A trip to the dark side

The Black Swan :)

I just read a crazy story (Note: It's about serial killers and mass graves, so go away if you're not in a good place to handle this). It takes place in my area of the world, so it appeals to me. These days, I am rarely able to handle this kind of crazy. The work I do makes it very difficult for me to cope with bad stuff that is in no way connected to me and my life. But this story gave me hope.

I have lived my whole life in the great state of California (minus a few months here and there). One becomes accustomed to the billboards on the side of I-5 advertising missing persons, some for ten years and more. These signs are so sad. There are whole families behind those signs, waiting and hoping for answers. Parents ask, "What happened to our daughter?" They grieve without end, because there is no end to the mystery. And then some crazy guy in San Quentin decides to open his mouth, and spill his guts. It may be manipulation. It may be for money. It may be honest guilt. I don't know, but no matter why it's happening, it's good.

Families are getting answers. Think of all the suffering that is going to end in this search. They will never stop grieving, but the suffering that comes with not knowing will end. It makes me so happy. It makes my eyes well up. It makes my heart feel full. Some of the fog may be lifted (oh, I hope they'll test all the remains ASAP), after decades of not knowing what happened.

Part II: Scars and Clumsiness

Define yourself radically as one beloved by God.

-Brennan Manning

So I'm lying on the canal trail, bleeding, with asphalt in my wounds and the terrible bad luck to have twisted one ankle, but fallen on the opposite side. Both sides were inoperable, and even though I lived a quarter mile away, there was no way I could get there on my own. So I figured I'd wait it out, lie on the pavement and wait for a car to drive by. I was close enough to a street lamp that I was covered in a dull yellow light.

Several minutes later, a kind, caring couple stopped in their car. They put me in their Volvo and drove me home (so close, yet so far). We'd never met, and in that delirious moment, I wasn't sure they were real (again, low blood sugar + runner's high + serious injury = delirium).

I ended up being in crutches for a week. I couldn't work because of the terrain of the job, so I lived on my couch with my legs in the air, hoping I hadn't done permanent damage that would lead to a foot amputation (I was an uninsured diabetic with a foot injury; my mind wouldn't stop swirling with worry).

When my wounds healed, which they all eventually did, I had a bright red heart-shaped scar on my knee. And for some reason, I felt like it meant something. I felt loved and protected, and today, that scar reminds me of that feeling. I don't feel foolish for running at night, or for running alone. I don't feel silly for getting hurt at the beginning of a new job. I don't feel those things, because of that little heart, reminding me that I am loved unconditionally, even radically.

Many more times in the next few years, I would experience similar reminders, none of them visible scars, but all of them tattooed on my memory forever.

Scars and clumsiness

This morning I saw this collection of photos on The Huffington Post. Scars are often jarring, disconcerting things when seen from the perspective of onlookers. But by-and-large, people seem to be proud of their scars. This surprised me; I'm not sure why (Obviously, this is not an unbiased sample, though).

I have huge scars on both knees and I don't feel entirely fond of them. They're only a reminder of my clumsiness. In my crazed long-distance running days, I fell a lot, always on asphalt. One of these injuries was particularly bad. I'd just started a new job, and the human resources manager asked me to stay after my shift to work an employment fair with her. At the time, I had even less of an ability to say "No" than I do now, so even though I was exhausted, I went.

By the time I got home, it was dark, and I had to run out my stress. There was a mile-long paved trail right by my house, lit at night, and I ran laps. By the end, I had that runner's high combined with low blood sugar and maybe some dizziness. I tripped, and fell, sprained an ankle and a foot, and busted my knee. I couldn't get up and was bleeding all over myself. It was dark outside and there was no one around.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. Oo! A cliffhanger!

Sexual Zeitgeist

When a prostitute can comment on the sexual zeitgeist of an age, you know you have to listen. And since I've read this editorial/commentary/opinion piece, I've thought to myself, "I wonder if it was always thus? Have sex workers always had their fingers on the pulse of the sexual heartbeat of the nation and/or culture?" I think this might be entirely possible.

I feel lonely sometimes, though I am rarely lonely in its truest sense. I am not hungry for human affection, or love. I'm not even hungry for canine love or affection. But there is something deep inside of me that longs for touch that can only truly come in the form of a significant other, a romantic partner, not because sex is the be-all, end-all, but because that's what it's there for. It exists as an outlet for true and honest intimacy. We pervert it all the time, but at its essence, that's what it is.

So I strive towards that end. I search to express my sexuality in ways that are honest, and true to who I am as a person. I try to be honest with my words, with my tone, my body language, and my physical appearance. I may fail in any and all ways at one or more times, but I keep trying. I want connection, but I only want honest connection from someone that wants to connect with me. I don't want false intimacy. I've had enough of that for a lifetime.

Bootstraps, anyone?

 

This story kills me.

People offer us love, and we deny it. People offer us help, aid, and we throw it away, saying we'd rather find it ourselves. I have an image of a toddler in my head, practicing the art of independence-"Do it myself!"

There's a TED talk on vulnerability I'd like to watch today and perhaps respond to tomorrow.

Sometimes I say "yes", when I want to say "no", not because "no" is the right answer, but because I know that I am resisting the love of another person, wanting to avoid attachment. Sometimes we need to accept the love that is offered to us, even if it comes in a form that is unpleasant (e.g. I give my neighbors meat even though I don't believe I should; I buy Hershey chocolate because the man that put up my shelves asked for it, even though I believe that they practice slavery). Sometimes I think we need to take more time to make decisions. Sometimes those decisions will end up bringing us closer together.

And we need eachother. Life is tough, remember?

First days of work are so hard

 

Fellow shopper (to nearby employee/volunteer/parolee): "What is the sale today?"

Employee: "I dunno. There probably isn't one."

Shopper: "Well, there is a daily sale, so something is on sale. I'd like to know what it is."

Employee: "Yeah, I don't know about any 'sales'. Since I don't know about it, it probably doesn't exist."

Shopper #2 (me) to Shopper #1: "Ma'am, there is a sale on two-piece clothing items. That's all I remember from the sign."

Employee: "Well, it's my first day. So I don't know what's going on."

Shopper #2: "Oh. Well, that's okay. It's not my first day, so I've got you covered."

Employee: "Oh, do you work here?"

Shopper #2: "Um, no."

A thrifty Thanksgiving :)

Ways to be thrifty this Thanksgiving:

1. Cook the turkey carcass and make soup stock (no-brainer)
2. Use real plates (dishwashing time is my favorite)
3. Play lots of non-electronic games
4. Have deep conversations with people you have shallow relationships with
5. Dance or walk after dinner
6. Compliment everyone's cooking (no matter what)
7. Bring something to share, even if it's small
8. Talk to someone you avoid every year
9. Find new things to be grateful for
10. Be yourself. Sometimes in the midst of old patterns, we switch to old personas. Be you, the adult you. Inject newness into old relationships. Don't fall back on old patterns.

I hope your Thanksgiving is warm and enjoyable. I know mine will be.

Loving what you love

 

Do you ever wonder why you want what you want, what makes you interested in your interests, why you love who you love?

Sometimes our desires are born from our upbringing, and sometimes this can be good. You like Christmas music because it reminds you of the holidays with your family. You love strudel because you always ate it at Grandma's house. You like to bowl, because you went bowling every Saturday morning with Dad.

But sometimes our desires are born from suffering. You love running because it makes you feel strong, and you were made to feel weak and insignificant as a child. You love eating, sometimes too much, because it fills a void you can't quite name. You become an accountant because you were homeless as a child and want to avoid any feeling of helplessness.

These are things that trigger our deepest feelings, good and bad. Oftentimes, the things that are the most important to us are the most difficult to explain to other people. If your heart could speak, it would explain, and people would understand.

I'm beginning to think that I love what I love for good reasons, and bad reasons, and I'm wondering where to draw the line. How much bad is too much?

8. Modern Folk Music

Maybe I should call this category "Female Singer-Songwriters". There's something beautiful about a woman who's lost a mother, or didn't have a real mother, for whatever reason. A lot of folk singers have quite a bit of loss in their lives. The soul cries out in this unique, raw way. Music is surely one of the best ways to express it.

I found over the summer that I truly love all folk music. There was an interview on Democracy Now with Billy Bragg this past summer, and I'd been thinking for a long time that I was a non-punk kind of girl, but I loved him. He sang songs about protests and coal mines. He spoke truth. Folk is truth: beautiful, honest, bloody truth. Love it.

1. Lori McKenna-There aren't enough good things to say about this amazing artist: vulnerable, honest, deep, suffering, great voice, prolific...For a whole day, I listened to this song on repeat (I pretty much can't listen to it anymore, not because I hate it now, but because it connects with a place in my heart that I just don't want to go). She speaks to me, not because I'm a mother or a wife, but because she is real. Love her.

2. Patty Griffin-I am not in love with her newest album, so she's taken a bit of a backseat lately. My friend has her live album, "A Kiss in Time" and every time I drove her car, I'd listen to Long Ride Home over and again, singing at the top of my lungs (Nothing is better than the version on that album). I am not a fabulous singer, but I wanted to be fabulous for that song.

3. Cry, Cry, Cry-A single album collaboration between Dar Williams, Lucy Kaplansky, and Richard Shindell. A good friend made a tape for me in high school, and it was on repeat in my car. I think Billy Joel finished off the second side of the tape :) It's synergy, baby, synergy. Those three, all together, are magical. I like them all individually (Iowa and After All by Dar Williams are two of my favorites), but the sum is greater than the parts.