#averagecitizen

One of my most beloved things to do during the summertime is to take evening strolls. Particularly in my hometown neighborhood. When walking, I get considerable thinking done and often I am reminded of all the memories attached to this neighborhood, both wonderful and frightening.

One favorite memory is of me going to visit random neighbors. Just being bored during long summer days and needing to talk a little to someone. I was probably a fourth or fifth grader. I loved to just go knock on people's doors, introduce myself and ask them about simply things- their name, their family, their dogs, their job, you get the picture. I guess my true self is just a people-loving person. I do know, however, if I tried this door-to-door method now, my fiancé might call the police in order to stop me. I've just never been afraid of strangers.

Well, tonight I went on an evening stroll and I saw two girls riding their bikes behind their moms, who were walking. Both girls looked to be about six and had long, flowy hair. I think if I was a young girl I'd want that kind of hair, but now that kind of hair would be a hassle and I would likely keep it tied up, much like I do know. Looking at them, happily riding along, I thought of myself. I was quite the adventurous little gal as a young one. I could spend entire days outside digging in the mud, climbing trees. Now, I like cheese too much, I like to relax with a book too much, I'm not wearing the right bra too often, and I think about my to-do list almost constantly. I'd rather look up facts through Google than try to determine how immense of a mud pie I can create. Picking wild onions in my backyard just doesn't hold my attention for that long. It’s like my body and my mind weigh me down too much to be able to jump over holes in the yard and perform theatrical songs for my parents.

In my lifetime, my soul has been lucky to experience little glimpses of Heaven. I am not talking about a certain radical event or jaw-dropping experience. In fact, these glimpses typically have no connection to each other. These experiences are marked by the feeling of my heart silently exploding and shooting up like golden fireworks. It is not chaotic nor is it earth shattering. Rather, it is ultimately peaceful and reassuring. I feel joy like never before, but I know that it is not to stay for long. If lucky, it will linger for a few minutes at most. 

A few specific times I recall it occurring. 

Once, on the way to class as a freshman in college, I remember it coming to me. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary was happening at the moment, but I felt the wind blow in my face and quite suddenly everything felt illuminated and I thought I might begin to float. 

Another time, I felt it when I looked into my lover's eyes. It wasn't like he had just proposed are whispered any sweet words. He was just there, silently sitting and letting his mind rest. All of a sudden the feeling swept over me and I wanted to jump up to hug him. Squeeze him so tight that I might translate a little of my soul's current state. 

This feeling often happens when I am truly worshiping. My heart and mind closed off to all around me. Simply focused on the Creator and His great love. I do not cry nor do I shout, instead I let the feeling sweep over me and encompass me wholly. I want to be in that moment forever. It makes sense for me to be feeling this way during moments like this. I suppose this is one of the many ways I will spend eternity.

I came across this quote while reading for my philosophy class:

Like most average American citizens, I have tried lots of different soaps. Because I am a young adult female, I usually just use the fancy smell-good stuff that I receive as gifts, so I don't buy soap very often. (Smell good soaps have seemed to be a popular Christmas gift ever sense I turned 12.) Recently, though, I had a breakthrough with soap. 

When I was showering, I noticed my only option was bar soap. I so rarely use bar soap anymore. In fact, never do I really ever see it. This day, however, it was my only option if I wanted to get clean. Now, I didn't have any qualms about using it, I just didn't understand why it was there. Here's the shocker to this story: I used the bar soap and I fell in love. I had forgotten how wonderfully simple it was. I loved how when I rubbed into the washcloth it became sudsy. It felt so nice on my body and it smelt so wonderful, fresh, and clean. Yes, I know it is just soap and it isn't a big deal. Yet, for some odd reason, this rediscovering of bar soap has led me to a lot of thinking. Like, why have I denied it for so long and assumed it to be inferior? Perhaps it is the often lack luster packaging or perhaps it was the labor required to use it. 

Thinking about my relationship with soap over my lifetime got me thinking about my relationships with guys, too. Some soaps automatically turn me off. The ones with a horrible smell or the ones that are obviously overpriced, I can pick some out as duds quite easily. There were some guys that seemed like the kind of soap you only find in Bath and Body Works. The ones with a seductive scent and beautiful packaging, making me believe they were worth $12.00 for a 8 oz bottle. Sure, they were enjoyable- but so brief. They'd ask me for so much and yet only give me a limited amount back. I'd make sacrifices to be able to pay the high cost, forgoing what I used to value in order to afford them. No matter what I offered, they'd never last forever. One experience after the other, offering themselves each time but diminishing with each time also. 

I now realize how silly I was to ever pay the price for any of those relationships. While I once thought of bar soap as too normal, I now find it to be the most reliable, truest to its cost, and least manipulative soap. Bar soap does not offer more than it can give. It is what it is. It cleans me like it promises and it leaves me feeling wonderful and refreshed. No matter what day it is, it does not change. It is solid and pure and I love it. 

Amongst the many phases of my life was a punk phase. While there are different degrees and meanings of "punk", it's the closest I ever got to punk. 

I was 14 or 15 or somewhere in between. I liked angsty, wordy music that  provided both great reading material and something to belt out. I still enjoy some of that, but no longer do I feel my soul raging in tempo with the songs of Bayside and Story of the Year. Now when I listen, I can feel my 14 year old self singing along- meaning every word with every ounce of my being.Looking back, I don't discount the way I felt or the reasons I felt that way. Sure, I was young and naive and now I know better. Yet, I hesitate to ever belittle the way I once felt, because I know I am who I am because of it. 

I was listening to old CD's on the way home from the beach yesterday and I got the pleasant surprise of hearing an old Rise Against acoustic, "Ever Changing." Oh, how I adored that song. Some nights, I would sing it to myself while I was falling asleep.

Here are a few of my favorite lines of the song:

"Have you ever been a part of something That you thought would never end? And then, of course it did. Have you ever felt the weight inside you Pulling away inside your skin? And then something had to give.

...And now something Has kept me here too long And you can't leave me, If I'm already gone.

...And we make the same mistakes We're always hanging on Break the promises we're always leaning on All this time spent waking up to get this call from you As you speak the words that keep me coming back to you Now this time it's all different Now I keep this line open.

...And now something Has kept me here too long And now I'm gone."

So now that I am approaching my senior year of college, it is time for me to begin studying for the GRE (actually, probably past time).

While studying the material, I can across the word "adulterate." Automatically I think, "oh yes the verb of the noun adultery." Which I've always assumed to mean simply "to be unfaithful." However, because I love to read definitions, I went ahead and searched for the full the definition. 

Here is what Google found for me:

a·dul·ter·ate  

/əˈdəltəˌrāt/

Verb

Render (something) poorer in quality by adding another substance, typically an inferior one.

Sometimes I have feelings that are either unexplained or I just don't want to explain them. Yet, despite my confusion in my feelings, I don't want to ignore them. Rather, I'd sit right here and just feel them. At least until I can no longer allow myself to waste away, captive to my own feelings.

It has been a long day, full of thoughts covering a wide spectrum of mood. No wonder feelings weigh heavier than usual. I suppose that I allow them to grow heavier by putting them in my lap where I can smell, hear, and taste them. 

I guess this is pretty normal of an average human being, citizen of anywhere on the Planet Earth. This earth has a lot to offer us, in thought and in distraction. Enough to confuse just about anyone except the Great I Am Himself.