Mining for Words

Alone, I let the cup warm my fingers, remembering when I would drink hot cocoa before school in the dark morning hours.

I take a sip, waiting for the words to come, tapping the mug with fingers that should be typing. But they’re not. Like the essays I struggled so much with during finals week, the words have fled, leaving me with nothing but half-formed ideas that won’t go anywhere. I do not need the ideas; I have so many I wonder if I’ll ever get to all of them. What I need are the words, the words to make those ideas come alive.

Frustrated, I go to introspection, trying to sort out which feelings I can hold onto to help give me the motivation I need. I’m not tired or hungry, the usual culprits for procrastination. I’ve turned off the TV, doing my best to rid myself of distractions so I can work.

The faint glimmer of an idea glows against the blankness of my mood, flickering like an ember going out. If I don’t hurry to it, it will be gone, and I’ll be trying to light up an idea from nothing, hauling words out of the darkness, words that will only sputter and spark, not blaze the way I want them to.

But the words retreat further away from me, giggling in the darkness, thrilled at their game of hide and seek. Even with a match of a new idea, it doesn’t take long before the light flickers out, a few of the words accepting their defeat and coming with me. The rest evade me.

Are they enough? Are the words that have come to me enough to make my idea with? We may only need seven colors to make the rest, but words…words are not the same. Use a word too many times and it fades into the background, boring, bland, unimaginative. Use the word that doesn’t belong there and it stands out like a smear, a streak, an unfortunate stroke on the canvas that cannot be undone.

They will have to do, the words I’ve found. And together, in the quiet, we build around the idea, burning brighter and hotter as we do. More words rush out of their nooks, holding their hands up to the warmth, yearning now to be included instead of forgotten.

After this, I return from my little adventure, sitting upright, putting the mug down, and I begin to write.

5 Years Ago: A Letter to Myself

Five years ago, during my last few days in high school, my English teacher had us write letters to ourselves. In five years, they would be sent to us and we'd be able to read them. Mine arrived recently, and I have to shake my head at eighteen-year-old me. She was trying to sound wise when she didn't have a scrap of wisdom. She wrote about things that once were important to me, but have since become treasured memories that I look back on fondly. The thing that gave me the most insight was my bucket list.

I'd forgotten there were so many things I wanted to do with my life, things that could be easily accomplished if I tried hard enough. Things I'd forgotten I wanted for myself.

But then I noticed something.

As I was thinking about what I'd written, it dawned on me how scared I actually was at eighteen. My first paragraph is all about not forgetting the people I hung out with at the time (and I'm still hanging out with them. No fear, past me!). It hit me hard: I was desperate for acceptance.

And then I realized the truth written between the lines of my vague attempts at sounding wise: I was terrified of the future. I had no idea what was going to happen next, and I had no idea what my life was going to be. I wanted some security as I moved on, and the only thing I could think to hold onto was my friends.

Looking back, it all makes perfect sense. I'd never given much thought to the future (still don't), and to think of myself in five years...to think of how much I could change and how much my friends would change. And, of course, there was the ever present fact that my mom was going to die at some point, and I would have no idea when that would happen or what that would even entail.

At eighteen, I was faking to be brave. I'd been doing it since I was fifteen, so it made sense to continue the charade as long as I could. But the fear's there, hiding behind the words and lurking in the blank spaces on the page. The fear that clearly reads: I am scared, and I'm tired of being brave. I'm scared of what the future will hold, and I'm scared I'm going to lose the only people who've been accepting me. And that fear shortchanged what I wanted for myself. The only clear thing I want in the future was on the bucket list. My actual letter contained no clear answers, and that's because I didn't have a clear vision of my future. And that scared me.

So, there's only one thing to do: write a letter back.

Dear me,

You can stop pretending everything is fine. I know your true feelings. You're sick and tired of being brave and putting on a brave face so no one will think anything's wrong with you. First off, nothing is wrong with you. Secondly, it's okay to be afraid.

The future's a scary place because we're constantly moving toward it, but we're never going to see it according to our expectations. Take a deep breath. You're okay. The future's actually not so bad.

You're scared because you don't know. You've always had school and family to provide you structure, and now that's going to change. It's not easy. But it's exciting because it's new. And you're going to enjoy it.

Now, onto some business.

You are always going to be a nerd. Your family is nerdy, your friends are kind of nerdy, so that's not going away anytime soon. Embrace it and love it because it makes life way more fun.

Your friends aren't going to drop and leave you. They love you for who you are. Trust them more.

Learn to know when a relationship isn't going to work out. You may like a person a lot. But if they're not reciprocating your actions to care about them, or if they're just downright nasty and rude and you can't stand it, don't hang around. You seeing the good in people is a wonderful quality. Don't ever give that up. But you don't need to be around people who aren't good for you. They just drag you down and it's not real friendship. They can still be good people and not be your friends.

Be who you are. Without apology. Own the fact you want to be an author. Don't be wishy-washy about it. You've know that's what you want to do since you were thirteen. OWN IT. It doesn't matter if people give you weird looks or think you're weird. This is what you are meant to do. It's a part of your soul.

Don't be afraid of getting a job. Yeah, speaking as your future self, this is something you gotta get over. Jobs may require work, yes, but they give you money...which allows you to get freedom or to buy things. Right now, it's going to be a kind of narrow field of vision for you, but expand your horizons a little. You can still be an author, you just need to have a job to bring in money in the meantime. It's not a bad thing to want money.

Don't be afraid of failure/getting into trouble. It happens sometimes. Sure, you can avoid both all your life, but how fulfilling is that going to be? Yes, it's important to avoid bad consequences. But it's also important to take risks to get to a greater reward.

Don't wait around for a man to make you happy. As your future, unmarried self, I'm here to tell you something important: marriage is hard. Motherhood is hard. And honestly, I think you want it because you think you're supposed to want it. And yes, deep down, you do want it for yourself, but don't let that be the thing that's going to give you the ultimate happiness. You're still going to be with yourself, with or without a husband, so the person you've really got to accept is yourself. And that's hard, too.

Say yes to the things you really want in life. Don't deny yourself happiness just because of a financial cost or a time cost. There's a time and place to be prudent, but there's also a time and place to give yourself something nice...because you deserve it.

It can seem like a lot, and it can seem overwhelming, but you can do it. I know because I'm you, and I got through it just fine. I may have gotten a few bumps and bruises, but it hasn't killed me yet.

You've done well to be brave for so long. But you can admit that you're scared with me. Let's go build a pillow and blanket for and be scared of the future together.

And when we're ready, we'll head out and face it.

Lots of love to you,

Janessa.

P.S. The bucket list is awesome. High five through time and space!

Saying Goodbye: The Upstairs

I think I need to make this because it's therapeutic and a healthy way to say goodbye to my house. So here we go.

I remember when we got the white carpet installed. It smelled so new, and fresh, and it felt so soft. And then it became a part of my past.

My upstairs was my playground paradise for my imagination. Each room represented a different place, whether it be a log cabin or the central town, my farm that I tilled using a frame of a paint roller, or the passageway under the well that was blocking off a much needed water supply. I could go anywhere I wanted to, and all the rooms played a part.

I remember my brothers' room, the biggest one in the house, with its blue carpet and double window seats. I'd always try to brave it through the tunnel to the other side, but my courage always failed me until another day. So i'd hop into it and drive my imaginary car instead.

Losing that was hard.

My own room, with its bunny wallpaper that my sister put up and all these things that celebrated that I was here and existed, now has bare walls. I never knew how small it was until I approached it one day, carpet and wallpaper gone. How had I not seen how cramped I had been? I simply never needed the space until now.

My sister's room, with its thick green carpet became my playroom. Her brass bed was a magical thing, one that required I climb up it just to get on. There were two bunnies that sat in little wicker chairs next to a wicker table. I suddenly miss them now.

Now that the renovations are done upstairs... I feel lost whenever I go up there. The magic, the feel, the happiness...it's all gone. Nothing hints at the happy childhood I had there. All I have are memories, and nothing to back them up.

That hurts.

Because I want to share these memories with the people I love. I want to be able to take them by the hand and show them my past, show them everything that made me who I am.

But all I have are memories.

In a way, maybe it's better like that. Memories can't be hurt or undone or changed. They stay constant. So maybe the childhood isn't gone. It's just living somewhere else where I can't ever lose it.

My First Convention: A Bundle of Emotions

*blows dust off of blog*

Okay, we're back. For the past three days, I was at FanX, what I like to call a mini-comic convention. As it was my first one, I had no idea what to expect...but I was excited.

Sometime ago, probably when I first began watching YouTube videos, I was introduced to the world of conventions and cosplay. At first, I thought it was weird. People lining up for hours to see a famous person? People wearing costumes of various characters? Shouldn't that have been reserved for Halloween?

But as time went on, I learned more about both conventions and cosplay. Some people were really good at it, taking months, maybe even years to perfect it so they looked as close to the characters as possible. Conventions were giant nerd gatherings, but it looked like fun to be around like-minded people. Soon, I wanted to go as well.

But I lacked any money to go to any con remotely near me. As I was in my teens, I had no job, no income, and no way to make cosplay or even pay for a convention.

Then Salt Lake Comic Con came into being. The dream of going became a whole lot easier because it was twenty minutes away. I couldn't believe it. All I lacked now...was the desire to go. I was in college, and money was tight, and stuff like a convention cost more money than I felt I could spare.

So fast forward to when I bought my tickets for half off (Score Black Friday), and I waited until January 29. At long last. My first convention was finally here. And luckily, I was going with friends who were equally nerdy as me.

The only thing that could top the moment when I walked onto the floor for the first time would be me entering Disneyland. It was huge. There were comic pictures, nerdy merchandise up and down every aisle, and I don't think I saw all of it. But it was amazing. If you were a fan of it, there probably was merchandise for you to buy.

The thing that I loved most though, was the feeling that it was okay for me to be as nerdy and fangirly as I wanted to be. So often, I have to kind of keep that part of myself kept under wraps. Here at Comic Con...I was free to embrace that part of myself. I wish I had another day just to sit around and watch all the interactions between people. I became braver, more willing to speak to strangers, and chat with them. It felt good to be social with people who loved the same things I loved. Or at least respected that I loved it.

And already, I'm missing it. That feeling of being able to walk around a corner and see someone from one of my favorite shows or video games standing right there. The feeling of solidarity that you're not the only huge nerd in the building. The feeling that it is okay for me to stare and oggle and marvel at what people have created for people like me.

In short, it was awesome, and I wish I had a Time Turner to go back and relive those three days over and over again.