shine, and be comfortably flawed

Hey. Here I am. My blogging fingers are a little rusty, so forgive me as I stretch them out.

Well, I'm a bit at a loss for words, which is a bit unusual for me, as my long winded blog posts in archives past can testify. But, it is the end of the year. And it was a big one. Lots of changes and learning and growing going on behind the scenes here. Big moves, first heartbreaks, solo voyages, lonely nights, new friends. 2014 was not what I expected it to be. This time last year, I was still waiting to hear from college. I wasn't sure if I was gutsy enough to fly across the world solo. I was a bit afraid of the person I wanted to be, hiding behind a mask of uncertainty and unmade decisions. I knew what I wanted, but I didn't think I was brave enough to go for it.

This year I learned that I am capable of more than I thought. I can feel more than I thought. I cared more than I thought. I was braver than I thought I could be. If there's one thing I've learned/discovered this year it is that I can be brave. Whether I was forced to become brave or forced to accept bravery I already possessed, I did some scary things this year, from flying across the world alone to job interviews to moving away from home to meeting with professors. I've had to grow up this year, and honestly, independence is a really neat feeling. It's liberating. In a way that includes enjoying new responsibilities and obligations. Like grocery shopping for milk and peanut butter and having a calling in church. Like online shopping and going to crossfit because you want to. Like remembering to wash your sheets and pay room and board. Those things are exhilarating, in a really mundane, ordinary, potentially monotonous way that is quite exciting when you're a brand new college student learning to chase what you want in life.

I've heard that a lot of people do this thing where they have a theme for the year. A word that sums up what they want to accomplish in the next three hundred and sixty five days. That sounds rather exciting, I think. I haven't quite decided yet. If I had to pick a word for 2014 it would be brave. Brave in a way I have never considered it before. Brave in a way that really probably isn't grammatically correct, but in a way that means something special to me, which I guess is the point. So I've decided to come up with a theme at the beginning of the year rather than trying to tie everything together at the end.

And the word I've chosen is shine. With the subtitle of being comfortably flawed.

I guess it started with the sign Megan gave me for Christmas, and it just kind of built from there. This year, I want to shine. But not in an obvious way. You see, my fatal flaw, my hamartia, to allude to John Green, is a strong tendency towards perfectionism. It's something I've been trying to come to terms with because it seems to affect every aspect of my life. It's why I'm such a people pleaser, and a horrid procrastinator, and a goody two shoes. I want to be perfect. I want everyone to like me. I want to do everything right. And this perfectionism is so strong that I tell myself it is better to fail without trying than it is to fail after I've done my best. I'm afraid of failing in school, in friendships, in love, in- dare I say it- life, that I don't always give 100 percent. So by giving myself the theme shine, my goal is to give this next year my all in every aspect of life. I want to work harder at school, save more money to accomplish those big British city dreams of mine, I want to be there for my friends and family as much as I can be. I want to show myself, not others, what I am truly capable of when I try my absolute best.

Which means I will inevitably fail because no one can do everything right all the time. And I realllllly don't like that. Which is why my subtitled theme for the year is being comfortably flawed. Over the past couple of years I've been trying to come to terms with who I am and the kind of person I want to be. Which means I've had to face several glaring flaws in the face. And as much as I try to hide from them and pretend like they're not there, they exist and I need to handle them. So this year, as I try to give everything my all and inevitably fail, I want to remind myself that it's ok to mess up. And to be comfortable with being imperfect.

I don't know what's going to happen this year. I don't know who I'm going to meet or how I'm going to get hurt or how happy I could end up. I just know that I've grown tired of having expectations set for myself that I always seem to fall short of. So this year my resolution is just to try my best, even when that means messing up.

How's that for a jump back in to the blogosphere?

Sincerely, mad

Writing therapy

^^^pictures of plants that have nothing to do with this post because they've stayed alive for over a month^^^

I started writing again. I mean like real writing. Writing from the heart. I kinda stopped several months ago. It's like the words just ran out. They poured out of me like a flood for a little while, and then they slowly trickled to a stop until they were just gone. If I thought about it, it made me sad, but I figured the words would come back when they were ready and everything would be fine. Words and I could continue on our merry way together. But several weeks went by and the thought of opening my laptop and clicking on Google docs seemed like such a daunting task. What was I going to write about? What if there wasn't anything? Did I really want to find out that my word well had run dry?

Well, a few weeks ago I took the plunge and stretched my digits and placed my fingertips on the computer keys. And then I let them type whatever they desired. Whatever story needed to come out of my heart right then. They were a little rusty at first, creaky and stiff, grinding out slightly awkward sentences and strange punctuation. But the more I trudged, the looser they got. The faster they typed until the words were spilling out so fast I had to hope they wouldn't run away from me. And when that poem ended I pulled out my journal and started writing in that. And when that wasn't enough I came here.

You see, I've discovered something. Maybe a part of the reason why words have been avoiding me. Writing is emotional to me, a way to explore my feelings, let myself in, stroll through my memories. It feels good in a soul wrenching kind of way. Pulling a good poem out of the corners of my heart leaves me feeling empty and fulfilled, kind of like the way a good cry and a shower feel after a really hard week. I write to understand. To put voices to my deepest fears in hopes that it will make them less terrifying. I write to make sense of my emotions, so I can understand this emotional female teenage brain I've been blessed with. I think the reason I stopped writing was because I was afraid of feeling. Afraid of what my emotions would do to me. Senior year was a time when familiar emotions appeared in my heart in new and foreign ways, teaching me things I hadn't learned yet, reaching new and unexplored corners of my heart. After graduation, I needed a time of recovery. Personal space, recuperation, relaxation before the stress kicked in again. The break was good, but then the feelings and the words were gone. I'm afraid of what my emotions do to me, but at the same time, I'm afraid of losing them. They are part of what defines me. They are a part of my soul that reign wild and free, but that I desperately need to feel every bit myself.

With starting to write again, I've made myself evaluate writing and it's importance to me. How much I want this, this writer life. And I've decided that I want it a lot. So much it hurts, twisting my stomach in knots and squeezing my lungs until I think I might burst. So much that I am absolutely terrified to write a single word. So much that I know that if I don't write, the regret will suffocate me until there is nothing left. And because I want it, I need to work for it. I need to explore and put myself out there and stretch my mind to create new sentences. To combine new words to make new phrases that connect into paragraphs and eventually form stories. If I want this, I need to work for it. I'm pulling myself up by my bootstraps and getting down to work. Let's do this. I'm going to be a writer.

Sincerely, mad

Things I'm Missing

*Disclaimer- I am very very happy here. I love everything. But every once in a while a pang of homesickness hits me and I miss Georgia so intensely. So, here it is.

1. Chickfila fries- sparked by an instagram picture of Chickfila.

2. My vans- sparked by my sorting through old pics and the fact that I only brought my saltwaters and a pair of crossfit sneakers.

3. Family- sparked by nothing. I've missed them since the second I left.

4. Friends- sparked by an hour long Skype session with Megan.

5. Pink Lemonade- I really have no idea why I miss this. I'm just craving lemonade I guess.

6. Ice- sparked by the fact that Katie mentioned that English people never put ice in their drinks. Our drinks are never warm, they're just never cold.

7. Los Hermanos / cheese Dip- sparked by the fact that there is no Mexican food here. England's greatest downfall.

8. Crossfit- see number 4.

9. My purse- sparked by every awkward encounter where I have to dig my wallet out of my backpack and then reorganize everything as I walk out of the store.

10. American electrical outlets- sparked by the fact that there are no outlets in my bathroom and I am standing across the room and bending backwards trying to curl my hair. It's quite a circus I tell ya.

Now, in an effort to cheer up, banish homesickness, and make tomorrow happy again... things today that made me happy.

1. Pizza for dinner. It was huge and I'm slightly embarrassed to say that I ate the whole thing...
2. Sunny rainshowers. I'm really really really grateful for my raincoat. It's brilliant.
3. The rainbow and petrichor that permeated the air when the rain subsided.
4. Facetiming my little sibs today. Love that gaggle of goofs.
5. Hearing Michael Buble in the restaurant.
6. I put on red lipstick again for the first time in a while and it felt so so so good. Red lipstick, I'll love you forever.
7. Good hair days.
8. Finishing my Shakespeare commentary that I've only put off for days.
9. Sleeping in.
10. Wearing heels for the decades dance. It's the little things, ya know?

Sincerely, mad

Confessions

1. I've had a big girl camera since Thursday and I still haven't taught myself how to use it.

2. As you can see, I have a problem with making up my mind when it comes to the layout of this blog. I'll figure it out eventually. Thank goodness for Google and sweet bloggers who are helping me find my way through HTML and CSS coding.

3. I claim to not like our dog Ollie, yet I find myself taking more and more pictures of him.

4. I walk around singing the praises of introversion and telling everyone that that's the reason I'm slightly below average on my amount of time spent socializing, but what I forget is how much I like people and how important it is/how badly I need good solid friendships.

5. My issue with summer is that I have problems getting dressed if I don't have plans, which is most of the time, so I end up in poorly fitting clothes because I don't want to dirty my cute ones because what if something exciting happens last minute and I want to look cute? Honestly after 2 weeks I'm ready to put on a dress and actually do my hair in something other than a messy bun.

6. I can't thrift shop. Someone teach me the ways of goodwill because I am way too impatient to figure it out on my own.

7. I have a cold in the middle of summer and it feels like my body is defying the laws of nature.

8. I have this really bad habit where I don't go to sleep.

9. I'm quickly learning that crazy cool summer adventures don't just happen. You have to make them happen yourself.

10. I want a pair of overalls. Like really really badly.

Sincerely, mad

Things I'm Learning

In my quest to become more artistic and openly myself (like in person, not on the internet), there are a couple of things I'm learning. I figured I'd share.

1. My projects almost never ever ever go exactly as planned. I think I can count on one hand the projects that have turned out exactly as I planned. Actually make that one finger. Sometimes they turn out even better than I could have hoped, but sometimes they do not.

2. It would be really easy to count those mess-ups as total failures and give up on my artistic pursuits. For example, sewing. I tried to hem a maxi dress and ended up with a dress that hit my right knee and halfway down my left shin. Then I tried to refashion one of my dad's old polos and ended up with a shirt who's collar resembled a turtleneck. Also, 65% of the time when I try to doodle in my pocket notebook, I am unsatisfied with the result. Every time I go into a new project, I have all of these grand plans and ideas for how it will turn out, and 75% of the time after about five minutes of working, I realize that I've already messed up.

3. Even though each failed attempt is saddening, each success sends me soaring so high I forget about the mistakes and go with blind hope, once again, into the next project. I like optimism. We're really good friends.

4. It's really easy to compare my artistic goals and dreams to someone else's artistic realities. I've never considered myself innately creative. I've altered my definition of creativity over the past couple of months, but still, I think I have to try to be creative a little more than the kid sketching birds in the corner. I carefully plan out pictures and have to think hard about set up. I blindly buy art journalling supplies just to find that I have the wrong paint or that smash books and washi tape are not things you can just snag at Hobby Lobby. I told my mom last night that I wanted to BE this girl from school. She's a junior and super artistic and she is about the cutest hipster you've ever seen and she and her boyfriend have the sweetest artsy romance going on. She told me yesterday that she loved my shoes and I told Mom that I died. Mom laughed, but I was serious. My heart melts when I look through her instagram. It melts from cuteness but also aches with just the slightest pang of jealousy. I'm sure it's not all rainbows and lollipops like her insta makes it seem, and I'm sure art isn't always a piece of cake for her either, but I find myself criticizing myself and comparing my meager iPhone pictures to her fancy camera and photoshoots.

5. My heart is a shockingly resilient little thing. It yearns for more art and creativity in my life. When I start comparing myself to other, more experienced artists, my trusty old mind gives my heart a solid slap and straightens it right out. After an internal pep talk about how I can do exactly what others are doing and be proud of my art with a bit of practice, that hardy optimism resurfaces and I go about my day with new enthusiasm. I don't think my heart will ever learn the lesson of failure or rejection. It has a really, really hard time giving up on people and projects. It's frustrating at times but also wonderfully nice to always have hope.

6. I'm a lot more dramatic in my head that I am in real life and sometimes I forget that. Every once in a while I'll make a comment late at night to my mom or in a text to a friend and as soon as it's out of my mouth or sent, I'll think about it and realize how dramatic it sounded. So I quickly play it off like a joke and say "I'm not really that silly," but my heart is quietly whispering, yeah you are mal. who are we trying to kid? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am committing right now to say what's on my mind and let my emotional self reign a little more openly regardless of the looks others will give me. On the occasions where I have let my dramatic self out, like in car rides with friends when I tell my dramatic version of a scenario and then follow it up with what actually happened, I get lots of laughs. And I like making people laugh.

7. There is no room for embarrassment in this journey to creativity I'm embarking on. I need to forget about likes on Instagram or judgements from people on Twitter and if I'm proud of something, post it. If I think that picture I took looks cool, I should post it. I like other people who post pictures like the ones I try to take, so it would only make sense that if I want to connect with more people like that, I need to show the world that I'm like that, right? I was brave and posted an artsy pic on Insta last night and although it probably seems like nothing, I had to give myself a pep talk before I posted. Don't laugh, it's true. But now the first one's up so it'll only get easier from here, right?

^^^Aforementioned photo. I know, so risky, right?^^^

8. I really hate ending on odd numbers. Hence confession number 8. Happy Wednesday y'all.

Sincerely, mad

Confessions

1. I'm not a beach bum. There I said it. The beach is not my favorite. I would pick a big city over the beach any day. All that sand… ugh.

2. Whenever I eat fish, I picture it swimming. It doesn't happen with chicken, just fish. Maybe it's related to the beach thing? Who knows.

3. I all of a sudden have this wish for a twin brother. Maybe because I saw it on Disney Channel?
3 1/2. Yes I watch Disney Channel. Judge me.
4. The next color of tights I want is cotton candy blue. Before you turn your nose up, I'll have you know that I have an outfit envisioned already. Just to prove all of you doubters wrong, I'll turn into a fashion blogger one day and show off my teal tights. Challenge (that you haven't given me, I guess I'm giving it to myself?) accepted.
5. This whole photo a day thing has turned me into a selfie taker. I would call it a problem, but it's fun.
6. I'm also a knitter. I can't cast on or purl or do anything beyond a basic knit stitch, and this infinity scarf I'm working on might take me until the day I die, but gosh darn it I'm going to finish it.
7. Taco Bell is my favorite restaurant of all time. I don't want to hear any of your arguments about what is actually in the meat. Ignorance is bliss people.
8. I just got Photoshop and I'm really super duper excited. I don't know how to use it, but I'm super duper excited.
9. I write in a journal everyday. I have for 2 1/2 years now. As if I don't have enough places to write about random Mallory happenings.
10. I have this super secret crazy dream of being a writer. Shhh, don't tell anybody.

Sincerely, mad

P.S. In my internet perusal yesterday, (basically, me clicking on links from pinterest) I found this about whether or not to cut bangs. Look at it. This person basically knows my life. That right there is my entire bang debate. Sigh.