new blog :]

meganseuropeadventure.blogspot.com

follow me as I travel around London, Italy, Vienna, and Paris! :]

hug o' war

Recently, I've felt very uninspired whenever i sit down at my computer screen to blog. The frustrating part is that I actually have so many things that I've been thinking about lately, and wanting to blog about. There's books and articles I've read and noted, with the intention of sharing my opinions in my upcoming posts. My life has not been dull lately, that's for sure. The problem is sitting down and actually typing out my thoughts. As soon as I open up my blog and start a new post, my mind goes blank. I've always been more of a handwritten, pen and paper kind of girl, so lately I've turned to that instead of my laptop. Anyway, here's my favorite Shel Silverstein poem that I copied down in my notebook some time ago. Thought I would share it with you all :]

I like you more than colors

I like you more than colors,
than my favorite turquoise nail polish
against pale summer sand.
I like you more than black and white photographs,
than old yellowed love letters
with red and blue postmarks.
I like you more than blue blue days at the beach,
pale pink seashells that are almost white,
and my umbrella with the polka dots
I like you more than the most beautiful sunsets,
the ones over the cliffs of point loma
or out the window of an airplane
above the clouds.
I like you more than green tea
in a delicate patterned tea cup
and coffee with the perfect amount of hazelnut creamer.
I like you more than libraries,
than the dark faded covers of novels
with dusty gold edged pages
and ribbon bookmarks.
I like you more than green grassy hills
with lots of shade for hot summer days
and checkered picnic blankets.
I like you more than chalk pastels
and watercolors,
and charcoal pencils.
I like you more than fireworks,
flashes of light against a blue-black sky
that last only moments.
I like you more than grey rainy days
and the reflections in puddles on dark black asphalt
before you jump in them.
Black or white,
Red and blue,
Green, gold, and grey
I like you more than colors,
(...I think I love you more than them, too)

love letter [from Marius to Cosette]

This is what she read:

O love! Adorations! Light of two minds which comprehend each other, of two hearts which are interchanged, of two glances which interpenetrate! You will come to me, will you not, happiness? Walks together in the solitudes! Days blessed and radiant!

God can add nothing to the happiness of those who love one another but to give them unending duration. After a life of love, an eternity of love is an augmentation indeed, but to increase in its intensity the ineffable felicity which love gives to the soul in this world is impossible, even with God. God is the plenitude of heaven; love is the plenitude of man.

"Does she still come to the Luxembourg?" "No, monsieur." "She hears mass in this church, does she not?" "She comes here no more." "Does she still live in this house?" "She has moved away!" " Whither has she gone to live?" "She did not say!"

What a gloomy thing, not to know the address of one's soul!

You who suffer because you love, love still more. To die of love is to live by it.

What a grand thing, to be loved! What a grander thing still, to love! The heart becomes heroic through passion. It is no longer composed of anything but what is pure; it no longer rests upon anything but what is elevated and great. An unworthy thought can no more spring up in it than a nettle upon a glacier. The soul, lofty and serene, inaccessible to common passions and common emotions, rising above the clouds and the shadows of this world, its follies, its falsehoods, its hates, its vanities, its miseries, inhabits the blue of the skies, and only feels more the deep and subterranean commotions of destiny, as the summit of the mountains feels the quaking of the earth.

Were there not someone who loved, the sun would be extinguished.

[. . .]

"Oh yes!" said she. "How I recognize all this! This is what I had already read in his eyes!"





...and this is why I love Les Miserables.

missing youuu

Friendship isn't defined by how many times you talk on the phone, or how many hours you hang out together. It doesn't matter how many shared memories or inside jokes you have. There are no requirements or laws that state that a good best friend must hang out with you every weekend, or tell you every little detail about their life. A best friend is a matter of opinion; it is the person who has been there for you through everything, not just through the fun things or the little things. It is the person you know you can count on when you are at your absolute worst. It is the person who saves you when you didn't even notice you needed saving. It is the person that tells you the truth when you need to hear it - and says it in love. A best friend is someone who knows and accepts you for who you are, while encouraging you to become better.


That being said....I miss my best friends more than words can convey. I'm okay with not talking to them every single day, but can friendship survive on a complete lack of conversation? I'm having a hard time adjusting to the fact that our lives are going in completely separate directions. They're making new friends and plans for the future - ones that don't include me. In theory, best friends can come back at any time and pick up conversations where they left off. I can go to Europe, they can leave for college, or get married and move across the country. But eventually, everything will be normal again, right? In theory, we can just start again where we left off, and still be as close as ever.

But I'm scared that's not going to happen.
And I'm scared of being replaced.
And I feel like I'm losing some of you.



I'm trying not to clutch the past so tightly to my chest that it leaves my arms too full to embrace the present. I swear I'm trying to make the most of it, but summer really sucks without you.

sorry for my lack of blogging....

There are some things too private to blog about.
and those things are pretty much all I've been thinking about lately.
Which is why I haven't been updating.

Once the situation has changed, I promise I'll be back :)

swing dancing lessons

I've recently taken up swing dancing with a group of my friends. Every Monday night we have an hour-long lesson with the rest of the beginning class, in a cute old ballroom located on the second floor of a club. The instructors would start off each lesson by teaching us a series of steps, urging us to call out the moves as we dance in order to improve muscle memory. We stood in three long lines, chanting, "walk, walk, triple-step. walk, walk, triple-step." We rotated partners often throughout the lesson, giving us the chance to experience everyone's unique swing dancing style. Now, I pick up new choreography fairly easy, most likely due to my many years in ballet and choir, but the same cannot be said for many of my partners. I found myself getting frustrated very quickly when I had a partner who did the steps wrong, or led me in the wrong direction, or stumbled over his feet and couldn't stay on beat. I know I am in a beginning class, and should be more forgiving of errors, but it just wasn't fun when my partner needed my coaching.

After the lesson, my group of friends moved downstairs to try out our new moves in the club. It was intimidating, to say the least. The club was filled with advanced swing dancers who were laughing as they twirled and spun across the dance floor at breakneck speeds. For the next half hour or so, my group stuck in our comfortable little corner, doing the same moves over and over. So far we’ve learned a six-count step and an eight-count step, and we practiced those moves until we had them perfect. We even threw in a few twirls when we were feeling risky.

I was high-fiving my friends as we laughed about our "mad skills" and how we were "tearing up the dance floor" when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Hi. Do you want to dance?"
I looked around. Who, me? “Um, sure. But I’m really new at this.”
“Oh that’s okay. Which dances do you know?”
“Uh…the one that goes ‘walk, walk, triple-step.’ And the ‘triple-step, triple-step, rock-step’ one.”
He laughs. “Those aren’t dances. Here, I’ll teach you the Charleston.”

And with that I was swept off into a dizzying crowd of people. His name was Daniel, he taught himself how to swing dance by watching YouTube videos, and he had no fingers on his left hand (a fact that I didn’t even notice until two songs later.) Somehow, I found myself doing the Charleston and many other dances I don’t know the names for, with very little coaching. No words were needed, because Daniel led me so confidently and precisely. Even with his deformity, I knew exactly when I was expected to turn or switch positions through subtle nonverbal clues. It was a huge contrast from the partners I had in my beginning class, and I left that night thinking that swing dancing is the most fun thing I had ever done.

God must be a fan of literary devices. Jesus used countless parables and allegories as he taught crowds, and I’ve recently noticed the same thing happening in my own life. Day to day happenings, such as spending a night out swing dancing with friends, will suddenly resonate with concepts I’ve been struggling with for months. In this case, swing dancing closely parallels some of my recent relationships.

I am always tempted to be an initiator. I like to get things done. I like to talk about situations and feelings, get it all out in the open, deal with it. This is a flaw that most Christian women don’t understand or recognize in themselves—the desire to lead when we are displeased with how men are handling things in our relationships. No, you’re doing the dance all wrong. Step here, put your hand on my back, turn this way, do that. Much better. It’s hard to let someone lead when you think they are doing it incorrectly. This desire to initiate is what causes me to tell guys I have a crush on them, or that I could see us dating sometime in the future. This is not honesty that should be applauded; rather, it is my sinful desire to start a relationship before God has declared it time.

We live in a society that commends strong women. It is deemed old-fashioned to expect the man to call first or pay on dates. Feminists call for an end to chivalry—opening doors for women is now considered an insult to the “fairer sex.” In this same way, Biblical depictions of men and women are considered out-dated. Submission and leadership roles have been blurred in the pursuit of equality.

A good friend once interrupted me while I was talking about some boy I was interested in, dropping this little nugget of brutal truth. He told me that, as much as I want a relationship, I’m not going to be happy unless I let the guy pursue me. This has stuck with me for a while now, and was reinforced last night when I was out swing dancing. Daniel taught me that I have a lot more fun when I’m not trying to lead. I may not know all the steps perfectly or the name of the dance that we’re doing, but that doesn’t matter. My job is to give up control to Someone who does know, and when it's the right time He will send me twirling and spinning through life with a dance partner who is perfect for me.

here it is.....the first post.

Dumbledore: "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."

Harry: "You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?"

Dumbledore: "Certainly."

I realize that starting off my blog with a quote from Harry Potter could quite possibly alienate potential readers and mark me as a geek, but the title of my blog deserves an explanation. Pensieve. This is a place for me to pour my excess thoughts when my mind is too full. Here, I can dump them. I can come back to examine them and look for some sort of insight into life.

I don't know what I will write about, or how often, or how eloquently it will be written. It may be Art, or Love and God and Relationships. I might write about Random Happenings and People that I meet. I will most likely mention Europe. I cannot promise wit. I may not make anyone laugh or cry or feel any strong emotion because of my writing. I cannot promise consistent blogging or perfect grammar. But here are my excess thoughts, dear reader. Sift through them at your leisure and, together, we may find something of interest.