Being Original Is Breathtaking.

I have this unsettling feeling. This sinking, kind of sick-at-my stomach feeling. It comes in waves, this feeling. 

I know that I am like no one else. My name, my hair, my laugh, my humor, my taste, it's all me. It's all unique. And I love that. But it's also quite lonesome and sometimes overwhelming.

I fear things. I fear that people aren't like me. That I am alone. And this becomes more evident with my track record of being 23 and never having been on a date, held hands, kissed, had a boyfriend, or any sort of intimacy with a man. 

I've came to the conclusion that I'm just so different. It's such a strange feeling. Knowing that my mind and my thought pattern is not like that of anyone I know. There are a select few who grasp my wit and sequence of thoughts, but there are those who look at me like I'm some sort of alien. And in a twisted way, I love that. I strive for that. I yearn for the chance to be different. To turn a head. Ya know?

Being original is breathtaking. It's refreshing. Being yourself.

There is a certain refreshing-ness about someone who is completely genuine. They are who they are, and have no reservations about what they like and what they don't. Trends aren't how they stay current. Popular culture plays little effect.

I came to the conclusion a long while ago that I honestly didn't care what others thought of me. Within reason. I am who I am. Labels do not define me. Society does not get the opportunity to make fun of me or tie me down. I have my own thoughts and feelings. My own emotions. My own likes and dislikes. 

As I become older, I can feel it more and more. This self love that I have. It envelopes me all the time. I am awesome. And I'm not conceited. I'm not cocky. Quite the opposite. I actually blush at any slight compliment or nice comment. I just laugh and smile. I'm terrible with it. Trust me. Try it. But with time, I have learned to love every ounce of myself. Inside and out. 

I am different, I am strange. I am unique, I am human. I am woman, hear me roar. Cliches and all. 

From my thick waist, to my long hair. My pouty bottom lip, my crooked teeth. My big feet, my loud mouth. My wide array of interests, my record collection. It's all what makes me who I am. And I am so thankful for it. 

I catch myself having two very different images of myself. One where I am some schmuck trying to get by in life, while looking and acting a complete fool. The other, a confident woman who knows who she is and what she wants. I chose to accept the latter. 

Life is difficult sometimes. Catching my reflection in a store window, seeing my larger frame. I've learned to embrace it. I've learned to understand each curve and wrinkle. I know that the mall is not my favorite place. I know that I'd rather pilfer through boxes of silk blouses at a yard sale, or flip through racks of high waisted skirts at the thrift stores. That's who I am. 

Love is difficult sometimes. I wind up in these vastly romantic scenarios when I'm by myself, or with a group of coupled off friends. It's awkward and lonely, but it's life. I've accepted it. I'm good at being single. I am able to go where I want and enjoy my life. My choices, my time, and I don't have to compromise. But sometimes I wish I had to compromise. Cooperate, rather. Having a romantic plus one would be nice. Being able to belt the lyrics to my favorite song at a show with a guy of my own would be rad. But hey, I do it on my own. And that's nice too. Being a realist and a hopeless romantic is quite the task. But I do it. And I own it. 

Work is difficult. So much pressure to be "successful," this subjective term. A world where degrees matter and money rules. And I'm just looking for happiness and enjoying the simple things in life. Whether that be listed on a career page, or right here in the comfort of my own home. Who knows. 

And that's what is so stellar. There doesn't need to be just black or white. (Like I said, cliches and all). I've learned that imperfections are abundant and common. Perfection is rare and kind of nonexistent. Quirks and jerks are all around us. Trust me. I choose to embrace this life. Love the skin that I'm in. Embark on each day as if it were a new journey, a time to celebrate and create. 

Who am I to judge another? I have always considered myself to be that of an open-minded person. To each their own. Sometimes there are more important things in life than to look to the world for validation. We're each given the opportunity to live and to love and to laugh. Do it. Press play, and embrace life for what it is. Revel in your one-of-a-kind-ness. For you are the only you in the entire planet. Dig that. I do. <3

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. 

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. 

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). 

Music Is My Religion

It just takes that one song from that one band to send chills down your spine. You can be surrounded by complete strangers, but for that moment on that night, you all are friends. Friends with the love of this same moment that you all are sharing. You all thrust your fist in the air, dancing along to the beat of the drum and who the hell cares who's watching? Friends and fans unite in a sea of sweat and denim. The house is black, the stage is lit, and you are there. With that special someone. With your best friend. With your family. With no one. But even then, you feel at home. In a sea of strangers, you have never felt more comfortable than the moment when the band takes the stage for the first time, the sea of cellphones light up the audience, and you know that it's going to be a good night. 

Why can't life always be like this? Where we all can bond over this unique moment. Where we can share in laughter and music and be completely present in the show. This state and time holds a place in your calendar. You have the ticket stub, you have your beverage, and you feel the vibes. It's now when you can let go, cleanse your soul of the worries of hours past, this is your time. Relax, rejoice and soak in the moments you have. 

If I've learned one thing from the number of shows that I've seen -- it's that it never gets old. I anticipate the set lists, I study the room, I pick out my future husband, and I think about nothing at all. The choice is yours. This is your moment, spend it wisely-- carelessly or poetically. 

The goosebumps begin, and I can feel my eyes starting to water. As to make sure no one sees my emotional state for music, I make sure to blink a lot to rid my eyes of puddles. This is what I needed -- this is my church. This is where I go to rejoice. Music is my religion.  The cure of any bad day. The symphony to my soul.



Live it, love it, caress it.
-Coco Chanell 

A Tale of Autopilot Daydreams

Here's the thing about relationships -- much like physics, politics and sports -- I don't understand them.  Yes, I cannot learn from experience… well, because I'm lacking in that department.  The department of love and relationships.  Maybe not so much in love, for I know that love exists, and I know that I am too naive to feel this way just yet.  I love my family, I love my friends, collectively.  I am not close enough to most of them to actually love them, if that makes any sense.  I cherish the word "love."  It means too much to me to be thrown around in everyday language.  I adore TONS of things and people.  I love music, I share a connection with it, it warms my soul, the lyrics transcend into medicine when I'm sad, and continually helps to provide the soundtrack to my life.  

I do fantasize about a prince charming who will whisk me away on his lawn mower, playing some sort of super-perfect song, thrusting his fist in the air, and then we'll skip through tall fields of grass, laying under a blanket of stars and confessing our deepest secrets.  It's a compilation of some of my most vivid dreams and scenes from various rom coms.  I can see all of these pieces of the puzzle falling into place, yet I have yet to figure out who my dream man will be.  And I've learned to be very patient.  I hold out hope that I'll see him on the street, brush into him at a concert, watch him walk into one of my favorite coffee shops, or perhaps he'll be at flipping through old blazers at the local Goodwill. It's untelling.  My dreams tell me that this guy is in my life already, and we share a connection that cannot be undone.  

And I know, I've wrote about this countless times before.  But seriously, I'm constantly learning about life, love and all those other lessons that life hands us along the way.

In recent events, I've been submerged into an immensely chill vibe.  Like, completely chill.  Almost to the point where I cannot concentrate on the various events happening around me.  I am longing for breaks in my day where I can casually write as I please, and warm my soul with music and chai tea.  I know I'm growing up, and maybe that has brought on this sudden change of mood.  I also know am aware that I am not depressed by any means.  Yet, when I try to describe this feeling of "autopilot," I sound dramatic and somewhat delusional.  That's not how it is.  Not at all. Let me try to put it into words...

As the day dwells on, I can feel the moments passing me by.  Slowly and reluctantly, I see images speed past me, people moving and living their everyday lives; while I sit (feeling as though I am) frozen in time.   This is not my declaration of depression.  I don’t think that’s my issue.  I think it’s a touch of senioritis, homesick-ness, allergies and a dash of the love bug.  I can feel my prioritizing getting tossed to the way-side.  Projects that should take me a mere hour or two drag on for days.  I can’t concentrate, sleep sounds splendid throughout the day, and then once I get home, I lack the desire to shut my lids.  Welcome to college?

I have been set to autopilot – simply drifting by, not actually living in the moments -- something I pride myself in.  I’m all about the moments!  Yet, here I sit, when I should be working, I blog.  All I want to do is curl up under my warm blankets, stare at the ceiling fan, drink warm tea, get lost in a trance of superb tunes, and write.  Ideally, I’d like to pause life around me – take a small break for myself, and scratch off some of the items on my to-do list.  But no, I do not have time for that.  I barely have time to eat lunch.  This is sad.  But this is life.

I envy the students who have ample amounts of time to spend watching Netflix, or who can take a stroll through the park.  Even during my times of unscheduled activities, a meeting pops up, an assignment has to get done, and it’s on to the next task.  I need some motivation.  I find myself daydreaming all too often. Doodling during class, planning for days down the road.  With songs constantly playing in my mind, I hum tunes to songs I've never heard of.  Images of past events drift into my imagination.  I’ve got it bad – Usher was right. 

And now, now that I am on a break from classes, I have been able to enjoy some of my hobbies that I used to revel in -- reading, writing, taking photos, painting, and simply soaking up the moments of being around my family.  Too often I toss these simple pleasure to the wayside, trying to make way for things that I've tried to make more important.  But that's not fair.  I must stop and smell the flowers, soak in the moments and embrace life.  And all those other cliches. 

As my "lasts" of college begin, I can feel myself separating myself from college, lunging forward into "real world" or "adult life."  I am in an awkward limbo of embracing and living in the moments of college, all while preparing myself for graduation and a career.  This is life, and this is where I am.  There's nothing wrong with this balance, it's just a little more than what I'm used to.  I'm taking on the ideas of life, moving, boys, various internships, work, school, and my involvement on and off campus.  The daydreaming swells all the while.  Longing to be apart of a "we," and not making time to appreciate the "me" that I currently am.  

And this is my life.  An infatuated, workaholic with a lot on her mind.  Balancing life, friends, school, work, and still managing to dab on a little lip color before heading out the door each morning.  As November nears, I miss my grandma more and more.  She'd understand my dilemmas and provide me with years of knowledge.  So here it is -- my thoughts compiled into one entry.  Somewhat random and all over the place, but hopefully helpful in the declaration of my over-thinking, constantly creative, yet chill vibe.  I've had a lot to think about recently, and this, as they say, is What's In Coco's Hair?. 

Peace,

Chanell 

What is something you've always wanted to do?

Some days are blessings, while others are filled with struggles. But each day I am thankful to be alive.  I cannot complain about the events leading to this point in my life... The chapters to my novel are not complete, and I have yet to reach the cliffhanger. 

And I'm okay with that. 

For each day is a new day, and I am up for the challenge (most days).

A few weeks ago, at work, we were encouraged to get to know the staff a little more by answering a question on a poster each day. The questions were "Why do you love music?" and "what is something you've always wanted to do?" without hesitation, I made my way to transcribe my answers.  Blank spaces were sparse on the music poster, while the something we've always wanted to do was very bare. 

When I read the question, I knew exactly what I've always wanted... Not a pony, or a mansion.  Not even a goose that lays golden eggs.  

I've always wanted to fall in love -- Maybe not like in the fairy tales, and maybe not like some cliche romance novel -- but I cannot wait for the day when I fall in love. 

Seeing as I'm 21 and single, this didn't seem strange to me. But as my 30's, 40's, 50's and even older coworkers glanced at the board, some were struck with awe, pity and amusement by my response. While no one knew that was my answer, I watched as the reactions came spilling in. They were feeling amusement by my lack of love, but also sadness that I had never fallen in love.  Is that not natural? 

I was confused. 

I have loved the ideas of many a things throughout my life... I have enjoyed moments, and I love my family. But I have never truly fallen in love. 

Maybe I should feel pity for myself, trust me, sometimes I do. But whatever the case may be... I want to fall in love.  With all my heart, butterflies-causing-chaos-in-my-stomach-kind-of-love.  

...

Although it may not happen tonight or tomorrow, maybe not next week or even a year from now... I look forward to the day that it happens.  It may be unexpected and unplanned, and I'm quite alright with that.  For as long as I can remember, I have longed for the day to come.  It will be a celebrated time in my life, and I cannot wait. Yes, I joke about the idea of seeing my future boyfriend walking through the door at Coffee Emporium, but maybe one day it will happen.  And maybe it will make all the difference. 

As they say, "love is a many splendid thing."