a life in Polaroids

I think a lot, sometimes a little too much, but while I think from one thing to another as I drive, I get some good ideas.

In no way am I photogenic, and I actually just recently realized how incredibly insecure I am- though I pray that's a passing fad inside of me. But anyway, I decided that I would love for every moment, or largely combined memory, of my life to have it's own candid snapshot. Preferably with a Polaroid, too, if that's not so much to ask. But how great would that be? It'd be a visual journal, and when you flipped back through all of the older Polaroids, you'd see the moment, and feel what you felt then, and it would be so incredibly vivid. Each one would have such a story. I would love that.

I've learned and experienced so many new things lately. Within the past few weeks I've discovered new strengths, and weaknesses, within myself that I never knew of. I've been able to identify and label things for my memory file instead of just crumpling them up and throwing them in there somewhere. I've been forced to raise my emotional maturity level. I've learned how to bear one another's burden, and take on a heavy heart that's only a mere fraction of the heavy heart that the person going through that had. I've stretched myself to BE myself so people know who I truly am. I've stretched myself to actually feel life instead of watch it. I've made it a point to keep on going, even though you think you're not penetrating and you want to drift away to sulk in self-consciousness, because you know that one day they'll look back and see what you did and smile and cherish that moment and wish they had a photo of it displayed on their dresser or hiding in their drawer.

I have gained so much love and so much life.

And I have no plans to miss anything anymore.

My senses have been cracked open to receive sweet, fresh air.

There is so much to embrace, and so so so many more perfect Polaroid opportunities.

I need more film.