One Girl's Thoughts

Words

2010-07-01T13:56:00.003-05:00

You guys—in case you didn't know, I'm a grammar nerd.

In 10th grade, Mrs. Roger's English class, we spent time at the beginning of each class period doing something she called "Daily Oral Language," where she would put a transparency up on the projector with three sentences, and we would have to take out a piece of paper and correct them. Edit them (or proclaim there was nothing wrong with them). I don't think she even picked up our papers when we were finished, but maybe she did. Then we would discuss. Either way—this was without a doubt the very best part of my day when I was 15.

How lame is that?

I LOVE the English language, for all its inconsistencies and exceptions to the rules. I LOVE knowing the rules and why they sometimes don't apply. I love verb tenses, and adjectives, and punctuation. I love all of it.

In my current job, I happily spend at least a third of my time editing things. Sometimes it's long documents, sometimes it's interface text on a screen that users of our software will see. Sometimes it's a bullet point in an email that someone sends me to read over really quickly for a presentation or marketing flier. I never get tired of it.

I never get tired of finding the best way to craft a sentence. I write this blog to have an excuse to do just that, in my own voice (instead of corporate software voice, which is what I typically use at work).

Aside from using grammar rules and looking up exceptions and examples in my trusty Gregg Reference Manual, I collect words: words I love to say and use, like schadenfreude, and phrases in which people use the wrong words, which are known as malapropisms.

For example:

• A coworker the other day commented that something was "just a fragment of [her] imagination."

• I heard someone on a vacation say that she was taking a picture "for prosperity."

• My friend Bob used to say he was "making a v-line" for something, instead of a bee-line. (In his defense, when you point your index finger in the direction you are headed with your thumb in the air, it does make the shape of the letter V.)

I'm such a dork, these things crack me up. I keep a running list at my desk.

I love writing. Why then, you may ask, am I wasting my time at a corporation where I write instruction manuals and training presentations? Well, it isn't SO bad—I do feel like I get to be creative and help our clients in a positive way. It's not my dream job though…I'd rather just write. Fiction, essays, poetry, song lyrics. I say this a lot, to myself and to other people. I just don't DO anything about it. I should. I will. I just don't know when.

In the meantime, thanks for reading my little blog, where I stretch my creaky old unused literary muscles. I appreciate your readership. Just wanted you to know. You know, for prosperity.

A Fairytale Beginning...

2010-06-17T21:43:00.001-05:00

Hello readers! (Okay, hello the two or three people that actually read this blog.)

It's been a while--I know. If you follow me on Facebook you may have seen my short updates there--but life has been a little bit of a whirlwind these days. In a good way!

First of all, Aaron and I have the house on the market--we're trying to take advantage of the "buyer's market" KC is in at the moment, but it's hard to do THAT until we can sell Aaron's house. We recently had the house painted to up the "curb appeal," which all our potential buyers commented on. We think the house looks great, but since the deadline has passed for buyers to get that first time home buyer credit, it looks like there are less buyers out there these days. It has been frustrating. If we end up staying, we end up staying, but hopefully something good happens in the next few weeks.

BECAUSE...if you haven't heard, I'm pregnant! We are beyond excited about it--so much so that I started a new blog that you can follow if you like: http://growing-a-person.blogspot.com/. I hope to find the time to update it more often...work has been a little crazy these days but you don't come here to read about that.

This week, Aaron and I took a vacation to Breckenridge, Colorado with my parents. The weather was wonderful (it actually snowed the first two days we were here, but has been sunny and 65 since then). On Wednesday Aaron took me out to dinner, then for a walk along the river that runs through downtown Breckenridge. We stopped at a bench and he asked me to marry him--something I was TOTALLY not expecting, and of course I said yes.

Like I said, whirlwind! I have been humbled by the amount of love and support my family and friends have shown me through all of this--I have grown SO much in the last few years, and a lot of that growth has allowed me to stop worrying about what other people think about me and my choices. It has been freeing--I really can do whatI feel is best for me, all the time, and have the confidence that the people who love me will love me no matter what.

I am sure there are people who don't know my innermost thoughts that think I'm crazy, that think I'm making weird choices, that don't understand why my life has gone the way it has. I'm just not concerned with those people. Like I said--my family and friends love me, and understand me, and only want the best for me.

Aaron and I have been friends for seven years--we started on the same team at work that many years ago. It was probably one of the most honest friendships I have ever had--where there weren't any ulterior motives or expectations, and we really could just chat about life. At that time, our lives were moving in completely different directions, but I always felt like I could talk to him about anything. This many years later, as my life was changing and moving and rearranging itself, he was there for me as a friend, and it was amazing to discover that we loved one another. It feels to me like we have loved each other since we met, and maybe in some ways we have. I'm lucky to have him--he's creative, and interesting, and kind, and funny, and unpredictable in wonderful ways. He's going to be a great dad.

Anyway, sorry for my absence my (one or two) readers! I can't promise I'll update more often--life is changing in lots of ways these days, but I'll try to fit it in. Thanks for reading!

The Challenge of Change

2010-02-16T14:37:00.003-06:00

So, if you use Facebook, you know they changed their layout yet again. (Side note: what would it be like to work for a company that can change what they want, when they want, without the trappings of a regulatory body? Hard to fathom.) From the comments of many of my friends last week, it seemed a catastrophic injustice had befallen the citizens of this online community—how dare they modify the way we see our favorite web page! I don't have any real data on this, but from my random friend sampling, I saw that about 50% of people had a comment about the new layout, and the majority of those folks HATED it. Not just disliked, or found inconvenient, but LOATHED.

I don't claim to handle change any better than the next person—in fact, I myself have recently had bouts of extreme discontent about small changes. For example, the other day, I drove into the parking lot at work MUCH earlier than I usually arrive, and I was thrilled with the idea that I would be able to park in a choice parking spot (known as "gravy" in my college days). You can imagine my horror and disbelief when I saw that the whole first two tiers of the parking lot were BLOCKED, and I and the other early birds had to park in spots usually reserved for the late-comers. It was nothing short of torturous.

At my job, and I suppose in any corporate situation, change happens often. The management decides on a new direction, and the underlings are shuffled about to accommodate the upheaval. Then, just as everyone gets settled into the new scenario, things are shaken up yet again, and we have to adjust anew. In my first three years at "the corporation," I changed desks twelve times, each time packing up my belongings and resettling at a new space, where I had to reconfigure my wall hangings and make the gray walls feel a little more inviting. At first this was disconcerting, but after a while I developed a system, and then my moves became quicker and easier. Of course, just as I got used to the idea that moving was inevitable, I joined a team that has left me in the same desk for years at a time.

One huge move was the transition between two work "campuses." I was originally working a short 15 minute drive from home and rarely ran into traffic. The company reorganized (not a new concept) and picked us all up and sent us miles away, across a river, and through much busier traffic. The atmosphere for those who lived near me was indignant, but for those who were going to be working closer to home, it was ecstatic.

Aaron and I have been working on "cleaning out closets"—he doesn't know it, but it's one of my Happiness Resolutions for January. (I sucked him in to the project almost without his knowledge—but I think it has been a good thing.) He likes stuff. He has a lot of it, and he loves it. I am not really a "stuff" person. I enjoy throwing things out—it makes me feel free and more clear-headed, but it stresses him out. I tried to say to him as I proposed the idea of getting rid of clutter, "it feels so GREAT to have less stuff."

I'm trying to understand more his attachment to his stuff and not give him such a hard time. I suppose part of the issue is that my memories are tied more to an overall feeling of a time or place, rather than a specific picture or piece of paper. My favorite memories are hard to describe, because they don't really involve specifics I can point to. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been is what used to be a church summer camp, where my family would go in the fall with our church for a weekend. It would be cold, and we would sleep in sleeping bags with heated blankets in wooden camp cabins. The bathroom was a separate building, and there were bugs and spiders on the concrete floors, and the water was always cold. We would sing songs and play games and roam the empty camp trails, and race other kids through the emptied out swimming pool.

There was an outdoor chapel, built on the edge of a bluff that looked out across the rolling Ozark hills in southern Missouri. We would go there early in the morning on Sundays, and everything would be frosty and quiet, and I can remember sitting there in silence as an elementary school kid, watching a hawk drift back and forth off the edge of the bluff in the cold morning air. A picture can't really do it justice, because the smells and sounds and sights all contributed to the peaceful feeling of being with loved ones in such a great place are the important pieces of the memory. Maybe we made crafts those weekends when I was 7 and 8 and 9, but if I kept them they wouldn't do anything to enhance that memory in my mind. I'm sure my parents have pictures of the place, but seeing them doesn't change anything about what I can recall of those days (and in fact, may bring my fantastical memories about the place back to a more realistic and less enjoyable cadence).

It's hard for me to imagine that any thing that I could hold in my hands would give me anything remotely as great as that memory, so I tend to put little value on things, but I need to remember that not everyone's mind works the way mine does, so it isn't fair of me to say that things don't hold value—they just don't do so for me.

Point is, change happens. Whether it's Facebook or work, or a relationship or an addition to a family, it happens. I doubt that most people would really be satisfied if everything remained EXACTLY the same for years on end. I personally crave a little excitement, and so I shouldn't be so adverse to that excitement just because it feels a little more like stress.

Bonus to moving to the new work campus: I get to wear jeans every day. And I got used to it. (And I moved, so the drive isn't nearly so awful.) Following one of my Happiness Comandments, I'm learning to "Let go." Things have a way of working out, whether you like it or not, and change becomes habit until we have to change again.

A Little Bit Soggy

2010-01-30T15:01:00.003-06:00

Kansas City got a little snow yesterday, but that wasn't enough to deter the first meeting of the Kansas City Happiness Project! I wore my newly knit leg warmers, which makes me EXTREMELY happy, but they got a little soggy tromping through the melting snow. The group was small but lively--we had a great space to meet, good conversation, and some delicious food! Eddie Delahunt at Cafe & was great, and I think he appreciated our desire to be happier--he's a pretty happy guy himself, so the whole vibe worked really well.

I was a little nervous about whether people would feel like sharing, and what I would say--I was as prepared as I felt like I could be: it's sort of like a book club, but not everyone had read the book. I hope they (and all of you!) will go get The Happiness Project book, and whether you can make it to a meeting or start your own happiness project, I think you'll get SOMETHING out of it.

One of Gretchen's main points about a happiness project is that everyone's will look different--things that make me happy might not necessarily make YOU happy. For example, I love knitting, but that may not be your cup of tea. I like to listen to NPR podcasts of my favorite shows, but some people may think they are boring.

What I liked about the group that came today was that everyone was willing to share a little about their own lives, their own quest for happiness and fulfillment, and anecdotes of their own experiences. In her own project, Gretchen said that the things that influenced her the most and gave her the best insight into happiness were those personal stories, and it definitely rang true today.

We talked about January's subject of Vitality--boosting energy makes you happier! How to boost energy? The group had some great ideas and also some challenges. We are all going to create a few resolutions for January that will boost our happiness, then chart them on our Happiness Resolutions charts and see how we do. As we're working on January's resolutions (now for February since we're getting started a little late), we're also creating our Happiness Commandments--principles for daily living that will help us tackle each day in a happier manner.

Thanks to those of you that came today, and I hope you'll come back again! If you couldn't make it today, know that it was fun and comfortable, and I hope you'll consider attending our next meeting, which will be on February 27th, same location (Eddie Delahunt's Cafe & at 45th and Bell). Now, on to working on my happiness resolutions...

Both Sides of the Coin

2010-01-26T23:33:00.003-06:00

I started wondering today whether Facebook makes me happy. Usually it does, I think--I have friends that I wouldn't otherwise be in contact with. Quite a few people I know are hilarious to read about in status updates. I can share my photos and see what everyone is up to. I like those parts.

However, today I read a few things (as I do probably every other day or so) that made my heart hurt. A few things hateful or spiteful, and several things that are just sad or negative. I've always heard that when you input negative things into your brain, negative things are bound to come out. I find that to be true--if I stew all day on negative things I can get myself down.

It makes me wonder whether it is a good idea to look at Facebook so much. That sad, I'm a Facebook addict, so cutting that cord would be quite a challenge.

On the flip side of the coin, something that made me ecstatic today was a personal email from my favorite author, Gretchen Rubin! She read my blog, THEN took the time to send me an email saying she enjoyed my post! I am flattered and excited.

I guess you have to take the good with the bad, right? (Start theme song from The Facts of Life...)

To Happiness (and Beyond)!

2010-01-22T21:18:00.002-06:00

2010!

Hi, faithful readers (all three of you)!

It's been a while, I know. It's almost the end of January. 2010. Ten years since Y2K (for which I was in England, without my own personal computer, oblivious to the fright the world was feeling at the impending doom of the switch to a four-digit year in the date).

For the first half of this year, I'll be 30. Three decades old. I've said it before, in person, on Facebook, and probably even on this blog, though I'm too lazy to go back and check that fact: this has turned out to be one of the most amazing years of my life on this planet, and I'm only halfway to 31. I was afraid at first, but for those of you on the cusp of a life-changing number behind your name (and in the words of some of my dearest old friends): IT GETS BETTER.

I'm not much of one for New Year's resolutions. I'll tell you why--I've realized that New Year's resolutions as I learned to make them are too broad for me to succeed. You might be thinking that I should just narrow my scope, but I've decided that making resolutions for the sake of the first day of the year just doesn't work for me. I always fail at keeping them, and then I just feel bad about myself. Isn't that the opposite of the reason we make these resolutions? We mean for them to better us, and for some reason, they don't work for me. So I'm not making any.

I will say, however, that the advent of a new year inspires me. Maybe this is the feeling that motivates some of you to create and keep your resolutions at the beginning of the year. I can't say exactly what it is--the change in the date, maybe, or the fact that the days are getting longer and the sun is out for a few more minutes each day. Maybe it's just the conclusion to the holiday season and the dig-in attitude of preparing for a whole 12 months of something different.

Whatever it is, I'm motivated. To get up earlier, to pursue passions I've put on the shelf. To try something new. I won't say here that my resolution is to write more on this blog--maybe I will and maybe I won't. Tonight I just feel like this is the thing to do.

I have definitely posted before on this blog about The Happiness Project and the new adoration I've found for an author I was introduced to on a whim, Gretchen Rubin. My friend G shared the Happiness Project blog with me last year, and since that first post I read I couldn't get enough. This past week I had the opportunity to meet Gretchen in person when she visited Kansas City on the book tour for her new book, created as a result of a year of studying how to be happier.

After Gretchen spoke to a packed room at the Plaza library, she took a few questions. I couldn't NOT take the opportunity to speak with her some more, so I got up to ask a question. I've joked with friends and family that I'm a little bit obsessed about Gretchen and her project, and I probably speak about it sometimes like a deranged fan (or someone employed by her publicist to talk about the blog and the book). I have just been so moved by what I've read, and by Gretchen herself that I want to share it with everyone I know--I suppose I'm like that about other books I read, or new music I hear, or a story I've just listened to on NPR. I've been incredibly inspired by her thoughts and her project.

What I asked about is whether she's changed anyone's mind about happiness, and she shared an anecdote with me. One person she spoke with told her that he didn't "believe in happiness." I have encountered that point of view myself--people think it's a silly idea to spend time looking for happiness. What Gretchen asked this critic was "do you think you could be happier than you are now?" He had to concede.

I've decided that EVERYONE could be happier, no matter how happy you feel you are now, so I'm starting my own Happiness Project. I've invited everyone I know to join me, whether you can be present or not--I've started a Facebook group to keep you updated on what I'm personally working on for the month, and I hope you'll take a minute to think about it yourself. It would definitely make me happier if you did.

Happy New Year! My hope for this year is more happiness, more growth, and more love. For me AND for you.

The Dark Passenger

2009-09-08T12:34:00.003-05:00

I've been watching a lot of television lately. A LOT. Way more than is good for a person—I need to get out of the house more and exercise, and see people in real life. As a child I was limited to one hour of television per day, and so I had to choose so carefully that watching an hour of television meant something special. Now I can sit and stare for hours at the television, and even if there isn't really anything on I can still sit there for hours and hours, rotting my brain.

My current favorite show is Showtime's Dexter. If you haven't watched it, you should—that is, if you like detective-type stories with a twist (and if you like irrationally attractive lead characters). Dexter is a serial killer, but he works for the Miami Metro Police Department. He also only kills bad guys. He's quite lovable, as serial killers go.

I've just finished watching the second season, watching episodes "on demand" when I please (which is pretty much as many hours as I have at home in a day). Dexter has been discovering the story of his childhood, and learning what makes him what he is. He talks a lot about what he calls "the dark passenger," something that lives in his mind or his soul and drives him to do what he does. In an episode I watched recently, he spoke about his passenger like an addiction:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=toYzUtZdYUk

Sometimes I recognize a kind of darkness in myself—not in a serial killer way, or a heroin addict sort of way, but kind of a cloud over my consciousness. I think there are probably lots of people in the world that feel this way from time to time—some more than others. Mine's kind of a melancholy…I feel like listening to my sad songs, and hope for rainy days, and kind of wallow in it a little bit.

Now, before my mom freaks out (she reads my blog sometimes and gets nervous—hi mom!), you should all know that I'm not going off the deep end—I think most people avoid talking about feeling this way, and we shouldn't. I think we all have dark days, even if they're just a little rainy. Some people have to fight it more than others, but don't we all go through bouts of gloom now and then? Why is it so scary to talk about?

Sometimes I like to wallow in it a little bit—on rainy days, or cold, dreary afternoons, or even beautifully clear days when autumn seems just around in the corner. It makes me feel creative, nostalgic, even human. Because music means so much to me, I usually have certain songs I go to when I'm feeling a little dark, and this week I decided to create a sad songs play list. I've mentioned this before here, and talked about songs that speak to me, but I spent some time this week talking about sad songs—with friends and coworkers—and started to flesh out my list.

I think my definition of sad songs is different than some people's—and I can't even really put my definition into words very easily. It's not just sad lyrics (though that helps). It's also not just emotive music (but that helps, too). It's a general overall feeling I get while listening. I'm sure some of the songs are sad for me because they remind me of someone else, or some other time, and maybe that's why some people's suggestions haven't seemed sad to me at all—they remind that person of a person or time when they felt sad, and that's why the song has so much meaning.

I'd love to hear your sad song suggestions—and the list is getting a little long to publish here, but let me know if you'd like a copy of it. And here's looking to sunnier days ahead.

Fair

2009-07-01T16:49:00.004-05:00

I've started several different blog posts lately, but I haven't posted any…I think it's because my mind is changing and shifting faster than I can find the time to actually finish a post and put it in this space. As I look back at my drafts I marvel a bit at what I was thinking that day and wonder how I would have finished the post I started. Sometimes it makes me feel a little bit schizophrenic.

That said, I'll try to finish this one before I get distracted and forget the point I was trying to make.

We've all heard it, and probably most of us have said it, either as a joke or seriously to someone we know: "Life isn't fair."

Obviously that's true—how can life be fair? We've developed rules and regulations in the legal system to create a semblance of "fairness," but really, can anything truly be fair? My friend Aimee and her law school buddies discuss things like this and I listen…changing the location of a trial, for example, to make it more "fair" for the plaintiff in a personal injury case. Does that make the case any less fair for the defendant?

I remember my parents deliberately doing things to make life more fair for me and my sister, but also hearing that life wasn't fair, and that was something I needed to learn. I have great friends who love nothing more than working the system to get a deal, which always strikes me as slightly unfair to people who don't have the gumption or the know-how to skate around the rules, but then again, aren't those opportunities there for anyone who wants to take them?

Warning: Possible spoiler ahead for those who have NOT finished reading the Twilight series and may want to avoid hearing something to ruin the story.

So, I've been reading those vampire books, the ones everyone seems to be reading these days—Stephenie Meyer's Twilight 4-book series. I'm in the 4th book, but not very far. The heroine, Bella, is in love with two boys—who happen to be a vampire and a werewolf (don't laugh too hard—I am a sucker for fantastical stories). Most people I've talked to about these books have been rooting for the main character's vampire love, Edward, to win her over and for the two to live happily ever after, but I'm not convinced.

I myself am more of a Jacob girl (Jacob's the werewolf whom Bella ALSO loves, just not in the same was as Edward). For whatever reason, I've found myself on Jacob's side. I feel like Bella and her vampire are silly, and making bad choices, and that she should stop being such a TEENAGER and think about the realistic implications of her choices. I don't know if there is any way for this fictional love triangle to resolve itself so that all the parties (any of the parties?) would feel it was fair. I suppose I'll have to see what I think at the end.

Fairness comes with a bias, and maybe this is what our parents meant when they told us the world was not fair—fairness is in the eye of the beholder. Obviously if I feel I am getting the shorter end of the stick (translated: if what I hope for isn't happening), I'm going to think the outcome isn't fair. I'm going to be more likely to overlook the fairness aspect if the chips fall in my direction.

I still find myself thinking to myself, quite often, "That's not FAIR!" I probably don't say it quite in those words, or say it out loud at all, but plenty of things make me think it: a co-worker being overlooked for a promotion because he or she doesn't know the right people or move in the right social circles; the mistreatment of a dinner companion by a restaurant employee; a troubling late-night email from a friend that causes me angst enough to craft a well-thought reply, only to be brushed off in the sobering light of day.

I suppose part of the problem is that I WANT the world to be fair, albeit from my skewed point of view. I WANT to do the right thing, and be honest and open and thoughtful, and I want everyone else to be that way, too. I WANT people to feel whole and happy, and I'm troubled when I can't do anything to push a friend in that direction. I don't just want things to be fair for me, but I want to make sure that the things I do are fair for others.

Am I wrong to want things to be fair? Is it possible? Can I learn how to stop agonizing over what's fair for everyone, to accept that you can't please all of the people all of the time? How do YOU handle fairness, with your friends, with your family, with your co-workers, with your kids?

Three Decades

2009-06-05T14:11:00.003-05:00

6 days from now, I'm going to turn 30.

30!

When I was in elementary school, I remember looking at the high school seniors in the youth group at our church and thinking, "Wow, they have great hair! When I am 18, I will have good hair." When I turned 18, I wondered where my awesome hair was…I felt almost as young and silly as I did when I was admiring those kids from 10 years earlier.

I have never yet felt like a grown-up. Sometimes I act like one, and I bet I fool a lot of people (including my bosses and the bank and people who have given me loans for things), but I don't FEEL like I have become a grown-up, and I'm about to be 30.

30!

I'm not afraid of the number, especially because it DOES feel like just a number. I always wonder what makes a person feel like an adult—it isn't being married, at least not in my case. It isn't owning property or paying all one's own bills. It isn't having a "real" job. Could it be having kids? To my friends with children: does having children make you feel like an adult? Is it not until much later in life, when your own parents are gone, that you begin to feel like an adult?

30 does seem like a milestone, this nice round number, multiple of ten, so I feel like I should do something monumental for it. I thought about buying myself an iPhone, but with the possible enhancements coming from Apple in July, I feel like buying one NOW might make me mad in about four more weeks. There isn't a whole lot I need….so how would you celebrate this milestone, or how did you? Any ideas or warnings for me?

What am I waiting for?

2009-05-07T16:00:00.004-05:00

When I'm with my friends and family, and doing things I enjoy, life seems glorious. On the flip side, though, when I'm in "down time" mode, I feel like I'm just waiting for the next thing all the time. Having typed this out on the screen I can see what my problem is…I'm not holding to one of my happiness commandments: Number 7: Be content, not complacent.

I definitely have a problem finding a balance between those two things. If I'm not trying hard enough to find contentment, I get complacent and feel stuck in a rut. If I try too hard, I over-do, and then I never settle in and find that contented place.

Mostly over the past several years, I've allowed myself to be complacent…settling for whatever happened along, rather than manifesting my own destiny. Now I've successfully gotten myself out of that place, where I was stagnant and bored, but I've gone too far the other direction, and I'm not stopping to feel the joy in each moment.

I can feel myself doing this in all sorts of places in my life—from little things like being so impatient for the next episode of a t.v. show or a podcast I like that I don't enjoy the one I'm listening to or watching at the moment to bigger things like letting each day go by worrying about the next day. I had a great time in New Orleans several weeks ago, but it definitely wasn't like my previous trips with my lovely friend Aimee, where I let my intuition and my fancy guide me around Europe.

In France, Aimee and I sat for hours in cafés smoking cigarettes and drinking French coffees, feeling sophisticated and young all at the same time. We ate cans of tuna and peaches on the steps of Sacre Coeur Basilica, fighting off pigeons and reveling in the view of Paris from high on the hill. We ate dinner in an Italian restaurant even though we were in France, because we felt like it. Even stepping in dog crap on the sidewalk near the Louvre was hilarious.

I know I'm older and definitely more jaded, or something, than I was then, but I need to remember how it felt to really just be content in each moment as it happened on that trip, so that maybe I can bring it back to my daily life. Admittedly, traveling to work at the edge of a mid-Western town day in and day out, worrying about bills and housework and such things isn't as glamorous as traipsing around Paris with one of my best friends, but that doesn't mean there aren't moments every day that I shouldn't be reveling in.

How do you find that balance between the things that make up daily life and not letting them get you down and complacent or too hyped up you can't settle down and enjoy the moment?

When I Grow Up

2009-04-16T22:42:00.003-05:00

Unfortunately for me, when I see that title, the Pussycat Dolls' latest hit song starts playing in my head…that isn't quite what I'm referring to. Or maybe it is…

Everyone dreams of being SOMETHING as a child, whether that thing is a professional bike rider (10-speed, not BMX), a babysitter, a bird, a lawyer, a psychiatrist, or a writer. (Note: these are all things I have wanted to be at one time or another.)

I started this blog because I've always got something in my head that wants out. It's therapeutic, freeing, cathartic, energizing, and (dare I say) fun to put my words out into the universe. As I write I hear snippets of teachers' voices saying things like "avoid cliché" and "consider your structure" and "who is your audience" and "find your own voice." What I want from this blog is to extend myself, to hear my own voice as I read, and to learn to captivate a reader. I want to explore topics to see if they can grow into something more or if they are dead in the water.

Lately, due to my distracting obsession with celebrities on Twitter, I've been keeping an eye on Diablo Cody. Her story thrills me—she seems to have always done what it is she wanted to do, without censorship. She has multiple higher education degrees, but she has worked as a stripper, just because it was interesting. She isn't afraid to write about something controversial—or rather, she doesn't consider anything controversial, because she's comfortable with herself. She seems to always have an idea in the works. Maybe that's because it is her job to write, but I'd like to think that any writer who wants to write should also always have some smidgens of stories on the back burner.

One of my favorite bloggers is Heather Armstrong at Dooce.com—Heather is another one who doesn't filter, and her posts are always interesting. She talks daily about her triumphs and her struggles, and isn't ever bashful about saying what she's really thinking.

I want to write that way—with abandon. Without concern for what the world thinks. The past 12 months have taken me a long way towards learning that what other people think doesn't really matter. The people who love me will love me no matter what I do, or what is done to me—sometimes all the more so for my inadequacies. The people who don't love me don't really matter; if someone can't accept me for being me, what do I want with them anyway? I'm trying to move in that direction, but my need for approval is always fighting me back the other way.

Part of my struggle is that I feel like I haven't had to struggle. I've had a middle-class, mid-western existence, parents happily married for 40 years (this year!), comfortable, safe relationships, minimal hardship. I've always wondered how interesting I can be if I don't have my own story, if I haven't experienced any of those challenges. Is it possible to be progressive and captivating in my writing when my own life seems so white bread?

It's callous to wish for trouble, isn't it? There are plenty of people in the universe who HAVE faced hard times—are facing them this very moment. I don't want to trivialize anyone else's experience by saying something like "I wish my life were more difficult." That's just a silly thought, but on some level, I'm jealous of someone who can pull from some raw emotion to document something, whether fact or fiction. My emotion has to be pulled from somewhere else, outside of experience, and therefore sometimes (okay, maybe most of the time, at least to me) feels false, or manufactured. I've always felt like my "hardships" were trivial, and therefore I should suck it up and quit feeling sorry for myself on those days where I feel gloomy.

I've added a new blog to my daily reading list—my friend the Dap Queen. It's a little risqué (at least for some portion of my readers) so proceed with caution if you find yourself uncomfortable with the idea of, for example, sex shops. I, however, cannot get enough of Dap Queen's writing style. It's raw, uninhibited, and thrilling. I think the girl could write a screen play that would rival Diablo's Juno, and I'm jealous. I love her turns of phrase, and that she isn't afraid of what a reader might be thinking. If you don't like it, you know what you can do with it.

Anyway, point of all this is…if I claim to want to write, for real—if that is what I truly want to be whenever I discover what a "grown-up" is—I need to take myself a little more seriously. I need to push my own boundaries, stretch the edges of my comfort zone. Maybe to do that I have to take it off-line at first, to flesh some things out, to find a topic and expand upon it.

How do you find yourself, internet? Where do you look for inspiration, and strength? How can you tell when you're speaking in your voice, and not someone else's?

In Someone Else's (Deck-Swabbing) Shoes

2009-04-14T12:41:00.005-05:00

What's a pirate's favorite place to shop?

TARRRRRRGET!

Get it?

I went to New Orleans a few weekends ago for a bachelorette party. It was standard fare for a bachelorette party—pretty girls, trolling for free drinks, getting quite a few, and buying their own as well, special shirts for the bride-to-be and her cronies announcing their partying existence in the city, too much food, and stories that can only be partially shared due to their R-rated nature.
All in all, a great time.

We arrived late in the evening (well, okay, late for a Midwesterner, not really late for Bourbon Street) and checked in to the hotel, giving ourselves a few minutes of primping before we hit the Quarter. As the elevator slid slowly from floor to lower floor, three silly girls chattering in the car, we thought we were prepared for anything. Then the floor stopped on floor 8.

As the door opened, we shifted around to make room for new passengers, then looked up to see who might be joining us. And….pirates.

That's right, I said PIRATES. Dressed to the nines, looking like they were ready for an elaborate costume ball—makeup, props such as swords and eye patches and hats. We must have looked stunned, standing there in the elevator dressed in our best "going out" attire, staring back at the pirates.

"Oh, we're waiting for the rest of our party…you go ahead," one pirate said politely. The door closed and my good friend Aimee muttered "wait for it….wait for it…." The rest of us looked at her with wide eyes. Finally she determined we were a sufficient distance from the pirates' floor to blurt out with an ecstatically excited look on her face, "Pirate Convention!"
That's right my friends, PyrateCon 2009 was happening in New Orleans that weekend, and it made the city even more colorful (is that possible?) on our weekend trip. Maybe you're wondering (like I was) what one might do at a Pirate Convention. I've been to work conferences, where the days were filled with sessions about (in my case) technical writing, editing, advances in software, and showing off completed projects to your peers. I've got friends who attend the Star Wars convention every year, and seen both documentaries and parodies about ComicCon—I can imagine that there is plenty to do at those types of conventions.

Well, here's the PyrateCon 2009 schedule, but I kind of got the feeling that the main point of the Pirate Convention was to dress and act as a pirate. We saw pirates with live birds riding on their shoulders, pirates decked out like the Pirates of the Caribbean cast (seriously, you can't get any more creative than Johnny Depp?) and pirates that looked like the undead (I bet you've never heard of a vampirate).

I've told this story way too many times already since I've returned from my trip (you know how I love an audience). The typical response so far has been, "but why would anyone want to dress like a pirate?" This is what I have been thinking about this week.

Well, not why would a person dress as a pirate, but rather, why WOULDN'T one?

My hairdresser would probably assume I was starting a new hobby if I told her this story—she is constantly amused at the variation in my activities from day to day. But really, what's wrong with wanting to dress like a pirate? Why should that be considered weird? When I run down the list of my hobbies, I sometimes feel a little sheepish, because, as I often preface the list, they are sort of a list of the activities of a retired Midwestern woman…knitting, dog showing, fiddle-playing. Recently to that list I have added both indoor and outdoor volleyball. I also consider my obsessive reading and contributing to Facebook, Blogger, and Twitter a hobby.

People laugh when I give them this list—and some people poke fun. Not in a mean way, and I do love the attention, so I'm ready to handle it. When talking about my Twittering last week, a few of my workmates said things like "Twittering? What is that?" and "That's a lame hobby." I laugh, but I also ask them why they would say such a thing? Then I remind them of their own hobbies (fishing in competitions at 5:00 a.m. on Lake of the Ozarks--in a special fishing jersey, with sponsors, no less--or talking incessantly about fantasy sports, or traveling to Tool concerts all over the nation). Why is my hobby (or the pirates!) any weirder, or less acceptable, than any of these other things?

It isn't. We're all weird. My best friend from 4th grade and I used to pride ourselves on our weirdness—embracing the strange and the interesting things that made us different.

I've been thinking quite a bit this week about how hard it is for most of us to step outside of our own experiences and look at life from a new perspective—from someone else's viewpoint. To stand in someone else's shoes for a minute, and understand what the world looks like from a different vantage point. I like to think that I can do that, at least passably well. I'd like to do better.

So, with that, I'll leave you with a few photos of me with some pirates…who you can tell worked tirelessly and for many hours to prepare themselves for their week in New Orleans this year. Oh, and if you need to hire some undead pirates for a party, check out the Dark Dwellers on MySpace. That'd be a conversation topic for your event, for sure.

Vampirate! (Watch out Karen!)

The Dark Dwellers

Celebrity

2009-03-25T11:49:00.002-05:00

I bought a new cell phone about a year and a half ago solely based on the fact that I can text from it—like a teenager. I mean, in the middle of dinner, while I wait at stoplights, during real life conversations with people, in the middle of phone calls…I love texting.

Before I bought this phone, I had to use the regular numerical keypad, which is not conducive to fast-paced typing, albeit abbreviated and punctuated with text slang. Some of those new phones, like the iPhone, or the new Google phone, or the Blackberry Storm with it’s clicking touch screen don’t really provide me with the functionality I [think I] need in a mobile device—I like my phone with its wide flip-open QWERTY keyboard.

The problem with loving to text is simply this: I am almost 30. Many people I converse with daily are NOT into texting. It seems like a waste to send text messages to people who don’t answer—it is MUCH more fun when it is a two-sided conversation. When I joined Facebook (I almost typed “the Facebook Revolution” here, because I really feel like it is something monumental I am involved in—is that weird?), I added Facebook Mobile to my phone.

On my text-based phone (I don’t have an internet browser or any cool applications that can run a real-looking version of Facebook), I can get text messages when people send me messages, or comments, and I can comment back on status updates and photos other people post. Facebook sends me text messages all the time, and I love it.

Well, over the past few weeks I have found something even better—TWITTER!!! If you aren’t on Twitter, I won’t try and convince you to join. If you don’t have the right mindset (for example, you hate knowing what other people are doing all the time), you won’t like it. I don’t really care if you don’t like it—or if you think I’m silly for using it. I will point out, however, that not only are all the cool kids doing it, but so are businesses, politicians, and…wait for it…celebrities!!!

I follow quite a few celebrities on Twitter. Some are stupid—their managers or “people” post things for them (that’s what Britney Spears and Ryan Seacrest do) and I am just not interested in the business side of it. However, I LOVE knowing what random things someone else is doing at a given moment, especially if they are charismatic and interesting. Maybe I’m a bit of a stalker…I don’t mind. You know they like it, these celebrities…don’t put it out there if you don’t want me to read it.

I have some followers on Twitter as well—it makes ME feel a little like a celebrity. I know I’m not all that interesting or glamorous, but sometimes I have something witty to say, or something funny, and I can put it out there in the universe. You can read it or not—that part doesn’t really matter to me all that much. A few people care a little about what I have to say, and I like knowing we can communicate in such a cool way.

Someone at work called me “sad” today for “caring about what celebrities are doing.” I thought about that for a little while—is it sad? I don’t think so…it’s something that entertains me. (By the way, I told him that if that’s how he was going to be, we could talk about his love of fantasy baseball or comic books….)

Some of the more interesting people I am currently following on Twitter are Soleil Moon Frye (you may know her as “the actress who played Punky Brewster”), John Mayer (singer-songwriter), Diablo Cody (author of the screenplay for the movie Juno), and Rainn Wilson (Dwight from The Office). They have interesting things to say, in a world that is outside my realm, and I like peering in from the other side of an SMS text message.

You can say what you want—but if you want me to read it you should probably say it on Twitter.

The "New" One

2009-03-03T12:42:00.003-06:00

Because you're all dying of suspense...

So, less than 24 hours after my last post, I purchased a car. Seemed almost impulsive after the weeks and weeks I spent agonizing about this decision, but I think it just means that I finally did all the research I was going to do and there wasn’t anything else to consider. (Or, rather, if there was, I was going to consider my brains out for weeks turning into months and NEVER have my own car again.)

I ended up with the Infiniti. It’s a purple-blue color (the girls at work have decided it is “Midnight Blue”), has leather (heated!) seats, a great sound system, a sunroof, and a roof rack. These are pretty much the things I need to be happy in a vehicle. It also rates extremely highly with Consumer Reports and actual owners on Edmunds.com. I feel confident that it was a great choice.

One of the best parts about my shopping experience was Carl. The Infiniti was at a very small dealership in Edwardsville, KS, called JB Motors; it has 4 employees and is out in the middle of nowhere. I found a Honda CR-V on their lot using Cars.com, and was there checking it out when I noticed the Infiniti.

Carl is about 5’3” and has bright blue eyes. He also has a loud booming voice. He referred to every car we discussed as a “nice little unit” and called me “ma’am” every time he spoke to me. He explained in detail the features of each vehicle, along with a demonstration of each lever, button, and switch in the car. He gave great descriptions of the finer points of each vehicle, such as, “This Bose stereo, ma’am, I tell you what, you crank up the volume and it’s like you’re actually at the concert,” or “We got that Honda up and running for you just like new, sparkling like it’s just come off the lot. Really nice little unit, that one.”

He was very polite and accommodating, if a tiny bit overzealous in the way he contacted me (he called me quite often while we were discussing the vehicles on their lot). The key fob was missing for the car, so he told me that I could “go on the computer, you know, and order one, from that place, you know, where everybody goes to buy stuff? You know, on the computer?” I’m still not sure if he meant eBay, but that’s the first thing that came to my mind. (I ended up buying a new key fob from RemotesandKeys.com.)

So I’m happy with my purchase. There is a 90 day warranty, so I’m going to get the car checked out for everything that they cover and make sure I don’t need any work done.

Let me know if you’d like a ride in the “new” car (it’s actually older than my last one).

The (Current) Bane of My Existence

2009-02-25T23:13:00.002-06:00

This week, I've been car shopping. Well, really, I've been shopping for a few weeks now, and even longer I've been shopping in my head and online.

Last week the insurance company paid off the loan on the ol' Highlander (may she rest in peace), so I'm ready to dive in to yet another loan and get something to drive myself around.

Thankfully, my friend Chris loaned me one of his (5) cars for about three weeks, so I haven't had to rent, and my generous roommate has waited around for me to be ready for work in the morning on the days I'm not driving Chris's car. As nice as it is to not have a car payment, and to be driven around, it probably is time for me to get my own ride.

I hate car shopping. When I was a teenager, my first car was a Pontiac Grand Am, 1988. I didn't really have a choice--that was the car my parents had, and my dad was driving a company van to work at the time, so it was mine by default. They told me I could drive it as long as I had a job and paid for my own gas. (One time I ran out of gas about a block from the house because I had run on empty for about three days, but I digress. Usually I bought my own gas.)

When I went to college, my sister got to drive the Grand Am (which by that time I had nicknamed the Pontiac P.O.S.). It drove all right, except for those few times it died in the middle of busy intersections, but the fabric header was loose and tended to rest on the heads of the passengers, and due to an unfortunate incident involving myself and a boy, the radio was broken and Alannis Morisette's Jagged Little Pill album was stuck in the tape player for over a year, playing in a loop.

My sister (she's a tricky one) wrecked the Grand Am by smashing into the rear end of a deer, and my parents bought her a newer car, while I was off at college bumming rides (including one where I almost drove a Mazda known as Lucy off the highway after picking someone up at the airport--Lucy perished in hurricane Katrina so I feel it is now safe to mention that I almost killed her in 1998).

When I was a senior in college, I took over the payments of my mom's car, another Pontiac Grand Am, this one a newer model (1995--I got it in 2000). Despite accidentally crashing into the garage door opening, that Grand Am lasted until just last year.

In the meantime, I got the Highlander (may she rest in peace). I bought the car at CarMax, which I highly recommend to anyone who hates car shopping. Pick out your car online, go to the store, pay the asking price. No haggling, no "let me check with my manager" business. It was a good experience, and I planned on driving the Highlander (may she rest in peace) until she died on me (have I mentioned I loved that car?). Little did I know that would be this year.

Anyway, the search for a car is overwhelming me. I am trying to be financially responsible but also buy a reliable car. There are a MILLION choices out there, and just when I think I've found something, it turns out to have a problem.

I don't even really care about cars that much--I've never really had a favorite car (unless you count when I was 14 and wished for a red Miata convertible, or when I was in high school and thought about how cool I would be if I had a Jeep wrangler). Now I wish I lived somewhere I didn't need a car, and could take public transportation, or that the weather was nice enough and I lived close enough to work to ride a bike. Purchasing something as large as a vehicle is daunting, and maybe this means that I'm becoming an old, boring adult, but I find this shopping experience excruciating.

I'm still looking, and reading reviews on Consumer Reports and Edmunds and checking Carfax reports and asking for advice. My most recent find is a 1999 Infiniti QX4 (I know, not exciting, and old--but it's reliable, gets good reviews, and is cheap!). We'll see how it pans out...I don't have much hope that it will be a painless process, but who knows. I needs me some WHEELS.

Focus (or Lack Thereof)

2009-02-10T23:02:00.005-06:00

The last few weeks have filled my head so chock full that I haven't been able to focus.

I wrecked my car a few weeks ago, as you may have seen on this blog and elsewhere, and when the officer on the scene asked me what happened (and he actually said, "No seriously. WHAT HAPPENED?") I couldn't really answer. I know that I wasn't paying attention--I was thinking about anything BUT driving.

That morning, I read an email from a friend that consumed my thoughts for most of the day. Before I got in the car to take that last drive (R.I.P. Highlander!), my mom had me watch an episode of Oprah that got me thinking about myself, my free time, and my relationships with others. I planned to run a race the next day. I saw a play the night before and the songs were stuck in my head.

None of these things are reasons to drive my car off the road, I know. It's a horrible excuse, if you can even call it that. And my ability to focus has just gotten worse since then.

Dealing with the insurance to get a new car has been harrowing. I testified in court last Tuesday. Work has been insane the last few weeks; today I couldn't get anything done because I was working on too many things at once.

Tonight I played in a volleyball game and I had to keep reminding myself to pay attention to the ball--I caught myself staring into space more than once (not that I'm really any good at volleyball, internet, but I was worse than EVER tonight).

Even this post is disjointed. My thoughts feel jumbled.

I think I need to get back to yoga--it was definitely something that helped me focus. When I'm not focused, I tend to do things like fall down stairs or sprain my ankle. I miss deadlines and projects are harder to complete.

I'm trying to slow down my brain. The rain tonight helps a little--it's calming and relaxing, and I'm breathing a little deeper. If you have any advice for getting my mind back into a lower gear, I'd love to hear it.

A New Start

2009-02-03T16:50:00.002-06:00

For those of you who peruse my blog, whether it's a habit (I'm in your list of daily blogs), or a compulsion (you know who you are), or you've just seen my Facebook updates and are curious, today is the one of those days where I start anew.

I have these days occasionally, and I'm sure you do, too. A lot of times, it's January 1st--you know the feeling: you've got your New Year's resolution phrased just so, and you have a plan of action you're ready to set in motion. Sometimes it's a birthday--yours or someone else's--and you feel the need to make a change for the better. Occasionally, it's after some other sort of momentous occasion--a birth, a death, a moving or tragic or frightening or hope-inspiring instance; one that makes you realize all there is out there in the universe, and you draft a mental note to yourself to modify your existence in some way.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment that sparked me towards change...it has been a long time coming. But I do feel like today marks a shift in my being--one that I know will take me along my journey in a new and very positive direction.

My marriage of six years ended today, legally and officially. The actual experience of finalizing all the paperwork and speaking in front of a judge was less than monumental--quiet, quick, and strangely sanitary. I sat for a while in a courtroom full of people at a crossroads in their lives, observing. Some of them made me feel sad, and some of them made me feel irritated, these people and their lawyers in a room where none of us knew each other and would never meet again, most likely. There were some people there that were hurting, and some that were full of anger, and some that looked frightened. I wasn't quite sure what to feel--I made a decision, based on what I believed best for me, and I was satisfied while I sat and waited that it was the right decision. Five minutes or less on the witness stand, a small, stapled stack of papers, and I was out the door--less than an hour after I arrived.

I ate a Nutella cupcake (incidentally, from my new favorite place in Kansas City, Cupcake A La Mode) and chatted with my friend Amy about love and life, and hugged her adorable baby for a while.

I write a lot about my personal experiences on this blog, and I tend to keep them about how I'm feeling, and how I think it relates to the rest of the world, attempting to keep from calling anyone out or making a virtual scene. This is a little more personal detail than usual--it just felt like something I needed to write down (or rather, type out).

I'm almost 30--and I'm not afraid of that number. I feel like the world is awash with endless possibilities--some of them challenging and scary, some of them gorgeous and amazing, and some of them clearly places in the journey where I'll have to make absolute decisions and go one way or another.

I feel very much like myself today--confident in who I am and what I believe in, secure in knowing that my friends and family love me no matter what, and hopeful for whatever is next to come. Thanks for checking on me here--I hope that whomever and wherever you are, you can find what it is that pushes you towards that place where you can be fully yourself and ready for whatever the universe throws at you.

The Highlander (Or, How I Spent Saturday Evening)

2009-01-25T14:29:00.007-06:00

You know, I've always thought of my self as a good driver. I am currently questioning that assessment, and maybe you will too after you read this post (or maybe the picture is enough and you've already made up your mind). I was in a wreck yesterday, or, maybe more precisely, I wrecked my car yesterday.

I was driving in Springfield, Missouri, on my way to visit a friend. I didn't have the radio on, I wasn't talking on the phone, and I wasn't doing anything else that should have distracted me this much from the road. For whatever reason, I was too far over to the right side of the road, and was surprised by a road sign that seemed to be very close to the edge of the street, and so I jerked the wheel to the left (a.k.a., mistake number 1).

I was cresting a hill, and thought to myself, this is dangerous, I shouldn't be over on this side, so I jerked the wheel back to the right (a.k.a., mistake number 2). At that point, the car started wobbling, and I lost all of my good sense about driving (because really, my dad taught me how to drive quite well, almost 16 years ago). At that point, I hit the right edge of the road and next thing I knew, my car was resting on the passenger side and I wasn't sure which way was up.

There were some good samaritans along the road that helped me climb out of the driver's side door, and I stood there for a while waving at passing motorists who all had looks of horror on their faces, assuring them I was all right.

The police officer who came to the scene questioned me for a while about what happened, and I still am not really able to tell you what made me swerve all over the road. I was definitely distracted, and not thinking about driving in the slightest, but not by something in the car--just the things going on in my head.

The car was towed, and my dad drove me to Clinton, where we met Aaron, who drove me back to KC. I'm not sure if it's totaled yet, but the officer, the tow truck driver, and my insurance agent are all fairly sure that it will be. I guess I'll hear from the State Farm claims team on Monday about what to do next.

It was a surreal experience--I am mostly unharmed (there are bruises on the tops of my knees, a bump on the left side of my head, my right shoulder is a little bruised, and my neck is pretty stiff today). Thankfully, I was wearing my seatbelt, which is surely what saved my life--if I hadn't had my seatbelt on, I would have been thrown all over the vehicle, but as it was, I felt like I was riding on a roller coaster. I wasn't really afraid that I would be hurt as I was toppling over in the car, but I knew this couldn't be good. I think the pictures are pretty darn scary, and it's very strange to think that I was in the vehicle when it got thrown into this position.

Thanks for all the well-wishes, everyone, and please be careful. Wear your seatbelts, and make sure your loved ones do, too. It doesn't take much at all to send your car into such a dangerous tumble, so if I can at least tell you what I learned, it's not to get complacent about driving these giant scary machines we call our cars.

What I've Learned This Year: 2008

2008-12-31T13:02:00.001-06:00

On the eve of the new year, which looks to be shaping up to be one of the greatest years of my life thus far, I’ve been reflecting on what I’ve learned. This year has taught me to look deeper into myself, and to use what I’m learning to improve myself

Probably the most important thing I’ve learned this year is about my friendships. I’ve always had great friends. I love to meet people, and I’ve never felt like I was without friends. Obviously relationships wax and wane, and grow and change and morph into other things, but I think each of the friendships I’ve had along the way has been of vital importance to my development of self. I used to think that friends were an external force in the directions my life has taken—an auxiliary piece of the puzzle, or something that happens as a result of choices and experiences I’m having on my own.

This year, though, I have come to realize that my friendships are inseparably entwined into my life—a part of my being that I can’t pull out and treat as a side item. I wouldn’t be who I am, or maybe even anyone at all, without my friends. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to be anyone without my friends—they make life interesting, and challenging, and more rich and broader and deeper.

I could go on for pages and pages about this subject, but in the interest of your sanity, internet, I’ve pared it down a bit to some of the things I think are most important about my friendships.

1. Part of the reason we like our friends is that we’re attracted to them. Sometimes it’s physical beauty—I have some friendships that started that way. I always wanted to be one of the “hot girls,” but since I usually end up as “the cute one that the boys talk to ABOUT the hot girls,” I’ll settle for being friends with said hot girls. It just so happens that the “hot girls” I know are also kind, generous, warm, adventuresome, carefree, and beyond compassionate for the people they hold dear. True beauties—inside and out.

The attraction to a friend can come from lots of places—intelligence, humor, skills (nun-chuck or otherwise), wit, or even sheer passion for life. We seek out in our true friends the things we feel we are lacking in ourselves, and that’s when we click—for lack of a less cheesy way to say it, we complete each other. I’m thankful for the ways my friends add to my life and my being, and I hope I do that for them.

2. True compatriots share in your experiences. Whether that means an activity you like to do together, or a common interest in something (from anime to new age spirituality to yoga to dogs to pop culture to knitting to drinking and laughing to contests that involve kicking one’s shoes as far as one can), or a moment you had together that binds you for life—not only shared experiences but shared desires. One of my dear friends admitted, a little bashfully, that she becomes a stalker when she meets new friends—tries to insert herself into their lives, because she can’t wait to become closer companions. I was able to tell her, after she related that story, that I stalked HER to become her friend—I wanted so badly to be able to call her a friend that I went to her desk at work every day under the guise of team-building, to endear myself to her. And it worked!

3. Having friends with different types and levels of experiences and lifestyles and attitudes and outlooks on life is vital to your survival. I am awed at how my friends have given me such perspective on my life—somehow I have managed to surround myself with people who not only can think through complicated topics, but can also put those thoughts into beautiful and meaningful words that speak to my soul. Whether it has been at a bar having beers, or at a cafeteria table at work, or in a pan-Asian restaurant drinking tea and eating tofu, or in a dive café after yoga class, or in a knitting circle, or in countless loving emails or notes, my friends have helped me to look at my life from a new vantage point. I am amazed at their collective ability for introspection and for pushing the edges of understanding to help me learn and come to terms with problems I face.

4. A friend really does love you, NO MATTER WHAT. As humans we define limits—for our own abilities and possibilities, for rational and technical and emotional and fantastical subjects, and for the amount of love we believe someone else can give us. I’ve learned this year that those people I love unconditionally and support without wavering during any situation actually feel the same way about me. A silly thing to suppose WASN’T true, but all the same…what an amazing feeling to be supported so selflessly by people I love and trust and admire. Thanks to ALL of you for proving to me what friendship really means.

So to all my friends—thanks for everything you’ve done this year: for me, with me, about me, and maybe even that helped me, even if you didn’t know you were doing it. I couldn’t have made it to the end of 2008 without all of you, and I hope you know it. You’re more important to me than these meager words can express, and I hope I can be for you one 100th of what you’ve meant to me this year. Best wishes for 2009 to each and every one of you.

The Giving of Gifts

2008-12-16T12:49:00.003-06:00

Last weekend, I went Christmas shopping. I was searching for a few specific things for my family members, keeping Christmas modest and light this year, in view of the economy and other factors that have made this year a little challenging for all of us. I had a list, and (since I love lists and the feeling of checking things OFF my lists), I was sticking to that list like a soldier in battle—trying to get in and out of stores quickly and painlessly, finding what I needed and then planning a quick exit strategy. My plan was to buy what I needed, speed home, get things wrapped, and be done with it.

Sound like a beautiful and meaningful holiday season to you?

My plans were derailed by the fact that I went shopping with my friend Aaron. Aaron is NOT a list-maker, and, even though he made a list in an attempt to make me feel better about the afternoon, he didn’t really follow it. We went from store to store as his excitement for the season and for the gifts he was buying for his loved ones grew. He got more and more ecstatic about his goods with each purchase. You could see him imagining his loved ones opening presents in total surprise as he placed items in his cart.

I think I need to rethink the giving of gifts this season.

Sometimes I can be a bit of a humbug about Christmas—I am not one to keep much “stuff” around, and the things that I need or want I tend to just go out and get myself, so when it comes to Christmas, and someone asks what I would like, I can’t come up with anything. I don’t think that’s necessarily bad—I love holidays for the time spent with family and friends, relaxing, laughing, playing, and eating good food. THAT is as much of a present as anything I could think to ask for, so again, it’s hard to make a wish list.

On the other hand, I do like giving presents. I am hard on myself sometimes about finding the PERFECT present—that one thing that will make my sister giggle, or my brother-in-law’s eyes light up, or my mother to gasp “how did you know!” It gets MUCH harder to do this as people get older and more established in their lives, and really requires a lot of planning (not something I give myself much time to do). And it has come to my attention that other people love to give gifts, too.

Duh, Kate, you might be thinking to yourself. You’re not the only one who enjoys giving more than receiving. In fact I would venture to say that MOST people I know would much rather watch others open the gifts they give than open something themselves. But that means that we, as givers, also have to be responsible receivers, and learn how to take something with gratitude and humbleness, whether it is a compliment or a Christmas sweater.

Gretchen from The Happiness Project posted a link today to an article from The New York Times about the potlatch—a ceremonial tradition of giving to excess in some native American tribes. The article talks about what we can learn in today’s economy from giving, rather than cutting back, and what it means to be a giver, rather than focusing on receiving.

I hope to practice gift-giving with some measure of abandon this season—even if my gifts aren’t wrapped, but rather spoken, or sung, or practiced. Enjoy the potlatch!

Musings on a Teacher and Friend

2008-12-12T14:42:00.002-06:00

In an earlier post, I mentioned my photography class at William Jewell College. My teacher was this amazing woman, and one of the reasons I loved the class and took a second semester of photography was that she taught me so much—not only about photography, but about life in general.

We had a lot in common—we were both from conservative Midwestern households, where our parents had been married for years and years, and we were raised in the church (both of us Methodist, I do believe). Both of us had gotten a little wild in college, and one of the first things I shared with the class was my tattoo—I did a self-portrait of my back, focusing mostly on the tattoo, because it had become something that defined me in multiple ways. My mother HATED that tattoo (and probably still does), and we had a bit of a falling out over it as I entered my second year of college.

My photography teacher assigned us a project over Thanksgiving break that fall—kind of a documentary-style photo essay, and I was having a hard time coming up with a subject. My teacher sat down with me and said, “What about doing your essay on your mom?” She said she understood the dynamic we had at the time, and thought it would make for an interesting story—and she was right. Those photos were fascinating to take—I followed my mom to work, to family gatherings, and around the house, and it gave me an interesting perspective on her, even though we were sometimes at odds. It allowed me to see her from a less emotional angle, and to consider her point of view a little more—my teacher’s suggestion was an excellent idea.

Later on that year, as I tried to decide whether travelling overseas for school was something I wanted to do, and where I should go, and what I should study, I talked to my photography teacher about her experience studying overseas, and I decided to go where she went—to Oxford, England—and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

I babysat for my teacher’s kids—two gorgeous girls that were anything but a job! The girls loved to play games they made up, and we would spend hours running around the house playing variations of tag—some blindfolded, some with hilarious rules. We watched the Disney channel, made cookies, and had to shut up the chickens in the chicken coop in the evening—something I had NEVER done before I met them. They would remind me when it was getting close to bed time, and they would run upstairs and change into pajamas and brush their teeth and ask me to tell them stories about myself as a kid before they went to sleep. It was the most fun babysitting job I’ve ever had.

My photography teacher eventually quit teaching at William Jewell, and got THE BEST JOB EVER—restaurant critic for the Kansas City Star. When I would come over to babysit (at this point, as a young adult with a regular job), she would insist on paying me, and when I said no to money, she would pay me in cookbooks, or bottles of wine, or fabulous desserts from the restaurants she reviewed. She took me to my very first meal of sushi, and ordered one of everything on the menu at Kona Grill. She took me to other restaurants, and asked my opinion of the meals, and insisted that everyone order something different so we could taste each other’s dishes. Once I saw her out to eat at a fancy restaurant, and she sent over appetizers and drinks to our whole table.

It has been awhile since I spoke to my teacher, turned friend and inspiration. Lauren Chapin passed away this week, and I’m sorry that I hadn’t seen her or spoken to her in so long. I’m devastated for her beautiful girls, now 16 and 14, and for her husband, who is as passionate about music as Lauren was about food. I envied their family—their freedom to learn and to love and to try things that other people might find strange (do you know very many elementary school children who like Indian food and tzatziki?). I wanted to BE part of their family, and spending Friday and Saturday evenings at their house was like a vacation to an imaginary, fabulous life. One of the best parts was waiting for Lauren to get home after her dinner, so that I could hear about the food, and the people, and tell her things I talked to her girls about while she was out to eat.

Lauren was joyous, and an amazing listener, and a great friend. She helped me to learn who I was, and I still draw inspiration from the way she lived her life. I owe her a thanks that I probably never shared—I hope she knew how much she meant to me. Rest in peace, Lauren.

Yes, I love technology...

2008-12-10T13:30:00.002-06:00

I’m not an incredibly technical person, or at least until recently I have never thought of myself as such. I work at a software company, and over the course of my six years there, I have definitely learned a lot about computers—by trial and error, by reading help files and other user documentation, and by asking questions that may or may not make me look stupid to the people who know the answers.

I LOVE technology. I love my cell phone, and can’t live without it. If I leave it at home on a run to the grocery store, I feel like I have to go home and get it. I love my computer, and even though I work on it all day, I go home and turn it on again, so I can surf the web or watch t.v. online. I love writing a blog, and reading the blogs of friends and strangers. I would feel lost without the ability to search for something at the drop of a hat. I even love the fact that “Google” has become a commonly used verb in our vernacular (even though usually I am a stickler for correct grammar).

Since I joined Facebook, I’ve seen a change in my relationships with both people I haven’t spoken to in years, and people I see every day. People I’ve met once or twice are more quickly engrained into my social circle, and people I haven’t thought about for years have become good friends again. Even the relationships with people I see or talk to every day have an added dynamic—reading people’s status updates, and seeing the comments and messages other people leave for them opens a window into someone’s life that you would most likely never experience—all with the dialog on the wide, wide, world of web.

At work, I learn something new every day about the capabilities of the personal computer, or some new way to technologically organize your life (check out Life Hacker for ways you never imagined using technology to simplify your existence). I’ve learned things about programming languages, and databases, and increasing usability in interface design. Do I sound like a nerd? I prefer email over letters or cards, text messages over phone calls, instant messaging over getting up and walking down the hall to talk to someone.

Being a nerd used to be a bad thing (remember all those teen movies where the nerd is transformed into a cool kid?) but these days, nerds are in high demand. Having the best and most up-to-date gadgets makes you more desirable, not less. Knowing how to fix a boot loop in your home PC, or how to write in HTML makes you marketable (both in the working world AND in your personal life).

I watched these videos the other day at the request of a friend, and I wasn’t sorry. The first is a short video about what Web 2.0 is, and the second (and much longer) is a presentation by a professor from K-State, who is studying the anthropology of this brave new world being created by Web 2.0. It’s a new term to me. It means that the internet is no longer just a viewer for information someone else has placed online—it’s a community, a culture, an interactive, necessary experience.

I want everyone I know to be my friend on Facebook. Sure it’s no substitute for actual human interaction, but I wouldn’t say it is LESS important…adding that dynamic of virtual interaction has made my relationships more interesting. I’m working on getting my parents to join up…we’ll see if they do.

So I’m not as technologically savvy as most of the people I know here at work, and I don’t claim to know much of anything about all this new stuff, but it excites and intrigues me, so I want you to feel that way, too. Let me know what you think about the videos.

Memories

2008-12-01T21:58:00.004-06:00

I've been going through boxes of my "memories." My mom kept a big steamer trunk that she put my things in--photos, programs from plays I was in, books I wrote, diaries from 3rd grade on, and cards I made (mostly for mom). It's a big trunk, and heavy. I thought it was a lot of stuff.

As I looked through it, and those artifacts jogged my memories, I started realizing how many moments of my life AREN'T documented. I also realized how much I need things, or pictures, to help me remember the things I've done, the places I've been, and the people I know. My recall isn't very good--friends are always reminding me of things we've done together, and as they talk the memories start to come back, but before those conversations, I can't remember a thing.

One of my favorite radio shows, Radio Lab from WNYC (a public radio station in New York), did an episode about memory. One of the things they talked about in this episode was how memory works. As you pull back a memory from the database in your head, you apply the rest of your life experiences to the situation, and add details, and fill in blanks, without really realizing that you're doing it. You change the memory and remember it slightly differently than it actually happened. The truest memory is the one that stays locked in your brain forever, that you don't ever access...but then it's worthless, right?

I can remember tiny snitches of things that I don't have pictures of--standing at the top of the stairs that went down to the basement in my grandparent's house in Springfield, making my sister laugh uncontrollably in the backyard as I chased her on the swing, riding my bike so fast my hair streamed out behind me down the streets in Monett, MO. They're more like pictures than concrete memories, and I remember more feelings than conversations or events.

Now we have digital cameras and cell phones that can capture every moment. We can blog our thoughts and keep records of every daily event, not just like a diary, but in a computer database, with search capabilities. We can post videos online and track who watches them.

Part of my problem with keeping the things that jog my memory is that I hate clutter. I want to get rid of things, to purge my life of everything I don't need at the moment. I'm usually sorry about it later.

So, I know it isn't time for New Year's resolutions just yet...but I think that's going to be mine for 2009--to document my life more completely. Since I can do it digitally, I hope to be able to avoid my fear of the clutter taking over my life. Maybe I can also work on my recall...memory game suggestions, anyone?

Election Day 2008

2008-11-11T17:57:00.002-06:00

It has been a whole week since our country elected a new president.

I’ve been rolling this blog post around in my brain for a week, trying to capture what I have been feeling and thinking about this subject, in addition to sharing a little of my experiences over the past weeks and months during this presidential campaign. I’m glad I didn’t post right away on Tuesday or Wednesday, or even later in the week, because a lot has happened since then, both in the national and local media and in my social circles.

Many of you know I have never been very interested in politics. As many people have said lately, talking about religion or politics can be a sticky subject. I usually reserve those conversations for people whom I know agree with me, or with whom I know I can have a safe discussion, where no tempers flare and no feelings are hurt. I don’t like angry arguments about religion OR politics, because I don’t think a shouting match ever changed someone’s mind about how he feels about anything, much less either of these controversial topics.

As I have mentioned before, I remember getting annoyed with my roommates as we watched the results for the 2000 election in our living room on Morse street in Liberty. It was two against one in favor of the republican side in our house (with me abstaining from caring at all). There were lots of shouting matches, and hurt feelings galore. I tended to leave the house when the news was on, and the night of the election I stayed far away. I don’t even think I voted in that election. I just didn’t care.

I voted in 2004, but again, I didn’t have a whole lot of passion for the election. I voted because I felt it was my civic duty, and because I didn’t really agree with the turns the war in Iraq had taken, but it was a very passive interest, and after the election was over I didn’t feel much besides relief that political ads wouldn’t be interrupting my favorite t.v. shows, and that we’d have a lot less junk mail to recycle.

So why was this election different for me? I’m older, obviously, than I was four or eight years ago, and with age comes a tiny smattering of wisdom, or at least exposure to things like taxes and social issues and healthcare and the like. The longer I’m on the planet, the more I’m exposed to the things I vaguely remember my parents having serious conversations about when I was a child, and I have become the person responsible for dealing with those issues.

In addition to my becoming a little bit more of a grown-up, there were so many issues at stake during this election that I and most people I know couldn’t help sitting up a little bit straighter and paying attention. The war, the economy, healthcare, the environment, and our relationship as a country with the rest of the world. No matter what side of the political line you fall on, these things affect you, and you probably have opinions about what should be done about them. The whole country is struggling with debt and housing prices and job availability. The whole country is worried about our troops overseas and this war that is different from any other confrontation we’ve been involved with. The whole country is paying higher premiums for health insurance, and most people I know are having to work a little harder to make ends meet. The whole country is affected by the state of our environment, whether by gas prices or leaving the country a passable place for our children to live in.

Through the course of this election season, I became a political news junkie. I started reading blogs and watching web sites for political updates. I started watching television shows that I never thought I’d be interested in. I can name political correspondents and pundits, on the left and the right. I started having political discussions at work and at play, with people whom I knew disagreed with me, and with people about whose political affiliations I wasn’t quite sure.

I was pleased to learn that many people I talked to, while we may have been on different sides of the fence, wanted to have an energetic but friendly conversation about politics. I’m glad that I have friends that lean towards both ends of the spectrum, and that I know so many people who can speak intelligently about their beliefs. I’m proud of the fact that I could participate a little, and sometimes even sounded like I knew what I was talking about.

I got so involved in this election that I put up a campaign sign at my house, and I put a bumper sticker on my car. I wore a pin to show support for the candidate I believed in. Sometimes I would look in the mirror and wonder where this enthusiasm came from—when did I become someone who cares about politics? It seems to have snuck up on me.

The day of the election, I took off work, and went to the Obama campaign office in downtown Kansas City to see what I could do to help. Me, Ms. Apathetic, Ms. Avoider-of-Confrontation. I signed up to knock on people’s doors for the candidate I supported. Two friends and I ended up in Lee’s Summit, working to get out the vote for Obama-Biden. I don’t think we changed anyone’s minds, but I felt empowered and energized—the weather was great that day, and the people we talked to were friendly and excited about having their vote counted that day.

I think this is the first time on my blog that I’ve mentioned who I voted for this year. Towards the end of the election, I posted a few notes on my Facebook page about it. I watched all the debates, read both candidate’s web sites, and followed all the news stories about the campaign. I felt informed. Probably for the first time in my political life.

On Tuesday night after the election, I went to a watch party at Flying Saucer in Kansas City’s new Power & Light district. It was an unofficial Obama volunteers party, and I don’t know how the word even got out, but the place was as packed as I’ve ever seen it, filled with supporters of the Obama campaign. Everyone was excited. We watched the results come in. Some people booed when a state would post a majority for McCain, but for the most part the energy was positive.

When the west coast polls were getting ready to close, the whole place counted down the seconds like it was New Year’s eve, and when CNN declared Obama the winner, the room exploded. People were jumping on furniture, cheering and clapping, gasping, and even crying. Complete strangers hugged each other, and high-fived, and everyone was smiling ear-to-ear. The joy was infectious, and everyone was in awe.

The rest of the evening, through McCain’s speech and then Obama’s, there wasn’t a boo or a sneer or a smug statement to be heard in the place. Everyone listened with rapt attention as both candidates spoke, and there was a sense of wonder over the whole crowd. While Obama spoke, I had the opportunity to stand behind two well-dressed young African American men, who kept looking at each other and around the room with a glint in their eyes, and you could tell that they thought that anything was possible at that moment, as did everyone else in the room. I left that evening with a glowing heart.

The rest of the week brought a flurry of mixed emotions. Some were not so great. It’s hard to tell what I would have felt like if my candidate didn’t win—one can never know what happens on the road not taken. I read and heard things from friends, acquaintances, and co-workers that were negative, and in some cases almost hateful, from one person at the office. Because politics affects people at their core, and the decision for whom to vote was so much mixed with people’s sense of self and deeply held values, I understand where it came from. Like I said, if the results had gone the other direction, I may have felt the same way.

One thing I think Barack Obama did well in this election was appeal to people’s sense of the greater good. He spoke a lot about unity, and about coming together across the divide in our country, which in some places is very wide and very deep. John McCain spoke about it, too, and as my dad said to me the other day, both men have the best interests of our country at heart, and truly want to make the United States a better place for the whole of the nation. My dad and I agreed that there wasn’t one thing that either candidate did or said that made us feel this way—more of an intangible feeling we both got about these two men, who are great leaders and great Americans. While they may have gone about changing our country in different ways, I believe they both wanted sincerely to change it for the better.

After I expressed my dismay about some of the things I heard to my friend Red, she sent me a link to a clip from The View. Normally, I hate this show. Hearing those women talking over each other in progressively louder and more obnoxious tones grates on my nerves—or maybe it reminds me too much of myself and my friends, trying to talk over each other to get our own stories heard, rather than really actively listening to each other. Anyway, this clip was great, and encompassed just what I had been feeling. Elisabeth Hasslebeck, who went out on the campaign trail with the McCain-Palin camp, and who is obviously a republican, phrased well what I hope for our country: that we can come together in the midst of all these troubles we are trying to work through, and work on it together. That we can stop the bickering and divisiveness and work to make our country a better place. Yes, this nation of ours has its flaws, but really, aren’t we living in a place of great opportunity? Sherri Shepherd touched on this as she talked about watching the election results with her young son. She had been undecided up until the last, and even declined to mention who she finally voted for, but I liked what she said about the momentous feeling of the occasion.

I know this has turned into a long blog post…I have had lots of thoughts in my head in the past week. What I hope for our country is that we can work together. I think it is amazing that we live in a place where our votes can be counted, each and every one. That we can support who we want, and that we can speak out for and against both candidates and issues. We are so lucky to live in a place where dissention is not only allowed, but encouraged. Where political and religious freedom are rights that all Americans hold, and that we can all express our beliefs freely. I don’t hold any false ideas that all people are treated equally in this country…there are still places where race is an issue, or religious beliefs are sneered at, or people’s rights are being infringed upon because of their sexual orientation. There are still deep chasms that need to be mended before we’ll all truly be equal.

I’m proud of all of my friends and family who made sure they voted, whomever they supported, whatever issues they voted yes or no to on their ballots, because it is a privilege to live in a place where we can do such a thing. If we can come together, if we can treat each other as we want to be treated, we’ll really be getting somewhere. I heard a great story on NPR—young people, most who weren’t even old enough to vote yet, talking about the future of our country and their hands in making it great. I’ll leave you with that. Thanks for reading the longest post ever!

A President Kids Can Look Up To

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T15:13:00.003-05:00

Every once in a while, it is fun to pretend you are someone else. That is why I think Halloween is so great—not because I care about either the Pagan or Christian ideals it celebrates or protests. An acquaintance of mine on good ol’ Facebook posted this week that she would never let her children dress up for Halloween, not ever. She doesn’t believe in celebrating a Pagan holiday that glorifies blood and guts. I say she’s missed the spirit of the thing.

Pretending to be someone else, or something else, if only just for an evening, is an excellent way to explore another side of your personality. It can make you feel interesting, or brave, or more serious, or less constricted. It can allow you to see what it’s like to alter your personality, without a firm commitment to change.

I read a great article in The Atlantic this week about the idea that everyone has multiple personalities, conflicting for control, rather than one distinct self. I often feel this way—that there is more than one “me” in my body, or mind, or wherever what you would call the soul resides. I have attributed it before to being a Gemini—two persons in one mind. Allowing oneself to give over control to one of those other personalities for the evening is what makes Halloween so interesting to me.

By the way, if you’re looking for a costume, or you need a specific accessory to go WITH your costume, at any time of the year, you should check out Dottie Mae’s Costumes in Kansas City. I borrowed some angel wings from a friend at work, but I needed a halo to complete my outfit (see picture in this post!). I found just what I needed at Dottie Mae’s (plus a reason to have MULTIPLE costume parties in the near future, there were so many great options).

Empathy

2008-10-30T23:34:00.003-05:00

As this emotion-fraught election season draws to a close, tempers are flaring and metaphorical, hate-filled punches are being thrown by both sides of the electorate. I’m really more of a story-teller, rather than a political blogger, and I don’t intend to start spouting my political views here. I know some of you are thinking back to the Kate you knew in 2000, and remembering how annoyed I was at any mention of the election, and my roommates for fixating upon it and having knock-down, drag-outs about who should have won and how the votes were counted. Kate hates politics, you are saying to yourselves.

Well, I’ve grown up a bit since then. I don’t know if that is what has made me care about the state of the union this year—I’m getting older, and I can see how it matters. Some of it is the candidates themselves—how exciting to see a black man and a woman both on tickets this year. Some of it is the need for a new direction in our country, and that feeling that ANYTHING has to be better than this. Regardless, politics seems to permeate almost every discussion I overhear in the hallways at work, as well as the conversations I participate in.

I’ve always had a fascination with how people’s brains function. I spend a lot of time pondering why the people I know think the way they do. I try to diagnose the neuroses of my friends and family and acquaintances and co-workers. I'm always convinced there must be some psychological reason that people do the things they do. I had a boss, who will remain nameless (but my friend Red and I called him The Powser--our slang for a poser on a power trip), of whom I could never make up my mind whether he was actually crazy, or if he knew what he was doing was wrong most of the time, but was sure he could convince the rest of us that he was right. Either way, he was nuts.

As I watch the political ads and the interviews with pundits and listen to editorials on both sides of this election, I am struck by the fact that both sets of people have a stock set of lines to deliver. I know these things are what unites us with those on our side, but yesterday I heard some of those stock lines delivered by a co-worker. She said it like she thought it up alone, like she was the first person to say it. That made me realize that it isn't just a line she's spewing--it is a belief.

This particular person is on the republican side of the aisle, and what she said was that she didn't want any more of her money going to taxes to pay for things like welfare, which is just a handout anyway, because people just take that money and then don't get jobs or anything, just take advantage of the rest of us hard workers.

It struck me that she was completely lacking in empathy for this imaginary group of people who are taking the tax dollars and using them as "handouts." That she couldn't put herself in the shoes of someone who needed help, and the government was the only one there with a hand to lend in tough times.

I know that there are people who take advantage of the system. That's true of any system. But for each of those people, isn't it possible that there is someone who is really helped by programs like welfare? Isn't it possible there is at least one good, well-meaning individual, who is just down on his luck? Don't you want to believe that there is good in the world, and that it manifests itself in different ways?

One of my favorite bloggers posted a theoretical question on her web site, asking whether you would give money to a family in need if you were also required to give a very bad person the same amount of money?

My answer to this question is yes. I can't imagine being turned away from help because I couldn't fill out all the forms or navigate the legal system. If you don't have empathy, I think it's hard to be a liberal, or at least someone that leans to the left. At least that is how it looks from here. I'm thankful for my empathy, even though it sometimes makes me a little nuts, myself. If people were more concerned with self-sacrifice than with self-preservation, we wouldn't be in this mess.

How do you see it? Do you think one side is more compassionate, more empathetic than the other? Does it influence how you vote? Let me know! I have a research theory idea in my head and I need some feedback.

Living With Intention

2008-10-27T22:56:00.005-05:00

Last week at yoga, Gina, my favorite yoga teacher at Kansas Siddhi Yoga, talked to us about living our lives with intention. While living a yogic lifestyle encourages you to experience each moment without worrying about rushing to the conclusion (a principle I have written about before), we also shouldn’t just float through life without making purposeful decisions.

In yoga, this means purposefully choosing our next pose, and fully committing to it. As Gina said, if you’re just going to do something half-assed, you might as well not do it at all (sage advice from her mother on laundry folding as a child). As we worked, Gina asked us to keep in mind our purpose for coming to class that evening, and to focus on that purpose as our intention for practicing yoga for the hour.

I think I do a lot of things without a clear intention in mind. Probably most things, in fact. It is much harder to move through your day with intention, even if you do less things in the day, than it is to move through your day without really thinking about what your purpose is for each step. I go shopping without a clear purpose of what I’m looking for. I walk to the cafeteria at work feeling hungry, but without any idea what I’d like to eat. I wake up in the morning and move through the motions without giving myself a specified time for leaving the house. I sit down at my computer without a list of tasks that need to be completed for the day.

It is clear to me that doing each of these things with some sort of intention or purpose would make me more productive and less wasteful. But I think Gina was talking more about a higher purpose, and a deeper intention, spanning across the whole of our lives. A friend of mine told me this week that I seem to do a lot of thinking about my past decisions, and who I am now and how I got here, but I don't spend much time looking forward. That’s definitely true, and it made me think—I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about where I am going, and who I want to become, and what things I’d like to accomplish.

It can be easy to get bogged down in the past, and I especially like to rehash things in my head and try to determine the root cause of my issues, and of other people’s issues. My challenge for myself in the near future is to turn my thoughts the other direction, and look forward with a goal in mind, or a set of goals.

What do I want to do with my life? Who do I want to be? I feel like it’s almost a physical task to grip the sides of the tub of my thoughts and rotate it around 180 degrees. It feels like it will be sloshy and messy. I can tell it will be physically exhausting to redirect my thinking. I’m still unsure of how to begin…maybe it is with small steps.

My friend G is an excellent blogger, and she keeps a running list of her goals. I admire her stamina, and how she speaks plainly about her progress. I am also jealous of her lists, so I think I may start a list of goals, and try to develop some idea of how to head in a forwardly direction. My life goals...it sounds so broad and so...I don't know...self-helpy. I don't know if I'll be brave enough to publish them here (what if I don't succeed???), but there is at least a place to start. Wish me luck.

Rainy Days

2008-10-15T22:26:00.005-05:00

In college, I took a couple of photography classes, because I love art, but can’t seem to get drawings or paintings to come out on paper like they are in my head. Photography always seemed like something that I could manage—I could come up with a creative idea, capture it, and it would actually manifest like I saw in my head. Not that I’m that great at it—I still luck into shots with my fancy new camera, but I’m learning.

The best part about my photography class in college was the mediocre dark room we had to work with. The equipment was ancient and cumbersome—the enlargers frequently fell off their hinges and wouldn’t adjust right, the sink didn’t drain properly, and there was little to no ventilation for the harmful processing chemicals. I loved that room. It was in the basement of the admissions building, in a corner of the art room. Totally underground, so at least the quality of the darkness was superb, if nothing else worked well.

In class, we spent our time crafting shots and working with different types of film and learning about lighting and angles and concepts. That meant that after hours was the time we had to spend in the darkroom, because there was no time for that in class. We had passes for the building that would allow us to call the security officers at any hour and they would let us in to use the darkroom.

I took this class very seriously. I had nothing to do with my major, and I didn’t even think I’d end up as a professional photographer, but it was such a great release for my creative energy, and so fun, that I used it to get away from my other studies, and to decompress.

If you’ve never manually processed film, I probably won’t be able to explain it to you very well, but here is a typical evening in the darkroom:

First, you have to develop the film itself. This step has to be done in complete darkness, or you’ll overexpose the pictures you’ve already taken. You take your little canister of film into a separate part of the darkroom, where there is absolutely no light. You crack open the canister, because when your film rewinds it gets pulled completely back into the canister. Then you wind the film onto a little stainless reel that holds the film away from itself, so that the chemicals can get completely in between each frame. You drop the reel into a stainless steel cup with a lid (kind of like a martini shaker) filled with developing chemicals and shake gently to get the chemicals to develop the film (there is a time amount involved here…I can’t remember how long it takes). When you’re finished, you dump the chemicals out and rinse the film with water to stop the development process. Oh, and this entire step is done in COMPLETE DARKNESS, so you get to practice being a blind person AND handling dangerous chemicals at the same time!

Second, you select your pictures from the negatives. This step is done out in the light, usually on a light table with a magnifier in your eye so you can see the tiny negative images. We would cut our negatives into strips to fit them into a contact sheet and circle the ones we liked with a wax pencil. I love those pencils, where you peel off the layers one by one, and your writing looks like a child’s, with the fat wax tip smashing into the plastic of the contact sheet.

Third (and this is my favorite part), you process your negatives into photographs. Using an enlarger, you project light through your negative onto a piece of unexposed photo paper. An enlarger looks kind of like a giant, clunky microscope, with a light switch. The amount of time you send light through the negative onto the paper determines the exposure of the print, but when you turn the light off, the paper still looks white, so you can’t see what it looks like until you dunk it into the processor. Our processing table was a really crudely built table with high sides, and there were plastic trays for holding the chemicals, about the size of an 8 x 12 piece of photo paper. You slide the photo into the processor and swish it around with some tongs, and the picture appears before your eyes. When it looks like you want it to, you pull the paper out of that tray and slide it into another tray filled with a chemical that stops the processing. At the end of the processing table is a sink with a trickle of running water that swirls around and drains, so that there is always clean water to wash all the chemicals off the paper.

The darkroom is lit with red lights, as to avoid exposing your paper before you get the enlarger over it. The wash sink has a slow trickle of water to continually clean the processed paper. I was usually there alone, late at night. There was an old tape player in the darkroom, and being obsessed with music and mood as I am, I made myself a mix tape to listen to as I worked. All the songs were quiet and soulful, and I can't remember very many things more peaceful than working in that room. It made me feel creative and centered, and let me be quiet and focused. I can't remember all the songs on that tape, and I lost it, or left it in someone's car.

Today I am listening to my Songs for a Rainy Day playlist, which puts me in a similar mood (though sitting at my computer working doesn't give me quite the same feeling as the old darkroom). Here are the tracks, in case you're interested:

"Rain All Day," Fleming and John
"Can You Stand the Rain," Boys II Men
"Raining in Baltimore," Counting Crows
"On the Sea," Vertical Horizon
"Fire and Rain," James Taylor
"What Have They Done to the Rain," Marianne Faithful
"Only When the Rain Slips In," Scarlet Road
"Why Does it Always Rain on Me," Travis
"London Rain," Heather Nova
"It's Not Raining," Emily Richards
"Oblivion," Fiona Apple
"Raining on the Sky," Naked
"You Were Meant for Me," Jewel
"Raindrops + Sunshine," Smashing Pumpkins
"The Rain Song," Continental Drifters
"Crying in the Rain," A-Ha
"Summer Rain," Emotional

Religion vs. Faith

2008-10-13T23:10:00.005-05:00

Recently I went to a movie. Some of you are gasping right now--Kate went to a movie?

I know. I generally have a hard time sitting still for as long as a movie takes to finish--they just aren't that good, and I get annoyed by the fact that it cost 10 dollars and that the snacks were so expensive I didn't get any even though I wanted to. And there are kids not old enough to be hanging around alone all just hanging around, being silly, doing all the things their parents ask them not to. And the parking is ridiculous, and the traffic, and the waiting in line. And then I have to sit in one position until it is over, and it's usually too loud...geez I sound like a whiner.

The movie I went to see was a) at the Tivoli, which is a small theater that usually plays documentaries and independent films (which consequently means no silly teenagers), b) with a very good friend, and c) an excellent movie. It was a documentary by Bill Maher, called Religulous. And I loved it.

Bill is an atheist, and a smart-ass, so it isn't surprising that the movie was brusque and witty. There were some excellent points, some people who made themselves look like idiots, and a little big of fear-mongering at the end, but I liked it still.

What I thought was most interesting was that many of the people Bill spoke to (and he didn't stop on Christianity--besides speaking to evangelicals and Catholics, he spoke to Mormons and Muslims and Jews, and scientists of all sorts, and creationists and evolutionists, and both crazy and sane individuals) couldn't speak to why they believed whatever it was they believed.

Oh, there were plenty of scholars, who were well-versed in their subjects, and they could answer most of his questions with thought-provoking answers, but many of the people (even some of those intellectuals) couldn't say for certain why they had faith.

That intrigued me. I can't say for certain what I believe--I grew up in a Christian home and that is what I know most about, but at the moment, my yoga practice and my Sunday morning knitting sessions are the things that speak to my soul most, like I would like a religion to do, but I can't find one that espouses the beliefs I hold. I would like to think, though, if I did firmly believe in one specific doctrine, that I could at least hold up to hard questions, and answer truthfully and intelligently, but maybe that wouldn't be true.

Many of the people Bill interviewed got defensive, and didn't want to hear questions. I know a lot of people like that, who are offended by questions about their faith. If you can't listen and answer questions, and handle opposition with at least a little strength, then was your faith all that strong to begin with?

A number of the interviewees also made statements that I know weren't true. For example, one minister interviewed about the $2000 suits he wears, and all this gold jewelry, and he said to Bill: "The Bible doesn't have anything against being rich!" While Bill played a clip from some movie with a Jesus character reciting Matthew 19:24: It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. It was amazing to watch a man that so many people follow seem to turn the words to what suited him best.

I know people are just people, but probably one of my biggest turn-offs with Christianity is that so many Christians, leaders and followers alike, seem to go directly against the beliefs they say they hold. I just want someone who is in a position of authority in the church to be honest and open, admit when they don't know the answer, and allow me to come to my own conclusions, and then not hate me when they are different conclusions than the church would have liked.

Religion is a hard topic--worse than politics. People's faith is so rooted next to their being that most don't want to hear dissension...it eats at their core, or their soul, and that is hard to handle.

I recommend the movie--if you're not easily offended by Bill Maher confronting beliefs that you may or may not hold dear. I'm still searching, so he didn't bother me in the slightest (and of course, he is a funny guy). If you see it, let me know what you think.

On Being a Grownup

2008-10-10T23:27:00.004-05:00

I'm almost 30.

Yikes.

I remember when 30 seemed so old. In fact, I remember when the high school kids at church seemed old. My parents hosted the youth group at our house a few times when I was little, and I thought the older kids were so cool. Their coolness felt distant, unattainable. They had such cool clothes, and good hair, and they all seemed so at ease. I figured that when I was in high school, I would seem just as stylish and saavy.

When I was a freshman in high school, I definitely didn't feel cool. We moved from out of state just a few weeks before school started, and let me tell you--starting high school without a single friend in the world was possibly one of the most frightening things I have ever done. At the end of orchestra class (sidenote: being in orchestra probably did not help my coolness factor much), I stood up and shouted, "Does anyone have third lunch period?"

The room got silent. Most of you reading this probably did not know me in junior high, but for me to stand up and expose my soul to the room like that was like a death-defying stunt. I wasn't always as outgoing and attention-seeking as I am now.

One girl, with VERY blond hair and braces, admitted to having the same lunch period as I did, so I arranged to meet her before we got our food. Her name is Amanda Rostine, and she saved my life that day, and she probably didn't even think it was that big of a deal. She turned out to be one of the coolest people I knew at both high school and college. But I digress.

As a freshman, I thought the seniors were cool, and sophisticated. I was sure that as I neared the 12th grade that I would grow into myself and begin to feel more confident, but that didn't happen. In college I felt the same way, but never really managed to feel old enough to BE one of those sophisticated, well put-together students that I was always aspiring to be.

After I graduated, I started work, and still always felt young and silly, which was multiplied by the fact that I was the newest, youngest, female member of a team of mostly older, male software engineers. My defense was (and still is) to act silly and giggly when I speak to people that are more confident or knowledgeable about something than I am, and it makes me look less intelligent than I know I am. It's a bad habit.

Recently, though, and maybe because I'm about to hit the big 3-0, I have started to feel more like myself, and less like there is anywhere for me to go to become part of that higher, cooler, more sophisticated crowd. I almost feel like I'm there, but I can't believe it took me this many years--maybe that's why it is hard to believe that 30 is just around the corner.

Now, rather than wishing I looked or felt or knew how to act older, I relish the moments when people think I'm younger than I am. Buying beer at the grocery store in my running clothes and a ponytail, drinking with friends at a bar this week, meeting someone new...when people guess me to be younger than I am I light up and beam from within.

Why is it that we spend our childhood longing to be older, and our adulthood wishing for days gone by? I don't know if it is possible to teach someone NOT to think this way, but I think if I have children, I'll try harder than just saying "When I was your age...". I think I'll teach my children to pause in each moment so they really feel, really experience everything. And I think I'll teach them yoga so they know how to focus and just be. I wish I had known how to turn my mind's eye inward when I was little...maybe I wouldn't look back so wistfully if that were the case.

Never Settle

2008-10-08T22:16:00.002-05:00

When I was sophomore in college, a good friend of mine gave me an amazing piece of advice--one that I haven't followed as well as I would have liked. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, so I've decided I need to add it as one of my happiness commandments.

Never settle.

What my friend said to me was this: "Kate, promise me, if you are ever unhappy, at any point in your life, promise me, promise, that you'll do anything in your power to change your situation."

I wonder a lot about the people around me--do I see the world differently than other people, or are we all just afraid to really talk about what we think and feel? Sometimes I get obsessed about this feeling that there just has to be something more to life, and I wonder what's wrong with me that I can't just accept how things are and move along with the current.

I don't mean to say that people who are completely satisfied with their lives as they are today are missing anything; on the contrary, I wonder what is missing in me that I can't be satisfied with my life as it is right now. My job is stressful, and not the most fulfilling thing--I always imagined myself doing something much more creative and free-thinking. I don't feel like I take enough time to do the things I love (sometimes because of my job, but sometimes because of the number of things I have to do at home, or pure laziness). There never seem to be enough hours in the day or days in the week (well, really enough days in the weekEND).

I tried to express these feelings to someone yesterday at lunch, and I couldn't put it into words. That elusive "more" always seems to be floating just out of my view, and when I turn my head, it's gone.

As I think more and more about this new commandment, I think that it isn't so bad to feel the need to avoid settling for something--whether it is in a job, in my personal hobbies, or in my relationships with friends and family. If I can avoid settling for important things, I know I'll feel happier.

To that end, I think I have to be less worried about the approval of others (see yesterday's post for more information about that issue). Keeping myself from settling into something that isn't right for me might take actions that won't be popular. THAT is the scariest part.

Approval

2008-10-08T00:49:00.007-05:00

Since I was very small, I have loved to be a teacher's pet. I crave approval and attention, and I try my hardest to be the best, the smartest, the most adorable, just for that tiny taste of recognition from someone else.

My mom was our girl scout troop leader when I was eight, and I remember she told me that she wasn't going to give me any special privileges because I was her daughter--she planned to treat me like any other girl in the troop. Once when she asked us all a question, I raised my hand, excited to know the answer and excited to be called upon, but mom stood her ground, and let someone else answer the question. I remember feeling crushed--I knew the answer, and she KNEW that I knew it, and even though I remembered her saying that I was just one of the group, I still felt like she should have picked me.

In fifth grade I had a friend named Sarah, who was cool and popular and funny. I'm not sure why we were friends to begin with--I think her mother was our real estate agent when we moved to North Carolina when I was nine. One day, out on the playground, Sarah told me we were going to play a joke on another girl. We were going to wear our sleeves in a really weird way, and tell this girl it was the new style, so that every time she did it, we could laugh at how dumb she was.

I personally thought this was a ridiculous idea, and that the girl was way too smart to fall for something like that, but I went along with it. "DO NOT tell her this is just a joke," Sarah said to me. The charade went along--Sarah wheeling and dealing, trying to convince this girl she knew what was all the rage on the playground these days. The girl was having none of it, and finally said she didn't care and turned to walk away. Sarah watched her for a moment, then turned around and slapped me hard in the face.

I just stood there and looked at her, stunned. "Why did you DO that?" I said, hand to my stinging face.

"You were thinking about telling her the truth," Sarah said in a vicious voice. That was true--I just wanted the whole rouse to be over with so we could go and play. I didn't get mad, though--I stared at her, then we went back in to our class, and I forgave her and forgot about it.

I still search for approval, and I'm almost 30. I want my bosses to think I'm smart and a hard worker. I want my friends to think I'm funny. I want my family to think I make good choices. Sometimes I feel like I make wrong choices, simply because they are what someone expects of me.

Where does this need for approval come from? Obviously I can remember it as far back as girl scout troop meetings, early elementary school days. Is it bad to want approval, or praise? What if I didn't care what anyone thought--I think that would make me dispassionate and listless. As it is, I worry not only what people will think of me for every step I take, but I also worry that other people don't feel praised enough, so I dish it out like ice cream. I don't want to lose the ability to make people feel good about themselves--it makes ME feel good to smile at the people who think no one is watching, or to praise or compliment a friend in a very honest way. If I didn't care what people thought, would I have that same compassion?

I don't think craving approval is bad, unless it starts to interfere with your life. For some people it might seem easy to be truly honest and say what you think, and live your life with your own purpose, but for me, it's hard, and I still struggle with the balance between needing that approval and being self-sufficient and uncaring of the world's opinion.

Stuck in my head...

2008-09-09T00:12:00.004-05:00

Sitting in the bright white light of my computer screen, in the silent evening, all the lights off, writing about my deepest, darkest secrets, I am listening to my Sad Songs playlist on the iPod, wondering about where my thoughts should be landing, and what kind of dreams will come of my whirling brainstorms.

Sad songs, or at least what I call sad songs, speak to my soul, and I want to cry out and sing along at the top of my lungs. Sad song lyrics sit on my chest like an animal, weighing me down, making it hard to breathe. I love that feeling; I love wallowing in it and letting the pain in the singers' voices wash over me like a rain storm.

I don't know if most people listen to song lyrics the way I do--I need to know each word, and why it was chosen, and then I want to ruminate in all the words together and know how the songwriter was feeling as she wrote.

I don't remember the first song I memorized all the words to. I do remember spending several hours in high school at Jennifer Catt's house with my hand on the rewind button of a CD boom box, listening to Lisa Loeb and learning all the words to "Stay," and trying to sing it with the exact same inflection in my voice as she did. I broke the radio in my Pontiac Grand Am (making out with a boy in a parking lot) when Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill album was in the cassette player, and the tape played for months in a loop, until I could sing every word to every song, and had the entire tape memorized, including the amount of milliseconds between songs and the key change between tunes. I memorized all the words to the fast part of "Hook" by Blues Traveler so that I could recite it as a monologue on command (a skill I totally copied from my high school youth group director, because I thought both she and the idea of having a trademark monologue were beyond cool--let me know if you want to hear it; I did an improptu rehearsal the other day and didn't skip a beat).

When I hear a song I love, I want to know it, and to live it. I still spend my driving time in the car rewinding CDs to hear a line again, until I can imitate the whole thing, turns of phrase and breaths included. I imagine my life in a series of vignettes set to music, like a video on MTV. I always have a song stuck in my head, 24 hours a day. If you stop me in the hallway or on the street and ask what song is playing, I'll never let you down (go ahead: try it). Sometimes it is an advertising jingle, but there's always music playing in my inner ears.

I don't know what it is about music that hits right at my core--I know that I gravitate to artists with complex and meaningful lyrics, and that I prefer singers that I can imitate (so Christina Aguleira and Beyonce are usually not at the top of my list--both are talented singers, so much so that I can't compete, so I don't even try).

I heard an interesting story from WNYC's Radio Lab about people who hear music so loudly in their heads that it seems real. Thankfully I don't hear this music in my head THAT loudly, but I do think, if I had to have any kind of debilitating condition, I'd like to have this one.

I'll leave some lyrics from one of my favorite sad songs with you as the end of my post. If you have some sad songs you'd like to share, please let me know so I can add them to my playlist.

And oh, the fear I've known, that I might reap the praise of strangers and end up on my own. All I've sung was a song, but maybe I was wrong....

I am alone in a hotel room tonight. I squeeze the sky out, but there's not a star appears. Begin my studies with this paper and this pencil, and I'm working through the grammar of my fears. --Indigo Girls, "Language or the Kiss"

Patience

2008-08-21T22:15:00.011-05:00

I have just discovered that I am not a very patient person.

You might be saying to yourself, "Um, hello, you're just noticing?" or "How can you not know whether you are patient or not?" These are good questions.

As it turns out, I haven't ever really thought about it before. As I mentioned in Tuesday's post, I went to a great yoga class on Monday night, were I learned the word "kshama," which means patience, or being in the now. Since then I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, which is good--but it's made me realize just how impatient I am.

I hate waiting for someone to email me or text message me back. I want it to happen instantaneously. When I send someone an instant message, I want them to respond instantly. When I call someone on the phone, I want them to answer. I hate it when my friends don't update their blogs every day for me to read, even though I don't always update my own blog in a timely manner. Whether it is at work, or at home, I have been noticing that I'm irritated when I don't receive instant gratification.

I hate traffic, and red traffic signals, and even the drive home (it is just too long). I hate waiting for planes, or waiting for luggage to come around the carousel. I spend the week waiting for the weekend. And this week, I have been impatient for another yoga class! This sort of defeats the purpose of the pondering, doesn't it? If I am supposed to be trying to be patient, then I shouldn't be tapping my foot impatiently waiting for class to come around.

I'm not sure how one goes about teaching oneself to be patient. I think it might have something to do with breathing deeply and trying to find something to focus on in the moment. Does this have something to do with our instantaneous culture? Cell phones and PDA's that deliver all our information to it the moment it happens--we don't have to wait to get to a computer to read our email--it is sent straight to the phone! My Facebook updates are all sent to me in text messages. When I have a question about, oh, say, what's the average amount of calories a person can burn while working at a desk, or how many individuals in the 20th and 21st century have owned lions as housepets, I immediately drop everything I'm doing and BAM! Google directs me to an answer. If I am surrounded and immersed in this kind of instant gratification all the time, how can I learn to be patient?

As an adult, and a human, I have to at least pretend to be patient on a regular basis. My puppy, when she wants to play, stands in front of you and barks until you grab the other end of whatever it is she wants to tug. It's not a small bark, either--it's as big as she is, 125 pounds. I have to sit on my hands and wait for a colleague to respond to a message, or for my friends to email me back, knowing full well that I am not the only person requiring their attention for the day.

Maybe being aware of it is the first step, right? Admitting I have a problem? There, done. What's next? I can't wait.

Intelligence Quotient

2008-08-20T17:10:00.000-05:00

When I was in elementary school, I was taken out of class one day and led to a little wood-paneled office. The woman there asked me all sorts of interesting questions, had me look at pictures and read her things from books, and I think had me walk across a little low balance beam, though that part may have been only in my head. After I was there for what seemed like ages in my little mind, the woman asked me if I would like to do something special one afternoon a week, where I would get to leave my class with a couple other kids and play with interesting toys and puzzles and read new books. I thought that sounded great, so I agreed.

They called it Gifted, I believe, and I and a few other kids went to a different classroom on Wednesday afternoons and played with interesting toys. I don’t remember much more about it than that, but I did really enjoy it. It also made me feel very special and smart. That I was picked out of all the students as someone who was worthy of going to Gifted. I remember trying not to act like it was a big deal, but Wednesday afternoon was always my favorite part of the week.

In middle school and high school, I took the “honors” classes, and I thought they were a breeze. I rarely studied and made straight A’s through school, until my senior year when I took a Calculus class and couldn’t keep up (I blamed it on the teacher and the fact that math was boring, and wrote it off as a fluke). I ended up with a B in Calculus and headed off to college.

College was a whole other story. I signed up for Calculus (hey, I had already taken it once, how hard could it be the second time?), Chemistry 2 (since I had taken college level chemistry in high school and passed with flying colors), and some general education classes. The first semester was downhill from day one.

I’m sure part of the problem was that I wasn’t really sleeping, I stayed out late, partied a lot, and tried to do homework at 3 a.m. while slightly intoxicated and not quite awake. I could barely stay awake during the walk to class, let alone lectures. I ended up with a D in chemistry (thanks to a very compassionate professor who would let me come to office hours even though I didn’t pay attention in class) and a C in calculus (yes, a worse grade than the first time I took the EXACT SAME CLASS). And that was after studying MUCH harder than I ever had in high school. My other grades were A’s and B’s, but I had to work hard at them, too.

After considering leaving school after first semester, I found my niche (NOT in math and science, by the way) and, even though I still had to work hard, I managed to bring my GPA up to a respectable number by the time I graduated. That whole experience taught me that I wasn’t as smart as I had once thought I was…in fact, I considered myself to be on the slightly below-average side of the curve for students at my college. After believing myself so special as to be selected for Gifted class, it was hard to handle, but I figured that I had either fooled that woman in elementary school, or that my intelligence had leveled off over time.

Then I became what you might call a “grownup.” (I use this term loosely, as I don’t feel that I have had nearly enough time to grow up to the point where I am an adult…buy I digress.)

In my daily life, whether it is at work or around the city, I think I have discovered that I am smarter than I thought. I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m bragging…it’s just that I think most of the time, people don’t spend enough time on anything to fully understand, and therefore waste everyone else’s time with questions that they could have answered themselves, had they stopped for just a moment.

Additionally, adults never really seem to act like adults…the longer I am one, or am pretending to be one, it seems that people are just the same as they were as teenagers—older but no wiser. It is fascinating to me to listen to a conversation between two people and see just what they were like as children, displaying what they were taught by those older and supposedly wiser than they.

It makes me feel a little smarter (though way less intelligent than some of my friends, who read constantly and absorb information like a sponge, whether it be about literature or history or computer programming and theory or law) to know that I can step back and see this, even if I don’t always act like someone with more than a quarter century of life behind her.

Soaking It In

2008-08-19T23:15:00.003-05:00

After I spent the week in Colorado running, walking, hiking, and biking, I felt like my calf muscles were so tight they were going to snap at any moment like a rubber band, and all the rest of my body was sore and stiff. When we arrived at our resort at the beginning of the week, I had noticed that there was a Yoga studio right across the street, so after we turned our bikes back in to the rental place, I went over to check out their schedule. Later that evening, I took a great beginner’s class, and I can’t believe I haven’t done that more often.

Up to this point, most my experience with yoga has been second-hand—my friend Red practices at home and has read up on the principles of yoga (not surprising, since she always seems to know a lot about most of the things I become interested in—she’s smart and savvy and loves learning). I had taken a class at the Liberty Community Center, but it was more focused on yoga as exercise, rather than as a practice and an all-around learning experience.

So last night, I decided I would try it out in Kansas City. The Knitters and I tried yoga at the Liberty Memorial for the summer solstice, but it was hard for me as a beginner to keep up with the group of experienced practitioners. After I did some research about yoga studios in Kansas City, however, I ended up with my best option as Kansas Siddhi Yoga, the same group that hosted the summer solstice event. Last night I attended a class at their KSY West studio at 1717 Wyandotte.

I was intimidated at first. Not having participated in very many “true” yoga classes, I was worried I wouldn’t know the poses, and, though it is irrational, I felt like everyone would be watching me and see how awkward I was. I unfurled my mat and grabbed all the appropriate equipment from the back of the room (after slyly watching someone before me collect her things and copying her actions), and then sat down to wait for the start of class.

I tend to fidget a lot, whether it is in a class or at my desk at work or in a meeting or watching t.v. I have a very hard time sitting still—I always want to adjust my shirt or crack my knuckles or twirl my hair. At the class I took in Colorado, the teacher kept reminding us NOT to fidget, and as I tried to sit quietly and prepare myself to be open to this new class, I noticed how still everyone else was sitting, and tried to follow suit.

The teacher, Gina (who is also the owner of the studio) opened the class with 10 minutes or so of speaking. She talked about how part of the practice of yoga, outside being a form of exercise, is to apply your yoga practice to your daily life. It is important to take things in stages, and fully experience each stage—whether that is in learning a new pose or in going about your daily life. She said the following (and I paraphrase), and I have been repeating it in my head ever since:

"Be here, in this moment. There does not exist yet, or does not exist anymore. If here is all there is, if this moment is all that exists, then you can only be able to be here, in this moment."

I spent most of the class trying to shut out the day and focus on each moment of the class, to fully experience each pose and what my body was doing as I moved. It’s not very easy to do, and I probably spent more time pulling my mind back to the class than I did actually being there in the moment, but it was my first day, so I am taking it in stages. I think this class will help me practice “soaking it in,” per my happiness commandments. If you want to come with me to a class, let me know—it was very enjoyable. I’ll be going back on a regular basis.

Congratulations, Susie!

2008-08-19T16:53:00.009-05:00

Big congratulations go out to my baby sister Susan today, who has just published her first choral arrangement with Santa Barbara Music Publishing.

The piece was originally written and performed by Sara Groves, a Christian artist whose parents still live in Springfield. It's a gorgeous song with beautiful lyrics, and since my sister is so talented, the arrangement is stunning. Susan has arranged multiple pieces for the acapella group she sang in at Missouri State University, A Cub Bella.

It doesn't look like the price list at SBMP.com has been updated just yet, but if you know anyone who would like to purchase the piece for a choir to perform, they should be able to order it shortly from SBMP's web site.

Way to go, Susie! I am so proud of you!

I ♥ Chris Thile

2008-08-14T09:48:00.005-05:00

Dear Chris Thile,
If you happen to peruse the wide, wide world of web for postings including your name from random fans, please know that this post is intended in no way to be frightening or off-putting. I just think you're the bee's knees, and I had to share my love for you with the world.

Dear blog readers,
If you haven't heard of Chris Thile, I suggest--nay, I implore--you go right out to iTunes and buy some of his music. Chris is an incredible mandolin player--you'll never believe how fast his fingers can move on the strings, or the beauty of the melodies he creates. His three most recent solo albums (Not All Who Wander Are Lost, Deceiver, and How to Grow a Woman From the Ground) are all excellent (the first of the three albums is all instrumental and the other two include some tracks with vocals and some without). He is formerly of the group Nickel Creek (a progressive bluegrass trio with Sean and Sara Watkins, which is now defunct) and is currently performing with a new band called Punch Brothers, as well as other random performances by himself and with other talented musicians.

I am on vacation with the family (my parents, my sister and her husband, and my own husband). When I saw on Chris Thile's web site that he would be in Aspen while we were a mere two hours away, I decided I was willing to make the drive and pay the possibly exorbitant amount of money to see him perform. Somehow I roped the rest of my family into doing this as well.

Chris performed last night at Harris Concert Hall in Aspen, CO (a venue of the Aspen Music School) with Edgar Meyer, a bassist I have only recently been introduced to by my friend Alex, who gave me a copy of A Short Trip Home, a really interesting album with Edgar Meyer and Josh Bell, and several other ridiculously talented string players.

Edgar Meyer is also a stellar musician--you've never seen the bass played like this. He plays it more like a cello--with his fingers flying over the fingerboard almost to the bridge, hitting notes I never thought would come out of a bass (at least not with a pleasant sound). He practically has to lean over the bass to play--it probably makes his back sore to stand that way for a few hours!

While Edgar was thrilling to watch and obviously one of the most talented musicians I had ever seen, it was Chris Thile who kept my attention. He wore a suit that looked like it might have belonged to one of the Beatles, and shoes that were black (and looked a little funny next to his navy suit). His hair was messy and his clothes were wrinkled. When he plays, he does a funny little dance...in time with the music but still awkward, but also endearing. What I love the best is that he isn't concerned with what the audience thinks (which I suppose is true about every musician who is successful--the reason your audience loves you is that you are who you are, consistently and believably).

They made few small jokes, but mostly just played--fingers flying and humor in their tunes, intimately connected to the music. Some bluegrass and some classical, pieces written by both of them and also some written together, which will be available on a collaborative album in 2008, titled simply, Chris Thile & Edgar Meyer.

For the first half of the show I was in the back row of a small auditorium, holding maybe 500 people, maybe less. For the second half, I sat on the stage, just behind the performers (my parents bought their tickets at the last minute and those were the only available seats). Nothing moves me more than passion--for life, for music, for one's work, whatever it is. These two definitely have that and more...some indefinable quality that makes a performance worth watching.

I wish I could convey better how fun it was for me to watch the show...I'm no music critic that is for sure.

Chris, if you read this, thanks for the concert--it was the perfect addition to my summer vacation. I hope to see you again somewhere soon.

Mental Hyperactivity

2008-08-04T12:22:00.003-05:00

I have always had an overactive imagination.

One of my favorite games as a child was to play in my backyard, pretending that I had a horse named Blackie that followed me around. In my mind, Blackie and I would gallop through the woods behind my neighbor's house, and I would feed him in the pretend stable in my yard.

There were other games I played--my friend Nicole and I would ride through the neighborhood on our 10-speed bikes, as superheroes coming to save the world from evil. My bike's name was Thunder (Nicole's was Lightning), and we had a theme song that we would sing as we sped towards the innocent victims that needed our assistance.

Nicole and I could play for hours with Fisher-Price Little People, but it was a complicated soap opera world they lived in, where twins vied for the same role in a toothpaste commercial, boyfriends cheated on their girlfriends, and families were in constant turmoil.

All of these things seemed much more exciting than our own lives (with happily married parents and siblings who slightly annoyed us, in a nice quiet neighborhood in a small midwestern town). Thanks to my mother, I rarely watched television (1 hour limit per day) and we didn't have any video games until I was 10 and my sister and I pooled our money to buy one ourselves. Mom made a rule that we HAD to read at least an hour each day before we could do anything else. My sister saw this as torture, but I thought it was the best rule ever created at our house.

Then, I'm sure my parents saw my overactive imagination as a blessing--I could be out in the back yard for hours, entertaining myself. I'm sure that my imagination is at the root of why I feel the need to be creative.

There is a downside to this imagination, though--it hasn't gotten any less powerful since I was in elementary school. In fact, I think it has gotten MORE powerful, and more dangerous.

I am easily distracted at work, or even with friends, or at home in the middle of a movie. My brain is taken over by my crazy imagination and I can't focus at all. When I'm driving I imagine crazy scenarios, straight out of an action movie. I worry that I'll drive off the road thinking I'm being chased by a spy from the former Soviet Union.

When my friends or family are late arriving to my house to pick me up for some event, I imagine that they've had a terrible accident. My imagination takes me through all the stages of grief in lightning speed. I imagine what it would be like to continue my life without them--how heartbroken I'd be, how unable to continue, how crushed. Then my brain concocts a heroic story of survival and rebirth as I work through my pain to become a better, stronger person.

In conversation, I have a hard time taking what someone says at face value. Every movement, every facial twitch, every choice of word sends me reeling into what they're really thinking, and what they meant and where they've been. With friends I haven't seen in a while, I imagine inserting myself into their interesting lives. Sometimes I imagine how my life would have turned out differently if I had made this choice or that choice, and I can see the entirety of my existence mapped out before me in the new direction.

The problem is I get wistful about it, and start to believe my imaginary scenarios could and should be real, which makes me feel unbalanced and chaotic. Even the horrible ones--I am such a brave heroine in my own mind that I almost wouldn't mind if something tragic happened, just so I could live out those scenes in real life.

This overactive imagination is part of Commandment #9 (Think Moderation), but I'm not sure if there is a way to stifle that part of my brain. I've started writing down the stories that are coming out of that part of my head, in the hopes that if I can get them out of there, I won't obsess as much, but it could make it worse. Any ideas about how to quiet the mind? (Substance free suggestions, please--I've already tried chemical remedies.)

Follow Through

2008-07-31T22:02:00.004-05:00

It's only been 2 days since I posted my Happiness Commandments, but I realized I had to add something to the list. It's ridiculous that I didn't notice it was missing--but maybe that's why I have to add it.

I have a hard time with following through on things. There isn't a specific set of things that I have a hard time with--my lack of commitment to tasks spans across leisure activities, work tasks, family obligations, and chores.

It has been AGES since The Husband and I replaced the carpet in our house with wood floors. I don't even remember when we did it, it has been so long. In order to replace the floors, we removed the baseboards and the closet doors from the bedrooms. We still haven't put them back up.

I have two books checked out from the library that I swear I want to read, but they are just sitting in the house--one on the bedside table and one in the library basket--and now I've reached my limit of renewals and have to take them back or pay the fine.

There is a crazy long list of tasks in my inbox at work that need to be completed, but they keep getting shoved to the bottom of the list.

All of these things make me unhappy. Not necessarily because I hate the missing baseboards and doors, or because I'll not finish the books, or because I can't finish the tasks at work. More because I know that I'm capable of doing all these things, and can't get motivated enough to do them. I'm disappointed in myself for letting these things lapse, and I know that I will feel more centered if I can follow through on the things I start.

So, my list of commandments is no longer an even 10, but I felt that to be truly accurate, number 11 had to be added. Gretchen had some advice for completing tasks that I think I will try, to see if I can get some of these things completed!

My ELEVEN Commandments (for Happiness)

2008-07-29T09:16:00.008-05:00

I've been reading Gretchen Rubin's blog every day for about a month, and following her suggestion (and the encouragement from Ginger after I read her post), I am going to post my list of Happiness Commandments.

Gretchen suggests that we develop a list of commandments to help us strive for happiness in our daily lives. They should be lofty goals, but not task-oriented. They should be simple and not too comprehensive. And they don't necessarily have to make sense to anyone but you, since you are the one who has to follow them.

I have already been reciting these to myself daily, and trying to live by them. Most recently, I have been working on number 8, Don't Complain. I asked The Husband to help me become a runner, and for the first few days I complained the entire route: about how I hate getting up early, and it was hot, and I was tired, and I couldn't manage it. Poor guy--he stuck with me anyway.

In an effort to keep my running coach from abandoning me, I decided complaining wasn't helping anyone, and so I added this one to my list of happiness commandments. It has definitely made the runs more pleasant for him, and I discovered if I didn't complain so much, I had more energy to complete the run. Go figure.

Without further ado...

My Happiness Commandments

Remember what is important.
Be honest.
Don't compare myself to others.
Soak it up.
Be creative.
Say no.
Be content, not complacent.
Don't complain.
Think moderation.
Let go.
Follow through. (added 7-31-08)

I hope to be able to blog about following these commandments, or at least about the consequences when I do not. I'd like to hear about YOUR happiness commandments, as well; if you write some, let me know.

A Decade of Me

2008-07-23T09:32:00.006-05:00

Last week I had lunch with someone I hadn't seen in 10 years. A decade. Since I was still a teenager. It made me think about all the things that I have been and done since we last spoke.

I almost expected, before arriving to the lunch, that I would feel as if I had changed monumentally from who I was at the age of 19, but as I sat down and we talked about college and work and life in general, I was surprised to realize that I actually felt much the same as I did 10 years ago.

I have learned a few things and experienced a lot, so that isn't to say that I'm not changed as a person. I suppose I never really feel as old as I am, and I think most people would probably say the same. Years go by quickly (and even more quickly the older we are) and so it is nice to know that I still feel like I'm 21 or so.

Since I turned 19 (I believe I saw my friend last on or around my 19th birthday), I have gotten a tattoo, become financially independent from my parents (a little earlier than I planned), lived in Europe for a year, graduated from college, floundered as an unemployed college graduate, gotten a job, started listening to NPR, gotten married, bought a house, trained dogs, taught violin lessons, learned to knit, and developed a love for sushi and gin and tonic, to name just a few things.

Yet I still feel the same.

I don't know why this is so surprising to me. I was shocked when I got married to learn that I was still the exact same person after I went through the ceremony and signed the marriage liscence as I was before all of that. It took me a few months to come to terms with it. That sounds silly now, but I think some part of me thought (and maybe still does...too many Audrey Hepburn movies) that some mysterious and magical change comes over a person when one gets hitched, and one begins to feel wifely or husbandly and knows how automatically to be the perfect spouse (or at least the perfect housekeeper, or something). I had a great example of a tried and true, long-lasting union in my parents, who bicker occasionally about silly things, but have lasted for almost 40 years without many bumps in their relationship road.

I was shocked when I got a job in "the real world" that I didn't automatically become a morning person. I was surprised when I bought a house that I didn't automatically become a fabulous housekeeper. It was interesting to learn that the instant I got a newer car, I forgot about how exciting it was.

So still feeling like the same soul I was 10 years ago is weird. The body is a little older, and the experiences have certainly made an impact, but I'm still me. I haven't really thought about the fact that I'm just going to have to accept who I am...I suppose that I always expected to be able to change if I wanted, but that seems NOT to be the case. If I am the same now as I was 10 years ago, it stands to reason that I will be the same 10 years into the future. I hope I can be a good me, since I seem to be settled into who I am.

My New Camera

2008-07-13T17:50:00.008-05:00

I didn't think that any piece of electronic equipment would ever be able to make me as elated as my iPod, but my little mp3 player may have met its match today...my new digital SLR camera, the Canon EOS 30D.

I bought it used, and they took my two old 35mm cameras in trade, so it wasn't as pricey as buying a brand new camera. She has a few worn spots, from loving use by some other photographer, but she works well, at least as far as I know. There are a lot more dials and buttons than my old 35mm cameras had, so I'm still learning the ropes.

If you were ever present when I used my old camera, I apologize--I yelled at it a lot, usually with unpleasant language, because it took horrible pictures and I hated it.

I'm still learning the ropes of this new camera, but so far I love it! Here are a few pictures I took this afternoon, of a gorgeous little girl you may recognize.

On Excess

2008-07-11T17:19:00.002-05:00

I have a problem with excess. In my diet, in my commitments, in relationships, and in my psyche.

I have always jokingly said that I have an addictive personality, but there is a lot of truth to that statement. I think what I mean is that I have a hard time knowing when to stop, and generally take everything further than it should go.

Lunch Thursday, for example: I went with a work pal to a little place called Georgie Porgie's in South KC. It's a greasy spoon kind of joint--definitely not somewhere that will help you stay awake for the rest of the afternoon, nor is it somewhere that is good for one's waistline. I ordered a BLT and tater tots--both things I did NOT need. I was full after I had eaten three-fourths of the sandwich and half the tater tots, but did I stop? No. I even commented to my lunch companion that I should stop, but I didn't do it.

Another example: I tend to overbook myself (and yes, some of you might say that is an understatement). I have a hard time saying no to people, and usually, when they ask, I don't really WANT to say no, anyway. My activities always sound like a great idea at the time, but somehow, teaching violin lessons, or teaching dog classes, or sitting on the boards of not-for-profit organizations, or singing in a choral ensemble always end up being things that start to drive me crazy, and I have to weasle my way out of them.

In my relationships, I tend to smother. This is part of my personality (according to the Meyers-Briggs test), so any potential children in my future should be warned ahead of time: I will most likely drive you almost to insanity. My mother is the same type I am, and I can see myself in her. Some of the traits are good (she is an excellent teacher, very organized, incredibly creative and talented, and good at pulling everyone in to feel a part of the group). Others (namely, not being able to resist overwhelming people with affections) are things I wish I had not inherited.

On top of these things, I seem to take to excess the fretting, worrying, agonizing, and contemplating about my excessive nature. In the past few weeks, I have (in my mind) succeeded in driving some friends almost to the brink of what they can stand. Granted, most of our communication is in email or text message form, so it's really hard to tell what they are thinking, but I tend to want to carry each conversation to its bitter demise, while others are clawing at the walls (or the inbox) to escape me. At least, that is what I feel like is happening--responses get short, or what sound like excuses are offered up by my conversation mates, and I start to worry that I've driven people them away.

In all these things, I don't seem to be able to help myself. I have next to no will power when it comes to stopping (whether I need to stop eating, stop saying yes, stop pressing send in the electronic communication medium, or stop obsessing). Having a blog probably only feeds this desire to continue and to rehash, to overwork each idea.

Where does will power come from? Is it something one just manifests from nowhere, or is there a beginning point--a seed of inspiration or a nudge from an outside force--that can force oneself to develop a will? I am strong-willed in some aspects of my life, but absolute mush when it comes to controlling my need for the over-do. If anyone has made the transition from no will to willful, I'd like to know how you accomplished it.

The Homemade Jamz Blues Band

2008-07-10T18:08:00.002-05:00

I just heard a great band interview--the best I've heard in a while. I want to share it with everyone I know, so please take a listen to Melissa Bloch's interview with The Homemade Jamz Blues Band.

The band is made up of three siblings, who make their own guitars and sing the blues...but they are all under 16. Album for sale on iTunes for $9.99.

I feel a little bit inspired to do something I love this evening--writing--after hearing these kids talk about their drive and passion for what they love to do.

A Hard Day

2008-07-08T22:16:00.003-05:00

This morning started out terribly—traffic was awful (as The Husband said, it was “the perfect traffic storm”), I’m behind on work projects, and to top it all off my team got the news this morning that one of our team members lost his 5 month old baby girl to complications from heart surgery. At 10 a.m. this morning, I didn’t think I was going to make it through the day without either screaming and throwing my laptop through a window or breaking down into a crumbly, weepy mess.

I am quite easily influenced by the twists and turns the day takes as I traverse from waking to sleeping. A rainy morning makes it next to impossible to get out of bed. A beautiful breezy spring day makes my blood rush and my heart swell, and I feel like singing. News of a tragedy, albeit remote from my life, sends me spiraling downwards. Beautiful pictures of my friend Amy and her gorgeous little family send me bounding the opposite emotional direction.

I am sure that it is unhealthy to be this affected by the course of a day. This morning I wasn’t sure how I would get through the rest of the day. I felt shaky and disorganized, a little like I was missing caffeine (which I was; maybe that was part of the problem), and utterly derailed by how a Tuesday morning started for me. I have described this feeling to a friend as “manic,” but not really in a bi-polar context—more like I have absolutely no control over my emotions, and I feel like I might explode trying to pull myself back into some sort of quiet emotional state. The two ends of my mental spectrum are emotional chaos (the “manic” state) and peace, rather than happy and sad. Mostly, I feel like which end I tumble towards has nothing to do with anything I can affect; rather, I feel like it is something that happens TO me.

Last week, Ginger introduced me to an interesting little blog called The Happiness Project. It’s something I haven’t thought about before—that setting your mood can be a project that you can control, and you can undertake a project (or multiple projects) to put yourself in a state of happiness (in my case, a state of mental peace). I was a little skeptical when I read my first bit of The Happiness Project, but as I’ve checked in on it every few days, I’ve realized I’m starting to become a believer.

Today’s post was an interview with an author named Sue Shapiro, and one of the things she said stuck in my mind. “Love doesn't make you happy; make yourself happy. Then you get love.” I’m trying to take that statement and apply it to myself (I’ve substituted “peace” for “love” in my personal instance). It may not erase the trials of the day, but it’s an encouraging start—if I want today to be beautiful, I may have to make it so on my own.

I've decided to attempt a bit of Gretchen's methods for finding happiness. I'll let you know how it turns out.

The Paranoid Replay

2008-07-02T16:33:00.010-05:00

This is my first blog entry. Do not be alarmed--if I sound crazy at times, it only means that I probably am. Sometimes (maybe even most of the time), I feel crazy, but it has recently come to my attention that while I may be crazy, much of the rest of the world is as well, and it isn't anything to be ashamed about.

Recently, while attending a yoga session at the Liberty Memorial in Kansas City, in celebration of the summer solstice (say what? Yes, that is what I was doing) some friends of mine and I learned some things about each other. I must say, these friends are so important to me, and I trust and admire them so much, that I am ashamed I did not know these things earlier.

Each of us has felt what I have begun to refer to as The Paranoid Replay. Maybe you've experienced it as well--you are traipsing along in conversation with someone, whom you may know well or barely at all, enjoying yourself or otherwise, when suddenly: you say something you wish you hadn't.

In all actuality, your conversation mate probably hasn't noticed your comment at all, or if she did, she absorbed it and processed it and has moved on, maybe even as soon as your next sentence. In your mind, however, you can't stop thinking--nay, obsessing about what you've said. You take it home and roll it around in your brain all day, and into the evening, through your dreams and nightmares. You may even take it so far as into your next day. You feel embarassed. In my case, my face flushes when I merely think about what I've said, or even feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Until the first day of summer (unfortunately as we were helping one of our group to the car with an unfortunate leapfrog injury), I thought I was the only person who did this.

You may be thinking, how arrogant, to think that you're the only one who feels something, or knows something...nothing new under the sun and all that. I happen to agree.

One of my brave friends mentioned that she was sorry for a comment she made, and started the ball rolling...one by one, each of us described having felt the exact same way, multiple times a week, even, and thinking that we were all a little crazy for not being able to let go of our verbal blunders. Each of us presented examples (and proved at least to each other, if not to ourselves, that we were all worrying for no reason).

This isn't to say that I won't fling myself mirthlessly into another Paranoid Replay in the near future--in fact I may have even done it since this realization came about.

What I will do, though, is allow myself to write a blog (no groans from the peanut gallery, please). I had, until now, been keeping a secret blog, sure that my friends and family would think me insane if they could read my thoughts. While I probably won't publish THOSE posts, I will share a little of what I am thinking, and know that while I'm probably NOT very normal, I happen to like myself that way.

Thanks to my friends who aren't afraid to admit that they are a little crazy, too.