November and I Aren't on The Best of Terms

As the colors of the leaves change, so do the lives of the people around me.

The fall brings a different dynamic to the world. Nature turns into a variety of hues. The wind welcomes our bodies with a crisp hello. The sun tucks itself into bed earlier, and the nighttime joins us. We're greeted by a variety of pumpkin flavored foods and drinks. The layers begin to form in our closets. The flannels are brought out of hibernation, and the socks get chunkier. Along with the sweaters and the jewelry. Fall is here. Hello, Autumn.

Aside from the clothing, we can detect the full fall anthem by the amount of love gained or lost. As of late, I've witnessed many a couples "fall"ing out of love. Perhaps it's due to the Holiday season nearing, or the idea of hibernating with someone for an entire winter could send chills down the wrong lovers' spine. I honestly don't know. Maybe the cooler temps allow couples time to reflect, thus, realizing maybe the time has come to close on their relationship. I have no answers, just observations.


...

The fall has always been my favorite time of the year. Even if I am a winter baby, I love the fall. Autumn, if you will. Everything becomes so photogenic in the foliage of fall. People roam to pumpkin patches and haunted houses. Coffee shops become home (if they're not already) and everyone is in the mood for a hot drink. Something to warm our bones, to ease our spirit and help pick us up from the shorter days. Fall is perfection.

But with fall, also brings the month of November. My least favorite month of the year.

On a cold November night in 2010, tragedy struck my family. My grandmother, whom had been sick on and off for a few decades, passed. I have a hard time still thinking about this. It was November 4th. It was late at night, and I remember my mother answering the phone. I remember rushing to her side as she sobbed. Stunned and confused. We cried. Shirley was and will always be remembered as one of the most inspirational people I've ever met. To be her granddaughter was such a blessing. An honor. Born in the early '40s, Shirley Belew Helton grew up an average girl. She went to school, and was raised in the home in which she lived out the rest of her life. She went to beauty school with her friends on a whim and became one of the best beauticians in the city of Corbin, Ky. She had three beautiful children and married one earnest businessman. A country boy at heart, and businessman by trade. Shirley and Clifton lived an average life. Full of love and family and their fair amount of hardships as well as happiness. Shirley loved everyone. She passed no judgement, for we are all God's children. She went to church every Sunday, sang in the choir and wore a blazer every other day. She didn't leave the house without the perfect shade of lipstick and made sure to always coordinate her handbag to her outfit. I learned a lot from this woman. She taught me the words to Amazing Grace at a very young age, and encouraged me to follow my creative instincts. We used to play her keyboard, in which she'd teach me hymns and Christmas carols. Her soul was pure. Even when she lost her eyesight, she never complained. For she was alive and well, and was able to sing and feel the love around her. Words cannot describe the admiration I have for this woman. I remember in her last weeks, my mother visited her in the hospital nearly everyday, making the trek from Cincinnati to Lexington. Sometimes I would join, but me being a selfish 18-year-old in my first semester of college, I made excuses of being too busy or having too much homework. Those are moments that I regret. Not having the opportunity to tell her goodbye, not being there for her, not reading to her, not singing with her, not telling her about college. I still regret it. But long before her passing, she'd made me promise that I'd sing Amazing Grace at her funeral. And so I did. I kept my promise. I remember looking out into the pews filled with familiar faces and strangers alike, I sobbed, not necessarily because I was sad. I was, obviously. But for being so blessed to be a part of this amazing woman's life. I remember thinking that if I touched half as many lives as she did, I'd be one lucky woman myself.

And so, I digress. The 4th anniversary of Maw's passing happened this week. Each year, it doesn't get easier, it just becomes a day in which we celebrate her. I usually wear a scarf that she passed down to me. And I remember that the reason I began wearing my signature red lip stain was in remembrance of her. A way I can remember her each and everyday.

There are numerous other reasons why I hate November.

On another cold night in November, the 30th to be exact in 2011, we lost a close family friend. Chad (my brother)'s very best friend. He and Chad were the same age, sharing the same birthday. Andy King was a charismatic, passionate, crazy and kind guy. He'd been very ill in his last years of life. I remember the first time I met him. A young, naive Chanell, wanting her older brothers to bring home their cute guy friends. Andy was dressed in head to toe camouflage, like he normally did, topped with a bright orange beanie. I remember saying "He's butt ugly, why can't Chad have cute friends?" I would soon learn to love Andy. Not in a romantic way, but in a brother-sister way. He was Chad's best friend, each other's wing men, partners in crime. They would most normally be found at the drag strip or the local WalMart parking lot, but probably behind a camera, creating their film series "Stupid Human Tricks." No adventure was too big, they would venture to foreign towns to trade cars off of Craigslist, they'd be found cross dressing to make a scene or hunting somewhere in the woods of Campbell County. There was never a dull moment with Andy and Chad. Even when Andy had to walk around with a colostomy bag, using a walker to get to his jacked-up diesel truck, he was still a hoot. I remember distinctly a time when he was belting out Big & Rich's Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy, shuffling to his truck with his walker, "I'm a thoroughbred, that's what she said..." He was like my idol. Seeing him so weak, but being so strong, he was amazing. The funeral came, and I remember by brother and his friends just in a different state than normal. They weren't necessarily emotional. They seemed confused and restraining themselves from tears. Being strong. But I knew the truth, they all were missing him. Andy is unforgettable and irreplaceable.

And just as we thought we'd had enough of November. Bad things happen in threes, I suppose.

Tragedy struck again. Another damn cold night. November 18, 2012. Exactly two years and two weeks after my grandma's passing, my grandpa passed. Cliff, or "Big Daddy" as everyone called him was one of the scariest people I knew growing up. He was a  true Corbin man. Owning a country store out in the "hollers" of Barbourville, Ky. He smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank moonshine and carried a gun in his briefcase for safety. He believed in structure and tradition. He didn't fool with technology and wanted to make sure that us grand kids were getting a proper education. As he grew older, he grew softer. He became more lenient. Allowing us to have cellphones out. We could stay up past 9 p.m., and he wasn't as set on having his certain chair at the table. He allowed us to have visitors over and actually enjoyed talking to people. Big Daddy was amazing. As I grew older, I learned to appreciate his old-fashioned ways. He lost his leg, wheeled himself in a wheelchair, but still managed to get up and go to work everyday. Even in his last few moments of life. He had been in almost nearly perfect health. He was found with his glasses still on his face, with the UK game on the television. At his funeral, I once again sang Amazing Grace. He enjoyed my singing and it reminded him of Shirley. My mother would never be the same after her mother passed, but then losing her father, she was at a loss. And she still is.



So, as the seasons change. As November begins, I cringe. For although I love the fall. It can be a bit harsh. Both in low temperatures, as well as in taking the lives of those close to me... I can only hope that this November is better.

And I digress yet again. For it's more important to maintain a state of positivity. A lush hope. Here's to a better November. Or maybe Green Day should have titled the song "Wake Me Up When November Ends."

Defining A Happy Place

Amidst the various aromas of chain food, the brightly colored menus and the families with loads of loot from a day well spent at the mall, my mother and I discuss happiness. 

It is no secret that my mother has changed. A piece of her died when her parents passed. Her closeness to her mother was something to admire. They talked everyday on the phone. Every morning in a three way conversation with my aunt. 

6:30am on the dot. That was their ritual. For years. 

That was my mother's happy place. Those long distance phone calls. Her morning conference call was the equivalent to most folks' morning caffeine. 

I must say that my grandmother was and will always be remembered as a remarkable woman. Someone who loved everyone. Blind. Literally and figuratively. She passed no judgement and was the most selfless person I've ever known. Her name was Shirley. Also commonly referred to as Shirl Girl.  

My mother was close to Shirley. And since a cold November day in 2010, my mother hasn't been the same. 

And as life would have it, tragedy struck again when my mother's father passed an exact 2 years and 2 weeks after her mother. 

Since November 2012, my mother has had to cope with the loss of her best friend, her parents, and her happy place. 

No longer does my mom feel the need to visit her childhood home. What's left is not the same, and most of the family has up and moved away. 

My mother has lost that twinkle in her eye. That spark that made her so loving and joyful. 

She knows it. 

I know it. 

I assume that others have caught on. 

...And thus I cannot relate. 

But I can empathize. 

For I have my parents. I haven't (fortunately) lost anyone that mattered that much to me as her parents did her. 

I want to help her. I want to shake her and sprinkle the joy back into her bones. I want to trade places and let her see what it's like to be a young adult again. For I know that I am lucky to have my entire future in front of me.

But that's where we were. 

Two lost souls in the middle of a food court. Pondering life over our picked-at rice meals.

What is happiness?

I proclaimed that it was really just a facade that people hide behind and pretend to be happy. For are people really "happy?" What does that even mean. 

My mother decided it meant to be okay and content with your life and your passions. 

But I don't think that's right. I don't think happiness should be complacent or something you settle for. 

For as long as I can remember when people (or countless scholarship essays )would ask me to define what I wanted to be when I got older, I would always want to be happy. I used to define the pleasures of happiness were equivalent to those of succeeding. And each person defines it a different way. 

I do not believe I have a "happy place." I think my memories and dreams are what make me happy.

Moments in time that I can find stashed away in my mind. Times where I'd smile to myself, where I'd cry tears of joy. Moments when I'd be singing at the top of my lungs, when I achieved something off my bucket list. Those are the times that create happiness for me. 

But I cannot tell you if I am happy in the now. 

I feel like I'm still floating, wading, rather in a pool. It feels shallow at times, but as soon as I stick my hand in the water, my heart races knowing that I could sink or swim. 

And that's life. 

I think. 

I am no pro. Yet. 

There are people and things and moments and places that help to remind you of happiness. But I don't know if you can define being happy as a current emotion. Let's take graduating... I wasn't "happy" in the moment. Everything was happening so fast. I was trying to digest what was going on around me. It was surreal. And now, I can look back on the photos and judging by my candid, cackling-smile photos, I know that I was achieving something. And that makes me happy, I think?

I had no mood ring to confirm if I was happy. 

Life doesn't come complete with a mood ring. Or directions for that matter. Life: accessories not included. 

Are people really happy? Or are they pretending? Do we try way too hard pretending to be something that we're not in order to present ourselves in a fashion in which we think will make society happy? Is that happiness? 

These are the the thoughts that I have. Late at night. Having an existential crisis from the comfort of my twin size bed. Or the table at the mall food court eating steak and rice with my mother. 

I think happiness is an option, not a priority. Or a necessity. Living is. And I'll just continue to move forward. 

Post Grad: The Veil Of Uncertainty

Up until now I've taken everything for granted. Time mostly. But kind of just life in general. 

I think the feeling of a chapter ending has really struck me. 

It only took about two months, endless hours of Netflix, and a few dozen over-thinking nights to get here. 

It's as though I've been given a new pair of sunglasses in which the tint has changed everything from rose to a more golden hue (maybe it's grey) but the point is that everything seems to be changing hues in front of my eyes. 

I know that I've found myself in slumps before. Moments of sheer terror where I have no incline or idea of what my future holds. I've experienced those times where I've rethought the relationships around me. I've thought about boarding a plane, backpacking through the mountains, and embarking on a real Into The Wild experience. 

But this time, this time I think something is different. 

No longer do I have the safety of college. Classes with textbooks to read (or not read).  Lectures to take notes from. Friends to conveniently grab coffee with or catch up over a slice of pizza in the Student Union. 

No, this isn't my life anymore. 

I have no circle of sisters to meet with every Sunday. No homework that's due in a month, that I will start the night before. Okay, maybe the week before. No longer will I instagram the wondrous colors of Griffin Hall. No more student ID. No more campus events. 

Reality, at this point, is that I am forced to grow up now. And while yes, I know that I am an old soul, and I am meant to experience all that life has to offer -- I also am uncertain of the future. 

So uncertain in fact that I think I'm hiding from it. 

Thus far, in my life, I've had things planned out. School was a necessity from kindergarten to high school graduation. From there, college was a choice. Seeing as I am a first generation college student/grad/you know what I mean, college was the plan. Four years seemed like an adequate amount of time to find a degree, learn what I'm passionate about and set forth on my life before me. 

Boy, am I naive. 

Countless people had warned me about life post-grad, but I am a firm believer in taking advice into consideration, following my heart and going with the flow. I'm a type B kinda gal in that sense. Let the chips fall where they may, and work for what you love. 

Let's reflect on my two months of "real life." 

After graduation, I let on like everything was normal. Attending concerts per usual, working my same job, hanging out with new and old friends… all felt comfortable. Typical. I was on summer vacation. Let's add the element of my one of my best friends leaving for his dream job for the summer only a mere weeks after my graduating, leaving me in Northern Kentucky without my adventure buddy. I felt stuck.

Then I became ill with a disgustingly painful cyst on my tailbone. I won't go into detail. But it hurt A LOT, forcing me to get some surgery and be cooped up in bed for days upon weeks, turning into almost a month of lack of socialization with the outside world. 

During this time, when I wasn't almost paralyzed with pain, I found an escape through literature and film. I'd put myself in the shoes of the characters I was reading or watching. (Let's just say I understand The Graduate a little more, minus the whole affair idea.)  I delved into Netflix television series and began to become one with the characters on the screen. These were my friends during my time of pain, they didn't judge me for not being able to shower or care that I was a recent graduate of college just going with the flow.

As I began to take baby steps back into the light of day, I ran into friendly faces. People who wanted to know my plans for the future. How's post grad life? Where are you working? Are you going to grad school?  

Cue the tears.

Okay, maybe a little more of a spinning head. Some self-doubt and anxious moods.

All of a sudden, everyone wanted to know what I'd be doing with the rest of my life. And all along, I thought at this point I'd have an answer. 

But I don't. 

At this point, I've considered creating a shirt that says "I graduated college and I'm just trying to enjoy the free time, I'll let you know when I've figured out the rest." But perhaps that would be too abrasive, and we all know that I'm not one for confrontation. 

I hadn't been around people in weeks, I was happy to stand again, I hadn't really thought about where I'd be applying next. 

And perhaps that's where the problem lies. I hadn't put enough thought into my future endeavors. For up until this point, things were calculated for me or I had a plan and went with the flow to make it all happen. 

This should be no different. 

But it is. 

And that terrifies me. 

What if I don't find a "big girl job?" OR what if I find a job and I don't like it? OR what if I'm bad at it? 

What if everything that I thought I was passionate about/thought I was good at has been a complete misunderstanding. What if I'm a failure. 

This is where I find myself a lot these days. Thinking. Asking myself about life. And in all honesty, I just want to enjoy some free time. I would love a job, I'd love to be practicing my degree, but I also know that I have time for all that.

And thus, here I am. Typing away on my MacBook in the dark of my bedroom at midnight. Snapchatting my best friend while he stares out the window of his New York City digs. 

Envious doesn't even begin to explain it. 

I want adventure. I want love. I want to experience life. I want happiness. 

Perhaps I'm selfish. Perhaps I should have experienced more while in college. Perhaps I should suck it up, stop being picky, and just get a job.

I've had some time to explore my interests. Making plenty of lists. I can safely say that the job hunting process is tiring. It can be cruel. But it can also be a great way to do some soul searching. I'll keep trying to figure out what's happening and where I'll go from here…. but for now, the tshirt is still an option. 

And now that I have successfully survived the most painful thing I've had to date (that dang cyst was paralyzing), I think that I'll be able to survive the summer and embark on a new journey of self discovery and post-grad life choices. 

Come August, when everyone is going back to school, I hope that this veil of foggy tomorrows and rainy what ifs will go away. I'll be able to focus again and get back to living. 

Until then, I digress. 

Different.

And that's when I realized that my family was different. 

As I scrolled through the countless images of families dressed in pastels. Baskets in hand. Bonnets on heads. 

I realized what I wanted. 

I wanted to feel love. 

It all makes sense. 

My family, we love each other. But we don't express it as others do.  

We don't go on family vacations. No family dinners. No trips to the lake, like we used to. 

I want that. 

I want an extended family. In-laws. Cousins. Nieces. Nephews. 

I wanted to share and experience in love. 

Every holiday comes and goes, we'll get gifts for a split second, revel in each others company over a meal, and then it's off our separate ways. To the living room for television. Escaping to the internet to see what others were doing. And yard work or dishes for the parentals. 

Maybe this is why I'm so hesitant to love, but so eager at the same time. 

I know what I want, but I've never had the chance to partake. 

And that's the scary part. 

What happens when I do? 

Will I leach on. Run away. Or just play it coy, like I always do. 

I love love. I just can't bring myself to say it out loud.

Yes, I'm a hopeless romantic. I dream of the day that someone will feel for me the way that I feel for them. 

It may not be a sparks fly moment, like they show in movies, but a girl can dream. 

I just want to feel. 

Ya know?

Life passes us by. Day by day.

We're constantly drudging along, floating by, looking forward to the future. But what about the present?

My family doesn't understand why I'm so hellbent on the idea of one day falling in love. 

But the truth is -- I've never fallen in love. With a human being. 

Therefore, I don't know what I'm missing out on. 

It's terrifying. Knowing there's a feeling that pretty much the entire world has felt at some point in their lives, sometimes multiple times.

And I have not. 

I fall in love with characters. These ideas and concepts of people in books, movies, shows, songs, and more. And maybe that's why I dream up the characters of my ideal mate. 

He'll understand my love for music, my nervous habit of licking my teeth, the way that I'd rather spend hours at concerts or coffee shops than at the mall. How Momma Autumn is my best friend. And how I've been collecting postcards for the majority of my life, but I cannot honestly tell you where most of them are stashed around my house. 

He'll get that. 

And I'll get him. 

But I don't get to experience that. Not right now. 

And that's seriously okay. It's just heartbreaking sometimes. 

Especially around holidays. 

As friends and their families take photos and partake in their traditions. 

I sit. 

In my room. 

Benge watching television shows and romantic comedies. 

That's my life. 

I'm living it. 

But I'm also praying and hoping for an ever loving future. 

And remember, it's okay to be different. This is what life is all about. 

I just can't wait to admit my love. 

Moving

Change. Not the loose kind. The life kind. 

After a little over 7 years being stationary in one home, twenty two years of my life gets placed into boxes, bags and bins. The time has come. 

To move.

As we riffle through our belongings, this is my time to reflect. To reminisce. To pilfer over the items that have had significant meaning to me over the years. Now, they all get tossed into piles. Piles to be moved into a new home. 

I've already had the hard move. Moving in the middle of your Freshman year of high school is difficult. Spending my early years in the walls of a mold-infested farm home with acres of land out in the country to sing, dance, and explore; then moving to the swoop-roofed home "in-town." The difference was a lot to handle at the time. 

And now, we move yet again. Here, only a few hundred feet away from the last. A home built in the late 1880's, with the charm and potential of a home my family had been seeking for years. 

As I sit here, I see our belongings in piles, crowded around me, enclosing my workspace that has turned into the couch. Boxes of curtains, old toys, books, musical instruments and more. These items that have a history, stories, and those that are new and are waiting to experience life with us. 

With exposed brick and hardwood floors, I feel at home. Yes, the vibes here are nice. A lot of history, a ton of character, and space that will make this house a home. 

The move has taken its toll -- a change in moods, stress levels at an all time high, and disorganization -- we're adjusting. 

Some more than others. 

I enjoy the change. I feel like we have a breath of fresh air in the family now. The dynamics different, but stronger. I feel matured? Wiser? No. Just better. Different.

As time went on in our latest home, more and more things began to disappear. Into the abyss of boxes and bags. Labels made their ways onto the piles. But the feeling was unshakeable. 

Every time I walked into my house, something different was missing. It began to feel empty.  

As we embarked on this change, I could feel the cold walls becoming barren.  No memories left.  No love to spare.  

Perhaps this was how we were all beginning to feel. Cold, barren, empty, and ready to move on. Because as we all know, everything is a metaphor anyhow. We were becoming the house, and the house we. 

No longer were we able to hide in our rooms with our gadgets, we spent time together in the empty rooms of what once were our living room, sun room, and dining room. Toward the end of the move, we had become squatters in our home. 

Air mattresses lined the interior of the first floor of the house. Coolers sat around for drinks and "refrigeration" of food. Pop cans scattered throughout with wrappers and fry boxes a wry. 

Our home was beginning to revert back to a house. Just some house that we were crashing in for a few nights until we got settled into the new place. The walls were stripped of their charm and family photos. No more music to fill the air, and no more food to disperse aromas throughout the house. 

The change was different. A little weird. Especially at this time in my life. 

I'm graduating in a little over a month from college. This means the time is nearing for me to find a "big girl" job, get a "big girl" apartment, and start my "big girl" life. No longer can I escape from the real world madness, and hide in the surroundings of campus. But I'm ready for it. 

I've been in this awkward limbo where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I know my future is awaiting me, but I also want to make sure that I enjoy every last moment that I have with the Norse as an undergrad. Attending games, fraternity parties, events, having lunch on-campus, staying up late writing papers, and enjoying the scenery of our campus. But, I also am ready to focus on more intimate details of my life. 

For years, I have had to spread myself thin between school, homework, work, organizations A-Z, meetings, family time, internships, free time, and sleep.  I'm ready for the days where I can work during the day, enjoy lunch breaks with coworkers and friends, focus on my job and its projects, then focus on myself and my hobbies. Making time for family and friends, and really strategizing my time as a young adult. 

This will be amazing, and maybe I have no concept of what life actually is like, but that's okay. I'm ready to find out. That's the adventure.

So until then, I'll continue to write little ramblings on my Mac in coffee shops, take notes of fantasies in the note section of my iPhone, tweet about my favorite moments, and continue to live my life as a college Senior. I'll need to start working on a plan for how I'll decorate my cap, and pick out what dress to wear. I'll need a plan for a grad party, and prepare myself for the summer of weddings and baby showers. Summer is right around the bin, and I cannot wait for the sun and fun of life. Until then, here's this ramble. Change is a good thing. #NKUnextstep 

A Tale of 'Never Been Kissed'

I've had the privilege of being published in my school's paper, check it out! 

The Northerner: A tale of 'never been kissed'

(p.s. it was in honor of Valentine's Day nearing, and as most of you know, this is real). 

A Love Poem (of Sorts).

 

He sees her from across the room.

His eyes light up.
Her heart

stops.


Time stands   

still.



The room is full.
Yet, there is no one else.

     Just he.
     Just her.


It's all a blur.


When their eyes meet, his smile widens.

Never has he seen such a girl,
a dreams-come-true kind of gal.

She in her unique ways.
He in his mysterious manner.

Together. 
What a pair.