lulls are expected, in life and in blogging. some months i am compelled to write and others i am not. well, perhaps i am but i am too lazy or tired or busy or happy to actually sit down and get on with it.
this was my last* summer at the private school i have been working at for three years. with my raise came more responsibilities. i was ready for them. i was trusted to plan and lead the daily activities eight hours a day, five days a week. there were small catastrophes every day, which i learned to expect and laugh at. there were days when children transitioning into kindergarten scurried out of the restroom naked, third graders had bleeding knees, children had lost socks and a kitchen worker with no consideration for the chaos i was swamped in badgered on and on about a bucket full of ice and if i was done with it. did she see the naked child or bleeding knees? there were days when we watched movies and shared food in a communal way that reminded me of family and played egyptian war for hours on end. there were days when children told me they loved me. there were also days when i ran after children with disabilities, feeling helpless and praying they would not run any further. life with children, especially outside of the classroom where they confide in you, is certainly not boring. it is the most difficult, rewarding thing i have experienced and i am sad to say goodbye to them.
two weeks before the summer program ended, i realized my income would be significantly lower. i applied for jobs in a fury - seventeen, i think? this would explain my current situation:
teaching music on mondays at a private school
tutoring on tuesdays and wednesdays (and hopefully subbing these days, too)
preschool teacher on thursday mornings
nanny on thursday and friday afternoons
part-time position at my church, which requires my time throughout the week
it's okay for you to think i'm crazy. i am. i know this. i also know that i can do this. whenever i find myself knee deep in a busy season i always look back to spring semester of 2012 when i was taking 21 units, in the middle of an internship, and working. if i could survive that, i could survive anything. oh, and there is also something else i am doing right now:
planning a wedding. because i'm engaged!
that deserves its own post. soon enough, soon enough.
well, blog world. i'm back for a few months before i disappear again.
cheers!
*funny how we plan these things. i wonder, will it really be my last summer there? i miss those kids mucho.
19.9.13
20.7.13
aging.
i am aging. does that sound silly at age twenty-three? well, i am.
i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and see a radiant, irrepressible woman.
a month ago i noticed that the veins on my legs were getting bluer, greener, darker. some even slightly raised. i am aging, i thought, and of all the magnificent applications of my imagination i could choose from - i chose worry.* and where else would worry lead me but the infinitely credible world wide web. it is the authority of our time. i half-laughed at this instinctual compulsion to ask ask ask the omniscient google why and how and all sorts of other inquiries. i laughed because it is the first place i go when i am worried about something. i am a hypochondriac in the worst sense, don't you know? and later, in the bath and on the feller's shoulder and on my dear friend's bed, i sobbed because i am so terribly afraid of being rejected for my body - my small breasts and wide hips and tiny belly and veiny limbs. i thought i would handle aging better. i thought it was the one thing i was mentally prepared for - it will come, i thought; it is unavoidable, i reminded myself; i am more than body; i chanted. but who is prepared to age? to feel and see the good things - health and youth - pass? to know this passing gives way to the one dependable eventuality - death?
but i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and cannot help but swell with affection. she has wrinkles and grey hair and lovehandles and painful vericose veins and arthritis. she has consistently been slighted by the men in her life. she could be like so many - stalking empty beauty. but she has chosen to give herself to the needs of others - her grandchildren, her children, her siblings, her own mother. she is a well of good intentions. she is a loving cook and dedicated worker. she is endlessly interested in the lives of those she loves. and her advice is always the truest thing she knows to be helpful. she is a beautiful woman. and is most happy when plating dinner, jabbing at her eldest, laughing loud and full.
these past few weeks i can see how boring and pitiful it is to be obsessed with maintaining youth. what a dull life. my mother teaches me this. working with children gives me a means to practice this 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. i can restrain myself from interacting with the kids (i.e. not going in the water with my bathing suit on, etc.) or give myself fully to them. to be tugged on. to be a child's pillow. to become a master sand castle maker. to be hugged, squeezed and, occasionally, dragged. to tag them back-and-forth-back-and-forth because there is no such thing as "no tag backs." to be out of breath and tired by them. to save them from that-really-big-wave. to tell them no. to throw the ball hard because they can handle it. to run across the campus in search of a stuffed animal or missing sock. preoccupied with my insecurities, i could be no real help. i could offer them nothing.
so, i am aging and all good things wither and die. but my mother reminds me that fear and worry don't change this, that life is better when it is about others, that serving heals us.
*the feller occasionally calls me a "worried wart," rather than a "worry wart." it is because 6-8 months ago two warts appeared on my cursed left foot. they are since gone and the memory of them makes me laugh if only because it makes him cringe.
i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and see a radiant, irrepressible woman.
a month ago i noticed that the veins on my legs were getting bluer, greener, darker. some even slightly raised. i am aging, i thought, and of all the magnificent applications of my imagination i could choose from - i chose worry.* and where else would worry lead me but the infinitely credible world wide web. it is the authority of our time. i half-laughed at this instinctual compulsion to ask ask ask the omniscient google why and how and all sorts of other inquiries. i laughed because it is the first place i go when i am worried about something. i am a hypochondriac in the worst sense, don't you know? and later, in the bath and on the feller's shoulder and on my dear friend's bed, i sobbed because i am so terribly afraid of being rejected for my body - my small breasts and wide hips and tiny belly and veiny limbs. i thought i would handle aging better. i thought it was the one thing i was mentally prepared for - it will come, i thought; it is unavoidable, i reminded myself; i am more than body; i chanted. but who is prepared to age? to feel and see the good things - health and youth - pass? to know this passing gives way to the one dependable eventuality - death?
but i look at my mother, age sixty-four, and cannot help but swell with affection. she has wrinkles and grey hair and lovehandles and painful vericose veins and arthritis. she has consistently been slighted by the men in her life. she could be like so many - stalking empty beauty. but she has chosen to give herself to the needs of others - her grandchildren, her children, her siblings, her own mother. she is a well of good intentions. she is a loving cook and dedicated worker. she is endlessly interested in the lives of those she loves. and her advice is always the truest thing she knows to be helpful. she is a beautiful woman. and is most happy when plating dinner, jabbing at her eldest, laughing loud and full.
these past few weeks i can see how boring and pitiful it is to be obsessed with maintaining youth. what a dull life. my mother teaches me this. working with children gives me a means to practice this 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. i can restrain myself from interacting with the kids (i.e. not going in the water with my bathing suit on, etc.) or give myself fully to them. to be tugged on. to be a child's pillow. to become a master sand castle maker. to be hugged, squeezed and, occasionally, dragged. to tag them back-and-forth-back-and-forth because there is no such thing as "no tag backs." to be out of breath and tired by them. to save them from that-really-big-wave. to tell them no. to throw the ball hard because they can handle it. to run across the campus in search of a stuffed animal or missing sock. preoccupied with my insecurities, i could be no real help. i could offer them nothing.
so, i am aging and all good things wither and die. but my mother reminds me that fear and worry don't change this, that life is better when it is about others, that serving heals us.
*the feller occasionally calls me a "worried wart," rather than a "worry wart." it is because 6-8 months ago two warts appeared on my cursed left foot. they are since gone and the memory of them makes me laugh if only because it makes him cringe.
19.6.13
eleven years
mom and dad have separated. it was eleven years in the making, which means nothing in regards to its impact. i have cried plenty: over love that does not put everything on the line, over shame that isolates, over unreciprocated attempts at togetherness.
i am convinced we are all damaged - it is the most unbearable truth of our time. we persist to escape, ignore, and hide it. what use is it to condemn such a human inclination? i, too, have lived out of a trunk of masks. i, too, have impolitely declined vulnerable conversations. brokenness resists exposure. we are all hopeless and damaged. inconsistent and contradictory and lost.
i once thought people could never change, sincerely. 'we are gorged on selfishness.' but over time, i found myself changing - the steadfastness of Others is a balm. so if i can change, then maybe others can. maybe not. it all depends on intentionality, rearranging priorities and training oneself to be good, not only to do good.
eleven years - can you believe it? some years were better than others. i wonder if that has more to do with ignorance and diligent secret keeping. some years were worse, characterized by a distinct pattern of discovery and disappointment, arguments and small changes that never turned into big changes. and here i am - here we are - at the end of it all: damaged, unchanging hearts in conflict still.
i know i said eleven years but could it be that it was two lifetimes in the making? could it be that it was the lifetimes of my grandparents and all those lives that touched and harmed and beat relentlessly on mom and dad? our personal histories are complex and layered. and doesn't it take a lifetime to unravel it all? and even at death isn't there still brokenness? aren't things still unresolved? and if we are still in such conflict at death, what does this all amount to?
i am convinced we are all damaged - it is the most unbearable truth of our time. we persist to escape, ignore, and hide it. what use is it to condemn such a human inclination? i, too, have lived out of a trunk of masks. i, too, have impolitely declined vulnerable conversations. brokenness resists exposure. we are all hopeless and damaged. inconsistent and contradictory and lost.
i once thought people could never change, sincerely. 'we are gorged on selfishness.' but over time, i found myself changing - the steadfastness of Others is a balm. so if i can change, then maybe others can. maybe not. it all depends on intentionality, rearranging priorities and training oneself to be good, not only to do good.
eleven years - can you believe it? some years were better than others. i wonder if that has more to do with ignorance and diligent secret keeping. some years were worse, characterized by a distinct pattern of discovery and disappointment, arguments and small changes that never turned into big changes. and here i am - here we are - at the end of it all: damaged, unchanging hearts in conflict still.
i know i said eleven years but could it be that it was two lifetimes in the making? could it be that it was the lifetimes of my grandparents and all those lives that touched and harmed and beat relentlessly on mom and dad? our personal histories are complex and layered. and doesn't it take a lifetime to unravel it all? and even at death isn't there still brokenness? aren't things still unresolved? and if we are still in such conflict at death, what does this all amount to?
26.4.13
so brave
i have read maira kalman's book three or four times since purchasing it against my budget's will in december. i reread it again this week, this heartbreakingly confusing week. and i keep coming back to this quote starting at "how are we all..."
sorry and proud. this is precisely how i feel this week.
there is so much to weep over.
there is so much to relish in.
"what to do? what to do?" i wonder.
22.4.13
save our souls.
could a garden come up from this ground at all?
in light of yesterdays events this question is both
-allatonce-
my sincerest hopes and doubts.
oh, lord save our souls.
i am grieved by what i know.
4.4.13
i will be out
small things have been overwhelming me today.
instead of getting into the details here is a brief list:
car is in the shop.
noise.
unwanted company.
noise.
inability to work due to noise.
noise.
stranded at home.
noise.
tense friendships.
noise.
finances.
noise.
parental strife:
lectures and misunderstanding.
noise.
today i have been irritable and frustrated.
one day i will be out of this house.
a year maximum - better job, more money.
sigh.
instead of getting into the details here is a brief list:
car is in the shop.
noise.
unwanted company.
noise.
inability to work due to noise.
noise.
stranded at home.
noise.
tense friendships.
noise.
finances.
noise.
parental strife:
lectures and misunderstanding.
noise.
today i have been irritable and frustrated.
one day i will be out of this house.
a year maximum - better job, more money.
sigh.
30.3.13
my lot too.
i spent the first hours of black friday* on my bed with a friend addressing the tensions over the last six months or so. the distance and avoidance. the felt separation.
from kindergarten to high school i went to seven schools.
kindergarten at my church.
first grade at an elementary close to home.
second and third grade at a new magnet school that opened.
fourth, fifth, and sixth grade enrolled in a gate program across town.
seventh grade at a private school.
eighth grade at a public school (the private school closed).
high school at one place.
we only moved once that whole time, to the house that i now live in. but i never had the chance to keep friends because i was always in a different school. i would have a best friend for one or two years and have to say goodbye. when i realized that i had two or three friends at my church, i clung to them. i wasn't leaving my church any time soon. but those friends have since bowed out of my life. i haven't spoken to them in two or more years. and there have been new friends that have come along. some have recently moved further south. others are in their beginning stages. and i am thankful. but this does not change my upsetting history with friendships.
my friend and i talked about ears that judge, keeping a record of wrongs, unreciprocated availability and the uneasiness that is a product of rejection. i told her i needed her. that as much as i am afraid to enter into friendships due to my history of being royally screwed over, i am willing to work through it. that as much as i want to say i am done being relegated to a spot on the edges of your life, i love you and find you to be valuable. i expect to be disappointed in relationships and that isn't fair. it isn't giving her a chance. but she has disappointed me. there will be more chances to give. making friends is hard for me, i admitted. i don't know who to trust and am used to being overlooked, replaced, and used. there was mutual sharing and apologies and forgiveness. we consecrated the moment with prayer and a hug and a promise to stay friends.
and in the morning i wept. for the friendships that have collapsed on themselves. the friendships that were not kept. who will be my friend? i asked of the Lord. who will care for me? who will extend a hand of mercy and a word of loving correction? and who will let me be their friend? who have i to care for? who will give me place in their lives? i recognized Him as the Steadfast One, the Faithful One. He is my forever friend - this is a source of deep pleasure and comfort. and i beheld Christ who was rejected and despised among men, a man of sorrows, aquainted with suffering, the One whom people hid their faces from. i considered His experiences of betrayal and loneliness. i remembered the accusations against Him, the misinterptation of His words and deeds. His friends could not even keep their eyes open and pray by His side in His final moments of despair. and i wondered if this was my lot too. and i wept for Christ - forsaken, bruised, and killed. the light of life, extinguished.
*i know people call it 'good friday' and that's fine. but for me, it's jumping the gun to celebration. it is turning our eyes from the torture too quickly. it interupts the shock, the disorientation, the sadness. it is the Church's duty to behold Christ, the suffering servant. my gratitude deepens when i see His chest heaving for breath and, finally, still. He is faithful to the end. He is my company in despair.
*i know people call it 'good friday' and that's fine. but for me, it's jumping the gun to celebration. it is turning our eyes from the torture too quickly. it interupts the shock, the disorientation, the sadness. it is the Church's duty to behold Christ, the suffering servant. my gratitude deepens when i see His chest heaving for breath and, finally, still. He is faithful to the end. He is my company in despair.
29.3.13
ploughs forward.
two weeks ago i took the cbest. friends said it was easy and i believed them. that is, until the the night before. in true stacey fashion i was rattled with nervousness. the assault of worries :
i should have prepared better! math is not my strong subject. my first c was in math, for goodness sake. i haven't written a timed essay in years. why didn't i practice this?
i looked up tips and review questions on my android. curse around the clock accessibility to the internet. what should have placated me only exacerbated my angst. i woke up exhausted at 5:30 am but rolled over and slept thirty minutes more. i could afford a half hour of uninterrupted rest. God knows, i would have spent it worrying.
what redeemed the forty minute drive south was the delightful green parading springs coming. it served both as distraction and anchor. a distraction from the reality of taking a standardized test in a high school classroom. an anchor to the reality that life and time and things keep going. spring will burst through winter's barren, endless white and summer will scorch springs' life and fall will strip summer of whatever radiance it has left. but the trees still grow if you lose your job or you get a promotion. life ploughs forward.
playground and daycare are easy. i enjoy preparing snacks, assisting with homework, and running around with those rascals. there are days when no body wants to listen and things go south, but discipline isn't difficult. my job is too easy.
if i ever plan on moving out, getting married, paying off my loans i need a higher income. substitute teaching provides this, without nixing children whom i love.
it is also something i have never done and will challenge me. i've been encouraged by several friends, older, wiser, who have substitute taught or been full-time teachers. it will help me walk taller, command the room with authority and kindness, be sure of what i have to say (or humbly admit i have no idea what i'm doing). they say the classroom is the best training room for being a speaker, a leader. i need work in this area.
i took the cbest and i passed. some of the questions were less intuitive but i passed.
eager to know how well i did, i scanned the page for my score.
the minimum passing requirement is 123, i scored a 172...
out of 240.
ouch. before i could celebrate the fact that i passed, i felt pummeled by disappointment. i am an idiot, i thought. my reading was my highest, math my second highest, and writing my lowest.
ouch. i love to write. sometimes i aspire to take writing classes and compile my words into a children's book? a collection of poetry and observations? into something true and alive. i am an idiot, i reminded myself.
i called the feller with the news - all of it. he is so good to me.
not until we hung up did i concede that i am not my score. in 11th grade AP english, my teacher talked with us about this subject concerning the looming SAT test we would be taking soon.
isn't this great? i says so much about our society's obsession with measured academic achievement that creates a hierarchy of intelligence and, thus, worth. i am not here to argue the validity of these tests, only to say that the scores reflect the ability of the test taker to apply selected information and skills in a standardized test (and test setting - ugh). these scores say nothing about who the test takers are.
i am good with kids. i can guide and direct and discipline and encourage them well.
their little successes make my heart leap.
so, while i could retake the test for a higher score, i know that it isn't necessary as it is incosequential to my getting a job. it would only be to satisfy my need for an A, which is a conditioned desire rooted in the human aspiriation for meaning and value. thank you, 'merica. thank you, childhood.
i don't need to satisfy that need. i know who i am. and i am not an idiot.
i don't need to get hung up on this even though the idea of upcoming interviews almost paralyzes me.
in other news: after i hung up with the feller, i attempted to make cream of mushroom soup. cooking is relaxing. i cook slow and enjoy the process, the simmering, the melting, the mixing. it helps me think and focus. the cbest scores must have really put me in a funk because i forgot to check if i had the right amount of each ingredient. i am a planner, checker, double checker but my measurements were off. i continued cooking with fingers crossed. there was too much flour. down the garbage disposal.
i succombed to my new fallback: the grilled cheese with spinach and tomato.
slowly cooked to perfection and instantly satisfying over an episode of glee.
so while i felt disappointed that even my mushroom soup was a fail, i still managed to give thanks that life mercifully ploughs forward.
i should have prepared better! math is not my strong subject. my first c was in math, for goodness sake. i haven't written a timed essay in years. why didn't i practice this?
i looked up tips and review questions on my android. curse around the clock accessibility to the internet. what should have placated me only exacerbated my angst. i woke up exhausted at 5:30 am but rolled over and slept thirty minutes more. i could afford a half hour of uninterrupted rest. God knows, i would have spent it worrying.
what redeemed the forty minute drive south was the delightful green parading springs coming. it served both as distraction and anchor. a distraction from the reality of taking a standardized test in a high school classroom. an anchor to the reality that life and time and things keep going. spring will burst through winter's barren, endless white and summer will scorch springs' life and fall will strip summer of whatever radiance it has left. but the trees still grow if you lose your job or you get a promotion. life ploughs forward.
for three years, i have been a playground/after school supervisor. it offers flexibility and brief shifts. this was ideal my final two years in college. work never overtaxed me. it could be reenergizing, at times. and it has been nice working here post-grad in addition to my position at my church. it has aroused concern:
minimum wage, no matter how much i love my job and how many hours i scour from sick employees, isn't a sustainable income.playground and daycare are easy. i enjoy preparing snacks, assisting with homework, and running around with those rascals. there are days when no body wants to listen and things go south, but discipline isn't difficult. my job is too easy.
the cbest offers an answer.
if i ever plan on moving out, getting married, paying off my loans i need a higher income. substitute teaching provides this, without nixing children whom i love.
it is also something i have never done and will challenge me. i've been encouraged by several friends, older, wiser, who have substitute taught or been full-time teachers. it will help me walk taller, command the room with authority and kindness, be sure of what i have to say (or humbly admit i have no idea what i'm doing). they say the classroom is the best training room for being a speaker, a leader. i need work in this area.
i took the cbest and i passed. some of the questions were less intuitive but i passed.
eager to know how well i did, i scanned the page for my score.
the minimum passing requirement is 123, i scored a 172...
out of 240.
ouch. before i could celebrate the fact that i passed, i felt pummeled by disappointment. i am an idiot, i thought. my reading was my highest, math my second highest, and writing my lowest.
ouch. i love to write. sometimes i aspire to take writing classes and compile my words into a children's book? a collection of poetry and observations? into something true and alive. i am an idiot, i reminded myself.
i called the feller with the news - all of it. he is so good to me.
not until we hung up did i concede that i am not my score. in 11th grade AP english, my teacher talked with us about this subject concerning the looming SAT test we would be taking soon.
isn't this great? i says so much about our society's obsession with measured academic achievement that creates a hierarchy of intelligence and, thus, worth. i am not here to argue the validity of these tests, only to say that the scores reflect the ability of the test taker to apply selected information and skills in a standardized test (and test setting - ugh). these scores say nothing about who the test takers are.
i am good with kids. i can guide and direct and discipline and encourage them well.
their little successes make my heart leap.
so, while i could retake the test for a higher score, i know that it isn't necessary as it is incosequential to my getting a job. it would only be to satisfy my need for an A, which is a conditioned desire rooted in the human aspiriation for meaning and value. thank you, 'merica. thank you, childhood.
i don't need to satisfy that need. i know who i am. and i am not an idiot.
i don't need to get hung up on this even though the idea of upcoming interviews almost paralyzes me.
in other news: after i hung up with the feller, i attempted to make cream of mushroom soup. cooking is relaxing. i cook slow and enjoy the process, the simmering, the melting, the mixing. it helps me think and focus. the cbest scores must have really put me in a funk because i forgot to check if i had the right amount of each ingredient. i am a planner, checker, double checker but my measurements were off. i continued cooking with fingers crossed. there was too much flour. down the garbage disposal.
i succombed to my new fallback: the grilled cheese with spinach and tomato.
slowly cooked to perfection and instantly satisfying over an episode of glee.
so while i felt disappointed that even my mushroom soup was a fail, i still managed to give thanks that life mercifully ploughs forward.
18.3.13
the scared
this is the reason i have worked with children for three years (also, why i do not fast forward through the new at&t commercials). they have perfected nonsensical sound effects. zwee hyuh tzerooowhoah! their imaginations thrill me. a playground is a ship and a jump rope is a snake and they are all kittens or puppies (unless, domesticated animals aren't your thing). reality is for the classroom and home, perhaps. but every moment in between reveals that impossible is not a real word.
"the scared is scared of things you like."
the scared* is threatened by the good, beautiful, and true. it suspects them of false advertisement. it reacts with exclamation:
flee! hide! this is too good to be true!
it learns what to be scared of from people and media and culture and history. it learns what to be scared of from experience. it learns that not all cookies taste as good as they look (especially the ones shaped like keyboards!) and that friends lie. and it worries that this will be the case everytime. it expects disappointment and pain.
i have tried thinking about things i like. it works sometimes, so, i would say that dear asa is onto something. thinking about things that are true helps more. being quiet and in the presence of God and loved ones. the scared doesn't go away without a fuss, however. it throws tantrums because it likes being around poking my side with questions when i am trying to live.
the scared shows up when i am eating pizza with new friends or tasting a flavorful, layered beer in hollywood. the scared shows up when i'm ironing perler beads or trying on a snazzy dress. the scared shows up before dinner with almost family when a phone buzzes and i know who it is. the scared shows up at jack and the box when the morning has been good and the evening looks promising. the scared shows up when something i love is happening or just around the corner.
when i introduce the scared to the good, beautiful, and true - when i confront what it sees as dangerous - it must either transform its demeanor towards those things (into love or appreciation or understanding) or go. elizabeth green and mark gibson write in The Modern Conductor: "we must learn right from the beginning, to recognize tension when it exists and to command it to relax." they are speaking of shrugged shoulders and anxiety and about maintaining a relaxed stance so that the entirety of expression in our gestures, during a performance, may be from a place at ease.
this video and my conducting book remind me that:
i want to, with authority and grace, confront the scared.
i want to live from a sure, composed place.
*are the scared and the beast the same thing?
21.2.13
capable.
this past week, i was asked to help out backstage for a musical my work* was putting on. i have fond memories of The Music Man. though i never participated in a stage performance of this musical theatre favorite, i watched it on dvd endlessly, my dad always humming behind me. the school performance was condensed - only an hour long. it was a bullet list of main points and songs therefore it was no surprise when the storytelling proved bankrupt of artful development.
but it's okay, they are kids for goodness sake!
i showed up monday evening with no idea about what i was expected to do. two summers ago, i was asked to sit in the front row and cue lines when needed and cue choerography when the loud first grader was shocked by how bright the lights are and how he couldn't see mommy. but for that show, i attended all rehearsals. i wasn't sure what i would be assigned to do for these final three rehearsals and the almost-here six shows. the director - also the fifth grade teacher - walked me to the soundbooth and said i'd be stage manger. i would "call the book." i would learn the show before thursday's audience arrived. learning the show, for me, meant knowing when lights, curtain, mics, and music should be on, open, off, etc.
on hearing her expectation and instruction i had two thoughts:
all and all, it was fun. it required organization, a feel for timing, the ability to process and respond to multiple variables the entire show, and a relaxed attitude.**
i put mics on kids, replaced batteries, and repeated the most powerful words all night - "standby" and "go."
brushing my teeth after a successful opening night, i realized that i don't have one thing in particular that i want to give myself to. i enjoy a lot of things. singing, writing, reading, design, organization, children, planning. i am a prepared and dependable individual who can see all of her interests contributing to one another, who can see herself doing three different things (and getting paid for them) at the same time for the rest of her life. however, there is part of me that is buckling down to become a master. no, not get my masters (that will come later?) but excavate my school resources, make appointments to meet with masters of a kind, and look over a few things until they are automatic, ingrained, imprinted.
during college i juggled the schedule of barack obama. i was, admittedly, overcommitted. i excelled at getting-things-done well. i received A's, approval from my supervisors, and was entrusted with (too) much at my internship. i am no master of my area of study, though. i mostly just crossed things off my to do list without absorbing subjects deeply enough to remember specifics after the "due date." however, this was my college experience: i become a more solid, anchored person who is honest and can say no.
The Music Man reminded me that i am talented, that i can apply my skills to many situations, and that i love musicals. that last one may have no relevance in my future. but it's true.
The Music Man mostly made me feel capable. and hungry to master something so that, in the future, i can be more so. and since i've been so scared of growing up, sitting behind the glass of the sound booth, dim lights, friendly banter and the directors' confidence felt so inexplicably good. like things might all work out some how. that i might get a side job here and another job here and i could be just as fulfilled as the doctor who accomplished an eon of schooling to check my reflexes. or that i could be a doctor. i forget which one.
*a k-8 private school. oh, the stories i could tell!
**working on this. i know sometimes i can be a frenzied presence. when josh called me a "stress case" sophomore year, my quick heart knew he was right. when i encounter people i want to be a calming presence. for example, the director seemed to be unphased by missing props, nervous fidgeting, and forgotten lines. she was self-possessed. she drank her diet coke leisurely. i took note and tried with every shivering bone in my body to follow suit.
but it's okay, they are kids for goodness sake!
i showed up monday evening with no idea about what i was expected to do. two summers ago, i was asked to sit in the front row and cue lines when needed and cue choerography when the loud first grader was shocked by how bright the lights are and how he couldn't see mommy. but for that show, i attended all rehearsals. i wasn't sure what i would be assigned to do for these final three rehearsals and the almost-here six shows. the director - also the fifth grade teacher - walked me to the soundbooth and said i'd be stage manger. i would "call the book." i would learn the show before thursday's audience arrived. learning the show, for me, meant knowing when lights, curtain, mics, and music should be on, open, off, etc.
on hearing her expectation and instruction i had two thoughts:
nice.
and
what?
all and all, it was fun. it required organization, a feel for timing, the ability to process and respond to multiple variables the entire show, and a relaxed attitude.**
i put mics on kids, replaced batteries, and repeated the most powerful words all night - "standby" and "go."
brushing my teeth after a successful opening night, i realized that i don't have one thing in particular that i want to give myself to. i enjoy a lot of things. singing, writing, reading, design, organization, children, planning. i am a prepared and dependable individual who can see all of her interests contributing to one another, who can see herself doing three different things (and getting paid for them) at the same time for the rest of her life. however, there is part of me that is buckling down to become a master. no, not get my masters (that will come later?) but excavate my school resources, make appointments to meet with masters of a kind, and look over a few things until they are automatic, ingrained, imprinted.
during college i juggled the schedule of barack obama. i was, admittedly, overcommitted. i excelled at getting-things-done well. i received A's, approval from my supervisors, and was entrusted with (too) much at my internship. i am no master of my area of study, though. i mostly just crossed things off my to do list without absorbing subjects deeply enough to remember specifics after the "due date." however, this was my college experience: i become a more solid, anchored person who is honest and can say no.
The Music Man reminded me that i am talented, that i can apply my skills to many situations, and that i love musicals. that last one may have no relevance in my future. but it's true.
The Music Man mostly made me feel capable. and hungry to master something so that, in the future, i can be more so. and since i've been so scared of growing up, sitting behind the glass of the sound booth, dim lights, friendly banter and the directors' confidence felt so inexplicably good. like things might all work out some how. that i might get a side job here and another job here and i could be just as fulfilled as the doctor who accomplished an eon of schooling to check my reflexes. or that i could be a doctor. i forget which one.
*a k-8 private school. oh, the stories i could tell!
**working on this. i know sometimes i can be a frenzied presence. when josh called me a "stress case" sophomore year, my quick heart knew he was right. when i encounter people i want to be a calming presence. for example, the director seemed to be unphased by missing props, nervous fidgeting, and forgotten lines. she was self-possessed. she drank her diet coke leisurely. i took note and tried with every shivering bone in my body to follow suit.
11.2.13
more than bright, clear moments
every five years super bowl sunday is more than half-time productions, over-sexualized commercials, and my dad clapping fervently at the television (even if his cowboys fell short of actually competing in this senstionalized three hour event). my birthday was february the third. when i was thirteen i wore baby blue pants and brought donuts and milk to church before a superbowl celebration where i would make efforts to ignore that damn pigskin that stole my day. when i was eighteen, my mother took me to see Wicked because she knew i would be ignored. my twenty-third birthday was different. i watched the superbowl. i sat on the couch with the feller and joined in unison with my dad when that one guy didn't catch the ball. i didn't learn any names of players, but i was able to enjoy the day without it being about me per se. i did wake up to red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my dad. his kind gesture was unexpected - his mother died in january. he has been sick and understandably not himself. it was nice to see him step outside of his fog for a day. what made the first day of twenty-three so lovely was that it was so fittingly understated. no big shenanigans here. cozy socks were enough. homemade sliders were enough. family was enough. we played frisbee at the park and it was enough.
that evening the feller and i went on a walk after purchasing our favorite ice cream cones. walks, for us, are a regular thing. our relationship took form on the sidewalks of our favorite old town.
the conversation that night made a sad turn too soon for me. sadness because, though i've always known it, i am a nervous individual and many things scare me. i am working on vocalizing my opinions and feelings. you see, my words are dismissed at home. perhaps that is why i took to writing so young. a paper will never refuse ink. the conversation asked my opinion, my thoughts and, well, i was afraid of them. afraid to vocalize my fears.
lately, pressures of pending "grown-up" decisions have overwhelmed me. so, i picked up my pace when they became the topic of conversation. and because all things are connected and touching (spaghetti brain, jonie calls it) and because i am also nervous about my beauty, my gifts, and relationships i resigned to an impenatrable room of concentrated emotion. it is second nature to withdraw into myself. lord, have mercy. my steps reflected my thoughts - thrusting forward impetuously. my voice was raised and distant and teary. we walked in silence for too long. i was disappointed and angry that i had to acknowledge such sad things on a day of celebration. really? the last hours of my birthday and i am crying? it didn't feel fair. it didn't feel good. nothing was resolved when we said goodbye. we conceded that this sucks, that we love each other, and that we would talk the next day.
before we saw eachother the next day,
i came across this:
it was perfect and precisely what i needed.
i've had enough!
i will say that the threat that vulnerability poses to the self is a real thing worth considering.
opening up oneself to the love of others is opening oneself up to the possibility of injury.
speaking as one who has been injured, my awareness of the pain
that can result due to the carelessness or stupidity or selfishness
of others whom you have trusted
is heightened.
so, i am nervous. and i am sad because i am nervous.
no one wants to live a nervous life.
i recognize that fear introduces instability. this instability sabotages forward motion. loosed, it is unwieldy. it requires me to escape to the bathroom during sushi with friends whispering to myself through deep breaths and almost-tears:
you can do this, you can do this, you are beautiful, you are loved.
it is hard to fight alone.
i was reminded this week that scripture, that an experience with God is transformative.
but life with God requires more than bright, clear moments of His word and presence.
it requires the dailyness of relational care, of life lived with others.
i need the support and help and kindness of dear people in my instability.
i need truth in my ears and from the mouths of others.
their love, the face of God, gives me courage.
cheers to a year where the "small things" are enough.
cheers to a year noticeably marked by courage and not fear.
31.1.13
noble or silly: all gifted
i can vividly recall the brief span of time when i transitioned from being a single-digit-little-kid to a double-digit-pre-teen. there were so many adjustments to make. one teacher turned into three teachers, which muliplied my homework by infinity. i managed to procure my first "C" in math due to my less than stellar problem solving skills. i was flummoxed by the graceless onset womanhood. there was so much to manage and learn and how was i supposed to finish Island of the Blue Dolphins when there was a spider web in my room? however, my clumsy attempts at at being "kewl" and finding my niche at the lunch tables left one aspect of my single teacher, menstruation-free childhood alive and well: the frenetic rummaging through of The Register in hopes of finding the Toys R Us magazine at christmastime. i have no recollection of my parents fussing over finances. whether my parent's refused to broadcast their financial worries to me or i was oblivious to them, i can say that i had no vocabulary for "it's not in our budget" or "we can't afford that." looking back, my parents might have been too generous. regardless, they entertained my thorough investigation of each item being sold in those glossy want-stimulating pages. (wants i didn't know i had!) the back of the magazine had a page full of stickers that were intended to be used to mark one's favorite items. i would choose carefully and then present the magazine in its entirety to my parents, earmarked corners and all.
this is all to say that, less than ten years later i still make wishlists.
i think to hope for, to wish for, to aspire to is so human. birthday candles. shooting stars. 11:11. eyelashes. dandelions. on and on. noble or silly, we keep on wishing.
update: crossed out items have been purchased
they are little luxuries. they are things i can live without but things that would be nice someday.
i could recognize
two thousand eleven was entirely about survival, pushing through, making those damn difficult decisions.
twenty-two years kept my vague impressions of what i loved and didn't love and who i am and who i certainly am not just that - vague, incommincable. the theatrics of living, the obsession with busyness and, perhaps, the very human avoidance of truth that incriminates or frees limited self understanding. catastrophes were survived and deadlines were met but stillness was actively eluded.
two thousand twelve was the quiet that made way for discovery and disclosure and a laying out of who i am. it was, seemingly all at once, an unfurling and a settling into.
it gave me words to my notions, words that pulse and ache with vitality.
i could recognize myself, finally. a young lady who is enamored with the outdoors. who will go on walks and touch any plant within reach. who would eat stale cereal if it meant she could have it for breakfast. who learned Grease word-for-word in 3rd grade and still gets chills during Rizzo's ballad "There Are Worse Things I Could Do." who doesn't fuss over personal boundaries and manners. who washes her hair less often because it means less effort. who is full of warnings and caution and preparedness. who will put forth remarkable effort for the things and people she loves. who would, if it were possible, make a home in the hollow of an acoustic guitar just to hear the picking. who would kill for a quiet morning. who most identifies with janie or charlie or francie or esther in the pages of coming-of-age novels. who is coming to terms with the loveliness of her body, every arch and angle and small curve. who is confident that love and obedience inform one another.
thank you, two thousand twelve for being kind to me.
you saw me through graduation, a batch of trial-and-error reconciliation attempts, and the beginnings of a disciplined and fruitful life.
cheers to two thousand thirteen.
i have high hopes for you.
p.s. no picture. i couldn't decide on a mirror or blurred words or a watercolor, of course. but it's okay.
twenty-two years kept my vague impressions of what i loved and didn't love and who i am and who i certainly am not just that - vague, incommincable. the theatrics of living, the obsession with busyness and, perhaps, the very human avoidance of truth that incriminates or frees limited self understanding. catastrophes were survived and deadlines were met but stillness was actively eluded.
two thousand twelve was the quiet that made way for discovery and disclosure and a laying out of who i am. it was, seemingly all at once, an unfurling and a settling into.
it gave me words to my notions, words that pulse and ache with vitality.
i could recognize myself, finally. a young lady who is enamored with the outdoors. who will go on walks and touch any plant within reach. who would eat stale cereal if it meant she could have it for breakfast. who learned Grease word-for-word in 3rd grade and still gets chills during Rizzo's ballad "There Are Worse Things I Could Do." who doesn't fuss over personal boundaries and manners. who washes her hair less often because it means less effort. who is full of warnings and caution and preparedness. who will put forth remarkable effort for the things and people she loves. who would, if it were possible, make a home in the hollow of an acoustic guitar just to hear the picking. who would kill for a quiet morning. who most identifies with janie or charlie or francie or esther in the pages of coming-of-age novels. who is coming to terms with the loveliness of her body, every arch and angle and small curve. who is confident that love and obedience inform one another.
thank you, two thousand twelve for being kind to me.
you saw me through graduation, a batch of trial-and-error reconciliation attempts, and the beginnings of a disciplined and fruitful life.
cheers to two thousand thirteen.
i have high hopes for you.
p.s. no picture. i couldn't decide on a mirror or blurred words or a watercolor, of course. but it's okay.
24.11.12
thanksgiving: the issue of looking forward
thanksgiving was testing for me.
the impulse to move out is, no doubt, the reason. i am peeved by the constant suggestions to put on a sweater, being the joke of most interactions, having my convictions and desires dismissed, and the texts inquiring my wherabouts after eleven pm. i am not almost-twenty-three in this house. i am not a college graduate. i am sixteen and naive. i am still the baby, will always be the baby. this is all exacerbated because i am home more often. without seventeen to twenty-one units, an internship, and a job i have time. i have two jobs but one doesn't require daily hours. so i am at home, cleaning my room or washing clothes or putting together a craft. what was once a sanctuary now feels confining. so, moving out is a viable prospect within the next 8-12 months. i am set on it.
the difficulty is the 8-12 months. thankfulness could very well find its eternal rest buried under my list of grievances. thankfulness smited by looking foward, not staying put - here, now.
these verses ground me constantly. fussing is always an option. my parents may hover and be overbearing but they love me*. they have financed whatever i set my heart on. they fill the kitchen with laughter and good food. they prioritize family first. they have given their lives to their children and welcome conversation. my siblings, well, they are boisterous and are perplexed by their introvert of a sister but will always stand by my side. and complaining about time is foolish. fussing may be an option, but giving thanks is the better choice, the more appropriate response.
i am thankful for
gratitude sometimes requires willful perspective.
*this doesn't mean i refrain from confrontration. i have never been in want save space and quiet and their respect. these things i can ask for in a manner that is suitable of an almost-twenty-three year old. i guess that is part of growing up.
the impulse to move out is, no doubt, the reason. i am peeved by the constant suggestions to put on a sweater, being the joke of most interactions, having my convictions and desires dismissed, and the texts inquiring my wherabouts after eleven pm. i am not almost-twenty-three in this house. i am not a college graduate. i am sixteen and naive. i am still the baby, will always be the baby. this is all exacerbated because i am home more often. without seventeen to twenty-one units, an internship, and a job i have time. i have two jobs but one doesn't require daily hours. so i am at home, cleaning my room or washing clothes or putting together a craft. what was once a sanctuary now feels confining. so, moving out is a viable prospect within the next 8-12 months. i am set on it.
the difficulty is the 8-12 months. thankfulness could very well find its eternal rest buried under my list of grievances. thankfulness smited by looking foward, not staying put - here, now.
Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.
the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely i have a delightful inheritance.
psalm 16:5-6
these verses ground me constantly. fussing is always an option. my parents may hover and be overbearing but they love me*. they have financed whatever i set my heart on. they fill the kitchen with laughter and good food. they prioritize family first. they have given their lives to their children and welcome conversation. my siblings, well, they are boisterous and are perplexed by their introvert of a sister but will always stand by my side. and complaining about time is foolish. fussing may be an option, but giving thanks is the better choice, the more appropriate response.
i am thankful for
a home that i did nothing to earn.
i was born and have had free room and board ever since.
a healthy body.
a family that cares about one another.
working with children.
working with my church family.
time to explore, refine, and indulge in the things i love.
time to sink deeply into who i am.
time to sink deeply into who i am.
steadfast friends and the feller.
a good and faithful God.
and because i am thankful i will steward my time wisely, i will be faithful with what i have been given, i will offer up the work of my hands, i will dwell in the land and enjoy it here, now.
gratitude sometimes requires willful perspective.
*this doesn't mean i refrain from confrontration. i have never been in want save space and quiet and their respect. these things i can ask for in a manner that is suitable of an almost-twenty-three year old. i guess that is part of growing up.
12.11.12
non-sentences.
a recap of our two year celebration (october fifth) in non-sentences.
fake glasses and pleated skirts. feasting from morning to evening. fritattas and italian eggs benedict. strawberry jam, apricot jam - housemade thank-you-very-much. brie and chicken. duck breast and quail. pork tenderloin and gnocchi. steak and shepherd's salad. other housemade items: salami, beef pate, chicken liver mousse, chocolate and banana ice cream. imaginitave flavors. pure, sophisticated flavors. food venturing on unreal, of another world. fingers laced and the familiar cadences of eachother's voice. appreciating store owners and restaurant servers. gift giving and exchanging notes. nearly-napping at a park. seeing the whole turtle - finally! strong kisses. a streak of milky starshine on a black sky. escaping run-ins with pantless men and mysterious cars parking in bushes. filing up the tank at the same stop we did summer of 2011. indulging in a slow drive through that neighborhood - yellow lights and busy sidewalks. and finally sweet goodbyes that we wished weren't goodbyes.
some actual sentences:
he is my favorite friend (but not my only friend). i'm a lucky girl. we make a pretty good team.
and an expression from miss austen, which sums up how i currently feel:
fake glasses and pleated skirts. feasting from morning to evening. fritattas and italian eggs benedict. strawberry jam, apricot jam - housemade thank-you-very-much. brie and chicken. duck breast and quail. pork tenderloin and gnocchi. steak and shepherd's salad. other housemade items: salami, beef pate, chicken liver mousse, chocolate and banana ice cream. imaginitave flavors. pure, sophisticated flavors. food venturing on unreal, of another world. fingers laced and the familiar cadences of eachother's voice. appreciating store owners and restaurant servers. gift giving and exchanging notes. nearly-napping at a park. seeing the whole turtle - finally! strong kisses. a streak of milky starshine on a black sky. escaping run-ins with pantless men and mysterious cars parking in bushes. filing up the tank at the same stop we did summer of 2011. indulging in a slow drive through that neighborhood - yellow lights and busy sidewalks. and finally sweet goodbyes that we wished weren't goodbyes.
some actual sentences:
he is my favorite friend (but not my only friend). i'm a lucky girl. we make a pretty good team.
and an expression from miss austen, which sums up how i currently feel:
5.11.12
cheers
this weekend my sister-friend got married to this guy. (sorry for the grainy picture i stole from somebody's facebook...) and the feller and i were lucky enough to make it in the bridal party!
it was memorable and it has been an honor to see them make this journey towards marriage. they have endured much and have sought counsel and the wisdom of others. they have loved God by loving each other well, by continually inviting Him into the conversation. they are good examples and great friends.
i have known Truth by their correction and love. they always make me laugh. and usually leave me feeling uncomfortable! but this is in a good way. a way that helps me realize how people's uniqueness is to be celebrated, a way that pulls me out of my introverted cacoon. they are so much fun and i love them dearly. i am thankful for their presence in my life.
cheers to the beginning in all its vibrancy.
cheers to navigating the daily-ness of life.
cheers to trusting God and each other when life is grey or black.
cheers to intimacy in all its forms.
cheers to a sacred union, the blending of lives, that insufferable balance between you and i and us.
cheers to their life together.
last night, family and friends picked bottle caps off the floor, stacked dirty dishware, folded linens, rolled out tables and loaded up cars with props and decor. many hands make light work. yes. this, i think, is the biggest testament to the kinds of people jackie and josh are. they have a circle of loved ones who will, even after the celebration and in their absence, voluntarily serve them.
29.10.12
favorite person.
leftovers for lunch. chatting with my parents.
practicing for sunday (our friend's wedding). giggles and coming in too early. but finally getting it right. music is fun with him.
walking to the park. sitting at the park. talking and sharing and laughing and being honest. knowing him.
buying pumpkins. carving pumpkins in concentrated silence. his, traditional. mine, not. both, wonderful!
the dark knight rises in comfy clothes. one word: intense.
good night smooches with eyes locked.
he is definitely my favorite person.
i am all smiles.
i am living a good good life.
27.10.12
strange as it was,
sunday afternoons have been my solace for the past few months. after church, my day is free. the feller has every sunday off. this means he comes over and we eat food my mother prepares (or my dad buys). if neither of those things happens, we get in-n-out. duh. we've been frequenting local parks with our ratty old blankets - his, stolen. mine, from childhood. we lay on them and nap. we read. we talk. we crinkle our noses. we smooch. i tell him, as we sort through future possibilities, that days at the park are enough. although we have done and enjoy both, no wining and dining needed here. laying by his side on an old blanket at a park is enough.
the clouds were theatrical, tumultuous. they wrestled with the sun our entire outing. the wind was cool. the grass was damp. the feller was warm. by any estimation, it was perfect.
i have been turning things over in my head about a difficult situation. i know my faults and where i have been wrong. where i have been unfair or too quick to turn my head. and i know where others misstepped. i am aware of the past and how it informs the present. i have been shaped by life experience. and whether i like it or not, i have to look at that experience and push back against the repercussions of it all. the betrayal, the unforgiveness, the lack of trust. what do i do with these assumptions and these feelings of uncomfortability and anxiety? how do i handle this in a way that honors and respects all parties? how do i embody goodness to those i have harbored malice against? what does the Lord require of me in this situation? i have been thinking carefully. the feller has a voice in the matter. and there is a voice i have been avoiding. so i have been thinking about avoidance and all those questions and what to do with a situation that will not evaporate.
and, unfurling from between the questions - that anxious, empty space that quivers,
arose a peculiar thought:
i have nothing to worry about, do i?
strange as it was, i believed it. if only for a minute or so, i believed it.
so i voiced this to the feller. he responded with:
no, dear.
there was sincerity in his voice. no pleading. no fight. just tenderness and understanding.
and while i love boundaries and things to be sure (above all, i want to be sure),
i know that
it is better to trust,
it is better to give chances,
it is better to extend peace and friendship.
(even if typing that makes me cringe still)
and as jonie reminded me at coffee, i have everything to be confident about.
the clouds were theatrical, tumultuous. they wrestled with the sun our entire outing. the wind was cool. the grass was damp. the feller was warm. by any estimation, it was perfect.
i have been turning things over in my head about a difficult situation. i know my faults and where i have been wrong. where i have been unfair or too quick to turn my head. and i know where others misstepped. i am aware of the past and how it informs the present. i have been shaped by life experience. and whether i like it or not, i have to look at that experience and push back against the repercussions of it all. the betrayal, the unforgiveness, the lack of trust. what do i do with these assumptions and these feelings of uncomfortability and anxiety? how do i handle this in a way that honors and respects all parties? how do i embody goodness to those i have harbored malice against? what does the Lord require of me in this situation? i have been thinking carefully. the feller has a voice in the matter. and there is a voice i have been avoiding. so i have been thinking about avoidance and all those questions and what to do with a situation that will not evaporate.
and, unfurling from between the questions - that anxious, empty space that quivers,
arose a peculiar thought:
i have nothing to worry about, do i?
strange as it was, i believed it. if only for a minute or so, i believed it.
so i voiced this to the feller. he responded with:
no, dear.
there was sincerity in his voice. no pleading. no fight. just tenderness and understanding.
and while i love boundaries and things to be sure (above all, i want to be sure),
i know that
it is better to trust,
it is better to give chances,
it is better to extend peace and friendship.
(even if typing that makes me cringe still)
and as jonie reminded me at coffee, i have everything to be confident about.
22.10.12
looked on and loved.
a month or so ago, i stumbled on a poem by doris ferleger.
it moves me.
it helps me love myself.
it brings me back.
i am memorizing this poem because of the fifth line.
i repeat it over and over again when i become anxious at another body or phrase.
and i remember that i am that tilted fir, which is looked on and loved.
you could never love it as I do,
it moves me.
it helps me love myself.
it brings me back.
i am memorizing this poem because of the fifth line.
i repeat it over and over again when i become anxious at another body or phrase.
and i remember that i am that tilted fir, which is looked on and loved.
Daily he told me I was beautiful,
my breast cupped in his palm cured
me of any doubt. So you see why
I cannot gaze at my own nakedness.
Mirrors tell you nothing about love.
The tilted fir outside my window
stands taller than our house. Even if
I described each tuft, counted
branches, became its mirror,
understand how it kept me faithful,
stood watch with me when the other tree fell.
doris ferleger, "mirrors"
18.10.12
good and safe
i saw this above picture on pintrest* months ago. i caught myself in the middle of smile when it came to my attention that something was awry. at first, i thought it was funny. i assumed myself the fit girl, began to question this, and concluded i was the skinny girl. i, uneasy and flustered, had been targeted by a picture with eleven words on it. guess which one is the most important? oh, you don't have to. it's been highlighted by it's designer.
this phrase:
dehumanizes women by reducing them to bodies,
we are physical beings, yes. but we are intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and social beings as well. relegating these aspects of our humanity to the corner is damaging. it fractures our sense of self. we begin to forget that we have more to offer. we get confused about food and clothes and exercise. we take part in dehumanizing other women - our friends, our enemies, and strangers - when we use this language. this language does harm to how we perceive and treat ourselves and others. it is self-sabotage in the sneakiest of ways.
divides bodies - not people - into camps, which are identified as bad or good or best,
this is important. because it does not compare the way we love well or live well, which is something i touched on here. the division is concerned with the ephemeral - bodies, which we do not have a say in (for the most part). it is concerned with flesh that will meet life-experiences (pregnancy, cancer, etc.), age, and decay. sidenote: it only follows that society dismember the woman further: to her parts. she becomes her legs, her breasts, her bottom, or her waist. all of which are up for public opinion and critique.
and it does these things while hiding behind the guise of exercise and self-care.
it pretends to champion an ideal of fitness - the goal** of which is to carry out functions well - while subervtently offering us a more tangible, obvious goal: the promise of hott bod. will a firm, toned body be the result of a life that incorporates exercise? maybe. but it isn't a guarentee and it certainly isn't the point.
Few feel
good and safe
in their bodies.
susie orbach
i believe that the above picture is a way for a person who feels bad to feel good, who feels unsafe to feel safe. we are fighting to feel good and safe and are, unfortunately, doing so in a way that is violent and oppressive to other women clawing for the same thing. we are waging war on those that have dismembered us by ripping ourselves apart. we are unjustly punishing those that have offended us with their bodies, which we covet.
*other pins that do similar things: this, this, this, and this. they may seem benign and funny but they are part of societal consciousness that i want nothing to do with.
**other benefits of fitness: strengthened muscles, bones, ligaments, tendons, and immune systems. improved endurange, balance, performance, circulation, and memory. lowers risk of heart disease, diabetes, cancer, osteoporosis, strokes, and high blood pressure/cholesterol. helps make rest more restful. healthier pregnancy and fewer childbirth and ovulation problems. these are the reasons we exercise.
this phrase:
dehumanizes women by reducing them to bodies,
we are physical beings, yes. but we are intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and social beings as well. relegating these aspects of our humanity to the corner is damaging. it fractures our sense of self. we begin to forget that we have more to offer. we get confused about food and clothes and exercise. we take part in dehumanizing other women - our friends, our enemies, and strangers - when we use this language. this language does harm to how we perceive and treat ourselves and others. it is self-sabotage in the sneakiest of ways.
divides bodies - not people - into camps, which are identified as bad or good or best,
this is important. because it does not compare the way we love well or live well, which is something i touched on here. the division is concerned with the ephemeral - bodies, which we do not have a say in (for the most part). it is concerned with flesh that will meet life-experiences (pregnancy, cancer, etc.), age, and decay. sidenote: it only follows that society dismember the woman further: to her parts. she becomes her legs, her breasts, her bottom, or her waist. all of which are up for public opinion and critique.
and it does these things while hiding behind the guise of exercise and self-care.
it pretends to champion an ideal of fitness - the goal** of which is to carry out functions well - while subervtently offering us a more tangible, obvious goal: the promise of hott bod. will a firm, toned body be the result of a life that incorporates exercise? maybe. but it isn't a guarentee and it certainly isn't the point.
Few feel
good and safe
in their bodies.
susie orbach
i believe that the above picture is a way for a person who feels bad to feel good, who feels unsafe to feel safe. we are fighting to feel good and safe and are, unfortunately, doing so in a way that is violent and oppressive to other women clawing for the same thing. we are waging war on those that have dismembered us by ripping ourselves apart. we are unjustly punishing those that have offended us with their bodies, which we covet.
kyrie eleison.
christe eleison.
*other pins that do similar things: this, this, this, and this. they may seem benign and funny but they are part of societal consciousness that i want nothing to do with.
**other benefits of fitness: strengthened muscles, bones, ligaments, tendons, and immune systems. improved endurange, balance, performance, circulation, and memory. lowers risk of heart disease, diabetes, cancer, osteoporosis, strokes, and high blood pressure/cholesterol. helps make rest more restful. healthier pregnancy and fewer childbirth and ovulation problems. these are the reasons we exercise.
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