chloejsayers

About Me, Friendship, Life Lessons, Writing

Standing on my Shallow Soapbox

Now is the time to write. In the past, my creativity was being forcibly taken from me by a busy schedule and projects. Conversations have also drained my ability to put coherent thoughts on a page, yet these I do not regret. Typically, I have at least one nugget of an idea a day which I’d like to write about. If I’m lucky, I write it down and don’t lose the scrap of paper. Lately, however, I have had some very decent talks with some very decent people which gave me another outlet for thinking. Good for myself and my friendships, bad for a blog. To be honest, though, I’m not writing for whoever is reading this.

I can’t talk. I’m always talking. But not today. And it’s killing me. My soul is restless, I can feel the words, thoughts, phrases, and clauses, trying to come together. They keep missing each other, like a failed high-five, an inch away from collision, a centimeter away from forceful contact. This is my attempt to put them together so that I can feel the impact of words once again.

Today my blog is my soapbox. I have completed high school which gives me a relatively shallow box to stand on and give advice, but it is my box and I am going to use it.

As a result of scholarships, senior awards night, and making an obnoxious amount of display boards and scrapbooks, I have come to two conclusions:
1) I find myself quite annoying at times. I feel like the poster child for anything and everything and if I could be someone else and know me, I’m not sure I’d want to. This is the last time I will spend a concentrated amount of time reading about myself. I much prefer reading about others.
2) It is my sincerest wish that my time in private school, home school, and public school does not simply add up to a resume of accomplishments, awards, and certificates. I was looking at a sheet with all of those listed and realized that those things did not embody the success of my schooling, not by a long shot. This led me to reflect on the things that I did in high school that actually did matter and this is where things get a little soapbox-y.

I have met some of the most incredible people in high school, particularly in the last two years. They aren’t the people that I was supposed to be associated with. They weren’t friends because they boosted my outward reputation. Sometimes we didn’t have that much in common. The majority of them started off with poor first impressions and misjudgements. So my word to the wise: never overlook anyone. Never write someone off after the first conversation, first month, or even first year. People continue to surprise me with how much they add to my life and much of their value you probably won’t even realize until they are gone. If you want to limit yourself to the people that approach you first, that are accepted by others, or don’t require you to exit your comfort zone, feel free. You’ll miss out on knowing and learning from some of the most original and wonderful people you’ll ever know, but hey, at least it won’t be uncomfortable and you’ll always have that little group of friends that are exactly. just. like. you.

We are now drawing near to the end of my writing abilities. Significant events generally spur on significant writing and while these past few weeks have certainly not been lacking in significance, I have only brushed the surface of their impact on me in this post.

Until I have more time,
Chloe

Friendship, Life Lessons, Writing

Linguistics

Just from reading the title, you are probably already bored. Linguistics sounds like a required gen ed course at a liberal arts college. I’m not talking about analyzing the Greek and Latin roots of the English language (been there, did that–trust me, its not fun). So stick with me on this one.

Conversationalist

I feel like the ability to carry on a conversation is extremely limited nowadays. In my opinion, a conversation is not:

a contest to get in the most brag points as possible
an argument
a five part report
a string of questions
topping someone’s stories with a better one of your own
constant connections to your own life, often unrelated to what the person was really trying to say

gossip

talking about the weather or teachers

inserting “lol” or “haha” at the beginning and end of each sentence

Conversations are precious and beautiful. They are an effort on the part of two people to better understand each other, themselves, and the world around them. They are about philosophies and ideas, hopes and dreams, silly thoughts and deep ones. They aren’t all intellectual exchanges, but with some inconsequential small talk mixed in. They are a give and take. They involve more listening than talking.

A true conversation is one where you are actually hearing and following up with the person you are talking to, not waiting impatiently until you get to have your say. A true conversation can be both enlightening and confusing. It is not limited to a list of topics. It is not limited by social barriers that dictate what is appropriate for conversing. It can make your heart soar with new ideas and freedom. It can weigh your soul down with the burdens of another. But its worth it. Every time.

Talking to someone else could be the key you were looking for that opens up their soul and saves their life. And, at the same time, you are saving your own.

About Me

I am still here.

I’ve had a splendid childhood. However, there are parts that I now have negative associations. The odd thing is, whenever I think of those parts of my life, I tend to feel like I am thinking about someone else’s memories. It doesn’t feel like it was me that couldn’t talk properly until she was 12 or danced for 10 years of her life or used to make excellent pottery in her spare time. This is scan09_03_1130

possibly because I can currently talk coherently, can’t dance to save my life, and my last pottery experiment looked like, well, an experiment. I have changed yet that doesn’t mean that who I was isn’t part of who I am now.

My eager anticipation for everything and anything. I still get flutters every time I check the mail even if I am expecting absolutely nothing. You just never know.

My ability to talk to inanimate objects. Most of the clocks, shower curtains, and lamps in my house have personalities. They don’t talk back anymore sadly but there is still an aura about them. For example, the clock in the downstairs bathroom is incredibly lonely while the living room one is quite shy.

My desire to talk in general. To be quite honest, my estimation of you will go up tenfold if we can hold a decent conversation that moves past weather and school. I am not completely against small talk but I prefer discussing something that actually has value. Personal preference. I will overuse the word conversationalist when describing someone I respect and enjoy.

My inability to stop. Stop thinking, stop wondering, stop working. Productivity fuels me. Complacency stifles me.

My insatiable desire for books. I may have moved from historical fiction to biographies but I still sneak down to my basement and pick up a few Goldenbind books once in a while. Nothing but the classics.

So, yes there are things that seem so un-Chloe that I cannot believe that I was the same girl as the one in the picture. Yet if you look past the straight hair, I am still there. I am still here. And I always will be.

Happiness, Life Lessons

The Best is Yet to Come

Many times during the day I begin to compose a post, journal entry, essay, random prose, if you will, in my head. One of the recent ones was bemoaning the fact that my life was a series of to do lists and as soon as one major goal was finished (ie AP tests) another one quickly bopped its head up to request, no demand, my complete attention, time, and energy (ie getting a summer job). It inspired a mental essay on the futility of life, and the continual tasks that will never cease to rob life of meaning and joy. I’m so glad that idea never got onto paper.

Next mental musing: Something sweet and nostalgic about the future and the past and the present (those three always go nicely together) After all, this is the time of last tests, last classes, last hugs, last friendships, last everything, right? It is only appropiate that something sickingly sweet drip from this post. Again, I’m so relieved that one never came to fruition.

So now I’ve got two ideas that I don’t want to write about. You might be wondering if this post is ever going to have any meaning. Here it comes. While I was wrestling with these very different ideas in my head (rat-race life vs. kind reflectings) I had a new thought. My mind was turning around questions like….

“Can I be happy just living off a to-do list and fleeting memories? Is this the best it is going to get?” In the midst of this self-interrogation came a refreshingly clear and simple sentence.

The best is yet to come.

Not tomorrow, or in 10 years, or when I am retired. As long as I am me, things will be quite the same. No, the best will come after this life. How could the best possibly be in this world that is filled with brokenness and pain? If we continue to believe that the best is just another day away, we might just never get there. There is a bigger picture than this life. It’s not only bigger, its better.

Church Life

Peeling away the Saran-Wrap

Easter is less than a week away. Yet I am confused. Where are the Easter lights? Where is the live crucifix scene? (never mind on that one, I can already see how that might be a bad idea). But imagesCAR47YCG

still, something is severely missing. Christmas time hub bub starts the day after Halloween with plastic Santas, plastic trees, and plastic smiles. I have yet to hear an entire radio station dedicated to Easter music. Or even a CD, for that matter. This strikes me as very odd. Don’t get me wrong, Christmas is wonderful and the birth of our Savior is nothing to be taken lightly. But to me, its His death that is really worth getting excited about. We are celebrating the day where the stockpile of sins that were our fast-pass to eternal death were destroyed. The overwhelming guilt and fatal consequences of our human imperfections were wiped cleaner than the whitest white board (excuse the poor analogy). Not only that, the all-knowing, forever-existing, incredibly powerful God that formed our bodies and forms our future extended His hand in friendship. He gave us life and also a relationship with God. Obviously, all this couldn’t have happened if Jesus wasn’t born but this is the why behind His birth. This is what it all comes down to.

And we celebrate by eating ham and doing egg hunts? Perhaps Christmas receives so much attention because we feel like there is more in it for us. It means time off of school, an excuse to overindulge, and time with family. Not too mention the presents. I find it sad that we get more excited about what limited-warranty plastic gift might be in a shoebox wrapped in paper than the idea that we have been given access to God and to eternal life.

Sure, there are Easter traditions. Like the classic egg hunt. Exactly what does this have to do with the gruesome death and glorious Resurrection of Jesus? Oh, it’s a symbol, you say? Eggs mean rebirth. Why didn’t I think of that? Probably because no one is thinking about how miraculous the Resurrection of Jesus was when they are shoving someone into the dirt so they can get to a plastic egg with last year’s candy in it.

This culture is incredibly good at taking things and making them “Christian”. We can take our beloved traditions and Saran-Wrap them with the a plastic film of Christianity. Here’s the funny thing about Saran-Wrap: it’s clear. You can see right through it. The same goes for trying to make things that mean nothing mean something about God. Its not only pointless, its completely unnecessary. God shows Himself in so many ways, He really doesn’t need our futile fumblings. He is in the fact that you are about to take another breath. He is seen in the breath-taking beauty of both the world He created and the people that inhabit it. His love is immense and overwhelming and Easter is an incredible time to reflect on how incredible God is…….while munching away on that 12 pound chocolate bunny, of course.

Extra side note: Some try to devalue Easter since the actual date of the holiday is not historically accurate. I would agree, I don’t believe we can know the exact date of the Crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This does not make His death and Resurrection or the celebration of it any less legitimate.

Friendship, Life Lessons, Pain

Fatal Should’s Haves

It’s the should have’s and would have’s that will kill someone. People who know what they should do but find ten excuses that kill their inner conviction. We are too afraid that we will make someone uncomfortable, that we will create an awkward moment. Go ahead. Make it uncomfortable. Make it awkward. When you see someone hurting, your going tos, should haves, and maybe laters aren’t going to help. They can’t read your mind. They don’t know how much you want to help if you never release your thoughts and turn them into notes and words and actions. Because guess what? There might not be a second time. This could be your only chance to change someone’s life. Don’t ever assume that there will be a later for you to muster up your courage and talk to someone. This isn’t about you. This is about waking up and not ignoring the problems around you because you think you might say the wrong thing.

Don’t think someone else is going to take care of it. Everyone thinks that. Everyone assumes that somewhere, some kind hearted person will notice that there is a broken human being in front of them and will help them find the pieces and put themselves back together. Yet if we all believe that someone else will take the responsibility, no one will.

Overreact to the smallest cues. If someone is talking in the past tense about a problem, it probably is very real in the present. If someone is making a joke about a hurt and pasting that smile over their sorrow, the hurt isn’t gone. If someone is becoming more and more outgoing, then they might be withdrawing on the inside. If someone seems to always be happy on the outside, they probably rarely have true joy.

Stop lying to yourself. Saying things like “It doesn’t mean anything” “They would talk to me if they needed help” People won’t. People will hide within themselves before they ever tell you they need you. If you misread a cue and talk to someone about it and you are wrong, that’s okay. They might think you are overly concerned and too analytical but it won’t hurt anyone. If you don’t speak up when you think someone is hurting, it’s not okay. They needed you. They desperately wanted someone to pick up on their hints and you ignored them for the sake of being comfortable and not rocking the boat. That was all they are going to give you to let you know something was wrong.

Call them out. Confront them.

They are crying. They are screaming. But they won’t ever tell you that. They want you to know something is wrong yet at the same time feel they must keep up the brave face. Tell them its okay not to be happy. Never let something go because you don’t have the time to deal with it. You aren’t just letting someone’s problem go; you are letting a human being slip away forever.

Life Lessons, Pain

I miss you

I miss you. We haven’t even met officially. I wonder who you would have turned out to be. Would you have been brave and beautiful? Would you have been compassionate and caring? Would we have been best friends? Whoever you would have been, you would have been wonderful. When I look into the faces of my friends, I see pieces of you there. Their little mannerisms and wonderful qualities only serve to remind me of what you could have been. For as much as I search for you, I’ll never find the whole you. You never even got the chance to exist. You could have changed the world. You would have been someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s husband. You didn’t deserve this. We all have been given a life-a chance to screw things up and suffer the consequences. You suffered the consequences for just existing. You didn’t even have a chance to make a mistake. You didn’t even choose to exist yet your fate was chosen for you. Don’t you know? I miss you terribly. We’ll meet for the first time in my future sometime.

Yours truly,
Chloe

Friendship

So I have this friend……

So I have this friend…….

and I met her when I was about eight. On top of a wooden house on a playground at a camp. I 47820_430394812319_767887319_4848640_5246758_n

didn’t realize then that she would be my best friend. In fact, it took us about seven years to get around to it. In the meantime, we stored up memories in our piggy banks. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Some things I adore about this friend of mine:

She understands me even when I think there is no way she possibly could.

She not only puts up with my obssesive list making, she encourages it (with reason)
She can tell the times when I say “I’m doing good” and I’m really not.
She loves me despite my faults.
She tells me when to be quiet.
She lets me prattle on.

She gives me epipens when I’m allergic to myself.

She goes for the things she wants and doesn’t ever give up.

She’s in love with the same Savior that I am.

I could keep going on, but there is something really important that I need to tell you. My amazing friend is in a scholarship competition and she needs your help to win.

While you are helping someones dreams come true, you can also win a bunch of cool stuff.

Here’s how: http://www.cherrykingdom.blogspot.com/.

Check it out.

NOW!!

Thanks.

P.S. Here is a direct link:http://www.collegeplus.org/cpscholarship/vote/essays/oliviakuchlbauer

Life Lessons, Pain, Writing

Imagining the Inconceivable

Brain Damage.
Is a very serious problem. Usually it is the overhanging anxiety following strokes, concussions, car accidents, premature births. It is also used as a threat. Don’t drink—it causes brain damage. Don’t do drugs—it causes brain damage. Don’t hold in a sneeze—it causes brain damage. The validity of the last one is somewhat questionable. Still, we are told and we see how external circumstances can cause irrevocable brain damage. It is incredibly sad and terrifying.

I started questioning my existence when I was about eight. Not in the “why am I here? Do I have any significance in this huge world” type of way. Fortunately, I had unusually extreme self-confidence and never really doubted why I was in this world. Obviously, my presence made it a better place. What I would do, however, was think myself away. I am making no sense, I know. Stick with me.

I had a tendency to go through my life as if it is a story (probably an after-effect of too much reading as a small child). I know many people “narrate” their life sometimes, but I did this ALL the time. It was if there were two Chloes. There was the one that did the acting, the living out. Then there was another one that sat backstage and watched. Every once in a while the backstage Chloe would throw out a couple of forgotten lines or give out stage directions, but for the most part, that Chloe just watched.

I had gotten so accustomed to watching myself that sometimes I would lie in my bed at night and stare at the ceiling and repeat to myself… “This is real. This is real. I am real. I am me. My life is real.” Realizing the fact that the person that I was watching act out their life was actually me always sent my head into a dizzying fast orbit. The fact that everyone was real, that we were all humans, that this life wasn’t just an incredibly complex and enthralling novel, absolutely turned my brain to mush. This is what I mean by questioning my existence. It is no wonder that after these mind games, I would fall promptly asleep, my brain too tired to continue living in the conscious form.

I still do this sometimes, but its harder now. I don’t know if it is because I’ve done it so often or if my mind is no longer capable of imagining the inconceivable.

Back to brain damage. I was considering this peculiar habit of mine (that is, the existence questioning) and wondered exactly how much damage it had done to my brain. Questioning the fact that one is real certainly doesn’t build up the brain cells. While pondering this, I came to an interesting conclusion: While brain damage caused by the external is serious and harmful, perhaps the greatest brain damage is done by ourselves with our own thoughts. What else could be so powerful as to damage our brains than the very things that feed it? When our thoughts become twisted and confused, our brain follows suit.

We can turn off parts of our brain by no longer using them. While a car crash can cause brain damage that is not of that person’s choice, we can in fact use our own thoughts to intentionally damage our brains. The sad part is, that by leaving some parts of their brains stagnant, many people are hurting their minds without even realizing it. Unintentional self-brain damage is very dangerous indeed.

Life Lessons

A Girl Walking Backwards

I haven’t posted in a while as I’ve fallen into the habit of questioning everything. My thoughts are more akin to an interrogation in one of those white cinderblock rooms than to a quiet investigation of thoughts, feelings, and ideas on a plush couch with a cup of tea. I just don’t think anyone wants to read a blog full of unanswered questions. I’m sure you have plenty of those in your own brain. You don’t need mine.

Yesterday was an incredibly windy day. I’ve always loved the wind. When I was younger, I’d take a plastic grocery bag and type a piece of string to it and wander around the yard during the gusts. I’d name the bag and set it down in the middle of the yard and run to the road and close my eyes and count to fifteen and then open my eyes and chase after the bag. Once, it got caught in a pine tree and wouldn’t come down no matter how much I asked. That was the very first time that I felt betrayed. It would seem that being betrayed by a plastic bag is far easier than a human but I can still feel my seven year old’s heart pang and I’m not so sure there is much of a difference.

Yesterday was an incredibly windy day. I grabbed my harmonica, a journal, a bible study, a copy of the Chronicles of Narnia in Spanish, and of course, a plastic bag. I went outside and started running. Very slowly. I wanted to stop, I hadn’t meant to run, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to outpace the wind. I ended up in an emptyish field. Here I stopped. To my left was a path that I knew would lead me to the library. Everytime I had reached this fork in the road before, I always went on the path that I knew. I knew the path and I knew its destination.

Yesterday was not a day to take the normal path. I went straight. Then left. Then straight. Then right. Then I backtracked. I caught a glimpse of a building and turned around and went in the opposite way. I walked until finally I was lost. I looked around and wasn’t sure which way was which. There was no architecture to guide my way. And I was very happy. I walked over territory that I had never seen before, that I didn’t even know existed. Everyonce in a while, the wind would startle me, make my heart jump. At these times, and only these times, my thoughts fell silent as I surveyed the area for potential danger. It took me a while to realize that the only thing that could harm me was myself.

Eventually, I heard a familiar tree creaking and realized that I had come full circle to the begginning. I suppose that could have been the end of my windy afternoon adventure.

I ended up in civilization, emerging over a hill to see a small child standing in the library parking lot looking at me rather confused. I ignored that. I kept walking. I didn’t stop. I found a sidewalk. This territory was annoyingly familiar. I could see years of my footprints on the hard concrete.

So I faced the other way and kept walking. I couldn’t tell where I was going, but I knew where I had been. As I walked backwards, I could not see the snow patches before they rose up beneath my feet. This small feeling of the unexpected excited me. A car passed with girls inside of it, pointing and laughing at some oddity. I suppose it was me. This did not bother me. I would laugh too if I saw a girl walking backwards.

Sometimes backwards is the only way I know how to walk. Sometimes playing games with a plastic bag on a windy day is the only way I know to feel alive. Sometimes getting lost is the only way to find yourself.