Last night I started taking guitar lessons. I have been writing songs since my separation in February, and I want to be able to put music to them. I have since relied on the guys in my band to match chords to my words. They do a nice job, but it's not always exactly what I hear in my head and it's really frustrating to hear music and not be able to make it real. So, guitar lessons.
So my teacher was showing me how each key had this natural progression of 8 chords that followed the same pattern of being major or minor. He started giving me all of this guitar/music jargon like "Then you can play the 3rd in Gmajor followed by the 7th which is always diminished." Yeah, ok. WTF?? I said, "I'm really trying to learn guitar so I make the music that I hear in my head. I want to match music to the melodies and lyrics I write. How will this help me do that?" He said, "Well, you have learn the patterns - mostly so you can break them. Then you can really do what you want with all the chords."
Whoa. Life-realization moment.
How true is that in almost everything? We have to learn our own patterns before we can break them up. I have had to learn all the patterns my husband and I spent years solidifying so I can now unlearn them. But if I never recognized them, I'd still be stuck in them, like a boring song that just plays major and minor chords up and down a scale in a predictable order. Once we learn our patterns, we can take them apart and put them back together in new, more melodic ways.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
song
I wrote this song today, in the car on the way home from visiting my long-lost friend from college:
I used to know you
I think - well maybe not.
I closed my eyes and called you
by the name that I was taught.
You speak in bold, red letters.
They tell me what it means
dripping from fat Sunday lips
wrapped in American dreams.
I used to talk to someone
at night all alone.
But how can I be sure
you really made my heart your home?
Cause the voice that often spoke back
Sounded at awful lot like me
So maybe you're just something we created
Cause we're too scared to be free.
You don't have a face - you hide.
But they're all pushing through
Please tell me they're not you.
It just really seems like you lied.
This is not how I'm supposed to feel
If like they say - you're real.
Where's the promised safety and security?
Cause I just haven't figured out how to love you without hating me.
I used to know you
I think - well maybe not.
I closed my eyes and called you
by the name that I was taught.
You speak in bold, red letters.
They tell me what it means
dripping from fat Sunday lips
wrapped in American dreams.
I used to talk to someone
at night all alone.
But how can I be sure
you really made my heart your home?
Cause the voice that often spoke back
Sounded at awful lot like me
So maybe you're just something we created
Cause we're too scared to be free.
You don't have a face - you hide.
But they're all pushing through
Please tell me they're not you.
It just really seems like you lied.
This is not how I'm supposed to feel
If like they say - you're real.
Where's the promised safety and security?
Cause I just haven't figured out how to love you without hating me.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Family
I need a family. I don't mean I want to get married and have children, or that I want to move back home and live with my parents. I mean, I need to have people (or at least a person) in my life who I know loves me and knows me no matter what. Isn't that what family is for? Someone who waits for you to get home at the end of the day - who notices when you're late or thinks of you when they're at a flea market and buys you a scarf. If I got in a car accident and died today, I think it would be a few days before people would notice. I know that sounds dramatic, but everyone would probably assume that someone else knew where I was, because no one is just looking out for me but me.
Don't get me wrong, I know I have many people in my life who love and care about me a lot. But they all have someone else they love more. I'm nobody's number one. Not anymore. I'm a whole hell of a lot of people's number two or three, though.
Let's start with my biological family. I don't mean to piss in their wheaties here by saying that I don't have a family or that nobody loves me, wah wah wah. I know they love me. My parents have always made it clear that they will love me no matter what, and that as long as I'm trying my best they are proud of me. I know I can always go home and they will accept me with open arms. But over the past few years, it has become evident that what makes us up is so fundamentally different, that we will never truly know each other. I have to just check some really huge parts of myself at the door every time I go home. And I know my mom bites her tongue on a regular basis around me. We will just never be able to discuss some of the most important parts of my life. And that's something I'll just have to accept. This is the kind of relationship I will have with my family. Smiles and hugs at holidays, nice homecooked meals on weekends home, friendly phone calls during the week to see how life is. But they don't really know me, and I don't think they really can. And vice-versa, apparently.
Next, my husband. I had a family in him. He knew me fairly well. And even though he didn't agree with many of the things I believed or the choices I made in my life, he accepted me for who I was. He was waiting for me at the end of every day. I was the first person he called when he had anything to say. He was my safe place to fall. But when I chose to leave that, I ruined something that can no longer be repaired. And I don't think I even want it to be. For awhile, we remained friends, but he has recently cut that off. He wants to learn how to grow without me - a totally reasonable request. But now, when I just want to cry, I can't call him anymore. That family is over. Regardless of whether it was the "right" thing to do, it's over. And there's no turning back.
I have a boyfriend now. And that's nice. So I'm not lonely when I'm with him. But I can't be with him a lot, because - shocker - he has a life outside of me. He is divorced as well and has two kids. So he only has half of the week even available, because the other half he's with his kids, from his first family. So we get together, have a great time, and then he leaves to be with his number one and two people - his kids. How can I be upset about that? I can't. Of course he needs to do that. He's a great father. But it's just another example of the backseat I take in someone else's life.
And my roommates. Three girlfriends who are fun, intelligent, and inspirational to live with. But they have all been friends for a long, long time. And they have this whole network of friends that they met through PeaceCorps that I am just not a part of. I'm always the odd one out at every party. Because when they were 22, they were trekking the world, living in Zambia, meeting all kinds of fascinating people and developing these friendships that are still going strong now. When I was 22, I was getting married. Now I don't have my husband anymore, and there's not really a place for me in their world, as nice as they are and as much as they try to include me.
Then there's my students. They love me so much, and I thrive on that. I have very close relationships with many of them. They confide in me, trust me, and even call me "Mom" sometimes accidentally. But at the end of every day, they go home to their real families and leave me at school.
When I lived in my friend's basement for 6 months after leaving my husband, I started to feel like they were my family. Although I had my own complete apartment in her basement, I spent an awful lot of time with her, her husband, and her two kids. I pulled the older one's first tooth on a camping trip, and the youngest one still calls and asks me to come over now that I've moved out. They really tried to make me feel like a part of their family, and they are probably the closest I've come, but it's just not the same.
This is the perfect story to illustrate my feeling of being a floating island without a home. Last night, my roomates, my boyfriend, and I went over to another friend's house to watch the debates. We all had a great time, got a little drunk, and came stumbling home in a cab, laughing and still arguing about politics. My roomies (and the 2 girls staying with us this weekend - PeaceCorps friends of course) all went to their respective beds, and my boyfriend and I went to mine. My boyfriend woke up and left early in the morning to go get his kids for the weekend. I slept for another few hours. When I woke up, I could smell bacon and coffee downstairs, and I heard laughing from all the girls. I smiled, and couldn't wait to get down there and join in the Saturday morning girltime. But I walked downstairs to find out that they assumed I had left with my boyfriend. There was no more bacon, no more coffee, and no more champagne for the mimosas. They were all telling Zambian stories and laughing without me. I went to the kitchen to make an English muffin (sans bacon) and drink some plain orange juice (sans needed hangover champagne), and just started crying. They had all assumed I would be spending the day with my boyfriend, but he was with his "real" family. He had assumed I would be spending the day with them, but there didn't seem to be room for me in their family. And now here I sit, alone in my bed, typing this blog entry with no one to call. I fucking hate Saturdays. I feel like Eeyore. Thanks for noticing me.
Don't get me wrong, I know I have many people in my life who love and care about me a lot. But they all have someone else they love more. I'm nobody's number one. Not anymore. I'm a whole hell of a lot of people's number two or three, though.
Let's start with my biological family. I don't mean to piss in their wheaties here by saying that I don't have a family or that nobody loves me, wah wah wah. I know they love me. My parents have always made it clear that they will love me no matter what, and that as long as I'm trying my best they are proud of me. I know I can always go home and they will accept me with open arms. But over the past few years, it has become evident that what makes us up is so fundamentally different, that we will never truly know each other. I have to just check some really huge parts of myself at the door every time I go home. And I know my mom bites her tongue on a regular basis around me. We will just never be able to discuss some of the most important parts of my life. And that's something I'll just have to accept. This is the kind of relationship I will have with my family. Smiles and hugs at holidays, nice homecooked meals on weekends home, friendly phone calls during the week to see how life is. But they don't really know me, and I don't think they really can. And vice-versa, apparently.
Next, my husband. I had a family in him. He knew me fairly well. And even though he didn't agree with many of the things I believed or the choices I made in my life, he accepted me for who I was. He was waiting for me at the end of every day. I was the first person he called when he had anything to say. He was my safe place to fall. But when I chose to leave that, I ruined something that can no longer be repaired. And I don't think I even want it to be. For awhile, we remained friends, but he has recently cut that off. He wants to learn how to grow without me - a totally reasonable request. But now, when I just want to cry, I can't call him anymore. That family is over. Regardless of whether it was the "right" thing to do, it's over. And there's no turning back.
I have a boyfriend now. And that's nice. So I'm not lonely when I'm with him. But I can't be with him a lot, because - shocker - he has a life outside of me. He is divorced as well and has two kids. So he only has half of the week even available, because the other half he's with his kids, from his first family. So we get together, have a great time, and then he leaves to be with his number one and two people - his kids. How can I be upset about that? I can't. Of course he needs to do that. He's a great father. But it's just another example of the backseat I take in someone else's life.
And my roommates. Three girlfriends who are fun, intelligent, and inspirational to live with. But they have all been friends for a long, long time. And they have this whole network of friends that they met through PeaceCorps that I am just not a part of. I'm always the odd one out at every party. Because when they were 22, they were trekking the world, living in Zambia, meeting all kinds of fascinating people and developing these friendships that are still going strong now. When I was 22, I was getting married. Now I don't have my husband anymore, and there's not really a place for me in their world, as nice as they are and as much as they try to include me.
Then there's my students. They love me so much, and I thrive on that. I have very close relationships with many of them. They confide in me, trust me, and even call me "Mom" sometimes accidentally. But at the end of every day, they go home to their real families and leave me at school.
When I lived in my friend's basement for 6 months after leaving my husband, I started to feel like they were my family. Although I had my own complete apartment in her basement, I spent an awful lot of time with her, her husband, and her two kids. I pulled the older one's first tooth on a camping trip, and the youngest one still calls and asks me to come over now that I've moved out. They really tried to make me feel like a part of their family, and they are probably the closest I've come, but it's just not the same.
This is the perfect story to illustrate my feeling of being a floating island without a home. Last night, my roomates, my boyfriend, and I went over to another friend's house to watch the debates. We all had a great time, got a little drunk, and came stumbling home in a cab, laughing and still arguing about politics. My roomies (and the 2 girls staying with us this weekend - PeaceCorps friends of course) all went to their respective beds, and my boyfriend and I went to mine. My boyfriend woke up and left early in the morning to go get his kids for the weekend. I slept for another few hours. When I woke up, I could smell bacon and coffee downstairs, and I heard laughing from all the girls. I smiled, and couldn't wait to get down there and join in the Saturday morning girltime. But I walked downstairs to find out that they assumed I had left with my boyfriend. There was no more bacon, no more coffee, and no more champagne for the mimosas. They were all telling Zambian stories and laughing without me. I went to the kitchen to make an English muffin (sans bacon) and drink some plain orange juice (sans needed hangover champagne), and just started crying. They had all assumed I would be spending the day with my boyfriend, but he was with his "real" family. He had assumed I would be spending the day with them, but there didn't seem to be room for me in their family. And now here I sit, alone in my bed, typing this blog entry with no one to call. I fucking hate Saturdays. I feel like Eeyore. Thanks for noticing me.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
egg dreams
After just finishing one of the most painful, life-interrupting menstrual periods of my life, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be a woman.
Last weekend I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep, thanks to the nighttime spasms in my uterus, otherwise known as cramps. I was up for most of Friday night tossing and turning, but eventually a heating pad calmed them down enough for me to doze off at last. But Saturday night was just unbearable. I woke up at 2am (after going to bed at 1, thanks to my band's gig). I tossed, turned, writhed in pain, laid in every possible position, did yoga, drank tea, took medicine, walked around the house, did sit-ups - nothing worked. Finally, at 5am, crying, I called the 24 hour medical advice line for my health insurance. I felt so stupid calling for cramps, this female condition that many think is just psychosomatic. But I didn't know what else to do. I had never had pain like this. They told me to come in to their late-night clinic (sort of like an ER). After a hunched-over, moan-filled drive, I arrived, was promptly given a shot of painkillers in the ass, and slept in the doctor's bed until the pharmacy opened at 8am.
But this really got me thinking. What is this thing that happens to us females every month? As I sat on the toilet, watching the thick, red stream drip from me and blend with the clear water below, I couldn't help but see it as wasted baby potential. Another month of procreation down the drain - literally. Women go through this cycle every month of a rising possibility of offspring followed by a shedding of that hope, just to start it all again.
I am especially thinking about what this means culturally. Our bodies haven't changed for centuries - ever since women walked the earth, I assume. We do this each month. But there was a time when there was no such thing as birth control. Women just had sex and got pregnant when they got pregnant. This was probably at a time when they were living in villages or communities where there was more help to care for this large brood of children. But what does this monthly possibility of conception mean for an independent 21st century woman? I don't really want babies right now - I know that. I am hardly in a place where children would be practical. I don't have a husband anymore, my boyfriend already has 2 kids of his own and lots of other priorities in addition to me right now. I live with a bunch of single girls, have a more-than-full-time job, barely make enough money to support myself, live in a crazy non-child-raising part of the city, and want to keep travelling and exploring the world before I sit down and have babies. But my body doesn't listen to that. It doesn't know that. It still releases an egg every month and sends me a loud, strong message that says "You should be having a baby! You want a baby! Here is an egg for your baby! Go find a sperm and make a baby! Baby, baby, baby!" Any woman will tell you this is true. The female body speaks to us in this way, I swear. Then the egg passes. The possibility for fertilization is lost, and the desire for offspring goes along with it. Then we shake our heads as if waking from a dream and say, "What was that about? Did I just say I wanted a baby?"
Last weekend I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep, thanks to the nighttime spasms in my uterus, otherwise known as cramps. I was up for most of Friday night tossing and turning, but eventually a heating pad calmed them down enough for me to doze off at last. But Saturday night was just unbearable. I woke up at 2am (after going to bed at 1, thanks to my band's gig). I tossed, turned, writhed in pain, laid in every possible position, did yoga, drank tea, took medicine, walked around the house, did sit-ups - nothing worked. Finally, at 5am, crying, I called the 24 hour medical advice line for my health insurance. I felt so stupid calling for cramps, this female condition that many think is just psychosomatic. But I didn't know what else to do. I had never had pain like this. They told me to come in to their late-night clinic (sort of like an ER). After a hunched-over, moan-filled drive, I arrived, was promptly given a shot of painkillers in the ass, and slept in the doctor's bed until the pharmacy opened at 8am.
But this really got me thinking. What is this thing that happens to us females every month? As I sat on the toilet, watching the thick, red stream drip from me and blend with the clear water below, I couldn't help but see it as wasted baby potential. Another month of procreation down the drain - literally. Women go through this cycle every month of a rising possibility of offspring followed by a shedding of that hope, just to start it all again.
I am especially thinking about what this means culturally. Our bodies haven't changed for centuries - ever since women walked the earth, I assume. We do this each month. But there was a time when there was no such thing as birth control. Women just had sex and got pregnant when they got pregnant. This was probably at a time when they were living in villages or communities where there was more help to care for this large brood of children. But what does this monthly possibility of conception mean for an independent 21st century woman? I don't really want babies right now - I know that. I am hardly in a place where children would be practical. I don't have a husband anymore, my boyfriend already has 2 kids of his own and lots of other priorities in addition to me right now. I live with a bunch of single girls, have a more-than-full-time job, barely make enough money to support myself, live in a crazy non-child-raising part of the city, and want to keep travelling and exploring the world before I sit down and have babies. But my body doesn't listen to that. It doesn't know that. It still releases an egg every month and sends me a loud, strong message that says "You should be having a baby! You want a baby! Here is an egg for your baby! Go find a sperm and make a baby! Baby, baby, baby!" Any woman will tell you this is true. The female body speaks to us in this way, I swear. Then the egg passes. The possibility for fertilization is lost, and the desire for offspring goes along with it. Then we shake our heads as if waking from a dream and say, "What was that about? Did I just say I wanted a baby?"
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Things to look forward to
To continue with the list-making trend as a way to bring an illusion of order to the mess that is my life, I offer you another one -
Things to look forward to this week:
Saturday
I'm trying to look forward to my band's gig tonight. My uterus is currently punishing me for being a woman, so standing on stage for an hour being rocker-chick isn't exactly what I'd like to be doing tonight, but I'll do my best.
Sunday
Spending the entire morning in my new bed, sleeping, reading, drinking coffee. I might see if my roommates would mind if we brought the TV, DVD player, coffee maker, and kitchen table into my bedroom so I can use them all without leaving my bed. Hmmm. . .
Free, delicious, homemade Pakistani food with good company at my new friend's house (Yes, I made a new friend! Several, actually! I might be able to partake in this dinner as a weekly event! I'm trying not to show them how excited I am about it! The exclamation marks aren't helping!)
Monday
Date with boyfriend. Possibly home-cooked, romantic-type meal.
Tuesday
I couldn't think of anything for Tuesday, so my roommate suggested I treat myself to something special after work. I think that's a brilliant idea. Maybe a new Cd. Maybe a new pair of shoes. Maybe new clothes. Maybe a splurge of a beauty product that I would never usually buy - like exfoliating stuff for my face or some kind of fancy hair conditioner. Maybe all of the above.
Wednesday
We get our new laptops from work! Every teacher is getting their own Fujitsu tablet laptop! I've been holding out on buying a new one for over a year, waiting for this moment! (For those of you that don't know, my current laptop is 6 years old, beeps for 5 minutes when you turn it on, takes about 20 minutes to start once it's done beeping, and has broken shift, backslash, and question mark keys. Oh - and you can't make a capital p. I'm going to go Office Space on its ass when I get a new one!)
Possibility of second date with boyfriend, if boyfriend decides he feels like it. I know - romantic.
Thursday
First day of new yoga session.
My "easy" day at school. (My kids have lots of specials classes.)
Friday
I couldn't think of anything for Friday either. When I asked my roommate for ideas for Friday, she said, "Isn't being Friday enough to look forward to?" She doesn't understand. Fridays have been my least favorite days since my separation. When you don't have something to do on a Tuesday, it's normal. It's just a lazy weekday. But when you don't have something to do on a Friday, it's depressing and embarrassing. So I think I might try to go up to Pennsylvania to see a friend for the weekend.
And that's my week. If anyone has anything exciting to add to the list for me, please let me know!
Things to look forward to this week:
Saturday
I'm trying to look forward to my band's gig tonight. My uterus is currently punishing me for being a woman, so standing on stage for an hour being rocker-chick isn't exactly what I'd like to be doing tonight, but I'll do my best.
Sunday
Spending the entire morning in my new bed, sleeping, reading, drinking coffee. I might see if my roommates would mind if we brought the TV, DVD player, coffee maker, and kitchen table into my bedroom so I can use them all without leaving my bed. Hmmm. . .
Free, delicious, homemade Pakistani food with good company at my new friend's house (Yes, I made a new friend! Several, actually! I might be able to partake in this dinner as a weekly event! I'm trying not to show them how excited I am about it! The exclamation marks aren't helping!)
Monday
Date with boyfriend. Possibly home-cooked, romantic-type meal.
Tuesday
I couldn't think of anything for Tuesday, so my roommate suggested I treat myself to something special after work. I think that's a brilliant idea. Maybe a new Cd. Maybe a new pair of shoes. Maybe new clothes. Maybe a splurge of a beauty product that I would never usually buy - like exfoliating stuff for my face or some kind of fancy hair conditioner. Maybe all of the above.
Wednesday
We get our new laptops from work! Every teacher is getting their own Fujitsu tablet laptop! I've been holding out on buying a new one for over a year, waiting for this moment! (For those of you that don't know, my current laptop is 6 years old, beeps for 5 minutes when you turn it on, takes about 20 minutes to start once it's done beeping, and has broken shift, backslash, and question mark keys. Oh - and you can't make a capital p. I'm going to go Office Space on its ass when I get a new one!)
Possibility of second date with boyfriend, if boyfriend decides he feels like it. I know - romantic.
Thursday
First day of new yoga session.
My "easy" day at school. (My kids have lots of specials classes.)
Friday
I couldn't think of anything for Friday either. When I asked my roommate for ideas for Friday, she said, "Isn't being Friday enough to look forward to?" She doesn't understand. Fridays have been my least favorite days since my separation. When you don't have something to do on a Tuesday, it's normal. It's just a lazy weekday. But when you don't have something to do on a Friday, it's depressing and embarrassing. So I think I might try to go up to Pennsylvania to see a friend for the weekend.
And that's my week. If anyone has anything exciting to add to the list for me, please let me know!
Friday, September 19, 2008
the lonely list
I've learned something about loneliness these past few months: it's always there. I don't mean this to be pessimistic, it's just an observation. When you've been as used to sharing your every moment with a life partner as I was, every moment without that is lonely. Even when I'm in a crowd of people, I feel like a little island floating around in between them, bumping into some, crossing over onto others, but never becoming part of them. Even when I'm happy - I mean completely happy-excited-full-of-life, I can feel that thin layer of loneliness underneath it all. Sometimes I simply acknowledge it to myself, smile, and continue with my day. Sometimes I let it linger for a little longer as it seeps into my facial expressions and pulls my voice down a bit. (Well, I shouldn't say I let it, it seems to have an agenda of its own.) Sometimes it just completely takes over my mind, body, & soul and drags my lifeless forms into a dark pit where no one can find me.
So, last night before bed, I did what any organized girl with too much time on her hands would do. I made a list.
Things to do when I'm lonely:
write a song
take a walk in the city
take a walk in a park
cook a good meal
buy a new book and read it in one sitting
call an old friend
call a new friend
make a new friend (this is a tough one)
go to an art museum or gallery
go dancing
clean or re-decorate my space
buy new clothes, shoes, or jewelry that will make me look spectacular
yoga
start an art project
write
take a weekend trip
research my next big travel destination (and dream of the money to actually go)
read poetry. . . aloud
find live music
and, just for good measure. . . another list . . .
Things NOT to do when I'm lonely:
start thinking about why I left my husband and romanticizing away the problems we had
rely on boyfriend-of-the-month to make me love myself
sit at home alone and feel sorry for myself
eat heaps of fried food and ice cream
send passive-aggressive texts to boyfriend-of-the-month looking for attention
assume that life will be this way forever
So, last night before bed, I did what any organized girl with too much time on her hands would do. I made a list.
Things to do when I'm lonely:
write a song
take a walk in the city
take a walk in a park
cook a good meal
buy a new book and read it in one sitting
call an old friend
call a new friend
make a new friend (this is a tough one)
go to an art museum or gallery
go dancing
clean or re-decorate my space
buy new clothes, shoes, or jewelry that will make me look spectacular
yoga
start an art project
write
take a weekend trip
research my next big travel destination (and dream of the money to actually go)
read poetry. . . aloud
find live music
and, just for good measure. . . another list . . .
Things NOT to do when I'm lonely:
start thinking about why I left my husband and romanticizing away the problems we had
rely on boyfriend-of-the-month to make me love myself
sit at home alone and feel sorry for myself
eat heaps of fried food and ice cream
send passive-aggressive texts to boyfriend-of-the-month looking for attention
assume that life will be this way forever
Thursday, September 18, 2008
mattresses
Today marks a new day in my post-marriage life - I got a new mattress. As the mattress delivery guys flirted with me, hauled out my old mattress, and hauled in the new one, I started thinking about all the beds I've slept in over the last 7 months. Well really I started thinking about all the beds I've slept in since I was a child, but I think the last 7 months is more than enough for this blog entry, since I'm guessing it's more than most people's lifetimes.
The beginning of this year found me in a marriage bed, on a mattress purchased by my husband's parents, located in an uninspired bedroom, in a tiny apartment in Silver Spring, MD. This bed became the location of a series of ever-more-complicated arguments and late night discussions about differences and how they just weren't going away. But it was also the location of many fits of shared laughter, lazy Sunday morning reading days together, and a sense of stability and comfort.
Next was a borrowed bed in my friend's basement, where I moved when I left my marriage. Nothing about this bed felt like mine, except that it was the first one I slept in alone for five years. This was the bed where I cried myself to sleep for weeks on end, or punched the pillow or lay awake because it felt so cold and empty. I never seemed to have enough blankets to keep me warm. This bed saw some truly rough times.
From there, I slept in at least 15 different beds all over Europe. Some rented for the night, some offered for free from kind folks along the way. One mattress had a big brown stain, circled in sharpie marker with an arrow pointing to it that said "Yes, this is from sex." I actually felt the least lonely during this rapid-bed-transition time. Maybe it was because all the beds were so small, I didn't have room to feel any absence. Maybe it was because I moved around so much that I started to feel like my only home was my own body.
Upon returning, I moved to my new place in DC - a group house with 3 of my girlfriends. I bought a mattress from a friend of a friend to use here. When I picked it up, not only was the frame broken and the mattress a thin piece of shit, the boxspring didn't fit up my stairs. It was just a little too symbolic to be comfortable. After a few weeks sleeping on the dilapidated mattress on the floor and waking up with spring indents in my side, I broke down and walked to mattress discounters. I walked in and said, "Hi. How can I buy a mattress with no money?" Surprisingly, they had a plan for people just like me. Twenty minutes later, I was the proud owner of my very own, brand-spanking new queen sized mattress and split boxspring.
I guess this is the point where I stop changing beds every couple of months. I should probably count on sleeping on this mattress, in this bedroom, in this single-girl house for awhile. Is that supposed to make me feel independent? All I can think of is that Bill Withers song that says, "I'm tired of looking at lonliness and trying to call it freedom." I'd take dependable love over a new mattress any day.
personal power
Today in our Community Building unit, we discussed personal power. We talked about how each of us has a "personal power package" made up of our skills & knowledge, social position, social skills, abilities, strengths, talents, rights & responsibilities, and self-knowledge. There are some elements of our personal power that we control, and some that we are simply born into. We are always making choices about how to use the power we have.
The next class after community building was Word Work. I asked the kids to go back through their writer's notebooks and thoroughly edit every entry they've written in there so far this year (roughly 20 pages). Some kids are natural spellers, and hardly had anything to correct. Right away those kids said, "We're done. What can we do?" Before I could answer, one girl suggested, "Why don't we see if anyone needs help?"
So 4 kids went to the cozy corner (an area of our classroom with a window seat and pillows) and announced, "If anyone needs help checking their spelling, come over to our tutoring center and we'll help you." I was afraid the other kids who needed help wouldn't admit it, but several of them looked relieved, and headed over right away. The "tutors" quickly sat down and got to work. They carefully scanned each page of their "client's" notebook, pointing at misspelled words and gently offering solutions. They were so empowered by their role as helper, and the students who received help were so grateful to not be struggling alone anymore. The best part: no pairs of students working together were "best friends." They all went outside their comfort zone a bit and were willing to work with someone who they might not normally hang out with. There were even (gasp) boys working with girls!
I was so touched by this completely independent act of kindness on the part of the tutors, and vulnerability on the part of the tutees, that I went next door to ask my co-teacher to come and see. We stood at the doorway of the classroom, unnoticed by any of the kids. We watched them leaning over notebooks, nodding encouragements, and giving genuine smiles. Our eyes welled up with tears.
What would the world be like if we reached out a hand like this more often? If we didn't look at other people's struggles as none of our business? If we weren't afraid to ask for help when we needed it? Why can't I be more like my 5th and 6th graders? I am humbled by their courage and inspired by their strength.
The next class after community building was Word Work. I asked the kids to go back through their writer's notebooks and thoroughly edit every entry they've written in there so far this year (roughly 20 pages). Some kids are natural spellers, and hardly had anything to correct. Right away those kids said, "We're done. What can we do?" Before I could answer, one girl suggested, "Why don't we see if anyone needs help?"
So 4 kids went to the cozy corner (an area of our classroom with a window seat and pillows) and announced, "If anyone needs help checking their spelling, come over to our tutoring center and we'll help you." I was afraid the other kids who needed help wouldn't admit it, but several of them looked relieved, and headed over right away. The "tutors" quickly sat down and got to work. They carefully scanned each page of their "client's" notebook, pointing at misspelled words and gently offering solutions. They were so empowered by their role as helper, and the students who received help were so grateful to not be struggling alone anymore. The best part: no pairs of students working together were "best friends." They all went outside their comfort zone a bit and were willing to work with someone who they might not normally hang out with. There were even (gasp) boys working with girls!
I was so touched by this completely independent act of kindness on the part of the tutors, and vulnerability on the part of the tutees, that I went next door to ask my co-teacher to come and see. We stood at the doorway of the classroom, unnoticed by any of the kids. We watched them leaning over notebooks, nodding encouragements, and giving genuine smiles. Our eyes welled up with tears.
What would the world be like if we reached out a hand like this more often? If we didn't look at other people's struggles as none of our business? If we weren't afraid to ask for help when we needed it? Why can't I be more like my 5th and 6th graders? I am humbled by their courage and inspired by their strength.
what kids really want
Today I was telling my class how amazing they are. I was going on about how responsible they've shown me they can be, and how I'll be able to do more with them because they're such a capable class, and on and on with stuff teacher's say. I was hoping they would respond to this authentic affirmation with beaming smiles of pride. One kid raised his hand. I called on him, expecting some request like "So will we be able to go on cooler field trips and do fun stuff in class?"
What he said was, "So will you buy us cheap Chinese toys from those crappy catalogs that teacher's always get in the mail?"
Oh! So that's what kids want.
What he said was, "So will you buy us cheap Chinese toys from those crappy catalogs that teacher's always get in the mail?"
Oh! So that's what kids want.
"I get it!"
These are a teacher's favorite words, and I seem to be hearing so much of them lately. Today, during a math class where the 5th graders were working with prime factorization (a particularly difficult concept), their excitement stopped me dead in my tracks. I was leaning over one student, helping him talk through a problem, when from one corner of the room I heard, "I get it!" Followed quickly by a "Me too!" an "Oh!" and a "It makes sense now!" I closed my eyes for a brief moment and allowed myself to be serenaded by the symphony of victorious voices. All else in my life may seem unstable, and I have certainly had a lot of not-liking-myself days lately, but in that moment, I was pure bliss. What a great job.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
turn signals
This morning on the way to work, I experienced an incredible phenomenon. It seemed that everyone in the greater DC Metro area had lost the ability to use their turn signal. It's a rare disorder that a select few suffer from, but today was a statistical anomaly because everyone who drove in front of me seemed to be afflicted.
Some would slow down almost to a stop before making a surprise right turn. Some would simply stop in the middle of an intersection, much to my bafflement since there were no cars stopped in front of them, and eventually make an unannounced left turn when opposing traffic cleared. Some would merge over in front of me at their slightest whim, without the slightest notice. I was trying to keep things in perspective and remember that there are bigger things in life to get your panties in a wad about than turn signals, but by the time I got to work I was hopping mad and using some very colorful language.
So it got me thinking. Why does the lack of turn signals bother me so much? I think I take it as a much bigger statement. I feel like when people don't use their turn signals, they are saying that no one else matters. The turn signal may be the only device in a car that is soley for the purpose of drivers other than you. When you neglect to use it, you are sending the message that you think you are somehow above this established norm, and that everyone else can just figure it out without your assistance.
But that's just not true! We need each other! We need to admit that we are not driving on solitary country roads here. (Do you feel the analogy part of the blog entry coming on?) We share space on the road - and in life. We need turn signals to help us move smoothly from one part of the road to another. When we don't use them, we run into each other. When we make sudden moves with no warning to those around us, we have collisions. We all need to be responsible to think about how our decisions will affect other people, and to give them a little bit of warning before you cut them off for crying in a bucket! Don't just stop! Don't just change things! Help me out people - tell me why the jeepers you're doing what the bejesus it is that you're doing!! I can't handle it when everything around me is in chaos!
Some would slow down almost to a stop before making a surprise right turn. Some would simply stop in the middle of an intersection, much to my bafflement since there were no cars stopped in front of them, and eventually make an unannounced left turn when opposing traffic cleared. Some would merge over in front of me at their slightest whim, without the slightest notice. I was trying to keep things in perspective and remember that there are bigger things in life to get your panties in a wad about than turn signals, but by the time I got to work I was hopping mad and using some very colorful language.
So it got me thinking. Why does the lack of turn signals bother me so much? I think I take it as a much bigger statement. I feel like when people don't use their turn signals, they are saying that no one else matters. The turn signal may be the only device in a car that is soley for the purpose of drivers other than you. When you neglect to use it, you are sending the message that you think you are somehow above this established norm, and that everyone else can just figure it out without your assistance.
But that's just not true! We need each other! We need to admit that we are not driving on solitary country roads here. (Do you feel the analogy part of the blog entry coming on?) We share space on the road - and in life. We need turn signals to help us move smoothly from one part of the road to another. When we don't use them, we run into each other. When we make sudden moves with no warning to those around us, we have collisions. We all need to be responsible to think about how our decisions will affect other people, and to give them a little bit of warning before you cut them off for crying in a bucket! Don't just stop! Don't just change things! Help me out people - tell me why the jeepers you're doing what the bejesus it is that you're doing!! I can't handle it when everything around me is in chaos!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Finishing
This is not me. I don't finish things well. (And I certainly don't have abs that look like that.)I am a great starter. If you have a project that you need some energy behind; someone to rally the troops and get things in motion - I am your woman. When I am excited about something, there is no stopping me. I will lose sleep, forego food, and abandon all other responsibilities in pursuit of the new idea, project, or hobby. But once things get rolling, it seems there is nothing to look forward to anymore, and I exit just as quickly as I had burst in.
There are many instances throughout my life where I have observed this phenomenon.
1. Books. If I am not captivated by a book in the first 10 pages, I'm done. Additionally, if I am midway or towards the end of a book I have been enjoying but it turns boring, I'm done.
2. Lessons. Piano, for example. When my teacher made me learn those boring classical songs instead of the songs by Jewel and Mariah Carey in my pop sheet music book, I lost patience and quit.
3. Jobs. I have never given more than 1 weeks notice to leave a job. In fact, I usually quit the same day that I decide I'm done there. When I had an especially bad night waitressing at Red Lobster, I got people to cover my scheduled shifts for the upcoming week, then told my boss I quit when I cashed out at the end of the night. I never went back. I never regretted it.
4. Boys. I have rather high expectations in this department, but this is where it gets confusing. I want all my boyfriends to be perfect - exciting at the right times, comforting at the right times, saying all the right things, etc. When they inevitably fail at this impossible task, I don't necessarily dump them right away, the way I would an unfulfilling job or book. I hold out for awhile, but do eventually let it go in pursuit of something more new and exciting. That's pretty scary for me to read in print.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
grrrrrr. . .
In Nietzsche's "Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None," there is a chapter entitled “On the Three Metamorphoses.” In it, Nietzsche explains that there are three stages of metamorphoses that the human spirit can undergo in his or her lifetime: the camel, the lion, and the child. My travel-friend, J.J., told me about this, and I have been thinking about it a lot as of late. I don't pretend to be a philosophy professor, but this is my understanding of the idea.
The camel is the stage that we are all born into. This stage is about assimilating into society; storing cultural norms and accepting readily-available ideologies in order to blend in and make them match with your own personal experience. Think of all you absorb from society as being stored on your back and carried around. Most people never move from the camel stage.
The next phase is the lion. This is when your spirit rebels against the camel phase and calls everything it had been "storing" into question. One good thing about this phase is that it is often where creative people dwell; those who are willing to push boundaries and create beauty or life or inspiration where there was none before, however unconventional their methods may be. One downfall of this phase is its prolific, often unfocused, anger. Someone in the lion phase may be in the exciting process of individualization and self-discovery, but often only through thrashing and internal violence.
The third and final stage is that of the child. This is an overturning of both camel and lion phases, and a return to simplicity in childhood. Someone in this phase is neither accepting all that society would teach them nor beating up against it. Their spirits are not ruled by the future or the past, but simply live in the present - observing, living, breathing, smiling. In Eastern philosophy they would refer to this as enlightenment. In Christianity, I assume it was what Jesus referred to when he said that you must come to him as a child.
I'm sure it hasn't taken you blog-readers long to identify me as the lion, vis a vis my most recent blog posts about anger and my Christian past. Yes, there is quite a bit of lion in me. I'm certainly not a camel, that's for sure. I would like to think that I tasted the child phase ever so briefly when I was in Nice, on the French Riviera, or in Lauterbrunnen, in the Swiss Alps. Something about those places and my experiences there touched my spirit in a way that I have never experienced. I really felt as though I wasn't living life, but it was living me. I felt at one with everything in the universe, as though we all shared the same fabric, the same consciousness. I felt no anger or fear, no bitterness about the past or anxiety about the future. I just was.
But since returning from Europe, I could hear the lion's roar deep down inside of me, growing louder ever so slowly. The first week or so I think I was able to be a child much more easily than I expected. I felt that I was taking all that peace and enlightenment with me, and spreading it around this ugly suburban wasteland like wildflower seeds. But one by one, old pieces of my life came crashing back into my daily space. Traffic. Work. Strained relationships. Religious judgements. Deep-seated family issues. Fears about life-long lonliness. Health problems. With each one, I could feel a little, clawed paw reach out and swing from inside. The lion was rising once again. I was slipping.
I tried desperately to cling to that open-faced child that I knew was still around somewhere, but she was being mauled by a hungry lion. I'm back, and I'm angry, and I'm swinging wildly around at whomever I can.
But here's the interesting thing about lions and their anger - it's almost always motivated by fear. A lion doesn't get angry just for fun or because it's a stupid animal just looking for a fight. It gets angry when it senses that its pride may be in danger (as in the lions it protects, not its ego). For example, if there is an enemy or perceived threat on its land or near other lions it cares about, it will shout out a deafening roar to let everyone know who's in charge. And the worst is a mama lion when she sense her babies may be in danger. You could argue that lions are unnecessarily violent when killing prey, but I would disagree. They are simply looking for food, and often to share. They are not a species that tortures their prey first. They strategize, act, and bring the carcass home to the kids. In fact, I might argue that more timid animals do their prey more harm - like chickens who might just slowly peck something to death or spiders who let their dinner die slowly in the middle of their manipulative web.
Ok, where is all this nature-show stuff going? I guess I'm trying to say that although I may have slipped back into the lion phase, I've learned something new about my anger. It's motivated by fear. I seem to lash out more when I feel unsafe. It's a lot easier than vulnerability.
What's that? You don't like this blog post? Grrrr. . . . .
Thursday, September 11, 2008
noisy silence
Tonight I went back to a yoga class for the first time since before Europe - since the beginning of June! It was an introductory night for a level one class (2 levels below what I usually take), so it was very simple. But simple was good for me tonight. There was no flying upside down or flipping up against walls or bending back into twister-like poses. It was more like learning how best to stand, sit and breathe. Excellent reminders.
Regardless of the lack of physical challenge involved, I was challenged to stillness. My mind was quieter than it's been for a long time. This only means one thing - I created more space for noise! It seemed like as soon as I opened my mind up again to the steady breathing and flowing movements, I had all of this empty space. What I should have done with it was allow it to be empty, but instead it filled immediately with worry and self-doubt and fear. In the quiet of that yoga studio, and all the way home afterward, it was as if little demons were just shouting at me. I could hear their sneering comments just bouncing off the open walls of my mind. It made me want to drown them out with the vices I had just left at the door.
I guess you have to kill the aphids before the rose bush can grow. And they're not going to go easily. I keep thinking of that line in a poem (I think it's Dylan Thomas) that says "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Regardless of the lack of physical challenge involved, I was challenged to stillness. My mind was quieter than it's been for a long time. This only means one thing - I created more space for noise! It seemed like as soon as I opened my mind up again to the steady breathing and flowing movements, I had all of this empty space. What I should have done with it was allow it to be empty, but instead it filled immediately with worry and self-doubt and fear. In the quiet of that yoga studio, and all the way home afterward, it was as if little demons were just shouting at me. I could hear their sneering comments just bouncing off the open walls of my mind. It made me want to drown them out with the vices I had just left at the door.
I guess you have to kill the aphids before the rose bush can grow. And they're not going to go easily. I keep thinking of that line in a poem (I think it's Dylan Thomas) that says "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
sticky tac facial hair
I think I am quite a bit more permissive than other teachers at my school - and my school is pretty loose. Perhaps it's because I teach 5th and 6th grade, which is at the upper end of our K-8 school, and I work with mostly teachers of younger kids, who, I'm told, need more boundaries. (What kind of run-on sentence is that for a middle school teacher, then, huh?) I mean, I keep "order" in the room, if by order you mean lots of kids moving around, talking, laughing, and having fun. There are certainly times for quiet, and I can get the crazy monkeys to settle down for those. But overall, unless they're hurting someone, I usually let them do what they feel inspired to do. In the past, that has meant playing dodgeball rather rambunctiously, lying all over the floor with pillows and blankets for read-aloud, or running around out back at the end of the day (even though we're technically not supposed to let them do it because of the ticks in the woods just beyond. I tell them to run fast and the ticks won't be able to catch them.) Today it came in the form of allowing them to use an entire package of gray sticky tac to make creative facial hair designs on themselves. I taught most of the afternoon to a group of 10 and 11 year olds with gummy handlebar moustaches and mutton chops - including several girls. Walking down the hall at the end of the day garnered some rather interesting glances from the other teachers, but I didn't care. I think it's a much better use for the stuff than hanging silly posters that will fall down in a few days anyway.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
falling in love with yourself. . . via several boyfriends and a husband thrown in for fun
Since leaving my marriage, I have had a lot of time to think about relationships - particularly my relationships. In observing pre-marriage boyfriends and boyfriends\flings\dates\crushes\things since my hubby, I'm starting to see a cycle.
Boys always initially seem drawn to the same things about me - my "big, brown eyes," (although various alternative adjectives have been used), my sassy sense of humor, and my live-life-to-the-fullest mentality. Then, as we start to hang out, they discover these other "cutsey" little things like my penchant for making mood-based mix cds full of awful 80's music, my quirky vintage clothes, my sense of adventure when on dates ("sure! let's do it! let's go now!"), or my mad crazy driving and parallel parking skills. However, the things in the second list are inevitably the ones that will end up driving them bonkers down the line. My fun, nostalgic music eventually becomes "bad taste" (I never said I liked Bell Biv DeVoe because he's talented). My clothes become "Why are you wearing that weird hippie thing again? It looks ridiculous." My sense of adventure turns into an annoying need for constant entertainment. (My husband once told me that I wouldn't be satisfied with a date unless he took me to the bottom of the ocean. I said, "Oooh! Could we?") And finally, my driving causes mild panic attacks, and the boys always end up fighting with me about whether I can fit into that narrow parking space.
I guess you could boil it down to the "natural" stages of a relationship, whatever that means. I guess you're supposed to think everything about the other person is endearing at first, and want to do everything with them, right? You're supposed to be full of energy to climb to the top of things and swim to the bottom of things together. But then everyone tells you it fades. But I swear to god, I feel like it only fades with the other person! I'm still going strong! All the boys fool me into thinking they're adventurous, spontaneous, and in love with life too. . . at first. But then time drags on and they don't want to spend every moment together anymore. They have other things to do. And that amazing trip you said you'd take together? Well, all of a sudden he doesn't have time or money or energy or what-the-hell-ever.
So I start to get worried and get my girl-wheels spinning in my head. Doesn't he love me anymore? Maybe I did something. I should call him. No, that will just make him feel suffocated. But he should know that I feel this way. I'll call him. No, I'll just email him. No, I'll text him. . . then call him if he doesn't call back. I'm sure he's not doing anything more important than waiting for my call. Oh my god why hasn't he called me back. I haven't seen him in 2 days it's like we broke up. Liar! I hate him! (Note: boys LOVE when you do this)
Inevitably, my paranoias often push them away, and they forget all the things about me that were once cute. Or I break it off because I'm not getting the attention I used to from them. So, whatever. There's plenty more boys where they came from, right?
But the thing that really struck me as I pondered all of this was how I seemed to fall in and out of love with myself as I went through the cycle each time. I'd be left sad and lonely after a break-up, thinking I'm a little too chubby and a little too talkative and not compromising enough and . . . on and on. But then I'd meet someone who didn't know all those little flaws about me yet - someone who was into me with fresh eyes. And as we would get to know each other, I would think, yeah, I DO have beautiful eyes, and I AM a lot of fun, and my mix cds are genius! As the relationships would progress and the boys would cool down, I would get increasingly bored with myself. By the end, I would be back to realizing what a paranoid, needy freak I am and I would want to dump myself before he could dump me.
So it kind of makes you wonder - did he cool off, or did I just stop loving myself? After all, we are much more drawn to people when they are confident, right? It's a chicken-or-the-egg situation. It seems that the only thing to break the cycle would be to learn to be totally head-over-heels in love with yourself when there's not a boy around for miles who's lookin' your way. Yeah - I'll just get right on that.
Boys always initially seem drawn to the same things about me - my "big, brown eyes," (although various alternative adjectives have been used), my sassy sense of humor, and my live-life-to-the-fullest mentality. Then, as we start to hang out, they discover these other "cutsey" little things like my penchant for making mood-based mix cds full of awful 80's music, my quirky vintage clothes, my sense of adventure when on dates ("sure! let's do it! let's go now!"), or my mad crazy driving and parallel parking skills. However, the things in the second list are inevitably the ones that will end up driving them bonkers down the line. My fun, nostalgic music eventually becomes "bad taste" (I never said I liked Bell Biv DeVoe because he's talented). My clothes become "Why are you wearing that weird hippie thing again? It looks ridiculous." My sense of adventure turns into an annoying need for constant entertainment. (My husband once told me that I wouldn't be satisfied with a date unless he took me to the bottom of the ocean. I said, "Oooh! Could we?") And finally, my driving causes mild panic attacks, and the boys always end up fighting with me about whether I can fit into that narrow parking space.
I guess you could boil it down to the "natural" stages of a relationship, whatever that means. I guess you're supposed to think everything about the other person is endearing at first, and want to do everything with them, right? You're supposed to be full of energy to climb to the top of things and swim to the bottom of things together. But then everyone tells you it fades. But I swear to god, I feel like it only fades with the other person! I'm still going strong! All the boys fool me into thinking they're adventurous, spontaneous, and in love with life too. . . at first. But then time drags on and they don't want to spend every moment together anymore. They have other things to do. And that amazing trip you said you'd take together? Well, all of a sudden he doesn't have time or money or energy or what-the-hell-ever.
So I start to get worried and get my girl-wheels spinning in my head. Doesn't he love me anymore? Maybe I did something. I should call him. No, that will just make him feel suffocated. But he should know that I feel this way. I'll call him. No, I'll just email him. No, I'll text him. . . then call him if he doesn't call back. I'm sure he's not doing anything more important than waiting for my call. Oh my god why hasn't he called me back. I haven't seen him in 2 days it's like we broke up. Liar! I hate him! (Note: boys LOVE when you do this)
Inevitably, my paranoias often push them away, and they forget all the things about me that were once cute. Or I break it off because I'm not getting the attention I used to from them. So, whatever. There's plenty more boys where they came from, right?
But the thing that really struck me as I pondered all of this was how I seemed to fall in and out of love with myself as I went through the cycle each time. I'd be left sad and lonely after a break-up, thinking I'm a little too chubby and a little too talkative and not compromising enough and . . . on and on. But then I'd meet someone who didn't know all those little flaws about me yet - someone who was into me with fresh eyes. And as we would get to know each other, I would think, yeah, I DO have beautiful eyes, and I AM a lot of fun, and my mix cds are genius! As the relationships would progress and the boys would cool down, I would get increasingly bored with myself. By the end, I would be back to realizing what a paranoid, needy freak I am and I would want to dump myself before he could dump me.
So it kind of makes you wonder - did he cool off, or did I just stop loving myself? After all, we are much more drawn to people when they are confident, right? It's a chicken-or-the-egg situation. It seems that the only thing to break the cycle would be to learn to be totally head-over-heels in love with yourself when there's not a boy around for miles who's lookin' your way. Yeah - I'll just get right on that.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Here it is. My inevitable requiem on Christianity and my life.
I have tried very hard to escape the religion in which I was raised. Why? Oh, so many reasons, but I guess what lies underneath it all is that it just wasn't serving me anymore. The peace I was supposed to feel was always so elusive, and I never really believed that those who said they had it actually had it. The humility I was supposed to feel towards God (with a capital G) always felt more like guilt. I never got that so many people and so many lifestyles just weren't acceptable to the community. The whole "one way to the truth" mentality made me writch in my seat. (Is writch a word? I want you to picture me squirming and twisting in a church pew, both physically and emotionally, as I tried to find a comfortable place to just be. Yes, I writched.)
So I questioned and I pointed out inconsistencies and I became a thorn in the side of all my Bible study leaders and pastors and Christians friends. Why couldn't I just have more faith? Why couldn't I drink this down the way so many others seemed to do so easily? Why didn't it taste sweet? Then, after years of unsatisfactory answers, one winter Friday night in my twentieth year, I had enough. The four Christian girls I was living with at the time were gathering their coats and Bibles and notebooks to head out to our weekly gathering at the Christian group I belonged to in college. I have this image of them standing in the doorway, adjusting their coats and putting on gloves and securing their Bibles under their arms. One of my roommates held the door open for me, then finally looked back when she saw that I wasn't walking through it. I stood there behind the kitchen counter, all buttoned up and ready, but I couldn't move. They said, "Are you coming?" I said, "No. I don't think I'm going to go to Navs anymore." Long, awkward pause. "In fact," I continued with more confidence, "I don't think I'm going to go to church or Bible study anymore either. And I think I'm done reading the Bible. And I'm done praying. I'm just done with God. It's over." They stopped dead in their tracks, my other roommates peeking their heads in from around the corner where they had started to drift, anxious to get going. I will never forget that image of four pairs of eyes, gaping and oogling at me like I had suddently started speaking in French. They just closed the door and left. When that door clicked shut, I felt more free than I ever have in my life. I know it's cliched, but it was like I could breathe for the first time. I didn't know that air could feel so good going into your lungs. I calmly took off my coat, walked into my room, and put my Bible into the bottom dresser drawer under my stockings and other items of rarely-worn clothing. I didn't take it out again until I moved from that apartment, and I didn't crack it open again until earlier this year when I needed inspiration for a song I was writing called, "I will not be your Eve."
There is no possible way I could write just one blog entry about the journey I embarked on after that night, leading up to this very moment. But to summarize, I pretty much swung as far as I could in the other direction for awhile. After years of being told that all non-Christians were walking around with a gaping, god-shaped hole in their hearts, trying desperately to fill it with sex, drugs, and rock and roll, I figured that was what I should do now that I wasn't a Christian. I didn't yet know that finding peace and a secure identity in other places was an option. I felt I only had two choices before me: continue in this Christian charade or rebel in every way I knew how. So I did. I starting drinking, getting high, doing coke, giving my body to men that didn't value me, partying, etc. etc. If this was a Christian "testimony" this would be the part where I tell you that I felt unfulfilled by all of that and so I came running back to the "peace that passes understanding" in Jesus. But this is not that kind of story.
I actually did feel strangely fulfilled by much of it, but not for the acts themselves - more for the independence they gave me. The confidence to make my own decisions, even if they were bad ones. How frightening and exhilirating it was to make moves in life without praying first! What power I had all of a sudden to create my own opinions! I didn't have to believe any certain way about abortion, homosexuality, Democrats, French people, wars against terrorism, or Harry Potter. I had opened the package of Christian ideology that had been neatly wrapped for me, and I started disassembling it piece by piece. I would take each thing out of the box, examine it for awhile, and then decide whether to put it in the "keep," "toss," or "yard sale," pile.
As you can imagine, that reckless rebellion couldn't sustain itself for long. I started seeing the emptiness in those superficial vices; starting seeing them for what they were - distractions from the hard work I was really going to have to do to find what I believed. So I set most of them in the "toss" pile along with most of my Christian values. Now here I was, starting from scratch again.
I wandered around, meeting people from all walks of life, asking them what they believed and why, making observations about the world around me. I started doing yoga, which led me to Hinduism, which led me to Buddhism, which led me to Taoism. I started teaching at a Quaker school, which led me to Quakerism, which led me to Unitarianism, which led me to Transcendentalism. I started reading philosophy, which led me to existentialism, which led me to mysticism, which led me to agnosticism. Then I went to Europe and did away with all the "isms," which led me back to me.
And now here I am. Am I happy all the time? Certainly not. But Christians are not either - no matter what they tell you. Believe me, I know. I have days of despair and days of inspiration; moments of self-loathing and moments of self-discovery. But I am mine, and that is wonderful.
So what to do with all the Christians from my past? Well, for awhile, they called and emailed and stopped over, trying every tool in their good little Christian toolbelt to bring me back to God. I got everything from patronizing "I'll pray for yous," to shaking heads and looks of pity, to outright anger and threats of eternal damnation. My mom stopped talking to me for awhile. I lost basically all of my friends, and my boyfriend. Slowly, through the next year or so, one by one, they stopped calling. They were giving up; writing me off. Thank god.
Then, six years and eons of self-discovery later, I started writing this blog. I intended for it to simply be a way to update friends back home on my travels. I thought maybe I would write about seeing the Colosseum or the Eiffel Tower, but I found that I wanted to write more about what I was learning about myself on my trip. I was growing up and up and up, almost too rapidly to think straight, and it was exciting! I was learning how to love myself again after my divorce, learning how to think for myself after years of indoctrination, learning how to be my own best friend after years of clinging to people and things that were just never enough. I can't possibly emphasize to you what an amazing, fulfilling time this summer was for me. And I wrote about it all on here. The reaction from the Christians reading it? "Melanie, you have fallen."
Kick in the gut. Wind knocked out of me.
My mom, in her endearing pride for her daughter, had been passing this blog around to old friends and faithful relatives, all of whom were die-hard, accepted-Jesus-as-my-personal-Savior kind of Christians. You know, the kind of people you saw in that documentary, "Jesus Camp." I don't mind at all. This blog is public. I don't write anything I'm ashamed of. Now, why they continued reading when they found my life so offensive, I don't know, but read they did. And email they did as well. I don't know why I was surprised at their reactions. I was in that mentality for most of my life. I should have known that they would see my self-discoveries as poisonous pride and my search for the truth as a desperate cry to be re-saved. How silly of me to think that they would be proud. How ignorant to think that they would applaud my courage at finding my way through 14 foreign cities all alone when I obviously should only be travelling if I'm on a mission trip. How selfish. I guess I had been out of that world for long enough to forget just how cyclical their thinking can be; just how mired narrow-minded, and short-sighted their views are. (Uh oh, now she's getting a little bitey, watch out.)
But it is good of them to remind me that one can never outrun one's past. No matter how much I try to escape it, this thing will always follow me. What's sad is that there really were some times since I left my faith that I was making some pretty ill-advised decisions. I would have agreed with them if they said I had fallen then. But to know that I am in a place of such strength right now, and all that they can see is my absence in that church pew on Sunday morning is what cuts me right to the heart. It reminds me that I really am in this alone. Even my non-Christian friends who support and applaud my recent growth cannot really understand how much it means without also understanding the parts of me that my old, Christians friends do. Perhaps I just like to feel misunderstood in a Holden Caulfield-ish sort of way. Somehow it's more comforting than trying to fit into the little spot that so many have carved out for me in their minds.
I'll end with this image that I keep having. I picture myself as a flower or plant in a garden bed, growing calmly beside all the other plants. We are all drinking in the sun from above and the water from below in our own, sweet times. But all the other flower faces are turned towards each other, or towards the ground, while mine is turned up. I start growing at a more rapid rate, reaching towards the sky, throwing tendrils up, up, upward. I'm nearly flying now, shooting skyward at an incredible rate, my flower face still turned up towards the sun and smiling (if that's possible for a flower). The plants below me send out shoots and thorns of their own, trying to rope me back down. They shout up that they love me and miss me down there and where am I going and so on and so forth in plant language. But I don't even feel their grasping, chlorophylled arms. I just keep growing, all by myself, content and warm from the wonderful sun.
So I questioned and I pointed out inconsistencies and I became a thorn in the side of all my Bible study leaders and pastors and Christians friends. Why couldn't I just have more faith? Why couldn't I drink this down the way so many others seemed to do so easily? Why didn't it taste sweet? Then, after years of unsatisfactory answers, one winter Friday night in my twentieth year, I had enough. The four Christian girls I was living with at the time were gathering their coats and Bibles and notebooks to head out to our weekly gathering at the Christian group I belonged to in college. I have this image of them standing in the doorway, adjusting their coats and putting on gloves and securing their Bibles under their arms. One of my roommates held the door open for me, then finally looked back when she saw that I wasn't walking through it. I stood there behind the kitchen counter, all buttoned up and ready, but I couldn't move. They said, "Are you coming?" I said, "No. I don't think I'm going to go to Navs anymore." Long, awkward pause. "In fact," I continued with more confidence, "I don't think I'm going to go to church or Bible study anymore either. And I think I'm done reading the Bible. And I'm done praying. I'm just done with God. It's over." They stopped dead in their tracks, my other roommates peeking their heads in from around the corner where they had started to drift, anxious to get going. I will never forget that image of four pairs of eyes, gaping and oogling at me like I had suddently started speaking in French. They just closed the door and left. When that door clicked shut, I felt more free than I ever have in my life. I know it's cliched, but it was like I could breathe for the first time. I didn't know that air could feel so good going into your lungs. I calmly took off my coat, walked into my room, and put my Bible into the bottom dresser drawer under my stockings and other items of rarely-worn clothing. I didn't take it out again until I moved from that apartment, and I didn't crack it open again until earlier this year when I needed inspiration for a song I was writing called, "I will not be your Eve."
There is no possible way I could write just one blog entry about the journey I embarked on after that night, leading up to this very moment. But to summarize, I pretty much swung as far as I could in the other direction for awhile. After years of being told that all non-Christians were walking around with a gaping, god-shaped hole in their hearts, trying desperately to fill it with sex, drugs, and rock and roll, I figured that was what I should do now that I wasn't a Christian. I didn't yet know that finding peace and a secure identity in other places was an option. I felt I only had two choices before me: continue in this Christian charade or rebel in every way I knew how. So I did. I starting drinking, getting high, doing coke, giving my body to men that didn't value me, partying, etc. etc. If this was a Christian "testimony" this would be the part where I tell you that I felt unfulfilled by all of that and so I came running back to the "peace that passes understanding" in Jesus. But this is not that kind of story.
I actually did feel strangely fulfilled by much of it, but not for the acts themselves - more for the independence they gave me. The confidence to make my own decisions, even if they were bad ones. How frightening and exhilirating it was to make moves in life without praying first! What power I had all of a sudden to create my own opinions! I didn't have to believe any certain way about abortion, homosexuality, Democrats, French people, wars against terrorism, or Harry Potter. I had opened the package of Christian ideology that had been neatly wrapped for me, and I started disassembling it piece by piece. I would take each thing out of the box, examine it for awhile, and then decide whether to put it in the "keep," "toss," or "yard sale," pile.
As you can imagine, that reckless rebellion couldn't sustain itself for long. I started seeing the emptiness in those superficial vices; starting seeing them for what they were - distractions from the hard work I was really going to have to do to find what I believed. So I set most of them in the "toss" pile along with most of my Christian values. Now here I was, starting from scratch again.
I wandered around, meeting people from all walks of life, asking them what they believed and why, making observations about the world around me. I started doing yoga, which led me to Hinduism, which led me to Buddhism, which led me to Taoism. I started teaching at a Quaker school, which led me to Quakerism, which led me to Unitarianism, which led me to Transcendentalism. I started reading philosophy, which led me to existentialism, which led me to mysticism, which led me to agnosticism. Then I went to Europe and did away with all the "isms," which led me back to me.
And now here I am. Am I happy all the time? Certainly not. But Christians are not either - no matter what they tell you. Believe me, I know. I have days of despair and days of inspiration; moments of self-loathing and moments of self-discovery. But I am mine, and that is wonderful.
So what to do with all the Christians from my past? Well, for awhile, they called and emailed and stopped over, trying every tool in their good little Christian toolbelt to bring me back to God. I got everything from patronizing "I'll pray for yous," to shaking heads and looks of pity, to outright anger and threats of eternal damnation. My mom stopped talking to me for awhile. I lost basically all of my friends, and my boyfriend. Slowly, through the next year or so, one by one, they stopped calling. They were giving up; writing me off. Thank god.
Then, six years and eons of self-discovery later, I started writing this blog. I intended for it to simply be a way to update friends back home on my travels. I thought maybe I would write about seeing the Colosseum or the Eiffel Tower, but I found that I wanted to write more about what I was learning about myself on my trip. I was growing up and up and up, almost too rapidly to think straight, and it was exciting! I was learning how to love myself again after my divorce, learning how to think for myself after years of indoctrination, learning how to be my own best friend after years of clinging to people and things that were just never enough. I can't possibly emphasize to you what an amazing, fulfilling time this summer was for me. And I wrote about it all on here. The reaction from the Christians reading it? "Melanie, you have fallen."
Kick in the gut. Wind knocked out of me.
My mom, in her endearing pride for her daughter, had been passing this blog around to old friends and faithful relatives, all of whom were die-hard, accepted-Jesus-as-my-personal-Savior kind of Christians. You know, the kind of people you saw in that documentary, "Jesus Camp." I don't mind at all. This blog is public. I don't write anything I'm ashamed of. Now, why they continued reading when they found my life so offensive, I don't know, but read they did. And email they did as well. I don't know why I was surprised at their reactions. I was in that mentality for most of my life. I should have known that they would see my self-discoveries as poisonous pride and my search for the truth as a desperate cry to be re-saved. How silly of me to think that they would be proud. How ignorant to think that they would applaud my courage at finding my way through 14 foreign cities all alone when I obviously should only be travelling if I'm on a mission trip. How selfish. I guess I had been out of that world for long enough to forget just how cyclical their thinking can be; just how mired narrow-minded, and short-sighted their views are. (Uh oh, now she's getting a little bitey, watch out.)
But it is good of them to remind me that one can never outrun one's past. No matter how much I try to escape it, this thing will always follow me. What's sad is that there really were some times since I left my faith that I was making some pretty ill-advised decisions. I would have agreed with them if they said I had fallen then. But to know that I am in a place of such strength right now, and all that they can see is my absence in that church pew on Sunday morning is what cuts me right to the heart. It reminds me that I really am in this alone. Even my non-Christian friends who support and applaud my recent growth cannot really understand how much it means without also understanding the parts of me that my old, Christians friends do. Perhaps I just like to feel misunderstood in a Holden Caulfield-ish sort of way. Somehow it's more comforting than trying to fit into the little spot that so many have carved out for me in their minds.
I'll end with this image that I keep having. I picture myself as a flower or plant in a garden bed, growing calmly beside all the other plants. We are all drinking in the sun from above and the water from below in our own, sweet times. But all the other flower faces are turned towards each other, or towards the ground, while mine is turned up. I start growing at a more rapid rate, reaching towards the sky, throwing tendrils up, up, upward. I'm nearly flying now, shooting skyward at an incredible rate, my flower face still turned up towards the sun and smiling (if that's possible for a flower). The plants below me send out shoots and thorns of their own, trying to rope me back down. They shout up that they love me and miss me down there and where am I going and so on and so forth in plant language. But I don't even feel their grasping, chlorophylled arms. I just keep growing, all by myself, content and warm from the wonderful sun.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
anger
I know I said I wasn't going to blog anymore. Maybe that lost me some readers, but that's ok. It's ok if no one ever reads this again. I only write it for me anyway, and I don't like the way that many people have chosen to judge me as a result of some entries.
Lately, I have been so angry. Angry at my bandmates because I'm having trouble with a few songs for our upcoming gig. Angry at my roommates for being in my space. Angry at my boyfriend for not being exactly what I want him to be at every moment. Angry at my co-workers for working too hard and making me look bad. Angry at my mom for not understanding who I am becoming. Angry at the stupid guys on the street who call out at me. Angry at my husband for daring to still be kind and caring to me. Angry at my boss for not paying me more. Angry at the girl I bought a mattress from because it's shitty and she didn't tell me that. Angry at my bank for charging me for my overdrafts. Angry at the Munich hospital for charging me much more than I anticipated for my visit. Angry at the rats and cockroaches that scurry across my sidewalk for being dirty. Angry at the mosquitoes that bite me. I'm just angry.
I learned once that anger results from a blocked goal. I have a lot of blocked goals right now. I don't want this mundanity. It's never enough. But I also know that I usually get angry when I don't want to be vulnerable. As soon as I start feeling a little exposed, I cover it up with anger like a protective coating of scotch guard. ARGH!
Lately, I have been so angry. Angry at my bandmates because I'm having trouble with a few songs for our upcoming gig. Angry at my roommates for being in my space. Angry at my boyfriend for not being exactly what I want him to be at every moment. Angry at my co-workers for working too hard and making me look bad. Angry at my mom for not understanding who I am becoming. Angry at the stupid guys on the street who call out at me. Angry at my husband for daring to still be kind and caring to me. Angry at my boss for not paying me more. Angry at the girl I bought a mattress from because it's shitty and she didn't tell me that. Angry at my bank for charging me for my overdrafts. Angry at the Munich hospital for charging me much more than I anticipated for my visit. Angry at the rats and cockroaches that scurry across my sidewalk for being dirty. Angry at the mosquitoes that bite me. I'm just angry.
I learned once that anger results from a blocked goal. I have a lot of blocked goals right now. I don't want this mundanity. It's never enough. But I also know that I usually get angry when I don't want to be vulnerable. As soon as I start feeling a little exposed, I cover it up with anger like a protective coating of scotch guard. ARGH!
Friday, September 5, 2008
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