Connections

Firstly, a HUGE thank you to everyone who read Unrequited. It is, hands down, my most read post and I'm really grateful for everyone that helped me achieve that. If you haven't read it yet, go check it out. It's on this blog, not one of my others that I write, but yeah. Go read it. I poured my soul into that piece and then it go rejected. #ironic.

I am a huge nerd. And I am proud of that fact. I read a lot of comic books. This is a well known fact. My last car was named Grayson after Dick Grayson AKA Robin AKA Nightwing. I LOVE all things comic books. And I live an hour away from Salt Lake City who has the 3rd largest comic con in the country. Go us! And I have been a to many of them. I have met lots of people and I've had really great adventures with my friends.

I wasn't going to go this time because money is tight and I really can't be spending a ton of money on non essential things. But, Chiquita convinced me to come and even gave me a pass. Which was awesome. So, I went. And thanks to some really generous friends I was even able to get a couple more signatures in my Arrow graphic novel. Which was fantastic. And so much fun. AND, I was able to get some ideas for my StarStruck Baking blog, which will be coming up in the next little bit.

It was really a lot of fun, but one of the highlights for me was the train ride home. The train was pretty full because there were LOTS of people at comic con, but there was an older gentleman sitting alone with a few empty seats by him. So, I kindly asked if I could sit by him and he replied that he would love some company. As I sat down, in the midst of hundreds of people, he started asking me about myself. I hate small talk because I'm really not good at it. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really am not good at small talk. It's awkward for me, but this nice gentleman just kept asking questions and then I would ask him in return and he'd start telling me about his life.

I didn't ever catch his name. He might have told me, but it was too loud to hear him. But it really doesn't matter because in that moment it was like there were no other people on the train and he just wanted to tell me about his life. He reminded me a lot of my grandfather, probably because they both served in World War II. But it was still great to hear him tell me about how he ended up in Utah of all places and about all the places he'd been to and the things he's seen. I got to just sit and talk to someone and hear about their life. And just as quickly as it started, it ended. His stop came up and he said goodbye and hopped off the train.

Everyone has a story to tell. EVERYONE. Even you, person I may not know reading this. You may not know me (though, if you've read much of this blog you have a good idea), and I may never meet you, but in this moment, right now, we are sharing a moment. This experience right here is something that we don't always get with people. The sun rises and sets and how often do we actually see who's lives we touch? We are all connected.

And speaking of connected, I saw this video on Facebook the other day and it really got me thinking. I can't find the link, so if anyone can find it, put it in the comments. Any way, the premise of this video is that these researchers got a group of people from all over the world together and asked them about where they're from. The people talked about how they'd lived in the same country for generations and they were really proud of their heritage. The researchers then asked if they would be willing to go on a journey based on their DNA. Many of the people were skeptical, but agreed.

It was interesting to see the people's reactions when they discovered that none of them were 100% anything. But that their DNA showed how many different countries and heritages each person had. It got me thinking about my own ancestry. My Great Grandparents on my Mom's side came to America from Holland. That's two generations. That's so close! My Dad's family is from all over Europe. I even have some ancestors from Africa. I love learning more about where I come from. I want to go visit Ireland, Scotland, England, Denmark and Holland. I want to walk the streets that my ancestors walked. I want to see what they saw. I want them to be a part of my life. Because without them, I wouldn't be me. Without my great great great Grandma Dablestein I wouldn't know that I have a rich Jewish heritage. Without James and Mary Anne Pace, I wouldn't have a love for my hometown, which they settled in the early 1800s. Without Eric Anderson Svard (with whom I share a birthday) I wouldn't know about my Swedish ancestors. All of us come from all over the world. And because of this, we are literally all connected. How cool is that?

I am so grateful for my ancestry. For a heritage so full of vibrant stories and history! I love where I've come from and I'm so grateful for all those that sacrificed so much so that I could be me.

Sometimes life is just hard

My car died last week. Grayson. I had him for a year. Almost to the day. He was a good car. Got me from A to B. And from B back to A, or sometimes to C. But he always got me home. Man, he was a good car. Named him after Dick Grayson from the comic books. Because I'm a comic book nerd. And it wasn't overly obvious. I don't like to be in your face, generally, with what I do and don't like/obsess over. Like comic books. If you guys knew the extent that my level of comic book nerd actually was, you'd be surprised, I think.

Any way, Grayson died and I have had a while to contemplate what I'm doing with my life. I don't have a new job yet. #anyonewanttohireawriter? I am living in the basement of my childhood home, questioning my life choices. I have a degree that my dad thinks is useless and currently he's trying really hard not to say "I told you so." BUT, despite all the opposition waiting for me to fail, I feel like this is my time to keep pushing forward. Not stopping the momentum. Well, there's not really a lot of momentum at this particular moment. Mostly I just can't stop trying. I can't stop working hard to find that elusive new job. And reach for my amazing dreams. I don't expect to become a screenwriter tomorrow, that's the end game. But I can get a new job now that will take me to the next step that will take me to the next step that will eventually lead to me becoming a screenwriter and making Changing Tyde into a movie. And LIGHTS. Because I know that's what y'all want, right?! RIGHT!

So, today I sit on my bed in my room that is full of boxes I haven't unpacked. And won't unpack until I move again. And while I sit, I keep thinking about how awesome my life actually is. It's not where I want to be, but it's not a bad place to start from. This is only the beginning, peeps. Only the beginning.

And in honor of this moment, I will share with you a poem I wrote. It's for LIGHTS. And it's been published in a student journal at UVU. And has an odd resemblance to my life. Sort of. I'm not a dancer. Obviously. But, how many times do we come across something trying to hold us back? And we have to fight and in the end there's triumph and pirouettes. And sometimes those pirouettes are the cookies and not the dance move. Ha ha.

Shadow and a Dancer

Creeper creeps in

darkness and night.

Dancer twirls,

twists and turns

together in motion.

He hides behind

her watching, waiting.

turn. stop. lift. stop.

Seeing no one she

dances until dawn

when nothing remains.

Struggle and fight,

she pushes beyond

shadow falls

while light remains

triumph and pirouettes.  

ALL THE FEELS

We all know of my *slight* addiction to TV shows, especially those of the superhero variety. But dang. Seriously. It has been a rough go of my shows lately. The writers are killing people left and right. It's like Injustice: Year 1, Issue 16 when Dick Grayson is accidentally killed by Damian Wayne. In the midst of this huge battle between Batman and Superman and their respective teams a single moment stands out. and suddenly you're ugly crying to the point that you have to put your comic down because you can't read you're crying so hard.

That's been me watching my shows. So many character deaths. Ugh. I hate it. Some are short and quick, like on The Flash last week, and others have been awful and drawn out. #savehook. Writers. You're killing me. And the feels. Oh the feels. I hate trying to explain why I'm ugly crying over a show. *sob*sob* "you just don't get it! It was his dad! The only family he had left! *sob*sob* and now he's gone!!" more sobbing. more ugly crying. All over fictional characters. This is my life.

And then, there's the other aspects of my life. Job searching. It's the worst. I hate spending hours a day filling out applications to companies that aren't even going to email me to let me know they're not interested. I feel like my information just goes into a black hole of nothingness sometimes.

I actually applied for a job that would potentially lead to my dream job. I saw the listing about this time last Thursday night/Friday morning and applied for it. And now comes the waiting game. The constant worry that I might not even hear back from them. That somehow the awesomeness of my resume and writing sample will some how not impress whoever I sent it to. If they even look at it. And my dream job could easily slip through my fingers. I'm not saying this to be negative, I'm just saying this because it's consuming my soul and I'm tired of it consuming my soul. I'm just tired. And not just because it's 2:32 AM and I'm still awake after finishing this season of iZombie. It's more than that.

In light of my above little outburst of emotion, I have decided to share with you a poem that I wrote. This is me putting myself completely out in the open as a writer. I am not a poet by nature and I struggled hard core in my intermediate poetry class, and the following poem is the result. That semester I was hooked on LIGHTS and couldn't help but write, like, all of my poems about Emma, Ian and Donovan. So, this poem is called Starlit Dreams and it's from Emma's perspective after she's lost Ian:

Starlit Dreams

I watch for every flicker

lighting the corners of my

eyes, and into my imagination.

Each night as I sleep, I hope

beyond the truth, the seconds

trickle past and tease me. A broken watch

remains, last proof that he is real. An echo

of his rich laugh a fire and coals on a cold day.

His fingers slipped from my neck, pausing

briefly at the base, like a waterfall

pooling. Waiting, holding, hoping

that time does not move past

his eyes. Deep caverns with a spark of light

that guides the weary strangers. I

caress the memory of waking

up beside him, the sting of winter kept

away by the warmth of his smile.

I dream of silver trees next to

ocean breezes after a storm

with hope and starlit dreams.

I may have broken someone's heart yesterday and although I don't regret that I did it, I do hope that I didn't cause more damage than necessary. It's made me stop and think a lot about how we treat other people. A LOT of people that I care about in my life have given me a lot of advice on how I should approach things. I listened to them for a while, but when I'm alone, and especially after I've spent some time reading my scriptures and contemplating my life, I have come to realize a few things. First, that how I personally feels does, in fact, matter. Second, that although we should give everyone a really good chance, that doesn't always mean that things are going to go the way you or other people think they will. Third, don't waste people's time. I feel really bad about that one because I think I wasted more time than I should have. I should have been more direct, but I was worried I would hurt someone or not give them enough of a chance. Instead, I put it off a lot longer than I should have. Which happens. Ugh. Feelings. They're killing me, guys. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them. I kind of feel like Barry Allen on tonight's The Flash. There's a moment towards the end of the episode where there's a big reveal and he can't handle it anymore and he goes out into the hallway and just collapses on the ground and is sitting there with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands and there's tears streaming down his face. He just couldn't handle the emotions anymore. That's me mentally. I'm beyond my breaking point emotionally. Which is what it is. And I'll find the strength along the way. But dang. ALL THE FEELS. I tell you what, they're not so bueno.