What's In a Name

My middle name is Reneé. A common name for many women in this country, and I am sure in many other countries. There is nothing unique, or singular about have this name.

However, I've always been fascinated by names, their language of origin, the etymology, and especially their meaning. Growing up, I always secretly believed that names, like many words, have power. That the meaning behind a name can reveal a person's passions, talents, skills, or even their destiny. That it could possibly hold the key to some of the greatest questions a person can and will have in life. I believed - still believe - that in life their are rarely coincidences. Even the names given to us by our parents have a purpose and relationship with our life paths.

So, imagine my disappointment when I learned that my first name - which I won't post because its actually pretty distinct - had no meaning. In following the trend at the time, my mother created a name from her and my father's names. She created something unique to me - and in that I see the value of my name. However, when I was younger I was a little hurt, because it challenged my beliefs in the power and influence of words. Having a name with no meaning, origins, languages, or etymology meant I had not path, destiny, talent, or skills to affix to my person. I was - in essence - a very blank slate, and it was (and still is) my job to forge a definition, path, and destiny for myself.

But my middle name is Reneé, and that name is an extremely old name. Almost vintage in way. As many people may know it is a French name, and my mother was sure to spell it the feminine way. It simply means "reborn." Interpret that as you see fit.

I, however, am starting to feel like the second half of my name is starting to weave its influence into my life. I feel as though I am restarting my life, entering a second phase of self-discovery, or an early mid-life crisis. At only 30 years old, I feel as thought my life has plateaued, and those things that used to satisfy me no longer fulfill me as they used to. So, yeah, in a way, I am rediscovering life, resetting, or even being "reborn."

That's exactly where I am in life, and its time I start owning it. However, not just owning it, but also being comfortable in the uncertainty that is a life restarted. The beautiful thing about a newborn infant is the promise that comes with new life. Through the pain and chaos of childbirth is the gift of untainted potential, and perhaps that is the influence of my name. Perhaps, it was always my destiny to be reborn, to receive a second, third, or fourth incarnation of life. The beauty being that from the ashes and destruction of the old will emerge the promise of new, of creation, of a fresh start - if one makes the most of their time.

That's where I am right now. How do I navigate the chaos that is my life, so that I can be reborn and make the most of the new potential that is to come? How do I move out of the fear and stigma that has held me back? How do I live and love life at 30 years old?

Let me know, if you happen to come across the answer, and you'll be the first I'll tell if I figure it out.

But until then, think about what's in your name. Has it unexpectedly influenced you?

So, You want to live "The Dream"

What is the dream? The dream as it pertains to you.

We are familiar with proverbial "American" dream, and if this is the dream for you, than by all means own it. However, and this may be just as likely, if it is not your idea of "the dream," than I would love to know what that may look like for you.

A few evenings ago, I had this conversation with my younger sister, as we sat together on the couch. As I continue my introspective exploration - aka. my early mid-life crisis - I have allowed myself to become indulgent as to the different paths available to me. That entails looking at possibilities I never once considered. Not to say I haven't thought of them, but more because, and I think we all do this, I limited myself as to what I thought I could do.

So, that evening, I asked myself this question. I encourage you to do the same.

What is living "the dream" for you?

Because, truly, I've never really thought about it. Even as a child, I was the most practical 8 year old you would have ever met. No, idealistic, indulgent, trumped up ideas of living the life of a beautiful ballerina or pop star or [insert random childhood dream here] for me... no sir! I was very much aware that there were these things called "bills" looming over all adults heads, and were a consistent source of something called "stress," which did not look pleasant by any means. And, so being aware of this, my dreams involved going to college, getting a degree, getting a job that paid these "bills," and eventually marrying and having children. Not the most romantic or creative, I know, but mine nonetheless. In the end, I did achieve these goals - except for the marriage/children bit, which can be saved for a later date.

But I never got to play with the idea of, "What is your dream?"

Realizing this, I asked my sister what her "dream" would be. If we could set aside, money, stress, life concerns, bills, all the factors we consider that keeps us from the things we love doing, what would that dream be? Her answer: a career related to music.

Now, for the record, she is not a musician, however, she possesses one of the largest databases for all sorts of genres of music from across the globe. She is exceedingly knowledgeable on forms of music, songs and artists - both mainstream and under ground - and capable of articulating her opinions and critics on music, artists. and the culture in a sophisticated and intriguing manner. When she speaks on the topic, we - anyone around her - tends to listen. Furthermore, she has this crazy ability of being able to listen to a song and immediately pick up on other songs that were sampled for it, used in its mix, or are startling close to sounding exactly the same. She has an exceptional ear.

Does this not sound like a person meant for a career, a life, in music?

So, it led me to my next question. Why not work in music?

There was a pause. A moment of reflection, but ultimately no answer that could completely suffice.

I ask, in all honesty, why don't we simply live for "the dream?" Whatever it may look like. Why not simply live for it? Work towards it? Own it? Oh, what a world it would be, if we all simply live for the things we loved doing most in this world. I would give much to see what a world like that looked like.

So, I leave you with these questions, and I encourage you to share your answers: What is your dream? Have you followed it? Did you succeed? Did you fail? Has the dream changed over the years? Are you still searching for it?

There is a quote by Lupita N'yongo, that is extremely fitting, "No matter where you are from, your dreams are valid."

Please Invent A Mapquest App for Life... Thanks

I'm 30 years old (and 3 months), and quite frankly, I have no clue which direction my life is heading. In all honesty, I've never been more confused about what direction I should be going in. I was far more confident, 8 years ago, when I was just a naive, college student, and the highlight of my days involved finding that there were still some Oreos left in the kitchen. Then, I understood what my goal was, how to achieve that goal, and what the plan was to that goal. Though, I must admit, I had very little idea what I was to do after I got my degree... which led to many an emotional break down.

Fast forward 8 years after my graduation, and I here I am, one emotional break-down away from just giving up completely. Let me warn you now, this is in no way a blog post that will end in a well meaning note of positivity, where I offer some awe-inspiring insight or some secret answer that will help those in a similar situation. Sorry, no... just no. However, I can, at this moment offer a fellow commiserator, and if someone should happen upon the answer while, you know, eating a fortune cookie or in a random tarot card reading, please... please, please feel free to leave their findings in the comments below.

I thank you in advance.

Moving on, I am at a loss, and it is because I am at a loss, that I feel other aspects of my life must also be put on hold. I mean, let's face it, as much as I would love to be in a fulfilling relationship with a supportive, intelligent, understanding young man - who can also share in my trekkie, anime/geek out ways - I also realize, that asking someone to love me, in a mess of confusion, may be just a little too much to ask for. The end result? I'm on my own... far longer than I had originally thought. There goes the dream of being in a young woman in a successful, satisfying career, while entering a loving marriage where we travel the world together engaging in our own version of Bizarre Foods meets Fear Factor - but I digress.

Needless to say, I have yet to find the answer to what it is I am supposed to do. Truthfully, I'm not even sure how to go about looking for the said "answer" or if it even exists. For now, all I can do is write out my thoughts, in the hopes that these musings will allow for reflection, and thus that reflection will lead to some better understanding as to which direction I should be heading in.

Until then, I have my recent trip to San Francisco to look back on with some fondness. Below is a panoramic view I took of the city at night at the top of Twin Peaks. One of the best nights of my life, and I have a dear friend to thank for that.

San Francisco, CA from the top of Twin Peaks.

3 Short Images

Below are three shorts images that came to me throughout different times, while passing through my usual daily routines. None are directly related to me, but are of an imaginative nature. Enjoy.

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Title: Language Barrier 

Originally Written: 8/19/2013

Neither spoke very good English. She imagined, as she observed them, that they were both foreign exchange students. Concocting an elaborate tale of struggle and tearful seperations, of how both left their respective homes and countries in the hopes of obtaining that coveted American education and this ensuring brighter futures for themselves. Nevertheless, the mutual attraction was evident in their wide eyes, faint blushes, and shy giggles. Language barriers were nothing for these two, not when the heart did all the necessary communicating.

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Wrote this after observing the innocent and sweet flirtations of a young man and woman on the train. 

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Title: The End Result

Originally Written: 8/19/2013

Crass.

Wanton.

But not quite rude. She is obviously a woman scorned and makes no effort to hide her wounds. She wears her scars openly, like badges of honor, and when she looks at you there is only the empty abyss of indifference in her eyes. Some would say she is quite un-fixable.

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No explanation for this one. 

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Title: Lounge Singer

Originally Written: 8/15/2013

The seedy, understated glamour of the bar scene. The image of the tragic, love-struck heroine of the lounge singer. Beautiful, alluring, tempting, but eyes always a little half closed, as if she refuses to wake up from dreaming. The purple mist of billowy smoke is her wedding veil, her hubby is the night itself. Her heavy lidded eyes always hold a mingling of sultriness and lethargy, a combining of sensuality and disillusionment. She glances at the men who cat-call to her, and there seems to be a look of constant disappointment in her black lined eyes. As if the world is nothing but one long, consistent let down. She sighs deeply as the piano player prepares for the next set, and the smoke swirls in spirals around her. Her full, garnet lips making a perfect "O," with only a gleam of white peaking past the dip of her top lip. 

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While listening to Lana Del Rey this image came to me. So, I wrote it down.

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Up Bunker Hill

She loved when the city looked new to her, when those same streets suddenly glow with an unseen, beguiling wonder. That was exactly what happened to her that day, on an unseasonably cool August morning. The sky provided a soft grey canvas, upon which the colors of the city appeared muted, as if still waking and stirring for its 8-hour shift ahead.

"I am here," it cried out silently.

Behind the one of the oldest and most respected buildings in the city, at its very heart, lies a corridor leading to a staired-passage way that takes one up and over to the hill leading to the bank building food court. She traveled through this corridor frequently on her way to one of many jobs. As she stood waiting to cross the 5^th street intersection, as crowded and overwhelmed with traffic as ever, one opposing skyscraper seemed to call out to her. Any other day, it would have appeared as any of the other sentinel structures in this city. A somber mix of earthen brown, steely grey and deep blacks, and polished to an impressive, lustrous finish. Its windows still dimmed from a lack of occupants so early in the morning. And yet, despite all its generic, typical qualities – as generic as a giant can be – it seemed to call out for attention on this August, dreary day.

“I am here,” it cried out silently. And she, hearing its beckon, paid heed to its vertical prowess. Tall, indomitable, steady, and imposing – it stood out pompously gazing down the drop of the avenue to one side, and peering above the rise of the same avenue to the other.

Captivated and awed, she had discovered an unanticipated magnificence. Not novel or innovative, but accustomed, historic, and well-acquainted. She smiled, sometimes this city forced her to acknowledge and respect its beauty.

The crossing signal turned green, she continued on.

Reaching the stairway, but opting for the escalator, she made her way.

Grand Central Library

Looking back from the slowly assenting stairs through the corridor, the Grand Central Library, the nostalgic runt among these modern-day behemoths, sprawled out before her. Its mosaic-tiled roof and spire coming just to her eye level as she reached the top of her ascent.

She thought, ‘Such a wondrous city, to appear so new amongst such familiarity.’ 

And she continued her walk up Bunker Hill.

Broken-Hearts are for Later

She had hoped for something better, but as always is the case, it was never her decision to make. Here she was now, at 28, staring down that inevitable tunnel that was soon to be 30 only a year and 3 months away. Her plans for her 29th birthday, still undecided.

The melancholy, velvety melodies of Lana del Rey were now her daily drug of choice as she attempted to cope with yet another break-up. As she contemplated yet another heartache. Despite all logic and reason she could not help feeling as though she had brought it all upon herself. As if she had walked into the lion's den knowingly in harm's way. Though to think she could have been such a masochist was more than she was willing to accept. No one wants to hurt, she had thought time and time again. And yet, she was in the same familiar situation. When had emotional recovery become her talent of choice?

Perhaps, if the day had not been so brilliant, so warm, so promising, perhaps a break-up would have been more bearable. At least under the guise of a grey day she could justify the sadness that now painted her features, her mahogany eyes now shone bluer than the cerulean waves of a Mediterranean sea. In the summer glare of a late-July sun, she only appeared more out of place than she already felt. 

She would owe her friends an apology, for they had gone above and beyond that which most would, in the hopes of helping her heal. Their efforts were not in vain, for they were greatly appreciated, if only a temporary fix. The healing process would take more than a few drinks could hoped to fix. 

She rolled over, the alarm blaring in her hears had now been going for well over a minute. She sighed deeply, it was time to put on that face... the one the world expected to see. She could be broken-hearted later.

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Just a writing test run. I'm a bit out of practice.

Test Enrty

Just testing out what an entry in my blog will look like.