Adventures in Domesticity

Reboot the Blog!

2011-01-26T22:13:00.014-07:00

I had the realization recently that I haven't blogged in nearly a year.

Ouch.

I've had plenty of excuses not to; first I was busy graduating from college, then there were seven months of excruciating housing drama, and also during that time activities, birthdays, shenanigans, engagement, and a new puppy. I've been struggling with what to do with my life now that I've finished college, and not coming up with any answers, except that I know I don't want to wait tables for much longer, or be involved in the restaurant business in any form for that matter. Motivation to sit down and write a blog post has been virtually non-existant. But despite the excuses, and the lack of motivation, the desire is there. I love to write; I need to write. I'd like to write books, but I'm so out of practice, I'm not even sure where to start. So, I'm starting with my blog. I have resolved to begin posting regularly again, and hopefully that will get the juices flowing for other types of writing.

In other words, I'm back.

In addition to writing more regularly, I have a lot of other goals for this year. So I'm going to take a page out of my friend Clare's book (check her out at Never Niche), and post my goals here, for others to see, and for me to keep track of. In this post, I'll have my goals for the year 2011, and also my goals for February; each month, I'll check in with how I did on my goals for the previous month, and how I'm progressing with my goals for the year. I'll continue to blog about other things as well - I'll be talking about raising a puppy, planning a wedding, dealing with baby fever, missing lost loved ones, and plenty of things I haven't come up with yet I'm sure! But for now, I present to you, my goals for the future!

2011

Over the course of the next year, I hope to:

-Post in my blog every week

-Become more financially stable and savvy

-Take better care of myself physically by

-exercising more

-being a conscious and healthy eater

-drinking more water

-getting more sleep

-Losing 45 lbs by August and 60 lbs by the end of the year

-Take better care of myself mentally and emotionally by

-learning to stop stressing over things I can't control

-surfing the web less and reading more

-taking more time for myself

-making a career change

-making the time to make myself feel pretty

-Shape my adorable puppy into a well-behaved, loveable dog

-Throw a fabulous wedding without being a control freak or losing sight of what's really important

February

To help meet my goals for the year, in the next month I hope to:

-Post at least four new blog entries

-Lose 6 lbs by

-setting up a space for Pilates and do my video 3x per week

-walking with Ianto every day for at least 30 minutes

-having salad, fish, or a vegetarian meal at least 1x per week

-cutting soda from my diet

-Send out 10 resumes

-Finish the wedding guest list and acquire all necessary addresses for save the dates to go out

-Save at least $300

-Enroll Ianto in Puppy Kindergarten and Doggie Daycare

-Re-organize my jewelry box so I can find what I want, and start wearing jewelry again

-Read at least one book

-Keep a meticulous diary of what I eat, what I spend, and how I spend my time

Wish me luck!

On Family: The furry, fuzzy members

2010-03-31T21:08:00.051-06:00

Dan and I both grew up with dogs and cats (among other four-footed beasties); you could rightly call us dog people and also cat people, and I don't think either of us would have it any other way. I love my two furballs, even when they scratch up my new furniture, knock over vases full of flowers, and keep me up at night chasing each other around. I don't mind scooping their litter box (well... I tolerate it, anyway) or putting up with their yowling when we move. All of that is made up for when Dash crawls up onto my chest and starts purring madly when I pet him, or Vanyel curls up between Dan and I in the early morning looking for love. I get so much joy from them both; I couldn't imagine my life without them. And I have vivid memories of Shadow and Pippen, the two kitties I had growing up. They were a huge part of my childhood. When Shadow died the day after my 21st birthday, at the ripe old age of 15, I was utterly heartbroken; he will hold a special place in my heart that no other creature will ever touch.

So, I love cats. But I miss having a dog around. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if even one of my close friends had a dog I could love on, but the best I get is the three or four times a year I make the trek home to Durango to visit my parents. I've wanted to get a dog practically since I moved out on my own, and held off because, until recently, I haven't been in a position to be a good dog owner. Between work and school, tiny apartments I could barely afford, lack of money, and lack of time, I knew that I couldn't be fair to a dog, especially of the large variety that I tend to prefer. But now, for the first time, I have time, I have money, and I have a place, not to mention a wonderful cohort in the endeavor. I am beyond excited about this fact; to the point where doing dog-related research has been a real distraction from my schoolwork. However, getting a dog means something different to me now than I did when I first moved out. This dog will likely live to see my children born. This dog will significantly shape how they think and interact with animals for the rest of their lives. They will remember this dog forever, as I have remembered my own family pets.

I remember all of them, and clearly. Bayta was our first dog; she was a year old when I was born, and died not long after I turned thirteen. She was a german shepherd/husky mix, a big girl who loved to hike and camp with us, and didn't mind when my sister and I climbed on her, hugged her, pulled her tail, and fell asleep using her as a pillow. She was super chill, tolerant of cats and other dogs, smart and obedient, and a beloved member of our family. One of the most intense memories I have from my childhood is of the day she died; she had been in pain for some time, and that day the vet came out to our house, and the whole family gathered with her under a tree in our yard, petting to her and talking to her, and the vet gave her a shot and she went to sleep. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry, and my first real experience with death. Bayta formed the foundation for everything I think a dog should be, and I'm glad. She set a high standard.

We had other dogs throughout the years, all of whom left their impressions on me. By the time Bayta died, we had acquired Kenya and Dakota; they were littermates, half golden retrievers and half... something else. Chow for sure, and now that I'm a little more familiar with the breed, I think they may have had some mastiff or newfie in them as well, among other things, especially since they were big! Dakota was right around 100 lbs when he was full-grown. We lost Kenya (hit by a car :() when she was only a few years old, but Dakota was around for a long time - he had an incredibly tight bond with my mom, the kind of bond I hope to have with my own dog when the time comes. When he died, she was devastated; she kept his collar next to her bed where he used to sleep for months after.

Lacey, the only small dog we ever had as a family, and who we inherited when my Uncle Ben passed away, left her own impression. Smart, sweet, and affectionate, still, having her around confirmed for me that I will never be interested in owning a little yappy dog. "Lacey, SHUT UP!" was a common phrase in my parents' house while she was around! My mom is convinced to this day that she taught Kagan and Talya, who according to our research weren't supposed to be barkers (incorrect research by the way! The breed ARE barkers!), to bark at everything that moved. Still, she really was a sweetheart, and I will never forget the way she used to tear around the house like a crazy thing every time we gave her a bath, or the very special bond she had with my sister.

Kagan and Talya taught me about the value of really understanding a breed before you bring a dog home. My parents bought them from a ranch in the Denver area; cute, fuzzy little Anatolian Shepherd babies who my parents brought home to fill the big-dog void left after Dakota's sudden death. We did research before we got them, but not enough; having never really met an Anatolian Shepherd before, my parents were unprepared for their independent, willful, stubborn natures, as well as some pretty serious dog aggression, problems that were made more serious by their strength and size. Even with those flaws though, those two were great dogs, very affectionate, and almost too smart for their own good. After Kagan died unexpectedly and Lacey died of old age, Talya became the only dog and seems to have mellowed somewhat; I am hopeful that with time and patience, she will be persuaded to get along with my dog.

My dog. That phrase holds so much wonder for me. It isn't happening until this summer; Dan and I are at our max for pets at our current place, plus my schedule is pretty packed until school is over in May. But it is happening. And when it does happen, it's going to be a mastiff.
I make this choice with the knowledge at the forefront of my mind that this dog will be a significant influence in my kids' lives, just as Bayta was for me. Thus, I am making my choice carefully; I don't plan to bring the dog home until mid-August, but I've already begun researching and planning. Learning from my parents' mistakes with the Anatolians, I joined a wonderful online forum which is specifically for mastiff owners, and I have been asking copious questions of the members, about the breed, their experiences as mastiff owners, supplies I'll need, how to introduce mastiffs to dog-nervous friends, how to deal with fearful or curious strangers, what to expect from a rescue, etc. I also plan to start volunteering with Big Dogs Huge Paws, the rescue from which I plan to adopt my dog, as soon as I finish with school. That way, I'll be able to get real exposure to the dogs, as well as learning the ins and outs of rescue, plus I'll be on the "inside" when it comes to finding my own dog. That's good, because I'm looking for a pretty specific dog - old enough to be over most puppyishness, but young enough that, barring illness or accidents, I'll still get many years with him (especially since mastiffs, like most big dogs, tend to be a fairly short-lived breed); also friendly with or at least indifferent to kitties, friendly with strangers, gentle with kids, and mellow in general. I want the "goes everywhere" dog - a dog I can take over to a friend's house (with their approval of course), or take out on errands with me, take hiking and camping and maybe even to work. Finding a dog like that, especially through a rescue, may take some time.

Why a mastiff, you may ask? For one, I've always been drawn to big dogs, and you don't get any bigger than a mastiff; some breeds are taller (great danes and anatolian shepherds, for instance), but mastiffs are by far the largest breed by weight, with males and even some females sometimes exceeding 200 lbs. In fact, according to the Guiness Book of World Records the largest dog recorded was a mastiff named Zorba, who was eight feet long from tip to tail , over three feet tall at the shoulder, and weighed over 300 lbs. I'm not really looking for a Zorba-sized dog, of course, but I am ready for a big fella. Even more than their size, though, I'm drawn to the incredibly close bond mastiffs form with their people, and the calm, gentle temperament of the breed. As a rule, mastiffs tend to be big, cuddly, lovey goofballs, called "gentle giants" for good reason. Their early ancestors were dogs of war, bred to pull cavalry soldiers from their saddles during battle, but the modern mastiff, while protective of their family in the face of a perceived threat, is far from bloodthirsty. Even in situations where another dog tries to start a fight, a well-socialized mastiff is likely to end the fight by the simple expedient of pinning a smaller dog under its weight; in fact, one of the members on the forum I joined told us that her dog often breaks up dogfights at the dog park they frequent by shouldering in and defending the weaker dog until the aggressor backs off. How cool is that?!?

I've been doing obsessive research on this dog, about the breed, the best food, supplies I'll need, rescue organizations, and training. Supplies have been an enlightening subject; I mean, there's the obvious of course: food, bowls, collar, leash. But suggestions from the forum have included baby gates as a must-have, as well as dog bed(s), a crate (XXL size, which usually means special ordering it), a doggy first aid kit, and the furminator. One member pointed me here for a pooper scooper; Dan did not find this joke nearly as funny as I did. Something else that came up was having a big enough car - thank goodness for my Subie! And on the training front, I discovered that the Boulder Valley Humane Society has a freaking awesome, very affordable, training program. By my calculations, over the course of six months and for just over $500, I can take my dog from basic obedience up through intermediate and even some advanced training, including being able to earn his Canine Good Citizen certificate. I also have about half a dozen highly recommended books on training already en route from Amazon, which I'll be reading whenever I have time until school is over, and which I expect I'll devour once I have free reading time again. Especially with a dog as big as a mastiff, having him be extremely well-trained is so important. I have friends who are nervous enough about this crazy undertaking of mine; my goal is to turn them, if not into dog lovers, at least into dog likers, which will be that much more likely of the dog is clearly under complete control. I also am also keeping kids in mind - not just in the future sense, but in the here-and-now. Dan's sister visits us with her two young boys quite frequently, and I want them to be cool with the dog; my cousin just had a baby who will before long be a toddler, and also has a really cool lab that I think my pup could be doggy friends with; and even just at parks and on trails, I don't want the kind of dog that will freak out if a little kid comes running up to pet him. I have no way to know how much training my rescue dog will have had, either, so I'm trying to prepare for the worst. And no matter how well-trained my new dog is when I get him, I plan to start the BVHS classes from the beginning, and ASAP - after all, even if my dog is already an expert, I'm still an obedience n00b, and if there's one thing most dog trainers agree on, one of the most common sources of obedience or behavioral problems tend to be problems with the people, not the dog.
This dog is going to completely change my life. I have no illusions about that. But I welcome it. And, hopefully, when it happens, I'll be ready for it!

On Religion:

2010-02-07T00:15:00.000-07:00

This post is as much or more for me as it is for anyone else; it's been a long time since I laid out what I really believe about faith and God and church and religion, so I expect this will be something of an internal journey. And as such, let me add a disclaimer: My beliefs are not necessarily your beliefs. I will not be offended if you do not share them. I am happy to discuss religion with anyone willing to abide by that same rule, but I refuse to have someone else's beliefs shoved down my throat. In addition to exploring my particular beliefs, I'm sure my feelings about various religions will come out in this post, and some of my opinions are likely to be unflattering towards the religions involved. Please know that even if I have a fundamental problem with a certain religion, or have had bad experiences with some person or people of a certain belief system, I never lump all people all into one group. So if I have a criticism about your particular religion, please do not feel personally attacked.

This post has been a long time coming, but the timing is sparked by an e-mail I received from Dan's mom recently. I have talked about our radically different family dynamics in a previous blog post, and the hugest difference is in religion; namely, his parents are deeply religious Ba ptists, and I most definitely am not. Her e-mail, while well-intentioned, raises an uncomfortable issue for me. She wants to be my "spiritual mother," to "feed [me] on spiritual milk and then meat to grow in Christ" to be sure that I have accepted Jesus into my heart and am saved. She truly is concerned for my soul, especially since I will likely marry her only son and be the mother of her grandkids, to whom I'm sure she hopes I will pass on these Baptist teachings. While I don't have a problem with Dan talking about the Baptist religion with our kids, I have no desire to become a Baptist, ever. I have serious problems with aligning myself with a religion whose leaders promote intolerance, spread misinformation, and embrace hate as a way of life. Again, I'm not saying that all Baptists are this way (I have had plenty of great experiences with individuals), but the leadership in my experience often has been. Look at Fred Phelps' Westboro Baptist Church, which proclaimed on its website that "God Hates Fags, God Hates Fag Enablers and God Hates You all in Boulder."
Obviously, I can't tell Dan's mom that. Especially since I know she shares some of the very viewpoints that I find so repulsive, although she at least is not hateful about it. And frankly, it's about more than just my distaste for how the Baptist religion in specific and Christianity in general is portrayed in the news - after all, the only people who make it to the news are the worst, most far-out, most crazy, most extreme members of the faith. It's like judging all Muslims based on the actions of a very few fundamentalist extremists.

The truth is that, in all honestly, I can't call myself a Christian of any kind. I find beauty and wisdom in the Christian religions. I have read most of the Bible (never could get through the bits about the apocalypse or Leviticus) and found it intriguing, enlightening, and moving. I have known many Christians who find great strength and meaning in their faith, and I admire and applaud this. I have attended Lutheran, Mormon, and Baptist churches, with mixed results. I have studied the Bible on my own and in school. I have read Christian literature, and listened with an open mind to well-meaning Christians attempting to convert me for the good of my soul. However, I also grew up on Jonathon Livingston Seagull and Illusions; Stranger in a Strange Land and Mary Summer Rain; Deepak Chopra and Celestine Prophecy, in a household that encouraged questions, exploration, and thought, and frowned on blind faith. I mention this to perhaps provide some insight into my religious background and where I'm coming from, because I have some fundamental problems with some of the major tenets of Christian faith:

I do not believe in the Bible as the literal and uncorrupted Word of God.
I do not believe that Jesus is the Son of God , the Savior of mankind, or God made flesh.
I do not believe that anyone who does not believe in Jesus and His sacrifice can't go to heaven. I'm not even sure I believe in heaven, at least, not the Christian version.
I don't believe in Hell.
I don't believe in the inherently sinful nature of mankind.
I do believe in reincarnation.

I do realize that not all Christians believe all of those things (or don't believe, as in the case of 6), but they are generally the exception, not the rule. It takes more than belief in God and acceptance of the existence of Jesus of Nazareth to make one a Christian, and I don't have it. Allow me to elaborate.

The Bible.
There is great wisdom in the Bible. I don't debate that. I would contend, however, that there are many passages that, taken out of their historic and cultural context, mean something entirely different than what was originally intended. Moreover, it is a historic, scholarly fact that the Bible has changed over time. In the days before the printing press, mis-copies were common; additionally, scribes were wont to change certain passages to better convey what they thought they should mean, or for their own agenda. Even without the possibility of corruption on the part of scribes (or priests, or politicians), the simple fact of translation is an issue. As anyone who speaks more than one language knows, translation is tricky even between two languages which are similar and still in vigorous use - inevitably, certain fine nuances of meaning are lost or changed, and the experiences and worldview of the translator influences the final product. The problems wit h translating the Bible (from ancient languages that haven't been used in centuries and which are wildly different in structure and style from most modern languages) are even more widespread and complex. There is a fantastic book, written by a formerly-Christian scholar, called Misquo ting Jesus which I think everyone interested in the Bible should read.
Another problem I have with the Bible, not necessarily related to it being the literal Word of God, is the cherry-picking that goes on. For instance, why are some parts of Leviticus important, and others ignored? I thought part of the point of being Christian was that the New Testament wipes out basically everything the Old Testament said and starts fresh?
I think the Bible is beautiful and wise and in most cases a thoughtful guide for how a good person might live their life. But I also find it to be a very human book, written by generations of scholars just trying to understand their world and their faith.

Jesus.
I don't want this to be taken as me not believing that Jesus existed. I just don't believe him to be any more or less the son of God than any other human being. I can get behind Jesus as an exceptionally enlightened, spiritually evolved man who chose to live a life devoted to helping others accelerate the pace of their spiritual journeys. I find questions and theories surroundin g his "lost" years fascinating. But I believe all of mankind to be the sons of God, with a spark of the divine, and I think Jesus' miracles were a result of greater knowledge about the nature of existence, rather than any kind of inherent holiness.

Salvation through Christ.
This is a major sticking point for me. Part of it is because of other beliefs (which I'll get into when I get into reincarnation). Part of it is because I simply cannot accept the belief that those who do not believe that Jesus died for their sins are doomed to Hell, or at best Purgatory. For one, I find the idea rather petty for a supposedly omniscient, omnipotent, and loving God; to me it reeks of the very human concept of "I'm right so you can't possibly be right as well, and that makes you not only wrong but willfully ignorant and malicious." Who among us hasn't had that very feeling during a heated argument, even if we know in the backs of our minds that the other person has a point, and that the other person is not going out of their way to hurt us? I find it colossally arrogant for any single religion to claim to have the only possible answer to the nature of existence; I think it likely that what lies beyond our known world is infinitely more incredible and complex than our poor human brains can even comprehend.
The other reason for my problem with this idea is a deeply personal one. Both of my grandparents died this year, within months of each other. I still grieve for them deeply; I think about them every single day, and I have completely broken down on more than one occasion. I still find myself thinking about calling them to fill them in on my life, my grandmother especially. When I think that someday I'll graduate college, get married, have kids, all of that life stuff, and they won't be there, it breaks my heart. Something that gives me great comfort is the feeling in my heart that they still exist somewhere, be it in heaven or as higher spiritual beings or whatever, watching over me and loving me and being proud of me. But, while I do know that since my uncle Brad passed away a few years ago my grandma had been attending church, neither of them was "saved" in the Christ-died-for-my-sins sense of the word. My grandma's thoughts on religion were a lot like mine, actually. And so you see, if I believed that the only way to heaven was through Christ, I would have to not only have to give up this idea which is one of the only things that gives me comfort when I think of them, I would have to believe that they had gone, not to a better place, but a terrible place. And that's not something I could ever, ever believe.

Hell, Reincarnation, and the inherently sinful nature of mankind.
I believe that the purpose for our existence as spiritual beings is first and foremost, to learn. I believe in a spiritual body and spiritual realm beyond that of the earth; I believe that we are all far more spiritually advanced than most religions give us credit for; and I believe that we live many lives on Earth. I believe that we (or perhaps a higher power, or a more spiritually advanced teacher) decide ahead of time what we need to learn in this life, and plan accordingly, though I don't believe that our lives are entirely predestined. Part of the fun, after all, would be in free will - not only your own, but that of those around you. Thus, we are free to make mistakes, even terrible ones, and in so doing perhaps learn an even greater lesson, or teach one to someone else on their own spiritual path. And I believe we do this over and over, living many lives (which are, after all, an eyeblink in terms of eternity), until we have learned all we can on this world, and then we move on, to whatever is next for us on our spiritual journey. And because everyone is here to learn some kind of lesson, I don't believe in Hell - no, not even for Hitler. Who's to say that Hitler was not some spiritually advanced soul who chose to live a terrible life in order to teach the human race a lesson which still informs our consciousness even today? I'm not saying Hitler should be nominated for sainthood or anything; I just think that Hell is a a flawed oversimplification of what I believe to be a more complex situation. It's certainly a primally satisfying idea - who doesn't want to imagine a truly awful person spending eternity in torment? I can see how it came to be a part of human belief, and some version of Hell seems to exist in many, many religions, past and present. But it's all tied up with these ideas of vengeance and punishment, and it seems to me that a true, all-powerful deity would be above such pettiness. I do, however, remember reading about one version of Hell which made sense to me. It was, ironically, in an Anne Rice vampire novel called Memnoch the Devil. I realize that this is an unlikely place to find some kind of legitimate theology, but I found her portrayal of Hell quite compelling. In the book, Hell is not so much a place of punishment as it is one of learning; it is a place where the soul of a person who has committed wrongful acts must go in order to come to terms with those acts and embrace the beauty and perfection of the Creator, before they can advance to Heaven. Sometimes these souls, in horror at realizing the terrible deeds they committed, punish themselves, severely, living in torment, until gradually, hopefully, they are able to move on. For my belief system, this is a much more compatible version of Hell - as a place of reflection, where one absorbs the lessons of the life just lived, sheds the pain and sadness, and moves on spiritually.
One more reason for my belief in reincarnation. As I mentioned before, the span of a human life is a mere eyeblink, a brief flash, when compared to eternity. I cannot believe in a God who gives His creations such a brief window of time before determining how they will spend the rest of eternity.
So, because of these beliefs surrounding the nature of our existence, I cannot buy into the idea of mankind as inherently sinful. Each person is a completely perfect spiritual being on his or her spiritual path, here to learn some kind of lesson.
Now, in saying this, I'm not saying that people shouldn't try to do right. You still have to live with yourself, both now and later when you look back on this life. And while you may have set out on this journey with particular goals in mind, since you can't remember exactly what you decided before you were born, you have to muddle through, listening to your "inner voice," that feeling inside of you that tells you when you're on track. I've heard it numerous times in my life; in fact, it was its lack that prompted me to try to shake things up and sparked my move to Boulder. Since the move, I've heard it often - finding roommates, finding jobs, finding Dan. Little cosmic indications that my life is on the right track - that I'm right where I'm supposed to be.
I also think that some people are in your life for a reason. We form attachments as humans - why not as spiritual beings? Those people who you meet, who you instantly feel like you've known for your whole life, or the ones who stick around forever, the ones you feel linked to on a deeper level... I think you really are. A sort of cosmic family, so to speak. That goes for adversaries, too - after all, who's to say they aren't really a friend, put into your life as a favor, to teach you something?

...

I really like Dogma's take on religion, especially two quotes from Selma Hayak's character, Serendipity. First one, "I have issues with anyone who treats God like a burden instead of a blessing. You people don't celebrate your faith . . . you mourn it." And, even better, "When are you people going to learn? It's not about who's right or wrong. No denomination's nailed it yet, and they never will because they're all too self-righteous to realize that it doesn't matter what you have faith in, just that you have faith. Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains need to wake up." Religion is so often portrayed without a sense of humor, and I think that's a shame. Dogma's take, that it's the faith that's important and not the name you put to it, is something I've always believed, from the very beginning. Maybe it comes from my early years, reading The Chronicles of Narnia over and over. In The Last Battle,the final book, which was always my favorite by far, there is a great battle between good and evil. In the end, of course, Aslan prevails against the evil god Tash. And those who follow Tash are destroyed, and those who follow Aslan join him in paradise. But one man who followed Tash joins Aslan and the rest. When he asks Aslan why he has been allowed into paradise when he worshipped Aslan's adversary, Aslan tells him, "Therefore, if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?' I said, 'Lord, thou knowest how much I understand.' But I said also (for truth constrained me), 'Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days.' 'Beloved,' said the Glorious One, 'unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek.'"
Of anything I've watched or read though, the book I've found that most perfectly sums up my beliefs is called Communion With God written by Neale Donald Walsch. It's a good read, and one of the few religious-type texts that I have ever found myself agreeing with completely. Despite the title, it is not a particularly Christianity-oriented text.

So, there you have it. The somewhat complex result of years of reading, exploring, questioning, and wondering. It's a rather odd mix, I'll admit, but it brings me peace, which is the most important thing right?

On Life: I'm so tired of being tired.

2009-11-05T13:35:00.012-07:00

I promised that this blog wouldn't be reduced to an emo rantfest like my old livejournal was. And I still promise that it won't be. But I'm long overdue for a blog post, and my life is what's weighing on my mind right now.

I'm (finally) nearly halfway finished with my final year of college. This means that I am now beginning to freak out about what to do with the rest of my life. For so long, my plan has just been "finish school." Now, I'm about to be finished, and I'm coming to the realization that I did college all wrong. I should have done some school activities; I should have done some internships; I should have at least done some volunteering. For most of highschool and all of college until about a year ago, my plan was the Peace Corps; I figured that would give me whatever direction and experience I needed. But that plan was for when I expected to finish college at 22, 23, when I had no real ties and could afford to give up two years of my life to a worthy cause. But now... Now I have a life, I have ties, people, plans that I just can't leave behind. And now I find that I should have spent this time making contacts, gaining experience, making myself attractive to potential employers. I'm going to be entering the job market in a tough economy. Even worse, I think I've finally figured out what I want to do with my life, and my major has basically no connection to the field whatsoever.

You see, I love planning events. And I want to be involved with nonprofit organizations. So what I'd really love is to plan events for nonprofit organizations. Work for a place like Zuma or Attention Homes, or maybe be a freelance event coordinator who specializes in nonprofits. But I have no marketing experience, no public relations experience, no business experience, no background in finances or fundraising or anything like it. I don't have the faintest idea where to start or how to break into the field. I know why I chose linguistics as a major originally, but it really is an academic field where you wind up either as a teacher or in research (or maybe some kind of cognitive science), none of which are fields I have any real interest in. That or you get a master's in something else. I'll at least have a bachelor's degree in SOMETHING, but it's not something particularly useful.

I'm so sick of school, but I'm equally terrified to graduate and start my nonacademic life. I mean, I know I can stay at Turley's basically forever, but it's not what I want. They take great care of me as an employee, I have fun there, I'm great at what I do, it's been a wonderful experience, but I've never wanted my career to be in the restaurant business. I think my experience there will be incredibly helpful if I can break into event coordinating, but I've had a taste of restaurant management and it's not what I want for the long term. But I've really never had a "professional" job. I haven't had to write a resume since we were required to do them in high school. The idea of trying to find a "real" job is paralyzing.

I've just been feeling really overwhelmed lately. On top of freaking out about my long term career plans, there's still the short term goal of finishing school. I'm taking four upper division linguistics classes, which means 50-100 pages of reading per week, much of which is dense, dry, and very "academic," and in addition to exams, each one has some sort of presentation as well as some sort of project or paper (which in every class is worth nearly half my grade). Add in my morphology homework every week (think of an epic word puzzle, usually 2-3 hours of work at least) plus phonetics homework and a lab (the scientific side of linguistics - yuck!) and I already have plenty on my plate. Add in 25-30 hours of work per week (thanks CU for barely giving me any money this semester, that was awesome!), plus a car that needs something like $2000 in repairs, not to mention day to day chores like laundry, dishes, cooking, and keeping the house clean, and I just feel exhausted all the time. And that's not including social stuff - D&D, TV night, birthdays, holidays, visitors... Sometimes, I ditch class just so I can have a few hours to myself, even though I know I'll pay for it later, either in extra work or a hit to my grade or both. Dan helps as much as he can, especially with housework stuff, but sometimes I get so stressed and focused that I don't ask him for help when I should. I wouldn't be able to survive without his support though, I know that much for certain. But he can't work my serving shifts for me, nor can he do my homework or pass my classes.

There is sort of a light at the end of the tunnel now, with graduation looming in May. But between knowing how far off that still is and the fear of not knowing what I'm going to do with myself after, that light is distant and dim. Things between now and then are only going to get harder, too, what with my final projects and exams coming up in December and then an even FULLER school schedule next semester combined with even LESS money from CU (since I'll be paying partially out of state tuition - I'm about out of COF money). And even once I graduate, even if I find my dream job the day after graduation (ha!), will my life really be simpler or less stressful? Looking around at my post-graduation friends, and the "real" grownups in my life (parents, bosses, professors), I doubt it, and that's sort of a depressing thought.

I was hoping to end this on a hopeful note, but the truth of the matter is, I'm so tired that some days I only get out of bed in the morning because Dan drags me. My schedule is so full, I resent social invitations because it means giving away another chunk of precious time. The rare time I steal to watch TV or read a book, I feel guilty for because of how many other things I "should" be doing. I've always been a big supporter of taking time for yourself so as to not burn oneself out, but there just aren't enough hours in the day.

I'm just so tired.

On Choice: Freedom and Responsibility

2009-07-19T11:33:00.017-06:00

Choice. What is it? How much responsibility does someone have (or should someone have) for the choices they make? Which choices should be sanctioned by the government, and which should be illegal? Choice encompasses everything. How we feel, the way we live, what we think. Choice defines who we are. The choices we make ourselves, the consequences of those choices, the way we react to the choices of others, and the consequences of the choices of others, all combine to make up the entirety of the human experience. You choose who you are.
One of the things this country was founded on was the notion that people should be allowed to make choices about their lives with minimal interference from the government. There are, of course, some choices that all or most people can agree are wrong, most obviously the choice to take from others. Whether it's someone's TV or someone's money or even someone's life, most people in a given society can agree that theft is wrong, and thus provide laws laying out stern consequences for anyone making that choice. But other choices - what god to believe in, how to raise one's children, where to live, what career to have, what to buy, whether or not to agree with the politicians in power, what to read, the choices of the day to day, should be made with as little governmental interference as possible. That is the notion around which freedom is based in this country.

You have the freedom to choose, but you also have the responsibility to own up to those choices; responsibility is intrinsically tied to this freedom. You have a responsibility to accept and deal with the consequences of the choices that you make. This concept seems simple, but of course it isn't. People argue, for example, "I have not choice but to have a terrible life, because my mom abandoned me/dad abused me/schools failed me," etc. Others argue that, for example, children, the elderly, and the insane do not have the mental capacity to understand and make choices. How does one determine these things? Should a woman who was abused as a child be held accountable for then abusing her own children? Should a child who murders someone be held as accountable as an adult would be for that same crime? Or, to move things to a less intense but equally relevant topic, should you be held accountable for the way I feel, or do I have to take some responsibility for that? There are no clear answers for any of these questions. Everyone has a different opinion. And I will offer mine on some of these topics at a later date. For now, what I want to talk about is arguably the most well-known, hotly debated topic on choice:

Abortion. Should it be legal? Is it a valid choice, or are people who have abortions murderers? What are the consequences of abortion? Who has the right to decide if those consequences are acceptable?

Abortion has been in the news a lot lately, sparked by the murder of a doctor who ran an abortion clinic in Kansas, George Tiller. His clinic was one of only three in the nation that would perform late-term abortions. Articles I've read, and discussions I've listened to, have gotten me really thinking hard on my own stance on abortion.
Typically, the two camps are divided into Pro-Life and Pro-Choice. Personally, I hate both terms. I find both to be grossly inaccurate, especially as contrastive terms. It implies that people who are "Pro-Choice" are not pro-life, giving the impression that people who are "Pro-Choice" don't respect life and rather are unfeeling baby killers (and, in fact, the "Pro-Life" nickname for George Tiller was "Tiller the Killer"). It also implies that people who are "Pro-Life" somehow have the ability to take away a woman's ability to make choices about her life. But even if abortion were made illegal, you cannot take away someone's ability to choose - you can make the choices harder, you can make them suckier, certainly, you can discourage someone from making a choice you feel is wrong, but even when options are fewer and less appealing, the choice does not cease to exist. The term "Pro-Life" also bestows a sheen of moral superiority on that faction, because of course all of us want to feel that we respect life, and no one wants to be in the group that opposes life!
But, hate the terms as I do, they are the common terms in our society and I have to live with the linguistic terms I have been given, and so designate myself as "Pro-Choice." However, in being Pro-Choice, that does not mean that I am pro-abortion, an important distinction and one that those of the pro-life camp try to blur as much as possible. I simply think that the issue of abortion is an incredibly complex one, and a deeply personal decision that has to take into account each individual's circumstances, circumstances which are unique to each situation. It is far from black and white. Here are my equally complex feelings on the issue.
I think that the decision about whether or not to have an abortion is a terrible decision to have to make. For some women, it is a decision that haunts them for years afterwards, even those who feel that they made the right call. Whatever the circumstances, it is the kind of decision that you can't take back, and the impact of that decision not only impacts the unborn child and the woman making the choice, it impacts the child's father as well, not to mention the impact it can have on the relationship between all of those involved, including friends and family. The right to choose comes with heavy and sometimes heartbreaking responsibility.
I'm using a "no no" word here in terms of what you might read in a typical "Pro-Choice" essay on the subject. I have noticed that "child" (or "baby") is a term reserved for "Pro-Life" people only. The "Pro-Choice" side seems to prefer "fetus." While fetus isn't inaccurate, I do think that it tends to diminish the gravity of the situation. When thinking about abortion, it's easier to think in terms of "fetus" rather than "child." The fetus, in most peoples' minds, is sort of an amorphous blob until very late in the pregnancy, looking more like some kind of weird alien than a baby. But if you ask any expecting mother what she thinks of the fetus in her womb, there is not a shadow if a doubt in her mind that it is a child. We have an example in pop-culture in the film Juno, where the protagonist of the movie, Juno MacGuff, finds herself pregnant at 16. She initially intends to have an abortion, until outside of the abortion clinic a fellow classmate informs her that the fetus has fingernails, even at this early stage. It is this humanizing characteristic that turns the fetus into a baby for Juno. It is for this same reason that Pro-Life advocates want to pass a law requiring an ultrasound before a woman can have an abortion. The idea is that once you have seen the child, heard its heartbeat, it will be far harder to view it as an abstraction. Pro-Choice advocates argue against the measure for the very same reason.
One of the central questions to the debate is this: Is a fetus alive? Is it a person, thus making abortion murder? Or is it merely another cell within the mother, or something akin to a parasite or a tumor? There are no concrete answers. Science cannot definitively tell us whether or not a fetus is a person. Some people believe it is alive from the moment of conception; others from the first heart heartbeat three to four weeks into the pregnancy; others at the point of viability, i.e. when the fetus might be able to survive outside of the womb; others not until its first breath. Even Thomas Aquinas believed in a concept called 'delayed hominization' wherein a fetus did not have a soul until 40 days after conception (or 90 for girls), and there was a time where the penalties for contraception were harsher than those for abortion before ensoulment.
So. If science cannot tell us, definitively, whether or not a fetus is alive, or at what point it is alive, then we must turn to our own beliefs. Theology. Ensoulment. Personhood. Concepts intrinsically bound up with religion, with faith, with personal conviction. And we're dealing with choice. What do you choose to believe?
So what do I choose to believe? Personally? A fetus is a baby to me. A living being, with all of the promise and potential of a budding life. What proof do I have? My gut. My belief.
In other words? None.
I am lucky enough to live in a country that allows me to choose to believe whatever I like, a country that (at least in theory) believes that the church and the state should be separate entities. If the state has not right to legislate my religion, then how can it legislate my beliefs about something as completely bound up with religion as the personhood of a fetus? And if I do not have the right to force someone to share my religious beliefs (a concept this country was founded on), then how can I have the right to force someone to share my beliefs about the ensoulment of an unborn baby? I have the right to try to persuade them to my way of thinking, to try to talk them out of having an abortion, to make sure they know all of the options as far as having the baby and putting it up for adoption (especially now that something like open adoption is a viable option, and thus adoption no longer means that the biological parents of a child will never see their child again). I have the right to educate people on contraception and safe sex, on the value of being careful until you're ready for kids, to try to minimize the need for abortions. I do not have the right to pass laws making their choice illegal, and forcing people into the awful situation of seeking out dangerous back-alley abortions, or choosing to raise a child they are ill-prepared for, which they are unable to care for.
Because the truth is, making something illegal doesn't take away the choice. It just makes the choice more dangerous; it makes the consequences of that choice more dire.
As to the Pro-Life protesters who scream at women walking into abortion clinics? Or, even worse, who assassinate abortion doctors and bomb women's clinics? What do they really think they're accomplishing? Do they really think that's the way to change someone's mind? I read a story from a friend who told of a friend of hers who was referred to an abortion clinic by a doctor because her unborn baby had died. She was in the midst of absolutely awful, tragic circumstances, and she had to weather judgment and abuse from the protesters standing outside of the clinic, calling her a slut and a murderer. These people have no idea what the circumstances and stories are of the people on whom they are passing judgment, and that is the thing that infuriates me most about these situations.
No one knows your circumstances better than you. No one knows what choices are best for you. And in the incredibly difficult choice of whether or not to keep a baby, that is doubly true. No one can make that choice except the parents of the unborn child, and ultimately, the mother of that child.

I choose to allow others to choose.

On Honesty: Where is the line of TMI?

2009-07-10T14:58:00.014-06:00

Ok, I've been tagged by not one, but two different people. I supposed I'd better play. You asked for it! The theme of this seems to be not just sharing funny little-known factoids, but also deeper, more meaningful truths about yourself, some of which may even be embarrassing or scary to share. So, I gave this a lot of thought, and here's what I came up with.

The Honest Scrap award is given by other bloggers who consider a blog’s content or design to be brilliant. The awardees must then post ten honest things about themselves and pass the award on to other bloggers who fit the bill – in other words, whose blog is brilliant.”

I think honesty is put to the test when you tell people things you’d rather not share. Things that scare you. So here’s 10 painfully honest / potentially disturbing things about me (proceed with caution):

Hanna, you aren't the only girl who digs some occasional (or not so occasional!) porn, though my site of choice differs from yours. Incidentally, static pictures do nothing for me. I'm all about the video. I also have a guilty reading pleasure - pornographic Buffy fanfic!
I dreamed and planned for practically my whole life to study abroad while in college and then to join the Peace Corps after. As it turns out, I'm doing neither. A big part of me wonders if I'm making a huge mistake.
The person I lost my virginity to is not who everyone thinks it is.
I live in fear of a normal, boring life. I wanted to do something important with my life, something that made a difference in the world, even a small one. If I wind up with some kind of standard office job, I'm afraid I'll end up bitter.
A small part of me resents my parents for not helping me out more through college. However, I do have a certain amount of pride in the fact that I've made it through mostly on my own.
I detest when people allow themselves to be made victims. I'm big on personal choice and personal responsibility, and there is absolutely nothing that infuriates me more than, "Well, I was totally helpless because of circumstances." You can't always choose your circumstances, but you can always choose how you respond to them.
I once flew out for a week in San Diego to hang out with a Navy guy (no, not Fletcher) whom I had met through a coworker while he was in town on vacation. It was an unmitigated disaster, and one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. In the entire trip, I only left the apartment twice (and not because I was just having that much fun indoors, sadly), I never even met the guy's roommates (he never bothered to introduce me), and I spent at least one night alone because he abandoned me to go hook up with his ex. My self-esteem was in shambles by the time I got home, and for a long time after.
In my search for the perfect man, I actually paid for a subscription to eHarmony. I also put up several Craiglist ads. Even went on a few dates with online prospects. What I finally realized was that I would never be able to take seriously a guy I met through a personals ad. Not that I judge other people who meet that way - just, for me, there had to be some sort of previous connection. I think I'd have the same problem with a guy I met at a bar.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I want kids, and I've always wanted a big family. But deep down, I'm really really scared of being a parent.
I'm even less vanilla than most people think. This is mainly about lifestyle, and the lifestyle side of it will almost certainly come up in future blog posts.

So, you asked for it, now you have it. ^^ And now, I bestow the award, and the dare, upon the following fabulous bloggers:

Tea Party with the Hatter
Opposite Ends of Infinity
Branden's Idea Blog
The Adventures of a Bohemian Butterfly
Lynnsey Life

P.S. Thanks for the award, girls! :D

On Love: Fear and Certainty

2009-07-09T08:28:00.023-06:00

Being in love is at once the most wonderful and the most terrifying experience of my life.

The wonder comes from having a partner in crime; a teammate in the day-to-day parts of life; a warm, solid presence in my soul; an ally who always has my back; a lover who knows me intimately and loves me deeply, through my proudest moments and my darkest experiences, who sees all of the imperfections and rough spots and loves them for being a part of me. And, too, the wonder comes from loving someone else in the same way; in knowing that I know him on levels that no one else does, that he counts on me to have his back and cheer him on, that my love sustains him as his sustains me. It is an incredible feeling to know that he looks forward to waking up with me and falling asleep with me in his arms, that he trusts me like I trust him, and that at the end of the day I am what he looks forward to coming home to. And the wonder comes from feel cherished and safe in a way that I never have before.

The terror comes from the vulnerability of leaving myself so totally open to another person; from trusting as I have not trusted since I was a little girl; from venturing into completely unknown territory.

I've never been in love before. I've experienced puppy love. Longing. Lust. Infatuation. Until Dan, I was infamous for yearning after men who were either unable to be or uninterested in being romantically involved with me. I have spent a great deal of time being heartbroken and sad, and for a long time I confused this with being in love. I pictured myself as a martyr. A long-suffering saint who loved unconditionally and received nothing but empty promises, pain, and regret in return. The truth is, I was stupid. I chose to be a doormat. I chose to be used. And I made these choices out of fear. Because, as painful as unrequited "love" is, in many ways it's easier. Safer. It requires no real commitment, no real effort, no faith in someone else. No trust.
I was almost in love once. But it's hard to call a relationship conducted almost entirely over the phone, e-mail, and IM a real relationship. We met only once face to face, and there was no real possibility of living in the same country, let alone the same city, short of us getting married and one of us completely uprooting to be with the other. At 19, that was not a step I was prepared to take. Because of this, the relationship was safe. It had all the elements of the unrequited love with which I was already so familiar, with the added benefit that I got an ego boost from knowing that he actually returned my feelings. And I did care for Fraser. I think, in another life, another time, I could have loved him. I admit, since he found me on Facebook, I have wondered what it would have been like if things had been different. He's married now, with a beautiful little girl, and there is a small corner of my heart that knows it could have been me. But I wasn't ready then. I had the opportunity to let our relationship really get real, to let myself get truly involved and take that next step. But when it reached that point, when I knew that I was becoming vulnerable and I was going to have to take some kind of leap of faith, instead I ran away.

And for a long time, that was the closest I got. Any time someone showed interest in me, I found a thousand reasons not to be with him, even if I had previously liked him. I hung myself up on the unattainable and the uninterested. Men in relationships or fresh out of them; college professors; men with serious problems with drugs and alcohol; men who were unstable, who were jerks, who were broken.
Dan fell into the category of "interested and therefor uninteresting" for a long time. My closest friends, the ones who knew and loved me best, on more than one occasion told me how stupid I was for not giving him a chance. But I was stuck, trapped into an unhealthy rut by my own fear and self-destructive tendencies.

Last summer (or, to be more exact, the early to mid-fall following the events of last summer) I basically hit rock bottom romantically. I was utterly miserable, for which in hindsight I blame no one but myself, though at the time I had other ideas. I felt used. Stupid. Undesirable. Most of my friends had washed their hands of the situation; not abandoning me, but understandably sick of giving advice that fell on completely deaf ears. During that time, it was Dan who was always there for me. I remember one incident, in particular, which happened on my birthday last year.
This was by far my lowest point. By the end of the night, when I shared a taxi home with Dan and Shad, I was drunk, I was angry, and I was desperately hurting. I remember getting out of the taxi and slamming the door, and I think I made it across the street before bursting into tears; I made it maybe halfway up the stairs before I was sobbing so hard I couldn't walk any more. I should note that this misery was a result of equal parts alcohol and self-inflicted torture, with perhaps a dash of confusion and an ounce of rejection. But the important part of this story is that it was Dan who realized how distraught I was; Dan who checked up on me; Dan who tried his best to console me. I remember thinking at the time, "if only I could find someone who cares about me like Dan cares about me."
It took almost four months, and a little benevolent shoving from a friend, for that thought to really sink in. In fact, even after Dan and I first became involved, we were under the impression that our relationship would take the form of "friends with benefits." But it didn't take long for us to realize that we weren't going to be able to maintain that for long without things getting much more emotionally complicated, on both sides. And it finally occurred to me, "You know who cares about me the way Dan cares about me? Dan."
Duh.

Taking that step into a real relationship was one of the hardest, scariest things I've ever done. It helped that he was (and is) endlessly patient with me; it also helped that I had been so epically burned by my own self-destructive stupidity. The idea of being with someone stable, sane, and supportive, who makes me feel safe, who thinks I'm wonderful and beautiful... After spending so much time with a wounded ego and a broken heart, I had finally grown up enough to embrace these qualities which once upon a time I would have denounced as "boring." And Dan's and my relationship is far from boring.
For the first time, love songs reflect how I really feel, rather than how I wish things were. My whole world feels different. Even my bad days aren't so bad; when I'm completely stressed, or miserably sick, or upset or hurt or angry, there's still this little corner of me that is blissfully happy. And most of the time? I'm content. I feel safe and loved and all is right in my world. All is so right, in fact, that it still doesn't feel real sometimes.
I spent a large portion of my life believing that love was all bound up with conflict and drama and pain, and that anything else would be dismally dull. But there's something to be said for stability, for communication, for trust. For unshakable certainty. There's something to be said for thinking about the future in terms of "we." For watching him with his nephews and feeling myself filling up with love as I picture him with our own kids. For this new feeling, that no matter what happens, he and I can get through anything.

I can honestly say, I've never been so completely happy.

On Family: His, Mine, Ours

2009-06-29T11:06:00.021-06:00

I spent last weekend up in the mountains outside of Westcliff with Dan's family. This was the big meet; I'd had the chance to get to know one of his sisters (JaNyce) and her boys a few weeks ago, and I had of course met his mother back when we were kids, but I'd never met his oldest sister or her family, and I hadn't seen his parents in probably ten years, aside from perhaps a passing hello at Elly and Branden's wedding a few years ago. I certainly hadn't met them since Dan broke the news to them that we were planning to move in together. I should mention that to his deeply religious Baptist parents, this was not happy news, and has sparked several long e-mails from his mother along with their insistence that we read books and watch videos to "educate" us on the evils and pitfalls of living together outside of marriage.

Our families couldn't be more different. I am the product of a military brat who was in college during Woodstock and participated in that era whole-heartedly, from peace protests to dumpster-diving after Bob Dylan memorabilia, who grew into a man of the live and let live variety and eventually married my mother, a hard-partying child of the seventies who is fiercely independent, a bleeding heart liberal who tends to think that everyone on the conservative side is ignorant at best and evil at worst. Neither grew up in a traditional family; I never knew my paternal grandmother, but I get the impression that she was a very savvy, spunky lady, and my maternal grandmother had the cojones to divorce her cheating, alcoholic husband in an era when divorce was nearly unheard of, and move her family across the country to start over. My parents married after living together for a year; my mom was 24, my dad 37.

Religiously, my dad is a (very) lapsed Catholic, my mom an (equally lapsed) Lutheran; they've both dabbled in religious ideologies with elements of Buddhism and metaphysics, and while they always encouraged my sister and I to read, explore, ask questions, and formulate our beliefs, we rarely went to church and my mom always made clear her distaste for organized religion. Both consider themselves people of faith; both believe that the Bible is a book worth reading, and that Jesus was a man worth admiring. Both think that the Bible is a human book written by human hands, far from infallible, but beautiful and valuable just the same. Both think that Jesus was a good man, a spiritually advanced man, a divinely inspired teacher, and no more (or less) the son of God than anyone else. Neither of them has ever been satisfied with the common explanations and justifications for a supposedly all-knowing, all-loving God who is portrayed by most religions as petty and impotent. As a child and teenager my beliefs were shaped by books like The Chronicles of Narnia (yes, I am entirely aware that they are Christian in nature), Stranger in A Strange Land, Illusions, and books by Mary Summer Rain.

My parents are good people. They love my sister and I very much, and tried to teach us to be independent and smart, generous and compassionate, honest and fair. They made some mistakes along the way; neither of them is perfect. But they did the best they could with what they had, and in all I look back on my childhood with mainly good memories and heaps of admiration for what my parents accomplished. And all of this without the threat of an angry God looming over us. Incidentally, they were both thrilled at the news that I had found a man who I felt ready to start my life with. They will be equally thrilled when we decide to get married.

Dan's family are good people, too. They did their best to include me all weekend, with everything from helping to pitch tents to being included in jokes and swapping stories about our lives and especially about Dan. JaNyce's two boys were very excited to pick flowers for me, and if occasionally someone couldn't remember my name, well, I occasionally struggled with some of theirs, too. But it was incredibly disconcerting, and even a little uncomfortable, for me to find myself among people for whom religion is such a central part of their lives. His parents married before they were 21, because they were finding it difficult to resist the physical temptation represented by the other.

I grok faith; I "get" believing in something bigger than yourself, in wanting to believe that there is a reason behind the madness in this world, that there is some kind of grand plan. I "get" wanting to gather with other people who believe as you do to share in that faith. I do not, however, grok religion. My thoughts on religion will almost certainly come up in a later blog post, so I won't go into detail about it now. As it pertains to Dan and I though, it's like I feel this huge, gaping chasm between his family and I, and that chasm is this fundamental difference in belief systems. It shows up in little places; my awkwardness when his mother and sister said grace over our lunch, a little discomfort when his dad held an impromptu (though quite lovely) church service before Dan and I left in the morning, furious tongue-biting on my part when topics such as gay marriage, women preachers, and the King James version of the Bible as being "the most accurate" version came up. There has always been an incredible amount of intellectual debate in my family - we are all well-educated, well-read, and rarely all agree on any given topic, and as such we have animated discussions on most any subject we please. And we always come out on the other side of these discussions still friends; we often still don't agree, but we come out knowing not only a little more about the topic at hand, but also a little more about each other. It makes me sad to know that I will never have that kind of closeness with Dan's family. And the heart of that is religion.

That tenseness isn't going to get better with time. I will never come around to their way of thinking, and especially as Dan and I start building our own family, I fear that that chasm is only going to get wider. I sincerely hope not; there is an abundance of love in his family, and I don't want myself or, more importantly, our kids to be cut off from it, even partially. It makes me sad that something that has its roots in something as beautiful as the Christian faith can be come such a source of divisiveness.

On Time: Everything changes, and yet so much stays the same.

2009-06-25T12:20:00.022-06:00

I've been reflecting about time a lot lately. The spark for my development of this blog was perusing some of my old livejournal posts, and deciding that I didn't want to be "represented" on the internet, if you will, by that collection of emo ramblings. The journal was started during another time of transition for me, but while both then and now have in common the themes of self-discovery and self-definition, reading those posts is almost like reading the thoughts of a totally different person. The girl of those days was untried; she was reckless; she was self-destructive. She was unashamedly promiscuous, and a heavy drinker who rarely slept and even more rarely thought more than a few days ahead. This was the girl who killed her car by neglecting to put oil in it; who repeatedly failed entire semesters of college because she couldn't be bothered to go to class; who always yearned after unattainable (and totally unsuitable) men; who routinely bounced checks and ignored bills; who had to go to jail for playing the "maybe if I ignore it it'll go away" game with an underage consumption ticket.

I don't even know who that person is anymore. In those days, I thought I wanted to be a graphic designer, I was still carrying a tor ch, and I had no idea where my life was heading. If someone had told me then who I'd be about to move in with I'dve laughed in their face. Now I'm a good student, who may actually graduate some time in the next year with a degree in something I've always been fascinated by, moving in with someone I love with an intensity I didn't know was possible, who actually takes care of me and treats me not just well, but like I am something truly precious to him. I'm stable, I'm responsible, and I've begun building a life that I think I'll be proud to look back on. But it's a life that the girl of that livejournal would never have pictured.

Really, the truth is, it doesn't take traveling back even five years to spin my head in terms of time. This time last year, I'd just come back from Fibark, and was embarking on what would turn out to be a pretty intense summer for me. Lots of things about it were great - I spent a ton of time out hiking, and lots of time laying out by the pool. I was in the best shape I've been in in years, with a fabulous tan and a generally positive outlook. But I also made some stupid decisions, let myself get swept up in an incredibly unhealthy situation, and did a pretty good job of alienating everyone important in my life (though not permanently, thankfully). For a while there, I wasn't me; not only was I not me, I wasn't someone that I liked very much. And I'd probably be a lot more bitter about it, except that without the lessons I learned last summer, I wouldn't be who I am today. More importantly, I would never have let go of the fixation I had on unhealthy, unstable, unattainable men, and fallen in love.

The biggest change in my life is definitely Dan. Really, most of the change in my life (new man, new apartment, new outlook) is centered around him, and our relationship, our commitment to each other. It started out totally unexpectedly, but I really couldn't be happier. We've gotten so serious so quickly, and it's incredibly scary, especially for a confirmed commitment-phobe like me, but I've never felt so sure about anything in my life. And if I hadn't gone through what I went through last summer, if I hadn't spent so much time hanging out with Dan, talking to him, crying on his shoulder, getting closer to him than I ever had been before, if those steps hadn't been taken then we may not have ever wound up together, and that would have been tragic. And so while I don't relish the memory of all of the emotional turmoil, confusion, and pain that I went through, I can't be bitter.

Something else that got me reflecting about time happened to me this week. Dan and I spent the afternoon and evening in the hospital with Elly and Branden a few days ago. Even though as emergency surgeries go, an appendectomy is fairly routine, it was still pretty scary to go through. But it's times of crisis like that that really bring home how lucky we are as a group of friends. I mean, sure, we're always bringing in new blood, but it's rare to have such a close group of friends that lasts over such an incredible span of time. Dan, Elly, and Branden know me as well or better than even my own family (which is saying something, because I'm pretty close to the fam, too). We've been through so much together. So when something awful happens, it's a little less scary because we have this incredible support system. If we can get through what we've all already gone through together, we can face anything. It's easy to forget how blessed we are to have each other during the day-to-day minutia of our lives, but we truly are.

More than a decade ago, when Branden and I first became friends, when through him I met Dan and Elly (and Fletch and Christina and others who aren't around so much any more), when through me he met Sarah, and the core of our group was formed, we all figured we'd be friends forever, just like any group of friends does at that age. What's truly incredible is that we were right. We've grown up, we've changed, our lives have taken turns that none of us would ever have predicted in a million years, we've fought and reconciled and moved away and come back and now as we are all taking the steps into real adulthood we're closer than ever.

I think that's pretty cool.

On Blogging: Why the emo?

2009-06-25T09:05:00.000-06:00

In the past, I've tended to only write online when I was feeling particularly emo, depressed, cranky, pissy, or otherwise unhappy. I've had my livejournal for five years (almost exactly, in fact) and while looking back at it is both enlightening and entertaining, it's also depressing and more than a little embarassing. It doesn't exactly showcase my proudest moments, and while I suppose it does offer a snapshot of a few pieces of my journey, it's most certainly not an accurate reflection of my life.

So, inspired by an amazing single mom, a vivacious bohemian butterfly, and a practical, big-hearted atheist, I'm starting fresh. I'm embarking on an exciting, scary new chapter of my life, and I think it's worth writing about. And while I don't promise that I'll never be cranky, whiny, bitchy, or unhappy, I hope to be far more likely to share an abundance of wonder, contentment, satisfaction, and joy.

That's my hope.