August 28, 2015

With Love, Hayley


So the girl from Paramore, Hayley Williams, my girl, wrote this on her blog recently and I can't help but reblog it ;)



the last 4 years are gonna play like a movie in my head for the rest of my life. it was the best time from start to finish. everything that has to do with the self-titled album is my favorite memory. even the stuff that wasn’t so easy to go through. cause now i look back and i see why it all happened in the order that it did. we will never make another album like that one. that’s something i’ll always be proud about, and a little sad about, and that’s just the truth.

but what do i know? the next album might be even better than S/T. i should know better by now than to ever question the process, the plan, or the deep belief that i have in paramore… more so than i even have in myself, alone.

every night on Writing The Future, while we were on stage, there was always a moment of realization that we can never relive anything. not any single thing. it’s cruel. seriously, we are a generation who lives almost exclusively through our photos and videos and captions, trying to freeze moments in time but it’s all only a shade of us and our experience. what’s real is what those moment create within us… and that’s what we carry with us and that’s what shapes the moments to come. or at least how we perceive them, feel them, live them. memories do serve us when we are the most nostalgic and i suppose i’m always the most nostalgic… but even my memories of the last 4 years won’t fill me the way actually living it all did.

and that’s got to be why it’s so important to move forward and never live in the past. we can never be fulfilled by a moment that’s gone. if we’re not living in the now (wayne’s world ref) and struggling, striving to find ourselves and each other here in the present then what even is our point? yeah, i know the whole “be present/be content with where you are” spiel sounds like bullshit but it’s true… and no one needs to hear it more than me. con-stant-ly.

speaking of the present: i’ve been wedding planning, attempting to write and sometimes actually writing, moving into a new place, and building a hair-dye company from the ground up. all at the same time. yes, i am completely insane! you should see my crazy eyes. i think they’re permanent now actually.. i’m going to try my best to share bits and pieces of some of all of it as we go along but no promises cause some days i forget the internet exists (and i think that’s a good thing).

last thing:
thank you again for Writing The Future. never cried on stage the way i did during “Future” in Portland. the signs you guys made and held up for all the shows were moving and served as a reminder of our purpose and the hope we had for the band in the beginning. thank you guys for creating a community within our “fanbase”. we do what we can to keep it feeling like a family because that’s truly what it feels like to us… but you guys are daily doing all the work to really make it real. nothing felt more right than celebrating S/T with you guys in those gorgeous theaters.
i’ve typed for long enough now. writing lyrics with carpal tunnel sounds great and all but i’d rather not.

h[III]



I love you, Hayley!


August 20, 2015

Little Treasures





When I was young, I collected tiny, shiny things. Inside a small music box, I kept a random array of little treasures: a black sequin that fell from my mom's dress, a stray color-light that wedged itself into the carpet, a silver button that probably belonged to someone's sweater. There were earring and broken thumbtacks and colorful strands of thread. I remember putting in a birthday candle and a pink eraser, and a small piece of plastic I grabbed only because it was gold. I sought out small tokens of joy, little slices of light and color. It's not that I did anything with them, really. Every once in a while, I'd open the lid to survey my stock, pulling each tiny, forgotten thing from the box and arranging them on the windowsill in my bedroom just so. Then I'd put all the gleaming, vibrant gems of garbage back into my music-turned-treasure box. (Maybe I kept small pictures of Justin Timberlake in there, too, but that's not the point)

The point's that I actively, purposefully searched for beautiful, charming things to pocket. When I was young, I looked for little slivers of joy to call my own, and I still do. In a different way, I still do, because more and more I've come to understand my own responsibility in finding joy. I understand happiness as a choice, and how happiness comes from making choices.

Recently, I was having a not-good day. A day of spilled coffee, sad news, and some truly unfortunate timing. I could tell early on that something within me wanted to wallow in the gloom, and as I got home, I had every intention of crawling under the covers and turning up my melancholy, rainy-day playlist.

A stripe of sunlight stopped me, though. It's shimmering across my bed, the room all aglow, and I thought, a cup of tea, Aemy. I brewed a cup of English breakfast tea, I opened up one of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors, and I went straight to my favorite chapter, rereading my favorite lines. When I was finished, I picked up the phone and called someone, and I told him what I was doing, why I was calling, what I know to be true: happiness is a practice. A collection of tiny, shiny things in our everyday that make it feel just a little bit like magic, like something we should treasure.




August 10, 2015

On Friendship





The best part about growing up in a small town is the inevitability of close, lifelong friendships. The sense of community is overwhelming. Everything feels familiar. Some shops are owned by family friends, you spot your kindergarten teacher at the post office, and you can't quite do errands without running into at least 3 people you know. The togetherness, it's a physical thing, too.

For me, that reality of lifelong connections has led to a clear, specific quality of friendship, namely, that it lasts forever. A sense of closeness, to me, comes from knowing anything and everything. From knowing each other's families and homes, from sharing meals and holidays and traditions. To me, the border between friendship and family is so thin and insignificant so as not to exist at all.

It's been interesting, then, to make friends later in life, to leave that small-town environment and try to establish forever with fresh faces. In college and ever since, I've found that I do everything I can to fill in the backstory between me and another person. My friends could list all my clearest memories from elementary school, high school. They could call out every heartbreak, every small victory. There's not a name they wouldn't recognize, not a story they couldn't retell, and I could point out all of theirs, too, because that's the kind of friendship I love: where all the lines between yours and mine are blurred, where everything becomes shared even if it wasn't at the time.

Of course, that may not work for everyone. That sort of open-book, become-part-of-my-family kind of connection can sometimes feel like too much for a person. Truth is, I find that all-out familiarity comforting, though, as if building a forever is the only way. Or at least the truest.

I'd love to know: Do you feel the same? What defines your ideal friendship?






August 7, 2015

Show Up and Break Open





Here's the thing, I am trying to show up for life. I'm trying to give voice to my days. Trying to break open. But right now, my life's in a middle-ground. It's neither here nor there. Frankly, I'm exhausted.

Yesterday, I was sick and slept all day. It was the strangest sensation to watch an entire 24 slip by and to be an observer of my life and not a participant. Yesterday was a fog, a veiled face and an unassuming moment. I woke up at 10, perhaps I'll feel better at noon. Then it was a quarter to 1 and I was uncomfortable. I stood up and almost fell over. I went into another room and curled up on a couch. How are you feeling? Better, I said, when I really meant worse. Sickness does something to your head. Mine shook.

I laid down on the couch and when I woke up next, it was 4. I wasn't sure where I was. I heard voices and couldn't place them to faces. I was going to do yoga this evening, I laughed and moaned and rolled over. When I looked at the clock next, it was almost 7. In a span of 10 minutes, the light in the room went from butter yellow to deep blue shadows like the evening was a bruise heavy under the skin. My stomach hurt but my head felt better. I fell asleep again. Then it was 8 and afterwards 9 and I ate sandwich, watched Running Man, and finished the day like I had started it, asleep.

This morning I woke up and felt better. Not perfect, but better. Side note, isn't that the case with almost everything in life? I feel better, but not perfect. Digressing. And mulling. Besides feeling better, I also felt panicked. It was irrational but the thought of missing 24 hours of my life set me into a frenzy. 24 hours.

Sometimes life's really hard. That's an understatement. Writing about it seems like trying to collect water by pouring it through a sieve. Everything runs through me and I wonder, where to begin? Or, why? What's the balance between over sharing and being honest, and is there a disconnect that lies with the two? What happens when you have nothing to write at all, or what you have to say is boring, underwhelming, inherently ordinary? What then?

Sometimes, it seems like too much. I'm inundated with things I need to say, words that crawl under my skin, moments that leave me open-handed, chasing wind. Other times, I'm a dry well, scraped raw and emptied of everything. Then I say to life, pour into me, in all your beauty and pain and joy. That's when life asks, will you give back? And there lies the act of showing up. Morning and morning. Returning to the page. Returning to the road, to the pavement, to the poetry, to the music, to the rhythm of your life. So I do and we do and we hope to make something honest, something that matters, in our 24 hours.

Because, goodness, I don't want to live my life asleep.




August 3, 2015

Like A Fool




We take a chance from time to time
And put our necks out on the line
And you have broken every promise that we made
And I have loved you anyway

Took a fine time to leave me hangin' out to dry
Understand now I'm greivin'
So don't you waste my time
Cause you have taken
All the wind out from my sails
And I have loved you just the same

We finally find this
Then you're gone
Been chasin' rainbows all along
And you have cursed me
When there's no one left to blame
And I have loved you just the same

And you have broken every single fucking rule
And I have loved you like a fool


 

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