hereislove

[hereislove]

Brave.

Coming in just under the wire with a New Year’s reflection. 2016 was messy. There’s a lot I could say about the sorrow, heartbreak, fear, and sadness that seemed to shroud the year. People and dreams that were lost. Maybe I’ll write about that at some other time. But I like to start the new year with hope, and to reflect on goodness and growth. So here goes.

I’m discovering the difference between being bold and being brave. I’ve always viewed myself as a bold person. I’m outgoing. I make friends easily. I’m sassy and salty with adults and teenagers alike. I’m tattooed, pierced, head-shaven, pink-haired, and loud (when I want to be). But being bold doesn’t require putting yourself on the line. You don’t have to be vulnerable to be bold. Being brave? Being brave is much harder.

As I look back over 2016 I see glimpses of me growing in bravery. I started in 2015 when I went solo (musically and otherwise). Putting out the How This Ends EP was terrifying. I worried about it being musically mediocre. I worried about exposing some of my darkest thoughts and feelings in the lyrics. But recording an album was a goal of mine, so I went and did it.

But 2016 was really when I started putting my music and lyrics into the world. I stood on stage and sang my songs to friends and strangers alike. I bared myself. I shared my heartbreak, sadness, and loneliness with anyone who would listen. And surprisingly.. people listened. I found that in being brave and sharing myself, being vulnerable, I gave others a voice. Made even just one person feel a little less alone.

I want to do this more. Not just musically, although I have big plans for babypuncher this year (stay tuned!). I don’t know what this will look like. Maybe it’s small, like sharing my stories more with friends and not being so closed off to real, personal things. Maybe it’s finding a way to connect and counsel my students. I don’t know what they are yet, but my hope is to find those opportunities and be brave. Hello 2017.

[hereislove]

September 11, 2001. As we watched the world fall apart from afar, yours was falling apart too. There were rumors that you found out your dad was on that plane watching the news feed and scrolling internet reports in the school library. I was wondering if we’d still have our volleyball game that day. You were wondering if your dad was alive.

We weren’t close, but I could probably say I knew you well. We’d gone to school together since forever and been in the same classes for most of that time. As we struggled to process what this tragedy meant to the country and the world, you were struggling in a more personal way. I didn’t know what to say. My family in NY and DC had some near misses, but we were alright. Yours was not. I wrote a note to you, feeling the need to reach out and offer some consolation, but what can you say in the face of something so terrible, so tragic? I kept that note in my backpack for weeks. I never gave it to you. It didn’t seem like it could help.

The world kept spinning, unimaginably, as it always does. We graduated and there was a tribute to your dad in our yearbook. We went our separate ways after high school, crossing paths here and there. I think of you, your father, and your family often, especially today. I think of that note that I held on to. I don’t even remember what it said. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out then and I’m sorry I feel like I can’t reach out now. But you are on my heart.

My heart is heavy with stories that aren’t mine to tell.

[hereislove]

A candid Thanksgiving.

It's not hard to guess what I'm thankful for this year. I'm thankful to be alive, to be well, to have no permanent damage from my scooter accident. For good health insurance so I'm not trying to scrape together ~$20K to cover my medical expenses. For friends who were here to help me when I couldn't get around, to bring me food, to keep me company. For friends and family who couldn't be here with me, but sent me encouragement and prayers in their stead.

I didn't share much about the accident and the aftermath on social media, other than cursory updates and a few frustrated drunk tweets, but it was a pretty dark time for me. As someone who loves to be around people and enjoys being out and about, being basically bedridden for the first two weeks was really hard. Even though I had friends coming by, it was still a struggle for me. Those two weeks might be some of the loneliest days I've ever experienced. The loneliness on top of the physical pain were a harsh combination. At some points, just the thought of making it from my room to my kitchen made me dissolve into tears.

After the first two weeks, I felt well enough to start getting out into the real world. I figured out the crutches+stairs thing which allowed me to at least leave the apartment. I called music venues to accomodate my crutchy self so I wouldn't have to miss out on any more shows. I started going back to work after another week. But as someone who prides myself on independence, depending on other people for rides, meals, even answering the door for deliveries was difficult. There were times I probably should have asked for more help, but I never knew how. And when I was out, I would get tired so easily and still be in quite a bit of pain. I was so frustrated because the only thing holding me back was my frail, inelastic, human body. I knew I'd eventually get better, so then I'd just get upset with myself for letting something so temporary get to me. There are people who live their lives without being able to walk.

Eventually my wounds healed, I started going to physical therapy, and I weaned off the crutches. I got my independence back. I even started riding my scooter again. I'm back in the world of the living and most people don't even know what the last two months were like for me.

I guess what I learned is that it's ok to not have it all together. I would beat myself up for feeling bad, but the situation really did suck. Even though it was only temporary, those moments of darkness were just as real and deep as if it were permanent. Being able to give myself a break and cry is something I don't think I've ever been all that good at.

Consider this. This holiday season, as everyone is putting on their best holiday cheer and being thankful, keep an eye open to those who are hurting. They might not know how to show it, they might not know how to share it, and they sure as hell might not know how to ask for help, but, friends, they still need you. They don't need you to fix things and they don't need you to tell them it'll get better. They just need you. I know I did. And I'm so grateful that you were there.

[hereislove]

May angels lead you in.

Yesterday I attended the memorial service for my friend, Dan Strickland.  Dan and I were a part of the same graduate student Christian fellowship during my time at Stanford.  He'd recently finished his PhD in mechanical engineering and was starting his second year as an associate professor at Santa Clara University.  He was killed in a complete freak accident involving a deer and another car on the freeway.  He was 27, a full five days older than me.  Exactly.

The service was beautiful.  People from all walks of his life spoke fondly of memories they'd shared with Dan and would now cherish.  His friends from college, grad school, a colleague from SCU, and one of his students spoke.  His parents spoke.  There was a wonderful slide-show of happy memories from Dan's time with us.  It was a testament to the joy that he brought to those around him when we laughed, albeit heavy-heartedly, through the entire show.  I felt like the harder I laughed, the harder I cried.  We mourned his death, but also celebrated his life.  And it was so good to share in that moment together, to lean on each other and just understand that what you're feeling and thinking?  I'm feeling and thinking that too.

What resonated with me the most was in the message that the pastor spoke, because it was something I'd been mulling over and wrestling with since the minute I'd heard the terrible news.  There is nothing right or natural about losing Dan.  He wasn't old.  He wasn't sick.  He was human and flawed, but he was good.  People have resigned themselves to believing that death is natural, that we can't have life without also having death, much like we can't have goodness without evil, or light without dark.  But that is a farce.

I believe that one day this world will be renewed.  That death will be forever defeated.  That goodness and love will conquer all.  I have hope that one day I will see Dan again.  And I will tell him about the awesome Jimmy Eat World concert that he missed, that I had an extra ticket for, the Monday after he died.  I will laugh at his eternally rosy cheeks and his boyish charms.  I will tell him he needs a haircut, tell him to get a new hoodie already, and then talk about whatever new bands we've been listening to.  I will laugh and he will laugh, and all will be made right.