There's a sun in my front yard.

Here’s what happened today:

I found a song.

It hit me.

I hit: REPEAT.

…and then, exhausted my laptop battery entirely on the music.

Never bored, only soaking.

Wishing I had life-size speakers to blare the words.

It’s called “In your Atmosphere,” By John Mayer. Live.

“Wishing I had life-size speakers to blare the words.”

This makes me think of a picture.

I saw it in a magazine today: It was Bright colors and Broad daylight.

It was a girl jumping in the air with a megaphone.

Not a cheerleader, just a voice.

She wanted everyone to hear.

Looking at her determined face, it was hard to assign a label.

Should I deem her NAIEVE or HEROIC?

OBNOXIOUS or BRAVE?

A difficult question,

but I knew that the image was me.

“By John Mayer. Live.”

This makes me think of the highway.

I love live music because of my Dad. Because of my night drives in his passenger’s seat. He drove a Saturn with the sun roof open. The engine was loud and untrustworthy, but the stereo? Loyal. Freebird was his senior class song. He knows all the guitar solos. He knows that before Sweet Home Alabama, Johnny Van Zant yells “Turrrn it up!”

He knows all the Oooo Oooo’s and Oh Yeahhh’s.

He can tell me where he was when he decided he loved the song.

And now we can sing you The Eagles. Bob Segar. Bruce Springstein. Boston. Eric Clapton. America. James Taylor. Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Because my Dad’s engine was loud, unpredictable.

But his stereo has always been loyal.

And now we can sing together.

John Mayer is singing “I don’t think I’m gonna go to LA anymore.”

This makes me think “I know what you mean, but I still want to.”

I went there once, with the Jordan boy I write about sometimes.

He had never been to the beach at night, and while we stood on the sand, I stared down the ferris wheel. It was a distant circle of lights. I wished we would go. Things got in the way.

But then

I did go to LA again.

It was barely September, a Sunday night.

I was on that same beach, in my church clothes again.

But the lights didn’t seem so distant anymore.

I felt the difference.

The hope that their promise would only seem closer

With each

Adventuring drive toward the coast.

I sent my words into that night,

Declaring that when I came to LA again,

“You best bet I will ride that ferris wheel.”

I am a strange girl, needing to type out all these thoughts before I can get back to life. But this is my life, here in the kitchen, scrawling for words. And that’s enough for me, even if I can’t make you see what those lights mean. 

Can we shout this to the heavens?!

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear;
but of power, 
and of love, 
and of a sound mind.

2 Tim 1:7

Your blog sucks.

When I write
I leave evidence
of that moment.
I do not leave
a lasting definition of myself.

I often read over my pages (or posts) and no longer identify.
Thankful they exist, I still want to delete...
Delete. Delete them from your view.

-------That was a confession-------

There are a billion evidences
of my own bad writing.
But not everyone knows the sound of her own voice.
So I scribble, and hold onto hearing.

Not a cake.

Someone just texted me.
"What are you doing?"

The real answer:
homework. making dinner. drinking hot chocolate. writing. laundry. dishes. texting you.

How am I doing all of these things at once?
The real answer:
I'm not. I am absolutely not.

Legs: lunge for the shaking pot -- Oh no! That is SO not a simmer.
Ears: listen for the microwave to ding.
Arms: fold what comes out the dryer and
Then: get back to my book at this kitchen table
While: hot water and soap fill the sink.
But: I'm not in any of these things.

I am in my mind, entirely.

Thoughts from Layer 1:
I am so hungry
and late for everything
and I really
really just wanna snuggle.

Layer 2:
I am thinking that I am the craziest girl alive.
I'm thinking about boys. And really,
Can any of you handle my frustrating complexity?
If so, could you teach me how?
If not, I should warn you about that...

Layer 3:
I'm thinking about the mass influx of letters I have recently received,
all unexpected, all from great distances.
There are 6 envelopes full of things I've wanted to hear.
Voices from up to seven years ago embody the complexity I have tried to tame.
"This is what I've learned."
"I love you."
"I wish I still knew you."
"I'm trying to understand."
"I'm waiting on you."
"I still see who you are."
They come from North Carolina, Honduras, Virginia, Lithuania,
and literally around the corner.
Really, all at once.
I'm thinking about how I will ever reply,
because I have to do it with my WHOLE self,
and these days-- I'm divided.

Layer 4, or somewhere in there...
I'm thinking about what my Shakespeare professor told me.
First, she asked "And how are you dear?"
I was getting up to leave,
fixing the hat to my head and the ipod to my ears.
I stop.
She's had me before, and I can tell she knows, so I spill.

"I don't get it. I read and read and gain no significance. But literature is my life, and I've never had this problem, so it's totally undermining my confidence-- and kind of, my identity. I mean... this is the big stuff! If I can't get this, can I ever get the rest? I feel like my response is inadequate, and only further evidence that I am missing the mark."

By now, all other kids have left the room.
She says
"I know you are dutiful. Try to stop dissecting. Instead, let the language wash over you. Lose the fear. You will find something original to reply with."

She was talking about Measure for Measure.
But is this my answer for life?

Layer 5:
Behind all of the thoughts I have just revealed,
are thoughts that try to disprove these things.
LAYER FIVE SAYS YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH. YOU HURT BOYS. YOU ARE DISORGANIZED, AND UNRELIABLE. YOU ARE BAD. YOU DON'T EVEN GET SHAKESPEARE.
Layer 5 is the problem.
Layer 5 is new to me, I don't usually struggle with these thoughts,
Because here's the deal:

I am Lyndsi Shae.
I AM LYNDSI SHAE.
I am strong in my identity, fierce in my convictions.
I AM STRONG IN MY IDENTITY, FIERCE IN MY CONVICTIONS.
I know who I am.
I KNOW WHO I AM.
I know what I want.
I KNOW WHAT I WANT.
I have a voice.
I HAVE A VOICE.

Layer 5 attacks at the source of my strength, my one rare rock.
And I refuse to listen.

I see now, that what I said about my Shakespeare class
is actually how I feel about life.
And what that glorious woman replied,
is probably what God's been trying to say.
This week it's about letters, but always it's more.

And now my dinner is burning.
But so worth it.
If I did not write, I could not define myself past Layer 1.
And I would surely never conquer the 5.

Can you believe what's happening in here?
Much more than laundry, dishes, and texting.
Much more than homework.

The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of honor.

--Winston Churchill.