Why?

Why does it take a tragedy to bring us together?

History.

"Why does history matter, class?"
"Because the past shapes the future!"

I've heard history teacher after history teacher say that same thing year after year in my many years of public education. Never have I sat down to really realize how true it is. Yes, WWII obviously shaped policies and behaviors and there was that ever-popular baby boom that we blame overpopulation on. Charles Manson based his theories on the Bible and the Beatles and killed seven celebrities and we locked our doors at night. A man some thousand years ago died on a cross to save our souls and we worship Him. Things happened, we reacted, and now we call it history. The past, it shapes our future and everything we stand for. The past, on a national, even global level is important to our foundations, do you agree?

Yesterday, for some reason, I thought a lot about my own history. We each have a history. We each have a past. If there is a present, there is a past, no? And in the past, we came to believe the things we believe in now. I ask myself the question, "How did I get here?" How did I come to be who I am, how did other people come to perceive me the way they do, how did I come to make the decisions I make? In understanding all of these, I must understand from the beginning, from the first stages, the first steps, the first thoughts.

Charles Manson killed celebrities because of wildly misconstrued theories and philosophies of Heleter Skelter, but where did that come from? His childhood? His allegedly unfortunate upbringing? Before the Bible and the Beatles, Charles never really had a family. He was brought up by his drug addict mother and boarding schools and eventually, detention centers and juvenile hall. His past shaped him. He took in outcasts into his cult maybe because he himself was an outcast that needed to belong.
Christ died on a cross. Why? For love, for a fallen world that needed a savior. Obviously, people were in need of a savior. Their decisions, their behaviors were wretched and needed someone to save them from their own habits. And Christ did just that.

So where does that leave me? With a past. I reflect on that past instead of pushing it to the curb to realize, to understand, what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. This might seem obvious, but have you really thought about it? I get upset because I make stupid decisions, but I pass them off. Then, sooner or later, I make them again and it becomes this viscous cycle. For example, I'm a horrible student. I don't study for anything. What does being unprepared lead to? Right. Horrible grades. Everytime I find that I get a bad grade on something, I'm seriously upset. Well of course I am! I haven't put in the work for it! But the next class comes and I fall into the same habit, the same cycle. What I need is change. I need to change those study habits to get a better grade and feel better about my success in school.

My past affects my future. Obvious and clear,I know, but it's the truth.
Anyway.
Just a thought.

I don't deserve this.

I find myself sitting on my bed writing this on an iPad that i didn't deserve to receive.
Today was a strange turn of events.
I didn't feel genuine this morning. I didn't feel quite like myself. I felt lost and numb and rather confused about life and love and everything else you want to lump into the general category. I know I am loved. I know I have a great life. I know that whatever I do is already forgiven in some weird and un deserving compassion and forgiveness. But here I am, a living proof of all of this. It's tangible. It's easy to touch and feel and see first hand.
You see, I know this isn't making a whole lot of sense, but I was given a gift that I don't deserve. Because I have been bitter and fake, because I have complained more than anyone knows. But I was given this gift in spite of absolutely all of that.
And I'm talking about more than the iPad.

I've been given life in spite of my failures. I've been given an incredible story. I've been given the ability to use words and music to reach people. I've been given a heart that truly desires to love and care about other people. I've been selfish with all of these gifts. It's plain to me.

And I'm growing way too tired of using that word.
It's the opposite of love.
It's the opposite of everything I stand for.
But I am the queen of it. I promise you that.

Anyway, the point of this post is to say, to encourage you to look at the gifts you have...tangible or not.

Your life is worth the risk taking.
It's worth the breath.

Urban Picnic

It was a cold night. I had my favorite boots on and I felt okay--no, I felt great with the way I looked. My emotionally and physically long day had been plain out tiring. My fingers were sore from the guitar strings I manipulated, my body shook with the free coffee I consumed in order to over-compensate for my exhaustion, and the thrill of being paid attention to overwhelmed my thoughts. He laced unimportant questions with pertinent ones and sent them to my phone throughout the course of the day and supposed himself to be clever. I knew something was going to happen at six o' clock that Sunday.

I sat in his truck while he talked on the phone secretively and quickly about something important.

"There's no traffic."

I noticed.

My mind flashed back to a couple weeks before when we were trapped in the moving parking lot of the 15 freeway. His face lit up with excitement about some future plan and I realized that this, Sunday night at six o' clock, was it.

"We were supposed to have an urban picnic!"

Urban Picnic (n.): As one is sitting in traffic with nothing else to do, sandwhiches and beverages are to be provided just as a picnic might occur in a grassy park.

I might point out at this point that the music we listened to was everything I enjoyed. Music is my life, my feeling, my expression. We pulled into an empty parking lot as an alternative to the freeway and sat in the back of his truck to enjoy our picnic. The CD came to an end and began to replay.

"Wait. Pause. Stay right there." He leaned over and kissed me and jumped from the bed of the truck to reach inside for the CD.

His eyes fascinated me. They were large annd excited and alive more than ever that night and I found myself willingly sinking into them. I hoped he didn't mind. He then came around the side of the truck and held the CD in front of his face, his eyes just above the sharp edge. I looked down.

"Can I be the boyfriend in your indie movie?"

Words escaped me. I didn't have any breath. I don't think I'm capable of forgetting that face or those eyes (nor do I want to) at that moment. He was eager. He lingered and needed a response. I shook my head. Yes. Yes, you can. Yes, I want you to be. I hadn't felt that safety, that assurance in such a long time. I don't think he will ever quite understand just how much it meant to me to be cared for. After a life of being sat in a corner, of being told cop out after cop out, finally someone that meant the words he said and the actions he presented looked me in the eyes and told me the truth.

He disappeared to put the music back on and came back to sit next to me. He grabbed my hand and looked at me with an ineffable look that.

"Can I be your boyfriend in real life too?" This time I laughed and said, "Of course."

He smiled and kissed me.

"Guess what I just did."

"What?"

"Kissed my girlfriend."

Oh the safety and security in that night just three months ago.

Beautiful.

Can We...

Do you think we can just run away from all that we know?

It sounds rather convincing.
Let's just be happy.