Beach Houses

I had a strong desire to take a walk tonight, to be alone for a while, to enjoy the brisk air, and to get lost in thought. So I threw on a pair of baggy sweatpants and an extra large Texas Longhorn's sweatshirt and left my house through the back door.

As I walked along the quiet board walk taking in all the smells, sights, and sounds of summer I was brought back to four weeks from four separate, yet unforgettable, summers.

These four weeks are significant on their own but hold so much in common. Four weeks spent at a beach house in Newport Beach. Four weeks with 6 kids to one bedroom (and one where we slept on the floor in the living room). Four weeks spent with my second family and my parents best friends. Four weeks of laughter, tears, arguments, and memories.

The smell of bonfires, sea salt, cigars, and sunscreen...

The sight of four girls standing on a cement wall, the sun setting behind the clouds, people riding by on bikes, and young boys running after screaming girls...

The sounds of waves crashing, middle aged men slurring their words, children laughing, and music blaring from beach front houses...

...brought me back to...

1. The summer Amanda and I had a theme for every day of the week, where I was saved by not only 1 but 2 lifeguards for reasons unclear to me, where we shopped for jr. high school uniforms at fashion valley, acted like bums on the boardwalk, and consumed ravens revenge like cocaine addicts.

2. The summer we settled for a 2 room condo for 10 people, where my sister froze all my underwear, Amanda gave everyone a nickname, and my dad explained the history of the F word to me on our way to get coffee.

3. The summer that I was kissed for the first time by the boy who would later say "I love you, Taylor" while lying next to me on my driveway the night after I had my wisdom teeth pulled, and fell asleep holding his hand while watching Night at the Roxbury.

4. The last summer... the summer we called it quits. The summer our families grew apart and retired our tradition. The summer I have a hard time remembering.

I rounded the parking lot down by the jetty with a smile on my face staring at the families making s'mores, playing volleyball, and packing up for the night. I thought about my own family and how different our summers are now. My sister is reveling in new found freedom, one brother is off in the bay area, while the other is still living at home, and my parents hardly have a summer at all.

I am, well... I am reliving those four summers but without the 9 people who made them complete. I am reliving those four summers with different people who make this summer complete in an entirely new way.

There is love, hours spent at the beach, movies watched, games played, alcohol consumed, and memories made but on an entirely different level.

Those four summers are no better or worse than this summer, they are simply different.

I hadn't missed home until tonight. And although I miss home, my family, and those summers, I am glad I have the present to remind me of the past.

Balboa Park

It's all becoming so normal... spending my days at work with 36 children under the age of 8 and my nights surrounded by men and women no younger than 65. It's wonderful really, absolutely wonderful.

I'm beginning to see how innocent and charming the very young and the very old truly are. Neither are self conscious, aware of their surroundings, or phased by their appearances. They just simply ARE. They are alive. They are happy. They are in the moment. They do what they want and exactly what they feel. They are passionate and loving.

From hugs to handshakes, from jumping to dancing, from tears to smiles... The very young and the very old intrigue me beyond belief every single day.

But today, today was especially wonderful.

Alleeza colored a Disney Princess picture last night and gave it to me today.

Kloe wrapped her arms around my neck countless times and refused to let go.

Nino ran around me in circles giggling.

And Daniella held my hand every chance she got.

Luke remembered my name.

Alex finally let me help her flip upside down.

Addy wanted me hold her.

And Elle asked in excitement "We get to be with you today?!"

But more wonderful than these moments was a particular couple dressed head to toe in matching outfits - matching hats, shirts, pants, shoes, belts, watches, superman buttons, and members only jackets. The two danced under the sun to Neil Diamond songs performed by a less than average cover band preforming in Balboa Park.

Initially my attention was drawn to a hobo dancing wildly by himself who unknowingly was causing all the children in the audience to point and laugh. I, too, was thoroughly entertained and even videotaped him for a good 30 seconds before I saw this couple. At first I giggled and wondered where they had been that called for matching outfits, but then I was fascinated. Love was clearly emanating from this duo. They were all smiles and danced slowly, only stopping when a song ended, but started right back up once the next one began. I watched them for an hour. Smiling to myself and taking picture after picture after picture.

They are absolutely beautiful in their old age.

They are alive. They are happy. They are in the moment.

They are doing what they want and exactly what they feel.

I was so excited after watching these two that I went up and spoke to them after the concert. I giddily spurted out "Umm hi! I umm was watching you guys dance and I think you are the cutest thing ever! I just had to come and say hello!"

They both beamed at me and explained their love for dancing.

This couple attends outside concerts regularly just to dance. In fact, they don't really enjoy Neil Diamond at all but "thought they'd give it a try." They told me that they live to dance, specializing in Ballroom - especially Swing. She moved from Chicago when she was 13 and he from London at 16. They met at an outdoor roller rink in Los Angeles and have been dancing for over 30 years.

Before we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways he encouraged me to take up dancing and gave me the names the multiple places where I could take lessons as well as the times and dates of other free outdoor summer concert venues. (As we speak I am looking into both.)

I certainly hope I see him again next week when Cool Fever plays 50s, 60s, & 70s music Wednesday night in Balboa Park. And if not, then I will definitely look for then July 11th in La Jolla. :)

To being alive, happy, and in the moment...

Matching couple, you inspire me!

Summer

I am sitting on the sand at this very moment with my back up against the cement wall that separates the boardwalk from the beach as I look out at the ocean and wonder; wonder about everything and about anything. I've done so much thinking these last few weeks, so much reflecting and hoping and dreaming. I have often found myself restless and exhausted by what goes on in my head. I come to conclusions about people, about situations, and about philosophies only to be unsatisfied and try again.

It isn't that I am unsatisfied with where I am, with what I have, or with who I am becoming; in fact, I couldn't be happier or more grateful than I am this very summer. It's simple really, I am just too analytical and emotional for my own good. I have an overwhelming desire to understand everyone and everything; an intense curiosity that often times doesn't lead me in to the greatest of places.

I've never been one to embrace the moment. I live too much in the past and constantly fear the future. I've been told time and time again not to think so hard, to let go and let God, to try not to manipulate the future, or think of ways the past could have been different. I speak often of a reality that I've created and prefer to live in because I am all too aware that my analytical nature has negated my free-spiritedness. Perhaps the one thing that frustrates me more than social injustices is that fact that I have allowed myself to stray away from the part of me that I have always been most proud of - being a free spirit.

Because my roommates were not around the last three weeks I had an uncomfortable amount of time to myself. I read constantly, took long walks at sunset, enjoyed the summer sun, and reflected on this past year. And in the midst of all of this I realized how much I am unable to recall. For the life of my I cannot figure out when/where/how Kara and I became so close and what we bonded over. I remember slaving over essay after essay but have no idea what I wrote about. I laughed uncontrollably every morning in ethics but don't remember what was so funny. And sadly, I have no idea how I spent my christmas break...

Basically I haven't allowed myself to focus on each day as it comes. I have been so caught up in thinking about how past situations could have gone differently and in fearing the future that I have failed to take advantage of new experiences; experiences that I wish I could remember.

So I decided to challenge myself in more ways than one this summer:

1. Make my way through the top 100 novels of the 20th century. (I got a library card and checked out Hemmingway)

2. Take advantage of everything free in San Diego. Starting tomorrow with the Summer Organ Festival in Balboa Park.

3. Laugh at everything embarrassing, awkward, or intimidating.

4. Do spontaneous and out of the ordinary things like order a 22oz mug of beer at PB Ale House and watch the Lakers game. (I don't drink beer or watch sports - this also gave me the change to laugh at an entirely mortifying experience).

And lastly....

5. Be present.

I want more than anything to use this summer for everything that its worth. To remember it not only as my first summer as an independent but one in which I truly embraced every moment and every opportunity that came my way.

Terry Josephson once stated "No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head." Starting now, Terry Josephson's words will no longer describe me. I will be a free spirit. I will embrace my freedom.

Street Sense

This morning I woke up, showered, poured myself a cup of steaming coffee and settled down with Enduring Love (the less than romantic novel I am currently obsessing over).

But as I sat at my table staring out the window at everyone walking, driving, and hurrying down Misison Blvd I decided to trade in Enduring Love for StreetSense (a website my aunt introduced me to a week or so back that I had yet to explore).

It may not seem too shocking that I gave up a novel for news; fiction for reality, but if you know me half as well as I know myself (which really isn't that well) than you are perfectly aware of the fact that I live my life as if it were a movie. I am constantly in an alternate reality. One that is more blissful and perfect than the one I have been uncontrollably grounded in, where I pass my days pretending I am Audrey Hepburn starring in a black and white romantic comedy. This is exactly why I am currently nose deep in a work of fiction by an english writer who explores love and faith through suspense and tragedy hoping for a powerful, strong, and happy ending.

Perhaps it was the sundry population traveling by my window... the Caucasian couple riding their bikes, a group of Hispanic women exiting a cleaning service van, the Asian woman who lives above me, or the African America dad with his son, that caused this transfer of my attention from fiction to reality. Or perhaps it was just me coming to terms with the fortune surrounding me - living in a house on the beach, listening to pandora on my mac, making coffee and deciding what to eat for breakfast, a warm shower, a solid 8 hours of sleep...

Whatever the reason, I began exploring this particular website that advocates for the issues of poverty and homelessness (perhaps one of my biggest passions in my 21 year old life). I made my way through the mission of Street Sense and then onto a few articles before I once again was overcome with irritation and a mild form of anger. (This seems to be a normal reaction when I witness or educate myself on the injustice in the world. I am in the process of trying to funnel this anger into something more productive like compassion and service - compassionate service).

I read an article on homeless moms-to-be and was happy to find that there are multiple organizations in the D.C. area helping these women make solid homes for their babies.

I read an article written by a street vendor who told of the people he has met on the streets, which sales techniques work on different types of people, and how becoming a vendor for Street Sense has allowed him to support other homeless individuals like himself.

But then I read an article entitled "It's Time to Face Reality" - something I certainly need to do more often. I was suddenly infuriated to find out that the US Department of Health and Human Services believes $10,952 per year is enough for a single individual to survive, and that $21,947 is enough for a family of four. Who are we kidding? If $11,000 and $22,000 are considered to be ABOVE the poverty level (when in reality this isn't a livable wage) what we consider to be "poor" lies even further below this number? Do the individuals deciding upon these numbers really believe that 900 dollars a month is enough for shelter, food, water, health insurance, safety, clothing...

There are 49 million people in the United States don't know when their next meal will be... There are 49 million people living at or below the poverty level. There are 49 million people making less than $11,000 a year.

This number is chilling... 49 million people is nearly 16% of the United States population, and I can't help but believe that my frustration is sound.

So many people are suffering from poverty but are refused governmental support because they are not legally classified as poor according to U.S. Health and Human Services. We are adding to the poverty toll by refusing to provide aid to those who are clearly experiencing poverty.

I keep asking myself, "how can our government speak guiltlessly about the issue of "poverty" and decide that $11,000 is enough to survive with the essentials each individual in America has the right to after being born in the land of the free?" When I am given responses of laziness, substance abuse/addiction, and life choices I become even more frustrated, for certainly I am not naive enough to count these out, but I am also not ignorant enough to believe that this is solely the reason for 49 million people being without food this very minute.

We are the fortunate ones who have no concept of what poverty actually entails because we never have, and most likely never will experience such a poor life. We are privileged, we are powerful, we have the ability to create change, yet we use our privilege and power negatively, working not toward but against fostering social justice in our country of freedom and equality.

I realize now exactly why I live with my head in the clouds... it's because in my make-believe reality I don't experience such anger and frustration with the truth of our country. In my reality of romantic novels, blissful summers, and irreplaceable relationships I am not bothered by such issues as poverty and homelessness, rather I see equality, happiness, and love. But these issues are real, and something needs to be done... starting with me.

I have and continue to work for social justice; to put an end to poverty and homelessness because I truly believe that I am working toward a future I will never live to see, but know that I am contributing to the process of a future I hope will one day exist.

One day my frustration will end and I will be that much more productive. One day, someone will see the work of the many who have come together and overturned legislation and governmentally decided numbers. One day.

Gounded.

I made it through sleepless nights, hours of studying, and too much caffeine.

I wore beautiful dresses, put on makeup, drank one too many alcoholic beverages, and danced the nights away.

I put on a smile, held back my tears, sat through mass, and watched my amazing friends walk across the stage and graduate.

I packed up all of my stuff, moved out of my jail cell, and settled into my Mission Boulevard address.

I gave away a million hugs and I said a million "I love you"s.

I was included in something that wasn't my own.

I felt whole and I felt alive. I felt loved and I felt happiness.

I said my last goodbyes.

The excitement ceased, the tears began to flow, and the memories unfolded.

Prayers were said, hands were held, and sleep swelled over my tired heart.

I woke up this morning grounded.

Grounded in reality.

Grounded in the reality of change, of life, of the future.

I felt abandoned but I know I am not.

I felt angry but didn't know at who.

I felt sad and wanted the world to stop because life was too perfect before.

I am grounded.

Grounded in reality.

Grounded in the reality of having roommates and no longer living alone.

I sit across from Kara as we read our respective books.

I lay in bed and catch up on old TV shows while she blogs.

I come home to smiles and "how was your day?"s.

My new reality isn't all bad, all lonely, all uncertain and strange.

My new reality is just that. NEW. REAL.

14 steps to the beach.

A warm cozy house.

Roommates.

New experiences.

Old friends.

Grounded.

In.

Reality.

T.B.I.Y.T.C.

Family. Is. Forever.

Come along and walk with me. I'll take you through a typical day of what has been my life for the last two years...

We'll start in the valley by saying hello to Barb on our way to class. We can make the hike up 76 stairs in the brisk morning air and wave at my freshman who were dumb enough to have taken 7:45 classes. Next we order coffee in Tu Mercado from Mandy, the girl who looks out of place on a campus full of tall, thin, and beautiful blondes. Our first class is in Loma and we chat with Dr. Reifer in the elevator and say hi to the engineering majors... all 15 of them who we know by name. After class we take a stroll across the lawn to Aromas, sit down, and within fifteen minutes talk, laugh, or cry with at least 4 "close" friends. We make our way over to Camino/Founders and smell 1952. Let's head to La Paloma for lunch and sit down with our best friends, because it's inevitable they will be there at any given moment during any given afternoon. Hiking back towards the UC, we hug, high five, and wave to fellow classmates, residents, friends, professors, coworkers, and supervisors. When we stop to use the restroom in Maher we run into Sophie Halvin our French teacher from Freshman year who smiles at us and says, "Bonjour! Ces-va?" We'll spend anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours in the CASA office with the funniest people we know, telling awkward stories, having dance offs, and occasionally doing work. Dinner at the SLP will prove to be quite hectic and we will know no less than 15 people. If we make it back down to the valley before 7 our day is pretty much over, but after 7 we will spend at least an hour in Mission Crossroads complaining about residents, watching youtube videos, and eating all of Barb's candy. The night ends with amazing conversations with our closest friends who we saw at least once today, then we go to sleep and wake up and do it all over again.

Now...

This routine is my life. My perfectly contented life. Occasionally I opt for the back alley to climb up instead of the stairs, or have class in the IPJ and not Loma Hall. Sometimes I'll stop in Founders Chapel and say a prayer or go for a walk behind Soles to clear my head. When it is warm outside I might sit on the lawn and laugh with my favorite people or take cover in Copley Library when papers decide to consume my life. But for the most part I don't stray from this routine. I love this routine.

Why am I rehashing every moment of my day?

Because as of Thursday, May 20th this is no longer my routine, no longer my life. I wont hike up an obscene amount of stairs on my way to class, I wont go to aromas and not have to worry about finding people to sit with, or find my best friends in La Paloma. I wont lay on the lawn with with the greatest people I know and laugh until we cry, and I wont spend countless hours in CASA or waste my evenings in Crossroads.

My world is changing as I know it, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I've spent the last two years with this perfect community surrounding me, but my community is graduating, graduating tomorrow at 9 and 2. Everyone accept me. A month ago I would have broken down in tears just thinking about all of this, thinking about not spending every waking minute with these amazing people, not being able to make the short walk across campus to visit someone's home or have sleep-overs in Manchester. I will spend my Senior year more or less alone next year, without the people who I have grown to love so much. I will walk around aimlessly and have no one to share random fits of excitement with, but...

But last night in the midst of celebration I was reminded that these people who I have spent the last two years with are my family, and family is forever. Although there will not be 17 hour days in the library suffering from delirium, or contemplating for 20 minutes about whether or not to skip Research Methods, we will always be a family, because family is forever. I can always pick up the phone to ask imperative questions like how bees mate, or whether or not we are going to Casa Guad for happy hour before we make our way to Sandbar, and I can always drive to Point Loma when I need a shoulder to cry on. My friends, my family, wont be as accessible, but they will always be.

I sit here not with worry or sadness for the moment when every single one of my friends walks across the stage, rather I sit here full of happiness for my happiness lies in the hearts of each one of this amazing people. We are a family. We are forever.

To Matty, Kara, Rob, Laila, Bovey, Jen, Matt, and Jeff. Happy Graduation. I love you all. :)

God Loves You

God loves me. If you don't believe me ask the homeless man standing on the corner of Napa and Morena... he knows because he told me so.

"God loves you" repeated the homeless man over and over and over after I handed him a water bottle and a granola bar as I waited for the light to turn green on my way back to school from a long day studying for finals and starting a new job. The words rang in my ears as my heart skipped a beat "God loves you, God loves you, God loves you." Were these words really coming out of the mouth of a man covered in dirt with a small backpack and a sweatshirt full of holes? A man missing nearly half his teeth and with the blackest fingernails I had ever seen. A man who was just written a ticket by a heartless SDPD officer for jaywalking. A man whose life had been reduced to standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign that read "HELP. GOD BLESS."

This man held up the water bottle as if to get a better look at it and smiled. Smiled at a water bottle? A water bottle? Really? I was amazed and impulsively reached into the back seat of my car and grabbed another water bottle and handed it to him. He looked at me and again repeated "God loves you, God loves you, God loves you." Before the light turned green he told me he would keep the waters and granola bar in his backpack until later that night because it was going to be his dinner. My heart sank but I had nothing left to give him and then the light turned green I shot him a smile and said "have a great night" and he called after me with "GOD LOVES YOU!" as I sped away toward one of the most beautiful places I know. The University of San Diego. My home.

I have faith in humanity, actually an overwhelmingly strong faith in humanity. I truly believe that people are actually all good and shouldn't be feared, judged, mocked, or stripped of their human dignity because their life chances turned out to be less than adequate for this capitalistic world we are living in.

* How often have you avoided eye contact with the man on the corner holding a cardboard sign?

* Have you ever rolled up your window and locked your doors at the sight of a crippled woman walking toward you?

* Or perhaps you've crossed the street to avoid the teenager approaching you out of fear of being mugged?

I'll be the first to admit that I have, and on occasion still do, but in acting out of fear I reduce my chances of having experiences like the one above. I limit myself from the truth and beauty of humanity, the power of a short conversation with a stranger, the expression of immense gratitude for spare change or something to eat, and on occasion a reminder that God loves me.

As I arrived back at school, parked my car and went to eat in the cafeteria where I over-indulged on a hamburger, french fries, and a diet coke, I couldn't help but think of the injustice I witnessed over the last 30 minutes. What had been a pleasant and heartfelt exchange with a homeless man soon turned into intense feelings of anger. There is no reason, no excuse, and no justification for someone not having shelter, food, water, and safety. What is the reason behind this poor man standing on a street corner? To remind me that God loves me? The thought crossed my mind, for certainly I have lost sight of God, love, and happiness in the hectic week of paper writing, hours of studying, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep, but why does someone have to suffer so I can witness the truth of my existence - God's love?

How is it possible that a man with literally nothing remains faithful and isn't afraid to profess God's love while I, a person with a world of opportunities being handed to me on a silver platter am overcome with doubt?

I have trouble comprehending situations like these where I am reminded of God, but then forced to doubt His existence because of the very injustice that brought him to view. God loves me, but does he love the man standing on the corner of Napa and Morena? If He does love him, and loves him equally, then why are our realities inconceivably different? How is there such injustice when God's love is ever present? How?