I like your bowtie

Bullshit is the little bow that holds the present together. When you untie it, the present is exposed, and the once pretty bow is now an unraveled ribbon pathetically falling to the ground.

What is now, what we find comfort in living amongst is held together by a whole lot of pretty bows which are easily able to be torn apart and undone. We let bullshit hold our lives together. It makes us look pretty, put together, intentional, and meaningful. We hide behind the bows because we think it’s what people want to see. We think people want us to always be put together. We want to feel put together. It’s part of our hierarchy of needs. It’s funny that self-esteem lies just under self-actualization. It’s so close to the top, yet can be so astronomically far away from the truth. We start to believe the excuses we make are valid. We begin to think that our caked on face is prettier than our naked one. It isn’t until we reach the tippy top of Maslows pyrimid that we can see things as they really are. We can see the creases from the liquids and powders we cover ourselves with. We can see the chunks of mascara clotting our eyelashes together. We can see our dark roots growing in under our bleached hair. The view from the top shows a unique truth that pierces through us in the most painful yet beautiful way.

You’ll know when you reach it because it’s so damn hard. It’s like blowing out your birthday candles, only they were trick candles, walking away and then finding out that they relit and burnt your house down. Truth hurts like a burn, and they say burn victims endure the most pain imaginable. So if you’re having trouble reaching your self-actualization, remember that that’s part of the shitstorm. We have to ache, we have to become fed up, transparent, naked, true, and vulnerable.

We want to avoid answering the seemingly easy questions because “what do you want,” “how are you,” “what are you doing,” are actually the hardest and most complicated questions to answer. We follow the guidelines of a made up rule book that keeps getting passed around by other self-conscious, yellow-bellied, amicable conformers. We just can’t help it—doing what we really want, saying what we really mean, just isn’t polite.

Stepping back from the glass sliding door I’ve had my face pressed against for so long that my nose still has a resemblance of a snout, I can finally see the real view of my backyard. I can see those pretty little bows holding myself together.  The imprint of my face glares off the glass just so that the sunlight shines right onto yours too. I see those bows, and boy, they are pretty.

 

spring, spring, goddamn spring

Spring has sprung! Oh god, punch me. Like we need more cliches or analogies to the more obvious oddities that come around every few quarter months. I’d love to smell the new budded roses but my nasal cavities are swollen from the pollen saturated air. These days of gloom and nights of boom-in-the-sky are making me feel achy and I wake up as if recovering from a bipolar episode pondering my emotional state.

Ok, but for real, I’m a big fan of spring. It’s my third favorite season.

I like that the streets I drive down are now covered with bright green leaves overhead. They’re almost neon lime green, my favorite color. Just a week and a half ago I was looking out my window at the bare tree branches slightly swaying in the wind. Mind you, they were only swaying because this past week has been super windy, branches aren’t usually great swayers. And today, those branches are full of half-grown neon green beauties. I’ve got my window open so I can feel the wet air and hear the birds chirping. The paper drawings I have hung up on the walls are slightly wilting, worth it though. I’m a big window gal. I hate air conditioning, especially in my car. Most of the time no matter where I end up, my hair is a tousled mess from all my windows being open, and that’s how I like it…it’s also why I wear hats all the time. So, spring brings me several little joys.

I was pondering as I was driving through this particularly early grey and gloomy morning, thinking man, I would prefer that the sun was out thinking my drive would be more pleasant and enjoyable. I found it difficult to fully wake up, and my eyes remained in a half open, half closed, crescent shape. But then later, something happened. The damn sun came out, and it got hot. Like whoa humid hot compared to the chilly morning where I had my heat on in my car. This is when I noticed the trees. The past few days have been all rain. All gloom. All wet. Now, I could watch a thunderstorm for hours completely content, but when grey wetness continues for days, I find myself wishing for the sun and dry pavement. But this is the part of spring that is so important.

Spring needs those dark gloomy rain ridden days. That’s what makes spring, spring. Because without the rain we wouldn’t get those pretty yellow dots that cover our yard after one rainfall, even though they make my allergies go bazerk. Without the rain, our streets wouldn’t be singing. Without the rain, we might forget what plush feels like under our feet.

My point is, we need those dark days. I’m talking in one of those cliche metaphor voices now—in case you didn’t realize that I switched it up there… 

What makes things beautiful, what makes us beautiful, are the dark days. There the days of doubt, of sadness, of boredom, of hurt, of whatever not pleasant feeling that we feel sometimes. Becuase those days give us the nourishment that we need. I realize this is borderline contradictory, stay with me here though. Those days give us the urge, the power, the desires that we need to get to the place of neon lime green.

Spring has sprung, and so can we. Ha ha now THAT was a good one. People will tell you, give it time, it might take awhile. But also, if nobody has told you yet, one rainfall can bud some pretty badass flowers.