subterranean homesick blues

due to a recent bout of extreme homesickness, this post is basically an indulgence of what I would be doing if I were back in good old western washington right now. enjoy.

I'd be going for long drives through places that look like this, with my windows down and breathing in the intoxicating smell of pine trees.

Watching French Avantgarde films, like ones by Jean-Luc Goddard and starring Anna Karina. This would preferably happen at the Capital Theatre Downtown.

Eating at Darby's Cafe. Falafel burger anyone? Yes please.

Taking the short drive up to Seattle to sit in Bauhaus all day long.

Taking a million pictures with my Diana camera, which is currently sitting lonely in my bedroom back in Olympia.

Enjoying the western washington rain without an umbrella or heavy coat.

Walking through Capitol Hill and day-dreaming about which house I want.

Going on walks with Lucky.

there it is. did it make me feel better? not one bit, but this too shall pass, dear friends. meanwhile, those of you in seattle, say hello to the skyline and storms for me.

fight or flight response

It is a real push for me to sit through a whole movie. It's not that in my old age of twenty I fall asleep or need to move around to keep the blood flowing or any other slew of ridiculous reasons that you could come up with, it's simply because I don't want to see the conflict. I wince at awkward conversations over dinner with future in-laws, have to check something when someone is tearing up or go through my to-do list in my head while someone is facing their inner battle in soliloquy fashion. I still tell Sarah Jessica Parker to shut up every time I watch the Family Stone, even though it's been placed in my DVD player umpteenth times.

A few days ago, a dear friend of mine by the name of Courtney and I were talking casually about a favorite book of hers by a little known author by the name of....Donald Miller. Having heard of Blue Like Jazz by, oh, just about everyone I've ever met, I was curious and Courtney lent me a book that she said I needed to read by the name of Father Fiction.

Knowing that I had the apartment to myself for most of the day, I embarked on my first journey into the wonderland that is the writings of Donald Miller (don't judge me just because I didn't get on the miller train sooner). I knew what the book was about, but only part way through the book, I began to feel a kinetic energy like two magnets working in opposition of each other pulling me away from the words on the page. This was the flight response. This man who I was not acquainted with was spilling all the darkness of a fatherless life and all I honestly wanted to do is stick my head between my knees and tell him and everyone else that over the years has tried to pull every last bit of these issues out me, to get the hell away and to stop bothering me. I was once again faced with the fight or flight issue and my first reaction was to get out before something was brought out of me.

You see, I've never wanted to be one of those girls. Don't lie; you know exactly who I am talking about. The girls who have daddy issues. They're the ones who get the reputation for jumping into the arms of every man they speak to, crying in fits of self-pity and feeling they need a man in their life to complete, happy, whatever it is that will finally fix them. Whether I had them or not, I didn't want to be associated with girls who have daddy issues.

...But even though I try my hardest to put all my issues of a "fatherless" childhood in my deepest drawer hidden behind all the junk I let people see on occassion to prove that I actually am human and that can easily cover up the rest of what's internally going on, they are still there. I may not want to be associated with girls who act out of their reaction to abandoment, but really, I am just another one of them who, because she was not loved by her father, is constantly seeking the approval, adoration and although I hate to admit it, love of others.

While I feel the flight response kicking in, I know that hiding my feelings of abandonment, worthlessness and loneliness will never go away if I just place them in the back of the drawer. The ugly sweater your mom made you wear for school picture day may be hanging in the darkest part of your closet, but it's still there, and though you can't always see it, when you do, it makes it all the more cringe-worthy to deal with it, rather than if you had just sucked it up and told your mom it was ugly and given it to goodwill in the first place. While my issues at hand aren't as easy as a give-away box and a mom who simply doesn't understand why you don't like the combination of sequins and unicorns anymore, it has in common that nothing will ever change about it until something happens on my part. I have to be willing to work through it if I ever want to heal from it, which sucks. Who really wants to sort through her issues of emotional abandoment when she can just ignore it and hope it doesn't come up all that often? Right....

It may not be ideal, but the realization that I need to work through my fear of abandonment and the empty part of my heart where the love of a father belongs has is, in it's own redemptive way, beautiful. Not in the 'close my eyes, everything is okay and go about life whistling a happy tune' kind of way, but in the beauty that is being broken. There is something blessed about being broken. In Christ's brokenness came the greatest act of love this earth will ever know and who knows what may come out of my own wounded heart. It won't be a sin-saving sacrifice, that's for sure, but in my own healing will come my own beauty. You must be broken before you can be healed. It's not pretty and it's not fun, but until you are willing to work through the pain, it will always be there, just like that ugly unicorn sweater.

It's time for me to get that sweater out of my closet and deal with it.

i'll keep it quaint

This will be short and rather than the general musings on the matter of facts of life as we know it, it will be an update on life simply as I know it.

summer so far has been simple and bittersweet. Though I certainly miss good old nampa town, it would be a lie to say that coming home for the summer was not the best decision. I'll soon return to the land of coffee-filled purple cups, hair-frizzing wind and laughter-filled snapshots, this time in Olympia has been overall a growing experience filled with full-time nannying (which has led me to become an expert on thomas trains, roller hockey, football, better homes and gardens, bagels with cream cheese and squeakuels), new friends, old soulsisters, familiar sites, tear-filled car rides, thoughtful relfection, quality time with the elderly, family photos, little sisters' prom, dinner & a movie nights, meg ryan movies, two days of bed rest, new hair color, garage-saling, unsweetened iced tea, puget sound, lucky diego, paychecks, bookstores, local libraries (and overdue fines...ugh), black coffee, listening to the end, obsessing over edward sharpe, grey'sgrey'sgrey's, well-needed prayer time, miles and miles on new bike andy, looking out of my window to see green everywhere, exhausting yoga and it's only june. there is still great times to be had.

sorry for all that fauly paralellism, but it had to be done.

love to you, dearest darling. i'm off to read about chuck barris and redone fashion, while maybe watching something with katherine heigl for the third time this week.

seeking advice from a childhood hero

Dear Mr. Silverstein,

        My name is Brianna M. Chapman and I am an avid reader of your books. I can't remember a time in my life when "The Missing Piece Meets the Big O" has not been sitting on a bookshelf in one of my many childhood homes, as a constant in my ever-changing environment. Your work is a treasured part of my childhood and I thank you for contributing to my voracious appetite for literature that sprouted at a young age. However, I regret to inform you that this is not an appreciation letter, but that, sir, I have a bone to pick with you.
          The grievance I would like to share with you is with your work, "The Giving Tree". This seems to be one of your most known works and I know many who give it a special place in their heart due to its lesson of giving. Well, I beg to differ, sir. Let's recap what happens in the book for a moment, shall we? There is a tree and there is a boy. The tree loves the boy, who as time progresses, grows older and loses touch with the tree, except when he needs something. The tree continues to give and give until it is nothing, but a stump and the tree is only happy when being used by the boy in some manner.
           Now, Sir, I ask you, what is the "feel good" message behind this? I know the point is to give. I got that from the title, but why does the tree continually give to the boy with nothing in return and why is the tree's happiness dependent on the boy using her? Is the tree not good enough without the boy to be happy on her own? The ending, I'm sure, is supposed to tie everything together with a neat, bright-colored ribbon made into a bow, but the tree is once again only an object of use to the boy. Thomas Mill would be proud for her utilitarianism and Socrates her ability to find pleasure in her duty, but I lack this affection towards these ideals. Why does the boy not appreciate the tree for who she is, not what she can do for him? Why is it okay for the tree to give over all of herself to the boy and the boy only come back when he needs something from her? Where is the fairness to the tree in all of this?
           I don't mean to come off harsh, Mr. Silverstein. All this could be because as of late, I've had a particular disdain for love. You see, sir, I found myself to be the tree, constantly giving of myself, in a non-literal way, in hopes that this person would do the same and that all would be right, but you know what, sir? That did not happen. I don't feel that way about this person anymore, I actually don't really feel anything towards them and them likewise towards myself, but the incident left me slightly sour on the idea of giving up oneself for another person's benefit. Where do we establish that point where the giving stops? I don't want to become hardened and selfish, but where do we say enough is enough, I have to take care of my own heart, or is there an end? Do we constantly give, seeking nothing in return, even though we know it will end up in heartache at sometime or another?
        Sir, I don't want to end up like the tree again. To be an object of utility holds no appeal to me, but at the same time, I don't want to become cold and put up barriers to letting others in. I figure that between the two of us, we can come up with an answer. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I truly am immensely grateful to you and your work as it has taught me much about life thus far. Simply said, sir, Thank you. 

                                                       Sincerely,
                                                              Brianna Margaret Chapman
                                                               Former Tree

[Disclaimer: I would have sent this, but seeing as Shel Silverstein passed away in May of 1999, it makes its home here instead.]

chalk this one up to chance

There is no way this person could have known. I mean, it's not a big secret or something I hide at all. It's not the hiding kind. But still, there is no way this person could have known, right? Unless they had overheard a conversation or somehow tapped into my subconscious and pulled the information right out of my head, it wouldn't be a possibility for them to have known this fact about myself. It's merely a coincidence. There is no such thing as fate. The whole thing is kind of funny in a sad, pathetic kind of way. 

I mean, what isn't funny about having to hear someone who hurt you sing your favorite song?

let's get reacquainted

Well, I've been absent from just about everything lately. Don't feel so bad if you haven't known everything that has been going on, because well, not much has honestly been going on. That's sort of a lie, but just sort of. Things have been going on, but not that i would like to talk about or have anything to say about. What a conundrum of sorts to be in. I'll be glad when this semester is over, but the uncertainty of summer still sits over my head right now. Remembering what i thought summer would be like in October makes me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. My how things change.

Silly, isn't it? Making plans. Recently, at a place I'd soon like to forget, i saw a sticker that said, "we must be willing to give up the life that we have planned in order to live the life that is waiting for us." I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, but then again, I am a planner. My moleskine might submit a restraining order soon if I don't stop overusing him. At the same time, I'm not a fan of the concept that life is waiting for me in the destiny sense. If life is all based on fate, I was dealt an unfair hand. Fate lacks comfort for me that others find so readily in it.

I don't really feel like I need to recap what all has happened as of late. Nor do I particularly want to. Things are consistent. I'm still Brianna. I still don't like exclamation marks. I still think rain is the best form of weather and the scent of lavender makes the blues go away. Things change, but they also stay the same.

Someone told me recently that she didn't mean to offend me, but that I seem distant and that I like to be private. By this, I'm fairly certain she meant to say that I come off as cold, when I'm actually not, but that she didn't want to say that. Rather than taking offense, I thought it was hilarious. I'm not sure what this says about me. I've been finding the worst possible things funny lately. Things that should hurt me, but instead, making me want to burst out in laughter. It's different and I'm not sure if I want it to go away. It's sort of refreshing, in a "I'm rubber, you're glue" sort of way.

This wasn't coherent, but bear with me.

please.

if you try sometimes you just might find

Lately,  I've realized that I've been a very self-centered person. My friends have been gracious and loving through it all, but I've dragged them through quite the mess.
It is sort of a pattern in my life that when things don't work out well or exactly how i wanted them to, I dwell. Not for a moment. Oh no. It's almost as if I protest happiness. I don't want to get better; I form a sit-in of frustration against joy. I become my own worst enemy by disallowing myself to try to pick up the pieces and get my life back together.
This pattern is one I'd like to stop and I've decided to make a conscious effort to channel my energy back into focusing on only the necessary, what I need, and moving back into a mode of living a life to serve others. Also, thank you to the people who have stuck by my side through all this. I could not have asked for a better support system. Thank you.

watch this!

good for a laugh

Life isn't a french film, but...

That moment where Amelie is on the cusp of everything, the point where everything is at its hardest and she almost gives up because she is not able to see the beautiful end in sight?

Yeah, that's about where I'm at.

slam shut

Tonight, I closed a door in my life. It was a door that I've known I need to close for quite some time, but have continually put off doing so. It is a painful door and behind it, a piece of my heart will always lie. Memories are locked up along with it, gathered in a box to only be brought out when feeling momentarily sentimental. The wound from this door is fresh and will take awhile to heal, but it would have never if I hadn't closed to the door as I did tonight. Someone else could open it, if they choose, but from the other end and honestly, it would take them a lot of work even to pry it open slightly. On my end, the door is closed and I don't know how to feel about it at this very moment. It hurts, but it also feels of sweet relief and as if there is a breath of air returning to my flattened lungs and shattered heart. It was finally time to say goodbye and though it hurts right now, I'm glad in an odd sort of way. The door played an important part in my life that I will never forget and we will always be connected somehow, but it was time to move on. Doors in my life have been closing at a terrifying rate lately, mostly without anything done on my part, and the original thought of shutting another one scared the hell out of me, but I see that life can't go on without a little bit of opportunity lost. Another door will open someday.

sugar-coated. bittersweet.

I suppose with the passing of Valentine's day being two hours prior to writing this, I should write something about love, but it doesn't seem necessary. Not even one bit.  Nonetheless, here it goes:


Sure, it will be hard seeing you day after day. It won't be nice having to talk to your friends and not ask about you. Eventually, life will go on, but I'm tired of waiting for something that is never going to happen. Goodbye.

Short and bittersweet. That's all I have for right now.

no, not even charlie parker can cure these blues

Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder, not about the action in itself, but about what makes 'me'.

While I was home during winter break, I was waiting outside of The Spar for someone to meet me there. It wasn't a pleasant day outside- it was uncharacteristically windy in downtown Olympia and there was a man pacing, muttering to himself, a few feet away. To distract myself from the chill in my bones and the occasional glances from the oddly-acting man, I began to watch as people walked by. One woman in particular caught my eye. She was, by the looks of her, in her late-twenties. She wore a hat adorned with a felt flower over her medium-length brown hair and her clothes were a mismatched collage of stripes and different warm tones. Her glasses had a thick, dark rim that fell in the most flattering way above her cheek bones. Belong side her, she toted her son, or well, a small boy. As she crossed the street that goes between Cafe Via and Harlequin Theatre, I watched her as she walked, the boy gripping her hand ever so tightly, her muster a little bit ruffled from the indifferently cruel wind. Then, I noticed something. She looked exactly like me. How had I not noticed it before? The hat, the posture, the specifically cut brown hair, the thick black glasses-I even had the exact same shirt she had on hanging in my closet at home. The image of the woman lingered throughout the lunch hour and makes appearances from time to time when my thoughts wander.

Today, I was reminded of this woman. As I got ready this morning, I took a good hard look at myself and thought about who I am, my fading passions and the image I portray.

In that moment, out of fear, I walked away. I'm not ready to face myself yet.

this is beautiful

tonight, oh tonight. one like any other, but yet, all the more to appreciate how great the ordinary actually is; a chance to really be thankful for the many aspects of my life that are beyond fantastic. here i am, with three of my dearest friends, sitting in the dynamic duo's room. i lay peacefully in the hammock, as we gather around, listening to ukulele music. my thoughts drift towards that boy sometimes, the one who listens to jeff mangum, wears white sweaters and whose mind i wish i could sometimes read. nothing out of the ordinary, but all the same, this is beautiful.

i'd like to remember this moment forever.

because tegan & sara say it better than I ever could...

I won't regret saying this
This thing that I'm saying
Is it better than keeping my mouth shut
That goes without saying

Call
Break 
It 
Off


Maybe I would've been something you'd be good at
Maybe you would've been something I'd be good at
But now we'll never know
I won't be sad but in case I go there every day to make myself feel bad
There's a chance that I'll start to wonder if this was the thing to do


I won't be out long 
But I still think it better if you take your time coming over here
I think that's for the best

let it be

Living in an all female dorm is an experience, to say the least. It's a lot of singing at one in the morning, loud noises coming from the bathroom and screaming at a higher pitch than humanly decent because so-and-so and what's-her-face just got together after three, incredibly long weeks of awkward dates and non-committal making out. Not all the activities that happen within these white brick walls are ones I'd call my favorite, there is something to be said about the community of girls I live with and I've come to have a special fondness for my current living arrangement. This appreciation grew even more with the coming of my dear, fantastic roommate, who I can honestly say is a complete joy to have around and to share a living space with.

Still, sometimes I miss silence.

At home, I was usually the last to go to bed due to the other two members of the household's inability to even make it to the tonight show (which, now, I wouldn't exactly blame them for not wanting to stay up for it). The house would get quiet and the darkness of the night would leave a blanket of stillness over everything. With all the happenings of the day melting away with the passing hours, I had time of quiet to sit, think and be. It was nice and I took it for granted.
That quiet time doesn't exist anymore. Even with living on my own last semester, noise was everywhere and I quickly let silence become a low priority. Stress was an issue, but finding a place of peace in all the chaos just wasn't going to happen.

Here I am, at the beginning of a new semester. My situation hasn't become any more enlightened on how to achieve peace in the craziness of college, but I find myself longing for it more and more. I turn the radio off in the car. I hide my headphones and put my computer on mute. I find myself sitting quietly on my bed every spare moment and letting time slip away without a word or sound. Sometimes I check out of the situations I'm in and sit lost in thought. I'd like to say that I'm apologetic for the occasional zoning out or the time I've spent sitting around when I could be out "enjoying myself" on campus, but I'm not. In fact, I love it. Maybe you should try silence sometime too.


        

tonight's thought

i really like having green eyes.
that's all.

don't rain on my parade (please)

you aren't allowed to laugh, but i happen to love this song and what it has become for me at this very moment. Yes, the glee version.

I'm going through what seems to be the longest rough patch in my life in quite some time. The uncertainty is overwhelming me and when things start to turn a corner, another door shuts in my face, closing off yet another opportunity. Some of this has been by choice; I brought it on myself with the things that I chose for my life. Yet, no matter what my intervention has been through most of this, it seems as if I have absolutely no control over it anything. I've become a passive observer in my own life and it is frustrating. Maybe it is the universe telling me to cool off on my controlling nature. Too bad I don't really believe in the notion of fate, or else that would seem like a probable answer to this dilemma.

Despite my lack of power in areas of my life, I know there is something I can do. I can't just sit back and watch my life pass me by, growing apathetic about my ever-present trouble. I'll keep my chin up. I won't let anyone make me feel inferior, unconfident or unworthy. After all, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, they simply can't. This means releasing all the worry bundled up inside me in twisted, excellently-tied knots and letting go, even if letting go is the least appealing idea right now.

As a finishing thought, here is my favorite line from the song, the one that runs through my head as I push on towards a better tomorrow:

"don't tell me not to fly, i've simply got to. if someone takes the spill, it's me and not you."

worried shoes

Today I wore a pair of yellow shoes that bear a strange significance in my life. They are the shoes that signify taking a big leap of faith. They've had their picture taken to stick inside a guidebook of paris and taken walks to unexpected places. Before drifting off to sleep last night, I decided that this would be a good day for these shoes to reappear.

I'm at this funny place of uncertainty. Nothing in my life is at a settled place and I'm left with bits and pieces of what is to be wondering what to do next. Without a clue what the future holds for school, work, relationships, health and life, in general, I strapped on the yellow shoes to combat this ever-growing fear of uncertainty.

let's hope their magic hasn't worn off yet.