I started dating when I was 24 years old. Under my parents' roof, dating was illegal. From 18-22, all of my efforts were focused on working my way through college and doing well in my studies. And then 22-23 were learning about the work force. By the time I turned 24, I had hit a conundrum: I needed to begin dating if I wanted to meet a life partner, but I was too embarassed about my lack of romantic know-how to feel comfortable dating!
The way I figure it, I headed into relationship territory 8 years behind the curve. I've always been a late bloomer, it was bound to happen here too. If Malcom Gladwell's "ten thousand hours" rule holds true and you really have to devote a substantial chunk of your life to a field -- say, social interaction -- in order to master it, then I'm in trouble. Everyone else started billing their 10,000 hours around 16. The average age of women getting married for the first time in the United States is now 27. If it takes 11 years to garner the 10,000 hours of relational experience, and I started 8 years after everyone else, that means I should be getting married at age 35.
Egads!! What if I marry someone who wants children? Everyone knows it's just good sense to wait a few years before you have kids; that way you get to know each other first. But then I'd be having kids at 40!
I've completely lost my train of thought with this blog post. It had a point, I swear.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Ma
A long time ago, I had a bit of a breakdown over the fact that
a.) my job sucked
b.) my boyfriend and I had split up
c.) my family was less than cordial with me
Contrary to what you might expect, my weeping and gnashing of teeth was actually not a reaction to any one of these extenuating circumstances; rather, it was due to the sudden realization of how much worse my life would be if Ma were not there to help me through it all.
Some of you will doubtless remember Ma from previous blog posts. For those who do not, Ma is the 5 foot giant of wisdom and love whom I met while working in the business world a decade ago (everyone calls her that because of her mothering instincts). Any time I may have questioned foregoing the scholarship to graduate school in favor of working as a secretary immediately after college, God reminds me of Ma and how she saved my life. I might have been smarter if I'd gone on to get another Master's degree, but my quality of life would be much lower. That's how much she's affected it. Ma is the one who packed all my belongings and moved me into a new apartment after I'd lost my job...three times. She's the one who drove me to the hospital and pushed my wheelchair and held my hand when I couldn't stop shaking. She brought me sustenance and taped garbage bags over my windows when I had the flu and everything hurt my eyes and stomach. Mostly, she invented "Brave Shoes"as a metaphor to help me become stronger through change and adversity.
Those years ago when I was so worried about my life, it wasn't because I was afraid I'd lose my job again or get dumped again or be homeless again. It was because I've always had a fear of someone pulling the rug out from under me, and I suddenly realized that the worst kind of rug-pulling had become the loss of Ma. I've always insulated myself against love because I know what it's like to lose it. I guess I've thought that if I didn't get too close to people, it wouldn't hurt as much when they aren't there anymore. When I realized how much I had come to depend on Ma, I developed an irrational fear that God would allow her to be killed in a car crash or something equally as horrible, so that I would be forced to turn to Him. I confessed these fears once to Ma and she said, "That's silly. I'm not going anywhere."
That was all it took. If Ma said it, I believed it. And so, over the years, I let myself become more and more attached to this small but formidable person. I eventually came to believe that no matter what happened, my family -- my Ma -- would be there with love and encouragement and a home-cooked meal when the sky was falling.
But Ma just got a job in another state. Everything inside me knows it's for the best...it's where her mother lives, it's where her daughter wants to go to college next year, it's where she grew up and belongs. But my soul is still stunned that she is actually moving away, that I won't be able to spend anymore Halloweens handing out candy and watching Charlie Brown. We won't watch The Santa Clause (1, 2, and 3) and eat turkey anymore at Christmas. And she won't be able to "pop over" with a balloon and flowers anymore on Valentine's Day. How did this happen? This was not part of the plan!
I guess the whole point of Brave Shoes is that they are supposed to imbue you with a sense of courage that you wouldn't otherwise have. And then hopefully, as you wear them enough, they become part of you and your whole life becomes courageous. I know in my heart that I'm courageous enough now to survive -- if not exactly thrive -- without a mother being right next to me all the time. And I suspect that Ma told God she would only leave if He provided someone else to care about me. But I'm still sad.
a.) my job sucked
b.) my boyfriend and I had split up
c.) my family was less than cordial with me
Contrary to what you might expect, my weeping and gnashing of teeth was actually not a reaction to any one of these extenuating circumstances; rather, it was due to the sudden realization of how much worse my life would be if Ma were not there to help me through it all.
Some of you will doubtless remember Ma from previous blog posts. For those who do not, Ma is the 5 foot giant of wisdom and love whom I met while working in the business world a decade ago (everyone calls her that because of her mothering instincts). Any time I may have questioned foregoing the scholarship to graduate school in favor of working as a secretary immediately after college, God reminds me of Ma and how she saved my life. I might have been smarter if I'd gone on to get another Master's degree, but my quality of life would be much lower. That's how much she's affected it. Ma is the one who packed all my belongings and moved me into a new apartment after I'd lost my job...three times. She's the one who drove me to the hospital and pushed my wheelchair and held my hand when I couldn't stop shaking. She brought me sustenance and taped garbage bags over my windows when I had the flu and everything hurt my eyes and stomach. Mostly, she invented "Brave Shoes"as a metaphor to help me become stronger through change and adversity.
Those years ago when I was so worried about my life, it wasn't because I was afraid I'd lose my job again or get dumped again or be homeless again. It was because I've always had a fear of someone pulling the rug out from under me, and I suddenly realized that the worst kind of rug-pulling had become the loss of Ma. I've always insulated myself against love because I know what it's like to lose it. I guess I've thought that if I didn't get too close to people, it wouldn't hurt as much when they aren't there anymore. When I realized how much I had come to depend on Ma, I developed an irrational fear that God would allow her to be killed in a car crash or something equally as horrible, so that I would be forced to turn to Him. I confessed these fears once to Ma and she said, "That's silly. I'm not going anywhere."
That was all it took. If Ma said it, I believed it. And so, over the years, I let myself become more and more attached to this small but formidable person. I eventually came to believe that no matter what happened, my family -- my Ma -- would be there with love and encouragement and a home-cooked meal when the sky was falling.
But Ma just got a job in another state. Everything inside me knows it's for the best...it's where her mother lives, it's where her daughter wants to go to college next year, it's where she grew up and belongs. But my soul is still stunned that she is actually moving away, that I won't be able to spend anymore Halloweens handing out candy and watching Charlie Brown. We won't watch The Santa Clause (1, 2, and 3) and eat turkey anymore at Christmas. And she won't be able to "pop over" with a balloon and flowers anymore on Valentine's Day. How did this happen? This was not part of the plan!
I guess the whole point of Brave Shoes is that they are supposed to imbue you with a sense of courage that you wouldn't otherwise have. And then hopefully, as you wear them enough, they become part of you and your whole life becomes courageous. I know in my heart that I'm courageous enough now to survive -- if not exactly thrive -- without a mother being right next to me all the time. And I suspect that Ma told God she would only leave if He provided someone else to care about me. But I'm still sad.
Monday, June 10, 2013
A Look Backward
One of the pitfalls of my personality is that I'm always looking in the rearview mirror. It makes for great reflection and introspection, but it's not so good for envisioning the future or leaving crap in the past. While digging around in a rarely-opened box trying to find my tax records, I found one of my old journals. This is odd because 20 journals are stacked on the bookshelf in my living room, serving as the archives to my largely uneventful life. That's where all of my journals are supposed to be kept. What was this one doing in a box?
Apparently, I never wanted to be reminded of its contents. It was the journal I kept 3 1/2 years ago during one of my Dark Nights of the Soul. In it I documented my disillusionment with Christianity, my failure at 4 successive jobs, the loss of my apartment (again) and pet (again), and a very de-feminizing trip to New York for New Years.
Here is a look back...
I'm turning 30 this year. I feel stale, forgotten, shoved to the back of the vegetable drawer in God's refrigerator like an old, rotting bell pepper. Even if He did suddenly remember me, the chances of Him finding a recipe that calls for moldy pepper are slim to none.
It's the end of my third decade, and I have nothing to show for it: 4 pretty unsuccessful hits to my employment record. A litany of relationships either doomed at the start or doomed at the end. No home. No tenure. And as of June, no income and no place to live.
I'm scared. But more than scared, I'm disappointed. I wonder what I did wrong, to be shoved to the back of the drawer and forgotten...relationally, economically, spiritually. I'm caught in the rat race and I hate it... working 3 jobs, skipping church when I have no one to sit with because I hate being alone. I need a friend.
Is it stupid to leave here? Or ought I to have done it a long time ago, when everyone first started asking me what I was still doing in St. Louis?
Mostly I'm just restless. Tired of answering the same, boring questions; tired of going to the same chain bookstores; tired of regurgitating the same canned answers about Marzano's Instructional Strategies at job fairs; tired of dating the same passive, uncommunicative men.
I want to be shakened up and wakened up! I'm scared of leaving everything I know. But I'm not doing anything here. I'm a teacher's assistant, for Pete's sake and I stay here because it's what I've always known. But as all of my friends tend to their husbands and children, I'm restless. I've never intentionally challenged myself before, prefering to attempt only what I know I can succeed at. I've all but forgotten the question T.S. Eliot asked in The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock: Do I dare disturb the universe?
Apparently, I never wanted to be reminded of its contents. It was the journal I kept 3 1/2 years ago during one of my Dark Nights of the Soul. In it I documented my disillusionment with Christianity, my failure at 4 successive jobs, the loss of my apartment (again) and pet (again), and a very de-feminizing trip to New York for New Years.
Here is a look back...
I'm turning 30 this year. I feel stale, forgotten, shoved to the back of the vegetable drawer in God's refrigerator like an old, rotting bell pepper. Even if He did suddenly remember me, the chances of Him finding a recipe that calls for moldy pepper are slim to none.
It's the end of my third decade, and I have nothing to show for it: 4 pretty unsuccessful hits to my employment record. A litany of relationships either doomed at the start or doomed at the end. No home. No tenure. And as of June, no income and no place to live.
I'm scared. But more than scared, I'm disappointed. I wonder what I did wrong, to be shoved to the back of the drawer and forgotten...relationally, economically, spiritually. I'm caught in the rat race and I hate it... working 3 jobs, skipping church when I have no one to sit with because I hate being alone. I need a friend.
Is it stupid to leave here? Or ought I to have done it a long time ago, when everyone first started asking me what I was still doing in St. Louis?
Mostly I'm just restless. Tired of answering the same, boring questions; tired of going to the same chain bookstores; tired of regurgitating the same canned answers about Marzano's Instructional Strategies at job fairs; tired of dating the same passive, uncommunicative men.
I want to be shakened up and wakened up! I'm scared of leaving everything I know. But I'm not doing anything here. I'm a teacher's assistant, for Pete's sake and I stay here because it's what I've always known. But as all of my friends tend to their husbands and children, I'm restless. I've never intentionally challenged myself before, prefering to attempt only what I know I can succeed at. I've all but forgotten the question T.S. Eliot asked in The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock: Do I dare disturb the universe?
Sunday, May 12, 2013
2000
I have a lot of thoughts rumbling around in my head, but the problem is that it's the end of the school year. This means it is research paper time. Take this weekend, for instance. I had around 2000 note cards to grade. I got through most of them, but still have a few stacks left. In two weeks' time, those note cards will be term papers on social ills. I'll have one weekend to grade all 60 of those, as well. Sigh.
I had a dream the other night. I had found the most amazing house ever... exposed brick walls, vaulted ceilings, multiple fireplaces, the whole 9 yards. It was incredible, and I was excitedly dragging my dad around, pointing out all the best parts. My dad, however, being a consummate pessimist and also a loving father, felt the need to point out that the house leaked, and that we were standing in a puddle of water. "It doesn't matter how beautiful the house is," Dad said. "It doesn't matter how 'at home' you feel in it. If the foundation is messed up, you'll be making a terrible investment."
I was very frustrated with Dad for pointing out dumb little things like foundation issues and wet feet. After all, I was the one who was going to live in the house! If I didn't mind getting a little wet now and then in exchange for cavernous rooms and high ceilings, why should he??
I suspect, upon waking, that this dream was about more than just houses. I think it's about wanting to build a home with someone, and being willing to overlook issues because it 'feels right!' I don't know, I guess the best you can do is keep your eyes wide open.
And also, listen to your Dad :)
I had a dream the other night. I had found the most amazing house ever... exposed brick walls, vaulted ceilings, multiple fireplaces, the whole 9 yards. It was incredible, and I was excitedly dragging my dad around, pointing out all the best parts. My dad, however, being a consummate pessimist and also a loving father, felt the need to point out that the house leaked, and that we were standing in a puddle of water. "It doesn't matter how beautiful the house is," Dad said. "It doesn't matter how 'at home' you feel in it. If the foundation is messed up, you'll be making a terrible investment."
I was very frustrated with Dad for pointing out dumb little things like foundation issues and wet feet. After all, I was the one who was going to live in the house! If I didn't mind getting a little wet now and then in exchange for cavernous rooms and high ceilings, why should he??
I suspect, upon waking, that this dream was about more than just houses. I think it's about wanting to build a home with someone, and being willing to overlook issues because it 'feels right!' I don't know, I guess the best you can do is keep your eyes wide open.
And also, listen to your Dad :)
