I do believe the worst feeling is that of having so much to say, and being unable to actually say anything. Not because you fear of offending (I certainly don't ever take that into consideration as much as I should), or that maybe you do not have the time to squeeze all of the words out into a conversation, or lengthy blog post. No, it is truly having one hundred and one things going on in your head and your heart, but the second, and I do mean the second, you sit down, those multiple thoughts, feelings, and opinions, are lost. Unable to find a home on paper or logically form sentences on the keys you were attempting to type them from.
That being said - they accumulate - in their own scribbling's and drafts never titled. Until now. Where copy and paste, and some extra time in the afternoon, provided by no more books laying around. I will say I think about things a lot, but no one thing is thought on long. Anyway, welcome to the mind of a 19 year old girl living in a world that almost makes as much sense as she does.
Abridged Thoughts - Scattered - Uncut
Death of a young boy - who just happened to be black. (Yes, of course another young black kid dead at the hands of a cop pisses me off like no other... but he was a kid, not just black). He was a son, grandson, just a year younger than me, getting ready for college. We don't know his story... and I am tired of people thinking they know his, and all the other dead kids story too. All they know is he is dead. And he was black. Now they riot. Stereotype. Accuse. Beg for answers. Mourn. Judge. Claim. I used to want to be a cop - I used to want to be a lot of things. A cop is not one of them now. Not because a boy is dead, but because I've seen both sides of the uniform very closely. Some cops don't even want to be "cops". They just want to be human too. Humans with a heart, that protect and serve the community. Nah I don't want to be a cop - I just want people to see them differently. I need a few cops to see themselves differently too. More human.
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Playing the background is something I thought I was good at, until I was underappreciated and seen as a nobody - stand in - for someone who usually does the background gig. Only though he has more of a name there than I do for sure, only because the boat gets rocked with him. I was told to provide less of a stigma. (Insert some words I know better than to say) Sitting there I couldn't help but be thankful I didn't choose that career. Sure I'll be associated with them till the day I die, almost positive. I just don't have to run by their rules 24/7. Praise Him. I dislike rules a little too much. It's a work in progress. Just like being in the background is too. A pat on the back is still welcomed in my book. These are my flaws.
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Conversations that go from expressive art to political trash are never highlights in my opinion. I could never be sure how body image can be easily transformed into what's going on in the Middle East. I do believe we were talking about tattoos? Anyway... I hear you, I just can't agree. Ever. Old men yelling never seems to solve anything - doing - now there's a concept. Hating. Judgment. Boxed up ridicule waiting to be unleashed on the closest disagreeing thing that breathes. I refuse to scream the "It's my body" or "I'll do what I want - you can't stop me" crap. That won't make it any easier. I will however say that your stubborn headed ways flow through my open mind. And I still curse that.
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A dead actor who taught everyone who ever 'knew' him how to see joy, laugh, and love the silly things. Or to cling to imagination. That is someone who shouldn't be forgotten, but also I encourage us to replicate. He didn't preach Jesus or attend a certain church each Sunday - but then again - what Christians do anymore? He was a lot like Jesus (well... as much as Williams or any human could have been.) I say that because he never promoted negative things - he lived - worked - and loved - as innocently and peacefully as any other actor I can think of. This world and his industry was stricken with evil and a dark lonely silence. He fought to hear and see the joy again. I could say that unfortunately he lost that fight to a addiction and to darkness, and that he listened to a voice he shouldn't have... but once again (what Christians haven't) He has left a much better legacy than half of us ever will, that is the unfortunate thing here. We interact with people on a daily basis and yet a man we never knew left a bigger impact on us. I think one of the best lost boys found his way home. And our God is telling him now how proud of him He is. How he made mistakes and chose the wrong answers more than He would have liked - but at the end of the day his life made people choose joy more than darkness. And that was good.
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A road lined with 6 police cars - and one ratchet looking Jeep - caught my attention. 2 guys hand cuffed on the side of the road surrounded by suited men - another one searching the jeep. This was much too close for comfort. Then again, it being further away wouldn't have made much of a difference. A bust is a bust. In sight or across the country. Cops aren't all the same. Some are human. I talked with one at the park. He was good. He was bald and took off the sunglasses he wore and answered kids questions about how cool it would be to chase bad guys.
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When a basketball rolled into the middle of the street I slammed on the brakes - not because of the ball - but because of the kid I knew would follow it. A movie scene followed after - across the street a slat from the fence moved away from its home and 4 little heads all belonging to some of my favorite boys appeared. Sticking right out of the fence they searched for their ball. Putting the car into park, I unbuckled, and made my way in the middle of the busy street to retrieve their ball, by then they had seen me all yelling "toss it here!" or "Hey Miss Chloe!" And my personal favorite was "Don't call my momma thick!" Thanks to Jo'Quan the guys walking by me had a good laugh and I just waved them off saying I would see them on the other side of the fence and they needed to hush. Pulling up Mousas Way is almost always an adventure. Those boys thanked and hugged me for saving their deflated and raggedy basketball. Providing me with class schedules with "women teachers" we did not know - or really cared to know in late July. 'Nephew' as he is universally known, jumped into my lap asking for dinner, and the older boys repeating his requests. Sigh. I wished I was driving a food truck in that moment. 'Picky' isn't in their vocabulary of food orders. When the big boys arrive not even the little ones could keep me protected like they wish they could, or like I wish they could. Jokes of beating each other up and a few cuss words later I was on my way to the big sisters house. There at least the messiness of our life finds some sanity. Just enough to keep us alive though.
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Books about cancer suck. I mean they are really good, but they suck. I've known too many people who have suffered and won and suffered and lost. (Then again one person would be too many too.) Books about living radically kind of suck too. Because they are right. And I've been doing it wrong for way too long. And then the second I choose the cross instead of the flag people look at you funny. My July 4th didn't look like yours on purpose. And don't tell me you want to live like the men who wrote the constitution because that's the way America was founded. That document still tells my kids they aren't a whole person. "Well" ..."But.." "Now they" Your argument is invalid. Please sit down. Books about a place where people have to grow up and be just like their parents, and if they choose something else they will be excommunicated are addicting, but they suck too. "What if we lived like that?" She asked. "Then I would be in a pretty jank spot right? Actually it would be rough at first... but then I would just find comfort in the fact I did what I knew I needed to. I was the person I was meant to be. I followed my heart and in my case His will - even if it meant putting my hand over the fire instead of the water figuratively." "Oh... yeah. That's true." Some people won't see the path you are on as a good thing - that is ok. It's not their path.
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I am restored by the Sun. Given peace from the rain. Find comfort in the wind. Become a child in the leaves. And challenged by the cold, cold snow. If you live this way, changing with the consistency of the weather, you will be able to find joy in a much simpler way. No need to hug trees - although the tree wont mind it - but understanding why they matter to you - that is the trick.
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I am ready to be back in my second home city. I am also reluctant and slow to pack those bags. I couldn't say it any other way. It is difficult to be so many people in one body. There is something to say about growing up, letting go, moving on, and learning lessons. I'd just rather live those things out.
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A summer full of losses could easily feel like failure. But I've challenged that feeling into hidden wins, unexpected celebrations, and small victories. Michael Jordan lost games after playing, and winning, for years. We are not the exception.
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Soon I'll be back in a place that has a hard time with people like me, and I have a hard time with that place. I kind of demand a different way of life, and it's extremely difficult to do that when their are rules and a "Christian" way of doing something. I refuse to fall into a category, box, denomination, religion, political view point, ex girlfriend, best friend, or even student. Gross. Even the thought makes me cringe. The style of music I listen to, the clothes I wear, and the food I eat. My name is Chloe - get to know me. ME.
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How. How. HOW. Can we say "Keep the disease in Africa till we find a cure!" Or that "Those people deserved to die in Iraq." WE are NOT the Judge of those peoples lives. And I am ashamed to say I am often silent on these matters, not because of the looks or rejection I would receive, but because fear it's no use. And that is another flaw.
