roots, indefinitely

Today was the day that I was supposed to move to Boston. Boston had it's own category in my Google Calendar and I'd been planning on it for months:

August 30: Fly to Boston

August 31: Move in Day

September 1-5: Orientation

September 6: Classes begin

[Essentially: August 30, a new life begins]

It feels a bit strange to be approaching this day with an entirely new set of plans, and stranger still to feel so much contentment and joy in all of it. I expected a stronger desire to grieve the loss of this graduate school dream--a new city and open doors and every opportunity under the sun. I expected to feel suffocated by a closed door, fearful of my inability to freely pack up and change my life. But there is a strange freedom that comes from committing to put down roots. 

 

I grew up between two different homes, switching weekly, packing bags and visiting parents and whatnot. I guess I grew accustomed to movement. I thought it defined me. There may be some truth in that: I am an explorer, I am curious, I crave adventure. If I'm being honest, there is an element of escapism trapped in there. Constant movement means I never have to do the hard work of long-term relationships, vulnerability, depth, despite my desire for that type of connectedness. Of course, all of this is relative. I've been in San Diego for almost six years now and there is so much depth to my existence here. But something changes when you decide to make a place home. 

There is no threat of moving boxes or looming goodbyes. There is no need to self-protect, only the freedom to grow deeply here. To put roots into the earth (or, even better, the San Diego sand)--to nurture and learn and invest in difficult but beautiful things. And that is what this summer has been for me. An invitation to put down roots.  To make this my real life: not just college, not just my transition years, but my reality. There's a lot wrapped up in this new(ish) life.

It started with a little form required by the DMV. Change of permanent address. For the first time in my life, "permanent address" does not mean the place where my mom or my dad live. Home is San Diego, and the State of California knows it. For the first time in my life, everything is in one place. All of my clothes, all of my books, everything that makes my space mine. No more split time or doubles of everything. [This is a joy unique to a kid who had shared custody...and it's a beautiful, beautiful thing and I am celebrating.] I can hardly believe it: I am settling, in the best possible way. 

Beyond that, there are a billion little plans to make this place my home, and I am genuinely happy about all of them. Painted walls. Fire pits. The sharing of spare keys. Theodyssey. A new job. Hopes for intentional relationships that are edifying and encouraging and prayerful. Women Mondays. And on and on and on.  

Have you heard that common phrase, "I will go wherever the wind carries me." It sounds ever-so romantic, and once upon a time, my idealism would've clung to it. For now, though, the wind has calmed and roots are growing deep--indefinitely.  

[junior high diary] candy grams and valentine's day

"Monday, February 14, 2000: Happy Valentine's Day! I had the most fun in the snow. I had a snowboard lesson but I didn't like it and I think the teacher taught me the wrong thing. After lunch I rented skis and had a good time. I hope I get candy grams from other people than my friends (like maybe Justin.) I don't think he will though because I think he likes Heather. I don't like Heather. Once in my year book I said she was one of my best friends. YEAH RIGHT. She's to popular for me. I'm going to go waterskiing this weekend. It's going to be freezing. But I can't wait. For Valentine's Day my mom got me this bathing suit and I remembered that Kathleen had the same one (just bigger) and it made me sad. I miss her so much, I even started crying. I can't wait to see her. It will be so much fun. And I still need to give her her Christmas present. I miss her so much.

I only got 1 candy gram. It was from Nicole Frey. I was so disappointed because I wanted to get 1 from Justin. He is so cute! When I got to the Growing Room, Chris told me she got a candy gram from Gianni (who she likes, and he likes her) that said, "I like you." Isn't that so cute? I think it is. But ther they're only 5th graders. I mean, shouldn't I have a boyfriend before them? But I'm happy for them"

In February of 2000, I was eleven years old (actually, eleven and a half, which I'm sure I made a point to explain to anybody willing to listen...They needed an explanation as to why I was so much more mature than the average eleven year old). I'm not quite sure what the "healthy" age for crush/relationship development is, but I know that that desire was alive and well in me by 2000. Eleven years of marketing and Disney fairy tales had instilled within me an awareness of the importance of Valentine's Day, as well as a few unrealistic expectations. Sure, Justin Jones wasn't my friend, but that could all be a hoax--a complex and dramatic scheme to surprise me with an abundance of Candy Grams come 5th period. He would surprise me with his sensitivity and thoughtfulness, we would fall in love and live happily ever after. (This might explain why I don't like surprises: they only lead to disappointment. Thanks, Justin. Thanks a lot.)

Of course, there was Heather Miller. She'll reappear in many journal entries over the next year. She was the popular girl at school, way more popular than I could ever dream of being. Plus, she was blonde when being blonde decided everything. Let's be honest about that yearbook situation: wishful thinking. Maybe I thought that I could will it to be true, if I wrote it in pen. There's really no way of knowing that thought process, but Heather was never my best friend. In fact, she was the enemy of my love life, the biggest obstacle in my path to true love with JJ. More on that later.

Turns out I only got one sad and lonely Candy Gram. I should've been grateful, but I was eleven and insecure and banking on Candy Grams as the only way to find love in my life. Plus, you might remember Nicole Frey from a previous journal entry; she's the same friend who I worked on science fair projects with. Sure, she was actually a great and loving friend, but not the ideal person to spend Valentine's Day with when you're hoping for Justin Jones (hey, did I mention that he's cute? Oh ya. Ya, I did. EVERY TIME I WROTE HIS NAME).

Then there's he Growing Room. The Growing Room was the daycare that I went to until I was twelve. Yes, twelve years old. Far too old for daycare, older than any other student in the history of the center, older even than their rules technically allowed. I blamed a lot of my relational problems on this place and it was one of my main insecurities. It'll reappear many more times.

Chris and Gianni went to The Growing Room too, but of course, that was acceptable because they were still 5th graders. Fifth graders are so young and stupid about the workings of love--what do they know about Candy Grams? Me, the sixth grader, knew so much more. I deserved one. I deserved love. Unhealthy sense of entitlement much? I would've been happier for them if I hadn't been so insanely jealous. I must've acknowledged that later, when I added in a new pen color: But I'm happy for them. Just in case somebody accessed my journal, they needed to know that I was still nice enough to be excited for new love.

Relationally frustrated, "nice," shallow and surprisingly insecure. That about sums up Junior High for me.

The Growing Room (A Preview of the Next Entry): "I think 1 of the reasons Justin doesn't like me is because I go to the Growing Room and Heather doesn't. I can tell so much that he totally flirts with Heather."

"All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is..."

Aleksandar Hemon//The Lazarus Project 

[junior high diary] important updates

**address and phone numbers blocked out for safety reasons

"Kathleen moved. Her new address is 2140 Kingsbridge Way. Her phone # is 805-38x-xxxx and her pager is 805-38x-xxxx. I miss her so much! I can't wait until tomorrow! I am so excited about snowboarding. Justin Jones is so cute! and smart and nice. I love frozen waffles! They are so good. Today I got Winnie the Pooh Valentines and glued 2 chocolate <3s 2 each 1. It's so cute! (& tasty)."

For the sake of those anxiously awaiting this blog (Joe...), I will comment only on the necessities.

1. Kathleen was my best friend. Lest you think that I wrote her entire address, phone number and pager (A pager?! Why she had a pager, I have no idea...) simply for my own records, let me give you some insight into me. Twelve-year-old Kara had this weird obsession with people knowing how smart she was, even if it was simply my ability to memorize my best friend's contact information. 
2. Kathleen moved to Southern California right before sixth grade. I was devastated. I lost my best friend, my walk-to-school buddy, and the only person who didn't mock my frozen waffle habit. I missed her so much that I even underlined it in a different color and kept my ADD at bay for a whole 6 lines!
3. Of course, the rest of this entry is dedicated to very important updates. Yes, I loved frozen waffles. Not just Eggos that we heated up, but literally, frozen waffles. I'd take them straight from the freezer and eat 2 or 3 while watching my daily dose of Boy Meets World. I stand by twelve-year-old me's assessment: they are so good. 
4. Lastly, Winnie the Pooh Valentines. Further evidence of my Winnie the Pooh Problem, which will resurface regularly over the next two years. So cute. So tasty. 

[junior high diary] why justin jones is great

**Disclaimer: 

Dear Justin Jones, If you are reading this, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I hope you are flattered, not scared. Really, this was 11.5 years ago. Please know that I've moved on. Or have I? Love always, Kara

"I still like Justin, he's so cute!!!! He's also very smart. He got on Gold Honor Roll, just like me. I have an open book test in Social Studies tomorrow. I didn't study. I also have a science test on Wednesday. I hope I do good. Yesterday I went to Nicoles house and worked on a science project. In art I am drawing a puppy. He is so cute! On Saturday, I am going snowboarding for the first time! I'm so excited! I hope I don't hurt myself or fall (to many times). I skipped my piano lesson today because I hadn't practiced at all. Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate the group corn (I know thats not how you spell it) and I love Blink 182. I want the C.D.!"

My junior high diary epitomized life as an 11 year old girl and affirmed every stereotype you can think of. Nearly every single entry follows an easy-to-use format.

1.  Begin with important updates: Don't worry, world: Justin is still cute.
2. Clarify to avoid confusion; add self-affirmations if necessary: I'm not only interested in his good looks. He's smart. As smart as me, and we all know how smart I am. Things could definitely work with him. Plus, the presence of Mr. Popular on the Gold Honor Roll lends credibility to my 4.0 GPA.
3. Discuss highlights (and concerns) of next few days: My brother always told me that I had book smarts, not street smarts. It was important for me to maintain this reputation. If I was going to stay on the Gold Honor Roll, I needed to excel in everything, from Social Studies to Science (twice), to art. Somehow, snowboarding got thrown in, too. And piano lessons.
4. Use incorrect grammar, change pens frequently, practice penmanship: Forget apostrophes or the proper uses of "good" and well." English wasn't my thing. I was a science girl (yes, I competed annually in the science fair. See below.) Handwriting didn't much matter, either (though, I must admit, I thought mine was the best.) Pen changes indicate an editing process. Typically, I would read my wise words at a later date and realize that my writing was incomplete, which, conveniently, allowed me to give myself grace.
• Ex: I had an open book test in Social Studies. The addition of "I didn't study" indicates that I probably didn't "do good," but it's okay, because I've given myself an excuse. 
5. Follow up on important points. Use exclamation points for emphasis: "Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It was worth noting again.
6.  Disclose dorky information about self: This entire journal entry speaks for itself.
7. Leave the audience with something thought provoking. Make a statement: If there was one thing that I hated in junior high, it was the band Korn. Mostly they scared me. I protested their music in the only way I knew how: misspelling their name (a powerful and effective tool). But, to end on a good note, I loved Blink 182. The evidence? My first screen name: wtpoohntiggertoo182 (Yes, Winnie the Pooh and Tigger Too, 182).
8. Use pencil as a protective measure: I had this habit of writing about the boys I liked in pencil. Just in case somebody gained entry into my house, found my journal in its hiding space and broke open the lock, I needed to be ready, at any moment, to erase the evidence of my crushes. Despite being completely illogical, pencil gave me that security.

In summary:

Number of Exclamations Used: 31

Number of Exclamations Used in Reference to Justin Jones: 28

Science Fair, 2000. 

Important Updates (A Preview of the Next Entry): "Justin Jones is so cute! and smart and nice. I love frozen waffles! They are so good."

snails (my experience with running)

Let me start by saying this:

I AM NOT A RUNNER.

Far from it, in fact. Ask anybody, really. I used to laugh (scoff, even) when people would ask me to join them on a run. Me? Run? I'll pass. And that's the way it's always been. You can imagine my surprise when I found myself, with no external pressure or prompting, clicking "submit" on the registration form for a HALF-MARATHON. Yes, that's 13.1 miles. Of running.

There are moments when I realize just how amazing the human body is. How resilient, how strong. My legs were designed for movement; my heart was designed for rhythmic beating, even-paced and purposeful.  When my anxiety began, everything was out of whack. My heart beat was inconsistent, beating too fast, too hard--shaking my entire body, even in the stillness of my seat.

I was given a piece of advice: run. 

Run for your mental endurance. Run for endorphins. Run to get out of your head. 

Run to remind your body of its purpose.

Your body should not respond so aggressively to irrational fears. 

That physical response, that elevated heart rate, that shortness of breathe, that intense exhaustion:

it should only come from feet on pavement, from movement, from pushing your physical body to its physical limits. 

So run.

It's taken me too long to understand the beauty of a healthy body, working as it was intended.  My body hardly feels resilient or strong. But I know it is working. My crooked knees still ache, my feet overextend. I'm slow and I'm always thirsty. I complain too much and have a billion excuses as to why I couldn't run 7.2 miles today. But my body is responding to its physical purpose. My heart knows why it beats so hard, my muscles know the meaning of movement. 

So I run. At a snail's pace, I run. 

And my body and soul thank me for it. 

Even as a snail, I'm going to kick that half-marathon's butt.

[junior high diary] elliott brown and frankenstein

This is the first entry of the new section of my blog "Kara Goes to Junior High." It documents my junior high years with actual pages from my junior high diary. Welcome and enjoy.

"A lot has happened. I stopped liking Elliott Brown because he looks like frankinstein. I liked Sean McFaul but My Friend Brooke Kirby fell for him at they've been acting like there going to get married, so now I like Elliott again.

I passed fourth grade. I'm going in to 5th. I hope I Get Mrs. Harrison. she seems nice. there are only 48 more days untill my birthday. I even made a chain. "

This is how I start the update on my life. Ridiculous. Somehow, not surprising at all.
I don't quite know where to begin. My priorities? My handwriting? The fluid movement of my thoughts? My embarrassing grasp (or lack thereof) of the English language? Spelling? Capitalization? Granted, I knew enough to pass the fourth grade. We should definitely celebrate that great feat. And I was learning all sorts of heart-lessons. Lessons on popularity and love, the theme of almost every entry of this journal.

Sean McFaul was pretty popular. He was kind of a bad boy. The quintessential would-be party guy. You'll soon find out that I was not. Thankfully, fourth grade was before the popularity hierarchy was fully established and before I realized just how dorky I was. Unfortunately, I'd already started dreaming about my prince charming. He wore Stussi t-shirts and had bleach blond tips. Elliott Brown didn't quite make the cut. (Or did he? When things don't work out with Mr. Popular, I guess the average 10 year old girl is more than okay with settling for Frankenstein? Yes, these are my first ideas about the dating world. I started with unhealthy ideas to deconstruct. Lucky me.) Elliott Brown was the first in a long line of crushes and unrequited love. You'll soon see--there will be much more on that later.

Personally, my favorite part is the birthday chain. Apparently there aren't too many differences between 1998-Kara and 2011-Kara: thirteen years later, I still love birthdays. Convenient because there are only 3 more days untill my birthday. No chain necessary.




Why Justin Jones is So Great (A Preview of the Next Entry): "I skipped my piano lesson today because I hadn't practiced at all. Justin Jones is so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

anam cara, my soul friend

I told myself that tonight was reserved for one episode of Arrested Development, writing one little letter, and sleeping early to get myself back to being rested and happy. But then I got to thinkin' about souls and friends and this crazy little concept of anam cara, a soul friend.

"In the Celtic tradition, there is a beautiful understanding of love and friendship...the old Gaelic term for this is anam cara. Anam is the Gaelic word for soul and cara is the word for friend: "soul friend." With the anam cara you could share your inner-most self, your mind and your heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging, a joining in an ancient and eternal way with the "friend of your soul." In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension. The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are. The anam cara is God's gift."

Anam Cara, A Book of Celtic Wisdom//John O'Donohue

[Before continuing, I feel the need to share my joy that cara is pronounced Kara, which, yes, is my name. How sweet is that??]

The theory says that everybody has an anam cara, but not everybody knows it. My thought is that, regardless of haves or have nots, everybody needs a friend to their soul.

We throw around the term soulmate too easily--this is more than that. It's more, even, than a best friend. This is more than a list of things in common or shared music taste and it goes far beyond girl talk. This is a person who knows you at the deepest levels, who challenges you, disagrees with you, forces you to see a new and better perspective. She can debate you in politics or talk theology for hours. She can predict what you'll say, how you'll respond and she knows the meaning behind every facial expression. She knows the challenges you face, your moments of selfishness, your short-sightedness. She knows the fears that keep you from action, the things that keep you from loving freely. She can sense your anxiety and she can speak truth into it, only because she is trusted with your story. And she knows more stories than most: she knows the responsibility of holding your joys and your heartaches. She prays with you and for you; there is a humility, a deep gratitude and a mutuality to this relationship.
You attempt the same for her.

And there is so much laughter. So many moments that would be embarrassing if there was a fly on the wall. So much quirkiness, so much ridiculousness. So many sleepovers. This friend, this anam cara, is a treasure.

I am so lucky to have found mine.





I'm reminded on nights like tonight...
after detailed accounts of our days and descriptions of every person and place
after encouraging text messages and calming phone conversations
after reminiscing through pictures and talking in circles about the fears in my heart
after sharing wisdom and reflecting on the parallels of our lives
after cursing the 1,615 miles between San Diego and Omaha
...what a gift it is to have a soul friend.

A soul friend and an internet connection. I'm forever grateful.

*I'm no expert on this whole soul friend thing, but I'm reserving the right to add one more soul friend into my life at some point. Not just anybody--he'll have to come with a ring and some pretty serious vows. I'll choose wisely.