Steady

Check Kelly out, she is amazing!

What a summer it has been. Between Everly's echoing giggle and Jennie constantly giving me a stomachache from laughing so hard, I have not smiled so much in such a short amount of time. This summer has been the reset button that I have needed in order to dive into my senior year with a clear conscience and a happy heart. 

Unfortunately, it has been a long time since I've written. Too long. And if you were to ask me why, I probably would wait a few seconds to answer your question and even then it probably wouldn't be a solid answer. So when consulting Libby (a really close friend of mine) on what to write about next, it didn't take her long to respond with a single word that is exactly what my summer has revolved around. Forgiveness. Also known as a life lesson that has been brewing inside of me but I was just too prideful to admit it. She knows me so well. She knows what I have experienced, and what was needed to put those things behind me. Forgiveness. I just love that girl. 

I feel as though this word isn't used enough these days. People resort to bottling their feelings up and tucking them away or holding grudges for the rest of their lives. And when it is, it's used in a light manor that does not provide justice to the overwhelming peace this word brings. As usual, I consulted my best friend, the online dictionary, and discovered that forgiveness is a verb that means to "stop feeling angry or resentful toward someone for an offense, flaw, or mistake." I'm not sure how that makes you feel, but it makes me feel pretty guilty. Guilty because there are people in my life whom I have built an abundant amount of resent and anger towards because of things they have done. Just like it says. Common sense would tell me to forgive them. And then usually I would respond with saying "it's easier said than done." True statement. 

This is when the golden rule comes into my mind. "Treat others how you want to be treated." If I make a mistake, I surely do not want someone to look down on me or hate me for the rest of my life because of that mistake. (I know what you're thinking. There is not a mistake that is unforgivable. Every mistake is always forgivable and rarely excused from our memories forever.) 

So what's so hard about reciprocating that to the people in our life who deserve it most? We especially need to forgive each other. Because when you intend to forgive, you heal part of the pain. But when you forgive, you heal completely. It is not an act that benefits only the one receiving it. You will probably receive more from it considering the fact that it has the potential to mean absolutely nothing to the taker. For it is a deed designed for those with strength. "Steady is the hand that comes to terms with the lessons it has had to learn." 

Don't for one second think that this is a piece of cake for me too. I have struggled with this for far too long. But like I said before, this summer has opened doors, windows, and any other crevice in my life that has been filled with resentment. Those spaces are now vacant. My anger has been evicted and I am beginning to move in with things that only put a smile on my face. 

Contrary to what society tells us most of the time, this IS something you should try at home. I dare you. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDdV_x513dc

I have made mistakes

Stumbled upon this song today and it has been on repeat ever since. If I had to choose a soundtrack to my life, this song would most likely represent my high school years, or at least one of them. Just listen to it. You won't regret it, I promise. 

The art of chaos

I realize it has been a while since I wrote to you last. "A while" being a week. Sorry about that. I have been preoccupied with lavishing my precious Everly with love. Her piercing giggles are quite distracting.

I have always had an ever-present fascination with cities. The ringing honks. The crazy street performers. The fast-paced life of a place that never takes a breather. Also known as CHAOS. Along with rain, this is somewhat of a lullaby for me. This might be because I have grown up in a town where the most noise you will hear in one night is the occasional passing of a F-18 Hornet. ( I don't really know what that is, I had to ask my dad. But I know that it is a jet that rattles the windows every time it chooses to make an appearance.) Or maybe because I grew up in a house where anybody and everybody played some sort of instrument therefore there was always noise. I'm not really sure of the root of my obsession with noise. But it is definitely there. My mom could vouch for this. She is constantly flustered by my need for music at all times. Yes, that includes studying. 

 I have watched hundreds of movies and looked at thousands of pictures in my 17 short years of life. The most appealing of these have been the ones that included epic chase scenes throughout the many mazes of skyscrapers in this world or the complicated portrait of a well-known skyline. Why? Besides the fact that scenes such as these usually involve a muscular, heroic, and always fine specimen, it is the constant movement that draws my attention. 

There is a particular art in all of this. There is an art in chaos. According to www.dictionary.com, art is "the application or expression of human creative skill or imagination". Some of you may be wondering who, what, when, where, why, and how this applies to chaos. But just think about it for a moment. An ambulance passes, you imagine where it is headed and to what kind of accident it is reporting to. You see an eclectic street performer showcasing his/her best talents for all to see, and you imagine where they are from and what their story is. You notice a stranger wearing what looks like shredded fabric that has been dipped in mud crouched beside a newspaper stand holding a tin can, and you attempt to imagine what occurred in their life to put them in such a predicament as that. Notice I used the word "imagine". I did that on purpose.

In this case, MY definition of art would be "the application of human imagination". And all of these things require you to fill in the blanks using your own imagination, then apply it to the current situation. Ta da! You have art! Each street sign, each taxi license plate, each crushed can on the sidewalk, each angry customer yelling at a business owner, each frantic business man running to his next meeting, each screaming baby is a different colored stroke on the broad canvas that makes up the hustle and bustle.  It all contributes to the authentic setting of the city. You will not go anywhere else in the world and experience the same sort of chaos as Manhattan. Boston. Chicago. Bucharest. Brasov. Amsterdam. Seattle. Los Angeles. To each their own. That is what makes these places so wondrous in my blue eyes. 

 

I wish I could say that I have checked every single one of those intriguing destinations off of my bucket list. (Although I have been to Amsterdam, Bucharest, and Brasov. After all, the picture above was taken by yours truly in an alley in Brasov. One of my absolute favorite places on this planet. That is a story for another time.) But let's face it, I am in love with people I have never met and cities I have never been to. And I look forward to being in awe of, enamored with, and infatuated by the many masterpieces this world has to offer. 

avec la pluie, vient le changement

I have spent the past five hours listening to the echo of a million rain drops bouncing off of my windowpane. At certain moments, it sounded as if the rain was capable of bursting through my window and flooding my cozy room. As opposed to most people in this town who hope for sunny weekends that they can spend at the beach, I look forward to days like today. Every once and a while, beach days are great. But I would choose the serene lull of rain and Bon Iver over a southern anthem of beer and tractors any day. Call me crazy.  

It is on days like today that I have the opportunity to actually hear my own thoughts. And occasionally my room gets a good cleaning. Today was a special occasion, but only because it was getting unbearable. (It must be really bad for me to say that). Before I began the adventure of sorting through dirty clothes and Reese's chocolate wrappers, it was nearly impossible to see the taupe color of my shaggy carpet. 

 Back to the thinking thing. Too often, I find myself listening to the opinions of others more than I listen to my own. That is not always a bad thing. But essentially, I am the one who will have to deal with the outcome in the end. So I think listening to my conscience might be more beneficial. 

Believe it or not, I spent the majority of my day thinking about something that I learned in my 8th grade English class (Ms. Paris would be so proud). While reading the novel, The Secret Life of Bee's, there was a pivotal moment in the storyline that followed a heavy rain shower. My teacher explained to us that in mostly every form of literature or entertainment, rain symbolizes change. If you think about it, that makes perfect sense. Rain causes flowers to grow, the bottom of your jeans to become drenched with water (I hate that), and of course, rainbows to appear. All of which are not the same circumstances as they were before the rain came. So with that little tid bit of information on the back burner all day, I couldn't help but wonder if THIS rainy day was going to bring about change for me. The more I pondered that, the more I wished it would. I wear the same colors to school every week. I drive down the same roads every single day. I fall asleep to the same playlist on my iPod every night.  It is about time for some change.  

"avec la pluie, vient le changement."= with rain, comes change in French

Where I stood

For those of you who know me, you know that I am fantastic with numbers. I have had an 'A' in every math class I have ever taken no matter how bad the teacher was. And I promise I am not trying to toot my own horn. I remember every phone number of every "best friend" I have ever had. I memorize every birthday of every family member, friend, or crush. Any date that is significant in my life is permanently imprinted in my brain. You are probably getting the point by now. It has never really made sense to me why numbers always seem to sink into my brain as if it were a sponge. If you asked me to explain the Kinetic Molecular Theory or to list Woodrow Wilson's 14 points (I even hesitated writing that because I wasn't sure he was the right dude) you would think I was suffering from a severe seizure. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that this is one of those epiphanies I mentioned would be written about in my first post. 

Numbers are often associated with memories. Good and bad. They represent the day something began, or the day something ended. We are reminded sometimes of things we wish we couldn't remember. Numbers aid in putting memorable events in our life in a chronological order. After digits and happenings are sorted in a correct fashion, deja vu takes a seat and makes itself at home. We, as humans (or at least I know I do), replay certain events over and over in our heads to provide the feeling we felt when that certain event occurred. I plead guilty to doing that ALL THE TIME. In class, in a grocery store, in church. You name a place and I have probably daydreamed there. The only problem I seem to find with that, is that it is a rude awakening that circumstances are not what they used to be. No, I am not talking about the fact that my hair was not black then and my nose was not pierced. I'm talking about the fact that people change. I change. You change. We all change. This causes the comparison of then and now to be somewhat disappointing at times. But rest assure that these things are not always sour. They can be very good as well. A handful of my favorite conversations, hugs, and just down right awesome memories are replayed on a daily basis. And if need be, they do an exceptional job of putting a smile on my face even if it is just for a moment. 

Back to my epiphany. I believe, and stop me if you disagree, that the method behind my obsession with numbers is that when numbers are placed parallel with an event in my life, it seems as if i remember them...more? A question mark because it doesn't really make any sense. But it's as much sense I can make out of this strange addiction. Without a date, my memories might as well be a word or drawing in the sand that disappears once the tide creeps it's way past what used to be someone's masterpiece. They do not exist without an address for me to revisit them by. It's weird, I am aware. But that is just the way the wheels in my complicated brain turn. 

So if I were to rewind my life a year from today exactly, I can honestly say that my life now and my life then would seem as if I had somehow switched lives with one much more complex than mine. The later being the more complex of the two, obviously. Where I stood 365 days ago feels like a far away land that I haven't traveled to in quite a while. My hair was more of an auburn color. My nose did not host a small hole and a tiny diamond that glistened when the light hit it the right way. Everly was here, but not quite tangible. The people I stood next to were different from the people that I stand next to nowadays.

There were four feet in my favorite picture as opposed to two. Unfortunately, that is something that doesn't sit well with me. But let me introduce you to epiphany #2 for this shindig. There isn't a darn thing I can do about my past. Except to learn from it. It is funny to me that I say that because I often find myself making exceptions for mistakes I have made in the past just to be happy. Hopefully, I will grow out of that. Soon. 

I am sure that you are asking yourself if this will ever get to a climax. Or maybe if I will reveal what today marks. But sorry to disappoint you, I am going to have to let you continue to fill in the blanks on your own for that one. I promised myself I would never tell you too much. If I told you everything that was on my mind, each entry would be equivalent to a decent novel. 

Until next time, I will most likely replay my favorite memories a total of 15 more times before I clock out for the night. And I can't help but imagine what another 365 days of this crazy life will hold for me. That's 730 days from the original April 30th of my life. Just in case you couldn't do that quick math like me. Because I love numbers. 

 

 

It's just who I am

I have spent the last two years telling myself that starting a blog would be something fun to occupy myself with. Something that I could just unload and display all of my thoughts, adventures, and epiphanies on to. So here it goes. Welcome to my life that is overflowing with pirouettes, boarding passes, and incredibly adorable pictures of my niece Everly.  

It is  difficult to choose one event to kick off the first chapter of my so-called "online diary". A complicated one at that. But it is better that we become a little more acquainted with each other before I reveal all my deepest and darkest secrets. 

I was born March 6, 1996 at Anderson Memorial Hospital in the one and only Anderson, South Carolina. A small town surrounded by two (in my opinion) of the most interestingly named counties there are, Gluck and Honea Path. And for those of you who are not familiar with the area, the names are all you need to draw your own conclusions on the types of places these are. By the way, there are two others just like me in the Walker family. Jennie Rebekah, who is a whopping 12 years older than me. And Zachariah Mark, who is nine years my elder. Growing up with siblings much older than me had its disadvantages, but mostly advantages. There was always someone for me to watch The Andy Griffith Show with. Always someone to sneak me an extra cookie after Mom said we had eaten enough sugar. Always someone to cuddle up next to after a bad dream. Always someone to coach me on how to react when the belt came after my butt so that I didn't get more spankings than I could handle. I never seemed to listen to that one though. I was pretty consistent on reminding my mom that I had "buns of steel", which was NEVER beneficial for me. Anyways! I grew up with a tight knit family. At 3, we relocated to where we have been for the past 14 years. I consider myself lucky to be able to say that I have lived in the same small town for 14 consecutive years. Sometimes I wish that parents would have chosen a different place to raise us kids. But when I take a step back, I realize that half of the reason I am the way I am is because I grew up in a place where everybody knows everybody and their brother. If I had grown up in a city, Atlanta for example, I probably wouldn't stop in the middle of a stroll downtown to converse with my best friend's grandma. Or I would be able to sit in a coffee shop without interruptions. Some people may say that the coffee shop thing without interruptions is what they want. But ya see, that's the difference between them and me. I can honestly say that if that were to miraculously happen one day, I would get lonely very quickly. I met my first and still one of my best friends Alexis when I was four years old. We lived on the same street. I get to drive alongside water and a beautiful sunset every evening. I still see my kindergarten teacher around town sometimes and blame her for the way I dot my i's. Even on the days when my only wish is to escape from the gossip and happenings of this place, it's the little things like that that remind me not to take it for granted. As cliche as that sounds, it's true. 

So by the time I have finished my first ever blogpost, it has rained for the past three hours. Straight. I have let out my most favoritest dog Tucker, and he has left a lovely track of mud leading from the door for me to clean up later. There will most likely be a large puddle waiting for me at my car door when I go to get into my car on my way to school in the morning. But all of those things are okay. Because I know that I will get to see that water and that sunset at the end of the day tomorrow.