Mountains.

I slept in a tent last night. On the back deck with my younger sister and little brother. It was cold. It was hard. It was uncomfortable. I really loved it. Experiences like that, small ones, have been shaping me. Late night camp-outs in the backyard, lemon poppy seed cake, an orchard wedding, best friends, and Donald Miller have all been shaping me. Molding me. Changing me. 

I sat in the kitchen yesterday drinking peppermint tea and working on some illustrations and journaling. I wrote in my journal,

"I do not like this stage of life. It feels restless and pointless and undeveloped and unimportant. It feels like everyone is moving faster than me and passing me by. I can't even make simple choices, and they're all running around making huge life decisions. I'm just sitting here drawing tiny white moths. Sometimes I think one day people might forget me."

After I wrote it, I read it again and felt stupid. I love my life right now. I like my singularity. I like working hard. I like being alone. I like what I've been writing. I like my days.

But. There's always a but. And it's so hard to explain. When you want to be as many people as I do, it gets tricky. 

I think I want things to be slower. More focused. More about bread and leather Shakespeares and sun and rhythm and gardens and little china plates. More about words. 

Lately I have been wanting to focus on languages. I feel limited in my French. I want to know French. To really know it and be fluent in it. I am tired of hesitating and using little yellow pocket dictionaries and not being sure. I want to know. To feel in that language. To speak it. To dream in it. To think in it. 

Alongside French, has been a pull to learn to sign. Franny has been watching a ridiculous show about two girls being switched at birth, and it's really stupid, but one of them is deaf. And so I sit there with her. Not for the story or plot or characters, but the hands. I just want to know how to communicate with my hands. And it sounds like a silly obsession, but it's not. I swear. It's more than that. 

Those two languages are enveloping my heart. It's like a pocket in my self, something that was undiscovered and is just starting to bloom. 

Sometimes I really hate talking. These days though, I want to learn to speak in one hundred ways. I just want to sit at a big table and study and learn and listen. 

I am trying to learn to love the me I am in all stages of my life. I am slowly coming to accept mistakes that I've made and time that I've wasted out of fear and pride. I am learning. I am learning that I am wonderful and all of my ambitions are wonderful and making cakes is extremely important. I'm learning all of that, and more. 

I am also sleeping on my back deck. Even though it's hard. Because that's a slow part of life. It's enjoyable. It's not easily forgotten.

So forgive me. I confess that I am changing in an abrupt and sudden manner. My opinions are still developing. My decisions are hanging on branches waiting to be plucked. I am incomplete. And if I offend you in my undecided-ness, I apologize. I see that not everyone wants to walk with me; most of you want to run. And that's alright. We're still going up the same gorgeous mountain. I'm just trying to figure a few things out and take some side trails. We'll merge again. And we'll all have learned different things. And that's alright too.

Now I will finish a picture of a fairy, prepare for a birthday, and possibly saw a log apart if I can find the right one. Also attempt to learn the ASL finger spelling alphabet over a cup of iced coffee. 

It's bound to be wonderful.