Barefoot

I remember the first time I wore high heels.  They were sparkly, plastic, and came as part of a Cinderella costume set.  I was four.  With my plastic pearls, feather crown, and favorite new shoes that set me an inch higher in the world, I knew that I could conquer anything (I mean, really - who would refuse a four-year-old in a feather crown…).  Fifteen years later, any day I get to twirl in a pretty dress and ridiculously impractical shoes is a great day. Here ye, here ye, the perks of high heels:

 1) Instant supermodel status – the catwalk strut is ten times more fun when you’ve got 4 extra inches.

2) Your legs look longer than route 66 (hate to break it to you boys, but its alllll an illusion…)

 3) If you are of small to average stature and your date happens to be unusually tall, you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes just so he can hear you.

4) If your date turns out to be a totally jerk, you have thin spikey weapons readily at your disposal!   

Ladies, lets ignore the astronomical ankle-safety hazards, the frequent inability to functionally move in a straight line, or the fact that in the case of the zombie apocalypse, you would almost positively get left behind and die.  For all intents and purposes, there are no downsides to high heels.

  With our gazes a little higher, our walk a little swifter and our steps just a little sharper, we feel a little more powerful.  Like that businesswoman on TV whose feet pierce the conference room floor as she peers though jet black lashes, poised for persuasion.  Like that girl in the magazine who smiles coyly back at the man who watches her longingly while she prances away in her stilettos with her new prada bag.  We can be stronger, higher, farther from the very tired, very human girl in the mirror every morning.   She doesn’t exist.  We are powerful.  We are strong.  We are fearless. 

Fearless.  Are we?  When we can’t show the world our clean and real faces?  When we think strength is in whoever can speak the loudest?   When we can only see ourselves when the eyes of the world are on us, our self-image made a product of admiration and desire, while we strap on shoes, faces, voices and smiles that hide our real words, real bruises, and real missteps?  We strut passed people who only wish for a helping hand and can barely show the people we love our bare soul.  We mistakenly equate fearlessness and bravery with our own control.   Humankind clamors for high heels, high salaries, high-rise apartments and office buildings, while barely recognizing the earth on which it stands.

I grew up at the end of a gravel road where, pine needles, wild grass, and Oregon grape cover the ground.  As a young teenager I sometimes wished I lived somewhere that I could wear high heels out without a) sinking in dirt or mud, b) tripping over gravel and rocks, or c) looking silly and impractical, but I am most thankful for the days as a kid when my sister and I ran barefoot.  The pine needles pricked and poked our toes, but at least we could feel.  We could sense where we stood.  We could feel the right places to step.   The other day I lay in the grass of my back yard and thought about the bravery it takes for us all to take off our shoes, our feigned faces, the hollow ego in our voices, and let ourselves feel the world.  We get pricks and slivers, but we can sense the steps we take and face each other with open palms.  Fearlessness does not lie in battle cries, sharp steps and piercing gazes, but in soft words, listening ears and open minds.   When we can look each other in the eye and cry and say, “I’m sorry.”  When we can step down from our high risers and hold someone, anyone, in solace, without a sound.

And no, for the record, I don’t think high heels are inherently evil.  They are still loads of fun, and I’ll surely still dance and prance in my pretty dress and silly shoes - what girl wouldn’t.  But all the while, I’m going to try to remind my heart to walk barefoot. 

Empty, open, awake, and four inches shorter, we are powerful. We are strong.

 We are fearless.

Boulders and Balloons

Every night before I fall asleep, I imagine I am holding a large bunch of helium balloons in the middle of a hay field.  I write each of my worries and concerns on a balloon, and then one by one I release them into the sky.  Watching them float away, I am left free.

Most of us have had days where we want nothing more than to be able to let go.  We find ourselves standing in a field holding all the things we’re afraid of, all our expectations, all the things we regret, all the things we wish we could change about ourselves…yet more often than not, we wake up to find that our worries and troubles are more like rocks than helium balloons.  We get frustrated that we’re unable to send them away into the sky, so instead we try to push and shove them as far away as we can, or we throw them at the people who we believe threw them at us.  We try to get rid of them, wasting time wishing that boulders were balloons, that we never learn to sit with them, accept them, and turn them over in our hands until we see them for what they are.  We don’t like how these rocks can weigh us down, crack us open, carve us out and leave us exposed.   Yet God again reminds us that’s it’s ok to be vulnerable in the middle of a hay field.  It’s ok to hold heavy hands and be still.   With our cracks we are not broken but rather open to recieve the light and love of others.  This is how we begin to be free.

We get thrown rocks. We dig them up.  We yell and throw them back.  But all the while, maybe God was handing us some of the stones we needed to build our trail.

Family Tributes part 3 - Mom

     I have had many teachers throughout my years of schooling, but my first teacher sang somewhere over the rainbow before I fell asleep.  She sat with me at the piano when I was 5 and taught me how to plink out twinkle twinkle star.  She taught me tricks for how to put my coat on when I was three.  She never tried to correct me when my pre-school teacher told her I was fond of wandered around the classroom and sing to the other children. She sparked my curiosity as a small child through bubbles and dissected daffodils.  She is a teacher to many and a friend to many more, but but I am lucky to only have to share her role of mom with one other person (and trust me, sharing mom was quite the dispute back in our toddler days).

     Some college kids only talk to their parents at set times once a week; my mom and I call each other on the phone sporadically, almost every day, with news about the goings-on across the country and the thoughts of our minds.   You would naturally wants to tell a best friend about what's going on in your life, right?  Some kids, especially in elementary school, saw this to be incredibly strange: "Eeehh, Kathryn, she tells her mom everything..."  I never saw a problem with this.  I still don't.

     I thank God that I have had parents who were never passive in my life, who listened to me, yelled at me, and comforted me exactly when I needed it.  She's dealt with me tears, my frustrations, and my laughter all the same.  My mom has one of the most kind, loving, caring hearts I've known and has a thoughtful special way of understanding that I aspire to have.  She sacrifices a ton of time to help our family.  She drove me 800 miles with my horse to compete in the championship when I was 16. She taught me to "tell your truths" and do what you need to do for you.   Like I mentioned in a previous post, she is never afraid to sing loudly the fragments of songs that she knows on the radio, or dance like it's the 80's when she's listening to her iPod around the house.  Her voice popped into my head the other day when I was at a prayer service, as we all light candles to place on a world map in honor of the people we love.  I remembered a song she used to sing with my sister and I in the car when we were little, and before we fell asleep at night:

"This little light of mine

I'm gonna let it shine...

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine."

Thanks mom. I'm gonna try.

Equal Parts Science and Magic

250+ words for today = A beautiful talk by a  spoken word poet.  Watch it, guys. seriously. I promise it will change the way you walk through your day.

"There are talents inside us that allow us to excell in different ways than those that surround us.  And these talents lie innate in every one of us, and it is only a matter of discovering their location, unearthing it, holding it up to the light of the world and announcing, "This is me. This is what I can do."

"so call this the year of no mistakes 

the year of the heavy sword

but stronger hands 

the year, where we are no longer stuck in the street 

but found somewhere between the asphalt and the moon 

inside a sheath of arrows turning itself into wind 

the year where we turn our hearts towards light 

with the realization and acceptance of not only how utterly magnificent

everyone of us is, 

but that this magnificence is something that we cannot help but carry with us. 

there is joy inside of you waiting to be heard 

listen for it 

and to the spaces it speaks from 

follow those spaces

do not tremble before the boulder blocking the entrance into yourself 

do not tremble before the boulder blocking the entrance out of yourself 

you cannot fall 

you are noble 

the universe is a part of you 

and you apart of it 

and every piece of it is made of science and magic 

every part of you is science and magic."

*Thanks to Elizabeth Welliver for sharing this with me!

Family tributes part 2 - Dad

     When I was 5, my favorite game in the world was known as "ask daddy."  This entailed me capturing my father's full and undivided attention at the dinner table, while proceeding to unleash every question within my young inquiring mind and demanding answers in full.  Part of little me was actually pretty curious; the other part of little me just liked the attention and hearing the sound of my own voice. Regardless, I was in awe of how he always had an answer for everything.  There was nothing he didn't know.  He faced inquiries such as "why is the sky blue?" and "why do we get sick?" always fashioning nobel prize-worthy answers.  But I remember clearly the day that I asked the trickiest of questions: "why doesn't sugarless gum blow bubbles as well as sugar gum???"

Alas, Daddy had no answer.  My world was shattered.

Now at the age of 19 I am at College being taught by a slew of PhDs, and I will still honestly tell anyone that my father is one of the most incredible minds I have ever encountered, even despite the lack of gum chemistry knowledge.  From the time he read the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings to me before bed as a little girl, to the time he would sit with me for hours discussing my history readings with me when I was home-schooled, to the times I come home from college and we talk about the new wonders of academia, I mind has always been ignited by his contagious and genuine curiosity.   Through this, he has shown me that no matter what is happening or where you are in your day, there is always something to sit down and be fascinated by.  He can often be spotted with coffee reading an art book, history book, or one of just about any topic come to think of it.  Talking to him is still one of my favorite things to do, and topics range from religion and philosophy to science to politics to current events to art to history to psychology and back again; He always reminds me how important it is to ask all the questions, to assume nothing about the world around me, and walk towards everything with an open mind.  His contribution to my love of learning growing up has been greater than that of any teacher or professor.

In addition to his curiosity and smarts, I look up to his profound way of seeing the beauty and art in the world around him as well his depth of caring that I have been beyond lucky to receive as his child.  He has helped me climb mountains and helped me down rocky ledges, literally and figuratively. He researched endless data on I swear every college in the country when I was applying to schools to help me find a good place to land when I "flew the coup."  He has helped talk me through states of dismay and indecision, encouraged me, and reminded me of all the possibilities I can create for myself.  He drew me a pastel picture of my horse for my christmas present.   His smile expresses just as much love as his art.

Dear future husband/boyfriend: I require you to be at least half as amazing as my Dad.  Nothing less will suffice.

Saying goodbye after christmas break

My christmas present

On top of the first mountain I climbed 

 Our most recent mountain last summer

Headlines and Prayers...

Continually praying for Boston.

In honor of all the victims and their families:

A quote shared by a friend:

“For the church, the many abuses of human life, liberty, and dignity are a heartfelt suffering. The church, entrusted with the earth’s glory, believes that in each person is the Creator’s image and that everyone who tramples it offends God. As holy defender of God’s rights and of his images, the church must cry out. It takes as spittle in its face, as lashes on its back, as the cross in its passion, all that human beings suffer. They suffer as God’s images. There is no dichotomy between man and God’s image. Whoever tortures a human being, whoever abuses a human being, whoever outrages a human being abuses God’s image, and the church takes as its own that cross, that martyrdom.”
― Oscar A. Romero

Family Tributes Part 1 - Sister

     There is one special girl out who I have giggled with, played with, yelled at, scraped my knees with, smiled with, sung to the radio with...the list goes on.  Once, I harassed her into playing beauty parlor with me when she was 3 and then proceeded to cut off half her hair.  She somehow still loves me.  She is a star basketball player, an amazing horseback rider, she's smart, artistic, genuine, and beautiful - she is my now-not-so-little sister, and every time I come home from school I am astounded to see how much more she has grown and matured.

She wrote me a letter (a 10 page letter!) before I left for college, and said: "I know your textbooks will be your best friends/enemies, but try to have a little fun without me. You know, textbooks are kind of like sisters - you gotta to love us, you have no choice, though sometimes you just want to throw us in the fire pit."  Hee hee.  I am happy to say, my darling, that unlike my textbooks, I have never once considered throw you in a fire pit.  Whose hair would be left to coercingly curl then???  Oh how I miss our days of tree-fort and sand-castle making: as little nature children we perpetually played in the trees, dirt, creek, sand, tree sap, and every other naturally occurring substance you can think of, with the elements becoming a part of our spirits in addition to each other's presence.  In this letter, which I re-discovered only a couple months ago, she wrote, "Thanks for being my sister. I love to laugh, cry, scream and play with you.  I'm pretty sure that you are the only person that I have done all five with in every extremity. Haha. Aren't you lucky? Now, last but not least, thank you for being.  Because without you, the world would be so much different.  My world would be at least.  It would be missing your clothes for me to steal, you fun, your love, all that is you."

I just about cried.

So until I manage to write you a sufficient 10 page response, I want you to know, dear sister, that while we were building tree forts, having you in my life built a part of me I would never want to loose.  Thank you for your kind heart, your concern for others, and your joyful smile.  Thanks for yelling at me when I needed to get off my high horse. Thank you for being, with your clothes for me to steal, your fun, your love, for all that is you and all that I know you will become.  I am so proud of you, and I am honored to be your family.

Love love love,
Kathryn

"Having a sister is like having a best friend you can't get rid of.  You know whatever you do, they'll still be there."  ~Amy Li

"A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost."  ~Marion C. Garretty