ice cream sandwich

This isn’t really my story to tell. I’m not the one who watched it happen, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth telling. My boyfriend told me this story casually in the car and I thought it was sweet and small and the type of story I want everyone to hear. So, I’m going to tell it in first person.. like it happened to me.

I was driving down the road and noticed I needed to fill up on gas. I pulled over and remembered I had cash, so I decided to go inside and pay instead of using my card. Outside there was some construction being done. Some guys were working on the electrical cables, others were paving a new part of the road. Honestly, I’m not really sure what they were doing, but they looked busy to me.
Inside the gas station, there was a man standing in front of me in line. He was probably around 50 years old. not fat, but a filled out man. not extremely short, but definitely not considered a tall guy. He was one of the construction workers.
I expected to see him buy cigarettes or dip and a red bull. I mean, that’s what you expect to see almost every guy buy in a gas station.

But instead, he was buying a water and an ice cream sandwich. An ice cream sandwich! A cute, little, older man in a gas station buying a water and an ice cream sandwich! That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.

So, even though this wasn’t my story to tell, I hope it brought you some happiness.

Don’t expect the worst in people.
Drink water.
Get some gas.
Go on a road trip.
Buy an ice cream sandwich.

xo,
Aspen

plans and parties

My last entry on this blog was January. It is now May. I’ve been absent from CrazilySpinning for about 4 months and I’m thinking it’s time to come back. Rebuild and recreate. I love this blog, and I don’t want to let it die with other ideas I left in the corner with no plans of return.

When I was little, I used to love to plan parties. I had notebooks filled with different types of parties: princess, murder-mystery, glow-in-the-dark, etc. I had everything. I planned what kind of food we would have for dinner and whether we would have cake or cupcakes. What type of decorations would look the best? What kind of music would be playing?

Did I throw any of these parties?

not. a. single. one.

I didn’t like figuring out who was invited… Or actually buying anything… Or asking my parents if 9-year-old me could even throw a party.
I liked to make plans, but I never did any of the things I said I would. All talk and no do.

So, I am trying to change things around. I’m trying to commit to ideas and follow them through. see where they take me.
I’m not the best blog-writer by any means, but I’m trying, and that’s gotta count for something!

Here I am apologizing to my blog for dropping it off in the corner for a few months. But now I am here, ready to pick up where we left off.

xo,
Aspen

quiet

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It was too warm outside for hot coffee drinks, but we got them anyway. Swirls of white created a heart in the center of my drink. It was not coffee; I hate coffee. The idea of coffee is wonderful, but the actual taste… not so wonderful.
I was with a boy. A sweet boy that gives me fake flowers and knows my favorite songs. We’ve been together for over a year.
We sat quietly at a table outside, neither of us having anything to say. I wasn’t thirsty and my drink was making the sun seem even hotter, but we needed to waste some time before leaving Atlanta.

I began to look around, trying to find some kind of inspiration to spark a conversation, when I saw them. A couple sitting at the table next to us. I could tell they had been dating for quite a while, if not married. For some reason I guessed they weren’t married. They talked for a few minutes, laughing and smiling smiles too big for their faces. I could practically see the happiness flowing out of them. They were cute. More than cute. They were the epitome of a hipster couple in Atlanta. She had dark hair and a nose ring. He had a beard and dark, faded jeans. They probably lived down the block. I watched her mouth the word “yes” and then pull a book out of her old backpack. She kicked off her red flats, crossed her ankles, and began to read. I imagined her doing this as a kid but never finding a reason to break the habit. When she got settled, her boyfriend pulled out a book of his own and began reading, pausing only to take small bites of his sandwich or sips of coffee. I expected to see them glance up at each other with small smiles like two teenagers stealing glances in class. But neither one of them looked up. Thats how I knew they had to of been together for a long time. They didn’t sit in an awkward silence, like the silence of a first date. They sat in mutual quietness. Alone, yet together.
She grinned at her book and nodded at parts she likes. The book was thick and small. He did the opposite. His face showed no expression towards the storyline. His book was large, but not as thick. He looked content. It seemed like if he could spend every day doing this, coming to a coffee shop to eat sandwiches and silently read with the girl he loves, everything would be okay.

I realize now that too many people are afraid of silence. Like if no one says anything, all the fear and damage might start to show. Somehow the stillness will become awkward instead of peaceful. But I think quiet is confidence. It is the art of being content. It is strength. It is beauty.

Sit in silence with someone you love. 
A best friend, your boyfriend or girlfriend, your mom.
Do something quiet.
Read, paint, write, pick flowers, drink coffee, eat sandwiches.
Just enjoy the stillness and don’t worry about what might be showing.
Show all of you.
And kick off your shoes.

xo,
Aspen

then I remembered… they could

There are two different stories I want to tell. One about love, and one about songwriting.

In a previous post, I talked about a lock bridge I discovered in the heart of Atlanta. I came across it with my boyfriend, Harrison, and it felt like a little piece of magic in a big scary city. (refer back that post for more details)

For Christmas, Harrison surprised me by getting us a lock to put on the bridge. “A + H” . I was giddy at the thought of adding our love story to all the others on that bridge. The following day, we drove to Atlanta. We parked across the street and I screamed with excitement as I jumped out of the car. I took a million pictures to capture this perfect moment. Harrison held the lock for me so I could change angles and once it was on the bridge, he lifted me up so I could get the angle I wanted (I have a habit of taking too many pictures and ruining moments but OH WELL). We stood there smiling to ourselves and to each other just soaking up the moment. Our little love story was added. Locked. It was magical.

That was part one. Now onto part two.

After seeing the lock bridge for the first time, I began writing a song about it. The song was about a couple discovering it and blah blah blah. love. As I developed the song, I decided the couple wasn’t going to end up together. He would lose feelings and leave, but in the end she would never forget that moment on the bridge. It seemed nice and simple in my head.
But for the next three weeks, I struggled to find the right words to explain why they failed. Sure, he stopped caring… but why? Why would he stop caring about her? Why couldn’t their love last forever like they promised? Why couldn’t they live happily ever after?!

and then I remembered… they could.

I’m the one writing the song. I’m the one writing their love story. I can’t 100% control my own future, but I can write what I want to write. So I took the giddiness from my own lock experience and put it to good use. The rest of the song came smoothly after I changed gears.
There’s something about writing about my personal life that is both scary and wonderful all wrapped in one. It’s one thing to believe love lasts forever, but I don’t want the world to see me as naive. I don’t want the world to think I’m young and dumb and immature because I believe in everlasting love. But maybe I am young and dumb. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe believing in love doesn’t make me immature.

and maybe it’s okay to write songs where the couple lives happily ever after in the end.

xo,
Aspen

surrounded by stars

Sometimes I wish I could be a character in a book. A book so long it included all the beautiful and heartbreaking moments of my life. It seems like every time I read a book, I fall in love with the main character. I want to be like them. Their quirks and strange obsessions become my quirks and obsessions. The way they look at love makes me rethink the way I look at love. The books I read heavily influence the kind of thinking I do for the next week or so.

It gets me thinking – If I were a character in a book, how would the author portray me? Would the reader like me? Who would be included in my book? Would I be the main character, or a supporting character to someone else’s life?

That’s an important question to ask yourself every once in a while… Are you the main character to your own story?

I’m trying to reorganize my life. Be the main character. Write my own storyline.

A couple days ago I went to a christmas light show at Rock City in Tennessee. My family and I + Harrison had to get there an hour early since the lines were so long. We stood in line drinking ‘alright’ Starbucks drinks and pretending to enjoy the cheesy christmas songs playing loudly next to us. At one point during the walk, we came across these long white lights that dangled down from the sky to the ground. I felt like I was in the middle of the milky way, surrounded by stars. A small smile crept onto my face. I was 5 again, living in a castle. I turned my head to get a full 360 of the lights and saw Harrison looking down at me. He looked at me like I was the only star in the whole sky. I was his princess in a castle, and his look was all I needed.

Pure admiration looking down at me.

This moment was my book-moment. It was a moment that would end a chapter and leave the reader smiling silently. It’s a moment you see in the movies and say, “I wish a guy would look at me that way.” I’m learning to live for these book-moments.

So go. Be a star. Stand in a castle. Admire christmas lights. Drink ‘alright’ Starbucks drinks. Pretend to love cheesy Christmas songs. or actually love them. Write your own story. Live for book-moments. Admire. and Be the main character.

xo,
Aspen

Purrfect

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If I were a cat, I would have no worries. I would lay somewhere comfy all day long until I got hungry. Then I would eat. I’d be happy and life would be simple and I’d be okay with that.
If I were a cat, I would be flawless (at least my owner would think so).

A few cat related statements I have been guilty of saying are:
“I didn’t like cats until I got mine”
“I’m not a cat person.. but I LOVE my cat”
“not all cats are beautiful. but mine is PURRFECT” (I’m sorry for the cat pun. I couldn’t help myself)

Most people seem to accept these statement. They’ll nod or make some comment about how they’re the same way.

What I don’t understand is why people can’t be this way.
Why can’t we be okay with not being loved by every single person?
Why do we have a need to be accepted in every single place we stand?
Why aren’t we happy with the idea of one person or a few people finding us perfect and wonderful?
Why must we change our hair color and dress a certain way to try and please the whole entire world?

some people are cats. some people are dogs.
some people are cat people. some people are dog people.

not everyone is attracted to everyone (physically and socially). That’s just how life is. So maybe instead of trying to change how you are, find a comfy chair, grab a good book, and get cozy. Sit and relax. Eat some wonderful food. Let life be simple, even if it’s just for a few moments.

Life is better when you act like a cat.

xo,
Aspen

little lock bridge

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I’m going to be perfectly honest right now.
I never know whats going on in the world. And when I say never… I mean never. We could be in 5 different wars right now, and I would have no idea. I’m clueless and naive and at this point in my life, I’m okay with it.
But even I have heard of the heartbreak in Paris.
#PrayForParis

My heart aches watching the news, hearing the stories, and imagining the devastation going on in Paris right now. I have no words.

I couldn’t write this blog post without at least mentioning Paris because this Sunday, my boyfriend and I found a little treasure in Atlanta.
A lock bridge.

It’s nothing compared to the lock bridge in Paris, where you can’t even find a spot to put your lock, but it was such a lovely surprise.
There was every type of lock. Some shaped as hearts, some with initials on them, some circular, some that needed a key to be unlocked.
It was a beautiful mess that can’t be described any other way.

Now imagine all the people that left a lock there. I’m guessing they didn’t just have a lock in their back pocket to put on there when they passed it for the first time. Each and every one of these locks has an owner that went home, grabbed a lock, and put it on this bridge for whatever reason. Each person has a different story and a different life ahead of them.

I like thinking about that kind of thing. I like people watching. I like listening to people tell their life story in a total of 10 minutes, only telling what they consider the highlights. No one sees the world the same way, and no one lives their life the same as someone else.
It’s so wonderful.

life is so wonderful.

So I hope you find your own little mysterious lock bridge. or at least something nice that makes you smile. daydream about locks and keys and love and beauty. dream.

xo,
Aspen IMG_5752.jpg