tryingtobebrave's Blog

Smokey Moutain

Smokey Mountain standing tall and proud,
Their mystery veiled with a cloudy shroud.
Smokey Mountain full of grace.
Its colored blue hillsides make this the place.
A place for enlightenment, a place for wonder
A place where the evils and woes of men are driven asunder.
A place of self recognition against the turmoil,
But are you prepared to know the truth, can you be brave can you be loyal?
Smokey Mountain beautiful and strange,
Their hidden secrets gives hope to those wanting to change.
Smokey Mountain fills you with fear and awe,
Their power undeniable, their gentility a natural law.
A place of adventures, a place of wisdom
A place of freedom from your every hour prism.
A place of beauty, a place of desire.
A place that brings out our primitive instincts, like the cavemen and the fire.
Smokey Mountain standing tall and proud.
Their mystery veiled with a cloudy shroud.
Smokey Mountain full of grace,
Its colored blue hillsides will turn your face.

Unrequited Love

Passion is a wonderful thing. Or rather passion wanted is a wonderful thing.
Clarification is needed for those whose passions given are undesired;
Those whose passions given are  not required.
Passion lies and passion creeps.
Passion sighs and passion seeks.
Seeking passion acts without ration, ignoring females common law.
Rational passion - though preferred in a fashion - threatens to bore us all.
Your passion - thrust upon me unsuspecting.
Is a passion I have no passion is possessing.
Yours is not a reverent passion, tis not a quiet passion; which sometimes is revered.
Yours is not a wanted passion, tis not a desired passion; which women most have feared.
Oh to tell a blinded soul ones passions aren't reciprocated.
Oh to tell a blinded soul ones passions ought not be felicitated.
Passion is a wonderful thing.
Your passion, however, is not

I am a musician

There's is nothing I feel more sure about than sitting on a piano bench.  There's something so calming, something so reassuring; sitting on a piano bench, my foot on the pedal, my fingers delicately trilling over the porcelain keys as my eyes read the music.  To me, that is exactly where I belong.  To me, that makes sense.
I love the sounds the piano makes, I love the complexity, I love that the piano can project your mood better than words at times.  I love that I can sit down and play a haunting melody and feel relief because I'm no longer holding back my emotions I've been trying to contain.  I love that I can play something simple, clean, beautiful and feel warm and whole, satisfied and content with feeling those pure things I couldn't describe to myself with words.   
It may sound silly, being so passionate about the piano; but, I am a musician, and the ability to play is getting harder as my disease takes a stronger hold on me; it's made me realize what I might lose in the future: the ability to play the thing I love to play.  
I can't play for hours at a time anymore.  I can barely play everyday, more often than not I have to give myself breaks between the days I play because my arms hurt so much.  Playing complicated pieces with a lot of movement hurts worse and I can barely make it through the song before the pain becomes overwhelming.
Despite this fear that soon my condition will deteriorate to a point where I won't be able to play at all; I've also had greater joy in playing today than I did in the years before.  For example:
I've never been a shy person.  Never.  When I was little my older brothers and sister would dare me to go up to random people and tell them things, and I always did it.  My mom would bring me to her office as a teenager and this man would always come up to me and tell me the story of how mom brought me to her work as a child, he had been sitting on a chair and I just walked up to him, crawled in his lap and started talking to him.  I was an outgoing little girl, and that characteristic followed me up until this day.  
There was one thing that always made me nervous though, always made me clam up and go still, always made my hands clammy and sweaty and stiff and that, dear friends, was playing piano in front of people.  I simply couldn't do it.  At recitals I would be shaking so badly My fingers couldn't push the keys and my leg would be shaking the entire piano.  I would lose my place and mess up and feel like crying.  I didn't have a clue why I got so nervous, but I did.
I was often asked to play songs in church as a sort of special musical number.  I hated it.  I would walk up my hands shaking, through shear force of will I got my hands to stop shaking, but then my legs would start up and there was no way I could control those too but I would just think 'better my legs than my hands' and push on ahead.  I would get about three lines down in the music before my hands would start shaking again.  I remember I always rose from the piano after my song was done with my cheeks blazing scarlet, then I would quickly wipe the sweat from my hands onto my dress or skirt and then clench my hands together tightly so people couldn't see them shaking as I went back to my seat.
People always congratulated me after, and I tried not to be bitter against them.  You know how it is, you feel like you've done bad, so when people tell you that you've done good you think they are either lying or patronizing you.  Maybe you don't think that... maybe that's just me... I haven't a clue how my own brain works, so the odds of me knowing how your brain works too are in the negatives; like double digit negatives.
Anyways, I would go home after those mortifying experiences and just sit at the piano and play the song again and again and again until I got it perfect, wondering why I couldn't play like that in front of people.  I could practice a single song for months, get it perfect every time I played it; but put me on a stage, in front of people and there was no doubt I would mess it up.
Playing the song wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was the waiting to go up to the stage that was the worst part.  I would sit in the audience, clenching my hands together, and no matter how many layers I would wear, it was inevitable that my hands would be like blocks of ice by the time I would have to start walking up to the piano.  That's a strange habit I have I guess, my hands turn cold when I'm nervous, and I shake, I shake a lot; my legs, my hands, my voice.  I would have to sit in that pew and look up at the speaker and try as hard as I could to focus on what they were talking about I couldn't! All I could think about was those few pages of paper sitting on the bench next to me, glinting up at me like they were smiling sadly.  They knew I could play them! Play them beautifully! But they also knew that here, in this setting, that wasn't going to happen, and so they were resigned to the fact that they were about to be played as if by an amateur for all the audience to hear.  They're beautiful notes were about to be smeared by my frantic nerves.        
I would pray silently that the speakers would go on talking, talking right past their allotted time so I wouldn't have my chance to play.  That prayer was never granted.  So horrified and trembling I would pick up my few sheets of paper, stumble out of the pew and into the aisle and walk up to the stage like a prisoner would walk to the guillotine.  
Somehow I would finish the song.  I've never understood how I could, but I always did.  No matter how badly I messed up during the performance, no matter how embarrassed I felt, I always finished.  And I was always mortified at the end of it.  
I swear I would have given up on the piano a long time ago.  Performances were my Achilles heel, they were my chink in my armor, they were my downfall.  So it made no sense that I felt so at peace, so completely comfortable, so totally relaxed whenever I sat at my piano bench at home.  I was like polar opposites of myself.  There was the calm, quiet, confident musician I was when I was playing for myself, and then there was the raging hurricane, natural disaster musician I was when I was playing for other people.  It was like I had a spit personality.  One that only came out when I was performing.  
It took me a long time to figure out when I got so freaked out when I was performing; but, eventually, I did. 
When I'm playing the piano, I let all my guards down.  I live my feelings, which, unfortunately, is something I don't really do in real life.  So, because it's something I don't normally do, it's hard for me to be so vulnerable in front of people, so completely and totally myself, so wrapped up in my own world, in my own emotions and know people can see me while that's happening.  
I'm not the kind of person who can trust easily, I have major deficiencies in that department.  So letting people see me when I play the piano, when all my guards are down is hard.  Very hard.  I didn't use to get that before, but I understand that now.  
I've also come to understand something else.  People don't care if I mess up, it's the act of playing, the act of hearing, the act of feeling they care about.  My putting myself out there just intensifies the feelings they already feel.  I believe in something called God's spirit - the Holy Ghost -, and I have never felt the Holy Ghost more present than when I'm playing the piano in His church.  God doesn't care whether I mess up or not.  If I put myself out there with the goal of having people feel the spirit from the music I'm playing then he'll help people feel that spirit, no matter how poorly I end up playing.  That's why people always congratulated and thanked me after service was over; because they did feel the spirit, and they didn't care that I mess up.
When I play the piano, I give myself over to the music.  That may sound stupid or whatever to you, but for me it makes total sense.  Playing the piano is the only time where I'm completely me, where I'm completely at peace, where I feel like I can do or be anything.  Piano is my outlet - everyone has an outlet whether they know it or not.  For you it might be painting, writing, reading, sports, talking, friends, anything; for me it's piano.  
Recently, playing in front of people hasn't been as bad as it usually is.  I'm not saying it's still not bad, because it is; it's just manageable now.  I can get through a song and feel like it was a good representation of the music instead of just a disaster.  I even played a mini concert for my boyfriends family over Thanksgiving.  I was nervous, and scared, I didn't have music with me so I was doing everything from memory - and normally music is my safety net.  But I did it, I let them see me, I let my guard down; and the best part was, they felt it, and they were grateful for it.

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to play piano.  Because of my Mixed Connective Tissue Disease my hands have already developed early stages of arthritis which means my hand function will continue to deteriorate.  I'm trying to accept that I won't have the ability to use my outlet for very much longer; not nearly as long as I would have wanted.  That doesn't mean I'm going to give it up.  I'm going to play until I can't, and then I'll probably keep playing even then.  I'm going to always remember the feelings I have when I play the piano, and I'm going to find an outlet that lets me feel the things the piano does so that I won't feel lost when I can't play anymore.  I've written a song on the piano, a couple actually, something I never thought I would have accomplished; and I've recorded them so I'll always be able to listen to my songs, and the passion that I put into them.  
I am a musician; and I will always be a musician no matter what.    


I am an athlete

I am a sports nut.  Sports, sports, sports, sports, nut, nut, nut, nut.  Oh the wonderful games of soccer, volleyball, tennis, skiing, basketball, baseball, kickball, football, swimming, fencing, golf, running, hockey, backpacking, etc, etc, etc.  
I've been playing soccer since I was about five, skiing since I was seven, volleyball since twelve, and recently got into fencing last year.  
I had to stop running cross-country because my knees, I had to stop skiing because of my knees, I had to stop cheer-leading because of my joints, and I had to stop backpacking because of my knees.
But, I've also found more joy in doing the things I love.  For example:
In my fencing class the first day I went I instantly had a crush on my instructor.  He was twenty four - I'm twenty so it worked...kind of - and oh my goodness, when that man held a foil he was like sex on a stick.  HOT!  Anyways...His co-instructor who shall be anonymous - but her name rhymes with whittney - had a huge crush on the instructor and absolutely despised me because I'm kind of sort of known to flirt...alot.... It's bad.... 
You have to understand that this girl, anonymous, I seriously thought was crazy.  She is insane!  Imagine this short little compact red head who's way into anime and practices her karate or whatever moves before practice.  She has the patience of a six year old with ADHD - no offense intended - and she has the temper of a provoked grizzly bear.  Even though I am taller than her by a good few inches, she literally scared the pants off of me.  
It turned out this possibly mentally unstable jealous girl was my instructor.  The hot man only instructed everyone in the beginning and then when we split off into groups based on our level, he went off with the advanced students.  So I was stuck with the crazy 5'0'' grizzly bear.
I remember the day i asked my instructor out on a date she didn't show up the next day to fencing class, I thought it was because she was plotting my death, or planting a bomb in my apartment.  She showed up two days later with purple hair and a bad tan, shooting dark glares at me every chance she could get.  
I'm a fast learner though.  I was getting pretty good, pretty quickly.  By the end of the semester it was my goal to be in the advanced class with hotness instead of the intermediate group with the crazy lady.  
At the end of every fencing day we played games.  One of our favorite games is where everyone is against everyone and if you get stabbed you're out.  it goes on until the last two people.  Well... I sort of had a posse' It wasn't just mine though! We were the Three Musketeers.  It was another girl my age named Allison, and then an extremely tall, extremely lovable newly engaged guy who turned out to be my best friend named Chris.  Any-who, we would sort of team up during these games, watch each others back, avenge each-other 'death's' that sort of thing.  So most of the time one of us ended up being in the bottom.  Well, it was close to the end, it was the three musketeers against the crazy red head and we were doing pretty well.  Chris had lunged and gotten the red head in her jacket which would normally mean she's out, but I should also mention this red head had a very bad habit of cheating, and so she didn't go out.  Well we didn't know she still considered herself in the game so we started fencing against each other.  It was a pretty fair fight, until red head came up and stabbed Chris and demanded he was out.  Alison and I were astonished and tried to argue, but how can you argue against your instructor I mean really.  SO Alison and I advanced against the red head.  It was a easy fight, two against one, and I ended up stabbing her middle about three minutes in.  I stood up out of my pose triumphantly because I expected her to go out, well, she didn't.  She stabbed Alison and then faced me.  Needless to say, I was extremely aggravated by then, also, scared TO DEATH!  If she was going to cheat how was I going to win!?  Also, I had secret suspicions that she had untipped her blade and was going to run me through - these suspicions turned out to be false, but hey, I really never knew what to expect with her.  So here I am this normally very nice and courteous person facing this extremely volatile, little firecracker with no help and no where to run.  
We circled each other and anger made me go on the attack. I must have hit her like five times but each and everyone I knew wasn't visible enough for me to convince the crowd that had gathered that I got her.  And I also knew that if she stabbed me even once she would win, no matter how much she cheated.  
During this bout I remembered something that she had taught me, if your facing an opponent that's smaller than you, you don't want them to come to close, that's where they have the advantage, your advantage lies in long ranged attacks.  I stood up from my lung then and backed off a few steps, we were too far away for me to comfortably lung, but slowly, slowly, she began to advance on me.  The second she was within my lunging range I lunged for all I was worth and thrust my arm out in front of me as long as I could possibly make it go being rewarded by feeling the point of my blade bend, meaning it had hit something, and when I opened my eyes it was directly on the red heads chest.  
I stood up then and lowered my guard about to raise my hand in triumph when the red head stepped closer and stabbed me.  
I looked at her in astonishment.  Everyone had seen my hit on her, everyone knew I had won! But she just looked at me and said 'you're out.'  
I starred in shock for a moment, but then, my temper had finally blown it's lid and I was mad.  I don't get mad very often, so when I do, it counts.  
'I already got you before you stabbed me.'  I told her, trying to keep my voice under control but not succeeding very well.  I'm sure my eyes were spouting sparks of hell fire at her.  
She simply turned towards me with a ridiculous smirk on her face and raised her voice, 'Did anyone else here see it!?'  She asked the crowd.  
Now I didn't really expect anyone to respond, she WAS our instructor after-all  she could make our practices a living hell if she was so inclined.  So I was very surprised when a lone voice called out 'I did (her name here) you're out.'.
Quickly I threw off my mask and whipped my head to the side, my eyes instantly drawn to the instructor man.  Apparently he had gotten done with his advanced class early and had come to watch the show down.  The red head looked like she was about to have a fit.  I could see her mouth convulsing, wanting to spew forth more lies, but she couldn't argue with the captain.  So she just picked up her mask, walked off the court, and sat down on the floor and sulked, glaring at me the rest of the time.  
I was far too delirious to care! My other two musketeers ran out to me and congratulated me, the captain walked up and congratulated me as well and a new game began.
All that next week the red head didn't show up for practice, I have to admit I felt guilty at times, but it was her own dang fault! If she hadn't lied and bowed out gracefully none of that embarrassment would have happened to her.
Anyway, I was gone to the advanced class by the time she returned, and we avoided each other like the plague.  The captain and I began dating and I was known as a pretty fierce competitor.  I could never beat the captain though.  I'm still working on that.  

That story happened a little while ago.  Because of my Mixed Connective Tissue Disease I don't know how well I'll be able to do in fencing this semester,  but I know that I'm going to try anyways, and I'm not going to give up.  it's all about pain management.  And if I can live through a grizzly bear attack, I can live through some swollen tendons.  
Plus, I have a new goal for this semester: To beat the captain.


There is much beauty in this modern world of ours. 
But a true beauty can only be as natural as the stars.
A true beauty moment comes when one is by oneself.
Seeing the world through God's eyes: as a bounty of wealth.
To see the way the sun falls gently through the tall trees.
Or hear the way the wind sounds running through the leaves.
To see the patterns that play across the forest ground.
Or the way animals move without seeming to make a sound.
To feel the breeze softly caress your cheek.
Or to see a fish hanging from an Eagle's beak.
Oh sweet mercy is the break from world and strife.
Oh to hear all the glorious sounds of life!

The coast with its vast radiant seas.
Can echo this beauty as one inhales the salty breeze.
Looking out at the never ending stretch of blue.
And wishing you could extend to eternity too.
Following the boarder to the red horizon.
Watching as the golden sun, your mind enlighten.
See the things in the water great and small.
And knowing underneath are mountains still reaching tall.
Feeling the cool waves wash against your chilled toes.
Yet your body warm with a peace the ocean grows.
Looking at the sun rising over the glistening waves.
Salt air dampening and staining the hidden caves.
Hope for immortality the ocean paves.

Surely the purest of all emotions, and the truest of all inspiration has taken place in beautiful, untamed, peaceful: Nature.

Praying for Daylight

Eternity can stretch on.
Like a night that seems it will never bring the dawn.
The memberance of your kiss,
stretches on like that forever night.
But I hold on to that memory
with all of my mortal might.
Still like the night
that feels like it will never bring the dawn,
my greatest fear,
is that time will rob my memory, and your kiss will soon be gone.
Come back to me.
Come back and make the feeble memory bright.
Come back,
and with you will come the dawn and all of its glorious light.
Come and lay your warm lips
upon mine so eager.
Come and make the found,
instead of only the seeker.


Is there a life outside of fear?
Where my heart is warm,
and my head is clear?
Is there a life I soon will know?
Where courage will blossom,
and love will grow?
Is there a life that's worth the wait?
Or is my life doomed,
to a worser fate?
Is there a life where my smile will shine?
And when will that life,
ever be mine?

1-7 of 7 Blogs   

Previous Posts
Smokey Moutain, posted December 16th, 2012
Unrequited Love, posted December 16th, 2012
I am a musician, posted December 16th, 2012
I am an athlete, posted December 15th, 2012
Nature, posted December 15th, 2012
Praying for Daylight, posted December 15th, 2012
Daydream, posted December 15th, 2012

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