the facts and the figures.
I have navigated New York traffic with enough ease and fury to classify me as a non-tourist. At 8 am on a Thursday I have walked through snow banks near Mount Cook and listened for avalanches. I have been in love three or four times and had my heart broken near as many. At seven, I stalked through woodlands bare-chested with two comrades. At thirteen, I moved to one of the largest cities in the nation without knowing a soul.
I ate my first pomegranate two weeks ago, it looked like teeth and tasted as sharp. I have fallen out of a plane from 15,000 feet twice, and chosen to jump from a platform hundreds of feet from land with only rope tied to my ankles the same amount of times. I went to one of the most prestigious high schools in the country, and a college of equal notoriety. Although I am normally described as loud and gregarious, I cannot remember a time I did not identify as a feminist and a writer quietly, without opening my mouth.
I have been lost on Flathead Lake in Whitefish, Montana; climbed the red rock in Sedona, Arizona; and navigated roller coaster avenues in San Franciso, California. I watched my grandfather dying last January, and bowed my head as my grandmother's coffin passed me in the same week. I was kicked out of a private religious pre-school for choking a bully, and in fourth grade I lost a tooth to another.
I have fallen into depressions from which few hands could grab me, I have introduced myself at countless cocktail parties with a lilt in my voice and a spring in my step. At sixteen I was a slam poet, at seventeen I moved to the East Coast, at eighteen I pronounced belonging without puckering lips. I have seen the Vatican twice, and left feeling the same amount of shame. I remember nothing of Canada although I've seen it more than a dozen times.
I nearly died by being run over by a freighter on Lake St. Clair at twelve. There are days I live with a thousand could-have-beens ringing in my ears, and nights when should-haves steal the air out of my lungs. I have reckoning but few regrets.
I have made best friends of strangers, and enemies of those who claimed to love me most. I've won first place medals against six year olds. I have stood in front of crowds and discussed educational reform with my heart shaking. Charles Payne and Barack Obama have both answered my questions; I was stuttering while asking them. I am the child of a famous broadcast news journalist and a consultant who built a new method into the field. My family's success casts a shadow hundreds of times the length of my own. A warm cup of tea given to me by ready hands calms me more than it has the credit to do.
I have taught fifth graders division, 10th graders Toni Morrison, and 11th graders community organization. When my voice shakes, I speak louder. I have been called stupid, reckless, crazy, and a bitch more times than I can count on all my appendages. I have been given such huge amounts of love it would be a dishonor to merely give thanks. In Puerto Rico I went snorkeling naked, ate warm bread sweet as sugar, and surfed like a fish out of water. In Cuba I learned about poverty, fear, and incredible kindness. I saw the ocean from Havana, and walked the public squares in Santa Clara. I have driven for 16 hours straight and eaten at truck stops with hunched shoulders and tight fists. At 21 I visited Bourbon Street on St. Patrick's Day, and collected enough beads to dip my neck without showing a nipple.
I have seen enough of LA to know it doesn't suit me. I have grown up visiting South Carolina enough that I would recognize its face on a crowded street. I am not afraid of drowning, but there was a time I was sure I would die from it. I have prayed to a moon so huge it still fills my mind, and lit candles at a church with steady fingers.
I can play a handful of chords on a guitar, but only one strumming pattern, and I can't sew worth a damn. Hurt me and I might forgive you, but it takes ages for time to drag memory out of my closed hands. I am stubborn, impatient, and sensitive. I am an ENFP in regard to Myers Briggs, a four in the Enneagram, and a Libra for astrologers.
I hold my sister in unconditional high regard. I know how to make three meals well, and can cook generally, but unless I know it will be appreciated will not lift a hand in the kitchen. I can pour a picture into a cup with espresso and milk, but am undoubtedly out of practice. I have been to vineyards and faked my way through a private tasting. Waterskiing is definitely not my forte. I had six years of piano lessons and not one of them stuck.
I have been betrayed by people I would have placed my life in the hands of. There is nothing better than a warm fire and a book of fantasy so unrealistic I fall between the covers. At 13 I decided I was most likely a pagan, but after the harsh response from my parents never told anyone, and still will say nothing when prompted. I have seen men treat women in less than ideal ways more times than I care to recall. I have witnessed friends suffer from eating disorders and cutting, depression and anxiety, abortions, misguidance, and abandonment. I have learned, despite my faults, how to be a good friend.
I am 24. It is 2011. Every moment stretches out to me like wide arms, beckoning. I say I am not afraid, this is who I am, I am worthy, I am ready to become again.
I ate my first pomegranate two weeks ago, it looked like teeth and tasted as sharp. I have fallen out of a plane from 15,000 feet twice, and chosen to jump from a platform hundreds of feet from land with only rope tied to my ankles the same amount of times. I went to one of the most prestigious high schools in the country, and a college of equal notoriety. Although I am normally described as loud and gregarious, I cannot remember a time I did not identify as a feminist and a writer quietly, without opening my mouth.
I have been lost on Flathead Lake in Whitefish, Montana; climbed the red rock in Sedona, Arizona; and navigated roller coaster avenues in San Franciso, California. I watched my grandfather dying last January, and bowed my head as my grandmother's coffin passed me in the same week. I was kicked out of a private religious pre-school for choking a bully, and in fourth grade I lost a tooth to another.
I have fallen into depressions from which few hands could grab me, I have introduced myself at countless cocktail parties with a lilt in my voice and a spring in my step. At sixteen I was a slam poet, at seventeen I moved to the East Coast, at eighteen I pronounced belonging without puckering lips. I have seen the Vatican twice, and left feeling the same amount of shame. I remember nothing of Canada although I've seen it more than a dozen times.
I nearly died by being run over by a freighter on Lake St. Clair at twelve. There are days I live with a thousand could-have-beens ringing in my ears, and nights when should-haves steal the air out of my lungs. I have reckoning but few regrets.
I have made best friends of strangers, and enemies of those who claimed to love me most. I've won first place medals against six year olds. I have stood in front of crowds and discussed educational reform with my heart shaking. Charles Payne and Barack Obama have both answered my questions; I was stuttering while asking them. I am the child of a famous broadcast news journalist and a consultant who built a new method into the field. My family's success casts a shadow hundreds of times the length of my own. A warm cup of tea given to me by ready hands calms me more than it has the credit to do.
I have taught fifth graders division, 10th graders Toni Morrison, and 11th graders community organization. When my voice shakes, I speak louder. I have been called stupid, reckless, crazy, and a bitch more times than I can count on all my appendages. I have been given such huge amounts of love it would be a dishonor to merely give thanks. In Puerto Rico I went snorkeling naked, ate warm bread sweet as sugar, and surfed like a fish out of water. In Cuba I learned about poverty, fear, and incredible kindness. I saw the ocean from Havana, and walked the public squares in Santa Clara. I have driven for 16 hours straight and eaten at truck stops with hunched shoulders and tight fists. At 21 I visited Bourbon Street on St. Patrick's Day, and collected enough beads to dip my neck without showing a nipple.
I have seen enough of LA to know it doesn't suit me. I have grown up visiting South Carolina enough that I would recognize its face on a crowded street. I am not afraid of drowning, but there was a time I was sure I would die from it. I have prayed to a moon so huge it still fills my mind, and lit candles at a church with steady fingers.
I can play a handful of chords on a guitar, but only one strumming pattern, and I can't sew worth a damn. Hurt me and I might forgive you, but it takes ages for time to drag memory out of my closed hands. I am stubborn, impatient, and sensitive. I am an ENFP in regard to Myers Briggs, a four in the Enneagram, and a Libra for astrologers.
I hold my sister in unconditional high regard. I know how to make three meals well, and can cook generally, but unless I know it will be appreciated will not lift a hand in the kitchen. I can pour a picture into a cup with espresso and milk, but am undoubtedly out of practice. I have been to vineyards and faked my way through a private tasting. Waterskiing is definitely not my forte. I had six years of piano lessons and not one of them stuck.
I have been betrayed by people I would have placed my life in the hands of. There is nothing better than a warm fire and a book of fantasy so unrealistic I fall between the covers. At 13 I decided I was most likely a pagan, but after the harsh response from my parents never told anyone, and still will say nothing when prompted. I have seen men treat women in less than ideal ways more times than I care to recall. I have witnessed friends suffer from eating disorders and cutting, depression and anxiety, abortions, misguidance, and abandonment. I have learned, despite my faults, how to be a good friend.
I am 24. It is 2011. Every moment stretches out to me like wide arms, beckoning. I say I am not afraid, this is who I am, I am worthy, I am ready to become again.