#nofilter

Listen, first you should all know I try with my whole being not to like Mumford and Sons.

But this song, y’all… I can’t stop.

Now, for something totally unrelated to Mumford –

Recently, I read this beautiful piece about writing what you know.  Writing about the pain and the joy… and the stuff you think no one gets.  I’ve always hated people who sugar coat the truth – or people who sugar coat their writing (ie: Elizabeth Gilbert’s first chapter in Eat Pray Love), but writing what you know means you have to write about the real stuff.

And the real stuff gets personal.

For the most part, I think people know a lot about me.  I share way too many short sentence thoughts on twitter and FB, I share too many opinions on this Southern Wild blog, and I post a thousand photos of daily, mediocre life on snap chat.  But I feel like there is still a large aspect of me that I keep secret.

Someone recently made a very sweet effort in telling me how inspiring my posts were, and they noted that they were “envious” of my happy outlook on life.  That was incredibly sweet, and nice to think about, but it made me feel like a total fraud.

You see, I don’t like thinking about the bad stuff – which means I don’t like sharing it – which means I don’t write about it – which probably means, even though I share a lot of personal thoughts, people don’t really know me.

But in a world where selective oversharing is taking over, the idea of being completely translucent in writing is difficult.

Really, really difficult.

After a post I wrote a few days ago, my mother expressed that my writing is not as vulnerable as it once was.  She was worried I put too much thought in what others think when they read it, and she was right.

But when you want to write for a living – people have to want to read what you write.

AND THAT IS TERRIFYING. 

IMG_5317

I love sharing my attempts at discovering who I am, what I want, and where I fit in this world, but I hate sharing the negative side of doing all of those things.  Unfortunately, when you don’t want to harp on negatives, you have to find the positives, and sometimes that focus on the positive side shows an idealized, Kim K version of what life is really like.

I guess what I’m trying to get across is this:

Life really is beautiful, chasing after dreams is the best adventure, and love and friendship are the most rewarding feelings in life.  However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t parts that suck.  There are days that are hard, there’s disappointment, there’s loss, and there’s still failure.

I don’t write to help people, or to inspire, or to evoke feeling.  But I also don’t write to mislead.  I write because I like it, and sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing I innately know how to do.  I write when I can’t sleep, I write when I can’t talk things out, I write when I can’t understand how I feel…  but that writing isn’t the writing I share.  I share the dumbed down version of that, because I have this immense fear of how it will be relayed.

And that’s not fair.

Maybe that’s something we should all strive to change?  I’m not saying not to keep the private things private – but this world could use a raw look at things.  Maybe it will let us all know how closely our lives and challenges align with one another.

– Cap

New Yorker Status

I’ve been in the city for a week now.

My bedroom looks oddly similar to a crack house, my hamstrings are tighter than they were after my rock climbing adventure in Maine, running an 8miler in downtown Charleston, and that 5 hour yoga lesson I taught last summer combined.  There is more dust than I know what to do with on the upper ledge crown molding that runs throughout my apartment, and the OCD traits within me are currently being taunted because I don’t have a step stool to reach said collection of allergen holy ground. I hold my breath every time a cashier swipes my credit card, and I have to close my eyes when I withdraw cash from Chase ATM.

I don’t want to see my balance Chase.  YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.

Is this what dreams are made of?

Yesterday I asked someone how to successfully move in to the city.  After a weird glance was shot in my direction I said, “NO, REALLY.  Like how do you move all your shit in?”

They laughed in my face.

The only way I can be adventurous is to dive in full force without contemplating real life scenarios like money or sanity. I have to go in blind, completely naïve, and with an intense sense of childhood wonder.

Typically, this method proves to be severely flawed, and breeds lots of wine intake until some level of order is restored. 

But I don’t mind it.

Just when I really start to get pissed at myself for being a dreamer – I see some random guy playing a piano in the middle of the park or some lady burst out in song mid Target aisle, and the stress from the quickly fading balance in my checking account seems to vanish.

This city’s crazy talented people bring out a better side of me.

They force me to step outside of my box, they force me to smile, they force me to be accepting of everyone, they force me to see the opportunity in life, and they force me to keep dreaming. They are a daily reminder of why I wanted to be here.

Someone once told me if you want to be the best at something, surround yourself around people who are better than you.

That’s exactly what this city is.  The whole place is better than me.

-Cap

On Crying and Friendship

I found this along the Freedom Trail in Boston the other day:

“A childhood friend of mine once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf.”

“Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry, and you give it to your friend.”

I had to pick my heart up from off the ground after I read the quote mid stride.

It was referencing one of Gerda Weissman Kein’s experiences as a Holocaust survivor, and while I know the struggles I’ve had in my life in no way come close to Gerda’s, I felt some kind of odd connection.

I’ve been lucky enough to have people like that in my life.  People who seem to drop everything, give anything and run full speed when I don’t even ask.

People who know you need them before you know you need them.

People who make this world better just by being aware of others.

That’s something worth writing home about.

I’ve been feeling this for two weeks now, and I think I’ve only just gotten my emotions in order.

I know.  Cap, crying?  Who would have thought?

The thing about my tears though, the thing I don’t think many people get, is that I really only cry when I’m so happy I don’t know what else to do.  I don’t cry when I’m sad, or when I’m stressed, or when I’m freaking out about an essay that instantly vanished from existence 5 minutes before it’s due.

I cry when my heart is so full it somehow explodes via my tear ducts.

The more life I go through the more I appreciate relationships.

I’m not just talking about Mosie.

Adulthood is funny that way.

Friendship changes from a blasé acquaintance to something of much more substance.  It becomes this sort of lifeline.  The second thud in your weird little heart beat. And if you’re lucky enough, it follows you and supports you no matter what crazy road you choose.

So, thanks for being there.  Thanks for showing me what family and friends and love and a crap ton of happy tears look like.

– Cap

#NYCorBUST

5 things you thought no one ever told you…

I have this theory, and really it’s more like a signed will and testament.

It’s that little beauts of knowledge have been dangling themselves in front of your eyes for centuries waiting for the exact moment when you reached full maturity and intellectual capacity to expose themselves to you again… to give you one last shot at the pudding.

Clearly, they’ve been there all along.  They fought for your attention like a little infatuated sixteen-year-old girl.  They tried to warn you of all the shit life could throw your way, but you insisted on finding it all out on your own.

In other words, you have been too egocentric, too closed minded, or too oblivious to acknowledge their significance.  And now, when you look back, you realize all of those annoying clichés have stemmed from something real.

All of those short sentences that make you roll your eyes in irritation actually do mean something.

This is a little sappy (something I’ve apparently grown accustomed to), but it’s the exact event in which this theory arose:

Two summers ago, my grandmother (aka the human equivalence to Jesus), was in the hospital after a heart attack. This heart attack occurred months after a breast cancer diagnosis, and we (the entire family including the human form of Jesus herself) all thought it was the end for Corrine.

I spent a couple nights at the hospital with her, and tried to really soak in her holy ambiance for all the time I had left. Now, I realize that was more selfish than helpful… but I think Corrine liked me being around because I make a great Skip-Bo partner – in the sense that I’m easily beaten.

But that’s beside the point.

The point is, Corrine and I were listening to some of her favorite tunes when Doris Day’s “Que Sera Sera” came on. I found myself really focusing on the lyrics, because I wanted to connect with who my grandmother was as a younger girl. I wanted to appreciate the stuff she’s appreciated in her life. I wanted to cling on to everything about her and her past and who she was before I existed in this world.

When the song ended, I said, “That’s really beautiful. I’ve never heard that.”

And that’s when Corrine really took on the crown of thorns.

“You’ve heard it, Cap! You just never listened.”

(mic drop)

And the theory was developed.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read or heard something that I’ve seen a thousand times, but suddenly it takes on new meaning.  I’ve always heard life was cyclic.  That there was some kind of serendipity in how things play out.  And, if I’m being honest, the way things seem to grow in meaning and substance over time and experience is one of the more vital signs of that sense of connectivity in the world.

I like to think that #lyfe, no matter how its spent, contains surprises and new learning, but now I feel like I’m in a race to find it all out.

I NEED ALL THE CLICHES ANSWERED.  ALL OF THEM. 

There’s a large part of me that fears some of the knowledge I’ve discovered while revisiting literature or life situations may have never been uncovered if I hadn’t needed to hear it.

But how do I force myself to grasp on to the significance in the moment?

More importantly… Can you even train yourself to do that?

I don’t know, but I will tell you what I’ve figured out so far.  The ones that were right from day one.  The good ones.  The steady ones.  The ones Little Wayne would refer to as his bottom bitch… if he read into clichés like I do.

So, without further ado… the five things you thought no one ever told you:

1.  Goodbyes really do lead to new hellos.

2.  Its never too late to go home.

3.  Time spent learning (anything) is never time wasted.

4.  There really is a lot of commotion in silence.

5.  Life really does start at the end of your comfort zone.

Let those soak in.

– Cap

(Thanks Mamaw)

Insert Inspirational Title [here]

It’s over.

The long, grueling, nocturnal life as a college girl is done, and I don’t even know how to go on through life without crying and smiling from ear to ear simultaneously.  The past three years felt like an old, broken down bateau was steadily pulling me through a thick, gator invested marsh while bystanders stood along the bayou and shot BB guns in my direction.

For real. 

I could use a week or two in a lock down intensive care unit with a constant flow of fluids and vitamins pushing through my veins.

Or botox. 

Will botox take away the damage three years of sleepless nights left on my face?

Summa Cum Laude, y'all.
Summa Cum Laude, y’all.
Deciding to go back to school was one of the scariest decisions of my life.  For whatever reason, I didn’t think I was worthy.  I had this notion that school required an elite level of tenacity, talent and smarts.  I didn’t realize an education is what gives you that.  I remember driving to enroll back in school three years ago.  The vivid image of me pulling over on the side of the road because I was too intimidated will forever haunt me.  Who was I?

I barely recognize that girl.

Going back to school was the first endeavor I’ve ever seen all the way through. It was the first time in my life I said, “this is what I want” and got it. 

An education has taught me more than I ever thought I could learn, which suddenly makes the thought of my $60,000 in student loans seem like the most frugal and vital investment of my life. It taught me that I have a voice, even if no one ever wants to listen. School taught me to live for myself, It taught me to dream, and it made me realize I never want to stop learning. 

I never want to think I peaked. 

A productive life is like running a steady incline. Sometimes your legs feel like jello, and walking down hill would be the easiest 180 degree turn you’d ever make… But I hope to never reach a top.  Because where else do you go? Hopefully I can learn how to slow down and enjoy the parts of the road that level off a bit before the next hurtle. Hopefully I learn to push through so the incline keeps growing into something bigger than we’ve ever dreamed. 

Because isn’t the alternative so much more daunting? 

It’s been real, UC.  Thanks for the adventure. 

-Cap

Dream Crushers, Man

I know I’ve been on this cheesy, insufferable kick about following your dreams, becoming the person you know you can be, running through a field of sunflowers, eating pudding first and all those other instagram clichés…

But life man, it’s been good lately.

So, to the poor sir who attempted to sway me in my career path yesterday – consider this my public apology.

Unlike yourself, I realize I was way off base.

I wish I had something significant and heartfelt to tell you.  Something that acknowledged your attempt to be forewarning, but also justified my urging desire to tell that bus you’ve been driving through kid’s dreams to eff off.  But all I can seem to conjure up is a damn hashtag, and that would only aid in your statement that us “youngsters” don’t think things through.

And you’re right.

blog pic
Cap’s list of 25 things. (Circa 2009)

Because if I thought about how hard life was going to be trying to get a job as a writer, I’d probably decide to get the guarantee in publicity and off myself right before something really phenomenal made it through publishing.

Think Bradley Nowell from Sublime or John Kennedy Toole (author of Confederacy of Dunces)

That would be easier than this unnerving feeling – this rushing flow of emotions that consumes you right when things in life finally start to bloom. 

Because that shit is scary. 

What if you’re wrong? What if this isn’t what you thought you wanted?  What if everyone (stranger included) was right?  

I think we experience this rush of fear because we aren’t used to seeing things through. We’re accustomed to adjusting our goals and falling trap to the larger, pessimistic norm in society.  People have taught us to dream big, but they never expected we would. 

I know I’ll be broke. I know ramen noodles will be #lyfe. I realize 600 square feet could be cashed in for a mansion on a farm.  But I don’t think about those things. I have an end game in mind and however I get there works. 

With the exception of turning full on Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman”.  (NYC isn’t even worth those safety pin boots)

I’m sorry for laughing when you offered me a job in technical writing. I realize a job is better than my current options, but you caught me on good day, Sir.  You caught me on the one day when my lifelong dreams were actually coming to fruition, and the ability to throw you under the dream crusher bus just felt too good.

So if you ask me what I go to school for, and I answer you directly.  If you ask me what I want to write, and I respond with specifics.  If you ask me my plan, and I respond passionately.  Don’t be offended when my snide rejection feels like a direct kick in the gut.

It was meant to. Lastly, for the sake of all that is good and holy   (aka JEANNIE) – don’t tell me how hard my life is going to be.

It’s been hard. This is the good part. 

 -Cap

Birthdays

Listen friends,

One day, after you’ve been pretty down in the dumps about some mess with living or dying – you’ll wake up and discover that you’ve got a pretty sweet deal going.  You’ll wake up and realize you had it right all along.

I’ve spent a decent number of years fearful of what my behavior meant to other people.  Fearful of how my thoughts and beliefs affected the people I love, and wondered if that was something I’d change for their happiness.  For a long time, I thought I would.  I spent years trying to fit into a form that was never really formed.  I spent 23 years of life trying to see meaning in something that never felt real to me.

I stressed about death.  I thought about where my soul goes after life to the point of hyperventilation and full on SPM (sweaty palms mode).  I was so focused on what the next life held that I stopped worrying about what this life had in store.  Worst of all – I was so determined to let a higher being lead the way that I’d forgotten which way I even wanted to go.  From the looks of it, some guy had long ago determined my future and I just had to sit back and enjoy the ride.  I got cozy in this depressing, cruise control life, and I was sitting back for the long haul.  Because, as it turned out in that small circle… probability said they’re right.  It didn’t matter if I saw what they saw.  ALL THESE PEOPLE SAW THE SAME EFFING THING.

and to them it was beautiful.

But it wasn’t beautiful to me.  To get right down to it, it was terrifying and mind numbing.  Dying was scary, but eternity scared me more.  The thought of never being over haunted me, but maybe that’s because I’ve always been a sucker for a good ending.

Life, as you may have guessed, is uncertain.  We get older, we get sick, we have to learn to say goodbye.

I don’t mean to sound harsh, I mean to encourage you to live.  Live the one you have, because the next one is still a guessing game.

-Cap

P.S.

In honor of 2 year old, Pentecostal Cap… I leave you with this:

IMG_0644

The Thoughts She Thinks: A late new year proposal

I know it’s almost February, but I’m still getting my Christmas movie fix in… So just bare that in mind when I use a Love Actually reference in…

Three

Two

One

👉 If you believe in the film Love Actually, you believe love is all around… which is a pretty sweet concept.  But sometimes – it doesn’t feel like that.  Sometimes you feel alone, and you feel completely separate from everyone, and you think you’re weird, and you think you’re a little too into that whole GIRLS series, and you think the fact you relate to the whack jobs makes you whack, and you really, truly think two-thirds of your friends have wondered why they chose you… because now they’re stuck with you.

Basically, without love you begin to question every aspect of yourself that you once had total faith in.

And I don’t just mean love from someone else.. I mean the hard stuff.

Love for yourself.

GIRlS 3

But when you feel that kind of real love.  That kind of …

I know you, and I still love you love.

When you really know that you can be yourself (puppy rap and all), that you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, and you can wear yoga pants even if you don’t plan on working out all day, and you can cry over the disease you don’t have but think you do, and you can bitch about needing to lose weight while you order an Iced Venti Green Tea Latte with Soy and a Vanilla Bean Scone, and you can span through your mind the thousands of possible life scenarios like:

What if I decide I don’t like water?

What if one day I forget how to use my ears?

What if I get in a car crash, suffer from severe memory loss, go into a drug induced coma, and wake up a republican?

What if Ryan Gosling and Joseph Gordon Levitt both confess their love for me on the same day… WHO WOULD I CHOOSE?!

What if people laughed at my dances moves??

Oh wait….

IMG_0412

You see, that’s the tricking thing about love.  IT’S REALLY EFFING ANNOYING.

And impossible to live without.

For me, falling in love with others is easy. I can almost love by default. I can love someone so much that I learn how to conveniently distort their true selves in my mind. I can look over your shitty-ness and your naivety, and I can totally see the good in you. I can act like legit, life changing events didn’t go down… Just because I’d rather us all go along being happy. (I still haven’t discovered whether this is a flaw or value)

When it comes to me, though…When I have to freaking like who I am – you’d think Hitler had just asked me to be the birth mother of the next race obliterator.

Which only aids in the frustration.

I don’t mean to group everyone together on this… But I will. Why are we like this? Why can we accept the flaws in others, but not ourselves? I realize this is considered narcissistic, but shouldn’t we love ourselves more than that?

***Insert real life story that corresponds with new life goal here 👇***

I was going through old moleskin notepads and came across something my sister said to me once.

Yea, I take notes on awesome things amazing people say to me. What of it?

Leah and I were walking around a H&M and I was bitching about my ass being huge or something along those lines when she said…

“Why do women sit around and talk about how fat they are? That’s not conversation.”

She’s pretty perfect and kick ass all around… So, the fact that she’s also crazy smart makes her frustratingly beautiful.

But really…

Why did I think that was ok? Why do any of us? No man would ever tell me they were frustrated with their side boob.. Or the way spandex clings to their ass. But how annoying would it be if they did?! I hate to get all feminist here, but I can’t help but think that I need to hone this shit down if I ever expect to be the next Anthony Bourdain. I mean, no ones going to trust a skinny bitch’s opinion about good food anyway. (ie: Giada De Laurentiis)

So.. Here’s to dropping that.

Here’s to seeing the beauty in every little flaw.

Here’s to fighting the urge to make the same “weight loss/healthy living” resolution the rest of the world makes.

Well, let me be truthful…

Here’s to more pistachio ice cream and less guilt.

-Cap

A sappy love story

To my mother.

Writing about home is something I find myself doing quite frequently.  I often fear that I am boring readers because after all… home is really only special to the person who calls it that.  I told myself this Southern Wild blog would not be personal.  I told myself I would stay on the surface with all matters that directly affect the people I love, but that’s hard to do.  Because the people I love make me who I am, and I can’t very well write about any one else.

Every time I visit home I realize I’m not the Cap that left.  There is an ache in my heart for all of the wonderful things I’m missing in the daily routine at home, but there is a love for the obliviousness in being away.  There is something so painful about going home.  I won’t go into detail, because I’m saving the juicy stuff for my big New York Times bestseller (kidding), but there is a heartache so deep that only seems to surface when I cross over Louisiana territory.

Youth seems to grant each individual the convenience of moving forward – something I’ve always found charming.  But adult life, especially at the root of the pain, is a constant tug-a-war with progression.  You see, I believe we are all allowed to make our own futures, but sometimes the things we hoped our futures would cover up make up too much of our foundation and the battle between growth and personal substance is too much to overcome.

Getting to my point..

I was a caring kid, but between my mother guarding me from the harsh reality of our life and my father lying about every aspect of daily interactions – it was hard to get a real grip on the interpersonal relationships within my family unit.  For a large part of my life, I thought my mother was too saddened by her past to focus on the future.  I grew up thinking my father, when sober, was the glue that held my family together.

How wrong I was.

Over the holidays, I watched as my mother set out every single item from my niece’s Christmas list under her tree. I watched her stress about the barbies and the books she purchased.  I helped her mark off each item, and I even signed Santa’s name on Addie’s list.  For the first time, I understood the magic in Christmas.  It was like a spotlight suddenly beamed on my little heart, and I was no longer a Grinch.  I’d venture to say my heart even grew a few sizes that day.

Yet, after the warm, fuzzy feeling came over me and covered my body in goose bumps, I wondered why my mom was in charge of playing Santa.  So I asked her, because that’s what adulthood has taught me.  I asked why she did the shopping, and why she arranged the gifts, and why she sprinkled glitter streamers all over the house.

“Well, who else was going to?”, was her response.

My body nearly doubled over from the realization.  My mother had been covering up everyone else’s screw ups her entire adulthood, and she’d done it quite successfully.

Here I am, nearing Senior Citizen discounts, and I’ve only just been able to grasp the amount of roles she plays on a daily basis.  I left shortly after Santa’s workshop exploded in her living room in a desperate attempt to hide the waterworks that were about to flow from my tear ducts. I think loads of people attempt to put into words the love and respect they have for their mothers, but I’ve never felt as though I understood that depth prior to her uttering, “who else was?”.

She’s been my everything even when I didn’t see it. She’s the foundation that makes looking back not quite so hard. She’s the reason I still call Louisiana home.

That’s the kind of woman I hope to be.

-Cap

2015/01/img_0395.jpg