this and that.

i have felt it for most of my womanhood
the pressure that wells and demands to be felt
the pressure that comes from a society deeming a woman beautiful
too beautiful to be with this man because he is not your equal in face or body
but not beautiful enough to be with that man
because you will not be able to keep him
that man will leave and cheat and break your heart into a million pieces
and they will shatter like broken glass
left scattered across the floor of your soul

but you see this man over here
you will grow tired of him yourself because your face and body outshine
they eclipse all substance
they have no thought for what is deep or good or true
and this is somehow our fault as women
with faces too beautiful to attain our equal
but not deep enough to hold that which matches our soul

and i am left between being damned either way
choose wisely the voices whisper
choose what is perfect in our eyes
but no matter what you choose
you will never be right
you will never satisfy what we demand

so the choice is left to me in the end
with the illusion being it was never mine to begin with
never mine to know what i would seek if left to my own devices
if left out of the brainwashing and trend setting
if left out of the cookie cutter madness that teaches us what is attractive
but the voices still tell me i may choose a cookie
reach your had in the cookie jar
as long as it is our doing that caused the drawing out

and i believe for a moment the lie and reach my hand in grasping
until i remember i do not have to choose
damn the voices and damn their demands
i am unto myself happy in where i stand
cookieless, with what they tell me is a pretty face
and a soul too deep to buy into the lie that my face will last
for i know this to not be true
so let me stand alone
rebelling against what you say i must choose

tell me i must choose a man to be happy
and i will show you a life content in where it is
happy to be alive, breathing the sweet and wild air given
tell me i must make a choice and be damned either way
and i will show you a choice does not have to be made

life must simply be lived
moment by moment
one foot in front of the other
one step taken at a time

and the words are written

it's taking hold of the words and pulling them down, 

forcing them to submit and bend and beat to a drum

a drum that is yours and no one else's

it's looking around and realizing that this is it 

this is all we've been given 

there is nothing more than right here and now

breathing in and breathing out and waking up

drinking dark coffee and making feet walk paths

paths we're told to walk to be responsible

to have success

to have it all

and the screaming inside starts from deep within

and the panic wells and is a living thing

pushing, pushing, pushing against the bell jar

banging and demanding to be freed

because it is all consuming and familiar

it is building walls high like a master brick mason

whispering words in the dark of the night

whispering, whispering, whispering, truth and lies

waltzing together, one thought after the next kissing in passing

and we allude to the nightmares that scare us most

to fearing the commitment and dying at the thought of being alone

and the panic is still there, threatening to choke and never leave

yet we still do that which causes the panic to grow

why?! 

to please the voices around us that scream not to live

to forget that we have one life and no other

that this is all we have here and now 

so what is the answer...

to do that which we fear

that which makes us panic, for only then does it shrink

only then can we breathe and remember

one life, one life, one life

why are we not running like we are on fire

towards all that we were created for...

and the words are written
for i fear them the most

and I swallow the fear

for what other choice do I have?

for my generation...

I read an article the other day about my generation. It talked about how we value experiences over possessions. We value that which connects us with those around us more than with what we can or might in the future, acquire. And, for the first time in a long time, I appreciated what we have brought to the table. I more than anyone have been hard on my generation...but, reading those words, thinking about who we are, the people who make up this great mass of humanity that I get to call my own, I was damn proud to be, for the first time, born when I was.

Do you know what we've done?

We have stood up and bucked the system.

We have said, no, I don't really dig this whole 9-5 thing, or in most cases, this whole 8-7 thing. I don't particularly want to be chained to a desk, so I won't be. I don't want to waste this one life I've been given, slaving away for someone else's monetary gain. I want to use my body as a canvas, painted with who I am for all to see. I want to grow my hair long when others think it should be kept short because of my gender. I want to cut my hair short when others think it should be long because that's what appeals to the opposite sex. I want to love who I love without boundaries or stipulations, despite gender or color or culture.

We have screamed that we just want to be us. Not boxed in or held back. We have proven we do, in fact, have fantastic work ethic, we just want to break the mold handed down to us of what traditional work looks like.

We are your facebook, instagram, snapchat, and social media creators. We are your designers and freelancers, forever pushing social norms and redefining the game. We are the ones that run wild and free. We are chasing the back of the north wind, because we have somehow tasted the elixir of a short life, and want to cram as many memories, connections, and experiences as we can into a single day.

We have sought out mountains and valleys, oceans and lakes, choosing tents over hotel rooms. We have composed music that shatters normalcy, connecting us with those listening, if just for a moment. We have recognized the beauty in written and spoken poetry, in pictures posted for the world to see, and we have somehow, magically, created ways to support ourselves through our crazy ideas that no one thought would ever work.

This is who we are.

We are your extreme athletes, extreme philosophers, extreme writers, artists, mathematicians, parents, daughters, sons. We are striving each day to live out what we are passionate about.

We are....millennials. For better or worse, this is who we are.

And I am finished. Finished with being ashamed of the generation I was born into and grew up with. I am finished beating down those I stand shoulder to shoulder with. For we are so. much. more. than others give us credit for. So, for those who are mine, for those who walk with me here and now in this  small space of time and humanity, I am proud of us. Of you. Of who we are.

Let's keep striving. Let's keep fighting the good fight. For love and hope and all that sums up who we are. Let's pass on to our children the value of memories made and lives lived well, filled to overflowing, and drunk of deeply.

We will only walk this way once. We cannot walk it again. Let's make it count.

~Jade

For the girl with the broken heart.

For every girl whose heart has been broken...

It's the call that vibrates out of your phone, when you push that green circular point of glass, allowing sobs to be heard and transmitted from towers into time and space. It's the sound of wounds opening up and bleeding, tears and pain echoing out of this small rectangular object, wishing it was not the messenger between worlds. It's the listening and uttering hollow words in return, about how this heart pain will not kill, even though she truly believes in this moment it will. It's letting tears slide down your own face remembering a night long ago, when the pain was yours to bear and when you too thought it would surely suck the life out of you in the deep of the night. It's sitting here, sinking deep into this couch, and just being the one who listens as her heart breaks open.

Slowly, the sobbing subsides and the dull ache settles in. Hello old friend. Visiting others now, are we? Like a living thing, walking heavy steps over shattered bits of heart, you stroll into the soul as if you own the place.

Trying to convince her she'll always be yours, are you? Trying to tell her your ache will always remain and she is too broken to be a whole being again. Ah, but I know this isn't true. You are not the owner and possessor of who we are as women. Our hearts do not remain here in this place, in cracked pieces on the floor of our souls. No, they will be gathered together again, placed back in the fire and reforged strong and sure. And where once a wound was cut deep, a scar will eventually settle in.

Don't hide the scars, dear girl. Wear it proudly. It proves that you came into this place, you showed up and gave it your best, and it does not define who you are, but bears witness to who you will become. There is something beautiful in the pain, though you may not be able to see it in this moment. There is a knowing that will come out on the other side of all this, a deeper understanding of who you are and what you can withstand. Yes, you'll carry the scar forever, but not this all consuming ache that is here now. It is this and so much more that is creating the strong woman who will take the place of the young girl. This is what makes our roots run deep into the soil of this great life we've been given. This is what anchors us in and lets us know that the storm will not drown or kill us. This is what turns us into women: embracing the pain, but not letting it define us.

You see, we don't get out of this life unscathed. Though there was a time that I once bought into this lie. No matter who we are, no matter where we live, no matter what we believe and even if we think there's some magic formula that will prevent it, there isn't. Life is simply hard, in all its beauty. It's really, really, hard. Pain is just a part of it. Baggage is also part of the bargain, BUT, the pain and baggage and really hard stuff, if we allow them, they can be the best of teachers. So no, while there isn't some magic out, some big red easy button to push, you wouldn't want to take the easy way, even if you could. Because gold is forged in the heat of the fire, and if you let it, the fire can change you into this as well.

You are learning this lesson, deep in the night and by the bright light of the morning after. You are not a timid mouse, cowering back and hiding in dark holes. You are a fierce young lioness, learning to stand tall and push forward. You are growing into a strong woman, a woman who will change the world. So, in this morning, drink dark coffee and let the tears slide down, but know. who. you. are. Not the pain. Not the ache. You are more, so much more, than this situation can ever try and convince you of.

So these are the words spoken back, echoed from a heart once shattered: this too shall pass, sweet girl.

You've got this.

Love and stuff, 

Jade.

Honestly.

One of my best friends in the whole wide world asked me why I hadn't been writing lately...she then said she felt like there was a very distinct difference between who I portrayed myself to be over social media/my blog, and who I was in real life. Ouch. I'm a HUGE fan of people being who they really are on every level, so to hear her say that there was this disconnect she could see in me...well...I don't think there are many other words that could have been said which would have hit their mark with such a clean and unrelenting death shot.

After retreating to a corner of my soul that I could access with relative ease, to lick my wounds and reevaluate those obviously untrue words, I started the seriously painful process of reading back through what I've written in the past. Ok, here's the thing, what I wrote, it was absolutely true at the time. I don't think I've ever been able to write things I didn't believe to simply portray an image. However, and this is a REALLY big however, I've definitely gone through some emotional mess lately, and through the process, something merged together in the best kind of way inside of me. It was as if there had been two of me all along, one who wrote and believed everything taught, unwilling to question, wanting to be the sweet, calm, beautiful, self assured woman who was strong and willing to want the simple and uncomplicated side of life...all definitely true in one sense. BUT then, outside of the screen and the blog and outside of the inside of my head, there was this real person who lived and breathed, was messy and SERIOUSLY complicated (still am), who journaled in a totally different way than she blogged, who was afraid to let anyone know the questions, the doubts, who craved the wild, to break free and live big, whose dreams over took nights, and who had been struggling with some serious anxiety (a kinda new development), who was relating to the mess and questions more than to the simple answers and quaint pictures she'd painted. And somehow, just like that, the two selves merged into one...well, it wasn't exactly THAT easy, it's been more more like a hurricane sweeping through my soul and leaving some serious mess in its wake...BUT, still, the two that I'd always felt warring against each other, were suddenly still and here I stood at thirty, head spinning, trying to figure out how to navigate life as just me. This one person.

Then, I had to admit that you were right, friend. You were right and I've been wrong in a way, but really, I've just been trying my damnedest to figure out who I am. And maybe I'll have other battles, and maybe I'll still suck really bad at being super honest with myself (and you). But, this is me trying. Because, at the end of the day, no matter what else I am, the writer still surfaces. So, when you asked me why I hadn't written anything in so long, this was why. I had to let the dust settle, and THEN I had to work up the courage to be honest enough to write this post first. I'm trying, I'm trying really, really, really, hard to just be me. All of me. And it would seem that since I can no longer compartmentalize myself, this is what the future looks like...;)

So, here's to taking a giant breath, to not freaking out at being honest, to admitting that I'm a dang mess, who has been battling with some MAJOR anxiety, who wasn't being honest with herself about who she was, who questions everything, religion, who God is, people, reality, dreams, life, death, all of it. All the time. Who has ALWAYS done this, but who, until now, never had the courage to admit it. Yeah. Here's to all of that. Here's to no longer just painting pretty pictures, but to realizing that while some pictures painted about our lives are nice, the reality of who we are is always more helpful than when we edit stuff out.

And hey, thanks for being the one who pushes me, who makes me so stinkin' mad about being forced out of my comfort zone, but is always right there to listen even though you always feel like I'm being enigmatic...I don't do it on purpose. Promise.

And to everyone reading this...thanks:) Thanks for reading and...yeah...hopefully there will be more to come as I learn who this new writer self is. Here's to hoping that you'll have the courage to just be you too. Because, there's only one you. And the world doesn't need us to be carbon copies of someone else, but to be who we really were originally created to be.

Love and stuff,

Jade. 

What it's about and so much more.

There's this thing that grows strong inside of me, longing always for what is authentic and raw and open. I have the hardest time cracking open the doors locked tight in walls bricked high around my soul, but I crave that which is open constantly. I think that's called irony;) So, there are times when days turn to weeks that slip by while I push away the words and really just don't want to sit at the computer and bleed out what I know will come. Funny thing about being a writer, you can't "just write" but instead, we simply slice open whatever place we might be in life at the time and wait to die from the words bleeding freely...we are also dramatic...that was me being dramatic. Seriously though, it's never just writing, but it's as if we wrench out a piece of our very core and expose it to the world. I'm convinced it's far more difficult for writers to write than it is for other people. We write instead of talk. I do this a lot. I don't want to talk most of the time, but I allow the words to build up and swirl around until out they spill...and relief follows shortly after...somehow.

I turned thirty somewhere between the last post I wrote and this one. I have a whole lot to write about having slipped quietly out of my twenties and into this new decade, but that is a story for another time. Here and now, I am finding it to be more true than before that the writing does not become easier. However, I am done with the pretense and facade that different years in my twenties held. That craving for authenticity is stronger than ever, the longing for a life that snaps and crackles with bright star light and dark red wine, with strong coffee and sweet conversations, deep and real and truer than true, that is stronger than ever. I am done with glossing life over, always trying to make it seem perfect and beautiful, for more than ever I am truly understanding that the beauty comes out of the ashes, the broken, the words spoken when things are hard and just plain suck. More than ever I'm understanding just how much I'm stripping the beauty and authenticity away when I don't admit that I am not always being honest with the words crafted. Often crafted to form a pretty picture of perfect spirituality, and a sticky sweet life. That's not my life. Oh, sometimes it's pretty dang close to being amazingly perfect...for like half a second...and then reality comes crashing back in and I remember just how imperfectly perfect this thing we call life is. And I am not immune to the imperfection. I wouldn't want to be.

I haven't been, the last few months especially. I have felt like my feet bore weights as I trudged through knee deep quick sand that was trying to suck me under. My soul felt as dry and cracked as the sahara, and the grit filled my mouth. I have trudged through soul deserts before, but this time felt different, and I have ridden the roller coaster of emotions, giving in and letting the anger wash over me. I'm still pretty dang angry about a whole lot...and I'm finally allowing myself to ask some really hard questions to a God who is bigger than the answers that I may never get. And that's ok. I get this whole thing about Him knowing me inside out and working all things for my good, but for the first time ever, I'm not glossing this thing over, and I'm allowing myself to really deal with the nasty stuff pushed down deep. For the first time I'm beginning to understand that it's really, really, really, ok to be angry and let myself feel that...but, the trouble comes from staying in that place too long. That's not what the journey is about. Hence why it's called a journey, right? It's a constant push through deserts dry and valleys lush and green, a constant forward movement up mountains surrounded by sweet, crisp air, and down again into jungles deep. It's all about the journey, never stopping to settle in the dry desert (good grief, let's not do that, this place suuucks) or any other place we may pass through. It's about keeping up the whole one step at a time thing, the whole never give up, fight the good fight, run the race set before you with eternity in sight, thing.

It's about all of this and so much more.

Sitting here in this little cabin on this great big lake, these are the thoughts that swirl all around. Surrounded by trees reaching long limbs to brush against this tin roof, all I can think about is how important it is to be authentic about where I am. Where we all are really. It's about connecting and remembering how much it matters to crack open our souls. To remind each other that the journey isn't perfect, and dang it hurts sometimes...but, at the same time, it's the most incredible thing we've been given. It's about being reminded that this God who knows us is greater than any box we try to force Him into and He can handle the questions. He can handle the doubt. He can handle us. And me. Most of all me.

Yeah, it's about all of this and so much more.