Sept. 1, 2006
Does life ever just creep you out?
For no apparent reason? The fact that time is around us and passing us by just hits you, and you realize that life is short. Life is valuable. And we waste it. Or don't recognize it.
I was browsing through the madness that is myspace tonight. And it is madness. I know so many people that it's insane, but it's always fun to skim the pages of my friends and see how people are doing when I get the time. It's weird to catch up with people via myspace because you have no idea where they're at or what they've been through since the last time you heard from them. All you have to go by are these pictures, or their words, or the people in their Top 8 (or top whatever). And whatever ties you may have had with this person, whether it be work, school, friends... those might be gone now.
You realize that change happens. People change. People change what they value and who they want to be. And that in itself changes who they are.
For some reason, life never seems as simple to me as it does to most people. I dig for complexity. Hidden meanings. Lost relationships. I struggle with finding a spirituality that fits me... it's Christianity. Yet the way the 'church' runs things sometimes is just so foreign to me. I try to make friends on all ends of the spectrum, in all walks of life, and try to discover their secrets. What do they find happiness in? Why do they struggle? Who do they value? What are their dreams? Why do we all unravel at some point?
I'm happy, but I'm discontent.
I was singing a song I wrote awhile ago called 'Song for the Unsatisfied.'
And I think I will always be unsatisfied. I think that humans were designed to always feel like there was a little something missing... some part of them that is incomplete. So that in the places that we lack, we can realize that outside of this life there is Greater, and there is More. I am unsatisfied when I can't be there for someone. I am unsatisfied when I feel like I'm not reaching my potential. I even get unsatisfied if I see that 47 people look at my blog in a day and not one person has anything to say. Isn't that silly?
We live lives based on the responses of others. We live for their encouragement, and we run from their critiques. We strive for social perfection and shy away from inner beauty.
What a funny thing, this life.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
on chasing rainbows and faded dreams
August 26, 2006
Chasing our dreams can feel fruitless sometimes.
We spend our days wondering what waits at the end of this road we're on. We dream of changing the world, and touching the stars, and making a difference. We make plans, and set goals. Some of us spend our days in full pursuit of the things that inspire us, while other saunter casually down the road of life, knowing that the end of the road will rise up to meet them regardless of their pace. We are all so different from one another. But so much alike.
We bump our way along this road we travel, and at an obstacle or trial we bail out or compromise. We settle for less. While shooting for the stars we settle on a mountaintop and set up camp, because it's safe... it's comfortable. Men and women who dreamed of feeding the hungry or becoming doctors instead become janitors or telemarketers. One of the most promising minds in a college drops out because he feels inadequate. A girl walks away from being a dancer for a better paying and less satisfying job. Every day thousands of people just let life pass them by, deciding to put their energy towards being the best they can where they are at.
Look around you.
The grocery lady in her faded uniform who smiles gracefully as she slips into middle age. This was not her dream. When she was asked as a child who she wanted to be when she grew up, this was not her answer. The man in his fourties flipping burgers didn't always aspire for a 40 cent raise. It's hard stuff... this chasing of the pot of gold that may or may not be at the end of the rainbow. And who really knows? Who is to say that it won't be full of something worthless when you finally arrive? What defines who you are if the rainbow you've been chasing your whole life turns out to be a false promise?
I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life and the person I want to become; the musician that I long to be, the dreams I want to call my own, the wife I want to be someday to someone, and the mother I want to be to my children... the legacy that I will leave behind when I am gone.
Chances are, the world won't know my name. My face won't illuminate a billboard or rest on the cover of a magazine, and that isn't the way I always dreamed that my life would be. I dreamed of people singing along with my music, or sitting on a stage with my guitar in hand, and knowing that things that I wrote somehow made a difference. That they changed something.
I'm not implying that my life is over, or that those dreams aren't possible now. But I've realized now that making a difference or changing the world is something I can accomplish without my name being known. Who ever said that the healing of a wound was more dramatic than the healing of the human heart? Who decided that being a full-time mother was less noteworthy than going platinum or gracing the pages of a medical journal?
What does it really take to change the world anyway? And what's stopping you?
I will dream. I will sing and I will dance. I will aspire and I will change things. And while the world may not know my name, I will know the difference between a failure and a success. While my music may never make it past the ears of the people that love me, it might make a difference in one of them. And the smallest difference might mean the world to someone else. Life is a chain reaction. It is the dedicating of yourself to the people around you and the surroundings that you're in. It's doing the best you can with the things you've been given.
Maybe chasing our rainbows isn't so fruitless after all.
Chasing our dreams can feel fruitless sometimes.
We spend our days wondering what waits at the end of this road we're on. We dream of changing the world, and touching the stars, and making a difference. We make plans, and set goals. Some of us spend our days in full pursuit of the things that inspire us, while other saunter casually down the road of life, knowing that the end of the road will rise up to meet them regardless of their pace. We are all so different from one another. But so much alike.
We bump our way along this road we travel, and at an obstacle or trial we bail out or compromise. We settle for less. While shooting for the stars we settle on a mountaintop and set up camp, because it's safe... it's comfortable. Men and women who dreamed of feeding the hungry or becoming doctors instead become janitors or telemarketers. One of the most promising minds in a college drops out because he feels inadequate. A girl walks away from being a dancer for a better paying and less satisfying job. Every day thousands of people just let life pass them by, deciding to put their energy towards being the best they can where they are at.
Look around you.
The grocery lady in her faded uniform who smiles gracefully as she slips into middle age. This was not her dream. When she was asked as a child who she wanted to be when she grew up, this was not her answer. The man in his fourties flipping burgers didn't always aspire for a 40 cent raise. It's hard stuff... this chasing of the pot of gold that may or may not be at the end of the rainbow. And who really knows? Who is to say that it won't be full of something worthless when you finally arrive? What defines who you are if the rainbow you've been chasing your whole life turns out to be a false promise?
I've been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life and the person I want to become; the musician that I long to be, the dreams I want to call my own, the wife I want to be someday to someone, and the mother I want to be to my children... the legacy that I will leave behind when I am gone.
Chances are, the world won't know my name. My face won't illuminate a billboard or rest on the cover of a magazine, and that isn't the way I always dreamed that my life would be. I dreamed of people singing along with my music, or sitting on a stage with my guitar in hand, and knowing that things that I wrote somehow made a difference. That they changed something.
I'm not implying that my life is over, or that those dreams aren't possible now. But I've realized now that making a difference or changing the world is something I can accomplish without my name being known. Who ever said that the healing of a wound was more dramatic than the healing of the human heart? Who decided that being a full-time mother was less noteworthy than going platinum or gracing the pages of a medical journal?
What does it really take to change the world anyway? And what's stopping you?
I will dream. I will sing and I will dance. I will aspire and I will change things. And while the world may not know my name, I will know the difference between a failure and a success. While my music may never make it past the ears of the people that love me, it might make a difference in one of them. And the smallest difference might mean the world to someone else. Life is a chain reaction. It is the dedicating of yourself to the people around you and the surroundings that you're in. It's doing the best you can with the things you've been given.
Maybe chasing our rainbows isn't so fruitless after all.
when you remain
August 21, 2006
There comes a point in every sleepless night when everyone else has long turned out their lights and closed their eyes to the world.
And you remain.
No traffic whizzing past your door, no friends awake to remind you of your inner beauty, and no song to play that could perfectly fit the loneliness that matches your mood. Because you aren't really alone; because really, across the expanses of land and ocean, there is someone somewhere who is lying there awake and dreaming the same dreams and naming their fears. Just like you.
This world is such a funny thing. How could I feel so alone when I'm in the middle of one of the world's most densely populated landscapes? Surrounded by city lights. When I'm blessed with friends beyond compare, in numbers some can only dream of?
I know we all feel a little bit alone sometimes. Like we're lost in the blur that becomes our days. Like we're just a face in a crowd. But knowing that other people feel the same never takes away from the odd and not-quite-melancholy sensation that comes at this ungodly hour of the night [that has somehow become morning].
But it's alright.
Come tomorrow morning when I roll out of bed, this will have passed. I'll forget for awhile how I could have ever been this empty. And the sun will shine, the traffic will fly past my street again and the palm trees I can see from my window will look as Californian as ever.
And life will go on.
There comes a point in every sleepless night when everyone else has long turned out their lights and closed their eyes to the world.
And you remain.
No traffic whizzing past your door, no friends awake to remind you of your inner beauty, and no song to play that could perfectly fit the loneliness that matches your mood. Because you aren't really alone; because really, across the expanses of land and ocean, there is someone somewhere who is lying there awake and dreaming the same dreams and naming their fears. Just like you.
This world is such a funny thing. How could I feel so alone when I'm in the middle of one of the world's most densely populated landscapes? Surrounded by city lights. When I'm blessed with friends beyond compare, in numbers some can only dream of?
I know we all feel a little bit alone sometimes. Like we're lost in the blur that becomes our days. Like we're just a face in a crowd. But knowing that other people feel the same never takes away from the odd and not-quite-melancholy sensation that comes at this ungodly hour of the night [that has somehow become morning].
But it's alright.
Come tomorrow morning when I roll out of bed, this will have passed. I'll forget for awhile how I could have ever been this empty. And the sun will shine, the traffic will fly past my street again and the palm trees I can see from my window will look as Californian as ever.
And life will go on.
the people collector
August 9, 2006
It's time to go.
Leaving almost anything is difficult for me. I'm one of those people with a cluttered life... I don't mean cluttered as in messy, and it's not for a lack of cleanliness. I have a hard time letting go of anything, whether it be people, old CD's, books I will probably never read again or trinkets that for one reason or another used to hold some unique significance to me. Between all of those, it's mostly just people.
I am a people collecter. Some people collect beanie babies, others collect their stamps or old fashioned model cars. But me? I collect people. I revel in memories of people, the outcasts and the beautiful, the ones that are going places and the ones that are going nowhere, the bold and the meek alike. My soul rests in the comfort of knowing that I have spent every day investing myself into the lives of others.
So I suppose it's natural that now, upon the leaving of the place where most of the people I love remain, that I feel a sort of disconnectedness with the idea of leaving them. Like everyone else is staying while I'm taking a step in another direction, unsure of whether returning to this place will ever be in my future again.
Loving people is such a funny thing, in a completely serious way. You live your life surrounded by them, guided by them, befriended by them, betrayed by them and loved by them. They each make you who you are, their actions shaping you in a different way. Life consists of the making, breaking, changing and letting go of relationships, so it's odd that letting go of them sometimes feels so hard. There will obviously be the whole-hearted attempt to still know people back home as well as you always did... but I know that things change. I can only hope that I made a memorable difference in at least somebody's life while I was here.
I think that's all any of us could ask for.
It's time to go.
Leaving almost anything is difficult for me. I'm one of those people with a cluttered life... I don't mean cluttered as in messy, and it's not for a lack of cleanliness. I have a hard time letting go of anything, whether it be people, old CD's, books I will probably never read again or trinkets that for one reason or another used to hold some unique significance to me. Between all of those, it's mostly just people.
I am a people collecter. Some people collect beanie babies, others collect their stamps or old fashioned model cars. But me? I collect people. I revel in memories of people, the outcasts and the beautiful, the ones that are going places and the ones that are going nowhere, the bold and the meek alike. My soul rests in the comfort of knowing that I have spent every day investing myself into the lives of others.
So I suppose it's natural that now, upon the leaving of the place where most of the people I love remain, that I feel a sort of disconnectedness with the idea of leaving them. Like everyone else is staying while I'm taking a step in another direction, unsure of whether returning to this place will ever be in my future again.
Loving people is such a funny thing, in a completely serious way. You live your life surrounded by them, guided by them, befriended by them, betrayed by them and loved by them. They each make you who you are, their actions shaping you in a different way. Life consists of the making, breaking, changing and letting go of relationships, so it's odd that letting go of them sometimes feels so hard. There will obviously be the whole-hearted attempt to still know people back home as well as you always did... but I know that things change. I can only hope that I made a memorable difference in at least somebody's life while I was here.
I think that's all any of us could ask for.
the vision of starbucks
August 9, 2006
There are few things comparable to a cup of coffee at the original Starbucks on Pike Place in Seattle. I don't mean just the cup of coffee. I mean the entire experience it takes to actually receive that cup of coffee.
The aura is intoxicating, with rich smells of coffee beans from all corners of the earth filling the air; coffee grown in places like Guatamala, Kenya, and Indonesia, the names of which you only know in text books or by pictures in geography class. The titles of the present blends available, 'Kopi Kampung,' 'Sumatra,' or 'Sulawesi' roll off your tongue as exotic as a midnight in Morocco must be. It is a whirlwind of activity, with people calling out drinks and crowding in and out of the door to catch a glimpse at the Mecca of native Northwesterners. The smart natives however don't get their coffee from this establishment on their way to work every morning. No, they go up the street a block to avoid the often irritating swarm of tourists who pronounce the name 'Starboo-ks' and can't ever decide what the word frappucino really means (it's a blended cup of frozen goodness... why is it so difficult?).
Sometimes, though I've been immersed in this place of madness many times, I return to it again. There is something charming about the chaos that hits me the instant I walk through the door; the cashier expertly tossing the newly designated cups to the baristas waiting behind the counter. It's like a perfectly choreographed dance, people's cravings for both history and coffee being fulfilled while a trio of soulful black men sing a capella outside the front door to a clapping audience on the sidewalk. The refrain from 'My Girl' wafts through the air and the iconic image of a Siren graces the beverage of every satisfied customer.
The truth of the matter is that the rest of the world does not understand our undying love and passion for a steaming cup of coffee brewed by our favorite baristas nor the necessity we have for a Starbucks on every other corner. I will let you in on a secret. I think people go to Starbucks for the ideal it represents and the lifestyle it promotes. It is an advocate for conversation and for good company. It extends an invitation to walk inside its doors and put life on hold for a moment while taking a sip of your favorite beverage; you know, the one that will help fight alongside you the headache that is the rest of your day.
I'm not assuming that Starbucks coffee has magical properties, or that coffee is the maker of all things good, or that life without coffee is an empty existance. Just simply stating that when people from 'out of the area' (you know, those people that carry umbrellas... we call them tourists) think of us as being addicted to the coffee, or the caffeine, or the mochas that they deem as overpriced, that they are misunderstanding the entire concept of why we do what we do.
It's about people. It's about community. It's about relationships. It's about feeling a part of the world that is so much bigger than just yourself and who you are with (if anyone). It's about an idea: that people can gather together for the purpose of good conversation, or reading a good book, or just enjoying a tall nonfat black and white mocha with no whip, and know that thousands of miles away, at a Starbucks somewhere in Philly, Madrid, London, and Zurich, someone else is doing the same thing. Coffee is just a wonderful added bonus. Yes, the topic of conversation varies. Yes, the prices vary from dollars, to pounds, to franks, to euros and back to dollars again. But somewhere in the world, as you read these words, someone is seeking familiarity and comfort in a cup of coffee. It would be silly to say that all my memories are measured tall, grande or venti... but a good portion of them are.
So if you're ever in need of the chaotic ambiance and familiarity of a place that is both contemporary and classic, charming and alive with activity, or you just want your grande iced caramel machiatto without diversion, the original Starbucks represents a shining beacon of hope for all who are seeking.
There are few things comparable to a cup of coffee at the original Starbucks on Pike Place in Seattle. I don't mean just the cup of coffee. I mean the entire experience it takes to actually receive that cup of coffee.
The aura is intoxicating, with rich smells of coffee beans from all corners of the earth filling the air; coffee grown in places like Guatamala, Kenya, and Indonesia, the names of which you only know in text books or by pictures in geography class. The titles of the present blends available, 'Kopi Kampung,' 'Sumatra,' or 'Sulawesi' roll off your tongue as exotic as a midnight in Morocco must be. It is a whirlwind of activity, with people calling out drinks and crowding in and out of the door to catch a glimpse at the Mecca of native Northwesterners. The smart natives however don't get their coffee from this establishment on their way to work every morning. No, they go up the street a block to avoid the often irritating swarm of tourists who pronounce the name 'Starboo-ks' and can't ever decide what the word frappucino really means (it's a blended cup of frozen goodness... why is it so difficult?).
Sometimes, though I've been immersed in this place of madness many times, I return to it again. There is something charming about the chaos that hits me the instant I walk through the door; the cashier expertly tossing the newly designated cups to the baristas waiting behind the counter. It's like a perfectly choreographed dance, people's cravings for both history and coffee being fulfilled while a trio of soulful black men sing a capella outside the front door to a clapping audience on the sidewalk. The refrain from 'My Girl' wafts through the air and the iconic image of a Siren graces the beverage of every satisfied customer.
The truth of the matter is that the rest of the world does not understand our undying love and passion for a steaming cup of coffee brewed by our favorite baristas nor the necessity we have for a Starbucks on every other corner. I will let you in on a secret. I think people go to Starbucks for the ideal it represents and the lifestyle it promotes. It is an advocate for conversation and for good company. It extends an invitation to walk inside its doors and put life on hold for a moment while taking a sip of your favorite beverage; you know, the one that will help fight alongside you the headache that is the rest of your day.
I'm not assuming that Starbucks coffee has magical properties, or that coffee is the maker of all things good, or that life without coffee is an empty existance. Just simply stating that when people from 'out of the area' (you know, those people that carry umbrellas... we call them tourists) think of us as being addicted to the coffee, or the caffeine, or the mochas that they deem as overpriced, that they are misunderstanding the entire concept of why we do what we do.
It's about people. It's about community. It's about relationships. It's about feeling a part of the world that is so much bigger than just yourself and who you are with (if anyone). It's about an idea: that people can gather together for the purpose of good conversation, or reading a good book, or just enjoying a tall nonfat black and white mocha with no whip, and know that thousands of miles away, at a Starbucks somewhere in Philly, Madrid, London, and Zurich, someone else is doing the same thing. Coffee is just a wonderful added bonus. Yes, the topic of conversation varies. Yes, the prices vary from dollars, to pounds, to franks, to euros and back to dollars again. But somewhere in the world, as you read these words, someone is seeking familiarity and comfort in a cup of coffee. It would be silly to say that all my memories are measured tall, grande or venti... but a good portion of them are.
So if you're ever in need of the chaotic ambiance and familiarity of a place that is both contemporary and classic, charming and alive with activity, or you just want your grande iced caramel machiatto without diversion, the original Starbucks represents a shining beacon of hope for all who are seeking.
the road less travelled
August 8, 2006
Isn't it amazing how drastically things can change in the course of a week?
A little over a week ago I was given the opportunity to hang out with some of the coolest junior high and high school kids ever. I spent my days playing games, sitting at the lake, in the sun, on a boat, surrounded by sunshine and good conversation. I got a chance to get to lead worship and be a counselor.
That was last week. When I'm scanning ahead seven days, I see something completely different. While it looks beautiful in its own way, part of that beauty is found in the mystery of the unknown. I have no idea what it will be like. I don't know where I will work, who my friends will be in a month (although my amazing sister is a given), what our apartment will look like, or where I'll be at spiritually.
It's like this larger-than-life question mark over the next year of my life.
I worked my last shift at Ruby's tonight.. my home away from home for the last three years. I did my walk through of the empty and dark building as usual, and it just felt okay inside. It's unreal that I'm leaving on Thursday, but so much of me just feels at peace. About everything. About leaving my family, my good job, and all of my friends. Like a part of me knows I need to go. To get out. To kick off my shoes and experience something new, whether I end up liking it at the end of the year or not.
It will be new. And different. And scary. And beautiful.
There's no doubt that it's hard to leave a few things behind for awhile, but there's something about an empty and untraveled road that will always appeal to me. So I will step forward in anticipation. And hope that the road is there to meet my feet even when I can't see the ending.
Selah.
Isn't it amazing how drastically things can change in the course of a week?
A little over a week ago I was given the opportunity to hang out with some of the coolest junior high and high school kids ever. I spent my days playing games, sitting at the lake, in the sun, on a boat, surrounded by sunshine and good conversation. I got a chance to get to lead worship and be a counselor.
That was last week. When I'm scanning ahead seven days, I see something completely different. While it looks beautiful in its own way, part of that beauty is found in the mystery of the unknown. I have no idea what it will be like. I don't know where I will work, who my friends will be in a month (although my amazing sister is a given), what our apartment will look like, or where I'll be at spiritually.
It's like this larger-than-life question mark over the next year of my life.
I worked my last shift at Ruby's tonight.. my home away from home for the last three years. I did my walk through of the empty and dark building as usual, and it just felt okay inside. It's unreal that I'm leaving on Thursday, but so much of me just feels at peace. About everything. About leaving my family, my good job, and all of my friends. Like a part of me knows I need to go. To get out. To kick off my shoes and experience something new, whether I end up liking it at the end of the year or not.
It will be new. And different. And scary. And beautiful.
There's no doubt that it's hard to leave a few things behind for awhile, but there's something about an empty and untraveled road that will always appeal to me. So I will step forward in anticipation. And hope that the road is there to meet my feet even when I can't see the ending.
Selah.
another sleepless night
June 19, 2006
Sleepless nights always keep me awake.
I know that sounds sort of redundant, but when I am already awake at an indecent hour of the night (or morning in some cases), I am already thinking about so many things and people and situations, and just life... so much that my head is spinning. It just makes it impossible to get any good rest at all.
Someone told me today, "Dayna if your life was to be lived in a straight line.. you know, the 'four year' school plan, and knowing exactly where you want to be a year from now... just like everybody else seems to be doing... I don't think you'd be happy. Now, we know that the shortest distance from one place to another is a straight line. But in your case, the journey getting there matters as much to you, if not more, than where you end up in the end."
I would have to agree.
I know that I'm looked down upon a lot by people I know (not all, mind you but a good portion) as just having no goals, and not knowing where I want to end up because I'm apathetic towards living life. People think this because I go to community college. Because I haven't picked a specific major. Because I don't go to a four year like most of the 'upstanding citizens' of my generation (not downing on people that go to those at all, because some of the finest people I know are taking that track, and are loving it, and they totally made the right decision).
But she's right. I want to enjoy the journey.
The days. The moments. The small things. The walk in the sunshine from Ruby's to Starbucks every morning. Getting to go work out with my beautiful sister. Having a new chance every day to start over. I'm not saying it's impossible to enjoy these things by following that straight path. I just mean that for me, I want getting there and finding out where I'm going to be half the fun. I have goals: to be the best I can wherever I'm at. To continue writing. To keep singing. But to be honest, knowing what job I want to end up with in four years is the least of my worries.
Just because I spend my days at Ruby's doesn't mean I'm going to be waiting tables forever. Just because I don't follow a four year plan doesn't mean I'm not going places. I am going places.
Sleepless nights always keep me awake.
I know that sounds sort of redundant, but when I am already awake at an indecent hour of the night (or morning in some cases), I am already thinking about so many things and people and situations, and just life... so much that my head is spinning. It just makes it impossible to get any good rest at all.
Someone told me today, "Dayna if your life was to be lived in a straight line.. you know, the 'four year' school plan, and knowing exactly where you want to be a year from now... just like everybody else seems to be doing... I don't think you'd be happy. Now, we know that the shortest distance from one place to another is a straight line. But in your case, the journey getting there matters as much to you, if not more, than where you end up in the end."
I would have to agree.
I know that I'm looked down upon a lot by people I know (not all, mind you but a good portion) as just having no goals, and not knowing where I want to end up because I'm apathetic towards living life. People think this because I go to community college. Because I haven't picked a specific major. Because I don't go to a four year like most of the 'upstanding citizens' of my generation (not downing on people that go to those at all, because some of the finest people I know are taking that track, and are loving it, and they totally made the right decision).
But she's right. I want to enjoy the journey.
The days. The moments. The small things. The walk in the sunshine from Ruby's to Starbucks every morning. Getting to go work out with my beautiful sister. Having a new chance every day to start over. I'm not saying it's impossible to enjoy these things by following that straight path. I just mean that for me, I want getting there and finding out where I'm going to be half the fun. I have goals: to be the best I can wherever I'm at. To continue writing. To keep singing. But to be honest, knowing what job I want to end up with in four years is the least of my worries.
Just because I spend my days at Ruby's doesn't mean I'm going to be waiting tables forever. Just because I don't follow a four year plan doesn't mean I'm not going places. I am going places.
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