On finding and cultivating a voice

Compared to a place like New York, Sydney's pretty small. But compared to a place like Milledgeville, it's big enough to feel like you're being swallowed whole.

I started blogging way before it was cool (think Xanga and LiveJournal), but the thought of sharing my life in this sort of virtual context didn't appeal to me again until 2013. There were journals and poems and essays far and wide, but nothing like this. I started to see how blogging could construct a vibrant community of likeminded people, and I wanted to be part of it.

So I started blogging. In part for my family and friends to feel included in a life that was happening halfway across the world, but also for myself - to find and cultivate a stronger voice. But then, something happened that I wasn't expecting: The dreaded nothing.

Nothing I wrote was widely read or largely popular. Though a few people here and there read my posts, my readers were almost entirely family and friends. People were accepting what I wrote, but they weren't asking for it. They weren't hugely challenged or moved or changed by it. I didn't feel like I was reaching people.

I didn't feel like my voice was being heard.

And then, I realised that it's okay if my voice isn't heard in the way I wanted or envisioned or planned. It isn't indicative of a voice that's too quiet or unimportant; rather, it's indicative of a voice that was created for a different venue. If there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that when things aren't going as you truly, deeply, in-your-bones believe they should be going, the choices are simple. We can either wallow in the un-happening, or we can change our approach. I had this version of myself all mapped out, but that version isn't what's real. I'm not one of those people who naturally gains thousands of followers on social media or whose pictures are bombarded with complimentary comments.

But what I've found contentment in is that the reason I'm not that sort of person is because I'm a different, just as good, just as important, sort of person. My influence is quiet, but deep. My opinions are rare, but profound. My confidence is secure in a way that doesn't call attention.

Once, when my dad came to pick me up from high school, he made a comment as we were leaving that it was wonderful to see how positively so many different people reacted to me. I was confused. It wasn't until years later (read: now) that I understood what he meant. I'd always felt somehow disconnected from people because I didn't belong to one clique, but the beauty of that was it allowed me to connect with far more people than I thought, in a way that was far more kind than I realised.

This is my voice. The welcome home for whomever hears it. And there is a stillness in that voice that took me years to be happy with. In the midst of a social media generation, a world ruled by virtual congeniality, it can feel strange to not have the kind of voice that is conducive to immediate popularity.

In a place like Milledgeville, it's hard to not fit in. But in a place like Sydney, a place that feels big enough to swallow you whole, it's somehow easier to stay afloat.

It's easier to find your voice, because there's more space to sing.

What's your song?

For when I don't feel like writing

Words used to come from me
like water pours from a faucet,
as if my insides weren't
flesh and blood and bones, but
letters, waiting to be delicately sewn
into a definition for everything I felt.
Then suddenly, a drought.

When I first stopped writing as voraciously as I used to, I thought it meant I wasn't a real writer. Or maybe, that I'd never been a real writer. When my blog didn't turn into a money maker and when nothing I wrote went viral, I wondered if it meant that I wasn't a good writer. I wondered how I was supposed to make sense of my life if there wasn't some constant poetic capture of what was happening. But then, as suddenly as the words stopped, they came again, and I realized that writer's block isn't so much the absence of words from my body as it is the inclusion of everything else. All those things, for all those years, that writing defined, started defining themselves.

That's an okay way to be, I think.

On the weight and lightness of life

In life, we spend a lot of time weighing.

We weigh ourselves on standard scales, and then we weigh our worth by means of that number. But I've noticed that we seem to weigh everything else, too. We weigh our lives by the size of the diamonds in our jewelry, by the amount of belongings in our homes, by our homes themselves. We weigh our lives by our friends, sometimes by their character but far too often, by how their lives and the weights within them stack up against our own. And far too often, we want to be sure that our lives weigh more.

In a world that is constantly pushing us (and by us I mean mostly women) to weigh less, we are strangely obsessed with having lives that are heavy. As if weight, the lightness of us or the heaviness of our stuff, is somehow indicative of identity.

Prospective partners have to have a certain amount of money, a certain set of traits, a certain level of aspiration. Our friends have to be similar enough that it's comfortable but different enough that it's interesting. We're supposed to be both trendy and individual, successful and selfless.

But truth be told, I think our lives would be more full (not necessarily easier, though the two are often confused) if they were lighter. If we unpacked our lives a little bit and allow ourselves to drop some of the weight. Because it was never about the weight.

I don't mean to say, lose weight and do it quickly. I mean to say, it was never supposed to be about the weight. I mean to say we spend our whole lives weighing, comparing, and trying desperately to figure out the best way to build higher and higher when, maybe, we'd be better served simply living. I mean to say all this focus on the weight of life takes away from the lightness of it. I believe, wholeheartedly and unashamedly, that our lives are meant to be elegant. That very few things we carry with us are actually necessary or beneficial, and that weight comes off most easily when we aren't guilted about keeping it.

Our worth is not measured in weight. Our worth is not measured by what a scale says, whether it's for our bodies or our jewelry or a cultural scale of comparison to the person across the table. There is freedom in choosing to cast off weight, or in keeping it, if keeping it can be done with the admittance that it doesn't make one's worth larger.

By what things are you weighing your life? And how great, or small, is the weight of them, really?

Becoming + settling

There was a season in my life (think adolescence) when anything my dad said to me would have been inclined to go in one ear and out the other, but now? When my dad takes the time to advise and counsel me, to speak about the talents he sees in me, I consider it a treasure. While I was visiting my parents in Georgia, my dad took some time to talk to me about this space. How he loves what I write, but thinks I have more to say.

This space has changed a lot since I first started documenting last year. I write with more focus but less detail, more the lesson and less the experience, per se. And while I would argue that the things I write about carry a lot of weight, they're sort of (somehow, also) superfluous. It means something, but there's not much to it. I think my writing speaks for itself, which is good, but that means there's rarely room for a broader conversation.

A few weeks ago, after a day that left me feeling lost, Stephen reminded me that one of the hardest things in life is becoming who you were meant to be. Some people never get there, but I want to. I thought about the upcoming months of my life, and what I want to make of them. I thought about my online presence, and how I want it to speak to people. How I want to speak clearly and with integrity, but I also want to be welcoming and compassionate, and I don't want to measure my worth by means of likes and pageviews. And how do I combine all of these things?

I don't think I'll ever fall into the category of "lifestyle blogger," as much as I enjoy reading them, but I'd like to do more than review books and talk about my weekends. I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this, or what I'll be writing about in the near future. Of course, I want this blog to have a cohesive feel, but I know that change can be incredibly good, if we're open to it.

A kickstarter project

 

 One of the most intriguing things about blogging is the community behind it. Blogs have a way of attracting like-minded people and introducing you to men and women with similar voices and vision who you might not have ever met otherwise.

My audience is pretty small. Miniscule, some would way. But either way, it has brought me a lot of joy and connected me with people with whom I would have never crossed paths on my own. Like Shayla, a 20-something graphic designer who's launched her own kickstarter project. Shayla's blog is an elegant glimpse into her life, and it's one that I frequent, looking for photography and design inspiration (because mine leaves something to be desired, but I'm trying!). So when she wrote about her idea to sell "minimal, stylized portraits of iconic musicians," I knew it was something I wanted to back.

Shayla is an incredible artist with a unique awareness of both how art can take shape and how that shape can influence prospective audiences. Guys, this is a really cool project. Shayla's chosen five musicians to create portraits of (Morrissey is my personal favorite, but they're all remarkable) and is hoping to manufacture and distribute them - which is awesome.

As a blogger hoping to pursue freelance writing, and having little to no opportunity, I know how daunting the idea of a kickstarter can be. There are doubts and what-ifs and anxieties, most of which stem from the reality that it can be incredibly difficult to market oneself well enough. But then I see people like Shayla who are working to make their pursuits sustainable and it is so encouraging.

Take a minute to check out both her blog and her kickstarter page to learn more about what she's doing and how you can help! Share her project on whatever social media platforms you prefer and if you're able, be a little generous with your finances - donations receive gifts from the artist, depending on the amount, plus you'll have gotten to play a small part in a big dream.

A belated Mother's Day

 

My mom has taught me a lot. 

She taught me how to do my laundry and change my sheets. She taught me how to mow grass (or was that Dad?). She taught me how to bake cookies and knead dough and wash dishes. She taught me how to get the temperature of my shower just right.

She taught me that books are better than television or movies, but that it's okay if you like both. She taught me to be diligent with my passions, and to never assume that loving something or someone will make things come more easily. She taught me to have high standards for everything in my life and to never feel guilty for expecting of people what they're capable of giving. She taught me to cut a little slack sometimes, because no one is perfect. She taught me to be respectful and reasonable, but to never discount the worth of drama or hyperbole when you're telling stories. She taught me that romance is wonderful, but it doesn't take away from your worth as a single person. She taught me that a good work ethic is important, but that a job should never compromise your morals or well-being.

She taught me that independence and strength are good things, beautiful things, necessary things, but that they should never come at the expense of other people. She taught me that being remarkable has a lot to do with how often your existence is worthy of recognition and very little to do with how often you are actually recognized.

She taught me that moving across the world takes courage and perseverance, and she taught me that I could do it. 

She taught me that all these things, and so many more, are better taught with actions than words, and in doing so, she taught me how to be effectively quiet.

My mom taught me how to use my voice.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. You are beautiful and wonderful, and I am so privileged to have a mother like you - someone to teach me everything and still leave room for me to learn on my own.

Stuff I've heard

I remember the first time I met Harrison Thacker. It was May 2010; we were both taking Performance of Poetry as a summer Rhetoric course. He performed original hip hop and rap pieces and in class discussions, would talk about his love for the genre and his dream to pursue hip hop professionally. I remember thinking that this guy was unlike anyone I'd ever met, that he managed to break all the hip hop stereotypes I had stored up inside me, and that he was hugely talented. We became friends.

Through his time at Georgia College, Harrison's passion for hip hop grew. He used it in his class assignments whenever possible, and his final senior project (we call them capstones) discussed the need for a hip-hop class in the Rhetoric department. Since his graduation from Georgia College last year, Harrison has been working hard to accomplish his goals, and today, he is one step closer.

Harrison's new single, Invictus*, and its accompanying music video have officially dropped! This is a project that I'm hugely excited to endorse, and it's one that I would recommend to anyone invested in the music community. Harrison's talent reaches beyond sheer ability - he has studied his craft and honed his skilled over the past years, and it's apparent through Invictus that he is going places.

The video is well-produced and fits perfectly with the tone and purpose of the song, and it gives Harrison the opportunity to showcase not only his gifts, but also to explain his purpose behind pursuing music. If you like it (and I'm pretty sure you will - I rarely listen to hip hop and the like, but I love Harrison's material), you can follow his Instagram, @iam160s, to keep up with his projects. Invictus is also available for download (explicit and edited versions available) here.

Congratulations, Harrison! Thank you so much for letting me be part of this release; I can't wait to see what's next for you!


Note that the official Invictus song includes explicit language.

A Portrait of Australia

Recently, I made a new friend. Her name is Courtney, and she looks after two kids in a suburb called St. Ives, about 15 minutes from where I am. We have a lot in common. We're both graduates of universities in the United States, we're both 23, we both have tattoos and nose piercings. We both enjoy bad jokes and late nights and good deals. We're both artists.

She, in the more traditional sense. Courtney studied art at Oregon State University, and while she has a shockingly wide range of talent, she has a preference for portraits. I student Rhetoric, and I while I can barely draw a stick figure, I write for my life. One of the first times Courtney and I spent time together, we discussed our lack of inspiration since being in Australia and the subsequent disappointment that we aren't as saturated in our respective creativities as we would like to be. I suggested we keep each other accountable to either write or draw every day, no matter what.

We decided, after talking it over and squealing (as girls often do over lattes), to collaborate. The project is called A Portrait of Australia, and it's a partnership of our talents. As often as possible, we pick a coffee shop, we sit, we people watch, and we pick someone. She sketches and I describe, in separate journals that we'll later combine. When we're finished, we trade and check out what the other is accomplishing. Guys, it's awesome. We got so excited that we immediately went out and bought new journals/sketch books specifically for this. So far we've only had opportunities to try our hand at it twice, but it's pretty cool. To see the difference in our talents, the ways in which our minds see the world and translate it onto paper, how we are somehow so alike and still so different, is astonishing.

I am really thankful for this friendship. This girl, who reminded me that being a free-spirit isn't so much what other people see in you but what you know exists in you. Alongside the gift I recently got from Shelbie, a second new journal, and an app that tracks my sleep schedule, I've become alive in my words again. I got up at 5:30 this morning specifically so I'd have time to write, and I am so excited to do it again tomorrow.

Sometimes, when you have a gift, it seems heavy. But all it takes is one moment, one person, one idea, to release that gift into lightness, and your entire perspective changes. In spite of the every day stress of life, of being a nanny, of being far from my family, there is a definite lightness of being. Praise the One in Existence for the gifts He has given me, and for the provisions He has made for me to flourish within them.

This is Courtney.

This is how she sees me.

Writers are typically neither as photogenic nor pretty as portrait-ers.

What happens when you get a really good gift

This week, I got a present from a dear friend of mine. She sent me a journal. It doesn't sound like that extravagant of a gift, but if you know me, you know it was right on the money. Not to mention that the detail of this one, how it speaks to exactly where I am, was incredible. I stood holding it in my hands, passing it from one to the other, totally moved by how well she knows my heart, totally enamored with the feel of the paper and string and aroma of that which is my own personal flavor of perfection, and wept.

When you get a really good gift, you're reminded of what gifts you bring to the world.

It set me on fire for the rest of the week. I immediately started using it, writing down lists I found significant and moments that churned up something in my heart, and I encouraged a new friend to draw something in it. I have carried it with me everywhere. It's a really good gift.

It followed me this week on an amazing adventure. For the first time since college, I stayed up till past 4 o'clock in the morning. I drove somewhere completely new and played board games and made new friends and allowed someone to catch my eye and I laughed so hard my stomach hurt and my eyes brimmed. I wrote down moments where I felt absolute clarity and moments where I felt entirely too much. And finally, I slipped that journal back into its hiding place so I could wander through rows and rows of merchandise being sold at a market that opens so early we simply didn't go to sleep. And I didn't even think about this blog.

Glory. I didn't even think about what to write here. I just thought about my life and the beauty of this season. I thought about what I'm really, truly feeling. I thought about where I'm headed and how, for the first time, I feel like where I'm going is where I want to be going. I thought about my heart and the strength the Lord has placed in it. I thought about my friendships back home and how I cannot wait to see those people again. And I thought deeply about the relationships I'm cultivating here and how absolutely stunned I am by their greatness. I thought about God. His Hand on my life.

It's a really good gift. And it spurred me on to a really good week. And so it continues.