a bit of a daredevil

Couple of year ago I found a picture of a 3-year-old child in my mothers collection of old photos. In this photo, the child was being held by her mother in front of a roller-coster ride at an amusement park. The child was dressed very much like a girl but her facial features can pass for a boy. She had a few strands of hair on her head and her facial features were not very well defined. It was obvious that she was not a pretty child but there was something very endearing still in her ugliness. Her mother held her up as she eagerly pointed at this what appeared to be a colossal roller-coaster ride. Her eyes filled with admiration, interest, and joy. She wanted to go on it. As I looked over to her mother in the photo, it was suddenly clear to me, the woman in the photo was my mother twenty-four years ago and the little girl was me.

I was a not a pretty little girl, so homely that my mother had to dress me my in pink or red...or purple, especially in public so people can tell that I was not a boy. I have heard of this story from my family over and over again when I was growing up. They joked about it when I got out of the very ugly phase of my life and joked about it again when I no longer resembled my baby looks. I realize now looking back, I may have grown out of out my ugly looks, but I don't think I have ever grown out of my daredevil nature. I am still that child, easily stroked by amazement and wonder. It cannot be helped, she cannot be stopped.

People have asked me for "life" advice sometimes, not sure why.  I'm beginning to think that I should just stop giving them all together.

My hidden message will always be, you either go big or go home.

when it is time to let Alby go

Yesterday was the ending of something beautiful. It was a certain kind of love between a man and a woman that has left me unfulfilled and unhappy for a year and a half. Looking back, I'm wondering if it was mostly self inflicted -- a choice I made to suffer because I was in desperate need to connection. Brene Brown penned it beautifully in her new book Daring Greatly that human beings are design to make connections. If no connection, we suffer greatly. I realized that no matter how good and charming of a person he was, these past years my thoughts about who he can be for me had been in most part a figment of my imagination. An imaginary man, a hope, for a future romantic interest awaits me in the while I go through a time of trials. However, as "nice and real" as I made it out to be, I became a prisoner of those thoughts. I wasn't able to fully enjoy moments that I have with other people because he didn't show up. I began to do things in hopes of seeing him. I found myself more engaged when he was around. I found myself more worthy of love when he contacted me. Those contacts were so desperately few that though I still had the capacity to live freely but I was not entirely free.