Day 14: No sense in avoiding the topic any longer

My height, that is.

In this corner...

weighing in at 135 lbs...
reaching 6'1'...

          It makes me who I am, which took me a long time to accept. For as long as I can remember, my height has been putting me in situations I don't want to be in, thrust into the limelight before I was ready to be. Let's face the facts: tall people get noticed, and this gets old very quickly when you're in that awkward stage - the kind where you feel as though you're swimming in something much too big. I dreaded back-to-school shopping with my mother because I knew I was in for a humiliating few hours. I would try on 17 pairs of jeans and not one would fit right. Shirts, pants, skirts, dresses... everything was either way too short, or way too wide. This was emotionally draining; As a pre-teen, I simply felt like I didn't belong in the world. If correct sizing didn't exist for me, where was my place?

          By middle school, my lanky stature had quickly earned the nickname Twiggy, which further convinced me that this was the only distinguishable quality I possessed. My height was making me uncomfortable in all sorts of situations. Group photos, for example, always went pretty much the same. "Alright, guys in the back... Molly, you too. Get back there."  I didn't want to be in back with the boys, I wanted to be with my friends just like any other 7th grader who falls into that step of conformity. Continuing into high school, most of my peers caught up to my height for the most part, making the photo-op issue less prominent. But I had a new reason to resent my height by this time: It was all anyone could see when I was introduced to them. When meeting someone for the first time, I, just like anyone else, would expect a "Nice to meet you. My name is ______, what's yours?" Not for this giantess. Without fail, I would get the widened eyes and a glazed "Whoa, you're really tall" from my new acquaintances. Yes, yes I am. Would you like me to point out something obvious about your physical appearance as well? How about the color of your hair? Or the prominence of freckles on your face? It's just not polite, and I'm not exactly sure how anyone might think otherwise.

          There is a happy ending to this story. My height and I have been getting along swimmingly for a few years now. I don't even mind that I tower over my older sisters and parents (Raising The Bar?). My height allows me to see concerts from a perfect view, avoid wasting time with step stools, and quite possibly, just enough to distinguish from being another face in the crowd. I recently considered it would be nice to be an inch or two taller. I would bet exorbitant sums of money that this is the absolute last thing I would have wanted as a lanky and awkward 12-year-old, but there it is. I'm already up here, so what's wrong with making it just a tad more distinctive? Sure, some people still refer to me as "that one tall girl", but it resonates with positive feelings for the first time in my life. 

Tall, and glad. 

Day 13: I am constantly reminiscent of my childhood,

and every part that made it what it was.

Or, what I will always refer to as: The Good Old Days.

There is no way to explain my upbringing without first mentioning the neighborhood where I was raised; the one where my parents still reside today. For some, neighbors are merely those living in proximity of our residence, strictly a civic association, curtailed by an affable wave while retrieving the daily mail. I truly cannot imagine what that's like, and I know I am lucky to be able to say so. Our neighborhood - which we, the children, affectionately deemed Francestown - was one of a kind, and the type of environment that Lifetime movies portray.  

Inducted at birth, this kinship of kids had been going strong several years prior to my existence, thanks to my older sisters and a slew of other founding fathers. The families simply belonged to each other. Perfectly acceptable, we'd roam into each others' homes without knocking and help ourselves to a glass of water: the truest test of welcome. It would take exactly one of us to begin the daily activities by ringing each doorbell on the block, often before 8am on summer days and weekend mornings. If you hadn't yet eaten breakfast at the time of this call, it was simply too bad; unwise. We played all together, and we played all day - the lot of 20 of us, in our prime. And every night, without fail, we would hide behind parked cars at the slightest sign of a summoning mother. Dire measures were taken at all costs to evade the parents, prematurely forced to call it a day.

Nearly every discernible place holds a memory. The Maple that served as my first climb, since victimized by the Emerald Ash Borer. The pavement where my sister allowed a fellow founding father to tricycle over her leg in a bout of Speed Bumps - and for obvious reasons, never had the chance to take her turn. The curbside that nearly brought our 3-car wagon train to an early grave, surely due to the implementation of jumprope 'seatbelts' to keep us 'safe'. The hill where we married two Francestonians the ripe age of 4. It was a sense of belonging yet to reoccur at any later point in my life. We found it second nature to be together at all times - so much, that our parents regularly planned outings to haunted houses and amusement parks, year after year. After all, that's what family is all about. 

But things change. People change, and so do their feelings. Friendships that have spanned double decades can suddenly turn brittle with miscommunication and misunderstanding. Things aren't what they used to be anymore, but truthfully, that only sweetens each memory. I would give nearly anything to go back and play like we did, just for one day. I will always think fondly on what were undoubtedly the most impressionable years of my life, and give it all of the good credit it deserves. 

Sincerely, A Proud Product of Francestown.

Day 12: I have always wanted the opportunity

to have a complete stranger define me.

Because sometimes it's hard to see ourselves for who we really are, when looking from the inside in.

          It's the little things, mostly. I think that this blog is evidence enough that I understand a lot about myself as it is; I know the things that drive me up the wall and the things that make my day. But what I am really getting at are the things that I have yet to define about myself. There's a lot of pieces missing from the puzzle. It is a very self-centered thing to wonder about; to be borderline-obsessed with figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tick. But... in my previous self-discoveries, I have found that learning new things about myself allows me to accept the way I think and act with others on a deeper level. And in this way, I think that by gaining a better, more realistic understanding of myself, I will be able to turn this into a better understanding of others as well. The best way to describe the desire to be defined is that I need an unbiased opinion, but from someone who knows all of the facts. I'm fairly certain this doesn't exist. 
         On a deeper level, it's almost as if I'm searching for the anecdote to rid myself of reoccurring confusion; to save myself some trouble, and to stop making things tougher than they need to be. I spend so much time hung up on the past; things I've said and done; a play-by-play reeling in the back of my memory. I'm aware that thinking on the past cannot, and will not, change it. I suppose my intentions are to analyze the things I wish I could have done differently, and then have the foresight to avoid them the next time I have a similar experience. I believe that we are all working towards being the best possible person we could hope to be, and this is simply not possible if we lack the patience to persevere and self-analyze. In order to live with ourselves, so-to-speak, we need to be at peace with the way we feel, think, and act. Maybe some of us discover ourselves to the core earlier in life than others. Maybe some spend their entire lives searching for it. Maybe some of us have known it all along. I'm not there yet, but I'm determined to find it.  

The Self, at it's core.

Day 11: Never underestimate the value of

live entertainment.

[click to zoom]

'Being there' has it's benefits.          

I was a latecomer to the concert scene, as my parents didn't allow me to attend one until I was 16 years old. Up until that glorious evening that I finally saw Red Hot Chili Peppers in the flesh, I never really understood what all the craze was. To me, it seemed that I could pay a sum of money to hear a song in the comfort of my own home, versus paying an exponentially larger sum of money to see the music happening in front of me. Was there really a difference? Lordy, was I ever misinformed. It was nothing short of an amazing experience; literally feeling the bass pound into my chest and catching the contagious enthusiasm of my fellow audience-members. When I returned home that fateful night, I remember laying in bed in the darkness, my ears pounding and basically reverberating everything I had heard in the previous few hours. It was the opposite of desensitization; I was surged with energy and impression. After that, I was hooked: Goo Goo Dolls, Snow Patrol, Paolo Nutini (second row!), Rush, Spoon, White Rabbits, MGMT, and Muse, just to name a few. I definitely don't see shows as often as I would like to, but I have my list of "must-see's" (---does anyone else out there have a burning desire to see Cake?).
         As shown in the photo, I house all of my ticket stubs in a wooden cigar box for sentimental safe-keeping. This is not limited to just concerts. Believe it or not, I have saved the stub from every single movie I have ever seen (If you look closely, you can see "Air Bud" from 1997 peeking out on the right). Live entertainment is something I will always value, regardless of whether this means a concert, a movie, a play, a musical, an exhibit, or a sporting event. We gain a broader and deeper experience when we witness something that has the ability to reach us on not just one, but several levels. This is hard to accomplish if you're watching a movie at home while construction is raging outside, or listening to music on low-def speakers. Music, movies, and all art forms, were meant to be given our undivided attention. We gain a sense of satisfaction when we allow ourselves to do so.  

It's a living, breathing world. Be a part of it.

Day 10: A pet peeve of mine is that

I hate having people's debts, and vice versa. 

At the risk of sounding like a withholding miser who never learned to share, hear me out.

         I am slowly realizing that my personal definition of success (among other things) entails being independent in the sense that I don't expect to rely on anyone but myself for most anything. When I was young, almost everything that was given to me was unconditional; there was little I had to offer in return besides a smile, a hug, and a 'thank you'. That was it, and it was fine. In recent years, though, I have started to pick up on the fact that I can't ask for something without thinking twice on it. And, depending on the situation, I sometimes cringe when someone asks to borrow something from me. Someone reading this may assume that I am selfish of that I am constantly keeping tabs on what is 'fair', which is not at all true. I'm simply saying that I take pride in being prepared and having the things that I need, when I need them. In a way, everyone should.  

          We all have that person in our life who bleeds us dry. Whether it is emotionally, physically, mentally, financially, or otherwise; it gets draining when all they do is take until there’s practically nothing left. This isn’t to say that I don’t believe in doing unconditional favors for others; in fact it probably makes my day more than theirs when I do reach out in that way. Random acts of kindness and self-giving are what makes this life worth living at times. By nature, we are more likely to do nice things for one another when we feel that they will appreciate it and reciprocate in any possible way, whether this is tangible or not.
         

Always try to Give more than you Take.

Day 9: Sometimes, I really wish I would just

stop talking,

and listen more. 

          Here's the dilemma: we all talk more than we listen. For many, the ratio of talking to listening is drastically uneven, and I am no exception to this trend. On a personal level, I almost feel as though I have become this way because I believe that society expects instant answers from us, at all times. Technologically speaking, things like e-mail, cell phones, skype, social networks, and text-messaging were all designed with the same goal: get a hold of anyone, anytime, anywhere. With this in mind, I subconsciously feel pressure to come up with answers on the spot, even when having a casual face-to-face conversation with a friend.
       There's another part to this: I need to slow down and think before I speak. When I was in 1^st grade, I remember being recognized for being one of the best readers in my class, along with one other student. For years, adults and those older than me would comment that I had a high vocabulary for my age. I was constantly devouring books and learning new words.
          I never get those compliments anymore, and I definitely do not deserve to. Within the last few years I constantly find myself stumbling over words, using vocabulary incorrectly, and finding it difficult to articulate exactly what I mean. I honestly worry that I am slowly losing my mind and my grasp for language. It’s almost a little unfair that I was apparently so well-spoken at an age where I had topics of little importance to discuss.

So, here's to listening. 

Day 8: Too often, I find myself

living life too comfortably; afraid to take risks.

"Nothing to fear except Fear itself" 

          I fear the unknown. I fear the possibility of embarrassment for not knowing what to do or what to say. I make a cautious effort to avoid situations where my reputation and the perception that others have of me is compromised. I am so paranoid – always careful, always cautious; a planner. For me, being the youngest of three siblings has meant that I have been trained to gain approval from all members of my family before making anything short of a 'big' decision. I often lose sight of the fact that it would benefit me in terms of personal growth and self-assuredness to make choices on my own accord, for my own reasons.
          Its refreshing and rewarding for me to have friends who are the exact opposite, because it reminds me that sometimes its okay to do things spontaneously and live in the moment. I can't do this on my own (at the very least, not habitually) because of my adamant need to feel in-control of my life and actions. I take satisfaction out of being able to predict what will happen next, and get inexcusably upset when life throws me for a loop despite how cautious I may have been. I take it personally when this happens because it feels like I've failed.
          When I do take a risk and do something I hadn't planned on, it takes some time for me to realize that I am alive and breathing, and perhaps even enjoying myself. The fact remains that I am too comfortable living within these boundaries, and have accepted that I need to push my own limits for the sake of self-betterment. 

Tomorrow, a change.