“We'll dispose of these mementos when we're done here, that way you won't be confused by their unexplainable presence in your home…”

             “…How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! / Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd…”

Sometimes we try to forget things. We write people off, for being a total shithead whatever reason, and one day—they show up again…like they were just waiting until your life was going really well, and BAM…the perfect time to swoop in and cause a ruckus. This normally has two outcomes. It either 1) Reminds us of why we didn’t want them around in the first place or 2) completely re-affirms our faith in humanity. Generally, it’s more of the first one, but not always, I suppose. However, in light of recent events, I’d like to explore this thought further…

            I started to ponder the past. Do we ever really “forget” things? When people wrong us, or let us down—do we like to think, eventually they will see the error of their ways? It just so happens, SOME DO. These people take giant leaps and strides to right that wrong, and those people? They are good people. They are the ones who duck out of Planet Sub some random establishment, you both happen to be frequenting at that VERY MOMENT, after months of no contact, because they feel so overwhelmed by the sight of you. Then, you get a random text about how painful it was to see you. If you respond? They immediately call. They regret the past. They become flooded with memories and the very sight of you—they literally get word vomit of the mouth. There isn’t enough explaining in the world, at that moment that could justify their prior actions. They make an effort to be in your life, even when they know they are at fault, for not being part of it to begin with. It’s like the past is insignificant at this juncture.

            Then, there is this other category. This category of person, who we realize are toxic and always will be. Toxic to your life—toxic to themselves. They are the kind of people who make excuses for every bad behavior, every hurtful word, and take all their own unhappiness out, on the last people who deserve it.  These people claim to not need you around, but they can’t let you go. You always catch these types of people in some sort of lie. The more you are around them, the more it becomes blatantly obvious to you, and the rest of the world, why you SHOULDN’T be. If you are lucky, you spot this kind of person early on—wise up, and cut them out of your life, before they do any real damage.  

            This leads to my next thought—in the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet try to overcome a bad relationship/break-up, by literally “deleting” each other from their memories. What if we could do this? What if we could delete every phone call…every email…every text message…every chat…every bouqet of flowers correspondence with someone, like it never happened? We could then not only delete the traces of them, but the actual MEMORY of them? Would you do it?

            I think I would delete some of these people…not to state that I have “regrets” in life, but that I have 26 years of memories that are MOSTLY good, with a few that really put a damper on my faith in people. If I could rid all of my memories of these people, I would.  This leads to another thought—what if your past memories of someone had some good ones here and there?...What if you could pinpoint the moment where it all went bad? If you could not necessarily delete them completely, but you could choose an exact moment in time, and delete from there on. What if they helped you encounter SOME good along the way? If you could keep the people you met, the locations you went, and the good memories up ‘til the “HOLY SHIT-YOU’RE INSANE and it too me this long to figure it out” moment, wouldn’t life be grand?!

            Nah…that wouldn’t be any fun. Then we might encounter these people somewhere down the road, and blindly get mixed up in their crazy all over again—and maybe even worse, this go around. No, I don’t think I would delete people…or memories…or thoughts. I think what I will do, from now on—is focus only on the good memories of people. Forgive people for their total shithead moments (not to be confused with “forgetting”), let go of grudges, and realize…they just aren’t worth the effort it takes to hate someone.

            So, be a good person. If you get another chance to be in someone’s life? They are stupid for letting you have it. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t dwell on the past, but apologize when you’re wrong. Even if the apology is the only thing you accomplish, at least you aren’t in the “erasable” category. Do any of us really want to be “erasable?” To know that as soon as we mess up, our memory is banished from someone’s life, forever? We should take the time to really consider what “delete” means. Does it mean forever…or does it mean until you come around again? For me? It means, “Until you prove you deserve to be part of my life—you won’t be.” ~K

"I think somehow we learn who we really are and then we live with that decision." ~Eleanor Roosevelt

In my Psychology: Conflict Management Systems class (Yeah, I hate this effin' class find the title ridiculous too), we have been discussing what “Western philosophies and practices” we use. Aside from the all present “self-centeredness/self-interest” driven attitudes, and sense of entitlement, and obvious favortism for those who are like us I had to think about what Western culture has really taught me. Do I really relate to the “culture” created around me in past or present? Someone poses the question; “Do times change, or do people change?" I began to really ponder this. DO people change? Here’s what I came up with…

            I grew up in a small town, in Southeast Kansas. For any of you who don’t know anything about SEK, it’s more than I ever made it out to be interesting…to say the least. This particular town is full of god-fearin’ folks who still do it “country.” What do I mean by that? We hang out in fields, drink beer, and cruise up and down the one main stretch of road that exists. The only place to shop in that town is a Wal-Mart. We used to have a JC Penny’s and Stage, (when that store was popular back in the late 90’s) but they closed due to our town’s inability to support them. We have over 100 churches (god fearin’ folks…that can’t AGREE, apparently) and more Chinese/Mexican restaurants than one little town needs…BUT? It’s home. It’s where I grew up. One right turn past Pearl Chevrolet (not there anymore, due to the flood) and a long stretch of road took you around a big curve—you’d come to a dirt road. If you turned right on that dirt road and made a left at Anderson? There was my house--you’d see in on the right, set a little ways back from the road.

My old house, I mean. The house I miss grew up. It was nothing like the huge, fancy house we have now that after 10 years, we are still trying to make it feel like home. It had a barn outside. It was a gravel road with a long driveway that my parents made a game out of “taking walks” each night, just for something to do. We couldn’t ride our bikes without rocks going everywhere. We walked around barefoot on those rocks and survived. We got stung by bees. We heard strange noises, but never any traffic. We saw/heard livestock. There were no tall buildings. We had a giant backyard, and no neighbors around for MILES.

            Why am I telling you all this? Anyone who met me in 2004, on, would probably say…ummm, this sounds NOTHING like you. Why? People change. At age 16, we moved to town. This is around the time I got this idea that “city living” was for me. Fast forward past all the manicures, pedicures, name brand clothes, bleach blonde hair, and overly tanned skin—and, what do you find? Me. Well, up until about Late Winter of this year. Let’s explore who I was from about 2004-2010. Where to begin? Maybe the answer to that question is…I didn’t know. Who really knows what they want in college? You drink. You never do homework. You party. What else is there? You really lose sight of yourself…your goals for your life. I, like many girls from a small town, looking for more—am guilty of this.

            I moved to Kansas City…then to Lawrence (when Sarah had Coop), and then back to Kansas City. Here’s the crazy part…I LOATHE living in Kansas City. It’s noisy, it’s crowded, and it’s HUGE. I get up everyday and drive 40 minutes at 7am in rush hour traffic to get to work, to get in my car and drive 30 minutes to class in rush hour traffic, and then about an hour home at 11pm. It sucks. I live in a city where the shops, restaurants, bars, activities are ENDLESS, and you know what? I’m not sure if this is for me anymore… I miss the days of simplicity. If I wanted something to eat? The furthest restaurant away was 5-7 minutes. You need an oil change? You go to the same place you’ve always gone too. If they close early? They leave your car with the keys in it...and a note that says “Pay us later.” Seriously. This happened to me once.

So, why the sudden change?…You see, I stopped liking the bar scene a long time ago…I go for a few hours here and there, to catch up with my friends, but really? I’d prefer to sit at home with a bottle of wine and good company. I’d rather sit by a lake with my legs dipped over the side, starin’ at the stars, then spend a day in the mall. What happened? I changed….well, changed BACK. Somewhere along the way, this 26 year-old girl lost her way….lost what was really important to her. Lost all of the values my momma and daddy instilled in me from day one. That family comes before anything. That money can’t buy you happiness…and most of all? That being a good person will ALWAYS outweigh anything else. I can dress head to toe in designer labels, a face full of MAC products, fake blonde streaks in my hair, and a nice tan… like I did for years—but you know what I’m actually comfortable wearing…who I am actually more comfortable BEING? A spaghetti strap sundress, cowboy boots, minimal make-up, my natural (well…pretty close to it1) hair-color, and no polish on my fingernails.  

Give me a guitar to strum for hours, over a fancy electronic device, anyday. A field to lay in, on a blanket staring at the stars, over a crowded bar. A tent lying on the ground somewhere, over a five star hotel. What am I getting at with all of this? Is it really that I’ve “changed back?” Have I accepted my “small town culture” as better than the person I was being? Maybe…the point in all of this…is I never really changed at all. I just remembered who I was/am.  ~K

~"Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard."~

As I was trying to fall asleep last night—I kept thinking about how I was surrounded by boxes…just boxes of my stuff, EVERYWHERE. I find moving obnoxious and would rather pay people to do it than lift a finger myself, because it overwhelms me to be surrounded by cardboard boxes. I have to literally take them all, and pile them up along the wall, or I can’t sleep. It drives me insane. Maybe it’s not the boxes themselves though—maybe it’s looking at my stuff…my MEMORIES—being shoved into boxes and labeled to where it fits into my life. Mostly, because I have no idea where ¾ of the things I own, fit into my life.

            I can’t just have boxes that say “kitchen” or “bedroom.” I have to have my boxes labeled specific to what is in them. I can label them things like; “candles,” “jeans,” “boots,” “silverware,” etc. If there are multiple things on the box—I freak out if they are not labeled accordingly. Why so obsessive compulsive? It makes me nervous, that when I put my stuff into boxes, it’s like I’m putting away a part of me. Like I’m taking something I have great attachment to, and putting it out of sight for some undetermined amount of time. Sometimes, I’m afraid if that box were to get lost or broken, I might lose that part of me forever.

            As the night grew on (and sleep did NOT come,) I began to think of the boxes as a metaphor. I started to feel trapped by my walls of boxes—literally, I felt “boxed in.” I felt like all the memories/things I have collected over the years, are making me feel like I should be one way—when really I’m completely different. Normally, it would drive me insane to have my sister at my house, forcing me to part with things I’ve collected over the years, but something about this time was different. As she stood making me pick which shampoos I used the most often, and which perfume I could part with—I started to feel at ease with this entire process. So much so, that even though she was not around yesterday –I cleaned out a bunch of drawers and threw out 2 trash bags of stuff from my apartment. This was on top of the 7 bags we took out on Friday, plus the 12+ bags of clothing/stuff we decided to consign. This was a milestone for me.

            Why the change? I feel like people are kind of like boxes. We take things like memories and experiences, and hide them away for a moment we want/need to think about them later. Why am I holding on to all of these things that don’t fit my life anymore? A gold candleholder I bought because it matched my apartment and I'm obsessive to the point I won't keep things that dont match? A black table cloth that goes on the table I am getting rid of? Shoes I haven’t worn in over a year? I do not need any of this stuff. It’s time to move on from all these things I don’t “need.”

            What did I keep, one might ask? In a box that still remains unlabeled, is a collection of the things I could not part with. Movie stubs from “date nights” with Becker, pictures of my friends and I during our college years, the invitation from Cooper’s baby shower, the thank you card Sarah and Chris sent me for throwing the baby shower, a card with a schedule of dance classes I have taken, a few cards that came attached to some very special flowers I received, my K-State Alumni pin, letter inside a New York frame, and so on…the box my sister would call the “make it in to a scrapbook box.” Isn’t it interesting, of all my possessions, I would freak out if I had to part with these? These things have little worth to someone who would try to rob me, but to me, they mean everything.

            This got me thinking—Maybe the reason boxes bother me so much, is because once you put tape on a box, it’s pretty much ruined. If a box is taped shut, when you open it, or try to rip off the tape, it compromises the structural integrity of the box. Part of the box is ripped away, never to be fully in tact again. Maybe people are like that. All of the memories we make—are intertwined as part of us, and when you try to shut those out, or disconnect from them—it’s virtually impossible. Now, if you’re thinking “what if you slice through the tape to where it doesn’t rip away any of the box? It still proves my point. Every person we meet…every memory we create…is stuck to us—the good as well as the bad. So, at what point—do we become a totally different person than we were before? How much of our structure has to be compromised, before we don’t even recognize ourselves?  

            Every time we pack our lives into boxes, we start to realize how we are different from the previous time we packed our lives up and moved them somewhere else. I sat in my apartment last night, trying to figure out what I wanted to pack, and I was so overwhelmed. Part of me just wants to throw out all of these meaningless things like; collections of makeup, tons and tons of clothes, dvds, furniture, etc. Why do I want/need any of this stuff? I am moving into a house with another girl (who has already furnished it) so really—all I really need is a bed, some clothes, bathroom stuff, a computer (online classes), and maybe a television to fall asleep to.

Maybe all the things I’ve been moving from year to year, have become less special as they are put into one box, and then packed up in another. Somehow these memories feel tarnished and overplayed. I’m ready to make some new ones. Memories where I don’t look back on my life and think “I’m 26…and all I have to show for it is a house full of stuff.” I need only a full box of stuff, like the unlabeled one that now sits in the corner of my apartment, all taped up, but lacking any distinguishing marks. Unlabeled as if to explain I have no idea how to summarize the contents of it into one word.

            In light of recent events, (within the last 6 months)—I’ve really had some eye opening experiences about what is important in life…more importantly: What I WANT out of life. It is not endless scents of perfume, or every pair of jeans “Silver” makes. It’s to be happy. To not fill the void in my heart with meaningless shopping trips that will never come close to accomplishing that goal. I want to start really focusing on the things that make me happy, that don’t include a price tag. Memories that are so special, I need only one small box to keep them in… Yeah, that sounds about right. ~K

“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”~Tom Robbins

           A few weeks ago, I was in Target filling a prescription—and decided to journey over to children’s toys (I had a specific purpose in mind at the time), and as I wandered up and down the aisles…I couldn’t help but notice; there is an entire aisle dedicated to Barbies. Does this seem weird to anyone else? Then I realize, it’s because Barbie has so many different personas and outfits, that Matel had to do something, right? Barbie’s ginormous empire aside, it got me thinking…

            How old is the typical Barbie supposed to be? My age? (26) Younger? Older? At what age did Barbie reach her “success?” I studied one for a second before heading over to boys toys (again, specific purpose in mind) and didn’t give it much thought….UNTIL…I was trying to fall asleep last night. I suddenly had this looming thought that I miss the day of actually being able to play with Barbies. Life was so simplistic then. Changing her outfit would change her entire personality for that day. She could be a cook, a gymnast, a princess, etc. How awesome would that be? One day I’m “career Kara” and the next day I’m “visiting Paris Kara.” Everyday could be a new adventure, just by changing my outfit. More specifically—I found myself stuck on the idea that Barbie could put on a wedding dress and be a bride. That was the only stipulation—she had to put on the wedding dress (and matching shoes, if you were lucky enough to still have both of them, a week after she came out of the box), and she was prepared to say her vows to every Ken doll you owned – as often as you liked. (Pretty sure Barbie was a huge slut—but, she was hot…so all the Ken dolls always forgave her.)

            So how many of us women, are walking around with this same mentality? All it takes is a wedding dress to make us bride? It really kind of morphed into a completely different thought from there—but, I found myself thinking “I don’t want a wedding….I want someone to share my life with.” I want someone to travel around the world with—taking pictures in front of every cheesy landmark we find. Someone who would take me to a beach with white sand…lay by my side while I basked in the suns rays—but definitely be ready to throw me in water, the second I was off my guard—Just because he likes to see me get MAD and then laugh for hours. Someone who is .241 seconds away from rushing me to the emergency room, every time I feel feverish. Small stuff like this. Why, as adult women, have we become so focused on the wedding/dress-up part of it?

            As young girls, there are a few things we learn; 1) Don’t play doctor with the neighborhood boys 2) Girls wear dresses and like “dainty” girlish things. 3) The obvious—and most emphasized; “There is some boy out there, just waiting for you to come along—so he can love you for the rest of your life.” If you’re anything like me—the older you get, the more skeptical you become about this third one. (You also start to think Barbie and Disney overdid these “random occurrences where everyone meets their soul mate and lives happily ever after” scenarios.) Maybe I’m destined to meet guys like Ken dolls—they seem perfect and flawless, but on the inside, they are an empty, hollow, shell of a man. A man who can put on a tux and play the part, but when it comes down to it—he just wants to be guy who gets to walk down the aisle with the selected Barbie of the week. All of us want to be selected—but no one really wants to follow through with the “happily ever after” part.

            We want to go through life, feeling important and special, but we don’t really want to put forth the effort to be with another person. I believe it was Marilyn Monroe who famously said; "I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." This could not be more true when it comes to my perception on love. I realize I have not (nor, have I been anywhere close) to perfect. I have, however—been a good person. A loving person. A supportive person—and above all—a FORGIVING person. Where has it REALLY gotten me?

            Taking this a step further—I’ve started to realize, there aren’t a lot of guys out there, who deserve any woman at her best. You’ve all become so used to us playing “dress-up” in whatever outfit we choose—albeit a business suit, or wedding gown—that you have started to take who we really are, for granted. You use us. You treat us like we’re replaceable. Like at any given moment—something better will come along. Maybe it’s my traditional belief system, but I am an adamant supporter of the phrase “a true gentleman will never let a lady fall, unless he intends to catch her.”

            Personally, I want a guy who still knows how to open a door for a lady--who walks on the sidewalk next to me, closest to the street, in a protective manner. The guy who always lets me order first, asks if I need anything before he gets comfortably seated, and will slow dance with me at 3am to slow country music, even under the least romantic of conditions. Maybe this all seems one sided—but, I also believe a woman should be the kind of woman that a man WANTS to be better for. So, what should we be doing in return? We should light up when you enter a room—believe in you, no matter how down you feel. We should support you, no matter how rough it gets. Occasionally, trace soft circles on your back before you fall asleep, showing we understand there is a sensitive side to you, and we appreciate that. We should feel all teary eyed when you feel pain.  Things like this, should NOT be hard! These are not unrealistic expectations from EITHER side. So…why are we all so…fake?  

            Maybe we need to STOP living in a world where we can wear different faces/personas each day, and try our best to be GOOD people. Consistent people. People who understand no matter how many outfits and personalities we can wear, that it’s what INSIDE that counts. We should teach our children that. We should make sure they understand that make believe and dress up, are never the same as the real thing. We should also remember—Barbie and Ken’s heads are full of air (and sometimes water if they get loose in the bathtub), and that no rational thinking human would ever choose someone who looks like a good package from the OUTSIDE, without really understanding what makes them a worthwhile person. Until we all start to understand that, eventually we have to grow up—the fantasy and make believe have to fade away— and we have to find something worth KEEPING—then, we are all doomed to make the same relationship mistakes OVER…and OVER…and OVER again. Not this girl though. (I got mad at my Barbie’s for being such slutty bitches, and eventually cut all their hair off, so Ken didn’t want to marry them.) I’m looking for the REAL thing. ~K