A Writer's Dilemma

Last week, Doug and I were house-sitting for his parents and I had the opportunity to chat with his younger sister, Sarah.  She was baking a scrumptious apple pie and I jumped on the opportunity to distract myself from much-needed planning.  As the hours passed, the conversation ebbed and flowed around friends, family, literature, life.  Turns out, Sarah and I share an all-too-often squelched passion for writing.  I thought back on my most reason drought and pondered aloud,

 "Why is it that happiness and written expression have such an antagonistic relationship?"  

Her eyes lit up in response:  "Oh, I know!  It's so true!"

We sat with this thought for a moment before I added:  "I mean, when I was desperately sad, lonely, angry, and generally filled to the brim with this brooding angst, man, the words would just pour out of me.  It was so beautiful!  So fulfilling!  But now, when I'm finally happy and content with my life and in a healthy relationship, it's like BAMB! gone."

She nodded, her lips pursed together in resigned affirmation.  Her brow furrowed as she attempted to roll out the pie crust without it cracking along the edges.  

"Some of my best writing sessions have been in the depths of great sadness.  Why is that?"

"I don't know." I replied.  "But it sucks."

     An hour later, I sit and watch the vanilla bean ice cream melt around an island of freshly-baked apple pie.  To my left rests the valley, lush and alive after the previous night's showers.  A wave of cloud creeps over the mountain tops, cascading down the slopes and covering the landscape with a fresh coating of misty goodness.  I scoop up the first bite: a perfect combination of ice cream, crust, and sugary apple.  The flavors combine to create a sensory experience that rivals most and I can't help but breathe in the beauty of the moment.   

     Looking back, I know that, ultimately, my mind was not focused on capturing that scene and labeling it with four-syllable words and brilliant figurative language.  I didn't have a story-line in my head; The Grande Adventures of Candecium were nowhere to be found.  And honestly, is that such a bad thing?  I can't help but wonder if such intellectual stimulation would have lessoned the moment somehow.  Perhaps the best kind of sensory reception involves feeling, living, being in that moment.  Experience is ultimately the best teacher and yes, that applies to writing as well.  So, for now, that's where I will be: experiencing what life has to offer.  I will continue to breathe in all of its smells, taste it's wonders: the sweet along with the bitter.  One day, my words will thank me for waiting and when the day comes when their story needs to be told, it will be with the unquenchable fire of a true writer.

    

     

 

Oh, that Barack...

So, after much urging by my political advisor (thanks Meg), I took the time to view Obama's "A More Perfect Union" speech on race in America.  To be forthright, I was blown away by the insight, courage, and down-right honesty presented in this broadcast.  Though it is difficult for me to jump fences based on this speech alone, I must admit, the temptation is lurking just around the political corner.  

In the end, I don't really care who says it, as long as it is said.  The fact that Mr. Obama happens to be the speaker only makes me respect him as a man and yes, as a public figure and potential leader of our country, even more.  Will I vote for him in the primary?  Sigh...damn it.  Now I just don't know.  

Hurray!  I figured out how to upload the full video, parts 1-4, onto this post!  (if you are reading this right now, i expect silent cheers and raised fists for Candace's technological proficiency.  thanks.)  Please, please take the time to see it and let me know what you think!!!  Yay! I'm so excited! :)

Trying my hand at poetry

A Manifesto on Life:

The Cactus

The snow falls                    

outside on the hill;            

tiny crystals                        

float here and there.         

In a window, the cactus stands            

as tall and proud as it possibly can.    

Prickled and green, rigid and still,   

it cares not for that snow on the hill.  

Days go by

and the snow melts.

The sun shines bright

a warmth unfelt

by the cactus, prickled and green.

A desire for more remains to be seen

for the cactus,  all alone

upon the sill it forever calls home.

The life of                    

a cactus so grand          

may be for some            

the perfect stance.         

As for me, I prefer the sky,          

the cold world of danger that reigns outside.   

Cruel may be the struggle of man      

But with it comes love, hope, and a helping hand. 

An update in the oh-so efficient bullet format:

• Doug and I are [almost] officially moved in together!  i.e. shacked up  The [almost] is attributed to the fact that I still have a carload of junk to either a)  throw away or b) ship over to the new pad.  The past few days have been spent rearranging furniture in a desperate attempt to fit all of my bedroom furniture into Doug's already furnished 10x13 bedroom.  Surprisingly enough, we are both very satisfied with the result!  
• Ok, this last sentence was a vast understatement.  I am absolutely ecstatic about sharing my life and living space with Doug.  Let me be clear about this:  I am incandescently happy about this aspect of my life!!!!!   
• In case words aren't enough, allow me to elaborate via a pictoral representation: 

Me: incandescently happy.

Ok, back to my bulleted update:

• I have a job! yayyy!!! :)  At least I think I have a job, a job I was offered almost two weeks ago and have yet to actually start.  Alas, my first day is now scheduled for next wednesday.  That is, unless they decide to bump me back another week just for funzies.  This is not an impossibility.  
• Despite my newfound job security (?), I am still in the process of applying elsewhere, just to keep things interesting.  My prospects include 1. a full-time position as YWCA Coordinator working with youth in Asheville and Buncombe County.  Perks: a) involves working w/ teens b) full time w/ benefits!!!!!  Very exciting.  2. Goooooo Asheville Blues!  It looks as though my alma mater is very interested in hiring me on as part-time interim English teacher for the remaining school year!  Perks:  a) Working w/ teens b) Daily interaction w/ Jay BonBons c) a great experience that would look great on a resume!!  Exciting stuff, I know.
• BIG NEWS:  I have officially joined Camp Hillary.  Yes, it's true.  I support Hillary Clinton for president.  I have been leaning towards this decision for awhile but consistently found myself split between Clinton and Obama.  Perhaps I will jump sides later down the road, but for now, Clinton it is, for a couple of key though perhaps overly-simplistic reasons:

1. My brain says practicality--keep to the issues missy-- but my heart screams, "Goood GOD I want a woman president!!!!!"
2. Speaking of issues:  Universal Healthcare.  I likes. A lot.
3. Strong and experienced.  Why is that when a woman is confident, professional, smart and cut-throat she is an evil bitch??  If that were a man up there, we would be waving an American flag in patriotic splendor.  Obama talks a good talk [comparisons to MLK are awe-inspiring] but does he stomp the stomp?  Who knows.  Well I'm sorry, but I think this country is teetering a little too far on the brink of annihilation to place all of our pennies in one appealingly-black basket of "hope."
4. The Economy:  Clinton did it back in the '90s, now it's Hillary's turn to kick fiscal irresponsibility into next week.
5. Coming from a long lineage of therapeutic bargain shoppers, I understand the golden rule of a good deal:  Never, under any circumstances, turn your back on the "Two For."  Two presidents for the price of one?  yes, please!  
6. Finally:  Obama's "You're likeable enough, Hillary" comment does not sit well with me, making me wonder if men in America--white or black--will ever accept a strong woman calling all the shots.  

This in and of itself would make my back Hillary.  But everything combined?  I can now proudly proclaim:

Hillary Clinton is my homegirl

Cinderella's Y2K

So Doug and I are at the Drip, matching Macbooks in tow. Very cute. Doug is very focused at the moment [see below]. Doubly cute.



As for me, I'm drinking my green tea and desperately trying to upload more photos up onto the site. Technical difficulties abound. Despite this temporary roadblock, onward I march, valiantly climbing that mountain otherwise known as "the Internet." Sneaky little bastard.

Speaking of the World Wide Web, whatever happened to Y2K? You know, the collapse of industrialized society as we know it, electronic armageddon, bomb shelters, fear, propaganda, the whole works?

April, 1999: it's the eight grade dance. My hair is long and pulled back in the front. Landon, childhood friend-turned boyfriend three years later-turned back to friend a year after that, is my date. Having hit puberty earlier that year just in time for football season, his tall, bulky awkwardness borders on cute; he hands me a corsage. His mother takes our picture and I officially turn a deep shade of scarlet to match my burgundy dress. It's short, not floor-length like most of the other girls' dresses. And, unlike them, I didn't have my hair and makeup done at the salon down the street. They look older, more mature, developed in all the right places. I look down at my own adolescent body: my boobs seem to be getting bigger every day, an observation that is the source of more embarrassment than pride. I can just make out my toes past their protrusion. Damn it. My strappy white sandals have bows on them. How 6th grade of me. Shit.

Landon and I finally wave goodbye to his mom and make our way towards the overly-decorated cafeteria turned dance hall. The theme of the evening is "Cinderella's Castle," explaining why we are each handed a plastic slipper and magic wand at the door. Landon and I exchange amused looks. I see my best friend, Hannah running towards me. From the neck down, she looks like a princess. My heart sinks. Her dress is beautiful. It's long (of course) and sparkly with an empire waste and split overlay that cascades down from her cleavage in a giant upside down V. Wow. Her boobs look amazing in that dress. She looks like Drew Barrymore in Ever After.

Hannah says a brief hello to Landon and then directs her attention towards me.

"Wow, Candace, you look amazing!"

"Yeah, so do you."

There is a pause. Hannah is obviously waiting for me to say more, to comment on her dress, her manicured nails, her fake eyelashes.

"So...nice dress." I say in a vague attempt at hiding my envy behind a veil of complimentary conversation.

"You like it? My grandma bought it for me. It cost $400." Her eyes protrude at the mention of money. Evidently Hannah mistakes the blank expression on my face as a request for more information. She continues:

"My grandma says that the world is going to end in about six months anyway. You know, Y2K. We saw this dress in the store and she said she just had to buy it for me, even though she didn't really have the money. 'Well, it ain't like any of us is gonna live to see your prom, so we might as well do what we can now.' That's what she said. Grandma is a little nutty, but maybe she's right, ya know? She has a whole cellar full of canned goods and potatoes that she's been saving for four years now. I tell you what, when the shit starts flyin,' at least i'll know where to go to get some good canned corn!"

Landon laughs.

I should probably laugh too, but I can't help but notice that Hannah's hair is a bit lop-sided and some of the bobby-pins are sticking out obtrusively. It would probably only take one little pull of a pin to cause the whole beehive to come crashing down. My eyes scrunch up as my right hand twitches. I'm about to go in for the kill when Hannah catches the eye of another innocent friend to pounce upon. She runs in the opposite direction, heels clicking upon the cement floor. Her hair comes to a stop behind her, swaying from the sudden movement. Oh well. It's probably for the best. Besides, it would be a shame to ruin the poor girls' night on account of my own pettiness.

It is her last six months on earth, after all.

He asked me to write.

He asked me to write. We were sitting on the couch, locked into each other. There were still tears in his eyes. Our love filled him to the brim, you see; the tears were the salty excess of his joy. I was crying too, in my own way, chest heaving, hands frantically touching, memorizing, adoring. I cried because I felt as though I had been on the verge of losing him, this man I loved so dearly, only to open my eyes and find him still there, loving me as I loved him. What an exhilarating moment! I remember the feeling as my panicked self slowly melted into a sweeter calm. My head began to spin and my skin sang out to this beautiful man I called my love. Yes, I remember that moment quite vividly, the moment I simultaneously lost and found my other half. And oh the kisses. There were kisses too, of course.

“Write about us,” he said after one particularly wet embrace. “I would like that.”

“Yes,” I replied, “of course I will.”

I gave him a smile, stamping and sealing his request in a kiss. Still, my insides couldn't help but churn. Write about us? About him? There seemed to me an inherent danger in the act. To try and define something so powerful, so pure, well, it bordered on blasphemy. The Muslim world considers it heresy to print an image of Muhammad for fear of false worship, of turning something otherwise divine and beautiful into a man-made idol. I suppose I beheld similar fears.

And so the days went by, then the weeks, and I did not write about us, as I said I would. I thought about it, of course. Words would brush in and out of my head like fallen leaves: beautiful and inspiring, but difficult to contain. Funny thing about dry leaves: they simply refuse to stay in one place for very long.

It is winter now and yet the leaves just keep falling, in and then out again. Still, spring is just around the corner. Perhaps I will have better luck then. Maybe, when surrounded by growth and fresh beginnings, maybe then I will be able to write about us, like I said I would. But not yet, not today. No, no that would just be silly.

Presence of Mind

So I have changed my blog format. It seems fitting. My life is so drastically different now; shouldn't font and color wheel reflect this shift? Darker, Polka-dot candace is out; sophisticated, free, GRADUATED and in LOVE Candace is way in! I like that.

so, my new year's resolution(s)

Resolution #1: Be present.
This is my number one goal for this coming year, especially these next few months.
As of late, my days have been very open and noncommital. In short, I haven't really been doing much. In the past, such blatant sloth-like behavior has been the source of great pain, usually in the form of restlessness, anxiety, fear, and worry, sometimes building into a state of depression, self-doubt, and a drastic decrease in self-worth. What a waste of energy! And for what? So that I can feel bad about myself? So that I can build up walls and limitations and somehow manage to convince myself that I am nothing? Self-fulfilling prophecies are a bitch, my friend, and not to be toyed with.
Well, no more. I'm done. Cuz you know what? It's ok to take a break. It's ok to not have everything figured out right NOW, in this very moment. It's ok to just let myself BE for a little while. Haven't I deserved it? Do I not have enough faith in myself and my own abilities to know that things will work themselves out and I will be fabulous? That I AM fabulous, right here, right now? Why worry about the future? Why allow my past to determine that future, to hold me back today? Now that's not saying I shouldn't have ambitions and goals and hopes and dreams; I just don't want to get bogged down and consumed by the fear of not attaining those dreams.
Eckhart Tolle says:
"All negativity is caused by an accumulation of psychological time and denial of the present. Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry--all forms of fear-- are caused by too much future, and not enough presence. Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of nonforgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence." (50)
What a profound notion. Wow. I totally get that; I feel it. Props to Tolle.
So, the solution? Be present. Do what you can, when you can. The rest will take care of itself.

Resolution #2:
Write more.

Both of these resolutions are currently in progress...
and I'm lovin' that.