The Crossroads

There was a point in life when the most frightening thing she had to face was a fork in the road. A decision between going left and going right, between a good choice and a poor one. A or B. Now that simple time seems so distant.

She stands at a crossroads, coat wrapped tightly around her body in a desperate attempt to keep in the warmth. A sharp wind loosens her hair from its braid and she reaches up to brush it back, her fingers temporarily exposed to the icy air. The sun is setting and she knows it will only grow colder from here. There isn't much time, but still she stands, paralyzed.

This is no fork in the road. There are hundreds of paths, branching out in each direction; north, south, east, and west. In the middle of the road is a large signpost, covered in arrows, but the words painted on them are too faded to read. Some point in nonsensical directions, as if intentionally designed to mock her.

Right now, none of the paths look particularly pleasant. One heading straight into the sunset is packed with well-trod dirt, but she can see clearly the heartbreak and pain that lurk in the shadows. Another path goes for only a few yards before leading to a precarious rope bridge on a high precipice. It's obvious that only cruelty and manipulation will be found down that road. Still another is winding and narrow, with cliffs of poverty and anxiety reaching to the sky on either side. A fourth leads down the side of a rocky ridge, towards a terrifyingly unknowable sea.

Where is the safe road, she wonders, the one that will take her safely to her destination? Where is the road lined with roses and bathed in sunlight? Is there no peaceful forest path to be found?

As the sun sinks lower over the horizon, she knows her time at the crossroads is coming to an end. She must make a decision soon. Gathering her courage, she prepares for the first step. It hardly matters that there is no easy road; she's not concerned anymore that she has no idea where she might end up. The only way to escape the crossroads is to step forward in blind faith.

And when the moment comes, that is precisely what she will do.

Hastily Penned in Impatience

Waiting.
Time drips like molasses;
Achingly, infuriatingly slow.
Nothing is louder than a clock
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
When you're waiting.

It's almost painful, waiting.
Stuck in limbo
With only your anxieties for company
Wondering...
When?
(Don't forget, patience is a virtue.)

And now the edge of your seat
Is the only place you're comfortable.
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting.
Who can know what tomorrow will bring?

The Many Faces of Love

Love is such a tricky subject. Everyone sees it differently.
Psychology says if a crush lasts more than three months, you're in love.
Your mother says you can't really be in love unless it's reciprocated,
But then why do all those novels and films talk so much about unrequited love?

Some say you fall into love, like a character might fall through a manhole in a slapstick comedy.
Others insist that you chose to be in love, and call those who love all the wrong people masochists.
There are others still that claim that love is nothing more than a chemical reaction brought on by the right combination of hormones.

And on and on and on it goes.

In many circles, it's normal to wait until later in life to find your love.
Elsewhere, you're considered something of a freak if you aren't in a serious relationship by the time you exit your teens.
Fathers insist you stay single through your thirties, while grandmothers send you letters asking why you aren't engaged yet.

Love is a verb.
Love is a battlefield.
Love is a drug.
Love is blind.
Love is patient, love is kind.
God is love.

So maybe, love is beyond comprehension. And I suppose for now, I'll have to be satisfied with that.

So no one told you life was gonna be this way...

Seems like you're always stuck in second gear.
When it hasn't been your day, or week, or month, or even your year...

Sometimes it surprises me how insightful something silly like the theme song for a sitcom can be.

This last week or so has been rough. Many unrelated circumstances that normally wouldn't cause me to bat an eye on their own, all converged at once making for a mess of girl. Sleeplessness, the loss of a beloved pet, family stress, stage crew, auditions, feelings of bitterness, inadequacy and doubt. Alone, they're nothing, but it's a hundred against one and I'm outnumbered.

I feel like butter spread over too much toast, to steal a simile, and I just want to fix it. So that I can get back to feeling like myself and, more importantly, so I can do a better job of being there for my friends who have things so much bigger than sleeplessness to contend with. What I need more than anything, is to realize that my problems are but a drop in a bucket and that there is something so much bigger going on here. I need to really See.

Tonight, I am in need of perspective.

Hope

Sometimes, she thinks the world is conspiring against her.
There's a little porcelain jar on the table, and she wonders.
Go ahead, her thoughts say, open it.
Little does she know that there's an audience screaming "don't do it" just a fourth-wall away.
Curiosity gets the better of her and she unstoppers the jar.
And all hell breaks loose.
Every doubt, every moment of uncertainty,
All of her fears, failures and phobias fill her head, freed at last.
It's amazing how easily Pandora is forgotten, until the moment after making the same mistake.

Only later will she struggle to her feet and pick up the jar.
She knows the story, but is afraid to look, afraid to see what might not be there.
But when she finally finds the courage to peek, there it is.
Hope, waiting patiently in the bottom of the jar,
Speaking to her in a still, small voice,
Promising that He has plans for her: plans for a future.
Plans of Hope.

A Case of the Mehs

It's not often I find words inadequate, but today that seems to be the case.
Strange things are influencing my mood--
The death of a stranger,
Being shut off by my brother,
Having wonderful friends who still love me (even when I give them skunk-hair),
Curiosity over hypothetical situations,
A silly picture on a silly blog,
This horribly persistent cold,
Oddly touching moments between animated characters,
The two hundred year-old wisdom of a pilgrim,
And I can't stop thinking about those Towers.

I'm not unhappy, far from it. But I'm tired, and a bit dazed from the cough syrup I took.
There's something new headed my way soon, I can sense it.
But as to what it is, and how it's going to happen, I'm completely clueless.
All I have right now is a restless energy and a faith that You'll show me when it's time.
I suppose that's what I get for asking for patience.

The Pit of Inaction

The thoughts in my brain are bouncing around so fast, clanging against the inside of my skull, begging for release. But I'm sitting here, stuck in some sort of Life-Limbo, unable to free them.

I've no motivation, no inspiration and no energy to fight anymore. After a particularly rough week, with the return to school looming like a black storm cloud on the horizon, I can't pull myself out of this pit I've stumbled into. Every moment of focus saps energy, and it's easier to just throw up my hands and concede that there's no climbing out.

To me, this summer of inaction has been a curse. Now I can't decide if it's worse to continue in this vein, or to actually make some sort of effort. Deep down, I somehow know that going back to school is going to be a challenge. There are things that won't be able to stay unsaid, in so many different ways and I find myself panicking at the very thought.

But it may be that going back is the only thing that can pull me out of this funk. A vine is being lowered and I can curl up and ignore it, or grab it and hold on for dear life.

There's still time, though. For the moment, I'm satisfied to climb onto the roof with a bottle of soda and watch the stars. I'm content to linger in this place of inaction for a few more days.