Verb.

This blog has died, and I'm not sad about it.

I've made a conversion from words to actions--when I feel something, I don't write about it, I don't wax poetic on exactly what it means or wonder if I should perhaps feel differently. I just act on those feelings. Which is good--I'm spending a lot less time living in my own head and more time engaging other people, discovering what I have in common with the rest of the world and what aspects of me are blessedly mine. I treasure both.

Actions give me strength, purpose, a list of things that I could point to at the end of my life and say I did this. And words, I notice more and more, just descend in to hollow meaninglessness with time and repetition. Even the most powerful words--inspiring campaign promises, for example--lose their potency when "Change we can believe in" is just something we say, not something we see or feel. Even "I love you" can turn into just something one says instead of something one does. Over time you can become so depressed by a word's lack of any real meaning that the most positive words, instead of filling you up and buoying you, just kind of hollow you out. Someone has wasted your time by saying something so worthless as "I'm here for you" when they're never, ever physically there.

Actions are concrete, harder to misinterpret, easier to explain, and I think more impervious to that weakening over time. I am trying to live in verbs now, trying to make myself known and my intentions clear not just to those who bother to read or listen to what I say. I teach in Africa, everyone knows that I care about poverty and the opportunity gap and my generation's future. I wear a uniform, everyone knows I am dedicated to serving my country.

...I wish I could make that list longer. Soon it will be. I think it's too much to hope that I can influence others to live the same way. But at least i can value from this information and know who to trust, who to respect...and who's just blowing empty words in my direction.

Lilith Returns.

I jacked my mom's 2-disc set of lilith fair songs about 3 years ago, and it's been one of my favorites ever since. Now, the all-women's music fest is coming back...and it's coming back with Norah Jones and Teagan & Sarah and tons of the other beautiful women who have burst onto the music scene since these tours went on hiatus.

It's going to be in Philly on July 28. i4c birkenstocks, muddy legs, and more lesbian music duos than one could shake a stick at?

Ink:

I dream of it.

From the brilliant Dr. Berner.

These are the crucial teachings of Buddhism:

That everyone matters, that we're all connected, and that every action--every smile--every glance we make affects other people and the world around us.

This is how I'll say goodbye

I depart as air .... I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,

I effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,

If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,

But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,

And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,

Missing me one place search another,

I stop somewhere waiting for you

New theory: Walt Whitman was an American Buddhist.

How Quickly, Part 2.

How quickly we forget...to write...for a year.

How very, very quickly each year passes, the acceleration so impossibly high, it's incalculable. The magnetic poetry on the mini-fridge is still arranged into messages about surviving the winter, but winter's long gone, the last wisps of the depressive state blowing off my body the way leaves blew off the trees "just yesterday." I can count the weeks on one hand til I'm home forever, forever equaling approximately three months, two of those spent in the Caribbean, one spent sleeping on a futon in an office. Next weekend: dining out. Next weekend: work. Next weekend: home for a refuel, a birthday, a show. Next weekend: Phi Mu Formal. Next weekend: Home free.

How quickly we discover adventure isn't leaving for some foreign land for six weeks, then rediscovering the comforts of home. The true adventure is packing boxes and relocating for good. Some days I feel ancient. Other days the truth reveals itself: My life is a mountain and I haven't even made it out of base camp yet. Possibilities are spread out in front of me. How terrifying, how thrilling.

How quickly we forget someone's listening. Or maybe we didn't forget, we just never noticed because we were so busy trying to catch someone else's attention.

How quickly we forget the power of words. In journalism we talk about how blogs are stupid. How writing about yourself is stupid. But Whitman wrote "Song of Myself" and last I checked, that's all about him. Last I checked, I cry every time I read it. Now I'm no Whitman but I reserve the right to call him 'Uncle Walt' and give this thing a try again.

"I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable."

How Quickly

How quickly we forget:

 

• That good friends, a healthy dose of nature and just the right amount of chocolate solve most of life’s problems
  
• That the bends in the road that force us to slow down are there for our viewing pleasure
  
• That friends can be family
  
• That the loch ness monster can also fly
  
• That the current pushes us along for a reason. Sometimes the answer is to simply go with it
  
• That scenic views are worth vigorous journeys
  
• That nothing is stronger than a good network of loving people
  
• That sharing laughter with those we love is beautiful
  
• That a warm crackling fire frightens away negative thoughts
  
• That waffles are a unifier
  
• That the sky is an ever-changing masterpiece we should take time to admire at least for a few minutes every day
  
• That we can jump higher than we think
  
• That if we overestimate our strength, we can tumble, spit in our scratches and try again
  
• That what feels good often is.
  
• That sometimes the most reassuring advice you can give someone is that your door is always open for everyone except robbers and murderers
  
• That a mentor can become a friend in a single night
  
• That ends can be starts, and goodbyes can be introductions
  
• That smoky hair, grungy nails and pockmarked legs are symbols of cleansing and renewal
  
• That not every great memory needs to be recorded in Dear Diary format
  

 

And then one evening takes our souls, shakes them awake, and leaves them to stretch and dance within us—it reignites brain synapses, and we remember—oh, the feeling of mud in our toes is delicious, oh, the scrapes in our hands are worth the pounding water on our feet, oh, there is something about nature that just unites us. We remember how bugs and dirt and moss all contribute to the sublime beauty that is the outdoors—a beauty that is best enjoyed with others who respect it, yet also know how to enjoy it.

I’ll be going back to the hostel at some point during the Twenty Days—whether with a few friends or by myself, I’ve yet to decide. But it seems like such an ideal place to retreat, reflect and leave renewed. 

Yes, there is a section of my summer that requires title case capitalization, and it’s called the Twenty Days. From the day I return from Ghana to the day I depart for college is twenty days. Those twenty days are the ones in which my entire summer has to happen. I want days of far-reaching adventure and low-key locality. I want days during which my only obligation is to my friends and the forces that connect us. So if you have any suggestions for the Twenty Days, please let me know below. I’m hoping to fit a few humdingers in there.

In the meantime, I’m just hoping to keep afloat amidst my crazy schedule for this week. So far, so good. Wish me luck as the end approaches.