It's a rainy day. The shear curtains are rippling out with the wind. The lights are off in the living room and I'm listening to some perfectly fitting tunes from Norah Jones and the like.
I have my Starbucks Skinny Caramel Macchiato in my favorite mug and I'm wearing my Husband's sweatpants.
The perfect set up for a new blog, I'd say.
Lately I've been really obsessed with browsing photography websites. I especially like photography of people. I like studying their faces, hairstyles, makeup, and outfits. I've always thought I had a knack for photography. Afterall, it was around 7th grade that I discovered the intoxicating feeling of walking alone in a big open field behind our house in Michigan- and taking a picture of the same scene over and over. This big group of trees, spectacular in any lighting. I'd beg my sister to let me take pictures of her. She'd almost always refuse...but she's the perfect person to take pictures of. She's long and lean and has bright blue eyes, fair skin, curly hair. (Although, at the time, around my 7th grade year, she had a short-just-under-the-ears haircut, spacey buck teeth and full cheeks. Ha!)
But- where I was going with all of this- is that I often say, "Oh. I could take a picture like that." But in reality- when have I ever? When have I ever taken a breath taking picture that just screamed...."EYE FOR ART VIA THE LENSE!" ?
I have a few friends (And some that aren't friends nor accqaintances, but are mearly on my stalk list...) that have traveled everywhere abroad. I've often dreamed of doing the same. Traveling Europe. Going to Africa. Asia.
But more than any place, I've always wanted to see Ireland. And then Greece.
I think, "Hey, I could do that."
But...that costs money. And takes time. Neither of which are in abundance currently.
I flip through my magazines and think, "Wow. I could totally wear an outfit like that and pull it off." But, again, I can't remember the last time that my wardrobe exclaimed, "She knows what she's doing!"
Not to mention, that I feel thinner than I actually am, I think. Do you know what I mean? I think that a certain size or style will look fabulous on me. And then once I try it on and see myself in the huge, over-sized, not-cool fitting room mirror- I stand in awe at how fat I feel. And look.
If you've kept up with my blogs at all, you'll notice that I have a huge heart for animals. I'd love to open my own animal shelter. Complete with over-sized cage space, plenty of ultra soft beds and blankets, plenty of food, water, and treats...and a remarkable staff.
I truly admire people who have these dreams and just...make them happen.
The things is, all of these situations or ideas I've mentioned above- I see myself in all of those people. The stylish, artistic, well-traveled, animal rights girl. (Who is also beautiful, super sweet, hilarious, smart, and out-going...of course!)
But, I'm not, really.
I feel like these days, the only person who knows the real me...is my Husband. My Husband who works 6 out of 7 days.
I look at myself and wonder...When did I become this young, 23 year old woman- who hardly knows how to be a friend in person anymore. I don't seem to connect with anyone around here my age. My Friends are scattered around the Country- or out of.
Or the girl who feels naked standing in line at Subway, by herself, without her Husband there to be her comfort blanket?
I guess I realize there must be a reason for this. The reason for the friendlessness, the wonder, the occassional doubt...the dreading of the question, "Do you have any fun weekend plans?"
I figure God has everything under control. And I really do, honestly, find peace in that.
I throw myself whole heartedly into the role of being the wife and best friend of, Kyle Svenson. The daughter of Rodger and Joyce. The sister of Julie. The long-distance BFF of Abbi.
And I'm OK with that. But I often wonder about the dreams that I have still. To be a photographer. To be a Mom. To be an author. To be a traveler.
What do I do with those things?
I seem to lack that bone that makes you "go for it."
I see myself as a lot of people.
And I'm trying to discover who I am, without those people.
My entire life, people have said "You're nice." "You're cute." "You're funny." But who am I really? Who do *I* identify myself as?
I thought this identification crapoola was supposed to happen between high school and college?
Here's to finding ourselves. Cheers!