Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
This is going to be better right?
Tonight, if all goes well, will be the last night I sleep in my apartment. Moving is an emotional experience for me. One residence to another represents on situation or phase of life transitioning into another. You pack your things, sort through what you hope will be useful in the next stage, discard what you fear has been holding you back, and you put faith in what's ahead.
Mostly over the years, moving has been a kind of running. Escaping from one bad situation to another, from one rough relationship smashing onto the rocks into a tiny lifeboat with only hope as my compass, one fear forcing me through the pain and into the next, these are my experiences in the fine art of a wandering life. This time it isn't like that. Choice marks this move in ways it hasn't the past. There's no fearful fleeing. I am moving in hope. I am moving in faith.
When I say that I am moving in hope and faith I ask that you realize two things. One I take neither of these concepts lightly. Two, I mean more than the physical move, I rarely do physical things for even primarily physical reasons. So, I'm scared. It's easier to move when you have to, when you have a cliff behind you and certain doom edging towards you, take your chance with the cliff and jump. Jumping for fun? Jumping just hoping that it will be better? Crazy talk.
I don't have much luck with cliffs. There are some major ones I've crashed off in the last two years. I'm not really remembering any flying going on, a few awkward flaps of wings on the way down maybe, no real flight though. With each chance and choice we write our stories, tonight, on the eve of another cliff, the beginning of another stage in life, I put what little faith and hope I have in the dream that my someday is coming, that there really are brighter days, fuller moments, and more love, in an increasingly closer future.
Tonight I don't want to be nostalgic, I really didn't have the best of times in my first home. It meant a lot to be here, it was a safe haven and a comfort, it was everything I needed, but it wasn't full of memories of love. Tonight is about hoping that my next home will incorporate that element. And with it a purpose will grow for my life.
Mostly over the years, moving has been a kind of running. Escaping from one bad situation to another, from one rough relationship smashing onto the rocks into a tiny lifeboat with only hope as my compass, one fear forcing me through the pain and into the next, these are my experiences in the fine art of a wandering life. This time it isn't like that. Choice marks this move in ways it hasn't the past. There's no fearful fleeing. I am moving in hope. I am moving in faith.
When I say that I am moving in hope and faith I ask that you realize two things. One I take neither of these concepts lightly. Two, I mean more than the physical move, I rarely do physical things for even primarily physical reasons. So, I'm scared. It's easier to move when you have to, when you have a cliff behind you and certain doom edging towards you, take your chance with the cliff and jump. Jumping for fun? Jumping just hoping that it will be better? Crazy talk.
I don't have much luck with cliffs. There are some major ones I've crashed off in the last two years. I'm not really remembering any flying going on, a few awkward flaps of wings on the way down maybe, no real flight though. With each chance and choice we write our stories, tonight, on the eve of another cliff, the beginning of another stage in life, I put what little faith and hope I have in the dream that my someday is coming, that there really are brighter days, fuller moments, and more love, in an increasingly closer future.
Tonight I don't want to be nostalgic, I really didn't have the best of times in my first home. It meant a lot to be here, it was a safe haven and a comfort, it was everything I needed, but it wasn't full of memories of love. Tonight is about hoping that my next home will incorporate that element. And with it a purpose will grow for my life.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Stuff
Okay, so neither of these uploaded as well as I would have liked. The second one is actually a copy of the original scanned into the computer. Which is lame that it required me to make a copy of something so I could scan it but whatever. Anyways, it's more art, for the fans.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Quotes
"Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not.
Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end.
Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm.
There is only one serious question. And that is:
Who knows how to make love stay?
Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time.
Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon."
-"Still Life With Woodpecker" by Tom Robbins
Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end.
Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm.
There is only one serious question. And that is:
Who knows how to make love stay?
Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time.
Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon."
-"Still Life With Woodpecker" by Tom Robbins
Monday, November 9, 2009
Tweaking
So this is the newest thing I've done. It has also been one of the better of what I would call "happy art" projects for me. It isn't what everyone might call happy but this is something I created that doesn't exclusively draw from the darker regions of my mind. Usually those tend to produce results I find easier to put into art. This piece feels at least up to par with some of my dark arts though. ;) Tell me what you think. I love comments. I am after all a drama queen at heart, just dying for your applause.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Brief Book Reviews
Man in the Dark - Paul Auster
The story is told over one night, maybe its for that reason it feels so much like a dream I've had instead of a book I've read. It's how a house of insomniacs passes the evening. In particular the grandfather. He tells a story to himself to keep his own world at bay, while bringing himself into the story. I'm a sucker for characters and this is definitely a character driven story. I find myself relating so well to the mind of this man, identifying with him while he pushes and pulls bits of his life apart, pushes and pulls fragments of his own world into fiction, pushes and pulls a history of relationships and events around sorting out his own life. It's as if the whole of his world hinges on this night.
If I had to rate the book I'd give it a four out of five. While I really enjoy the things of Auster that I've read parts of me always feel a little like I've been there before. He has no moments in which I find myself compelled to rest in the story and ponder ideas, no words that force me to slow and admire their beauty or truth. Instead he wanders through dark streets that always remind me of a black and white film. He feels like a friend at night. So I like this story (and the New York Trilogy) and I'd certainly recommend them, but I won't change my favorite facebook book list to add him.
The Stranger- Albert Camus
When you read frequently you'll notice authors are sometimes like reading lists themselves. They often reference other books, authors, or topics. In fact if you start working your way through one book you and you deeply wish to understand it, if it has any great merit, you could probably spend your whole life just working through the secondary works of one whole book. That's why I picked Camus. First and foremost because he shows up in all the books I read as a reference (including the one I'm reading now) and second because he's published philosophical works. I'm a snob. I feel like I should know about all philosophers and while I don't always enjoy reading their stuff if they've published a fictional piece I really should read it.
So I picked up Camus. And yes, I decided which book to take home based on how many we are modeled for in the store. Modeling is determined by what we sell, therefore, in my own way I picked a "best seller".
The story is about a man who goes to his mothers funeral, meets some people, and kills a man. Maybe I just gave away the plot. Maybe I just told you the whole book. There isn't much to it. I guess I wasn't a huge fan because the main character has almost no emotions. Which is the point of the story, I understand how objectively it's told, I understand, hell even enjoy the structure (written very much in an american fashion) but there is no way for me to connect with the story because there are so few real emotions or even ideas to reach out and hold.
I left the story feeling like "That's it?" Maybe I should try another one. They're short stories, it's almost no work to get through one, maybe if I lower my expectations I'll see what all the fuss is about. Maybe you can explain it to me. I feel like if I was to sit and talk with someone about it maybe I could "see the light".
The Hellbound Heart- Clive Barker
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy recommendations? I do. I thrive on them. Music, movies, shows, ideas, television, activities. You name it. But books are my favorite. I love having someone hand me a book and say "You should read this." Not a James Patterson novel or Nora Roberts or even Shakespear. I like it when its one of theirs. Like a secret fantsy or a hidden mystery of the self. One of my coworkers from the store suggested this.
Interesting. Dark. To the point. I was impressed with how well the characters were painted in such a short time. I understood them, all of the very different personalities, so well. Identifying with the darkest needs and hungers while simulaniously retaining the innocence of the gentle contrasting parts. Humanity itself was well characterized in such a short summary.
I was a little disappointed, I'll admit, by the lack of grey areas. There was black and white by the end. No struggling to overcome tension within, no inner termoil I like to see so much in my stories. All of the drama and action was outside the characters. They dealt with them in a rather character static way without much real arch for any of them.
Maybe a three in five? Ratings are a lot harder to give, and ideas a lot harder to have, when there is no one to talk with books about. I wish I knew people I could trust to give feed back about books, what makes a good book, what elements they like to see, what writing skills mark different authors. The ease is definiately greater when in the company of others.
The story is told over one night, maybe its for that reason it feels so much like a dream I've had instead of a book I've read. It's how a house of insomniacs passes the evening. In particular the grandfather. He tells a story to himself to keep his own world at bay, while bringing himself into the story. I'm a sucker for characters and this is definitely a character driven story. I find myself relating so well to the mind of this man, identifying with him while he pushes and pulls bits of his life apart, pushes and pulls fragments of his own world into fiction, pushes and pulls a history of relationships and events around sorting out his own life. It's as if the whole of his world hinges on this night.
If I had to rate the book I'd give it a four out of five. While I really enjoy the things of Auster that I've read parts of me always feel a little like I've been there before. He has no moments in which I find myself compelled to rest in the story and ponder ideas, no words that force me to slow and admire their beauty or truth. Instead he wanders through dark streets that always remind me of a black and white film. He feels like a friend at night. So I like this story (and the New York Trilogy) and I'd certainly recommend them, but I won't change my favorite facebook book list to add him.
The Stranger- Albert Camus
When you read frequently you'll notice authors are sometimes like reading lists themselves. They often reference other books, authors, or topics. In fact if you start working your way through one book you and you deeply wish to understand it, if it has any great merit, you could probably spend your whole life just working through the secondary works of one whole book. That's why I picked Camus. First and foremost because he shows up in all the books I read as a reference (including the one I'm reading now) and second because he's published philosophical works. I'm a snob. I feel like I should know about all philosophers and while I don't always enjoy reading their stuff if they've published a fictional piece I really should read it.
So I picked up Camus. And yes, I decided which book to take home based on how many we are modeled for in the store. Modeling is determined by what we sell, therefore, in my own way I picked a "best seller".
The story is about a man who goes to his mothers funeral, meets some people, and kills a man. Maybe I just gave away the plot. Maybe I just told you the whole book. There isn't much to it. I guess I wasn't a huge fan because the main character has almost no emotions. Which is the point of the story, I understand how objectively it's told, I understand, hell even enjoy the structure (written very much in an american fashion) but there is no way for me to connect with the story because there are so few real emotions or even ideas to reach out and hold.
I left the story feeling like "That's it?" Maybe I should try another one. They're short stories, it's almost no work to get through one, maybe if I lower my expectations I'll see what all the fuss is about. Maybe you can explain it to me. I feel like if I was to sit and talk with someone about it maybe I could "see the light".
The Hellbound Heart- Clive Barker
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy recommendations? I do. I thrive on them. Music, movies, shows, ideas, television, activities. You name it. But books are my favorite. I love having someone hand me a book and say "You should read this." Not a James Patterson novel or Nora Roberts or even Shakespear. I like it when its one of theirs. Like a secret fantsy or a hidden mystery of the self. One of my coworkers from the store suggested this.
Interesting. Dark. To the point. I was impressed with how well the characters were painted in such a short time. I understood them, all of the very different personalities, so well. Identifying with the darkest needs and hungers while simulaniously retaining the innocence of the gentle contrasting parts. Humanity itself was well characterized in such a short summary.
I was a little disappointed, I'll admit, by the lack of grey areas. There was black and white by the end. No struggling to overcome tension within, no inner termoil I like to see so much in my stories. All of the drama and action was outside the characters. They dealt with them in a rather character static way without much real arch for any of them.
Maybe a three in five? Ratings are a lot harder to give, and ideas a lot harder to have, when there is no one to talk with books about. I wish I knew people I could trust to give feed back about books, what makes a good book, what elements they like to see, what writing skills mark different authors. The ease is definiately greater when in the company of others.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
This Week The Trend
Okay. If I would post more regularly then I wouldn't need to make this as long as it's going to be. I'm sorry. Here are the topics I plan on dealing with today. First I will explain my weekend which should give you a general sense of my life. Next I will write two reviews on the last two books I finished. I will number these so that you can skip around at will. Thank you for your time and patients.
1. The weekend
For me weekends begin on Friday. Usually not even after five. The weekend starts sometime around three-ish, as I'm cementing my plans. Half the fun of the weekend is anticipation. This Friday around 3 my Barnes boss called me while I was working. He asked if I would pick up an evening shift that night. I did have plans already, I was supposed to go see a movie or go to dinner with a friend, however this friend is often unreliable so I tend to view plans as "loose." I told him I would. He said, "Ok. Since you're coming in tonight I will give you a treat when you get here." Which immeditately sent my wheels turning.
My shift that night was mostly frustrating as my mood swang wildly with the comments of my coworkers. I had decided to wear the clothes I had on from my OCG job since I had a "jeans coupon" and this turned out to be a problem. I was aware that it is highly unusual for me to not be much more dressy and I knew that there were some psudeo rips in the jeans so I okayed them with one of the managers first and said that I would be willing to change if she said so. She said they were fine. Less than half an hour later I took a bit of a verbal beating from my boss about how I looked. It was "teasing" the kind of teasing that means something. Unfortuantely in that form I am defenseless.
The night went back and forth between friendly chatter and petty comments that dug deep. One minute I'm feeling fine, the next I feel like the world is out to get me. First I'm part of the group, turn, I'm being attacked by it. It was that kind of night. Turns out my treat was two tickets to the ballet of Jack the Ripper. I would be sitting with my boss and a few other people from the store. I was both excited and nervous. He told me that if I needed any schedule tweeking he would fix it so I could make the show Sunday (today) at two. I was already scheduled for an 8-12 shift for change over so it would work out.
Saturday I worked on my Harley Quinn costume after sleeping late. I did lots of sewing and arranging. In the end I'm really proud of how good it turned out. Although I am a bit disappointed that I didn't get to put on a show for anyone who would appriecate it. I went to work without the costume on at 4. There were employees there in costume but since I had taken so much crap the night before about jeans I wasn't prepared to deal with another night of feeling exiled over something so petty. In the end I still had a similar situation while listening to some of my coworkers talk about other peoples clothes and becoming increasingly sensitive about every way in which they precieve me. For some reason I truely care what these people think, for the life of me I can't imagine why.
After work I went to a friend of a friends house where she was at a "house party." They were already drinking and putting on costumes. We had planned on going out for a quick drink in our costumes at a bar downtown before calling it a reasonably early night. I showed up, met all the new people I didn't know, and changed. We hung around for a bit before the very drunk couple who lived in the house, and my very drunk friend, threw everyone out so we could cram into my car and go downtown. By 11:30 we were pulling out of the driveway. Not nearly soon enough for me since I had a 6:30 wake up call. After much irritation and paying for parking, driving downtown on halloween of all nights!, and getting everything organized my drunk friend realized she forgot her id back in wyoming. I was unhappy to say the least. We all piled back into the car and drove back. Since I refused to go back downtown (unwilling to shuttle everyone back and forth from Wyoming to Grand Rapids all night) we compromised and went to Magoos, a lame little bar in Wyoming, which had the benefit of being close.
After arriving getting myself one drink and beginning to finally settle into the evening my friend almost immediately steared me into a conversation with a hockey player who was in town with one of his team mates for the weekend. He was attractive, uncostumed, and claiming to be a "Bible Salesman" for the night. We chatted most of the evening while I avoided my friends getting drunker by the minute, to the point where the guy she was talking to made sure I was the one driving and that I was aware of how much she had been drinking. I kept an eye on the party as a whole, mothering no small amount. The couple I had met that night got into a fight at the bar, some kind of "he said she said" cheating situation. When the lights came on I thanked my hockey player for his time and when to shuttle the drunken bunch home.
This lead to a turn of events I was not expecting. The girl, so angry and drunk, stormed away without him. Once at the car she said, "Step on it!" My friend waited until he came over and asked if he was riding home with us. (Originally they had planned to take a cab home but there is no way they remember that at this point.) The boyfriend tried to get into the car, at which point the girl jumped out of it and began slapping him. He walked away and got a ride back to his place with some friends. I drove her back to the same house, where all her things were along with the boyfriend. The car driving him pulled up into the lawn followed by the girl brother and his friends blocking me into the driveway. They began fighting out in the lawn at nearly three am. It was a domestic distrubance. So unreal to me. Finally, after talking my drunken friend out of trying to drive anywhere I dragged her back to my apartment, having left the couple to fight it out themselves. My friend slept on my couch and I showered and went to sleep feeling like this must be someone elses life.
Early this morning I woke up to go to work. I shared the bathroom with my friend, now hungover. I made it to work and did a changeover with a select few memebers of the staff. I had heard one of the managers explaining to another employee that the people who were picked to do this job were so because of their already open schedules. I know that this isn't likely the case. The changeover was like a KB changeover, as remarked by the two members of management who were there. I remember how those worked, the people who work them are the ones part of "the club" and yes, it does mean your special. It might be petty but the nostolgia and elitness of it does make me feel good. Even though in some ways it also feels like a trick so that I can be mocked more. It's the same way that I feel about the tickets.
My friend from the night before had agreed to be my "date" to the show. After getting out of work I came home and changed into jeans and a nice sweater and we went out to lunch before meeting a few Barnes folks at DeVos. I sat with the old KB staff, meaning my store manager and a merch manager plus their wives and my friend. There were ten tickets total. The others were several rows behind us and went to are crm and her fellow and one of the girls who has joined the staff within the last year and is running a department and her husband.
The show itself was amazing. I wish that I could see it again because I feel like there was so much I missed. I know that I was more nervous and edgy than I needed to be about interacting with the people I went with though. I tend to go into these situations really defensive and tense because I worry about what hurtful thing I will hear next. For some reason these little petty jabs always dig me deeper than they should. While I am the queen of judgemental often times I feel like I am an amuture next to these folks.
Following the show I went home and slept. Naps are required when you get only three hours sleep. Upon waking I realize what a deep sense of lonliness has set into my life. I was with other people during nearly all of my waking (and some of my sleeping) hours this weekend, but I failed to feel truely conneted for most of it. There are a few notible execptions but overwhelmingly I feel irrelivant both to myself and others.
Now I'm doing laundry and trying to talk myself into cleaning a bit more of the mess that has become my apartment. Looking at the length of this post I realize already that I can't make it longer by adding my reviews to this. These are my weekend stories, the reviews for Man in the Dark and All Families are Psychotic will follow this week (I hope).
1. The weekend
For me weekends begin on Friday. Usually not even after five. The weekend starts sometime around three-ish, as I'm cementing my plans. Half the fun of the weekend is anticipation. This Friday around 3 my Barnes boss called me while I was working. He asked if I would pick up an evening shift that night. I did have plans already, I was supposed to go see a movie or go to dinner with a friend, however this friend is often unreliable so I tend to view plans as "loose." I told him I would. He said, "Ok. Since you're coming in tonight I will give you a treat when you get here." Which immeditately sent my wheels turning.
My shift that night was mostly frustrating as my mood swang wildly with the comments of my coworkers. I had decided to wear the clothes I had on from my OCG job since I had a "jeans coupon" and this turned out to be a problem. I was aware that it is highly unusual for me to not be much more dressy and I knew that there were some psudeo rips in the jeans so I okayed them with one of the managers first and said that I would be willing to change if she said so. She said they were fine. Less than half an hour later I took a bit of a verbal beating from my boss about how I looked. It was "teasing" the kind of teasing that means something. Unfortuantely in that form I am defenseless.
The night went back and forth between friendly chatter and petty comments that dug deep. One minute I'm feeling fine, the next I feel like the world is out to get me. First I'm part of the group, turn, I'm being attacked by it. It was that kind of night. Turns out my treat was two tickets to the ballet of Jack the Ripper. I would be sitting with my boss and a few other people from the store. I was both excited and nervous. He told me that if I needed any schedule tweeking he would fix it so I could make the show Sunday (today) at two. I was already scheduled for an 8-12 shift for change over so it would work out.
Saturday I worked on my Harley Quinn costume after sleeping late. I did lots of sewing and arranging. In the end I'm really proud of how good it turned out. Although I am a bit disappointed that I didn't get to put on a show for anyone who would appriecate it. I went to work without the costume on at 4. There were employees there in costume but since I had taken so much crap the night before about jeans I wasn't prepared to deal with another night of feeling exiled over something so petty. In the end I still had a similar situation while listening to some of my coworkers talk about other peoples clothes and becoming increasingly sensitive about every way in which they precieve me. For some reason I truely care what these people think, for the life of me I can't imagine why.
After work I went to a friend of a friends house where she was at a "house party." They were already drinking and putting on costumes. We had planned on going out for a quick drink in our costumes at a bar downtown before calling it a reasonably early night. I showed up, met all the new people I didn't know, and changed. We hung around for a bit before the very drunk couple who lived in the house, and my very drunk friend, threw everyone out so we could cram into my car and go downtown. By 11:30 we were pulling out of the driveway. Not nearly soon enough for me since I had a 6:30 wake up call. After much irritation and paying for parking, driving downtown on halloween of all nights!, and getting everything organized my drunk friend realized she forgot her id back in wyoming. I was unhappy to say the least. We all piled back into the car and drove back. Since I refused to go back downtown (unwilling to shuttle everyone back and forth from Wyoming to Grand Rapids all night) we compromised and went to Magoos, a lame little bar in Wyoming, which had the benefit of being close.
After arriving getting myself one drink and beginning to finally settle into the evening my friend almost immediately steared me into a conversation with a hockey player who was in town with one of his team mates for the weekend. He was attractive, uncostumed, and claiming to be a "Bible Salesman" for the night. We chatted most of the evening while I avoided my friends getting drunker by the minute, to the point where the guy she was talking to made sure I was the one driving and that I was aware of how much she had been drinking. I kept an eye on the party as a whole, mothering no small amount. The couple I had met that night got into a fight at the bar, some kind of "he said she said" cheating situation. When the lights came on I thanked my hockey player for his time and when to shuttle the drunken bunch home.
This lead to a turn of events I was not expecting. The girl, so angry and drunk, stormed away without him. Once at the car she said, "Step on it!" My friend waited until he came over and asked if he was riding home with us. (Originally they had planned to take a cab home but there is no way they remember that at this point.) The boyfriend tried to get into the car, at which point the girl jumped out of it and began slapping him. He walked away and got a ride back to his place with some friends. I drove her back to the same house, where all her things were along with the boyfriend. The car driving him pulled up into the lawn followed by the girl brother and his friends blocking me into the driveway. They began fighting out in the lawn at nearly three am. It was a domestic distrubance. So unreal to me. Finally, after talking my drunken friend out of trying to drive anywhere I dragged her back to my apartment, having left the couple to fight it out themselves. My friend slept on my couch and I showered and went to sleep feeling like this must be someone elses life.
Early this morning I woke up to go to work. I shared the bathroom with my friend, now hungover. I made it to work and did a changeover with a select few memebers of the staff. I had heard one of the managers explaining to another employee that the people who were picked to do this job were so because of their already open schedules. I know that this isn't likely the case. The changeover was like a KB changeover, as remarked by the two members of management who were there. I remember how those worked, the people who work them are the ones part of "the club" and yes, it does mean your special. It might be petty but the nostolgia and elitness of it does make me feel good. Even though in some ways it also feels like a trick so that I can be mocked more. It's the same way that I feel about the tickets.
My friend from the night before had agreed to be my "date" to the show. After getting out of work I came home and changed into jeans and a nice sweater and we went out to lunch before meeting a few Barnes folks at DeVos. I sat with the old KB staff, meaning my store manager and a merch manager plus their wives and my friend. There were ten tickets total. The others were several rows behind us and went to are crm and her fellow and one of the girls who has joined the staff within the last year and is running a department and her husband.
The show itself was amazing. I wish that I could see it again because I feel like there was so much I missed. I know that I was more nervous and edgy than I needed to be about interacting with the people I went with though. I tend to go into these situations really defensive and tense because I worry about what hurtful thing I will hear next. For some reason these little petty jabs always dig me deeper than they should. While I am the queen of judgemental often times I feel like I am an amuture next to these folks.
Following the show I went home and slept. Naps are required when you get only three hours sleep. Upon waking I realize what a deep sense of lonliness has set into my life. I was with other people during nearly all of my waking (and some of my sleeping) hours this weekend, but I failed to feel truely conneted for most of it. There are a few notible execptions but overwhelmingly I feel irrelivant both to myself and others.
Now I'm doing laundry and trying to talk myself into cleaning a bit more of the mess that has become my apartment. Looking at the length of this post I realize already that I can't make it longer by adding my reviews to this. These are my weekend stories, the reviews for Man in the Dark and All Families are Psychotic will follow this week (I hope).
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Riping Out the Stitches
Remember all that happiness and nice talk from the previous posts? Let me tell you another story. Two in fact. They inter link. One for the image, one for the application.
When I was young, maybe seven or eight, my sister and I went outside to ride bikes before lunch. We were playing at my dads, going round and round in the driveway. Lisa took a turn too tight. She slipped, the bike lay flat on its side. She was bleeding from her head. I remember rushing to help, followed by the image of blood on a white washcloth, followed by endless hours watching the tv in the hospital waiting room. This was, to an extent, traumatic for me, however it has never carried as much weight for me as the follow up visit.
Two weeks later I went with my mom and sister to have the stitches that were sewn into her face removed. The doctor was running late, it was near lunch time, she was in a hurry. I think she wanted to push back the appointment but my mother was insistent that it be that day, after all she had dragged two young girls out of school and nearly an hour from home for this already terrifying appointment. So the doctor saw my sister. I watched her rip out each stitch. At no point up until the day they were removed did my sister appear to be in an unbearable amount of pain, but watching the doctor jerk each stitch out she looked like it was killing her.
That's what it feels like. That's how I feel today. I got hurt a while back, it took me a long time to go in and see a doctor to fix me. This is all metaphor of course. Time to realize that I didn't have to leave my wounds open, time to want to heal, time to want to be healthy and okay again even if I was scared. But after that time I started to sew myself together again. Recently I let someone else into my life. I tried to put some of the old pain and hurt away, tried to put some walls down, tried to do something that would force me to fail in a new way if I was to fail. I think I did everything that I could have done.
But the thing is, the same thing happened. And it ripped out my stitches. I was healing and now the same wound has been re opened.
It wasn't all that important maybe. Maybe it was. I had said I was happy. He implied he loved me. I opened up some. I let myself like him. Enjoy time spent. I believed in hope a little tiny bit. For the first time in a long time I let someone link themselves to that part of me. He was different from what I was used to, made nice gestures, said nice things, told me he didn't want to see my masks, he liked me for me. It was an idea I was just starting to come around to on my own before he arrived. I was just starting to imagine letting people in and seeing small parts of a maskless me. So I let him share a little bit, enough to let it hurt. Enough to risk something of me.
Now it does. He went back to his ex girlfriend. That makes 5 for those playing along at home. Five times that someone has walked away from me for someone else. Five times that I haven't been enough. Five. Five times that I wasn't chosen.
I'm proud of me. I did damn good. I accomplished things that I was struggling with, I let new things happen, I let go of some of the old. I made choices to help me. Still, it hurts. I'm proud, I'm happy that I can be happy, I am glad that I can be angry instead of just sad because I know I made progress in how I deal with people. Still, it does hurt to not be chosen. It does hurt to be left for someone else again. It does hurt to have someone rip out the new stitches to the old wound and let it bleed again.
I want to hide. Doing this whole "cliff jumping" thing hurts me again and again. Often times I feel uncomfortable and edgy, defensive and nervous, and scared. If I do hide though, I'll lose the only parts of this story that I'm proud of though. I'll lose the ability to say that I did the bold thing, that I overcame things in me and that I didn't let the risk of caring about something push me around. So I'm scared, and I want to hide, maybe I even will a little bit in some ways, but I can't really decide on that as the standard course of action. I'm only proud of me when I'm willing to do hard stuff. Like let people know me and reject me. So I have to do it again. Until maybe some day someone loves me and chooses me first. And as much as it hurts I have to choose that the hope for that is better than the safety of letting go of a dream I may have no business holding.
When I was young, maybe seven or eight, my sister and I went outside to ride bikes before lunch. We were playing at my dads, going round and round in the driveway. Lisa took a turn too tight. She slipped, the bike lay flat on its side. She was bleeding from her head. I remember rushing to help, followed by the image of blood on a white washcloth, followed by endless hours watching the tv in the hospital waiting room. This was, to an extent, traumatic for me, however it has never carried as much weight for me as the follow up visit.
Two weeks later I went with my mom and sister to have the stitches that were sewn into her face removed. The doctor was running late, it was near lunch time, she was in a hurry. I think she wanted to push back the appointment but my mother was insistent that it be that day, after all she had dragged two young girls out of school and nearly an hour from home for this already terrifying appointment. So the doctor saw my sister. I watched her rip out each stitch. At no point up until the day they were removed did my sister appear to be in an unbearable amount of pain, but watching the doctor jerk each stitch out she looked like it was killing her.
That's what it feels like. That's how I feel today. I got hurt a while back, it took me a long time to go in and see a doctor to fix me. This is all metaphor of course. Time to realize that I didn't have to leave my wounds open, time to want to heal, time to want to be healthy and okay again even if I was scared. But after that time I started to sew myself together again. Recently I let someone else into my life. I tried to put some of the old pain and hurt away, tried to put some walls down, tried to do something that would force me to fail in a new way if I was to fail. I think I did everything that I could have done.
But the thing is, the same thing happened. And it ripped out my stitches. I was healing and now the same wound has been re opened.
It wasn't all that important maybe. Maybe it was. I had said I was happy. He implied he loved me. I opened up some. I let myself like him. Enjoy time spent. I believed in hope a little tiny bit. For the first time in a long time I let someone link themselves to that part of me. He was different from what I was used to, made nice gestures, said nice things, told me he didn't want to see my masks, he liked me for me. It was an idea I was just starting to come around to on my own before he arrived. I was just starting to imagine letting people in and seeing small parts of a maskless me. So I let him share a little bit, enough to let it hurt. Enough to risk something of me.
Now it does. He went back to his ex girlfriend. That makes 5 for those playing along at home. Five times that someone has walked away from me for someone else. Five times that I haven't been enough. Five. Five times that I wasn't chosen.
I'm proud of me. I did damn good. I accomplished things that I was struggling with, I let new things happen, I let go of some of the old. I made choices to help me. Still, it hurts. I'm proud, I'm happy that I can be happy, I am glad that I can be angry instead of just sad because I know I made progress in how I deal with people. Still, it does hurt to not be chosen. It does hurt to be left for someone else again. It does hurt to have someone rip out the new stitches to the old wound and let it bleed again.
I want to hide. Doing this whole "cliff jumping" thing hurts me again and again. Often times I feel uncomfortable and edgy, defensive and nervous, and scared. If I do hide though, I'll lose the only parts of this story that I'm proud of though. I'll lose the ability to say that I did the bold thing, that I overcame things in me and that I didn't let the risk of caring about something push me around. So I'm scared, and I want to hide, maybe I even will a little bit in some ways, but I can't really decide on that as the standard course of action. I'm only proud of me when I'm willing to do hard stuff. Like let people know me and reject me. So I have to do it again. Until maybe some day someone loves me and chooses me first. And as much as it hurts I have to choose that the hope for that is better than the safety of letting go of a dream I may have no business holding.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Saturday Morning
I know I haven't had as many updates as I should. Part of the reason for this is because I have failed to keep some of my "resolutions". Namely I had my dance class end and did not re-enroll. I haven't cooked something new for myself in a few weeks. I haven't tried excessively hard to meet new people.
However, I have been busy. Some of the structure of my original ideas has been laid to waste to make way for unplanned for new experiences and people. Instead of cooking something new for myself last week a very nice old/new friend came over and cooked something marvelous. Instead of dancing in class I go out with a friend and support her while she tries to brave new social contacts for the first time.
I've finished two books since my last update. Which seems sad to me because there was a time when I could read three a week. Still since I am no longer a college student with the hours that go with it and since there is no longer someone like Brian in my life to constantly chatter about books and ideas with me the slower pace is, for now acceptable. Maybe.
The Ground Beneath Her Feet- Salman Rushdie
Initially I was a little hesitant about reading this book. It was the first book in a while I had picked out for myself and I picked it based on a scholarly paper that referenced it on the topic of the Sleeping Beauty story. I had read part of Rushdie's Satanic Verses several years prior and found it uninteresting. The images and characters from India were difficult for me to relate to, the mythology that interplayed with so much of the story had been over my head, and the story itself was a little weirder than what I was looking for at the time.
The Ground however was the other side of the coin. In this story Rushdie brought his India characters out of that world, without leaving any of it behind, and into the western world, more specifically into America. In doing so he gave voice to interesting ideas on major topics of love, life, death, fear, fame, and rock and roll from a more universal approach. It's been a long time since I felt a deep desire to underline in books, or even to bookmark important pages but this book re-awoke some of those habits.
There were moments in the story when I felt bored, when I wished to just "get on with it", or I felt like the details were unimportant. Maybe this was a short coming with myself as the reader, failing to appreciate the moments in each characters life that built to the climax. Still I didn't always feel it "building" anything.
Overall, it was particular scenes and lines that truly drew me into the book. Little golden treasures of words stored in between an average book. I will probably never read it again, but I will probably find myself using lines or moments from this book to reflect on life for the rest of mine.
How I Became Stupid- Martin Page
It was a quick read, done in under two days. Maybe its wrong, but I've always like a book that feels like it's reading itself to me. I found it on a whim while straightening the store at the end of the night. Its a story about an over educated intellectual who has experienced the ecclesiastic problem of sorrow that comes with knowledge. He tries three was of letting go of all of his mind crushing ideas in three ways. First he tries to drink it away, then he tries to kill himself, and finally he tries to become stupid via pills called Happyzac.
Here again, I liked particular moments but overall I felt like the story was a moralizing, lecturing, cliche. Which it told me initially it would be but I still felt slightly cheated when it was. The commentary on society was nothing I hadn't heard before; the jokes, while funny failed to be original; and the characters were rather unimpressive. It may be the "International Cult Classic" as the cover claims because it relies on the same ideas that have been circulating among those "cults" for decades now.
It was an average story told in an average way.
However, I have been busy. Some of the structure of my original ideas has been laid to waste to make way for unplanned for new experiences and people. Instead of cooking something new for myself last week a very nice old/new friend came over and cooked something marvelous. Instead of dancing in class I go out with a friend and support her while she tries to brave new social contacts for the first time.
I've finished two books since my last update. Which seems sad to me because there was a time when I could read three a week. Still since I am no longer a college student with the hours that go with it and since there is no longer someone like Brian in my life to constantly chatter about books and ideas with me the slower pace is, for now acceptable. Maybe.
The Ground Beneath Her Feet- Salman Rushdie
Initially I was a little hesitant about reading this book. It was the first book in a while I had picked out for myself and I picked it based on a scholarly paper that referenced it on the topic of the Sleeping Beauty story. I had read part of Rushdie's Satanic Verses several years prior and found it uninteresting. The images and characters from India were difficult for me to relate to, the mythology that interplayed with so much of the story had been over my head, and the story itself was a little weirder than what I was looking for at the time.
The Ground however was the other side of the coin. In this story Rushdie brought his India characters out of that world, without leaving any of it behind, and into the western world, more specifically into America. In doing so he gave voice to interesting ideas on major topics of love, life, death, fear, fame, and rock and roll from a more universal approach. It's been a long time since I felt a deep desire to underline in books, or even to bookmark important pages but this book re-awoke some of those habits.
There were moments in the story when I felt bored, when I wished to just "get on with it", or I felt like the details were unimportant. Maybe this was a short coming with myself as the reader, failing to appreciate the moments in each characters life that built to the climax. Still I didn't always feel it "building" anything.
Overall, it was particular scenes and lines that truly drew me into the book. Little golden treasures of words stored in between an average book. I will probably never read it again, but I will probably find myself using lines or moments from this book to reflect on life for the rest of mine.
How I Became Stupid- Martin Page
It was a quick read, done in under two days. Maybe its wrong, but I've always like a book that feels like it's reading itself to me. I found it on a whim while straightening the store at the end of the night. Its a story about an over educated intellectual who has experienced the ecclesiastic problem of sorrow that comes with knowledge. He tries three was of letting go of all of his mind crushing ideas in three ways. First he tries to drink it away, then he tries to kill himself, and finally he tries to become stupid via pills called Happyzac.
Here again, I liked particular moments but overall I felt like the story was a moralizing, lecturing, cliche. Which it told me initially it would be but I still felt slightly cheated when it was. The commentary on society was nothing I hadn't heard before; the jokes, while funny failed to be original; and the characters were rather unimpressive. It may be the "International Cult Classic" as the cover claims because it relies on the same ideas that have been circulating among those "cults" for decades now.
It was an average story told in an average way.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Murphys Law
I believe in Murphy's law. It wasn't a choice I made one day, I didn't sit down and sort out all the rational reasons. I, like most cynical Americans, just sort of fell into counting on the bad things in life to appear. Part of my spiral (I won't say up or down) into this darker outlook on the world must of course be attributed to my parents. Those who constantly harp on subjects of never being used, never being bested, never giving when you could be taking, in short the American mottos were my words to live by growing up.
Still there is a time to put away childish protections. Murphy's Law has been built to keep me safe. Sort of like an emotional bubble wrap soaked in fecial matter. It stinks but it does the job. So what if I did put it away? What if once in a while I stepped beyond a few of my safety nets and brazenly admitted some things? What if I started saying:
Excuse me, I like you. (And prayed to God someone liked me back)
I am happy right now. (And stopped holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop)
Things seem to be going well. (And didn't expect a car to fly through my apartment door)
In other words, what if I let the good in my life? What if, not only did I let it in, but I didn't try to ignore it's presence while it was there and didn't try to protect myself by not enjoying it so it wouldn't hurt when I lost it? What might happen then?
I have no idea. I've never done it before. I was told that unless I learn to take risks (emotional risks) I am never going to get out of a stuck place. Okay, that reasoning makes sense to me. So, I am fulling entering into "the present" and I am intentionally leaving out all my fears and worries:
I am happy.
I have people I enjoy talking to.
I am excited about moving.
I have had dreams about a future which doesn't suck.
There can be more. And I can conqure that too.
Scary enough for you? It sure as hell is for me. But here we go, from a broken down, dysfunctional past, into a completely unknown future, I'm going to avoid the both of them for a bit and bite down until I see the present take shape. Because thats all I can know for right now.
Still there is a time to put away childish protections. Murphy's Law has been built to keep me safe. Sort of like an emotional bubble wrap soaked in fecial matter. It stinks but it does the job. So what if I did put it away? What if once in a while I stepped beyond a few of my safety nets and brazenly admitted some things? What if I started saying:
Excuse me, I like you. (And prayed to God someone liked me back)
I am happy right now. (And stopped holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop)
Things seem to be going well. (And didn't expect a car to fly through my apartment door)
In other words, what if I let the good in my life? What if, not only did I let it in, but I didn't try to ignore it's presence while it was there and didn't try to protect myself by not enjoying it so it wouldn't hurt when I lost it? What might happen then?
I have no idea. I've never done it before. I was told that unless I learn to take risks (emotional risks) I am never going to get out of a stuck place. Okay, that reasoning makes sense to me. So, I am fulling entering into "the present" and I am intentionally leaving out all my fears and worries:
I am happy.
I have people I enjoy talking to.
I am excited about moving.
I have had dreams about a future which doesn't suck.
There can be more. And I can conqure that too.
Scary enough for you? It sure as hell is for me. But here we go, from a broken down, dysfunctional past, into a completely unknown future, I'm going to avoid the both of them for a bit and bite down until I see the present take shape. Because thats all I can know for right now.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Quotes
"The ties that strangle us, which we call love. Because the loosening of these ties he became, with all the attendant pain of such becoming, free. But love is what we want, not freedom. Who then is the unluckier man? The beloved, who is given his heart's desire and must for ever after fear its loss, or the free man, with his unlooked for liberty, naked and alone between the captive armies of the earth?"
- The Ground Beneath Her Feet, Salman Rushdie.
- The Ground Beneath Her Feet, Salman Rushdie.
My Story 1
Two young girls sat on the old, brown couch dressed up on a weekday afternoon. We were doing less sitting and more squirming within twenty minutes. My mom had prepared us, at least in attire, for my fathers arrival. Several nights before during “his weekend” I remember sitting on my bed as he told my sister and I our great grandmother had died. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry. Now we were waiting for him to come take us to the funeral.
Waiting and waiting and waiting in fact. After half an hour had past from my dads expected entrance my mom finally let us off the couch and pull out our Polly Pockets. Initially we were only able to bring out one. My mom had watched children for many years and understood that more than twenty minutes of asking them to sit still and not wrinkle dresses, without anything else to occupy them, was beyond reason. Allowed one toy, my sister and I grew distracted.
I had never been to a funeral before. The weekday afternoon was not one that was traditionally my dads. He came every other weekend and every other Thursday. This was not one of those days. We rarely dressed up. In general the whole afternoon was set apart for an hour or so while we waited to see what would happened.
Time passed. We had been waiting for more than an hour, begging Mom to let us drag out our other toys and added to the miniaturized world of Polly. We enjoyed setting up whole towns in circles around us and disappearing into the roles of the little girl with all the interesting things to do and places to see. Polly’s world was there at the ready, all Mom had to do was okay our departure.
The moment she agreed to our living room take over it was like accepting defeat. He would not be coming. Promises and plans that had been made were broken. Expectations and new wonders about unlived experiences were delayed. Dad wouldn’t be there, the waste of time waiting, of preparing our clothing, of trying to keep the dirt and wrinkles from our dresses was futile. There was nothing special about the afternoon except that our routine had been broken, we were almost given the chance to look past our day to day worlds in the strict customary schedules we followed, and then we weren’t, and life went on for us girls.
It should probably be said, life didn’t go on so easily for mom. She was tired by the end of the day. Sadness and rage seemed to push toward the top after plans changed by my dad, in particular without a word from him. It hurt her, she would rant a bit about it, maybe step into the kitchen and cry, or just wear the look of a worn, older woman. She had no Polly Pockets to play with and wouldn’t take ours.
Waiting and waiting and waiting in fact. After half an hour had past from my dads expected entrance my mom finally let us off the couch and pull out our Polly Pockets. Initially we were only able to bring out one. My mom had watched children for many years and understood that more than twenty minutes of asking them to sit still and not wrinkle dresses, without anything else to occupy them, was beyond reason. Allowed one toy, my sister and I grew distracted.
I had never been to a funeral before. The weekday afternoon was not one that was traditionally my dads. He came every other weekend and every other Thursday. This was not one of those days. We rarely dressed up. In general the whole afternoon was set apart for an hour or so while we waited to see what would happened.
Time passed. We had been waiting for more than an hour, begging Mom to let us drag out our other toys and added to the miniaturized world of Polly. We enjoyed setting up whole towns in circles around us and disappearing into the roles of the little girl with all the interesting things to do and places to see. Polly’s world was there at the ready, all Mom had to do was okay our departure.
The moment she agreed to our living room take over it was like accepting defeat. He would not be coming. Promises and plans that had been made were broken. Expectations and new wonders about unlived experiences were delayed. Dad wouldn’t be there, the waste of time waiting, of preparing our clothing, of trying to keep the dirt and wrinkles from our dresses was futile. There was nothing special about the afternoon except that our routine had been broken, we were almost given the chance to look past our day to day worlds in the strict customary schedules we followed, and then we weren’t, and life went on for us girls.
It should probably be said, life didn’t go on so easily for mom. She was tired by the end of the day. Sadness and rage seemed to push toward the top after plans changed by my dad, in particular without a word from him. It hurt her, she would rant a bit about it, maybe step into the kitchen and cry, or just wear the look of a worn, older woman. She had no Polly Pockets to play with and wouldn’t take ours.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Correct Response
This is a combination of a dancing update and a question on how to react to others.
Tonight was dance class. On Sunday night I practiced dancing. Honestly I did a combination of practice and playing around, but I did practice. Finding where to put my feet and when seems to be a challenge for me. I counted the steps and I played around until I felt a little bit better about everything. It was fun and exciting and I enjoyed myself a lot in the privacy of my own apartment. Then I got to dance class. The teacher had me help out last week, this week I was almost his only "helper".
I tried to do everything right, everyone was watching, everyone was trying to learn and I was supposed to be an example. While managed to control the blushing a bit, I still felt awkward. The class was nearly full of beginners, translating into mostly strangers, even more than the old mostly strangers. The teacher was nice to me and didn't point out my shortcomings in front of the class like I feared he might. Looking back I wish he had.
This class was the first class to be uneven. There were more females than males meaning somebody had to dance with the teacher. I spent the first few dances with a wonderful and humorous elderly man who kidded about how tense and nervous he was, his jokes and uncertainty was relaxing for me. Then the teacher told me he was going to dance with me instead, "Because you need work. Just kidding." Commence dancing. Some place between there and the first dance in front of the class where he told me I did excellent I became confused.
We switched partners later again later. My old partner actually requested to have me back for a few dances, which was nice and means he doesn't hate me like I thought he might. Or maybe he was just more comfortable with me than the larger, towering woman in heels who joined the class and became his partner tonight. I assisted in showing a few new steps to the class, as in steps that were new to all of us not just the first timers. Then I danced with another guy who had been to the previous two classes. A bit more dancing and we all left.
On my way out I thanked a few of my partners near by for the dance. The last man I danced with I said, "See you next week!" to, he response (I think) "Yeah, practice some before then." Which of course may have been "I"ll practice some before then" or "You should practice some before then." or "We can all get some practice in before then."
Here is where the question of the correct response comes in: how should I feel about the evening? There is a defensive part of me that is shouting, "But I'm trying! And I just came to have fun! And no one is perfect! And this is a beginners class and I don't know exactly what I'm doing wrong!" Of course there a lots of variations on that but you get the idea. Another side tries to be reasonable and says that he may have said any of those other things. There's no reason to get worked up. However, worked up I am.
When people say things to me they run deep. The book Jess suggested talks about naming people and the importance of those names. I allow everyone to name me, even the man tonight who's name I don't know. How should we deal with the words others give us to define ourselves? Both good and bad things said about me I have always struggled with, I become what you call me. "Be careful how you define me," I tell my loved ones, "I will become whatever it is you do."
That doesn't seem like the appropriate response though. Walking away and ignoring others doesn't either. How are we to be defined outside of our community? My dancing has very little meaning outside of a partner, a culture, a time period. I need these things for the character of me to play in, and therefore they shape and define me, shouldn't I pay attention to how my character is perceived? If I do simply ignore comments made about how others see me with what objective tools can I develop a sense of self?
So when I prepare for dance class next week, because the idea of walking away in shame is not one I can choose, do I spend extra time trying harder and harder to prove myself worthy to a name that I fear may have been given to me? Do I harden my heart to the comments and dismiss them over and over while I over think the situation, as I am almost certain to do? Do I become angry? Devalue myself as a dancer? Do I accept that I have no skill and therefore should not attempt it again after this course? How do I move forward after being named?
Please apply this to hundreds of themes, people, and ideas over the course of any given week. It's not just a dance, it's a life.
Tonight was dance class. On Sunday night I practiced dancing. Honestly I did a combination of practice and playing around, but I did practice. Finding where to put my feet and when seems to be a challenge for me. I counted the steps and I played around until I felt a little bit better about everything. It was fun and exciting and I enjoyed myself a lot in the privacy of my own apartment. Then I got to dance class. The teacher had me help out last week, this week I was almost his only "helper".
I tried to do everything right, everyone was watching, everyone was trying to learn and I was supposed to be an example. While managed to control the blushing a bit, I still felt awkward. The class was nearly full of beginners, translating into mostly strangers, even more than the old mostly strangers. The teacher was nice to me and didn't point out my shortcomings in front of the class like I feared he might. Looking back I wish he had.
This class was the first class to be uneven. There were more females than males meaning somebody had to dance with the teacher. I spent the first few dances with a wonderful and humorous elderly man who kidded about how tense and nervous he was, his jokes and uncertainty was relaxing for me. Then the teacher told me he was going to dance with me instead, "Because you need work. Just kidding." Commence dancing. Some place between there and the first dance in front of the class where he told me I did excellent I became confused.
We switched partners later again later. My old partner actually requested to have me back for a few dances, which was nice and means he doesn't hate me like I thought he might. Or maybe he was just more comfortable with me than the larger, towering woman in heels who joined the class and became his partner tonight. I assisted in showing a few new steps to the class, as in steps that were new to all of us not just the first timers. Then I danced with another guy who had been to the previous two classes. A bit more dancing and we all left.
On my way out I thanked a few of my partners near by for the dance. The last man I danced with I said, "See you next week!" to, he response (I think) "Yeah, practice some before then." Which of course may have been "I"ll practice some before then" or "You should practice some before then." or "We can all get some practice in before then."
Here is where the question of the correct response comes in: how should I feel about the evening? There is a defensive part of me that is shouting, "But I'm trying! And I just came to have fun! And no one is perfect! And this is a beginners class and I don't know exactly what I'm doing wrong!" Of course there a lots of variations on that but you get the idea. Another side tries to be reasonable and says that he may have said any of those other things. There's no reason to get worked up. However, worked up I am.
When people say things to me they run deep. The book Jess suggested talks about naming people and the importance of those names. I allow everyone to name me, even the man tonight who's name I don't know. How should we deal with the words others give us to define ourselves? Both good and bad things said about me I have always struggled with, I become what you call me. "Be careful how you define me," I tell my loved ones, "I will become whatever it is you do."
That doesn't seem like the appropriate response though. Walking away and ignoring others doesn't either. How are we to be defined outside of our community? My dancing has very little meaning outside of a partner, a culture, a time period. I need these things for the character of me to play in, and therefore they shape and define me, shouldn't I pay attention to how my character is perceived? If I do simply ignore comments made about how others see me with what objective tools can I develop a sense of self?
So when I prepare for dance class next week, because the idea of walking away in shame is not one I can choose, do I spend extra time trying harder and harder to prove myself worthy to a name that I fear may have been given to me? Do I harden my heart to the comments and dismiss them over and over while I over think the situation, as I am almost certain to do? Do I become angry? Devalue myself as a dancer? Do I accept that I have no skill and therefore should not attempt it again after this course? How do I move forward after being named?
Please apply this to hundreds of themes, people, and ideas over the course of any given week. It's not just a dance, it's a life.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Sports New
This morning I tried to turn the radio to a station I used to regularly listen to and it had changed to sports news. I left the dial to espn and continued to work while they babbled about baseball and football. For eight hours I listened to a culture to which I am basically a stranger.It isn't that I don't understand sports, for the most part I do, I simply have never followed them. I know how many innings are in a baseball game, I understand the basics of football (though I never excelled at keeping score), and I can keep straight where most of the teams are from. However I barely know the most famous of players and have never remembered, or learned for that matter, the stats that keep many men interested in their favorite teams and players.
So I learned some interesting things today. The men on the radio talked a lot about their childhoods, about sports history, about the future of their industry. They were excited about what was to come in the NFL season. The tempo of the day was racing. Maybe it always has that hyped up element, maybe it was more so because it was a seasons opening day.
One of the former champs was talking about the importance of seeing each season for itself. He said that no matter what a team did to have the winning season the year before they needed to remember that each season was journey all its own. Every year must stand completely alone. A team can't go back and play the same game they did last year, the past is the past and each journey is completely different. New elements must be added, new skills learned, new stratgies discovered. Each team must adapt to the needs of this new journey.
I took away a life lesson. We can't expect to keep reliving our old ways of doing things. No matter how grand the past was, to reach success again we must stop reliving old glories and strive for a completely new kind of glory. Every stage of life can only be conqured when we remember that it is a different journey for a different reason.
This season isn't about learning the same lessons I did last season, it's about building on to the journey I've already had and changing in new ways. This brings me both hope and sorrow. Getting comfortable is never an option. Which sucks. But it means that I don't have to rely on parts of me that are used up and have been smashed to pieces. If I played basketball, for example, just because I can no longer dunk the ball doesn't mean my game is ruined, instead it give me an edge. Every other team would expect me to keep trying to dunk, what if instead I because an amazing defensive player? Or what if I set up other players on the court so they could excel? What if I changed it all and ended up adding more than the obvious to the game?
This feels a bit cheap. In fact, looking back at the last few days I feel a little like I've been struggling with the moral of the story and looking for an easy one. Maybe that's because an easy moral to all of this might make the pain and easier pill to swollow. Maybe there really are a few worthwhile moral of the story kinds of lessons to be learned. Maybe I've been drowning in a self-help binge after a self-destruction one. Give me sometime, maybe I'll go deeper.
For now I'm just picking up on a few parts of living that I have barely any experience in, like sports new.
So I learned some interesting things today. The men on the radio talked a lot about their childhoods, about sports history, about the future of their industry. They were excited about what was to come in the NFL season. The tempo of the day was racing. Maybe it always has that hyped up element, maybe it was more so because it was a seasons opening day.
One of the former champs was talking about the importance of seeing each season for itself. He said that no matter what a team did to have the winning season the year before they needed to remember that each season was journey all its own. Every year must stand completely alone. A team can't go back and play the same game they did last year, the past is the past and each journey is completely different. New elements must be added, new skills learned, new stratgies discovered. Each team must adapt to the needs of this new journey.
I took away a life lesson. We can't expect to keep reliving our old ways of doing things. No matter how grand the past was, to reach success again we must stop reliving old glories and strive for a completely new kind of glory. Every stage of life can only be conqured when we remember that it is a different journey for a different reason.
This season isn't about learning the same lessons I did last season, it's about building on to the journey I've already had and changing in new ways. This brings me both hope and sorrow. Getting comfortable is never an option. Which sucks. But it means that I don't have to rely on parts of me that are used up and have been smashed to pieces. If I played basketball, for example, just because I can no longer dunk the ball doesn't mean my game is ruined, instead it give me an edge. Every other team would expect me to keep trying to dunk, what if instead I because an amazing defensive player? Or what if I set up other players on the court so they could excel? What if I changed it all and ended up adding more than the obvious to the game?
This feels a bit cheap. In fact, looking back at the last few days I feel a little like I've been struggling with the moral of the story and looking for an easy one. Maybe that's because an easy moral to all of this might make the pain and easier pill to swollow. Maybe there really are a few worthwhile moral of the story kinds of lessons to be learned. Maybe I've been drowning in a self-help binge after a self-destruction one. Give me sometime, maybe I'll go deeper.
For now I'm just picking up on a few parts of living that I have barely any experience in, like sports new.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
On Being Loved
Officially, on facebook status, I'm single. I am a single individual beating my chest against the world daring it to take me on. Unofficially I am part of a million loose connections of people who probably wouldn't mention me as part of the "people of their life" stories but still have regular and important interactions with, even if it is only by chance.
Being "alone" allows me to be with lots of other people. When I say that I don't mean I get to go home with a different guy every night, I mean that I get to appreciate the small parts of the loose interactions so much more. Little moments become much larger. For example, one of the things I enjoy most about dancing is that it allows for touching that is restrictive enough for me to allow but still a physical gesture of closeness. Small touches from others are surprisingly encouraging when I can convince myself to accept them as only that. Likewise, a shared love of a style of writing brings a smile to my face that I remember on the drive home. A near stranger who shouts "Why have we never talked about this before! I like you so much now!" brightens my evening. There is a heart stopping lurch when a co-worker says "I love you." Knowing that it's true, maybe even on several levels, allows for mixed feelings of gratitude and tension.
When I had someone to come home to every night, when there was the promise that someone would care about my day and would reinforce who I was, these moments went by unnoticed. Other people were less relevant. Now I can experience a greater range of love and because I notice it in others I feel I can better give, if not love, at least care and consideration to the people I live in these loose communities with.
It was just a day, but a facebook message, a missed call, a text sent, and a handful of conversations and hugs were more than enough to make it bareable. This is what I need to remember in the mornings when I hate myself for draging a nearly lifeless body from bed and forcing it out into, what feels like, an unforgiving and cold world.
Being "alone" allows me to be with lots of other people. When I say that I don't mean I get to go home with a different guy every night, I mean that I get to appreciate the small parts of the loose interactions so much more. Little moments become much larger. For example, one of the things I enjoy most about dancing is that it allows for touching that is restrictive enough for me to allow but still a physical gesture of closeness. Small touches from others are surprisingly encouraging when I can convince myself to accept them as only that. Likewise, a shared love of a style of writing brings a smile to my face that I remember on the drive home. A near stranger who shouts "Why have we never talked about this before! I like you so much now!" brightens my evening. There is a heart stopping lurch when a co-worker says "I love you." Knowing that it's true, maybe even on several levels, allows for mixed feelings of gratitude and tension.
When I had someone to come home to every night, when there was the promise that someone would care about my day and would reinforce who I was, these moments went by unnoticed. Other people were less relevant. Now I can experience a greater range of love and because I notice it in others I feel I can better give, if not love, at least care and consideration to the people I live in these loose communities with.
It was just a day, but a facebook message, a missed call, a text sent, and a handful of conversations and hugs were more than enough to make it bareable. This is what I need to remember in the mornings when I hate myself for draging a nearly lifeless body from bed and forcing it out into, what feels like, an unforgiving and cold world.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Seeing Today
I tend to over think things. Pretty much everything. In fact, on Sunday one of my co-workers asked me if I over think things and told me I should stop. After she left, I over thought that comment for the better part of the next hour. I do have these kinds of issues.
That's why I'm attempting to spend more time looking at where I am. At age 24 I struggle with my past and reconciling it to my belief structure, who I am, how the world should be, what relationships look like, all of these are things that bog me down with questions about the past and what it means now. The future is an empty terrifying whiteness. A blank page stares at me and dares me to write in black permanent marker. Somewhere between these two challenges lives me. Scary, right?
Anyways, today is where they met. To avoid over thinking on topics which my mind finds overwhelming I'm going to try to meet the scary parts at a place where the rubber meets the road, today.
What did I do today you might ask? (Actually you probably don't care but there isn't a boyfriend or best friend calling me every night to ask about my day and so the internet gets another drab blog, you'll deal I'm sure. )
Today I went to work at my office job. I remembered while I worked today why it is I chose that job. Career wise I am where I am for a reason. I left a job that I hated, not to find a job that I loved, but instead to find a sense of stability. Craziness was constantly assaulting me day after day both in work and in my personal life before I took this office job. Maybe it sounds silly but my self worth was, and to an extent still is, tied to how well I preform at work. In retail this is something that can often be measured on a daily basis, if you're having a bad day you know it. It's also incredibly difficult to leave who you are at home at the door of your store. This has been especially true for me at the places where I love the people I work with the most. I was struggling to balance my personal life and my work life and often they were colliding and doing serious damage to my self esteem. It was challenging to separate them and develop ways of interacting with the world outside of my job because of the ever changing schedule. A change was needed.
Now I work in a place where I have the same hours nearly every week. I can count on the same day more or less every day (even though it never is) and the people I work with support me and uplift me in a way that doesn't intrude on my personal life so dramatically. They allow me to share what I want or need to with them but never enter into my world without express permission. I often leave work feeling uplifted and both named worthwhile and protected. It's not a glamorous job, not one that I want to keep forever, but the perfect fit while I struggle through this confusing time for me.
After work I came home and began rearranging my apartment. This is a trick I learned from my mom as a child. Cleaning the house is not a fun task, make it more fun by completely remaking the kind of home you live in. This of course requires serious deep cleaning and often letting go of lots of possessions. That is what I needed tonight though. I moved my giant desk into the living room and started trying to make it more "stranger accessible."
Less than an hour later I went off to dance class leaving the house in obvious disarray. The class size had doubled since last week. The moves were much more complicated but everyone was wonderfully nice. I was so grateful to the older women who were welcoming and chatted with me. This became even more true after the instructor asked me to assist him in showing the class several steps over the course of the night. I was awkward but tried hard and smiled welcoming the challenge but more than a little nervous. After class ended some of the other folks in it said they looked forward to seeing me next week. It was nice to be remembered and wanted.
I returned home and finished some of my cleaning. My world isn't perfectly ordered but I have been able to let go of some things, bit by bit, that hold me to an older lifestyle. Tonight I took a mega block set that my exboyfriend had given to me as a gift for a romantic holiday over to the neighbor. He has two boys that are younger and might enjoy the huge set worth nearly $40. Now I have more space and have severed yet another tie to my past. It's not easy seeing everything though. There are photos I came across of us kissing, spending time together, and having fun. Memories of what it means to be loved flood back in. This is the challenge: to let go of something I can no longer hold and have faith that some day there will be something more than weak memories of a lover I don't have. Shouldn't be hard right?
So that's today. My bridge from yesterday to tomorrow. I had many joys and many sorrows but my day was completely real. All the emotions and struggles, tensions and trials, all the raw moments and astonishing joy, it wasn't from the television or a second hand story, I didn't see a movie or read the paper, I lived my life, today, even though it was scary to write it out, I guess we all manage some how.
That's why I'm attempting to spend more time looking at where I am. At age 24 I struggle with my past and reconciling it to my belief structure, who I am, how the world should be, what relationships look like, all of these are things that bog me down with questions about the past and what it means now. The future is an empty terrifying whiteness. A blank page stares at me and dares me to write in black permanent marker. Somewhere between these two challenges lives me. Scary, right?
Anyways, today is where they met. To avoid over thinking on topics which my mind finds overwhelming I'm going to try to meet the scary parts at a place where the rubber meets the road, today.
What did I do today you might ask? (Actually you probably don't care but there isn't a boyfriend or best friend calling me every night to ask about my day and so the internet gets another drab blog, you'll deal I'm sure. )
Today I went to work at my office job. I remembered while I worked today why it is I chose that job. Career wise I am where I am for a reason. I left a job that I hated, not to find a job that I loved, but instead to find a sense of stability. Craziness was constantly assaulting me day after day both in work and in my personal life before I took this office job. Maybe it sounds silly but my self worth was, and to an extent still is, tied to how well I preform at work. In retail this is something that can often be measured on a daily basis, if you're having a bad day you know it. It's also incredibly difficult to leave who you are at home at the door of your store. This has been especially true for me at the places where I love the people I work with the most. I was struggling to balance my personal life and my work life and often they were colliding and doing serious damage to my self esteem. It was challenging to separate them and develop ways of interacting with the world outside of my job because of the ever changing schedule. A change was needed.
Now I work in a place where I have the same hours nearly every week. I can count on the same day more or less every day (even though it never is) and the people I work with support me and uplift me in a way that doesn't intrude on my personal life so dramatically. They allow me to share what I want or need to with them but never enter into my world without express permission. I often leave work feeling uplifted and both named worthwhile and protected. It's not a glamorous job, not one that I want to keep forever, but the perfect fit while I struggle through this confusing time for me.
After work I came home and began rearranging my apartment. This is a trick I learned from my mom as a child. Cleaning the house is not a fun task, make it more fun by completely remaking the kind of home you live in. This of course requires serious deep cleaning and often letting go of lots of possessions. That is what I needed tonight though. I moved my giant desk into the living room and started trying to make it more "stranger accessible."
Less than an hour later I went off to dance class leaving the house in obvious disarray. The class size had doubled since last week. The moves were much more complicated but everyone was wonderfully nice. I was so grateful to the older women who were welcoming and chatted with me. This became even more true after the instructor asked me to assist him in showing the class several steps over the course of the night. I was awkward but tried hard and smiled welcoming the challenge but more than a little nervous. After class ended some of the other folks in it said they looked forward to seeing me next week. It was nice to be remembered and wanted.
I returned home and finished some of my cleaning. My world isn't perfectly ordered but I have been able to let go of some things, bit by bit, that hold me to an older lifestyle. Tonight I took a mega block set that my exboyfriend had given to me as a gift for a romantic holiday over to the neighbor. He has two boys that are younger and might enjoy the huge set worth nearly $40. Now I have more space and have severed yet another tie to my past. It's not easy seeing everything though. There are photos I came across of us kissing, spending time together, and having fun. Memories of what it means to be loved flood back in. This is the challenge: to let go of something I can no longer hold and have faith that some day there will be something more than weak memories of a lover I don't have. Shouldn't be hard right?
So that's today. My bridge from yesterday to tomorrow. I had many joys and many sorrows but my day was completely real. All the emotions and struggles, tensions and trials, all the raw moments and astonishing joy, it wasn't from the television or a second hand story, I didn't see a movie or read the paper, I lived my life, today, even though it was scary to write it out, I guess we all manage some how.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Understanding Values
In my previous entry I made several remarks that is the groundwork for these thoughts tonight. The book that I'm reading, in spite of what I'm sure is a severely disapproving Barnes and Noble staff, is called To Be Told. It's found in the Christian Inspiration section, and yes, I am embarrassed. That being said, my friend Jessica recommended it. Recommendations mean a lot to me. This is particularly true of those I love. Since Jess now lives on the other side of the country I see the value in finding ways to connect with her that involve ideas more than geography. Maybe that inclination isn't a recent development, maybe it's one of the staples of our relationships, maybe I'm just using distance as an excuse to read a book that embarrasses me.
Maybes and reasons aside I'm reading the book, in short because on a variety of levels it's "good for me". Anyways, last night I was beginning and between the book and some of my life choices lately I've been thinking about values. How to identify them, how to use them, how to understand them, how to change them. In general I have been pondering the function and form of my own values in hopes that I would be rewarded with a more satisfying life.
What do I value? Well, I know that I express value most frequently with how I spend my time. Time is one of the measuring rods I have always used to understand the world. Time and space. Yes, everyone uses these to an extent but in different ways. In the depths of my soul I am an American of the ol' fashion sort. "Time is money." Meaning one of the measurements of value. The amount of time I am willing to spend on something is a very acurate expression of how important it is to me. So what do i spend my time on?
A friend of mine once suggested that I measure out my time. He said I should look at what I do on paper and with the numbers in front of me to realize what my life really is. For your viewing pleasure and my own personal enlightenment this is what it looks like: Out of 168 hours a week, I spend a minimum of 36 hours a week at my office job. Second place goes to Barnes and Noble where I tend to spend the better part of my nights and weekends usually totalling up to 20ish hours a week. I sleep on average 42 hours a week. I spend probably 15 hours a week driving. That leaves me with 55 hours a week to carve out a life. 55 hours of spare time.
So what do I value? I show what I value the same way in my freetime as I do in my working life, they work exactly the same for me. I value being part of something that is a family or like it, comfort, roles to slip into and masks to wear, insulation from my own mind (a place to explore it without having to comfront demons alone), movement, goals, rules, structure, challenges that are prearranged, people. This is the world I value. This is my ideal world. It's heavily populated, immensely productive, safely growing, acting in togetherness, following steps. If the bees ever invite me to move in I'll pack a bag and be off before nightfall. This is how I build my life.
Now, are these values worth holding? Is this world a world that I should allow to tumble? Ought I seek out environments like this or is it best that I haven't been able to master the perfect instituationalized life that I seem to enjoy so much? Does letting my world go to pieces around me make me a better person? Will being alone more often, saying no to "family situations", and steping out of my traditional roles give me a better insight on values worth holding?
Maybes and reasons aside I'm reading the book, in short because on a variety of levels it's "good for me". Anyways, last night I was beginning and between the book and some of my life choices lately I've been thinking about values. How to identify them, how to use them, how to understand them, how to change them. In general I have been pondering the function and form of my own values in hopes that I would be rewarded with a more satisfying life.
What do I value? Well, I know that I express value most frequently with how I spend my time. Time is one of the measuring rods I have always used to understand the world. Time and space. Yes, everyone uses these to an extent but in different ways. In the depths of my soul I am an American of the ol' fashion sort. "Time is money." Meaning one of the measurements of value. The amount of time I am willing to spend on something is a very acurate expression of how important it is to me. So what do i spend my time on?
A friend of mine once suggested that I measure out my time. He said I should look at what I do on paper and with the numbers in front of me to realize what my life really is. For your viewing pleasure and my own personal enlightenment this is what it looks like: Out of 168 hours a week, I spend a minimum of 36 hours a week at my office job. Second place goes to Barnes and Noble where I tend to spend the better part of my nights and weekends usually totalling up to 20ish hours a week. I sleep on average 42 hours a week. I spend probably 15 hours a week driving. That leaves me with 55 hours a week to carve out a life. 55 hours of spare time.
So what do I value? I show what I value the same way in my freetime as I do in my working life, they work exactly the same for me. I value being part of something that is a family or like it, comfort, roles to slip into and masks to wear, insulation from my own mind (a place to explore it without having to comfront demons alone), movement, goals, rules, structure, challenges that are prearranged, people. This is the world I value. This is my ideal world. It's heavily populated, immensely productive, safely growing, acting in togetherness, following steps. If the bees ever invite me to move in I'll pack a bag and be off before nightfall. This is how I build my life.
Now, are these values worth holding? Is this world a world that I should allow to tumble? Ought I seek out environments like this or is it best that I haven't been able to master the perfect instituationalized life that I seem to enjoy so much? Does letting my world go to pieces around me make me a better person? Will being alone more often, saying no to "family situations", and steping out of my traditional roles give me a better insight on values worth holding?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Creating a New Life, One Cliff at a Time
In nearly three months I will past the 2 year marker since I graduated. In two years I have experienced a few minor changes from my college lifestyle. These changes include, but are not limited to the following:
I graduated
Moved in with friends
Quit my job of six years at the toy store
Started working full time as a ASL at a tween clothing store
Broke up with my boyfriend of 4 years
Began cooking
Distanced myself from old friendships
Moved into my own apartment alone
Took up drinking
Made a new friend who introduced me to several more
Started an office job full time in a glass manufacturing company in the country
Quit my management job
Tried to make things work with said ex boyfriend
Took up smoking
Took up art
Took up yoga
Began Friday Nights
Forgave past hurts
Started seeing a psychologist
Lost ex boyfriend to another girl
Went on a trip to Seattle
Watched my friends get married
Said good bye to three of my favorite people as they journeyed to Seattle.
It's a brief history of the last few years. Maybe it isn't everything but I hope it highlights some of the general themes. It's been a few years of struggling with a transition between past and future. Generally when people ask how I'm doing now I am either "Marvelous!" or bleak. "The vortex of pessimism and despair." Neither of these extremes are really all that fair. Things have been up and down, growing is like that; I am extreme in my responses and that's just how I am.
Still, this is a new chapter in my life. I have outlined where I was, and where I was no longer affords me a place to go back to. I can't try to repair a relationship with my ex boyfriend, he has a new girlfriend and a new life outside of the state, our relationship is over. I can not step back into my comfortable job at the toy store because they are out of business. There is no returning to the ease of my former friendships in their former states because those relationships have changed either due to emotional, spiritual, mental, or geographical distances. In short, there is no going home again. "We must go on."
That's what this blog is about, at least for now. Going on is an adventure, even if it is only in my neighborhood. Suddenly every person I meet becomes a new opportunity at contact, yay human contact! There are moments which fall into my life and moments which I must force myself to create that allow me to build a new life out of the materials around me. This is my adventure, this is my challenge, this is my goal: make something out of what you have now.
Following this line of reasoning I have spent the week challenging myself in ways I never would have before. Several weeks ago I posted an ad on craigslist for girls who were seeking a friend. I was wondering if there were other people who were lonely as a result of recent transitions like the ones I was going through. As it turns out there are in abudance! Not that they all answered, but I got enough responses and I've talked to enough people for me to believe my feelings aren't uncommon. I ended up being contacted my a girl roughly my age who was new to Grand Rapids and looking for someone to spend time with. Her long time boyfriend moved here with her but is away at school for the semster and she doesn't really know many people. On Monday we met for dinner.
Have I mentioned that I am terrified of new people? I am. Still, I found that little spark of guts inside me and met a stranger. We ate our salads, yet another newer addition to my life, and talked for nearly three hours. Following the meal we made plans to connect on facebook and set up coffee for sometime next week. Now I have one new people friend on facebook and both of her guinea pigs have friended me as well! If my friends were still in town I would never have had this experience.
On Tuesday night I went dancing. I wanted to take a class. Being a philosohy major and pretty much obessed with the topic, I originally wanted to take classes at Grand Valley a night or two a week. I have learned that one week before the semster starts is not the best time to see about attending a school however. After a lot of paper work, missed deadlines, and bad internet connections I decided that, at least for this semster, $5.00 east coast swing lessons would be easier and more challenging for me than a $1200 philosophy class that I might get into.
I showed up, after having a lovely dinner of tuna steak and mango sauce with white wine (prepared by yours truely), for the course. Nervously I peeked into the two room studio only to be greeted by cheering bald men. Apparently they were shy on females for the evening. I got the quick $5.00 tour by the owner of the place and shortly thereafter the class began. There were four men and four women counting me. We began class. It was lots of fun, lots of awkward moments, I overthought everything from the time I walked in to the time I left, but I enjoyed it all. We danced to Black Velvet and Boot Scoot and Boogie. Grinning away I left the building counting steps, 1,2,3. 4,5,6. Rockstep. I'm supposed to practice at least an hour this week on the basic steps for mucle memory. If I don't, Jim will most certainly know.
Tonight I turned down a shift at my second job. This seems like a small thing but in the world of me, who uses work to hide from really interacting with others or examining my own life, it's kinda a big thing. I'm sitting on the porch talking with neighbors. They may even believe that someone actually lives here this week. How crazy is that? Tonight I'll read a book that my friend suggested, I'll paint a little, I'll practice my dance steps, and in it all I'll remember that this is the adventure of my life. At least for now, this is the stage that I play on.
I graduated
Moved in with friends
Quit my job of six years at the toy store
Started working full time as a ASL at a tween clothing store
Broke up with my boyfriend of 4 years
Began cooking
Distanced myself from old friendships
Moved into my own apartment alone
Took up drinking
Made a new friend who introduced me to several more
Started an office job full time in a glass manufacturing company in the country
Quit my management job
Tried to make things work with said ex boyfriend
Took up smoking
Took up art
Took up yoga
Began Friday Nights
Forgave past hurts
Started seeing a psychologist
Lost ex boyfriend to another girl
Went on a trip to Seattle
Watched my friends get married
Said good bye to three of my favorite people as they journeyed to Seattle.
It's a brief history of the last few years. Maybe it isn't everything but I hope it highlights some of the general themes. It's been a few years of struggling with a transition between past and future. Generally when people ask how I'm doing now I am either "Marvelous!" or bleak. "The vortex of pessimism and despair." Neither of these extremes are really all that fair. Things have been up and down, growing is like that; I am extreme in my responses and that's just how I am.
Still, this is a new chapter in my life. I have outlined where I was, and where I was no longer affords me a place to go back to. I can't try to repair a relationship with my ex boyfriend, he has a new girlfriend and a new life outside of the state, our relationship is over. I can not step back into my comfortable job at the toy store because they are out of business. There is no returning to the ease of my former friendships in their former states because those relationships have changed either due to emotional, spiritual, mental, or geographical distances. In short, there is no going home again. "We must go on."
That's what this blog is about, at least for now. Going on is an adventure, even if it is only in my neighborhood. Suddenly every person I meet becomes a new opportunity at contact, yay human contact! There are moments which fall into my life and moments which I must force myself to create that allow me to build a new life out of the materials around me. This is my adventure, this is my challenge, this is my goal: make something out of what you have now.
Following this line of reasoning I have spent the week challenging myself in ways I never would have before. Several weeks ago I posted an ad on craigslist for girls who were seeking a friend. I was wondering if there were other people who were lonely as a result of recent transitions like the ones I was going through. As it turns out there are in abudance! Not that they all answered, but I got enough responses and I've talked to enough people for me to believe my feelings aren't uncommon. I ended up being contacted my a girl roughly my age who was new to Grand Rapids and looking for someone to spend time with. Her long time boyfriend moved here with her but is away at school for the semster and she doesn't really know many people. On Monday we met for dinner.
Have I mentioned that I am terrified of new people? I am. Still, I found that little spark of guts inside me and met a stranger. We ate our salads, yet another newer addition to my life, and talked for nearly three hours. Following the meal we made plans to connect on facebook and set up coffee for sometime next week. Now I have one new people friend on facebook and both of her guinea pigs have friended me as well! If my friends were still in town I would never have had this experience.
On Tuesday night I went dancing. I wanted to take a class. Being a philosohy major and pretty much obessed with the topic, I originally wanted to take classes at Grand Valley a night or two a week. I have learned that one week before the semster starts is not the best time to see about attending a school however. After a lot of paper work, missed deadlines, and bad internet connections I decided that, at least for this semster, $5.00 east coast swing lessons would be easier and more challenging for me than a $1200 philosophy class that I might get into.
I showed up, after having a lovely dinner of tuna steak and mango sauce with white wine (prepared by yours truely), for the course. Nervously I peeked into the two room studio only to be greeted by cheering bald men. Apparently they were shy on females for the evening. I got the quick $5.00 tour by the owner of the place and shortly thereafter the class began. There were four men and four women counting me. We began class. It was lots of fun, lots of awkward moments, I overthought everything from the time I walked in to the time I left, but I enjoyed it all. We danced to Black Velvet and Boot Scoot and Boogie. Grinning away I left the building counting steps, 1,2,3. 4,5,6. Rockstep. I'm supposed to practice at least an hour this week on the basic steps for mucle memory. If I don't, Jim will most certainly know.
Tonight I turned down a shift at my second job. This seems like a small thing but in the world of me, who uses work to hide from really interacting with others or examining my own life, it's kinda a big thing. I'm sitting on the porch talking with neighbors. They may even believe that someone actually lives here this week. How crazy is that? Tonight I'll read a book that my friend suggested, I'll paint a little, I'll practice my dance steps, and in it all I'll remember that this is the adventure of my life. At least for now, this is the stage that I play on.
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