I have been freaking out lately.
There's a lot going on, and though I generally appear to be taking care of business, I've been going fairly crazy on the inside. It's starting to catch up with me -- I'm perpetually cranky; I'm snappy and short with the people I least want to be snappy or short with. And most recently, I've just felt plain sad -- that old-fashioned melancholy that is only egged on by sunset at 4:45pm and the songs my iPod chooses on shuffle.
The are plenty of immediate and small-scale things on my mind. But, more detrimentally, I've been allowing myself to freak out about the big picture. In the past week, I have convinced myself that one way or another, I'm messing up everything I'm involved in -- every relationship, every community, every goal I'm pursing. Tonight I had to force myself to stop, to breathe, to grasp any shred of perspective I could find and recognize, internalize, and accept reality.
And reality is that things are good. I have so much to be thankful for. I have a job I feel pretty confident about, despite impending economic doom. My church is growing up and doing awesome and interesting things, and I get to be a part of it. I'm in a relationship I feel good about, with a man who's caring and funny and talented, who challenges me to grow and learn. I'm far away from my family, but they love me anyway. My friends are bold and amazing, and they allow me to participate in or at least live vicariously through their adventures. I'm thinking about and pursuing what's next, and even though I hate not knowing 100% what it's going to be right now, right now, right now, it's okay, and I'll get to where I'm supposed to be.
A year ago, I had no clue where I was going, what I was doing, what was going to happen. I was hunkering down with my cat until the emotional storm blew over and I figured out what to do next. I've been playing this game lately where I think about exactly what I was doing at this time last year, what I was thinking, feeling, worrying about. Things haven't necessarily gone as I would have expected them to go in the last year, but they have gone well. I'm in a better place now than I was then -- I'm more confident about what I want and don't want, I'm more stable and healthy, I'm more self-aware, I'm more comfortable inside my own head.
I'd like to think I'm in a better place today than I was even yesterday, and that I'll be in better one still tomorrow. And if I can ever get used to the fact that that's the timeframe life operates on, one day at a time, I'll be all set.
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"a brain that never stops ticking / sometimes an on-off switch would sure come in handy / a mind that's constantly cutting up and dissecting / looking for answers / committing murders along the way / is it the red wire or the blue wire? / just pick one and cut / it just doesn't matter anymore / or did it ever? / cause I could never control when the bomb would explode / oh god I love you / I mean forever / I left my body behind to break the news / looks like it's over / please remember all of the things I never got a chance to say" -rocky votolato
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Domesticity
How cliché is it that I bake when I am emotionally insecure and feeling lonely? I've been doing it now for about the last year. Is it just plain nesting? Reassuring myself that I will, indeed, endure this life because I can concoct sweet sustenance from an amalgamation of common ingredients? Taking comfort in the fact that I will be able to draw people to me with my baked goods, thus assuaging my loneliness? Proving to myself that I am valid as a woman and potential wife because of my domestic prowess and ability to incarnate a venerable gender stereotype? Cue gagging noises, perhaps -- but these thoughts cross my mind as I spoon and level off.
Casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, bread. Whatever the psychological reasoning, I make these things. And I feel better.
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"But then the light, the lamp I held in my blistered hands -- you the fuel, and me the fool for not noticing." -Laura Veirs
Casseroles, pies, cakes, cookies, bread. Whatever the psychological reasoning, I make these things. And I feel better.
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"But then the light, the lamp I held in my blistered hands -- you the fuel, and me the fool for not noticing." -Laura Veirs
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Agency
The line between being forgiving and being too forgiving is such a hard one for me to define.
I feel like I have fairly high expectations of people. I do my part, and I expect others to do theirs. I take care of people, and I expect them to take care of me.
Yet, I see myself accepting treatment that is not as good as what I deserve, not as good as the treatment I give others. And I often see myself brushing this off, not demanding better, cutting slack where I should be calling out, settling for less than I should, allowing myself to be walked on and taken for granted. Of course, this clarity generally only comes in hindsight; in the moment, I don't realize I'm being treated badly, and I let it slide, convince myself it's okay, acceptable. I rarely demand better.
There are instances in which I do get frustrated, do feel angry that I'm not being appreciated or cared for -- but those times don't last long. I end up feeling guilty for not being forgiving enough, for holding people to high standards, for expecting too much. And it continues.
And then, there's the problem of focusing on the people with whom I'm frustrated, while not acknowledging or appreciating the people who do care for me, love me, look after me -- despite the fact that the latter far outnumber the former.
It comes from a lack of agency on my part, to demand to be treated well and to recognize and appreciate when it happens. Perhaps it's because on some level, I feel that I don't really deserve it. I feel awkward when someone's attention is focused on me. I don't want to inconvenience someone by telling them I need them, their help, their love. Or I'm afraid that if I do receive that attention, it will only be fleeting and I'll be left feeling hurt.
I want to see better the line between forgiveness and agency. I want to have more confidence in knowing the difference between healthy and unhealthy relationships. I want to stand up for myself when I need to stand up, and be able to be cared for when I need to be cared for. I want to appreciate more the incredible people I am blessed to have in my life and dwell less on the ones who don't meet my expectations. I want to freely offer and freely accept the love, patience, and grace that comes from God.
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"Oh, I do believe in all the things you say; what comes is better than what came before." -Lou Reed
I feel like I have fairly high expectations of people. I do my part, and I expect others to do theirs. I take care of people, and I expect them to take care of me.
Yet, I see myself accepting treatment that is not as good as what I deserve, not as good as the treatment I give others. And I often see myself brushing this off, not demanding better, cutting slack where I should be calling out, settling for less than I should, allowing myself to be walked on and taken for granted. Of course, this clarity generally only comes in hindsight; in the moment, I don't realize I'm being treated badly, and I let it slide, convince myself it's okay, acceptable. I rarely demand better.
There are instances in which I do get frustrated, do feel angry that I'm not being appreciated or cared for -- but those times don't last long. I end up feeling guilty for not being forgiving enough, for holding people to high standards, for expecting too much. And it continues.
And then, there's the problem of focusing on the people with whom I'm frustrated, while not acknowledging or appreciating the people who do care for me, love me, look after me -- despite the fact that the latter far outnumber the former.
It comes from a lack of agency on my part, to demand to be treated well and to recognize and appreciate when it happens. Perhaps it's because on some level, I feel that I don't really deserve it. I feel awkward when someone's attention is focused on me. I don't want to inconvenience someone by telling them I need them, their help, their love. Or I'm afraid that if I do receive that attention, it will only be fleeting and I'll be left feeling hurt.
I want to see better the line between forgiveness and agency. I want to have more confidence in knowing the difference between healthy and unhealthy relationships. I want to stand up for myself when I need to stand up, and be able to be cared for when I need to be cared for. I want to appreciate more the incredible people I am blessed to have in my life and dwell less on the ones who don't meet my expectations. I want to freely offer and freely accept the love, patience, and grace that comes from God.
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"Oh, I do believe in all the things you say; what comes is better than what came before." -Lou Reed
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Patience
One thing that keeps popping into my head lately is, "Oh, so this is how it's supposed to be." In a lot of aspects of my life right now, I feel like things are as they should be. Of course, not everything is perfect; there are still moments of frustration, areas for growth, things that could be better. But on the whole, I feel like my life is balanced and good -- in terms of my job, my living situation, my social landscape, my connections with people, my connection with God. I feel happy and whole, and it feels real, not like something I have to convince myself of or talk myself into out of desperation, not a happiness that I'm settling for or that I'm compromising something else for.
I have always struggled with being patient, with enjoying the moment I'm in instead of rushing on to the next thing that's lined up. I couldn't wait to be done with my small-town life and go off to college in the city; I graduated from college early because I wanted to start my "real life" as soon as possible; it only took two weeks in San Francisco before I had moved into an apartment and started a job; I ended one relationship only to emotionally plunge into a new one. I don't necessarily regret any of these things, but looking back, I can see that not all of these decisions were to my advantage.
But over the past few months, I feel like I have settled into a place that's good, and I'm realizing that being settled, to some degree, isn't necessarily a bad thing. I've always been afraid of becoming too comfortable, worried that it would make me lose my drive to be more and do more. But a reasonable degree of security doesn't have to be detrimental. Because now, I feel like I'm in a place, literally and figuratively, where I think I'd like to stay for a while, a place where I can be still, and patient, and listen, and see what really is next -- instead of forcing what I want to be next.
A few months ago, I was ready to drop everything and embark on something new -- anything new. I hadn't thought it through, I didn't have any vision; I just wanted to do something that felt like it mattered. I was unhappy with many aspects of my life, and I felt like I needed to pour myself into something larger than me.
But then, one by one, things started shifting. I started to feel more capable and in control at work. I moved out of my apartment into a place with two fun, friendly, and caring roommates. I started dating a guy who encourages and inspires and energizes me. And suddenly I had these new things to pour myself into, these relationships to be a part of. And I felt good. Not complacent good, or things-should-stay-like-this-forever good, but good in the sense that I didn't feel empty or lonely or sad. Good in the sense that I felt like my life was headed in a positive direction, I direction in which I wanted to keep going. Good in the sense that I realized that I didn't have to be doing something seemingly insane in order to be doing what God wants me to do right now. Good in the sense that when it is time for something big to happen, to change, I will know.
Of course, I still have moments where I get desperate for what's next, for things to be planned and purposeful and perfect. But I am trying to enjoy where I am now and be open to the possibilities of what will come next, without imposing my plans or selfish desires upon those possibilities. I am trying to see, to seek, to be patient. Sometimes it feels like a cop out, but I really believe that for this moment, I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing, with the people I'm supposed to be with. And I'm thankful.
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"I am healthy, I am whole; but I have poor impulse control. And I want to go home, but I am home. We are strong, we are faithful; we are guardians of a rare thing. We pay close, careful attention to the news the morning air brings. We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through." -Mountain Goats
I have always struggled with being patient, with enjoying the moment I'm in instead of rushing on to the next thing that's lined up. I couldn't wait to be done with my small-town life and go off to college in the city; I graduated from college early because I wanted to start my "real life" as soon as possible; it only took two weeks in San Francisco before I had moved into an apartment and started a job; I ended one relationship only to emotionally plunge into a new one. I don't necessarily regret any of these things, but looking back, I can see that not all of these decisions were to my advantage.
But over the past few months, I feel like I have settled into a place that's good, and I'm realizing that being settled, to some degree, isn't necessarily a bad thing. I've always been afraid of becoming too comfortable, worried that it would make me lose my drive to be more and do more. But a reasonable degree of security doesn't have to be detrimental. Because now, I feel like I'm in a place, literally and figuratively, where I think I'd like to stay for a while, a place where I can be still, and patient, and listen, and see what really is next -- instead of forcing what I want to be next.
A few months ago, I was ready to drop everything and embark on something new -- anything new. I hadn't thought it through, I didn't have any vision; I just wanted to do something that felt like it mattered. I was unhappy with many aspects of my life, and I felt like I needed to pour myself into something larger than me.
But then, one by one, things started shifting. I started to feel more capable and in control at work. I moved out of my apartment into a place with two fun, friendly, and caring roommates. I started dating a guy who encourages and inspires and energizes me. And suddenly I had these new things to pour myself into, these relationships to be a part of. And I felt good. Not complacent good, or things-should-stay-like-this-forever good, but good in the sense that I didn't feel empty or lonely or sad. Good in the sense that I felt like my life was headed in a positive direction, I direction in which I wanted to keep going. Good in the sense that I realized that I didn't have to be doing something seemingly insane in order to be doing what God wants me to do right now. Good in the sense that when it is time for something big to happen, to change, I will know.
Of course, I still have moments where I get desperate for what's next, for things to be planned and purposeful and perfect. But I am trying to enjoy where I am now and be open to the possibilities of what will come next, without imposing my plans or selfish desires upon those possibilities. I am trying to see, to seek, to be patient. Sometimes it feels like a cop out, but I really believe that for this moment, I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing, with the people I'm supposed to be with. And I'm thankful.
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"I am healthy, I am whole; but I have poor impulse control. And I want to go home, but I am home. We are strong, we are faithful; we are guardians of a rare thing. We pay close, careful attention to the news the morning air brings. We show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through." -Mountain Goats
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Graciousness
I have a hard time accepting compliments. This always becomes more apparent when I go home, where I invariably end up feeling a bit like a celebrity -- even if it's to no one but my grandparents, always ones to offer praise and adulation. People I know from Canfield have a certain conception of me -- overachieving, level-headed, practical, goal-oriented, studious, successful. And despite a few (fairly public) bumps along the way, I largely lived up to that during the years I lived there. Even when I come home now, six years after moving away, my spiel about what and where and how I'm doing lives up to that, too. I have lots to be thankful for and proud of.
So why do I have such a hard time being gracious when someone pays me a compliment? Whether it's superficial or more thoughtful, whether it's about my appearance or personality or actions or achievements, I feel uncomfortable and usually end up brushing it off, likely seeming rude and stuck up and incredibly ungrateful -- which is the exact opposite of how I feel. It's like the situations in which I can't give praise or am too afraid to embrace friendships because I feel awkward, so I end up putting people off and pushing them away.
Like so much else for me, it probably comes down to confidence. I don't have the confidence to tell myself positive things and believe them, so hearing them from other people -- especially friends, members of the communities I'm part of, people whom I value -- just makes me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps I'm worried that it's too good to be true, that I have to be guarded and cautious in accepting compliments because if I allow people's opinions of me to matter and take to heart what they say, I'm opening myself up to being hurt by those people, should they choose to do so. Which is true, sure; but it's pretty stupid.
Perhaps I'm also paranoid about becoming too wrapped up in praise -- so much that I react too extremely in the other direction. I feel, though, that there's a place for sincere praise as a way for God to build us up, through each other. And if that praise is given and received in earnest, it can be reflectant of him, not a something that makes us prideful or separates us from God.
I fear that if I don't learn to be better at being gracious about receiving these words, I'll run the risk of closing doors, of driving off people I care about because I can't accept their affection and offer it in return, of missing out on ways that God wants to speak to me.
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"And I'm halfway to you, but I'm taking a break where I walk with a limp and I sleep with the stakes, and I blow up my lungs with the air that I need, and my dreams I'm on my knees, and I'm washing your feet with my hair." -Page France
So why do I have such a hard time being gracious when someone pays me a compliment? Whether it's superficial or more thoughtful, whether it's about my appearance or personality or actions or achievements, I feel uncomfortable and usually end up brushing it off, likely seeming rude and stuck up and incredibly ungrateful -- which is the exact opposite of how I feel. It's like the situations in which I can't give praise or am too afraid to embrace friendships because I feel awkward, so I end up putting people off and pushing them away.
Like so much else for me, it probably comes down to confidence. I don't have the confidence to tell myself positive things and believe them, so hearing them from other people -- especially friends, members of the communities I'm part of, people whom I value -- just makes me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps I'm worried that it's too good to be true, that I have to be guarded and cautious in accepting compliments because if I allow people's opinions of me to matter and take to heart what they say, I'm opening myself up to being hurt by those people, should they choose to do so. Which is true, sure; but it's pretty stupid.
Perhaps I'm also paranoid about becoming too wrapped up in praise -- so much that I react too extremely in the other direction. I feel, though, that there's a place for sincere praise as a way for God to build us up, through each other. And if that praise is given and received in earnest, it can be reflectant of him, not a something that makes us prideful or separates us from God.
I fear that if I don't learn to be better at being gracious about receiving these words, I'll run the risk of closing doors, of driving off people I care about because I can't accept their affection and offer it in return, of missing out on ways that God wants to speak to me.
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"And I'm halfway to you, but I'm taking a break where I walk with a limp and I sleep with the stakes, and I blow up my lungs with the air that I need, and my dreams I'm on my knees, and I'm washing your feet with my hair." -Page France
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Balance
I moved this past weekend, into an apartment with two really great girls. They're nice and normal, they're my age, they do yoga and have friends and we ask how each other's days have been and we laugh and we drink wine. I carried all of my worldly possessions (and my cat) into this new place with with the help, love, patience, and support of some of my best friends. I'm exhausted, but I feel really great -- better than I've felt in a long time.
Until this week, when I gave the old apartment a thorough cleaning and carried the remainder of my stuff out of it, I felt like my life was fairly balanced, all things considered, that the decisions I was making were fairly healthy. Sure, it was kind of strange that I was still living in the apartment that I had moved into with a boyfriend of quite-a-few years, kind of strange that I stayed in the place after we split (even if I did rearrange the furniture). But I didn't think much of it -- perhaps didn't let myself think much of it, because I couldn't, because I had to stick it out through the end of the lease, because I had always dreamed of living "on my own" in the big City, in my own apartment, doing my own thing, being a grown-up.
But as I walked around the empty place today, checked the closets and cupboards and corners for anything left behind, found nothing of mine in any of those places, and closed the door behind me for the last time, I felt an unexpected sense of relief, a weight being lifted that I didn't even know was there. About eight months ago I felt like I was starting over, but in a sort of scary, sad, uncertain way. This week, I feel like I'm starting over yet again, but in a confident, exciting, bring-it-on way.
I've had so many moments in the past three-quarters of a year where I am just floored, totally awed by the fact that I get so many chances to fix my life, to start over, to try, yet again, to do things right. I can't get over it and I can't understand it, no matter how many times it happens -- this undeserved grace, these umpteenth chances. I'm facing another chance to start over right now, another chance to make the right decisions, to follow the right leads. It's incredible and exciting and awe-inspiring, and I get goosebumps thinking about it.
I think this move is a really healthy thing. In many senses, I feel like this is one of the few decisions I have made for myself, not for any other person, in the past. . .five years? I'm making this season of my life truly mine. I know that I needed these past few months to be on my own, to struggle and fight with myself, to live somewhat extravagantly and selfishly, to have the wind knocked out of my sails a bit. But now I feel that I am ready to seek balance, to make healthier decisions, to let into my life the people who are important to me, to recognize what is and is not good, helpful, beneficial.
A recurring feeling for me is that of being stuck between two binaries, jumping erratically from situation to situation, decision to decision, lifestyle to lifestyle. But I truly want to find the balance between those binaries, to embrace the gray area between the oppositional situations and decisions and lifestyles, to live act for the right reasons and have confidence in that. And I think I'm on my way.
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"If life's just a living room, I'm in the hall and I'm glad." - David Gray
Until this week, when I gave the old apartment a thorough cleaning and carried the remainder of my stuff out of it, I felt like my life was fairly balanced, all things considered, that the decisions I was making were fairly healthy. Sure, it was kind of strange that I was still living in the apartment that I had moved into with a boyfriend of quite-a-few years, kind of strange that I stayed in the place after we split (even if I did rearrange the furniture). But I didn't think much of it -- perhaps didn't let myself think much of it, because I couldn't, because I had to stick it out through the end of the lease, because I had always dreamed of living "on my own" in the big City, in my own apartment, doing my own thing, being a grown-up.
But as I walked around the empty place today, checked the closets and cupboards and corners for anything left behind, found nothing of mine in any of those places, and closed the door behind me for the last time, I felt an unexpected sense of relief, a weight being lifted that I didn't even know was there. About eight months ago I felt like I was starting over, but in a sort of scary, sad, uncertain way. This week, I feel like I'm starting over yet again, but in a confident, exciting, bring-it-on way.
I've had so many moments in the past three-quarters of a year where I am just floored, totally awed by the fact that I get so many chances to fix my life, to start over, to try, yet again, to do things right. I can't get over it and I can't understand it, no matter how many times it happens -- this undeserved grace, these umpteenth chances. I'm facing another chance to start over right now, another chance to make the right decisions, to follow the right leads. It's incredible and exciting and awe-inspiring, and I get goosebumps thinking about it.
I think this move is a really healthy thing. In many senses, I feel like this is one of the few decisions I have made for myself, not for any other person, in the past. . .five years? I'm making this season of my life truly mine. I know that I needed these past few months to be on my own, to struggle and fight with myself, to live somewhat extravagantly and selfishly, to have the wind knocked out of my sails a bit. But now I feel that I am ready to seek balance, to make healthier decisions, to let into my life the people who are important to me, to recognize what is and is not good, helpful, beneficial.
A recurring feeling for me is that of being stuck between two binaries, jumping erratically from situation to situation, decision to decision, lifestyle to lifestyle. But I truly want to find the balance between those binaries, to embrace the gray area between the oppositional situations and decisions and lifestyles, to live act for the right reasons and have confidence in that. And I think I'm on my way.
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"If life's just a living room, I'm in the hall and I'm glad." - David Gray
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Generosity
I've realized lately that I have a particularly hard time giving praise -- telling the people I care about that I care about them, offering compliments, letting people know I appreciate them, or even just that I like spending time with them. I've also realized that I have a hard time hearing and receiving those things from others, but I think that's for unpacking another time. . .
Why is this? Perhaps it's a vulnerability thing -- by telling someone that I value her, I feel like it devalues me in some weird way and opens me up to harm. Maybe it's because I feel insecure, like people wouldn't really care what I think of them, so I shouldn't voice it. Or it could be shyness -- telling someone my opinion of him, even if it's a positive opinion, takes a fair amount of extroversion and confidence. All of those reasons are cop outs, though. Realistically, I think it's mostly fear -- fear of putting myself out there, of being vulnerable, fear of feeling insecure, of putting someone else before myself.
This is a particularly bad thing to have a hard time with, because it ends up being really detrimental to friendships and hurtful to people. It makes me come across as standoffish, closed, hard to read -- things I'm not and don't want to be. It's like when Andi told me, some six months after we met and once we had become friends, that when she first met me, she thought I was a real bitch and that I had written her off from day one. I made no such judgement in my head; in fact, I thought she was great and really wanted to be her friend, but my actions made her think the opposite. I wonder how many people I've unintentionally shut out or hurt by acting this way.
I've been working on being more generous and forthcoming with my positive thoughts lately, and it's almost comical how difficult it is for me. I think nice things about people all day, but actually getting the words out of my mouth is so daunting. I'll sit and repeat over and over in my head some thing that I want to say, and that I truly believe, until I work up the courage to get it out. Whether it's "Those jeans looks great on you" or "You did a great job handling that uncomfortable situation" or "I thought about you all day today" or "You're one of the most important people in my life, and I really value your friendship" (that one is actually still kicking around, waiting to get out to a couple of people whom I want to hear it) -- the thought of saying the words makes my heart pound.
I know this is something really important to get better at, and that all of my friendships and relationships will benefit from me being more open and generous in this way. Everyone needs affirmation, compliments, kindness. I know I need it, and I want to be able to give it, as well.
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"The longer you think, the less you know what to do." -Death Cab
Why is this? Perhaps it's a vulnerability thing -- by telling someone that I value her, I feel like it devalues me in some weird way and opens me up to harm. Maybe it's because I feel insecure, like people wouldn't really care what I think of them, so I shouldn't voice it. Or it could be shyness -- telling someone my opinion of him, even if it's a positive opinion, takes a fair amount of extroversion and confidence. All of those reasons are cop outs, though. Realistically, I think it's mostly fear -- fear of putting myself out there, of being vulnerable, fear of feeling insecure, of putting someone else before myself.
This is a particularly bad thing to have a hard time with, because it ends up being really detrimental to friendships and hurtful to people. It makes me come across as standoffish, closed, hard to read -- things I'm not and don't want to be. It's like when Andi told me, some six months after we met and once we had become friends, that when she first met me, she thought I was a real bitch and that I had written her off from day one. I made no such judgement in my head; in fact, I thought she was great and really wanted to be her friend, but my actions made her think the opposite. I wonder how many people I've unintentionally shut out or hurt by acting this way.
I've been working on being more generous and forthcoming with my positive thoughts lately, and it's almost comical how difficult it is for me. I think nice things about people all day, but actually getting the words out of my mouth is so daunting. I'll sit and repeat over and over in my head some thing that I want to say, and that I truly believe, until I work up the courage to get it out. Whether it's "Those jeans looks great on you" or "You did a great job handling that uncomfortable situation" or "I thought about you all day today" or "You're one of the most important people in my life, and I really value your friendship" (that one is actually still kicking around, waiting to get out to a couple of people whom I want to hear it) -- the thought of saying the words makes my heart pound.
I know this is something really important to get better at, and that all of my friendships and relationships will benefit from me being more open and generous in this way. Everyone needs affirmation, compliments, kindness. I know I need it, and I want to be able to give it, as well.
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"The longer you think, the less you know what to do." -Death Cab
Monday, May 19, 2008
Remembrance
Every morning for the past few weeks, I've been reading and meditating on the PC(USA)'s Sunday lectionary for the upcoming week. I find it centering to focus on the same set of verses every day for the whole week; tying things together further is that we are following the series at MBCC, so one of the week's passages is also the basis for the sermon on Sunday.
One of this week's passages is Isaiah 49:15-16:
I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.
It seems simple; but really, can you imagine that? Every time God looks at his hands, he sees us there -- that is how often he thinks of us. We are engraved there, in his hands -- that is how close we are to him. I can't quite get my head around it.
What is engraved on the palms of my hands? What do I think of as often as I look at them? What is so close to me, so important to me, that it exists there? What should be engraved on the palms of my hands?
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"You were born to glow majestically and love until your hands bleed." - Page France
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Confidence
This has always been a struggle for me. For a long time it was physical, feeling awkward and gangly and clumsy. As I've grown comfortable in my own skin, I've grown out of that, for the most part. But confidence in general, in who I am, in terms of self-worth and all the ways that plays out in relationships and decisions and life, is always volatile.
It's so temperamental, so easily influenced. When people treat me well, I feel good about myself. When I'm in relationships that are positive and I feel like people care about me, I feel positive and care about myself. But when someone is upset with me or dissatisfied with me or not valuing me, I have a hard time fighting feeling that way myself; I take it too much to heart; I let it have too much influence. And the cycle continues -- I put up with being treated worse than I should because I believe, even if it's subconsciously, that I don't deserve to be treated better.
But then when I am treated better, it's like a whole different world; I remember that I am worth listening to, worth investing in, worth opening doors for, worth walking five miles with out to the beach and back. When someone whom I value is valuing in me in return, it changes the way I see things -- really, everything.
And that's good, of course; but I do wish I were more able to pull myself out of it, or to rely on God to pull me out of it, instead of having it be tied up in other people. I suppose, in a sense, God is pulling me out of it by providing people to help build me up. But I wish I could take more confidence, God's confidence, in who I am, what I believe in, what I'm working toward, why I am valuable. I wish it didn't feel so changeable, so often.
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"I'm bound by these choices so hard to make; I'm bound by the feeling so easy to fake. None of this is real enough to take me from you." - Wilco
It's so temperamental, so easily influenced. When people treat me well, I feel good about myself. When I'm in relationships that are positive and I feel like people care about me, I feel positive and care about myself. But when someone is upset with me or dissatisfied with me or not valuing me, I have a hard time fighting feeling that way myself; I take it too much to heart; I let it have too much influence. And the cycle continues -- I put up with being treated worse than I should because I believe, even if it's subconsciously, that I don't deserve to be treated better.
But then when I am treated better, it's like a whole different world; I remember that I am worth listening to, worth investing in, worth opening doors for, worth walking five miles with out to the beach and back. When someone whom I value is valuing in me in return, it changes the way I see things -- really, everything.
And that's good, of course; but I do wish I were more able to pull myself out of it, or to rely on God to pull me out of it, instead of having it be tied up in other people. I suppose, in a sense, God is pulling me out of it by providing people to help build me up. But I wish I could take more confidence, God's confidence, in who I am, what I believe in, what I'm working toward, why I am valuable. I wish it didn't feel so changeable, so often.
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"I'm bound by these choices so hard to make; I'm bound by the feeling so easy to fake. None of this is real enough to take me from you." - Wilco
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Connection
This week has been crazy. Despite my best attempts, I've managed to be busy every night, with barely five minutes to do dishes or put away clothes or clean the cat box. Tonight I stayed home and caught up on chores and Snaut and The Office. . .it's basically too hot to move, anyway.
But despite all the running around, I feel like the time I've spent with people this week has been really great. I've had some good, meaningful connections -- reconnecting with some older friends I'd fallen out of touch with and beginning to forge stronger relationships with newer friends.
I need to feel connected, but I need to remember that is a multi-faceted thing. I need to take time to connect with my friends and family, with myself, and with God. There has to be a balance among all of those; if one outweighs the others, I lose perspective, insecurities and doubts creep in, and a cycle of disconnection begins.
I can feel the pendulum swinging back toward the center, though. Slowly but surely, I'm finding that balance between investing in the people who are important to me, spending enough time alone to think and reflect and be intentional about what I'm doing, and seeking God in the midst of it all.
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"So throw me a rope to hold me in place; show me a clock for counting my days down. Cause everything's easier when you're beside me, come back and find me. . ." - KT Tunstall
But despite all the running around, I feel like the time I've spent with people this week has been really great. I've had some good, meaningful connections -- reconnecting with some older friends I'd fallen out of touch with and beginning to forge stronger relationships with newer friends.
I need to feel connected, but I need to remember that is a multi-faceted thing. I need to take time to connect with my friends and family, with myself, and with God. There has to be a balance among all of those; if one outweighs the others, I lose perspective, insecurities and doubts creep in, and a cycle of disconnection begins.
I can feel the pendulum swinging back toward the center, though. Slowly but surely, I'm finding that balance between investing in the people who are important to me, spending enough time alone to think and reflect and be intentional about what I'm doing, and seeking God in the midst of it all.
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"So throw me a rope to hold me in place; show me a clock for counting my days down. Cause everything's easier when you're beside me, come back and find me. . ." - KT Tunstall
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Unwavering
How do you make everyone happy? How do you tell everyone what they want to hear?
You don't. You can't. You can't stand for anything if you do. You never will.
But I do. But I somehow can. But yeah, I'm not standing for anything.
I need guns, and I need to stick to them. There is so much more than hedging your bets; life is not worth living if that's how you live it. We all need certain things, and we need to be firm about needing them. We need to demand them -- of others, and more importantly, of ourselves.
In all honesty, I don't know where I stand. But if I would listen to my own advice, I'd realize that I just need to pick a place and be there -- wherever it is. Be there, unwaveringly.
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"I want to walk worthy, my calling to fulfill. Please order my steps, Lord, and I'll do your blessed will. The world is ever changing, but you are still the same. If you order my steps, I'll praise your name."
You don't. You can't. You can't stand for anything if you do. You never will.
But I do. But I somehow can. But yeah, I'm not standing for anything.
I need guns, and I need to stick to them. There is so much more than hedging your bets; life is not worth living if that's how you live it. We all need certain things, and we need to be firm about needing them. We need to demand them -- of others, and more importantly, of ourselves.
In all honesty, I don't know where I stand. But if I would listen to my own advice, I'd realize that I just need to pick a place and be there -- wherever it is. Be there, unwaveringly.
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"I want to walk worthy, my calling to fulfill. Please order my steps, Lord, and I'll do your blessed will. The world is ever changing, but you are still the same. If you order my steps, I'll praise your name."
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Community
For some reason, I have always thought of myself as a loner, self-identified as an introvert. I'm not quite sure where I came up with that, but I'm realizing lately that it's not at all true.
Perhaps it was because I'm an only child, and I spent a fair amount of time playing by myself as a kid. I wasn't the most social teenager, and I did need my at-home time, away from my friends -- but even then, I wasn't by myself. I spent the majority of my time from birth to age 18 with my parents; we always have been and still are extremely close, a team of three. They're my best friends.
In college, I had my first taste of living in a larger community. The freshman UHC floor put all of my pals within bedroom-door-knocking distance, and I spent every minute with them -- there was always someone who wanted to hang out. My summer in San Francisco was hyper-community -- I was never alone, even sleeping each night in a room with 3 to 4 other girls, and spending every waking hour talking, working, praying, and otherwise connecting intensely with the people around me. I continued to live with roommates after that, and even had another very community-intensive summer working in LA; but I think more monumentally, I entered into a relationship and developed a very strong emotional connection with another person. That was a new kind of community, but it's one that I've realized is basically the most important one to me -- the community formed with a partner.
I have this urge to share my life, all the details, mundane as they may be. Perhaps I've just been conditioned to be like this, and now I expect it; I still talk with my parents almost every day to give and receive updates. But I don't like keeping things to myself; I want perspective, opinions, advice, thoughts. I want to include people in my life, and I want to be included in other people's lives. I want to feel connected, needed, involved.
And now I find myself living alone, not as any part of community. And I also find myself "single," not part of any one strong emotional partnership. And thus, I'm finding it challenging to navigate the landscape of my various friendships, disperse my need to connect, and still find that sense of community that I crave. I worry that I get too clingy or invest too much in friendships that aren't ready for it. I don't like feeling this way, being in this place. I know I need this time to be on my own, to introspect and figure certain things out, but I miss feeling connected.
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"She says wake up, it's no use pretending; I'll keep stealing, breathing her. Birds are leaving over autumn's ending; one of us will die inside these arms." - Iron and Wine
Perhaps it was because I'm an only child, and I spent a fair amount of time playing by myself as a kid. I wasn't the most social teenager, and I did need my at-home time, away from my friends -- but even then, I wasn't by myself. I spent the majority of my time from birth to age 18 with my parents; we always have been and still are extremely close, a team of three. They're my best friends.
In college, I had my first taste of living in a larger community. The freshman UHC floor put all of my pals within bedroom-door-knocking distance, and I spent every minute with them -- there was always someone who wanted to hang out. My summer in San Francisco was hyper-community -- I was never alone, even sleeping each night in a room with 3 to 4 other girls, and spending every waking hour talking, working, praying, and otherwise connecting intensely with the people around me. I continued to live with roommates after that, and even had another very community-intensive summer working in LA; but I think more monumentally, I entered into a relationship and developed a very strong emotional connection with another person. That was a new kind of community, but it's one that I've realized is basically the most important one to me -- the community formed with a partner.
I have this urge to share my life, all the details, mundane as they may be. Perhaps I've just been conditioned to be like this, and now I expect it; I still talk with my parents almost every day to give and receive updates. But I don't like keeping things to myself; I want perspective, opinions, advice, thoughts. I want to include people in my life, and I want to be included in other people's lives. I want to feel connected, needed, involved.
And now I find myself living alone, not as any part of community. And I also find myself "single," not part of any one strong emotional partnership. And thus, I'm finding it challenging to navigate the landscape of my various friendships, disperse my need to connect, and still find that sense of community that I crave. I worry that I get too clingy or invest too much in friendships that aren't ready for it. I don't like feeling this way, being in this place. I know I need this time to be on my own, to introspect and figure certain things out, but I miss feeling connected.
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"She says wake up, it's no use pretending; I'll keep stealing, breathing her. Birds are leaving over autumn's ending; one of us will die inside these arms." - Iron and Wine
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Lap Cat
I really love my cat. He brings me a lot of joy. He waits at the door for me to come home, unless I come home at a time when he's not expecting me, in which case he staggers into the living room all bleary eyed a few seconds after I open the door trying to figure out why the schedule has changed. As soon as I sit down he's on my lap, rolling around and purring and all up in my face. And I take care of him -- I buy him expensive food made specially for indoor cats so he doesn't get super fat: I trim his claws so he doesn't get stuck on things (or me); I clean up his puke when he eats too fast and throws up on the living room rug. Lately I've been letting him sit on my lap while I'm at the kitchen table, eating breakfast or Internetting or writing -- encouraging bad behavior, I know. He wiggles around and tries to get comfortable, and even though he can't, he still stays, because he just wants to be close to me.
But invariably, after he's been calmly lounging as a lap cat for five or ten minutes, he starts to freak out. One second he's purring and purely content, the next he inexplicably wraps his front feet around my arm and starts biting my wrist, ears back, wild look in his eyes. I usually don't know what I've done to provoke him -- he just goes into attack mode.
As he went from cuddling to attacking me tonight, I thought about how we do that to God. Seriously, though. God takes care of us -- he provides us with the best spiritual food we could ask for; he keeps us humble and gracious so we don't harm the people around us; he cleans up the aftermath from our overindulgences, maybe not necessarily puke, but sadness or fear or loneliness. And most of the time we're so content; we lounge around, happy and purring, thankful to be loved and taken care of. But then sometimes, inexplicably, we turn around and -- WHAM -- we sink our teeth into his hand and start frantically kicking at his arm, totally ungrateful, taken over by some kind of wild anger. And he's probably like, "Whoa, what the. . .what did I do to deserve that??"
Though I wish I didn't have those moments of unwarranted freakout, I don't know how to. But once I've gone over to the other side of the room for a bit and sulked around, I always realize how much happier I am when I'm purring on God's lap. So I go back, of course. And he always lets me back up.
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"Because I'm so scared of being alone, that I forgot what house I live in." - Caedmon's Call
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Perspective
Tonight, I feel trite and melancholy and self-pitying and lonely and uninspired.
There are terrible things going on in the world. Tens of thousands of people are dead in Myanmar; and hundreds of thousands of people's lives are forever changed, devastated. There are terrible things happening in this City; homes of families and kids are being raided by ICE agents. And I'm sitting here, being mopey. I have no real reason, at least no reason from any perspective other than my own. And yet.
There you have it. Tomorrow is a new day, hopefully one with a bit more perspective.
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"I don't mind restrictions, or if you're blacking out the friction. It's just an escape; it's overrated, anyway." - Death Cab
There are terrible things going on in the world. Tens of thousands of people are dead in Myanmar; and hundreds of thousands of people's lives are forever changed, devastated. There are terrible things happening in this City; homes of families and kids are being raided by ICE agents. And I'm sitting here, being mopey. I have no real reason, at least no reason from any perspective other than my own. And yet.
There you have it. Tomorrow is a new day, hopefully one with a bit more perspective.
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"I don't mind restrictions, or if you're blacking out the friction. It's just an escape; it's overrated, anyway." - Death Cab
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Calm
This past Saturday, I had a meeting to attend at 8am. I set my alarm for 6:45 in order to be there on time, which is probably the earliest I've gotten up in months. I don't get to work these days until around 9:30, 9 at the earliest.
I biked over to the coffee shop in the Dogpatch, and instead of taking the circuitous, more mellow route with less traffic and more bike lanes, I braved the Cesar Chavez way. It's more direct, but depending on the time of day, it's pretty terrifying because you're sharing the lane with lots of highway-bound, fast-moving cars, with no space of your own.
I had forgotten how amazing the City is early on weekend mornings. Biking on this road normally makes me feel like I'm taking my life in my hands, but at that hour on a Saturday, I had the whole thing to myself. There were no cars out -- everyone was still sleeping or enjoying breakfast or doing things other than driving like maniacs. It was great.
Biking used to be a pretty big source of stress for me. I allowed myself to get really, really angry when cars cut me off or didn't respect me on the road - I would yell, bike frantically after them, make a waving-arms-scene in their rear-view mirrors. I biked in constant fear of getting hit. It was no way to spend close to an hour of each day, and the effects of that stress and anxiety rippled out into other aspects of my life.
Somewhere along the way, in the last few months, I stopped getting mad, and I stopped being afraid on the road. I bike defensively, for sure, but I've taken on a very calm mindset about my daily commute. Not only has this allowed me to enjoy biking much more, but I feel like that calm has rippled out into the rest of my life, too, replacing the anxiety and anger that had been there before.
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". . .honey, you cannot wrestle a dove." - The Shins
I biked over to the coffee shop in the Dogpatch, and instead of taking the circuitous, more mellow route with less traffic and more bike lanes, I braved the Cesar Chavez way. It's more direct, but depending on the time of day, it's pretty terrifying because you're sharing the lane with lots of highway-bound, fast-moving cars, with no space of your own.
I had forgotten how amazing the City is early on weekend mornings. Biking on this road normally makes me feel like I'm taking my life in my hands, but at that hour on a Saturday, I had the whole thing to myself. There were no cars out -- everyone was still sleeping or enjoying breakfast or doing things other than driving like maniacs. It was great.
Biking used to be a pretty big source of stress for me. I allowed myself to get really, really angry when cars cut me off or didn't respect me on the road - I would yell, bike frantically after them, make a waving-arms-scene in their rear-view mirrors. I biked in constant fear of getting hit. It was no way to spend close to an hour of each day, and the effects of that stress and anxiety rippled out into other aspects of my life.
Somewhere along the way, in the last few months, I stopped getting mad, and I stopped being afraid on the road. I bike defensively, for sure, but I've taken on a very calm mindset about my daily commute. Not only has this allowed me to enjoy biking much more, but I feel like that calm has rippled out into the rest of my life, too, replacing the anxiety and anger that had been there before.
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". . .honey, you cannot wrestle a dove." - The Shins
Monday, May 05, 2008
Vision
I met with Bruce tonight to discuss some MBCC business-ey stuff. Not surprisingly, the conversation waxed global -- where is our church is going, how does our community grow from where we are now, how do we challenge our members, how do we deal with practical things like money and facilities and locations and space?
I don't have any answers for those questions, but they're exciting for me, and I want to be a part of figuring them out. I feel like I'm ready to pour myself into something. I have no practical ties right now; nothing is keeping me in my current job or housing situation; nothing is holding me back from doing. . .anything I want to do. I do feel like I need to stay in San Francisco, and I do feel like I need to stay at MBCC, but beyond that, I'm ready to do whatever -- I just don't know what that whatever is. I don't know where to direct my very broad but very real passion.
In a lot of senses I feel like I'm where I was when I was 19 -- obviously I've grown and learned a lot since then, but I remember how it felt going into my first summer in San Francisco, when everything was an unknown, when I felt like anything could happen, when I had no clue what life would look like at the end of those three months. I was forever changed that summer. Life was totally different after it; a whole different world opened up. And now, I'm in that world, I live here -- so what am I going to do about it?
I want to be interacting, I want to be living. I've always felt, to a degree, like I'm in some space between binaries, that there are mutually exclusive "ways of life," and I need to choose between them -- there's the normal, comfortable, responsible, reasonable life, and there's the life that is lived with passion, spent making a difference, taken over by something really meaningful. And the more I live, the more I'm convinced that there isn't much of a middle ground -- either you're in or you're out. As I've been saying so much lately, it just comes down to making a decision.
But right now, I feel like the possibilities are just so vast that it's paralyzing. When you feel like you can do anything, what do you do?
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"I wanna give you whatever you need. What is it you need? Is it within me?" - DC
I don't have any answers for those questions, but they're exciting for me, and I want to be a part of figuring them out. I feel like I'm ready to pour myself into something. I have no practical ties right now; nothing is keeping me in my current job or housing situation; nothing is holding me back from doing. . .anything I want to do. I do feel like I need to stay in San Francisco, and I do feel like I need to stay at MBCC, but beyond that, I'm ready to do whatever -- I just don't know what that whatever is. I don't know where to direct my very broad but very real passion.
In a lot of senses I feel like I'm where I was when I was 19 -- obviously I've grown and learned a lot since then, but I remember how it felt going into my first summer in San Francisco, when everything was an unknown, when I felt like anything could happen, when I had no clue what life would look like at the end of those three months. I was forever changed that summer. Life was totally different after it; a whole different world opened up. And now, I'm in that world, I live here -- so what am I going to do about it?
I want to be interacting, I want to be living. I've always felt, to a degree, like I'm in some space between binaries, that there are mutually exclusive "ways of life," and I need to choose between them -- there's the normal, comfortable, responsible, reasonable life, and there's the life that is lived with passion, spent making a difference, taken over by something really meaningful. And the more I live, the more I'm convinced that there isn't much of a middle ground -- either you're in or you're out. As I've been saying so much lately, it just comes down to making a decision.
But right now, I feel like the possibilities are just so vast that it's paralyzing. When you feel like you can do anything, what do you do?
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"I wanna give you whatever you need. What is it you need? Is it within me?" - DC
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Assurance
Moments of desperation. The first time I ever remember having them, and characterizing them as such, was in Prague. I felt very isolated while I was there, far from my support network and the people I loved. I also had a lot of free time. Despite being in a beautiful, culturally rich city, there was only so much I could do -- I was there long enough to "outgrow" the touristy stuff but not long enough to establish a real, authentic life. Classes were interesting and even challenging, but neither they nor their related work required a large time commitment. Thus, I had to find ways to pass the time, and I would often find myself looking at the clock, taking stock of my activity options, and having these mini-panic-attack moments of desperation about how I was going to survive. I think the reason, at the bottom of it, was that I was afraid of being alone, of having to pass the time by myself.
It's silly, really, and I know it. I always managed to fill the time, and I usually ended up doing something fun and worthwhile, whether it was hanging out with a friend or reading a book or taking a walk through the cobblestoned streets. I surely didn't spend my time in Prague sitting around moping. But no matter how often I successfully filled the moments, no matter how many times I didn't die of loneliness, I still had that clenching in my chest, that tightness in my throat, that stinging in the corners of my eyes the next time I was faced with an empty block of time and no obvious plan for it.
I started having them again about six months ago. It's easy to see why -- I felt alone, emotionally, for the first time in four years, and I was alone, physically, for the first time in almost a year. Avoiding the moments of desperation is largely what has driven me during these past months. It's the reason I started micromanaging my social life, plotting activities for weeknights and weekends on a calendar, booking out my time in chunks, planning various activities to pass the hours -- so I wouldn't have to feel or be alone, an attempt to lessen the frequency of those desperate, stifling moments. And again, every time I do have free time, I use it well; I don't freak out; I don't perish; I usually even enjoy it. Nonetheless, I still can't trust that will actually be the case going into it.
I wish I had more assurance about this, about believing that I won't be alone, even when I am alone, about -- as cheesy as it is -- the fact that God is always with me. I wish I felt like that was enough. I know it is, in my head, but I have trouble convincing my heart of it in those desperate times.
The truth is, no matter how full I make my schedule, no matter how many dinners and drinks and activities I plan, I'm only running away, fooling myself, prolonging the inevitable. I'm still going to have my moments of desperation until I find and accept that assurance in my heart.
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"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of his Spirit, washed in his blood." - Fanny J. Crosby, 1873
It's silly, really, and I know it. I always managed to fill the time, and I usually ended up doing something fun and worthwhile, whether it was hanging out with a friend or reading a book or taking a walk through the cobblestoned streets. I surely didn't spend my time in Prague sitting around moping. But no matter how often I successfully filled the moments, no matter how many times I didn't die of loneliness, I still had that clenching in my chest, that tightness in my throat, that stinging in the corners of my eyes the next time I was faced with an empty block of time and no obvious plan for it.
I started having them again about six months ago. It's easy to see why -- I felt alone, emotionally, for the first time in four years, and I was alone, physically, for the first time in almost a year. Avoiding the moments of desperation is largely what has driven me during these past months. It's the reason I started micromanaging my social life, plotting activities for weeknights and weekends on a calendar, booking out my time in chunks, planning various activities to pass the hours -- so I wouldn't have to feel or be alone, an attempt to lessen the frequency of those desperate, stifling moments. And again, every time I do have free time, I use it well; I don't freak out; I don't perish; I usually even enjoy it. Nonetheless, I still can't trust that will actually be the case going into it.
I wish I had more assurance about this, about believing that I won't be alone, even when I am alone, about -- as cheesy as it is -- the fact that God is always with me. I wish I felt like that was enough. I know it is, in my head, but I have trouble convincing my heart of it in those desperate times.
The truth is, no matter how full I make my schedule, no matter how many dinners and drinks and activities I plan, I'm only running away, fooling myself, prolonging the inevitable. I'm still going to have my moments of desperation until I find and accept that assurance in my heart.
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"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of his Spirit, washed in his blood." - Fanny J. Crosby, 1873
For Friends
I'm struck tonight by the amazing people that are in my life, so I'm straying from The List to reflect on and give thanks for them.
I've been able to spend some really good, quality time with a lot of different friends lately -- starting in Greeley, and then radiating out in the past week since I've been back. It's so incredible to see how God moves through all the various people that are part of my life, both in ways they see and in ways they possibly don't, and it's inspiring to see how God is working in each and every one of them, despite their struggles and through their triumphs.
It's truly staggering to see how God is present in each of these widely varied relationships, in the conversations and time shared together, despite the varying levels of comfort and intimacy, through the contexts and complex histories.
I'm feeling very thankful tonight for the relationships I am blessed to be a part of and the people I am blessed to count as friends.
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"Some moments last forever, and some flare out with love, love, love." - Mountain Goats
I've been able to spend some really good, quality time with a lot of different friends lately -- starting in Greeley, and then radiating out in the past week since I've been back. It's so incredible to see how God moves through all the various people that are part of my life, both in ways they see and in ways they possibly don't, and it's inspiring to see how God is working in each and every one of them, despite their struggles and through their triumphs.
It's truly staggering to see how God is present in each of these widely varied relationships, in the conversations and time shared together, despite the varying levels of comfort and intimacy, through the contexts and complex histories.
I'm feeling very thankful tonight for the relationships I am blessed to be a part of and the people I am blessed to count as friends.
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"Some moments last forever, and some flare out with love, love, love." - Mountain Goats
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Self-discipline
About six months ago, when I found myself living alone for the first time in my life, I went around my apartment posting notecards with scripture on them in conspicuous places -- above the kitchen sink, next to the bathroom mirror, on the inside of the closet door. The idea was that when I saw a card in one of these highly traveled locations, I'd have to stop and at least read it (and hopefully reflect on it) before moving on with the next thing I was going to do. It was an attempt to get myself to slow down, to reflect more, to seek God in the mundane things I did every day.
The verse I put above the bathroom mirror is from 2 Timothy: "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline." When I first put this up, I was totally on board with the not being timid, the having power, and the having love; these things all seemed worth seeking out in my own spirit. But I felt a little weird about the self-discipline part. It struck me as somehow "too Christian" -- language that connotes long dresses and turtlenecks and bad haircuts and no fun. I guess subconsciously I was thinking, "Oh, self-discipline, that's not something I need to work on, I have that, it's no big deal."
But actually, it's a huge deal. It's what underlies all of these "things" I'm writing about; the lack of it is what prevents me from succeeding in having any of them accurately describe me. Sure, I exert a fair degree of self-discipline in my daily life -- I have to; we all do. I get up every day, I feed and bathe myself, I go to work, I take care of my cat. Recently, I've been taking devotional time in the mornings, and I've been writing every evening. My self-discipline in terms of actions is fairly on track, and at worst, it's wrangleable -- I can force myself to do these things, physically, even when I really don't want to.
It's self-discipline of the mind that I struggle with. The key to getting anywhere with the list of things I'm striving for is exerting self-discipline over my thoughts, my intentions, my inner monologue, which is far harder to quantify or prove -- and yet, it can make so much of a difference in everything if it's truly happening.
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"I make all of the right noises, but they never make it to you." - Page France
The verse I put above the bathroom mirror is from 2 Timothy: "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline." When I first put this up, I was totally on board with the not being timid, the having power, and the having love; these things all seemed worth seeking out in my own spirit. But I felt a little weird about the self-discipline part. It struck me as somehow "too Christian" -- language that connotes long dresses and turtlenecks and bad haircuts and no fun. I guess subconsciously I was thinking, "Oh, self-discipline, that's not something I need to work on, I have that, it's no big deal."
But actually, it's a huge deal. It's what underlies all of these "things" I'm writing about; the lack of it is what prevents me from succeeding in having any of them accurately describe me. Sure, I exert a fair degree of self-discipline in my daily life -- I have to; we all do. I get up every day, I feed and bathe myself, I go to work, I take care of my cat. Recently, I've been taking devotional time in the mornings, and I've been writing every evening. My self-discipline in terms of actions is fairly on track, and at worst, it's wrangleable -- I can force myself to do these things, physically, even when I really don't want to.
It's self-discipline of the mind that I struggle with. The key to getting anywhere with the list of things I'm striving for is exerting self-discipline over my thoughts, my intentions, my inner monologue, which is far harder to quantify or prove -- and yet, it can make so much of a difference in everything if it's truly happening.
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"I make all of the right noises, but they never make it to you." - Page France
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Resilience
This is one I think I've got a pretty good handle on, one trait I can confidently say I posses. Now, I've never had any really terrible things happen to me, and I'm thankful for that. But I feel that I am good at bouncing back when setbacks do occur; I can make the most of potentially harrowing situations, grow and shine through adversity, and keep up hope for the future.
I've always been a firm believer that things will be better in the morning. I remember when I would be upset as a kid, my dad would tell me that I should go to sleep, and if I was still feeling the same way in the morning, I could decide what to do about it then. This is still largely my MO today. I know that as the day drags on and I get tired, I lose perspective and the ability to think clearly, making those moments before bed often some of the hardest. It would be easy to wallow in that place, but in my experience, things have never failed to be better in the morning -- even if it's only a little bit, they are still always better.
Largely, resilience comes from having hope, and hope is one of the most important things to me. I believe that God has amazing things in store for my life, that he has plans I don't yet know -- and that's what I'm living for. I have to believe this -- it's what keeps me going. Even though things happen that I don't understand and life twists and turns in unexpected ways, I know that it is all happening on God's timeline, and so I must move on, forge ahead, and look forward to what is coming next.
And when I look back at where I've been and where I am, even over the last few months, let alone the last few years, it's proof to me that I can and must continue to be resilient, no matter what challenges there are. Because there is something worth getting to on the other side of the loneliness, something worth waiting for through the moments of desperation and despair.
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"It's sixteen miles to the promised land, and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can." - Rilo Kiley
I've always been a firm believer that things will be better in the morning. I remember when I would be upset as a kid, my dad would tell me that I should go to sleep, and if I was still feeling the same way in the morning, I could decide what to do about it then. This is still largely my MO today. I know that as the day drags on and I get tired, I lose perspective and the ability to think clearly, making those moments before bed often some of the hardest. It would be easy to wallow in that place, but in my experience, things have never failed to be better in the morning -- even if it's only a little bit, they are still always better.
Largely, resilience comes from having hope, and hope is one of the most important things to me. I believe that God has amazing things in store for my life, that he has plans I don't yet know -- and that's what I'm living for. I have to believe this -- it's what keeps me going. Even though things happen that I don't understand and life twists and turns in unexpected ways, I know that it is all happening on God's timeline, and so I must move on, forge ahead, and look forward to what is coming next.
And when I look back at where I've been and where I am, even over the last few months, let alone the last few years, it's proof to me that I can and must continue to be resilient, no matter what challenges there are. Because there is something worth getting to on the other side of the loneliness, something worth waiting for through the moments of desperation and despair.
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"It's sixteen miles to the promised land, and I promise you, I'm doing the best I can." - Rilo Kiley
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Jesus Factor
I don't feel like writing about any of the things on The List tonight; I feel like writing about the thing that informs them, the thing that really informs everything for me right now.
I'll admit that it's somewhat cheesy, but it is true, as Dale puts it -- everything would be much simpler if it weren't for The Jesus Factor. It's kind of like the "on paper" perspective: On paper, my life is perfect. I have everything I should want. And I do appreciate the good fortune I've had; it's not a matter of being ungrateful. It's the fact that it isn't enough. Having these things I'm "supposed" to have isn't enough for me. I want more. I want to do more, be more, feel more, make more of a difference. I want my actions, my life, to be meaningful.
And it's all because of Jesus -- that sense of being called to something higher, having some greater force to answer to, wanting to live like he did. If it weren't for The Jesus Factor, I think I would be about 98% satisfied with my life right now. But because of it, I know I'll never be satisfied; I'll always be striving to do more, to keep struggling and growing into who I am called to be, who I was made to be. And no, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, especially in the end; I know that. But in the moment, it sure is annoying, especially during these times when I am so desperately seeking direction, vision, purpose, and clarity -- and having such trouble finding it.
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"All we've got to show what we really are is the same kind of scars. And looking at you, all I see is you're waiting for something, single file. . ." - Elliott Smith
I'll admit that it's somewhat cheesy, but it is true, as Dale puts it -- everything would be much simpler if it weren't for The Jesus Factor. It's kind of like the "on paper" perspective: On paper, my life is perfect. I have everything I should want. And I do appreciate the good fortune I've had; it's not a matter of being ungrateful. It's the fact that it isn't enough. Having these things I'm "supposed" to have isn't enough for me. I want more. I want to do more, be more, feel more, make more of a difference. I want my actions, my life, to be meaningful.
And it's all because of Jesus -- that sense of being called to something higher, having some greater force to answer to, wanting to live like he did. If it weren't for The Jesus Factor, I think I would be about 98% satisfied with my life right now. But because of it, I know I'll never be satisfied; I'll always be striving to do more, to keep struggling and growing into who I am called to be, who I was made to be. And no, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, especially in the end; I know that. But in the moment, it sure is annoying, especially during these times when I am so desperately seeking direction, vision, purpose, and clarity -- and having such trouble finding it.
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"All we've got to show what we really are is the same kind of scars. And looking at you, all I see is you're waiting for something, single file. . ." - Elliott Smith
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Presence
When I told KJ I wanted to unlpug for the weekend I was going to be in Greeley, he was pumped. He said it would be great because it would allow me to be "fully" there.
It's so true. How many times am I doing one thing but thinking about another? How often am I with one person but checking my phone to see if another has contacted me? So much that I feel I'm rarely fully there, actually present doing any one thing. At work, I'm always doing 400 things at once, in the middle of lots of different projects, carrying on IM conversations with five people, drafting three or four emails at any given moment. Even when I'm at home, I'm simultaneously checking my email, watching TV, playing with Snaut, cooking dinner, or whatever else. How can I really be doing any of these things well if I'm trying to do them all at once?
Multitasking is a good skill to have, but I feel that I've gotten too good at it. I can juggle so many things at once that I don't know how to just focus on one anymore. Sitting and making myself just read or just write has become difficult; I get antsy when I try to do one thing, start to finish. Just like savoring the moment, I need to slow down, to re-learn how to focus.
I feel that being present is most important with people, though, that I need to cultivate this most in my relationships. When I am spending time with someone, I want to be fully there, intentional about spending that time with that person, focusing on that person and our relationship. I hope to receive that kind of presence from the people in my life, and there's absolutely no excuse for me to not give it to them.
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"And I just want to stand outside and know that this is right, and this is true, and I will not fade into, fade into the night." - The Eels
It's so true. How many times am I doing one thing but thinking about another? How often am I with one person but checking my phone to see if another has contacted me? So much that I feel I'm rarely fully there, actually present doing any one thing. At work, I'm always doing 400 things at once, in the middle of lots of different projects, carrying on IM conversations with five people, drafting three or four emails at any given moment. Even when I'm at home, I'm simultaneously checking my email, watching TV, playing with Snaut, cooking dinner, or whatever else. How can I really be doing any of these things well if I'm trying to do them all at once?
Multitasking is a good skill to have, but I feel that I've gotten too good at it. I can juggle so many things at once that I don't know how to just focus on one anymore. Sitting and making myself just read or just write has become difficult; I get antsy when I try to do one thing, start to finish. Just like savoring the moment, I need to slow down, to re-learn how to focus.
I feel that being present is most important with people, though, that I need to cultivate this most in my relationships. When I am spending time with someone, I want to be fully there, intentional about spending that time with that person, focusing on that person and our relationship. I hope to receive that kind of presence from the people in my life, and there's absolutely no excuse for me to not give it to them.
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"And I just want to stand outside and know that this is right, and this is true, and I will not fade into, fade into the night." - The Eels
Monday, April 28, 2008
Savoring the Moment
In college I had a good friend named Arun who would suck down Frappuccinos like they were water. Not the milkshake-type things you actually get at Starbucks, but the chocolatey/coffeey/milky drink in the little glass bottles that you get at the convenience store. Many a night during freshman year, he would buy one at the 7-11 on the first floor of our dorm, pop it open, and down it in like three long gulps, 30 seconds total. I didn't understand it. Whenever I got one, I would gingerly sip it and try to make it last as long as possible -- it was a treat, and I wanted to enjoy it. I used to yell at him whenever he'd drink one, chiding him for not "savoring" it. How can you even taste something, let alone enjoy it, when you consume it that fast?
The way I've been living my life over the past few months has been like the way Arun drank Frappuccinos. I've just been running down to the 7-11 to get one, sucking it down, and moving on to the next thing so quickly that I don't even realize what I've just done, I don't even know what it tasted like. Get up, get ready for work, go to work, multitask all day and eat lunch at my desk, come home, make dinner, rush to some social activity, rush home, go to bed. It's not that I don't enjoy the social activities, and it's not that I don't at least occasionally enjoy work -- it's just the fact that my mind is going so many miles an hour while I'm doing all of these things that I'm not really, truly appreciating the fact that I am doing any of them.
At the risk of dragging the metaphor on too far, I want to savor my Frappuccinos; I want to be able to tell the difference between Mocha and Vanilla. I want to enjoy the things I'm doing and the company of the people I'm doing them with, to decide intentionally how to spend my time and then intentionally savor that time. I want to focus on what I'm doing, when I'm doing it, and give it the attention it deserves. The hardest part is just letting myself slow down enough to enjoy any given moment -- to put aside thoughts and worries about what else is going on, what I have to do next, what I have to do in a week, so that I can focus on whatever I'm doing right then.
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"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." -Matthew 6:34
The way I've been living my life over the past few months has been like the way Arun drank Frappuccinos. I've just been running down to the 7-11 to get one, sucking it down, and moving on to the next thing so quickly that I don't even realize what I've just done, I don't even know what it tasted like. Get up, get ready for work, go to work, multitask all day and eat lunch at my desk, come home, make dinner, rush to some social activity, rush home, go to bed. It's not that I don't enjoy the social activities, and it's not that I don't at least occasionally enjoy work -- it's just the fact that my mind is going so many miles an hour while I'm doing all of these things that I'm not really, truly appreciating the fact that I am doing any of them.
At the risk of dragging the metaphor on too far, I want to savor my Frappuccinos; I want to be able to tell the difference between Mocha and Vanilla. I want to enjoy the things I'm doing and the company of the people I'm doing them with, to decide intentionally how to spend my time and then intentionally savor that time. I want to focus on what I'm doing, when I'm doing it, and give it the attention it deserves. The hardest part is just letting myself slow down enough to enjoy any given moment -- to put aside thoughts and worries about what else is going on, what I have to do next, what I have to do in a week, so that I can focus on whatever I'm doing right then.
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"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." -Matthew 6:34
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Blogging As An Exercise In Self-Discipline
I just spent a weekend unplugged: no computer, no internet, no cell phone. I don't know when the last time was I did this. . .perhaps never. But I've been feeling too available lately, too tethered, allowing various (oft superficial) interactions to take up too much of my time and energy. I've been lacking direction, feeling stagnant. I've been moving too fast, doing too much multitasking and not enough enjoying the moment I'm in, in both mind and body. I'm doing so much that I'm not actually doing any of it. I'm never sitting still. I'm never listening.
The weekend was fantastic. In my down time, instead of texting or checking my email or browsing Facebook or Yelp, I actually sat and read or wrote or thought or listened. It's incredible what that slowing down the pace of your life will do for perspective. (Being in the company of an old friend who has always inspired and challenged me is immensely helpful, as well. And traveling 1,200 miles from the distractions of normal life doesn't hurt, I guess, but I believe it's mostly a mental thing.) I have a new clarity, a new sense of purpose and vision, a very new sense of calm. I asked and received, sought and found, knocked and had the door opened unto me. I highly recommend it.
There are many things I want to do as a result of this weekend of introspection. One facet of them is to be still more often, to spend more time in thought and prayer and reflection, to get writing again, and to actually practice self-discipline about it. So I'm resurrecting the blog.
Earlier this year I started a list of "Things I'm Striving For" -- qualities I want to posses, words I want to use to be able to describe myself -- and I've been adding to it over the past few months. Right now there are 25 items on the list, and every day, I'm going to write about one of them -- what it means, why it's important, how it looks as part of my life, and what the challenges are for getting there. A bit self-indulgent, perhaps; but I need some discipline to get me writing again, and I feel like this is a good place to start.
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"I need to watch to watch the wind blowing on the sea; let me hear it slowly, rustling the trees. City people move, too fast for me. . .funny how time flies away, funny how it flies." - Peter and the Wolf
The weekend was fantastic. In my down time, instead of texting or checking my email or browsing Facebook or Yelp, I actually sat and read or wrote or thought or listened. It's incredible what that slowing down the pace of your life will do for perspective. (Being in the company of an old friend who has always inspired and challenged me is immensely helpful, as well. And traveling 1,200 miles from the distractions of normal life doesn't hurt, I guess, but I believe it's mostly a mental thing.) I have a new clarity, a new sense of purpose and vision, a very new sense of calm. I asked and received, sought and found, knocked and had the door opened unto me. I highly recommend it.
There are many things I want to do as a result of this weekend of introspection. One facet of them is to be still more often, to spend more time in thought and prayer and reflection, to get writing again, and to actually practice self-discipline about it. So I'm resurrecting the blog.
Earlier this year I started a list of "Things I'm Striving For" -- qualities I want to posses, words I want to use to be able to describe myself -- and I've been adding to it over the past few months. Right now there are 25 items on the list, and every day, I'm going to write about one of them -- what it means, why it's important, how it looks as part of my life, and what the challenges are for getting there. A bit self-indulgent, perhaps; but I need some discipline to get me writing again, and I feel like this is a good place to start.
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"I need to watch to watch the wind blowing on the sea; let me hear it slowly, rustling the trees. City people move, too fast for me. . .funny how time flies away, funny how it flies." - Peter and the Wolf
Thursday, March 20, 2008
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