Playing with Fire...

We all have basic human instincts. They tell us when to sleep and eat. They warn us if something is too hot to touch, too dangerous to be around, or too risky to take a chance. Still, here lately I'm finding that I'm having more basic instincts than ever. Yet, they aren't to save myself from some irreparable harm or damage. Instead, I find myself longing to rescue people I care for.

When I hear the word, "rescue" I automatically think of firefighters and paramedics. However, we can each be rescue workers in our own right. Sometimes my mother rescues me from a bad day by reassuring me that things will turn out for the better. But what happens when you simply can't rescue those that you care about? Do we will them be-- let them make their own mistakes-- let them get hurt?

It hurts to watch someone go down a path, with high hopes, knowing that it probably won't end well. In fact, I've seen it many times. All the instincts in my body scream at me to warn them. I want to jump up and caution them to the dangers ahead. But it's not my place to. In truth, I can't stop someone from getting their heart broken. In truth, I can't make someone start to hold themselves accountable for their actions. In truth, my words will never be persuasive enough to stir someone away from a course of action they are set on taking.

I guess I can just watch from afar. Watch-- and hope that the fire doesn't burn them too bad. Hope that their burns will teach them lessons. Who knows? Friends have probably had to sit back and watch as I've taken the darker path. Darker paths might lead to dark outcomes. Still, I'd like to believe that somewhere in the dark there is light.

Like a victim trapped in a burning building, I hope the light of the rescuer finds you in time. I hope they can cleanse your wounds and make you whole again. And more importantly, I hope you can learn from it all. Playing with fire is dangerous-- but keeping it so close to your heart can be deadly.

Deceiving ourselves...

I think that at some point in everyone's life-- we try to convince ourselves of something. Sometimes it can be trivial-- like trying to tell ourselves that we are better at something than we really are, like a sport. Other times, we try to convince ourselves that someone never hurt us or that something bad didn't phase us at all. This is simply a defense-mechanism used to keep ourselves from hurting. Yet, what happens when we try to convince ourselves that we really care about someone, when we.... well, don't? Until recently, I thought I really liked an individual. In fact, I spent several days gloomy because of him. Then, I would get dressed up and go out with the sole intention of "bumping into him" and impressing him. I had even gone as far as confessing all of this to him-- in hopes that he would put everything on hold and pursue something with me. Then, as if by divine intervention, I suddenly realized that I really didn't like him at all--- I just had convinced myself that I did.

How silly is that? Can we even convince ourselves that we care for someone? And if so, why would we go to such extremes? All I know is that the realization was not only a shock to me-- it was quite a relief! I knew a long time ago that he wasn't really my type. Sure, he was tall-- but that's about all he had on my checklist. In all reality, he drinks too much, he acts like he is 12 years old, and he has this streak of behavior that he can never be fully accountable for!

When I start to ask myself why I would go to such extremes to convince myself that I liked him-- I can only come up with one answer: Life is supposed to be this puzzle... and a piece of mine is missing! Many of my friends are getting engaged. At my age, my sister was. At my age, my mom was already married with one child. And even though I have NO DESIRE to run down the aisle, I guess I can admit that a small fraction of me feels like that is what is expected of me-- therefore, I need it.

By telling myself that I really cared for this guy, I trying to force in a piece of a puzzle that simply didn't fit. I tried that a lot as a child when putting puzzles together. I had just about as much success then as I do now. I guess the lesson I can learn is to start taking things slow. What's the point in falling for someone, only to find out that you never really tripped at all?

The Source of Happiness...

I just got finished reading the book, "PS.. I love you" for the second time. The movie comes out in December and I wanted it to be fresh on my mind. The book is about a woman who suddenly loses her husband to a brain tumor. And even though her life is practically torn from her, she manages to get through it with the help of her wacky friends and family. The book really makes you stop and evaluate happiness. I mean happiness to something different to everyone. At the beginning of the book, Holly assumes that since her first idea of happiness (a long life with Gerry) will no longer happen-- then she is destined to a life of grief and despair. However, she slowly learns that some past things might bring you good memories but they can't control how you feel about the rest of your life.

I am happy in my life right now. I used to think that by this point in time I would have at least met the guy I was going to marry. I used to think we would be picking out where to move when we graduated. I used to think we would be picking out baby names and dog breeds. Then again, those were the unrealistic expectations of a high school girl.

I now feel much different. I now no longer need a man in my life to be happy. Some days it would be nice-- but it is never a necessity. I now know where I'll be when I graduate school--and I decided on my on terms--not because someone else wanted to go there. I now know the kind of dog I want and dream about walking him in the park with good friends after work. Then again, these could just be the unrealistic expectations of a college girl.

I guess that's how it goes. We have to roll with the punches while carefully cradling our own happiness in our hands. Even though I love my friends, I don't think I should rely on them to make me happy. I love watching trashy TV with Kristen. I love playing Family Feud with Natasha. I love talking in class with Sara. I love goofing off at work with Lindsay. I love phone calls with old friends like Cody. I love karaoke with Rye. I love high school football games with Amy, Eric, and Tanner. I love dancing, card games, classic movies, and beer pong with my friends. All of these things make me smile. But they aren't my entire source of happiness.

Tonight, I went for a drive. (A crazy idea with gas prices so high!) I rolled down my windows and listened to John Mayer. And even though I was all alone, I smiled and sang along. The music was good, the weather was beautiful--- and my life, well is both.

An All-Consuming Love...

Some mornings I can't help but wake up a cynic. After all, the world is full of hatred and rage. Every time I turn on the news I see another story about someone giving up their life in order to take away someone else's. Can love even exist through all the hate?

When it comes to men, I've seen my fair share. I've been cheated on. I've been abused-- emotionally and physically. I've been scared. I've been threatened. I've been left for a friend. I've been heart-broken. I've been lied to. I've had promises made and then broken. I have every right to be cynical.

Yet somehow, I still believe in all-consuming love. I believe in a love that makes you stop and appreciate the wind on your face. I believe in a love that people write books and screenplays about. I believe in a love you can tell your grandchildren on Christmas Eve. I believe in a love that stops you in your tracks and compels you to change courses. I believe in a love that Shakespeare would be proud of. I believe in a love that endures all-- space, time, death.

I might sound like a 8 year-old hyped up on Disney when I say this, but I truly believe that kind of love will find me one day. I'm more than willing to wait for it. Maybe my life is like Scarlett O'Hara's. All my life I've been preoccupied with my Ashleys. I fuss over them and fall for them--- but in all reality, I don't really love them.

One day my Rhett will come along. I'll look right past him at first. However, I will soon find that he'll be everything I absolutely need in my life. (Even though he wasn't anything I was looking for!) And when he walks into my life and my heart, I'll never be able to see my world without him. Perhaps that's the mark of real love-- of a real all-consuming love.