Eggs of Inspiration . . .

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"How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved".

 - Sigmund Freud, Letter to fiancée Martha Bernays

Bird Books - "A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah"

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I think I've mentioned before how hugely impacted I can be by the books I read.  Often, I am so consumed by a story, character, or tone that it takes over my way of thinking and leaves me feeling a bit not myself for a few days (I find that the remedy is to read something strictly informational or comedic to shift myself back to normal).   Maybe that’s the reason this particular book has sat on my shelves for ages.  It is the true account of a child soldier fighting in the civil war in Sierra Leon.  And every time I was about to begin it I thought “this is going to be incredibly powerful and moving . . . and it’s going to completely screw me up”.  

Well, I was definitely right about the first part.  The story is every bit as horrific, emotional, and triumphant as I imagined it would be.  It chronicles a stolen childhood – riddled by death, fear, and war.  It is utterly unimaginable.  And for that reason, it didn’t affect me in the way I thought it might.  I didn’t dream about the characters or the setting, the narrator’s tone didn’t impact my thought patterns, I didn’t even find myself thinking about it all that much when I wasn’t reading.  This isn’t to say that it wasn’t a good book.  I found myself unable to put it down on numerous occasions.  The author’s prose is rich and descriptive, and I connected with his character (the younger version of himself) and his struggle.  But it was like reading about the Holocaust.  It can feel too cruel unreal.  And I, sitting in my warm bed, completely safe and comfortable, cannot accurately picture a life spent in the African jungle - deprived a sleep, food, family - high on a combination cocaine and adrinaline, with only the purpose being killing and surviving.  

I can sympathize.  I can be horrified.  But I cannot fully imagine that pain. Maybe that means I'm emotionally limited, or lacking imagination.  Maybe you should read this incredible book and get back to me on how it affected you.

Plumage - Blazing a Trail

Tank: American Eagle.  Jeans: Tommy Hilfiger.  Blazer: Thrifted.  Shoes: Thrifted.  Necklace: jewelry maker in West VA. 

So this is my first blazer.  Ever.  I found it in my favorite thrift store a few weeks ago (when my brother was visiting).  And I love it.  It's corduroy, with a soft, silky lining, and (as I hope this pictures illustrate) it fits me perfectly.  I also paid $12 for it.  That's a plus.  

Oh and the shoes are my first pair of loafers.  Ever.  Also thrifted.  I believe I paid a whopping $2.50 for them.   

I realize that I am bragging, and for that I apologize.  I just love thrifting so much now.  It saves me so much money, and I always have fun, new-to-me pieces to work into my wardrobe.  It's also eco-friendly and if you shop at places like Goodwill and SPCA Rummage, the money goes to a great cause.  I avidly recommend it to all of you . . . well all of you that don't live in the same town as me.  I don't want you picking over my treasures . . .

A-musings: Independence

Whenever I begin to write one of these posts I begin to doubt myself.  I worry that I will come across sounding dumb or inarticulate, or maybe just horrible naïve and cliché.  I am scared that I will be bad at expressing myself and not get my point across, or worse – my point won’t be particularly well-thought-through and I will wind up offending or simply disinterest someone who I would really admire and would want to impress.  It’s just that the blogging world is really intimidating.  On the style blogging front, there are so many beautiful women out there, putting together creative outfits, and capturing them in artsy photos in beautiful locations.  And beyond the fashion world, things get even more scary.  There are all these highly educated, intelligent, well-spoken people writing ingenious posts on everything from food to travel to feminism.  And I’m just me.  Trying to get my haphazard outfits and thoughts out there, partially for my own benefit, and in part to break into this amazing community and possibly make some friendships and connections.  But it’s daunting.  You all are just so freaking cool. 

But I shall carry on. 

Today, what’s on my mind (in part stemming from all that self-doubt I just referred to – hey, where is that ‘my butt looks awesome’ girl?  I think she needs to come back and give this present self a good talking to) is independence, specifically female independence in the context of a relationship.  I’m currently reading Gail Collins’ book “When Everything Changed” (a praise-gushing review will follow once I make my way through the 400+ pages) which is about the struggles and triumphs of the women’s rights movement from 1960 to today.  It’s got me thinking.  I’m one of those girls who has basically always been in a relationship.  I “dated” (by too-young-to-drive high school standards) several different guys briefly in 9^th and 10^th grade, before getting into a 4 year relationship that spanned the end of high school and my first two years of college.  Then I immediately jumped into another (partially long distant, on-and-off, and quite toxic) relationship for the final two years of college and the summer that followed.  I was single for a grand total of 2 months before I started seeing THE boy.  And while others out there may disagree, I don’t see this pattern as particularly detrimental to my overall development.   I did all the things single girls do during the ‘off’ times in my former relationship, and I have always been a very strong-willed, self-aware kind of girl in the first place.  I never felt that I needed to be in a relationship, I just always wound up “clicking” with people shortly after a previous connection “un-clicked”. 

Annny-hoo, even though I think I am a perfectly capable, well-rounded young woman despite my constant non-single status, I have noticed certain trends that I think may stem from always having a significant other (specifically a male S.O.) in my life.  Specifically, when I have never done something before, my first inclination is to ask someone to do it with me.  Even if said person has no expertise and can offer nothing else but moral support in the situation, I still typically ask for help.  But I’ve come to realize that this is sort-of silly (I mean it makes sense – but it isn’t necessary).  I’m using another person (usually my boyfriend) as a security blanket – which in and of itself isn’t so bad, but the problem arises when I have to take the plunge and dive into any given unfamiliar situation on my own.  I get freaked out.  I begin to doubt myself (ah-hah! Maybe that’s why this whole blogging thing is so scary – I’m on my own out here).   I worry that I will make a complete fool out of myself and not have any one to turn to and laugh with (which magically turns any embarrassing situation into a funny story/inside joke to share later).  The thing is though, I have done plenty of scary, new things on my own by now (take my car to the mechanic, apply/interview/land a new job, travel to France, and start this blog – just to name a few of the most terrifying) and for the most part, things turned out just fine.  I often make a fool out of myself (especially when calling someone I don’t know - if they call me, I’m fine, but if I’m the one doing the dialing, my tongue turns to gak [oooh gak – sweet 90’s reference – I tried to make a ‘gak hat’ on several occasions which always resulted in getting the green goo stuck in my hair and crying as my mom tried to get it out without chopping all my hair off]).  But, I just wind up laughing at myself, and sometimes share the story with a friend or S.O. later, thus creating the same funny story/inside joke scenario.

More often than not, I discover that I’m completely capable of doing anything on my own.  So, all the “security person” does is put off the inevitable – getting comfortable doing things solo.  It is incredible to have people (be it friends, family, or a S.O.) to lean on for support when things get rough, but I’m going to try (a mid-year resolution of sorts) to be more discerning as to when I actually need support, and when I’m just a little nervous.  It’s the difference between actual pain and mild discomfort.  Being uncomfortable is good for me.  It’s like working out – that slight ache means that I’m getting stronger.  Mental note, go to the gym . . .

Eggs of Inspiration . . .

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"Do I contradict myself?  Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."

- Walt Whitman

Plumage - Ink Incognito

Although I really hate to play favorites, I have to say that this outfit is one of the best I’ve put together in recent weeks.  It includes my favorite cardigan, new shoes, a thrift find, and a remixed piece – what could be more perfect?

Cardigan: F21; Top: Anthro dress worn as top; Skirt: thrifted; Shoes: Limelight; Necklace: Gift.

I felt beautiful and feminine, yet still professional and mature.  And thanks to a few new pairs of shoes that cover my feet tattoos (I try not to show them off in the office, and have resorted to lots of tights, socks, and pants) I could rock bare legs on this warm Spring day. 

I just realized that even though I’ve referenced them several times, I have yet to show y'all pics of my tats.  So here they are in all their inky glory.

Clover, lower back, age 16.

Celtic cross, right foot, age 18.

Lily, left foot, age 20

Deceased Grandfather’s initials, right foot above cross, age 21.

I have plans in the works for a fifth and perhaps final piece on my side/back.  I am having my little brother draw it up for me.  And what is it going to be?  What else?  A magpie :)

Flight Report - Turn the Page

Well my roommate has officially moved out, leaving a very empty apartment (I didn’t realize how much of our shared spaced she had furnished), and a very sad puppy in her wake.  I will still get to see her once more before she embarks on her 2 year Ecuadorian adventure, so the utter devastation has yet to begin (although I did spend quite a bit of time crying my eyes out on Friday as I rearranged my sparse furnishings).  Caleb was also out of town visiting family, so my weekend was quiet, a bit lonely, and appropriately rainy.  I powered my way through a lengthy hulu queue and spent a lot of time curled up under covers reading. 

I gave him a bowl of ice to cheer him up.  He loves crunching up the cubes – it’s very convenience that I can use them as “treats”.

I did grab breakfast with one of my close friends on Saturday.   She is returning to live with her parents this summer and is headed off to law school in the fall (seriously, people need to stop leaving – immediately) so I had to say a temporary good-bye to her as well.  Luckily, the boy returned home on Sunday morning.  We had an epic card game over a leisurely brunch which did wonders at improving my mood. 

All-in-all it was a nice weekend and I was grateful for some solo time, but it is going to take a while to get used to this whole living alone thing.  It really makes me appreciate how lucky I am to have such amazing friends, and how special this past year really was. 

Now, on to a new chapter.  Maybe I’ll take up painting?  I definitely need something  to hang on the walls.