On worthless memories....

Do you ever wonder why you keep some of the things you keep? I've been wondering that a lot lately. I have a ton of stuff stored in my parents' basement right now and they keep hounding me to get it out so my dad can install a dance floor, but mostly it's because I've had boxes of crap in their basement for more than 10 years and it's time to get rid of some (okay, most) of it.

Some of the things I found just made me wonder: why on God's green earth would I keep that crap? Notes from boys that made me feel bad about myself; cards from my 15th birthday; corsages from homecomings and proms; candles and incense (of which I found an extraordinary amount). We're talking seriously meaningless crap. Of course, I did find some fun things as well. Photos from my senior year that I'd all but forgotten about; my graduation cap that I had airbrushed before grad; a mix tape (okay, just the case. I wonder where the tape went?); all kinds of miscellaneous awards from high school; adorable notes from my gal pals in Canada and Minnesota; journals and notebooks; my list of Simple Pleasures.

But the question remains: why would I keep things that don't matter and/or that make me feel bad about myself? I read some of those notes and every feeling of insecurity and worthlessness just came screaming back. It was like being a teenager all over again (a fate I would wish on no person). On top of that, why would I ever keep old textbooks (especially those regarding any sort of math)? But maybe instead of questioning my past decisions, I should trash the trash and instead begin asking myself the following question:

Am I going to care about or want this is 5, 10, 15 years?

If the answer is "No," then it makes it pretty easy (or it should, anyway) to forget about it. However, there will be those things that I keep that WILL mean a lot to me, but will also cause me great pain when I find it 10 years in the future. Are those things worth keeping around? I keep all my journals and from time to time, I'll go back and read through them. There's some painful stuff in there, especially the ones from my late-teens and early-20s. Reading what I wrote ten years ago, I sometimes feel very guilty about things I did. I feel silly for mistakes I made. I feel shallow and disappointing. I feel reckless. I feel not worth it.

But it's in those feelings of worthlessness and despair that I remember how far I've come. Maybe that's why I keep some of those things. To remind myself that I'm not that person anymore, that I've changed...for the better, in many ways.

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On the taste of feet in my mouth....

No matter how nice a person we think we are, it's practically an inevitability that we'll act like a total jack-wagon from time to time. I'll be the first to admit that I can be a real jerk sometimes. Most often, this comes out when people misspell words or eff up basic grammar. Yes, I'm an English language elitist. So are a lot of my friends and I can pretty much guarantee they'd readily admit it. As someone who's devoted her life to understanding and appreciating the English language, it drives me absolutely bonkers when people mess it up so horribly. It makes me twitch. And I can turn into a real jerk about it.

Unfortunately, grammar isn't the only thing that'll cause me to say something stupid and/or insenstive...or just plain wrong. There was this time I was in Vegas and while pre-gaming in the hotel room, I said something so wildly inappropriate, it actually caused insta-sobriety. There's nothing quite like having a room full of people turn and look at you and say, "Why would you say that?!" That's a horrible feeling. And it should be. What I said was both out of character and out of line.

I think we've all had those moments when something we've said caused another person to be offended or hurt. It's rare (I hope) that we say mean things intentionally, but humanity causes us to act like jerks sometimes. I know I've done it. About a year ago, I said something that really hurt and very much upset one of my dear friends. The nice thing, though, is that she's a good friend so all it really took to remedy the situation was a simple, "I'm sorry...that was NOT how I meant for that to come out." A simple apology and/or explanation is all that was needed to repair what I'd damaged.

Maybe that's the hardest thing about it, though. When I discover -- immediately or after the fact -- that I've hurt someone with my words, it hurts my pride knowing that I probably need to apologize. It's so easy and so simple to say "I'm sorry", so why does that phrase seems to catch in our throats? Why do we feel the need to justify and explain away and generally not take responsibility for the hurtful things we say? It has to come down to pride. It must. And maybe having our pride stung from time to time isn't the worst thing in the world. I suppose there's a lot we could learn from damaged pride....

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On getting my next fix....

I'm one of those people that tends to have a really addictive personality. It's gotten me in trouble more times than I can count and it's led to me doing things that I'm not necessarily proud of. Fortunately, I was finally able to curb the crazy several years ago and have focused my addictive personality on one very specific thing.

Adrenaline.

My name is Micah and I am an adrenaline junkie.

I'm not even afraid to admit it. It's gotten to the point where I can't really fathom going to Elitch's anymore because I've done the thrill rides so many times I'm actually bored with them. I mean, I'll still ride them, but the thrill is lost on me anymore.

There's one coaster there that I'll ride over and over again, but it's really more for sentimentality than anything else. It was the first roller coaster I ever got on. The Sidewinder. It's nothing spectacular...just one loop forward and the same thing backwards. But that's just how it goes with addiction...you start with something small and easy, get a taste for what it's like, and if you like it, you go back for more and more and more. I'm always on the lookout for my next big fix.

I've done all the local roller coasters more times than I can count. I've done every Disney coaster and thrill ride they currently have. Universal Studios Orlando and Hollywood? Done 'em. In fact, I spent a vacation with a girl friend several years ago riding every functioning roller coaster in the state of Florida. We done good that year. We even managed to ride several of them at least three times. It was out of control. We were on an adrenaline high for something like four solid days. Coming down from that was, well, the crash was rough, to say the least.

It's been quite some time since I rode my last roller coaster. I'm jonesin' bad. I've spent a lot of time recently looking at coasters around the country that I need to ride. But there's one adrenaline fix that I've been itching to get for YEARS. I think I've been trying to get this fix for something like 15 years. Maybe more.

I really want to ride in a fighter jet. Like, baaaad. I see all these movies and shows where pilots are doing barrel rolls and flying upside down, hard left and right banks, and c'mon...when they scream straight up into the sky at about a billion mph? How does that not sound like the greatest thrill ever?!

Well, it turns out you either have to actually be a military pilot or you have to be in the military and win a bunch of big eff-off awards in order to get in one of those jets. And even then, those cats make bets with each other regarding puking and passing out. Plus, you apparently have to go through pretty intense training just to take a back-seat ride. Le sigh.

Is 31-years-old too late to join the military, kick some ass, and take some names, all for an adrenaline fix?

I'm seriously considering it.

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On the joys of losing....

I like to play games.

Scratch that. I LOVE to play games. Growing up, my siblings and I could spend hours playing either Trouble or Monopoly. We were those kids that would save the Monopoly board under the couch and keep coming back to the same game for at least a week. We were champion Tag players, too...two acres of backyard made for some crazy games of Tag, there's no doubt about that. It also wore us out in a hurry, something I'm sure my parents appreciated.

My family has always loved playing games together. For the last several years, the game of choice has been Phase 10, which has recently become more of a joke than anything. My parents take that game with them everywhere. I'm not exaggerating. Boston? Check. Jordan? Yup. The Vancouver Olympics? Absolutely.

I've never really cared whether I win or lose at games. I'd way rather just be having fun with my friends and family. It's just not in my nature to be uber-competitive. Games, for me, are always about having fun and nothing more (unless it's air hockey...then I get a little crazy). Fortunately, most of the games I love to play involve just that...having fun. Fun with WORDS!

My favorite games, without question, are Catchphrase and Taboo. I could honestly spend hours playing either of them. But really, I'm not even sure it's the fact that both are word games that makes me love them so much. I think it's really that every time I play either of them, I end up laughing to the point of snorting and/or not breathing. See, I have crazy-smart friends and family. And as smart as they are, they're even funnier. I mean, what other group would be able to get someone to say EMBARGO by using the hints "It's a bigger word for 'hug'" and "It's a long, flat boat." Seriously. That happened (though I wasn't there for it and just heard the story later, but still...that's pretty standard fare).

Games are just that to me...games. Sure it's fun to win. Everyone likes to win at games from time to time. But honestly, if I never won another game again, I probably just wouldn't care...so long as I could still keep playing games.

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On the cost of living....

The older I get, the more conscious I am of how much things cost. Growing up, I don't think any of us really understood what it cost our parents to feed and clothe us. Now that I'm an adult, I'm acutely aware of prices and there's very little I buy that isn't on sale or doesn't come with a coupon. When I shop for clothes, I'm hard-pressed to find items I'll pay more thatn $10 or $12 for. I have this thing about buying clothes...I have a ton already, so when I see something I like, I try it on then put it back on the rack. And if I still want it a week later, I'll have another conversation with myself regarding whether I need it or want it; whether I'll still love it in six months; if it's worth the cost, overall. That little trick has saved me quite a bit of money and guilt over the years. I even tend to do that with wine and groceries...though sometimes, I really really just want to make brownies and drink some wine, so I go for it.

That said, I honestly can't think of a single thing I'd continue to buy if the price was twice as much as it is today. Yes, even groceries. I can grow my own veggies and be a vegetarian if it came down to it. I don't need cheese, coffee, oatmeal, yogurt...pretty much anything I eat is a luxury.

I'm a closet technophile, but even that won't convince me that paying twice what I did for my iPhone is a good idea. It's a great piece of equipment and I love how organized and connected I am with it, but $400 for a piece of metal and some glass? That's probably not going to happen. Even my cell plan, I'd downgrade if I had to pay more than I already am...which does make me hope that Sprint getting the iPhone helps my case in the battle for decent rates with AT&T, of whom I have been a customer for over 10 years. I digress.

Starbucks, I sure as HELL wouldn't pay twice as much for. There's not a coffee in the world I'd pay $5/cup for. It's hard enough shelling out $2.50 every (or every other) day. And I actually have to save up to put money on my gold card.

Maybe I'd pay twice as much for black beans. I mean, they're only $0.89 as it is. I think I could stand to pay about $2 for black beans and be okay with it. They're pretty much a staple for me, so that's probably one thing on which I could swallow a price increase...

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On being forceably severed....

One of the worst feelings is being cut off. From people, places, things...it just kind of sucks. And maybe it's not actually BEING cut off, but FEELING cut off. I'm someone that likes, even needs, to feel connected at all times. I haven't watched the morning news in several days and that's starting to get to me. I like knowing what's going on around me and in the world. I've even been known to check my email while camping. Yes, I'm THAT person. I can shut technology down for a little while, but we're talking a couple hours or so. I can't shut down for days or weeks at a time.

I like having noise around me. Music, television, that kind of stuff. White noise, really. It keeps me from feeling alone, keeps me from getting lonely.

So when I feel cut off, I start to panic a little. I know it's probably best for me, to be honest. A little down time from life and noise never killed anyone (at least, not anyone I know). I have a friend who takes down time every now and again, killing music in her car and house just so she can be alone with her thoughts without distraction. I've never been able to do that. I've never even been able to fathom it. Being distracted from my life and my problems is something I've become accustomed to. It's how I've learned to survive.

When I was working full time and going to school nearly full time, I started to freak out a little...to the point that I almost gave up on school (for what would have been the fourth time). During dinner with a friend, she said to me, "Never stop to think about how crazy what you're doing is...you'll probably kill yourself." The last part, I assure you, was hyperbole. But it's how I coped with the craziness. I just kept distracting myself from how insane my life was getting and eventually I managed not only to survive it, but successfully complete my mission. And when I finally stopped long enough to really think about how crazy my life had been for the last several years, I ended up getting as sick as I've been in probably 10 years. My mom said, "Hey, you got quite a few good years out of your body, never really getting sick...maybe you needed to shut down."

And while my mother may have been correct (I'm fairly certain she was), I really don't like the idea of being cut off or shutting down when it's not on my own terms. I hate it, in fact. But reality sets in from time to time and that's just what happens. Situations and circumstances get the best of me and being cut off is a necessary evil. It sucks, there's no denying that. I guess I just wish I could figure things out without having to forcefully be alone with my thoughts and problems.

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On keeping things regular....

WARNING: Jesus post ahead.

Because I am a creature of habit, there are things that happen every day and every week in my life, typically without fail. I have the same routine every morning...wake up, check the news, jump in the shower, put on makeup and clothes, comb my hair, drink my coffee, blowdry my hair, head to work...all that good stuff.

Most Wednesdays, I play games with some friends. Every other Thursday, I get a manicure. These are just some of the things that have become regular occurrences for me...things that I know I get to do, that I can count on being there.

But there's one thing that's on my weekly list of "things to do" that, even if I don't make it every week, is the most dependable thing on my list.

I go to church on Sunday.

It's something I've done since I was in utero, I'm sure. Growing up, I often dreaded waking up early on Sunday and putting on nice clothes. Jeans were never allowed at church. Always had to wear slacks or dresses. As I got older, and continue to get older, going to church has become not something I have to do, but something I get to do. I'm a part of something when I'm there. I feel connected to many of the people there. It's a place where I feel safe, where my opinions and struggles matter. There is an overwhleming sense of community when I'm at church...and being in community is incredibly important to me. I may disagree with or get annoyed at things from time to time, but maybe that's part of it's beauty.

There are weeks I wake up and simply cannot fathom getting out of bed and dragging myself to church. I feel like I miss something when I'm not there, but I'm also realizing that being in communion with myself and my surroundings is worship, too. But fairly typically, I do everything I can to get to church every Sunday at 9am to sit next to my parents and enjoy being with like-minded people who care about me.

Church is a place I intend to take my own children someday, maybe even forcefully (as was sometimes the case in my own childhood). I want and need for my children to understand that regardless of how much their parents and friends say they love them, they are covered in the unending grace, mercy, and love of Jesus. I want them to know that their mistakes and failures and shortcomings do not define who they are, because they are, first and foremost, children of God...and nothing matters more than that.

Even at the ripe old age of 31, I am coming to understand that, apart from the grace, mercy, and love of Jesus, I am incapable of experiencing joy and peace. I've said it before: anyone can find happiness and contentment. But true joy and peace? That's something that I have only ever found when I find myself wrapped in the love of Jesus.

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On stopping to smell the roses....

A little more than ten years ago, I was living in Minnesota and generally hating life. So to help myself make it through some really rough days, weeks, and months, I started writing down things that made me happy. I called them Simple Pleasures. My best friend would help me from time to time...she came up with "standing on a dock and looking around." We discovered that Simple Pleasure on a choir tour during the fall of that awful year.

The list eventually got so long, I had to take it to the computer and type it out. It filled an entire page in a rather small font.

I found and read through that list the other night. There are things on there I had completely forgotten about (crunching, flashlight prayers, canoeing...) and things that I currently hate (Fall, cold weather) and things that will remain a Simple Pleasure till the day I die (fun pens, reading books I have no intention of buying, looking at Christmas lights).

I found myself crying a couple times, reading all those forgotten things. Sometimes it's nice to get a reminder of things that used to make me happy, even if I don't particularly care for those things now. It makes me think it's okay to change, to grow, to develop. I can't remember a time when I ever like Fall, but apparently I did at some point or I wouldn't have written it down.

Many of the things on that list probably wouldn't cross my mind now...like The Northern Lights. I'm just not in a place where that's a regular occurrence so I never think of how happy they make me. I do wonder though: if I were to create a 30-year-old Simple Pleasures list, what would make this list now?

Belly laughter. Hearing a baby giggle. Feeling appreciated. Proving myself wrong just when I need it. Accomplishing a goal, even if it took over ten years to do it. Bottomless mimosas. Creating a beautiful meal. Centerpieces. Knowing I'm really good at what I do. Buying cheese and meat fresh from the deli. Long, hot showers for no reason. Farmer's markets. Anticipation of the exciting and unknown. Someone telling me I'm brave. New tattoos. Eating hummus in excess. Cracking open a bottle of wine. Pizza, brownies, and champagne - all at the same meal. Believing in romantic comedies. My signature. Pampering myself because I can...and should.

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On states of mind and being....

I am a firm believer in the Sacred Space.

I think we all need one.

A place to be at peace. A place to be alone with thoughts and feelings, no matter what they are.

For a long time, I've always considered the Sacred Space to be somewhere in my house. I love setting up the bedroom to be a place of ease and contentment. Somewhere I can go to release and relax. A place that's calm, void of noise, clutter, distraction...unless I decide to put any of that in my Space. I'm a big fan of using natural light, colors, and candles to help move along my Space. Art often helps.

I wonder, though, what someone else thinks of when I say "Sacred Space." After all, it's a place in the world that's supposed to induce not happiness, but joy; not contentment, but peace. I have a lot of friends that would much prefer to be outside than inside, so creating a Space inside probably doesn't make any sense. Maybe it's an early morning walk on a beach, with no one else around, simply enjoying a beautiful sunrise and smiling to yourself for no reason other than it's a good morning. Maybe it's a hike though those gorgeous Rocky Mountains, quieting one's thoughts for long enough to hear nature's symphony. Maybe it's a walk to the park across the street, sitting in fresh grass, reading a book and listening to the sounds of frisbee and volleyball.

And Sacred Spaces, they're allowed to evolve. They should change. I don't know what her Sacred Space used to be, but I'd place bets that my best friend's current Space (or one of them, anyway) is the lack of distance between her and her nursing son. No matter where she is or how she's feeling, there is a peace that falls over her, watching that sweet boy take hold of her.

Maybe a Sacred Space isn't so much a physical place as it is a state of being. There's a deep sense of calm when I wake up in the morning, feeling rested and alive. Nothing quite compares to that. There is a sacredness in feeling accomplishment, in knowing you survived something, in watching something you created come to life (music, art, babies, whatever).

So my Sacred Space will probably continue to be my bedroom, but it's probably worth trying out some different Spaces from time to time.

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