Several years ago I subscribed to a list that sent me a daily email reminding me of important historical events in the world of literature. On February 25, 2007, the feature was about the first meeting of poets Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I printed out the story of how she bit his lip so hard she drew blood and scribbled a note on the back: "If only we could all have this level of passion in our lives." Then I passed it on to my dear friend, Nadia , who laughed. I just remember wishing I could experience that level of intensity in my life...an uncontrollable urge...an irresistible craving. How often have I denied the level of depth so blatantly obvious in these eyes? Unfortunately, it's not possible to experience that type of passion when you restrain your emotions with the equivalent of a Victorian-era corset. For some reason completely known to me after years of therapy, I feel the need to present the facade of the cool girl at all times. She's my superhero ...

Uff...I'm really not one for resolutions, mostly because I hate the thought of restricting life changes to one day of the year. I like to believe we are constantly evolving and morphing into new creatures. Yet, it is now 2015, and I want to embrace the spirit of change. 2014 was a rough year for me. I discovered an amazing song by an Argentine singer that really summed up my life experience lately. Ojos de Papel...Eyes of Paper. Seriously, if you looked at me recently, you would see the lifelessness. Paper is a dead tree, and that's where I've been. It's also a springboard for new life, and that's where I want to go. There are no resolutions here...just some big plans. 1. Publishing a manuscript I wrote 7 years ago. 2. Publishing teaching materials. 3. Embracing meditation and mindfulness. 4. Starting a new blog. 5. Continuing the quest for a baby. 6. Moving on with life after a nearly 2 year slump. (Thanks a lot jackasses in Washington!) And some not so big plans.....

This week has been one of those ones that challenged my faith in humanity. It's no secret that in my perfect world we could all live our lives as we see fit as long as we don't interfere with the lives of others. Unfortunately, this requires a level of self-awareness and authenticity that few are able to achieve. It all started when I asked a co-worker about her divorce. Her response ended with, "Thanks for pretending to care." I pointed out that my concern was genuine. She was a bit embarrassed, and so was I, but this feeling stemmed from different places. I can't surmise hers, but mine was the fact that we live in a world where someone might just pretend to show concern. I often find myself in trouble because of my transparent emotions. It's no secret to those who know me that I say what I mean. I don't know any other way to exist. I love mysteries, and I'm a wickedly good detective, but I tire of sorting through veils of words and expressions and ac...

I fell in love with poetry for the very reason that most people despise it. It's filled with hidden meanings. When I was a teenager it gave me a place to explore the emotions and questions that seemed taboo in my conservative Christian home. That sentiment never left, and most of my poems even to this day are written about deeply personal experiences that I feel I can never share in the light of full disclosure. My Instagram feed has turned into another experience like my poetry. I've been posting lately a lot of relatively cryptic messages comprised of photos I take and lines from various pieces of literature (including my own). If you knew the stories behind them you might cringe or hold a grudge or judge me, but that's okay. A lot of life is happening right now. I'm taking some huge risks. I'm making mistakes. I'm searching for answers. I spent the day at the beach this weekend with a friend. We let the strong current carry us far from our camping spot, ...

I posted this Sunday night on Instagram. This combination of a line from one of my favorite books and a photo I took while driving home one evening perfectly captured a realization I had that day. I am Daisy Buchanan. Most people who read "The Great Gatsby" develop a strong distaste for the main female character. She's vapid. She stays with a man who abuses her. She cheats on her husband. She neglects her daughter. She plays the men in her life against each other. She kills a woman. She lets the love of her life take the fall. The movie versions of the book turn her into a ditz. I once held these negative views about this fictional woman. They have evolved over time as the path of my life has taken me far from the one I initially envisioned for myself. I started to empathize with her and see her humanity, and most recently I saw her as a woman trapped by the expectations of everyone else. It doesn't change the morality of her actions, but it does make her more r...

So many of my Facebook friends participated in the "gratitude" challenge. No one tagged me in it, and I was glad for several reasons that aren't relevant to this post. Despite my reluctance to jump in, I thoroughly enjoyed reading what everyone wrote and forced myself to privately count my own blessings each day. As you all know, some days are easier than others. I went back to work this week, grateful for the opportunity to have a regular paycheck again. However, I was under the impression that I would get paid Friday. I planned all my summer money around being paid Friday. Friday came and went, and my bank account remained exactly the same. So now I'm scrambling, frantically trying to finish some freelance work and making deals with relatives to borrow just enough to cover the bills that I must absolutely pay before I get my next check. Fortunately, I'm resourceful, and my God watches over me. I have half a tank of gas, a $25 gift card, and food in my...

Yesterday I watched a woman sitting in front of the bank across the street. She caught my eye because she was rubbing her legs furiously, wincing as her fingers moved up and down her shins. When she dipped a plate in water and poured it over her legs I thought perhaps she was washing her body, but when she started talking to people who were not there, I knew the truth. She was mentally ill. I sat on the floor of the balcony and hid behind a chair as best I could, but it wasn't because I was afraid she would see me. My presence would not interrupt the party she was having with her imaginary companions. She was perfectly content pouring water over her legs, picking leaves off the hedges, and handing both to the figments of her imagination. I was just awed…and a little jealous of her ability to be completely ambivalent to others. You see, I spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. I have an idea of the person I want to be and how I want others to see me. So...

For a few months now I've been following on Instagram a woman who left her country to live in the U.S. Each time my feed opens with her name my heart leaps a little as I prepare for the next rise or fall on the roller coaster that is her life. Her recent posts include delightful quotes about men who lie or turn out to be less than she expected, and I find them interesting to read. And I cringe. Dating is tough. I still remember the days of wondering if he liked me as much as I liked him and doing whatever I could to gently let down the ones who liked me more than I liked them. No one really enjoys hurting someone's feelings, but that's all part of the game. When I see these types of posts on my feed, I want to grab this woman and hold her and tell her to follow her path. What I don't understand, though, is the pressure we place on ourselves and other people as we go through this process. We scrutinize every detail of every conversation and text and facial exp...

Sigh. Today was my last day at work for this school year. This was a rough end of the year, and I came home Tuesday completely exhausted, frustrated, and overwhelmed. I did what any reasonable person would do and ate an entire deep dish pizza (except for the two pieces Winnipeg managed to steal) and half of a carton of peanut butter ice cream. It reminded me of this poem I wrote several years ago. In my food induced coma, I decided I needed something more. Running was out of the question because my stomach was too full for that level of rocking and rolling. I needed to do something productive. I needed to finish a quick, simple project that would let me feel like I accomplished something. I opted, instead, to try out my new power tool. A chain saw. A real life chain saw. I've never used a chain saw before, but I think I am addicted to the rumble of the motor. Forcing myself to control a favorite murder weapon in horror flicks felt amazing. It purred. It hummed. It shook the ...

I've been forced lately to learn a lesson in control...or lack thereof. This has been especially difficult for someone like me who started doing her own laundry in first grade. I have my own brand of delusion in which I think I have the power to change minds, influence moods, and keep the Earth spinning on its axis. So...maybe I don't have as much control as I think I do. Or should. For the last few months, I've thrown myself into a tailspin of exhaustive Internet searches and photo analysis. I've uncovered some truths and unearthed a few lies. There's power in knowledge, but with that power comes the realization that the world isn't as perfect as it seems. After spending nine years with a man who was in love with another woman and losing a fiance to his former girlfriend, I'm a little gun-shy about other women. The thought of dealing with that again terrifies me some days, so I go on the offensive to prevent it. All my energy goes into working out, ...

Never-a-dull-moment Nadia and I were talking the other day about a conversation she had with a friend. They were talking with a man about problems he was having with his girlfriend, and Nadia's advice was something to the effect that you can't change crazy. Her friend, who has been married for 9 years to a man who adores her, chastised her for the comment and said that love conquers all. Sigh. When I was dating, I had a never-ending stream of advice from people. My favorites were those from people who married very early in life and those who were married for decades. I'm not knocking the wisdom of people who have figured out how to maintain a relationship for such a long period of time, but it's really difficult to comment on dating if you've never really dated. Nadia and I talked about this, and I thought I'd share my favorite dating myths and bust them at the same time. 1. Love conquers all. This is such a beautiful sentiment that I wish it was t...

This morning, I started writing an end of the year post, but everything was so negative that I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's been a long time since I have felt this way, and in all honesty, I really didn't like it. I don't like being negative because it's such a wasted emotion. Yet, I guess it's where I am in life. 2013 was a difficult year for me, and when I tried to look back at it, each experience was wrapped in the white noise that has occupied my brain for most it. Even the highlights of the year: getting married and international travel and living were awash in the work and stress and exhaustion that overwhelmed me. Seriously, I made some big mistakes and failed to pay attention to the lessons life was trying to teach. This certainly is not where I expected to be at this point in my life, but that's true for all of all. But...it's 2014 now. Perhaps I'll poke my head through these clouds of exhaustion and white noise and do what I k...

A long-time friend of mine recently went to Peru to hike the Inca Trail. I so enjoyed following the adventures, reminiscing about my own there, and sharing with him some tidbits I learned along the way. He recently posted all his pictures on Facebook, so I decided to go through mine. Peru. Spain. Dominican Republic. Four years. Three continents. As I looked at the photos and read the running commentary of my vacation adventures, I realized just how much I like to share the mundane with everyone. Seriously, thank you so much for indulging me and thank you even more for sharing the little moments of your life that could be the focus of a Seinfeld episode. It made seem like nothing more than a cup of coffee, a new pair of shoes, or cute things your kids say, but the honesty of the mundane is refreshing and ties us together deeper than any of us realize. For now, I need to fold some laundry and scribble out some lines of poetry in my head. I hope to have something to share with you lat...

I came across this poem today that just blew me away. "Learning" (Jorge Borges) After a while one learns the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul, and one learns that love is not physical, and a partner does not mean security, and one starts to learn... that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't promises and one starts to accept his losses with a tall head and open eyes, and one learns to make paths today*** because tomorrow's lands are not secure enough for plans and dreams have a way of falling apart along the way. And after a while one learns that even a little sun can burn. So one plants his own garden and adorns his own soul in place of waiting for someone else to bring the flowers. And one learns that one really can go on, that one really is strong, that one really is worthy, and one learns and learns... and each day one learns. ***I had trouble translating this line because it doesn't translate ...

I spent some time this afternoon searching for music to use in one of my classes tomorrow. We need to have a discussion about how writers use diction and metaphor, and music with cerebral lyrics is perfect for this time of conversation. As I went through the list of songs that used to be on the iPod that followed me to Peru and Spain and more morning runs than I care to count, I stopped at "I Am Mine." The north is to south like the clock is to time. There's east and there's west and there's everywhere life. I've always loved this particular lyric, but until today, I never took time to think about what it says. If north and south are opposite directions, what does this say about the relationship between clocks and time. This is such an interesting concept to me. As an American, I grew up in a culture that believes time is money. I have frequently lamented to others that I'd rather have money stolen than time because time is the only commodity ...

I spent the entire drive to work yesterday morning complaining about the group of students that has frustrated me so much. My friend commiserated with me because he knows them well and had a similar experience with them. It's a lovely little metaphor about repeating the same mistakes because you don't learn from the lessons that bash you in the head. When I arrived at work, all faculty members were called into a meeting. In a school, this is never a good sign. This means that something bad happened during night...something bad enough that the administration is willing to leave every student in the school completely unsupervised. It means someone died. Sure enough, four of our students were in an accident the night before. Three died instantly; one crawled out and was in intensive care. The surviving student sits in one of my classes. One of dead was in my class last year. I knew the other two. I've been through far too many students deaths, but this was the first tha...

It's been a rough week for me. Homecoming. I wish I could just say that word and the Earth would bow its head in reverence of how completely exhausting the days of breathing paint fumes, checking butts for glitter, rehearsing cheesy skits, and creating strategies for winning competitions can be. This has been a most challenging Homecoming for me. I have a class filled some very smart, talented kids who think they know everything. Yes, I know this is a common trait with teenagers, but this group has cornered the market on this one. Each one knows exactly what is the best idea and unabashedly criticizes all other ideas. Then they openly fight about it. It's like watching a dog fight as the verbal claws come out and they strike each other, waiting until the other parties finally give up out of desperation. On top of this, my favorite group from last year has turned into one of the most obnoxious groups I have ever seen. (As I type this, I remember that they told me they were g...

I spent some time with my dear friend, Kaitlyn, yesterday as she chopped and glossed and shaped my hair into the glorious being that it is today. We have such a great time together, and I always leave those appointments wondering why I wait so long between cuts. As we caught up on the latest developments in our lives, I shared with her my not-so-adventurous adventures in New England this summer. She pointed out how much I love traveling alone, and she's so right. I. Love. Being. Alone. It's such a glorious feeling. Today, after I ran a few much needed errands, I stopped at Pollo Tropical for lunch. Inside. Alone. I ordered my rice and beans bowl from the kid's menu and searched for a table in the very busy restaurant. I sat at a two-top between two different pairs of diners and dipped into my bowl of Latin-flavored beans and rice. That was bliss. As I ate and watched the other diners and eavesdropped on their conversations, I was taken back to that little place in...

I'm in the middle of a marathon writing session about the history and influence of the Italian language, Italian grammar, and some aspects of Italian culture. It's actually been a really fun project for me because it combines the great loves of my life (language and culture) and feels more like an intellectual hobby than my second job. Fun stuff, right? I had to take a break from the writing to rant a bit about cultural misconceptions. I'm currently researching information about traditional Italian food, and I was already prepared to read about myths and misunderstanding posing as truth on the Internet. (Sometimes I think the only reason the Internet exists is as a format for people to share all their misinformation.) The first site that appeared in the search engine was a link to a slideshow that shows why Italian cuisine is so healthy. As soon as I saw the phrase "Mediterranean diet," I know the entire piece was bullshit. First, I have spent a considerable a...

It's funny the way life works sometimes. Two years ago, in August, I was still sorting through the summer's chaos in the wake of my Spain trip. The phone call I received the morning of July 13 while I was in the middle of cooking some Brazilian-style rice and beans completely shook my world. I still remember how I survived on bottles of Coca Cola and the two weeks of sleeplessness and questions and endless phone calls in which I asked "Why?" a million times. The worst part of that experience was having no way to find the answers I so desperately needed. The song, "Chances" by Five for Fighting was rather prominent for me in the year leading up to that fateful day. At that point in my life, I was so open to experiencing the moments of my life as they presented themselves. It just seemed to make so much sense that there were no guarantees, and that I couldn't let that fact ruin the opportunities I did have. Nothing lasts forever, no matter how it feels t...