shouts of joy

It's easier to look back right now. I look back and see an open door full of opportunity, sorta like the one I see right now. But looking back it was easier then. The view isn't full of overwhelm, but it looks more like freedom. It was a beautiful frame of broken pieces being liberated. She didn't know that then. But now, looking back ... that was easy ... easier than what's ahead. People tell me that my anxiety about the future beyond next week is related to maturity, "When you're my age you'll see it differently." "It changes when you turn 30." "Don't worry, it gets better." (what?) Okay, so if you're right, if it is maturity, what am I suppose to do for the next four years? And shouldn't their be some kind of progress? And why does the idea of anything beyond the next couple of weeks make me want to run far away toward solace? If it is maturity, wouldn't you expect to see some "maturing" from age ...

It's an overcast day in the Inland Empire. I'm drinking coffee at a local shop and beginning my work on finals for my last quarter. I'll be graduating in June as Kristina R. Rhuman M.A. As I use this weather to do what it calls me to do - contemplate - my arms are sore as I type from the spin class I went to this morning, strange it's my arms and not my legs. I excepted to see my friends, but saw no familiar faces. But it didn't bother me much, because I know those faces aren't far away. If I call they will come. And that is more than enough. I've lived here in the IE for 9 months now. My skin is sun-tinted and my freckles are loud. My hair is longer and sun bleached from the days spent at the beach. When I think about turning 26 next month I feel determined and scared. Even worse is my thoughts on June, where will I go when my student loans are no longer deferred and Cambodia calls me to come home.The past 9 months have gone by too fast. I'd like 10 ...

I'm afraid of losing a good thing, until I remember the days before. I forget that nothing was ever mine and each good thing truly is a big present wrapped up with ribbons and attached to it a note that says, "I love you, my daughter." I too often, take for granted those gifts. With each step along this journey there have been gifts, some small, some huge, and some I misinterpret all together.  Today, in this commonly warm inland empire it rained under dark, heavy clouds, drawing me back to my Western Oregon root. This week I'll be leaving this sunny state, where I've received blessing after blessing with my hands wide open, desperately reaching out. I hadn't expected so many good things at one time. I hadn't expected that it would become commonplace here in this big sunny state. The last thing I had expected was to fall in love with this smoggy, crowded, hot hell of a place. Love is a thing for the strong. Macrina Wiederkehr writes: Giving yo...