about the Potomac

Potomac, frozen 

On my run to the Potomac

my mind is charging -- 

everything I haven't done,
wanted to become and am not,
spreadsheets empty, clothes not clean.
Everything catches up with me.
But I arrive and the Nation's River
is frozen.  It is still as I am not.
It is silent and icy.
At the bridge to Roosevelt Island
a circle of senior citizens wait
in warm socks and listen
to a guide. They cross the gate and I
know their lives cannot be un-lived,
even one second that was given
un-gived.  The river has cracks
like age lines, where it has tried
to resist.  I stare at them and wish
for the strength of stillness.
For the strength just to live
where I am instead of a million miles away.
It takes courage, but for a moment or two
I am cold breath,
a silent hum,
a simple prayer,
I am only what I am today.

about birthdays and attention

On my birthday it has always been someone else's birthday. 

I know, duh.  But I mean that it is always someone else's birthday who is near to me.  Being a twin, you never really have your own day.  It's not entirely about you.  But even after my brother and I moved to separate cities for college, I found that it followed me -- my birthday would always belong to other people. 

I remember walking into my first-year suite at UVa and immediately some girl asked about people's birthdays.  "February 12th!" I said, finally feeling independent, like it was my own. "OMG ME TOO!" came the squeal from one of my new roommates.  Awesome.  Of course.
When February 12th rolled around that year she got surprised in our dorm room at midnight by what seemed like her entire pledge class, all carrying balloons and alcohol.  I, who was maybe the last girl at UVa to consider joining a sorority, was already in bed and annoyed at being woken up. 

The curse, it seems, has continued. Every year, I meet someone who was born on my birthday.  When I started work I found out that my coworker is also a Feb 12th baby, which, of course, just seemed to make sense.  I live in a world where joint-parties are frequently suggested and my name is not usually the only one on my own cake.  

It sounds like I'm complaining, but I've actually come to find a lot of comfort in sharing my day with a host of other people. I'm the type of person who finds it unnerving for all the attention to be directed at me. I go to weddings and think about how great it'd be to stay single for life so I never have a day where people are taking my picture that many times.  I blush whenever I feel like an entire room of people is listening to what I'm saying.  When people try to force me into the center of a dance circle I want to punch them in the nose.  

Birthdays, and our responses to our birthdays, are weird, right?  We tend to either love them or want them to evaporate off the calendar.  And it makes me think of the different ways we carry ourselves and look at ourselves in the grander world -- it makes me think that we all, every single one of us, really struggles with pride. 

Ultimately, disliking attention has to do with being so consumed by what other people think that you'd rather melt into the background.  It has to do with insecurities and caring too much about your own image.  That is pride.  Maybe a less in-your-face version of it than blatant attention seekers, but it's pride all the same.  

I heard a sermon once that pride is the root cause of every major offense.  It is so human to be wholly consumed by yourself, but it makes the world so small.  It makes hurts so big.  It makes love so twisted and insincere.  I want more than anything to be someone who possess humility, but I find it so hard to get there. 

With those thoughts today and with my birthday quickly approaching, I'm asking myself these questions: what fears do I have that make me consumed with my image?  Who are my neighbors, the other people I can think about above myself?  When my ego is bruised, what is the root of the hurt? 

And if you find yourself always consumed by your own sense of self (I'm in that boat with you, friend) - maybe they are good things to ponder too.  

about empathy

In my effort to write more, I've been thinking about little projects/collections I can work on.  The most recent one has to do with experiences that have happened to other people, mostly stories of trials and pain that I've seen my friends and family walk through with strength.

It's crazy to think about what an impact other people's stories can have on us.  I wouldn't characterize myself as someone who has been through a lot of tragic, trying experiences, but I have known a lot of people who have, and their strength has often inspired me. What's interesting is being the person who watches another person's pain -- I'm interested in the way we deal with that, and what we learn from it, and how we enter into it and let it change us.

This first poem in the series is about my twin brother, Taylor.  When we were young, early elementary school, we played on the same t-ball team.  One day at practice Tay got hit in the head with a metal bat.  Strangely, it is one of my most vivid memories from childhood and the first time I ever remember crying for another person.  (And don't worry! He had an indented forehead for a few months but other than that was totally fine!)

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Cracked

It was the sound that split

me in two: one, the girl I was

Before and then the other,

the girl who stumbled upon

loneliness that comes

with the idea of horrible things

happening.  He was standing

on the wrong side of home base,

a lefty up at bat and no one thought

to change; no one can look right

through a person and see

the pain they might cause.

I heard it but didn't see the bat

strike the side of his forehead.

I heard the sound like I could

hear the whole earth if it cracked.

In slow motion it felt like people

ran to him as he crumbled –

my twin. Never had I felt so much

like I was really alone,

for the first time weeping for someone

who wasn't myself. 

Even after they acknowledged me, even

in the jeep after the doctor and he’s fine,

he’s fine I was shaking and delicate

like lace.  I felt the small patterns

of my life disconnected, like sound was not

enough to know, or sight.

We’d make jokes in school and laugh 

about the black eye; hands would touch

the dented space.  In those moments he was living

something I still do not know.  

about the passions that carry you

Yes, this is a mirror selfie.  And yes, I just wore this on a jog while brainstorming this post.  Don't worry -- explanation to follow.  Long live the Oh, Crop shirt.  

I've already told y'all a bit about middle school Emily.  Let's take it to high school, shall we?

Here are a few fun facts to get us acquainted:  High School Emily won the superlative "Most Likely To Publish a Novel".  High School Emily had her English teachers sign her yearbook. High School Emily went to Journalism Camp (where she got the shirt pictured above, which Modern Day Emily still can't part with).  During a Summer vacation.  High School Emily stayed after class to discuss passages from "Hamlet" or "The Invisible Man" that particularly moved her.  High School Emily was Editor-in-Chief of her school newspaper, The Falconer.  High School Emily ate lunch in the Journalism room during 85% of her senior year.

Alright, great.  I think that we're all friends now.

I'm introducing you to HSE because today I want to talk a little about passion.  Next week I have my annual review at work and that sort of thing always begs the big questions such as WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? and WHAT AM I TRULY MOTIVATED BY? and WHAT DO I CARE ABOUT, LIKE REALLY?  Those are in caps because they are just that big.

What happens to you when you think about those things?  Today my thoughts took me back to that girl I was, someone who was SO passionate and also SO confident about how life would pan out.  I had all these specific and big dreams that I was going to study Journalism at Columbia and run around NYC with a steno always in hand, telling all the stories that hadn't been told yet and winning a few Pulitzers in the process.

And life didn't work out that way.  About 3/4 into my senior year I just got burnt out.  I know it wasn't as though I was working for the Post or something, but the demands of being editor got to me and I decided it wasn't something I wanted to pursue.  So I went to college and started pursuing creative writing.  And then after college I was close to pursuing a master's in poetry.  And then instead I started working for a start-up reading the news for a living.

Life is always super changing, and I think that High School Emily would be pretty sad that things haven't gone exactly as planned -- but what I've learned as I've gotten older and had different experiences is that your passions can be bigger than your current circumstance.  Yes, passions can result in specific plans coming to fruition. And that's great and I'm glad for anyone that happens to.  But I don't think it has to be that way. In fact, I think it'd be sad if life works out differently than what you imagined and you just let your passions go to waste.

Whatever it is I end up making of my life, I know that I have a passion for story.  I love to tell stories and I love to listen to them and I love connecting them to one another and marveling at the conversation.  I love when what I write or read makes that sort of thing happen.  That is what I'm passionate about.

That's what drove me in high school, and college, and even in my current job.  I'm completely uncertain about where that will take me or who will have similar dreams and spur me on or where that means I should move or what I should study or anything like that.  But I'm ok with it.  I'm ok letting my passions be like rumble strips on the highway I currently find myself driving -- I trust that they will shake my bones a bit when I'm getting off track.

So here's a little homework for you (Editor Emily is LOVING assigning this) -- what's your passion statement? Not what do you want your passions to allow you to do, but simply what do you find yourself passionate about NOW?

Write it out.  And then ask yourself: Do I let my passions infiltrate my current circumstance in life?  Does my passion bring me the fullest joy?  Do my passions connect me in relationship to other people?  Do I hang onto my passions when my circumstances change?

And if the answer is no to any of that, ask yourself why.  It is a challenging and good to think through those things.  Even if it means digging embarrassing shirts out of your closet and wondering why you just can't let them go.

about making time for what's important - like writing a letter about Bop It

During our fourth year of college, my friend Rachel and I got into writing complaint letters to any company who we felt slighted us in some way.  I guess we took that term loosely.  Rach wrote one about not getting enough cookie dough in some ice cream.  I wrote one about a soup being less fulfilling than the packaging said.  But ultimately, our efforts paid off! Both of us got some coupons out of the deal.  Totally worth it. And not at all obnoxious.

Today I thought about how nothing has annoyed me enough to write a letter lately, but how that shouldn't stop me.  Last night, while playing an epic round on Bop-It Extreme, a brilliant idea came into my head.  It only seemed fair that I let Hasbro know, right?  Maybe a free Bop-It out of the deal?? 

Here's the e-mail I'm sure they'll be all too happy to see from me: 

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Dear Hasbro/creators of the wonderful Bop It, 

Firstly, let me just say that I am a huge fan.  Bop It has comforted me during many lonely moments, long dinner parties when I wanted to avoid annoying family members, and car trips when I thought it'd be great to drive my parents insane.  It is, without question, a fantastic game. 

Last night I had the pleasure of playing Bop It Extreme, your now discontinued edition of the Bop It game.  It was exhilarating.  I even beat the game! (And as a side note, may I suggest that your next edition of Bop It be created with a higher-level expert in mind? True, my piano teacher did often say I would be a fantastic drummer because of my rhythm, and my ability to stay cool under pressure always serves me well, but I'm certain there are at least 5 or 6 other players with my talent who would enjoy the added challenge) 

As I was playing, a thought came to mind that I felt compelled to share with you.  Likely, you're familiar with the classic song "Wop" by one of the great minds of our age, J Dash.  It is a touching emotional track about making money, dancing at the club, and attracting a desirable sexual partner.  Who can't relate? 

Clearly, this song fits with the family-friendly message Bop It is trying to portray.  I thought of how catchy it would be for Bop It to rewrite the words and use it in a commercial!  Just look at how perfectly the chorus would work -- instead of using the word "wop", the singer could say "let me see you bop bop bop bop bop bop bop..." and so on and so forth.  They say "wop" a lot, so there is a lot of opportunity to get your name out there in this tune.   

As a fan who truly cares about your product, I believe this marketing of Bop It would reach an ever-forgotten demographic - namely, twentysomethings like me who listen to the music they play at da club but never actually end up going out and instead spend Friday nights wearing sweatpants, eating Funfetti icing on graham crackers for dinner, and playing board games.  We must be heard. 

I do hope you'll give this suggestion some thought.  Should you decide to pursue this, dare I say, brilliant idea, let me offer my services as a marketing consultant or even as the star of the commercial.  I've been practicing the Wop and at the risk of sounding braggy, I do believe I'm rather good.  I'm also a skilled music-video creator;  the last work my friends and I produced has 585 views, if that gives any indication of my talent. 

Either way, I wish Hasbro the best of luck in spreading Bop It joy to the ends of the earth.  I appreciate your time and consideration. 

Very sincerely, 

Emily "Bop It Master" Thompson 

about guilt

Since my second year of college I've been to Nicaragua 9 times.  I don't even know how I've managed to make that happen, but somehow I keep finding myself back there, back to one of the poorest countries in the world and then I find myself leaving it again.

The leaving is particularly hard.  Not just because I miss my relationships there and what they've meant to me, but because I go back to a life outside one of the wealthiest cities in the world where I live an existence almost all of the friends I've made in Nica could never imagine living.

The leaving is hard because I go back to guilt.

One day, on my most recent trip, I remember a moment when the feeling totally overtook me. I just felt, to put it frankly, that my life was complete bullshit.  I felt dirty. I felt like a hypocrite.  I felt disgusted, that I could care so much about the issues of poverty and abuse for a few weeks out of the year and then return to my bubble life of convenience and niceties.

Guilt does this thing where it points our eyes only to our shame and our failures. Our perspective becomes very, very small.  Somehow, it constructs for us this ugly shack inside our hearts where mold is growing and the windows are broken and the yard hasn't been tamed and it says "you stay in here. and don't come out."

Guilt originates within us.  But lucky for us, redemption does not. 

The more I've wrestled with guilt in the past years the more convinced I become that it is not a healthy motivator.  It is really freaking impossibly hard for me to believe this, but on good days I remember the truth that God does NOT use guilt to make us better.  For the most part, the only thing the world likes to tell us is that we need to eat less and work out more and wear better clothes and be funnier but He just doesn't. He has so much more to say.

He makes us better by asking us to look at Him.  Most of the time (and ALL of the time when we're feeling consumed by guilt) all we can see is ourselves; but God transforms us by putting his beauty before our eyes and by promising us that we'll get there, one day.

He calls us from our shacks of guilt and invites us into the most beautiful home we could ever imagine. And more than just having us for dinner he actually promises that THIS is the place where we belong.

Listen y'all - I have been there.  I know what it's like to be ashamed of what you've done or haven't done.  But let's (and I need y'all in this) please please stop with the guilt.  Our eyes should be focusing on a much larger picture than that.

about dusk

Dust

It is almost nightfall.

Driving on the highway

home from work I think

of dusk, of replacing

one letter, the "k" to "t"

and how naturally things

seem to fall apart. 

Like the day-fade

there are extinguishing

lights inside your heart, 

but then again 

there will be

some that stay, 

some that have a way

of slow-dancing together

with sweaty palms, 

of tethering themselves

to lives of jazz and dancing

and sacrificial alms to all you dream of. 

these ones will fall in love

with one another, discover 

all the universes love undoes

and take you over until

you forget what was.   

in the darkness all the world

is going away. 

but those lights, 

those ones...

those ones stay.  

about music making it possible

The past few days at work I've been doing a project that mostly involves me sitting at my desk alone, looking at numbers and formatting stuff -- aka my nightmare world.

But I've often felt that with the right music, you can really do anything.  Like run that extra mile. Express heartbreak.  Dance it out.  Not give up. The list goes on.

So today I was really really grateful that I could just slip in my headphones and disappear inside some good tunes while I worked.  Maybe this little playlist will bring you productivity and happiness as it did me.

The pop part 
-Classic - MKTO (I think this song is crisp and fun and danceable and refreshingly not super blatantly about hooking up)
-Dark Horse - Katy Perry (perhaps my favorite from her latest CD. I like the darker, hypnotic feel)

The high school throwback part 
-Walking with the ghost - Tegan & Sara (I listened to this constantly in high school. I think it made me feel sort of badass, which I was not)
-Lost - Coldplay (The summer Viva la Vida came out was THE BEST.  constant car listening parties)

The voices you are obsessed with part 
Move like you stole it - ZZ Ward (If I could switch my singing voice with any modern artist it'd likely be ZZ)
-Please Forgive Me - David Gray (I love his early stuff where he just screams a lot - so much emotion in his voice. But this one is just lovely)

The laid-back part
-Mrs. Cold - Kings of Convenience (I find their Amsterdam Acoustics session of this to be magical and perfect)
-In No Time - Mutemath (This is one of those "lay on your bed and close your eyes and listen" songs.  Also if you ever get the chance to see them in concert, do it.  Incredible)

The love songs part 
-Anyhow - Tyler Lyle (He writes a good line.  This whole album is fabulous)
-Same Old Same Old - The Civil Wars (Not the happiest love song, but happy ultimately. I like these lyrics. This is one of my favorite songs from 2k13)

The sad songs to balance out the love songs part 
-Breathe Again - Sara Bareilles (Ah, this song. So heartbreaking but so heartfelt)
-Sad - Maroon 5 (You can ask my roommates, I've been playing this around the house like crazy. It is, like the song says, sad.  But in the loveliest way. So honest and simple)

about love and fear

Here’s this thing I think might be universally true – when we love something too much, it scares us.

Think of it the way you think of fine china or a collector’s edition whatever-you-will.  Sometimes something is so precious to us that we cannot even interact with it.  We build it up, lock it up, case it in glass – we’re afraid of bringing imperfection to something so perfect. It seems counterintuitive but it’s also very much human nature.  We’d rather let the thing be altogether separate from us.

It’s easy to think about it with things we love but today I was thinking about how I do this with the passions I love, with the dreams I hold so high above me they may as well be made of glass.  Sometimes I love to do something so much that I must force myself to engage with it. 

Am I sounding like a crazy person here?

Today I sat down to write a poem and I just…couldn’t.  And it’s something I LOVE.  I love the way poetry has helped me to shape my interior world and to connect to the exterior one.  I love the way it pulls language out of me that never existed until that moment.   I love the person I become when I’m writing.

But at the same time I’m afraid of it.  I’m afraid that I’ll never write something that will impact the world.  I’m afraid of comparison, afraid that secretly everyone hates the words I produce or that they will mean nothing.  I’m afraid that my efforts to get better at writing are worthless.  I’m afraid to send them anywhere. I’m afraid of rejection.

And so most days it is just easier not to do it, not to write.  It’s easier to tell everyone how much I love poetry and to place it inside a glass box on my dresser and look at it fondly. 

Facing something we love sometimes takes courage.  I think we’ve got to be willing to let the thing we love disappoint us a little, and then to go on loving it just the same.  We’ve got to be ok knowing that interacting with it may make it change, and also that it may make us change, too. 

This year I want to be bolder about writing, to face it with grace and also confidence.  And I want to be bolder about my dreams and my passions and my joys – to pursue them instead of lifting them up to impossible heights.

Are there things you love so much that you cannot touch?  What would it look like for you, if you ran toward the things you loved without fear?  

about one for the dreamers

Sometimes I've heard myself described as a person with her "head in the clouds".  And always I find that offensive.  I'm sure it's not always intended to be, but have you ever felt like the world was trying to plant you somewhere practical and it was just the most annoying thing?  Yes yes yes, practicality is good and practicality helps you pay bills and make wise life decisions and blah blah blah.  But gosh, sometimes I just hate being told to be practical.  I want to daydream and I want to do the impossible. 

So I wrote this little poem tonight (I don't think I've written a rhyming poem since I was in middle school...) because I felt whimsical and I was thinking about how sometimes things seem so magnificent, so impossible to believe, that they take us away from all worldly burdens and (even if only briefly) make us feel free.  

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A Dream

I’d start the world over

upside down,

before breakfast walk

the length of the house

and feel sorry for the life

I led below.

For mispronouncing words,

clutter, for letting imperfection show

and rise like smoke. 

And then I’d just let all that go.  

With grace I’d ask the sky

to hold me, carry my feet

and then I’d leave and watch the

world be free –

watch rivers soar above me

like ribbons in a breeze;

watch clouds be made

from the colors of the sea.

I’d shake hands with all

the roots of trees.

And ask the moon if it was true –

that he pulled first

at the seams of earth

when it seemed like something fun to do.

about good things and a good year

2013 - it was a good year.

I know that peeps are all up over social media talking about how wonderful 2k13 was and how wonderful 2k14 will be and it gets sort of annoying -- so I'm sorry if this sounds disingenuous and obnoxious.  But I just think it's good -- really, really good -- to give yourself a little breather and rest inside your lessons learned and your gratitude and your failures and your joys and to think about what your life has meant in the past year. (and maybe that's something we should do more often than just every 12 months)

On January 1st of 2013 I started a project I called my "good things jar" where I wrote down good things and put them in a jar (I know, the name's misleading).  It was good and it was hard, too.  There were some seasons of this year when I simply didn't want to put good things in the jar because they weren't the good things I desired.  And I learned after going through the slips today that my good things are so "me" focused -- I want to be better about celebrating the good things in the lives of my friends and family.

But there were sweet seasons too -- seasons when I teared up reaching my hand into that jar and feeling SO MANY good things gathered in there. There have been so many times this year when I have become totally overwhelmed by how God has rushed into areas of my life I had abandoned and left dusty and in shadow.  This year has been a big one but perhaps one of my most fun years of life yet.

I started my first real job.  I officially moved to a new city.  I bought my first car. I got into my first car accident.  I financially supported myself.  I went to Nicaragua for the 9th time.  I took fun trips and spent quality time with friends and family I love so dearly.  I celebrated a lot of things, like love and weddings and birthdays and new opportunities.  I started going to a new church.  I experienced the richness of deep community in DC.  I let people get to know me.  I took selfies with a plethora of weird objects.  I listened to a lot of Ke$ha on repeat.  I felt a lot more freedom being inside my own skin.

If you're looking for a fun challenge, I highly suggest making your own Good Things Jar for 2014.  It taught me a lot about gratitude and about letting it turn everything in my life into enough.  And it gave me a lot of hope this morning, going through those little notes from the past and remembering how faithful our Lord is and how much adventure and glory is waiting for me in the months to come.