Mistakes and Regrets

I want to make mistakes and have regrets.

Now you may be thinking to yourself "Okay, this girl really has gone off the deep end," but let me explain! I've been thinking a lot about getting a tattoo recently and I've been trying really hard to come up with meaningful ideas that go behind each one that I want to get. But then, yesterday I saw something that someone had posted and they said something along the lines of "Don't feel like every tattoo you get needs to have some deep backstory. If you think a tiger would look cool on your arm, get a tiger!" I'm getting my first tattoo with my best friend in June, and I've been back and forth over which one I want to get for a long time. I've settled with a couple on the insides of my ankles. They will be easy to hide and I figure if I get my first one in the most painful place, I'll be well prepared for more in the future. This first experience will likely be an indicator of whether or not I get more in the future. If I do, I have many ideas, and not all of them have stories or meaning. Some just look really neat. So I've been thinking don't get the ones that don't have meaning. Those are the ones you'll regret.

And then I saw what that person had to say, and I agreed. And then today, I realized that I want to make mistakes. I want to have regrets. Maybe I'll get every tattoo that I ever wanted and I'll love every single one. Or. Maybe I'll have one that I look at and just shake my head. But so what if I do? I think it would be almost better to have one I didn't like anymore so that when my kids come to me in the future, I can say "You can do what you want, but look at this and let me tell you how embarrassing this one is." Maybe that will make them think twice.

Obviously this is a very specific situation, but you really can apply the idea to anything. And I'm not saying that I want to actively seek out trouble and misfortune, but I don't want to be afraid of messing up. I don't want to hold back from doing something on the off chance that I'll be upset that I did it later. I want to make those mistakes and have those regrets so that I can use them as teaching moments in the future. I have done stuff these past 7 months that I didn't think I would do or would enjoy, and I want to use this time not to berate myself and dig myself into a deeper pit, but as a tool to prop myself up with and to say "This doesn't control me. This isn't who I am. It's something I've done and I can learn from this."

So yeah, I want to make mistakes and have regrets, and I encourage you to not look down upon yourself when you mess up or fall short, but "to realize two out of three ain't bad."

Edit: Just to be clear, these here are examples that I don't mean: http://imgur.com/gallery/uhjzW
I mean like a tiger tattoo that I don't like or the tattoo going out of style or it being a last minute choice. Don't worry, I'm not looking to get any face tattoos!

Storms

The only thing that I can write up right now that doesn't feel copied or fake. 

The sky was dark, heavily clouded with the impending storm. The wind was starting to pick up and I could smell the rain. Five minutes, tops before the downpour came. Standing where I am, the land spreads out before me like a quilt. I know where I have come from and I know where I am headed. I tip my head back, close my eyes, and allow the fresh air to wash over me. For the first time in a long time, I let my thoughts wander. The pain is almost overwhelming, but I can’t let go now. I can’t be seen with my guard down. The thunder rumbles deep above me and I can feel it in my bones. My eyes open and the rage of white-hot lightening cuts across the sky, reminding me of why I am here. The first few rain drops begin to hit the ground, washing away the memories of this place. I only know one thing- a storm is brewing. Not only out here on the hillside, but in my soul.

Divergent

I recently read the book and saw the movie Divergent. When I first saw the movie, before I read the book, the movie kind of threw me off for a couple of days. I realized something about myself.

The Hunger Games, Divergent, The Uglies, or any other rebellion-based story, they all feature young women who are ordinary. Who live in their world and accept the way things are, and by some random chance, they are thrown into the middle of some extraordinary circumstances and they morph into this brave and courageous heroine that saves the day and brings hope to everyone. I realized that that will never be me. I will never be a Katniss, or a Tris, or a Shea. I will always be that person in the background who gets trampled out. Who doesn't rise to be more that she thought she could be. I am the ordinary girl with no special talents. Those stories don't inspire be to be the best version of my self, they make me feel worse about who I am, realizing that I am not the heroine of my story.

I certainly would never be divergent, I would fit perfectly into one of the factions and I would follow along with the story just exactly how I was supposed to.

I'm aware that this is a highly depressing post. I think this is me coming to terms with my depression again and realizing how quickly and easy it overtakes. Maybe some time in the future I will have the confidence to write a post about how I won't be that girl who falls behind. How I will push on and force myself to be better that who I am now. But in this moment, I don't have the strength.

146 East Holcomb Avenue

I wanted to share some pictures of the house that I took a few weeks ago. I went and walked around the lot and tried to imagine everything. I think I had a fairly accurate picture for the most part.

As mentioned in the previous post, this is the tree carving my dad did for my mom. The tree was at the base of the steps for the back porch, the one leading to the patio.

The carving now, fairly grown over. If you didn't know
what to look for, you wouldn't see it.

The tree and patio before. The carving is much more
pronounced here. P.S. Notice the chicken in the tree.
That's a whole other story!

Here is nice before and after of the garden that my mom used to keep. The harden itself was a place I didn't really appreciate until it was gone. I could always find mom digging or planting or rearranging her various knick-knacks here. It was a respite for her I believe. I only wish I could have taken the time to slow down and see how relaxing it really was to be in the space.

Looking in at an angle. The carved tree is just out of frame on the far right. The tree straight ahead was somewhat of a "cornerstone" in that it marked a corner of the patio. The brown dead thing on the left was a trumpet vine- yet another story to be told!

What a drastic change! Straight ahead you can see the same "cornerstone" tree as in the picture above, for reference.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing pictures of the garden. It's peaceful to see them even now. I have more pictures of the lot, but not many to compare with. I'll do some digging this summer to find some more reference pictures. To finish out, here's a final picture, the house looking in from the street.

"Before" picture photo credit goes to my mom, from her blog and website: www.paintedpiglet.com

If you want to read the post about the house, just search "garden" and the post is titled "Patio Garden memories." Mom tends to have a better way with words than I do!

Depression is Easy

It's interesting to me how raw and fresh the memories of the summer of 2008 are. You would think that several years later I could think about it and not feel like everything had happened only days ago. This summer will be 6 years, so not a big milestone or anything, but it still stands out to me I guess.

Last night I was thinking of a very clear memory I had of the house. I think it had to have been the summer before the flood, because in the memory my room was painted blue, and I only had those walls for about a year. My family has gone to the GoodGuys car show every year since it has come to Iowa, and the summer of '07 was no different. We either had the red '57 Chevy at that time or the big Ford, I can't remember. I do remember coming home after a long, hot Saturday at the show. The air in the house was on and I can feel the cool blast of air on my skin as the door opened, and almost smell the specific scent that the air conditioner gave the house. I went straight to my room and laid down on my mattress which happened to be on the floor at the time; I was in-between bed frames. On my stomach with my face close to the air vent I took a nap. I'm not sure why this one memory sticks out in my mind, maybe just because it took place during the summer. Fast-forward roughly one year and you would find me sitting at the top of the three steps that led down to my parents bedroom. The floor had been stripped, so I was sitting on bare wood and was staring at studs and framing all around me. Where once had stood my home was now just an empty shell. I remember a group of family and friends were standing a little in front of me marveling at the fact that some three or four layers of wall paper had survived not one, but three floods. As I sat on the steps, I think for the first time the gravity of the situation hit me. I was picking at remnants of drywall and throwing them on the floor when my brother-in-law came over to me. Before the flood, before that summer, Wade had been just my sister's husband, but that summer he became my brother. I don't remember what he said to me but I know that it helped. Another defining memory.

I try to be thankful for the home we have now. We have been blessed in so many ways. But all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see the house. I can see the driveway where I fell the first time I rode a bike. I can see the front yard where we had several garage sales. I can see the garden that my mother nurtured and that flourished every spring and summer. I can see the patio where we would have family dinners when the weather was nice. I remember the time an entire meal was ruined because of some birds flying over. I see the blue kitchen and the pale yellow dining room. I see our western themed bathroom and my jungle themed bedroom. I see all of the good times and all of my memories. And then I drive past the empty lot and my heart breaks inside. I know where the house stood down to the last room, but anyone who drives by will only see grass and some trees. I know exactly where the carving is on the tree that was next to the patio, and anyone else who should happen upon that tree wouldn't see it. No one knows that lives were lived there and that memories were made. Not just mine, but from the father's childhood too. I wonder how many people who used to drive by the house see the emptiness now and can't remember what color that house on the corner was- blue. No one will know, no one will remember.

And that's why I think depression is easy. It's comfortable. It's easy to fall into the darkness and not fight every day. It's hard to work against the pull but it's easy to sink into the darkness and let it overwhelm you. I can't remember how to be happy. It's a thing that I have to fight to be. I have to try to be happy and joyful. Thinking about the house is easy. It's comfortable to think of the memories. It's difficult to remember the situation for what it was and to realize that what happened was far better for my family than many other options.