blog thoughts

What I Learned From Skinning My Leg

I scrapped up my leg in my soccer game last Friday night. In the words of Maren, I “grated [my] cottage cheese.” It wasn’t a very pretty sight and it was my own fault for sliding on the turf. But guess what? We won. And we didn’t just barely beat Park City. We beat them 4-1. After losing to them earlier this season in a shootout, that was a much better outcome. I was happy for it. Despite the scrapped up leg. Winning makes me happy. And winning with my team, who has so uch fun playing they laugh the entire game, makes me even happier.

The greatest lessons I’ve learned in my life so far have left me bruised, scraped, and broken. At the time, it’s terrible. It hurts to shower, your shorts stick to the broken skin, and you probably get down on yourself for making the decision to hurt yourself in the first place.

But then, you are granted hindsight.

What a gift, right?

And with hindsight, I can see that the wound was because of my own hustle. And because of my own hustle, I felt good about the game I played and helped set my sister up for several goals. The scrape isn’t so bad anymore.
That’s why I wouldn’t take anything back.

I wouldn’t take back the relationships that left one of us bruised.

I wouldn’t take back the struggles in some of my college classes.

I wouldn’t take back the summer spent in Pennsylvania.

I wouldn’t take back the nights in high school I would walk around the block, waiting for the moon to set.

I wouldn’t take back the time I crashed my bike delivering newspapers in the snow, or the time I peed my pants camping because I refused to use the outhouse, or the lessons I learned about how me and Ambien don’t mix, or even the afternoon that I learned I didn’t make the Madrigals choir and was instead in women’s chorus. I LOVED women’s chorus.

When I sat the bench on the soccer team in high school, it just made me want to succeed in basketball more.

When I barely graduated with my bachelor’s, it made me want to graduate with honors for my master’s.

When I didn’t succeed like I’d imagined myself, it made me want to work on becoming a better person with the time I have right now to invest in ME.

That’s a long list and I know I got carried away, but do you think I’m right? Have you been bruised and it hurt at the time, but then, God gave you hindsight and you realized, if you ate more bananas, you wouldn’t bruise so easily?

Facebook Killed My Journal Skills

I have many, MANY journals… well, many UNIFINISHED journals. They’re sitting in my front room so they’re not exactly hidden under the bed. I used to care if anybody read them, but I don’t anymore. I suppose that years of peer critiques in English and tech writing classes has eradicated worrying about my writing not being good enough.

Or maybe now I am GOOD ENOUGH.

Nope. Must be why I’m fairly addicted to writing–because it’s hard.

Back to the journals: I don’t write in them anymore. I picked up the poetry journal in February and wrote in it, for the first time since November 2007. One of the thougts I wrote down:

you taught me how to smile
with my eyes
but the timing of the
lesson was all wrong

So is it good or bad poetry if you don’t really remember where the thought came from or where it’s going? Really, though, I want to know WHAT HAPPENED to my journal writing? Once upon a time, I was prolific.

A friend said that I blog now instead.

I don’t agree.

Blogging doesn’t even compare to my journal writing. I rarely share internal thoughts/struggles here. I can’t doodle. I don’t sketch maps of Virginia where I thought I’d base a historical novel. I rarely mention dating (protecting the innocent). No poetry. No spiritual experiences. And no strange, scribbled notes written when I was on Ambien. See? My blog doesn’t compare to the ol’ journals.

Here are my best guesses about what happened to my desire to scrawl thoughts in one of many different bound journals:

  1. All of the internal thoughts and struggles have faded away because now that I’m an adult with a mortgage/bills/titanium toe, life is EASY
  2. I gave up on my historical novel after I’d written 50 pages.
  3. I’m all out of poetry.
  4. When I can’t sleep at nights, I now get on Facebook (sigh).
  5. I have a TV with high def cable (sigh again).
  6. I have less time to dwell on my life (emphasis on dwell).
  7. I’ve lost all of my pens.
  8. I forgot how to write.
  9. I can’t read my handwriting so why record anything?
  10. I need to TRY and sleep at night so I’m not allowed to write in them.

Okay so after thinking so much about my journals, it makes me miss them. Every now and then, one of the entries would really be a gem. I should write again in search of those gems. No more Facebook. Gasp.

End of rambling.