You

I spent about four hours today reviewing and grading scholarship applications submitted by a fresh batch of baby Bruins. Teenage bears who, for the most part, attempted to express all the pieces of their respective selves they felt comfortable sharing in one thousand words or less. Rubrics and instructions were distributed, outlining in seemingly objective but quite subjective detail what was considered "ideal" ... photocopies of deceased and processed trees that somehow were supposed to help you identify the perfect student. 

I'll probably never interact with these students, or if I do I won't be able to identify them as the ballet dancer, the one who quoted Lisa Vanderpump, or the one who strove to challenge cultural and social norms that oppressed her throughout childhood. Nevertheless, I have been thinking the following as loud as I possibly can on the slim hope that somehow stating my intentions to the universe will translate into tangible ripples.

To you, the applicant, and to you, the reader, you are worth so much more than the sum of your arbitrarily decided parts. You are worth more than a metric, more than a sliding scale, more than any number of points. You, you as your whole, you as your whole self, you are beautiful. 

I am a tiny potato, and I believe in you. You can do the thing. 

Mirror, rorriM

I am optimistic. .evian ma I

I am creative. .egnarts ma I

I am persistent. .nrobbuts ma I

I am reflective. .detrevortni ma I

I am a dreamer. .citsilaernu ma I

I am passionate. .lanoitome ma I

I am unafraid to laugh. .suolucidir ma I

I am biased towards action. .tneitapmi ma I

I am driven and ambitious. .cilohakrow a ma I

I am a daughter of the world. .dehcattanu ma I

I am my reflection(s). .(s)noitcelfer ym ma I

Limbo

It's a silver box flying up toward the skies,

A sharp vertical line connecting dots that
were only a conversation and a block away. 
It's that first celebratory embrace, laced with
the scent of leather, those jeans, that grin.
I'll blame my nerves on the free caffeine. 
It's the excitement in your voice, your saunter, 
And honestly, the warmth in your tone when 
sharing lovingly worn snapshots of your family.
It's the I too have no idea what I'm doing, 
and all the ways I try to express that
I have so much faith in your potential and talent.
It's an invitation to eat, drink, and be merry
All leading to an entirely unexpected outcome
Of weekends, conversations, and moments.
It's the replaying of memories in my mind's eye, 
Followed by confusion, uncertainty, feelings.
I don't know how to dance to this limbo.

There Really is No Point to This One

I've been taking salsa dance classes for months now, relying on my gymnastics background to carry me through the patterns, spins, and cross body leads. While I have become acutely aware of how introverted I am and how awkward I become in response to strange social stimuli, I have also discovered how much I don't like to be led. I will go as far as dancing by myself and trying to reverse lead my male partner, to the point where I now feel as if the large majority of attendees have become terrified of dancing with me. This leads to further problems when I am the only woman in a group of men who shows up for the class. 

Normally, I see this as a great analogy for other parts of my life (the strength to be found in being vulnerable, the importance of asking others for help and support when you need it, the lack of pain experienced when they stop stepping on your toes, insert Hallmark card quote here), but today it just somehow felt like more of a bizarre slap in the face. Somewhere between the sexual innuendoes and that one guy who pulls me in too close for comfort, I gave up.

I woke up this morning, managed to get dressed, brushed my teeth with toothpaste instead of soap, didn't break anything, and even spent some time outside to soak in the warm weather. For context, previous mornings have included my bathroom flooding, breaking glass vials, forgetting to pack a change of clothes for after I work out, etc. I have a terminal case of the "morning stupids," where my brain refuses to function and relies a little too heavily on an autopilot based on how maybe a platypus would approach the world. They don't have opposable thumbs right? Or do they?

My commute to the gym featured catcalls, engine revs, honks, and leers. Several rounds of deadlifts, pushups, and box jumps later, I had again reached a point of zen. More catcalls, more leers. Rinse and repeat. Hopped into the shower and sang my heart out to tunes from the 80s, even managed to snag a banana and peanut butter for breakfast. Then, the real fun began. Enter entitlement, a warped perception that I'm anything but human, and people who just need to get it together. 

Where am I going with all of this? Public service announcement below. 

People, I have zero shits left to give. And this is a problem. Why you may ask? Because I have a lot to give (emotionally, mentally, physically, etc), and it takes a good amount of... well... for lack of a better term, a kinder term, or a more articulate term... it takes a lot of "shit" for me to reach this special place. That place where all I am asking for is a certain degree of mutual understanding, someone I can spoon, and the right to kick a punching bag. I can be your cheerleader, I can coach you through the game, I can even be the large one who runs around knocking the smaller ones down to create a pathway for you. (This is where my lack of football related knowledge becomes quite obvious.)

But right now? I'm playing quarterback, I'm running the field. And right now I can't be everything for everyone. It's not that I refuse to, it's not that I don't want to. It's that I can't. And as an empathetic, people driven person built to be depended on, this kills me. I have reached my capacity of support I can offer, shits I can give, and until some of you recycle them back you're going to have to sign up for the waiting list. 

The worst part? All of this has made me realize that in many of my relationships and friendships, I have set expectations that I can be the pillar of marble that withstands the test of time. I am expected to be "strong," whatever that means, when in reality I just need someone to tell me that yeah... it is all kind of fucked up. Granted, it's all messy and unstable and unpredictable and undefined in a really rich way, a way that I don't really want to change but would prefer to see how it all plays out... but it is still fucked up in it's own right. This is largely a result of my own doing out of a hesitancy to share too much of myself with most people. 

I'm really not looking for the platitudes and the encouragement, I'm looking for someone I can actually be honest with. Someone that I can be intimate with and not worry about them becoming disturbed by the fact that I am flawed. Someone who I can lay everything down on the table with and crack a few good jokes about the ridiculous things that occur in my life. Someone who is willing to join me on the balcony in between waltzes and giggle at the madness below. And someone who is just willing to, despite it all, tumble back down to the dance floor and salsa on two. Someone who is willing to lead me, unafraid to be led by me. Someone who understands that at some points all you can do is let your hair down, throw your head back, laugh, and know that you're in it together. I don't need a cheerleader, I wouldn't have made it this far if I did. Excluding fleeting moments of anxiousness (apologies if you happened to witness one), I have learned to have faith in myself. I don't need a coach, as most of the lectures and observations are already running through the tangled webs that reside within my brain. I do sometimes need help clearing the path because while I am armed to the teeth in survival skills, others might have additional resources and insight. What I want, though, is a teammate. An equal. Someone as full of life and love and laughter, someone as equally flawed. Someone who has similar grand dreams of and for the world around them, someone who is humble yet not insecure. Someone who can match me point for point, a rapid tennis ball of energy bouncing off of rackets with strings pulled taut. I'm running the field, looking to score, and it's all more entertaining with a partner in crime. 

Reading this back, I actually have no idea where I was going with it. Whelp. The next one is on me I guess. 

Q: 28th to Union

Blank stares and emptier faces, 

A sea of coral colors without emotion.
Pungent smell of that olive branch, 
french fry crispy but still unpalatable.

Accordions don't pay for themselves,
On pathways to nowhere in particular.
Gaps between thoughts and lives, 
mirrors the space between those lovers.

Climbing out from underneath your skin,
phoenix trapped in an endless snow globe. 
Missed connections with another one nearby,
a startled cry when the ground begins to shift.