dream a {new} dream

Why am I battling with myself to post something already? Where did these lame self-imposed restrictions come from that I have to be planned, polished, spell-checked, or scheduled before I can write about my life? What is going on?   Well, I'll tell you real quick like.   I'm sitting here bored with my life (I know, how ungrateful!) planning my something/anything months in advance but equally despising that it's already nearly the end of January and the year is ticking away. Tick-tock, tick-tock. {I might also be despising that I'll be 32 in a few short months.}  

Source: colorflystudio.blogspot.com via Lauren on Pinterest

    I'm currently surrounded by paperwork...a mass of paperwork.   ~ Enrollment for an Dispatch Academy Instructor Course which...yes, I want to become an instructor - I have years of experience, I have stories to tell, I still have passion for what I do. ~ Education reimbursement forms to get paid (yes, paid!) to complete my BS in Business/Marketing (do you suppose I've completed any homework that I can get handsomely paid to complete? No.) ~ Tax paperwork (show me the monay!) ~ Customer Service homework   & the humdinger: The Authentic Dreaming Worksheet An excerpt or two: "...but what if your dreams are to live simply?" "You cannot stop dreaming. You must, you must, you simply must dream a new dream."   My computer has a slew of open tabs, I can't decide if I want to cook or travel or create or go to yoga... I want to do them all.   I just know that I'm again in this spot where I feel like I am:   1) on the verge of tears 2) on the verge of a breakthrough 3) on the verge of a genius/epiphany 4) on the verge of a long nap   This is comfortable and unfamiliar at the same time.   This {tune} has been humming in my head all day long & then, just on cue, a good friend sent me this:  

  & what, in the hell, Lauren, do cowboy tunes have to do with anything?   Well...everything.  Every damn thing, because the slew of paperwork, the maxed calendar of events, the travel miles, and the A.D.D. brain are just a cover up for that {simple} that I dream of.   My dreams are not outlandish. They're way more country than rock and roll. They're simple.   I'd "settle" for a cowboy, a little piece or land, some plants to water, some animals to feed, some little ones to plan my week around, an little studio to get lost in where creatvity bursts all over the walls onto cards and canvas and into journals.   I would. I could. I want to.   I can plan and stack and sort through the paperwork of my reality all I want to, but when it all boils down, my dreams are my dreams and there's no escaping that they're not going anywhere, anytime soon.   {*sigh*}

{400} Oak Trees: what my dreams are made of

Well, it is really no secret that I've had quite the long standing love affair with the South. Say...since I was 12 years old and read through Gone with the Wind one Summer like it was a nursery rhyme. A really long, petulent nursery rhyme.   Fast forward to Nicholas Sparks and every novel he's ever written and every movie that's ever been translated to a screenplay and well there you have it. This place {collective deep sigh}:   

Source: Uploaded by user via Jessica on Pinterest

   The Wormsloe Plantation in Savannah, GA. It was on my travel bucket list when I went to visit, oh a year and  half ago, but...I never made it. I half suspect that I had to keep something still on the list so that I'd have a good reason to go back again. I think that in this year that I've declared to be one where I get back to what makes me think and dream and feel free again - the one that feels authentically me again, travel is a must.  I must go see this beautiful place that haunts my happy thoughts.   You see, in the movie version of my life, I live in a place like this. My driveway has 400 sentinel oak trees that welcome me home every day and an army of 400,000 crickets that lull me to sleep every night.    The only thing that could make this better is if I was at home watching these movies  next to my fireplace while listening to the rain beat down on my tin roof.   Be still my mossy oak tree driveway lined, balmy weather, accent lovin' heart. Be still. It's coming all in due time.   <3   This blog post was brought you you courtesty of: the ABC Family channel and their full night of Nicholas Sparks-esq movies.

every day is a {new} blank page

My last day of work in this long work week.

A venti latte with an extra shot.

A mind full of ideas.

A heart full of desires.

Feeling nostalgic yet resolute,

void of deadlines or numbers,

with my pen to the paper and no chances to second guess

I made a list.

Be good to my body.

Be kind to my heart.

Pray (daily)

Write (often & honestly)

Smile (more)

Create (beauty)

Be thankful

&

Remember that every day is a new blank page in the story that is my life.

Each new page cannot exist without the one before it.

to me

to you

to a new year

Spread {your} wings

Creativity has finally bled out of my hands. 

It's been bottled up inside by something, I can't say what, 

but it refused to be grounded tonight.

I love this piece!

1. Spread your wings

2. Fly

(Ledge optional)

~ Lauren 

Dear {me}

Dear Friday, I have about 3 minutes to write this before I have to get ready for dinner in Downtown Disney, catered by our law firm, the annual appreciation dinner for the conference of the largest employee union in the United States.  This is not to tout my privileged  but to mark the occasion.  Good, bad, or indifferent, this is my reality. Right now, today, this night, and this weekend. This is my life and I swear, I am trying my hardest to live IN it and not in the what-ifs of the past or the fears and question marks of the future. It's not as glamorous as it sounds but I'm here for a reason. Dear Cinderella, Pluto, Sully, Mater, Jessie, and a few other friends, thanks for taking pictures with me. I am just a big kid at heart. Characters are meant to be in pictures often and always. Dear Southwest Airlines, thanks for the incredible sale and for getting me to Salt Lake City in January.  Just so you know, I titled the itinerary The World Is Your Stage.  Dear Jake Owen, keep playin', you have a permanent spot on the soundtrack of my dreams. Dear Me, stop thinking about everything so hard. 
Dear Lord, just keep listening cause I need to keep talking to you. I have a lot of questions and a lot of worry that I just can't seem to get rid of.  

Dear Friday {Life Goes On}

Dear Friday, 

Where do I start?  

(sigh)

I don't know what's wrong with me, I hear this blog calling me and I have things to say but there's some defiant little self-sabotaging brat that keeps coming along and kicking me in the literary shins. 

I'm not any closer to choosing a new direction.  

I have this tick-tock calling of something (what?!)

something new that keeps nagging at me. 

I wake up dreaming of a life other than the one I'm living in...

But I'm in the life that I'm in right now, 

in the time that I'm in right now, 

in the place that I'm in right now

for a reason right now. 

Trust the journey. Isn't that what they say? 

(Who the heck are they anyways?)

Earlier this week, I googled "the best decision I've ever made"  and it gave me this answer.  A literary spunkarella that drew me in with her creative prowess.  Hooked.  I emailed her. I know she's part of my journey somehow. 
What did I tell her?  That I feel like I'm not even at a fork in the road.  I'm at a 20-lane intersection, clear of traffic, and green lights in all directions.  Standing there, directionless, the world at my feet but with an uncalibrated compass in one hand  and the map from the glove box of the Griswold family station wagon in the other. 
I feel like there's no cohesion, no lines, no boundaries,  and the expectations are blurry.  Yeah. Blurry.  I'm having a hard time focusing. 
Even now, it's not even Friday still in some parts of the country.  Hell for that matter, in some parts of the country there aren't even lights or heat or comfort.  I can't even get the Dear Friday letter in on time. 
Those are my thoughts, but what's happening in my life?  Well, one thing that is most than and more than worthy of mentioning. I've written about it before, but I thought I'd have more time to prepare my thoughts. 


LAST Friday, when I was going to reintroduce myself to this weekly,  a text message pulled/ripped/yanked me out of bed after just one hour of sleep.
Uncle Mickey passed away at 827 this morning. 
Whaaat?!  They said 3-6 months. We had what? 8 weeks?  He was just at lunch yesterday. I didn't go.  I thought I could just see him the coming weekend.  I called him the afternoon before to tell him that I'd see him soon.  He didn't answer.  The events of that day are imprinted on my mind and in my heart.  The scene that replayed itself every time another family member arrived to say their goodbye.  That's a blog with a it's very own blood shot, tear stained, big & beating emotional heart. 

In my family, we have a strong Christian faith.   We believe in the Lord God and in eternal life.  We mourn for our missing of one of the best  brothers, uncles, fathers, friends you could imagine  but we don't fall into sorrow worrying about his soul.  We prayed he would go before the pain set in and made his last days agonizing. Our prayers were answered.  It was quick and merciful. 
So...death is a part of life.  And life goes on. 
My week went on this week. Uncle Mick was one of my biggest cheerleaders,  so I didn't let him down. I did my monthly run, a 5K at Folsom Lake.  My first significant activity on my bum knee.  I made it - wet, sandy, muddy, slow, and lopsided, but I made it  and earned my favorite finisher's medal to date.

Wednesday was Halloween, I busted out a creative makeup muscle ...and I handed out 1,000 coloring books, 1,400 balloons,  and buckets of candy downtown.

Then I got a pretty rad, awesome, compliment yesterday.  Yeah, I said rad and I said awesome! Psyche!

Next Friday is the service. Next Friday may or may not be an entirely different blog.  However, next Friday will be further proof that life just goes on. 
Til then...

a {rebel} without a blog

Hi.
I'm back.
I went away for a little while.   (like 6 weeks awhile) I do this sometimes. 
I'm OK.  Really. I am.   I just got a little behind with the self-imposed writing deadlines and weeklies, and then I got busy, and then I went on vacation, and, and, and... I can't lie, I felt an uncomfortable amount pressure to keep this blog up and I didn't like it.  I love to write.   I do.   I love to converse, text, talk, read, watch, listen...share. Right now though...I'm kind of (fill in the blank)  pensive.   Yeah, that's the word.   I'm in such a different place in my life and in my head than I was last time this year. But, there are so many things on my plate, so many pressures that have to be met:  work, bills, fitness, family obligations, speed limits when there's a really damn good fast song on! I just can't get out of some of those, so I went and got out of the one that I could control.    I could stop writing.  I have power over that.   Yeah, I think not writing has been my rebellion.  Does that make sense at all?  I became a rebel without a blog.   All the while, the that tiny small voice was telling me: Why are you giving up the one thing you really love? It's your outlet. You know how you get when you bottle it all up inside.
 

{my kitchen blackboard and love notes to myself}

 

Getting back here hasn't been as easy as I thought. 

It should be like riding a bike, just get back on, right? That's what they say at least. I had to do a little bit of convincing. I had to romance myself with little sweet notes and reminders. I had to imagine that I needed inspiration to post something again. But really...I didn't have to do anything. I just had to sit down and start again.   So right now I'm liking the creative fury of my fingers dancing on this keyboard.
It's a familiar melody that needs to be played more often.   Getting back on the writing saddle is like anything else.  Showing up is half the battle but look, I'm already winning that one. I'm here.  I showed up.  I just gotta set some new rules so I don't find my way back to blank again. Or maybe I don't need rules, I just need some Hemingway:   There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway <3

{Hi, I'm back.}