I'm on top of a patchwork quilt. 
Intersecting brown and corn. 
A sea of rolling white and blue with puddles of green peeking through. 
Ripples of grey squirming in between straight black lines. 

Nothing makes me think of death quite like flying. Every time I find myself in an airplane, rumbling down the runway, I think, "How the hell does this thing fly?"  It's against everything that should be true. It defies the laws of physics that are probably incorrectly stuffed in the recesses of my mind. 

Once, four years ago, as I sat on a plane which was flying over the Atlantic on my way to Belgium, I turned on my iPod. The first lyrics I heard?  
And if your plane fell out of the sky/ who would you call with your last goodbye.  

Airports are funny places. Here congregate every sort of person: the CEO, the exchange student, and the wandering family. Prices on everything are sky-high (no pun intended...) and tension is almost tangible as the suited man darts past, already late for boarding his flight back home. 

Just yesterday afternoon, I had the distinct pleasure of being stuck in O'Hare airport for 4 hours.  The east coast thunderstorms delayed flights across the country, so although the weather was perfect in the Windy City, we were kept on the ground. 

I sat at my gate, thinking at first that we'd be leaving on time. I journaled, then pulled out "Out of the Silent Planet", which I had started on the flight to Chicago. As I read, they made the dreaded announcement: "We're stuck on the ground for a while, folks. We'll keep you updated."

Commence the people-watching. 

The family which most attracted my attention say directly across from me. The primary reason I noticed them was that their two young sons-probably between 6 and 10 years old- were wearing blue-and-white fleece one-piece outfits. The mother asked me to clarify the announcement; they were clearly European. I mentally went through a list of possible nationalities. French? No. Italian? No. British, German, Austrian? Nope. 

Another young boy looked to his right and observed the European father playing a game on his iPad with his sons. 

"Hey! I know that game! I have it here!"
The sons, confused, looked at their father who presumably translated. 
"Do you speak English?"
"I do, they speak a little but not much."
"Oh. What do you speak?"
This time the son answered. "Norway."

[No wonder I didn't recognize it.]

Language seemed no barrier as the three boys shared two iPads; pointing, and sometimes speaking in their own languages, they seemed to get the messages across. They shared little tips on how to pass this or that level, how to collect diamonds, how to move on. 

"Are you Christian?"
"Well in Norway, most of us are Lutheran", said the father, after a moment
"Oh. I'm Christian."

I, along with those around me, couldn't help but smile at their interactions. Even their parents, ever-watchful, seemed to love this exchange of friendship. 

I hope those boys never forget that language is not a boundary. That something as simple as minecraft can bring cultures together and eliminate confusion.  That a smile is just a small hello, and that the most meaningful interactions can begin with three small boys who don't know what the other says.

If you know me, you'll know that I am not really the concert-going type. It's not really "me" to willingly put myself with a mass of screaming fans and sing and dance along. 

And yet 4 nights ago, that was precisely what I did. 

For some reason, I've had a strong desire to attend a concert for over a year. This summer, my friends and I decided to make it a reality. I researched all the concerts within 2 hours of our house, compared prices, and looked up the opening bands. We decided on American Authors, The Script, and OneRepublic. 

Whew. Great decision, guys. 

Experiences which are somewhat outside of our comfort zones are oftentimes the best ones. 

We arrived early and tailgated catholic-style: with tuna sandwiches on a Friday. (We later realized that it was a feast day, so we could've had meat, but the Almond tea made up for that.) 

We then scoped out lawn seats. 
Lawn seats mean that it's a free-for-all. Good luck battling the crowds, friends. But we were awesome seat-finders. We nailed 2nd row of the lawn spots on the grass, right in the middle. Boom. 

And then followed an amazing 4 hours of pure talent. 

If you don't know me, you're going to think I'm just crazy, or fangirling, or something dumb. But I assure you I am not. These three bands were some of most talented groups of people I have ever been blessed enough to witness. 

You know, it's so interesting seeing groups like these in a live setting. I can listen to their recordings all I want, but nothing beats the stories, the little comments, the extra instrumental songs thrown in. (Bonus for learning that my favorite song on the album was the lead singer's favorite song too.) 

There's something about finding joy in something, and there's something else about finding joy with something along with thousands of your closest friends. (Here you may picture an eye-roll, but only regarding the second half of that sentence, and mostly jokingly.) Of being happy with them. Of singing along with them. Being awed by fantastic talent with them. 

Perhaps I make too much of a simple evening with friends, but I think that it is once we look beyond the everyday feelings we have toward something that we begin to experience the transcendent. 

And although these were by no means Christian groups in name, I have this funny feeling they'd understand what I mean. 

This'll make it easier for you to read what I write, without searching every time you want to check back in!
Thanks for reading- it makes my heart happy :)

Working.
...Two internships- one for credit, one for money.  Both for experience.
Learning.
...How to better work in a professional environment.
...What it means to be a youth minister, practically speaking.  And how to give better talks to teens.
...That I love (love love) event planning.
Planning.
...A trip to Chicago next week, to visit my friend and household sister Grace.
...Office events, from happy hours to wine tastings to all-hands meetings.
...Fall retreat.
Thinking.
...About Liturgy Committee next year, and where I think our focuses should be.
Asking.
...What does it mean for me to live a balanced life?
...What do I look for in a parish, and what does it mean to find community there?
Reading.
...Funny satirical posts.
...Excellent thought-provoking posts.
Watching.
...oh-so-much laughter videos.
Writing.
...Lots and lots of blog posts.
...Emails to friends who live elsewhere.
...in my journal, everyday whenever possible.
Running.
...At least 5 miles a week (baby steps, ya'll).
Praying.
...For all my friends discerning their vocations
...For my family members taking trips this next month.

"What do you do for fun?"
"I read.... I do graphic design.... but I really don't have that much time."
"Why not?"
"I have two, technically three internships.  And I write for an online magazine.  But the third internship is remote and super part-time, so it's really not that bad."
"Hm.  You may want to take a look at your priorities.  What's most important?  If there's something you can cut, you should do it."

Dang shoot.  I'd known him for 47 minutes, and he was already calling me out.  Who did he think he was, telling me that I was too busy?  I have my summer carefully planned out, no overlaps, but time completely filled.  Every weekday.  Sometimes 8 am-10 pm.  Some Saturdays?  Totally gone.  Sleeping in?  A thing of the past.  My summer at home, the one where I planned to see my sister and brother and friends and nieces and nephews so much?  Full already.

And I'm only 3 weeks in.

In some ways, I like it this way.  I feel like I'm getting so much done.  For example, each Wednesday, I work one internship from 8:30-12:30, the second internship from 1-4:30, run home for dinner, go to Praise and Worship at 6:30, Bible study at 8, and holy hour at 9.  I'm home by 10:45 and may have time to put a load of laundry in the washer and pick up my clutter from the previous Saturday before falling into bed at midnight.  

No time for exercise, I tell myself.  No time for reading.  No FoodNetwork or HGTV.  Sitting around is a thing of the past.  I'm grown-up now.  I have things to do.

But is my business getting in the way of what's really important?  Am I inadvertently keeping myself from other activities by expecting too much of myself?

I started to realize this gradually.  First, my mom suggested that I take an afternoon off.  One day a week.  Finish work at 12:30 and come home.  Ha, no.  "I only have a day and an evening at the Church, I should give them another afternoon as well."  But now, I've only worked there for 3 1/2 days, and I'm in love with it already.  I haven't spent much time with the kids, but I love them.  So I'm glad I made that decision to be there an extra afternoon, and its not out of a feeling of obligation anymore.  It's because I genuinely want to be there.

The next step in my realization was this past Wednesday, when I was at Bible study and we went around the table saying what we were doing this summer.  shoot, I sound like the worst overachiever ever, I thought.  Two internships?  Who does that?  Me.  But why?

I was then planning a trip to go visit Grace for a couple days.  The thought of asking for time off was paralyzing.  It took me 2 days to fill out the online form, asking for 2 1/2 days off.  My hands hesitated as I typed an email, telling the youth minister I couldn't chaperone the hike.  Ah.  I'm slacking.  I'm shirking my responsibilities.  I'm letting people down.  I expect more of myself than I do of other people.

Finally, last weekend, I was at a meeting and he dropped that question.  "What do you do for fun?"  It was asked out of curiosity, but it led to so much more. Why do I see a need to fill every moment?  Is it because I'm running from something, or towards something, or just running for the sake of running?  Am I trying to prove something to myself?  Or to others?  
Am I motivated by Love?

Even though one of my jobs is in a secular company, I should still have love behind what I do.  If I don't genuinely want to serve those I work with, my work means nothing.  If I don't seek to be Christ to each and every person I encounter, even the impolite people on the phone, I've failed before I even began.  

So I don't know that this is rooted in my schedule at all, but rather in the purpose behind it.  I am realizing that my reason shouldn't be because of obligation, but because of Love.  

For if Love does not motivate all, what good is anything we do?

My feet pounded hard on the pavement.  Vision narrow, I didn't see the man walking his dog and just in time I swerved into the road to dodge them.  So much focus on putting one foot in front of the other that my own shadow startled me as it showed on the fence.  Breathing heavy, I stopped, stretched for a moment, then began running again.

20 minutes.  That was my goal.  20 minutes of sweat and running.  I went further than I had before.  2 miles instead of 1.  Running instead of jogging.  I pushed harder, intent on more success this time.  

A mile in, I questioned my sanity.  I'm not a runner.  I'm out of shape.  I don't do this often enough.  What was I thinking?
Currently, I was thinking about the waffle I'd eat when I got home.  The air shifted and I swore I could smell sausage.  I'm allergic to sausage, yet I'd eat some right now.  If only it'd keep me from running more.  It's hot.  It's humid.  And I, like an idiot, am running.

I went down the last slope and prepared for the final hill.  why why why.  Why was this harder than any other time?  Pushing myself wasn't the issue.  Everyone who wants to get better at something has to push.  Athletes, scholars, businessmen- going outside the comfort zone is part of the growth process.

Then I remembered what I hadn't done.
Of course, it seemed dumb in my mind.  It shouldn't have mattered.  

I've no question in my mind why non-believers question the existence of God if offering up suffering isn't an option.  What's the point if it's not being used for any good?  I consider running a suffering; a small one, but suffering nonetheless.  It's sheer willpower that makes me pull on my running shoes and make my way all too slowly around our neighborhood at 9 pm.  I'd gotten into the habit of choosing one intention to offer that run for each time I started out.  A friend from school, a situation in my own life, a family member.  The first person or thing which popped into my head as I took those first steps down my driveway- that's who got prayers out of my run.

But I'd forgotten.  As I muttered a few short words under my breath -"For so-and-so"- it clicked.  I offered up everything I gained from that run for the first person who entered my mind.  And as I made the final third-of-a-mile loop, the final steps didn't seem quite so bad.

Thinking I had missed something, I went back and read what so-and-so had written.  Hm.  Missed punctuation, grammatical errors, and basic spelling issues.  What is it that the above-quoted person saw in so-and-so that I was completely blind to?

Poor writing is unbelievably cringe-worthy in my mind.  Perhaps I have my mother the english teacher to thank for this, or perhaps it was the hundreds of books I read as the ultimate introvert child, but I was taught how to use commas, and how to construct a well-written sentence, and how to spell.  

It's a lesson that my design professor drilled into our heads.  Rules of alignment and color and font choice were scrawled on the screen in front of us, and slowly, by trial and error, we learned that once we started following these rules automatically, then we were allowed to break them.  But only for good reason and to make good designs.

So it is with writing.  You have to know not to write run-on sentences before you decide to use one on purpose.  You have to know not to start a sentence with "and" before you make the choice to say it.  If Miss Chamer in 2nd grade hadn't taught me the basics of paragraph writing, I most likely wouldn't be typing this now and choosing to utilize one-and-two-sentence paragraphs.

Maybe this is why I take writing seriously.  Why I choose to publish what I write online.  Because I've been told and persuaded and convinced by people who I trust that I somehow got this writing thing down.  Don't ask me how, because I didn't do it on purpose.  I didn't set out to become a "blogger" or a "writer".  This is also why I read so many blogs- because there is a beauty in their words that no other person can reproduce.  I have some sort of link, connection, with those who know, really know, how to write.  Even if I met them after I had read every post they had written so far, or if they live across the country and don't even know that I exist, or if I knew them personally for months before they shared their writing with the world.

Sometimes I wonder at the whole concept of language and how wonderful it is.  How a couple hundred words on a computer screen can put a big ol' lump in my throat, or some text on paper stuck between cardboard covers can make me feel like I've witnessed the live event right in front of me.  Something gives those people the ability to convey a complex and unrepeatable, individual message, and something gives me the ability to accept it from them, like a gift.

If you can Write, and I mean actually Write and not just dabble meaningless words on a page, then goshdarnit, Write!  Spread those ideas and thoughts around the world like little feathers floating through the wind.  
You don't know where those ideas will take you and where they'll land, but it just may be somewhere wonderful.

My birthday has always been my least favorite day of the year.  People are shocked to hear this, because, come on, who doesn't love their own birthday?!?  (Me, I say!)  
Welcome to the life of an introvert.  A whole 24 hours, dedicated to people talking to you every hour, incessant texts, emails, phone calls, and Facebook messages coming in from everyone?  Attention to the max.  Yikes.  Talk about overwhelming.  Just put me in the corner and let me drink my tea in peace.

But after last year's birthday debacle (please, for the love of my sanity, don't ask, because I won't tell...), I decided that I need to change something.

Maybe I need to change what I do on my birthday? I thought.
Maybe I should take the day off?
I should only spend it with family?
Or instead, only with friends?
Maybe I should fill every moment so full that I don't know what hit me?
Maybe I'll stop looking at a calendar in mid-May, and therefore won't know what day of the week it is.  That way, I'll have no idea it's my birthday and will enjoy it like any other day.  I will avoid social media, hide my phone from myself, turn off my computer, and sit and read a book for 2 weeks straight.

Suffice it to say that my birthday dislike went a little overboard.

So last week, I decided.
It wasn't just a decision.  It was a decision.
The kind that makes you roll up your sleeves and change something.

I decided that, no matter how amazing or lousy my birthday is, no matter how many people tell me happy birthday (right now I'm way past 50 non-facebook well-wishes), no matter how many fondue jokes my brother-in-law tells (love you, Jake!), I will have a good day.

And you know what?
It's 3:32 pm and I haven't died, passed out, or anything of that sort.  I have been genuinely, happily smiling all day, answering work phones with the joy of Pope Francis, eating yellow bell peppers as if they were candy.
It's going pretty a-ok.

Perhaps the great majority of my day's success has to do with the fact that I started it out with Mass.  In one of the top-10 most ugly churches ever, or at least most ugly in Northern Virginia, complete with casual Mass responses and incorrect Mass aerobics.  But it was Mass nonetheless.  

Perhaps, in the 21st year of life, I have finally learned to sort my priorities correctly.  That if I give the Lord place numero uno in my day, He'll give me all I need to make it through.

I guess this really has nothing to do with the fact that it's my 21st June 9th alive.  That 21 years ago this time, my siblings were setting up camp in a hospital lobby, ready to spend a sleepless night waiting for their baby sister to arrive, and surprised when I came a mere 2 hours later.  That tonight, as I have for the last 21 June 9ths, I'll be reminded of the car ride to the hospital when my name was changed from Rebecca to Allison.  That in my 21 years of living, I have seen things that many people don't see 'til they're 45, and done things that I didn't think were ever possible.

So tonight, I will go to dinner with my parents and siblings and in-laws and aunt, and eat fondue like no one's joking.  I will have my first glass of wine stateside and allow myself to celebrate.  I no longer hate today, because people are simply acknowledging God and His work through my simple little life.

Because Life is good, God is better, and He's making me His own.

After some deeper posts in the last couple days, today I'd just like to share with you an interview I did on CatholicMom.com!

Honestly, I was surprised to see myself considered a "Catholic Techie".  It was good for me to explore the reasons that I blog about the things I do, and why my Faith plays a key role in my media activities.  (And also why media will be a huge part of my thesis... but that will be a topic for another time.)