First page of the favorite colors archive.

my letter to the world.

Posted by jessica on Mar 7, 2011 with 4 Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
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If Emily Dickinson did it, why can’t I?

If I were to write a letter to the world, it would probably change from day to day. Maybe even from moment to moment.
But tonight, it would say something about how the world is like one of those cactuses that look fierce and sharp from a distance, but then you touch it and find it’s really quite soft, after all. It actually feels nice against your skin, so you touch it some more, thinking it’s a little funny that you ever thought it was something to be so scared of in the first place. And I would apologize for deciding that the world was something that it isn’t.

And then I would tell it a little about myself. I’d start with my favorite colors and then I might get a bit more personal and confess that I still dream. I imagine the world must be a pretty good listener; I know this because of all the sounds I can hear on its surface. One cannot hear the rain fall and the loons call for too long before learning to listen, I think.

So I will confide to the world that I like to make things. I am not very good with a hammer and nails, but I can fashion some songs together and some steps in a row and some words in a sentence and even the right combination of sugar and flour and eggs and it seems I am probably happiest when I am making something. So see, world, that is a clue that maybe it’s something that I could keep doing, if you don’t mind. And if there’s room for some more things like those that I mentioned.

And then I will write softly, with the feeling of a confession in my words. If one could write out a whisper, this would be it. I’d write about how love stories are the best stories, it seems. And how I am fine on my own, but I think I’d be fine with someone someday, too. Maybe even finer. And maybe this person will understand that the ocean can make me say five thousand words in an effort to explain one moment of solitude at its shore. And maybe he will tell me that those five thousand words weren’t wasted; that nothing about me is. And maybe he will live in such a way that I will not have to fear finding out the truth, for the truth is all he knows to say; it is the language he speaks and the steps he takes and there is no trick to him at all. And maybe he will get down on his knees in the sand; he will not care that his pants might get dirty or his hair might start to smell like the sea; for he will help me build castles. We will help each other. And they won’t be exactly what either of us could imagine; they will be better, I think. And we will build these castles while the waves crash nearby. We will not be afraid, either, for the sand is enough for a thousand castles. Just like our dreams are enough for a thousand castles. Just like our love is enough for a thousand castles. Though we will spend all our hearts on one, just one; for we are enough with just one castle.

Yes, that is what I’d say in my letter to the world.
Tonight, anyway.

. the real world.

Posted by jessica on May 21, 2010 with 4 Comments
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
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Tonight a new friend of mine asked me what the real world is like.

Which made me think for a second before I told her that I think it’s an illusion that the real world is something other than this.

Whatever this is for you.

Because yes, sometimes we are in school or we are teaching tap lessons when we ourselves barely tap; maybe we are doing eight shows a week or we are teaching pilates to a few special ladies from church; perhaps we are working 9 to 5 with some sweet benefits and a tidy 401k or we are taking care of our grandmother. But the thing to always remember is to keep your eyes wide open, to look around, to dig in to whatever you see that’s good, because this is life.

This is the real world.

And what you do is important. It’s definitely a statement that you’re making, whether you’d like it to be or not. But who you are–now that says something. A nice, strong something. And a lot of times people miss it because they are too busy wondering about your credentials or the weather on that side of the country or even which show you last did and what kind of money a thing like dancing and singing pays anyway.

But just because some people miss out on asking us the meaningful questions about relationships with each other and God and what makes us scared and what gives shape to our dreams and even what our favorite colors are, we don’t have to miss out on taking care to carve out these answers in the details of our lives. In the real world. The one that takes place wherever you happen to be. Even in the grocery store. Even in class. Even if you’re in Paduka, KY, because I’ve been there and it’s as fun as it looks to say aloud and yes, the real world happens there, too.

And have you heard of the story people? If not, you have now. My sweet friend Betsy told me about them a long time ago and I love what this eclectic group of artists make. I read this tonight and agree with it so much. I love the thought of pure meaning–the kind that inhabits those things we cannot touch–being a part of everything we do.

If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.

And then, this quote from them has long been a favorite of mine:

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other’s cooking & say it was good.

I love the way it just throws the ordinary-ness of life together with the sublime. We follow the things in our heart–the things that feel right but that might look perplexing from another vantage point. And then we eat each other’s cooking; we affirm them and we live in community.

And all the while we don’t wait any longer for the real world or for life to finally become better or less busy or thinner or richer. We live now, plain and simple, grateful and fully aware of the fact that these moments–or at the very least, most of these moments, anyway–are a gift.

I’ll probably eat a hamburger next 4th of July too

Posted by jessica on Jul 4, 2009 with No Comments
in Thoughts and Feelings
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I don’t know why I am so exhausted. Maybe because I have been doing a lot of this.Well, that’s actually Drew and our nephew Ollie. But still. I did it, too. Just not as much as them. And maybe that’s why my ribs are hurting so much still. But enough about the ribs, right? ————————————- [...]