Little Dreams

Little dreams 

Of autumn and winter

Falling leaves 

Soft snow

And knowing that

They are sweet dreams

Alone

But they are 

Even better

And ever bigger

When we trust 

And let them grow.

Steady

Set down onto rocky, parched earth,
My limbs stay spring-loaded
Ready to leap from a desert-place of discomfort.
Change has charged my fortifications,
Shaken and stirred up storms of worry.

I have to ride out the squalls,
To let myself feel the ripping seams of what was known,
To cry out for the old,
To breathe in the stinging, fresh air,
To grow anew.

But in spite of raging tempests
Blown in on shifting winds,
I am steady.
I am rooted to the earth
In knowing the depth of your love.

There is no timeline!

Sweet, sweet freedom. It has always been there, but for the first time I fully realized that there is no timeline on my life. Or yours. Or anyone's.

I have been mentally battling with my personal expectations for when I should really be married by, in order to have children healthily, and yet also trying to figure out how that wouldn't throw a wrench in my career development. And all of that is crazy because I'm only 23 and a singing career just takes time. And what's even more crazy is that I don't know what I want that career to look like exactly. And, and, and...

"STOP!! THERE IS NO TIMELINE!!" said a voice in my head... (I personally go with God on that one, but y'all do your own thing. I'm ok of you think I'm nuts.)

There is no prescribed definition for how the span of my life should look. The beauty of life is in the differences between people. I already know that I can't apply any other singer's timeline of vocal development to my own - that only serves to drive one mad, believe me! In the literally same exact way, I can't compare the trajectory of my so-far-lived and my to-be-lived life to anyone else's (or my perceived ideas of the lives of others.) What an absolutely freeing idea!!

Logically, I know this is the case. It just makes sense. But with graduation looming, the mind gets into the rut of forecasting the next 25 years... at least, mine does -- every time without fail. Today was the first day that I began to (Lord knows I've got miles to go) truly internalize the concept that the only expectations I must meet are my own. When I loosen my grip on my grasp of have tos and musts, I find that I feel a pressure lifting. I can breathe and not hyperventilate. I can rest without worry. I can be where I am and let that lead to where I'm going.

Because, try as we might, we can only ever be where we are. Trying to make more happen in a time that hasn't yet come is only impossible and exhausting. I don't want to live a life of surviving the present to reach the future. The rich possibilities of the future are only there when we choose to affect the now we are in.

Luckily, that's exactly what we can do. Because, again, there is no designated plan we have to match up with, or else be outcast from a "successful" life. There aren't any expectations that are more important than your own goals and dreams. Best of all, those dreams and goals are allowed to change!

We aren't static creatures. We are meant to grow. And when we are fully allowed to grow is when we flourish -- all in our own time.

23

... the age where I stopped thinking I had to have it all together, or that I even had some semblence of this non-possible fantasy and decided to go with my gut and/or let things be; the year I've grown the most.

Flowering

It started as an itch in the crease of her right elbow.  She noticed it one morning on the bus.  One casual scratch then back to her book.  But it wouldn't go away.  She adjusted her sleeve, trying to feel up the seam to see if there was something there.  Nothing. By now she was starting to get looks of mild annoyance from the middle-aged business woman next to her.  She sat in rigid silence, focusing her gaze on the words in front of her, her mind focused solely on the throbbing of her arm.

Three blocks.  Two blocks.  One.  She grabbed at the stop cord as casually as possible, inwardly frantic.  The feeling had only increased, spreading slowly through her arm, reaching her wrist and shoulder.  I'm only twenty-five - it couldn't be a heart attack, right?  The driver jerked to a stop and she leapt up while simultaneously tripping over the cranky business woman's feet.  "Sorry, so sorry!" she pleaded to the half-sneer, practically falling out of the doors in her effort to escape.

She dropped her backpack on the sidewalk as the bus pulled away and shoved her sleeve up.  What the fu-  A small green lump was pushing from under her skin.