A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Years ago, my mother made me read this book. I hated reading. I thought reading was an incredible waste of time. I felt that there were so many more valuable ways to spend my time: cleaning out the garage was more stimulating to me than reading a book.

Three sentences into this post, and I'm already digressing. Let me start over. When I was 14 years old, my mother made me read this book.

Have I already said that I hated it. And to state that I read the book would be a lie, because I really didn't. I read chapters here and there, and glimpsed through pages, putting in just enough work to make it seem like I was reading. And to be honest, I couldn't tell you anything about the book. What knowledge I do have on the book came from wikipedia, and who really knows if that is even accurate. Point being, I didn't care about this Irish-American family who lived in Brooklyn. I didn't care about this tree that was growing there, or what it actually represented. I didn't connect or relate to 11 year-old Francis who loved reading and using her imagination, because I thought both activities were childish and immature (though my imagination has gotten me through my entire life) But as I grow older, I find myself thinking more and more about this novel, and getting a stronger and stronger desire to give it another shot.

My friend posted this quote on her blog months and months ago, and after asking permission, I re-posted:

“Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.”--A Tree Grows in Brooklyn


 I have so many thoughts about this idea, and once again, am struggling to express them because I want them to be "just right". Well, that never seems to be the case with my writing, so prepare for yet another ill-prepared, poorly written post.

A long while back, a bit of a trial was put before me. It wasn't something that I necessarily deserved, nor was it something that resulted from any of my actions. But it was a trial nonetheless, and it really took a toll on me. I was angry, I was hurt, I was confused, I was frustrated, and I grew tired. I grew tired of fighting, I grew tired of constantly monitoring my feelings and my actions for fear of handling the situation inappropriately, and I grew tired of doubting my worth. I grew tired of sadness. So I stopped. I pled with God to take away the feelings I felt, to make it all leave, like it had never happened. Obviously, you can guess how that one went...He didn't really do anything. So I took matters into my own hands. I stopped feeling sad, I stopped being upset, I stopped worrying. And for a while, it was wonderful. I was able to go along my merry way without feeling anything. But by walling up and blocking out those negative emotions, I negated all emotions. I didn't feel happy, I didn't experience excitement or joy, and laughter felt very foreign to me.

Do you know what it feels like to watch the world around you, and not take part in it? To simply exist? To walk through the motions of life without experiencing a fragment of ANYTHING? I do. I lived this way for a couple years, actually. I woke up, I ate food, I went to school, I worked, I performed, and at the end of the day as I laid in my bed reflecting on the happenings, my mind would blank, and I would fall asleep, only to start the cycle over. For 2 whole years, I existed.

Well my friends, not anymore. Not anymore! Sometimes it is hard, but its ok to feel emotions! It's ok to be mad, and to want to yell, and to be happy and to sing and jump with joy. All of those things are totally ok. And it makes life exciting. 

Life can be exciting if we let it!