I got to thinking about loss. I lost my Opa (Dutch for grandfather) just two weeks ago. He had been in and out of the hospital for two months for minor things. Those minor things were apparently not so minor. But now in the aftermath, I am heartbroken. I did get to say goodbye, but that’s never enough. Saying goodbye might lead to a sense of closure, but it’ll never repair that empty spot left in the heart. Does it ever close up?

So I’ve moved onto grief. I didn’t really get a chance to mourn right after he died as I was exploring the wonderfulness that is Eastern Europe, but I didn’t forget to raise a toast to him and have a beer for him. Sure, the kind of beer I drink wouldn’t be his first choice, but it was symbolic nonetheless. I toasted to the perfect, diplomatic and loving Opa that he always was. I know that he loved me. And he knew that I loved him. But somehow, acknowledging that love just doesn’t seem like enough to move on. At least in this moment.

His obituary came out a few days ago and I bawled my eyes out. It was wonderfully written and right on point. I know that he led an amazing life. He had the love of many, many people. He will never be forgotten. Maybe knowing that will help me to move on. I know that I have to. I know that I can. But it’s just a matter of time. I need time. I need to process the loss and then grieve and do everything else in between.

Here’s to you, Opa, Aart De Jong. May you rest in peace and watch over all of us. We love you.

I got to thinking about the ocean. I once read: “Go to the ocean. It forces you to be a dreamer.” While I live in California and do not spend much time at the ocean (sand in my toes is not my favorite thing in this world–unless I’m ready to sunbathe and break out a good book). However, I love love love looking at the ocean. It’s magnificent. It’s so vast and unpredictable and makes you feel so small. Or at least, it should. I do, in fact, agree with this quote. The ocean makes me into a dreamer. There’s just something about it. Can you name it? Can you place it? I can’t exactly. But every time I venture near the ocean, I become lost in it. And that’s enough to get me writing. What else could I need?

I got to thinking about knowing what is a dream. I know that I’m late to the game, but I recently finished Dawson’s Creek. I loved it: the angst, the drama, the love. Dawson said: “I know it’s a child’s dream. And that’s how I know it’s real. It’s what I wanted to do before I was scared and cynical.” This really resonated with me. I knew I wanted to be a writer at age 11. This was before I was scared to face the fear of failing, the fear of being judged by this sometimes cruel world. I went after my dreams, anyway, allowing writing to consume my time, and have never looked back. Sure, I find myself afraid and cynical now from time to time, but I try to keep that in check. I try to be that child I once was and allow for my dreams to blossom. What is a dream without hope?

I got to thinking about this quote by Ernest Hemingway: “Write hard and clear about what hurts.”It’s like he knows exactly why I write. I write to escape pain, I write to feel happiness, and I write simply because it makes me joyful. There’s no better place to go to therapy than writing it down, in your own words, on your own terms. Do you write about what hurts? If you do, do it fully. Don’t worry about what others think. This is your catharsis. This is everything.

I got to thinking about recovery. How long does it take to recover, from medical issues, from breakups, from losing someone you love? Do you ever really recover? I’d believe you do. I recently had gum graft surgery. My gums are receding and there’s nothing I can do to stop it (blame braces and thin gums). Thus, I am twenty-five and having a procedure more common in those decades older than me. The recovery hasn’t been awful, but it hasn’t been ideal (is recovery ever ideal, though?). I feel like there’s gauze in my mouth at all times. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and hurts to smile. Plus, when I talk, my mouth barely opens and makes a sound that even I don’t recognize. Not my best looking time.

However, this recovery has made me realize that even though I have medical issues that a twenty-five year old usually doesn’t have, I’m lucky that it’s not worse. It could be much, much worse. I won’t even go into that. So, as I sit on the couch watching endless dramas (watching a comedy requires smiling, which kills my mouth) and drink boring banana smoothies, I remember that my recovery is almost over (in total, about 4 weeks). And maybe I’ll have another problem sooner rather than later. But if I’m lucky enough to have to minimal medical issues in my life, I am lucky enough.

So count your lucky stars.

I got to thinking about ambition. What is ambition? Is it all about work? Is it about achieving your personal goals? Or is it about more? Can ambition be about family? Can ambition being about having children and leaving a legacy through your children and their children and their children’s children?

I consider myself to be ambitious. I have lofty personal goals I want to achieve. My dreams of becoming a notable and successful writer have been with me since age 11. That’s how I know these dreams are real. But for those girls (and boys) who’ve dreamed of being parents since age 11, does that mean that’s their ambition? Is that enough of an ambition? Can ambition just be about the thing you’ve always wanted? Or does ambition mean more… leaving a name for yourself in this world of 15-minute fame? I am really not sure…

I got to thinking about social decorum. This baffles me. I find it to be nothing short of fakeness and trying to prove a point. But those around me seem to disagree. So am I the wrong who needs to reassess? While I’d hate to find myself wrong, maybe social decorum is something I need to work on. If someone invites you to something, you have to invite them back. And right away. There are rules for acting essentially “socially responsible.” You have to be nice to those around you, even if you’d rather fling food in their hair. That’s probably a dramatic reaction, but maybe I am just dramatic? Anyway… I’ve learned recently that I can’t be honest at all times. I have to invite those who invite me. It’s social decorum. While it’s annoying (and I still find it to be fake), I must do it to retain relationships. If you’re like me, just do the social decorum thing. Be the person your dog thinks you are. That’s all.

I got to thinking about “sorry.” It’s one simple word that means so much; it’s one simple word that can change almost anything. But for some reason, most of us are too proud to say it. What is that about? Why are we so hurtful to our fellow humans? I was recently very hurt by someone. Someone else close to me stood up for me like my knight in shining armor and asked her to apologize. She did not. Instead, she denied it happened. And maybe she doesn’t remember saying that hurtful thing to me. Maybe she’s too proud to apologize. I honestly don’t know. But what I do know: I remember it. I know she said it. And it tremendously hurt my feelings. All I wanted was an “I’m sorry.” That’s it. Is that too much to ask? Am I being unreasonable? Of course, I don’t see it that way. And sure, you can call me bias. That’s fine. But I just hope to get an apology sooner rather than later. What she said was untrue and disrespectful and it really hurt me. I can forgive that moment of hurt, but I just want to hear an apology. Simple as that. Let this be a lesson: Don’t be too proud. Always say you’re sorry. It’s the only thing that matters.