Procrastination at its Greatest

I hadn’t run in weeks, and I was stressed, so I ran.  It’s good for me to take stress and run it off instead of shoving it down inside of me and trying to digest it—stress is indigestible, like gum or aluminum foil.   

My favorite part of running alone is setting my own pace, which I think I’ve written about before.  I can stop and look at whatever I desire and take time to observe the world, instead of quickly running past it.  I’m honestly more of a run-walker instead of a runner.  If my mentally allowed me, I could continue to run for a decent amount of time, but I’m too curious about things and I end up slowing my pace to walk. 

I ended up running (and walking) to Gas Works, since I haven’t yet this year and I’ve wanted to for a while now.  Plus, the sun was out so there was nothing I wanted to do more than get outside and enjoy it while it lasted. 

It was also an excellent way to avoid studying for my psychology test.  There are twelve days left in the quarter and things are starting to pile up.  I wanted to get off campus and escape it, even if it was only for an hour.

I can’t remember exactly what I listened to, but I do remember that the air smelled wonderful, clean, and warm.  Spring is hiding right around the corner, and I found that I could breathe easier knowing that fact.  I ran down the hill from the dorm, down the street, across the Freemont Bridge, and toward Gas Works.

I ran off everything that had been worrying me for the past weeks and let it fall off behind me as I pushed my legs forward.  Running isn’t merely a distraction—it’s a way for me to release the tightness in my body and rejuvenate my mind.  It breaks me down physically, and builds me up emotionally.   

I ran through several shipyards, past yoga studios, hair salons, and offices, until I finally saw a large hill of green and knew I was close to my destination.  Once I was there I made my way to the top and I was surprised to find that I was nearly alone, except for a girl running on the other side of the park. 

Anyone who has been to Gas Works knows how breathtaking the view is.  It doesn’t matter if the sun is out or not, the view will still be spectacular.  (However, having the sun out doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.)  I pulled out my phone and took several pictures.  I tried to take some that aren’t the typical view you see from Gas Works, and I think I succeeded with a few.

It was what I needed.  I needed to run, and I needed to capture the moment in a different way.

And now I'm sore, which happens to be a great feeling because it proves I worked out.

Detached

Bloom

My New Favorite Season

The American culture is all about shoving as many activities as you possibly can into the span of one day.  Which means we rarely sleep, or get enough sleep.  Yet, there are days when I simply love taking my time.

Today I took my time walking to breakfast, eating my food, writing my notes, thinking about what I would say in class (there is nothing that drives me more crazy than a person speaking blurbs of nothingness), and walking back to my room. 

Walking up the Ashton hill can be quite to exerting activity, unless you walk slowly. 

So, one step at a time I walked up that hill and took time to breathe in the crisp Seattle air.  Seattle is somewhere between Winter and Spring—and I think it is now one of my new favorite seasons, even though it doesn’t have a name.

When I take time I pick up on little details that I don’t normally notice, like extra cracks in the sidewalk and the different textures of the pavement.  I love letting the breeze touch the tip of my nose and play with my wispy bangs.  For a brief moment I closed my eyes and let it touch my eyelids.

I was suspended between worlds of emotion, yet I felt nothing.  I initially labeled it as borderline grumpy, but that wasn’t it either.  I was just quieter, more subdued, and peaceful. 

Life flows in a happy medium when I take my time.

When the World is Silent and I am Still

I love watching movies in the theatre late at night.  And I love having a couple of my best friends come along.  The company can make or break a movie, no matter how good or terrible it may be.

One of my closest friends brought some pain meds for me, since I had asked her to.  I came straight from babysitting and had a terrible headache from the dentist appointment I had earlier (which I survived, if you were curious—and my teeth have been decavitized…yes, I just made that word up on the spot). 

The movie, Sherlock Holmes, was highly enjoyable and I found myself captivated by the plot.  My favorite parts were probably the comic relief, because that’s simply the kind of mood I’m in.  I can stand the tension, but I would much rather laugh. 

After the movie was over the three of us split up to go home, one on her own and the other with me.  I had been exceedingly cold before entering the theatre but I was suddenly very content with the temperature of the frigid air and didn’t mind taking my time to get to the car.  (My poor friend was freezing so I quickly turned the heat on for her.) 

On the drive home we discussed friendships and how they’ve changed since we left high school, and how we must decide whom we really want to stay in touch with.  It’s a decision that’s been more prominent since we've been home and something that has been on my mind lately. 

After I dropped her off, and waited to make sure she was safely inside, I drove the 10 seconds down the street to my own house and parked in the same place I have for 2 years.  What Hurts the Most by the Rascal Flatts was playing on the radio and I sat in the car and sang along with it.  It's a song that has nothing to do with my life at the moment—I was surprised to find that I still knew all of the lyrics even though I probably hadn’t heard the song all the way through since sophomore year of high school. 

When it ended I turned the radio off, gathered my belongings, and stepped out into the winter air. 

All was silent. 

I began to walk across the snow but the crunching noise under my boots disturbed the soundless night. 

So I stopped and took my time to breathe and take in my surroundings.

I wasn’t cold.  Not in the least.  I watched as I blew a cloud of my breath into the air—it hovered before me, floated, then dispersed. 

I looked up at the cloudless night (something I’m still amazed by after spending a few month in Seattle).  It was breathtaking and beautiful.  I sought out the constellation Orion, and my eyes settled on the middle star. 

Mine.  I inwardly claimed it in 6^th grade. 

It remains constant and I love searching it out.  I love the summer, because it’s warm.  But I love the winter because my star is in the sky.  I’ve begun to notice the subtle tipping of the earth after all these years of looking for it.

So there I was, standing in the freezing cold, looking at the sky, breathing… and not wanting to move a muscle.

I felt as if I could lie down and sleep right there.  (However, my inner reasoning did manage to tell me that idea was anything but wise.)

For minutes, it was just me between the pavement and the stars.  No one else existed.  At one in the morning I doubt many other people were awake in my neighborhood.   

In music library in my head began to sing how great is our God, sing with me how great is our God, and all will see how great, how great, is our God. 

It’s the moments like that when I feel closest to Him.  It’s when I take the time to be still and to soak his creation in.

When I’m there I never want to leave.     

The Sound of Snow

This is the kind of weather that I love.

It’s the kind that allows me to drink hot chocolate,

Or build a snowman.

It’s the kind that lets me snowboard

Or sit by a welcoming fireplace.

It’s the kind that lets me catch a snowflake

On my tongue—and it’s the life in me

That makes it melt. 

It’s the kind that gives me the opportunity

To pave a completely fresh path on my own,

And it’s the kind that makes me feel

Anything but alone.

It’s also the kind that takes hardly an effort to paint,

And the kind that doesn’t have much color,

But it’s also the kind that makes the world

Look a little softer. 

It’s the kind that makes it wonderful

To put on a heavy winter coat,

A pair of mittens, boots and snow pants,

(and maybe a scarf)

To take a nice winter walk

Before it’s dark.

And if I’m lucky, and not too cold,

I’ll take some time to sit in the snow

—and listen—

Then on my way home, I’ll hum a few notes

And wish that the world was this peaceful.  

That Familiar Blanket of Cold

A beautiful

fall day.

it seems i’ll take a walk

on my own—

and breathe

the fresh air.

no one is here

to tell me

where to go.

so I go,

alone.

The air tastes of

Christmas,

suddenly it’s changed

since a few

days ago.

and all I want is

snow.

that familiar blanket

of cold, but warming

for my soul.

I’ll dream,

in Seattle.

but I won’t kid myself.

When the snow does come

It will be

in Colorado.

Fall & Pumpkin Seeds

There’s nothing better than getting a care package from people you love.  Especially when those people are my family and my Mom puts in extra effort to send me an entire batch of cookies—they may not have arrived entirely intact, but they tasted exactly like home and that was all that mattered. 

My sister sent me a little care package of her own, which consisted of the mail I’ve received since I left, pumpkin seeds, and a letter. 

My family carved pumpkins for the first time in years this fall, and I wasn’t there.  It’s always been something I’ve loved to do, but it hasn’t happened in a while.  So of course they did it the year I left.  (Not on purpose, it just worked out that way.)

I had one request.  That my sister would send me the pumpkin seeds once she cooked them.  She told me she would, but I didn’t think it would actually happen.  However, to my pleasant surprise, I received the notification yesterday that I received a care package.  Once I retrieved it and opened it I discovered an entire Ziploc bag of home-baked pumpkin seeds.  In my sister’s handwriting there was a note attached that said, “The guts of Mr. Pumpkin fried and salted.”  I couldn’t help but smile.  My sister managed to represent her personality perfectly on a hot pink sticky-note. 

For me, pumpkin seeds are one of the most prominent signs that it is finally fall.  Granted, the leaves will turn, the air will possess a distinct chill, and the world will prepare for winter, but I can’t accept that fall has arrived until I have pumpkin seeds in my hand. 

There is a distinct taste associated with pumpkin seeds that I can’t entirely place.  Mostly it’s the taste of earth.  As if I can taste how the leaves feel when they are falling from the trees.  I don’t know how to describe the taste of fall, but the closest thing would be pumpkin seeds. 

Anything pumpkin has a distinct fall flavor, but I’ve always reserved pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.  I can’t make myself eat it even though it’s been served in Gwinn several times in the past few weeks. 

I’ve decided I’m picky about food that way.  I’ll eat anything and everything (except bubble tea, which makes me want to puke).  I guess I tend to reserve certain foods for certain seasons. 

Currently I am content eating pumpkin seeds, drinking coffee, and listening to Death Cab for Cutie as I sit by my window. 

It’s a perfect Seattle day.