Today, I'm Ending My Extended Hiatus From Blogging...

Nearly two years ago, I posted the news that I had secured my first post-graduation "big girl" job. The timing and content of this final blog post might have seemed fairly natural at the time, considering the vision behind this blog; however, ending the blog at "you're hired" utterly undermined my goal of discovering my future one day at a time. Discovering the future daily doesn't stop in the real world.

A few days ago, I was sorting through saved documents on my trusty Mac, cleaning out the organic chemistry notes and old UPC documents, when I ran across my folder from Creative Writing, an upper level English course I took on a whim senior year. I've come to believe that personal growth stems from uncomfortable, challenging situations and Creative Writing class was completely outside my comfort zone. It was also one of the best courses I've ever taken. It allowed me to flex my imaginative muscles, and it taught me that writing has some intense therapeutic power. I was inspired, after re-reading my work, to return to "writers therapy" by logging back onto my blog.

There's something funny about revisiting a piece of writing after a period of time and from a new lens, something not unlike revisiting a life decision after a period of time from a new lens. The new lens is always clearer, and what had seemed so arduous, or baffling, or just plain crappy at the time tends to make perfect sense in hindsight. The new lens causes one to think: okay, that did happen for a reason. When I reread this poem, I didn't even recognize it as my own writing. I actually liked it. And it was exactly what I needed to hear. So thank you, "me, two years ago", for writing it.

I thought I'd share.


In the Eyes of the Beholder

She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
Hair blonde and flowing, pinned and molded to perfection.
A masterpiece
Made flammable with hairspray.
Long locks,
Gorgeous.
Unless, of course, they’re split at the ends,
Grey,
Or Greasy.

I’d rather have wild hair.
Hair with spirit,
Rushing like a country creek in springtime.
Unmanageable.
Free.

She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
Full-chested goddess.
With hills seeming perfectly placed in the South Dakota plains.
34-D,
Magazine worthy.
Unless, of course, they droop with age,
Are unmatched,
Or desperate for support.

I’d rather have a flat chest
And full confidence.
Wear a pink ribbon like a trophy.
Fighter.
Survivor.

She’s beautiful, isn’t she?
Delicate and petite as lace,
She’s scared away the cellulite with sacrifice.
No extra junk in the trunk.
Size 0.
I wish.
Unless, of course, it’s unintentional,
Caused by hunger
Or poverty.

I’d rather have curves,
The organic kind.
Not afraid to wear a size 8.
Embrace it,
And think:

I’m beautiful, aren’t I?