Life Unexpected

If I could go back and pinpoint the exact moment that I decided that trading in free room and board for $800 a month in rent was a good I idea, I would probably revisit my "rational" thinking process and seriously consider slapping myself across the face a few times. However, despite the fact that time travel currently doesn't exist, I have absolutely no recollection of when my bad decision making days occured, so this scientific leap backwards thing probably wouldn't work to my benefit if it had been invented. Plus despite my utter lack of free time, and the loss of my beloved 8 hours of sleep a night, I am quite content with my hectic schedule - it keeps me on my toes.

Although I can feel the panic setting in, and the stress slowly creeping up on me I have managed to keep my tears in their ducts and my freak outs to a minimum. (Matt, my roommate, truly appreciates this and I'm pretty sure the Matt that is my best friend appreciates this as well).

Last May when my entire community graduated I was heart broken and fearful of what is now my current reality. I feared experiencing my senior year without close friends. I feared spending countless hours being angry at myself for not reaching out to people my own age when I had the chance. I feared I would spend an unhealthy amount of time alone.

To my surprise, not a single one of my fears is sound. I do walk around school aimlessly, wishing for one of my friends to randomly appear in my path, but I spend nearly every night of the week at Kara's laughing at our ridiculous quests to find love in the most random of places and take long power walks with Kendra on Friday mornings. I'm not angry I don't have friends my own age at USD, I'm actually quite happy because it makes it easier to disagree with my classmates opinions in heated discussions. And the one thing I miss, that I wish I had more of, is time alone. I find myself longing for nights where I can put on a movie lay on the couch in my sweats and drown out the rest of the world.

Not having my community readily available makes the time spent with them that much more amazing. It's what keeps me going until Thursday night when my week feels like it will never end. It's what keeps me up way past my bedtime when I have a paper due the next day. It's what keeps my heart happy.

This change that I once feared so terribly has been the greatest thing I could have imagined. I have three jobs in order to pay for rent, food, transportation, and all the added joys that being a senior in college and living at the beach brings - the result of my utter lack of rational judgement.

But each one of these jobs, although entirely stressful, are the source of the joy in my life that I feared would be gone. Titus and Piper, the two babies I nanny for, bring a permanent smile to my face every Monday and Wednesday. My quest to create awareness on campus about the issues of hunger and homelessness will never ever feel like much of a job, and smiling at people three days a week and wishing them well comes with an added bonus - amazing co-workers who keep my mind off my mile long to-do-list with their very attractive faces and warm personalities.

90% of the time I feel like I'm losing my mind. There are not enough hours in the day to accomplish what needs to be done and I often feel that my mental capacity is much to full for added information, but I can't imagine giving up a single aspect of my life at this moment. This unexpected life of mine.

Thank you Matty and Kara for preparing me for this year. For drilling into my head that change can be good and that you two will always be around. Thank you for putting up with my emotional breakdowns, for still going to Sandbar with me on Thursday nights, and for taking an interest in my life apart from you.

For the first time in a long while I am truly content. Insanely busy, but unexpectedly happy with where things are.

Hello Senior Year!

A Man Named James

On December 2, 2009 I met a man who changed my life.

This man was born in 1931. He grew up in Texas and was one of six children. He served in the Vietnam War and lived on 1st and C in downtown San Diego.

On December 2, 2009 I met a man who changed my life.

His name was James A. Barrera. I was assigned to be his escort at Project Homeless Connect. We shared a meal together and I walked him around the convention center stopping at all the free services.

On Decemeber 2, 2009 I met a man who changed my life.

This man was homeless. He had been for the last 4 years. He carried all of his belongings in a handheld canvas bag. He slept on the corner of 1st and C in downtown San Diego.

On December 2, 2009 I met a man who changed my life.

His story ripped my heart into a million pieces. I forced myself to hold back tears and not pity this man, for he didn't pity himself. I stood there and truly listened and heard God through this man's voice.

James returned from Vietnam to absolutely nothing. He no longer knew his brothers and sisters and his parents had long since left Texas. He took up working odd jobs like picking strawberries down in Riverside. James has been in and out of every shelter imaginable, and did so by choice. He compared shelter life to prison, and for a man of 79 I can only imagine how difficult the sterile walls, locked doors, restricted areas, mandatory programs, and curfews were to deal with.

On Decemeber 2, 2009 I left James with Kristen, a high school volunteer who was more than willing to be his escort for the rest of the day. I said goodbye to James, hugged him and wished him well. He left me with this... "If I could, I would buy you a hundred roses. Some day we will take a bus to San Francisco. Taylor, I'll see you in San Francisco."

He winked. I walked away. Broken hearted. Full of joy.

I returned to campus that afternoon for class smelling of solidarity. I hadn't noticed the intense smell of life on the street until I sat down in the CASA office. My hair, my clothes, even my skin smelled of urine and sour milk. I wanted to vomit, but was entirely amazed by how oblivious I was to this smell while I was with James. I forced myself to finish the day wearing the extra large green Project Homeless Connect shirt over my navy USD sweatshirt and my hair in my face. It isn't often that we, the privileged, experience even the slightest bit of what life is like for individuals suffering from immense poverty.

James broke my heart in the best possible way, the way in which I respond by pouring out every last drop of love I have in me. I drove down to 1st and C a few days after I met James so I could give him a jacket and a friend. He wasn't there. In the days that followed I returned time and time again looking for my 5'4" friend. I never saw him again. I pray that he is still alive and thriving on the streets, but in my heart of hearts I don't believe that to be true. 50 unidentified homeless individuals died in San Diego last year. No one was informed of their deaths; rather, a small group of advocates held a ceremony in memory of these 50 men and women whose lives were reduced to living on the streets and ended in the worst of ways.

I have a passion. A passion that continually angers me. Shatters my heart. Destroys my spirit. I will never forget James A. Barrera, the smell of solidarity he left on me, and the promise of reuniting in San Francisco. I will never forget the importance of a simple conversation, the warmth of a hug, and the face of this stranger.

I learned a lesson about life on December 2, 2009 - sometimes we must allow ourselves to be broken in order to love.

R.E.L.A.T.I.O.N. ship

We, as human beings, were created to be in relation with one another.

And regardless of the fact that I have been reminded of this over and over by the professors responsible for my over priced liberal arts education, my doubts have remained.

Many of us go through life staring at the ground, keeping our distance from strangers, and only associating with those in close relation to us. I say many of us because as often as I avoid others, others are avoiding me. I've taken a break once or twice from my sidewalk ogling and found nearly everyone I passed as intrigued by the tiny dots and cracks in the surface below their feet as I am. Therefore, I am not alone in my obsession with the ground, yet the University of San Diego's United Professors Gild (USDUPG) has it that we were created to be in relation with one another. Right.

Maybe it's because I'm terribly awkward, (okay, terribly awkward might be an understatement), or maybe it's that I get too caught up in my day dreams to bother with seemingly unimportant people, but for whatever reason, I'm not one to talk to others. I run from the guys who ask me to dance at bars, divert my gaze when I see someone coming towards me, and coop myself up inside my tiny beach house watching Weeds, reading, and blogging.

I'm a homebody. I always have been and am confident in saying that I always will be. I love my Taylor time. In fact, I need my Taylor time. More time than most people need. I certainly enjoy people - occasionally forcing myself outside of my comfort zone and mingling with new faces, having quality bonding time with the people I love, and sitting around doing nothing, or everything, with close friends, but for about every minute spent with someone, I need five minutes to myself.

My mother has reassured me that I will never meet anyone if I continue to live my life this way. And as fond as I am of my life, I am doomed. Unless of course I plan on marrying one of boys I've already met, closely associate with, and don't run from. Chances? Sadly... slim, but maybe I'll hold out hope so I don't have to change my life style and actually make eye contact, plant my feet firmly on the ground, and say hello to a complete stranger. Yikes. Someone come to my rescue. Any takers?!?

Anyways, this blog posting isn't going to be entirely about my less than hopeful quest for a soulmate outside of my current community...

I found my inspiration to blog about being in relation with others by three separate individuals in the same day. I think I'm a pretty happy person. I'm usually full of energy. I smile a lot. And I spin in circles with my arms spread wide and my head thrown back because its fun, really, really fun - plus it makes me a much more pleasant person. But, last Sunday these three encounters with total strangers made my day so much better and made me feel so much happier. Honestly. I sat in traffic completely content for three hours and only became frustrated twenty minutes from my destination because I had to pee so badly that I thought I was going to puke. Who has ever been that happy? Three hours. Bumper to bumper. Stick shift.

The first two comments happened within minutes of each other. I decided I needed caffeine, an excessive amount of caffeine, before embarking on my trip to Newport to surprise my mom for her birthday. So I pulled into the only spot left in the parking lot at the bottom of Linda Vista, and needless to say it was a tight fit. I had to carefully open my door, suck in my gut, and maneuver my ant like body out of my dreadful Mitsubishi. To my surprise I had an audience and upon slamming my car door shut an attractive 20 something year old guy said "NICE JOB!" I started laughing, awkwardly smoothed out my skirt and walked into Starbucks where my second humiliating yet surprisingly uplifting meeting took place. I ordered a $2.75 venti iced coffee with room and made my way to the... um... supply station? where I poured my beloved half and half into my caffeinated beverage of choice, when upon doing so an attractive 30 something year old man says "that's a lot of coffee for a Sunday afternoon." My response - "*awkward chuckle* I have a long drive." "Are you driving to San Francisco or something?!?" I should have responded with "EXACTLY! How'd you know?" to save myself from owning up to this stranger that no, in fact I am only driving to Newport but I have a terrible addiction problem and 20 ounces of coffee is by no means a lot for a Sunday afternoon thank you very much. Oh and by the way, I'm 21, not 17.

So why did these two statements make me glow for three hours in bumper to bumper traffic? Well, for starters, I was noticed. I love being noticed. Who doesn't? And secondly, I get a sick satisfaction out of aimlessly getting a response from people for doing something that seems completely normal to me but is entirely strange to another. I often tell people I don't know how to swim just to see what they say...

The third encounter came from a very attractive 4 year old boy on Balboa Island who ran out of his front door onto the patio with his shoes on his hands and shouted "HHHHIIIIIIIII!!!!" and proceeded to have a long conversation with my mom about what he was going have for dinner. He was my favorite, for multiple reasons. How cute are 4 year olds? And 4 year olds with shoes on their hands at that? 4 year olds also aren't intimidating and the cuteness factor doesn't have to be weighed. Plus, I look more like a grown up in the eyes of a 4 year old and less like a girl pushing 17.

All three of these boys/guys/men/males added a little something to my already wonderful day. They made it brighter, made me smile wider, and made me appreciate this "we were created to be in relation with others" business that I've learned so much about. People, yes, people, bring happiness to our lives. They also bring sadness, anger, and misery, but we are rational beings, we have the ability to reason, to think, to choose, to act. After Sunday I'm more of a believer in this theory or what-have-you; still skeptical, but slowly edging nearer to pit of belief-hood. If these three totally random and incredibly insignificant exchange of words brightened my day, I can only imagine what a conversation, or a compliment, or a question can do for me in the future. Like I said before, I'm not completely sold on this idea, and I'm certainly not ready to give up my cozy couch laying, frumpy haired, make-up-less, pajama-wearing evenings with myself to run off and say hello to strangers and make an ass out of myself, but I'm willing to take a break from my relationship with the ground and see what is standing in my five foot one and a half inch line of vision.

On an entirely different and completely unrelated note, my blogs always turn in a different direction than I originally intend.

And my dad referred to me as Robinhoodette on Sunday.

Bye!

For My Daddy

Saturday mornings were exceptionally special in my house growing up.

I vividly remember walking down the hall through my parents bedroom and into the family room in one of my dad's white t-shirts and a pair of Limited Too pajama shorts (purple with cows jumping over crescent moons) hidden underneath the sea of Hanes fabric hanging down to my knees.

I didn't willing wake up, nor was I gently awoken by my dad rubbing my back whispering "good morning sweetheart" into my ear. I didn't smell the thick aroma of bacon and french toast emanating from the kitchen, or hear Abbey whining to be taken for a walk.

I woke up to

Let's dance in style, lets dance for a while

Heaven can wait we're only watching the skies

Hoping for the best but expecting the worst

Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?

and

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

and

Mirror in the bathroom please talk free

The door is locked just you and me

Can I take you to a restuarant that's got glass tables

You can watch yourself while you are eating

and sometimes

When I'm with you baby, I go out of my head

And I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough

All the things you do to me and everything you said

And I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough

blasting out of the stereo in the family room loud enough to not only wake up our whole house, but our neighbors as well.

At my Los Feliz address, our Saturdays were spent cleaning and organizing our uncomfortably small house. We didn't go to the beach, the park, or even get to ride our bikes. We went to the hall closet, the kitchen, the backyard, and the bathrooms. The jobs were tedious and we fought over who was assigned to which job.

You might think cleaning out the Toy Closet was the easiest, but you're wrong. Because that included the dreaded red box (an old plastic crate that contained anything and everything from black widows to monkeys out of their barrel). Everything in the red box had a specific place and you had to figure out what each piece of plastic was, where it belonged and then put it back in it's respective home.

The pantry was a close second in the difficulty department. Sure you could sneak cookies when no one was looking and count how many boxes of jello were stashed away in the back of the cupboard but that just prolonged the process and left you sprawled out on the floor surrounded by cereal boxes, soup cans, and bags of chocolate chips with a wicked stomach ache.

I liked cleaning out the drawer in the kitchen the best because I got to sit on the green carpet of our family room and my dad would place the drawer in front of me. And because a 7-year-old girl lacks the ability to distinguish nails from screws, a flat head from a phillips, and an x-acto knife from a razor my Daddy helped me identify the objects and told me where to put them, then let me color code the coupons in the coupon book.

I'm pretty sure every child hates household chores and responded with complaints like "Morgan had the easiest job!" "No one is helping me!" "This is child abuse" and "I can't believe you're making me do this!"

But these Saturday mornings are among the memories that hold the most detail because from what we claimed to be child abuse and unevenly distributed tasks were days when my dad brought out the orange string ball and played catch with us in the family room and my mom made grilled tuna sandwiches for lunch that we would eat while sitting on the patio in the backyard. Saturdays always ended in a game of Sorry! with my dad on the floor of the family room and slices of pound cake and coke floats as rewards for our hard work.

And every time I hear a song by Alphaville, The Vapors, English Beat, or Depech Mode, my stomach does a flip and my eyes start to burn and I smile enormously wide because I think about waking up Saturday mornings and walking down the hall through my parents bedroom and into the family room in one of my dad's white t-shirts and a pair of Limited Too pajama shorts (purple with cows jumping over crescent moons) hidden underneath the sea of Hanes fabric hanging down to my knees.

We cleaned our house this Saturday - not my family, but Kenny, Kara, and I. We traded in waking up at 7:30 for 10:30, Alphaville for the Beach Boys, and cookies for beer. And although I became a little (okay a lot) nostalgic and felt a deep desire to blog about my dad waking me up ridiculously early to strange music, once again I am thrilled that I have such opportunities where new experiences constantly bring up old memories.

G Avenue

I couldn't tell you the first thing about fiber glass.

Like what it's made of, what it's used for, or how it fulfills its function.

But I can tell you that fiber glass is the cause of the 50 or so tiny cuts all over my hands, arms, neck, and face.

Manual labor usually isn't my thing.

After tacking up insulation underneath a house, installing snap in flooring, painting countless rooms, and attempting to chop wood with a maul I got my fix and retired my hammer.

(Thank you Nazareth Farm for such an opportunity.)

But suddenly my never ending curiosity about Habitat for Humanity led me to venture out and test my construction ability once again.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning, put on a grungy t-shirt and a ripped pair of jeans and headed out to National City where I spent all day installing air ducts and crawling around in the rafters of a work-in-progress home.

I had the time of my life.

And not just because I totally love climbing on things and pretending I'm good at something that I'm not, but because of how these 7 hours spent combating fiber glass gave me a totally new perspective.

I've always wondered what 'type' of people volunteer their time to build houses for low income families.

(I think this is part of my quest in discovering who I actually am. Like... If I am the sort of person volunteering my time to build houses for low income families, than who does that make me? And what is my reason for doing it?)

I was pleasantly surprised to find an incredibly diverse group of people volunteering today, and an answer that left me still curious but quite content.

I realized how tiring manual labor actually is, and I walked away with a greater appreciation for blue collar workers. I now have a visual of what is behind all the drywall in our homes and how much work goes into a single house.

I wondered about the manufacturing of ducts and laughed at my inability to walk away unharmed. I thought of all the homeless men standing outside the day-labor office on my way to work and finally understood why so many of them prefer panhandling to making minimum wage doing backbreaking work when they can earn twice as much standing with a cardboard sign at a freeway exit.

Today was a wonderful day. I learned something new - about construction, about the economy, about homeless individuals, about doing good for others, and about myself.

I can't wait til August 14th when I have the chance to go back to G Avenue and continue working on homes that will soon be inhabited by deserving families.

:)

This is the day the Lord has made, let us give thanks and be glad.

"I Love the Beatles FOREVER!"

So I obviously failed at completing this blog challenge in the alloted amount of time, but better late than never right?!

Number 3: Talk about a person or specific interaction from your day

Saturday the roommates and I embarked on a 9 mile hike in 110 degree weather up to Cathedral Mountain in Sedona, Arizona. 4 hours, 200 pictures, 3 wilderness bathroom breaks, and 1 skinned knee later we arrived at a creek as we headed back to our starting point.

We had seen the rope swing on the way up and decided that we would test it out on our return trip. Naturally by the time we reached the creek we discovered it was only about 2 1/2 feet deep, plus fully emerging ourselves in water wouldn't make much sense being about 20 minutes from the car. So instead, we dipped our feet in and watched two little girls, no older than 8, have the time of their lives on this rope swing.

"I love the Beatles forever!!!!!"

Photo By: Kendra Osburn

The girl in the front is named Kara and we never learned the name of the girl in the back. But I can tell you that these two girls are best friends and have been since they were 1.

They love the Beatles FOREVER!

(and so they shouted every time they swung over the water)

Kara has 6 Beatles posters, 2 Beatles blankets, and is their biggest fan. Kara's friend is a close second and has a crush on George Harrison and Paul McCartney, but only from 1960 to 1965.

These two girls were full of passion and without a care in the world, and in being so, reminded me of Amanda and me at that age.

We were literally joined at the hip. We spent every day after school together and had sleep overs on Friday nights. We tagged along on each other's family vacations and spent countless hours playing house, making up dances, getting into trouble, and riding in the back of her dad's pick up truck.

Not only were these two girls passionate about the Beatles, but they were passionate about their friendship. I know this because right away I noticed how much they mirrored my friendship with Amanda. Kara was timid and her friend was the thrill seeker, but encouraged Kara to try to rope swing and soon enough she love it. They weren't competitive - one didn't love the Beatles more than the other, they were just simply glad they had someone to share their passion with.

They reminded me what friendship is all about.

The rest of the weekend Kendra, Kara, and I shouted "I love the Beatles forever!" and fell back into our 8 year old selves having random laughing fits, taking in every aspect of our surroundings, and absolutely loving life and each other's company.

Our trip to Arizona was truly awesome; as in breathtaking and inspiring. The Grand Canyon was the most brilliant sight I have ever seen, and those 48 hours spent with my roommates were absolutely the best of my summer.

I live for moments like the one at the creek. Moments where I witness someone else's happiness. Moments where I am brought back to my childhood. Moments where new memeories with new people are created. Moments where I am fully aware of myself and my surroundings. Moments where I see, feel, and know love.

Kara and her friend love the Beatles FOREVER,

But I love Amanda FOREVER!

and I love Kendra and Kara FOREVER!

(Now, I may have stretched this question a little too thin in not specifically talking about someone/interaction from my day. But on Saturday these girls were significant and I lacked a computer and all energy to blog then. Those girls also served as an important link between my past and my present. Therefore, you got more than I had originally intended in coming up with this question for our blog challenge.)

Fairy Tales Last Forever.

What movie did I always wish I were in?

I bet you thought I came up with this topic for our blog challenge didn't you? Well guess again, because it was all Kendra. Do you really think I'm capable of choosing just one movie I want to be the star in - to have as my reality? Yeah right. Folks, I am the definition of a hopeless romantic... or what Kara and I prefer to call HOPEFUL romantic.

Prepare yourselves, for what I'm about to divulge might scare some of you, because not only have I thought about this question over and over and over since I was 15, but in some instances have forced significant others to act out scenes from my favorite movies.

Okay, [deep breath] here we go.

1. Never Been Kissed

I always thought I wanted to be a writer; after all, I was an english major once. I figured, maybe I could share my first kiss (with a new person) on the top of a pitchers mound right before a high school baseball game. That is, of course, after he reluctantly reads the article I wrote for the local newspaper asking him to meet me there.

2. How to Lose a Guy in 10 days

I love meeting families, and even more than that, I love being accepted into families. And I long to visit New York, learn to ride a motorcycle in Staten Island, and romantically have my shirt pulled off over my head and stumble into the shower with a man who I've tried to drive away, only to have him run back to me time and time again.

3. My Best Friend's Wedding

I wish I had Julianne's confidence and George as my best friend.

I also may or may not have made such a pact once (okay, maybe twice) while highly intoxicated.

4. John Tucker Must Die

My celebrity crush, Penn Badgley, stars as the male version of me. Library boy. The over looked nerdy individual who is never quite perceived as the datable type, but in the end lands the girl of his dreams.

5. 13 going on 30

I don't have a male best friend from my childhood, but maybe one day when I'm 30 I'll cross paths with my male best friend from high school or college, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after. Or maybe I wont.

6. Roman Holiday

How cool would it be if I were a princess meandering the streets of Rome with a man who found me drunk on a brick wall and pretends he doesn't know my status? This man will later choose me over his career by not selling me out to the press. :)

7. Sleepless in Seattle

Do you believe in soul-mates?

8. Love Actually

If a foreign man proposed to me in my native tongue, my husband's best friend professed his love for me, or I shared a kiss with the Prime Minister of England, I would die a happy woman.

9. Serendipity

If I ever find a pair of gloves while sitting on a bench in New York City I'll be sure to walk to the center of the ice skating rink to find my soulmate. And if I am Christmas shopping and come across a man who wants to buy the exact pair of gloves I've just picked up, I will invite him to dinner, write my name on the inside of a book, and run off hoping one day we will meet again.

10. Pretty Woman

So maybe I'll never be a hooker, but maybe, just maybe the man of my dreams will climb the fire escape up to my window on the top floor of my building and propose to me because he thinks the world of me... oh and my best friend will compare me to Cinde-fucking-rella.

I could go on like this forever, but I'll stop at 10 and cut to the chase.

Because perhaps the movie that I really really wish were my reality is Breakfast at Tiffany's. I mean seriously, how cute is Gregory Peck? But aside from the obvious man candy, I am entirely fascinated by Holly Golightly. She is absolutely out of her mind. She is an emotionally unstable, gold digging socialite that is entirely unaware to the love that is staring her straight in the eye. She is unreasonable, irrational, and hopelessly obsessed with obtaining money over love. She runs away from the only man who has ever truly loved her, and pushes away the only man she's every truly loved. It isn't until an unsuccessful engagement and a night in jail that Holly Golightly unwillingly faces her true emotions and comes to her senses about her love for Paul Varjak - the man who has been persistent and come to her rescue time and time again.

Plus, her fashion is unbelievable - she has the most incredible orange coat I have ever seen, and dreamt of having since my first encounter with this movie. She can make herself absolutely beautiful in under 10 minutes. She is hilarious, crazy, and entirely too confident. But wonderful all the same. She finds a ballet shoe in her refrigerator and stores her telephone in an old suitcase to muffle the noise.

But most importantly, she's a day dreamer (much like I am)... eating her breakfast outside of Tiffany's dreaming of a place where nothing bad could ever happen to her.

And lastly, Paul may or may not take her to a public library :)

"I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I'm not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It's like Tiffany's."

Okay there you have it. If I could star in any movie and make it my reality Breakfast at Tiffany's it is.

So maybe I am a little insane, a little crazy, a little out of my of mind. But I'm hopeful that one day I will have my own unique kind of love story and I will no longer have to live inside the walls of my pieced together fairy tale.

But fairy tales last forever right?