:)

So, I kind of have an “edgy” image, of sorts.

Mothers that do know me tend to adore me, giving me hugs and sweet teas.

Mothers that don’t tend to see, stare and stay clear of me.

I get it. The faux red hair, the nose piercing, the leather jackets, the frequently rolled eyes.

My best friend and me. A guy from our co-op described her as nice, me as offensive, and our duo as edgy.

It’s okay, I understand the snap judgments. The perceptions are often amusing.

At times, though, it’s frustrating. I’m on a journey with Jesus and attempting to be a reflection of him, but my offbeat sense of humor and ever-prominent dryness often lead people to their own conclusions of me being off-track, or worse, on a downward spiral, and these opinions are prevalent enough that occasionally, I feel guilty for being an unorthodox individual, to say the least. I’m not the most conservative person; I’m not sweet in the least.

My mother told me, however, something that brought my heart the warmest feeling I’ve felt in a while. She said when a friend asked about me, she described me as trustworthy, which, quite honestly is the best possible compliment you can give a person.

So, to know that despite misjudgments and kooky ideas that would lead one to believe otherwise, my mum and other kindred spirits see past and love me anyways. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

In Defense Of Taylor Swift

So, Taylor Swift gets a lot of hate.

She’s a physically flawless individual, standing tall at 5’10, with an ever-tiny waist and legs that go on for days. Her hair, which has recently been cut to a long bob, is wavy and dirty blonde; her lips, which she’s referred to in her new song Style, are consistently painted cherry red, and her cat-eye eyeliner has seemingly always been her trademark. Obviously, she’s very gorgeous. And so, quite a bit of feminists have been noting how her “too-thin, too-perfect” appearance isn’t good for young girls.

This is not all; her songs are quite often centered around the many men that she has dated, ranging in her emotions towards her infamous exes from pity to loathe. She sings in Blank Space, “I’ve got a long list of ex-lovers / They’ll tell you I’m insane / ‘Cause you know I love the players / And you love the game.” One must wonder; is Taylor considering the impact she has on America’s female youth? Is she promoting serial dating in these songs? Worse yet, is she promoting unhealthy relationships, as another line in the song says, “You can tell me when it’s over / If the high was worth the pain”?

America, leave Taylor alone.

She is a strikingly beautiful woman. I have grown up with her image and music surrounding me; never once did I envy her body shape; rather, I considered her to be somewhat of a princess of magic and music. Her waifish-ness just didn’t matter.

Also, she’s noted herself that “Blank Space” is not meant to be taken seriously. Rather, it’s a satire built on the media’s perception of her as being a loose sociopath. And honestly, while the culture is quick to point fingers at Taylor and note that she’s dated too much, and perhaps, she dates simply to write songs about the men after they’ve broken up, please remind yourself of this; since 2008, there have only been about four men that Taylor has confirmed she’s dated. Others could have been just friends. If we keep this in mind, perhaps we’ll stop buying shirts with trendy slogans such as “More Boyfriends Than T. S.” Not okay, Abercrombie.

Anyways. Taylor is on a journey, just like most women her age, to being the individual that she feels she’s supposed to be. She’s 25, for Pete’s sake. I personally am a Swiftie, and it’s okay if you’re not, but don’t feel obligated to be hateful towards her when, quite frankly, she’s done nothing to you.

Give her a break.

Things That Tick Off Dancers

For those of you who don’t know this from my other gazillion posts about ballet dancing and the like, I do ballet. Some say too much, some say too little, but I’m a dancer as much as anything else and I’m happy being one. Dancers…we’re known for being these creatures of movement, gracefulness, quality and strength. We’re excellent in our beauty, and our beauty comes from our soigné hair buns, long limbs and debonair essence. Our vibe is pure elegance. Our nimble way is enchanting.

But don’t irritate us.

These are the top irritations that most dancers should relate to:

1. When people tap our hair buns and make beeping sounds. Or compare our buns to cinnamon rolls. I’m not a car, or an artificially-sweetened pastry.
2. When people beg us to try on our pointe shoes, and when we let them, they try them on for about thirteen seconds, and then report that the shoes don’t hurt at all, and we should stop complaining. Tell me I’m complaining too much again. I dare you.
3. When a fellow dancer has a penchant for aligning your bra straps with your leotard straps. Thank you, but no thank you.
4. When your leotard rides up and it looks really weird while you’re just standing there, adjusting your crotch.
5. Even worse, when a male dancer has the same problem.
6. When your thirsty, and so you drink, and then you feel too full of water, so you pee, and then you return to class and you’re thirsty yet again. Seems like such small potatoes, but this happens all too often.
7. When you’re showing dance friends a picture of you, and they don’t recognize you with your hair down.
8. When you can’t nail a single pirouette to save your life, and you look over to see another dancer doing a flawless quadruple pirouette. I’m sorry, if you fell and survived with only minor injuries, I wouldn’t feel too bad at this point.
9. When a random dad is watching class from behind the tinted windows and you think he’s a creepy stalker sociopath. What? I didn’t know any better.

   And finally….

10. When your teacher says it’s time for adagio, which means “slow, controlled movements”. God help me, I’d rather bite off my own arm and use it to gag myself. Okay, that’s a little dramatic. But still.

So there ya have it 😀 Thanks for enjoying our own private hells. We sure don’t. Don’t get me wrong, being a dancer is one of the most beautiful experiences I’ve ever had. But sometimes…you better damn well hope we don’t have a sharpened pointe shoe ready to attack!

Dear Teenage Guys….

Hello. Ya’ll are a special group of humans. You talk deeper, smell stronger, swear more and grow taller than the majority of your female peers. You’re all great as a whole, but, honestly, there’s some stuff I’ve got to clarify to keep ya’ll in line. I’m sorry. Someone’s got to be honest.

1. Some of you get this radical notion in your heads that whatever wiry, prickly hair that grows out of your faces is attractive or makes you more of a man. Please note; it’s not attractive in the least. Clean-shaven is attractive. Sometimes beards are; when they’re full, healthy and not resembling frayed guitar string. Your follicles just aren’t ready yet.
2. Please don’t think arrogance is attractive. Honestly, if you’re handsome or intelligent or God knows what else, that’s great, but showing you’re aware of these traits is a turn-off.
3. Swearing isn’t attractive.
4. Neither is misogyny.
5. If you wear a cologne that’s both spicy, fresh and just a bit sensual, you will be all the more attractive.
6. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever say “I love you” when you don’t mean it. Those three words are, in my opinion, the most overused and abused in our vocabularies. Just shut your mouth. Honestly.
7. It’s okay to dress nicely. Hoodies are great, but we won’t mind if you don’t master the “I woke up like this” look, because, honestly, it’s not flawless.
8. It’s smart to keep silent. I knew this one guy that was always quiet, his eyes so ponderous and deep, his focus creating in us an image of him that was intelligent. I then overheard him talking with a friend, and I realized that his silent demeanor was really just a facade. If you’re trying to sell intelligence, keep quiet and carry on.
9. Finally, don’t play with my hair if I ask you not to. My hair is not yours to play with; if I tell you it’s not okay with me, that’s a command; not a suggestion. Good Lord.

Thanks for reading, guys. Honestly, if you follow this, you should be in better shape as a whole.

Awkward Things All We Awkward People Have Done

Hey guys, I’m really awkward. Incredibly so.

Yes, I agree that there’s sometimes a certain charm to my awkwardness, but in middle school (especially 8th and 9th grade), I was so painfully graceless that any interaction that I had, I felt my eyes bulge out, my lanky arms dangling in weird positions, my hair get stuck in my lip balm and that was when I remembered I forgot deodorant. Braces and retainers, mixed with my lack of filter and mouth that just kept running, I had a mess of over-honesty and ill-timed falls brought about me tripping on my own two left feet.

The struggle was real for my pubescent self.

Luckily, I grew more-so into my awkwardness and learned to embrace all of my klutzy quirks. My eyes tend to bulge out less, I’m on track always now with my antiperspirants, and my lip balm is no longer sticky. I’ve realized how my obscure vocabulary translates into me being an admittedly good writer, and, fortunately, my social interactions run much smoother.

But I’m still very awkward.

So, I’m making a list of things that most of us “awkweird” people relate to on a pretty daily level.

1. When you see someone you know, outside of where you know them from. Instantaneously, you wonder if you did your hair, if you’re still wearing your sweatpants and hoping on your dear life that the last thing you ate was ultra-minty gum.
2. When you’re standing up from a chair and you immediately trip on it.
3. When you see someone watching you, and your body picks then to forget how to walk.
4. When you’re in a quiet setting and your stomach decides to make noises.
5. When you’re crying and there’s absolutely no way how to make it a “pretty cry”.
6. When you’re at a funeral, you remember something funny, and then, there you are, snorting as your great-aunt is lying there dead in a casket.
7. When people are singing “Happy Birthday” to you. Come on. Does anybody know how to act during that? What should you do? Sing too? Smile? With teeth or without? Ugh.
8. When you’re wearing a dress and you forget to cross your legs.
9. When you knock over a wine bottle display in a store. Has this happened to anyone else?
10. When you’re wearing low-rise pants and everyone gets a good look at what neon lace knickers you’re wearing.
11. When you’re trying to wink and people wonder if you’re having a seizure.
12. When you’ve attempted to do your nails and it looks like an abstract Frida Kahlo appeared on your fingertips.
13. When you can not hide your excitement over a new Taylor Swift song. “Style”? You complete me.
14. When you attempt to hug someone and it results in them being injured.
15. When you mispronounce everything.
16. When a guy friend asks to borrow a pen, and accidentally, you hand him a tampon.

So yeah 😀 That’s my list. If you’re awkward, you should relate to at least a few of these. I know I do.

Undeniable

Yesterday, a dance teacher was telling us about her son, who is also a dancer, about his unreal execution of a certain turn. She told the only male student (who’s incredibly serious always during class) that he should be the one to ask her son to turn for us, because he wouldn’t listen to his mother. My classmate agreed quietly, but he seemed to have some hesitation.

I stepped forward. “I’ll ask him!”

My teacher looked at me and smiled. “Ms. Eby…no, I do not want you to ask him.”

I wrinkled my forehead and pursed my lips. “Why?”

She sighed. “Well, because, Eby, you’re not serious, and he would sense that, and I don’t believe you’d be strong enough to accept his answer.”

Ms. Betty has called me “un-serious” before. She actually told me last week that I’d be a fantastic wife and mother, and that the person I end up with will be made “very happy” because of my lack of solemnness. That’s all fine and good.

I do admit that I am a goofy person at times. I love making people laugh, I love expressing myself through what I say. I admit my language can get a little gritty sometimes. I frequently tell stories in ways to make the person I’m with crack up.

So yes, you can call me many things. You can call me edgy, you can call me goofy, you can call me sweet (which seems to be the new word my dance-mates call me) and you can call me douchey if it comes to it (which it has once or twice). You can say I’m not serious, you can say I’m not a graceful dancer. You can say I’m not funny (I’ve gotten that) and you can say I’m not classic.

You cannot deny my strength.

I am a strong person. I know I am. I know I would not be without God, but he has given me the inner fire I possess. I’m not going to deny it myself. I am a woman who is growing and changing, but I’m willing to face the challenges and bumps in the road. I stand up to people. I’m never passive aggressive. I have a foundation in the Lord, and that puts me in a centered, unbreakable position.

There’s a quote that my best friend told me the other day that she thought I’d love. I’m paraphrasing, but it’s along the lines of “The wolves among her didn’t attack, for they knew they were among a lion.” Excellence.

The point is, I knew my teacher meant no harm. She’s new to me; I’ve only begun taking her classes in September. I truly do love her quite a bit already; she has such a lovely, bright outlook and a funny, dry humor. It’s quite a treat to be taught by such a gem of a person. But I felt I had to clarify. Jesus gave me the gift of strength; I’m not one to deny Him.

Observation

As I looked around the room, I saw a group of my classmates and friends. They all twisted and contorted their bodies in graceful ways, all attempting to outdo themselves with each movement. We all wore nylon pink tights and a teal spandex/cotton blend leotard over them; except for the only boy in our class. He wore black tights with a white shirt tucked in.

I pondered the dedication it must take for this fourteen-year-old boy to be wearing tights while a ballet instructor grabbed at his thighs so he’d turn out his hips (which is necessary for proper technique). I wondered why we do it. Why we spend quite a many hours here, twisting our arms and our abdomens, correcting everything about our form down to our toenails. Why we subject our feet to the cruelty that is pointe shoes. Why we sweat and bleed and cry and keep coming back. Are we simply masochists? Do we feel thrilled by the pain and aching backs and oozing blisters that seem as though a minute meteor struck our skin’s surface? Why do we dedicate so much time to something that most of us will choose not to continue after graduation?

Because, dear friends, ballet is beautiful. And my daughter will surely be placed in classes until she protests.

Ballet is the most physical art. Ballet trains you to know how your body works; how your hips rotate, how your knees bend, how your lungs keep going when it seems they should give out. Ballet gives you this recognition of beauty from an early age; you appreciate determination more. Ballet teaches you to never give up; it gives you a drive and a passion that makes passivity impossible. You can’t acquiesce to your desires when you’re a ballet dancer; you must keep going until you collapse.

So yes, we do bash our bodies around quite a bit. We wake up with bruises and bunions, we go to sleep with aches and pains. But ballet is such an immeasurable art that it’s impossible to not find worth there.

Definitely Worth It

For those of you who know me, I am a usually tough nut to crack.

Don’t get me wrong; I love to be kind, I love to make people feel good, I love to bring a smile to someone’s day. Recently, a friend at dance hugged me and said, “You know, I love how you’re always so positive and you always brightening my day with all your smiles and kindness. You’re amazing.” That was basically the sweetest compliment I ever received, and my heart kinda broke a little with happiness.

The tough part comes in because, like many people, I don’t like to be hurt.

In October, I began working at a local nursing home as an activities volunteer, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t love a resident. I made this promise because I am a person who has quite a bit of love in my heart, and I know that the residents are often burdened with health issues that could take them at any time, and frankly, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Then, one day, my boss told me that, because she had nothing else for me to do because I got my work done early, she would suggest I meet a resident whom she thought I’d like very much. Her name was Frances.

Frances is this loud, talkative woman in her eighties. She has these tiny, sparkling eyes and this low, raspy voice that sparks like a fire every time she talks. She makes these spitfire remarks that never cease to make me laugh, and this penchant for showing me pictures of her granddaughter, whom she hopes will be as outspoken as her.

I was intimidated by her at first; she was so snappy, so energetic and so sure of herself that I wasn’t sure if she’d like me. Then, on the first day I met her, when I realized it was time for me to leave, she pulled my hands to her lips, kissed them twice, and whispered “Love you, love you, love you.” She does this every time I visit, which I make sure is often.

My heart like it had been microwaved. The feeling was mutual.

I told a friend of my mother’s about the promise. She laughed and said that it was ridiculous. When I asked why, she smiled slightly. “Well, Sarah,” she said thoughtfully. “You’re going to love people all your life, and loving them is going to hurt a lot sometimes, but you can’t not love someone for that reason! Love is such a beautiful thing, and you can’t miss out on it because you’re afraid of losing it. We could all go at any time! Love is a good thing.”

I have told friends that have had their hearts broken a similar speech. I have related to them all the perks of having love in your heart for another individual. Only now do I realize that loving someone is one of the greatest parts of being human. Your heart has this miraculous ability to break, fix and break again, and I don’t want to be such a callused person that I don’t experience the gift that is giving my heart away.

So I’m breaking my promise. My heart will continue to be given away, and restored with God’s perfect love.

And it’s definitely worth it.