Revelations of Stephanie

In my time on this planet, the usage of I as a pronoun as been something I never thought about. One learns to speak their language and passively use it even in the course of learning how to use that language properly. Today I learned that there may never have been an I. Someone made the conscious decision that they would commit the act of creating me without considering the consequence that perhaps they may have very well created life they were not ready to rear into this world. And despite knowing of my existence, they pushed for terminating me. 

Here’s the weirdest part about learning that I may never have been an I: with the shock and the hurt that came with realizing that my father never really wanted me, comes a deep sense of thankfulness for being alive. My mom fought for my existence. So here I am. However, I am not so vain to think that this world couldn’t have kept spinning on without me. But with that knowing comes the desire and intention to serve a purpose beyond simply existing. 

So, this letter is to you Simon David Kopel, where ever you may be. With the physical pain you have inflicted, with the words that you have spoken so harshly that repeat far too frequently in my mind years later, with all the times you failed to rise to the title of a father instead of being a mere sperm donor... I am here. I have a purpose. Through everything, you have at the very least taught me how not to be. So, I thank you for that. 

Sincerely,

It awaits you 

with its bags packed 

anxious to tread the path less traveled. 

It begs you

with eagerness and alarm. 

It grabs your attention when you least can afford it. 

It reaches out its hand....

But, Time gets the best of you.

Responsibilities hold you captive.

Yet, Adventure is always there

waiting, begging, baiting you

the easiest way to begin again is possibly re-stretch the cloth that is to act as your canvas. 

to take the bones of a past master piece and hang it upon the gallery walls where you can refer back to it, but never really to add to it again. 

every day is a chance to look at a blank space and fill it with who we most desire to be. We hold the brush that holds the rich, wet colors. We create the strokes that paint a larger picture. 

It is not until we step back and reflect upon our canvas that we see the whole image; that we understand how our eyes perceived our reality. How our bodies and our minds connected to translate that into our perception. 

And then, we have a chance to frame it and hang it. 

We are a living canvas. 

Revelation 11: Tiny Dancer

The past couple of weeks have faired out to be a rather tiresome dance between pulling my sulking self out of despair and being unreasonably happy to be taking steps towards sorting out my own identity. And while a part of my heart is finding it difficult to let go of the lingering memories from a messy and ugly breakup, the outside world is forcing my eyes to observe the beauty and the good that still exist out there.

It is said that we shed at least 50 million skin cells every day leaving us with a brand new body every 7 years. In my case, I have shed a proverbial kind of skin. I have shaken off what is left of my bitterness, of deceit, and of hurt. I have shed my old skin to reveal that of a thicker one. A skin made from adapting from none other than a threatening to my wellbeing. But I’m still alive. And I am still breathing and adapting every day. Today I fully forgive you. You, the ones that made a conscious decision to hurt me. I forgive the ones that convinced me to let down my walls one more time while rest-assuring that they were who they said they were. Today I forgive myself for falling for the people I thought they were instead of seeing them for who they really are. I forgive myself for falling for all of the potential I saw in them instead of understanding that change for most people doesn’t come easy. I have chosen to forgive for my own peace. For my own personal success. And so that I too can move forward. I have also come to terms with still loving those people because they are simply people. People who aren’t capable of being empathetic. People who have had their strifes and have had their obstacles that have somehow led them to be less humane and gentle in their interactions with others. You deserve to be loved despite all the things you have done. And you are loved, at the very least by me.

Do unto to others as you would have done to you;

use your words wisely for they too can bruise.

Mean what you say when you speak your mind;

speak from your heart too and you shall find,

that people will lay down their loaded words

they’ll be more willing to understand

I dare to clump all of us humans as beings that are all trying to get by and who are all hopefully aspiring to become something we would be proud of being. Sometimes, the things we dream to become require courage and perhaps a change in direction and/or pace. 

If theres one thing I’ve noticed about life, it’s that certain changes come in seasons; people seem to step into new romantic relationships all at one time, or a wide sweep of beloved elderly folks start to pass on all at the same time, and then there’s the career shift where lots of people find themselves at a cross roads. 

As someone who has had to completely redirect her focus to be perhaps a little more competitive in the new career path she has chosen, change don’t come easy. Change, however, can be something quite liberating and often necessary. I’ve always conducted myself with the mantra “If you don’t like where you are, then change it.” But what’s funny about life too, is that often times the universe forces you to make changes, and while certain methods may not be gentle they most assuredly cause you to take a second glance at where you are in the present moment. It’s like the universe is saying “HEY! WAKE UP! This isn’t where you are supposed to be! You can do better, so now I’m going to make you!”

In light of recent events, 

I want to say on my own behalf and no one else's that I am tired of people who perpetuate the fact that their race is the reason for specific treatment. I am also exhausted of people who are so ignorant as to think that skin color, sexual preference, or anything else is the bases of being a so-called perfect human being such as themselves. 

Just a thought: What if we all just looked at each other as "living human beings"? If we eradicated the concept of being different based on the sole fact of skin color or race or ethnicity or social status or sexual preference. 

What if we defined a person based on their actions, intent, and character instead. Because at the end of the day, people of all physical variations can be down right rotten people. But that's all they are... bad human beings. You're not a bad, good, intelligent, etc etc person because of what you look like or who you are interested in. 

If you are a compassionate, intellectual, kind, and driven individual who is striving to continue to close the gap between communication barriers amongst your peers.. if you wish to have a better understanding of the world and the other human beings that are on this hell hole with you... then I will respect you regardless of what color you are. Regardless of what you want to wear. Regardless of what gender your partners are. Regardless of what God you believe in. 

It's hard seeing the person who should be rooting you on 

pushing you towards your dreams 

encouraging you to be courageous...

Root others on while dimming your light

while holding you back 

while telling you to not be what you most dream of being

while praising others for what they are doing 

My favorite part about winter isn't the snow. 

No it's the days that transition between Fall and Winter.

The silence. The Cold that holds a depth of warmth. The hallowed out bite. 

I love standing still and letting out a heavy sigh. It's one of the moments you can give a tangible silhouette to any doubts, woes, or struggles. And as quickly as it's formed, it's lost in the drab winter-esque air.

Outside it's still. A dog in the distance barks. But instead of a sharp echo, the echo is stifled.

The brisk moves in. A chance to refresh from the heated moments of summer. To shake off the dust from fall. To shed to bare self and be transparent.

Age. 

While I've always been one to think it's just a silly number, there really are patterns and phases we fall into once that lucky number hits us square between the eyes. Ya know, terrible 2s, rebellious teen years, mid-life crisis.... and then there's your 20s. A time for sheer unadulterated dysfunctional mess. Here I am, 21 (22 in December)... graduated from college.. had my whole life mapped out. I'd work my arse off, get to graduation, have a job right out of the womb, I'd move out, maybe buy a house, pay off my debt in 20 years.... and then I looked around at this life that was predestined for me. Because it is. We don't even realize that is. But since we were itty bitty we were asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. And all of those questions conditioned us to choosing the one thing that made the most money. And then we get to college and have to decide our life's path right then and there amidst the piles and piles of applications. I mapped out a life I thought I wanted. But I realized shortly into my plan that I wasn't happy. I didn't want the rest of my life to be me just trying to make it through one more day. Just one more day until I reached the finish line and then on to the next race with blinders on and my eye on the prize.

I feel like being in my 20s I should be able to fully try and learn all I can. But there is so much pressure to go be someone. To go be something. To go make the money that won't really be mine for the next 40 or so years so I can pay off this massive debt in my name. 

As I scroll through the copious amounts of pins that flood pinterest, the DIYs, the Architectural digest, the fanshionistas, the recipes, the decorations... I stumble upon a pin that reads "the best plus-size fashion blogs to follow for 2014"... 

Let me start off by saying that I have no issue what-so-ever with big beautiful women.. but I also have no issues with women of small frames. You see, in my mind, I don't fit in any of those categories. I hate going shopping if for no other reason than things fit two of the aforementioned extremes. My shape is my shape. And thats okay.

I also had this internal struggle of living in a city where everyone is a singer songwriter or works in the industry. A city where everyone knows everyone. Why? Is there nothing else one can be in this city? People move here to be what everyone else is. Why?

So all of these thoughts had me searching deep down inside trying to figure out "Where do you fit, Stephanie?"

There's the parties. There's  religious affiliations. There's the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" label. 

What if.. what if ALL I want is to just be happy? What if I freaking hate the lying and the brute of politics? What if all I want is for everyone to care for one another because everyone has something to bring to the table?

What if I just want to be me when I grow up? I want to be a stubborn headed, kind-hearted, overly sensitive, not-fat-nor-skinny, redheaded, singing, Stephanie. I want to try my hand at everything I can. I want to continue learning new things. Seeing new things. experiencing new things. 

I don't want to be part of a crowd. I'd rather be the one to start something. to ignite an idea that inspires others to be themselves. 

'Love'. What a strange and varied experience. 

I dare say, the way we love changes as we do. The reason there is no pin-pointed definition is because each individual has their own sense of what it means to love and be loved. And as we mature (or not) some of our defining factors of what our love looks like are stripped away and/or replaced with new ones.

What I do know about love is, its limitless. While I have loved people from my family, people that are friends, people I do not know, and my significant other... I have been hurt more times than I can count by someone(s) in each category. But I have chosen to love more deeply. To forgive those people, to understand why they are how they are, and to love them anyway. While we feel like we could never love again, our hearts always seem to manage.