It was at school, but it wasn't really at school.

Ooops, I accidentally wrote a letter to a stranger before I wrote a letter to my dreams. How dare I, really? I wonder if I am supposed to write a letter to my dreams (my hopes and aspirations) or to my dreams (those things that happen while I sleep). I am not feeling too serious, so I will go ahead and write a letter to my nocturnal musings. Really...I am skirting the issue...I will write a post about dreams.

There was a short period of time when I wanted to be one of those people who interprets dreams. I was fascinated by them. Then, there was this old guy, Robert, who had some connection (I have no idea what) to my dorm in college. He would show up from time to time, wearing his big, black shoes and his too-thin tie, and this man could spin a tale about dreams that I had never witnessed before. He had books and history and psychology mumbo-jumbo attached to all of his analysis. I thought he was just a little bit crazy, but I loved him. I don't remember the names of most of the people on my floor in college, but I remember Robert, the dream-chaser.

I hate how dreams drift away. The details become fuzzy, and unless you have someone to share them with almost immediately, they inevitably disappear, if you remembered them in the first place. I have always wondered how much dreams mean. Like, why do some seem so real? Why do some seem so deranged? Why do some repeat themselves? Why do the visuals often not match up to the presumed reality of the characters? Why am I in the dream sometimes and watching myself sometimes? Color? Black and white? People I know? People I have never seen? It's all a little wacky, really.

I remember a vivid dream I had in elementary school. I was re-telling it to a friend, and right after I got to the part where the person (another friend) apologized for being cruel in the dream, the other friend came up and apologized for being cruel in real life. I almost wet my pants.

Speaking of wetting my pants, I remember one time (in...seventh grade...), I dreamed about a new holiday: National Pee Day. And everyone had the freedom to pee wherever they wanted all day long. I woke up to a pee-soaked bed.

I remember I used to dream about driving a car (before I drove cars) that got larger and larger as the dream progressed. And it would drive on the walls (yes, walls) of the interstate, and I couldn't see anything. It was terrifying. I had this dream a lot.

I remember I dreamed that I screamed at my students because they wouldn't stop laughing at me. I was trying to teach class, and they just laughed and laughed. I was incensed. Like, rip your hair out, total loss of control. Really, it was just my alarm clock that was set with a laughing ringtone. (A similar situation has happened on MANY occasions...almost always dealing with students...isn't that weird? It is as if they are trying to get me to wake up or something.)

There are more, but I will stop.

I definitely think there are aspects of life that we will never understand, maybe we aren't meant to understand. Deja vu (no idea how to spell and punctuate that correctly), middle school, the grief process, people's capacity for evil, dreams, etc. It seems impossible that symbols mean the same thing in one person's dream as another. I just can't believe that our sub-consciences work out issues with the same symbolism and imagery. Maybe our dreams are a chance for our brains to imagine without our self-editing tools kicking in. I wonder if the dreams of children are less vivid because their imaginations are turned on so much more during waking hours. Who knows? I don't think about this often, but I was told to write a letter to my dreams.

Love Always,
Jacqui

PS. Hopes and dreams, umm...I want a room wallpapered with postcards. I want to go to Africa and Greece. I want to build/have/make a photography studio and learn how to take pictures better. Ehhh, I want so much. Namely, right now, I want fair food, so I will be driving to Lafayette and enjoying pulled pork, corn on the cob, and a funnel cake tonight.

The Stranger on the Street

I am not really a fan of this assignment.

I am supposed to write a letter to a stranger.

Ugh. I have to have more direction than that, so I will create it.

To the stranger I will meet in New Orleans,

I hope I talk to you, take advantage of meeting someone with a lifetime of different experiences than me. I hope I can be an encouragement to you, the hands and feet of Jesus, while I work on building a house. I hope your week is brightened by our team's presence, a lift at just the right time. I hope I see your story rather than judge your appearance. I hope you play music and create memories for my kids. I hope you will be given an ear, someone who wants to hear what you have to say. I hope I can be patient if you change plans on me.

But, really, I just hope I see you. Really see you, even if just for a moment.

We are Family.

Hello, world.

Letter 3 is supposed to be to my parents. Letter 4 is supposed to be to my siblings. I am just going to smash them together into one gigantic letter to the family. Because my family did not request that I write them letters that anyone can read, I will choose to keep these short and simple, not too personal.

Dear Mama,

Thanks for letting me be who I wanted to be, rather than a manufactured version of yourself. It is hard to imagine life with different parents or a different family, but I took for granted how independent you always let me be (and it might now be bothering you, actually). You have allowed me to make mistakes and make my own choices, and I honestly think I can handle pretty much anything because you have always told me I could. Thank you for your unwavering compassion on all living creatures and your bravery to walk down new roads even late in life. Thank you for watching movies and television with me, for loving me through your frustration with me, and for always providing a home for us.

Dear Dad,

Goodness knows we aren't that close, but there are things about you that I admire. I assume that I got my thirst for knowledge from you, and I love how much you know about history and the world. Thanks for always taking me on rollercoasters when I was a kid; those times at Kennywood are some of my dearest childhood memories. Thank you for not taking things (especially yourself) too seriously. Thank you for your work ethic. Thank you for your unique and heartfelt Christmas presents and your generosity to me. Thanks for naming me Bunk.

Dear Tara,

I am so glad you are going to New Orleans with me. I am so excited for you to enter into my world, to see what it's like from my point of view. I hope you love it; I hope you love my kids. Tara, of anyone I know, I think I watched you change so much as you have gotten older. That is something rare in a person, and I truly respect how you have embraced and chosen your life. I have watched motherhood soften your personality, but I love that you have a fire that won't go out. I am amazed that college you existed when I see how amazing your home is now. I can handle the fact that you are pathologically crazy when it comes to cleaning and "purging," especially when I reap the benefits. :) Your self-discipline astounds me, and yes, although I would never want to work hard enough to get there, I am jealous of your mad marathon-ing skills.

Dear Greg,

I know that my distance has hurt you the most. I am sorry for that. I have always looked up to you, even during your awkward junior high phase, and I must have gained at least a piece of my competitive nature from you. Nearly every reminiscence about childhood begins while dancing on your toes, and now, I love to see you raising two wonderful children, providing so much for your family. You are a go-getter, which I admire, but you haven't lost your humanity, which is utterly important. I wish you would slow down once in a while, let go of your phone for a few minutes, allow yourself not to be defined by your work, but I know you will eventually slow down. I love your sense of humor and your loyalty to sports teams. I hope we do grow closer.

Hey family,
I can't wait to travel the world with you next summer. Sincerely, I simply cannot wait.

Ooops.

I am already going to be late. Watch for letter 3 and 4 tomorrow.

Someday, you will be loved.

So, letter #2 is supposed to be written to "my crush." Hmph. This could be funny.

Dear ____________________,

I don't have a crush, so you are a blank name. I don't meet many new people, don't have time to get all giddy over people anymore, don't really desire anything meaningless in my life. However, I would like to write a letter to the man I will marry. (I am fully aware of the fact that I probably won't get married, and this very well might change upon meeting someone I would actually like to marry, but this is fun, guys.)

Dear ______________________,

I am already planning the job I will have when I retire from teaching.

I tell you this because there are some things you need to know about me, and the first thing you need to know is that I will love you in the best possible way I can. The second thing is that in order for me to be able to do that, you will have to be okay with me having other passions besides you. I hope you are thankful for that. I don't want you to stand in my shadow; I want you to do the same. I hope our passions coincide, but they do not have to do so in every regard. You must love kids. You don't have to be a teacher. You must love learning. You don't have to have multiple degrees to show it. You must love service. You don't have to love Uganda. You must love parties, but you don't have to plan them. You must love beauty and art, but you don't have to take the pictures or be in the shows. You must love reading and writing, but you don't have to be a published author.

You are going to have to listen to my stories, even when you don't know the faces of the kids I tell you about. You are going to have to deal with me in April and May, when no one should have to be around me. I might even make you grade some papers. You are going to have to go to prom with me, but I promise I won't make you stay the whole time.

(Wow, this letter is actually difficult to write, especially without pre-planning.)

You are probably going to feel uncomfortable the first time you meet my friends, especially if it is with the large group. We have a lot of history together, and people have told us from time to time that we are a tough group to crack. Just ask questions. I will get you ready for them. And, you will love them too. (Or else we won't really work, so that's a deal-breaker.) And you will enjoy playing board games and corn hole and going to Holiday World. You will love outdoor movies at the IMA and cook-outs and dressing up for Halloween. You will love the Artcraft Theater and A Christmas Story and NBC Thursday nights. I can't wait until you are part of the shared history of us too.

And you will care for my mom like she's your mom (because you obviously really care for your mom). And you will give piggy back rides to our nieces and nephews and cheer for them when we travel to see sporting events. And you will love Tara's design sense and Greg's knowledge of business and sports. And you will appreciate my dad's understanding of history and his interesting array of Christmas gifts.

And you will challenge me. And you won't let me settle. And you won't let me slide by. And you will tell me when I'm wrong....and when I'm right. And you will hold my hand in unexpected moments. And you will help me love people better. You will teach me about cars and lawn care and money. Or we will at least teach each other. And it would be really awesome if you could be a self-taught carpenter or handyman. That would be SWEET. :) You will be intelligent and competitive, and maybe we can exercise together by playing games and doing fun things. You might even take ballroom dance lessons with me. I'm not pushing my luck, though.

And, most of all, you will love Jesus a lot. Not in a superficial way, but in a real...tough...messy kind of way. And, you will seek to love me as Jesus loves us, and you will be the head of our household because that's how it is supposed to be. You will appreciate my strength, though, and we will learn what it means to follow Jesus together. We will pray and worship and serve and love together. Even when it is difficult.

I can't wait to meet you.
(Well, let's be honest. On many days, I don't really think I want to meet you, but whatevs.)

Hmmm...I think I have rambled enough, even though I've only scratched the surface. I am sure my expectations are ridiculous, but why not set my sights high? Marriage will be hard enough. I might as well hope for someone amazing.

Love always,
Jacqui

Take a Bite out of Life

Okay, I am going to do it.

I know I am going to regret it, and I also know that I will probably miss a few days, but I am going to jump on the bandwagon (created by Lauren Sedam...I'm not sure how much of a bandwagon it actually is) and do the 30-Day Letter Challenge. Each day, I will post a letter written to a specific audience. Really, I am doing this for me, but if by some miracle, one of my four readers stumbles upon something encouraging, then fantastic. I don't stick with anything when it comes to writing; this is a good place to begin. I will address some letters by name, but I will keep some to myself. It will be challenging and probably too personal, and hey, I'm okay with that.

So, without further ado, (I love that phrase), let me begin with Letter #1.

Letter #1 is supposed to be written to my "best friend."

Oh geesh. Houston, we already have a problem.

Dear Best Friend,

When I was young, you were Lauren Bayly, without fail and without question. You have also been Bekah Manning, Adri Byrd, Nathan Epple, Nick Epple, Sean Booher, Sarah Lantz, and Aubry and Carly Faulkenberg (they go together, you know). And there were moments of best friendship with others, but I don't want to get carried away here.

In elementary school, naming your best friend was so important. It was a badge of honor or a badge of shame. You had to nab a best friend because no one wanted to be best friend-less. As time passed and geography changed, so did my need for friends. I wanted lots of them, was blessed with a diverse group of people who challenged me and made me laugh and made fun of me. :) There were times when I could not go to sleep without making sure I had said (or typed) "Good night" to my best friend. There were some best friends who needed me much more than I needed them, which, in turn, made me need them. Strange how that worked. There were some best friends who seemed to understand me implicitly, and there were some who seemed to need understanding that only I could give. There were times (too many, I am afraid) when I lost my best friend. Most of them, in fact, are gone, at least from my direct and close acquaintance. And so, maybe I decided after watching my heart walk away too many times that I needn't put too much hope in a single person, until, if it is to be, I get married someday.

This way of friendship is much less painful, but I fear I do not love as deeply, know people as well, or grow as much as I did before I started teaching. I fear that although there are countless friends in my life who would do anything for me, know me through history, and yes, can still make me laugh and laugh at me, very few people truly know me, if anyone at all. Then again, what does that even mean?

I am thankful for you, best friends, who watch movies and laugh about farting and go line-dancing. I am thankful for you, best friends, who plan trips to Holiday World and the IMA and Memorial Day Cookouts. I am thankful for you, best friends, who gave me a foundation, a home away from home, a more full understanding of human beings. I am thankful for you, best friends, who broke my heart but in the process taught me more and more about love. I am thankful to you, best friends, who watch Colts Games and Thursday night television with me. I am thankful to you, best friends, who care deeply about your relationship with God (and mine) and are constantly seeking growth and understanding. I am thankful to you, best friends, who love food and frisbee and puppies.

Friendship is a clever beast. It is vitally important for a full life, yet it is constantly changing and can easily become a complete stranger without our even realizing it walked away. I desire to learn how to be a better friend again, but that, as they say, is easier said than done.

Love always,
Jacqui

Eat the Cookie

I just ate a bunch of cold, plain rice. With a spoon. Out of a giant Tupperware bowl.

Delicious.




(Oh wait. This was meaningless. I was going to try to write meaningful stuff, but I already changed my status three times within the last two hours; I just could not do that again.)

Welcome Back.

Okay.

It is July 12th. (I think?) I'm gonna start writing again.

I always talk about the fact that I don't write. Or that I don't write well. I always think about what I would write if I did write, but then, I don't. I am afraid that some internet virus will respond to me, but no one will really listen.

And then I have to admit to myself that I really love having an audience.

Too much.

So, maybe I shouldn't talk about writing. Maybe I should just write. Maybe I shouldn't worry about my audience (even though I can't stop doing that). Maybe I shouldn't worry about sounding eloquent or witty or inspiring (even though I won't stop that either).

Being a hermit is really easy for me.

Like...I have no trouble at all staying up until 3am, sleeping until noon, staying in my pjs until 4, taking a shower at 5, cooking some dinner, watching tv intermittently throughout the day, and then doing the same routine again. I have to plan parties in order to avoid making this a permanent routine. Parties require shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Otherwise, I might as well be called Boo Radley.

I really love taking people's portraits.

Like...really love it. The problem is that I hate that I am technically deficient, and I don't know how to get better, save throwing more and more money at better equipment. I want to take classes. I want to take pictures like this:



Do you see how vibrant that color is? DO YOU SEE THAT?

Or this:


See how that black is black, and that white is white? See how beautifully the shot is composed?

I want that.

Hmmm...onto other stuff, I guess.

I am scared of the upcoming school year. Scared.

Like...when I think about it, I get a rotten feeling in my gut. What am I scared about?

Well, I am scared that I will hate the new format of each day. I am scared that I won't have the ability to stay on track and focused and disciplined. I am scared I will spend the entire year playing catch-up. I am scared that a part of my heart will be gone. I have had that feeling before, but it is different this time. I am scared that in only my ninth year, I am somehow getting burned out. I am scared that I will forget to love people again. I am scared that I will be overwhelmed. I could go on.

I mean, it isn't like I won't be able to handle it. I don't want to just handle my life, though. I want to love it. I need to have the attitude that it will be an adventure worth taking, a fitting change of pace since so many faces will be missing from my daily regime. I want to lead by service, by love, by joy, by passion, and I want, somehow, to know that I have challenged my students to be better students, better thinkers, better readers, better writers, and better human beings. I want to be exhausted. I want to get better. To be better.

But, what I really want is to be there for people, like I used to be. I want to give people attention and love who aren't easy to love. I don't want to be too busy for people anymore. I wouldn't mind if people needed me again.

I'm turning thirty in September.
Maybe that's what really scares me, for some reason.