Drifter October 28, 2014Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials.
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“When everything in your life is right on track, it’s easy to believe that things happen for a reason. It’s easy to have faith. But when things start to go wrong, then it’s very hard to hold on to that faith. It’s hard not to wonder who’s reasons these things are happening for.”-Allie Keys, Taken
Maybe things do happen for a reason but it’s possible things happen just because things happen. How can a million external actions coalesce into one single act without the end product being random? An accident. When I was a little girl, my dad and sister and I lived with our grandmother–a fact that was brought about by a thousand other random acts. Grandmother decided we needed a mom and “encouraged” my father to find us one, which he did. After they married, we moved around a lot as though constantly running from the law. We moved and moved and then one day, in one new house…some little boys knocked on our door and offered us a puppy, whom we accepted and named Precious, then promptly renamed Goat. One of these boys became my friend for the short 12-month period we lived in that house and then we moved again, and I lost touch with him. Seven years later I moved back to that town and ran into him and we became friends again. But in less than six months I was on the move again (having personally developed a drifter type spirit), and we lost touch again. It would be another 20 years before I would see him again, at which point we picked up our friendship as though it had been on hold a mere minute.
Upon reflection of this experience I have realized something about myself…that this is not as crazy as it would seem in my life. I have difficulty holding on to relationships consistently and instead have made it a habit to come in and out of peoples lives like the drifter I describe myself as being. So perhaps it is not fate when I run into someone years later, once or twice, or three times. Perhaps there is no “reason” behind it. Maybe it really is just a thousand different moments coalescing to bring me to this place out of randomness. Part of me wants to believe so…makes it easier to drift away as I’ve always done. Because if I start believing things happen for a reason I might have to question everything.
Betrayed May 2, 2013Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials.
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I don’t know that I’ve ever been so angry before.
People say anger courses through your veins. I read it all the time in books…the rage coursed through her veins like a fiery beast soaring through the night sky… I never really understood that until now.
I feel like beating the crap out of something. Railing to the heavens. Screaming.
I imagine it’s something like the hulk when he becomes so enraged but cannot morph into a destructive beast.
Because what would people think?
It’s frustrating to be that angry and unable to show it. The repression turns my skin to fire. Like I’m on fire. Or worse…a kettle sitting quietly in the fire.
Spinning Wheels April 12, 2013Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials.
Tags: Experiencing Life, fiction, Life, Living, Thoughts on Life, writing
I haven’t written in a while. I imagine my thoughts would be as boring to other people as they are to me. The truth is there are too many thoughts…the act of trying to streamline everything into a focused conversation seems…arduous. I’ve remarked, over the years, the various changes I see in myself. Lately I’ve expanded the circular quality of the reference to those around me. To those that are nowhere near me. Just wondering. Do other people look inward as I do and remark upon the changes? Am I one in 7-billion? I’m not suggesting I’m unique, please don’t think so. My morphing is obvious if you ever have cause to come to my home. Over the years my changing interests make themselves visible on my bookshelves. I remember the day I bought “The Girl’s Guide to Absolutely Everything” by Melissa Kirsch. It was at Barnes and Noble in Plano in 2007. I was newly single, likely the reason why it’s so memorable a purchase. I got married right outside of high school and had kids…stayed that way for 10 years. How the hell does one be a single girl?? At the time I was struggling to figure myself out. I loved Dr. Pepper. But…I figured out I loved it because my husband of 10 years loved it and I had acquired the taste. Before him…I was a Pepsi girl. I liked rock and roll. Did I? I don’t know. My husband did. I spent two years ironing myself out. This girl’s guide book was a necessary purchase. In 2008 I expanded my single girl book collection to include “Life is Short, Wear Your Party Pants” which was a fun read and made me feel like a fun girl again. In 2009 I bought a book called “Anthropology Explored” because I’d watched a mini-series on tv about anthropology and decided I loved it. I also bought a book called Walking with Cavemen. Very interestingly realistic photographs of said cavemen. I even looked into a degree in the subject. But…that was a short-lived phase. I have most of the Allison Weir books on the King Henry’s, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Anne…because in 2011 I became fascinated with the British Monarchy. This year I’m reading “The Warmth of Other Suns” and “The History of the Ancient World”. Historical books. Naturally they have nothing to do with anything. But less frou-frou party-types. You know if you have to tell people you’re a fun person…you’re probably not. As in the case of me. I consistently work on my goals, increase my skills, work on learning new tasks like hemming pants and putting puzzles together. But…for the most part, it feels like spinning wheels. And no one wants to hear about that.
I Feel Nothing January 28, 2012Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials.
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I haven’t felt much like writing lately, which is weird and funny at the same time. Is it because I have too much going on? Maybe I’m unmotivated. Even when my friends come to call I find I have very little to impart…as though everything I do (while interesting enough for me to partake in it) is completely not worth discussing. Just the fact that I’m writing about how unimportant my ruminations are seems ridiculous. I’m not a boring person…at least I think I am not. I try to live each moment to the fullest and experience all that I can. I work and write and study and raise and cook…and still find time to visit and photograph and soak. But despite how full of interest I am in each of my endeavors…I am bored with it so much that I cannot even find ways to make it sound interesting enough to talk about. Bleh.
When I write…it’s in my journal. Or a letter to a friend. Or on book two of my Wings of Fate series. Or it’s a blog. Or just a little stupid or funny something on Facebook. But my emotion for it has dimmed and the lack-there-of seems to have created this smoky filter across my writing, indeed it has all but smothered my passion for everything.
I don’t feel numb. And I’m not unhappy. No, things have never been so good. So…why do I feel nothing? There’s too much to do in life and too little time to do it in…to move through the days feeling nothing.
Let’s Vacation July 23, 2011Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Thoughts on People, Writing.
Tags: Air conditioning, Dream, Experiencing Life, Family, goals, Hot tub, Hotel, Ice cream, Life, Living, Love, people, Personal, Recreation, Relationships, Shopping, Swimming pool, Thoughts on Life, Vacation rental, writing
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I had forgotten how saltwater effects my ears but, for the first time in years, the hearing in my left ear has returned. And so as my children squabble over the television channel, space on the hotel bed, and the hot tub, I can hear every octave of their shrieks and even their mutterings.
It’s currently almost ten o’clock at night and the children are finishing a long day with a dip in the hotel’s indoor pool. Well, two of them are anyway, my fourteen-year old daughter, having espied a good-looking boy with a mohawk in the hot tub, has decided she’d like to swim after all and has gone back to our room to change. After a short period of time she returned clad in her yellow bikini with her hair nicely combed.
My ex and I then began a conversation about the dating ritual and concerns of youngsters. My ex, Ben, referred to the kids (teenagers and all) as “carefree”, to which I replied “who, in that room, is carefree?” My argument being that a 14-year old girl is extremely sensitive to her expression, hair, laughter, outfit, swimming technique — every nuance of behavior matters. That’s not carefree — that’s all care.
And then Ben says how silly that is because guys that age don’t particularly care about any of that. She’s cute and that’s the be-all, end-all. He says the majority of men, as well, are this way. Good to know, I say.
It was nice, though, that we were all completely unconcerned with all nuances of behavior (other than behaving in a socially acceptable manner, that is) at the beach today. I didn’t even notice other women being particularly concerned with their persons. What I noticed, instead, were the families building poorly constructed sandcastles, flying kites shaped as hawks, and wading deep into the intense waves slamming to shore. The temperatures remained in the nineties, a lovely change from the over-100-degrees for three weeks weather back home, and the breeze remained constant.
My son, upon his first experience with the ocean, deemed it acceptable entertainment in his 6-year old mind with the exception of all that pesky salt in the water and, therefore, perhaps the hotel pool was better. Kids. My 11-year old daughter has outdone herself in remaining positive and atop our non-schedule. Directly after dinner tonight she, my son, and Ben went outside to be free of the arctic air conditioning system of the hole-in-the-wall we found, and my 14-year old and I sat inside, eating ice cream and discussing the benefits of moving to the coast.
We decided it was difficult to judge the benefits because it’s easy to enjoy a vacation spot when you don’t have to work or go to school because then there’s no stress or responsibility really. But if we moved to the coast, the stress and responsibility would simply follow us to the coast and then…would we still enjoy the coast better than home? It was too difficult to decide so we simply finished our ice cream, pondered the intensity of the waves some more, and then stepped out into the ocean air.
Your Face/My Face July 6, 2011Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011, Thoughts on People.
Tags: appearance, Child, Life, personality, Recreation, Roswell, self-esteem, Swimming pool, Swimsuit, Thoughts on Life, thoughts on people, Water, Water Parks, Waterpark
Several days ago I took my children to the local water park. It was a hot day filled with an over-abundance of roiling heat, noisy children, and a crush of bodies. The water park provides a lap pool, which I utilize, and a pool for small children — both indoors. Outside there is a lengthy lazy river pool, a children’s water playground, and four ridiculously tall, curving slides. After my children abandoned me to one of the aforementioned delights, I sat on my towel and grabbed my latest read: Discovering Roswell. I slipped my finger between the pages held by my bookmark and took one last glance around the water park, searching for the familiar blonde heads of my children. I didn’t see them but wasn’t alarmed and, instead, my attention was diverted by something else.
Anyone who has ever gone to a water park, local swimming pool, the lake, or the beach, has seen women aplenty running amok in their swim suits. Because stores vie for the most sales during the swim suit season there are plenty of colors, designs, and patterns. Such variation. But, again, this is not what truly caught my attention. I noticed the swim suits, sure, but what I really took note of was the behavior exhibited by these women.
For instance the smiling brunette with the long legs and bright red bikini providing standard coverage. Her legs dredged through the calf-high kiddy playground as she moved from one side to the next where she met some alarmingly attractive man. The man isn’t the point. Or maybe he is. Amid the joyful screaming of the children, the multitude of water-spraying canons, the heat, the crush of bodies — the brunette moved confidently. Her arms swung at her sides as though forgotten and they certainly weren’t used to cover this spot or that spot — some seemingly flawed portion of her body only she could see. (as is the way). She was confident.
Then there was the tiny, big-breasted blonde lying in the shallow side of the kiddie playground with her arms stretched behind her to prop her body forward as she sunbathed. This one wore practically nothing but the practically-nothing was white and cute. She knew it. It’s possible no one paid her any attention whatsoever but judging by the way she held her body — stiffly with unnatural angles caused by her legs and head (meant to show to the best advantage) — she thought everyone was watching her.
Someone was watching her. An overweight woman with long red hair curled up into a bun on the very top of her head. The red-haired woman chose not to wear sunglasses that day and her squint only emphasized the other creases in her face. The bathing suit she chose was probably suitable, probably respectable, but it didn’t look right on her at all. The plain brown one piece was covered with baggy beige shorts, meant to provide additional covering where the woman deemed necessary. She glanced at the woman in white and then pretended not to glance down at herself before moving away to some shady spot where her towel waited for her.
There were more of them but instead of my minute inspection of each and every one I began to sort of…catalog them. The ones who wore skirts with their suits. The ones who wore one-pieces versus two-pieces. The ones whose arms behaved like darting shields to cover bits of their bodies as they walked. The ones who walked as though they wore a business suit and had no fear.
And then I thought. How different would we be, self-consciously, if everyone looked exactly the same? If each of the women in that water park had the exact same face and the only real concern we had for whether anyone liked us or not, was related only to our personality? You would know if you were liked, or loved even, just for being you. And only for that reason. There’s a kind of security in such an idea. I appreciate individuality and uniqueness in people and especially in myself. But I wonder how different we would be, how different our relationships would be, if the only thing to be seen was what you couldn’t see?
Letting Go June 11, 2011Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
Tags: broken dreams, Dream, dreams, let go, letting go, Life, Love, Relationships, starting over, Thoughts on Life
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Verb 1: let go of – release, as from one’s grip
Until today I don’t think I ever really understood the significance of letting go. I hear people say ‘let it go’ all the time when something is upsetting or annoying. Topically speaking, it just means ‘don’t worry about it’. Or when something bothers me I say I’m just going to let it go. Again, so as not to worry and stress over it. But this almost always means that whatever that something is, it is small. Insignificant.
Letting go, is entirely different.
Today I wandered around my house thinking about the past. The past equals all things that have effected me up to this point in my life. 32-years worth of little somethings that create a larger whole picture of Sarah. Some of those little things I no longer remember and it doesn’t mean that those things were bad things or boring things…they’ve just faded away. Some of those little things are happy memories I cherish all the time…things that have followed me through the many days, weeks, months, and years of my time here in this life.
Other things, though, are bad things. Sad things. Angering things. And today I thought about the sad things. One thing, in particular. I had this person in my life for years who I built so many dreams around and he was (in my mind) someone very special. Special to me. Special in this world. Just special. And I kept trying to find a way to fit him into my life even though no matter what I tried, I failed. And I’m not a quitter so I kept trying. For years. I simply could not let go of that dream. It’s like growing up with the plan to go to Harvard, or Julliard, or to be an actress or quarterback. It’s a dream for your future that you work towards in a lifelong commitment of smaller plans that lead up to the great plan.
But I’m the quarterback who sustained a life-altering knee injury in the game. And just like that, the dream died. Stubborn and unready to give up on the dream, I worked out and stretched the injury, slapped band-aids on it, fought back the tears. But eventually I came to realize the dream was over.
And still I fought against it. I’ve lived in my own mind now for a long time, sequestering myself and my future in and around this dream. Until today. Today I realized that no matter how much I still want that dream and no matter how much I think those band-aids might eventually turn into wound-altering sutures, I have to let it go. The idea of taking something I love with my whole soul, tying it to an invisible balloon and letting it float away on the breeze, is terrifying. Heartbreaking.
That’s how I know letting go of something is significantly different from letting something go.
Holes June 9, 2011Posted by sarahsfate in My Own Personal Trials, PostADay2011.
Tags: bored, Life, Love, writing
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“One must desire something, to be alive.”-Margaret Deland
I am 32-years old and have always loved a man. Not always the same man. When my heart has been broken, it has taken the desire of a new man in order to heal my heart and move on. Therefore, even though it’s not always been the same man, I’ve always loved a man.
The difference in my mood, behavior, and train of thought is obvious to me. I find very little funny, very little interesting, and very little worth the effort of any effort whatsoever. It’s deadening. I’ve been sitting here thinking tonight about the feeling…trying to figure it all out because I’m an overly-analytic person. And what I’ve realized is that Margaret is right…you have to desire something in order to be alive. Even if your desire isn’t a mate, you need the feeling of excitement — those butterflies, the breathless anticipation of whatever it is.
For me it is the breathless anticipation of the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin. When you desire someone, the whole world fades into insignificance, disappearing altogether until the moment of his arrival and suddenly the hills really are alive with the sound of music. It’s like that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy steps out the front door of her black and white existence and into techni-color munchkin land.
I try not to be so stupid about love, I honestly do. And sometimes I’m fine. But other times, seems more and more frequently now while I’m in this hole, I wonder why I bother painting my face, artfully securing my long hair back, and changing out of sweats. Why do anything more exotic than rolling over in my bed and returning to sleep. Because the dreams are currently better than reality.
It’s pathetic I know. I just…I’ve never experienced this hole before. It’s as boring as this blog.