Blog Fail and the Fail Blog

Since this project is about accepting my imperfections and overcoming a fear of failure, it seems only appropriate that I should fail at the one rule governing this project: making a post everyday. I woke up this morning and realized I forgot to post yesterday. This is kind of funny considering there was nothing impairing me yesterday. I wasn't out of town. I wasn't especially busy. Whereas on other days where this has been the case, I have worked really hard to get a post in even if it was at 11:55pm. So I failed at my own blog. But worse things have happened. I grabbed a few pictures from the fail blog to point out some of the "worse things" that have happened.

Used a cutting board in the oven instead of a cookie sheet.

Falling just a little short can result in an epic fail.

Doorway to disaster

If I were not in Young Life

There's an infamous Young Life skit that uses the rhyme, "If I were not in Young Life I know what I would be, If I were not in Young Life a ________ I would be." And you insert farmer, plumber, stewardess, etc. and act out the various roles.

I'm in my sixth year on full-time staff and am approaching the ten year mark of leading Young Life. I've been leading since I was 19 and so have a hard time picturing life outside of YL. But let's play If I were not in Young Life I know what I would be...

• A Dog Walker I would be (playing, running, cuddling, puppies, puppies, puppies!)
  
• A Production Assistant I would be (months of filming movies on location, being a go-for, 16 hour days come rain or come shine)
• A Writer I would be (books, books, books, and magazines galore)
• An Event Planner I would be (celebrate good times, c'mon)
• A Wedding Singer I would be (fronting a band serenading guests while dancing the night away)
• A Movie Critic I would be (endless movies? yes please! And while you're at it, throw food critic in there too. endless food? even better!)

Am I qualified in any of these areas for future employment? Maybe not, but a girl can dream.

Breakfast Date and Tangents

One benefit of Daniel's days off being during the week is unconventional dating. Movies during the week are only $5 instead of $10 and you usually have the joint to yourself. We had a lovely little impromptu date this morning with breakfast at First Watch and then Sherlock Holmes. Weekday dates, especially morning ones, mean you get to go in sweats (sometimes the same ones you slept in= you get to go in your PJ's) and without makeup or any semblance of real hygienic effort. (Don't get me wrong, I think getting ready is half the fun of going out, but it's also nice to roll out of bed and into a movie.) The 10:45am show was the first of the day so the theater was still cold since they had just turned the heat back up for the day. All of my closest friends can probably guess that I enjoyed the eggs benedict at First Watch. Why do I feel like the Hogans are the only family who love eggs benedict? Whenever we're at my parents' house for the holidays we have it and Daniel refuses. He doesn't like hollandaise sauce. It's butter and cream? Nectar from the gods I say! Sherlock Holmes was pretty stinkin' awesome. I didn't think I'd be into it, but top to bottom it was really well made and a franchise I'm excited about for the future.

After the movie we headed across the street to the mall. We looked at the puppies at the pet store...as always. There was a baby Toby and if you combined the Westie and Cock-a-poo sharing the cage above, you'd make a baby Penny. Why is imagining your own dogs, or anything for that matter, as miniature versions always cute? I am dubbing this "The Muppet Babies Theory". After the dogs, I scored some gray suede pumps 70% off. "A nice pick up," as Daniel described them. A smoothie from Orange Julius and we headed home. Not too shabby.

A totally boring post, but a delightful morning. This is the best I can do with my current headache. The ibuprofen has disappeared and it's too late to venture out for more. Also I'm reading Stephen King's Under the Dome right now and just fell asleep on the couch while reading about a character's brain tumor induced migraine. I woke up trying to remember if my headache was from a tumor or not. Not joking. I'm a vivid dreamer. In fact one summer at YL camp while on summer staff, a few friends and I walked on top of all the ant hills that had been built on a certain path. We made jokes about what the ants must've thought about giants destroying their homes. That night I dreamt I had been shrunk down to a size smaller than the ants (like in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) and a gigantic ant was telling me in a booming sinister voice that if I didn't stop what I was doing, "We will destroy you!" And then I woke up. I promise I don't do drugs. Promise.

Goodnight already before I keep telling stories that make me seem like I've totally lost it. For the record I've only partially lost it.

The Beginning of the End

Lost is back. Glorious.

I don't want it to end...ever. What am I going to do with the rest of my life?

Whenever people tell me they have just begun watching the previous seasons on DVD and are catching up, I am so jealous. What I wouldn't give to be able to start over, not knowing what I know now and reliving it all over again. Daniel and I cannot watch live episodes with other people. I know a lot of people have watching parties with friends for shows they enjoy. We tried that once while enjoying quesadillas with Josh and Sarah, but we are better off watching alone. We don't want to miss anything and when others are around we just get too social and distracted. I said once this season is over and we purchase the entire series box set, then we should have watching parties without fear of missing something. Daniel took it one step further (in complete jest) and said we should form a small group where we invite others to watch an episode and then talk about the spiritual themes and then "evangelize" the group. He called it "Lost for the lost". I hope this joke doesn't offend anyone because I wouldn't be surprised if there are already groups like this in existence who are not joking.

A friend posted one of the season's promo pics. I mean does it get any better than this?

And the last supper theme would fit perfect into our evangelizing plan.

Pain Breeds Good Art

Today I felt horrible. I cried if that's any indication for you. Let me state that I'm not a big crier (I would say I cry a normal amount), so crying is usually fairly significant. I love to cry though! Especially when I'm feeling emotional. I will watch sad movies alone just to provoke tears. The lack of crying has to do with being detached from my emotions; so often I will feel anxious or depressed and literally have no idea what triggered it. How's that for some mental un-health? Yikes. Anyway, bad day.

As I was crying/laying in bed in the middle of the afternoon/praying, I heard myself utter aloud this phrase, "I'm sick of being sick." For the past few months I have woken up every morning (with a handful of exceptions) feeling sick to my stomach, panicked, short of breath, and completely dreading the next 14 hours that make up a day. Some days I make it out of this only scathed, other days I succumb to the dread. I know it's not normal to feel this way. I know I need professional help, which is why my therapist better prepare herself for an emotional vomiting in her office at high noon on Thursday. I hate feeling this way. I'm literally sick of being sick. (And I use the word literally in the correct sense, not the Rachel Zoe literally Brad I just died sense as she is not actually dead.)

Two weekends ago someone was praying for/with me and said, "God gives you the hard stuff because he loves you." I wanted to respond to that with a slew of cuss words aimed at that person and possibly God if that really is true of Him, but refrained. I thought about this idea today and pondered what good could He be trying to bring out of my pain? I didn't come to any conclusions but it brought to mind a lot of brilliant, but terribly unhappy artists. Everyone's been talking about Salinger lately. Is anyone surprised that he was a recluse? To be capable of writing about such angst I think one probably has to suffer similarly. Right now Daniel is reading Pulitzer Prize winning John Kennedy Toole who killed himself at age 32. Van Gogh cut off his freaking ear! What is it about depression that seems to foster art? It seems like happy people don't make good art. Happy people make crafts. Why does it seem like history's most prolific artists were tortured human beings? Do you have to hate yourself or your life in order to produce really beautiful work? It's a shame that these people create music, writing, and visual art that brings joy to so many and yet they remain unhappy and suffering.

This past fall and winter I couldn't stop listening to Bon Iver's For Emma album. Bon Iver derived from the French "bon hiver" meaning "good winter" seems like an oxymoron, but falls in line with exactly what I'm talking about...beauty birthed out of pain and lack of life. Most of you have probably poured over the album like I have and know that For Emma is at the same time hauntingly beautiful and depressing. The album was created out of a break up and in the midst of mono. Recorded in a lonely cabin in the dead of a Wisconsin winter. I'm getting depressed just thinking about the set up. Who records good music while suffering from mono? He does. In fact it's some of the most beautiful art I've ever experienced. Maybe that's because I resonate with pain even when it's expressed abstractly through chord progressions, falsetto, and the silence between notes. Isn't it a great album? Isn't it art at its best?

I don't think it'd be worth wanting to cut my ear off just to create something beautiful. I really need to see God working this painful anxiety into something good like it says He will in Romans 8:28 or else He needs to help me get rid of it for good. I'm sick of lacking serotonin levels being the cross I have to bear.

Not sure I can end this post tied up with a pretty bow, so I'll leave you with this video of Bon Iver singing a cappella in a Paris hallway. When the camera pans to show the small crowd gathered I see a glimpse into heaven. I can't explain why. It's just so beautiful it hurts. Maybe it's beautiful because it hurts.

Are you there blogosphere? It's me, Hattie.

I've really been cutting it close meeting my deadline these past few nights with another post at 11:48pm. I didn't begin this blog project to gain an audience, but at the same time chose a public forum like a blog because some semblance of an audience is essential to my experience. There's no risk in failure if I'm not exposing my shortcomings to others and I need the encouragement of others to keep going when I feel like staying in bed all day. I never anticipated how delighted I would be when someone would share with me that they were reading. I have received a number of texts, facebook messages, and emails from many of you and want to say thank you for reading and encouraging me. I have been really surprised by your presence.

Not being fully aware of who is reading is probably a good thing as it has kept me from censoring myself or molding my words in order to appeal more to a particular audience. But after some thought I've decided to ask if you are reading this to make your presence known (strangers welcome too!). I don't know why I want to know. Maybe because I anonymously read so many other blogs that my curiosity is getting the best of me. I heard a rumor my niece is reading. So we'll do a little experiment...Ellie if you see this, punch Katie for me. (We'll see just how faithful of a reader you are now.)

Depending on if any of you are actually out there, I may start asking questions in my posts and inviting you into the conversation. It always felt presumptuous in the past (and still now) to interact with a reader who may not even be out there, like I would be arrogantly assuming others were actually reading. But enough with my insecurities, if you are with me on this year long journey, let me know. I'd love to have you join in.

I feel like I'm talking to myself like when I used to pray when I was very little and didn't think God or anything else out there could actually hear. Are you there blogosphere? It's me, Hattie.