The Truth About Me

I feel as if I am one with the water.
The temperature of the water is more to my liking than the air's.
I can move as I please in the water,
Turning, leaping, flipping, gliding,
As I feel I should.

It's as if I can be me here.
I feel my real weight here.
My body can do as I say,
I am pretty.
I move gracefully.

All is light, easy.
Hair unstyled, clothing optional.
Just me.

But my hands take it in too quickly.
Wrinkled, puffy, blue-ish white.
They give me away.
I am not supposed to stay here.
They look ugly.

They betray what I want to believe
About myself.
They betray how I feel here.
They show you I really belong on land
in the air
with them
alone
but me.

I've come to think that my generation is seeing a rebound in conservative morals.

My mother was a product of the sexual revolution. During her youth, the message sent to her was to enjoy sex with anyone and everyone you had the slightest inclination toward. People fought for the right to talk about sex, have sex, sing about sex, write about sex, show sex

After four years or being an English Lit major- I know that we (nor my mother's generation) are not the first generations to be "sex-crazed." And take a look at Scripture. Preoccupation with sex really is as old as time. We may now have the help of mass media in spreading the sex-crazed-ness, but it is not new. We are not some new depraved generation.

What's more, I feel a sort of turn around in the culture. I went to see a new musical last week with my mom called, "Spring Awakening." It was an adapted script from an 1890's German play. Let's just say that it probably would have fit better in the 60's sexual revolution. And it is supposed to be a big hit with the young people (not usually the theater crowd.) When we went it was about a fifty-fifty split between middle-aged people (like my mom) and high school to college aged folk. From what I gathered there, and from reviews I've heard from others- the older people liked it more. Interesting.

I've also noticed an increase in early marriages. My two best friends are both marrying their high school sweethearts before their mid twenties. And they aren't even Christians. (Of course most of my Christian friends are married or have wanted to be since before graduating college.) This, after my mother's generation fought for the "right" and cultural acceptability to marry later, have several sexual partners, have kids later, etc.

Yesterday I watched "The Painted Veil," and today I watched, "Chaos Theory." Both relatively new movies. Both about the survival of marriage against all odds (affairs, troubled and scary times, etc.). Both championed sticking out a marriage despite the biggest betrayal possible. Both championed having few, if not one, sexual partner through life.

All in all, I'm feeling quite positive about culture today. I'm sick of hearing how our culture is going down the crap-hole. Whatever people think is the newest height of depravity is nothing new. And I'm enjoying the positive spin on sexual relationships I've been seeing around me.

Take that pessimism. (Insert Veronica Mars chopping gestures here.)

Underlining.

In high school and during my years as an English Literature major I learned a lot about underlining while you read. As most serious (a.k.a. snobbish) English majors know, underlining and margin-jotting is necessary, whereas highlighting is seen as a childish attempt at critical reading. And through my many years of critical reading, my underlining took on the habit of focusing on major points, sentences or words that might support my line of thought or thesis, or things I thought were funny.

This worked well enough in college. I could easily skim the words I had emphasized with a blue line beneath them and within an hour develop a five-page average essay out of them.

Unfortunately and ironically, I think it has dwarfed my ability to think critically about a text put in front of me. Instead of thinking, I judge. I box ideas into what I can see, my big picture... and in doing so, ignore, minimalize, and reject other parts of the text. I mourn the learning I missed in college in my effort to get the assignment done on time.

What's worse, I now believe I've missed most of the beauty of Scripture. I now believe my picture of my God is skewed and muted in contrast to the great big amazing that He is. I've found that I tend to shy away from passages that don't fit into my vision of God. In that act I think I've shied away from my duty as a minister of reconciliation, I've misunderstood Scripture, I've felt confused about who I worship, and have stunted my own growth. Recently as I've begun to really dig into Scripture, focusing more on the parts I don't like, the parts that don't make sense to me... He has rewarded me with new revelations that are exciting and melt my heart.

And now I find myself underlining that which does not support my theories, that which seems minor and unimportant, and still the things I think are funny...with great joy.

Pessimism is One Big Headache

In the last few months I have come to understand that I suffer from Chronic Tension Headaches, and that I probably have been dealing with this for up to ten years. After doing some research online about this problem, I came across this statement:

"One study indicated that patients with tension headaches tend to perceive everyday events as more stressful than those without headaches."

As tempted as I was to glide by this sentence, dismissing it as not applicable to my situation, I have long wondered if what I'd written in my personality as optimism is actually an elaborate disguise for a heavy and burdensome pessimism.

The sentence, and the Holy Spirit, have now put it on my heart that I, though wanting so acutely to be bubbly and positive, am actually a closet pessimist. (I haven't asked my loved ones yet, so I am unsure of the accuracy of the "closet" part of that statement.) Either way, it is a revelation to me, a sad and hurtful revelation.

I now believe that at the root of most of my problems, from my chronic pain to the broken relationships in my life, from my bad eating habits to my lack of follow-through, is my underlying, deep, overwhelming, and defining negativity.

But in perhaps an uncharacteristic move, considering my above appraisal, I am going to change. In a country where a half-black man can be overwhelmingly elected as President, in a world where people care, in a universe created by a loving Master, there IS room for change.

My first steps in the next few days is to pick up some relaxation techniques, meditate, read the Scriptures, keep the TV off, organize my house, purge my life of negative influences, work out, eat well, neti pot it up, enjoy reading, try to stay present in each moment, and begin to write down each day what I am thankful for.

I'll let you know how it goes.

I Voted.

One of my clearest childhood memories is waiting in the car with my brother while my mom voted. I remember watching her walk toward our car and noticing the red sticker on her shirt that she didn't have when she went in.

When she got in the car I read the sticker, which said, “I Voted.” I remember very clearly feeling a sense of jealousy. I wanted a sticker like that. I don't know now if what I wanted was a sticker (I was a little girl) or the ability to do what she had done- the ability to participate in our country's government.

Either way, as soon as I could,I voted. I have voted in every election since I've been eligible. Every election- not just the presidential elections. And, can I just say, you don't get the sticker when you do absentee- boo.

Today felt different. As I filled in the ovals today in my blue booth, it felt very different. For the second time in my life I feel like I am witnessing history- things my kids will ask me about. Just like I asked my mom about the day JFK was shot, or what it was like to protest the Vietnam war. My kids will ask me about the day the planes hit the twin towers, and what it was like to vote for the first black president (hopefully!)

I'm honored to be a part of something so big, so beautiful. For the first time since the 1996 Olympics where the US Women's Gymnastics Team kicked the pants off Russia and Romania- I feel patriotic!

And with that, I'm headed to campaign headquarters down town to be a part of history. Go vote if you haven't!

Wearing Pants

I was having a bit of an emotional melt down the other day. My melt downs tend to catch me by surprise. I will convince myself I am doing fine until it all explodes in some sort of knee-jerk spontaneous compulsive action. Like emotional eating, emotional drinking, emotional spending, emotional napping, emotional yelling... you get the picture.

Fortunately on said emotional melt down, I sensed it coming a bit early and tried to give my close friends a call before any emotional explosion could make it worse. Jenny was at class. Kayla didn't pick up. My mom was at her volunteer position... and it just kept going like that. So what did I do? I took advantage of having an excuse for a meltdown and headed to the store to pick up some of my favorite emotional foods. On my drive home, the privacy I needed to indulge in my impulse, the phone rang. Crap! I've been caught.

To pick up or to silence? I look at the caller ID: Kayla. Kayla will understand. Heck, she'll probably join in with me! I pick up. Before she can speak, I confess, “I'm eating bad things...”

“I'm too late?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“I'm on my way.”

Kayla, friend since third grade, best since ninth, was coming to the rescue. She kept me on the phone (aka, unable to practice my intended gluttony) until she got to my house. With arms open and ready for hugging she rushed upstairs to where I was sitting. After initial hugs, we took a step back. She looks down and congratulates me with an, “Oh! At least you have pants on!”


First, it got me laughing. Which was good. Secondly- it reminded me that things are not as bad as my emotions make them out to be. I was fully dressed, even in what I will dare call an “outfit”- which is new for a re-urbanizing girl like me. Things could be worse. I could be completely unemployed. I could not have a place to live. I could not have an “outfit” to put on. Suddenly I felt like a selfish dirt bag.

And with that I registered with a volunteer database website, called up my grandma to see if I could clean her bathroom, and did the dishes from my roommate's baking endeavor.

All I needed was to step outside of myself, my selfish ambitions, and my emotions were put in their place. How often are we upset, angered, or even to the point of a meltdown over “problems” that others would feel blessed to have? My friend who's planning a wedding has many complaints about budgeting, and I would love to just have a wedding to be unable to afford. Not that problems aren't problems, but perhaps if we put them in their place in the grand scheme of the world, they wouldn't cause us so much grief.

Definitions

Last night after work I went to visit my best friend about 25 minutes from where I live. I ended up staying pretty late, and was really tired by the time I began talking about going home. Kayla asked me if I would like to spend the night, and not have to bother with the drive home. I paused hesitantly, at which point she gave me a knowing look and said, “your cat?”

Apparently I have used my cat as a reason to not stay out very long, stay overnight anywhere, and even as a reason to stay home. Oh crap. I'm a crazy old cat lady.

I've always joked that this day would come. But I never imagined it would happen in my mid-twenties!

Now, I do have a cute cat. I found her under the dining hall of the camp I used to work at in Pennsylvania and after “cat-sitting” her for a week, she was mine. She also has no tail- not really sure why, maybe a genetic defect or something got it while she was a kitten under the dining hall. But she and her little butt-nubbin are very cute.

But not that cute. Not cute enough to threaten my personal life, which, as a 24-year-old single girl in a bustling metropolis after a lonely two years in a boondocks town, is finally on the rise.

So it gets me thinking. Why am I so attached to, so homesick for this little cat all the time?

Because, to me, in this time of exciting uncertainty in my life, she represents home to me.

I'm squatting in my (other) best friend and her husband's guest room. A room full of their decorating style, their furniture. This is only a temporary situation, and I expect to move out within the year. All of my good friends in Mpls have significant others they have been with for 5+ years. I am single. I am working an odd mix of fun and challenging, yet temporary jobs. And my job-search is wide and varied. My sense of place is hanging by a thread.

Many people in their between-college-and-grown-up-life years have little, if anything, that people are usually defined by. We don't have spouses, houses, jobs we will work into old age.

I happen to live with a couple who do have these things- which may be another reason I cling so tightly to the things that do feel stable in my life. Like the cat who came with me in my big move from PA to MN, and who will live long into my 30's with me. And, I suppose its not that bad to really like my cat. She is cute.

But perhaps I should be clinging to some other things that are just as stable as marriage, home-ownership, careers. Like God. Talk about stable. This time of in-between for me has begun to force me into defining my relationship with my God outside of the superficial definitions of myself. Not coming to Him as a (fill-in-the-blank,) but as bare-naked me. It is very humbling to come to Him with out anything to offer. But, for the third time in my life, I am feeling grace in a new, soul-defining way. In being stripped of definitions I've placed on myself for years, I am learning more and more about what really defines me. Grace, forgiveness, blood, Words, Spirit, love, heart.