Just Do What You Feel Like, You Needn't Make it a Mission

Words to live by. A wise man told me this morning, "just do what you feel like, you needn't make it a mission". He was talking about me writing more in my blog, but I feel like it works with everything else going on in my life and needs that advice applied to. Missions are not very fun for me because the I feel tied down and then the crazy lady screaming "FREEDOM!!" comes out again. Maybe that is secretly me, and I am secretly crazy. Hmmm... Oh well. Who really knows anyway?

I want to find my bliss, but if I make it a mission then it goes all down hill, so then how do I find my bliss if I am supposed to be searching for it but not at that same time? Does that make any sense? I think the answer lies in the wise words of "just do what you feel like". If I do what I love and forget to hunt down my bliss then I would wander to it, right? It's like trying to catch a butterfly, when you chase them, they fly away from you, but if you forget them and go about your business they land on you. So your bliss is a butterfly.

The other day, I went to a show with dueling pianos with  my family. Let me tell you, it was a blast! I highly recommend going to see something like that because I was laughing my butt off. At one point they had a woman come up and hold the harmonica for one of the men playing "Piano Man" and whenever she didn't hold it up to his mouth on time, he would try to play without it to give her the hint. He make a "ththththththt" sound until she put it to his lips. Yepp, pretty darn great. I was glad that I was not in the front row, so I wouldn't be picked.

While I was in Ireland, I saw many great shows and performances in the theatre. It was amazing, and so powerful, but my favorite part of going had to be when I was able to explore the countryside. I really enjoyed going to see the Cliffs of Insanity (the Princess Bride anyone?) a.k.a. the Cliffs of Moher. SO beautiful! And even though you are not supposed to lean over the edge, I still did. I know I live on the edge. I am that cool.

Then I climbed many little stepping stones that create the Giants of Causeway. These were all created naturally by lava deep in the ocean, but many like to think that it was a bridge where giants would cross to get from Ireland to Scotland because these stones reemerge near Scotland. Pretty neat, right?

F.Y.I Giants of Causeway is in Northern Ireland while the Cliffs of Moher is in the Republic of Ireland. 

Just ignore me in the pictures and look at the landscape. 

However, if you notice I do look good in these photos, a friend of mine asked me "who wouldn't look good with Ireland in the background?" 

Hmmm... I don't know. 

I told the wise man this morning that I would share a poem that I wrote for a previous class today. It's an attempt at a sonnet.  I hope you enjoy!

The Ugly Truth

your molasses words linger in naïve ears

puffs of white breath falter out into the dark sky

sweet soft words mislead but you’re still a dear

I watch the parade while you casually brush my thigh

secret side glances are shared, you are wrong

you grab my hand and I flinch in revulsion

together and rotten, we don’t belong

you cannot stop this new revolution

swiftly I pull away from your bruising grip

your talons infect my roughly gouged wounds

poison diffuses and slowly blood drips

this does not work, my witty immunity confounds

eyes huge, you realize you shall not conquer

the sweet façade slackens, you’re a monster.

Do What You Love

I have not written anything outside from class work for many moons, and I am starting to wonder, why? Do I not love writing anymore, or do I just find excuses upon excuses to hide my fear? What fear? My answer is fear of not writing well, but a wise man once said "write drunk, edit sober". Ernest Hemmingway knew something about writing, didn't he? The thing is, is that I have many stories to write. Thoughts pop into my head all the time, and they are as wonderful as Wonderland, but I forget them or do not think I am able to convey world that I see correctly. It comes from me being a perfectionist. I have broken promises to myself about writing more diligently, and taking the time to do so, and it wasn't until I read an article about traveling that really got me thinking about it all.
Here is the link:

http://infinitesatori.org/2013/06/25/do-yourself-a-favor-and-buy-that-damn-plane-ticket-already/

I have always wanted to follow my bliss because then I would end up where I wanted to be in life, but good intentions pave the way to hell. What do I have to fear? Rejection? I know that rejection is one of my deepest fears, and so it not being good enough; however, one can never become good enough if the person does not keep practicing, right?

Anyway, during the month of May, I went to Ireland for three weeks, and I must say that those three weeks were not enough. The traveling bug has seeped into my bones and if I am unable to travel for a period of time I become a crazy lady that screams "I NEED FREEDOM!!" to all the passing children, and make them cry. I have found that neither parties are happy about this. In the past couple of years I have gone on a road trip to Toronto with my best friend, flew to Hawaii to visit family, and study aboard in Ireland, these things do not include the STLF trips to Washington D.C. and to Dallas, TX. This is all due to the traveling bug, I promise.

While I was in Ireland, I went to both the republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. Scary, I know right?! But it was pretty darn awesome.

I spent the first week and a half in Dublin, and after realizing to never rely on street names other than Dame Street and Grafton Street and by only using distinct landmarks or buildings to navigate the city, it was quite easy to get around. Walking and public transportation is the best way to get around. Oh, also, when the locals give directions, they talk of lower and higher streets. Lower means closer to the river and higher means further from the river. The river being in the center of the city going directly east to west. All directions deal with the river.

Throughout my meandering, I went to the Blarney Castle near Cork with a group of girls. To get to Cork, all one needs to do is go to the train station, buy a ticket and get on it. In three hours, bam! You are now in Cork and all you need to do is walk a couple blocks to get to the bus station where you buy the ticket on the bus. Make sure to turn left when you leave the entrance of the train station to get to the center of town.
We went the opposite way and a nice older lady stopped us saying, "You young girls are going to the wrong way, there is nothing down there."
People are so helpful.

HERE COMES THE SPAM OF PICTURES!!! MWAHAHA!!

 Us in front of the Blarney Castle.

 So much wind.

 Getting warmed up in the very large and outdated fireplace in the family room of the Blarney Castle.

 This is looking down at the family room that a friend and I were standing in the previous picture.

Went to the very top to see the stone with one of my gal pals! So proud of her! She is terrified of heights, and with her determination to see the Blarney stone, conquered it for a short time.

They have a poison garden in the castle grounds. Rhubarb leaves are toxic apparently and during one of the food shortages in one of the World Wars, doctors said people could eat the leaves in very small quantities. Many people died from this.  

I like to sit in the old windows. It makes me happy even though I now have a billion pictures of me in multiple windows where I don't even know where I am when I look at them. Priceless Taylor move right there ladies and gentlemen. 

While in Cork, we went to a fish and chips take out place called The Fisher's Wife, and it was amazing. We saw some other people checking it out, and we told them (since they wanted somewhere they could sit down) that there was a sign saying that if you wanted to, you could order your food and they would deliver it to you at the Pub across the street and that you would get a free beer or something. The fish was amazing, and I am not a big fan of fish. 

On the way back to Dublin, a nice man sat across from me on the train. Turns out he used to work with Samuel Beckett as a pause timer. He just got back from playing for a Duchess in Italy (because he is a musician). He saw me writing in my journal and told me that I would become a great writer because there must be so many shenanigans and adventures already written down. I don't really know about that, but I like to think so occasionally. 

Back in Dublin, I saw the Book of Kells, and even though it is super amazing and cool, we hardly had any time to look at it, nor were we able to take any pictures. The no picture taking does make sense though. 

That is only a pinch of the adventures that I had over abroad, but I have found that somethings need to be broken up in parts otherwise the task seems to daunting.