obsessions

I am obsessed with:
getting to know people, making crafts when I’m stressed,being a serial present-giver, watching Oprah and forgetting that I don’t actually know her, watching little kids get excited about silly things, anything or anyone with a connection to Rwanda, swapping Kanakuk stories with people I don’t know, carrying a potential purchase around all of Target then putting it down right before I check out, reading books I never want to end, painting my nails dark colors and loving the hardcore feeling I get,catching myself talking to myself out loud in public,laughing at my own jokes, thinking witty comebacks but never verbalizing them, embracing my awkwardness.


I love to see God’s imprint on anyone I have interaction with. If we’re all created in the image of God, then it only seems logical that his traits show up within all of us, whether we know him or not. The humor, kindness, passion, energy, sensitivity, beauty I see in my best friends and strangers at the corner are all constant reminders of how amazing it is to share characteristics with our Creator.

Attempts

I am miserable at keeping a journal. I will get urges to start journaling again, I will go out and buy one, marvel at its potential and all the possibilities of what it may one day contain, write a couple entries, get distracted, try to go back to it before I usually forget about it and wait for the next urge to come around. I was going through some shelves in my room at home, trying to see if there was anything I could get rid of. It was full of these sparse journals, mainly extremely dramatic entries about the current love of my life and how I just don’t know what I will do if I the feelings aren’t reciprocal, or utterly boring pages about the current monotony of life that wouldn’t find interest with even the most lonely person in search of connection. I cringe and wince in the back pages of these journals and notebooks, which are inevitably filled with extremely elaborate, hideous doodles I obviously put way too much effort into during a sermon or late at night, and my name written an infinite number of times in experimental styles and with a variety of last names (usually in the same ink as the entries about the most current unrequited love.)

I wasn’t able to throw any of these out. Granted, I would be mortified if anyone were to open those and heaven-forbid actually see whose last names I tested in my signature or what kind of absurdity I had found so vital and life-changing at any given moment.At the same time, however, I loved by able to see how much I have changed and yet still stayed the same. I still have crushes that become all-consuming and seem like they can be life-or-death situations, although I am learning to not worry about what the future holds in those situations and focus more on today. No one ever passed along the memo that once you reach a certain point, doodling is not as acceptable during class, so my notebooks are all still filled with ridiculous ink drawings and repeated versions of my signature. I have started only taking my computer to class, because that is the only way I have figured out to keep myself from doodling (although the urge sometimes becomes too great I’ll pull out a gum wrapper or receipt scrap from my backpack and pretend to be writing something memorable down, when in reality it’s usually a rendering of a Tri-Delt tshirt I have suddenly envisioned or series of “N”s, “P”s and “L” in various shape and arrangement. What can I say? I’m a serial doodler).