Pointless Tuesday Ramblings

My 21st birthday is exactly four months from today. I’m looking forward to being able to enjoy daiquiris at Applebees when I go out with friends.

I’ve been thinking about friendship a lot lately. My best friend in high school is still one of my best friends today. I feel pretty lucky to be able to say that.

My Tuesday/Thursday class sometimes makes me want to stab my eye out with a pen. Maybe that’s why I take notes on my computer. :P

I found my dream apartment the other day. I don’t think I can afford it. Maybe with a roommate.

In the past six weeks or so, I’ve heard ten different engagement announcements. I’m expecting that to multiply exponentially over the course of the year. This makes me feel old.

I wish I was better at making more time to fit reading for fun into my schedule. I have shelves and piles of books in my dorm and my room at home that I still haven’t read.

I’ve been really tired for the past week for no apparent reason. It makes sitting through classes that much more difficult when no amount of coffee seems to wake me up.

TGIF

I like Fridays. Fridays mean weekends. Granted, I’m not getting much of a weekend. I work 5:00-15:30 both Saturday and Sunday, meaning I’m getting up at 3:30...yeah, that’s kind of a bummer. At least I’m making money, and I don’t have to go to class.

I actually don’t mind my classes this semester. I like my professors, and all of the classes pertain to my major, so I find them at least somewhat interesting. I’m just getting tired of school. Of course, some of that probably has to do with the fact that I’m no longer planning to pursue a career related to my degree. I figure a B.A. in Psychology will be somewhat useful in just about any field, so I’m going to stick with it, but I don’t want to do something psych related for a career anymore.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what I’m going to do with my life. I had it all planned out: I would get my psych degree in 3.5 years, take a semester off, go through a 2-year grad program and get my M.S.W. (basically the terminal degree in social work), and dive in to a career in social work after that. It was a good plan until I actually started looking into M.S.W. programs and realized that grad school didn’t really appeal to me all that much. I watched my foolproof little plan fall apart in front of me, and it freaked me out. At one point I actually considered dropping out of school, because I was so totally unsure of myself.

I’m still going to graduate with my B.A. in December. After that...I don’t really know. I’ve been looking into getting a vet tech degree. From age 3 or so until at least halfway through high school, I wanted to be a vet. I’ve realized now that the fact that some sort of competency in physics and calculus is required pretty much disqualifies that career, not to mention the fact that I don’t really want to spend another 6 years in school. But being a vet tech? I could do that. It’s a little more school, but it would be interesting, and I’d be able to work with animals, which would be awesome. They annoy me a lot less than people do.

The problem with this plan is that I’m not really sure if I’ll end up making enough money to live on. I don’t need much

—

I have expensive tastes in a lot of things, and I kind of like spending money, but I don’t

need

much to live on. I’m ok with living simply, but I do need to eat...and not being able to eat gluten means that groceries can get expensive. The fact is, I really have no idea what I

want

to do with my life. I’m not really worried about it...I know everything will work out eventually, but I’d like to feel a little less clueless. Ideally, I think I

would

like to be a vet tech, but do other things on the side. The idea of being self-employed appeals to me.

I like art. I now read several webcomics religiously, and I’ve been toying with the idea of starting my own. I have an unfinished story that wasn’t working well as a novel but that would probably translate quite well into comic form. However, I have a problem: while I can draw better than some people, I am not exceptionally talented and I am terribly out of practice. It’s frustrating having images and ideas in my head when I can’t translate them properly onto paper. I’m going to keep practicing, and if things start to improve I might move forward. The same is true with music. I have pages upon pages of lyrics that I’ve written over the years. Granted, most of those pages are full of my high school angst and should probably never see the light of day again (I’m sure they’re happier hiding in dark corners anyway), but some of the songs I’ve written have turned out to be pretty decent, and I’ve actually managed to get some music written for a few of them. The problem here is that, again, while I can sing and play guitar or piano better than some, I’m not as good as I would like to be. Now that I have my MacBook (named the BatMac because it is black and awesome), I might start playing with GarageBand and attempt to put some music up here. I don’t see comic creation or music ever being a source of income for me, but it could be fun to try.

I like writing, and I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it (this post doesn’t necessarily reflect that skill, I know). If I could write and make money in the process, that would be fantastic. I just don’t want to be the sort of author who gets her work published when it maybe should never have been released to the general public. I see a lot of worthless prose in bookstores, and I don’t want to add to that mess. (Take, for example,

the “Twilight” series

. I’ve read all of the books, and I found them amusing...but I will also be the first to say that they are poorly written and that the supporting characters are the only reasons I read all four books. Bella is easily the flattest, most obnoxious fictional character I have ever encountered. If I ever write such a character into existence, someone PLEASE come and slap me.) I also like photography (just in case you didn’t figure that out from the multiple

Gallery

pages here), and if I really focused on developing that skill (and acquired a little more business finesse) I could probably make money from that. I’m just not sure how to turn the activities I love as casual hobbies into profitable hobbies.

So the general conclusion of the week is this: growing up isn’t nearly as fun as it looked when I was 5 and running around on the playground.

And We're Back!

Well, after over a year of saying I would update the website, I finally got around to it. Restless Courage Images is more or less out of business...I simply don’t have time to keep up and promote an online store right now. I

do

still have images up in the

Gallery

. If anyone is interested in purchasing a print, just shoot me an e-mail via the

Contact

page and we can work something out.

I’m going to try to keep this blog updated regularly, and as time goes on I hope to add more to this site. I’ve been toying with the idea of starting a webcomic...we’ll see if anything comes of it. In the meantime, have fun looking around, and let me know if you have any suggestions as to how I can improve the look and layout of the site!

Finding Myself

People tell me all the time that they love the message I have for my voicemail. It says something along the lines of, "Hey, you've reached Alyssa's cell phone; sorry I missed your call. I'm not sure where I am right now, but if you leave me a message, I'll call you back just as soon as I've found myself."

If my voicemail was telling the truth, I would never call anyone back.

I've always thought the concept of "finding oneself" was rather corny. Recently, however...I feel that's exactly what I have been doing.

I made a monumental decision a few weeks ago. I decided that I am not going to grad school, at least not for quite awhile. Why, you ask? Simple—I don't want to. I also decided that I don't want to go into a career in counseling/social work/etc—if I did, I would no longer be able to give that rather significant part of myself to my friends in the way that I would like to do.

These decisions opened an entire slew of possibilities I hadn't really considered as options for my future before. It's exciting. (It's also terrifying, but for the moment I think it's a good kind of terror.) But this blog isn't really about all of those possibilities. I'll save that for another time. No...this is about what those decisions meant in terms of my identity.

I wrote last month that I was going through something of an identity crisis. While I have come to the aforementioned realizations and so made some progress in solving that crisis, I'm not all the way home yet. I've realized in the past couple of months that I'm really not sure who I am. I have been wrestling with myself a lot lately. For years I've kept up this front of self-confidence, this not-so-subtly aggressive "don't mess with me or I'll kick your ass" attitude. It's served me well—it's allowed me to be the independent woman that I'm striving to be. There's just one problem. A lot of days, a front is all it is. Behind that mask, I'm often terrified—terrified of life, of people, even of myself. Very few people will ever see behind my mask (and I think very few ever need to), but some days, I just have to let someone in. That happened last night. I let a friend see farther behind the mask than anyone else has seen in a very,

very

long time. It was awful and painful and beautifully liberating all at once, and it reminded me why it's so necessary to have just one person around whom I can be totally comfortable, and totally myself (even if I'm not always sure who I am). It helps that this particular friend and I have a lot in common. It makes me wonder if God sends us such friends because they help us to see ourselves more clearly.

So, what are some of the things that I have been discovering (or, in some cases, rediscovering) about myself?

• I love music. I love listening to music, I love playing music, I love writing music...music speaks to, through, and from my soul in ways that nothing else can.

• Bouncing off of that, I love to sing. I have the potential to have a decent voice, but I haven't used it. I'm trying to change that...even if I never get farther than my car.

• I love spending time with people. Large groups of people still make me want to hide in a corner, but hanging out with a friend or two is quite possibly the best way to spend an evening. Even if it just means sitting together and doing homework, I love being able to spend quality time with people.

• I also love being close to people. I love to cuddle. I've tried to tone that part of me down a lot in the past, which is fine around most people, but I can't just cut that off completely. (Extra happy points if closeness and quality time go hand in hand.)

• I have a very low tolerance for liars, cowards, and anyone who goes back on his or her word. (Yes, this sometimes means I have a very low tolerance for myself. I'm working on that.) I just have a very low tolerance for people who won't be real. Say what you mean, not what you think I want to hear. Don't beat around the bush. For example, if you're quoting something or talking about something and in the process you need to write out some sort of four-letter-word that may or may not be a normal part of your vocabulary, just write the damn thing out. Turning it into a string of asterisks is not going to keep you or anyone else from thinking whatever the word is (yes, this is my pet peeve of the week...). A more common example: if you have something you want to tell me, tell me. Don't worry about insulting me. Just say what you have to say and be done with it.

• In spite of the fact that I am and always will be a tomboy, I like being a girl. I like going out feeling sexy. I like turning heads. I have long neglected that part of me, and I plan to thoroughly indulge it now.

• I'm a flirt. I don't want to lead anyone on, but I love to tease people. I've said for a long time that sarcasm is my love language. (Please note that there is a difference between being a flirt and stringing people along. There is also a very, very big difference between being a flirt and being a whore. I try to be very careful about this.)

• I'm a fighter. This isn't a new discovery, but I wondered with everything else I was figuring out if this might go away. It's not. I'm rough around the edges, and I like it that way. I'm not unnecessarily violent, but I'm interested in learning how to effectively defend myself and others. It's something I already do instinctively; I want to know how to do it well.

• I love writing. I haven't been keeping that skill up very well, but I want to get back into it. I miss it.

• Sometimes, I like to swear. For now, that's just the way it's gonna be. I will be respectful and won't swear around those of you who are offended by it, but that doesn't mean I'm always going to censor myself.

• If I feel like I am being forced to do something, even if it's something I usually love, I will not enjoy it. This is why I will never look at photography or writing as career options.

I'm sure the list will continue to grow. (Mom and Dad, since I'm sure you'll read this at some point, I hope I didn't shock, offend, mortify, or otherwise confuse or frustrate you too much.)

I like hugs.

Actually, I love hugs. I'm not talking about awkward little pat on the back hugs. I mean real hugs. The hugs that make you feel totally loved and protected. Most of my friends will say that I give good hugs. There are a few people who think I hug too tight (which, in all reality, is probably a fair statement), but for the most part, people like my hugs. That's fine with me—I like giving them. I feel the same way about backrubs. I don't get them very often, but I love giving them (and apparently I'm good at giving them . . . so good I've actually put people to sleep.)

In the past couple of months I have been realizing more and more how important touch is to me. I've known and readily acknowledged for a long time that touch is how I most easily express love or concern for someone, but it wasn't until recently that I realized just how much of the world I experience through touch. When I go clothes shopping, I'll reach out and touch things that look like they have an interesting texture, usually without realizing that I'm doing it. When I'm walking just about anywhere I unconsciously position myself in such a way that I can almost always be within arm's length of something (or someone, if I'm with a friend). I am just a very touch-oriented person.

As I've been realizing all of this, I've also been realizing that this particular aspect of my personality is sometimes part of what causes me to struggle in my relationship with God. The friends that I feel most comfortable with (there may be one exception) are the ones that understand my need to be . . . close. I like to cuddle. Again, I love hugs. Just being close to people I care about is really important to me. So when it comes to having a relationship with a God who I know is personal, but who nonetheless is not a tactile presence . . . that's difficult for me. I wouldn't go so far as to say that God is intangible . . . He's just not a physical presence, someone who's right there to give me a hug or a shoulder to cry on when I need one.

The strange thing about all of this is that it never used to be an issue. Once upon a time, way back in the days of junior high when life just plain sucked and there was literally no one else who knew that I wasn't ok . . . back then, I really did feel like God was there, holding me. I know that might sound strange to a lot of people, but that's the way it was. Now, here I am, 20 instead of 12, and I feel like I've taken a baby step or two forward, fallen flat on my back, and slid off to someplace totally removed from where I started or where I was supposed to end up.

I don't think I have any conclusions for this blog . . . I've just been thinking a lot, and I have a sneaking suspicion if I stick this up on the internet I'll get some sort of feedback from those of you who are older and wiser.

Longing for Something More

It's only Wednesday, but this has already been a long week. I worked 32 hours in four days, went to class, did homework, helped my roommates rearrange the apartment, starting requesting information from grad schools, had a minimal social life . . . add to all of that not sleeping enough, probably not eating enough, and definitely not praying enough, and you'll get the picture of how much (or little) energy I have right now.

On top of my busy schedule this week, I've also found myself experiencing something of an identity crisis. It started more or less in conjunction with me requesting info from grad schools. As I've been looking at these different programs at different schools, I've become incredibly overwhelmed. I realized today that less than 16 months from now, I'll be graduating with my B.A. That's terrifying. It means that two years from now, if everything goes according to plan, I'll be starting my first semester of grad school. But that's the problem—I don't really know what the plan is anymore. I've always assumed that I would go to grad school. It seems like the natural course of action for me. But is it really what I want? More importantly, is it really what God is calling me to?

This current identity crisis definitely follows the theme of the past year or so. It's just one more item on the list of things that have gone wrong. A year ago, I was just beginning another battle with depression that threw me way off my game for the entire school year. The summer wasn't much better—sure, I finally had a job and was starting to make money, but I had next to no human interaction outside of work, and most of my contact with people there happens over the phone. It was definitely a lonely, miserable summer. I was hoping that once I got back to school, back with friends, that things would start looking up. And yet here I sit, still frustrated, still unhappy, still trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong.

Maybe I'm just afraid that this is as good as it's going to get. I want more . . . I want life. I'm finding myself slipping a little more every day, slowly but surely losing a battle I'm losing the will to fight. And do you know what the worst part is? I know what went wrong . . . and it's entirely my fault.

I grew up going to church. I was raised in a strongly evangelical Christian environment. I was super involved in youth group—my senior year of high school I was at church (or church events) at least four nights a week. And then graduation rolled around . . . and I started to realize that I didn't feel at home at church anymore. I stopped going. I kept telling myself that I would have plenty of opportunities to find a church once I got to Northwestern, so it was ok to take a little time off; I was burned out. Only once I got to Northwestern, I didn't take those opportunities. I made almost no effort to get involved in a new church. I left high school feeling bitter and angry toward the church that practically raised me. I had seen too much of the ugly side of church to have any real desire to go back. At first I thought I could get by; after all, I spent time praying with friends, I was taking Bible classes, and I was still keeping up my one-on-one time with God. But then the homework hit, and life got busy, and I made a pretty rapid decline into apathy.

So here I sit, two-and-a-half weeks into my third year of college, still drifting, still frustrated. The spiritual apathy that started taking over two years ago has started working its way into other areas of my life. I haven't been as dedicated to studying as I used to be. I haven't tried very hard to take care of myself. I've even found myself caring about people less. Every day I see people that I know I should be reaching out to . . . someone who needs a hug, a little encouragement, even just a smile . . . and I do nothing. And I hate it. I hate not caring. I'm not supposed to be that person.

I want something more. I want to live. I've just forgotten how.

It's weeks like this that make me particularly thankful that God is so faithful. I will never understand how or why He's still putting up with me . . . but I'm glad He is.

When Did This Happen?

Over the course of the past few months a realization has slowly been working its way into my brain. I managed to keep it at bay for quite a while, but I think it's time to face it . . . I'm growing up.

I don't really know how it happened. I suppose it's a result of a conglomeration of things . . . me asserting my independence more and more, turning twenty, getting a real job that actually pays a somewhat respectable salary, getting a new car that I'm actually paying off and plan to completely own by the time I graduate, passing the halfway point to getting my undergraduate degree, etc. I knew it was coming. I spent all of high school wanting this to happen. I've craved independence for years now. It's kind of exciting.

At the same time, I don't want to grow up. The thought of having full responsibility for my financial situation terrifies me. Responsibility in general is rather frightening. Knowing that I have to be out in the real world soon . . . yikes. Seriously. It finally started to hit me the other day that I only have three semesters left before I graduate with my B.A. in psychology. It's kind of bizarre.

Until recently, I was absolutely convinced that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Unfortunately, I've been thinking more and more about the future, and the more I think, the less certain I feel. I want to do so many things. I want to get my master's degree in social work, but I don't know if I really want to be a social worker. When I consider how angry I get when I deal with the kinds of situations I'd face in that line of work, I almost think I'd get myself into trouble. I love photography, but I've discovered that if I do it for someone else, it's just not that enjoyable anymore. I love to write, but I don't see myself turning that into a career, either.

Maybe I should just be a hermit.