Mother Goose Remix

So I found this little gem today while I was browsing through some old writings of mine. Thought you folks might enjoy! I wrote this when I was about 19 years old living in Iola, KS.

There was an old lady
That lived in a shoe
Who had tea everyday
With the good Mother Goose.

And Old Mother Hubbard,
Who hated curds and whey;
Ate with Miss Muffet
Most everyday

When Peter’s poor wife
Escaped the pumpkin shell
She met with the four others,
To give her husband hell.

They plotted and schemed
A grandeur feat
While Jack and Jill
Ran under their feet.

They called on Humpty Dumpty
Who was bedridden with fractures
And the Big Bad Wolf
Who was playing in the pasture.

To give old Peter
A heck of a scare
They waited and waited
On the Tortoise and the Hare.

And when they arrived
Their party set out
When his Majesty, the King
Gave them a shout.

The 4 and 20 blackbirds
Were flying in the sky
I suppose the palace Chef
Chose not to bake them in a pie.

Pleased with their additions,
They continued to the patch
Where it seemed that Chicken Little
Moments before had hatched.

He began to cry “The sky is falling!”
To no one’s great surprise
When a teeny tiny raindrop
Hit Miss Muffet in the eye.

Puss in Boots was hiding out
Expecting the coming rain
Inside the very pumpkin shell
Where Peter’s wife had lain.

The Three Blind Mice were running about
Bumping into walls.
And it seemed without their handy canes
The mice would surely fall.

Well Peter’s wife was panicking
Having never seen a drizzle
And the way that she was carrying on
Sent the King into a sizzle.

He demanded to see Peter
As the rain began to swell.
Scolded him for being mean,
And locked him in the shell.

Addiction Cripples in Even the Smallest of Towns…

Small towns are literally the best/worst thing to ever grace the planet. I was lucky enough to call a small town home for much of my life, and I have a serious love/hate relationship with it.

I definitely made some amazing friends, some of which I haven’t spoken to in a while and really miss, and some of which I still can’t believe I ever considered a friend. It’s funny to me how people grow up and grow apart. My husband and I are both from the same town and ran with the same group of people, and tbh I probably associate with those people more than he does. (The girls mainly…). Facebook is literally an open window into some of these people’s lives.

Just like any group of friends/people/small town kids we all grew up in different ways, some of us really blossoming and becoming incredible adults and incredible parents. And then there are the few of us who I’m pretty sure are still stuck in 2008-2009 and think that the world is a party and the only thing that matters when they wake up is getting their next fix.

I grew up in a town that was split pretty evenly between Ag/Farm kids and what most would call “the druggies”. Yes, I was one of the “druggies”. We had raves, we had parties, we experimented and had the time of our lives. I don’t regret the decisions we made! I never will, I learned a lot, I had both excellent and terrible experiences, and I lived to tell the tale.

But not all of us did. In fact, I feel as if the best of us were the ones who suffered in the end.

We lost friends and family members, jobs, scholarships, houses, vehicles, and some of us even lost our freedoms. But the worst loss of all was watching one by one as our friends either died from the abuse of drugs, ended up in jail or rehab, lost their children, or even just downward spiraled into this black hole of addiction farther than any of us ever thought possible.

I feel like the worst part of these addictions is that they’re so oblivious to it. And not that they don’t realize that this rules their lives, but that they are so oblivious to the real repercussions of what is happening. The don’t see that all the selfie’s they post on Facebook is proof that they are strung out of their minds. They don’t see the caved in cheeks, the dark circles, the acne/sores all over their faces. All they see is their next fix.

Now obviously my description is that of meth and/or pills, and not all of us got in that heavy, or did but immediately backed out. But it just breaks my heart to see some of these people that used to have so much hope and potential literally rotting in that town.

This is what addiction does to you. It rots you from the inside out. It takes control of your life and it rules it with an iron fist. It frustrates me how helpless they are to this, or how helpless they make themselves seem. It angers me that they can’t find a way to clean up and have custody of their children but they can definitely figure out where their next fix is coming from, or who spread what rumor.

I definitely don’t have “specific people” in mind, but by all means if you’re from my hometown and this post speaks to you, please, please remember that you still have time. Your world is not over, you are not a failure, you just need help.

I am no stranger to addiction and drug abuse. I am no stranger to physical/emotional/mental abuse. I understand the cravings addiction can bring. What I don’t understand is how some of these people can literally play the victim everyday of their lives and everyone around them enables them.

I am so proud of my peers that are still able to thrive in a small town. Those that were able to get away from all of this terribleness and addiction. Those that were able to step up and be the parent for their child or even the adult for themselves. Nothing makes me happier than seeing their posts on Facebook and knowing that like me, they made it out. They made it to the other side.

I wish only the best to those of my former small town friends who are still drowning in addiction. I wish happiness and answers to those of my former friends who are still pooling their money to score their next fix, still aimlessly calling around town trying to figure out where the drug house is, still spending their every day and night getting fucked up and getting nowhere.

But I am so thankful that I too am on the opposite side of that fence looking in. I only wish they could see what I see.

Generation Object XX

We live in a society where every single day, every aspect of my female body is used to advertise, used as entertainment, used in general. And that’s honestly how so many of us feel these days. Used, exploited, ashamed. We teach small girls that by showing too much skin they are a “distracting” to others. We shame mothers into not breastfeeding in public. And young women who feel comfortable in their skin; we call them names and judge them.

We’ve been used by our parents, as examples. “See her, she dresses that way because she made poor life decisions. She most likely is promiscuous. Remember, by dressing like that you are inviting unwanted attention.” I feel like I heard this so many times throughout my child hood.

“You can’t have your belly button pierced, that’s for sexual reasons.”

“Why are you showing your midriff, do you want boys to touch you?”

“You realize that by showing that much cleavage you make people want to bury their faces inside.”

“You should put more clothes on.”

“You should put less clothes on.”

“You should wear more make up, it makes you look more presentable.”

“You were too much make up, you look like a prostitute.”

Someone please explain to me why all of this is acceptable. Why is it okay for us to criticize girls/young women/adults about the way they present themselves. I feel like many girls in that we are trapped in the middle. Wanting to express ourselves, to feel free to wear what we want, present ourselves and our bodies the way we see fit.

That unfortunately is not allowed. More often than not I see what I deem to be a normal everyday part of body used to sell insurance and cheeseburgers, cars and jewelry. Who the hell sexualized my wrists? My ears? The nape of my neck?

I’ve had breasts since I was about 14-15 years old, so to me, that’s what they are. They aren’t fun bags or sex organs. My vagina has been there my whole life, so I’m sorry if I find it frustrating that the world around me constantly wants to make judgements about my genitalia.

But to make matters even worse, not only are we used as advertisements, walking “life lessons”, etc. We are also blamed for the the actions of others when we are “dressed” promiscuously or present ourselves in a way that has been deemed “sexual” by the general public.

Men have been taught that if my cleavage, midriff and legs are exposed that must mean that I want to have sex. Regardless of the words that come out of our mouths, regardless of the tears that may stream down our faces. Regardless of the PSAs and the national billboards, the facebook posts, the news articles, the magazine covers. It doesn’t matter how many articles of print you put “NO” on, when we raise the men in our society to view a woman’s body as an object that is exactly how we will be treated.

Molestation/Rape is a disgusting thing. I was molested when I was 16 by a close family friend and to this day there are times when I can’t get clean enough. I can’t feel comfortable in my own skin without remembering the feel of his hands on mine. There are days where the idea of myself as a beautiful human being is so scarred by that image of myself being taken advantage of that it makes it difficult to even look in a mirror. And I wasn’t even raped.

I cannot begin to imagine the pain these women go through. The pain these men go through. The pain in general of having your choices about your own body taken away from you by someone else merely because they felt that they were entitled.

After all, we’re just walking advertisements anyways, aren’t we?

We have got to change this perception that we are allowed to enforce our judgments and opinions on someone. We have got to change this perception that women are objects, our body parts merely oozing with sexual welcoming. But to be honest, you probably won’t begin to understand how much of an issue it is until it happens to you.

Below is a link to the new Lady Gaga single. Not for the faint of heart.

Lady Gaga- Till It Happens to You

My Frustrations with America’s ” Fear of the Unknown”

Ahmeds Face

Today I am saddened and angered by a story that is circulating the web: in my last post I urged everyone to have a heart and not only remember the American lives taken by the tragedy of 9/11 but ALL of the lives everywhere that have been taken as a result. And today, as I was scrolling through my never-ending Facebook feed; I came across this story and immediately had to do some research to ensure the story was accurate:

Boy Arrested for Bringing Homemade Clock to School

This is where our fears of the unknown have brought us. An innocent, 14 year old boy makes a homemade clock and some terrified misinformed teacher decided it was a bomb. Did you realize that a 12 year old make a Nuclear Fusion reactor and brought it to school, actually created a bomb, and yet no one was called. (The argument stands that this was a “science project” where as the clock was “extracurricular.”

I think the worst part about this entire story is that even after insisting that is was merely a clock, and police even had the device in their custody, and though they have agreed that it is not a bomb, they are now pending charges for a “Hoax Bomb” as if the child had brought it in with the intent of having people believe it was a bomb. In fact, a letter was even sent to parents informing them of the fact that a “hoax bomb” was brought onto campus.

Is this really how we deal with this situation? I have numerous questions obviously, did the teacher who reported this see only the homemade clock, or did she in fact see the boy with the clock? Some articles insist that the police kept bringing attention to the boys name and ethnicity. Was he really treated this way because he is of Muslim descent?

The overwhelming fear from things we do not understand is beginning to seriously disgust me. We as a society have decided it is normal and have even been encouraged to bring hatred to things we do not understand. Instead of attempting to close the gaps we misconstrue and call police creating legal situations that do not need to be created in the first place.

Do we not see the trends? During the equal rights movement many “black” folk were targets of the law because of innocent misunderstandings, but time and time again society has proven that “white is might.”

Our police are supposed to be the logical peacekeepers, the mediators in times of confusion and lately I feel as though they are the ones victimizing everyone while they in fact victimize themselves. Regardless, not the post to get into a “Police” rant, but still, it saddens me that not one police officer on that force (at least as far as I am aware) could stand up and say ” Guys, this is ridiculous. It’s a freaking clock.”

Islamaphobia is a real thing and to each of you out there who are terrified that the guy with a turban and a beard is going to blow you up where you stand, you are ignorant and ill-informed. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: There are Extremists in every religion. Kim Davis is an extreme Christian, the folks on the show “Sister Wives” are “extremist mormons.”. Why is it so difficult for society as a whole to accept the fact that there are also “Extremist Muslims/Islams”?

So, if you’ve made it this far into my rant, please do me one favor; if you see your friends/family/peers making hateful comments towards innocents that just so happen to have a “Mohammed” sounding name or might wear a Jibal, please remind them that in this instant, they are the ones terrorizing.

Credit Where Credit’s Due – We’re All Victims of Terror

My grandparents always talked about how they remember exactly where they were in life when we landed on the moon, when JFK was shot, when segregation officially ended. Their stories were always so full of detail. They remembered every sight, scent, and thought that crossed their minds at these monumental events. The same holds true for all of us and 9/11.

I will be one of many posts today discussing the events and feelings from 14 years ago. I believe all of us are sitting somewhere today remembering the heartbreak, the fear, and the confusion from that terrible day. Some of us are still searching for answers, while some of us believe we know them, regardless of what we’ve been told.

I was in seventh grade at a Seventh Day Adventist private school. I remember this mainly because I feel that this was my first introduction to war and the terrible things that human beings could do to each other. (You have to understand, despite my crazy upbringing, I knew nothing else so my personal abuse was normal to me and didn’t hold precedence compared to something like this.) I remember being told that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center, quickly followed by a second. At first this really didn’t mean much to me.  You hear of plane crashes often, and to be honest I didn’t even know that the “World Trade Center” was.

But I remember the panic in the adult’s voices. I remember as a classmate immediately teared up as she had family in New York. I remember one by one as parents came and collected their children from the class, myself included, so that they could be close to their loved ones as the events of the day unfolded.

We listened to the radio the whole way home. As I asked questions of my family friend who came to get me, things began to become clear. This was the first major attack on U.S. soil since Pearl Harbor and that meant big things for us as Americans. The media kept talking about “World War III” and the word “terrorist” first came into my vocabulary. And I was terrified. I remember being so stressed and so upset about the situation that I ended up physically ill.

It’s been 14 years and still to this day the American people live in Anger and Fear towards the “Muslim” religion. Granted, I have my doubts on what really happened, but that’s not what this post is about. 14 years and we’ve invaded countries, slaughtered innocents, bombed “terrorists”, and supposedly taken out those responsible. And yet the hatred continues from all sides.

Before 9/11 Americans barely knew what a “terrorist” was, and definitely didn’t have any inkling as to what the Muslims believed or didn’t believe. Now, maybe that was just me and my generation, perhaps the adults were a little more in the loop than I was.

I have spent the last 14 years of my life learning nothing but hatred for a religious group who supposedly bombed us because we were busy invading their countries, taking over their governments and enforcing our policies. Please, this is a moment to debate reasonings, this is what I have learned. There are hundreds of theories, hundreds of stories, thousands of opinions. But the ones that really matter are the ones of the innocent lives who are lost everyday. Not just during 9/11 but everyday after. Not just American lives but the lives of all that have been lost through this power struggle.

Once upon a time I wanted desperately to make a difference politically in this country. I have not lost that desire, therefore I attempt to follow politics to some degree, at least enough to make me aware of the situations going on within our administrations. I understand that “wars” such as this are not easily won. Waging battles against extremists that would just as soon blow themselves up to harm others is not the simplest of wars waged.

However, I feel as though we as Americans generalize this war too much and place too much blame on the Muslim religion as a whole. We do not view the terrorists as “extremists” but as the general religious population. Which isn’t the case. I feel as though these Muslim Extremists are more like our Westboro Baptist Church.

Regardless, the point of this post isn’t to place blame or devalue the heartbreak that took place that fateful day in 2001. My point is, while you’re remembering the lives we lost that day, take a moment to remember the lives lost since then all over the globe. Take a moment to think of the innocents that have endured our retaliations, the lives that have endured war on their own soils. The people who had the same fears I did that day, but theirs came to life in their own front yards.

Remember the soldiers who have lost their lives fighting this battle, directed by politicians safe in their own houses seeking revenge and power. Remember the lives of the millions of American-Muslims who instantly were persecuted, feared and even held under suspicion of terrorism all because of our fear of the unknown. Remember the thousands of children who no longer have parents, uncles, cousins, sisters, etc. And not just the American children, but all of the children all over the world who were affected by this. Because, yes, on 9/11, we as American’s took the biggest hit. But the people responsible have been taking victims every day, ever since, from all over the world.

My Delusions of Being a Pinterest Mom

I have officially kept a human being alive for 2 1/2 years. I know, big feat right? But seriously, in my eyes, that’s pretty amazing.

Motherhood is by far one of the most interesting experiences you will ever have in your life. I’ll never forget the day Justin and I found out that we were expecting. You get filled with all of these emotions and this whole world flashes before your eyes. For nine months you constantly think of this little being inside of your body that will eventually make it’s way into the world and become a human being of worth (we hope!).

I remember making all of these plans, all of these visions for the future. I was determined to be that perfect “Pinterest” mom. You know, the one who diligently photographs her child with cute little props every month, the one who creates all sorts of fun and interesting activities to take up the free time. The mom who cooks and cleans and is creative and fun, but at the same time steadfast and sturdy as a parent should be. I had so many plans.

And then there we sat, March 3, 2013 with this tiny little baby in our arms. We were both so high on emotions everything was a blur. This beautiful little being that we had created was so perfect and so terrifying all at once. I just remember being so elated with our lives and our little family.

Jacob was a calm baby. So calm in fact that Justin and I could hardly believe he was ours (were both very hyper/active people). Jacob was an observer, he would just sit for hours watching everything we did. But once he was able, he was also quick to get involved. Sitting up on time, crawling and climbing like crazy, and finally walking. When he turned one we realized we were in for it. Jacob was turning out to be just as active as we were, and then some.

I tried to be Pinterest mom. I really did. I’ve never had much of an eye for DIY creativity, but I figured I could make up for my lack of DIY skills with my love, stability, cooking skills and by researching everything I possibly could about how babies/children learn. I enrolled him in an organization called Parents as Teachers so that once a month we would have an instructor come into our home and help us navigate the waters of parenting/teaching Jacob. (PAT has been such a blessing.) We began teaching him sign language, which he picked up on very quickly and that helped break down so many communication barriers for Jacob and Justin.

It became very apparent, very quickly that we had a little smarty pants on our hands. I do credit some of it to the sheer fact that I ensure he is learning. At 2 1/2 he can identify most of his numbers between 1-13, he usually knows his colors (he likes to play games…lol). He can for the most part sing his ABCs and even identifies letters on a regular basis. He is one of the most observant 2 year-olds I’ve ever met.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t have normal 2 year old struggles. He is also incredibly defiant and stubborn just like both of his parents. See, while I am so busy trying desperately to be the prefect Pinterest mom I have to remind myself that its a feat in itself for me to even still have custody of him.

Abuse is a cycle, and its one I’ve been determined to break. I was in foster care before I was ever even a year old, so when Jacob turned one, as sad as this may sound to people who grew up in normal homes, I was ecstatic. I had a mini celebration with myself because as of that moment I had officially broken this cycle of abuse. And now at 2 1/2 the broken cycle is definitely no more.

That’s not to say that I don’t struggle. Because I do. I’m beginning to understand that most parents have a love/”omg wtf was i thinking” relationship with their children. There are times when (and yes, I’m going to admit this, any honest person would) I would just as soon chuck the child out the window and move on with life. But we all know that isn’t an option, and even if it were I could never in a million years do as such. But see, my impulses go one step further.

I was raised with spankings, slaps, pushes, pinches, bites, etc. I was raised to believe that discipline was either violent, or monotonous chores, and if I didn’t do those chores there was sometimes violence involved to get me jump-started. So my first reaction when Jacob acts out is to hit. There was a month or two there where my stress levels were so high that I found myself swatting Jacob more than necessary and having no patience with him at all.

I’m honestly so ashamed to admit that. To admit that I’ve lost my temper enough with him that I did pre-emptively spank him. And then one evening, as I was putting Jacob back in bed for probably the 20th time that night, he looks me dead in my eye and says:

“Mommy, don’t be mad. Please don’t scream and spank me. I’m sorry.”

God, just writing this now makes me want to cry. My heart broke right there and I realized that I had indeed been losing my temper too much. I was relying on a quick swat to get my point across when in reality what he needed was stability, understanding and consistency. I was reverting back to how I was raised instead of thinking through the situation and using the tools I’ve learned as an adult to handle them.

Being a parent is never easy. Being a parent when you come from an abusive background is practically mind boggling. I can’t begin to express how much PAT has helped me to navigate these waters with ease. Don’t get me wrong, I still lose my temper. We all do, we all will. But it’s definitely how we deal with those moments when we realize that were wrong that defines who we are as parents.

I am no Pinterest mom. I’ve come to terms with this. My house isn’t perfect, I don’t have DIY crafts all over the place or expertly created gifts from scratch. I don’t have all of the answers either, hell some days I can hardly believe I’m 26, married and the parent of a 2 year old.

But I am loving, caring, and understanding. I do try to teach my child as much as I possibly can about this world and to be a good role model. I’m going to make mistakes, aren’t we all?

To this day I am so terrified that I am going to damage him for life. I’m so scared of losing control. I am determined to continue my cycle-breaking and to be the absolute best parent to that child that I can be.

Someone once told me that the sheer fact that I am even worried about how my behavior impacts my child is a sign that I am an incredible parent. It’s something that I remind myself of occasionally, especially when I feel that I am failing. And to be honest, just that little bit of advice makes a world of difference.

P.S. You don’t have to be a “Pinterest Mom” to be an amazing parent.

“I would walk in your shoes, but I’m afraid they’re a half size too small…”

I am incredibly opinionated. I feel like this might be one of the first things people notice about me (besides my crazy hair colors, my pessimistic but hyper attitude, and my “spaztastic” body movements) because I am always passionately spewing about some issue or another. In today’s society, I guess everyone is incredibly opinionated and everyone feels that everyone else needs to hear this glorious, mind-altering opinion, myself included. And I have no issues with this! I think it’s so incredibly important for us as a society to have healthy conversations and debates about the topics that are relevant to our every day lives. I want to know that my best friend in the world doesn’t agree with my opinion so that moving forward we can agree to disagree and maybe in some semblance of the world I can have an opportunity to understand what he/she has conveyed to me.

But that’s just the problem. We have all these “opinion-givers” but not a single one of them have walked a mile in someone’s shoes besides their own.  They’ve all been blinded by “their” way of life and their views and opinions that the idea that someone else could experience something completely different in the exact same situation is mind-boggling to them. Haven’t we learned by now that perception is truly unique?

I have always been excellent at being objective. Maybe it’s the “I’ve been a victim, but done the victimizing as well” thing, who knows. But I’ve always tried my best to understand all facets of a situation, to form my opinion based off of that and to also understand that not everyone will feel the way that I do (though sometimes their blatant disregard of the facts that led me to this opinion AMAZES me.)

So all of that being said, this whole “Black Lives Matter” “All Lives Matter” movement is just…in reality FRUSTRATING. Why does it have to be “this group vs. this group”? Why don’t people see that this is a problem on multiple levels not just one or the other.

This is not a “BLACK” problem. This is not a “Police Brutality” problem. This is a combined society problem in which we have this new age where young parents aren’t held accountable for their actions, their children aren’t held accountable for their actions, law enforcement personnel aren’t being held responsible for their actions. In our world today everyone else is to blame for everyone’s problems.

“Not enough money to pay my bills? Oh, my boss doesn’t give me a fair wage for my job, forget the fact that I blew through 50$ on that trip to the bar last week. Oh my electric bill is too high? Goodness, we should find a new provider with cheaper rates because GOD FORBID I turn off more lights to conserve energy. My child acts up in school? What is that teacher doing to cause this? What are his peers doing? Why is everyone treating him this way? ”

I’m sure you get the picture.

These issues stem so much deeper than face value racism or power struggles. This stems from a generalized disrespect for law enforcement and the breakdown of our “black” neighborhoods or however you want to put it. You have these police officers with “God Complexes”. I promise you I know at least three people that I went to school with who were bullied relentlessly who in turn became police officers merely so they could bully others. It’s a vicious cycle. It should be an honor to serve and protect, and instead its an entitlement.

Why aren’t we as a society focusing on all of these issues and banding together to fix them instead of pointing fingers and placing blame? Stop generalizing people, stop uniting against each other and unite against the ones tearing us apart.

Racism is still more than alive in America. And yes, it’s incredibly sad. You see all these statistics flying around about this and that, murders and robberies, blacks vs. whites, etc., etc. Can we please focus more on the oppression from our government? The freedoms that are being taken away daily. The incessant demand for all to as “politically” correct as possible.

And on top of all this Police Vs. Black people crap you have this “Christianity is a Victim” “LGBT communities are victims.”  I’m a firm believer in mind your own damn business. If you don’t like what your neighbor is doing close your blinds (unless of course he is blatantly committing a crime such as robbery/murder/rape.) Seriously! Christianity is not the law of the land and I’m tired of people attempting to make it so.

I have an utter respect for religion, but I feel as if this whole attempting to shape our nations laws around one religion is ridiculous. Yes we were built on christian foundations, but that’s because at the time we were escaping catholicism so we could PRACTICE christianity. Freedom of religion. Freedom of legal prosecution because of religion. etc. etc. etc.

GOODNESS. I could seriously rant for hours. But this post isn’t to express my opinions one way or another, but to merely put emphasis on the fact that everyone seems to be looking at the surface of these issues but no one wants to face whats really going on underneath. No one wants to look that “thug” in the eye and say “you know what, you’re right, I do have white privilege and you are being targeted.” or that police officer:  “You know what, you’re right, you do face a lot of adversity today and risk your life, but please remember you are not above the law.”

Shit…do we need a high school mediator? I volunteer as tribute!!!

So while you’re reading this post and thinking of your own experiences and thoughts on all of this chaos, take two seconds to think about things on the other side of the fence. Think about your “opinionated opponent” and what might be happening to cause them to feel this way. Most streets go two ways, and if they don’t, someone has gone the wrong way at least once without consequence…don’t be afraid to do it again.

Once the Ocean, Now the Mountain

Once upon a time, in another life it seems, I lived in sunny West Palm Beach, Florida. My whole life was stretched before me with its seemingly endless supply of opportunities and the constant promise of new horizons. I was young, I was eager, and I pretty much assumed I knew everything. I was like that of the oceans that surrounded my home.

My favorite place has always been near a body of water, ocean obviously winning out for its immense size and mystery. So many times throughout my life I have found my most peaceful moments staring out over a rippling body of water contemplating life and all its grandeur.

Water in itself was always such an excellent metaphor for my life and who I am. What seemed calm and collected on the top was really teeming with movement and energy inside. Each emotion wiggling around like that of the fish, each moment in time a plant growing from the bottom of the water-bed splitting currents and altering the paths of the life the water holds. The only time you see the water churning immensely is in times of great storms. I always felt these movements fit me to a T.

It’s been years since I’ve lived close to the ocean, though every time I return to Florida I make it a point to go and sit in the sand for a time. Kansas has many waterways and many lakes that are beautiful, some even speaking more loudly to me than the Ocean. You see, while there is so much possibility in a horizon that never ends, it is so comforting to see the other side of the water. To know that everything comes full circle, even the tumultuous waves of life rippling in front of you.

Full circle…I swear this post is going there! My family and I recently ventured out to Colorado for a family vacation (First one! Yay!) and while there we attended a Dinosaur Museum. This Museum was wonderful, small but FULL of all sorts of interesting facts and fossils. One of the most interesting things to me was an entire room dedicated to Prehistoric Marine Life. Once upon a time Kansas itself was a waterway, or a “sea” of sorts if you will. As Pangea drifted apart the low elevation levels allowed the earth to fill in with water. Nearly every fossil in this room had been dug up in Kansas.

So maybe somewhere in my heart when I moved here I knew that I needed that Ocean still…but I needed a firm foundation as well. And Kansas has definitely given that to me by supplying me with a stable life and family and an excellent place to build my own life and make my own decisions.

But it was this trip to Colorado that really got me thinking about geographic locations, the reflection of nature in our lives, etc. I had never seen Mountains in person before, and I was so moved and taken aback. The landscape is just beautiful. The way these majestic peaks just rise out of the ground and tower over everything just leaves you feeling so full of emotion.

And it was on this trip that I decided that I prefer mountains over water. You see, Mountains are the result of extreme and tumultuous activity. Tectonic plates shifting in the ground causing massive earthquakes which then cause these huge structures to explode from the ground and loom over all. These majestic peaks are the result of incredibly hard work and at times traumatizing experiences. Never moving, but always changing, growing.

I am those mountains. I will be those mountains for the rest of my days. I will stand strong in the face of adversity, I will stand tall knowing what I have been through. And while I stand at the tops of those peaks, I will still know never ending opportunity for I will see the horizon and I will know that beyond that are more horizons and more Oceans and more Mountains.

Out of the Ocean I have risen and at the top of my Mountain will I stand.