Well, I Believe

Well, I Still Believe

Its been a little while since I've sat down and done one of these.  When I decided I should post a new one, I realized this is like my simple way of saying the things I am grateful for, long for and am excited for... perhaps these "I Believes" are a simple version of my prayers.

So, today, here is what I, Sherry, believe.

Well, I believe in singing along.
In war movies, Crystal Light packets and twin souls.
I believe in the twinkle in his eyes and the one sided grin.

Well, I believe in writing letters.
In Diorshow mascara, iTunes and wicked smart people.
I believe in the power of friendships, the comfort in old ones and the hope in new ones.

Well, I really believe in that breathless moment right before you kiss.
In Jeremiah 29:11, MacBook Pros and personal fans.
I still believe, despite it all, in butterflies.

Well, I believe I am blessed.
In soul mates, work besties, and hearing J & G say "I love you, Aunt Sherry"
And I still really, really believe in that breathless moment right before you kiss.

Well, I believe in the Texas Longhorns.
In the wishbone offense, the Louis Vitton Artsy Bag and Benadryl.
And I still believe in holding hands as much as possible.

Well, I believe above all that the Lord has a plan for me.
In the amazing people I've met, in the challenges I have faced and
I believe and look forward to the adventures to come.

The Thrill of Victory

Today was an incredible day for Dallas sports.  Yes, you read that correctly Dallas sports.  In the Cotton Bowl Baylor gave Tech a run for their money.  In the new Cowboys stadium Texas A&M faced off against Arkansas and just across the street in the ballpark the Rangers played with heart but failed.  If you are a sports lover like I am, then perhaps you appreciated the traffic on 30 as I did.  Perhaps you reveled in the fact that that in your hometown the seasons were crossing and fall was in full swing.

Me, I spent my day watching all of these things happen with the most amazing “almost 3 year olds” that I know.  They were donned in their spirit wear, but didn’t fully understand its implications.

Today, sports fans, the nations #1 ranked team was felled by an unexpected opponent.  If you are a Longhorn like me, you loved the fact the impenetrable defense of the Alabama Crimson Tide was indeed penetrated.  You loved the unexpected upset that is the spirit of college football.  You, like me, rooted for a team that was little known to you – the South Carolina Gamecock. 

You, like me had trouble deciding which television set to watch… the baseball game or the football game.  And for a little while, like me, your worldly troubles disappeared.

They disappeared into the abyss that is the competitive nature of athletics.  Where it doesn’t matter if yesterday you couldn’t stop thinking about your broken heart.  Where it doesn’t matter that you don’t know where you are headed.  Where it doesn’t matter that you haven’t achieved everything you thought you should.

Because today, on those fields of green, hearts were broken, entire teams realized they didn’t know where they were headed and entire teams realized that they did not achieve everything that they should.  Today, you were not alone.  Entire teams were with you.

That’s the brilliance of a really great sports day… its not the technical aspects of the games or the coaching.  It’s the fact that for a few shining moments there are teams of people trying to achieve just like you are in life.  For those few moments, hopes and dreams hang in the balance just like they do for each of us.  For those few moments, we can suspend ourselves in the hopes and dreams of others.  We can find glory and we can find heartbreak.  Just like in life.

So today, at the very least, for me… these great games, these great glories and loses mirrored my own life.  And just like the Rangers and the Crimson Tide, I will awake tomorrow with the hope of future glory.  Knowing that today I learned lessons that no teacher could have taught and I felt disappointment like no one could ever explain.  But tomorrow, oh tomorrow, we’ll all look at what we did, we’ll learn from it and we’ll live on for another day and another game.  Tomorrow is pure and ready for new start. 

And on Saturday, we won’t be the same as we were today -  we’ll be better, stronger, faster and smarter.  At the end of today… at the end of defeat… we’ll hope again for victory and maybe, just maybe it will be ours again on Saturday.

Every Hat Serves a Purpose

Today's musings will be quick. They won't be that philosophical.  Its just a little something that's been on my mind today. 

Hats.

Yes, hats.  I have an enormous head, so hats are not part of my wardrobe.  And I think that makes me quite sad.  The only hat that I have the potential to pull off is a baseball hat.  And even then it just accentates the largeness of my head.

I am not kidding about the size of my head.  A friend once that tried to make me feel better about it and was like, "no really, your head is totally normal.  We'll measure it and then we'll measure my husbands."  She believed that her husband's head was abnormally large.  I think she used the term freakishly big.  Since I'd had a daquiri or two, I agreed.

Our heads were exactly the same size.

I have these day dreams where I am in Paris with Mr. Right and I am wearing a beret. Or I am at the beach and I am wearing one of the giant floppy straw hats.  And I always look stunning in them.  That's the beauty of daydreams - we can be and look exactly how we want.  We can be hat people.

In life, though, I am not a hat person.  And frankly, there are a lot of people that are out wearing hats and they shouldn't be.  The teenagers with them turned askew. The guys that wear them with there bangs sticking out.  Or that don't curl the bill.  The guys that wear fedoras or those golf hats.  Only old men like my Uncle Bill should wear those hats.

And cowboy hats... ok, this post might not actually be quick.  Cowboy hats.  If you don't know how to wear it.  Well, then you probably shouldn't be wearing it.  The rule is that simple. Felt in the fall, straw in the summer.  If you are a girl, yes, you can wear one of those cute ones that turns up.  But wear it well.  Worn poorly, you just look slutty.

So I have no idea why hats have been on my mind today, but they have.  So I've come to the cosmic void to say... that every hat serves a purpose and if you are wearing a hat with no purpose... then perhaps you should take it off.

I need for each and every one of us to accept that we are not all hat people.  We can't be.  If we were then there would just be hats everywhere.

So I am going to refrain from trying to make a beret look decent on my giant head if you'll all agree to do the same.  Except for the Derby.  At the Derby... we should all aspire to be hat people.

This post loving dedicated to Katie Solan, who is a hat person, and wears them well. Hipster Fedora included.

Signs

I am 33 years old. And by the world’s standards, today, I am less mature and successful than I was at 23.  And I haven’t quite decided how to handle that.  So I am going to leave the country.

In case you’ve missed the updates, posts, pictures, or haven’t spoken to me…I’ve packed my belongings and I’ve moved back to Dallas.  I am living in my sister’s spare room.  I am not working but on October 16 I am going to Costa Rica to help build an orphanage. There’s a really good chance that I will try to bring a Costa Rican kid back home with me.  Madonna did it.  Why can’t I?

You know why I can’t … not because I lack Madonna’s star power but because Big Sara has forbidden it. 

    Me:  I am just worried that I am going to try to bring home some Costa Rican kid to raise.

    Big Sara:  Not this trip, Sherry.  Not this trip.

Swear to God, actual phone transcript from last night.  Like I was saying I was going to bring home pineapple from Hawaii, or squeeze in an extra day in Stuutgart.  The trip is neither here nor there right now.  The trip is just one part of a number of things happening in my life right now.  Like trying to follow a pipe dream, and write a book.  Why is it called a pipe dream?   I’ve written six chapters and now have no idea where its going.  What if I can only write half a book and never come up with an ending?  That would be just like me… like most things I’ve done in my life.  I start big and taper off…

I honestly don’t know if any of the decisions that I have made in the past month are the right ones.  I don’t know if I am running away from my troubles and just keep running farther and farther away or if I have suddenly stopped and am willing to find myself.

Am I seeking out God’s plan for my life or just trying a totally different Sherry plan for my life? I have no idea.

Do any of us?  Do any of us really have a clue what we are doing?  Or have we all just happened upon greatness?  Like finding love.  What are the odds?  I mean really.  What are the odds that when you meet someone they might actually be the one?  What are the odds of my friends that met in the 9^th grade being soul mates?  I don’t even like who I was in the ninth grade, so I can’t fathom someone else liking me enough to stick with me until now.

Or finding your passion?  What are the odds that when you select your degree in college that its actually going to turn out to be what you love to do?  It baffles my mind.  Like people that become doctors… that at 18 years old they knew what they wanted to be.  And then they did it.   It makes me want to ask my OB/GYN if she’s really passionate about her work?  But how am I supposed to broach that subject with my legs thrown up into stirrups wearing only a paper gown and her hands up my va jay jay.  Talk about awkward.

    Me:  So, Dr. Hardwick-Smith, are you passionate about you are doing? 

    Dr. H-S:  About your pap smear? No, Sherry, this isn't actually my passion.  But thanks so much                     for asking.  

And as a slight tangent, and something that just came to my mind...  Why in God’s name do I call someone that’s had their hands up my hoo-ha by a title and their last name?  Really?  I mean, really?  At this point I should have a pet name for her and I should at least know something about her family. Right? But nope, it all titles and last names with us.  Huh. But I digress.

Back to the idea of making all these choices and wondering if the are right… I guess what I am wondering right now is if I am actually paralyzed by the fear of making more wrong choices?  That I want and need some kind of sign that these choices, these chances that I am taking are the right ones and that things are going to work out. 

Some kind of sign that tells me that I’ll know my passion.  Some kind of sign that tells me that I’ll find love.  Some kind of sign that tells me that the path to both those things absolutely runs through the spare room at my sister’s house.

And as a bonus, Big Sara would probably welcome a sign that said “don’t bring back a Costa Rican kid.”

 

From the Road...

This morning started great. I woke up before the alarm - ready to go. John came over and helped load my car onto the trailer. Which was great until I blinded him with the headlights and then I tried to open to door to get out. The door only opens a crack and hits the side of the trailer. Shit balls.

This is important for two reasons. One, at 6:30 this morning if you were on Lawrence Street you saw a black lab named Tugger jump out an open car window into a man's arms. And then you saw me slide out the driver's side window like I was Bo, mother f-ing, Duke. Though I was far less graceful and my jeans weren't as tight. Second, I hadn't loaded ANY of my clothes into said trailered vehicle yet. Shit balls.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully with the exception of loading a closet full of clothes into a Honda Accord using on the windows and sunroof while chained to a trailer. And a temporary setback in the form of me having a panic attack about all these changes. So I flipped out and cried for a little bit. The tile on my kitchen floor is quite cold and felt so comforting. It really did. Back to loading the car.

But hey, it's still early and this is a new start. Shit.

I hit the road at a little before 11. Quick stop on the way out and bam 11:15 - Interstate 45 North.

It's now 11:55 and I am sitting at a discount tire. Because about one mile into my new start, the back tire on the f-ing trailer blew. Into about million pieces. Which was fine, because I was already crying from my panic attack this morning and hadn't stopped. Right now, I am waiting for them to put a new tire on the trailer that actually isn't even the right size - it's a half an inch bigger but nowhere in Houston has the right size.

So this will get me to Dallas according to my new friend Mike at Discount Tires. I think Mike at Discount Tires is scared of me. Not because I am mean but because I was just crying so much. The hiccup really startled him. And its hard to explain to him that, yes, the tire is upsetting but I am crying because I don't feel like I have closure. But I mean, what is closure anyway? I think it's something women made up to make us feel better about being depressed. But again, Mike didn't need that information. He just needed the tire size.

Apparently the secret to getting good service at car places is to just cry and hiccup. It makes them work REALLY FAST.

God hates me. But I don't think Mike at Discount Tires does. I think he pities me. I wonder if he's single.