Marry me. Own me.

Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home—my only home.

― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

My big term paper in 12th grade AP English was about Jane Eyre, specifically the concept of love in Jane Eyre. I've been trying to create my home my entire life. I never had one place that I could call home. I had a smattering of locations, and all of them together just wasn't home. But I found a home inside myself that I carried with me everywhere. It was safe. I made forts with pillows and blankets and my pink depression glass lamps I've had my whole life; and I would read The Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew. I don't remember a lot of snacks, but my mother often bought graham crackers, so those I remember more than anything else. That was my "home".

I was told that my real home would someday be with a partner, a husband. He would give my life meaning. He would take all of the idiosyncrasies about me and somehow create meaning from them. He, this unknown person, was the only way I could become whole and complete. He was the only way  that someone would care about me the way I imagined was possible. He would care that I hate watermelon and love swings at the fair. He would listen to me when I wanted to talk, because it would be his job to listen and care. In sum, my future husband would love me the way no one else could.

Well I'm 31 years old, and I'm not married. I've never been married. I haven't met this amazing person who is going to save me, change my life so completely I'll finally be whole. So I've had to learn along the way that life is too hard to wait for this person to arrive. Life is too long to wait for someone that may never come.

Whatever the truth, I've learned that one person doesn't "complete" another person, and so to even strive for that is a futile occupation. Don't I deserve to be complete all on my own? Don't I deserve to be loved all on my own? And don't I deserve to be fully known without a spouse? Yes, yes, and a resounding yes.

So I find my home all within myself, and I carry it with me wherever I go.

You don't understand.

Taylor & Ng has an entire collection of animal orgy mugs - classic

There is something that happens when a woman becomes the only single person she knows. And the secret is that she knows plenty of other single people - they just don't count. I have been through season after season of seeing all of my friends get married, and having to make new friends. Now it's been about a decade, and a new normal has set in, a realization that this is my life. There's a good reason that the men I date are still single in their thirties. There's a good reason I'm single, I suppose. Girl can't take a hint.

After a while, after a breakup, I make a decision to just stop already. It's the smart thing to do. But then I go and do it again: open myself up, let my heart stretch and hurt and soften in ways it never has, and then I get to today, the morning after, and remember why my life is the way it is, even if it hurts sometimes and is lonely in a way that other people cannot possibly understand.

I wonder why God chooses some people to have lives of stability and love and family. I wonder why God hasn't chosen me for those things, why I'm different. I'm pretty tired of fighting it. Fighting God is futile. And the hope of beauty is only crushed when reality steps in and shows its ugly face.

Wasteland.

Joanne Sibley watercolor print - She often paints the Caribbean area.

Wasteland (Almega Projects, 2010), a documentary largely conceptualized by artist Vik Muniz, is about trash and landfills in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. It's interesting in many ways because of Rio's focus on general cleansing (e.g. running gangs out of the slums) as they prepare for the 2016 Olympic Games. The documentary focuses on the people who work and survive on the landfills, recycling all of that which can be recycled (as Rio has no separate recycling pick-up services), and even using the food to feed themselves (in very impressive, and non-disgusting ways, I will add).

This film sat on my Netflix queue for ages, as it seemed like something I would like (i.e. it was about trash, and my fantasy destination: landfills!), but I never got to it. Every time I considered it, I felt depressed, and found something funny to do instead.

Eventually, I watched it. It was that moment, when you've been waiting to do something for ages, but just waiting for the right moment. And it was beautiful, full of real human experience and emotion, and the deep raw-ness of working with trash, of being trash, and what that means to a person's soul. It's a beautiful film, both emotionally and aesthetically. Philosophically, it brings the hidden secret world into view, and exposes it for the truth it truly brings to the world and the human experience: those who live off the landfill are the most beautiful people you can find.

I don't know if the experience of these filmmakers could be recreated across the world in other landfill worker colonies, but I'm glad that they took the time to really see the people they researched. They made something beautiful in a dirty, ugly place. They found beauty that was already there.

I love you, all of you :)

It's a belt buckle! Isn't it so pretty?

I've always been tall and awkward, and being thin makes me feel less like a total troll, but I still feel it sometimes. Early on, I developed a tough exterior to cope with the teasing I received throughout elementary school, all of which had to do with how I looked. How I look can bother me. It matters to me, because it is the thing that can either lead to teasing, or help me to avoid it. I like to pretend that I have control, even though I know I don't.

Last week, the day before Valentine's Day, two thrift store employees had gotten off their shift and were looking through the lingerie to find something special. One was totally committed to the project; the other, less so and was berating herself in front of the mirror we were sharing, "I can't wear this!", My butt would look too big and he'd be distracted by it!" And for whatever reason, I felt like it was my responsibility to tell this woman, emphatically, that there was nothing wrong with her, or her body, and that anyone who thought so had a problem. So I did. And she listened. I felt good about myself.

I wish I had never been the recipient of someone telling me that I was fat, or ugly, or disgusting. I wish that no one ever did. But for whatever reason, most people have felt these things, experienced these things, and then we all, collectively, internalize those messages and believe them about ourselves.

So I am now taking brief moments, all the time, in thrift stores, to send positive messages to women trying on clothing, to join with the sisterhood, so to speak, in an effort to turn the tide, however slightly :)

Daaaaaaamn girl! You look gooooood.

Have you spoken to a child lately?

Like really, seriously and intentionally, had a conversation with a child? Children, who I often refer to as aliens in this world (because everything is new to them), are extraordinarily brave and authentic. I often feel thankful when I remember that I spend a lot of my days working one-on-one with children, children who want to be heard and seen. And it seems like such a small thing, my entrance into their lives, such a small, insignificant thing.

But then I remember how I saw adults who took time for me when I was young. The smallest things changed me. When I was about nine years old, a friend of the family picked me up unexpectedly from ballet. I don't even recall why, but she was going to take me to her house where I'd wait for my parents to pick me up. And on the way home, we stopped by this little burger stand and she got me a burger and fries, and for some inexplicable reason, this seemed like a magical gift to me.

I'll never forget that moment, and how I later felt when she died, that she had seen me in this really sharp, powerful way, and gave me something to hold onto when life continued to be rough. I think that maybe, deep down (because I'm tearing up right now, just thinking about it), she really cared, and somehow, deep down, I could feel that. So every time I see a child, I know how important it is for me to see them, and acknowledge them, that small things that seem insignificant to me, might seem huge and life-changing to them, and I won't let those precious moments go by wasted.

Anyhow, thoughts of the day. Peace out :)

Lisbeth Salander :)

She can't fight who she is!

I've been reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy, and I'm on the last book right now. These books pretty much sum up my love for recycling, and my love for people. I love the people who've been discarded and who rise above the trash they've been disposed into, and make lives of functionality, and sometimes even meaning.

Lisbeth Salander is not my doppelganger, exactly. Our situations have some pretty strong similarities, but I spent the past decade getting over my anger and trying to make my life worth living. But her refusal to let people in, her well-guarded interior combined with a tough exterior - that was me as a teenager. It was a necessity, and I wore it with intention. Letting people really see me and really love me took a very very long time, and along the way, I lost some good people. I also lost some not-so-good people, but I don't cry too much about them.

I wish I could really explain to everyone I meet where I come from and who I am, because those things make me who I am. They make me understandable and lovable. But, so is every other person in the world. So, it's a draw. We're all worthy of love. No one deserves to be thrown away.

Taking a lover :)

Aren't these super cool?

Don't hide your love...

Michael McDermott - "Lantern"

So if you've ever spent any kind of significant time with me, you have heard me talk about sex. It fascinates me. It scares me. It's endlessly interesting to discuss. I've been trying to work it out, figure it out, for a long time. I think I'm at a better place today than I was fifteen years ago, and even five years ago, but I still have questions about morality, sexual ethics, and the very Megan-esque question, "Should I take a lover?"

Every six months or so, for the past thirteen or so some-odd years, I ask myself this question. And several of those times, the answer was "yes". But for the past few years, the answer has been "no". I entered seminary, quickly got into a relationship, and was confronted by my spirituality and sexuality, all at the same time, in the same room. It wasn't pretty. It was scary and not healthy. I was old enough to know better, but I didn't know how to make decisions that were good for me.

Celibacy is an awful word. So much of the person I want to be is plain hard core. And celibacy is not hard core. But it's also a reflection of how far I've come in those thirteen years. At the beginning, I was sixteen, totally in love, and unable to move in my own body, accept my own sexuality and act on it. When I lost that relationship, I did a 180 and slept with anyone who would have me. I was heartbroken and confused, and it took me a really long time to work through those feelings. It took me a long time to forgive that sixteen-year-old girl who couldn't sleep with her boyfriend, the one person I ever really loved. But I have forgiven her. It was a lot of emotion for a previously unloved little girl. It was overwhelming and terrifying.

So maybe I'll take a lover, but I probably won't. I want to be with someone I love. So yeah, that's the thing I've been talking about lately, that painful, suffering, wanting. I want to be with the person I love, and it's an almost impossible thing to wait for.

Not much to say

I haven't been writing much this summer, and I've especially not been writing much about thrift. Readership is down, so I assume that means that no one is interested in the meanderings of a crazed post-masters almost-30 girl, living in a garage, and pining over lost love. What can I say?

I have this deep feeling in my bones that my life is about to change drastically, but I don't know how and I don't know when. This has happened to me a couple times in my life, this odd feeling, and I have learned to just go with it, and everything will turn out okay in the end. Maybe I'll dye my hair or get a tattoo. Maybe I'll move out of the country or start singing in a band. Or maybe, just maybe, nothing will change.

Love you all :)

Drunk teenagers

Vintage Peanuts bed-sheet - Charlie Brown & Snoopy :)

Yesterday, I hung out with drunk teenagers. It was 5 o'clock in the evening, and they wanted to start roaming the neighborhood, so I accompanied them. We went to the park, swung on the swings, and generally had a nice time. They were overly affectionate and making friends with people they referred to as "hobos", as in, "Hobos sure are cool, Megan." Eventually, I decided I'd had enough and turned for home. Once we were inside an enclosed space, I immediately wanted them to leave. I wanted to sit with adults and eat dinner, and not have teenagers screaming in my ear.

At one point in my life, I too was a stupid drunk teenager. I drank a lot in high school, and by the time I graduated, was pretty much done with the scene. I got to college, and it seemed so strange to me. Where was the fun? Where did I fit in if I didn't drink? How could I be social and well-liked, but not have to go to worship night and sing hymns? It never seemed like there were other options, so I played the part. A close friend regales me with stories of me at parties, drunk and topless, which I have no memory of.

I drank for the same reason most people do. I drank to get away from feeling lost and alone. I drank to fit in. I drank to pretend that everything in my life was okay, and that I wasn't miserable all the time. It worked. But it also brought out my selfishness, and my tendency to be unkind. I was too honest, unfiltered, and passed out quickly. I was like a tornado, spinning quickly through the room, spreading loads of damage, then disappearing into the night.

I don't miss those days. I don't miss feeling so awful, hating myself so incredibly much. I like myself today, and I strive to spend my time in a way that encourages self-love and discourages self-loathing. Oftentimes, I am too hard on myself, and I expect more of myself than I do of anyone else. But sometimes I get it right, and then on a rare occasion think, "Gosh I'm glad to be alive". But that's not today. I'll try again tomorrow.

Peace out :)

Postscript (10/21/12): I in no way contributed to the teenagers being drunk, just in case you worrywarts are having anxiety.

Boosting your own ego

Not completely empty, but mostly :)

This week's episode of The Bachelorette made me think about a phenomenon I've seen in heterosexual romantic relationships: Women pressing the man to admit that he is indeed hopelessly in love with her, causing total exposure and emotional nakedness (but only for him). She manipulates the situation because she wants to know that it's a sure thing. She isn't going to go all-in unless she first knows that he's all-in first. It's like, "You show me yours first, then I'll think about whether I'll show you mine."

I call it a phenomenon because I've seen it happen over and over again with my single friends. They agonize over whether or not some guy likes them because they depend upon that knowledge to judge themselves. If he loves them, then they're worthy of being loved. Their worthiness is completely dependent upon that knowledge (Oh man, this drives me crazy).

We use people's vulnerabilities against them in order to make ourselves more powerful! When I make the guy admit his feelings first, then I have the upper hand. I have the power to crush him if I want, and now there's zero chance that I'll get crushed. Self-protection at its worst, my friends. Using other people's vulnerabilities to boost your own ego? Not cool.

But resistance is not an easy task. It means making up your own mind. It means a whole hell of a lot of risk on your part, with the possibility that there is only pain on the other side. But the cool part is, you get to become a whole person in the process, and that's worth every painful moment, and every tear.

I love it when I'm wrong.

Vintage Van Eli Shoes - Aren't they fun?

On the walk home this afternoon, in 102 degree heat, I saw a bird struggling in the gutter. I spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to help the poor thing, then noticed that his tail was broken. I always hear that the worst thing a person can do is touch a wild bird, so I used some nearby brush to help the bird into the shade, hoping perhaps that a few degrees might help the bird to suffer less. The bird wasn't having it. He wanted to stay in the gutter.

A young man was watching me, and pulled out a headphone to talk to me. I said, "He's gonna die. I just wanted to help him die in the shade." This man understood - he showed me empathy! He looked like a gangsta (a completely normal look in my neighborhood), and my gut reaction was that this guy was not going to understand my need to save the bird. But he did! He really did, and now I'm reminded of how much goodness is in the world, and how a lot of the bad-ness is caused by our assumptions and false beliefs.

I wonder what the world would look like if we all believed that everyone was a friend. Is that what Jesus meant when he said, "Love your neighbor as yourself", that we always assume the best in others?

25 hour work-week?

I had a thought this week, now that I'm considering my future post-graduation. I've been supporting myself in unique ways over the past several years, and I may soon have the opportunity to put that aside in the interest of something more stable, higher-paying, and let's face it, more demanding. And I'm thinking that I don't want to, not because I'm lazy (I work constantly as it is), but because I don't want to contribute to a society that claims that work is life.

When I consider my life, and the lives of others, I see that the strain work places on us as human beings causes us to treat ourselves with less care, in the interest of our jobs. We give our jobs all we have, whether we realize it or not. Then all that is left at the end of the day is the dregs. How is that life? Let's face it-who among us, with a full-time job, really spends every minute working? The answer is not zero. I understand that there are plenty of people who work hard, and then others for a number of reasons are limited by their own abilities and work harder than most. I grant you that.

What if you only had to be productive half the time? Or even less? What if everyone were salaried, and could leave when their work was done? What if we began to look at eachother more as human beings and less as mindless, all-powerful, drones? What if we were all honest about our needs? What if we were vulnerable, and committed to change?

Utopia is a dream, but being fully human is something worth striving for.

Tactile love

So, I'm single and for the most part (yeah, I have to finish this damn paper, but that will be done in a few days), 100% available. I'm kind of enjoying this newly-found emotionally-stable freedom. It's kind of awesome.

I'm interested in how my online blogging friends (with a penchant for the tactile realm of thrifting) feel about the online dating scene. Which way do you swing: tactile or online? When I put it that way, it almost seems counter-intuitive. I spend my days on a treasure hunt, driving around town, searching, touching, feeling. This is all in the midst of lots of other people, with the radio on in the background, and more often than I'd like, a screaming child. It's stressful and exciting. I may even get hit on, and that's always an adventure (think stringy, dirty, and frugal).

Online dating is hidden, behind-the-scenes, inorganic. I need eye contact, fumbling, blushing. For as much as those things may hinder my own confidence, they also make me a stronger person in the long run.

So in the interest of face-to-face, sometimes scary, but always exciting, interactions, I put myself out there in the real world, every day.

Set-ups welcomed :)

It's your life - own it.

When a relationship fails, it is never one person's fault, never. The unique quality of being human is that we keep coming back to each other, even though together we can make one another miserable. So it is that when a relationship fails, it's on both parties.

You chose to marry that person. You made choices which led to the relationship's demise. And now you must live with the consequences of that action. You married someone who left you? Yup, you participated in that. If you've been left, don't cry "Foul!" as if you are innocent in the demise of the relationship. Own it, people. Own it.

These are just some meandering thoughts I've been having. It's very important to me for adults to act like adults, to put the needs of their loved ones (especially children) above their own needs. That's what adults do. Adults are calm and firm in the midst of crisis. They do not call names; they are kind. Adults are not passive-aggressive; adults say what's on their minds, respectfully and plainly. They do not do these things because they are easy. They do them because they are the right things to do.

Being an adult is difficult. Being married is difficult. But it is what it is. It's your life. Own it.