After having to part ways with a church I have loved so many people in (and been loved in return) for the past two years, I spent this Sunday morning sitting in Metropolis, the coffee shop next door to my apartment. There I sat, 9:32 AM, sipping an americano and with much failure attempting the Sunday crossword. After getting about four words, two of them undoubtedly wrong, I gave up and started to write.
What I said was Metropolis, where people gather every morning, afternoon and evening and order their coffees, muffins and pies, sitting alone or together, conversing or in thought, is essentially church. People from the neighborhood gathering for a common purpose - good coffee, atmosphere and community. OK, let me revise. Metropolis is like church, but with good coffee.
Everyone in that shop believes in something about something or Someone. If I were to gather up everyone in the cafe and ask them their thoughts on faith, it probably wouldn't be so different than an average church service, if you were to do the same. The spectrum, whatever creed is being chanted, song being sang, word being preached, tongue being prayed in, incense being burned, knees being bowed... on what people actually think, believe, and put their faith in is deep and it is wide.
I'm not saying there isn't something holy and beautiful about the body of Christ. There is. And this does happen on Sunday morning. But it also happens everywhere else, all the time. God is everywhere. Christ is in us. It's happening in our living rooms, and on our balconies, and in our restaurants, and at the bar stools and on the beach, in the woods, at the desk, in deserts, jungles, shacks, huts, mansions and caves. Do people live in caves still? I think I have been watching too much LOST. God is in LOST too.
I know I have said this before. I think I have said it about Metropolis. Place must have some holy vibe or something. I feel the same way about a dive bar named Ollie's in Uptown. I love that place and want to get people together there, just to talk and drink.
This morning I wrote and prayed and told God that I was taking a little break from church, but, don't worry, I wouldn't be gone for long. I am not strong enough, nor good enough, nor foolish enough to not. Then I said, "Hey, God, (I was joking) I'm sure I'll end up going to the next church someone invites me to visit." I was joking because no one ever invites me to church. I would also have to tell them I am not going to church to be invited. I would also have to talk to people.
My friend and I tried to go to a cafe on a beautiful little spot on the beach just steps from my house tonight. It was closed early, impending rain. We walked instead to get ice cream at a local spot, and then I led us to McDonalds for french fries. Not exactly the idyllic location we were hoping for, but you can never go wrong with a large fry. Sitting and talking for an hour or so about boys, church, power, leadership, fear, false humility, blah, blah, blah, a young tattooed guy leaned over and handed us a bulletin folded in half. It was from the church he had gone to in the neighborhood over this morning. It is a church I have been told I would like.
He didn't say anything, except that he went there this morning and he wanted to join, and slid back into the corner of his booth. Then a few minutes later he slid back over and started telling us his story. It was long and it was crazy, to be sure. If he liked that church so much, being who he was, I know I'd like it to, just because they let him in and liked him, too.
It only took a few hours for a church bulletin to be handed to me by a perfect stranger; a homeless, confused, wonderful stranger. Because we went to McDonalds. Because the Waterfront was closed. Because of rain that didn't fall. Because we can never escape that God is everywhere. In McDonalds, in churches, in coffee shops. He is with us, wherever we are. Always.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Why we should all have a porch and use it.
People are resilient. All of us are. Some more than others, yes, some of us fare a little better when tragedy strikes. It depends on the tragedy, it depends on the sadness, it depends on the weight of the matter, the closeness of one person to another. Some dodge it, some go mad, some bury it down, some drink it away. As I mentioned previously, some play Candy Crush until they see it in their sleep, and yet can still not pass level 45 because I am really not that good at the damn game.
I have two people that will tell me the truth in my life when it hurts to hear it and I hate them (I love them). My mother and my Erin, these scoundrels have listened to my whine, my struggle, my anger, my pain, my stupid and mean words, and my tears. Those they have watched fall down my pale cheek or heard the pathetic sniffle through the phone. Public place, private place, walking on the city sidewalks, at an Olive Garden over many, many breadsticks. And though sometimes they get angry with me and utter nasty words under their breath, like any good friend or family should do, they also put me in my place. Wham. Put in place.
Who really wants to hear "You knew it all along." Yes. I did. Thank you very much I knew it all along but do you think I want to admit that I was fooling myself? Playing pretend? They said it with love and kindness and with much better words even though it didn't feel that way.
It is honestly super annoying and I should really stop telling them everything and again that's why I hate them (I love them).
And I said right. You are right. So right. As I said it, the weight felt like it might drop through me and carry me all the way down but then it suddenly lifted and left. Not all of it, a lot of it. A few pieces of shrapnel remain lodged in the heart, the bone. I will have to either live with them or they will come free, too. This analogy probably doesn't work because shrapnel stuck inside of you is probably really bad. Hey, if I surgeon can leave a scalpel in someone's stomach and no one ever knows until they get an x ray seventeen years later, I can have a few pieces of shrapnel and make it out alive.
The funny and terribly, horribly wrong thing about life is we only have our one perspective. Our one little view from our front porch, and the world is how we see it - same fence, same trees, same people walking down the sidewalk, it is all we know (and all we like). Everything is this way. The trouble is when you let people in, let them know what it really looks like from your porch, or your own insane thought process, you will get some push back, you will hit some walls head on. Sometimes people just stare. Some people will run away. Some will rock back and forth on your porch and drink a sweet tea with you, curious, hesitant, learning.
This is how you become kind. This is how you love. This is how you have heart.
Jesus is the great counselor because he knows everything we know, feels everything we feel, was human in each and every way we are human. Actually he is the only human with fully complete empathy. Empathy is true understanding of another's situation and he has it for us. He has sat on everyone's porch and drank their sweet tea. I really, really, really wish Jesus could sit on my balcony overlooking the alley and drink sweet tea with me (OK, OK, a glass of wine). While he can't... exactly... do this, I believe that he knows what it is like to put his feet up and hear my story, see with me eyes.
What is weird and kind of cool about the Christian faith is that we spend our whole life trying to see with his eyes instead of ours. When we learn about how Jesus can see us and the world, our vision should start to change. Maybe it is more like Jesus glasses. No, I think it is our actual vision. Changed through our heart, changed through how many porches we sit on.
The best people I know have sat on porch after porch and listened, and learned, and let themselves see the world in a different way, just because. You might hear and see some things you never wanted to see or believe, and that is exactly the point. There is one rule: that you must consider new truth once you hear it; and let it change you if it must. Just like me. Fine, I will listen, I will let you love me in this profound way, in the best way a person can love another. As long as we're rocking, we're drinking sweet tea, and the wind is blowing and we have to close our eyes to keep out the bright sun when it escapes the clouds, we'll be all right.
I have two people that will tell me the truth in my life when it hurts to hear it and I hate them (I love them). My mother and my Erin, these scoundrels have listened to my whine, my struggle, my anger, my pain, my stupid and mean words, and my tears. Those they have watched fall down my pale cheek or heard the pathetic sniffle through the phone. Public place, private place, walking on the city sidewalks, at an Olive Garden over many, many breadsticks. And though sometimes they get angry with me and utter nasty words under their breath, like any good friend or family should do, they also put me in my place. Wham. Put in place.
Who really wants to hear "You knew it all along." Yes. I did. Thank you very much I knew it all along but do you think I want to admit that I was fooling myself? Playing pretend? They said it with love and kindness and with much better words even though it didn't feel that way.
It is honestly super annoying and I should really stop telling them everything and again that's why I hate them (I love them).
And I said right. You are right. So right. As I said it, the weight felt like it might drop through me and carry me all the way down but then it suddenly lifted and left. Not all of it, a lot of it. A few pieces of shrapnel remain lodged in the heart, the bone. I will have to either live with them or they will come free, too. This analogy probably doesn't work because shrapnel stuck inside of you is probably really bad. Hey, if I surgeon can leave a scalpel in someone's stomach and no one ever knows until they get an x ray seventeen years later, I can have a few pieces of shrapnel and make it out alive.
The funny and terribly, horribly wrong thing about life is we only have our one perspective. Our one little view from our front porch, and the world is how we see it - same fence, same trees, same people walking down the sidewalk, it is all we know (and all we like). Everything is this way. The trouble is when you let people in, let them know what it really looks like from your porch, or your own insane thought process, you will get some push back, you will hit some walls head on. Sometimes people just stare. Some people will run away. Some will rock back and forth on your porch and drink a sweet tea with you, curious, hesitant, learning.
This is how you become kind. This is how you love. This is how you have heart.
Jesus is the great counselor because he knows everything we know, feels everything we feel, was human in each and every way we are human. Actually he is the only human with fully complete empathy. Empathy is true understanding of another's situation and he has it for us. He has sat on everyone's porch and drank their sweet tea. I really, really, really wish Jesus could sit on my balcony overlooking the alley and drink sweet tea with me (OK, OK, a glass of wine). While he can't... exactly... do this, I believe that he knows what it is like to put his feet up and hear my story, see with me eyes.
What is weird and kind of cool about the Christian faith is that we spend our whole life trying to see with his eyes instead of ours. When we learn about how Jesus can see us and the world, our vision should start to change. Maybe it is more like Jesus glasses. No, I think it is our actual vision. Changed through our heart, changed through how many porches we sit on.
The best people I know have sat on porch after porch and listened, and learned, and let themselves see the world in a different way, just because. You might hear and see some things you never wanted to see or believe, and that is exactly the point. There is one rule: that you must consider new truth once you hear it; and let it change you if it must. Just like me. Fine, I will listen, I will let you love me in this profound way, in the best way a person can love another. As long as we're rocking, we're drinking sweet tea, and the wind is blowing and we have to close our eyes to keep out the bright sun when it escapes the clouds, we'll be all right.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Candy Crush Crutch
The reason for writing this blog is a noble one. I'm waiting for Candy Crush Saga to give me more lives, which, last time I checked, was at 16.52 and counting. That should be enough time to write a thrilling entry.
My slight obsession with a game that I play on Facebook every day, the first one I have ever downloaded, actually, was an unintentional distraction/miracle. Recent events in my life have held my mind captive, and no matter how hard I try and pray I can't free it sometimes. So I play Candy Crush. I also downloaded Words with Friends and play that on the train. For the first time in years I actually enjoy logging on to Facebook - all my notifications happy Candy Crush lives - that's miracle #2.
Look. I'm coping here. Defense mechanisms are just fine for a period of time, my psychology classes say so. And my therapist would too, if I had one right now, if I could afford one.
So this is me, thanking God and the creators of Candy Crush for keeping my wee brain occupied, giving me little miracles, little wins. I also freak out when I lose levels. Ask my roommates, they know when I am playing. They know when I'm wining... and losing.
This reminds me of my mom playing Tetris. She played Tetris all the time. Us kids had a Gameboy and she would steal it and play Tetris. Then she got her own see-through purple one and wore the buttons out playing Tetris so much. While I don't know for sure, I have a small inkling she might have been distracting herself just like me.
Hey, this might not be the best thing I ever did for myself, but cut me some slack, I don't exactly do this much. Candy Crush is my crutch - OK? Analyzing this is actually rather fun for me, because I'm not that person, not the game person, the app person. I didn't get it. Until now. I do. A little bit. I think.
Me being the awkward, self-aware person that I am, of course I am wondering why I am doing this. Some people probably just play games for fun. I play them out of emotion. Out of the need to do something, beat something, win, or at least, keep going. I can keep going at this, and it's not going to end. It's comforting. Candy Crush will never leave me.
That's a slight exaggeration. I'm not that desperate. Really, I'm not. Things are on the up and up, people. I can feel it. I also think it has been 17 minutes, so, I gotta go.
My slight obsession with a game that I play on Facebook every day, the first one I have ever downloaded, actually, was an unintentional distraction/miracle. Recent events in my life have held my mind captive, and no matter how hard I try and pray I can't free it sometimes. So I play Candy Crush. I also downloaded Words with Friends and play that on the train. For the first time in years I actually enjoy logging on to Facebook - all my notifications happy Candy Crush lives - that's miracle #2.
Look. I'm coping here. Defense mechanisms are just fine for a period of time, my psychology classes say so. And my therapist would too, if I had one right now, if I could afford one.
So this is me, thanking God and the creators of Candy Crush for keeping my wee brain occupied, giving me little miracles, little wins. I also freak out when I lose levels. Ask my roommates, they know when I am playing. They know when I'm wining... and losing.
This reminds me of my mom playing Tetris. She played Tetris all the time. Us kids had a Gameboy and she would steal it and play Tetris. Then she got her own see-through purple one and wore the buttons out playing Tetris so much. While I don't know for sure, I have a small inkling she might have been distracting herself just like me.
Hey, this might not be the best thing I ever did for myself, but cut me some slack, I don't exactly do this much. Candy Crush is my crutch - OK? Analyzing this is actually rather fun for me, because I'm not that person, not the game person, the app person. I didn't get it. Until now. I do. A little bit. I think.
Me being the awkward, self-aware person that I am, of course I am wondering why I am doing this. Some people probably just play games for fun. I play them out of emotion. Out of the need to do something, beat something, win, or at least, keep going. I can keep going at this, and it's not going to end. It's comforting. Candy Crush will never leave me.
That's a slight exaggeration. I'm not that desperate. Really, I'm not. Things are on the up and up, people. I can feel it. I also think it has been 17 minutes, so, I gotta go.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Why this waste?
Easter is a celebration of failure.
That's a peppy way to start now, isn't it? I couldn't help but think this after reading through a little of Matthew, trying to conjure up wise thoughts on this season. I haven't been to church in a couple weeks, and when I met with my group of friends that talk about church, we talked about the last time we cried. I'm not sure why. It supposedly had something to do with getting ready for Easter. Well, looking at how the world around Jesus at the time got ready for Easter...it was kind of pathetic. Of course, they didn't know they were getting ready for Easter. They didn't really know what was going at all, that we know.
If I ever want to feel better about myself, which is often enough, I just read the questions his disciples' asked Jesus. Try it sometime, you'll instantly feel smarter, you will be patting yourself on the back and calling out toasts to your superior intelligence and spirituality, never asking Jesus stupid questions like they did. And if nothing else, you can at least wallow in self-pity that when you have asked Jesus a stupid question or two...you are not alone. You are far, far from alone. He doesn't seem to mind, either, at least, He will put up with you still. Which is more than I can say for myself. Remember the desperate, foolish whispers and calls you've requested of Jesus, and you may have more gentleness when it comes to the rest of the world.
Right before Judas plans the betrayal of Jesus, the story of a woman with the alabaster jar of perfumed oil poured out onto Jesus' feet is told; the disciples ask (indignantly) "Why this waste?" And it actually says "Jesus, aware of this" ... His thoughts something like "Come on, guys, you think I don't know?" They really didn't know. Every time they thought they were finally catching on, it was obvious they weren't. As disciples, they were failures. All of them betraying, leaving, deceiving their Rabbi. This might be because Jesus was a failure himself.
Our Prince of Fools, our God-Man, who was supposed to rule the Kingdom and lead His Jewish people to triumph and victory. To them, He did fail. Not only in the way that he lived, but in the crushing way that he died. The crowds crooning for his death, people that shouted Hosanna and cursed him, nearly in the same breath.
Why this waste?
Why was this man Jesus even born, if this is how he died? That he died at all. It is no wonder that so many that followed him, abandoned him. If only they'd understood, if only they could. Love died, so that freedom could be found. Even after the stone was rolled away from the tomb, and the truth was known, it must have all been a little fuzzy, a little Twilight Zone. OK, you're alive, great! ...Now what? They all figured it out, all went on to give themselves much like their King did. Many of them dying a death as brutal as Him. Failure, failure, failure. That's how it looks.
And that is why I love this gospel, this faith, this hope. Because if my life sometimes feels wasted, if failure is heaped on my head, if I don't fully understand or am understood, if I feel like a fool; I think about the Easter truth. Ready for Easter? I know I am ready for Easter when I am left feeling confused and dopey, my mouth hanging open because as much as I grasp and strain and shimmy, I don't get it all.
Life is not waste, death is not waste, failure is not waste. Celebrate with me the Greatest success disguised as failure there ever was.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Deserve
Deserve. The word has haunted me as of late, and it isn't the first time. Though this time it's different. This time I have a whole different perspective ready to go. My thoughts on this word are formed and what ever anyone says, I won't believe them. I'll say...I refuse, refuse to think I deserve better, more, happy. Happy? We deserve to be happy? When was that ever a thing. Oh, that's right, it is in every. movie. ever. and book. and almost everything everyone says to you. Our little worlds revolve around this thing called "happiness" but I hardly know what it is. I wonder if you do. Look, I do get it. Being happy feels nice. Being happy isn't something to directly not look for or seek, but I think if you have really lived any years of your life and experienced even the smallest amount of pain, you have realized that life is not all about being happy. So why do we have this ridiculous obsession with happiness? (Moulin Rouge reference *cough cough*)
Well, I sound like I need some Prozac. Why do I have such bad, nasty feelings towards the word deserve? For years I thought this was something we were supposed to look for in another person. You deserve a person to do "such and such" thing for you. Bruno Mars puts it nicely to tune "I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hand..." Right. Duh, Bruno. It's not rocket science. It's not even that catchy when you say it. Hunter Hayes has a good rendition too of what a relationship should consist of. I can't bear to repeat the words here, mostly because I might gag on the food I am eating. You get it, you know what I am talking about.
Years ago someone once told me after I whined and whined about a past relationship that I just needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and accept what I had done to make that relationship a bad one too. Psh, I didn't believe them. I hadn't done a. thing. wrong. Which wasn't true, I was really mean. I threw things, I was crazy jealous all the time. And even though I hadn't been treated well and that was true, and even though it didn't work out and I am glad and that's also true, it didn't have a thing to do with happiness.
Have you ever stuck out any relationship, friendship, family tie past the point of happy? I guarantee you have.You have to if you want to have any friends left. It doesn't feel very good most of the time. Now there are all sorts of reasons why you may and should try this: marriage, living in community, loving people past their brokenness, loving people more than yourself, realizing that you aren't perfect, either. Ugh this list is depressing isn't it? All I want to do is take care of myself and protect myself, right? That's what life is all about, right?
Oh... wait...
When I say none of us deserve to be happy, I do not mean we shouldn't desire respect, care, understanding, kindness, patience, and love in all relationships, in all things. Those are all good, healthy things. I'm just sayin', get this happy mumbo jumbo out of your head, because I don't believe you'll ever find it. Not the way you expect. And I am saying it myself. Again, and again. And again.
Or, at least, if you are stubborn enough to still be an optimist let me say this: happy*
* will always include hard.
Pursue happiness, if you must, but don't think it'll be easy. Don't fool yourself into thinking that being happy even feels good. Choose happiness. Choose love. Choose the hard thing. Choose to say, "I deserve nothing" and then work as hard as you can to give what you think others deserve. Here's the clincher: expect nothing in return. Easier said than done, all of this. I would rather try, though, try to live life like this instead of searching for happiness that will never complete, never make one whole.
Peace. Peace is the feeling, the knowing, the being that is better than any happiness you'll ever know, I think. It sinks down in and you can't shake it. It won't go away, it only settles, only shapes you. Seek and pursue peace, and what you think you deserve may change after all.
Well, I sound like I need some Prozac. Why do I have such bad, nasty feelings towards the word deserve? For years I thought this was something we were supposed to look for in another person. You deserve a person to do "such and such" thing for you. Bruno Mars puts it nicely to tune "I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hand..." Right. Duh, Bruno. It's not rocket science. It's not even that catchy when you say it. Hunter Hayes has a good rendition too of what a relationship should consist of. I can't bear to repeat the words here, mostly because I might gag on the food I am eating. You get it, you know what I am talking about.
Years ago someone once told me after I whined and whined about a past relationship that I just needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and accept what I had done to make that relationship a bad one too. Psh, I didn't believe them. I hadn't done a. thing. wrong. Which wasn't true, I was really mean. I threw things, I was crazy jealous all the time. And even though I hadn't been treated well and that was true, and even though it didn't work out and I am glad and that's also true, it didn't have a thing to do with happiness.
Have you ever stuck out any relationship, friendship, family tie past the point of happy? I guarantee you have.You have to if you want to have any friends left. It doesn't feel very good most of the time. Now there are all sorts of reasons why you may and should try this: marriage, living in community, loving people past their brokenness, loving people more than yourself, realizing that you aren't perfect, either. Ugh this list is depressing isn't it? All I want to do is take care of myself and protect myself, right? That's what life is all about, right?
Oh... wait...
When I say none of us deserve to be happy, I do not mean we shouldn't desire respect, care, understanding, kindness, patience, and love in all relationships, in all things. Those are all good, healthy things. I'm just sayin', get this happy mumbo jumbo out of your head, because I don't believe you'll ever find it. Not the way you expect. And I am saying it myself. Again, and again. And again.
Or, at least, if you are stubborn enough to still be an optimist let me say this: happy*
* will always include hard.
Pursue happiness, if you must, but don't think it'll be easy. Don't fool yourself into thinking that being happy even feels good. Choose happiness. Choose love. Choose the hard thing. Choose to say, "I deserve nothing" and then work as hard as you can to give what you think others deserve. Here's the clincher: expect nothing in return. Easier said than done, all of this. I would rather try, though, try to live life like this instead of searching for happiness that will never complete, never make one whole.
Peace. Peace is the feeling, the knowing, the being that is better than any happiness you'll ever know, I think. It sinks down in and you can't shake it. It won't go away, it only settles, only shapes you. Seek and pursue peace, and what you think you deserve may change after all.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
human connection
I figure out all of life's big questions and problems when I can't sleep at night. Which doesn't happen often - not sleeping - and so I guess I also don't solve a lot of life's biggest problems. In the summer it happens more because I stay up talking until four am with other crazy fools, and then we figure out life together. That is a summer activity. Winter in Chicago is too depressing, so you watch TV and get fat from drinking too much beer and watching NHL and don't think too much. So last night in my insomnia I did some thinking. Figured it all out.
Lately I have come to realize, for the millionth time, that my whole life is about people. Yours might not be. Which is weird, and I do not really understand it so much, but I am pretty sure this is accurate. There are those of you that have lives focused on other things, work, money, fame, your religion, your craft, your art, your obsession of choice. Whatever it may be. Mine is not the best. But it is mine.
Now people aren't really my favorite. It's clearly not because I like people all that much that I care about them so. Mostly I have to remember when I am talking to someone how important they really are, and then I remember, people are incredible. All people. All these people walking around, cells and organ and eyes and toes wiggling in their boots. All I know is that someone that is alive is important. Breathing things have a hold on me. Same with animals. Same with trees. Trees? Really.
When I take a good look at a tree losing its leaves, a clover in the grass, the snow falling endlessly, I get a little jealous. Jealous because I know that whatever that thing is doing is exactly what it is supposed to be doing and I long for that not only in myself but for all of humanity. I know this desire comes from a depth of belief inside of me that I am lucky to have. Like I said, my empathy and love for people are a feeble, sad excuse for what the words really mean, on my own, at least. Fake it til you make it, I guess, and pray you might not screw things up.
One of the reasons people are so important is because we're all connected. Being a woman, I've got this ability to grow a baby inside of me (which is not currently happening) - but I have got it. Last night I nearly had a mini panic attack thinking about it. Human. Inside of me. Quite literally attached. While I get that this has been happening for about a million years - I wonder how this very fact has not kept us people from doing such horrible things to each other. Do we forget where we came from? Does it not matter that two people had to come together to make another and that you came from someone? I think it matters very much. I can't wait to have a little human inside of me, growing, forming, living, being. Not saying I am going to be some super human preggo lady. I have no idea. Point: this is an example of intimate human connection; one we all have participated in to some extent.
So this is why I want to counsel people and have children and talk about dogs all the time. This is why. This is why when it comes to any political or religious decision, I must and will err on the side of loving people, and if I err to far, I will suffer the consequences of loving too much. If I sound illogical, that's OK. If I sound emotional, that's OK. If I sound idealistic, it's because I am.
I wish purpose was as easy to see in human life as the bending of branches in a strong wind. I wish that purpose was sought and found that didn't leave pain in its wake. I wish that everyone valued human life and health like they do their bank accounts, their popularity, their safety.
Man, I am such a hippie. If only helping the world was solved by packing my bags and moving to a commune on a farm. Alas, my purpose does not allow for that. At least not now.
Lately I have come to realize, for the millionth time, that my whole life is about people. Yours might not be. Which is weird, and I do not really understand it so much, but I am pretty sure this is accurate. There are those of you that have lives focused on other things, work, money, fame, your religion, your craft, your art, your obsession of choice. Whatever it may be. Mine is not the best. But it is mine.
Now people aren't really my favorite. It's clearly not because I like people all that much that I care about them so. Mostly I have to remember when I am talking to someone how important they really are, and then I remember, people are incredible. All people. All these people walking around, cells and organ and eyes and toes wiggling in their boots. All I know is that someone that is alive is important. Breathing things have a hold on me. Same with animals. Same with trees. Trees? Really.
When I take a good look at a tree losing its leaves, a clover in the grass, the snow falling endlessly, I get a little jealous. Jealous because I know that whatever that thing is doing is exactly what it is supposed to be doing and I long for that not only in myself but for all of humanity. I know this desire comes from a depth of belief inside of me that I am lucky to have. Like I said, my empathy and love for people are a feeble, sad excuse for what the words really mean, on my own, at least. Fake it til you make it, I guess, and pray you might not screw things up.
One of the reasons people are so important is because we're all connected. Being a woman, I've got this ability to grow a baby inside of me (which is not currently happening) - but I have got it. Last night I nearly had a mini panic attack thinking about it. Human. Inside of me. Quite literally attached. While I get that this has been happening for about a million years - I wonder how this very fact has not kept us people from doing such horrible things to each other. Do we forget where we came from? Does it not matter that two people had to come together to make another and that you came from someone? I think it matters very much. I can't wait to have a little human inside of me, growing, forming, living, being. Not saying I am going to be some super human preggo lady. I have no idea. Point: this is an example of intimate human connection; one we all have participated in to some extent.
So this is why I want to counsel people and have children and talk about dogs all the time. This is why. This is why when it comes to any political or religious decision, I must and will err on the side of loving people, and if I err to far, I will suffer the consequences of loving too much. If I sound illogical, that's OK. If I sound emotional, that's OK. If I sound idealistic, it's because I am.
I wish purpose was as easy to see in human life as the bending of branches in a strong wind. I wish that purpose was sought and found that didn't leave pain in its wake. I wish that everyone valued human life and health like they do their bank accounts, their popularity, their safety.
Man, I am such a hippie. If only helping the world was solved by packing my bags and moving to a commune on a farm. Alas, my purpose does not allow for that. At least not now.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
the point of beauty
When I was eighteen I fell into a crowd where the boys went by names like Payne, Maverick, Axel... and the girls, well, the girls always seemed to be named Ashley. Brunette Ashley, blonde Ashley, jet black Ashley - all my friends, they should have been the ones with the nicknames. The boys were just regular boys with names like Steven, Alexander, Michael, middle names and last names, although I don't remember them anymore. I used to know. How do you get to be the girl in this photo? Not that getting to be the girl in this photo is really anything remarkable, but it seems that way when you're young (younger than I am now). Let me tell you.
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| Big X's - Underage! |
Now I look back at these photos, I think, I look happy. Was I happy? Maybe I was happy. But I can assure you: I was not happy. Actually, I remember crying all that make up off almost every night in the car. It still doesn't stop me from wanting to look like this again. I really do like being tan. I really do. So sue me. The reason I was crying wasn't because of all the work I put into what I looked like, it was because it all didn't matter. I still wasn't good enough. I never would be.
When my first real boyfriend got his first real apartment, I remember the posters going up. I remember the magazines strewn across the bedroom floor. Playstation backgrounds. Phone pictures. Not to mention the names and texts of girls whose faces I'll never know, but names I'll never forget. It was never said, it never needed to be said. Hey, I did my part. I look like how I'm supposed to, love me, k? Problem: I can't have brunette, blonde and black hair all at once. Problem: my eyes will always be green. Problem: I can't give myself a better figure. In some not-so-far-off places those things can all change, and all do. All the time. Altering appearance is the very foundation of the beauty industry. The real problem is: we can change all of these things.
At the beginning of this I wanted to talk about beauty... that is not what I have been talking about. I've been talking about something that was not beautiful at all, only pretend. Only pretty smiles and sad eyes.Yes, natural beauty does exist. People are physically attractive. After I realized that making myself look like something just for someone else not only didn't work but didn't even make me happy, I was left wondering what's the point of being beautiful (outwardly so).
I don't know.
Living in Uptown was about the best thing that ever happened to me for this very reason: what I looked like didn't matter. At all. It was actually important for me to look as unattractive as I could. You know what else didn't matter? My credentials. Resume. Things I had done. None of it mattered. All that mattered is that I was there. All that mattered was my heart. And my heart really, really, really did matter. It was a time of being loved simply for who I was. Which is what I trying to do myself, just love whoever was nearest, just because they should be loved.
Unfortunately I don't live in Uptown anymore and I have to go this job downtown, you know, and I even have to look nice. When I swipe on mascara and fix my hair I sigh and wonder how long I'll do this. At least I know why I do it now. And, by the way, I do know now I'm OK just the way I am and don't need to become anything else and neither do you, you hear? All my friends who are Inerman Angels, JJO girls, or working at Hooters, just be doing what you're doing for you. Changing your hair color every week actually sounds pretty fun to me, so go right ahead. We're all made the way we are and it's really all right. Really. Also, get a dog and be loved by that dog unconditionally. That's my advice.
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