Retro-Blog 2007

I wrote this four years ago:

Now is the time to love you beyond the lined spaces and into the margins. I do this for days that marginalize us. Today I will pour out my love until your cup runneth over. Later you will need this to quench your thirst. Hold on to these leftovers; I will not have you begging for scraps. I love you richly today to prepare us for a lean and mean tomorrow. My love causes walls to tumble, boundaries to crumble. It throws everything off balance, off kilter, out of orbit, and out of whack.

I don't know if I still believe in any of this. I'm not even sure to whom, if anyone, I was writing. Just more questions I get to live...

Retro-Blog: Chile 2009: The Bulleted List

·         Jumbo – The Chilean Target

·         Casuelo de invierno – chicken soup with rice, corn, potato, cilantro, carrots

·         Once  -- Chilean dinner – usually a light meal (bread, meat, cheese ,fruit, tea)

·         Lemon soda

·         Juliana and Michel, the Colombian couple who took us in

·         Sofia, their adorable 1 ½ year old daughter

·         Different meanings of the word taco: traffic jam, food (obviously), heel of a shoe, notepad/Post-Its

·         “When I think of Texas, I think of religion and guns.”

·         Riding the acensor in Valparaiso and feeling like a character in The Motorcycle Diaries

·         Ocean Pacific, a submarine-themed restaurant

·         VIkingos, a Viking-themed restaurant where they light your soup on fire

2012 Goals

I figured for this upcoming year I'd focus on setting tangible goals, rather than abstract or vaguely formed "resolutions" that I may or may not keep. Here are a few that I've come up with so far (and yes, I'm open to suggestions):

1. Try to look my age: Specifically, try to dress less like a teenager and more like an adult. Maybe rock heels a little more often. (Might as well take advantage of the fact that I'm short.) Also, make more of an effort when it comes to wearing eye makeup.

2. Run at least one 5K in 2012. Even if it's just the Turkey Trot. Currently, I can do a little over 2 miles on a treadmill, so this seems like a realistic goal. I'm also determined to do at least a few yoga poses and crunches on a daily or near-daily basis.

3. At least once a month, participate in some sort of community outreach.

4. At least once a month, go on a date or do a MeetUp. (This would be an attempt to broaden my horizons, since I can be cautious to a fault.)

5. GET A JOB.

6. Gain 12 more pounds over the course of the next year so I can give blood. Do so in a HEALTHY manner.

Life or Something Like It

What defines a life? Is it the sum of one's experiences, the quality of one's relationships, or something in between? As an introvert, I've never thought of myself as a people person. But when I look back on my life so far, I realize it hasn't been so much about what I've done as who I've done it with. I think we forget that sometimes as a species. We want to quantify things. We set goals and make bucket lists, we convince ourselves that if we can just accomplish ABC, then we'll be happy, or that we need to do x or visit y before we die. But what about the small town citizen who doesn't make it out of her home state, or win a Nobel Peace Prize, but has a supportive and close knit circle of family and friends? Assuming that person is happy, even through sheer willpower, can you really say that such  a person never lived because she never stood in Times Square? I wouldn't.

Please understand that, in no way am I knocking experiences. I'm incredibly grateful, for example, that I have had the opportunity that I've had to travel abroad and see certain bands live. Even some of the more painful stuff I've been through has been beneficial in terms of helping me to appreciate what I still have and increasing my reliance on the Creator.

I guess one of the questions that I'm currently living is, at what point do you say no to a new experience, no matter how appealing it may seem? I'm not talking so much about choosing not to experience, say, cocaine, but more gray area stuff...experiences that might bring you a sense of ephemeral happiness but at the expense of existing relationships? Where does one draw the line?

Fiction/Nonfiction

Fiction is escapism.  We watch movies and read works of fiction to relieve boredom, or to experience something happier or sadder than our own experience. We allow ourselves to get lost in fantasies or borderline realities, if only for a little while.

Nonfiction is escapism. We insulate ourselves with knowledge and factoids. We long to be part of something bigger than ourselves. And, let’s face it: it’s hard to pity ourselves for our first world problems when we discover how much worse off others in the world (or in history) actually are (or were).

Funny Girl?

I wish I could write funny stuff. Not just amusing stuff, not just a snappy one-liner, but the kind of short story/essay/novel that makes you ell oh ell. I don't get it. I'm a pretty funny person in real life. I hang out with a lot of funny people. Most of the movies and TV shows I like are comedies. My choice of reading material is a little more varied -- I can read a sad book much more easily than I can watch a sad movie -- so maybe that's the reason for the discrepency.

I guess the main thing at this point is that I keep writing. I have my laptop back after a brief hiatus, so that should make things a little bit easier. Not sure if I'll publish anything ever or not. My main focus at the moment is to actually finish something other than a blog entry.

Grappling With Forgiveness

I'm currently dealing with some issues pertaining to forgiveness in my personal life. This has led me to Scripture and prayer, and also to living my way through some tough questions. I know, for example, that Christians are commanded to forgive. If we forgive much we will be forgiven much, and if we forgive little we will be forgiven little. But let's say you're in the process of forgiving someone. They've hurt you, however unintentionally, in several different ways, and you find yourself, in your human frailty, only capable of forgiving one thing at a time. I want to believe that this is a decent start, that it's better than not forgiving at all. But is that how God will reward such forgiveness? If I only forgive gradually, will God only forgive me gradually? Or does God's greatness exceed that?

I'm also living through the question of reconciliation. If the offender is a brother in Christ, am  I morally obligated to reinstate the friendship once all issues of forgiveness have been dealt with? Or should I merely just wish such a person well and move on with my life? If the person has apologized for something specific, should I let them know that I've forgiven them? Or does that just seem holier-than-thou?

And So It Ends

With sadness on my end. With possible indifference on yours. With me wishing I could take everything back, yet fearing what else  I may be capable of saying. Knowing this is best for you. Hoping it's best for me. Knowing I will live through it, but wanting to sleep until I get to that point. Weary of your unkindness, of my unkindness, of man's inhumanity to man, of the cruel cliche that is hurting the ones we claim to love.

Dreamstuff

Yesterday, my friend Delmar reminded me of a pretty disturbing dream that I had back in college. I dreamed that I was at church, taking Communion, but olive juice was substituted for the usual grape. Even stranger, there were strippers in the dream. As agnostic as I felt in college, it was pretty creepy stuff.

I shared this bizarre dream with a handful of friends and relatives the next morning, and arrived at a few possible interpretations. Among them: that it was allegorical of hypocrisy within the church; that it represented my own guilt over my lack of faith; that it was a reminder that Jesus himself hung out with tax gatherers and sinners; that I ate some bad pizza that night.

I don't usually remember my dreams, but here, for your consideration, are a couple of other strange ones that I've had:

1. Right after my mom died, I dreamed that I heard a hissing noise coming from the bathroom. I looked under the sink to discover that the pipes were leaking water. Suddenly, the pipes jumped out from under the sink (I don't know how else to describe it) and started writhing like possessed snakes, spraying water everywhere. I ran screaming into the living room, where my mom was asleep on the couch. Then I remember she was dead...and she vanished before my eyes...and I woke up.

2. I had a nightmare last summer that two people I cared about very deeply were planning to commit suicide. Everyone knew somehow, but I was the only one who cared. The two people were busy during most of the dream tying up loose ends -- making phone calls, giving away personal possessions - -as casually as one might go about performing daily errands. One of them fastened a necklace around my neck at one point, causing me to scream in the dream, but not in real life.

I've always wondered if dreams always have a purpose, if they're always meant to be interpreted. If so, does it take a special spiritual gift (like Joseph had) or earthly knowledge (like Freud had)? Are some dreams from God, and others from the Enemy? Or is it all just a bunch of randomly firing neurons and subconscious shenanigans?

Fictional Character

His name is John Lennon Smith. Lenny to his friends. He was born the day that Lennon was shot, and, consequently, is somewhat obsessed with celebrity obituaries. Strange things happen to him when famous people die.

The author who is in the painstakingly slow process of creating him is female, around the same age as he would be, and wondering what is prompting her to write from the male perspective. Does she think it will be simpler? Less messy, perhaps? Her girl friends keep assuring her that men are simple creatures, but her experiences with them have taught her differently. Men can have layers...dark, hidden, sometimes frightening layers that mirror a darkness that she herself usually tries to outrun.

That's one theory, anyway, but perhaps our aspiring author needs to write about certain things with a healthy amount of fictional distance. Nothing too traumatic, mind you, but things that require handling with care.

Will our hero, Mr. Smith, whose surname begs to be changed, ever see life in print (or a free or cheaply self-published e-book)? Time will tell...

Fear of Writing #2

Sometimes I get fearful of saying the One Wrong Thing, like some sort of unforgiveable sin  of writing. I have no idea what that Thing is. I only know that, if and when I say it, everyone I care about will run scurrying away from me like cockroaches escaping a harsh and unflattering light. See, that's already a pretty bad metaphor...

What is It?

What is it about you that makes me say things that I would never say to anyone else? I ask you questions the way a four-year-old would ask their parents -- unfiltered, unthinking, with no sense of shame. What is it about you that breaks down all of my social graces, my sense of  decorum, my attempts at being diplomatic and polite? Some of things I've told you are dangerous, I know.  What is it about you that keeps you loyal, that keeps you coming back even when I've been cruel, even when I'm at my worst?

Confession Time

I'm a confirmed activities snob.

A friend of mine called me out on this recently after I turned down invitations to watch two different movies with him (one tearjerker and one action flick). Apparently, I tend to forget that sometimes, it's less about the activity and more about spending time with the person (or people).

Now, I have a few theories as to why this is, none of which are terribly flattering. The first is a kind of cultural snobbery. As stated in one of my previous blogs, I tend to cling to my intellect, my status as a "smart girl", with the tenacity that a rat would display while clinging to a sinking ship. Even when I don't feel "smart", I have other people assuring me that I am. As a result, I have a hard time "liking" movies, TV shows, books, etc. that aren't at least somewhat intellectually stimulating. I like the occasional "dumb" comedy, but I have a hard time with, say, reality TV shows and action movies. (Note: If you like either or both of those, I'm willing to hear you out regarding their appeal.)

There's a practical side to this. Let's say I'm at the movies. Typically, I'm spending 2 hours of my time, as well as roughly $9 for the ticket (less if it's a matinee or otherwise discounted). That's not including commute, gas, snacks, etc. Logically, I want the movie to be something that I'll enjoy. And I can totally rationalize it from a "good financial stewardship" point of view.

On a more personal note...I tend to strategically avoid sad movies like the plague. Movies where I know (or suspect) an animal or child dies are almost unbearable for me to think about, let alone watch. Movies featuring terminal illness or suicide are also hard, mainly due to my own experiences with these events. I'm not a naturally sanguine person, so I try to avoid things that are overly depressing.

But sometimes I forget that it's not always about me and what I want to do. Sometimes it's about the other person.

Which leads to another, unflattering realization that I've had about myself: even all these years after middle school, high school, and the unpopularity that dogged me during those years...even having grown up -- and assumedly grown out of my awkward stage -- I still have a hard time believing that my absence from a social setting makes that big of an impact. It's not that I see myself as a complete reject...I just have a hard time believing that I'm missed.

Then there's the anxiety factor. I've actually panicked in certain situations where I've stepped out of my comfort zone. The feeling of panic was not fun...so I try to avoid it by sticking to more familiar situations.

On a positive note, I have made some steps toward breaking out of these habits. For example, I've traveled to foreign countries. And I've started this blog, which is scarier at times than anyone reading this could possibly imagine.

I guess I'm open to suggestions on how I can continue to overcome my "activities snobbery", as well as comments on times when you all have done things that you normally wouldn't have. (Not to be confused with things you shouldn't have done...that's a whole other can of worms.)

Let's Just Change the Subject

As most of you know, I'm currently between jobs. This means that I have begun the process of interviewing. Just in case any prospective employers are reading this, let me just say that I realize that the interview process is essential to the selection of job candidates, and add that I feel I bring a pretty ample skill set to the table when it comes to being part of the workforce.

That being said, interviews are not my favorite.

I think a big part of it is the questions that you get asked during an interview. I can do fairly well with the specific ones. I can explain pretty clearly how I would be an asset to any given company, talk about my job experiences, etc. Those questions are all fine and good, and pretty straightforward and easy to answer.

It's the bigger questions that are trickier There are two in particular that I used to find downright nerve-wracking, although I'm getting better about not allowing my nerves to get wracked:

1. "Tell us about yourself." -- This one trips me up on first dates as well. The variant, "Tell us a little about yourself" isn't much better. Usually I end up regurgitating the short short version of my life story: where I grew up, where I went to school, blah blah blah. This is usually the point where I wish I had at least one exciting or unusual hobby, like white-water rafting or playing the accordion. When your hobbies are reading, writing, watching movies, and listening to music, you start to feel a little bit generic.

2. "Where do you see yourself in five years?" -- I imagine that, in a corporate setting, the correct answer would be one or two steps up the corporate ladder. And I'm just ambitious enough to buy into that vision. But, really, it's kind of a silly question. I could be married in five years. Or living in Fiji. Or dead. Or kayaking while playing the accordion. Or sitting at a computer in a public library blogging. 

Hopefully, any prospective employers who are reading this will realize that I can communicate effectively, especially in writing, and that I have a sense of humor and creativity. Those look good on a resume, right?

The Paradox of Wisdom

I've been reading I Corinthians, and it's pretty humbling. Paul talks a great deal in the first few chapters about wordly vs. spiritual wisdom. The wisdom of the world is described as being "foolish" in Chapter 1, verse 20. (This idea is reiterated in 3:19.) Paul goes on to describe how "God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise". In Chapter 2, he describes how we as Christians have received spiritual wisdom: "Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might know the things that have been freely given to us by God." (2:12).

I like the idea of having access to spiritual wisdom, but the paradox of earthly wisdom being foolish is a tough one for me. Whenever I've felt that I could take pride in nothing else, I've always clung to my intelligence. I can't stand any scenario where I'm made to feel stupid. Ultimately, however, I have to be able and willing to let go of all that, if God is ever really going to use me. After all, the Bible has plenty to say about pride...

On Shells

During a recent trip to Florida, I collected several sea shells. Most of them were tiny, perfect scallop shells, but I selected a few others based on their color , or uniquely rugged shape. At some point it occured to me that there was something slightly morbid about this practice. After all, shells are essentially (exo) skeletons. You wouldn't find me collecting the skeletons of cats or dried-out husks of insects. And yet, sea shells have fascinated me since childhood.

I started thinking further about how uncannily beautiful it is that, when a mollusk dies, it gets to leave a shell behind. That shell may be smooth or rugged; it may be salvaged from the shore perfectly intact, or crushed by the friction of waves pounding against sand. I wondered  -- and perhaps this was a bit morbid for vacation, so forgive me -- what sort of "shell" I'll leave behind. What will be my legacy to surviving friends and family? If someone were to examine whatever it is I've left behind with the same scrutiny as I did those shells, would they see something of value, or a broken shell to be tossed back into the waves?8

Fear of Writing

Writing can be dangerous. I learned this the hard way as a teenager. I confided the good, the bad, and the ugly in my diary, only to have said diary discovered. This wasn't all bad...I was making some pretty stupid choices at the time, and the revelation of these choices helped my family set me straight. Ever since that time, however, I've been cautious about what I put in print.

Writing doesn't become any less risky with adulthood. True, no parent will ground you for your confessed misdeeds. But the stakes are higher. The wrong word used, the wrong blog posted, the wrong opinion expressed, and you may find yourself out of a job, unfriended, or misunderstood by others. Publish your writing, and you better be very, very careful not to libel, or plagiarize, or otherwise place yourself in a legally compromising position.

But still I write. I came across a great quote this evening by E.M. Forster: "How do I know what I think until I see what I say?" That's it, then. I write for clarity. I write to streamline things, to try and make sense of the seeming chaos of my brain.

I used to think I wrote to answer questions, but I find that the more I write, the more questions are raised.

Indigo Girl

As long as I can remember, I've always had a love/hate relationship with politics. My parents would be best described as "fiscal democrats". My dad in particular has always been pro-union and honest about voting his pocketbook. I often felt as if my parents were the only Christian Democrats that I knew. Gradually, my three older siblings converted to the Republican party.

In college and grad school, I considered myself to be a staunch Democrat. (I was also something of an agnostic, and I suppose a whole other blog post could be devoted to whether or not the two were related.) When I moved to Texas, and recommitted my life to Christ, voting Republican seemed like the natural, if not the inevitable, thing to do. But I've always struggled with which party best represents not only my own needs, but those of the majority of Americans.

I like the limited government approach of the Republican party, but I take issue with the seeming fact that they favor the upper classes, whether implicitly or explicitly. I consider myself to be personally morally conservative, but I understand and respect the legal right for others to live differently. I have a Democrat's sense of social justice, but I'm somewhat cynical about how social welfare programs have been abused. Most of the educational policies that drove me nuts as a teacher were implemented while a Republican was in office. That being said, I was part of the massive teacher layoffs that occured under a Democratic president. Everything that seems to be the fault of the Democrats is also partially the fault of the Republicans, and vice versa.

Ultimately, I find politics to be utterly confusing. Just when I think I have a firm grasp of an issue, some new information comes along that makes me question my beliefs. (The previous paragraph is probably loaded with misinformation.) I titled this post "Indigo Girl" because I consider myself "more blue than red". I don't see myself voting Republican in 2012, but am I really ready to go back to the Dems? Is it apathetic to sit this next election out?

Gratitudes

For my health, and the resources available to me to improve it. For the fact that I am not trapped in a loveless marriage, nor have I gone through the hell that is divorce. For the grace of God that has salvaged me from more bad situations than I can count. For the fact that my nieces and nephews are healthy and have hobbies that keep them active. For friends and relatives that would catch bullets for me. For cats, dogs, and basically any animal that doesn't sting or buzz ominously. For coffee, berries, sushi, and beef fajitas. For really, really cold Mexican beer. For access to clean drinking water. For sunscreen. For the ability to read and write, and for the teachers that helped me improve on those skills. For anyone that has encouraged me and helped to shut down and shut up my inner critic.

Y Que

Since moving to Texas seven years ago, I'm surprised to have encountered people who seem genuinely bothered, even offended, when they hear Spanish spoken in the United States. Having lived in both California and Texas, I've always taken it for granted that certain people in my immediate surroundings would be Spanish speakers. Like anyone else, I have my peeves and quirks, but I can honestly say that this has never bothered me. It's never even occured to me that it should bother me. Sure, it would be cool to know what others are saying, and it does remind me that I need to brush up on my on bilingual skills. But by and large, I haven't considered it to be a big issue. Whenever I've needed someone to translate for me, I've always been able to find someone. Otherwise, I've enjoyed the aesthetics of Spanish...the rolling of the rr, the cleverness of words such  as paraguas, and the overall musical quality of the language itself.

I'm not saying that Spanish speakers who immigrate to the U.S. wouldn't ultimately benefit from learning at least some of the de facto language spoken throughout the nation. (Note: The United States has no "official" language. Some states do, but Texas is not one of them.) Obviously, this would help them in terms of basic survival, communication, employment, travel, and the like. However, having taken a few years of Spanish, and having attempted to learn Russian in my car, I can say this much: learning a foreign language is not easy. Especially when you're an adult, and especially if that language is English, which follows no consistent grammatical, spelling, or pronunciation rules, and which is derived from so many other languages. Also, if two friends, relatives, or co-workers are speaking to each other, why not allow them to communicate in the way that they feel most comfortable?

When I encounter someone who doesn't speak English, is it occasionally frustrating? Sure. But I find myself wishing I spoke their language as much as I wish they spoke mine. I don't blame someone who fled a much more difficult lifestyle for coming to the United States, and I don't think they're a terrible person if they don't show up speaking fluent English the minute they arrive.

POV Experiment #1: Speed Limit Sign

Why does everyone ignore me? Am I invisible? Some days I feel more like a speed suggestion. Surely I've caught your eye, with my black print contrasting against my white background. Sometimes I wish I was a school zone sign, all bright yellow and flashing lights, or even the neon orange of a work zone sign. Black and white, while dignified and cut-and-dried, just doesn't seem to command the same respect.

I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

I've been meaning to start a blog for awhile, but I've put it off due to perceived "lack of time", as well as uncertainty as to what the focus for my blog would actually be. Recently, I decided that neither of those excuses really amounted to much. For one thing, I'm three weeks away from having a great deal more "free time" on my hands. I have a penchant for imposing structure on my "free time". It's a self-discipline thing; without structure (self-imposed or otherwise), I would probably just sit around watching Law and Order marathons and playing Angry Birds. Blogging seems somewhat more productive. Perhaps I will actually end up Publishing Something For Actual Pay (more on that in a later post, perhaps).

Some of you may be reading this and wondering what I plan to blog about. I have a couple of vague ideas. One is to reflect on my faith. There are a lot of great Christian and otherwise spiritual blogs out there. This will probably not be one of them, but I do want a chance to be very open and honest about exploring what it means to be a single Christian woman in America in 2011...or at least what that looks like from my perspective. I think it will be interesting to see whether or not my perspective is unique, or whether or not there are people out there in the blogosphere that can relate.

Another possibility: experiments in writing. I'm particularly intrigued by the emergence of the fourth genre (creative nonfiction). I also like humorous essays and pretty much anything from an unusual perspective or point of view. I may even experiment a bit with fiction, although I have yet to finish a short story that wouldn't make excellent kindling.

A cautionary note: since I'm brand new to this, please don't expect anything fancy. At least not for a few months or so. I've never been the bells and whistles sort, although I admire the way other people pull off the fancy-schmancy stuff. I prefer to paint a picture with my words (cue teacher voice).

Anyway, that's all for now. Thanks for reading. Please post feedback, constructive criticism, etc.

xoxo,