And the Vertigo Begins to Kick In...

Alright.  Wow.  I've had a LOT going on the last 2 months, and no time to write about it!  (Well, ok, thankfully I've had some time to write for myself, otherwise I'd be certifiably insane, but no time to condense/filter it and put it into a blog post.... sorry folks!)  Also, in the process of one of the biggest changes I've experienced (and very much still processing that...), I've hardly had any time at all....  AH!  So, this is going to be a not-so-quick update in the form of bullet points because my brain is running WAY to fast to actually formulate full sentences, much less articulate and meaningful paragraphs.  Also, my brain is running a million different directions at once, so this is probably going to seem very disjointed and chaotic... just bear with me:

• - I'm perpetually amazed, awed, and somewhat frightened by the things God has been doing in my life.  Not just in the past 6 months but in the past 19 years.  The way he has orchestrated this crazy, sometimes hellish symphony that is my life continually blows me away and brings me to tears.  I know it seems silly to say, but only God could have been responsibly for such a terribly beautiful thing.  
• - Part of me wants to give up regular school and just go to seminary to revel and grow in who God is, but then I go to Biology class and remember how much i love/hate/love secular classes too... Damn conflictions.  ;)  
• - On the note of biology:  OH MY GOSH THAT CLASS MIGHT KILL ME....  I haven't been in school for a year, much less a hard science. And my professor is covering all this crazy chemistry stuff that makes absolutely no sense to me (thank God for biology coloring books that are simultaneously semi-fun and educational...), all of which he says is the foundation for biology and we'd damn better understand it through and through or we are going to fail the sememster... SHIT!!   Oh well.  Guess I'll be spending a lot of time going to office hours... :/  (On a happier note, it is actually VERY interesting! And I keep reminding myself of my goal...)
• - I decided today that I'm dropping my Gov class for something (ANYTHING) else.  Doreen - THANK YOU for teaching me about government because clearly this lady can't.  And, thank you for treating me like I'm actually an intelligent human being.... (I'd forgotten what it felt like to be condescended towards...) (is that how one would say that?  Condescended to....?  condescended on...?)  I have decided that I am not going to pay a bajillion dollars a year to take classes that I hate and make me frustrated, especially since I don't have to.  Therefore, I shall choose to empower myself by choosing to put myself in a happier situation, and I shall exercise my right as an American, a student, and a human being to say - I will not do this anymore! 
• -  For those of you who were wondering about my other classes:  Spanish is bueno, but not coming back to me as quickly as I'd hoped.  I'm making mistakes that I don't think I've made since about 6th grade, so.... A little discouraging, but hopefully I will remember it at some point.  My martial arts class is SO COOL!!  Way harder than I thought, but I could totally see myself getting into this sport very seriously. Sociology is absolutely my favorite class ever!  It's all about History and the third world and people.... Ah!  So cool.   
• - The masters program here practices at 5am.... And I've been trying for the last 2 days to get up and go swim with them to try it out, but damn 5 is early, especially when one has found themselves staying up until 1 and 2 every morning.... :/  Going to have to figure that one out.  
• - My duvet cover is my favorite part of my new room.  :)  (and my wall collage that I'm working on... I'll put up pictures soon.) 
• -  I miss my puppy.  And Moose and Honey... :(  
• -  I've worn my Toms almost every day, and I'm looking forward to the tan line I'm going to (maybe) be getting....  
• -  On the note of feet:  I have been completely pain free since July 30th.  I don't know if it's permanent or not, and I pray that God will use this experience and whatever related ensuing experiences are on their way for His glory... 
• -  I'm still very much in the midst of processing this very large move, and I don't exactly know how I feel.  
• -  We cannot get anything to stick to our walls (We think it might be the fresh paint, which is nice that our rooms were just redone, but sad that nothing will stay up....), so I still have a bulletin board sitting against my bookshelf that needs to find a way to be hung (I think I may have found a solution, I'll keep you all posted).
• -  I don't know who all knows this, but I adoped a WorldVision child.  His name is Hassen Muhammed. He's 9, he lives in Ethiopia, and his favorite subject is math.  Please keep him in your prayers.  
• -  The more I am here and learning, the more I am convinced that I do not need a degree to do what I want to do.  But the more I think and pray, I am also convinced that I do need this experience.  So I'm currently struggling with this limbo.
• -  Although I've been here for almost 2 weeks, this place still does not feel like home.  I don't know if any place ever will.... 
• -  I have decided that there are some things about me I need to get cleaned up before I date, so don't expect to be hearing about any boyfriends this semester.  End of discussion.
• -  I miss my best friend desperately.  And although we are both in good places - Did we seriously have to go to school on opposite sides of the friggin' country?!?  :(  
• -  The further I get away from high school I realize a couple things.  One - I was so miserable for so many reasons!!! But now I'm not, so happy day.  Two -  there are so many relationships that I haven't maintained for one reason or another, but there are very few people from high school that I wish I talked to more -- I can count them on one hand.  And this does not make me sad, remorseful, melancholy, or even nostalgic.  
• -  I get to walk around my campus and hear anywhere from 3 to 12 foreign languages being spoken per day.  It's kinda cool... :) 
• -  I cannot wait for Glee to come back.  Sad I know, but seriously, I love it.  :) 
• -  I am finding myself getting very antsy and restless, but in a very different way than ever before.  
• -  Mom, I know you're not going to like this but I pray every day that God will find a way to send me to the most impoverished, war-torn, ugly places in the world.  To places filled with hate, with anger, with brokenness and imperfection, and I pray that God will use me there.  I pray that God will guide me and use my inhibitions AND my ambitions for His one singular goal.  I was not built for comfort, and so I pray that God will spend the rest of my life making me uncomfortable.  (Ha! As if the last 6 months hadn't shown me, this isn't exactly something I need to pray for, God is going to do it whether I like it or not)
• -  I keep going over in my head the best way to re-arrange my room without messing up my new wall collage.... and it's hard.  I'm thinking I might need to put it on the window (Which would be super cool since there's tissue paper involved, but super hard to move...) 
• -  I know that people have been pestering me for pictures about my dorm room for quite some time now, and I sincerely apologize for not having them up earlier, but I promise I will get them up by the end of the week!
• -  I think there is a very good chance that my body is addicted to sugary things... this is a problem. And I'm finding the absolutely delicious chocolate chip cookies at TDR very, very hard to resist.  
• -  I'm struggling with realizing and defining my gifts, both spiritual and non, and seeking God in those gifts and how He can use me.
• -  I'm finding that my life (both in the past and now, though in significantly different ways), is becoming dichotomously defined by pride and shame.  And that, my friends, is a very difficult challenge to overcome, as I am discovering. 
• -  There is a hurricane headed this way.  I've never experienced a hurricane before; I love rain; therefore, I'm a little excited because I think by the time it gets to me (and because I'm far enough inland), it's going to POUR!  Yes!!! :)

And on that delightful note, my friends, I shall end this somewhat kerjumbled and slightly ridiculous post.  I hope you all feel slightly more updated -- I know I feel better!  :)  I'll try to post more frequently in the future.

Much love to you all.  

Goodness

This was going to be my last post from Colorado, but things got a bit out of hand during the packing/getting-ready-to-move process, and so it will be my first (and possibly only) post from the lovely in-between stages in North Carolina.  (For those of you who aren’t aware, I left this morning from Denver to fly to North Carolina to look at schools for my sister and pick up my aunt before driving to DC on Wednesday.  So I’m going to be spending the next 3 days in limbo between parents “home” and new school home.)  Ironically, this post has almost nothing to do with moving, nor with packing, school, or anything else of the sorts.  It’s actually an update from a few weeks ago, which I should’ve posted earlier but just haven’t gotten a chance. 

I’m sorry if this is repetitive for some of you, but for those of you who are relatively new to my life (or to this blog), I will try to catch you up as concisely as possible (although for those of you who know me, that may not actually be the case…)  J I grew up going to the Episcopal church on a VERY regular basis, and grew up a “Christian” but never really had true faith, in part because I didn’t know what true faith looked like.  I thought that what I had was a solid foundation of faith but I was really just a pretend Christian, trying to live a good life without the presence of the Living God in my heart. During high school (in part because of my desire to distance myself from my parents, in part because of internal struggles, and in part simply because of the rigor and structure of the Episcopal church), I pulled away from God.  I was an atheist, then an agnostic, then an atheist again, then a doubting Christian, then just confused.  I was still forced to go to church, but I found my faith decreasing every time I went. Then, in part because of a series of people, in part because of life circumstances changing, I found my faith again.  It was a miracle, and I’m still not entirely sure how it happened, but I found myself craving God and His life, I just didn’t know how to get there.  I only knew that I didn’t want the Episcopal church (not that anything’s wrong with the Episcopal church, I just struggle with organized religion, particularly when it’s that organized and structured.  It’s simply not how I process, interact with God, worship, or commune with other people.)

Then I met M.  She’s amazing.  I love her to death, and despite the fact that I’ve only known her for a relatively short time (just over a year, I think…), she’s one of the people I’ll miss most in my move to DC, and she’s somebody I plan on staying in touch with for the rest of my life.  She’s a friend and, in some way, a mentor to me (if she’s up for dealing with me for the rest of our lives…haha).  Her story is incredibly similar to mine in many ways (though not all), and in talking with her about faith and God and church and life, we found similarities in the way we thought and (more importantly) felt about all these things.  I’ve come to trust her and her judgment a lot.  She first invited me to her church (Mile High Vineyard) at the beginning of the summer, but that’s not what this story is about.

This story begins one Friday, when I got of work to a text from M inviting me to a conference her church was having, that she and her sister J were attending.  Although that’s not normally something that would be of great interest to me, I found myself feeling like I really wanted and needed to go (in retrospect there was clearly a reason).   I rearranged some things and made it to M and J’s house in time to carpool to the evening session for the conference.  Despite my newfound faith, I still struggle with doing things that are even remotely connected to “organized religion”, and so waking into this group of people was a challenge for me.  I thought that perhaps God was going to use this time to show me how good His people can be, that I don’t need to be afraid, and that I can, in fact, be a part of a good church home.  I thought this was going to perhaps be God’s way of easing me in to finding a good church.  I should’ve known how foolish that was, God does not ever “ease” me into anything – if I’m not throwing myself headfirst into something, then He certainly will!   The talk, although not a “set-your-soul-on-fire” sort of talk, was from a couple who lived in Beirut for 13 years doing ministry, and I found it interesting and informative because that’s the part of the world that God’s given me a heart for.  I thought perhaps God was going to use the active ministry after the talk to reveal something to me.  I was simply trying to be open to whatever God had to show me on that particular evening.  At the end, the leadership group came up and said that before worship, they had a few people that they felt called to pray for. Sidebar: for those of you who don’t know me, I have chronic pain in my legs from a bone structure deformity that causes my feet to collapse and things in my ankles, shins, knees and hips to wear wrong.  I’ve been struggling with chronic knee pain since I was 7, and I’ve also been struggling with severe shin splints for over a year (which is a very long time), and Friday was excruciating.  I’d actually cried at work earlier that day, partly because of the pain and partly because I was simply so damn frustrated with the pain.  Back to the story:  One of the women from the leadership team said that God had given her a vision of someone there who was struggling with intense foot pain, particularly in the arch of their foot. Well shit.  I guess God is simply going to talk to me in front of an entire conference of people.  I had a fast argument with God going something along the lines of: I can’t go up there! Go! No! Go! No! Go! Fine!!!  Knowing that J and M were there for me was enough of a comfort to motivate me outside my comfort zone, and so, scared out of my mind, I went up.  A very nice man from the leadership/prayer team joined me, and we talked and prayed for about 10 minutes.  I could feel a distinct difference in my legs between walking up and walking back, but it was still painful: just a different kind of pain.  During the course of praying, my ultimate prayer was that God would simply do His will: if there was a way for him to take away my pain and physical suffering, that He would do it, but if it was a weakness that I was meant to have, then so be it, that He would give me the strength and the perseverance and the patience to deal with it.  I woke up the next morning completely pain-free, and I have not dealt with any sort of pain since then except split-second moments when I am being boastful, prideful, or taking credit for something that belongs to God.  It is, I think, God’s way of reminding me who is really in charge, and that He IS powerful enough to do absolutely anything!   It’s an absolutely indescribable feeling, and in a way very exciting.  I’ve never experienced physical (or instantaneous) healing from God, and I find myself discovering new facets of my faith through this experience.  I know that God can allow me to be in pain again anytime, and that ultimately I must stay humble and remember that God is GOD and my savior.   But, I was able to climb 3 fourteeners yesterday, and although I am sore and exhausted, I am experiencing absolutely no pain whatsoever from my feet, ankles, knees, or shin splints.

Climbing yesterday was one of the absolute best ways I could possibly imagine saying adieu to Colorado, I was able to enjoy the company of good friends, and more importantly, the intense and unique beauty of Colorado that God has created.  If you’ve never climbed a mountain, I highly recommend it – it’s an addicting and exhilarating experience, and to experience God’s beauty and grandeur in that way is incomparable to anything else! 

I thank God every day for rescuing me from that pain and for allowing me another chance at life, and for giving me back opportunities that I wouldn’t have otherwise had.  It led to a perfect goodbye, and a perfect start to a new life in which I can begin anew.  But most importantly, it has become a part of my Living Faith, ever changing.  It seems as though just when I think I am full of God, He steps just a bit closer to the light and suddenly, He exposes a new facet of Himself and His perfection, and I find my whole world turned upside down. 

I can’t wait for my world to be turned upside-down again.  

Emotions

My goodness what a week it's been.  It feels like a month ago that I flew from Denver to Washington, DC for what I thought was to be a simple orientation.  How surprised I am to find myself 3 days later on a plane back, feeling as disoriented and overwhelmed as if I just came out of a tornado.  Turned around and upside down, although I'm now upright and back on my feet I'm feeling disheveled, unkempt, hazy, and wandering aimlessly.  I'm sure part of that is from the stress of an airport mishap, but alas I feel as though I should start at the beginning.  Forgive me for the lengthiness of this post, but as I said - a lot has happened.

I left Denver on Wednesday morning for what I expected to be a simple and somewhat mundane orientation for school.  Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be starting school again, especially in Washington, but I do in fact feel quite prepared, and I went to orientation simply because it was required, not because I really truly felt the need to get myself… well, get myself oriented.  I left Denver feeling quite comfortable about moving to a city where I know just one person (my uncle, who happens to live right outside DC), getting myself around on the Metro, readjusting to school life, making new acquaintances - I feel as though throwing myself into new situations is something I do often, and I'm comfortable with the uncomfortable-ness of it.  The flight in was easy, I found my way around the Metro from the airport to school no problem, got checked in, got my room (and, delightfully, my roommate, who would prove to be a valuable and enjoyable companion for the remainder of the trip), and all set to venture out for dinner with a group of students to simply get to know each other.  Everyone at dinner was new to the city, new to the school, and we all got along well.  We laughed, hung out at a delicious restaurant, walked to get some fro-yo (delicious!) and despite the 80% humidity (which is going to take a LOT of getting used to, and a lot of patience for dealing with my ridiculously thick and curly hair), we enjoyed walking back to campus and talking along the way.  Everyone was a bit tired from their journey - I actually met another girl from Colorado who went to Arapahoe, and a girl from Colorado Spring, so I was not the only one who had been up all day traveling, but we enjoyed each others company to the extent that a group of strangers who are thrown together can.  We arrived back on campus, hung out for a bit, and then went to bed fairly early to prepare for Thursday, when the real orientation would start.  Day one:  Comfortable and Confident.

Thursday morning we woke up, my roommate (Tea) and I got ready (neither of us are particularly preoccupied with out appearance, so it only took us 30 or so minutes to get ready and get over to the dining hall for breakfast).  She and I found ourselves getting along quite nicely, and although we were in different orientation groups, we spent much of our free time together.  Neither of us had parents at the orientation; she's from Chicago.  Most of day one was spent in an auditorium listening to presentations about things I'd already heard - communication is key for getting along with your roommate, you're more responsible for your education, nobody is going to chase you down and get you to do your homework, don't forget to check your email, here's all the ways you can get involved, blah blah blah.  I know that many people come from many different schools and some people may not have heard all this information before, but having come from a large high school where more than 90% of the graduates go straight to a 4-year university, I've pretty much heard it all before.  And despite being bored out of my mind, it was exhausting.  Sitting in the same room all day, listening to people talk and talk and talk at you, trying to sort pertinent information from non-pertinent information, and trying to remember countless names and faces and where people are from and who I've told what about myself and what they've told me about themselves - honestly it was all quite exhausting.  Good, exciting, and happy.  But exhausting at the same time.
What I discovered on Thursday (it's something I'm still trying to wrap my brain around…) is that this past year has forced me (and uncomfortably so) to be comfortable with myself being alone.  High school was about ignoring my real self and trying to find someone else, somebody who I liked better.  All along I knew who the real me was, somehow I've always known, but in high school I ignored it, buried it so deep inside layers and layers of lies and ignored realities and hurt and anger and confusion that I couldn't find it.  It took all my friends leaving the area, some new people to enter my life and some old friends to leave it for me to start digging through those layers and layers of deceit.  I spent a year living on my own - not just out of my parents house and on my own (mostly) financially, but really truly alone for me to uncover everything.  It was painful.  It sucked.  It was hard.  There were lots of sleepless nights, lots of restless nights, lots of nights trying desperately not to fall back into old habits, ridiculous indulgences that I tried to cover the pain, but in the end everything was dealt with.  Everything was exposed, uncovered, revealed and understood.  And that took being alone, truly and utterly alone, for me to get to that point.  And now that I'm completely comfortable with myself, I can be alone, I can be quiet, and I can be comfortable.  It's and odd and sincerely disconcerting experience, because it's not something that I've ever experienced before.  I cannot explain how odd it is to consider yourself an extrovert (and not just a mild extrovert, but someone who craves people and interaction and relationships and discussion and dialogue to an extreme), and find yourself completely comfortable being alone.  In some ways I feel like a stranger to myself because I am still rediscovering this person that is myself, this new and comfortable and insecure and confident and passionate and broken person that I am, and yet somehow I DO know this person, this seeming stranger and yet somehow it's like looking in a mirror for the first time and truly seeing who I am.  This is new to me.  I suppose it's a good thing, but still, it's not something I realized had happened until 2 days ago. And great re-evaluations about yourself always carry some amount of confusion, adjustment, and strangeness.  Day 2:  Dazed, Befuddled, and Excited for a new chapter.

Friday was less crazy on the informational side - after discovering how bad I (and a newfound friend, Ezekiel) are at Wii games, thinking hard about myself, my new situation, and all the variables that go with moving to a new city 3,000 miles away from the place I've called home for so long, bed and sleep was both a welcome respite and an unneeded distraction.  But, eventually exhaustion won over and I did sleep for a solid 5 or 6 hours.  On Friday, we had less presentations to listen to and a little bit more free time, and more individualized attention.  I met with my academic advisor to discuss scheduling, sports, credits, various requirements, and other logistical things, and found myself thinking hard about solidifying a plan for school.  It was a very interesting and perplexing paradox of messages I got from Fridays schedule - one side said that I always needed to be thinking and planning ahead, calculating what classes I needed to take and what I wanted to do and look for internships and jobs and start thinking careers… The other side said that I should take my time, that I didn't have to make a decision right away, that I should explore and take classes that interest me and do things like play and study art and soccer and go to parties and make new friends.  Very very perplexing.  And I find myself surrounded by ambitious, intelligent, passionate people, many of whom know exactly what they want to do - they've got the next ten years of their life planned out on a timetable.  And with that comes my wondering… why?  Can't I be here for the simple value of the experience, something to add to my repertoire of experiences and conclusions and relationships and decisions that define and shape who I am and what my place is in this world?  It's an expensive way to get there, yes, but it's the path I've chosen.  I appreciate the assumption that I will be able to graduate in 4 years, but what if I choose not to?  What happens then?  Am I less of a student for it?  Less ambitious?  I want this experience to be one that refines my soul and my being, creating me into exactly the person that God has intended for me.  That, truly, is my only pursuit in life.  Everything is a derivative of that simple goal.  And so I hope to enter this new experience, this new city and place with the expectation that what is, is, and what will be is simply there because.  That's the only reason I need, and that's the only goal I have.  Take it or leave it.  Day 3 part 1:  Determined, Stubborn, and Conflicted.
Friday afternoon I travelled on the Metro back to the airport.  A bunch of girls from Jersey/New York were headed in the same direction as me to catch a train back home, so we rode the metro together, and I found myself enjoying the company of people that I'd never met before that particular moment.  I love that in this community, people can meet each other and instantly be friends simply because of circumstance.  Beautiful.  I arrived at the airport a bit early, so I got some food, sat at a booth with an outlet, plugged in my computer, and relaxed to comfortably watch some tv before boarding my flight.  Long story short:  After hearing that the Chicago airport was closed (I had a layover there to get home), talking to ticketing, much miscommunication, hooking up with my roommate to have some company, and getting myself situated with a few plausible backup plans, I find myself stuck at the Washington Airport for 5 extra hours. Bummer. Finally the long delayed plane arrives in Chicago.  Although the original plan was to make my connection, which had also been delayed, a mechanical problem on the ground in Washington set us back further than expected, and I found myself stranded in Chicago for the night.  Magnificent.  Thankfully, my mom (who I informed of the situation back in Washington), had spent the time I was in the air trying to find me a hotel for the night.  When I landed, sure enough, all the hotels near the airport were full, but my mom's overprotectiveness and diligence paid off - she found me a cheap taxi company, a room about 15 minutes outside downtown Chicago, and reserved me a room.  Fanastic.  There were no problems getting to the hotel, falling asleep (by the time I got to that point it was almost 3am), getting checked out or getting back to the airport.  And Chicago, now sunny and fair, is getting flights in and out smoothly.  Perfect.  Day 3 part 2:  Stressed, Bored, and Exhausted.
Interestingly enough, I found myself completely comfortable thrown into that unexpected situation.  I've flown alone before, plenty of times, and I am completely comfortable alone finding my way around and handling myself.  But having to change flights, get a hotel, and being stranded in a city I've never been to before were all new experiences.  And yet oddly, I never found myself uncomfortable or afraid.  I was actually particularly annoyed by my mother's overprotectiveness and her initiative at taking care of all the logistics in Chicago for me - my fierce and unrelenting need to be independent is something that doesn't ever go away, and more than anything I hate being coddled.  Until I remembered a couple things 1) her working out all the details while I was in the air meant that I didn't have to do it on the ground, and I got more sleep.  And, 2) I had to remind myself that it's not because she doesn't believe that I can't do it myself, she's just trying to be helpful, and to take care of things for me.  She would've done the same for my father, or for her sister - she knows that I am capable, she was simply trying to help.  And I still have trouble asking for help - I think it may be something that I struggle with all my life.  It's who I am, how I was raised, and something that is incredibly difficult for me to let go of.  I am not good at asking for help when I need it, or even accepting help when given freely, needed or not.  Day 3 part 3:  Frustrated, Relieved, Thankful, Annoyed, and Self-Conscious.

At the airport today I decided that I love airports (I sort of always have).  Although they are a sign of wealth and occasionally extravagance, they are also a symbol of opportunity, of cultures meeting, of very very different people from all parts of the world mingling, a reminder of how big the world truly is, and yet of how small it can seem.  A delightful paradox of so much that, to an extent personifies human nature.  I love the ride - the taking off and feeling like you are being rooted to your seat, the earth pulling you back and the sky beckoning upward.  Defying gravity and seemingly the laws of nature, of watching your shadow get smaller, the people get smaller, feeling contained and yet unleashed.  You get to watch people and cars get smaller and smaller, although it's so gradual that you don't entirely realize the magnitude of your height.  Suddenly a cloud will pass underneath you and you realize how high you are.  Then you hit some turbulence and you are delicately reminded of how fragile your state actually is.  Looking out the window you can see the random geometric grid pattern of fields and harvests come and gone, the crazy suburbia homes with their prefect cul-de-sacs and the backyard pools, and the exploding cities that seem so full.  The flying, the noise, the bumps, the smell, the cramped-ness of the bathrooms, the people talking, the people sleeping, babies crying, couples holding hands, siblings sharing a magazine, the overly friendly people and the not so friendly people.  The slightly absurd plastic cups, and the SkyMall magazine that sells overpriced and impractical, albeit creative inventions. It's a strange place to find a collection of so much that contains who we are, and yet it is as the same time exciting and exhilarating, a nearly complete containment of who we are and what it is we value most.  Day 4:  Peaceful, Pensive, and Content.

:)

Women and Glee

Alright, I'll admit it, I'm a Gleek. (If you are too, or think you might be someday, and haven't seen the last 2 weeks' episodes, you should not read any further - there are some spoilers!!)  I wholeheartedly follow the show.  I think it's witty, biting, hilarious, and relatable.  I think it deals with important issues, but somehow I walk away from the show feeling uplifted every week.   I refuse to make plans on Tuesday nights, so that I can watch the show.  I have to remind myself regularly that I really don't need to buy the music the night it comes out, that I really should wait until the end of the first season when they'll come out with a whole album of the music, which will be cheaper (somehow that appeal to logos doesn't overpower my love of good music, and I sometimes give in and buy songs anyways).  I think the vocals are fantastic, and the script is original and has started to "push the envelope" with issues.  It's a show that I can watch and say, 'hey, that was me in high school! I've felt like that, I've done that, or I've seen that.'

Over the last few weeks, a recurring theme in the show has focused partly on objectifying women, body image, and self confidence.  Its an issue that's very near to my heart, as I have struggled with it my entire life, I've watched friends struggle with it, and I've seen what it can do.  I fell in love with the boys' new rendition of "What it feels like", with Mercedes' "Beautiful", and with April Rhodes' journey.  My heart breaks for them, and soars with them, and I find myself traveling this same journey with them, an invisible bystander who watches with pangs of guilt, remorse, anxiety, compassion, empathy, anger, and almost every other emotion possible.  There are many issues that I feel passionately about, but this is one that stands out.

And it was an issue that I thought was progressing well, on a worldy scale, until recently.  I thought that, despite the incessant and sometimes unrelenting teasing and attacks on my strongly feminist stance, that people were making progress, that people were aware of the issue, and that many people, both men and women, were working to equalize an unbalanced count of centuries of oppression.  Then I met C.  He happens to be a guy that  I work with (i'm using an initial to protect him, even though I don't really think he deserves protecting…), and he and I disagree on almost every topic you can think of.  He regularly attacks me for my religious beliefs, my moral stances on issues, my political views, the fact that I enjoy reading, and the way I think.  He takes great pleasure in pointing out holes in my logic, in giving me impossible scenarios, in cornering me, and proving his own intelligence and the black-and-white validity of his own views over others'.  He's very good at what he does, and frankly, he sometimes is right.  More often than not though, he twists what I say into what he wants to hear, and rarely gives others a chance to fully explain their views.  He thinks he knows what he's going to hear before he even asks.  Normally, I don't mind.  I can stand up for myself, I can handle teasing, attacks, and the endless looks of pity and stupidity from him.   I had my walls up, he doesn't know nearly as much as he thinks he does, about me or the world.  And nothing he's said has convinced me that he truly is correct, and that I need to repent from my ignorant ways and turn to his cold,  harsh, atheistic view of the world.  So I let him attack and he takes full advantage.   And I don't really mind.

Until this week.  This week everything changed.  Somehow we got around to talking about body image, in the context of Glee (which, surprisingly enough, he watches regularly).  He laughed at my outrage, scoffed at my standards, and seemed arrogantly perplexed when I told him that yes, in fact, the idea that there are people who still think that men and women should not be treated equally bothers me.  He then proceeded to tell me that I was, in fact, wrong about what women need.  He said women don't need to be told they're beautiful.  That women who are more than 5 pounds overweight, who are ugly or who don't fit some beauty standard shouldn't feel beautiful because they're not. He told me that he shouldn't be socially obligated to lie to women about what's attractive (I don't think he's distinguished beauty and hotness yet…), women should not be told they're beautiful, nor should they feel beautiful about themselves if they aren't.  He insists that being beautiful SHOULD be objectified, and standardized, and related solely to external attraction.  He insists that it's a good thing for people to not have their self esteem "falsely" boosted, that feeling judged and objectified and inadequate and unworthy is a good thing, that it's not ok to tell a woman that she's ok the way she is because in all likelihood there's something wrong with her, something that needs to be fixed before she can be beautiful…. He told me that people are not created equally and that not everyone deserves to be loved.  He somehow tied this "falsifying of beauty" to the collapse of America, but to be honest I'd stopped listening by the time he'd gotten to that place in his speech.

I can't express how outraged I am- it's difficult for me to stomach!!  It physically sickens me to think of things this way; I didn't let on when he was telling me all this, but I wanted to hit him, and had we not been "on the clock" I would've.   I wanted to clock him so hard, to knock sense into him, to tie him to a chair and duct tape his mouth shut and yell and scream and cry at him until he understood.  I actually did go home and cry, for what he's failing to see in himself, in everyone around him, and for the hurt it might have caused.  I wanted to take all the broken pieces from all the women he's ever objectified and glue them back together.  I wanted to explain to him how insanely hard it is to be a girl, how he could never understand how much it hurts,  how when people (men or women) objectify and judge other women, it makes ME feel objectified and judged, even if they haven't said one thing about me.  I wanted to show him my scars, internal and external, to show him how much pain it can cause, and how much damage it can do.  I wanted to make him understand, I wanted to make him feel the way I've felt, the way I know many other women have felt, and then ask him to honestly hold the same stance.  I wanted to show him the movie Precious, the scene where she says nobody loves her, and play it over and over again until his heart was shattered for her.  I wanted to take a hammer and smash his heart like a mirror, and ask him to put all the pieces back together like women have to do every single day, I wanted to logic with him, reason him into seeing my side but that's the problem that there is no logic to it, it's all about the feelings, I wanted to make him feel it to see it to believe it to hurt it and feel the glory of it when you're no longer restricted by the world's view of you and show him how low and excruciating it can be and how high and beautiful it can soar.  I want him to see that all women are beautiful!! But he won't.  He refuses to see my side.  I want to write him a letter, but I don't know what to say.  I want to explain things to him but how does one explain such deep, complex, and vast emotions?  How can he ever see my side if he refuses to feel my side?!?!

And so I cry.  Because I don't know what else to do.


*Here's the script and a link to a youtube audio feed of the epitome of the last 2 weeks of Glee.  Please watch.   Or better yet, go to Hulu.com and watch the full episode (if you want to watch just this part, it starts at 33:00)

Mercedes:  Hey guys.  I'm Mercedes Jones.  So most of you know, Cheerios! is about perfection and winning, looking hot and being popular.... well I think that it should be about something different. How many of you at this school feel fat?  [Quinn, the pregnant girl, raises her hand].  How many of you feel like maybe you're not worth very much?  Or you're ugly and you have too many pimples and not enough friends? [more kids are raising their hands].  Well I've felt all of those things about myself at one time or another.  Hell, I've felt most of those things about myself today.  And that just ain't right.  And we've got something to say about it.  And if you like what we have to say, come down here and sing it with us.  

Here's the youtube "video" (it's really just the recording)

God is so good!

I'm so happy right now it hurts.  Not just a surface happy, not just a temporary, fleeting, mountaintop happy, but a deep, resounding, consuming happy.  So happy that I feel the need to sit still and just soak in the happiness!!!  

It's taken 19 long years, but I'm finally on my way.  I OWN my own faith, I FEEL it and LIVE it and not just say it.  It's been quite the rocky journey to get here, and it's taken some losses and some hardships and sometimes God just stepping back and letting me fall on my face over and over again.  But I'm here now.  I'm old enough and smart enough to have learned how to distinguish between the church and my own faith.  I've got a REAL relationship with God, not just one that's surface.  That's defined by what other people tell me. 

I grew up in a home where we don't talk about a whole lot.  It's not necessarily a bad thing, if you're like my parents who are introverted and don't normally process things by talking and exploring ideas with other people.  But I'm not like that.  If I'd gone to them with a concrete question, with a confusion or with something that I'd needed to discuss, I'm sure they would've been open to discussing it with me.  But I never really learned how to do that growing up.  Which is probably why I tend to be so closed off.  So I grew up trying to process my faith without community.  Without talking.  Solitarily.  And my faith was one that, though I tried, I never really owned.  I never knew that it was ok to not have a particular day or moment when I just handed my life over.  I never knew that it was ok that my life wasn't a compelling testimonial about a reformed drug addict or something. So I tried to make it like that.  And I tried to pray the way they did in the books.   I read a book that I didn't understand because I didn't know how else to feel righteous.  I drove people away with an over-zealous outward expression of my "faith", which in retrospect was a compensation mechanism to feel closer to God because I didn't have any other way.  I was so good at saying the right things and being holy and righteous, but I didn't know what I really stood for.  I didn't live it - I just pretended.  Thank God for my best friend, who saw who I was, but also what I could be. Who I could be.  And she loved me.  Regardless.  

Then I hit my sophomore and junior years of high school.  Things started changing. People started changing.  So slowly I didn't even notice what was happening to me, to the way I viewed the world.  People who I thought were my friends weren't anymore.  I got dragged into the middle of fights between friends.  I was involved in some fights of my own, mostly with my parents.  I started reading books for school and thinking about the things they were saying.  I found myself wondering, first about if I really believed what I was saying.  Then if I ever could believe it.  Then I thought about how dumb people were for believing that God could save them.  Then I thought about how dumb people were for even believing in God.  I didn't.  For a long time I didn't.  My best friend was still there.  Unconditional love.  

I was forced to go to church, which only drove me futher away.  I sat and listened to most sermons and listened to people sing worship songs and then gossip during the peace, I listened to judgement being unfairly passed, I heard the message that I wasn't good enough and never would be (which, although partly true, was carried to the extreme).  I heard the message that being a Christian means being eternally happy, that you are not allowed to hurt. 

I hit a rock-bottom at the end of my junior year.  But that wasn't my returning point.  I mean, it was the beginning of the end, but it wasn't the beginning of the beginning.  I started re-examining my closet atheism, but I wasn't a believer.  I had been ashamed - first of my doubts and then of my conclusion.  I hid it from everyone.  I still acted the part I knew I was supposed to.  But I started thinking again.  

Somehow, by the Grace of God (because there truly is no other explanation), I found my faith again.  I started reading my Bible.  I started reading other books.  I started talking to people.  And I stopped pretending and started being real.  I admitted doubts.  I talked to people.  I started living my faith in a community - first that started with me and that ever-faithful best friend, and then expanded to more and more people.  It's only been in the last year that I can truly say that I am a devoted Christian (though the label sometimes still makes me cringe).  I can say that I've defined my faith not by the church, but by my own relationship with God. That's where my faith begins and that's where it ends.  I'll go to church sometimes, if I feel called.  I need to find a church that fits my needs, not my parents needs.  But I have a relationship. I can talk to God.  Not just pray and walk away, but actually talk to Him.  Listening and talking.  Give and take.  A real relationship.  

And thank the Lord I had my best friend there.  Otherwise I might not have made it.  

And it's the only thing, the one and only thing, that gives me strength, that gives me this lasting, secure, and profound happiness.  God has blessed me so greatly with this life, with these friends, and with His Great Grace and Love.  And I am so eternally Happy!!!  

Precious

So I just finished watching the new movie "Precious".  It's something that I've been putting off for a long time - I thought it was going to take me hours to get through, that I was going to cry through the entire thing, and that it was going to leave me emotionally and mentally exhausted.  I've been waiting for what I thought was the right time to start it so that I could fully absorb the story and the film.  Turns out I was wrong about just about everything.

I'm still processing the movie, from both a cinematographical standpoint (Slags' teaching will never ever let me just "watch" a movie again without noticing every film detail), which I really don't think I liked, and (being the writer I am), from a screenplay standpoint, which I'm undecided about .

I'll start with the filming.  It seemed to be half documentary half omniscient storyteller, which threw me at some points during the movie.  The POV didn't seem consistent, and it felt like it distracted from the story, from the acting.  And this is a story that, no matter who the director, producer, writer, cameramen, animator... even if you had the dream-team, the story is carried by the acting.  This is not a story told through cinematography.  The cinematography can only set the mood and carry the transitions of the story.  The emotion and the heart of the story is in the faces and the voices.  And so the cinematography seemed.... off.  I know that it's closer to Tyler Perry's style, and since he did play a role in the making of the movie it makes sense, I'm just not fond of it in this particular context and story.

The screenplay is written from a book, and seeing as I haven't read the book (and thus this is my only understanding of the story), its harder to make a call about whether or not I like the way the screenplay tells the story.  I'm biased toward the book (I always am), but this particular writing seemed... too fast almost.  In order for the story to be powerful, the characters needed to be more drawn out.  I wanted to see more vulnerability from Precious, from Ms. Rain, and from some of the other students.  Those few scenes were by far my favorite, and I think that could've carried the story further.  I've never been raped by my father, or abused by my mother, I've never been on welfare, or been illiterate as a 16-year-old.  I've never stolen food, I've never had children, I've never been in any situation that even comes close to comparison to what Precious experienced.  I needed to see the more broken side of her to really understand, to make it powerful.  Because what moves me isn't watching other people be raped and abused (the act itself I mean), what really, really gets to me is when it breaks them.  When they cry afterwards.  Or when they cry the first five times and then after that they stop crying because it hurts too much.  I needed to see the progression from the inside - this felt like I was watching from the outside.  And if I'm supposed to be watching from the outside, tell the story from the point of Ms. Rain, the woman who is trying so hard to break Precious' walls down, to convince her that someone really does love her. I understand why they did what they did, I just don't think it was the most effective way to tell the story.  And the ending felt too... good.  What about the girls whose stories don't end happily?  What about them?!

I'm still processing from an emotional, mental, spiritual and human standpoint too.  And that, although more complicated, is also a more concrete reaction.

I cried more during "Freedom Writers" than I did during this movie.  Not that FW isn't a fantastic movie, or that it isn't worth crying over because it absolutely is, I just expected "Precious" to be more tear-provoking. It wasn't.  

The one scene, however, that did make me cry, also made me want to explode with Love.  It inspired an all consuming, fiery, indescribeable passion (dangerous as this may be for me) to try to love every single person that exists.  I know that it's impossible, to know 7 billion people and love them, but there are moments like this when I know that I have to try, that it is a pursuit that will carry me until the day I die.  Isn't that supposed to be the only mission that God calls us to in this life anyhow?  To love the way Christ loved.  And that's my goal.  That's all I want to do with my life - the rest is just details.  I will Love because He first Loved me. 

I am Love because Love resides in me. 

I am Love.  And so it is Love I will pursue, recklessly and relentlessly.  

I Am Love.  

On Defining Myself

It is so strange the way my heartstings waltz with one another... I can be exhausted, hungry, lonely, (which I not really ever, but whatever...) PMS-ing, not feeling well, hurt, frustrated, angry, even grieving and my emotions are fairly constant. While I might be a bit moody, less touchy, needing time to myself for no apparent reason, or less motivated (even sometimes more self-centered), I'm good at being stable, containing whatever feeling it is to whatever in my life they are due and not allowing them to carry over. Even on 2 hours of sleep, should someone greet me with a friendly, "hey KP how are ya?" I'd in all likelihood reply with a "pretty good. tired, but good." And while I'd spend the day trying desperately to keep my eyes open, my attention focused, and slightly less willing to stand up for things that I know are going to require energy in large quantities, I'm still, overall, good.

But when I get restless (ok, I'm always restless), I can't control it. The mood swings are violent and unpredictable. One day can be good for no apparent reason and the next day miserable even though I was treated with all the due courtesies (plus some) that are "due". I'm well slept and well fed and not stressed, but even hour to hour, I can find myself feeling relatively good, and then like I want to crawl in a hole and die. I don't understand how that one emotion can tinker with every other one of my emotions, how that singular discontent in my life can lead to so much stress and anxiety and hunger and powerful, powerful things. Pulling that one heartstring makes all my other heartstings dance and leap like puppets in an uncoordinated, slightly violent and choppy rendition of an urban interpretive dance of a breaking heart. Like new, jagged earthen peaks rising from the ground to the heavens in a majestic salute to the raw, unabashed glory of these imperfect molten creations.

It is interesting that in nature such sights are full of awe and splendor and inspiration and overwhelming power and beauty. Yet in our own lives, in our own hearts and souls, we cannot accept these grand and imperfect mountain scenes, but rather we prefer the worn, loping hills of rolling grasses and grazing flocks. But how is it that those hills were formed? How can there be peaceful rolling hills if the weren't first giant, gaping, violent mountains. Do we get to pick which we want? Or must we begin with the land, the life we've been given, and should we choose to, wear down these restless mountains into rolling plains?

Much as i hate this feeling, these crazy mood swings and the violent peaks of my heart, I don't know that I want anything different. Which puts me in quite the conundrum - there's this blessing that feels like a curse, that creates discomfort and pain and hardship and man other things. It's difficult to reconcile the suffering it causes for me and more importantly for those around me with the joy and relief it can bring. It is Love that both drives me and hinders me, that causes as much pain as happiness and yet I cannot stop myself from loving - from loving EVERYONE. I try not to, i try to tell myself that sometimes it's not worth it, that I can't possibly meet and know and love all 7 billion people on this planet, so I may as well not try, but why not? Why should I put forth such effort to become someone other than the someone I was created to be? So what if I fall in Love too easily? So what if my heart yearns for things it may never have, if my hearts breaks more often than it becomes whole? What if I feel whole by being broken? What if my place in this world is to always be searching for my place? What do i do then? What do other people do with me? How do I wrestle with restlessness when the restlessness forces me into these patterns which I yearn for?

There are many things that I am, but few that truly define me - restlessness is, for me, at the core of why I am. Perhaps it yanks on my heartstings the way it does not because it is a string that is attached to the others, but because it IS my heart. It is the driving force that keeps me alive, that courses blood through my veins and resurrects my soul from the depths of apathy. And although very seriously doubt I will be able to come anywhere near meeting, knowing, and loving everyone, I do not think, even through all the discouragement that this will stop me from knowing and loving every person I meet. I do not know that I could ever stop without dying because this part of me simply IS. And when something simply is, there's no fighting it.

Inspirational Non-inspiration

I'm so damn tired of inspiring stories.

It seems like everywhere I turn, there's another one - on the news, in the theaters, on the shelves at bookstores, in the house 2 streets over with the kid who overcame drug problems to be the next rhodes scholar... Every time, there's a formula: introduction, hardship, struggles to overcome said hardship, various setbacks, and then, somehow, in the end, there's a juicy, satisfying, inspiring ending in which Character overcomes flaws and obstacles to be a better person and change the world. When was the last time Hollywood produced a movie where the bad guy got away - and there wasn't a sequel? Or when beautiful girl number 592 didn't find her soul mate and fall in love? Or when the ending left you hanging - without any semblance of recovery, resolution, happiness, or hope?

I get the entertainment value in books and movies, that if you walked out of the theater feeling the same as when you walked in, the movie hasn't done it's job. That people need an ESCAPE from what's eating them, from their stresses and their cranky spouses and their miserable job and the pestering kids and the world that won't shut up, the media that tells you you're not good enough (that you'll never be good enough) and the sorrow you feel at the prospect of your parents passing, the misery you feel at putting them in assisted living and the guilt you feel for not visiting because it's too hard and the debt that's threatening your lifestyle and the nosy neighbor who won't leave your business alone and the ugly boss who's dumb as a brick and the pressure to get just the right gift for the holidays.... It's a lot to deal with. And fun, entertaining, laugh out loud or make you grip the edge of your seat kind of movies or books are a good distraction. Sometimes, an inspirational story is just what somebody needs to pull themselves up and say, "I can do it too. I'm going to go forth and pursue whatever it is that makes me happy" or "I'm going to fight this thing til the end, because I'm stronger than that." And don't get me wrong, I fall into that category too. I watch The Notebook when I'm feeling a bit down. I eat ice cream when I feel like I've earned it, even if I really haven't. I read The Alchemist when I need a little pick-me-up. I get it.

But what about me? What about what I'm going through right now? I don't have an ending written yet, I don't have a story or a happy ending... I don't know if my life is going to be a thriller or a drama or a comedy or a story that shouldn't ever be made into a movie. What about the girl who never finds her soul mate - the one who dies alone? What about the boy who never gets over the insecurities he's had since he was little, maybe since he was born? What about the young man who never gets out of the rut of poverty, or the tragically depressed husband who doesn't tell anyone and one day the wife comes home to find he's put a gun to his head and she never gets over it? What about the way I'm feeling right now??? I'm not sure of my ending, I'm not even sure it's going to be a happy one. I want a story to be like that- to end like that. To tell me that it's okay to feel miserable even if the end doesn't exist yet, I want a story that doesn't distract me from the hurt but rather lets me dig deeper into exactly what I'm going through. Something that doesn't need to give reason or rhyme to whatever it is that's hurting me, that doesn't need a happy ending to justify it but rather just lets me be with this part of myself, to get to know it better and to understand it and to just cry. To hurt for however long I need to hurt, without creating the ending with blue skies and tears of joy and a gentle kiss from my long-lost lover and and inspiring, overcoming story. I need a story that's going to hold me like my best friend does when I need to cry - just holds me until I'm done, and then keeps holding me. Just let's me be whatever it is that I need to be at that moment. Because the distractions, the facade that I've worked so hard for... it only makes things harder.

I think that sometimes reasons don't make things any easier, they just give it reason. And I do honestly believe that there's a reason for everything, that this is what NEEDS to happen right now, crappy as it might be. I know that I can't experience joy without having experienced sorrow. That I can't truly forgive until I know what it's like to be truly angry. And so this, this is allowing me to live, fully and wholly and without fear or apathy. But that doesn't diminish what I'm feeling. And so yes, there is a reason. But no, it's not any easier.

Afterwards, when I'm ready to tackle whatever problems this is, that's when the inspirational pep talks come in, when distraction is good because I'm exhausted from making progress. How can progress be made if the problem isn't even being confronted? But right now, the inspirational crap, well it just makes it worse.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Part 2

There are other, less comical and more serious observations that I've made, too.

Like the Dad who absolutely scared the shit out of me the other day. I've never honestly been that fearful of someone before. He was clean shaven. Wore nice clothes. Had no tattoos, no piercings. He wasn't even physically that intimidating (although not out of shape, either). But when I saw him playing with his children and step children.... I saw the makings of an abusive home. Perhaps I am being judgmental. But I just got this feeling... I've never felt that way before, about anyone.

The only other family who was in the pool was a dad, who had enough tattoos to be an art gallery, at least 3 piercings, wore his ratty jeans and old basketball shoes to the pool, cursed like a sailor, and was big enough to be a linebacker. But he had a gentle demeanor to him. I saw him playing with his kids in an entirely different manner, under an entirely different pretext. It was clear to me that while on the outside he may have been a rough, "bad boy", he genuinely loved his kids. He played what they wanted to play, watched them carefully, disciplined them gently, and was there to simply be a part of his kids lives, to enjoy their company.

The first dad, however, disciplined his children by holding them underwater for just a moment less than too long. Ignoring his 1-year-old who could barely walk, who I pulled out of the water at least 3 times when he found that he couldn't walk as the water got deeper. His wife (girlfriend? I'm pretty sure it was his wife, though I didn't look for rings) stayed quite clear of him, watching not with admiration or love or pride or infatuation or even lust, but with fear and anger and a general sense that she was terrified of him in the most savage and rawly humane way possible. And the icy glare he gave me when I gently reminded his kids that they were actually not allowed to stand on the peninsula we've got, and asked them to get off.... Made me shiver. Literally. Nobody's ever had that power over me. I had a minuscule glimpse into what it must be like to live under a terror regime - either by the government, an abusive relationship, or anything else that genuinely instills that kind of intense fear in people.

******

Or, the second terrifyingly real experience I had involves the dad, who, at first glance was just one of those slightly weird men with a little extra hair on his back with a little bit of a beer belly, and balding, greying hair.... who for some reason felt the need to wear one of those speedoes that should be outlawed unless your name is Michael Phelps or Jason Lezak.... At first I just thought he was a little odd. But then things got interesting. (Background: We've got a "shore" area - part of the pool that starts at 0" depth and gradually goes to 2' deep. In the shallowest part, we've got a set of 6 fountains that spew water for kids to play in.) The dad spent the better portion of fifteen minutes standing directly over the tallest fountain discreetly fondling himself. And by discreetly I mean the way one would go about said activity when they consciously know they are in public, and really shouldn't be touching themselves, but they do it anyways.... Not really particularly discreet, as far as subtlety goes.

As if that weren't disturbing enough, the young boy he was with (his son, who couldn't have ben older than 5 or 6), walked up to his dad and, through the Speedo, sucked his dad's dick. No, I am not hallucinating, nor exaggerating. The father, as if in a moment of delusion and forgetfulness about where he was and who might be watching, patted the young child on the head and said "good boy".

What does it mean for me to watch that? And then proceed to take no action? I am not a mandatory reporter, and so am under no additional legal obligation to reveal anything I may know about potentially dangerous situations. And even if I were, I would have no means of passively or secretly identifying the man.

I'm not under any delusion that sexual abuse does not exist, even here in perfect trophy-wife/soccer-mom white suburbia; I've known people who have been abused, both sexually and otherwise. But always, always it was a private act. While I'm sure the young boy did not know or understand that such actions are not acceptable, in public or otherwise, the father (one would think) would have either the sensitivity or the decency to stop the young boy before things went so far in public.

The image has haunted me since it happened - knowing that I did nothing. Knowing that I let the situation go, ignored it, simply pretended that it had not happened.... But it did! It happened, right in front of me!!! And I neglected it.... which, in a sense makes me just as guilty as the father.... But what should I have done? The thought has been tormenting me, haunting my heart - what WOULD have been the best course of action?! How does one react appropriately in that situation???? I cannot, no matter how many times I replay the situation in my head, come up with a good solution, an answer or action that would be justifiable, that would be good for the boy, that would be appropriate.... It is a weight that has borne down upon my soul since it happened a few weeks ago, and I cannot shake the feeling, that regardless of what the best course of action would have been, that nothing was NOT the right one. I suppose this is something I will have to live with, because there is no longer any (conceivable) way to remedy the situation. But I doubt I will ever let anything like that slip past me again.... I cannot justify any reason why I should not have taken action - that boy is no less valuable than me or anyone else... What can one even begin to say to such a situation - I was rendered speechless.

I don't know what to do - my soul aches for the young boy I let go. That I looked away from. And my soul will always ache for him... My prayers will always include him - that he might forgive me. And that I might be granted the strength to FIND the right course of action in the future.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Thoughts on People, Abuse, Comedy, and Hope

Being a recently moved-out and pseudo-independent functioning member of society, I've spent a significant (and by that I mean about 50 hours this past week) amount of time on the deck of a local pool, observing people. And some of the things I've observed are rather interesting.

For some reason, people seem to think that if they don't know the people surrounding them that they are anonymous, that nobody observes them, and that they can do whatever they want, regardless of the fact that they are in public. As long as it's a strange public, it doesn't matter. And that applies to the pool, too. Being a lifeguard, I get the wonderful opportunity to eavesdrop and observe people from a very close range without being suspicious, or intrusive -- for some reason, we lifeguards seem to be invisible at the pool until one of two things happens; a) we blow our whistles, or b) you become a lifeguard yourself. But as long as I refrain from blowing my whistle or yelling (which, on slow days, is quite easy), I am allowed to watch and listen to all the drama that unfolds right here in my very own backyard.

Observation 1: There are many different skill levels that come to the pool to swim, particularly before work. In order to entertain myself during those long, dragging mornings and excessively long shifts, I'e begun to classify swimmers into different categories. Being a highly trained swimmer myself (ok, maybe not, but I've been doing it long enough) I feel that I can adequately classify swimmers as I see fit. That's the privilege that comes with grueling practices and early mornings in freezing water.

Angry Swimmers: These are the people who think that the faster and harder they put their hands into the water, the faster they are going to go. It doesn't matter what sort of technique you have, as long as you get your hand in the water as fast as humanly possible, you might as well be Michael Phelps.

Gorilla Swimmers: These are some of the most painful and awkward to watch.... These people quite literally look like gorillas when they swim - their arms don't really ever change position, and they ineptly paddle themselves through the water in a way that would make you think they are either a hairless monkey or their hands reek of something so putrid they can't stand to have it near their face... Something that doesn't smell like bananas.

Fish Swimmers: No, these are not swimmers that actually look natural in the water. Rather, they are the people who somehow manage to torque their body in such a way every time they take a stroke that rather than swimming straight up and down the lane, they manage to weave back and forth between the lane lines, in a way that looks, well, something like a fish. Not a particularly graceful fish, either....

Pinwheel/Scythe Swimmers: These are the people who simply hold their arms at one angle (either completely straight - pinwheel - or at a 90-degree angle - scythe - and simply move their arms that way. The scythe swimmers end up swinging their arms across their entire body underwater, like their trying to harvest wheat with their hands...). It looks so incredibly painful and yet at the same time so incredibly ridiculous....

I-Don't-Like-Getting-My-Face-Wet Swimmers: These are the people who refuse to put their faces in the water, and the people who tense up when their face gets wet, and make faces that look so absurd it occasionally makes me laugh out loud (which I guess makes me crazy....)

Some of these categories overlap; for example, a swimmer could be both a gorilla swimmer and an angry swimmer

Observation 2: High school really doesn't ever end. Boys are ALWAYS the topic of conversation at the pool amongst girls - even 45-year-old girls. It's absurd.

Lots of women with small children seem to have friends going through divorce. Either that or the pool is the congregating place for people who fall into that category. You have no idea how many women come the pool to either a) vent about their men, or b) gossip about somebody else's man - and generally not in a favorable light, either. Why is it that water seems to attract cocky men seeking women, and women seeking to get away from their men?

Observation 3: It's all about the parents. (Generally speaking). There are so many parents who bring their children to the pool to sit at a table on the other side of the deck and play around on their fancy iPhones. Even on busy days, moms bring their small (and by small I mean can barely walk) kids to the pool, and simply drop them in the water and walk away.... As lifeguards (invisible as we may be, they know we exist), and we are expected not just to keep kids safe but to babysit. THere are kids I see every day who are barely talking without parents even on deck....

So kids, when your parents take you to the pool -- it's not REALLY about you. It's about them.

Observation 4: Lifeguards are ALWAYS checking out the patrons. Ok, so not ALL lifeguards, but most. Not occasionally - always. Doesn't matter that the moms are 15 years older with 3 children and a big fat ring on their fingers and the guys checking them out have 5 piercings and not even a high school diploma yet. And, for some strange reason, when you're at the pool, apparently it's ok for you to tell your co-workers about ALL the hot men/women in the pool at that time, and continue to fantasize about them.... Great.

All of these observations lead to one VERY interesting work environment. Better than boring, I guess.

Perfect Imperfections

Before I was born, God scattered all the pieces of my heart to the wind, to the four corners of the earth. I was born already broken...

I must travel because that's where my heart is - out there, in the world with the people, floating with the wind across mountains and plains and deserts... a part of me is missing when I am here. And so, if I am to serve, if I am to give fully of myself, then I must travel. For it is only when I have found and gathered all the pieces to my heart that I can truly be whole, and that I can truly give of myself.

*** Somewhere, someday, I shall find my soul. And when I do, all the world shall be at peace.***

Musings Regarding Clouds and the Properties of Thoughts

This is an excerpt from something I wrote a few weeks ago, 35,000 feet in the air on an airplane.   

There is a strange conundrum involved with openmindedness - if your mind is too open, every thing, every value, every philosophical concept, every image and memory, all your reasons and your emotions and your logic will simply lift up and drift away (for thoughts are light, you see - lighter than air - they're what keep you from sinking to the depths of the earth). Suddenly, with your mind open, you'll have nothing left, your head will be an empty pool, left to dry in the desert sun. You'll be a hollow, echoing shell. 

So what, you ask, is the solution? Keep some things locked away in the closet of your soul. Figure out what it is that you must believe in, what your rules are, your non-negotiables, establish yourself to yourself, and then lock them away where no one can touch them or disturb them. Take them out - it's important to not let them collect dust - use them, exercise them, walk them or drive them or throw balls to them and watch them play fetch, but always always hold on to them, and always put them back. 

And when someone challenges you, when somebody, somehow, damages or disables one of those prized possessions, or when you suddenly discover that the sky is actually green rather than blue, when you find (or when someone abruptly points it out to you) that you were wrong, that there's an error or a fallacy, exchange the thought. Take the old one out, throw it away let it float in your brain with a question mark, re-gift it to someone else, or drop it off on the street corner. But never ever let that closet find itself empty. Never put everything out with question marks all at once. For if you don't have anything locked away, if you don't have anything you don't unquestionably believe in (even if you might be wrong), you can't think. And if you can't think, you can't exist. And once you lose your existence, how do you regain it?

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Clouds are such unique and invigorating forces of nature - they appear soft, cushion-y, wispy things of fantasy, of dreams, of heaven and imagination. They appear as distant rescuers, promises of greener, more fruitful tomorrows. They appear as funny shapes, as shade on warm days, as gloom, as anger, as relief. They can be ominous, looming things, promises of danger and fear and destruction. They begin as invisible droplets, building and moving and building and moving offering everything and nothing to those below. Growing exactly where God intended into grand and enormous, marvelous beings with a depth and a width and a purpose and a personality. And then, exactly at God's design, they drop when and where and exactly how much they're supposed to. The clouds cry their lamentations to the heavens and the earth and Hades, and mourn the passing of time, the loss of a loved one, the turbulence movement brings. And then they disappear, lingering no longer than necessary, no longer than they are supposed to, and move on. The shadows linger a moment longer, and then those too, are gone. The only memory of the cloud is that the grass smiles and stands a bit straighter, dressed in it's best, most colorful outfit. 

Perhaps we should be more like clouds

New Beginnings, New Endings

Oops.  

It recently occurred to me that I had not posted on my blog in quite some time.  Not that I've stopped writing, but you see I've simply not had time to share my thoughts with anyone other than the select few people I show my journal to (which at this point, consists of what I think is a grand total of 3 people).  It wasn't a conscious thing, this stopping of sharing my writing.  It wasn't even really a decision at all, but just that I got so distracted, and so busy with the last few months of school before graduation that I simply forgot  Every time I remembered it was late at night, in the middle of a class, or in the shower - by the time I'd found myself a computer I'd forgotten what it was that I wanted to do on the computer.   And, slowly, it just drifted from my memory, and I'd forgotten even that it was something that I needed to remember. 

I've spent the last few hours of today "re-vamping" the blog, to focus it less on politics and society, and expanding the topics to include anything - religion, the young girl I met at Starbucks today, traveling, Why the price of gold is so high... anything of the sort.   My goal is to write at least once a day - short, long, whatever the mood of the day compels me to do.  

Hopefully, in the next week or so (possibly longer, depending on how distracted I get again)  I will continue to post excerpts from all my journaling over the past few months (for there has indeed been a lot of it), and then, continue on with writing new things.

As I begin this new chapter in my life, it's nice to have a "new" place to post my writings and thoughts.  Just like when I begin a new journal - all the pages fresh and crisp and clean and untarnished, it's a place that carries no baggage.   Or so I think.  But all the old posts are there, the me that's here today isn't really much different from the me that was here yesterday.  Just like people wait until the New Year to make resolutions about being healthier or a better person or more involved in their family life, or whatever it is that bothers them about themselves - people wait for a convenient place and "new" time to begin something new.  To begin something without any of the inconveniences of the past, to begin at a time that is seemingly of a clear beginning or end.  

But really, life isn't about black and white beginnings and endings, it's about dropping unwanted baggage piece by piece, slowly, keeping the things you want, and picking up new baggage.  Just as it's impossible to travel without any baggage at all, so it is impossible to walk the trail from birth to death without any baggage.  There's a quote I found that I think describes this in a much more eloquent way:

***Your journey has molded you for the greater good, and it was exactly what it needed to be.  Don't think that you've lost time.  It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now.  And now is right on time. ***

It takes all that baggage to make you the wonderful person you are now; every step you've taken, be it forward, backwards, sideways, a good step or a bad step, it's taken all of that to mold you into the person you are, and it's taking the person you are now to mold you into the person you are going to become.  Time is a constantly changing continuum, constantly moving, and there is no ending or beginning, but rather the constant undulating rhythm of life that carries us.

And so I hope to begin writing again, to follow this current of life and to have a grey continuation of the creation of myself.