Sarah Anne I Am

  I realized tonight that I’m a bit like a turtle, if only because I am so incredibly good at hiding. Except unlike most people, instead of showing the world the wonderful things about me and hiding my flaws, I try to wear my imperfections openly and end up hiding my talents in the name of humility. I want to be real with people, and so I try very hard to be open and honest about all the things I’m terrible at and all the ways I screw up. I also want to live with humility instead of pride and arrogance, and so I keep to myself the things that I am gifted in.    I’ve written hundreds of pages of fiction and hundred of pages of truth, but they are carefully tucked in folders away from prying eyes, and very few people have ever read the stories I have poured myself into.    I stay up for hours painting and drawing and creating things that make me proud to be alive and have ten working fingers, but they stay neatly in portfolios, because I don’t want to show off by prancing about with my a

  I am so sick of hearing things like "He says he loves me but then he doesn’t understand me I guess we’re just not meant to be together" and "If you don’t answer when I call you then I guess you aren’t who I thought you were so you’re getting what you deserve" and "I don’t get why we go back and forth all the time why can’t we just be together always but I guess this is just life and true love hurts."   FIRST OF ALL, use commas!   Secondly, if you say things like this please don’t get offended and storm away from this blog entry in a huff. Please just hear me out.   I am not an expert on love. I am not an expert on anything, actually, but I’ve had a lot of minor experiances in a wide range of situations, some of which will probably make it into the biographical movie someone will surely make about me eventually. (I’m kidding. I doubt that will happen.) But here is (a small part of) my opinion on love.   1. People can love you without understanding you.

  I’m not sure what it is that caused my deep-rooted intolerance for cliches.   Once upon a time I was in a situation that could have been straight from the script of an idyllic teenage romance movie. I was standing on the deck of a beautiful ship that was headed away from shore and the city lights. It was night, and the clouds that were strewn across the dark sky looked as though God had taken some extra time in creating their mystery. The moon was high, as was the boy that stood with me. (That part isn’t so much like an idyllic movie.) He looked into my eyes and smiled a little as he told me that I was the prettiest girl in the world.   My response could have been a little more gracious.   Instead of feeling my heart race or being caught up in the romantic and cinamatic perfection of the scenario I found myself in, all I got caught up in was logic.   “The prettiest girl in the world?” I asked, “REALLY? You haven’t seen every girl in the world. I’m may be pretty, but go look at every

When you’re going through your closet and you look at a sweater and think, “I may wear this someday, if I get pregnant and I’m in the mood to wear cornflower blue…” then you realize it’s time to give it up and Goodwill it.   And so the much-needed massacre of my wardrobe begins.