the amateur

There is an amazing song by Jenny Lewis off her album with the Watson Twins called "You Are What You Love".

The chorus is what really gets me: You are what you love and not what loves you back

For some reason it makes me think of the phrase girl are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. If I'm made up of the things I love, I'm in pretty good shape. 

That means that where my brain would be is my mother's, and even though I often complain about looking too much like my dad, I am lucky to have him looking at me in the mirror every day. 

My hands are Aylin's because she encouraged me to be crazy and now I gesticulate wildly when I speak. 

My feet are Kristy's because she'll always dance with me. 

My legs are Mel's because she holds me up when I can't stand on my own. 

Lauri resides in my stomach where she tries to feed me southern cooking but gives up and makes me pasta instead. 

Sarah takes her place in my lungs where the breath for all our long talks begins.

Every time I laugh it is Rachel's laugh, and when I brush my hair it is Alaina's hair, memorized after hours spent talking while she straightened it. 

My arms have many tenants: the people who indulge me in a really good hug (a strange obsession 

of mine).

Maybe I love people or things in the wrong way. Maybe I am too involved in the lives of others and in seeking perfection and hoping for something better. Maybe I expect too much of people, but it's only because I know what they're capable of. If the way I love is wrong, I don't want to be right.

I just have to say, whoever takes up residency in my heart has a lot to live up to.