“I Said Yes!”

“I said yes!” The all-too familiar phrase flashes across my screen. My first reaction is joyful surprise at another of my friends accepting a marriage proposal. My second reaction, almost simultaneous with the first, is a pang of grief. My friend enters a new stage of life, never to be the same again. I am losing part of her.

Perhaps I feel some jealousy when a couple gets engaged; I would love to be married someday. But not yet. I am called to a different destiny for the time being. What I do feel is a form of nostalgia for the girl I used to know – the one whom I’d stay up late with, talking about our dreams, our insecurities, our sexual frustration. No longer would we share the kinship singlehood provided. She has found her calling to be a wife, and I do not wish her to neglect that calling. It is as it should be, but it still hurts.

The challenge of saying yes to something is sometimes it requires saying goodbye to something else. We will not cease our friendship simply because she is getting married. In fact perhaps our friendship may take on a deeper meaning because she is following her calling, becoming more the person she is meant to be. But our friendship as I once knew it will be no more. Something has shifted, grown, evolved.

The woman I described above is not just one friend, but multiple of my friends who have evolved, one by one, to meet their calling. I, like Jo in Little Women, question “Why does everyone have to go off and get married? Why can’t things stay the way they are?” But just as I would not wish children to remain children (when they are meant to become adults), so would I not wish for my friends to remain single when they are meant to be married.

Strangely enough, the engaged women I see on my social media feed are often people I have lost touch with. I have longed to connect with them, but our paths have taken different turns over the years, and the closeness I once felt with them is but a memory. I cherish those memories, I grieve them, I hold them close to me. Most of them may not even know how deeply I valued our connection, however short a time we had it. Through life changes, our individual communities changed, and it was no longer practical to share the same closeness we once did. Oh, but I miss that closeness.

As I say goodbye to the parts of these women I once knew, I find myself saying yes to something else on the horizon. Not a marriage proposal per say, but a calling nonetheless. A deep stirring within my spirit, beckoning me to move. I will not neglect this calling, much like my friends will not neglect their calling to marriage. My soul whispers, “It is time.” And I am ready.

The Irish Harp

Summer 2012

It was my dream to play a harp in Ireland. I had spent years learning how to play the Irish harp, but only in America. Now that I was in Ireland, I thought it would be fun to play a “real” Irish harp. To my surprise, it was more difficult to find a harp to play than I thought it would be. I explored the streets of Dublin, but I never found the harp store. I visited a music store in Limerick, but all they had were ornamental harps, having no more than 4-10 strings. I became discouraged, but I did not give up hope. I knew I would have one more chance to find a harp during the evening of music at Newport.

When we arrived at the school house which held the event, I stepped inside and eagerly scanned the room. I saw a multitude of children playing violins, accordions, whistles, and drums. Then it caught my eye. Standing off-center in the midst of the children’s ensemble was the instrument I had been looking for: the Irish harp. My body shook, partly from the chilly air and partly out of excitement. I desperately hoped for an opportunity to play before the night ended, but I was nervous too. What would everyone think of me, an American, playing Irish music on an Irish instrument? I hoped that I would do it justice.

When my name was called and I was asked if I wanted to play the harp, I nodded eagerly. Rising from my seat, I stepped toward the front of the room, where the harper from the ensemble set the instrument next to an empty chair. I sat down to get familiar with the harp while Denis Carey introduced the piece I was about to play, which was an original composition of his. I am glad he did the talking; I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to, my voice being scratchy from my cold. While he spoke, I ran my fingers over the strings, feeling the sound. The tuning was slightly different from what I was used to, so I decided it would be easier to transpose the piece from its original key to the harp’s current tuning so I wouldn’t have to change it. The harp itself stood probably less than 4 1/2 feet tall –– shorter than my harp back home. It rested just beneath my right shoulder as I stretched my arms over the soundboard, ready to play. In a matter of seconds, the introduction was over; it was time to play.

I began to play the first chords of a sad, sweet farewell tune, and the magic melody resonated off the soundboard, reminding me of my harp back home. My fingers glided over the unfamiliar strings –– rougher than nylon, but smoother than gut –– I’m not sure what they were made of, but I enjoyed their timbre. In those few moments, my nervousness, the cold, and the people listening all disappeared as I became absorbed in playing. In those moments, nothing existed but the music and me. I played a few wrong notes, which I hoped I covered up smoothly enough, but it almost didn’t matter. The harp was playing itself, and I was along for an enchanting ride.

As the notes of the final chord drifted away into the air, the room erupted with applause. I stood, smiling, and began to walk back to my seat. I received several compliments on my playing from people on the way, but there was no greater compliment than the praise from the composer himself, Denis Carey. I hoped he hadn’t noticed the wrong notes I had struck, and he didn’t appear to. His smile was almost as wide as mine as he told me how much he enjoyed my playing.

I sank back into my seat, filled with a joy deeper than words. My dream had come true.

My Letter to Robin Williams

Dear Mr. Williams,

I remember being a little girl and watching some special behind the scenes footage for Aladdin. I saw you talking into a microphone and thought, “He sounds like the Genie!” and then I realized, “He is the Genie!” My young mind was still having trouble grasping the magic of voice-overs, because indeed it was like magic.

After the invention of YouTube, I would look up videos of your shows, interviews, etc. Although I confess I haven’t seen all of your movies, you were one of the few comedians who could give me a good laugh. Not the occasional groan or quiet chuckle, but the stomach hurting, almost-pee-my-pants kind of laugh. But I would have to say that one of my favorite interviews to watch was Inside the Actors’ Studio with James Lipton. You weren’t focusing on the promotion of one specific movie or show, you were just talking about life. And I liked that.

When I found out that you would be performing in Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, I was really hoping I would get a chance to see you perform live, since I hadn’t had that experience before. But I wasn’t able to. Still, you were one of the few celebrities whose hand I wanted to shake, to say thank you for your amazing contributions to the world of acting and of comedy.

Because I don’t generally follow celebrities very closely, most of what I knew of you was whatever I would see in the headlines or read on Wikipedia. I’m not going to pretend to understand your struggles, because I don’t. But I do know that you had a certain genuineness about you that allowed people to look past those struggles to see the warmth in your smile and in your heart.

I’m not trying to idolize you, but I am trying to say that you brought a lot of joy and laughter to people’s lives. You have definitely enriched my life, and for that I cannot thank you enough. I wish I could have met you, but I hope one day I can give you a big hug in heaven.

Sincerely,
Katherine

Phones and Fireworks

The temperature was perfect that night, but I had forgotten how cool it was with so many bodies pressed up against me. There really is no such thing as personal space in a crowd. How anyone was enjoying themselves and the loud music, I have no idea.

The scene I mentioned above was not of a club, but of downtown Nashville on the 4th of July. Some friends and I braved the thousands of bodies to get a good view of the fireworks show. One person in our group said, “I would love to get on that rooftop over there,” and he indicated a bar nearby with a rooftop patio, where the crowd was less dense. I readily agreed, and we snaked our way to the door, where we had to wait in line.

Somehow we managed to get in, and finally I felt like I could shift my weight comfortably without the fear of being accused of copping a feel of whoever was closest to me. It was still crowded on the roof, but much less stressful.

Eventually the orchestra played their first notes, and sparks flew into the air. Right in the middle of our view was a pole flying the American flag, which was really neat, because, America! (or as the more obnoxious people put it, U S A! U S A!)

I couldn’t help smiling in excitement at the colorful explosions that showered us with ash and drowned out almost any other sound. As I enjoyed the display, I noticed people pulling out their phones and taking pictures of both the fireworks and the flag. It saddened me a little, as I saw the phone of the man in front of me, because the pictures it took were dark and grainy, nothing like the grandeur of the real thing.

I wondered, why are people diminishing this experience by viewing it through a camera lens? Surely the technology with which they are capturing this moment doesn’t compare to being able to see it with their own eyes?

I get that people want a token of that memory, something to look back on, something to show their friends. But in my opinion, sometimes people are so caught up in capturing a memory that they forget to create a memory. So what if you can’t show a grainy picture to your friends later? You still had the experience, and can relish the memory. And sometimes memories that you can’t share with people are more special than the ones you can.

I’m not against taking pictures – I take pictures. But many times I would rather just get lost in the moment, and enjoy the here and now before it slips away.

Things I Love: Quiet Time

I stepped outside onto the porch to sit and spin some yarn, and I was surprised with the silence that greeted me. After having spent months in an urban area, getting away to the middle of nowhere for a few days has been a refreshing change of pace.

All that lay before my eyes was a scene of green, with the grass and the trees reaching up to the overcast sky. Sometimes the sun peeked through, but then a gust of wind would cover it up again with clouds. It was the perfect temperature to sit and spin.

As I watched a blue jay and a woodpecker explore the nearby bird feeders, my mind wandered far away to more pressing issues on my mind. I allowed myself to reminisce about the past year, and thought about both happy and sad memories. I didn’t come up with any new conclusions, no solutions to the world’s problems, but it was peaceful. And the more peaceful one can be, I think the more enriched that person’s life is.

Why I Don’t Have A Best Friend

When I was a little, one of my friends told me, “I have friends, and I have best friends. You are in my best friends group.”

In a later conversation with my mom, we talked about the meaning of friendship. Those days people were lumping everybody into the category of “friend,” even if they weren’t close with those people. People would call others “friends” who were really acquaintances or people they may be friendly with, and they would call their true friends their “best friends.”

Since I was home schooled, I was lucky to form any relationship I could with people my age. I valued anybody I came into contact with. There was really no point to categorizing people I knew into “friends” and “best friends” when really I meant “acquaintances” and “friends.” So I decided that I didn’t want to have, nor did I want to be a “best friend,” I wanted a true friend.

I guess a true friend is much like what people call a best friend. I view a true friend as being someone who is there for you when you need her, willing to help you out when you’re in trouble, and wanting to spend time with you just because.

Now that I’m in college, I still don’t consider myself as having a “best friend.” A best friend to me sounds exclusive, like you can only have a certain number of best friends. But I do have true friends. Sure, I use the word “friend” lightly at times, perhaps if I am referring to people I am friendly with, or people who could be potential true friends if my relationship with them were to grow. But my true friends are the people I know I can count on.

It’s my goal to not only have true friends, but I also want to be a true friend. I am not perfect, but if you are my friend, I want to be there for you if you need me. Sometimes scheduling in the midst of college can be tough, but I will make a way to be there. I can listen if you need to talk. And I’ll do what I can to help if you need help. If you don’t need help, let’s just hang out and eat food sometime, but please excuse my sarcastic sense of humor. That comes with my friendship.

Summer Adventures: Don’t Drown!

I didn’t think of myself as much of a control freak until I stepped into water.

Yes, it’s true. I didn’t learn how to swim when I was younger. And people are shocked when I tell them that. But I decided it was time to change that. It was time I learn how to prolong my life for another five minutes in case I was stuck in deep water, since that’s a pretty useful skill.

I went to my friends’ house a couple times, where I learned in their four-foot deep pool how to doggy paddle and float on my back.

And it was awesome.

The hardest part for me was being able to relax. I felt a need to keep my head completely above water and my feet on the ground; otherwise I felt like I lost control. But when you’re swimming you have to give up control. You have to trust the water to carry your body, and you have to trust yourself to stay afloat.

My friend Joanie told me repeatedly, “You need to relax. Once you can relax, everything will become so much easier.” And it did. And it felt amazing. Yes, I felt out of control. But being able to accept that I wasn’t in complete control helped me to enjoy the experience more. Now I can’t wait to get back in the pool and learn more!

Relax. Enjoy life.

Summer Adventures: Zip Lining

I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this many bruises on my legs, but it was worth it.

Recently I went zip-lining with some new friends made this summer, and it was awesome. That combined with the rock wall, vertical playpen, and flying squirrel swing was enough to get me pretty beaten up, but it was a great workout and a great rush of adrenaline.

One of the things I loved about an activity course like that was the people who helped me through it. I’m talking mainly about the workers who held the end of the rope so I wouldn’t fall while I was climbing. And the people who encouraged me to make it to the top of the wall/course. Sometimes all it took was a single person telling me, “You can do it!” to motivate me (or maybe even, “I bet you can’t do it!” in which case I was determined to prove them wrong). Something about encouragement while climbing is more instantly gratifying to me than in other situations.

Of course, there was nothing like concluding the day with my final ride on the zip line. I was tired, I was sweaty, and I got to just sit back and relax as I flew through the air.

Summer Adventures: Hiking

Trees are good at keeping secrets. The ones in this forest have years of experience, and years of memories, especially the ones with carvings of people’s initials to mark a special sweetheart spot.

Well, my friend and I aren’t sweethearts, but suffice it to say we are more or less co-adventurers for the summer. She and I went hiking in the Brandywine Creek State Park, where the woods provided a private haven and time stood still. We walked along about a 2-mile long trail, which wound up, down, around, and everywhere through the woods. Rocky, muddy, hilly, smooth. The trail led us next to the creek, where we stopped to eat a picnic lunch. We sat on a huge boulder on the water’s edge, shaded by a canopy of leaves. For a long time we sat in silence, allowing the current of the water to carry our minds away from everyday life.

Something about the shelter of the trees made it feel okay to talk about whatever we wanted. Okay, so maybe we didn’t solve the world’s problems, but we did talk about why we enjoyed certain books. And we talked about various happenings at a faraway place called school. And we talked about things that confuse us about life, things that make us happy, and things that hurt. Things that maybe we don’t talk about on a daily basis, but things that make an adventure all the more memorable.

And then of course after the hike we ate ice cream, because what adventure is complete without ice cream?

Summer Adventures: City Boardwalk

I didn’t know water could dance until I went to Atlantic City. The Pier Mall has a water fountain that leaps and lights up to music – a show that lasts not even 10 minutes but it runs every hour. And it’s free.

(image from nj.com)

A lot of times my most favorite adventures involve free stuff. I loved walking along the boardwalk that night – watching a light show, talking to strangers, and stepping out onto the beach to howl at the moon shining down on the water. Because sometimes the adventures that don’t cost a lot of money can be the richest experiences of all.