concepts, Epiphanies, experience, Faith, ideas, learning, personal, philosophy, sharing, stories

God speaks through a wasp

I sat on this random pew in the hallway near the receptionist’s office at the Jesuit Spirituality Center. I was here on a women’s day retreat with my mother and aunt. The first lecture talked about acceptance and how to cultivate happiness. I had just finished my first week of teaching curriculum and some of the presenter’s questions were really hitting home.

Do I let other people take away my happiness? Because I think happiness comes from outside situations based on my own agenda? Do I react with anger based on my own  fear and insecurity?

Hmmmm. When I yelled at my kids this week because they weren’t paying attention, was it really because I was scared shitless that I would not be able to teach them the material?


So after the first presentation, we were instructed to walk throughout the campus grounds silently. No talking to Mom or Carla. I walked to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee then I strolled through the library. Out of all of the literature there, I was attracted to “Living Catholic, the Catechism.” For 10 years I have studies almost every other religion except for the one I lived the first 18 years of my life. Based upon my current set of situations, now more than ever I felt I had to explore this religion through a matured pair of eyes.

I carried the book to that pew. I read through the first few chapters, when suddenly I heard this loud buzzing sound. I looked up to the front door, which was surrounded by large, uncovered windows, to see see a huge yellow jacket wasp flying repeatedly into the window. I thought it was on the outside of the window and was just a distraction from the moment, so I started to read again.

A few sentences later and the buzzing seemed to get louder and louder–demanding my attention. So I started to watch the wasp and realized he was actually on the inside of the window and he was trying to escape I watched him jump from pane to pane. Scratching. Buzzing. Trying to escape.

I felt I could do something to help out this little fellow. I got up and opened the door. I thought maybe he would feel the breeze and follow the wind to his escape. But he just kept flying into the glass.

Other retreaters were entering the door I was holding open-they just thought I was being nice. I was just patiently waiting to see if the wasp would get my gesture. He didn’t.

I went back to my pew while the wasp stayed in the same place. It made me wonder, how often when I wanted to escape was God holding the door open and I refused to follow the breeze? How often did I just bang myself against the glass? Like the wasp, maybe I just wasn’t ready for the escape at the moment.

I walked back to the retreat room with the sound of the buzzing in my ear. He may not be ready for the wind, but I think I’m ready for the current.

communications, concepts, connections, friends, ideas, learning, media, sharing

Introducing the Blogroll

There are several things that inspire me: conversations, articles, art, books, observations, music, dreams, happenstance…

What I would like to start sharing with my readers are more localized inspirations. If you look to the right of this entry, you will see “BLOGROLL”. These are sites from people I find interesting. I encourage you to check them out when you get a chance. I am honored to connect you to their worlds. I will now take this opportunity to give you the 411 on each site.

“All Things Kedinger”: Daniel is such a computer whiz, I cannot find words to describe his genius. His blog is quite humorous and informational as well. He and his wife are exploring their new role as parents, so there is a a baby blog chronicling their path. Needless to say, there is something for everyone.

“Corndancer”: I met Eb and Freddie while I was in Santa Fe last summer. They live in the mountains of Arkansas. Their site will keep you intellectually stimulated, as well as updated on educational matters (Freddie is a professor at the University of Arkansas). Plus, Eb will connect you to other intelligent blogs on his blogroll.

“Dragonflies and Goosebumps”: I recently met Mel online through WordPress. She is a thirty-something writer from Puerto Rico. She is an example of my favorite reason to love the Internet-you can connect from anywhere! She writes a bit of fiction and poetry. Very moving!

“Jamie Orillion”: Jamie took senior portraits to another level. I found his style helped redefine people’s idea of photography in our little Acadia Parish. It didn’t take long for his brand to grow (he now shoots around the state and country). Once you click through his archives, you’ll see what I mean.

“Mama Gab”: Gabby was a 9th grade English teacher who transitioned into a stay at home mom and homemaker. She and her husband are raising their children on a one person income. I absolutely enjoy reading her commentary on books and products she uses and the teamwork that is involved in the process. It is refreshing to know that someone puts this much thought into parenting. I feel a lot of people should be aware of this, even if they choose a different route.

“Micah Toub”: As you may be aware, I’m obsessed with thinking. I frequently read Psychology Today. I stumbled across Toub’s blog, “Growing up Jung”. I was instantly hooked, then realized the title is from his upcoming book of the same name. He is the offspring of two shrinks and the memoir discusses how he dealt with this scenario. His web site features the blog and other columns he’s written for various magazines. I look forward to reading his book and giving you a bit of insight on my findings.

Well that’s it for now. I’m sure I will be sharing lots of new information in the coming weeks. As of tomorrow, I am officially turned on to “school mode” and my role as teacher commences with inservices. It’s interesting that I will be a student of teaching, but “in charge” of students. To a parent, that statement could sound intimidating, like I don’t know what I’m doing. But have no fear, I have never been more excited to share knowledge. I just know I am about to learn more that I ever thought possible.

To new beginnings, sharing and caring. Cheers!

communications, concepts, connections, ideas, learning, media, sharing


I remember watching the Hurricane Katrina Relief special on TV. So many of us here in South Louisiana were gravely affected by the wrath of Katrina and Rita. We had locals who had lost everything as well as evacuees wining and dining, attempting to delay their grief.

I remember the thumping sound my jaw made as I watched a stuttering Kanye West mutter the words “George Bush hates black people.” I would love to have experienced the feeling that went through Mike Meyers stomach as he realized what his co-presenter just said on LIVE television. Luckily, Meyers, being the man of so many characters, was able to keep his composure as the camera smoothly transitioned to a far away Chris Tucker.

Because I’ve had so much computer time lately, I am able to peruse through Yahoo news every day to keep “informed”. The media really only makes me realize why so many of us are agitated. The 32 stories that rotate throughout the day are mostly about celebrities, credit card debt, mass unemployment, poor housing rates, Obama hate, fast food, celebrities, LeBron James, debt, unemployment…

So why did I start off with Kanye’s Katrina Outburst? Well, I did see something about Kanye on Yahoo! about how he is cleaning up his act and his ego. Gee I feel so much better!

However, I somewhat had to agree with parts of his ego’s ramble. Not that George Bush hates black people (but one day soon I would love to talk about some great Bushisms!) but that the media can spin any story in order to sell it to the public. We’re more likely to find out the truth from a stranger rather than the news, which is why it’s probably a great idea to advocate common sense and meeting your neighbors.

Just think about this for a minute.

We pay attention to people in a box that we have never personally met. We listen and trust their facts and opinions. Yet, how many of us know the person who lives next door? The real people we see get into their vehicles and go to work, or cut their grass, or bring out the trash?

It’s something to ponder. There’s a lot more that goes into our subconscious reality than we realize. If you constantly see negative stories (unemployment, credit card scams, identity theft) right next to tales of lavish lifestyles and celebrity weddings, it will inadvertently cause you to feel slightly depressed. Coincidentally (?) there is an advertisement right next to the story with some product that will make you feel great/happy/satisfied.

My point, you now wonder. Read stories with little advertisement. Watch less television. Interact with real people. Get involved in your neighborhood/town so you personally know what’s going on. Teach these things to your children.

You know, I tried to make this a lighter entry. I was going to poke fun at Kanye and try to be funny. Maybe make you laugh out loud. But no, I had to go and get serious. And instead of going back to edit what I wrote so you would never know of this ramble, I will leave it. It’s real and it wanted to come out for some reason.

But on the lighter note, I leave you with Kanye. Because damn this clip makes me gawk every single time I see it. I really can’t believe he said this to an unsuspecting nation. It’s priceless. LOL.

(Wish I could just insert the video, but for some reason, the blog won’t let me)

Cajun, concepts, connections, death, ideas, learning, personal, relationships, sharing, writing

Cornucopia-Part 2

The following was submitted for a short story contest last year. Some of you may not think it’s very short, but there are certain spirits that can speak to you while you read it, if you let. I hope you enjoy.

CORNUCOPIA                              (Written 9/23/09)

By Elise H. Peltier

If you find yourself reading this, you have finally reached the age to understand just how intertwined your spirit is with the great abundance of life. For years I wondered how I was supposed to relate to you how you have helped me to grow into the woman that I am; or how I could possibly be the one chosen to guide you along your path. Either way, here I am now. Alive in this moment because you are reading my words. Our words.

There can be a fascination with words: how if you link them together they can become sentences. If those sentences are combined properly, they become great ideas that then become actions. But most intriguingly,  sometimes just one word can mean it all. In order for me to tell you our story, I have to tell you its story.

Most people in Western civilization immediately associate the word “cornucopia” with a cone-shaped horn overflowing with fruits and grains. This symbol often appears during the autumn season before the Thanksgiving holiday. It is during this season where our story begins.

My mother walked into my bedroom the morning of October 22, 1998, her 40th birthday, to awaken me with the news that one of my best friends had died. Waddy was a senior at the neighboring Catholic high school, Notre Dame. It was the week of their homecoming football game. He was driving home after the parade on a road a half-mile from his house. We’re not exactly sure what happened, but his truck overturned. His window was halfway down and he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. He was killed instantly.

When my mother broke the news to me, I was beyond devastated. I had yet to experience the death of someone close to me. I remember walking around in a daze for days. I kept thinking of different reasons as to what he was doing in the truck to make it flip. I figured he was probably changing out a CD and went off the road into the gravel, then over-corrected and the truck flipped. It was no surprise to me that the windows were down. They were always down, so everyone could hear his music from miles away. I’m sure he was excited that night too. The coach had told him he was going to start a game for the first time. I could just picture him smiling as he drove his big maroon, Chevy truck down that country road. The same wind that flowed through the surrounding fields probably danced with his freckled face as he reached for a CD…and that’s when it happened.

I remember crying waterfalls at the funeral. I remember going sit at his grave with a few of our mutual friends after the service. One of the guys had “I really miss my homies” by Master P blasting through the stereo of his old white Honda Accord. The ten of us sat scattered across the grass with unspoken questions churning through our saddened, unsuspecting minds.

I reminisced about how Waddy and I originally met. Although his younger sister and I had played softball summer league together, it wasn’t until middle school youth group that we formed our independent friendship. We both allowed our stubborn personalities to cause arguments at first, but slowly our bond shifted when we recognized our similarities. He became a big brother figure to me. Since I’m the oldest of four girls, I was used to being my own protector. Although I refused to give up any control, he taught me how a real man gives genuine compliments to a woman.

We remained very close despite the different schools we attended. I was with he and his friends every weekend. He was the first friend I really discussed and shared the presence of God.

The day after the funeral, we decided to make t-shirts in his honor. The back had a quote Waddy said once at a youth group meeting, “To live and believe in God is a great adventure. To die and be with God is a greater one.”

It may seem strange that I am talking about death, when cornucopia means quite the opposite. However, some religions view death as the surface level appearance of the true birth of the soul.  According to a modern dictionary, Cornucopia is derived from Greek mythology, which continues our journey with the word into a deeper history.

When Zeus was a baby, his mother Rhea brought him to a cave on Mount Ida in Krete. There, he was nursed by a she-goat, Amaltheia. Legend has it that her horn was cut by a tree and never-ending fruit came from thee.

The relevancy of this story is quite intriguing for our own purposes.

The shape of a ram’s horn is like a spiral. Waddy’s death began this cycle in my life; a spiral.

In January of 1999, my aunt Carla, who was only seven years my elder, asked me to be a godmother to her daughter. I was a junior in high school  and was to make my confirmation into the Roman Catholic Church in March. For months, I awaited the birth of my first godchild, Malorie. I thought my role would be to teach her about our faith, attend all of her sacramental rites, and give her presents for holidays.

It was mid-June and Carla was patiently, but crankily ready to have Malorie. Who could blame the uncomfortable nature of a woman who is pregnant in South Louisiana during summer months? To my surprise, Malorie was born on June 27th, Waddy’s birthday. After careful consideration, I knew in my heart that it was no coincidence. The connection would be strong with my godchild.

Here is an interesting twist to our correlating stories: a godmother in South Louisiana is often called “Nanny” ( this is the case with me and Malorie).  The term nanny is used to describe a child’s caretaker. In older times, it pertained to a wet nurse, which is derived from Almatheia.

One more tid-bit before I continue: Greek mythology is very similar to the Cajun lifestyle due to the nature of story telling and parables in order to explain valuable life lessons. Also there is a congruency to Greek and Cajun heritage: the lushful nature of drinking and eating. I soon became abusively involved with this culture.

It’s odd as to how fast one’s life can change. A year later, I started college. The direction of my spiral went downward with the speed of a vacuum-like black hole.

For the entirety of my adolescence, I was the good kid. I was involved in school activities and youth group. I graduated ninth in my class. Once I moved out of my parents’ house, I guess you can say I went drunk with freedom. I joined several college organizations, but I was more active in night life. Eventually, I flunked out.

I could delve into detail here, giving examples of anonymous adventures, booze and bad decisions, and crazy connections, but that can be revealed at a different time during a personal conversation–should the need arrive.

Let’s just say I had to abandon everything I once practiced to make sure I was choosing what I believed in. I never lost this sense in my heart that there was a truth for me to know, understand, and feel. The void kept me searching.

As I approached truth from a more intellectual level, I began to see how many different people throughout the history of humanity, held different truths in their hearts and minds. Before college, I didn’t realize there was really a religion outside of Christianity. There isn’t much religious diversity in Rayne, Louisiana. I knew there was St. Joseph’s, the church I attended where pretty much every family tradition has occurred, and there was another Catholic church for the majority of our black community, and then there were a few Baptist churches and a Methodist Church.

After researching different religions and world history I started to ponder this possibility, “How is God only experienced through one type of worship or lifestyle?” The notion made me very weary of the validity of everything I was taught while growing up.

I started to-study Eastern philosophies. I would read the teachings of the Buddha every night. I began having conversations with people around me about what they believed. Did they have faith in anything at all? I needed something to happen.

That’s when I felt God again. It happened out of nowhere. I had been talking about philosophical principles with a group of friends and a pal made the comment that I was more of a spiritual teacher than I realized. I walked from his apartment to mine considering if that statement were true. By asking questions, did people think I had the answers?

I brushed my teeth, contemplating if it were possible to feel the answer. The song switched on  iTunes and I found myself closing my eyes. Suddenly, everything drained out of my brain and my being felt like a frequency of light. I no longer felt like I was a person standing inside of a small bedroom in a corporate complex. I felt like I was a part of everything. There was no boundary between me and the objects around me. I felt alive. I felt like nothing. I felt peace. I felt me.

I opened my eyes and the room seemed to possess a hue of God’s residue; because everything was God to me.

I fell asleep with a smile and hoped to awaken with this same knowledge. I didn’t want it to disappear as fast as it appeared.

The next morning was Mother’s Day and my family was celebrating the occasion at my mother’s sister’s house. I decided to bike there since it was such a gorgeous day. Breezy, non-humid days during May in Lafayette, Louisiana are almost unheard of. Normally, the humidity is as thick as gumbo and your sweat drops are the size of nickels. Instead of claustrophobic weather, I felt like the universe wanted to me to soak up the proof I had experienced the night before.

As I biked to my aunt’s, I began to think about the importance of Mother’s Day. I was 24 at the time and had no children, nor prospects of a husband. This is rare for a woman my age around these parts. One of my younger sisters was planning to be married that July, the other one was in a fairly serious relationship, and the youngest was only 14…but I think she even had a boyfriend at the time.

I contemplated how fortunate I was to have such spiritual, genuine women in my life as role models, especially my mother. I have never seen anyone strive for such a positive existence. She follows the rules, but also goes above the guidelines. She’s the kind of woman who saves bottle caps and popsicle sticks for the kindergarten classes. She volunteers to babysit, what seems like the entire town’s children. She recycled before it was cool. Needless to say, I always felt like I had a lot to live up to.

My thoughts reverted to my internal explosion the previous evening and the same burst of peace created a lightening of proactive force in my mind. I needed to explain this type of experience to Malorie. That was my role as godmother: not just to be there for the rites of passage, but to explain how to reach God, which is not having to reach or search at all.

She was only seven at the time, so I knew I had years to develop my own understanding.

My life took a more upward spin in the spiral. I left my secure job to return to school in order to pursue a more purposeful calling.

The following Christmas, my sister asked me to be the godmother of her child, almost precisely the time Carla had asked me nine years before. Of course I said yes. I felt I was at a more mature level to handle this responsibility.

June came around and it was no surprise that Ellah was born on June 27th. It would have been Waddy’s “golden” birthday –27 on the 27th. I cried in the waiting room because I felt the connection physically bonding the three of us.

The need to relate this story became strong in my heart, but I knew it needed time to mature.

I finished school as Outstanding Graduate of my college, then took a four-week road trip to the Pacific Northwest. I returned home in order to celebrate another sister’s wedding…on June 27th.

From death, spiraled birth and commenced with matrimony. It is the classic definition of cornucopia; abundance.

For the first time in a decade, I found myself living back at home, just in time for me to celebrate my 27th birthday.

It’s peculiar how the comfortableness of your home town can appear to be just a setting of past memories through matured eyes. I spent hours driving through familiar roads listening only to my thoughts.

One afternoon, I was lost in a daydream, taking rights, then lefts that turn into long stretches of country highways that suddenly curve without much warning. The serenity of the wind through my open windows made me wonder how I ever left this peace for a busy, dramatic lifestyle.

I found myself taking a right onto “Coin Road” and I was immediately plunged into the present moment. This was his road. It had been years since I drove past the cross that had his initials and football number, “W.F. #59”.  I realized I had never told his mother about how I had two godchildren that were born on his birthday. In fact, I hadn’t talked to her about him since a few months after his death. At the exact moment I contemplated trying to write out our story, I passed in front of his cross and my cell phone alert went “DING DING”. The text message couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time. I had goosebumps and I knew it was more than a coincidence.

I was listening to NPR that night and the DJ used cornucopia to describe something…from that vague description you can note that nothing else stood out to me. Yet, the word haunted my memory for days. Finally, I looked up its meaning and everything made sense to me. It was the word that defined my life experience for the past 27 years.

Humans have tried to explain our purpose for life since the beginning of recorded history. For centuries, It has evolved through different religions and philosophies in order for each generation to understand and relate their own internal journey. Some stories sound absurdly ridiculous to a differing culture, but it doesn’t make it any less real to an individual searching for their own truth.

Waddy passed on before ever having to question anything. He died with an unwavering faith and childlike wander. He never had to worry about social media or what information appeared when you googled your name. He is that innocence in my heart.

The only conclusion I have come up with is that if you pay attention, we are connected in more ways than one: through words, numbers, dates, people, places, interests, etc. Life can occur anyway you choose to view the lens of your glasses. The beauty of today is you have more options of what color or prescription you want in your frames.

Waddy was right when he said “To live and believe in god is a great adventure. To die and be with God is a greater one.”  Once you are no longer physically here, you can spiritually be present to multiple people at the exact same time. This knowledge brings me such a sense of joy and that’s how I feel every time I look at either of my godchildren. I experience the possibility of abundant opportunity and connection. Waddy has made my life a great adventure and affirms my belief in God.

You see, sometimes you just need a reminder as to why it is imperative to stay optimistic. Pessimism will lead you nowhere. Hope, however, will always bring another day. Then your life will be your own creation, your own cornucopia.

concepts, connections, death, ideas, learning, personal, relationships, sharing, writing

Cornucopia – Part 1

I have been in the process of cleaning out my life for the past few months. Last week I made a donation to Goodwill: five boxes of clothes/accessories, sporting equipment, and a printer. This past weekend, I consolidated three boxes of pictures into one, by shredding duplicates and memories that no longer serve me.

As I was going through one of my boxes, I found a paper that was written in my English 101 class, 10 years ago. It was titled, “Just Waiting for a Friend.” There are tons of things I could change, but I will share it now as an example I refer to as, “The Process.” For the same reason I shared “Mom Mary’s Magic Medicine.” Great pieces of fiction and art are not created in a day. I cannot write about a concept that I do not clearly understand. Many of the concepts I am working on have taken me a decade to comprehend…and the perfectionist in me has yet to be completely satisfied with any of these versions. I am, however, ok with releasing them into the universe in order to let them become refined.

As I clear out the clutter in my house, I am clearing out the worry in my mind. It’s time to be free.

Without further adieu, here is the first piece.  My next entry will be the a version written 9 years later.

“Just Waiting For A Friend”

By Elise H. Peltier

There was a soft, subtle breeze when I stepped out of my maroon Nissan Sentra. I strolled down the old, cracked sidewalk as I waited to see my best friend. It was late in the afternoon, but it was still very sunny. The sky was baby blue with long, skinny, puffy clouds. I took in a long, deep breath and the scent of flowers entered my body. It was quite a lovely afternoon. The scenery eased my mind and helped me to feel relaxed. I stepped off the sidewalk onto delicate dark-green grass. I looked up and there he was.

He would have gotten my attention even if Pope John Paul II was there in his little pope mobile. His headstone read in big, black, bold, capital letters:


JUNE 27, 1981



OCTOBER 22, 1998

This was written in a square, outlined in black, centered on his headstone. Under the square, was a long rectangular box, which contained his quote “To live and believe in God is a great adventure. To die and be with God is a greater one”–WF.

In the top center of the square headstone was a silver, oval picture frame with “SON” engraved on the cover. I turned the cover to the right to reveal Waddy’s senior picture. He wore a white, collared, button-down shirt with a black bow tie. The buttons on his shirt were black and a dark sports jacket completed the outfit. His hair was a dark brown color and it was shaved on each side of his head, but a little longer on top. He had almond shaped eyes, which were chocolate brown. Above his peepers were bushy, cinnamon eye brows. A faint smile accompanied his expression. His olive skin was covered with light brown freckles. He kind of reminded me of an older Opey, just without the pointy ears.

During Waddy’s high school years, he played football for the Notre Dame Pioneers. Honoring his loyalty and dedication to the sport was a tall, rectangular, cement vase located to the right of his headstone. The upper part in a  rectangular box outlined in blue, filled in with red, and written in white, capital letters was “NOTRE DAME.” The bottom part was written in this fashion, but with “CLASS OF ’99′” instead. In the center was a brown football with “#59” written in white and outlined in blue. Inside of the vase were some of the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. There were small white carnations and daisies, accompanied by huge purple flowers, which were a little bigger than a softball. Although I am not quite sure which type they were, the purple flowers had about four small toothpick-like stems pouring out of the center. Hunter green, star-shaped leaves sprouted from beneath the beautiful blossoms. It took my breath away to see such an elegant sight.

As I laid my hand on his grave, I felt a sudden chill due to the freezing marble. The tomb was speckled gray and black. I looked up for a moment and as far as I could see, was white. It almost looked like it had snowed in certain spots on the green grass. When I returned my gaze back to Waddy, I noticed a candle at the foot of his grave. It was a red, glass holder with three gold skinny bars around the container. The top formed a small dome with a cross as big as a credit card to complete the ensemble. The candle was lit, but looked very dim inside of the glass.

I sat and pondered a while, thinking of my friend. It was very hard to believe that this was his final resting place. It seemed like it was only yesterday that we were riding around in his maroon Chevrolet, and that I would go visit him in his warm, comfortable home. Now the only way I could see him was if I drove down to St. Joseph’s cemetery. It wasn’t the same pleasant atmosphere we used to be associated with. It is very strange how quickly death can occur. No one knows when they will die, so we must live every day to the fullest. Live life with no regrets, but also live it wisely. Make sure the ones you love know you love them. For you will never know when it is your time to travel to your final destination. I know that Waddy is now waiting for me to make my trip to visit him eternally.

concepts, connections, dreams, ideas, learning, personal, sharing, writing

I was shot in the back

My dream world lately has been quite intriguing, including visits from Jennifer Aniston and David Schwimmer (we’ve been watching the “Friends” series every night for two weeks).

Last night, however, stole the show.

Somehow I managed to miss my first day of teaching. I wake up within my dream during the second day of school and frantically rush to greet my students. (Of course the school I arrive to is not my real classroom, nor are they the students of my intended class).

I try to introduce myself and one of the kids makes a very smart alec remark, so I return the sarcasm. I don’t realize that one of their parents is actually sitting in the classroom and she starts buzzing around saying that she thinks I am incapable of teaching her child’s class.

That’s when the alarm goes off. And not my clock to wake me up from this ridiculous panic attack of worst fear-actualization. Someone says over a speaker that there is a gunman on campus.

Suddenly I am roaming the halls trying to find this person. I’m guessing the agitated parent stayed to watch my class while I sought out harm. I make my way to this open green courtyard and I see a kid I formerly babysat standing there with a gun. He raises the gun towards me and I calmly say “Please don’t kill me.” I hear a ruffle in the grass behind me and I swiftly turn to see a long rifle pointed at me. It was held by a man with a blurry face. He was wearing a bright red button-down collard shirt, tucked into brown camping pants, with bulky boots. His hair was brown, but his face was completely blurry. (For all I know he could have been the “Brawny Man”).

I turned to run and that’s when I hear the gun shot. I jumped in the air and felt as if I stayed there for eternity, waiting to feel the pain. Or waiting for death. Or hoping that I could turn around to see the kid I once cared for had saved us.

That’s when my alarm clock woke me up.

I think Freud or Jung would have loved me. I think we would have sat in coffee shops for hours and analyzed dreams.

Here’s what I think is interesting about this dream. It’s obvious I’m super nervous about teaching. Anyone and everyone in this position has felt these nerves before. It’s a huge undertaking that I do not take lightly.

I can laugh at why the dream played out the way it did for a few reasons: I ran into the kid’s mom at the grocery store last night (he just bought a house next to their’s); Jon and I heard a car backfire last night and we mistook it for a gun shot (when it sounded we both paused, waiting to see what happened next); and I have been reading about “Inception” all weekend long (so the whole dream within a dream thing makes sense).

The strangest part, however, was the feeling I had when I woke up. There aren’t many dreams that leave me with the feeling that I was actually there. That moment when I was dangling in the air, awaiting my destiny, it pulled me into this realm of anticipation.

Is a dream just a dream? Or is it really a way to play out your future based upon past and present experience? Does it give our mind a way to objectively look at something by twisting our reality into fantastic stories? And if you normally don’t remember your dreams, but suddenly have a soap opera going on, shouldn’t you pay attention?

All I know is, I can still hear that gun shot. It reminds me of when I ran the mile for track in high school. The loud “BANG” that indicated the start of a race. Except I didn’t feel as though I was in control of the situation like I did when I started to run.

Am I starting a new race in life? Am I finally on the right track? Which lane will finish first? I guess only time will tell.

Or maybe tonight’s dream.

concepts, connections, ideas, learning, personal, relationships, sharing, writing

How much do you want it?

Do you ever have a seemingly innocent conversation with someone, but walk away with this one line that you just can’t seem to get out of your head? A line that somehow turns into this alarm clock in your brain. It starts repeating loudly as it lulls you from your comfortable bed, forcing you to accept that you are awake and a new day has to start right now whether you want it to or not.

That new day started a week ago for me.

I was having one of those mother/daughter conversations that almost inevitably end in a fight. It seems as though my Mom and I are repeat offenders – we always tend to bring up the same topics that are just too sensitive to discuss.

Before I continue I must place a disclaimer. Always understand this is just my perception of a two-person situation. I could have forgotten key factors in the conversation or certain events that actually happened in the reality of my 28 years of existence. She may very well know more about me than I actually know of myself. After all she held me inside of her belly for nine whole months before I even had a conscience. However, I was gone from her daily life for almost 10 years. But I guess that’s what this blog entry is getting at…

The culprit of this particular conversation was how I ended up not going to LSU after high school graduation.

See when I was a senior, I still wanted to bleed purple and gold as a Tiger. I wanted to move away and finally be this person I knew I was always destined to be. I wanted to meet new people and join the staff of the Reveille. I wanted to roam that epic campus and one day rule it.

I watched way too many Disney films growing up.

My high school experience was one of active participation. I didn’t have to work or tend to home matters. For some reason I had it in my mind that college was to be the same way. I thought if you worked hard in high school and got your tuition paid for, the rest was handed over to you on good merit. Ha.

As I write this, I realize I wrote something similar to this a few entries ago about life after college graduation. Seems like once again I think life is somehow supposed to be easier for those who do good.

Enough back story. Back to the conversation.

With my youngest sister about to start college, it tends to bring up stuff that happened to me ten years ago, which sometimes makes me feel like I am perpetually not allowed to forget any past mistakes.

My mom begins to talk about why I didn’t go to LSU. It seems like we had different versions of the same story. My version is that she practically scared me out of going. I was going to have to get a job and live in a dorm and wouldn’t have time for extracurricular activities. I understand that these are the realities of going to school. But as my mom used to tell me when I talked back to her, “It’s the tone in how you say it!”. I didn’t feel like she was encouraging me to get through it, I felt like she was trying to talk her oldest from leaving the house. Especially because I had no desire to go to McNeese like my parents did.

My view at times is that after driving through the Boulevard in Rayne my family wants to go left towards Lake Charles and I want to go right towards anywhere else. Cowboys versus Cajun.

A few weeks before I was to start college, I decided to switch to UL Lafayette and commute my first year.

As my mom and I discussed this scenario, again,  she said something unique to this repetitive cycle, “I just wanted to see how much you wanted it.”

We kept talking, but that line began to haunt me like the exorcism of Emily Rose.

She wanted to see how much I wanted it.

Maybe she saw back then that I wouldn’t have been ready to handle such a change. Maybe I  always want to blame someone else for my lack of success.

Either way, it made me think–hard. How much do I want it? How much do I want to be successful? I have always chosen the harder route, even when an easier one was paved for me. My poor parents. They really are phenomenal. I just have this obsessive need to experience life.

I would just like to finally put down this luggage of guilt that I’ve been carrying around. I can’t change the past. I chose to do things differently and I have to handle those consequences. I understand that it would be easier on me to be around people who are like-minded. But what’s the fun in that? Didn’t I just discuss that I never choose the easy route?

One thing is for certain, I want it. There aren’t many decisions that I can make. There aren’t many things I can clearly define. However, there is one thing I have known since I was a little girl in the first grade, I am a writer.

Even more so I understand now, I want to be a successful writer.

I feel at this point life has given me enough circumstances to understand just how difficult it may be, but has also prepared me with the skills and experience to master it.

Along with the guilt, I am leaving behind these immature patterns of thinking and reacting to old conditions. What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

I was told as a child that God will do whatever it takes to bring his children safely back home. I believe that home is a sense of peaceful understanding. I feel that bringing me back to my earthly and familial home has definitely matured my perspective–especially that of myself.

Remember, you can’t change the past, even if you really want to. It’s awful heavy to carry it around, too (takes up a lot of brain space to find places to store and organize it). I can now look at it this way. Were all party members trying to make the best decision based upon available information and experience?Yes. The rest is history.

Everything is as it should be. In the words of Amy Steinberg, “I am exactly where I need to be. I need to be exactly where I am.”

More importantly, I WANT to be exactly where I am.