The Fear Project

Wanting 

I used to not know what I wanted.

I foolishly thought that was the worst thing ever,

Not knowing myself enough to want.

Not allowing myself to want.

Now, I know what I want.

Only, I’m afraid to chase after it.

I know myself, but I don’t believe.

I allow myself, but what good is it when it’s only in my head?

I wanted to want.

I denied myself.

I want.

Why do I keep denying?

Truth: I like to grumble about my lack of a social life, and my unmet need for friendship outside of family and work.

It would be easy for me to blame this lack of social interaction on certain factors in my life, and on those people who have moved on and left me behind. Certainly those things did have an impact, but they are not the real problem here.

Truth: I have always been the only thing standing in my way.

I’m afraid of looking silly, or feeling awkward and out of place. I have been stuck in the same holding pattern of wishing, and wanting, and complaining, while never actually doing anything to change my situation.

Truth:

I’m tired of being afraid.

I’m tired of feeling alone.

I’m tired of being afraid to want.

So I have issued a challenge to myself: Do something that scares me everyday.

I’m affectionately calling this The Fear Project. I don’t know how long this adventure will last, or even if I will be able to achieve my goal on a daily basis. Perhaps I will continue until I have learned all I can from the experience, or succeeded in learning how to control my own demons. Perhaps I will continue until I run out of things that scare me (which will never happen!). My goal is simply to learn and grow as I challenge myself to experience new things.  I know that each fear I chose, whether big or small, will teach me something about myself, and about the world and the people that surround me.

There will be days when I simply cannot make it happen, whether it’s from lack of time, motivation, or opportunity. And I know there will be days when I simply won't be able to muster the courage. I forgive myself for those days, right here and now, so that I will not be hindered by the desire to beat myself up over them when they happen.  

 It's time to start being scared.

Carpe Diem!

Steph

"Something we were withhold made us weak until we found out it was ourselves." ~Robert Frost

"I'm a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. It seems that I'm always in a state of wishing and rarely in a state of contentment." ~Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing 

                                 Photo taken by Kim Landis

A Midnight Book Review: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

(As the title suggests a large majority of this review was written in the wee hours of the night and morning, when I should have been sleeping. It may meander slightly off course.)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

By Benjamin Alire Sáenz

         

    Sometimes you just know. You just have this feeling, by the cover, or the description, or just the weight of it in your hand, that a book will be good. I felt that way about Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. I was right. I love when I’m right about books.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe cracked me open and left me jagged. And then it stitched me back up, piece by piece, until I was better than I was before. My heart broke and my heart sang with joy.  

The protagonist, Aristotle, also known as Ari, is on a journey of discovery. I felt all that Ari felt. I wanted to understand the beguiling and flirtatious complexities of life. I saw anew the tragedy and the wonder. I felt the pain and the thrill of navigating the murky territory that is family, and friendship, and love. The words, the characters, the life within the pages, made me want to dance and leap, and throw my hands up to the sky. I wanted to embrace the universe and all its mysteries- and, like Ari, I learned to want to embrace the mysteries of myself. This is a book about living, and loving, and becoming. And it is about learning how to do all of those things.

The story and the characters shine with sincerity and beauty. I was impacted by the honesty and gorgeous simplicity of the prose. It placed me firmly inside Ari’s head. Inside his heart and his skin. I wanted to show him what he was missing, but I couldn’t.  He wasn’t ready and neither was I, because I became Ari.

I am Ari.

Everyone is Ari.

         We are all becoming. We are all journeying toward the self we want to be, the self we feel the best inside of. I can’t rush that journey. Not for Ari, and not for myself.

          In the end that is why I love it so much- because I found myself within its pages. I am Ari, and I am Dante. I am Ari’s parents, and Dante’s. I’m their friend, and sometimes even their enemy. I can see my life within the facets of theirs even though we are so very different. Perhaps that is the real lesson. We are all the same.  We all desperately strive to discover the mysteries and secrets of the universe- the universe inside our own skin, and inside the people we meet. The secrets of the universe we inhabit every day. We are just trying to understand our families, our friends, our lovers, and our world.  We are always changing and becoming. In a way, that makes a small part of us always unknowable, just as Ari said.

When I finished reading Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe I closed it with a snap and hugged it tight to my chest.

 I said: “I love this book.”

I meant it with every fiber of my being.

How could I not love Aristotle and Dante?

“Why do we smile? Why do we laugh? Why do we feel alone? Why are we sad and confused? Why do we read poetry? Why do we cry when we see a painting? Why is there a riot in the heart when we love? Why do we feel shame? What is that thing in the pit of your stomach called desire?” ~ Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Too Quiet

The phrase ‘you are too quiet,’ has followed me my whole life, sticking to me as doggedly as my shadow. Though, in my experience, those kinds of statements are very rarely intended as insults I still find them annoying and maddening. It is like the speakers of such phrases are hoping that pointing out my silence will flip some kind of magical switch and I will revert to a human model easier to interact with. In my case it nearly always has the opposite result.

I have always been the quiet type. As a kid the word chosen most often to describe me was shy. The word shy is not threatening; it is all adorableness and sweetness. It wasn’t until my early teens that the ‘too quiets,’ began, and to me, they were far from sweet. They made me feel that my quiet nature was a condition I should have outgrown, particularly because I was female. I internalized those perceived accusations of my wrongness and allowed them great power. The ‘too quiets’ clung to me, or I too them. In situations where I could have spoken up, I stayed cocooned in the safety of my own thoughts. It became easier give what was expected, to allow those words to shape me. Because I found that those same people who labeled me as ‘too quiet,’ rarely listened attentively when I did speak.

I thought that I needed to change, that being talkative and outgoing would make me ‘normal.’ For a time I deluded myself that it was possible - that if I could find some place different I could be different too. But the truth is I cannot change who I am at my core, and frankly, I don’t want too. Being quiet is as much a part of me as my heartbeat. I accept that my inner-self is more exuberant and wild than what my outer-self can show. I accept that sometimes I can be expressive, and sometimes I cannot. I know that my voice, while not loud and thunderous, still carries great power. When I embraced those facets of myself, when I learned to love all of me, I came to understand that those who comment on my silence are saying more about themselves than they are about me. I could see how my quiet attentiveness might make some people feel awkward and uncomfortable, just as exuberant extroverts make me feel insecure.

 I still dislike the ‘too quiets,’ but now I accept them with a smile. Despite the fact that I usually end up feeling uncomfortable, or unwelcome, I smile. Because I know the power of silence, and I know it is not an insult.  And while it is my responsibility to treat people with respect, it is not my responsibility to transform to better suit their needs. I do not need to apologize for the way I am. I can just be, with no shame, because I’m perfectly flawed, just like everyone else.  

        

Hope Mingled

“Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“Magic,” the boy said, eyes twinkling.

She snorted. “No such thing.”

The boy’s eyes went wide with shock. “You don’t really mean that?”

The girl shrugs. “I haven’t seen magic since I was ten.”

The boy looked at her. At her once bright eyes now hollow with despair. She had been like this for a while now. He said, “Maybe you just don’t know where to look.”

            Hope mingled with doubt in her gaze. Her eyes begged him for what she could not bring her self to ask. Show me, they pleaded.

            It began to rain.

The boy kicked off his shoes and socks. He bent down, ignoring her scowl, and pulled off her flip-flops. He took her hand and pulled her out into the rain soaked world.

Her hand was limp in his own as he pulled her from puddle to puddle, stomping, jumping, and splashing with abandon. He painted their faces with mud, and they roared like wild animals. In between downpours he led her beneath trees, leaping up to shake the branches. Droplets poured onto their heads creating their very own miniature rainstorm. He danced for her, the robot, the dougie, the running man, until she laughed out loud.

He took both of her hands in his and spun her around. “Do you smell it?” He shouted. “Do you see it?”

The girl tilted her head back, eyes closed, wet hair flying, as he spun her faster. His wet, mud slicked fingers twined in hers, his grip sure and strong. Mud squished between her toes, ran down her face, mingling with her tears and the rain. She breathed the scent of damp earth, refreshing and crisp. It fused with the scent of the boy’s skin, the lingering aroma of her shampoo, the cinnamon and coffee from the bakery down the street…and something else, something new, and unnamable.

She opened her eyes and saw his smile, heard the bark of his laugh, and the surprised sparkle of her own. And it was there, if only for a moment. Her hands tightened around his.

“I see it,” she cried, triumphant. “I see it.”

           

“Sometimes beauty and real life magic are enough.” ~Stephanie Perkins (Lola and the Boy Next Door)

Imagine

I recently read The Last Little Blue Envelope by Maureen Johnson. In the book Ginny describes a dumpster transformed into a swimming pool and recalls how her aunt called it a 'triumph of imagination." Her aunt goes to to say, "that's how you win at life, Gin. You have to imagine your way through it. Never say something can't be done. There's always a solution, even if it's weird."

Those lines reached out and clobbered me over the head. They filled me with this new inspiration, and excitement. Because that is how I want to live my life. I want to think outside the box. I want to think outside lanes, and gender roles, and job titles, and all the things we use to pigeon hole ourselves and each other. I want to embrace the world. To see everything, the beautiful mess an the chaos, so that I can find the weird solutions. I want to be weird, period. Because there is no such thing as 'normal.'

I want my imagination to thrive, and grow, and consume. I want my life to be a triumph of imagination.