Small Hours

I’m watching a play. There are two 20-something aged girls in pyjamas, curled up in over-sized armchairs facing the audience. Over the next 45 minutes I listen to their conversations. The ones that happen in the small hours of the morning, when best friends talk about everything and nothing simultaneously. I know these hours and friends well. Immediately memories start playing out in my mind. One friend inebriatedly crying about the effects of global warming on ocean animals after we built a fort and had too much whisky. Squeezing the hand of another on a rooftop right before we graduated college, afraid of letting go and growing up. Having the worst flu of my life and deciding the obvious antidote was to cuddle up on the couch together and spend the entire day watching the Godfather series for the first time.

The stage lights end and begin scenes intermittently. I soon recognize that I’m witnessing a shuffling of memories—various conversations during those hours that become the breeding grounds for future nostalgia. The girls, still enveloped in their armchairs, begin to turn from the audience towards each other and their discussion reveals that this is actually a play-within-a-play. The earlier conversations are perhaps entirely false. One girl tries to remember while the other gets upset for parts being erroneously represented. One is really here, the other is not. This relationship now grievously exists in one-sided memory.

“The worst part is that I’m not even me anymore. I’m just how you remember me.”

Light-hearted, funny, sentimental conversations fade into something that is universally experienced yet rarely portrayed: the loss of self that happens when old friendships dissolve.

The small-hours-kind-of-friends are like mirrors. We love the part of ourselves they reflect back to us. When one of those friendship ends it’s as if there’s a part of yourself you can’t see anymore. Whether the ending happens suddenly or more commonly, slowly and gently over time, any attempt at revisiting is prone to error and inaccuracy. I think one of the most jarring parts of growing up that no one tells you about is how often you will experience this:

Looking back on something you thought you knew and discovering the reality you believed was something else entirely.

We talk about making vows with partners, but don’t we also make them with our friends? Not ones said out loud wearing pretty outfits in front of a smiling crowd. Silent ones in pyjamas that happen between “what’s up”s and “remember when”s. Vows that are spelled out in leftover pizza crusts and danced out on dorm room floors. Those vows made during the small hours propel us through so many big days. We assume best friends are forever kinds of things. We assume these friendships will fill us in the ways they always did. That this friend will know how to love us the way we need through all of life’s ups and downs. We assume that we’re honest with ourselves and with one another. We assume that we’ll always put forth effort in equal measure. But vows made between friends are just as subject to change as vows made between partners. It feels to me that most of us are taught to regard these changes with an air of nonchalance and progressive acceptance. This seems increasingly evident to me as I journey through a phase of life that is incredibly transitional for everyone my age.

It’s natural. Life happens. They’ll understand. People change. Things get busy. I’m sure we could just pick up where we left off. 

I get that. I’ve parted ways from friends both abruptly with mutual acknowledgement and in a slow, silent fade out. I’ve cried after hearing about a friend’s engagement because of the changes that I knew would inevitably follow. I’ve quietly seethed over a friend’s job placement knowing it would take them far away from me. I’ve stayed up all night anxious about how things “felt weird” when we hung out last. I’ve experienced the sink in your chest the instant you realize they don’t care as much as you do anymore.

This play made me realize that everything I just described is a reaction of fear. These “normal” transitions in a friendship doesn’t just mean the change or loss of this person who has a specific and important part to play in your story. It’s kind of like a change and loss of self. If you love who you are around someone, if you’re attached to what they bring out in you or how they know and understand you, and then that connection shifts in a big or small way…it’s startling. Hard. Uncomfortable. It’s shitty, okay? It’s just shitty. And I wish friends acknowledged the silent vows more often. I wish friends talked about the transitions when they happen.

I don’t have a tidy conclusion or a specific point to make. Mostly I just saw a play and it brought my feelings to life in one of those beautifully messy ‘ME TOO’ ways that art tends to do.

Here’s to the magic of the small hours.

I wouldn’t take any of them back, no matter the outcome. Maybe that’s the point.

Shout out to my C venues team mate Anna Jeary for her brilliant writing and Fourth Wall Theatre for showcasing Small Hours at the Edinbrugh Festival Fringe. 

Love,

Taylor

Strength & Weakness

Has anyone else ever become painfully aware that their greatest strength is also their most maddening weakness?

Someone recently commented on how much I give of myself to other people…and they said it (probably unintentionally) in a way that made me self-conscious about it.

In a way that implied, “Tay, you’re just a little bit crazy and it’s making me kind of uncomfortable.”

And for days after this, I internally mulled over whether this defining character feature of mine was, in fact, crazy…even just a little bit.

And I’ll admit it. There is a crazy element.

It’s crazy to try and be what someone else wants or needs. But I do this a lot. I put other people first. I meet them where they’re at. I think of them first. I try to make their day. I ask them questions. I over analyze all my words and actions so that I’m not being too much of this, but enough of that. I will be patient and understanding to a fault. I will listen well and ponder your thoughts in my heart. If you hurt me I might tell you, but you probably won’t feel any repercussions because I would rather love without reservation. And all of this honestly comes pretty effortlessly. Because this is me. This is how I am good at being. This is where I’m strong. And for the most part, it works. I have a beautiful existence full of amazing relationships and opportunities that make my life full.

I know how to use this strength and leverage it for the good of others. If I get asked to do something that will make you feel better and I can, it’s honestly great for us both. But here’s where the crazy becomes uncomfortable…I don’t like asking for anything and I don’t like having needs of my own. This doesn’t exactly work, because it isn’t realllllly human.

I’m 9 months in to my year of being fierce and still learning what that looks like, but I think this is part of it. I’m already fiercely loving and giving. That isn’t something I need to grow deeper in. This is where fierce becomes about expanding, adding, balancing. It’s about flexing those muscles I’m adverse to using. It’s hard to accept those challenges for myself. The challenge of being confrontational, self-focused in a way that makes my skin crawl, and bravely blunt.

I mean, if you play an instrument with only one string, it’s going to get really irritating and redundant after awhile, right? Adding a few strings will help you get farther.

I don’t mean for this to sound definitive, but for instance…

If you are really organized, you are probably inflexible. Adapt more.

If you are giving, you are probably not receiving. Take care of yourself more.

If you are a talker, you probably talk too much. Listen more.

If you are a creative, you are probably scatterbrained. Ask more questions.

If you are insanely busy, you are probably restless. Rest more.

If you are great at encouraging, people walk over you. Confront more.

We all need to push ourselves towards balance. I’m not naive enough to think that anyone, myself included, can just start doing this and voila- a whole new person. No, no, no.

One of my favourite authors, Rachel Held Evans, said it this way:

“You tend to come out of the big moments– the wedding, the book deal, the baptism, the trip, the death, the birth– the exact same person who went in, and perhaps the strangest surprise of life is it keeps on happening to the same ol’ you.”

We have game changing life moments, conversations, and prayers. I don’t know about you, but I don’t ever come out of them a whole different person. I’m still me. But something small changes and creates that tiny ripple effect that dictates what happens next: a slow but insanely amazing refining process. I know that for me, it started with acknowledging that my greatest strength makes me weak when I am motivated out of a place of doing or being for love or acceptance from other people. When it fails, I struggle to feel adequate enough. I get hurt. My confidence wavers. I let myself down. But if I am fierce in the refining process, my strength will go farther and hit deeper because I will be motivated out of a place of fully loving and accepting who I am and taking care of what I need before I give.

My best friend said to me, “…it’s like this. If you were to decide to renovate a house on your own as a project you wanted to do…you’d still be doing it with other people in mind. You’d probably make changes and designs for who ever you thought might take up that space. That’s a beautiful, incredible thing about you. But Tay, you have to make it yours first. It has to be tailor-made, you know? The only type of person who deserves what you give is the person who comes in and helps start painting the walls with you in mind. So, be you. 100%. Do your thing. Focus on making that house however you want it first and then the right people, the ones who truly belong in your life, will come in. They’ll come in and you won’t have to change anything. They’ll just decide to stay because they’ll feel at home in your tailor-made house.”

I think he’s right. Now I have to keep on living it out.

Ooft. Well, that was draining.

Speaking of draining…I would like to drain a whole bottle of wine into my mouth.

Ugggh. Whole30. Two more weeks. I can do this.

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

One. I really wanted to go to the Isle of Skye but it is best to go there with a car, which is something I don’t have. So, I posted in a Couch Surfer discussion group for Edinburgh to see if anyone else wanted to go that could possibly drive and Voila! We became a group of four headed for the magical island in a tiny but efficient Yaris. It was a fierce and incredible trip. The first night we got there I remember lying down to sleep and being startled by the stillness. Absolute silence. I could not hear a thing. I’ve been to remote places before but this was a whole other level of quiet. It’s strange how unsettling silence can be when you aren’t used to it. The next morning I woke up before everyone else (story of my life), made some coffee, went on a walk and talked to the sheep and lambs. I saw more of them than I did people…as if I needed more of a reason to fall in love with the place. We spent all of the days hiking: The Quiraing, Old Man Storr, a couple of places around Egol, and The Fairy Pools (we may have climbed to The Lord of the Rings soundtrack a few times because it felt that epic) and the evenings were for stretching our legs, drinking wine, and getting toasty by the fire. The landscapes there are unreal and breathtaking. The pictures don’t even do it justice. Overall, Skye was exhilarating and good for my soul. One side note: I needed to get some gloves before we left and ended up having to buy ones from the children’s section. Tiny hands. Baby chilly fingers.

Two. (Most of) Flat 3-4 celebrated Clare’s birthday last week! We made a delish fajita dinner together. Then we went out for karaoke. It was hilarious to see which songs everyone picked. Everything from Alien Ant Farm to Taiwanese band called SHE to R. Kelly was sang. I surprised myself by keeping up with Andre 3000 and totally dominating ‘Ms. Jackson’. I’m now trying to cope with the fact that I may be pursuing the wrong career entirely.

I feel very lucky that I ended up with these babes for flatmates this year. We’re from six different countries, speak three different languages, and all have very different personalities…which sounds like it could be a disaster but hey, not only have we survived- we’ve thrived. I will miss everyone’s endearing quirks, late night kitchen conversations, movie nights, scouring the ‘reduced to clear’ section of the grocery store, taking out the bin bags together, going on walks, and generally anything Arnie says or does. We’re having a flat ‘Last Supper’ on Monday before we all take off in different directions. Nooooo 😦

Three. I said goodbye to my campus room yesterday and moved into a new flat for the two months I have left in Edinburgh. It’s a cheery, sunny place and my bedroom has a view of the sea! I’m sharing it with two other girls who work full time. They’ve been absolutely lovely and welcoming. They helped me move in and had a sweet bouquet of roses in my room. D’awwww. But as I was unpacking everything last night I was internally moaning about the constant transition. Always going. Always changing. Never settled. Never knowing what comes next. Sometimes I love it or I at least wouldn’t know how to function without it…but I. am. so. tired. I don’t want to keep adjusting to a new thing when I’m just getting used to the previous new thing. And yet I can’t imagine how long I’d be content with staying in one place or doing one thing. Maybe it’s just the age/life stage. “My heart wants roots, my mind wants wings, and I cannot bear their bickering.” No truer words have ever been spoken. For real. Four. At the moment I tend to put more effort into my breakfasts than I do into writing my dissertation. Whoops. Five. When you’re at the station and have to pee sooo bad that you’re willing to pay for it and then… Six. My Dad and Wendy are coming to visit in TWO DAYS! I’m so excited I might cry. And my mom is coming to visit the first week of July! We will get to celebrate both of our birthdays while she’s here and we’re spending a few days in The Netherlands seeing our ancestral stomping grounds. She can geek out about genealogy and I can geek out about art museums. Holllllaaaa(nd).

Seven. This is the best thing I’ve tasted since I moved here: Love, Taylor

2014: Surrender

At the beginning of this year, I was nannying for these two little gems:

I know. The cuteness is too much.

During this time my friend Hilary gifted me a daily meditation devotional titled, Surrender.

Most mornings I would make myself a cup of tea, set baby Lola in her rocker and read an excerpt out loud until she drifted into nap land. Also, my favorite quote happened to be, “Surrender to what is, let go of what was, have faith in what will be,” by Sonia Ricotte. Due to the current events of my life at the time, the word surrender felt very fitting.

It became my word. My mantra. My prayer. My theme.

2014 became the year Taylor learned what it means to surrender. In some aspects, I didn’t have choice, and in others, I had to consciously choose to learn. I surrendered a 7-year relationship. I gave up a place I made home. I let go of certain hopes and dreams but yielded to others. I had to accept and become comfortable with a lot of unknowns. I relinquished control of what I could not change, and subsequently that meant enduring the most change I’ve ever experienced in 365 days.

If I were to summarize what I learned it would be this:

Surrender is equal parts freedom and defeat. There is a certain power and greatness in both. When I surrender to a higher power, I am no longer the center of my life and therefore I begin to see this power in everything and everyone. Sometimes it is impossible to have a plan and that is okay. And in all honesty, the stronger I realize I am capable of being, the more intense the desire becomes to just screw it all and have a breakdown.

So, 2014…(insert a string of expletives): You were hard. You were great. I’m glad you’re over.

What is my word for 2015?

Fierce.

You can laugh if you want. I am aware this is a word that is used to describe warriors, severe weather, lion cats and/or Beyonce. But I’m around a lot of Irish people and they use it as an adverb for “very” or “extremely” (ex: “She was fierce loud”).

So, this is the year I will be more intentional, braver, sassier, and unstoppable. I will love, work, and play fiercely. Give me all you got 2015. I’m ready for you.

Happy New Year, everyone.

http://slide.ly/embed/0f767b1ec5fa5d4c9459f9bfbf1b51b7/autoplay/0

2014 by Slidely Slideshow

Love,

Taylor

The Challenge of Change

I’m one to give people (and myself) the benefit of the doubt.

I’m quick to say, “Oh, that’s just the way he is/she is/I am wired.”

I tend to believe that we are victims/products of our histories, environments and circumstances.

The love I have for people and the dislike I have for confrontation often overrides my need to bring up anything I find bothersome about someone.

BUT. I also get hung up on the idea of potential. Not what someone should be, but what they can be. I have this nagging desire to make people see this potential they possess (and to live up to my own, obviously). It’s horribly annoying because acting on that desire potentially becomes overbearing or offensive. Reaching potential requires changing. People don’t always like change. People don’t always believe they can or should change. I will be the first to admit, I am one of those people.

I re-read Viktor Frankl’s ‘A Man’s Search for Meaning’ recently and it was very convicting for me in regards to this topic. Here are some excerpts:

“For what matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into triumph, to turn one’s predicament into a human achievement. When we can no longer change our situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

“Man does not simply exist, but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become the next moment. By the same token, every human being has the freedom to change at any instant.”

“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.”

“A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the ‘why’ for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any ‘how’.”

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

I’ve probably written this 50 times already, but this year has been the most emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually exhausting year of my life. I can appear cool as a cucumber, but you guys: I’m mostly a mess. Yesterday I stayed in my pajamas all day. I ate ice cream and M&M’s for lunch. I didn’t really want to see or talk to anyone, so I didn’t leave my dorm. I sat in my bed and stared at the wall. It’s tempting to do this every day when you’re sad, but I can’t. I know I’m better than that. From an internal standpoint, I have been operating below my potential. I have wanted to shake off ‘suffering’ rather than choose into letting it transform me. I’m an extremely reflective person but I detest turning my attention inward. I hate focusing on myself. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. I understand that I am wired this way, but if I simply accept it and allow that to dictate my response to life, that won’t foster growth or freedom. Its hard to truly believe I have the authority to choose/change my response in hopeless situations that are out of my control.

I’m working hard on this one wee thing (‘wee’ is my favorite new adjective to use. Also, ‘dodgy’). I am committed to notice when I’m doing it, admit what I fear, and let it go again and again and again. It kills me when I see people who want to change something, who have all the resources and capabilities to do so, and they choose out. I know that if I want my relationships, career, and self to become something beautiful I have to be willing to stop the distractions. Pray. Listen for inner Tay. Ask questions. Mess up. Put some elbow grease into the process. And when I do everything I possibly can and it doesn’t work, will I keep fighting? When the advice, tactics, and tips make me feel like a failure, will I keep showing up? Am I willing to listen to myself, to find my own way, even when the way other’s have traveled isn’t working? Am I brave enough to create my own roadmap?

YES!

Amen.

Game face on.

 

Love,
Taylor

Self-Love Letter

Dear reader,

Love the person you’ve become because you fought to become her.

Say the positive things out loud. Use your voice. Let it ring in your ears.

Look at you!

Your spirit is bursting and beautiful. It is impacting. It is courageous. It is your essence and it’s the sexiest thing about you.

Your mind is unbelievably intricate. Just imagine all that it holds and how open it is to absorbing more and more and more. The thoughts you are capable of are astounding. The way your mind is wired is unique and fascinating.

Your body is incredible. It can bring life into the world. It’s a home for everything that makes up who you are. Woah! So, maybe society/media/mean people have helped you make a list of things that are “wrong” with it. My thighs touch. My cheekbones aren’t defined enough. I’m not thin or toned enough. My eyelashes aren’t long enough. My stomach isn’t flat enough. My butt isn’t big enough. I’m not tan enough. The double chin.  F*ck that. It works. It knows what it needs. It has strong parts and soft parts. Maybe you are decorated with freckles, scars that tell stories, and curves that you rock so hard sometimes they spill over your jeans. So, what? Say the positive things out loud. Hey you, you have a cute nose. Your hair is enviable. Your eyes sparkle. Your lips are alluring. If you’re the only one confident in that, be content because you are the only one in charge of believing it for the rest of your life.

Your heart is admirably full at all times. You know how to put it to good use. It is great, big, and beating.

Your voice is sweet and important. Use it wisely. What you have to say matters.

You are incredibly fortunate to be you. You will be one of your greatest discoveries.

Some parts of you will remain constant. Some parts will change. Hey, it’s a journey. Be kind to yourself. Do something that your future self will thank you for.

Love, Taylor

Juvie Jamz

I have a severe case of job whiplash (a general life whiplash, to be honest). It isn’t a bad thing. It just is what it is. I took a job at a non-profit arts organization that offers art and workforce readiness programming for at-risk/court-involved youth. So, I basically went from spending all day with the sweetest baby girls to juvenile delinquents. I went from nursery rhymes and pre-school pick up to court rooms and gangster rap. It’s been a weird transition. But hey… I’m excited to have a job in my field! I love what the organization does and am excited about the summer programming possibilities/opportunities. I believe so passionately in the transformative power of art and am driven to see these kids achieve their best in ways that are dignified and fulfilling. I’m honored to be a support, an advocate, a cheerleader.

Granted, I’m only two weeks into this job, so maybe I’m over analyzing all of this…but here’s what’s going on in my head and heart:

I’m just a nice, fairly quiet, middle-class, small town, white girl. I don’t know what its like to grow up in foster care or be initiated into a gang when you’re 6. I don’t know what its like to see your brother get shot or to shoot someone else’s brother. I don’t know what its like to live in fear of getting jumped. I don’t know what its like to have parents addicted to drugs. I don’t know what its like to runaway from home. I don’t know what its like to get arrested. I don’t know what its like to hold so much anger and hate in my body. I don’t know what its like to always be in trouble. I don’t know what its like to have a .1 GPA. I don’t know what its like to experience racism. I don’t know what its like to be really poor.

And I feel guilty for all of that. For the sake of bonding, relating, understanding, being influential, etc…I wish I shared in the experiences. It’s strange to be in an environment where being myself feels hard and awkward. It baffles me how insecure teenagers can make me feel about myself haha isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

“You just don’t get it.” Truth. I don’t. I can’t. But I want to. Is that enough? Or are the all the words from my lips going to be discredited? Will my be attempts at being genuinely interested and invested roll off your shoulders?

“That’s impossible.” I believe that there are ways out of tough situations but maybe that’s because I’ve been afforded options and opportunities my whole life. I believe you can overcome addiction, but maybe that’s because I’ve never had one. I believe you can stop cycles of violence, but maybe that’s because I’ve read a lot about achieving peace.

“I can’t change it.” I think part of every egocentric high-schooler is the inability to see or imagine beyond what is right in front of them. I know I’ve been there before. That said, it has been amazing to me to see how much power the past seems to hold for them. The belief that your past not only influences, but dictates your future. The belief that the past is a much stronger force than the present. Obviously there is a lot about our pasts we didn’t have control of: where we were born, who are parents were, our social and economic status, how we were raised, what we saw and what was done to us as children, etc. There are uncontrollable factors that set us up on involuntary trajectories. Yet, I just have such a hard time believing that the past robs us of change, if we want it badly enough. I might not “get” where they’ve been or what they’ve done, but I want them to look where they’re going. And I feel like I need to expect things from them. You know, bigger, better, brighter things. I don’t know the cost/benefit analysis of something like leaving a gang. I don’t know how difficult it is to jump through systems. Everything is easier said than done, I know. Maybe change or doing the “right” thing means taking a beating or lots of beatings, or losing family, or moving away from everything you know.

Cue: City High ‘What Would You Do’

*sigh*

I’m constantly picking apart every interaction and they probably couldn’t care less. C’est la vie.

In summary: I don’t know anyyythiiinnngggg. But whatever, tough kids…

I’m just going to be there. To help you apply for jobs. To ask you about how you’re going to achieve your goals. To tell judges that you’re involved in something good. To draw next to you. To listen to your free-styles. To read your poems. To be proud of you. I’m going to love you to pieces (but honestly, I will probably never love dirty south rappers or your Nicki Minaj art collages).

Deal.

Without further ado…here is a piece written by one of the students during a free-writing activity we led at the detention center last week. Juvie Jamz might make a semi-regular blog appearance:

“I come from drugs

Where every nigga’ round me gettin’ mugged

Where people catchin’ feelings trynna get snug

When girls in your ear listen to your convos like they planted a bug

Where to the West, them white girls got their Columbias and Uggs

Where sleepin’ under the bridge is better than sleepin’ in the mud

Little girls go from tots to thoughts and every nigga you see endin’ up on the Block”

-Anonymous

Love,

Taylor