Senior Year Day (Day Ten): Shampoo

Before I start let me just say, yes, this post is five days late. I am aware! My apologies. I have been having a cold hard case of writers block. I feel as if I have run out of words, my messages have run dry. And I'm sorry! But I'm trying my best, so have a little grace please, okay?!

While showering a few days ago, being the clumsy person that I am, I somehow managed to get my shampoo....in BOTH MY EYES.  There I was, singing Janis Joplin, thinking and processes through the journey we call life. As I start to rinse and repeat, I feel two streams of shampoo running down my forehead, and they simultaneously fall into each eye. If that's not bad luck, I don't know what is. How that's possible, I have no idea. But it happened, and let me tell you, it's not pleasant.

Why did this happen to me? Why do bad things happen to good people? If only I could have stopped this from happening, comments of sarcasm filling my head making me chuckle.

I stood there, like the idiot I am, trying to decide which eye hurt the worst before I started washing them. I stood there debating, while the stinging in my eyes increased. Why I stood there for so long, when I could have taken action to wash out my eyes, I have no idea. Definitely not one of my smartest moments.

I looked into my own eyes reflected to me in the mirror, crimson puffiness was their quality. As I stood there, my hair wet, my eyes watering (not crying), I became aware of how I felt like death seemed to be surrounding me.  It was in the moment that I realized the irony of the situation.

I do not fear death. It is the great and big unknown, and that is scary, but I do not fear it. With seeing the recent passing of celebrities all over the news, and having two people I know suddenly pass away, death became a very real thing to me.  I have always been aware of the fact that I am going to die. But it made me realize how short life can truly be because the thing about death is that you can never see it coming, you cannot predict it.

I think death is a lot like this situation, as silly as it sounds. I didn’t see it coming, I couldn’t have predicted it. But once it happens, it hurts. It leaves you with a physical sting and throbbing, to say the least. After that, it takes you awhile to take action, to move on, and that is totally okay. But at some point down the road, you have to move on. You cannot sit in misery forever. I know it must be hard- harder than I can ever imagine, or being to fathom, but just because someone else’s life has come to an end, doesn't mean yours is supposed to.

I learned a lot about the grieving over the past week. I may not know much, but this is what I do know…

The more you love, the more you lose. To love someone so greatly and to lose them, means to grieve as greatly as you loved them. To love no-one at all would mean to never grieve. But that is how you know yourself. I know that when you lose someone, your only option is too grieve for as long as you need too and then focus on how much you loved them. There comes a point where you can no longer meditate on what you no longer have, because if you do, you cannot move forward. If you never move forward, then that is where you will be, forever locked in your grief.  

I am so sorry if this is coming off harsh, or rude! I really don’t mean to be! I am saying it with all the love in the world, I promise! In fact, I’m inserting a digital hug!

I just felt this is something that needed to be said.

I think it is important to remember…

You are perishable item. Life accordingly… 

Senior Year (Day Nine): What I Learned From A Third World Country

“I don't need someone to understand.

Just as the ferocity of the lion could never understand the meekness of the lamb, you would not be able to understand the many sharp fractures of my heart and the few dull edged shards that are left of my mind.

I would advise you to be cautious. I am wrapped in barbed wire and covered with thorns; for I have a fragile soul. I am easily broken. The rubble of what use to be is proof of the abandon rooms that were once filled with love.

I don't need someone to understand.

But sometimes I just need someone to show that they care- to fight through my piercing forms of self-defense because my mind is an immensely dark and decapitatinly sad place. It gets really lonely here in my graveyard of emotions. I just don't want to feel the disorienting suffocation anymore.

I don't need someone to understand. I just need someone to hold me close and tight and show me that I am more than what I feel.”

~ June 25th, 2014, 5:20 AM.

I remember the night I wrote that so clearly, or should I say morning? The sun was rising, spilling a pale yellow light onto the concrete walls, it danced as the lace curtains swayed from the breeze flowing through the pane lacking window. The sound of my roommate sleeping above me -occasionally I’d hear a sigh or moan- followed by the squeaking and creaking of the wooden bunk beds.

I had been up all night. Sleep had never graced me. While the rest of the house slept, there I laid in an unfamiliar bed, in a third world country. I had left everything I had ever known. Literally, everything was different. If you have never been on an international mission’s trip, you may not understand, and that’s okay. But it’s odd the way everything is the same, yet simultaneously and completely different in almost every way possible.

Earlier that night I had a conversation with a guy on my team and it had left my heart feeling heavy and my shoulders burdened. Up to that point, I had been jaded…….. really jaded. To be honest, I really wasn’t interested in opening up to any of these people, especially the other three guys on our team.

It’s not that I didn’t like them. The complete opposite was my problem. I knew how much I really, truly, and honestly liked each and every one of them. I had even told one of my best friends a few days before I left that I was trying my best to not get close with these people because I knew I would get close with them and it would be amazing while we were there. But once we got home, we would all part, each going on our separate ways and the friendships would be all too soon be forgotten. They would fall apart.

And I would fall apart with them.

And that was something that I could not emotionally afford. I could not deal with another person abandoning me, like so many others already had. I would do whatever I could to make sure that did not happen, much less 15 times over again.

However, one night I finally let my guard down……. but only slightly. I told him about my life, what I had been through, what I was going through. And we bonded. But throughout the exchange of emotions in that circular guest house, I remained as distant as I possibly could.    

At the time, I was in the midst of my struggle with depression. Every part of me was overshadowed by a darkness that was so black it was physically suffocating.   I lay in bed that night, curled into a ball, staring into the physical nothingness that was the cliché metaphor of my life.

His statements replayed in my head.

“I don’t understand but….”

This statement was repeated over and over again. 

His words etched and clawed themselves into my brain. They repeated like an old, scratched, and broken record. My brain, their gramophone.  Frustration leaked in, bringing an annoying regret with it. I feared that I had said all the wrong things. I wished to say different things, or to not let myself slip in my stance for emotional isolation.  

It’s not about understanding! I was never asking you to understand things that I can’t even understand myself.

There was a lot that I learned that night.

First, I am a coward. Unfortunately, I did not possess the kind of strength people seem to believe I have and I run away from what I need.  I violently push away all the people who I know I need. I purposely distance myself from the people that will help me heal; isolate myself from the people who love me.

That’s heartbreaking.

And it hurts me to be this way. It’s not easy but I feel that it is my only form of security, only means of protection. I choose to deny people of myself because of the fear of rejection or abandonment.  My life seems to be a constant struggle between wanting to hide, to be invisible, but wanting to reveal more of myself to the world.  

And that is something I have really had to work on in the past few months. It has been hard and terrifying. But it’s getting easier. I’m learning that not everything should be revealed to everybody. There are times, when others are not emotionally ready or equipped to bear and handle with what you may share with them. You have to be sensitive to that person as well. Yes, it is your story, your life, your lessons learned, but some people are not always stable enough to handle the weight of those things.

Secondly, vulnerability is strength. Most people see a moment of vulnerability as a sign of weakness; however I see it as a sign of great strength. Vulnerability is the neon sign pointing to strength. It takes a strong and secure person to be weak and sometimes people are so weak they do not have the strength to be vulnerable. Sometimes, you are so fragile all you can maintain is strength. Fragility is such a fickle thing, don’t you think? This is one of the biggest lessons I feel I have ever learned.

When I was in Africa, I did not have the strength to allow myself moments of weakness. I did not sustain the ability to say that I really wasn’t okay, to ask for help. I knew what I needed; I just did not have the courage to ask for it.

What I needed was to be held. I needed to be told that everything was going to be okay. I needed to cry all the broken pieces of myself out, while someone held me close and tight, without question, without ever letting go, without judgment.

But I never allowed myself that moment. It’s really hard to deny how you feel but it’s even more difficult embracing it, dealing with it, and moving on.

So I remained guarded and looking back on it now, I really regret this. I regret not sharing who I was, not offering all that I had. I’m sorry that the Kenyans, that my team saw a poor representation of Chase, simply because of fear. But that is what happens when you are controlled by fear.

And I am so sorry.    

Don’t get me wrong, I do not at all regret going to Kenya, not in the least. My heart ache’s every day because I miss it so badly, I long to be there. I just regret my actions, or I suppose my lack -there-of actions to bond with my team because I was fearful.  

This trip taught me courage, what true strength is, honest vulnerability, how to be grateful, how to not be so much of a picky eater, to stop and appreciate the small things, to love, to live, to hope and to trust. Kenya radically changed my life, and I will go there until the day I die.  

But what it taught me was that change takes time. I came home frustrated, upset, and confused on why I still felt depressed. My cup had been overflowing with love, and I could feel it, but why didn’t I feel any different.

Why did I still feel broken?

Change takes time. Healing is a process. Kenya gave me the tools that I needed to heal, to put all the little pieces of myself back together again, but I had to get up off my victim couch and use them.  

And I am SO thankful for that.

It seemed completely impossible, until it was done. It always does though.

It’s the sleepless nights when we find ourselves. It’s when we have bags under our eyes that our burdens are lifted and it’s when we are immobilized by fear that strength is gained. 

Senior Year (Day Eight): My Apologies....

“I am sorry. You have been through so much, especially at a young age. I cannot imagine how difficult dealing with these things must have been and I am so sorry.” My father’s words echoed through me, bringing along with them a certain sinking feeling, the chilling coldness of shock.  

I had just come to light of some news, that in my eyes, was completely, totally, and utterly devastating. The things I would have least expected had now been dropped on me and I had not a clue how to deal with any of them. I was tired, I was cold from the blustery air, I had wept like a child, my eyes were pink and puffy, my nose was running like an African Olympian, and I was hurt. I 

was shattered, at best.  

They say the truth will set you free, but what if it doesn't ? What if the truth leaves you heartbroken and burdened? 

Like, where had this come from? Why did this have to be me? Had I not been through enough already? I am just starting to heal. Why does life have to dump another pile of steaming hot horse poop right on my shoulders? But seriously though, where can I return this?

The series that is grieve ran, beat, bumped, and coursed down my spine, propelling, forcing and seeping its way into my core.  

The frustration that is denial hit me, and hit me hard.

I refuse to believe any of this. This is some kind of sick and twisted joke. Better yet, this is just a dream. I will eventually wake up, shake it off, and we will be laughing about it by breakfast.

But then, like an IV drip, anger slowly seeped into my bloodstream, and at an indeterminable moment, it took over, completely filling me. It mingled with my blood cells. My arteries were its best friend.

How could you not tell me? Why is this happening?  This is unjust, unfair, stupid, hurtful and I need someone to blame. I would also like to punch someone in the face. This is a big deal and I would like to sit on my victim couch and hate on the world.

And then finally acceptance cleaned out the toxicity of my system.   

Yes, this has happened to me. No I didn't want it to, but I cannot change that.  I can handle this. It will not be fun, it will not be easy but it will not be impossible. It’s time I get my butt off of the victim couch, because feeling sorry for myself is such a waste of time.

It took a lot to get to that place though. In hindsight, I have come to realize it was something as simple as an apology that helped me get there.

“I am so sorry.”

4 words helped to set me free.

It was the moment that I replayed in my head on repeat for days.

My father apologizing for………for things that weren't even his fault, things that were nobody’s fault.  Things that he did not need my forgiveness for.

This made me realize that an apology is so much more then a few whispered words. An apology, one that is true and sincere, is a great act of love. A heartfelt apology is grace. In some cases, its more than asking for forgiveness. It’s helping to carry the burden of pain, of brokenness. Its grace it it’s finest.

And sometimes a small amount of grace goes a long way. Sometimes all you need is a little bit of grace to accomplish a whole lot of healing.  

AND

With that being said…..

It occurred to me.... how many other things have so many other people never heard an apology for? 

Too all the people who have ever been hurt, who are hurting, who are broken, scared, scarred, tired, depressed, feeling beaten, who feel like a failure,who don't feel good enough, who have ever felt pain….

This is for you.

I AM SORRY!

I AM SO TRULY SORRY!

I am sorry for all the hurtful things that have ever been done to you. I am sorry for all the bad things that have ever happened to you. I am sorry for the pain! I am sorry for the way it messes with your mind, the way you feel more then broken and shattered, beaten and tired. I’m sorry for the way that people look, but don’t ever truly see. I’m so sorry for the hope that someone will eventually see the hurt hidden in places within you, but being crippled by fear of that actually happening. I’m sorry for the emptiness that comes with being fragile. I’m sorry for the agony that comes with being broken, for the burning of self-hate that course’s through your veins that intoxicates every part of who you are. I am sorry for the ways you ache like pulsing blood behind a bruise. I am sorry if you have ever been blinded by sadness or bound by oppression. I am sorry for all the times people told you “it would get better” and you never believed them! I am sorry for apathy. I am sorry for the grief of things that are far beyond ever forgetting. I am sorry for the feelings of worthless indifference, alienated abandonment, and terrifying isolation. I am sorry for all the ways you feel you must fake it. I am sorry for all the times you have never felt good enough, or worthy of love. Im sorry for all the times you have looked in the mirror and disliked what you saw.  I am sorry! I am so sorry for ALL of it!

So there!

Will you please accept my apology? 

Senior Year (Day Seven): #TheStruggleIsReal Part II

So this is the second part to my last post.

The antithesis, you could call it.

I am aware that I said some heavy things, and I’m sorry if it was slightly too much.  This is something that has been stirring in my heart for some time now and I was tired of waiting to share it.

But with that being typed, here is the deal:

It has been reported that one out of every ten adults in America struggles with depression. One out of every eight teenagers struggle with it as well. Depression is the cause for over 30,000 reported suicides in the U.S. each year. (For every two homicides committed in the United States, there are three suicides.) Depression is now the third highest cause of death in the United States.

Now, can we PLEASE stop acting like this is not a HUGE issue? Let’s not sweep it under the rug anymore, okay?

I know that statistics can be desensitizing and dehumanizing, but I am tired of it being such a touchy subject.

Depression should not be such a taboo thing and it breaks my heart that it is treated as such.

We are leading people to believe, through our actions, weather it is unconsciously or not, that they are alone in their problems.

And that is not true. And it is not okay with me!

So…let’s talk about it!

I am an artist, and this is what I do. I confront the issue’s people shy away from.

And to some extent, I understand why people are scared to talk about it. People tend to feel uncomfortable towards things that they don’t understand and that is okay, but ignoring it, choosing to believe that it does not exist, that it does not happen, that people are not actually suffering, is not. I’m sorry to anyone who has bought into, believed, or accepted this lie because, unfortunately, depression is something that is a very real, very powerful thing, for many people.

But I’m not here to tell why humanity sucks, and how it’s all just getting worse….That’s what we have the news for.

I am here to explain what it’s like for someone on the receiving end of the deal. Maybe it will help you better to understand the perspective from someone who deals with this. Maybe by the end of this we can all understand each other a little more.

To the people who don’t struggle with depression, this is for you:

No, it’s not a pity party. No, it’s not just a “bad day”. No, I’m not just asking for attention. Yes, it will get better, but it is very difficult to believe that. Please, be patience. Please, be kind. We are fragile people. We are easily broken. We can go from being okay to being an emotional volcanic mass in 0.3 milliseconds. This may not be normal to you, but it is just a fact of life for us. We have become used to it. Please bear with us. Sometimes we will seem distant and detached and it is because we probably are. But it is times like this when we need you the most. When we run away from what we need, sometimes you have to give us a push in the right direction. Sometimes we may seem childish or immature to you, and that’s okay. But you have to remember, in many ways, we are just hurting children trapped in adult body’s.

And please, show us love; true, tangible love, love that is unconditional and irrevocable.  We might not want to accept it, we may fight against it, but I promise, it means the world. The act of true love put into motion is the greatest gift you could ever bestow upon someone.  But no matter how much love is given, no matter how big the act of love is, we cannot accept it when we cannot accept love from ourselves first. That is the sad truth. I know this may sound bleak, but I find that it is the persistent and faithful relationship between truth and love, that can melt even the hardest of hearts.  

You must not be afraid to call us out. Yes, we might get mad at you. Yes, it might hurt our feelings, but if nobody else says it, how do you expect us to know, expect us to change, to heal? Sometimes you will feel like you have to walk on eggs shells with us. Don’t. We know when you are doing it, and it’s annoying.Please, don’t judge us too harshly. We didn’t choose this and we are doing the best we can.  

Sadness makes the brain a very irrational place, and we tend to get lost. We need someone to bring us out of our delusions, to snap us back into reality.

That’s the thing about sadness, it is the most addicting thing on this earth. Depression alters the way you think, the way you see the world, everything about who you are is changed in some way or another. It can become a drug for us in many ways. As odd as it may sound to you, it serves as our coping mechanism and protection from the things we fear. We are an addict to our thoughts and emotions in many ways. We are held prisoner within the framework of our own minds.

All we really want is someone to walk this journey with us. We don’t want to be a burden. But sometimes, we need someone when its 4AM and its weighing heavy on our hearts. We want lots of hugs. We don’t need you to understand. We just need a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, and a neck to hug.

Oh yes, and don’t be afraid of us. We are human too.

I only hope that now you can be a little bolder in dealing with this situation. It’s not something that should ever be taken lightly. Someone’s life could be at stake. 

Always remember to walk with grace and peace in each step. You never know whose eye of someone’s storm you might be.

;)

Senior Year (Day Six): #TheStruggleIsReal

One night a few weeks ago, through sniffles and tears, a few of my family members told me that I would start sharing my story.

And this is me doing it.

I didn't believe them.

Me?! Do what?!? Are you serious?! You are kidding, right?!?  Okay, where is Ashton?!

It had been a long day. I had just finished making bread. I was covered in flour, my hair had gotten dough in it, chances are I probably smelled bad and I was tired. To be honest, I was not open about hearing the idea.

And then, my Aunt had to go and drop a truth bomb.

"There is still so much of your story that I don't know," she said.

And it was true! It hurt, and I didn't like it, but it was truth.

Most of who I was must have been a mystery to them. I was virtually unknown to the people who loved me the most. 

Major knife through the chest moment.

So this is me starting to share my story.

For anybody who cares enough to listen, this is for you.

Sometimes things happen that we don't understand. Sometimes, when you least expect it, life knocks your feet right out from under you. At times, life can be hard, and I know this is a simple truth.

And there are times when we must walk through fire- a fire that will scorch all the little pieces of you with its tongues, licking and burning parts you didn’t know you had. Sometimes the fire is that of candle, its hot, it burns, but it’s manageable. Though it is easily forgotten, it is still there, emitting an aura that cannot be denied. However, sometimes, you feel as if it is a forest fire. A barrier that is so strong, so big, so powerful, it is completely and utterly impossible to bypass; both an unstoppable force and an unmovable object. A fire that seeks to consume and destroy.

This is inevitable . It is guaranteed. You can't stop life from being hard.

And that is something that nobody ever told me about. This is a lesson I had to learn the hard way, the really hard way.

Over the past year, my time came.

A fire started.

It was slow. Working its way up my foundation to the inner parts of me, it was easy to ignore and easy to hide. But there came a point when the flames became too much, they burned, they spread, and it was no longer ignorable.

I took it all in silence, never saying a word; running around with a fire extinguisher, helping in the process of stopping the fires for others, while mine burned stronger than ever. But there comes a point where nerves are seared, and a throbbing numbness is forced into action. The death of sensitivity was the consequence for my silence.  Yet, I found that it was the very thing that helped me get through it, or so I thought.

My consequence came with a price, but it was my consequence that served as my protection. 

There came a point where I could no longer hide it. It consumed me, taking over every aspect of my life.

People started too notice. They asked if I was fine. I always assured them I was. I’m okay, I’d always say.

I wasn’t. I was really, really not okay. 

And because of this, I fell into a dark and deep state of depression.

I was surrounded by the heat radiating out from the flames that are the hard times of life, yet I had never felt such a chilling coldness running through my veins. I was engulfed in the light induced by fire, but blanketed with bleak darkness.

It was bad, y'all!

I can distinctly remember lying in bed most nights, wrapped up, my knees to my chin, wishing with everything in me that I would not wake up in the morning.

And getting through that time was hard- more difficult than I would have ever imagined. It is a hard battle to fight, especially when you do it completely alone.

I refused to be a burden. I refused to be weak.

But there comes a day when you can no longer be a victim. For that is the true burden. Staying curled up on my comfy victim couch was so easy, but so not worth it.

At some point, you must get up, confront your inner demons, walk across the room, and step through to freedom. But you have to do that despite everything. Despite the fact that it will be unpleasant, that it will be scary, that it's going to take effort.

If there is one thing I know, it is that growth begins at the end of your comfort zone.

The moment that I realized that everybody feels broken sometimes, that it's okay to not be okay, my life started changing.

I started being honest with my friends, no matter how ugly the truth was. They loved me through it all like the amazing people that they are and I thank them for that.

And I am thankful for this season of my life. Brokenness hurts and its hard putting all the little pieces of yourself back together, because you were never meant to do it on your own, the way I did.  But I would never take it back because it was necessary. It had to happen. This time has helped shape me into the person that I am morphing into. It was necessary to grieve parts of my life, and move on.

There were a lot of emotions, lots of pain, lots of tears and sadness, but with that came healing. I will always look back on these months as such a sweet time. They taught me to trust, to laugh a little more, to hug do much tighter, and be thankful for the people who stick with me. I will remember this time as such a sweet time of grieving.

It is a daily fight and struggle.  Some day’s it’s hard to be happy, to feel normal but then on other days I feel great. I have just learned to handle it, and ALL the unexpected things that life throws at me. I have learned to surround myself with only the supportive people. I have learned to not subject myself to the people, places, things, music, movies, thoughts, and actions that only add gasoline to my fire. I have learned that being open about struggling is okay.

Honesty is truth and the truth will set you free.

During our lives we must undergo unthinkably painful trials in order to grow into who we fully are. Everybody has these moments in their life. Walls are going to find us, no matter what our pathway through life may be and when this happens it is up to you to climb them. Climbing these walls is hard. You are going to struggle.  Sometimes you will want to give up, to give in, to let the ivy grow, blanketing  you with a scratchy protection. But then you will find a crack in the wall, light beaming through it, illuminating your face with hope, staining your skin with hope, bringing life to the shadow of your hollow cheekbones.  These cracks are our reminded that our struggle isn’t in vain, that it is worth it.

I like to think of it like a piece of clay being fired in a kiln. It starts off fragile and dull, but then it ends up stronger and more dazzling because of it. Colors you did except rise to its surface. I like to think that people are like that too. Because of the hard times, you are made beautiful.

And I may still may be broken, but I am healing. I am changing. I may be covered with blood and sweat, but at least I’m fighting. I may be scared and scorched in places, but it’s the proof of my story. I am seared and scratched, bruised, and swollen but I am growing. I am changing.

And that is what matters.  

I am learning to dance through the flames.

Senior Year (Day Five): These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things....

After blogging a bunch of really personal and deep things, I’d like to take a break. 

Let’s take it easy, shall we? 

My brain needs sometime to re-charge, and to be honest, I feel as if I have run out of things to say.

I wanted to do something fun and random, so I challenged myself. I want to see if I can come up with at least 1001 things that make me happy. I’m calling this my “Favorite Things” project. 

Let’s see how this goes.

In one siting I managed to write out 300.

These are in no particular order and the ordering is not significant.

Who wants to jump on this band wagon with me?

Ready? Buckle up. Here we go:  

1). Food Babies

2). Waking up and realizing you still have hours to sleep.

3). Camping

4). Deep cleaning.

5). Public Radio

6). Wood Floors

7). Art Galleries

8). Getting Compliments (not gonna lie)

9). Libraries.

10) Falling asleep to the rain

11) Glass Bottles

12) Maggie

13) and her taste in Dubstep music!

14). Hoodies

15). The way Texas summers are awful and dry but somehow always leave you wanting more.

16). Camping in the Living Room

17). Picnics in the Living Room

18). Taylor Edwards

19). Bare Feet

20). Ms. Carrie Gurley

21). The number 7

22). Jessica Hardy

23). Old Door Knobs

24). Singing With Emily Ludlow.

25). Emily Ludlow. Period. Just Emily.

26). The fact that I have stolen bunches of these from Emily.

27). And the way she will probably call me on the carpet about it if she sees this.  (Sorry, Em! Love ya.)

28). Disney animation from the 90's

29). Fried Food

30). Candles

31). Pianos

32). Dallas

33). The Dallas Skyline at night

34). New Things

35). Being the only one awake.

36). Joseph Mings

37). Discovering something cool

38). Friday nights

39). Christmas Music

40). Nose Rings

41). Rings (But not toe rings. Ew. Toe rings are basically a tramp stamp for your foot.)

42) The fact that I am 166 on Emily's list of "favorite things"

43). Whitney Weiss

44). The way Whitney falls on the floor if you get her to laugh hard enough.

45). Museums

46). Christmas

47). The giant, handmade, comfy quilt my great-grandmother made with love in every stitch.

48). It actually being cold enough to use it!    

49). Snow

50). SNOWCONES

51). Airports

52). Airplanes

53). Leaving the country

54). Adventuring

55). Exploring

56). Christmas Trees

57). Naming everything

58). Learning

59). Wednesday nights

60). Getting ready to go somewhere nice

61). Cara. ("EW")

62). Noah.

63). Having a brand new set of markers.

64). Books

65). Reading

66). Mountains

67). Endless conversations

68). The idea that with the right ingredients and tools you can literally make anything.

69). Thunder

70). Momma Telli

71). Papa Telli

72). The fact that Papa Telli calls me "Cha Cha"

73). Maps

74). Having a sufficient amount of batteries

75). Fishing

76). Night fishing

77). Having red hair

78). Having ridiculously long hair

79). The unusual amount of vowels in the word "anthropologie"

80). Hair Dye

81). Dying my hair

82). Lanni Jackson

83). Reeses

84). When people play with my hair

85). Taking my hair down after a long day of having it back.

86). Ponytails

87). Singing

88). Spotify

89). Weddings

90). Whashley

91). Christmas lights

92). Brandon

93). Brandon’s dancing (practically at prom)

94). Photography

95). Photoshop

96). Christmas Music

97). The way Miranda laughs like a Walrus

98). Old Chairs

99). Armed Chairs

100). Being home alone

101). Not being a victim of burns

102). Bubbles

103). Late night conversations

104). Wood

105). Trees

106). Vintage things

107). Michelle Henson

108). Isaac "Marie" Garris

109). Popcorn

110). ICE CREAM

111). Finding money

112). Oprah

113). Warm Blankets

114). When your luggage comes out first at the airport.

115). Down comforters

116). GIFS

117). Show tunes

118). Having whole text message conversations using only GIFS 

119). Feeling majestic

120). Writing

121). Blogging

122). Crissy

123). The way Crissy laughs

124). Africa

125). Kenya

126). Safari's

127). Duct Tape

128). Having conversations under the stars

129). Snowball fights

130). Oreos

131). Live music

132). Star-gazing

133). Satisfying sneezes

134). Dreaming

135). Daydreaming

136). Holding hands

137). Disney World

138). Watching movies

140). Musicals

141). Julie Andrews.

142). Overcast skies

143). The tiny dust particles you can see dancing in the air in harsh lighting.

144). Blank notebooks.

145). Full notebooks

146). Splotchy shadows on grass made from trees.

147). Gravity

148). Empty canvases

149). Blasting music when I'm home alone.

150). Blasting music when I'm driving.

151). Blasting music in general.

152). Driving with the windows down.

153). Letting the wind blow through my hair

154). Cinna 

155). Cookies

156). VHS Tapes

157). Tents

158). Kristen Tice

159). Snuggling

160). Ms. Jeter

161). The way fireworks feel in your chest

162). Fireworks

163). Tree'd Streets

164). The pounding rain

165). Dancing in the rain

166). ADELE

167). Coloring Books

168). Project Runway

169). America's Next Top Model

170). Boy Meets World

171). The way wet grass smells

172). Trains

173). When singers harmonize with themselves in songs

174). My Parents 

175). Cookie Dough

176). Jared Barnett

177). Amber Barnett

178). Wind

179). Wrecking Ball sung opera style

180). Having massive amounts of pillows on my bed

181). Having the best bed in the house

182). Not being paralyzed

183). Ms. Summers

184). Big Dogs

185). Getting mail (I firmly believe in its healing powers.)

186). Sleeping in far too late

187). Mary Walsh. (Seriously. She is the best)

188). Hannah Walsh! (Love this kid to death!)

189). Beyoncé

190). Whataburger

191). In-N-Out Burger

192). Concerts

193). Large old clocks

194). Watching fireworks on the lake

195). New cameras

196). Vintage camera's

197). Aunt Susan

198). April Mosley

199). Ashley Grice

200). Scott Grice

201). Elise Grice

202). Elise's GIANT hair (which she ROCKS.)

203). Allison

204). Luke

205). Andrea

206). Andrea's GREAT hugging skills

207). Good hair days

208). Doing the worm

209). Hats

210). Texting for hours

211). LORDE

212). Old words

213). Cherry Pepsi

214). Justin

215). Jasmin

216). Jaycee

217). Joslyn

218). Surprises

219). Brushing my hair

220). Falling asleep

221). Ms. Rythe's stress noise  

222). Ms. Rythe

223). Sara Oliver

224). Ms. Dayna Oliver

225). Ms. Debbie Liggett

226). People with BIG brown eyes

227). The song Buzzcut Season

228). Things that glow in the dark

229). The smell of the laundry mat

230). Lock-in's

231). Smelling like bonfires

232). Roadtrips

233). Throwback country music

234). Janis Joplin

235). P!NK

236). Amy Winehouse

237). The way fall smells

238). The song "Ribs"

239). Lily Allen

240). Organization

241). Orange Tic-Tacs

242). Green Tea

243). Dayton!

244). Dayton's convertible. (BEST CAR EVER)

245). Mac and Cheese

246). Cheese

247). The idea of not living in Texas

248). The smell of old books

249). Ms. Toy

250). Rivers

251). Being grateful

252). Words of affirmation

253). Encouragement

254). Skype Dates

255). Riding bikes

256). Casey Schutza

257). Casey's dancing. (his hips dont lie)

258). Genna Schutza

259). The way Genna says the phrase: sweating like a whore in church

260). "Bless your heart."

261). Selfies

262). Watching otters play

263). being a hippie

264). The idea of being a gypsy

265). Cheekbones

267). Jawlines

268). Staying up far too late

269). Pancakes

270). Donuts

271). Dancing

272). Decking the house for Christmas

273). Falling asleep in the sun

274). Getting tan

275). People who geek out with me!

276). Sadie

277). The song "Wake Me Up"

278). Hosting

279). CreativeLIVE

280). Sue Bryce

281). Nicole

282). Not sleeping alone

283). Backpacks

284). Photoshoots

285). Huge crown molding

286). The idea of owning my own RV one day

287). Sydney

288). IKEA

289). Scratching

290). Bathing

291). The color blue

292). Laughing

293). Frolicking about

294). London

295). Best Buy

296). Pajama pants

297). Being homeschooled

298). Staying in my PJ's all day.

299). Austin Pradon

300). Hashtags

301). Aunt Melody (she is super awesome!) Tune in for more later! ;)