Marriage has been surprising.
It has been surprisingly wonderful and surprisingly difficult. Everyone tells you that it is hard, and it is. It is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I truly believe that each day that passes is a great accomplishment. It is a choice that you make--first in front of your fiance', and then your family and friends, and then, each and every day, without fanfare, with yourself. There are so many wonderful things about sharing a life with another, but there are a million, unpredictable little things that can go wrong. I wonder how marriages survive infidelity or the death of children, when at times it seems mine will not survive the "leftover wars" or a discussion of who will clean the kitchen.
Of course I'm being dramatic; we are not, and have not deliberated whether or not our marriage will last, because that is not an option for us. But truly, each day is a choice. Not just choosing to be married, but choosing to be a good spouse, and choosing to accept the other for who he or she is, truly. Within each day are countless choices to be made over the little things, from deciding whether or not to be mad over the annoying things that person does, deciding whether or not to be positive and supportive, choosing whether or not to do the hard thing and talk about what is wrong.
I promise you, dear readers, that talking is the best option. In a marriage, the one thing you can count on is that the other loves you. Your spouse chose you, and continues to choose you, and in talking through your problems you will probably be reminded of why you both bothered to choose each other anyway. Because you're in love, and when you are, there is no other choice.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Legacy
I have been asked to write many things in my life.
Recommendation letters.
Resumes.
Poetry.
Research papers.
Project descriptions.
Complaint letters.
Personal statements.
But never a eulogy.
I'm not sure I'd even really heard a proper eulogy. When my grandmother asked me to write a eulogy for my grandfather, the brave facade I had kept up in her presence came tumbling down. Little did I know that in 24 hours I would be at his bedside, and he would be soon to leave this world. When she asked me, I was taken aback. I was sidelined. I certainly hadn't thought his cancer had gotten that bad. I thought I had time. I had bought him a Christmas present.
I was silent.
She asked, "Korey, will you? Will you write something? You don't have to."
"I will" I replied, "but I don't want to have to" I said, and I broke down. I sobbed. And the next day I drove to their house nervously, wondering what I would see when I got there. 48 hours later, in my living room with its bare Christmas tree (there was no joy in this house) and my dog, and my sweats, I sat down with my laptop and started to write. I made an outline. Yes, an outline. Because I am, and will always be, an English major. I wrote. The words came easily, and I cried as I went along, happy to cry, because I was alone, and because I thought that writing out these feelings and crying over them might cauterize them, and allow me to mourn each thought and then let it go.
When the day came, I had read this eulogy many times, until it no longer made me cry and I could speak it clearly. I dressed in black, and drove to the cemetery, and I smiled. The day was turning out beautifully and I was happy for that. When the reverend asked me up to the podium, I lost it. The little girl inside me screamed, "I don't want to! I don't want this to be happening!" but the grown up cleared her throat and told herself that no amount of screaming would help, he was gone, and I was eulogizing him.
What an honor. What a privilege. What a responsibility.
I hope I did him justice.
Rest in peace, Len.
Recommendation letters.
Resumes.
Poetry.
Research papers.
Project descriptions.
Complaint letters.
Personal statements.
But never a eulogy.
I'm not sure I'd even really heard a proper eulogy. When my grandmother asked me to write a eulogy for my grandfather, the brave facade I had kept up in her presence came tumbling down. Little did I know that in 24 hours I would be at his bedside, and he would be soon to leave this world. When she asked me, I was taken aback. I was sidelined. I certainly hadn't thought his cancer had gotten that bad. I thought I had time. I had bought him a Christmas present.
I was silent.
She asked, "Korey, will you? Will you write something? You don't have to."
"I will" I replied, "but I don't want to have to" I said, and I broke down. I sobbed. And the next day I drove to their house nervously, wondering what I would see when I got there. 48 hours later, in my living room with its bare Christmas tree (there was no joy in this house) and my dog, and my sweats, I sat down with my laptop and started to write. I made an outline. Yes, an outline. Because I am, and will always be, an English major. I wrote. The words came easily, and I cried as I went along, happy to cry, because I was alone, and because I thought that writing out these feelings and crying over them might cauterize them, and allow me to mourn each thought and then let it go.
When the day came, I had read this eulogy many times, until it no longer made me cry and I could speak it clearly. I dressed in black, and drove to the cemetery, and I smiled. The day was turning out beautifully and I was happy for that. When the reverend asked me up to the podium, I lost it. The little girl inside me screamed, "I don't want to! I don't want this to be happening!" but the grown up cleared her throat and told herself that no amount of screaming would help, he was gone, and I was eulogizing him.
What an honor. What a privilege. What a responsibility.
I hope I did him justice.
Rest in peace, Len.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
What Sarah Said
I have yet to let this sink in and to compose my thoughts, but I had to write.
Tonight I said goodbye to my grandfather. We cut his Livestrong t-shirt in half down the back and placed it on his thin arms and over his bony shoulders in the hospital bed in his living room. As the scissors sliced through the bright yellow fabric, I knew there was no going back.
My grandmother wanted him in blue, to match his eyes. But she planned on putting him in the Livestrong shirt when it came to be the end, and so it did, and so we did.
I held his hand, and I prayed over him, through my tears, sobbing all the while. The only words that escaped my lips were prayers of thanks.
"Thank you, Lord, for giving us Len. Thank you for letting us be a part of his life. Thank you for sending him to my grandmother, and for the wonderful times they had. Thank you for sending me this man who loved me, even though he didn't have to. Thank you for letting his family share him with us so openly. Thank you for allowing us the honor of being at his bedside at this precious moment."
I cried for hours, until my ears were bleary and my throat raw. I cried noisily over a little blue book called "And then you were gone" telling us the signs of impending death, and ending with a poem, of death, and its being like a ship, which is sailing away from you, and then it is gone. But the ship is still somewhere, just not with you, and someone waits for it with open arms on the other end.
My head aches, and my heart hurts, and I am getting into the bath that awaits me. It is after midnight, and the day of my grandfather's death is done. But the pain is only beginning.
I drove home listening to "What Sarah Said" by Death Cab, for these words, which had been ringing in my ears all day: "Love is watching someone die."
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Something beautiful
I just wanted to share something that I thought was beautiful.
Last night, my grandma and my mom left the hospital to change and get some dinner after putting my grandpa to bed. They washed his face and hands and helped him into his pajamas, and then they watched as he fell asleep and they left. My grandma got a phone call shortly afterward from my grandpa's daughter, asking if his ex-wife could visit. Len, my grandfather, was married to his ex-wife for twenty years.
"Of course" my grandmother answered, and after hanging up the phone she turned to my mother.
"You know, she probably thinks I got the short end of the stick, but I feel bad for her."
"Why?" my mother asked, as would I, thinking of the twenty years his previous wife had, and the meager nine my grandmother has had with him, with four and a half of those spent caring for him as a cancer patient.
"Because I got to spend his final years with him."
She got his final, precious moments, and as sad as it will be to say goodbye, she will have the honor of having held his hand.
Last night, my grandma and my mom left the hospital to change and get some dinner after putting my grandpa to bed. They washed his face and hands and helped him into his pajamas, and then they watched as he fell asleep and they left. My grandma got a phone call shortly afterward from my grandpa's daughter, asking if his ex-wife could visit. Len, my grandfather, was married to his ex-wife for twenty years.
"Of course" my grandmother answered, and after hanging up the phone she turned to my mother.
"You know, she probably thinks I got the short end of the stick, but I feel bad for her."
"Why?" my mother asked, as would I, thinking of the twenty years his previous wife had, and the meager nine my grandmother has had with him, with four and a half of those spent caring for him as a cancer patient.
"Because I got to spend his final years with him."
She got his final, precious moments, and as sad as it will be to say goodbye, she will have the honor of having held his hand.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Am I broken?
Are we ever whole?
We, as a mass, us humans, with our weak bodies, but bodies capable of healing, do we have minds that heal? Can we ever heal our souls? Are we, once broken, never whole?
I am finding it difficult to sit here today, pretending as though the project I work on is the center of my existence. It is not. I have so much more I could be doing, so much more that matters. Sometimes you are so clearly called away, the sound is deafening. And yet, my responsibility to this place keeps me in my chair. I must work. I must get a check. I must go on. But today, oh just today, why must I be here? My family needs me.
Is it coincidental that as our country falls to pieces, so do all of our lives? Or is it this time in my life? Should I expect that, due to my age, it is inevitable that the people I love will start to grow frail, and that there will come a day when I am told their journey has come to and end? Should I have seen it coming? Probably. But did I? No. I hear the words "hospice" and "little time" and I think "when did we get to this point?" Where was I? Did I miss it? Was I not paying attention?
Now I sit here, trying to focus on the In Design formatting on my desktop and the stacks of phone calls I need to make, and the projects that must be found and written about, and yet I can barely see the monitor through my tears.
And I just don't care. There are some things more important, more sacred than this. I know that.
We, as a mass, us humans, with our weak bodies, but bodies capable of healing, do we have minds that heal? Can we ever heal our souls? Are we, once broken, never whole?
I am finding it difficult to sit here today, pretending as though the project I work on is the center of my existence. It is not. I have so much more I could be doing, so much more that matters. Sometimes you are so clearly called away, the sound is deafening. And yet, my responsibility to this place keeps me in my chair. I must work. I must get a check. I must go on. But today, oh just today, why must I be here? My family needs me.
Is it coincidental that as our country falls to pieces, so do all of our lives? Or is it this time in my life? Should I expect that, due to my age, it is inevitable that the people I love will start to grow frail, and that there will come a day when I am told their journey has come to and end? Should I have seen it coming? Probably. But did I? No. I hear the words "hospice" and "little time" and I think "when did we get to this point?" Where was I? Did I miss it? Was I not paying attention?
Now I sit here, trying to focus on the In Design formatting on my desktop and the stacks of phone calls I need to make, and the projects that must be found and written about, and yet I can barely see the monitor through my tears.
And I just don't care. There are some things more important, more sacred than this. I know that.
Monday, November 17, 2008
East of Eden
It has been suggested that I blog about the reason for my title, and so I shall.
East of Eden is, first and foremost-easily-recognizably my favorite novel. If you would like my reasons why, you'll have to ask (set aside some time).
I also chose it for a far more complicated reason. In my worldview, which is specific to my life experiences and point of view, East of Eden symbolizes my position in life right now.
My point of view was forever changed in one semester during which I took an entire class on Paradise Lost by John Milton, in its original language. I deciphered it, with increasing speed as I went along (the initial pages were incredibly laborious, and I had been known to spend over an hour on one page). The masterpiece is the story of the fall of man, but it is told in a way that is incredibly groundbreaking to have been written when it was (1667 to be exact). John Milton wrote the story beginning with the angels being cast from Heaven and falling into Hell, and his perspective, as all of ours are, was deeply tinged with his own life experiences. Having recently been jailed for his association with Oliver Cromwell, Milton wrote from the confines of a prison, while his own prison walls began to close in on him, as he was becoming blind. In addition, his disappointment at having backed a regime or movement that was overthrown and dismissed colors the travails of the outcast angels fighting to make a place for themselves in a Heaven that they thought was unfair. Satan is the hero in this epic poem, and Milton associates with him more than he does any other character. Milton's view is that free will and the will of God at times contradict one another, and conflicts arise.
Reading this poem is no less than a profoundly impacting life experience. I cried, I laughed, I felt lost and I experienced triumph unlike any I'd every known. It has colored my experiences ever since, and enhanced my reading of East of Eden as well.
The experience of living East of Eden, in my mind, is similar to the experience that Milton's Satan had living right outside of the Garden of Eden, looking in on Paradise and having not a single hope of experiencing happiness there. While that may some sad, Eden was not to last, and the happiness experienced there only soiled Adam and Eve's perception of "real" life, a life in which they now have free will, but heartache and pain. Thus, the dichotomy between free will and paradise. You cannot have both. You must choose.
I could argue that Satan was better off outside of the garden because, aside from his longing for something he would never possess (at least not in happiness) he could see beauty, and he knew it. In our post-lapsarian world, we will never experience Paradise on Earth, but understanding what it could be and knowing that it exists allows us to always strive for more, better, fulfillment and experiences. It is hope, while at the same time, being realistic to the knowledge that what you hope for will never be fully attained. This may seem to be a contradiction, but if I can explain it correctly, it is precisely the intersect of optimism and pragmatism.
What you really strive for is not perfection, or perfect beauty, or perfect happiness, because there is no such thing. You strive to be closer, and to live in the glow of such things.
I think that is we could all be content to live in the glow of perfection, we may breathe easier. On the other hand, I describe myself as on the brink of perfection because there are certainly times when I am the outsider, staring in longingly and wanting paradise so badly. I need to learn to be content in the glow, to be content at my place in the world, East of Eden.
East of Eden is, first and foremost-easily-recognizably my favorite novel. If you would like my reasons why, you'll have to ask (set aside some time).
I also chose it for a far more complicated reason. In my worldview, which is specific to my life experiences and point of view, East of Eden symbolizes my position in life right now.
My point of view was forever changed in one semester during which I took an entire class on Paradise Lost by John Milton, in its original language. I deciphered it, with increasing speed as I went along (the initial pages were incredibly laborious, and I had been known to spend over an hour on one page). The masterpiece is the story of the fall of man, but it is told in a way that is incredibly groundbreaking to have been written when it was (1667 to be exact). John Milton wrote the story beginning with the angels being cast from Heaven and falling into Hell, and his perspective, as all of ours are, was deeply tinged with his own life experiences. Having recently been jailed for his association with Oliver Cromwell, Milton wrote from the confines of a prison, while his own prison walls began to close in on him, as he was becoming blind. In addition, his disappointment at having backed a regime or movement that was overthrown and dismissed colors the travails of the outcast angels fighting to make a place for themselves in a Heaven that they thought was unfair. Satan is the hero in this epic poem, and Milton associates with him more than he does any other character. Milton's view is that free will and the will of God at times contradict one another, and conflicts arise.
Reading this poem is no less than a profoundly impacting life experience. I cried, I laughed, I felt lost and I experienced triumph unlike any I'd every known. It has colored my experiences ever since, and enhanced my reading of East of Eden as well.
The experience of living East of Eden, in my mind, is similar to the experience that Milton's Satan had living right outside of the Garden of Eden, looking in on Paradise and having not a single hope of experiencing happiness there. While that may some sad, Eden was not to last, and the happiness experienced there only soiled Adam and Eve's perception of "real" life, a life in which they now have free will, but heartache and pain. Thus, the dichotomy between free will and paradise. You cannot have both. You must choose.
I could argue that Satan was better off outside of the garden because, aside from his longing for something he would never possess (at least not in happiness) he could see beauty, and he knew it. In our post-lapsarian world, we will never experience Paradise on Earth, but understanding what it could be and knowing that it exists allows us to always strive for more, better, fulfillment and experiences. It is hope, while at the same time, being realistic to the knowledge that what you hope for will never be fully attained. This may seem to be a contradiction, but if I can explain it correctly, it is precisely the intersect of optimism and pragmatism.
What you really strive for is not perfection, or perfect beauty, or perfect happiness, because there is no such thing. You strive to be closer, and to live in the glow of such things.
I think that is we could all be content to live in the glow of perfection, we may breathe easier. On the other hand, I describe myself as on the brink of perfection because there are certainly times when I am the outsider, staring in longingly and wanting paradise so badly. I need to learn to be content in the glow, to be content at my place in the world, East of Eden.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Come on, America
My forebears fought. They fought tirelessly for me to have certain rights which, by the way, were labeled as "unalienable" in our own U.S. Constitution. And yet here we are, undermining them with decisions that move us not in a direction of positive change and supporting the document that this (once great?) nation was founded on, but in the opposite direction, toward all that we despise. Have we gone this far to REMOVE rights from taxpayers? Have we come so far to encourage MORE GOVERNMENT INVOLVEMENT in our everyday lives? Do we really want to INCREASE NATIONAL AND STATE DEBT? Can you sleep at night knowing that you have RIGHTS which other AMERICAN CITIZEN DO NOT?
I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.
How many women had to be beaten and bruised, tortured and STARVED for our right to vote? And yet, many of us decided not to use that yesterday. How many couples, forced to live in silence because their love, which crossed race lines, was ILLEGAL? How many women, victims of rape or incest, had to resort to DISGUSTING and UNHEALTHY practices to abort the babies they could not bear had to DIE before we passed Roe Vs. Wade and HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO CHALLENGE IT? More importantly, you religious conservatives, where were you to help SCARED YOUNG WOMEN and try to save their lives, rather than bombing clinics, threatening, harassing, and brutalizing employees, and protesting things which, by the way, are not even legal? WHAT DO YOU CARE MORE ABOUT? Being right? Forcing your Bible down the collective throat of this nation? Or the well-being, health and safety of its citizens?
We fought for equal rights, and I was raised to believe that we are constantly moving toward them, but today, TODAY I DOUBT THAT. Today I have nothing but fear and doubt for the well-being of this nation. We are sick.
I don't believe that abortion is morally "right." I do believe in extenuating circumstances, but in my life, I make choices for myself, and I would not choose to have an abortion. BUT DO I GET TO DECIDE FOR OTHERS? Is an abortion ban upholding the greater good?
I am not a gay American, but does it hurt or even AFFECT me that some Americans are? Is it my place to tell these AMERICAN CITIZENS that they are not WORTHY of the rights I have? Is it my place to prevent them from collecting the estate of the person they have CHOSEN to commit their lives to? And in our fractured times, when the divorce rate soars and it seems all around us that marriage is broken, society is seen accepting children born out of wedlock and the dissoltution of vows and dreams, WHO ARE WE TO PREVENT LOVING COUPLES FROM CEMENTING THEIR LOVE in a way that straight Americans enjoy? Is it a big deal? Well marriage was a big enough deal to me that I went throught it. Isn't A CIVIL UNION ENOUGH? Is it for you? It's NOT for me. Next time you drive across the state line into Nevada, imagine that you were no longer married. Flying to D.C.? Well I hope your plane doesn't crash along the way, because your marriage isn't recognized. You have NOTHING.
So maybe I "chose" not to be gay, or maybe I was not born gay, either way, I am not. And because I am not, I suppose I do not honestly know whether or not homosexuality is a life choice. But I can think of HUNDREDS of other life choices that I do not agree with, and NONE OF THEM ARE PREVENTED BY LAW. None of them.
Could we have spent 63 Million Dollars elsewhere? Stopping other "sins" like RAPE, MURDER, ROBBERY, ADULTERY...the coveting of our neighbor? Sins that actually hurt Americans? Gay marriage is a VICTIMLESS CRIME, and if you wasted your time voting against it, congratualtions, you're un-American and a bigot. Have a nice day.
I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.
How many women had to be beaten and bruised, tortured and STARVED for our right to vote? And yet, many of us decided not to use that yesterday. How many couples, forced to live in silence because their love, which crossed race lines, was ILLEGAL? How many women, victims of rape or incest, had to resort to DISGUSTING and UNHEALTHY practices to abort the babies they could not bear had to DIE before we passed Roe Vs. Wade and HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO CHALLENGE IT? More importantly, you religious conservatives, where were you to help SCARED YOUNG WOMEN and try to save their lives, rather than bombing clinics, threatening, harassing, and brutalizing employees, and protesting things which, by the way, are not even legal? WHAT DO YOU CARE MORE ABOUT? Being right? Forcing your Bible down the collective throat of this nation? Or the well-being, health and safety of its citizens?
We fought for equal rights, and I was raised to believe that we are constantly moving toward them, but today, TODAY I DOUBT THAT. Today I have nothing but fear and doubt for the well-being of this nation. We are sick.
I don't believe that abortion is morally "right." I do believe in extenuating circumstances, but in my life, I make choices for myself, and I would not choose to have an abortion. BUT DO I GET TO DECIDE FOR OTHERS? Is an abortion ban upholding the greater good?
I am not a gay American, but does it hurt or even AFFECT me that some Americans are? Is it my place to tell these AMERICAN CITIZENS that they are not WORTHY of the rights I have? Is it my place to prevent them from collecting the estate of the person they have CHOSEN to commit their lives to? And in our fractured times, when the divorce rate soars and it seems all around us that marriage is broken, society is seen accepting children born out of wedlock and the dissoltution of vows and dreams, WHO ARE WE TO PREVENT LOVING COUPLES FROM CEMENTING THEIR LOVE in a way that straight Americans enjoy? Is it a big deal? Well marriage was a big enough deal to me that I went throught it. Isn't A CIVIL UNION ENOUGH? Is it for you? It's NOT for me. Next time you drive across the state line into Nevada, imagine that you were no longer married. Flying to D.C.? Well I hope your plane doesn't crash along the way, because your marriage isn't recognized. You have NOTHING.
So maybe I "chose" not to be gay, or maybe I was not born gay, either way, I am not. And because I am not, I suppose I do not honestly know whether or not homosexuality is a life choice. But I can think of HUNDREDS of other life choices that I do not agree with, and NONE OF THEM ARE PREVENTED BY LAW. None of them.
Could we have spent 63 Million Dollars elsewhere? Stopping other "sins" like RAPE, MURDER, ROBBERY, ADULTERY...the coveting of our neighbor? Sins that actually hurt Americans? Gay marriage is a VICTIMLESS CRIME, and if you wasted your time voting against it, congratualtions, you're un-American and a bigot. Have a nice day.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Why I try
I wrote in my last entry about my frustration with writing and the disconnect I felt to myself, and this was the response I received:
"now ...believe. believe that you were created to write. believe that the world needs you to create art through words. and then move forward. move forward in this understanding of who you ARE, not who you have been since denying your love for reading and writing. because really, korey, we're all afraid of pursuing the passions that reside deep within the darkest corners of our souls. they're daunting. seemingly too irresponsible and frivolous. but that's who you were. who you are moving towards, is a person that believes these are the very things that will change the course of humanity. we need you to do what you love. i'm with josh. let me know how i can help."
She also quoted from The Alchemist: "people are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they dont deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them."
Was that written for me?
Now I sit here, sifting through reasons why and why not.
It may be true that most of my last novel is now missing--somehow misplaced on a flash drive I cannot locate. The previous novel, well I have re-written the ending five times and never liked it. I don't have much time. There is laundary to do. I have been working a lot...
I used to have days where words just came to me, and I'd sit down wherever I was and jot them down furiously. These days, I feel lucky to remember what I want to write on my grocery list. And so, I will leave you with this: while I gather the strength to try to succeed, and weather whatever response comes of that trying, I ask that you ruminate on this today:
Sometimes you just might get what you need. Now, you can call them what you want (coincedences, good luck, what have you), but I call them angels. I don't visualize feathered beings who travel the world with harps or in old-fashioned nightgowns, waiting to save George Bailey. I see them as God's way of communicating with us in a way that we will be receptive of. For you, a burning bush might totally rock your world, but it wouldn't do it for me (I'd just call 911). My angel was in the form of my friend, Krysta. She showed me, even across the digital connections of two computers, that God's love, promise and hope can transcend all else. She also encouraged me to see my doubts as a challenge that should only increase my willingness to perservere.
She reminded me that we are so lucky, and blessed, that we are fortunate beyond belief. This alone should incite confidence in me. She says: "we still have more solutions and more hope and more potential to see the light at the end of the tunnel than majority of humanity. why?" Because we believe in something bigger than all else.
It's been described to me as the centerpiece of Christian faith. The idea that in our darkest times God can bring light. That when we despair, we must remember to hope, and to have faith. There are times when He delivers, and we must never forget.
I find that I can see this more easily in the lives of others. In particular, Krysta, who is so amazingly talented and confident, she's like my dream alter-ego on steroids. To hear that even she fears...it takes my breath. Earlier this year, I was gifted with Lisa, an incredible friend who continues to amaze me with kindness that knows no depths. If she were the poster child for Christianity, everyone would be lining up for conversion. If Christ is the reason for the light she has inside of her, everyone would want it. Recently she has fallen upon dark times, and my heart goes out to her. Of course, when I look at her, I see something very different from what she must see. I see purity of soul, potential, strength, wisdom, and generosity. I see a person that no one could help but love and a person who could accomplish absolutely anything. These are the thoughts that we should be able to turn inward, and imbue our lives with an increased confidence and vigor.
How do we do this? Does it begin with my expression of these strengths in others, to teach them what they have and what they are capable of? Is that my calling? Or must we find it for ourselves?
"now ...believe. believe that you were created to write. believe that the world needs you to create art through words. and then move forward. move forward in this understanding of who you ARE, not who you have been since denying your love for reading and writing. because really, korey, we're all afraid of pursuing the passions that reside deep within the darkest corners of our souls. they're daunting. seemingly too irresponsible and frivolous. but that's who you were. who you are moving towards, is a person that believes these are the very things that will change the course of humanity. we need you to do what you love. i'm with josh. let me know how i can help."
She also quoted from The Alchemist: "people are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they dont deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them."
Was that written for me?
Now I sit here, sifting through reasons why and why not.
It may be true that most of my last novel is now missing--somehow misplaced on a flash drive I cannot locate. The previous novel, well I have re-written the ending five times and never liked it. I don't have much time. There is laundary to do. I have been working a lot...
I used to have days where words just came to me, and I'd sit down wherever I was and jot them down furiously. These days, I feel lucky to remember what I want to write on my grocery list. And so, I will leave you with this: while I gather the strength to try to succeed, and weather whatever response comes of that trying, I ask that you ruminate on this today:
Sometimes you just might get what you need. Now, you can call them what you want (coincedences, good luck, what have you), but I call them angels. I don't visualize feathered beings who travel the world with harps or in old-fashioned nightgowns, waiting to save George Bailey. I see them as God's way of communicating with us in a way that we will be receptive of. For you, a burning bush might totally rock your world, but it wouldn't do it for me (I'd just call 911). My angel was in the form of my friend, Krysta. She showed me, even across the digital connections of two computers, that God's love, promise and hope can transcend all else. She also encouraged me to see my doubts as a challenge that should only increase my willingness to perservere.
She reminded me that we are so lucky, and blessed, that we are fortunate beyond belief. This alone should incite confidence in me. She says: "we still have more solutions and more hope and more potential to see the light at the end of the tunnel than majority of humanity. why?" Because we believe in something bigger than all else.
It's been described to me as the centerpiece of Christian faith. The idea that in our darkest times God can bring light. That when we despair, we must remember to hope, and to have faith. There are times when He delivers, and we must never forget.
I find that I can see this more easily in the lives of others. In particular, Krysta, who is so amazingly talented and confident, she's like my dream alter-ego on steroids. To hear that even she fears...it takes my breath. Earlier this year, I was gifted with Lisa, an incredible friend who continues to amaze me with kindness that knows no depths. If she were the poster child for Christianity, everyone would be lining up for conversion. If Christ is the reason for the light she has inside of her, everyone would want it. Recently she has fallen upon dark times, and my heart goes out to her. Of course, when I look at her, I see something very different from what she must see. I see purity of soul, potential, strength, wisdom, and generosity. I see a person that no one could help but love and a person who could accomplish absolutely anything. These are the thoughts that we should be able to turn inward, and imbue our lives with an increased confidence and vigor.
How do we do this? Does it begin with my expression of these strengths in others, to teach them what they have and what they are capable of? Is that my calling? Or must we find it for ourselves?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Life is not perfect
...but there is beauty in the inperfection.
At least I try to think so.
I had received some bad news. I was already home from work because I wasn't feeling well, and I get a message that my grandpa is in the emergency room. He has been completely "out of it" for lack of a better phrase, for weeks, and yesterday he was doing really badly. The thousand fears that crowd the far-back, dusty reaches of my brain started to creep up and crowd all of my everyday thoughts. At a million miles an hour these monster thoughts hurtled at me: it's the chemo, but what if it's not? He'll go off of the chemo, and he'll be better, but when he does, it's over? What will my grandma do? What can I do to help? Nothing. You missed your chance. What will I do? Live with regret, it's your only choice.
I was shaken, by this, and by other thoughts, running out of the dark corners and into the light.
I cried yesterday, to my husband (yes, it still sounds weird), and said these words, and as I said them, I shook: "I don't do anything that is me anymore."
I hadn't meant for such a revelation to come forth, and yet, here it was.
"I don't write, I don't draw, I don't even read anymore" I said, my frustration coming through in violent spurts of tears.
"You have to make time for it, then" he said.
"Well that's easy to say," I retorted, stubborn in my sadness.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.
Just like that, my stubborness gave way. There is nothing he can do, because I have so much to do. It's completely my fault. I am in an artistic "no man's land" because I've been upset, overworked, and stressed out. But here I am, continuing to make job searching, writing, reading, or drawing a priority. I let the other things in. I do.
They say acceptance is the first step toward healing, so...
Now what?
At least I try to think so.
I had received some bad news. I was already home from work because I wasn't feeling well, and I get a message that my grandpa is in the emergency room. He has been completely "out of it" for lack of a better phrase, for weeks, and yesterday he was doing really badly. The thousand fears that crowd the far-back, dusty reaches of my brain started to creep up and crowd all of my everyday thoughts. At a million miles an hour these monster thoughts hurtled at me: it's the chemo, but what if it's not? He'll go off of the chemo, and he'll be better, but when he does, it's over? What will my grandma do? What can I do to help? Nothing. You missed your chance. What will I do? Live with regret, it's your only choice.
I was shaken, by this, and by other thoughts, running out of the dark corners and into the light.
I cried yesterday, to my husband (yes, it still sounds weird), and said these words, and as I said them, I shook: "I don't do anything that is me anymore."
I hadn't meant for such a revelation to come forth, and yet, here it was.
"I don't write, I don't draw, I don't even read anymore" I said, my frustration coming through in violent spurts of tears.
"You have to make time for it, then" he said.
"Well that's easy to say," I retorted, stubborn in my sadness.
"What can I do to help?" he asked.
Just like that, my stubborness gave way. There is nothing he can do, because I have so much to do. It's completely my fault. I am in an artistic "no man's land" because I've been upset, overworked, and stressed out. But here I am, continuing to make job searching, writing, reading, or drawing a priority. I let the other things in. I do.
They say acceptance is the first step toward healing, so...
Now what?
Monday, October 27, 2008
blank page
I used to love to see a blank page of paper. It was enticing and wonderful, freeing. I remember even eyeing the blank pages in the beginning and ending of books, and I saw only possibility. It even overwhelmed me then, thinking of how I would fill that page with the perfect drawing or story. The blank page was too valuable to waste.
The blank page has become my empty computer screen. The white stares at me, the cursor blinks as if yearning for use. And why? The computer blank page is forgiving. If I make a mistake on it, I can always press delete, and just like that, blank returns. Unlike a pad of my favorite drawing paper, the computer allows many new documents, one after another, seemingly with no end.
so why?don't?I?write?
The blank page has become my empty computer screen. The white stares at me, the cursor blinks as if yearning for use. And why? The computer blank page is forgiving. If I make a mistake on it, I can always press delete, and just like that, blank returns. Unlike a pad of my favorite drawing paper, the computer allows many new documents, one after another, seemingly with no end.
so why?don't?I?write?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Frustration, Validation
This week has been intense. The highs and lows have seemed stronger, more diluted than normal.
For starters, married life is, in a word, wonderful. I don't know how or why it has changed us both, but it has, in ways that are both nearly-noticeable and astounding. I have tried to explain the ways in which Josh seemed to change, almost immediately. He has always been sweet, kind, and devoted. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's one of my favorite things about him. But something else was different. It is as though the weight of the ring on his hand has caused a seriousness about him. He has matured somehow, grown up, and become just the slightest bit more intentional in dealing with me. Apparently I have changed as well. Last night Josh came in, all smiles, to thank me for being "the best wife ever."
"That was fast" I responded. "How did I manage that already?"
"You've just changed" he said "you were great already but you seem so much more easygoing. Trusting. It's great."
Is it confidence? If so, I am the world's biggest proponent of the importance of marriage now. It's not just legal, people.
Other highs: I started road biking. I really like it! (shock and awe). I saw my friend Lisa, who I have missed dearly as she recuperates from surgery, and who I have prayed for more fervently than I have prayed in quite a while. I have gotten to revisit and share my "teaser" wedding pictures with family, friends, and even co-workers (I'm proud of them, okay?).
I've also been dealing with a frustrating and exasperating wedding vendor who has given me many momentary "yucky" feelings about my wedding. Thankfully, they are passing.
My work has a tradition of decorating a person's office or cubicle when they get married. After seeing this about 6 times since I worked here, I was excited to see what they would do to mine.
They didn't.
It felt rather like a bad day in high school, when you realize that everyone hates you, and they aren't ashamed of letting you know it in subversive but very public ways. Even having them ask me about my wedding (and therefore acknowledging that they knew about it) feels...wrong, disrespectful.
But these things right themselves.
I talked to my amazingly talented wedding photographer on the phone and I felt my insecurities melt away. I was able to remember how incredibly blessed I am to have worked with such a talent and a positive soul. I am so blessed that I was able to marry the man I love, especially now. I had a wonderful day, it was beautiful, breathtaking, and special. Why is it so easy to brush aside compliments and praise and focus on the negative? I will choose not to.
My mom sent me flowers at work. I called her, laughing, to ask why she did so.
"So your co-workers would know you got married. And your desk will be decorated."
I smiled, for what felt like the first time in ages.
"I love you" I said.
For knowing what I need when I don't. For reminding me what is truly important. For reminding me that the silly things I get caught up in truly amount to nothing. For reminding me that I am loved beyond measure, whether or not I am well-loved by my co-workers.
I got home from work and my husband wasn't there yet. I decided to pass on the love I was feeling, and I made him cookies. He walked in the kitchen to a mouth full of cookie dough. I could only smile. My life is ridiculously awesome. It's just not fair. I should really try to spread it around.
"I really like my ring" he said.
"So do I" I said. "It looks good on you."
"No" he replied. "That's not it. I like having it on. I'm glad to have it."
"Great" I said, and I turned around to hide my smile from him. It spread across my face like wildfire.
What more could I ask for?
For starters, married life is, in a word, wonderful. I don't know how or why it has changed us both, but it has, in ways that are both nearly-noticeable and astounding. I have tried to explain the ways in which Josh seemed to change, almost immediately. He has always been sweet, kind, and devoted. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it's one of my favorite things about him. But something else was different. It is as though the weight of the ring on his hand has caused a seriousness about him. He has matured somehow, grown up, and become just the slightest bit more intentional in dealing with me. Apparently I have changed as well. Last night Josh came in, all smiles, to thank me for being "the best wife ever."
"That was fast" I responded. "How did I manage that already?"
"You've just changed" he said "you were great already but you seem so much more easygoing. Trusting. It's great."
Is it confidence? If so, I am the world's biggest proponent of the importance of marriage now. It's not just legal, people.
Other highs: I started road biking. I really like it! (shock and awe). I saw my friend Lisa, who I have missed dearly as she recuperates from surgery, and who I have prayed for more fervently than I have prayed in quite a while. I have gotten to revisit and share my "teaser" wedding pictures with family, friends, and even co-workers (I'm proud of them, okay?).
I've also been dealing with a frustrating and exasperating wedding vendor who has given me many momentary "yucky" feelings about my wedding. Thankfully, they are passing.
My work has a tradition of decorating a person's office or cubicle when they get married. After seeing this about 6 times since I worked here, I was excited to see what they would do to mine.
They didn't.
It felt rather like a bad day in high school, when you realize that everyone hates you, and they aren't ashamed of letting you know it in subversive but very public ways. Even having them ask me about my wedding (and therefore acknowledging that they knew about it) feels...wrong, disrespectful.
But these things right themselves.
I talked to my amazingly talented wedding photographer on the phone and I felt my insecurities melt away. I was able to remember how incredibly blessed I am to have worked with such a talent and a positive soul. I am so blessed that I was able to marry the man I love, especially now. I had a wonderful day, it was beautiful, breathtaking, and special. Why is it so easy to brush aside compliments and praise and focus on the negative? I will choose not to.
My mom sent me flowers at work. I called her, laughing, to ask why she did so.
"So your co-workers would know you got married. And your desk will be decorated."
I smiled, for what felt like the first time in ages.
"I love you" I said.
For knowing what I need when I don't. For reminding me what is truly important. For reminding me that the silly things I get caught up in truly amount to nothing. For reminding me that I am loved beyond measure, whether or not I am well-loved by my co-workers.
I got home from work and my husband wasn't there yet. I decided to pass on the love I was feeling, and I made him cookies. He walked in the kitchen to a mouth full of cookie dough. I could only smile. My life is ridiculously awesome. It's just not fair. I should really try to spread it around.
"I really like my ring" he said.
"So do I" I said. "It looks good on you."
"No" he replied. "That's not it. I like having it on. I'm glad to have it."
"Great" I said, and I turned around to hide my smile from him. It spread across my face like wildfire.
What more could I ask for?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A thin slice of perfection
The day was clear, crisp, and vivid, giving the appearance of having been freshly scrubbed. The air was brisk and cool, trees shuddering mildly in the mid-morning breeze. It was beautiful.
I awoke with a stomach ache. The hotel phone rang, ending whatever dreams I was having for a robotic wake-up call. I sat up, feeling the tension in my gut. I was nervous.
I showered, carefully and slowly, trying not to dwell on what could happen that day, or even what would. As we loaded my Maid of Honor's car with item after necessary item I told myself, "breathe it in. Breathe in the beauty of this day." I felt as though I were floating, somewhere outside myself and looking down on the scene before me. Could it be possible that nothing was going wrong?
As the makeup artist was finishing with my makeup, I started to feel emotional. In response, my bridesmaids, relatives and closest friends that they are, began to sing and dance. I should thank them, and Rhianna, for the un-smudged eyeliner I enjoyed that day.
When it was finally time to put on the dress, I was elated, nervous, and just not feeling myself. I walked up to see my groom, and my breath came in short, choppy spurts of excitement. I saw his back, the line of his shoulders in the black tuxedo, and my breath caught in my throat. I held back tears as I walked toward him. We were nervous with each other, as though it was our first date as bride and groom, and neither of us knew what to say. We giggled and held hands and just the touch of him anchored me. I felt whole again. We loosened up in front of the camera, and we were suddenly there, in the moment. Our wedding day. And we loved every minute of it.
The smile that nearly never left my face was not plastered on by the protestations of others, it was genuine. This was our day. We were surrounded by people who love and support us, and we had not a doubt between us that what we were doing was anything but right.
Throughout the day, my emotions swelled and calmed like a mild ocean tide; momentum would build, feelings would intensify, and then flatten, but with the promise of return. The sun shone fiercely through the cool fall air. Leaves rusted, trees swayed, butterflies played in patches of sun-dappled branches. My husband looked at me, his smile laden with nerves and joy, and my heart melted. My dress swished pleasantly around me, my nose filled with the aroma of rose-scented geraniums. The hand that held mine, now adorned with a heavy band of metal, squeezed mine three times, our secret message to one another, I love you. It gave me strength, joy, and peace of mind. It reminded me why the trials were worth it, why we had pushed so hard to make our relationship work, to make it great, why we had put so much time into preparing this day until every tiny detail spoke the language of our hearts. It reminded me of the power of good, the joy of family, the mystery of love. It gave me hope and the promise of wonderful days ahead. It reassured me that every trial would be met with the tried-and-true team we have become, and that nothing would conquer us.
Perhaps it is for these reasons that my smile seems different somehow. Life, in all of its unpredictable and often mundane glory seems a little sweeter. My course in it seems a little more true. There are heavens on this Earth, and we will find them. But we already have the greatest of all, which is love.
I awoke with a stomach ache. The hotel phone rang, ending whatever dreams I was having for a robotic wake-up call. I sat up, feeling the tension in my gut. I was nervous.
I showered, carefully and slowly, trying not to dwell on what could happen that day, or even what would. As we loaded my Maid of Honor's car with item after necessary item I told myself, "breathe it in. Breathe in the beauty of this day." I felt as though I were floating, somewhere outside myself and looking down on the scene before me. Could it be possible that nothing was going wrong?
As the makeup artist was finishing with my makeup, I started to feel emotional. In response, my bridesmaids, relatives and closest friends that they are, began to sing and dance. I should thank them, and Rhianna, for the un-smudged eyeliner I enjoyed that day.
When it was finally time to put on the dress, I was elated, nervous, and just not feeling myself. I walked up to see my groom, and my breath came in short, choppy spurts of excitement. I saw his back, the line of his shoulders in the black tuxedo, and my breath caught in my throat. I held back tears as I walked toward him. We were nervous with each other, as though it was our first date as bride and groom, and neither of us knew what to say. We giggled and held hands and just the touch of him anchored me. I felt whole again. We loosened up in front of the camera, and we were suddenly there, in the moment. Our wedding day. And we loved every minute of it.
The smile that nearly never left my face was not plastered on by the protestations of others, it was genuine. This was our day. We were surrounded by people who love and support us, and we had not a doubt between us that what we were doing was anything but right.
Throughout the day, my emotions swelled and calmed like a mild ocean tide; momentum would build, feelings would intensify, and then flatten, but with the promise of return. The sun shone fiercely through the cool fall air. Leaves rusted, trees swayed, butterflies played in patches of sun-dappled branches. My husband looked at me, his smile laden with nerves and joy, and my heart melted. My dress swished pleasantly around me, my nose filled with the aroma of rose-scented geraniums. The hand that held mine, now adorned with a heavy band of metal, squeezed mine three times, our secret message to one another, I love you. It gave me strength, joy, and peace of mind. It reminded me why the trials were worth it, why we had pushed so hard to make our relationship work, to make it great, why we had put so much time into preparing this day until every tiny detail spoke the language of our hearts. It reminded me of the power of good, the joy of family, the mystery of love. It gave me hope and the promise of wonderful days ahead. It reassured me that every trial would be met with the tried-and-true team we have become, and that nothing would conquer us.
Perhaps it is for these reasons that my smile seems different somehow. Life, in all of its unpredictable and often mundane glory seems a little sweeter. My course in it seems a little more true. There are heavens on this Earth, and we will find them. But we already have the greatest of all, which is love.
Monday, June 23, 2008
It's a weird, weird world.
I attended two parties on Saturday night. Not because I am popular, because it's just "that time of year." The first was an anniversary party for my fiance's grandparents. It was bittersweet for us, as we make time in the middle of our busiest time to attend, and they are not planning on attending our wedding, which has been planned for a year and 5 months. Of course my better half is struggling with this, and starting to become really hurt by it, despite his eternal optomism. The second was a birthday party for my little brother's girlfriend. It left me confused. I wonder how it's possible that my brother and I can be so different. He, surrounded by his friends, a myriad of tattooed, pierced, black-wearing boys who, despite their offbeat appearances, are so darn sweet. I sat and talked with one of his friends, a past member of Riders for Christ, who told me about the dissolution of his marriage while he spread the word of God to an alternative crowd. His wife wanted more time with him, didn't see the importance in what he was doing. Behind me, a group of youths passes around an infant, around 6 months old, patting her head and holding her tiny hand. The infant's mother, young and wearing a revealing top, retireves the child and balances her in the crook of her right arm, her left hand free to cradle a glass bottle of beer. Moments later, the baby has her hands on the bottle, her mouth over the opening, as the youths laugh.
Talking to my dad (also at the party) a young man, much older than my brother, probably around 30, approaches us. He is shirtless and covered in tattoos. He moves erradically, popping left and right and figeting with his arms. I have a laughable knowlegde of drugs, but I assume this man was using them. Meth, perhaps? He looks at my dad and says, "I really want to sleep with you." My dad, as cool as he is, had no comment. He sputtered, and then the man said, "okay not really, that's what I keep telling all the girls at this party and they walk away."
Later, a woman, in her late forties I would assume, ambled up to my fiance and I and began to talk to us. I use the word "talk" loosely, because she barely could. Her face had a droppy look to it, her hair was stacked messily on top of her head, and she had the slow, sloppy speech of a person who had been drinking for hours (or days?). She was smoking non-stop, cursing just as much, and using really explicit language with some of my brother's friends (most of them are 20 years old). And by explicit I do not mean a few obscenties, I mean XXX.
She grabbed my arm roughly and said, "who are you?," her breath reeking of cigarrettes and cheap beer. "I'm his sister," I say, gesturing toward my brother. "Well I don't know how you put up with him, he's an A**hole," she drawls, in my face. I cringe slightly from the roughness of her breath and the talon of a hand wrapped around my wrist. It was like my own personal Hell.
How does he put up with these people? I look at him nervously, trying to get him to come and save me from this vile woman. He walks up and tells her to "shut up," looks at me and says, "she's a crazy alcoholic, just ignore her," completely within earshot of my new friend who flicks her cigarette toward him, sloshing beer onto the ground and hot embers onto my shoe, uncomfortably close to my big toe.
I excuse myself from her company, stating a need to use the restroom. As I walk toward the house, someone calls out to me again: "your dress is beautiful" the voice says, I spin around as thin, cold fingers encircle my left wrist. I don't like to be touched. Personal space is a necessity. I try to hold my position so as not to insult this creature, thin and lanky, with hair that ranges from black to platinum blonde. Her eyes were encirled in thick black eyeliner, and they stared right into mine. "You look so beautiful. I wanted to tell you that." I stammered, "thank you, I...I just came from an anniversary party, so I suppose I'm overdressed."
"Oh no" she coos, "you look perfect." I thank her again and slip away, this time to find my mother and push her out of this backyard and into the street, toward her car and home. I will follow her.
At the back gate sits my brother's dog. The dog I held in one hand as a puppy. He is much larger now, but just as sweet. I take his face in both hands and look into his eyes. I feel like I should whisper in his ear, "you don't belong here." He is calm, completely serene in the midst of the chaos. Not unlike the infant with the beer bottle earlier, although I'd already given up on her. She is as good as lost.
Talking to my dad (also at the party) a young man, much older than my brother, probably around 30, approaches us. He is shirtless and covered in tattoos. He moves erradically, popping left and right and figeting with his arms. I have a laughable knowlegde of drugs, but I assume this man was using them. Meth, perhaps? He looks at my dad and says, "I really want to sleep with you." My dad, as cool as he is, had no comment. He sputtered, and then the man said, "okay not really, that's what I keep telling all the girls at this party and they walk away."
Later, a woman, in her late forties I would assume, ambled up to my fiance and I and began to talk to us. I use the word "talk" loosely, because she barely could. Her face had a droppy look to it, her hair was stacked messily on top of her head, and she had the slow, sloppy speech of a person who had been drinking for hours (or days?). She was smoking non-stop, cursing just as much, and using really explicit language with some of my brother's friends (most of them are 20 years old). And by explicit I do not mean a few obscenties, I mean XXX.
She grabbed my arm roughly and said, "who are you?," her breath reeking of cigarrettes and cheap beer. "I'm his sister," I say, gesturing toward my brother. "Well I don't know how you put up with him, he's an A**hole," she drawls, in my face. I cringe slightly from the roughness of her breath and the talon of a hand wrapped around my wrist. It was like my own personal Hell.
How does he put up with these people? I look at him nervously, trying to get him to come and save me from this vile woman. He walks up and tells her to "shut up," looks at me and says, "she's a crazy alcoholic, just ignore her," completely within earshot of my new friend who flicks her cigarette toward him, sloshing beer onto the ground and hot embers onto my shoe, uncomfortably close to my big toe.
I excuse myself from her company, stating a need to use the restroom. As I walk toward the house, someone calls out to me again: "your dress is beautiful" the voice says, I spin around as thin, cold fingers encircle my left wrist. I don't like to be touched. Personal space is a necessity. I try to hold my position so as not to insult this creature, thin and lanky, with hair that ranges from black to platinum blonde. Her eyes were encirled in thick black eyeliner, and they stared right into mine. "You look so beautiful. I wanted to tell you that." I stammered, "thank you, I...I just came from an anniversary party, so I suppose I'm overdressed."
"Oh no" she coos, "you look perfect." I thank her again and slip away, this time to find my mother and push her out of this backyard and into the street, toward her car and home. I will follow her.
At the back gate sits my brother's dog. The dog I held in one hand as a puppy. He is much larger now, but just as sweet. I take his face in both hands and look into his eyes. I feel like I should whisper in his ear, "you don't belong here." He is calm, completely serene in the midst of the chaos. Not unlike the infant with the beer bottle earlier, although I'd already given up on her. She is as good as lost.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Ahh Corporate America
Sometimes I think you own me, you, the company I work for. After all, you tell me where to be, and when, you decide when I work late, and you "highly suggest" things for me to do during certain lunchtimes. Tonight, as I lay in bed, listening to the soft breathing of my sleeping man and soft snores of my sleeping dog, I get that sinking feeling. I am not in control of my life, of my destiny. Sure, I want to be helpful, I want to be a useful employee, but does that mean forgoing any mention of a life outside of the office? Not in my mind, it doesn't.
I never pictured myself in Corporate America. Of course, I never pictured myself doing anything realistic which I wasn't already doing. I pictured myself as a college student, forever. Or perhaps on tour with my imaginary band. There was a point in my life where I really thought it was reasonable to not be working while I planned my future wedding (to whom, at that point, I had no idea--a Baron, perhaps? A Rockefeller?). I really never pictured myself dressed to impress while impressing no one but the meager reflection on my monitor.
Before I let myself get carried away in who said what to whom over the cubicle wall, or who wore jeans (jeans! can you believe that?!) to work on not-so-casual Friday, I had to stop my mind from spinning. No matter how much control the corporate world has over me, it can't stop me from sitting on the shower floor at 10 p.m., letting the water rinse away the memories of my day. They can't stop me from sitting, cross legged and in my bathrobe, facing the glow of my monitor, at 11 p.m. while I write about my feelings. And as much as anyone I work with would contradict this, they cannot tell me what I can and cannot do in my unpaid hour lunch. That is my hour.
Perhaps it's selfish of me, sitting up late and taking this time for myself, and depriving the Corporation of the employee they deserve tomorrow, one operating on full nine hours. But this is my time, and I'll do as I damn well please.
Friday, May 23, 2008
On the precipice
I am about to turn 24 years old. The past few years of my life, more than any others, have brought more change than most years. I know the frenzied pace will soon slow, and I welcome a little stability. Graduating from college and changing my status, held for as long as I can remember, from "student" to "full-time employee" was a difficult one for me. Harder still will be the change from a "Miss" to a "Mrs." Changing the name I've always had, the three words that identify me on this earth, apart from almost any other (benefit of having a relatively unique name) will be difficult as well. I'm not sure how I feel about it, although I understand the benefits and even the necessity of it. I will turn 24, an age that seems much older than I could possibly be. I will celebrate five years in my relationship with my fiance. I will have a bachelorette party, which I think will really, more than the dress and the food tasting, make this whole wedding thing sink in. I'll register for gifts, and attend my own shower. (My first shower! For me!) and then get married. Wow. This is an intense little spot I'm hangin' out in...
Monday, May 12, 2008
An Ode to Karma
Sometimes, very few, precious times, people get exactly what they deserve.
Oh Karma, my old friend. Sometimes I hate you. I cry out to you when I see things happen, both good and bad, wondering, "where are you now?" But then, out of nowhere, you show up. Wonderfully, you reward my long-suffering dad with a few comforts on his journey. A heartfelt compliment, a perfect ending to a frustrating situation, a glimmer of hope in a dark moment, and even a check in the mail. Less wonderfully, you deliver things not-so-pretty to those who have earned them as well. Like the woman that blocked rush hour traffic to make an illegal U-turn, and the motorcycle cop, weaving between idling engines to see her just in time. Yes, retribution came in the form of flashing lights that afternoon. And others, who have mindlessly rearranged the lives of others to their benefit, causing me to yell out in exasperation, "don't they know you can't have it all?" To risk incurring some bad karma myself, I will avoid repeating them. But I know. And this smile on my face is owed to you, Karma. You deserve it.
In a life in which we so often wonder how bad things happen to good people, or why bad people seem to be rewarded while the good suffer, and we wonder when, if ever, these people will get what is surely coming to them. We have to trust that, whether or not we see it, they will all be dealt with, in one way or another.
Sometimes people get exactly what they deserve.
Oh Karma, my old friend. Sometimes I hate you. I cry out to you when I see things happen, both good and bad, wondering, "where are you now?" But then, out of nowhere, you show up. Wonderfully, you reward my long-suffering dad with a few comforts on his journey. A heartfelt compliment, a perfect ending to a frustrating situation, a glimmer of hope in a dark moment, and even a check in the mail. Less wonderfully, you deliver things not-so-pretty to those who have earned them as well. Like the woman that blocked rush hour traffic to make an illegal U-turn, and the motorcycle cop, weaving between idling engines to see her just in time. Yes, retribution came in the form of flashing lights that afternoon. And others, who have mindlessly rearranged the lives of others to their benefit, causing me to yell out in exasperation, "don't they know you can't have it all?" To risk incurring some bad karma myself, I will avoid repeating them. But I know. And this smile on my face is owed to you, Karma. You deserve it.
In a life in which we so often wonder how bad things happen to good people, or why bad people seem to be rewarded while the good suffer, and we wonder when, if ever, these people will get what is surely coming to them. We have to trust that, whether or not we see it, they will all be dealt with, in one way or another.
Sometimes people get exactly what they deserve.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Broken
Hopes, dreams, effort.
Trying, working, persisting.
In the quest for love.
It shouldn't be this hard.
I have a fiance' who loves me unconditionally. But why not his parents? Is that so much to ask? And why have I, a competant and functionally self confident person, worked so hard for their love?
Why am I so angry about this? Why can't I accept, as my dad has always said, that some people just won't like you?
Because these aren't just any people. They are the people who raised the man I love. And this just gets more and more complicated.
Trying, working, persisting.
In the quest for love.
It shouldn't be this hard.
I have a fiance' who loves me unconditionally. But why not his parents? Is that so much to ask? And why have I, a competant and functionally self confident person, worked so hard for their love?
Why am I so angry about this? Why can't I accept, as my dad has always said, that some people just won't like you?
Because these aren't just any people. They are the people who raised the man I love. And this just gets more and more complicated.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Do we forgive?
We are told that everyone deserves forgiveness. Whether or not you come about this from a religious standpoint, forgiving others is good for both parties. I know it's not healthy to carry resentment and anger. I know that the act of forgiving another can be very theraputic. What I don't know is this: do you forgive someone who doesn't want your forgiveness?
What if the person in question thinks they've done nothing wrong? To forgive them for a perceived wrong would seem insulting. And, if I am not asked for forgiveness, I honestly don't give it. I wish I could free myself of the burden of resentment and forgive, but I find that near impossible for me. Even when I forgive, I never forget.
So tell me your opinion. Send this post to friends who might have one as well. If someone doesn't want your forgiveness, do you give it to them anyway? And how?
What if the person in question thinks they've done nothing wrong? To forgive them for a perceived wrong would seem insulting. And, if I am not asked for forgiveness, I honestly don't give it. I wish I could free myself of the burden of resentment and forgive, but I find that near impossible for me. Even when I forgive, I never forget.
So tell me your opinion. Send this post to friends who might have one as well. If someone doesn't want your forgiveness, do you give it to them anyway? And how?
Monday, April 28, 2008
A beautiful day for a wedding
The day started for me in a beautiful way. Josh returned early from work and we were able to talk about the day ahead. We lay in bed and let the day slowly develop outside the open window. As the sun began to fill the room we looked forward to the day ahead of us.
My fiance's sister was calm as she prepared for her walk down the aisle. She dressed calmly and sat so still as I curled and pulled at her hair and her friend Casey curled her eyelashes and added blush to her cheeks. She looked more beautiful than I have ever seen her. The night stayed warm, the heat lingered on the surface of the bay as the yacht cruised slowly across the water. They were glowing, radiant, and full of love.
Congratulations!
Friday, April 18, 2008
I love our love
As we sat across our coffee table with our jeweler on Wednesday night the feelings bounced around my head, not finding words to express them. My future husband slipped his future wedding band on his finger and I think my heart stopped.
He's mine.
He is going to come home to me. He is going to wear jewelry, for me! He is going to pledge before God and everyone most important to us that he will love me until the end of time. This is a BIG deal. Somehow, though, I'm not scared.
Our love, is our love, and girl I love our love.
Heaven has given this love to only us...
This love is only us...
-David Martin
I was asked last week by a dear friend from High School an important question.
"People tell me that 'you just know'" she said. "And I'm afraid that I won't just know. Did you?"
I thought about this and responded, "I guess that the apprehension fades and one day you realize that you can get married. I would explain as the opposite of 'you just know', more like 'you don't not know.'"*
"Thank God" she said. "I can understand that."
What I tried to express to her is that one day you realize that you have no fear of marriage, no doubt, and the way is clear. I don't think it happens the other way around. I don't think that one day you just know that the person is right for you; it's that you slowly begin to lose every bit of protest within you and accept that the person is less and less wrong for you, and then you know.
I leaf through a book he filled out for me. The book (which I highly recommend) is called "What I Love About You." You are prompted to write answers to questions that help you express, in ways you would never think to express, all of the dimensions of love you have for the person. I bought us a matching set for Valentine's Day. In it he has written the funny, touching, and strange ways that let me know that he loves me for who I am inside: my love of kicking wild mushrooms and jumping in puddles, the inside jokes that represent the early days of our relationship, and our wishes and dreams for each other.
I am overwhelmed, flattered, content.
I glanced down at my ring finger, my future wedding band sparkling in place beneath my engagement ring. I smiled, slid it off my finger, and returned it to the jeweler. There will be a time for that; and I can't wait.
*I realize that "you don't NOT know" is a double negative which would imply the positive "you know" but try to follow my train of thought here.
He's mine.
He is going to come home to me. He is going to wear jewelry, for me! He is going to pledge before God and everyone most important to us that he will love me until the end of time. This is a BIG deal. Somehow, though, I'm not scared.
Our love, is our love, and girl I love our love.
Heaven has given this love to only us...
This love is only us...
-David Martin
I was asked last week by a dear friend from High School an important question.
"People tell me that 'you just know'" she said. "And I'm afraid that I won't just know. Did you?"
I thought about this and responded, "I guess that the apprehension fades and one day you realize that you can get married. I would explain as the opposite of 'you just know', more like 'you don't not know.'"*
"Thank God" she said. "I can understand that."
What I tried to express to her is that one day you realize that you have no fear of marriage, no doubt, and the way is clear. I don't think it happens the other way around. I don't think that one day you just know that the person is right for you; it's that you slowly begin to lose every bit of protest within you and accept that the person is less and less wrong for you, and then you know.
I leaf through a book he filled out for me. The book (which I highly recommend) is called "What I Love About You." You are prompted to write answers to questions that help you express, in ways you would never think to express, all of the dimensions of love you have for the person. I bought us a matching set for Valentine's Day. In it he has written the funny, touching, and strange ways that let me know that he loves me for who I am inside: my love of kicking wild mushrooms and jumping in puddles, the inside jokes that represent the early days of our relationship, and our wishes and dreams for each other.
I am overwhelmed, flattered, content.
I glanced down at my ring finger, my future wedding band sparkling in place beneath my engagement ring. I smiled, slid it off my finger, and returned it to the jeweler. There will be a time for that; and I can't wait.
*I realize that "you don't NOT know" is a double negative which would imply the positive "you know" but try to follow my train of thought here.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
I believe in miracles
My grandpa had his blood work done, and has been nervous about these test results for weeks, bracing himself for the worst. I understand, and empathize. He has been so strong and has put up with so much. He scheduled his follow up and waited to find out how bad the cancer is, and how many treatments they would put him through.
He found out that he is in remission.
We didn't think this possible. We are overjoyed.
Thank you.
He found out that he is in remission.
We didn't think this possible. We are overjoyed.
Thank you.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
When words aren't enough
I haven't felt like writing much lately.
The passion behind the outpouring of words hasn't been with me. I haven't wanted to allow my soul to speak through my words for fear of what it will say. The thoughts that follow me throughout my day and into my dreams range from confusing to horrifying, mundane to comical. I need to let them out of my head and free myself of them, but I am afraid to.
My grandfather is dying.
Not in the sense in which all of us are dying. He is sick and this disease is slowly eating at his body and his spirit.
In the beginning, he was brave and handled every little setback with a smile. I noticed as the cancer began to eat away at the edges of his vanity, and he would brush it off, but I saw traces of it there. He was seventy when diagnosed, but you never would have known it. That may sound old, but for my grandparents, age is truly just a number. They were, up until this illness, traveling frequently, parasailing and hiking through remote tropical forests; walking each morning and night together, lifting weights and swimming laps in their backyard pool. Seventy was no setback. I have seen it, in his eyes, which until of late have still held the sparkle of youth. When he struggles to stand, and someone reaches to help him, I see the wound to his pride as though it were visceral, made of flesh and bone as he is.
My grandmother was alone for so long. She worked, always, two or three jobs. She struggled to support the four children and husband she had waiting at home. That, of course, was when my grandfather was at home, and he wasn’t always. He would disappear for weeks on end. When her children were grown and he disappeared again she decided it would be the last time, quietly gathering his things and placing them neatly in boxes outside the front door, its sparkling new lock guarding her from changing her mind. She was alone even before this, but after she was really alone. I would visit, and I would sleep in her bed, it’s white sheets always crisp and cool, the down mattress cover and comforter crinkling contentedly with my weight. I remember once, pulling back the heavy white pillow to find the shock of black metal shining against so much snowy white. The innocence of the bedding affronted by the violence of her handgun. But she was alone, and how could anyone blame her. And this was before Len.
They met when they worked together at Angel Stadium, eloped in Hawaii in matching Hawaiian shirts just to avoid “making a fuss” for everyone by marrying here. They worked together, from the Stadium, to the Pond, to the Grove, each place with matching shifts, matching smiles, holding hands. They were always on the go, and had just planned a trip they had each waited a lifetime to take. They had booked flights to Italy. Then my grandfather decided to see the doctor; he was feeling run-down. He thought most likely that he had a virus, and they ran some tests to find out. It was bone cancer.
The chemotherapy rendered him tired and nauseated. He became diabetic from the medication. They tried, time and time again to perform the bone marrow transplant he needed, but he was never well enough, and then developed pneumonia. They sent him home. We kept smiling, bolstered by his incredible confidence. Somewhere deep inside my heart told me that it was his confidence and positivism that kept him alive.
Now it is spring, and three years have passed. The world is in bloom with new life. The very air we breathe thick with the scent of flowers, their freshly unfurled petals coloring every empty surface. I drive to my grandparents’ house to pick them up and drive them to Easter. My grandfather is not ready to go, as it turns out, he is not going, in dress pants and a pajama shirt that hangs from his frame. He has lost another 45, 50 pounds. It’s difficult to keep track now. It’s like watching a tragedy in slow motion. My grandmother, so long alone before, is now preparing herself to be without him. Trips have been canceled. The kitchen table, so long before covered in travel magazines and newspapers, now littered with pill bottles, means for counting and sorting and administering the medication.
“He’s finally given up hope” she tells me in the car, fearing that his anxiety over the impending test results he will not receive for another week yet have broken him. He braces himself for the worst, fearing that every pain and sensation is a bad omen. Rather than smiling through the worst of the pain, with hope in his heart for recovery, the barrage of setbacks and bad news have sunken to the deepest levels of his psyche, and he now tries to steady his heart for the devastating news he feels is imminent.
I haven’t dealt with it. How can I? I feel that my optimism requires me to believe wholeheartedly that he will be just fine. But he’s not. He’s not fine now. What do I expect?
What do I do?
The passion behind the outpouring of words hasn't been with me. I haven't wanted to allow my soul to speak through my words for fear of what it will say. The thoughts that follow me throughout my day and into my dreams range from confusing to horrifying, mundane to comical. I need to let them out of my head and free myself of them, but I am afraid to.
My grandfather is dying.
Not in the sense in which all of us are dying. He is sick and this disease is slowly eating at his body and his spirit.
In the beginning, he was brave and handled every little setback with a smile. I noticed as the cancer began to eat away at the edges of his vanity, and he would brush it off, but I saw traces of it there. He was seventy when diagnosed, but you never would have known it. That may sound old, but for my grandparents, age is truly just a number. They were, up until this illness, traveling frequently, parasailing and hiking through remote tropical forests; walking each morning and night together, lifting weights and swimming laps in their backyard pool. Seventy was no setback. I have seen it, in his eyes, which until of late have still held the sparkle of youth. When he struggles to stand, and someone reaches to help him, I see the wound to his pride as though it were visceral, made of flesh and bone as he is.
My grandmother was alone for so long. She worked, always, two or three jobs. She struggled to support the four children and husband she had waiting at home. That, of course, was when my grandfather was at home, and he wasn’t always. He would disappear for weeks on end. When her children were grown and he disappeared again she decided it would be the last time, quietly gathering his things and placing them neatly in boxes outside the front door, its sparkling new lock guarding her from changing her mind. She was alone even before this, but after she was really alone. I would visit, and I would sleep in her bed, it’s white sheets always crisp and cool, the down mattress cover and comforter crinkling contentedly with my weight. I remember once, pulling back the heavy white pillow to find the shock of black metal shining against so much snowy white. The innocence of the bedding affronted by the violence of her handgun. But she was alone, and how could anyone blame her. And this was before Len.
They met when they worked together at Angel Stadium, eloped in Hawaii in matching Hawaiian shirts just to avoid “making a fuss” for everyone by marrying here. They worked together, from the Stadium, to the Pond, to the Grove, each place with matching shifts, matching smiles, holding hands. They were always on the go, and had just planned a trip they had each waited a lifetime to take. They had booked flights to Italy. Then my grandfather decided to see the doctor; he was feeling run-down. He thought most likely that he had a virus, and they ran some tests to find out. It was bone cancer.
The chemotherapy rendered him tired and nauseated. He became diabetic from the medication. They tried, time and time again to perform the bone marrow transplant he needed, but he was never well enough, and then developed pneumonia. They sent him home. We kept smiling, bolstered by his incredible confidence. Somewhere deep inside my heart told me that it was his confidence and positivism that kept him alive.
Now it is spring, and three years have passed. The world is in bloom with new life. The very air we breathe thick with the scent of flowers, their freshly unfurled petals coloring every empty surface. I drive to my grandparents’ house to pick them up and drive them to Easter. My grandfather is not ready to go, as it turns out, he is not going, in dress pants and a pajama shirt that hangs from his frame. He has lost another 45, 50 pounds. It’s difficult to keep track now. It’s like watching a tragedy in slow motion. My grandmother, so long alone before, is now preparing herself to be without him. Trips have been canceled. The kitchen table, so long before covered in travel magazines and newspapers, now littered with pill bottles, means for counting and sorting and administering the medication.
“He’s finally given up hope” she tells me in the car, fearing that his anxiety over the impending test results he will not receive for another week yet have broken him. He braces himself for the worst, fearing that every pain and sensation is a bad omen. Rather than smiling through the worst of the pain, with hope in his heart for recovery, the barrage of setbacks and bad news have sunken to the deepest levels of his psyche, and he now tries to steady his heart for the devastating news he feels is imminent.
I haven’t dealt with it. How can I? I feel that my optimism requires me to believe wholeheartedly that he will be just fine. But he’s not. He’s not fine now. What do I expect?
What do I do?
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Running
This post will not actually be about running, since we all know how much I hate it. Instead, it will be about the marathon I feel as though I am running these days.
I wake up exhausted. Why? I don't really know. I think the mental marathon I'm running in is taking its toll on my physical form. I have something planned almost every single day of my life, and I really despise that. I like my free time. No, more than like, I love it. I am addicted to it. I need it to maintain my sanity. I am not one of those people who is energized by being in the company of others, quite the opposite actually. I feel as though my interactions with others drain me and I need my alone time to recharge. I don't want to sound antisocial; I love people, but I only love them when I get my breaks from them.
I am not going to bore *all* my readers with a list of the things I am doing, but I have recently discovered that I have three free (as of now) weekends from now until July. Three. I could throw up. And among them, two weddings, a shower I'm co-hosting, three 50th birthday parties, one 21st, and one anniversary party. Oh and I have stuff to do to. Like find the rest of my wedding vendors. Have my ring re-set and pick out our bands. Find bridesmaid dresses. Lose weight ("5-7 pounds, 15 is too much"-wedding dress seamstress). Re-do my kitchen. Register for gifts. Okay now I'm listing. I apologize. But seriously, what the hell is going on?
I wake up exhausted. Why? I don't really know. I think the mental marathon I'm running in is taking its toll on my physical form. I have something planned almost every single day of my life, and I really despise that. I like my free time. No, more than like, I love it. I am addicted to it. I need it to maintain my sanity. I am not one of those people who is energized by being in the company of others, quite the opposite actually. I feel as though my interactions with others drain me and I need my alone time to recharge. I don't want to sound antisocial; I love people, but I only love them when I get my breaks from them.
I am not going to bore *all* my readers with a list of the things I am doing, but I have recently discovered that I have three free (as of now) weekends from now until July. Three. I could throw up. And among them, two weddings, a shower I'm co-hosting, three 50th birthday parties, one 21st, and one anniversary party. Oh and I have stuff to do to. Like find the rest of my wedding vendors. Have my ring re-set and pick out our bands. Find bridesmaid dresses. Lose weight ("5-7 pounds, 15 is too much"-wedding dress seamstress). Re-do my kitchen. Register for gifts. Okay now I'm listing. I apologize. But seriously, what the hell is going on?
Monday, March 10, 2008
This week
...will be better than the last. I have decided to believe so, and I will make this happen.
I hope you are all as awed at the magnitude of this as I am. To acknowledge that this week can bring great things, and allow yourself to be open to them. Or in some cases, to seek them out.
Happy Monday!
I hope you are all as awed at the magnitude of this as I am. To acknowledge that this week can bring great things, and allow yourself to be open to them. Or in some cases, to seek them out.
Happy Monday!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
The stress monster
I am not a stress monster.
Really.
But the stress monster has been nipping at my heels lately.
My job is becoming a little more overwhelming. I want to do more here, and I want to learn, but the more I know, the more I can do, and the more I have assigned to me. I feel a teeny bit over my head right now. for some reason, this feeling makes me want to
a) quit my job and only deal with social/family/general life responsibilities
b) go back in time to college (why did it pass so quickly)
c) run screaming
I have not done any of those things (to be fair, only option c is actually possible unless someone lends me a time machine).
The weird thing is how stress affects all parts of your life. I feel like I am doing okay not letting stress invade and take over my life until I realize little things. I fall asleep during conversations and movies I am enjoying. I realize that my jaw hurts because I have suddenly started clenching my teeth; when and why, I don't know. Josh tells me that I am snoring, breathing loudly, and moving a lot in my sleep. I have dreams about work.
I am normally a very heavy sleeper. I fall asleep and stay in whatever position I was in until morning. Lately I'm having trouble falling asleep at the right times and staying asleep, and waking up is a challenge. I toss and turn and wake up frequently. I have begun to remember a lot of my dreams, and among them are dreams of work. Many are mundane; I dream of things I haven't done or need to do, or sending email, or sitting at my desk. A memorable one last weekend was that my job was sending me to Florida for a week. I had a mixture of excitement and sadness. I knew it was a good opportunity for me, but it was taking me away from my home and family. Then they came to pick me up for the airport and I didn't have pants on. I know this is a typical "feeling unprepared" dream, but I remember the disappointment of my co-workers the most. It seemed to drag on and on and never in the dream did I find some pants.
I need a vacation.
But seriously, do I listen to dreams and the feeling I keep shoving into the back of my mind that this job may be too much for me, or do I ignore those thoughts, realize that they are deceptive and ruinous, and inspire myself once again that I can do this?
Really.
But the stress monster has been nipping at my heels lately.
My job is becoming a little more overwhelming. I want to do more here, and I want to learn, but the more I know, the more I can do, and the more I have assigned to me. I feel a teeny bit over my head right now. for some reason, this feeling makes me want to
a) quit my job and only deal with social/family/general life responsibilities
b) go back in time to college (why did it pass so quickly)
c) run screaming
I have not done any of those things (to be fair, only option c is actually possible unless someone lends me a time machine).
The weird thing is how stress affects all parts of your life. I feel like I am doing okay not letting stress invade and take over my life until I realize little things. I fall asleep during conversations and movies I am enjoying. I realize that my jaw hurts because I have suddenly started clenching my teeth; when and why, I don't know. Josh tells me that I am snoring, breathing loudly, and moving a lot in my sleep. I have dreams about work.
I am normally a very heavy sleeper. I fall asleep and stay in whatever position I was in until morning. Lately I'm having trouble falling asleep at the right times and staying asleep, and waking up is a challenge. I toss and turn and wake up frequently. I have begun to remember a lot of my dreams, and among them are dreams of work. Many are mundane; I dream of things I haven't done or need to do, or sending email, or sitting at my desk. A memorable one last weekend was that my job was sending me to Florida for a week. I had a mixture of excitement and sadness. I knew it was a good opportunity for me, but it was taking me away from my home and family. Then they came to pick me up for the airport and I didn't have pants on. I know this is a typical "feeling unprepared" dream, but I remember the disappointment of my co-workers the most. It seemed to drag on and on and never in the dream did I find some pants.
I need a vacation.
But seriously, do I listen to dreams and the feeling I keep shoving into the back of my mind that this job may be too much for me, or do I ignore those thoughts, realize that they are deceptive and ruinous, and inspire myself once again that I can do this?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
There is beauty all around.
It is in the sky, the swaying of the trees, the formation of clouds above our heads.
It is in the sweeping lines of architecture, silhouette of buildings rising above city lights, the movement of the city, traffic flowing between pillars of concrete and glass.
It is so important that we see the beauty around us, and appreciate it. I received a phone call last night from my fiance. I was driving home from work in downtown LA. I had put in eight hours that day, twelve the day before, and was stuck in traffic. I was exhausted. The sun was setting and it began to drizzle. He thanked me, for dealing with the things I have been dealing with lately with a smile. For continuing to care for him during an illness while I was tired and emotionally drained. The beauty of it was that, while I so appreciated his call and the fact that he noticed, I didn't need to hear it. I wouldn't have done things any differently.
I hope that I am not simply repressing my feelings right now. I had a good long cry Saturday, the kind that gives you a headache that no amount of Aleve can take away for the remainder of the day. Now I'm happy, suspiciously so. I probably shouldn't be. Despite my best intentions to "choose each day" to be happy, to make happiness a choice, no matter what the circumstance, I am surprised at how easy I am finding it today.
It is in the sky, the swaying of the trees, the formation of clouds above our heads.
It is in the sweeping lines of architecture, silhouette of buildings rising above city lights, the movement of the city, traffic flowing between pillars of concrete and glass.
It is so important that we see the beauty around us, and appreciate it. I received a phone call last night from my fiance. I was driving home from work in downtown LA. I had put in eight hours that day, twelve the day before, and was stuck in traffic. I was exhausted. The sun was setting and it began to drizzle. He thanked me, for dealing with the things I have been dealing with lately with a smile. For continuing to care for him during an illness while I was tired and emotionally drained. The beauty of it was that, while I so appreciated his call and the fact that he noticed, I didn't need to hear it. I wouldn't have done things any differently.
I hope that I am not simply repressing my feelings right now. I had a good long cry Saturday, the kind that gives you a headache that no amount of Aleve can take away for the remainder of the day. Now I'm happy, suspiciously so. I probably shouldn't be. Despite my best intentions to "choose each day" to be happy, to make happiness a choice, no matter what the circumstance, I am surprised at how easy I am finding it today.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine's Day
I have adjusted the colors of my blog just for this happy day!
Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays, simply for its colors. You have to admit that there are few things girlier or cheerier than pink and red, bespeckled with hearts and flowers. I know it is a silly, perhaps useless holiday, but I have no problem with his. I realize that no one celebrates the day on which birds supposedly choose their mates for the reasons it was created, but this antiquated Victorian holiday has its merits. Why not celebrate a day that could be, if Valentine's Day did not exist, a normal thursday? It can still be a normal Thursday if you choose, and I have no problem with that, but let's discuss Valentine's Day Haters.
Restaraunts cost more and are crowded.
It makes single people feel like crap.
The holiday is mercilessly marketed to hapless husbands.
Women are raised to expect something special on this day.
Those were the things I do not like about Valentine's Day. However, I have some very similar complaints about Christmas. Christmas has become a holiday that has nothing to do with the religious meaning of the day, and instead is a chance to prove that you are worthy of buying gifts for others. It is a chance to show off your knowledge of friends and family, shopping skills, and bank account balance. Valentine's Day almost falls into this trap, however, I do not know one single woman that expects the diamond tennis bracelet or obligatory box of chocolates. I don't even know very many women who observe this holiday at all. I think most men feel much less pressure on this holiday, ironically, than they do on Christmas.
Restaraunts are crowded and expensive, but here's the great thing: you don't have to go to one. Stay home, or go out another night. Valentine's Day isn't the only day you can ever go out to dinner.
Last but not least, let's talk about being single on this day. I always thought Valentine's Day was akin to friendship day. Aren't we raised to shower our friends in valentines and candy? I have never had a problem with it as a single or attached person, and you shouldn't, either. Most of the people I have known who "boycotted" Valentine's Day, wearing black and spouting out about the downfalls of love, were those who most desperately wanted to be in a relationship. I was even told once in High School that it was unfair for some to be happy or in love on Valentine's Day as it made others depressed. So happy people should pretend to be unhappy? Or could we all find something positive in this silly day and enjoy it?
Valentine's Day means different things to different people. For us, it is an excuse to spend a night together, talking. And like so many others, it will not be a very extraordinary or different night. But that's okay. For my parents, it means nothing, as they find it to be a "Hallmark Holiday." For some, it is a birthday, and Valentine's Day matters little.* For others, it is an opressive reminder that they are alone, and for others still, it's a day to wear pink or red and eat dark chocolate. Enjoy it in your own way.
*HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KRYSTA RINKE!!
Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays, simply for its colors. You have to admit that there are few things girlier or cheerier than pink and red, bespeckled with hearts and flowers. I know it is a silly, perhaps useless holiday, but I have no problem with his. I realize that no one celebrates the day on which birds supposedly choose their mates for the reasons it was created, but this antiquated Victorian holiday has its merits. Why not celebrate a day that could be, if Valentine's Day did not exist, a normal thursday? It can still be a normal Thursday if you choose, and I have no problem with that, but let's discuss Valentine's Day Haters.
Restaraunts cost more and are crowded.
It makes single people feel like crap.
The holiday is mercilessly marketed to hapless husbands.
Women are raised to expect something special on this day.
Those were the things I do not like about Valentine's Day. However, I have some very similar complaints about Christmas. Christmas has become a holiday that has nothing to do with the religious meaning of the day, and instead is a chance to prove that you are worthy of buying gifts for others. It is a chance to show off your knowledge of friends and family, shopping skills, and bank account balance. Valentine's Day almost falls into this trap, however, I do not know one single woman that expects the diamond tennis bracelet or obligatory box of chocolates. I don't even know very many women who observe this holiday at all. I think most men feel much less pressure on this holiday, ironically, than they do on Christmas.
Restaraunts are crowded and expensive, but here's the great thing: you don't have to go to one. Stay home, or go out another night. Valentine's Day isn't the only day you can ever go out to dinner.
Last but not least, let's talk about being single on this day. I always thought Valentine's Day was akin to friendship day. Aren't we raised to shower our friends in valentines and candy? I have never had a problem with it as a single or attached person, and you shouldn't, either. Most of the people I have known who "boycotted" Valentine's Day, wearing black and spouting out about the downfalls of love, were those who most desperately wanted to be in a relationship. I was even told once in High School that it was unfair for some to be happy or in love on Valentine's Day as it made others depressed. So happy people should pretend to be unhappy? Or could we all find something positive in this silly day and enjoy it?
Valentine's Day means different things to different people. For us, it is an excuse to spend a night together, talking. And like so many others, it will not be a very extraordinary or different night. But that's okay. For my parents, it means nothing, as they find it to be a "Hallmark Holiday." For some, it is a birthday, and Valentine's Day matters little.* For others, it is an opressive reminder that they are alone, and for others still, it's a day to wear pink or red and eat dark chocolate. Enjoy it in your own way.
*HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KRYSTA RINKE!!
Monday, February 11, 2008
The brink of perfection
How lucky I am, I think, as I drive in my car, sunroof open, warm and slightly fragrant air rushing inside, grabbing my hair and pulling it toward the roof, toward freedom. Straight ahead are the mountains, covered in snow, below an endless blue sky. It is a warm but comfortable 70 degrees, early February. I stand in my kitchen, preparing a dinner for my loved one, windows open, bees buzzing lazily around plants soon to bloom. Fountains tinkle sofly. I dig in the earth, still damp from the rain, soon to be parched and dry, but for today, this one, perfect day, everything has reached the brink of perfection.
The earth is a rich, dark black, it crumbles in my hands and smells faintly woody and fertile. The sun caresses my back, my hair swirls softly around my face, as I train vines, grown rampant in the late winter rain. I gently urge them back, toward trellis' already covered in leaves and about to bloom. Within days the entire area will burst to life and color and scent. The sun will scorch or extinguish and wither, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.
I am perched now, on the back of a motorcycle, turning onto Pacific Coast Highway. Night will fall soon enough, but for now, my favorite time of day, the light is merely hinting at its eventual fade. The waves crash and the road opens ahead of us, mostly unoccupied. I feel the wind rushing around my face, smelling of salt and sage, water and land. It is clear, the sky blue and even, spreading to the horizon above the sparkling expanse of the sea. Boats dot the surface of the ocean, making tiny white lines of wake as they cross, lazily, in front of the sun. Catalina island is silhouetted as the sun begins to drop behind it. The sky turns orange and then pink. Soon it will be gone, taking its warmth slowly, and I will remember that it is still winter, no matter how warm the day may have been, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.
The earth is a rich, dark black, it crumbles in my hands and smells faintly woody and fertile. The sun caresses my back, my hair swirls softly around my face, as I train vines, grown rampant in the late winter rain. I gently urge them back, toward trellis' already covered in leaves and about to bloom. Within days the entire area will burst to life and color and scent. The sun will scorch or extinguish and wither, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.
I am perched now, on the back of a motorcycle, turning onto Pacific Coast Highway. Night will fall soon enough, but for now, my favorite time of day, the light is merely hinting at its eventual fade. The waves crash and the road opens ahead of us, mostly unoccupied. I feel the wind rushing around my face, smelling of salt and sage, water and land. It is clear, the sky blue and even, spreading to the horizon above the sparkling expanse of the sea. Boats dot the surface of the ocean, making tiny white lines of wake as they cross, lazily, in front of the sun. Catalina island is silhouetted as the sun begins to drop behind it. The sky turns orange and then pink. Soon it will be gone, taking its warmth slowly, and I will remember that it is still winter, no matter how warm the day may have been, but for now, it is on the brink of perfection.
Friday, February 8, 2008
T.G.I.F.
I don't think anything really drives the whole, "I'm a grown-up now" message home more than my excitement (or lack of) on Fridays. Sure, it should feel like the last day of school, I should run out of here and scream my excitement to the world. But what do I do instead? I think and plan. Weekends are my only chance to get a lot of things done (like things that require sunlight) and I put so much pressure on myself to do them, that weekends can be more stressful than fun. i have weekend nights where I don't even want to do anything "fun" because I know how much I could do at home. Sheesh.
As I take a breath and try to give myself one, ONE fun or relaxing activity this weekend, my phone rings. It is my mom, asking me when i am going to clean out my room at their house and "officially" move out. I don't know where to put all of that stuff! I sigh, ask her to give it all to Good Will for me, offer her $50 to do this, and she stops me.
"I don't know what to do with this stuff. You have photo albums here, and books...if I only knew how to sell things on eBay I could make a fortune!"
"Okay, mom, stop right there. I want those books. They're just hanging out at your house until I have a really big bookcase...a library..."
I sigh again.
"Mom, can I please deal with this another time? I'm just too busy."
Clean bathrooms
Find bridesmaid dresses
Vacuum
Do laundary
Find a dj
Clean out my closet
Organize shoes
Water plants
Walk dog
Celebrate Josh's birthday....
As I take a breath and try to give myself one, ONE fun or relaxing activity this weekend, my phone rings. It is my mom, asking me when i am going to clean out my room at their house and "officially" move out. I don't know where to put all of that stuff! I sigh, ask her to give it all to Good Will for me, offer her $50 to do this, and she stops me.
"I don't know what to do with this stuff. You have photo albums here, and books...if I only knew how to sell things on eBay I could make a fortune!"
"Okay, mom, stop right there. I want those books. They're just hanging out at your house until I have a really big bookcase...a library..."
I sigh again.
"Mom, can I please deal with this another time? I'm just too busy."
Clean bathrooms
Find bridesmaid dresses
Vacuum
Do laundary
Find a dj
Clean out my closet
Organize shoes
Water plants
Walk dog
Celebrate Josh's birthday....
Thursday, February 7, 2008
An epiphany in second person
My best friend recently broke up with her boyfriend. She had the confused first week, knowing it was about to lead into the sad second week, and then she had an ephiphany. She was looking at the pictures he had sent her from his brother's wedding the weekend after their breakup. She described looking at them and just "getting it." All at once, everything became clear and she realized that they weren't meant to be together. They have nothing in common, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not talk herself into accepting that. She realized that she could never move away from her home in the city to join his life in the country (especially the countryside of Zambia). She would always be an LA girl, and he would always be a Zambia farm boy. And just like that, she was over it and ready to move on.
Have any of you ever had this experience? Were you thankful or reluctant?
Have any of you ever had this experience? Were you thankful or reluctant?
Monday, February 4, 2008
Nothing scarier than a tedddy bear...
Please, someone help me with my Nip/Tuck nightmares.
I can't stop watching the show. It's intriguing, well-written, and addictively honest. It goes where no other show would dare to. It shows the dark side of humanity in all its glory, and what better way than to set this show around two plastic surgeons? Now that they have moved the show to LA it is ten times more intriguing because of the horrific truths it reveals about my home state. They could move their office to Orange County next year and run into just as many, or more, disgusting tales of humanity at its worst.
I have been with the show through thick and thin, literally, but this week they crossed the line. I can only say that this episode dealt with remorse, AIDS, cannibalism, sex addiction, betrayal, a child-chomping teacher, the difficulty of explaining death to children, and worst of all, the "immortalization" of a Hollywood agent by a teddy bear maker. I don't think I have ever seen something so disturbing. Who would ever think of something like that? It's genius and it has kept me up at night. I felt like throwing up, or ripping out my eyes, or destroying my memory somehow. I have not stopped thinking about it. I don't know why this particular thing grossed me out more than the myriad disgusting and freakish things I have seen before, but it has really stuck with me. I must have something against teddy bears.
I can't stop watching the show. It's intriguing, well-written, and addictively honest. It goes where no other show would dare to. It shows the dark side of humanity in all its glory, and what better way than to set this show around two plastic surgeons? Now that they have moved the show to LA it is ten times more intriguing because of the horrific truths it reveals about my home state. They could move their office to Orange County next year and run into just as many, or more, disgusting tales of humanity at its worst.
I have been with the show through thick and thin, literally, but this week they crossed the line. I can only say that this episode dealt with remorse, AIDS, cannibalism, sex addiction, betrayal, a child-chomping teacher, the difficulty of explaining death to children, and worst of all, the "immortalization" of a Hollywood agent by a teddy bear maker. I don't think I have ever seen something so disturbing. Who would ever think of something like that? It's genius and it has kept me up at night. I felt like throwing up, or ripping out my eyes, or destroying my memory somehow. I have not stopped thinking about it. I don't know why this particular thing grossed me out more than the myriad disgusting and freakish things I have seen before, but it has really stuck with me. I must have something against teddy bears.
Knowing just what you need when you need it
I had an interesting weekend, to say the least. Friday night I had dinner with my parents and my dad's friend who helped Josh with his bike. She had some exciting news to share: she is three and a half months pregnant. She and her husband married last April and I have been hoping that this news was coming coon.
Saturday started with some sleeping in, which was wonderful. Josh and I had a nice, relaxing day. I was in bed when he came home from work and he laughed at me and the dog, all snuggled up. Sunday I woke up to rain, which was disappointing for Josh who had a bike ride planned. He told me to bundle up and wear my old tennis shoes, and we went across the street to the park and jumped in puddles with the dog. I love how he knows what is best for me, and that he appreciates that I might be the only 23-year-old who loves to jump in puddles and play in the rain. Not only did he suggest this, but he laughed with pride and happiness as I ran and jumped and get subsequently soaked. He saw that I didn't care, and he joined me. We ran together through the rain and into dugouts, dodging (or choosing to step in) puddles and little rivers of water as the rain poured from the sky. I ran errands in the rain and brought in my groceries and began to make cookies. When there was a large pile I sent them with Josh to his friends' house for the Super Bowl. Niki came over and we watched Sex in the City and at about dusk, after she left, I decided to take a bath. As I got into the fragrant water, the lights in the bathroom began to turn on and off. Freaked out and overwhelmed, I ran out of the bathtub and shut off the lights. i tried the hall lights, they were turning on and off. The living room was fine. I decided to look for a flashlight just in case. As I turned, the tv clicked, and all the power was out. I called Josh on my cell and it started beeping at me. He didn't answer, and the phone died. I started to feel like I was in a horror movie. I blew out the candles, grabbed my flashlight and dog, and got in the car. i drove to Josh's friend's house, despite having on no makeup, and sat on the couch with them for the remainder of the game, which was lucky, because it was a great 9 minutes.
We came home to still no power, and no promise of it until the next day. I have always kind of liked power outages. They force you to break away from technology and appreciate the beauty and power of candlelight. However, I had a fridge full of groceries which would surely rot overnight. Our neighbors came to the rescue with a super extension cord and we were on our way. I got a call from Josh just now telling me that the power is back on, and for that, I am glad. As much as I like the romanticism of my post-electrical world, I need a hot shower and my blowdrier.
Although my wonderful fiance did tell me this morning, "if it's not on tomorrow, we'll just have to go out to dinner and then talk all night." I would have liked that...
Saturday started with some sleeping in, which was wonderful. Josh and I had a nice, relaxing day. I was in bed when he came home from work and he laughed at me and the dog, all snuggled up. Sunday I woke up to rain, which was disappointing for Josh who had a bike ride planned. He told me to bundle up and wear my old tennis shoes, and we went across the street to the park and jumped in puddles with the dog. I love how he knows what is best for me, and that he appreciates that I might be the only 23-year-old who loves to jump in puddles and play in the rain. Not only did he suggest this, but he laughed with pride and happiness as I ran and jumped and get subsequently soaked. He saw that I didn't care, and he joined me. We ran together through the rain and into dugouts, dodging (or choosing to step in) puddles and little rivers of water as the rain poured from the sky. I ran errands in the rain and brought in my groceries and began to make cookies. When there was a large pile I sent them with Josh to his friends' house for the Super Bowl. Niki came over and we watched Sex in the City and at about dusk, after she left, I decided to take a bath. As I got into the fragrant water, the lights in the bathroom began to turn on and off. Freaked out and overwhelmed, I ran out of the bathtub and shut off the lights. i tried the hall lights, they were turning on and off. The living room was fine. I decided to look for a flashlight just in case. As I turned, the tv clicked, and all the power was out. I called Josh on my cell and it started beeping at me. He didn't answer, and the phone died. I started to feel like I was in a horror movie. I blew out the candles, grabbed my flashlight and dog, and got in the car. i drove to Josh's friend's house, despite having on no makeup, and sat on the couch with them for the remainder of the game, which was lucky, because it was a great 9 minutes.
We came home to still no power, and no promise of it until the next day. I have always kind of liked power outages. They force you to break away from technology and appreciate the beauty and power of candlelight. However, I had a fridge full of groceries which would surely rot overnight. Our neighbors came to the rescue with a super extension cord and we were on our way. I got a call from Josh just now telling me that the power is back on, and for that, I am glad. As much as I like the romanticism of my post-electrical world, I need a hot shower and my blowdrier.
Although my wonderful fiance did tell me this morning, "if it's not on tomorrow, we'll just have to go out to dinner and then talk all night." I would have liked that...
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Love yourself
Why can't we love ourselves for who we are, for the way we look?
Why is how we look now never good enough?
How is it that the idea of beauty that I have, one I reject fundamentally but realize I have internalized, is so set in my mind?
How do I destroy it and love myself for who I am?
There is beauty in you; please see it.
Why is how we look now never good enough?
How is it that the idea of beauty that I have, one I reject fundamentally but realize I have internalized, is so set in my mind?
How do I destroy it and love myself for who I am?
There is beauty in you; please see it.
When do we reach that point that we realize our state of mind has nothing, or very little, to do with the events of our day or overall condition of our lives, but something deeper, darker, and beyond our control?
I am never awake at this time of night anymore, and it saddens me. But then, what doesn't these days? I feel most creative now. This is self-destructive. I will self-destruct. I would.
I won't.
I am never awake at this time of night anymore, and it saddens me. But then, what doesn't these days? I feel most creative now. This is self-destructive. I will self-destruct. I would.
I won't.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Cheating
I want to cheat.
*note: do not continue reading if you are easily offended, but most importantly, if you are hungry and/or on a diet.
Let me just tell you what I would eat, assuming my diet disappeared and my body looked great already!
A big bowl of spaghetti.
A cupcake with sprinkles.
A big pepsi with ice from Taco Bell.
Nachos.
Oh my gosh rice cakes are so not doing it for me today! And what's for lunch? Hummas, pita, snow peas. Hmmm...
*note: do not continue reading if you are easily offended, but most importantly, if you are hungry and/or on a diet.
Let me just tell you what I would eat, assuming my diet disappeared and my body looked great already!
A big bowl of spaghetti.
A cupcake with sprinkles.
A big pepsi with ice from Taco Bell.
Nachos.
Oh my gosh rice cakes are so not doing it for me today! And what's for lunch? Hummas, pita, snow peas. Hmmm...
New Post
Oh the possibilty.
Blank paper.
Empty Word doc.
Free evening.
Day off.
Extra ten minutes.
Clear calendar square.
Lunch break.
I shudder at the thought. Oh emptiness, how I crave you in times of overwhelming full-ness. Who knew being alone could be so fulfilling?
Blank paper.
Empty Word doc.
Free evening.
Day off.
Extra ten minutes.
Clear calendar square.
Lunch break.
I shudder at the thought. Oh emptiness, how I crave you in times of overwhelming full-ness. Who knew being alone could be so fulfilling?
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The truth in dreams
I have remembered many dreams lately. I do not usually. Perhaps this means that I am simply not sleeping well, perhaps something in my subconscious is trying to get my attention. Early Saturday morning I had a dream that my baby brother had died. I was hysterical, stammering on about his potential, the person that we knew he would become, and the fact that he never got there. I was full of the most excruciating pain. My brother and I are not very close, and I go back and forth between trying to have a relationship with him and then pulling away with the realization that I will get hurt again, or the fear that I am enabling his behavior. My brother is not an addict--which I feel I must say lest the "enabling" comment be misinterpreted, he is simply emotionally immature, and his behavior hurts my family. I awoke to the confusion of awaking from a bad dream and realizing that it is over, and touched my fingers to my cheeks tenatively to feel the moisture of tears, which had spilled down my face, over my chin, and into the warmth of my neck. This dream had really affected me. I felt strange for days. I called my brother, with no response, as usual. I thought of him that morning as I ran errands and bought him a small gift. No response as of yet. I asked my parents about him about 6 times since then. I still feel like something is wrong.
Last night, perhaps in relation to the post I had written about my current overwhelmed response to weddings in general, I had a wedding dream. My mom had talked me into getting married sooner, in her backyard. I was getting ready at her neighbor's house and waiting for my best friends to get there. I was nervous and upset at the short amount of time I had to get ready and they were late due to the seriously short notice I had given them. I was excited, also, until i put on my dress. It was in the state it was when last I saw it--as of yet un-altered. My dress' neckline is low and I am in the process of having it raised to become more "appropriate" and in my dream I am wearing a tank top under the dress. A tank top under a Monique Lhuillier. I am also wearing a bra with straps. I guess in my dream I didn't have time to grab the bag containing the special, and appropriate undergarments I have already purchased. My friends burst into the room and begin to help me, and I instantly regret everything. My beautiful dress is wrinkly and the tank top looks terrible and I become hysterically upset and angry at my mother (remember she made me do this--why I have no idea). I suddenly can't believe that I chose a backyard over a venue or a church. The officiant comes in (who for some reason is dressed like the Pope) and sees me in my hysterical state. He asks me if I am having cold feet, and I look him in the eye and shout, not about the marriage, about the WEDDING! This is terrible! I wake up.
Is it the pressure my mom is placing on me right now? The ideas she is forcing on me that I do not like? Is my subconscious trying to tell me that the long engagement was a good idea to prevent the stress I experienced in this dream? before I chose my wonderful venue I had dreams about the venue my mom wanted me to choose and its lack of a real aisle. i guess I dreamed of this dramatic entrance to the wedding and so this venue didn't have enough "drama." In the dream, I would be excited and about to walk down the aisle, and then instantly panic that the guests would see me walking to the aisle and it wouldn't be dramatic and that is just "wasn't right." What's next?
Later that night I had a dream of being trapped in an elevator which is tipping sideways inside of the elevator shaft and no one knows how to get me out. I am calling 911 and getting through, but the operator tells me calmly that she doesn't know how to help me, and to just stay calm. For what?! Just as i fear the elevator is going to turn completely sideways and plummet down the shaft, a crowbar comes bursting into the compartment, rips a hole in the side wall, and I am lifted out by my dad, along with my brother and other people that I recognize as my dad's employees. I have no idea what that one means.
Last night, perhaps in relation to the post I had written about my current overwhelmed response to weddings in general, I had a wedding dream. My mom had talked me into getting married sooner, in her backyard. I was getting ready at her neighbor's house and waiting for my best friends to get there. I was nervous and upset at the short amount of time I had to get ready and they were late due to the seriously short notice I had given them. I was excited, also, until i put on my dress. It was in the state it was when last I saw it--as of yet un-altered. My dress' neckline is low and I am in the process of having it raised to become more "appropriate" and in my dream I am wearing a tank top under the dress. A tank top under a Monique Lhuillier. I am also wearing a bra with straps. I guess in my dream I didn't have time to grab the bag containing the special, and appropriate undergarments I have already purchased. My friends burst into the room and begin to help me, and I instantly regret everything. My beautiful dress is wrinkly and the tank top looks terrible and I become hysterically upset and angry at my mother (remember she made me do this--why I have no idea). I suddenly can't believe that I chose a backyard over a venue or a church. The officiant comes in (who for some reason is dressed like the Pope) and sees me in my hysterical state. He asks me if I am having cold feet, and I look him in the eye and shout, not about the marriage, about the WEDDING! This is terrible! I wake up.
Is it the pressure my mom is placing on me right now? The ideas she is forcing on me that I do not like? Is my subconscious trying to tell me that the long engagement was a good idea to prevent the stress I experienced in this dream? before I chose my wonderful venue I had dreams about the venue my mom wanted me to choose and its lack of a real aisle. i guess I dreamed of this dramatic entrance to the wedding and so this venue didn't have enough "drama." In the dream, I would be excited and about to walk down the aisle, and then instantly panic that the guests would see me walking to the aisle and it wouldn't be dramatic and that is just "wasn't right." What's next?
Later that night I had a dream of being trapped in an elevator which is tipping sideways inside of the elevator shaft and no one knows how to get me out. I am calling 911 and getting through, but the operator tells me calmly that she doesn't know how to help me, and to just stay calm. For what?! Just as i fear the elevator is going to turn completely sideways and plummet down the shaft, a crowbar comes bursting into the compartment, rips a hole in the side wall, and I am lifted out by my dad, along with my brother and other people that I recognize as my dad's employees. I have no idea what that one means.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
I'm going to admit it
Call TMZ. Heck, call my therapist. I have a problem, a big problem.
I am sick, so so sick, of hearing about weddings. That includes my own. I am going to admit that while I am glad we waited and had a long engagement, some part of me wishes it were over and that I could move on. I think it's the overwhelming pressure placed on MY wedding to be something DIFFERENT than the ten million other weddings that come before mine. Whatever. Thinking about weddings makes me want to puke right now. I have had to talk (and think about! and plan!) my rehearsal dinner-albeit 8 months away. We just booked our honeymoon, and the stress of making ONE MORE DECISION was overwhelming. My mom calls me daily about djs, florists, table number card holder things, and I simply don't want to hear about it. I need a vacation from thinking about this event. I'm done. I want to call someone in to make all the other decisions for me (someone with great taste).
I have always had this fear that if I was exposed to too many weddings I would never be able to have one of my own. You see people doing the same things (yes, I know we call those things "traditions" and that there is a reason we all do them) and I start to feel as though it is fake, predictable, cheesy. I have sat at a wedding and cried tears of sadness at the tragically sad way this "joyous event" was carried out. I feel like fake rings and plastic cake toppers and the whole wedding aisle at Michael's gives me hives. On the other hand, spending ridiculous amounts of money is not what the day is about. yes, I want something elegant, classy, and beautiful, but I hate that the wedding industry tries to sell you this dream, assuming that all females want it. Sure, I want the normal stuff. I only plan on doing this once and I want "the day." But being forced to talk wedding and watch weddings and participate in them...thank God I am not an attendant in any of the ten million weddings coming up. I seriously dream about the day AFTER the supposed "greatest day of my life," of unpacking my new dishware and cooking something beautiful on it. Of sleeping all Sunday and just being a normal human being. I hate that bridal store attendants try to sell you this childish bride-image that they think you absolutely cannot live without, at any price. I want to buy a house, decorate it, plant a large garden, adopt another dog, all things that take post-wedding money and time. I don't think that this day, sacred as it is, requires a spending spree. Does spending more of my parents' money mean that I love my fiance any more? I think not.
Why am I so angry? How do wedding professionals do it? How can you watch weddings over and over and not help but feel that these people are doomed, cheesy, predictable? This is not cold feet about the man, it's my reservations on the process. Just hearing "wedding" or "bride" just makes me shudder. Is something wrong with me? And when did we remove the importance from this process? I'll admit guilt on my Christmas celebrating, it is more style than substance. it is more about the gifts than the birth of Jesus. Sure, that's sad, but the wedding? How did the event start to overshadow the momentous commitment you are making? I feel sick for ever having opened a bridal magazine. So sick, in fact, that I feel like going home tonight and purging each and every one. i need to start from scratch and figure things out on my own.
I am sick, so so sick, of hearing about weddings. That includes my own. I am going to admit that while I am glad we waited and had a long engagement, some part of me wishes it were over and that I could move on. I think it's the overwhelming pressure placed on MY wedding to be something DIFFERENT than the ten million other weddings that come before mine. Whatever. Thinking about weddings makes me want to puke right now. I have had to talk (and think about! and plan!) my rehearsal dinner-albeit 8 months away. We just booked our honeymoon, and the stress of making ONE MORE DECISION was overwhelming. My mom calls me daily about djs, florists, table number card holder things, and I simply don't want to hear about it. I need a vacation from thinking about this event. I'm done. I want to call someone in to make all the other decisions for me (someone with great taste).
I have always had this fear that if I was exposed to too many weddings I would never be able to have one of my own. You see people doing the same things (yes, I know we call those things "traditions" and that there is a reason we all do them) and I start to feel as though it is fake, predictable, cheesy. I have sat at a wedding and cried tears of sadness at the tragically sad way this "joyous event" was carried out. I feel like fake rings and plastic cake toppers and the whole wedding aisle at Michael's gives me hives. On the other hand, spending ridiculous amounts of money is not what the day is about. yes, I want something elegant, classy, and beautiful, but I hate that the wedding industry tries to sell you this dream, assuming that all females want it. Sure, I want the normal stuff. I only plan on doing this once and I want "the day." But being forced to talk wedding and watch weddings and participate in them...thank God I am not an attendant in any of the ten million weddings coming up. I seriously dream about the day AFTER the supposed "greatest day of my life," of unpacking my new dishware and cooking something beautiful on it. Of sleeping all Sunday and just being a normal human being. I hate that bridal store attendants try to sell you this childish bride-image that they think you absolutely cannot live without, at any price. I want to buy a house, decorate it, plant a large garden, adopt another dog, all things that take post-wedding money and time. I don't think that this day, sacred as it is, requires a spending spree. Does spending more of my parents' money mean that I love my fiance any more? I think not.
Why am I so angry? How do wedding professionals do it? How can you watch weddings over and over and not help but feel that these people are doomed, cheesy, predictable? This is not cold feet about the man, it's my reservations on the process. Just hearing "wedding" or "bride" just makes me shudder. Is something wrong with me? And when did we remove the importance from this process? I'll admit guilt on my Christmas celebrating, it is more style than substance. it is more about the gifts than the birth of Jesus. Sure, that's sad, but the wedding? How did the event start to overshadow the momentous commitment you are making? I feel sick for ever having opened a bridal magazine. So sick, in fact, that I feel like going home tonight and purging each and every one. i need to start from scratch and figure things out on my own.
Friday, January 18, 2008
New Beginnings, a.k.a. what you can and can not change
I just realized that my last post was my first of 2008. I do not usually make a big deal of New Years or the changing of the calendar, I don't normally do any of the ritualistic "firsts" and "lasts"--I find them depressing. But this year has been a little different and a little more challenging.
2007 (that's last year for those of you who are still behind) began with bright hopes for the future. I had recently gotten engaged and had set a wedding date, and I was excited for the rush of the holiday season to pass and for the exciting ventures ahead. I planned an engagement party and picked a venue, the proverbial ball was rolling. We had chosen our time, the time that was right for us, to make this sacred and most important commitment. We were surrounded by friends and family that, for the most part, were not only happy, they were overjoyed for us. Then Josh's cousin got engaged, then his sister, best friend, and two other friends. They all planned weddings during the early to mid parts of 2008. They all planned weddings before ours. Now it has begun to seem trite and predictable, and I worry that people will be sick of weddings by the time ours rolls around, the moment that we planned with purpose and intention. But, I must accept what I cannot change. They might be sick of weddings, but then they can go home and leave us to celebrate. The commitment is about the two of us and our families.
2008 started with a snore, as I was sick and Josh stayed in with me and we were sleeping over the midnight hour. Then we were off to Montana and I told myself that when we returned home, dieting would commence. I am not one to put off the onset of a diet, but dieting on vacation is silly. I must say that through the holidays, knowing that this diet was in my future kept me from taking extra helpings and more than my share of cookies. So, two weeks into my diet I am happy to report that the upper area of my stomach is beautifully defined and you can barely pinch the skin. I feel really validated for getting up at 5:30 and jogging before work, rationing myself to six small meals a day, counting out crackers so I do not exceed my serving. However, and I know it's only been two weeks, but still--my lower stomach does not look any different. It is not smaller, it is no where near the point where definition would show up, and it doesn't feel any better. And that is how I manage my weight loss, I do not weigh myself because to me, the number means very little. I like to judge how I look and feel, how my clothes fit. I don't expect to look like Brooke Burke overnight, but come on! A little help here! And that is when I must accept what I cannot change. That is just how my body looks at its best. And my best is all I can do. In a society where a size six is viewed as "thick" you can't blame me for wanting more, but I need to be happy with what I do have.
So I continue on my new "healthy" beginning, hoping for a seamless 2008, despite my attendance at 5 weddings and their accompanying parties as well as my own.
And hey, maybe high-waisted pants really will come back in style. And when they do, I'll be looking great in them!
2007 (that's last year for those of you who are still behind) began with bright hopes for the future. I had recently gotten engaged and had set a wedding date, and I was excited for the rush of the holiday season to pass and for the exciting ventures ahead. I planned an engagement party and picked a venue, the proverbial ball was rolling. We had chosen our time, the time that was right for us, to make this sacred and most important commitment. We were surrounded by friends and family that, for the most part, were not only happy, they were overjoyed for us. Then Josh's cousin got engaged, then his sister, best friend, and two other friends. They all planned weddings during the early to mid parts of 2008. They all planned weddings before ours. Now it has begun to seem trite and predictable, and I worry that people will be sick of weddings by the time ours rolls around, the moment that we planned with purpose and intention. But, I must accept what I cannot change. They might be sick of weddings, but then they can go home and leave us to celebrate. The commitment is about the two of us and our families.
2008 started with a snore, as I was sick and Josh stayed in with me and we were sleeping over the midnight hour. Then we were off to Montana and I told myself that when we returned home, dieting would commence. I am not one to put off the onset of a diet, but dieting on vacation is silly. I must say that through the holidays, knowing that this diet was in my future kept me from taking extra helpings and more than my share of cookies. So, two weeks into my diet I am happy to report that the upper area of my stomach is beautifully defined and you can barely pinch the skin. I feel really validated for getting up at 5:30 and jogging before work, rationing myself to six small meals a day, counting out crackers so I do not exceed my serving. However, and I know it's only been two weeks, but still--my lower stomach does not look any different. It is not smaller, it is no where near the point where definition would show up, and it doesn't feel any better. And that is how I manage my weight loss, I do not weigh myself because to me, the number means very little. I like to judge how I look and feel, how my clothes fit. I don't expect to look like Brooke Burke overnight, but come on! A little help here! And that is when I must accept what I cannot change. That is just how my body looks at its best. And my best is all I can do. In a society where a size six is viewed as "thick" you can't blame me for wanting more, but I need to be happy with what I do have.
So I continue on my new "healthy" beginning, hoping for a seamless 2008, despite my attendance at 5 weddings and their accompanying parties as well as my own.
And hey, maybe high-waisted pants really will come back in style. And when they do, I'll be looking great in them!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Third Time's a Charm
I will admit willingly that I am a control freak. A passive-aggressive one. Figure that out. Anyway, I like to have control over myself and the situations I place myself in. The problem arises when i have no control over the situations I find myself dropped into. I will also admit that sometimes, sometimes, I feel as though I know better than others what they should do with their own lives (don't blame me, I have individualization!*). I want to help them, guide them toward smoother waters, point out the chaos in order to end it for them. But then, my logical brain tells me to shut up, because, after all, "since we all have opinions, we are all opinionated, which means that 'opinionated' is just another word for 'bossy'" - K. Ward
Wow, i just quoted myself in my own writing. Someone is feeling a little cheeky today!
I'll stop now. But with this closing thought: here's to those who want to help, and here's to the frustration that comes from knowing that your advice won't be taken. To my similar humans, i sympathize and empathize, and i wish you all the best.
*If you don't know what this is, you should take StrengthsFinder.
Wow, i just quoted myself in my own writing. Someone is feeling a little cheeky today!
I'll stop now. But with this closing thought: here's to those who want to help, and here's to the frustration that comes from knowing that your advice won't be taken. To my similar humans, i sympathize and empathize, and i wish you all the best.
*If you don't know what this is, you should take StrengthsFinder.
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