Yesterday

Tonight my great aunt came to give me my birthday present. My birthday is Friday, and she knows it is going to be a special birthday. It’s the golden one. I have been excited for this birthday since the womb. As it approaches, I have lost sight of why I am so excited for this birthday. But tonight reminded me why I have been looking forward to it so much.

Numbers have always been my thing. I am good at remembering them and rearranging them. Numbers are my friends. So the fact that my age and the day I was born are finally going to be the same is a pretty neat event, for me. But more importantly, I get to celebrate being an addition to this fun little planet for seventeen whole years now. It feels like I’ve been here for eons. But looking at how long my grandpa has been celebrating his birthday on February 17^th, I realize I haven’t been around that long.

I share a birthday with my grandfather and my cousin, Jake. Last year, I went down to Florida with my dad, because Jake and his family live down there. I convinced my dad it would be the best way for me to spend my sixteenth birthday. Even Grandpa flew down, and we all celebrated our birthday together. It was the best birthday I have had up to this point. I spent most of the day on the beach in Fort Lauderdale (Near Miami), how can it get much better? Plus, it was a Thursday, and my friends were learning about the early humans in World History.

This year will be great. I know it is going to be a good birthday, but it will be a little different than all of the rest. My great aunt gave me my present tonight along with a card. This was the first card that only had three signatures on it from them. It was missing my Cousin Hannah’s name. I envisioned her handwriting next to my Cousin Andrew’s name. My great aunt gave me some of Hannah’s jewelry. It made me want to cry, but I didn’t cry in front of Auntie Claudia. Every once in a while—when I’m least expecting it—I just start crying. Something reminds me of Hannah, and I just can’t help it. Watching Auntie Claudia cry was so hard, but I am glad that I will always have a part of Hannah with me now.

Sure, this is my first birthday without Hannah, but I will never really be without her. I will carry a part of her with me every day, like the last time I saw her was yesterday. 

Why Dads and Bacon Cheeseburgers Are Better Than Boys

So here’s the thing about signs: sometimes signs can be misleading. That doesn’t mean I won’t notice a sign when it comes my way. But I guess I have to be a little less trusting of them. I want everything to work out the way I picture it in my head and I find every reason for it to happen. So when it doesn’t: I am extra disappointed. And yeah, it’s a bummer. But at the end of the day, I’m left feeling like I was the one that did something wrong because I trusted fate and it let me down.

Serendipity is about accidents. The true fortunate accidents are just that: accidents. And here I am, not following my own advice, trying to make things happen. That was my goal at the beginning of the year: to stop sitting around and waiting for things to happen to me and start making things happen. But I totally looked at it the wrong way. And tonight I realized: if it’s right, it really does just happen.

This year has really been a year of discovering what I really like to do and what I hope to get out of this fun game we call life. Ultimately, I’ve discovered two things: My one and only true love is writing (It has everything I am looking for in a relationship and more. It will always be there for me. It will make me happy when I am sad. And most importantly, it will always feel right.). The second thing I discovered this year is life doesn’t start when I graduate high school or even when I graduate college and start my career. Life is happening, right now. And I can’t stop it.

Even tonight I talked to my dad about risks. We went to Perkins and pulled an Addison Montgomery from Private Practice. Last week, she’s putting away a big old greasy bacon cheeseburger, and she admits she wants to get fat because of her problems with men. I can’t say I share her desire to put on some weight—so naturally, I only I ate half my bacon cheeseburger. And you know what? It was the best damn bacon cheeseburger I’ve ever had. (Ok, it was from Perkins. So that is the biggest lie. But at the same time it isn’t a lie because I got out of it what I was supposed to.) But I digress.

The cheeseburger did make me realize something, though. Addison wanted to eat a cheeseburger to get rid of her problems with men. She could be fat and happy and never have to deal with heartbreak again because she wouldn’t have a man. But that’s just as bad as not taking any risks at all. We put ourselves out there not knowing what’s going to happen or sometimes what we even want to happen. And sometimes things aren't going to work out. Life is a series of messy, awkward, terrifying moments in chronological order. We are bound to mess up and have moments that seem horrific at the time. But the best way to turn those mistakes into merely accidents is to find a way to connect the good signs to the good times.

“My fortune cookie said my Saturday night was supposed to be exciting!”

Dad: “It’s only 11:53!”

I love my dad.
(PS: I'm not giving up on serendipity. I am just not looking for it. Also not to get all super mushy and sentimental but I think I have to: I have the best friends in the entire world and really hope they know how much I appreciate having them in my life.)

Serendipity? I think so...

Oh hey there, Serendipity. Fancy meeting you here.

I guess you could say I'm nervous aprehensive about tomorrow. I'm not really sure... But seeing as I'm pretty into signs and this whole fortunate accident thing: this was a happy discovery.

Decorations, Dresses, and Direction Disasters

Friday night was a world of fun. First, I got to spend a solid three and half hours covering the school in hearts. Yes, a bunch of NHS kids got together and decided to purposely make the school look like Valentine’s Day threw up on it. With my legs shaking and feet tightening, I climbed on top of the lockers and hung hearts from the ceiling. And after three-hours of work, back pain, and aching feet, two freshmen girl will appreciate all of the work. Then boys with nothing better to do will try to show off to their friends as they rip hearts from the ceiling and tear all of our hard work to shreds. I see you stupid sophomore boy with cupid’s head in your hands. Put it down and slowly back away.

When we were finally done, I rushed home and got ready as quickly as humanly possible. I picked my friend, Grace, up and we dashed to the mall. Looking for a dress isn’t easy on a good day. But when you’ve just downed two pieces of pizza and a Coke in the school cafeteria in between scattering the school with hearts, the last thing you think is that you look cute. It didn’t help that the first two dresses I tried on made me look like a twenty-year-old prostitute. And all my friend could say is “They’re not really you.” Well, thanks… At least I don’t usually look like a lady of the night. (Side note: I’m pretty sure the song “Taylor” by Jack Johnson is about a hooker… and I recognized that in eighth grade after my friend told me how cute the song was…)

After trying on several more mediocre dresses, I decided I wasn’t going to find a dress for Sadie’s. So she got what she wanted and we went to Panera for a quick snack. At last, we decided we better try to find our way home. Seeing as it was past nine o’clock and we had trouble getting here in the first place, we decided it was probably best to be very calm trying to get home.

That lasted until about 35 minutes in when I started throwing down curse words somewhere around University Drive. At one point we ended up near my grandma’s house, and I gleefully pumped my fist back in success. Then the freeway started to go into two different directions again… and I picked the wrong one. Every time that the freeway divided, I ended up on the wrong side. At this point, she’s like “Taylor it’s so weird to hear you swear. Just calm down. Be like those people in the sixties and seventies; they were so chill.”

“Grace, they were chill because they smoked hippie lettuce.”

“Haha I know, but just pretend.”

Finally we found the right freeway and I navigated my way home. I don’t know the last time I had such an eventful Friday night. Considering how tired I am after a week of school, I hope that was the last “fun-packed” Friday for a little while. (Just kidding, I already know my next two Fridays are crazy between the school Pageant show and that little thing called my golden birthday coming up.) But I could use some peaceful, stress free nights. Preferably without any hippie lettuce. 

Trying to Find the Inspiration into a Land Uncharted

Sara Bareilles is sorta kinda really  definitely my idol. I want to be the Sara Bareilles of the writing world. She is beautiful and talented and defies all sorts of rules about popular song themes. And she gets away with it. Her record label told her to pop out a love song because that's what the people want to hear, right?. So she gives us:
"I'm not gonna write you a love song, 'cause you asked for one. 'Cause you need one."


Genius.


One of her absolute best songs (one of my favorites) is "Fairytale." Would have cut it myself if I knew men could climb hair. It has made me see fairy tales in an entirely different way. This encourages me to become a strong woman and not wait around for a prince charming to make my life better. I determine my happiness.


But the song that truly inspires me is Uncharted. As I sat with an open document, staring at the blinking cursor, I thought WWSD? (What Would Sara Do?) So I sauntered over to Youtube (Yes, sauntered) and sought out Uncharted. I honestly do not see a reason to not be inspired by that video. It is fun and silly and completely life changing. Ok, so maybe that last reason is a little bit unwarranted. But I definitely feel more prepared to start that story for my Creative Writing class.


Even while writing this I discovered the video for Gonna Get Over You. Go watch it. Put aside that less than satisfactory book you've been telling yourself to finish. Set down the remote to the soaps (the histrionic babes will be there when you get back). Tell the class to practice their adverbs some more. And please, if it is the only part you watch, watch the ending. Because she is pretty much the cutest thing ever. Who cares about being the Sara Bareilles of writing? I just want to be HER! Maybe if I pray hard enough it will happen one day. Or maybe I will end up just belting out Sara's songs with my mediocre (if even) voice, while I carefully craft the next Pulitzer Prize winner.