Vivira, Respira.

Live and breathe. Lately, I feel thats all I have the capability and strength to do.

Sometimes I really like to just sit and reflect on my life and who I was, am, and want to be. Today, I read through my old blog posts when I was in Estonia, and my heart broke a little bit.

A while ago I wrote that I've lost myself, or rather that myself has lost me, and that was and is true.

But thanks to a boy who loves me greater than I can ever imagine, it hit me like a train that I've been trying with everything I have to stop in its tracks. Bam. Mowed over without even a wince at the mess left behind.

Someone told me recently that they missed my smile. I used to smile all the time, didn't I? Wasn't I the girl everyone claimed as open and loving and accepting? Why am I angry and insecure and a lot more frustrated than normal, or ever? I don't have a root or a time where this happened or began, but I know where I am now and what its done to me.

My heart is calloused. Its grown cold and hard and I want it to break. I've wanted it to break for a while, and the other night in the midst of my getting plowed over by a metaphorical train, it did. Right there on the tracks, broken, shattered, and seemingly irreplaceable. For a while I felt like I'd never get it back.

If you know me, you know I have a thing for pennies. Its how the Lord tells me he loves me and that I'm worth something. A penny straight up fell in my lap the other day....and there was a penny in the drain in my kitchen sink today when I was cleaning dishes. In the freaking sink.

Okay, God.....I get it.

The heart, the me that I thought was gone and lost and completely unable to be redeemed, was on the cross and is now in my life today.

Hallelujah I can breathe again.

Vivira, respira.

Live, breathe.

I will.

Such great hights in Blackbird.

I've been writing the wrong date all day. Dang it. I hate when I do that.

Doesn't shock me, though. I've always lived in the future, but lately I've been living a little behind.

I want to be sixteen again, in my old body, in Estonia, with the heart I have now.

Wouldn't it be nice? Cue the Beach Boys.

But I don't have a fairy godmother, and Dreamworks didn't produce my life.

So, instead I have Blackbird Coffee and Iron&Wine. Instead, I go to antiques shops, buy things, and act like I live the in the 1800s.

I bought a ring at Antebellum's Attic today downtown. I guess to remind myself that I'm an old soul. Maybe to make myself feel timeless, like an old black and white.

When I put it on, I could almost feel my long 20s hair style fall down by my ears in soft curls. Only to note in a nearby mirror, that my hair is in fact up in the same old bun, the same old washed and tossed up look I've been rocking for the later half of 2010 when I began to genuinely not enjoy myself, tossed up my arms in surrender, and my hair went with them into my trademark bun.

I'd also like to note that I was dressed in what I've heard called "The Sam Cole"...an oversized grey sweater, skinny jeans, flats, and earrings if I'm feelin' frisky.

I used to be told I have an old soul, that I was timeless. Now I just feel old and out of time; out of step and out of sync.

As if every 20-year-old doesn't have a "who am I" or "have I lost myself" phase.

I guess my time is now.

There is a difference in timeless, and just boring. Constant.

I think I'm straddling the line a little bit.

I've lost who I am in frustration. In competition. In care, paranoia, anxiousness, fear, loathing, and just plain crap, for lack of eloquent speech.

I know how every movie tells me to go "find myself," and every bad break up someone has to go off to some odd country and "find themselves."

But I don't feel like I've lost myself, I feel like it left me.

Like myself abandoned me.

I'd like for myself to find its way back to me.

I can see the flyers now:

"If found or see, please contact.

Love, a concerned shell."

Could I be more dramatic? Probably.

Until I am found, I'll look at my ring and remind myself of my identity, who I am, cling to my God who calls me by name, and wait patiently for the day me finds me.

I miss you.

It's been so long.

Too long. My heart is broken over that.

[Insert profound word here.]

I could write forever about this, and perhaps later I will, but the reality and sincere truth is: I love meeting new people and catching up with old friends.

"We had the eyes of refugees."

I started reading a book today, or rather listening to it on CD..shh don't tell, about a woman who went through a heinous divorce, then a passionate love affair, to find herself followed by "goons" known as Depression and Loneliness while traveling around the world to do only what she had left or new how to do: to find peace.

At the beginning, she began her story describing her heartbreak and fear that her seemingly model marriage brought her, and how she battled every night for months to years at a time feeling alone and trapped. She describes her and her ex-husbands relationship as one that towards the end, cause for redemption from the other person. She says, "he wanted a settlement and all of our money, and I just wanted the door." She later explains that towards the end, all they wanted was the end and they "had the eyes of refugees."

I was reading, or rather listening, to this woman's tale and thought "Geez, thats painful and broken and I never want that." She said, "I wish for you, my delicate reader, that you never have to go through a divorce in New York" to which I could only reply, "Amen."

It seems, that for the first time in what feels like ever, I find myself outside of myself and my surroundings noticing that where I am when I'm in a certain unnamed place...I have the same heart of needing redemption. When I am here, I have the eyes of a refugee. I want out all of the time, and everything is beyond a stab in my back, but a punch straight to the gut. All day, in and out, punch, punch, punch, with the occasional slap in the face.

Most would say run. But having the heart of a believer, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. Which is ridiculous if you ask me, or really anyone. Whether you're suffering for righteousness sake or not, you're still suffering...and hard. I suppose I really only have myself to blame. I walk around dressed as a human punching bag attracting, and part of me feels even desiring, for those who need to take a punch to do it, because I feel I can handle it. There is, however, some truth to the fact that I can handle it. Again, being a believer, knowing the Lord, and understanding as much as I humanly can why this is my role most of my life, I find peace in this fact. But then I hear this: "You MUST be a really crappy person. This isn't the first time this has happened to you. After a certain amount of time, you're always here. No matter where you flee, no matter who you meet, after that amount of time they will see that you really are a terrible friend. The gig is up, stop pretending, because sooner or later they will see that you really do in fact suck big time. What do you think will happen when your husband reaches this point? He'll just leave you and remind you further of the fact that you aren't good enough and no matter what you do, you will never please anyone in the slightest bit."

punch to the gut.

After laying on the floor in pain from that ever-so-lovely string of statements, I stand up, brush myself off, and with my actions loudly proclaim, "do it again."

I wish I had a redeeming way to end this. But for now, I have the eyes of a refugee.

Lufthansa LH 444: Frankfurt to Atlanta.

Written on August 8, 2011 on the flight from Frankfurt to Atlanta:

-I wonder who you are. I bet you have a cool name like Gague or Collier. You probably listen to good music, and your tattoos seems so natural.

They're of headdresses in faded neutral colors - so something tells me I'd really like your heart.

What did you grab to sit with? Your iPod and a book. Your blue passport shows that you're American, but I didn't need to see that to know I don't think.

This is another one of those moments where paths cross for not even a second, then continue on in their own separate ways.

Who knows, maybe my kids with call you uncle [insert potential name for the cool-named-tatto-iPod-book-airplane-guy.]

What kills me is that this isn't anything like a "love at first sight" thing. Its more of a "we'd probably be really cool friends" thing. And not to be dramatic, but I'll probably never know a thing about you. SO, cool-haircut-natural tattoos-gauges-airplane-iPod-book guy, I wish you a good life and a growing soul.

I suppose my mind works a bit like a movie. Its amazing, really. But I get stuck in this "I'll never know you so I'll imagine you" world and I forget my life isn't as magical as I imagine it sometimes.

So, to remedy my 10-hour flight blues, I'll survive on no sleep and submerging myself in movies I haven't seen. Beautiful.

Atlanta, I can't wait to see you. I've missed you.-

Going through and reading my old journals from this summer make me feel more like myself. I'm not a huge fan of who I've been lately. Who I am hates who I've been I guess you could say. I want to be me, fully, vulnerably, wholly, and holy. Me. One thing I've learned, is that I am quite the dreamer. I want to be that. And I will be. I will be my dreams.

Are you ready? Because I am.

I love this quote: "My whole life I've believed I was made for something big. Now, I'm just waiting." But the truth is, I'm not waiting anymore.

Cliche? maybe, cheesy? perhaps. But I mean it, I'm not sitting on my ass anymore. I'm getting on my feet and I'm making it count.

Ma olen valmis.

I'm ready, I am.

Somewhere beautiful.

I had this thought today: I was never one of the popular or envied or pretty girls in high school. In every class, there is this set of girls, anywhere in between five and nine of them, and they really seem to have it all. The same girls who are dating the same guys they dated 3 years later. The same girls who you often go and try to see pictures of them on facebook hoping they've gained weight or in some way look worse than you do.

Its crazy, really.

Back to my thought though, I was never one of these girls. I fact, these girls silently made my high school experience ridiculously frustrating. Because I understand this mindset. Noticing that everyone thinks you have and are everything, and living in fear that people are going to find out that you really don't have it all together. And if or when they do find this out, you won't become human to them, you will become imperfect. You become discredited, and you no longer hold worth to them.

So, I kept thinking about this. I honestly have no clue where it came from, but the thought progressed into the realization that even thought I was never one of "those girls" I find myself stuck in this idea of not wanting people to see me weak or broken or like I don't have it all together.

I'm so worried about this, that I untag or delete any picture of myself on facebook that shows a sign of imperfection, or weight gained. I wear cardigans when its hundreds of degrees outside so that I won't be distracted by how much I hate my arms, and neither will anyone else. I listen to my iPod as loud as I can when I run because I hate hearing my own breathing, struggling to catch it. I don't like working out with people because I don't want them to see my physical weakness, and I rarely cry in front of people, because I don't want them to see me crying.

As much as I share my past and my heart, and I do...a lot...I don't really dive deep into my life now. I'll gladly share something I've been through and how I got through it, but I don't like to share the implications it has on my life now.

I feel that I've been through and felt a lot internally and sometimes I feel like because these things were so long ago, they aren't allowed to affect my spirit today...which is just not true.

They do.

I guess all of this to write or say that I'm a wreck, I'm a mess, and it amazes me that in the midst of that God still wants to use me.

Its about 1pm here in Tartu, Estonia and in about an hour or so, I will get in a taxi to the Tartu bus station to take a bus to Tallinn for the night and head back to Atlanta tomorrow morning.

Sitting here in the kitchen of the house I've been living in all summer, I'm trying to gather in my mind all that I've learned and all that I want to take back with me, and this is it: that I can be vulnerable and bold as hell in my relationships. That I wouldn't be afraid to share my past yes, but also my present, because its just as real. We can't hold onto the past, its the past, it doesn't exist anymore. We are where we are when we are there.

Think about it.

I am where I am when I'm there. And thats that. And that is my heart: to share my present and be in the presence of our God all of my days.

That is somewhere beautiful to me.