Mumford & Me

*first, a shout out to my dear Molly, whose name I drop as often as I hear Mumford & Sons raved about. :)

"But you and I now, we can be alright
Just hold on to what we know is true
You and I now, ‘though it’s cold inside
Can feel the tide turning

He can't tell what it’s about
So he runs up to the nearest girl
And he comments on her glorious curls
Says darling come with me
I'll show you a whole new world"

***

"And my head told my heart
'Let love grow'
But my heart told my head
'This time no'
This time no"

That last chunk is quoted pretty often because it's pretty relatable. The whole head v. heart battle is universal. The sensation I've been....sensing, however, is that my heart is willing, and my head is not. I don't know how I went from knowing I find myself in love so knowing I don't need love to find myself, but it's a very strong distinction that I can't fight. I've chalked it up to "being in a new phase of my life," but the strings attached to that are invisible. I never expected this phase to be so...solitary. I was happy when I was in love, ecstatic and sure and glowy and effervescent and confident and optimistic. I am still some of those things. Even the "in love" is on the table. But the table has wobbly legs. Didn't I take the right preventative measures? Isn't my heart supposed to be stronger than my head?

I take solace in the fact that God is stronger than my head and my heart. And my overanalyzing and my doubt and my worry and my fear and my solitude.

Solitude.

***

"The question I would have liked to ask people is 'Are you in love? What are you reading?'"

Cheers, darlings. And feel free to answer those questions.

Thrive

"You're going to have to walk on water."

This is a picture of my heart. Well, of me. But if you were to ask me how I'm doing here, here in this city where the people are nowhere near as mean as you all said they would be, where it takes me three minutes to walk to work, where I hear "Welcome to the Empire State Building!" on a daily basis, where I can get a McDonald's ice cream cone at 1:30am for $1.08, I would show you this picture.

My interpretation of this phase of my life has transitioned. I thought of it as the part of my life where I get a degree so I can join society as an educated person. I thought of my choice to go to King's as a nice way to get into the greatest city in the world, and to keep God in the forefront while I'm at it. I don't feel that way anymore. I know now that God brought me here to become who I should be.

Interjection: I was never on board with the whole "get ready, college will change you" thing. I've always been fairly self-assured....eh, who am I kidding. Extremely self-assured, and I didn't like people thinking that I would mature into a whole new person. I didn't realize the level of maturity they meant. Honestly, the level I'm experiencing is probably not what "they" mean until "they're" about 35. But hey.

So anyway, God brought me here to become who I should be, and I can't explain how I know that (to the certain someone I know and love who will ask me to explain it when I come home for, oh, 4 hours or so), but it's true. I now see that I was brought here to deepen Our relationship (if He's part of the pronoun, I figure I should capitalize it, no? heh). I'm surrounded by people who foster and encourage love, mercy, justice, and accountability. I get to hang out with these people, hang out with the God of the universe, and get a degree while I'm at it. In New York City.

On a heavier note, I do not care to entertain the fact that I'm on a peak of life, or that that peak can become a valley in one moment. But since I do entertain the fact, my head gets full. Or, as Foer would say, my boots get heavy. And then you know what's nice at the end of the day? Asking God to wear them for me.

So. Whether you actually made it this far into the post or you skipped ahead to the part where you expect an almighty conclusion, thank you for reading. The almighty conclusion happened a bit earlier, by the way.

(HA! I slay me.)

P.S. Tomorrow, I put on my dancing boots! Huzzah!

"Don't screw with poetry."

^My writing teacher said that. Ha!

Thoughts I've had today:

I wish I had a tea kettle, a bagel slicer, a pizza slicer, and a 2 tbsp scoop.

Kitchen scissors cut pizza?! Say whaaaa

How did I make it this far without a single silly band? (trademark symbol ftw)

I'd like to go to Israel.

I don't need to put sugar in my coffee anymore! But I still like it sometimes.

Coffee is delish.

College still feels like a summer camp.

I have no idea what's going on in the world outside of New York City, which is sad and somewhat ironic.

I'd really like to make room for a time in my life without a job, significant other, or classes. I have no idea where that would fit, and I'm not even sure I would like it as much I imagine I would.

I am very sleepy.

Getting outside of Midtown gives me hope for life in the city after graduation. I'm not even sure I'd still want to be here, but it's nice to know that there are areas where, if it made sense to be here, I'd enjoy myself.

Trusting God is really really really refreshing.

Peace.

(Connection Crisis)

"The man who is contented to be only himself, and therefore less a self, is in prison. My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through those of others. Reality, even seen through the eyes of many, is not enough. I will see what others have invented. Even the eyes of all humanity are not enough. I regret that the brutes cannot write books. Very gladly would I learn what face things present to a mouse or a bee; more gladly still would I perceive the olfactory worls charged with all the information and emotion it carries for a dog.

Literary experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege, of individuality. There are mass emotions which heal the wound; but they destroy the privilege. In them our separate selves are pooled and we sing back into sub-individuality. But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do."

- C.S. Lewis, an excerpt from "An Experiment in Criticism"

Silence and Sirens: A Slant Rhyme

Poetry is sensory. I pull phrases together from what I feel, what I imagine those around me feel. I pull phrases from what I wish I knew how to feel. Curiously enough, sensory overload represses the phrases and pulls me only to feel.

I'm not sure why I thought that a divine calling required a skill. Or why I thought senses to be overrated; I wished they would fall away, pave the way--get out the way!--of the truth. I expected the truth to end profoundly, to comfort me, to push me, to call me to thrive. I expected a truth to list the steps to discovering truth. And no, I didn't/still don't care that truth is objective, subjective, vague, and up to interpretation. Its ability to be interpreted is only your interpretation of it.

Sorry. I sound like a philosopher.

What I'm getting at is a discovery. I discovered, while pushing to listen past the sirens for something profound, something supernatural to guide my feet, that the sirens are profound. My ability to pull them apart from each other, to try and transform them, X-men style, into the sound of falling rain, is a calling in itself. I am called as a follower of Jesus Christ, submerged in the center of the world, to sense.

Because, friends, those who say (while I see what they're getting at) "love is senseless..." are choosing to take love's kaleidoscope and peer through a single facet. I'm striving to go beyond the direct, past the peripheral. The warrior I am for Christ sees supernaturally, and I realize now that while writing about what I see naturally--and sometimes supernaturally--brings what I see as my God-given influence to those around me, I can't prioritize it over simply soaking in what God puts in front of me. Poetry is sensory, love is sensory, God is love. Love is good. God is good!

We good?

Hibye

3 days left. That's not a ton of days.

I'm excited to write posts featuring pictures of New York City that didn't involve Google Image searches.

I'm moving into the middle one. :)

Good Riddance

Okay here's the deal. It's not that I was ever in denial about how fast time goes by. I just didn't like to hear people who felt they knew better tell me that that is the case.

Now it's all I can do to stop myself from shouting to children waiting at bus stops: YOU DON'T CARE NOW, BUT YOU'LL NEVER GET THIS TIME BACK! DON'T WASTE IT!

This is how I feel: :(( :O :D :/ :* :?@#$^!($@)#%$($%(@ughhhhh

I don't know what time I wasted, but it had to have been somewhere. I rely on time's consistency, but good riddance, folks. Why do last weeks in town fly as swiftly as lunch breaks?

And you know, I don't expect this to be the most intense transition I will make. It's the first wave of depressedexcitement, and I'm holding on for dear life. Dear, dear life.