"Master the instrument, master the music, then forget all that shit and play." - Charlie Parker

I was in Chicago last week for a conference and one of the speakers was Alex Chen, with Google Creative Labs. He shared with us a couple of his side projects. Each one was inspiring, but this one I keep watching over and over. I think it's beautiful and genius and somehow simple...in a lovely way.

"This is a little experiment with a viola and Glass. I thought is would be fun to create a song layering short video loops. So I spent the afternoon improvising melodies, filming it on Google Glass, then I pieced it all together into a small orchestra." - Alex Chen

So check out the video. And then check out Alex's other side projects. He is one of the guys responsible for the Les Paul Goggle Doodle, which is also fantastic.

the list : part two

I've been putting off this post (it's most definitely back-dated) because I doubt its interesting to anyone except me. But weirdly enough, I started this list to encourage myself to be brave. To do some of the things I've been wanting to do since I moved to the city in 2010 and to not let the excuse of feeling sick or not having someone equally excited about them stop me. And as I look back over it, I'm so thankful for this silly list, because this summer was a beautiful surprise. There are these lovely moments - watching the city lights from the roof of the Telephone Factory lofts, learning to long-board on the street outside the Mott's house in Grant Park, water-skiing for the first time with my sister - that I hope I remember for a long time. Everyday-life is hopeful and adventurous and full of inspiration, and for some reason I needed that reminder.

1. Go dancing (preferably at MJQ) - This didn't really happen. However, I did engage in an impromptu interpretive dance to Elton John's masterpiece "Your Song" in my sunroom with best friend Lizzy and Kevin at me and Jessie's birthday party. That is pretty much as good as it gets.

2. See a show at Eddie's Attic. Complete! The Lone Bellow and Sandra McCracken. Both were wonderful, and Eddie's atmosphere is beautiful to me.

3. Find a new not-so-well-known view of the Atlanta skyline. Found one of my own and one from Carolyn. But I'm still on the search for the best undiscovered spot that's all mine.

4. Share a meal at Murphy's and/or a Kevin Rathbun restaurant. Nope, but I've shared some wonderful meals with friends over the last couple months - Agave, Holeman and Finch, Quartino (in Chicago)...

5. Share drinks at Leon's (or Brick Store). Girl's dinner at Brick Store with my best friends from high school, and life - Liz, Mary Beth and Steph. Highlight: Steph was an hour late because of car trouble just because that's tradition at this point. 

6. Spend an hour at Emory Park. Balboa Park in San Diego works. Ashleigh and I extended a work trip into the weekend and spent two days in San Diego with my friend Chris that I met at L'abri. We biked to the park from Chris's house. 

7. Attend at least 3 of the neighborhood festivals. Dogwood and Virginia-Highland. More to come.

8. Roam through an art gallery in Castleberry Hill. No, but I did go the High, my favorite bit of architecture in Atlanta. And I toured the art museum at SCAD on a trip for work.

9. Throw a frisbee in the field by the skate park. This was planned, but it ended up being a party at the Mott's involving bocce, taboo, long-boarding, and some cheap tequila. Abby saved me from almost death involving the long-board and a parked car. Pretty thankful...

10. See a Brave's game (or a few) Complete! Three! Witnessed a game winning grand slam and then possibly the most boring game ever against the Nationals. Braves games define the start of the summer so no complaints here.

11. Finish my painting. Dammit. At least I tried...

12. Light the bonfire in our backyard Complete! Jess and I had a double-birthday party with cornhole, bocce, homemade ice cream, Monday Night Brewing's Drafty Kilt, and of course a bonfire. It ended up being a Perimeter Christian School reunion somehow, which is totally awesome. Covenant school for life.

13. Be overwhelmed by Dekalb Farmer's Market. No...but I did go to the Farmer's Market in San Diego and I think that's at least as cool. Ashleigh and I almost missed our flight back to Atlanta for it, but it was well worth it. Although the main thing I remember is the amazing breakfast burrito we picked up on the way there.

14. Share a food truck meal. At Dogwood with Jessie and Mandie. During our sugar-free diet phase. We might have cheated on the bread.

15. Pass the NCIDQ Exam. Success! I still have to take part 2 but I passed the Practicum! Huge relief! My friend Michele passed too.

16. Hug Abby, Rae, and Karl. No Karl. Canceled my trip to Colorado last minute. But I did see Abby and Rae. So happy to have Abs back in the states from the Gambia. I feel like me again with her here.

17. Bar hop in Athens. I got real sick the weekend I planned to hit up Athens with my college roommates. But Ash and I bar hopped in San Diego to make up for it. (the picture below is must definitely not a bar-hopping picture...but a gem I just found on my phone.)

18. Explore a used bookstore. Bought a book of fairy tales by Hans Christain Anderson at a used bookstore in Decatur. Who knew he wrote The Little Mermaid? And who knew she dies in the end of the real story??

19. Go running in Freedom Park. Biking. Much better. Carolyn and I biked from her studio in the Pencil Factory lofts to Across the Street for dinner, and back. A beautiful night. Carolyn is one of those people that inspires me every time we spend time together. She has an insatiable curiosity that makes the most common things feel like new discoveries. 

20. Ride on a motorcycle. Ryan's scooter. Way better. It was pretty much a dream come true.

21. Buy a vinyl album in Little Five. I hit up Little Five with Lindsey and bought The Postal Service album and Explosions in the Sky. My first two vinyl purchases. And I'm listening to Mumford on vinyl as I write this, thanks to roommate Mandie. 
On a side note: I was able to buy my record player because one of best friend's parents knew this year had been tough financially, with medical bills and a stolen car, and thought they'd help out. But they encouraged me to spend their gift on purchases that would help me get well - and they fully believed that music is a part of that. I agreed, but it wasn't until I had it all hooked up and was lying on my living room floor blasting Mumford's "Ghosts That We Knew" that I completely agreed with them. I'd venture to say everyone needs a record player.

22. See the Fernbank telescope. I will do this. As for stars, mom and I laid in the street outside our beach house with red wine, a wooden spoon and a pot (to scare off bears), and stared up at the most beautiful night sky I've seen in years. 

23. Post a blog (this one doesn't count) Success. 

24. Use my SLR camera. It broke...I have big plans for fixing it. But in the meantime I've been sketching. 

25. Spend a Saturday morning yardsale-ing. Jessie and I hit up an estate sale and found these little gems that now hang in the front hall.

26. Touch the Pacific Ocean. Yes! And the Atlantic. 

So I'm officially 26 now and my list is a lot shorter. Well actually, its longer now. That's Atlanta - the more I explore, the more I fall in love with this crazy city and want to know it better.

I hold with all I have

I'm going to start writing again.
Mostly because it helps me process the world around me and at some point in the last year I stopped writing, and processing, the way I know how. And I want to find my way back.

Some mornings I wake up and I'm scared. Scared that every morning for the next forty years I'll be greeted with the same raw pain and hopelessness. Other mornings I wake up without a thought of fear, excited about a hot cup of coffee and the ordinary adventure of the day. I have no idea which morning tomorrow will be and the thing is...my mornings were the same when my body was strong. The trouble comes when I let my feelings inform my thoughts, and seep into my soul.

I spend a lot of hours in doctors' offices. On that weird little bed with the crackly paper sheet. Last week there were butterflies painted on the ceiling tiles. I've made countless hand turkeys out of rubber gloves, thanks to my Mom's silly sense of humor. One good thing about the doctor's office is that it never fails to bring me face-to-face with everything I've been avoiding. It is in those quiet moments after the nurse leaves and before the doctor comes that I realize what I truly believe. And in those still moments, it is hard to not feel worn down and small.

When I got sick a lot of my dreams turned to dust, and no matter what I tried I couldn't get them to materialize again. I used to think that healthy people had it better off because they had the strength and energy to believe. They could look at their life and see the beauty and attribute it straight to God's love. It's a pretty common thought. There was always that moment after something shattered that a healthy friend would look me in the eyes and say,  "Anna, it's okay. He is making your faith stronger. It is further proof that the Lord has big plans for you." But I wanted to take their words and slam them against the wall,  hoping they'd fall to the floor into a thousand pieces. I didn't want a God like that. A God that puts me through hell for the sake of my story. Where is the hope in that? I think somewhere along the way we've come to believe that the harder our lives are, the more He is planning. But then what do we do when we are healthy? Does that mean he is farther from us? We think we are making it simple, but really we are complicating it.

As I look back, I do think there is some truth in those words, deep down, somewhere. But my soul still screams that it isn't a formula. And until I give up making His love and His presence into a formula, I'll never really know Him.

It isn't that in the hard times God is closer. It is that He is close. Always.

I'm starting to fall deeply in love with the parts of our God that are a mystery. They used to scare the hell out of me. Now they help me feel human, and they help me believe He is God and He is bigger.

No matter if my body is strong or weak, my soul doesn't have to be tied to it. My soul doesn't have to feed off of my health, or my view of the world, or that feeling in the morning of hopelessness or belief. My soul feeds off of Him. And He is always there. This is how some of the weakest, most hopeless moments - sitting alone in a hospital bed staring up a oddly painted ceiling tiles, or stranded in a parking lot until the blinding nerve pain in my leg subsides and I can drive home - can still be hopeful and beautiful times for the soul.

I hear God best at night right after I turn off the lights in my room, before I fall asleep. When I'm left looking at the ceiling and all the fears, doubts and joys of my life start to fall into columns and sort themselves out - as if they're written in the night.

Lately I've found him saying that He is here. And that I can rest, because He's not going anywhere. And that I don't have to figure Him out because I can't anyways.

The most obvious things about God are also the most surprising, and the most healing.

the list

So last year this girl did this and I was inspired. And since I've been missing the adventurer in me lately  I've made a list of 26 things I want to do before I'm 26. Why the heck not you know? I realize this is not very interesting to you... but I had to write is somewhere to make it official.

Don't you worry - when it's complete I'll fill it all in with epic photos.

1. Go dancing (preferably at MJQ)
2. See a show at Eddie's Attic
3. Find a new not-so-well-known view of the Atlanta skyline.
4. Share a meal at Murphy's and/or a Kevin Rathbun restaurant.
5. Share drinks at Leon's (or Brick Store)
6. Spend an hour at Emory Park
7. Attend at least 3 of the neighborhood festivals.
8. Roam through an art gallery in Castleberry Hill
9. Throw a frisbee in the field by the skate park
10. See a Brave's game (or a few)
11. Finish my painting
12. Light the bonfire in our backyard
13. Be overwhelmed by Dekalb Farmer's Market
14. Share a food truck meal
15. Pass the NCIDQ Exam
16. Hug Abby, Rae, and Karl
17. Bar hop in Athens
18. Explore a used bookstore
19. Go running in Freedom Park
20. Ride on a motorcycle
21. Buy a vinyl album in Little Five
22. See the Fernbank telescope
23. Post a blog (this one doesn't count)
24. Use my SLR camera
25. Spend a Saturday morning yardsale-ing
26. Touch the Pacific Ocean

Bring it, life.

being human

I just had a wonderful conversation with a friend of mine on the west coast. A strong, fiercely honest friend I met five years ago in California where we worked together at a ranch. I don't know anyone that matches her and I'm honored every time my phone rings and I see her name on the screen. I've done a lousy job of keeping in touch and she hasn't given up on me yet. Every time I talk to Amanda I remember how passionately I believe in honesty. And I'm reminded of how skillfully we southern folk, and especially southern Christian folk, can convince ourselves how content we are when often our souls are screaming on the inside. But I'm not passionate about honesty because that's what right and we need more truth tellers in the world today. I'm passionate about it because it screws with our theology and our perception of God.

I read a blog this week that says when it comes to me and God, "I bring nothing to the table except the unrighteousness that makes Christ's righteousness necessary." And I wonder how many of us really believe that. I know by grace we sometimes do. But I also get to thinking that "If I just prayed enough, believed enough or was filled with the Spirit enough I wouldn't ever get discouraged or downcast." But the second I start thinking I can bring something to the table my connection to grace has been snapped. I have to shove away these thoughts and remember that "the gospel frees us to be human."

Sometimes I think the name of this blog should be the art of being human. Because that's a lot of what bravery is to me.  It's the courage and conviction to admit who I really am - someone who fails constantly and has the faith to admit that it's okay. Because there's a God that's bigger than me and bigger than the darkest, most hopeless parts of me. The ones I don't even admit to myself. He is bigger. And when He sees those parts of me, He sees me as complete and He loves me the same. "Even the best things we do have something in them that needs to be pardoned." What wonderful news! He knows how bad I am and He still wants me. There's no gain in pretending.

our souls in our laps

"Graduation"
Dorothea Tanning

He told us, with the years,
you will come to love the world.
And we sat there with our souls in our laps
and comforted them.

I've been searching for this poem since I read it on the New York Subway a couple weeks ago. I think its beautiful. I'm not sure I'm supposed to think that since it was in an ad... But it's one of those poems that hits me in the gut when I read it. I love that. Maybe reading it on the subway was what made me like it. It's hard to forget the rawness of the world on a subway car in New York City. Surrounded by walls that, when first built, shined with glossy white tile - but they've been touched and smudged and dirtied by time into a rough, oily surface that even the most free person prefers not to touch. A dirtied yellow color appropriate for the underground of a city. It reminds me of a book I read in high school that talked about how, in rural Africa, white fabric doesn't exist. With the dirt and dust, nothing stays pure white for long. But it's not just Africa.

Sitting on the subway, reading Dorothea's poem, the thought of loving the world seems first like a horror. But maybe that's only if I try to love it for what its not. Or what its not supposed to ever be. I like subways for a number of reasons. One is that, when barreling through the underground tunnels of a city, there is no pretending that this world is supposed to be glossy and clean and pure. When you put a bunch of messy people in one place, clean white tile isn't going to last long. And I think that's beautiful, in its own way. It exposes the truth about us that we can't hide. We are worse than we think.

I don't, and never will, have it all together. The shiny, unblemished parts of myself won't last. Actually, they don't even exist. And the question is, how long will I pretend that they do? When will I believe that, in Him, the broken parts of me aren't shameful - they are human? And that accepting my humanity is a step towards healing? Healing my shattered view that I have what I need inside of myself. It feels too risky - but admitting my humanity is a jump into the arms of my Creator. And really there is no risk at all.

There is beauty in the worn, lonely places of this world. The places we have dirtied and battered with time. But maybe not for any other reason than that they catch us longing for something greater. Something that doesn't blemish. Or wear out. And isn't offended when we do. And we sat there with our souls in our laps and comforted them.

My neighborhood

I've finally started roaming the streets of East Atlanta with my camera in hand.

Composing through the lens of a camera settles my heart like few other things in this world.