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.