My husband and I are leaving for a misisons trip on Sunday. I find it peculiar that my year can go by with a few thoughts lent to those in Guatemala, but for the most part, I am concerned about getting the laundry done, getting my workout in, and getting dinner on the table every day. My mind rarely shifts to the immense pain and suffering that people I love are experiencing.
So today's post is for them. It is for those who have no voice to be heard, and for those who live such desolate and expendible lives. But not to me. They are interesting and funny people who live every day concerned about getting laundry done and having dinner on the table. But they walk 4 miles to work, usually with no shoes. They feed a family of 7 because their elderly parents live with them, and dinner is cooked over a smal flame in their bedroom, or bathroom; whichever room lends the most space.
So I write for you today. You inspire me, you have inspired me since I met you eight years ago. You live your life simply, not asking for more than you can afford, not even asking for anything luxurious. And you never ask for anything in return. You are the woman, the man, that I aspire to be like. I think about throwing away my black strapy sandals because my friends tell me they are out-of-date, but you made your clothes and have worn them for 10+ years. And you wear them with a smile and no concern if your neighbor will be dissatisfied. You wear them with gratefulness that you have clothes. I wish I was more like you.
You share a cement block and cement floor two bedroom with your family of seven, and you never complain about having to share a bedroom with your mother and father and you spouse and your two children. You just live.
I am leaving on Sunday for nine days, only nine, to live your life, and already I'm packing lysol and sanitary wipes, and shower shoes....but you wash your body in the river, and hope to have clean enough hands to prepare your dinner on the bathroom floor. You are survivors.
So today is about you. I love you, I admire you, and I cannot wait to see you all again. You change my life daily, no matter how small. But you change me into a more grateful and compasisonate person. You bring reality to my selfish and vein world.
Thank you. I think I'll keep my black strapy sandals today, and maybe even wear them out tonight.
To you. The most inspiring people in my life, whose voices will never be heard.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Gin and Blind Dates
I am doing something tonight that I've never done, ha. I've invited over two close friends for a blind date. I assume they are nervous, but I feel like my heart is about to explode from my chest. Why is it that we are so full of butterflies for others in our lives to find bliss? Ha. I am sitting here drinking a gin and tonic to calm the nerves, but I can't imagine how they feel. Of course, I know it may not end up in marital bliss, but maybe, just maybe, they will find a new friend. Someone to share their dreams with, someone who can console them on heart-wrenching nights. A girl can hope, right?
The funniest part about tonight is this: He is an ex-boyfriend, and she is like my little sister. HA! I can't help but laugh, really. It's ironic that I've made this match. He's a dreamer, and an adventurous spirited and brilliant man, and she is a dancer, a GOOD dancer. They both live whimsical lives, how perfect right? They both speak Spanish, like me, and speaking a different language with someone is such an intimate feeling. (Maybe you know what I'm talking about). But yet again, it's whimsical, it's like no one else in the room exsist but the two of you. Sorry, that was a total tangent. Back on track: The blind date.
I have never been on a blind date. But it must be something spectacular. Knowing that someone you love has someone else that they love, and they want you to find eachother and fall in love. There will be, hopefully, lively conversation, drinks, dessert, and games (there always has to be games, in my opinion, it brings out the TRUE self). Also, hopefully, there will be an exchange of numbers and hugs (or handshakes, I don't know. Oh! I'm nervous!), and there will be the drive home for each of them. That is the beginning.
It could be the worst disaster of the year, it could be the biggest failure on my part to expect them to get along, but oh how beautiful is the hope of love. Everyone must feel it at some point or another. We all feel those butterflies that come when we meet someone who consumes our thoughts on the way home fromthe night, or the chance encounter. We may scrutinize them, we may analize their every move, but nonetheless, we are thinking about them. And isn't that the beginning of love? -Or, at least, of something worth holding onto? For indeed, they are captivating our thoughts.
So I raise my gin and tonic (sorry it isn't some fancy drink) to you two, we will see in two short hours what evolves. All I want is for you to find happiness. All I want is for my friends to find that happiness I've found in my husband. And that happiness is an entirely different blog post. For now, my hopes, my giddiness, and my exceitment lays in the hands of two strangers on a blind date.
Cheers~
The funniest part about tonight is this: He is an ex-boyfriend, and she is like my little sister. HA! I can't help but laugh, really. It's ironic that I've made this match. He's a dreamer, and an adventurous spirited and brilliant man, and she is a dancer, a GOOD dancer. They both live whimsical lives, how perfect right? They both speak Spanish, like me, and speaking a different language with someone is such an intimate feeling. (Maybe you know what I'm talking about). But yet again, it's whimsical, it's like no one else in the room exsist but the two of you. Sorry, that was a total tangent. Back on track: The blind date.
I have never been on a blind date. But it must be something spectacular. Knowing that someone you love has someone else that they love, and they want you to find eachother and fall in love. There will be, hopefully, lively conversation, drinks, dessert, and games (there always has to be games, in my opinion, it brings out the TRUE self). Also, hopefully, there will be an exchange of numbers and hugs (or handshakes, I don't know. Oh! I'm nervous!), and there will be the drive home for each of them. That is the beginning.
It could be the worst disaster of the year, it could be the biggest failure on my part to expect them to get along, but oh how beautiful is the hope of love. Everyone must feel it at some point or another. We all feel those butterflies that come when we meet someone who consumes our thoughts on the way home fromthe night, or the chance encounter. We may scrutinize them, we may analize their every move, but nonetheless, we are thinking about them. And isn't that the beginning of love? -Or, at least, of something worth holding onto? For indeed, they are captivating our thoughts.
So I raise my gin and tonic (sorry it isn't some fancy drink) to you two, we will see in two short hours what evolves. All I want is for you to find happiness. All I want is for my friends to find that happiness I've found in my husband. And that happiness is an entirely different blog post. For now, my hopes, my giddiness, and my exceitment lays in the hands of two strangers on a blind date.
Cheers~
Monday, November 9, 2009
Turns out
Good morning world.
Got back from a weekend vacation in California, and am coming to grips with something I've been viciously lying to myself about for years. Turns out, I have no fashion sense whatsoever. Seeing as I'm from Colorado, the occasional fancy-schmancy shirt or shoes make me WANT to feel like I've got the ins and outs down of a fashion diva...turns out I'm a fashion fauxpau from head to toe.
I show up in San Diego to be greeted by a 21 year-old in a mercedes SUV and a coach bag to match. As I scoot my sweatpants covered body into the car with my no-name Target purse, I feel less than qualified to even be IN this car. Seemed as though everyone had a mini dog to match their outifts. Boy was I in for a weekend!
We were getting ready to go out on the town on Friday night. As everyone put on their newly purchased frilly dresses and name brand pumps, I slipped on my simple, and favorite, black high-heeled sandals, only to get a reaction of pure disgust from every girl in the room. Dang, I missed the mark again.
The weekend came and went. It was full of fun and laughter and, of course, lots of dancing.... But now that I am sitting back at my Colorado dining room table, drinking my homemade coffee in my chipped mug, I realize that maybe missing the mark in fashion has nothing to do with my contenment as a woman. Was I embarrassed, of course. But it didn't knock me for a loop in thinking that maybe 'I' just wasn't enough.
So, to you woman who always dress to a tee in the perfect outfit, drive the perfect car, and have every surgery imaginable....I salute you. Way to keep up with the Jones'. But remember that just because my black strapy sandals cost the same as your Venti Starbucks non-fat, no sugar, no syrup latte, doesn't mean I'm less of a woman. Maybe we are both happy with our lives. Maybe I was meant to wear sweats and feel sexy.
So...turns out my fashion is exactly that; my own. And I love me.
Got back from a weekend vacation in California, and am coming to grips with something I've been viciously lying to myself about for years. Turns out, I have no fashion sense whatsoever. Seeing as I'm from Colorado, the occasional fancy-schmancy shirt or shoes make me WANT to feel like I've got the ins and outs down of a fashion diva...turns out I'm a fashion fauxpau from head to toe.
I show up in San Diego to be greeted by a 21 year-old in a mercedes SUV and a coach bag to match. As I scoot my sweatpants covered body into the car with my no-name Target purse, I feel less than qualified to even be IN this car. Seemed as though everyone had a mini dog to match their outifts. Boy was I in for a weekend!
We were getting ready to go out on the town on Friday night. As everyone put on their newly purchased frilly dresses and name brand pumps, I slipped on my simple, and favorite, black high-heeled sandals, only to get a reaction of pure disgust from every girl in the room. Dang, I missed the mark again.
The weekend came and went. It was full of fun and laughter and, of course, lots of dancing.... But now that I am sitting back at my Colorado dining room table, drinking my homemade coffee in my chipped mug, I realize that maybe missing the mark in fashion has nothing to do with my contenment as a woman. Was I embarrassed, of course. But it didn't knock me for a loop in thinking that maybe 'I' just wasn't enough.
So, to you woman who always dress to a tee in the perfect outfit, drive the perfect car, and have every surgery imaginable....I salute you. Way to keep up with the Jones'. But remember that just because my black strapy sandals cost the same as your Venti Starbucks non-fat, no sugar, no syrup latte, doesn't mean I'm less of a woman. Maybe we are both happy with our lives. Maybe I was meant to wear sweats and feel sexy.
So...turns out my fashion is exactly that; my own. And I love me.
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