Thought Catalog: This Is How I Imagine You

This Is How I Imagine You

Jul. 10, 2013

By Jamie Delos Reyes 

I’m really happy you’re my girlfriend, but here’s the thing:
You don’t really know we’re together.
Before anyone calls me crazy, let me backtrack a bit. You’ve been my friend for awhile. I like you and you like me and I know this because you actually told me. You’re brave that way. We’ve kissed before and it was amazing. We can talk about politics and feminism and that thing that made you cry yesterday, about F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and Breaking Bad, about your brother and my sister. We’ve shared poems and songs and fears and plans freely, knowing we won’t be judged for anything we say.
In the past, you had your boyfriend and I had my girlfriend, but it didn’t work out and now we’re unattached. We’re free to do as we please, so got closer. But after all the time we’ve spent together, after all the words we’ve said, we’re stuck in a limbo we never saw coming.
Basically, nothing is happening.
So I started making this picture. The borders began with daydreams, and my imagination filled the rest in. In this picture, you like Japanese food and staying in during the weekends. We read books and travel together. We have similar tastes in movies, and our conversation never falls flat.
In that image, I am interesting and you are interested, and few things are awkward between us. I am comfortable with your hugs, and you feel safe with me. We have intellectual conversations and silly ones, but we understand each other even in silence. I cook for you and you actually like what I make. We’ve been sick, ugly, dirty and disgusting with each other, I’ve showed you my freaky and you’ve let me inside your weird. That picture shows us going past the first “I love you” and saying many more intimate things since. In that photo, we are together at last and it’s all amazing.
If I were to be honest, though, if I were to set that picture aside for a while, something is telling me that I’m doing this because I am afraid. I’m afraid that the image of you in my head is vastly different from who you really are. Maybe you hate sushi and prefer reading comic books over novels.
Maybe you’ll think I’m silly for loving autumn when all you can see are dead leaves. Maybe you’ll love cold weather better. Maybe you can’t stand the way I’m quiet most times, and I can’t bear your need to be around people so much. We might be so bored with each other, we’ll prefer cleaning the house instead.
I also like this picture of you because it has no power to hurt me. It gives me pleasure, the empty kind yes, but pleasure nonetheless. This picture is mere wind that passes through me while the real you can crawl through my veins and rupture them from within should you so choose. I am not up for that, and I can feel that the intensity of a new relationship is something you aren’t prepared for, too.
So let me be happy with this picture of you for a little while more. I will rip it up and throw it away when I’m ready and when I’m finally certain that you are, too. I’m aware that inaction still brings with it the possibility of losing each other, but I believe that this is a risk that we don’t have to take yet.
Perhaps we still need time to heal from our previous relationships. There might still be things in us that we need to fix by ourselves. Maybe it’s not true that nothing is happening, but that at this moment in our lives, simple friendship is what we need the most. We need to take it slow, to know each other more, so that you can be more solid to me than any picture will ever be.
I have a confession, though. Right now in my head, we’re cuddled on my messy bed, gently tangled in each other and finally watching that movie we’ve always wanted to.
Right now, I am satisfied. Right now, we are perfect.

Sometimes The Best Thing To Do Is Nothing

Sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves… is nothing at all. Initially, at least. It takes some real mastery of self-control, but it’s well worth it in the end. Sometimes we can go to bed and wake up the next day and things just look completely different. Give it a week, a month, a year, and all of a sudden things aren’t so bad. We won’t react to them the way we would have when they initially happened. And besides, by that point, we’ve usually filled our minds with other worries and irrational concerns. It’s really a never-ending cycle we put ourselves through.

You just shouldn’t make any decisions immediately after something profound happens in your life. We have this mechanism of self where we want to mediate our feelings and do whatever will make us feel better initially. But that doesn’t always mean something that we’ll be happy with in the long-run.

So take a break from dating after the breakup. Save the email you want to send, and look at it tomorrow. Hold off on the phone call that’s going to decide something significant in your life. Give yourself a chance to process. On a grander scale, learn to just be. Stop your pursuit of all things greater and let what you have be great enough.

Because beyond what we figure out ourselves, whether we want to acknowledge it or not, there is some external force at work. You can believe in it or not, but either way it will affect you. As such is the case, you’re best off ensuring that it works in your favor– and you do that by trusting.

I know its hard sometimes, because we’re in this cataclysmal blip and nothing makes sense most of the time, we don’t know why we’re here or what we’re supposed to do. What we do know is that we began, we will end, and in retrospect, things seem to come together in ways that we did not intend and that we did not outline for ourselves. If that’s not enough of a cue to let go of control, I don’t know what is.

Taken from Thought Catalog

By Brianna Wiest

Road, Ladder, Box, Horizon

So I'm reading Gray by Pete Wentz, and I come across this little part of the book that sounded familiar.  It's some kind of mental exercise that I remember doing back when I was 15 or so with my friends.  I could never remember it, so once I realized what it was I immediately took the prompts, filled in my bits, and then looked at the results.  I don't know what this exercise it called, but would love any guidance for names of it.

Imagine yourself walking down a road.  Look around the road.  What time of day is it? What does the road look like? Are there people on it? Do you feel safe?

I'm walking down a road that is worn and solid with the black tar lines and skid marks of reckless drivers, There isn't a shoulder to the roads, and the sides dip off, the road is tattered a bit at the edges.  It leads towards a little ditch but the area feels comfortable, familiar.  Like a back country road.  It's dusk with a little more dark than light, and I seem to be the only one on it.  I feel totally safe.  Kicking along little rocks and walking down the middle of the road.  I'd guess it's two lanes wide, but there is no paint on the road to tell me if I'm right.

At the end of the road is a ladder.  What does the ladder look like? Is it made out of metal or wood? Is it sturdy? How tall is it? Would you feel safe climbing it?

The ladder at the end of the road is made of wood and, for some inexplicable reason, is standing straight up.  Even though it is one of those lean-to ladders that you would have to put up against a roof or something.  It looks worn in and reliable, but it isn't anything that I would really want to climb.  It's anywhere from 7-8 feet tall.  I would climb it if I had to, but not by myself.

Next to the ladder, there is a box.  What is the box made out of? How big is it? Is there anything inside of it? Is it open or closed? Where is it compared to the ladder?

Next to the ladder is a cardboard box.  It's a medium-large sized box that has a few old packaging slips and pieces of old tape stuck to it.  Like the box had been reused.  The edges are crumpled in a bit, just some normal wear and tear.  The box is empty and part of the lid flaps in the wind.  This box is within inches of the ladder to the right.

Picture a storm coming in over your head.  It then clears away.  Look up at the horizon.  What do you see? Is it clear? 

Huge rain clouds roll in.  There is lighting and thunder in the air, but no drops fall.  The feel in the air changes.  The way the world smells changes.  The way everything looks changes.  Once the storm rolls away the sky is a dark blue.  It was already turning to night when it came, and the clouds were there just long enough to cover up any last transition.  I can still see some clouds in the distance, but they are comforting and highlight the full moon and stars that are starting to light the sky.

Results:
Road: The road represents how you see your own life and the path you are taking.  It's whether you see it as safe or dangerous and whether the people in it are good or bad.
Ladder: The ladder represents your relationship and friendships whether they are strong and safe, and how important they are to you.
Box: The box represents how you see yourself, how strong you are and whether you are open or closed.
Horizon: The horizon represents how you see your future and whether you are hopeful or fearful.

How to be a Wildman

How to be a Wildman

By: Michael Hedrick

It was John Muir who once said “Going to the woods is going home”.
There’s a sense of calm in the midst of thousands of acres of trees that grow up around you, swallowing you whole, quieting not only your voice, but the voices of stress, society, and everything that seems to creep into our lives commanding our presence and attention.
We know these things are a veritable existence but they seem to happen around us without an entirely conscious presence on our parts, as to what is happening.
In the woods, one can breathe. In the woods, there is awareness, a fully conscious idea of what it means to be alive.
To be a lone soul in the wilderness speaks to a greater calling, the journey, the quest for finding quiet and for finding oneself.
Blame it on a mountain upbringing or the copious pot smoked in high school and college, or the varied acid and mushroom trips that found you at harmony in some of the forests above your home town but you’ve always felt more comfortable in the immensity of a wilderness among thousands of trees than in the confining streets of a city among thousands of people.
That life has always seemed nicer to you.

Summers Are For Road Trips

By ZARON BURNETT III

In Los Angeles, the jacaranda trees have started dropping their lavender blossoms, and they’re covering the cement sidewalks in color, like Prince painted the streets with purple rain. Those fallen flowers always indicate to me it’s officially the end of Spring and summertime is here. Now, if you’re a parent this means it’s time for you figure out what to do with your kids since they won’t be in school. And thank you sweet Baby Jesus, I’m not one of them. If you’re like me and you don’t have children, the arrival of summertime means something totally different. It’s time to get out on the road, because summers are made for road trips.

My mother gave me gypsy blood. She loves to travel but like a penguin she keeps to the ground. You see, she refuses to fly. So to satisfy her wanderlust she’s always criss-crossed the country like a long-haul trucker. Every year, soon as school ended, my sister and I both knew it was time to load up the car and hit the highway. Thanks to our mother we’ve visited nearly all 48 contiguous states of America. And after seeing so much of this country, I strongly recommend you get to know the highways and freeways and see those purple mountains’ majesty and all that promised beauty for yourself. An American road trip is something of a birthright. You have to go see the country, you’re a damn fool if you don’t.

Traveling around Europe, I did what the locals did and took trains. And consequently, I feel like I missed a great portion of, and possibly the best parts of, Europe. You don’t stop and eat from as many bakeries when you go by train. There’s really no comparison to how it is when you’re traveling by road. For me, there’s a fundamental difference between planes, trains and automobiles. Planes are way too fast. They feel weird like time-travel. Trains are too limited. They feel like speedy sightseeing tours. But automobiles, are kinda like Goldilocks’ porridge, they’re just right. You really feel a journey when you travel by car. You can actually smell the world. I like that.

The greeting card industry is really keen on the idea: It’s not about the destination but your journey. And you know what? They’re right. It’s totally true. And the novelist, Robert Louis Stevenson, the guy who wrote Treasure Island, he phrased it in a far more eloquent way, one I always liked, “For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”

Before this summer ends, go get some of that great affair and move. Tear up some open road. Even if it’s just a long weekend. Grab your significant other, or a few friends, maybe your sister, your brother or your favorite cousin and set out for the horizon and some destination you’ve never seen.

If ever there was a country made for road trips it’s the States. America boasts numerous regions so distinctly different from each other they really ought to be their own countries. But thanks to a violent history, we’ve remained one grand experiment stretching from sea-to-shining-sea across a vast and still rather wild continent. And unlike say, Australia, here in America there are people everywhere, so there’s plenty to do, plenty to see, and plenty of help if things go wrong. Also, unlike Australia, we have very few animals that’ll try to kill you. But I recommend you watch your ass, if you go down to Texas. Anyone who’s been there can tell you, Texas is a lot like Australia… just without any of the class.

Speeding across America, the best thing you can do is get happily lost. Take that road less traveled Robert Frost advertised in his poem. Because no matter how far you wander from the freeway, you’re never more than an hour away from a good cup of coffee, and/or a tow truck, which makes traveling a lot friendlier. But that is the one thing about road trips you must remember… shit will go wrong. And really, in a backwards way, it’s part of the charm, the question of how you overcome unforeseen bullshit.

Like, I once ruined a car engine climbing a mountain grade out of Salt Lake City. Something about the gas pump and how I kept the engine in overdrive as I floored it for miles and thousands of feet of our ascent up a rather steep incline. The engine didn’t like that and crapped out. While we waited in Park City, Utah for someone to deliver a matching fuel pump and install it, we spent the afternoon, sliding down zip lines and riding snow-free summery slopes on luge sleds, which was an absolute riot. Would’ve never planned to do it but we were stoked to enjoy some Olympic-style sports while we waited for our broken car to be fixed.

That’s how road trips constantly surprise you. They remind you it’s crucial to stay open to whatever circumstances you find yourself in. Road trips are great practice at what Zen Buddhists, life-coaches and New-Agers like to call “living in the moment.”

The trick to an epic American road trip is pick destinations and places to stop that are absolutely ridiculous. Like, when else are you gonna see the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in Cawker City, Kansas? Or a nearly abandoned amusement park filled with life-size Flintstone houses? Or a real-live rattlesnake round-up? And eat foods you can’t pronounce but you’ll probably never forget?

When you share odd memories with your partners on the road, your experiences cement in your memory because they’re such specific stories. And if you get to be old-and-grey and you’re struggling to remember where you put your teeth and your house keys you’ll still remember the time when you vomited blueberry pancakes outside that Waffle House in Pensacola. Memory is funny that way.

The shit you experience when you’re living outside everything you normally do, while you’re free of it all for a brief spell, because it’s like some weird non-time, your memory gets filled with those rare experiences. We tend to easily recall four aspects of our lives: the most, the best, the worst and the least. Road trips are filled with all sorts of those moments. The most you ever laughed. The worst place you ever slept. The best meal you ever ate at four a.m. somewhere under the stars. And the least you ever paid for a new pair of cowboy boots you absolutely love and can’t believe you lived so long without. We write those moments a little more deeply. And it’s why road trips etch lasting memories.

It doesn’t matter if you’re bumming it this summer, broke as a public pay phone, there’s always a way to enjoy a road trip. Borrow a car, plan with friends, save up for a month and then take whatever money you have, throw it into gas, groceries and sleep in KOA campgrounds, or if you’re totally strapped, sleep in the car…. but get out there on the highways and byways of America, you’ll never regret that choice. Be curious. Wander like you’ve escaped and some authority was dumb enough to give you a driver’s license. It’s one of the greatest perks of being alive and able to drive… the reckless abandon of a Great American Road Trip

20's

Every woman in her late 20s goes through a period where she just doesn’t believe love is out there anymore, but it is. And I think the minute you stop looking for it is when it comes for you. -Kristen Bell

I’m never so sure as I was in my mid-20s. -Meryl Streep

When I was in my twenties, it felt like I was riding wild horses, and I was hoping I didn’t go over a cliff. -Chaka Khan

[H]appiness comes out of being willing to do your work in your twenties to find out who you are, what you love. -Candace Bushnell

Pajamas Over People

Ode to Isolation

"In a gentle way, you can shake the world"
-Mahatma Gandhi



"There's zero correlation between being the best talker and having the best ideas"
-Susan Cain



“Do not lose your inward peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.” 

-Saint Francis De Sales