Not Being Anything In Particular

I stay up way too late. Regularly. Which is, by all logical accounts, foolish.

I am an adult. Or at least my Idaho-issued identification card says I am. My birthday this year will indicate the same.

I should be drawing healthy boundaries for myself in the form of putting myself to bed at a reasonable hour.

Reasonable? Let's just be real for a minute.

I figured out why I stay up too late even though I know I shouldn't...

I don't have to make any decisions at this hour.

Eric is asleep, as are the dogs. My phone is quiet (because other, more responsible adults are also asleep.) The FB feed has slowed down. The TV is off. And Pinterest would just be too overwhelming.

There are only 3 steady sounds penetrating this late hour: the snores of two pugs, the accusatory tick-tock of the clock, and the wind.

And I am content. Or maybe I'm not. I don't know because I DON'T HAVE TO MAKE THAT DECISION RIGHT NOW.

I am marinating in the quiet and the irresponsibility of this "adult" hour. This hour that I would gawk & gape at if Eric asked to stay up til. How reckless it sounds. No good ever comes from this hour.

Right?

Instead of anticipating the stimulating lights, music, libations, people of the "late night" crowd, I relish the idea of being alone...or maybe not alone...but quiet, silent even. Just being. But not being anything in particular.

Which is the best part.

I don't have to decide what to make for dinner. Or what ensemble to wear in the changing Idaho weather. Or if Eric can sport green & black hair to school. Or what the month of June will require of my time & resources. Or come to any conclusions at all.

Sometimes, I have a drink standing next to my laptop. Like I do now. But I'm not drinking it. The ice cube is a small raft floating on top. I could take a drink...or abandon it. I haven't decided yet. But I like how it looks. So the only decision I've made is to keep it there.

Will I wish I would have gone to bed earlier when the morning comes? Of course. But that's not my concern right now. Nothing is, really.

I am free - held captive only by the blanket I've wrapped around me like a cape.

It's the part of the evening when the world has to decide what day it's going to be.

If it were up to me, I'd choose some day in June.

But I don't have to make that decision right now. 

Valued | BreAnn

Before my 7th grade year, my parents forced me to do something no child should ever have to endure. And they should under no circumstances have to endure it during their early teenage years.

I was forced to make the traumatic transfer from teeny-tiny-private-school-where-everyone-has-to-love-everyone-or-you're-going-to-hell to a slightly (and only slightly) larger public school, which I convinced myself was hell.

And it was made painfully obvious to me that I had something to prove, and I had better prove it immediately so all the other girls knew what to do with me.

The only thing was - I didn't know what that "something" was. But I managed to prove it somehow because some girls (you know the ones) determined that I enrolled there, of my own free-will, to ruin their very lives.

Looking back, I feel that would've been an admirable goal, but would leave very little time for homework and dance practice. And, oh honey...no one messes with dance practice.

How did we make friends when we were young? Seriously, how? There was no formal interview or Q & A period. We didn't know anything about each other. There weren't any summer bbqs or girls' nights out at that age that we could invite each other to. Weren't we a little pretentious?

Oh how I love a little pretention (is that a word?)

Because one fellow blondie (some of you don't know I'm a natural blonde) was pretentious enough to think I would love her if she loved me.

So. much. love. for this beauty:

And you HAVE to check out her natural lashes (promise me you'll try not to hate her):

We have been friends for, good grief...has it truly been 17 years? What a gift. 

I have been able to watch and learn so much from this woman. BreAnn is a natural leader. She's got a confident, calm demeanor that people naturally look to. She comes off as fearless, as evidenced by her move clear across the country right after receiving her degree (which she moved to Utah to get. Go Aggies!) She is absolutely beautiful and her beauty is only rivaled by her intelligence. She has published articles through and for her work and they have made me even prouder to know her, even from waaaaay over here. She cares about others deeply & has changed lives everywhere she's lived. I have watched others form relationships with her and, instead of the jealousy I feared I would feel early on, I just grin from ear to ear because they get to see what I see - and they are blessed because of it.

She is a lovely soul - one of those true friends. I believe with all of my heart that, not only would she not participate in any sort of junior-high-style bad-mouthing or gossip, but she would openly & gently put a stop to it or redirect the conversation. I trust her with my whole heart.

She and I have one of those friendships where we won't actually speak verbally to each other for long, long periods of time; we will exchange occasional warm or hilarious texts; we will connect through "likes" on FB; but when we get together, it's like we've been sitting there, in those seats, for years. Like no time has passed. The core personalities that brought us together at our vulnerable 13 years, the roots that have only grown stronger & deeper, it all connects and thrives and grows and shines when the distance between us is finally bridged.

{It is also worth it to note here that she claims to not hate me (yet) for not having made the trip to her side of the country thus far. Bre, please know my self-loathing is steady & constant. Thank you for being so gracious.}

I look forward to seeing BreAnn like it's Christmas, the 4th of July, and my birthday ALL ON THE SAME DAY.  She is West Coast cool, East Coast chic, and Pacific Northwest-genuine. She's like, 3 of the 5 awesome things in that Beach Boys song! Winning!

Her sweet soul is as pretty as she is and I am so thankful that I get to have her in my life. I have saved the pictures and cards that we've exchanged over the years because they are simply priceless - no amount of value could ever be placed on them, or on the friendship she offers me.

I love you, BreAnn, and I value you more than I can say.

Valued | Linda

When I hear the words "soul mate", I often scoff as images of shooting stars, glazed-over stares, birds chirping, heavy sighs, and the occasional unicorn play on a Hollywood-induced reel in my mind.

(I am a cynic realist.)

Online dating sites ensure the only thing standing between you and your one-and-only is a subscription to their services.

Some people lock eyes with the love of their life across the smokey bar.

I found mine in 5th grade. At a tiny Lutheran school. Adorned with huge blonde bangs and a hideous corduroy skirt. My life was never the same.

Allow me to introduce Linda:

Our friendship was immediate & effortless. I have no idea what bonded us or what made us want to be friends. It was out of my control. I just know we were supposed to be friends.

She is the most hilarious woman in my life to date. Aching abs, running makeup, you know...the ugly laugh/cry. No dignity, just laughter.

The notes, texts, emails, phone calls that string between the years in our friendship would stretch to the moon and back. She is the first one I think to tell when I get news, any news. She is one of my biggest fans, hands down. "I love yous" are openly exchanged, but unnecessary. We know. We've been through waaaay too much to even question it. We are an incredible, delicate balance to each other. Strong when the other is weak, grounded when the other is freaking out, encouraging when the other is struggling.

We were separated, completely cut-off, for 13 years due to a series of events, only to discover we were only 2 hours apart. And there were tears when that distance was bridged.

She is a pillar of strength. Pulling herself through every single thing she's encountered, most often by her own will. She is a mother to 2 young boys who are more like her than she probably cares to admit (sarcastic, fearless, rebellious, sweet), but wouldn't have it any other way. Ever. She is the most beautiful blend of mother-father roles & responsibility. It's not always easy for a woman to act like she's "got a pair", but with Linda...well, we're pretty sure it's not just a mental state of being - it's biological.

She's up for almost anything, except for dancing sober. She's a whiskey girl, but only if she doesn't have to pay for it. She swears like a sailor in acrylic nails and 4-inch heels. And motorcycle-riding men is a serious weakness of hers.

Can I sum up why I believe she is stitched into my very soul? No. It's so many years, experiences, words, late nights...there's no way to compress that down and retain the value. And honestly, the condensed version of that - the highly concentrated version - would probably make you pucker.

She was brought into my life for a reason and I believe the same applies to me of her life. I don't think there will ever be a time in my life when I don't miss her. If another 13 years ever goes by without contact, I can only see twice as many tears being shed. My heart looks for her, for the beauty and hilarity she naturally brings to my life, and I don't think any amount of time or distance can stop that.

"I love you" can become flippant and commonplace. Even when we mean it. But today, I want her to know:

I value you.

A Social Experiment

Do you know why I don't sneer/slow down/speed up/or otherwise become obnoxious when a speeding car goes flying around me?

Because I don't know if they're headed to the hospital. And heaven forbid my false sense of superiority come between the driver and someone they value.

----

I was talking earlier with someone about a gal we both know. We'll call her Jane. She's in her early twenties, is as sweet and naive as can be, and has been horribly mentally & emotionally abused. She was kicked out of her home by her mother 3 separate times, the first time when she was 12. She has been manipulated to no end. She is on her own now, working, going to school, and is very recently engaged to a sweet young man ("Joe").

And the friend I was speaking with about Jane said this of her new fiance, "I know one thing - I know that all Joe has to do is listen to her and say a few nice things to her and she will do anything for him."

And I literally laughed and grimaced at the same time. (And there's not enough photo-editing software to fix that resulting mess.)

Her heart, her soul is so desperate to hear that she's loved, that she's beautiful, that she's doing a good job, that {she matters}, that what some of us take for granted, or expect even, is like water in the desert for Jane.

This part of the conversation brought us to the social experiments Hitler would perform. More specifically - the ones he did on infants and the effect lack of touch/affection had on them. (I'm an intellectual...obviously. Sorry, I joke when I'm uncomfortable.) And those babies who were fed but not held, clothed but not talked to, cleaned but not loved...died.

{Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around."}
Leo Buscaglia

It is not merely good for our egos to hear good things about ourselves. A hug is not merely a welcoming gesture. It is not merely to keep our fingers warm when we hold hands with another.

It is a physical necessity. Because we need to feel valuable. To live.

I've decided to act on something that's been taking up space in my sad little highly intellectual brain. I want to write about the people in my world, and why they're valuable to me. I want them to know. And I want someone else to know, too. I'm not sure how I'll start or who I'll choose or how many days there will be between posts, but I'm going to dive in.

(It's probably fair to forewarn you that I will include a picture of whomever I love on in my post. It will be one that I chose that I think captures that person. If it ends up being you, there will be no complaining, just knowing that you are valuable and beautiful.)

And I Don't Know How to Do That

I was driving during a thunderstorm when my windshield wiper motor decided to wave the white flag in defeat.

And there were my wipers, skewed haphazardly across my window, pulsing like a metronome with hiccups. Mechanical death-spasms, I suppose. And ill-timed ones at that.

Soooo dramatic.

The thing is - they didn't look broken. All the necessary parts were there. And appeared to be without crack or obvious handicap.

I couldn't tell something was wrong until I saw them in action.

When I look at myself, I don't see a "broken" individual. All my parts are here and (with the exception of a few spots that make me crinkle my nose & furrow my brow) appear to be without crack or obvious handicap. I am a whole person.

Until you see me in action.

Sigh. A big part of me debated whether I should even mess with this post. It's personal. It's scary. It doesn't shed me in the best possible light (think fluorescent. Bleh.) And yet, here we are.

Those of you that know me, know that I was in a bad marriage.

Those of you that KNOW ME-know me, know pieces of how messed up it was.

And it is behind me and it is glorious and I made a cake to celebrate its official-ness.

You see, I learned an interesting thing about myself in and after that relationship. It was pure madness, being there, being in it. And it was unnatural. And I had a little boy. And I fought against the craziness every day. Because that was not going to be my life forever and it sure wasn't going to be my son's world.

When I was in it, I developed certain methods to cope and maintain a sense of control (of me & my son's world, not ex's. Only our Almighty God stands a chance at that.)

Truth be told, ex wasn't home much. Good news for this stay-at-home-mommy. I could make my son's world good and watch him discover innocent, mundane things, turn them into the BEST. THINGS. EVER. and not have his views bleakly tainted before any of that was given a chance to happen. Our world was beautiful and funny and full of slobber (Eric's and the dogs') and love (Eric's and the dogs'). I would cry solely out of being overwhelmed with love for him. And then Eric would cry when Mommy would cry, and Mommy learned to get a grip.

Even though I was part of a relationship (implied "partnership") that was legally recognized by our state, I became fiercely independent. I did not rely on, depend on, or make plans with ex. This was not completely by choice until a little later. It started out as a product of my circumstances. One I am now (mostly) grateful for. I wanted needed Eric to have a childhood where he wasn't kicking a ball around in the middle of a battlefield.

I raised Eric on my own, with my morals/principles/beliefs. There really wasn't too much outside interference (a.k.a. ex) because A) Eric and I were together all day, every day; B) if ex came home, I would pack up Eric & the dogs and leave whenever we could; and C) ex didn't care. Eric was little enough, long enough, that what was really going on was lost on him almost entirely. That fact is bittersweet for me.

Two very separate lives belonging to the same physical address. And when the time was right, I ended the relationship in a way that is also legally recognized by our state. And Eric and I got a new address. And for Eric, that was the most that changed, but even still, not really. We lived with my parents, where we had already spent so much of our time anyway, simply avoiding the reality of "home", and embracing the love that should fill every home.

And God said, "Let there be Wiersmas. And it was good."

Photo taken from Pinterest. Credit unknown.

And then, I met someone. Like, a real someone. And suddenly I was in this real relationship with real care/concern/love with someone who made coherent decisions, one of them arguably being to include me in his life. (I said arguably...)

And this someone had his own experiences/expectations/assumptions/methods/perspective.

And suddenly it dawned on me that I'm in a relationship (not yet legally recognized by our state), and this person is valid, this person comes with his own set of "baggage", this person is contributing, this person wants to work out compromises with me.

AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT.

*Insert crazy, sporadic, pathetic windshield wiper skillz here.*

I mean, I do, but I don't. Like, it's a very deliberate decision for me to mentally/physically include him in my life & my plans. I'll give myself some credit and say that, now that it's been almost 2 years, it's not really an issue that deserves BOLDING AND ALL-CAPS, but you see what I mean.

I had learned to do "together" separately. And it took time, tears, and several soft-under-belly-exposing conversations for us to get a few questions answered. Conversations we have to revisit occasionally to remember the whys and the hows. Conversations that remind us of the beautiful fact that creates some of the biggest craters in our relationships: he is man and I am woman and we. are. different.

It has been a growing experience. Which sounds so small and anti-climatic. Would it be easier to perpetuate the independent/separate life path? Eh. Some days. Others, notsomuch. Would it be better? A resounding no.

The hard work, the good times, the memories, the family-unit-we're-attempting-to-assemble-like-it's-a-tetris-game-with-a-heartbeat, is so worth it.

Let's just pray he never sees the "Some Assembly Required" warning on the bottom of my foot.