did one of those things in the Bible that we all know we're supposed to do but it's hard therefore we don't. And I don't want to forget how it happened: there was a moment of struggle in which I knew what I should do, but the second the moment arose I could do nothing else but what Jesus would have done. I always wonder what I would feel if I followed through with something like this...and there is that sting that I thought there would be but at the same time there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.
I also spent a couple hours in deep discussion with two friends. It spanned the topics of mindless entertainment, fleeing temptation, standing firm in temptation, the nature of developing character, the hierarchy of art forms and entertainment, waiting in faith, acting in faith, the nature of truth and knowledge, clinging to the vine to produce good fruit, knowing when to cut off your hand to keep yourself from sinning, the nature of time, the nature of education, the validity of tradition, a reverence for ceremony, and more. I listened, was listened to, made others think, was convicted, found value in two unusually wise individuals and felt like an unusually wise individual myself. I got the feeling that something had taken me by the hand and was leading me toward the pursuit of more depth and wisdom, but most importantly His truth. It made me aware that there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.
"I wish my life was like this."
"Why isn't it?"
"Because this is scripted,
and I can't write this good 'a script."
"Maybe you need a new screenwriter."
I need to make way for a new screenwriter.
12/3/11
I did one of those things in the Bible that we all know we're supposed to do but it's hard therefore we don't. And I don't want to forget how it happened: there was a moment of struggle in which I knew what I should do, but the second the moment arose I could do nothing else but what Jesus would have done. I always wonder what I would feel if I followed through with something like this...and there is that sting that I thought there would be but at the same time there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.
I also spent a couple hours in deep discussion with two friends. It spanned the topics of mindless entertainment, fleeing temptation, standing firm in temptation, the nature of developing character, the hierarchy of art forms and entertainment, waiting in faith, acting in faith, the nature of truth and knowledge, clinging to the vine to produce good fruit, knowing when to cut off your hand to keep yourself from sinning, the nature of time, the nature of education, the validity of tradition, a reverence for ceremony, and more. I listened, was listened to, made others think, was convicted, found value in two unusually wise individuals and felt like an unusually wise individual myself. I got the feeling that something had taken me by the hand and was leading me toward the pursuit of more depth and wisdom, but most importantly His truth. It made me aware that there is something else that is growing. Something light and bounding and joyful. Something which confirms a blessing upon me and my actions and it is encouragement to not let this be the last time.
"I wish my life was like this."
"Why isn't it?"
"Because this is scripted,
and I can't write this good 'a script."
"Maybe you need a new screenwriter."
I need to make way for a new screenwriter.
12/3/11
Saturday, December 3, 2011
AT LEAST
After spending half a day with a group of guys, I am ready to shoot in the face with my nerf gun anyone who tries to one up someone else. Because I can shoot farther, have better aim, throw farther, throw faster, throw with better accuracy, be sneakier, dive stealthier, fix things more accurately, stand taller, workout harder, play video games better than all you other people in the room. I have bigger muscles, more height, cooler clothing, more women that love me, and a better car. And AT LEAST your life isn't as horrible, terrible, no good, unjust and unfair as mine is. You may have gotten shot, stabbed, shancked, your car may have broken down, your entire family could have died but AT LEAST you are not in my dire situation: let me tell you all about it. What on earth is with certain mens need to one up everyone else, especially other men, in every way shape and form during every second of every day? What is with this primal dominance battle? No one cares if you think you're wiser, smarter, stronger, cooler, faster, stealthier, or overcoming hard times than everyone else. AND STOP MAKING JOKES ABOUT SEX. You've beat them to death and they're not funny anymore. Your filthy mind is not impressing anyone.
In my almighty opinion people should be proud of who they are and proud of who other people are just the way they are. People should let people be who they are and build each other up. They should take others seriously and listen to what they have to say when they need to be listened to. The focus should be off of ourselves and building up what makes us "better" and focused on humility for ourselves and uplifting others. Why can we not be honest about who we are and okay with who we are within that? Why can we not be gracious and humble about what we're talented in?
I've never felt so inadequate, insulted, and so in need of proving and defending myself to a group of people.
My worth in inherent.
12/2/11
In my almighty opinion people should be proud of who they are and proud of who other people are just the way they are. People should let people be who they are and build each other up. They should take others seriously and listen to what they have to say when they need to be listened to. The focus should be off of ourselves and building up what makes us "better" and focused on humility for ourselves and uplifting others. Why can we not be honest about who we are and okay with who we are within that? Why can we not be gracious and humble about what we're talented in?
I've never felt so inadequate, insulted, and so in need of proving and defending myself to a group of people.
My worth in inherent.
12/2/11
Friday, December 2, 2011
Competence
Let us be informed and wise. Let us speak with competence. To do that we need to listen first.
Listen.
Listen.
11/30/11
Thursday, December 1, 2011
What's in a name?
I got on familysearch.org and looked up my great great grandmother's name, Antonina Soares, just to see what would happen. I then proceeded to spend the next two hours at least, looking up my family tree and tracing them back to when they came over from the Azore Islands. I was baffled to find that legitimate records of them were online and was strangely surprised at how fulfilled it made me feel just to find their names. I don't feel strong loyalty to my family like other people do. To many people, family is one of the most important things and they would do anything for them: often times this concept is lost on me. But I felt a deeper connection with the names of the generations that came before me and paved the way for me than many relatives that I've met face to face. I can't understand this.
What is in a name? My great great grandmother's name was Antonina. My name is embedded in the center of hers, and though I'm not named after her, it is derived from a form of her name. And in turn and I am derived from a literal form of her: my body and name all find their roots in her. Who was she? No one remembers what she was like. Was she caring and quick to smile or mean and closed off? Did she have an iron will and a sense of adventure or a bitter soul? She was married and had children in the Azore Islands before she ever moved to America. What must that have been like? She has a very light name: a very soft name. I imagine she was like that in her core, but from the plot line of her life I have to infer that she was a fortress of a woman. I hope she was lovable and I hope she was loved. Genetics are not joke: they contribute to so much that makes us who we are. What of me is her? For someone that knew her and then met me, what we they say reminded them of her through me?
Antonina begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Carol who begot Toni. And Joao (John) and Antone (Tony) and David (Dave) and Richard (Duke) all married into the line. And I wonder what's in my name. To be named after Antone and Richard: to be named after all men. I feel like there is something sacred to a name and wonder if I have daughters, if they will recite my name from three and four generations away, wearing the rings passed down from my mother to me, and if my name will roll off their tongues in a whisper and they will know nothing about me but that the words are sacred and cling to them as though they are the rings on their fingers. I would like to name my daughter Elsie. And maybe one of her daughters or granddaughters will begin carrying on the name Carol (because they will grow old and wise and have more daughters; isn't that strange?) And maybe those names will make them into who they are: My Vu, Antone (Tony) was a gardner when he was young, and my Ti Tony worked at a greenhouse most of his life: I wonder if this explains my inexplicable urge to grow things as well. I hadn't put that together until I had worked at a greenhouse for a season and my mother told me how odd it was that I had always wanted to garden since I was young. I wonder if my daughters will inherit anything from their names. I wonder if Antonina, Antone, Tony, and I all had this in common.
Maybe because of technology my name will never be whispered as simply sacred. Maybe my great great granddaughters will look through my pictures and videos on facebook. They'll read my old messages and emails. They'll read my study in honesty. They'll meet me as a young woman and grow up with me through all of my journals. Maybe they'll know me well. Maybe they won't like me. Maybe they'll love me. Maybe they won't really know me at all. But I hope that when I die and the years take away all remembrances of me, that my name will get to join that sacred echoing archives that I have discovered and which breaths meaning and soul into this independent body.
11/29/11
What is in a name? My great great grandmother's name was Antonina. My name is embedded in the center of hers, and though I'm not named after her, it is derived from a form of her name. And in turn and I am derived from a literal form of her: my body and name all find their roots in her. Who was she? No one remembers what she was like. Was she caring and quick to smile or mean and closed off? Did she have an iron will and a sense of adventure or a bitter soul? She was married and had children in the Azore Islands before she ever moved to America. What must that have been like? She has a very light name: a very soft name. I imagine she was like that in her core, but from the plot line of her life I have to infer that she was a fortress of a woman. I hope she was lovable and I hope she was loved. Genetics are not joke: they contribute to so much that makes us who we are. What of me is her? For someone that knew her and then met me, what we they say reminded them of her through me?
Antonina begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Alzira (Elsie) who begot Carol who begot Toni. And Joao (John) and Antone (Tony) and David (Dave) and Richard (Duke) all married into the line. And I wonder what's in my name. To be named after Antone and Richard: to be named after all men. I feel like there is something sacred to a name and wonder if I have daughters, if they will recite my name from three and four generations away, wearing the rings passed down from my mother to me, and if my name will roll off their tongues in a whisper and they will know nothing about me but that the words are sacred and cling to them as though they are the rings on their fingers. I would like to name my daughter Elsie. And maybe one of her daughters or granddaughters will begin carrying on the name Carol (because they will grow old and wise and have more daughters; isn't that strange?) And maybe those names will make them into who they are: My Vu, Antone (Tony) was a gardner when he was young, and my Ti Tony worked at a greenhouse most of his life: I wonder if this explains my inexplicable urge to grow things as well. I hadn't put that together until I had worked at a greenhouse for a season and my mother told me how odd it was that I had always wanted to garden since I was young. I wonder if my daughters will inherit anything from their names. I wonder if Antonina, Antone, Tony, and I all had this in common.
Maybe because of technology my name will never be whispered as simply sacred. Maybe my great great granddaughters will look through my pictures and videos on facebook. They'll read my old messages and emails. They'll read my study in honesty. They'll meet me as a young woman and grow up with me through all of my journals. Maybe they'll know me well. Maybe they won't like me. Maybe they'll love me. Maybe they won't really know me at all. But I hope that when I die and the years take away all remembrances of me, that my name will get to join that sacred echoing archives that I have discovered and which breaths meaning and soul into this independent body.
11/29/11
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