Regroup, keep movin'...*

Vintage I. Magnin Pottery - Pretty neat, huh?

I am currently sitting in a whole house, looking onto a rain-spattered patio, two needy poodles by my side, French Toast and coffee in my belly, and listening to talk radio, ensuring that my extreme liberalism is mediated a bit by the other side.

What is it about me and the fall that makes me such a mess? What is it about me that makes me such a mess? At this time last year, I was working through my final year of grad school, and it felt like agony. It felt neverending, like every day was scheduled to the minute, and I had no room to move. This is different. This is emotional exhaustion, and I'm going to sit in this chair until I figure out what to do about it.

How did this happen? Well, it was a confluence of events, really: I haven't been doing so well on reaching my goal of no more freak-outs and no more chasing men (I know - I'm sorry), and I'm dirt poor and constantly worrying about money and blaming myself for my own choice to work in a field that will never help me leave the garage, and I'm in a weird spot where my support system has changed pretty drastically and I'm still trying to restructure and rebuild.

And then there is the reality of being a grown-up, that relationships are difficult, work is everyday, and sometimes low blood sugar becomes life threatening. Sometimes I want to scream at my friends who don't see that the answers are right in front of them, but right now I'm on the other side, unsure that there are any answers or solutions to what are really pretty small problems that I have allowed to overwhelm me.

I don't believe in "God's lessons" or that somehow I'm in a complicated play where in the end, I will be wiser because everything has worked out perfectly for the best. I believe in choice, and human nature, and this morning I am really, really stuck.

I'm taking some time off from life, gonna regroup, try to make sense of it all. Peace out :)

*The title is part of a lyric from a math album I sang on in elementary school. The full lyric goes, Regroup, keep movin', don't let the numbers get you down. Classic.

I like to use the word 'freakishly'

I am occasionally overly optimistic, and freakishly committed to people who hurt me. It's an endearing quality in my mind, but it can put me in dangerous situations, situations that truly jeopardize my physical and emotional well-being. And then, on the flip side, is the reality that people we love will inevitably hurt us, and vice-versa!

One moment in my life that I will never forget is this awful fight (years ago) I had with my best friend. She was yelling, calling names. I was crying, begging her to stop. I was hurt, disappointed, and totally confused. She loved me. I loved her. How could something so awful happen (and it was awful)? That was a turning point for me in my ability to forgive, and in my ability to really see people three-dimensionally, and to accept that the people who love us will probably hurt us more than anyone else, and it's up to us to decide what to do about that. Do we throw away relationships after one horrible fight, or do we do the hard work of repairing?

After that fight, I've began to notice that close relationships aren't as perfect as I'd once imagined them to be (or fantasized about them being). For example, a few months ago, I had a total meltdown and yelled at a few friends in a not-so-kind way for trying to do something helpful for me. I had to get a major talking-to, and I had to eat it big time. For whatever reason, it was so difficult to admit that I was wrong. I had a right to be mad! They were wrong! But that wasn't what the situation was really about. It was about protecting relationships that mattered to me. And that was worth more than my ego.

Just something I'm chewing on today. Peace out :)

I am bad at being patient.

After waiting two years to find these in my size, when they arrived, all I could think was, "Meh"

So I moved into my new office today, and found that in spite of my saying that "yes, that's okay with me", it did not feel okay to have someone else's things in the office. The previous occupant needs a little bit of grace to move her things out. And in that moment (which extended into a school-day long of feeling crappy and anxious), I realized, "Hey Megan, you're not as patient as you thought you were." Shit. I was afraid of that.

I have waited for a lot of things in my life, and for some of them, I am still waiting. Scratch that. I've been waiting for a lot of things for my whole life. I thought that this waiting was making me a patient person, but in fact, it isn't. I've become angry about the waiting. I'm angry with God for the hand I was dealt. I'm angry at God for not plucking me out of my own life, and giving me a similar, but easier, alternate reality. Instead of being an adult about the whole thing, I've allowed my three-year-old self to run the show, and she's constantly asking, "Are we there yet?" And I don't know what to tell her. "No, we're not there yet. I don't know when we're going to be there, or if we'll ever get there, or if I even know where it is we're supposedly going." Is that what I say?

Whatever I end up saying, I want it to be something that helps me to be more patient, that points me in the right direction, instead of where I am at the moment, the decidedly wrong direction. Somehow, I need to learn to be patient for the things I want. But it's so hard. I want it now!

Also, I'm terrible with change, so that might not be helping the situation. Prescription? More cowbell!

Scope of practice

Vintage 1980s Kermit the Frog Washcloth Puppet :)

This week, I was at the doctor's office (a non-diabetes doctor) and was the unfortunate recipient of some hard core ignorance, and from a place that it has no business being. Knowing the difference between Type I and Type II Diabetes should be a no-brainer for health care professionals. And if you don't, then don't make any statements that suggest you do. It bugs me when my regular diabetes nurse practitioner (who I see every three months) won't talk to me about anything except diabetes, but now I'm understanding a little bit more. She is recognizing the scope of her practice and refusing to speculate on issues she isn't competent in.

You have a job, so do your job. Don't try to tell people about their fertility if you aren't a fertility specialist. Don't talk about schizophrenia if you don't have an advanced degree in mental health. Don't give financial advice if you aren't an economist or an accountant.

Be exactly who you are, and don't be who you aren't. And don't apologize for not being everything to everyone. You're human. That's how it's supposed to be. There's nothing wrong with not knowing. There's nothing wrong with saying "I don't know", for being unaware, or ignorant. But what's not okay, is lying about it.

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!

You can't control anybody.

 

I have no control over whether or not other people make poor choices, or whether they make good choices. I have no control over other people, period. That is a hard, horse-sized, pill to swallow, and sometimes, I think it takes a lifetime to try to do it right. So much of what we do involves our own imagined need to control other people. It keeps us from admitting our true pain, our unique weaknesses, and ultimately, our humanity. Attempting to control other people is an attempt to deny those things.

So maybe take some time today to think about the person or people that you wish you could control (Hint: They're probably the people you love the most, or your family, or both). Then take a deep breath, blow all of your breath into your closed hands, then lift them to the sky, and blow your troubles away. Blow away your desire to control, when it's an impossible goal. Blow away your defensiveness and blame. And while you're at it, you might as well blow away any shame you have at wanting control or trying to get it. We all do it. We're human.

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?

My mind is blank

I don't have anything in me right now. I don't know why, but I'm very tired and my mind is blank. I added two blankets to my bed because it got so cold last night. I have a lot of work to do this week for school, but I haven't done it yet.

Maybe my mind isn't blank. Maybe it is very very full.

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.

Well, this sucks

This one goes out to my reselling peeps.

Sometimes, I find the most awesome stuff whilst thrifting. Actually, I am always finding awesome stuff. That's why I buy it, and put it in my store. But when I take it out to list it, I have this pain of longing, wishing I could keep it for myself. I keep finding awesome vintage crewel kits, and I wish I had the time and energy to complete them, but I don't. I found an old family bible in mint condition, and it would be awesome to have a bible like that at home, open to a Psalm or something equally tranquil, but no. I reject hoarding. I reject it!

Of course, eventually, the pain passes. The item goes to someone who will love it as much, or more, than I would, and my soul returns to its previous state of equilibrium.

I think sometimes this happens in other areas of life. We fall in love with someone or something, and for whatever reason, we can't keep it. I have been having to say "No" more often lately. It seems like I'm saying it more than I ever have in my whole life. It is painful every stinkin time, because every time I do it, I feel like I'm letting someone down, or I'm letting myself down. But I always say it because it's for the best. If I did everything, I would die from exhaustion. If I loved everyone the way I want to love them, I would die from a broken heart.

So my list of things I want goes untouched, not because I've stopped wanting those things, but because I'm not ready yet to have everything I want. Someday I will be ready. I hope some lucky dog is ready too.

Just pick something.

 Extreme hopes are born of extreme misery.

Bertrand Russell

In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.

Friedrich Nietzsche

I am a stubborn fool, and believe in things that will never be. But I am also a wise fool, because I believe in the impossible, and maybe, just maybe, hope things into being. I've been told that I would die without hope, because I said I didn't have any. But to live without hope is no life at all. To live without believing, even somewhere deep inside your own unconscious mind, that something better is possible, is to be dead.

Every person alive has some form of drive to live, and I call that hope, I guess, whether or not it really fits (If I tweak the definition a bit, I can claim that I have some and no one will worry about me). Depression can be the realization that there is no reason to hope, and no thing to hope for. So every day, I wake up, and I find something that keeps me going. Sometimes, it's completely delusional. Actually, it's usually delusional; that's why it sticks around. It's the rational hopes that don't last long-they are quickly swept into the "not possible" pile and filed away in the garage.

I believe in the impossible. It has gotten me through decades of life-not-always-worth-living. And to give it up, and hope in a God I cannot see or touch or feel, who may or may not ever return-that seems more delusional than thinking you can time travel to win the lottery, don't you think?

"It always seemed like a joke"

So I woke up in the middle of the night with chest pain (i.e. sternum pain) and a slight fever. I am sick and my high school sternum injury, which has always seemed like a joke, is inflamed for some unexplained reason. Anyhow, it still hurts, but I am breathing normally. My back also hurts quite a bit.

Lest you grow concerned for my well-being, let me take you back a few days to my gardening foray. It seems that a few decades of not doing anything yard-work related has made me somewhat of a pansy. Yes, it felt amazing to wack that hoe around (say that five times for fun), but let's face it, my body has not been trained for that sort of thing. Yes, my years of aquatic sports have made me somewhat broad-shouldered and "athletic" looking, but don't let it fool you. I swam because it was as low-contact as possible. Short of running into a wall (seen it, and it can get ugly), swimming is pretty safe. It also does not require a lot of human interaction, team-building, or compromise. Somehow that was good for me as a young person; now, not so much.

In this case, the sternum injury was caused by an obese girl who threatened me, then kicked me in the chest in the water during a water polo game. Good times. Diagnosis: Cracked sternum. Treatment: None.

I am drawn to the hoeing; it is unbridled and raw. I can let out the crap of the day without hurting anyone, especially if no one is home (unless they come home in the middle of the backyard drama-then it's just awkward).

I've never been a particularly "violent" person. I didn't get into fights in school or anything; I mostly got threatened by cholas. I didn't ask for it. I was just sad all the time, or thinking, or mad, so I always looked ready-to-kill. That made some people a little crazy, and other people treat me poorly. I don't think I have built-up hostility, but maybe I have bad stuff built up inside of me that needs to be let out.

Maybe I abhor violence because I know what I myself am capable of, so I stick to safe activities, like blowing up dirt clods.

We all know: they're the real enemy.

Hello Thursday!

The recycled tape is everything I dreamed it would be. It's like big strips of envelope that needs to be licked in order to stick. And it makes my packaging completely recyclable! I feel so good about that. I'm usually a 90-95% kind of girl. I do a lot, but not everything. I split my lot between two worlds. I do this because it keeps me sane. I do it because it's who I am.

This means that I am not a protester. I do not compost my own feces. I drive a car. I shampoo my hair. I use electricity. I shop at the grocery store. I do not have a vegetable garden. I humbly eat food that I am given, and shop at stores with picketing-protesters in front. I eat pre-prepared food and Mexican drive-thru burritos. I have $10 in my bank account, and am currently using my credit card to eat. Yup. That's me.

I am not perfect. I am human. I'm also awesome. True story.

The unattainable thrifty middle-ground

My perfect rug is still sitting on the dirty cement floor of a warehouse-sized thrift store in town. I just can't see myself spending $265 on it. It's super nice and perfect for me, and huge (and yellow!), but that's a month's rent. It's food. It's an African famine, and a broken world.

On the qualifier list for Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD; not to be confused with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) are the following:

·       is overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values (not accounted for by cultural or religious identification) 

·       is unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value 

·       is reluctant to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things 

·       adopts a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes 

·       shows rigidity and stubbornness

American Psychiatric Association. (2000).  Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, Text Revision.

Where may hoarders fall? Yup. On this list. Where do I fall? Yup, on this list. Miserly? Okay, so I am poor, so maybe we could take that one out. And my ethical preoccupation is kind of religious, so maybe that one can go as well. But I am definitely unable to delegate, ridiculously stubborn, and unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects.

You may be saying to yourself "Well sure, but you're a thrifter. Those aren't worthless objects." Sure, but when I was moving last month, I came across a drawer of things I'd saved that might/could be used in some artistic endeavor in the far-off future. Well, it was not trash ( I cannot call it trash), but I threw it away, in agony. This is why I wail at the SPCA photos on my Facebook page. "Why has someone thrown this away?" My chest hurts when I think about throwing away the things from that box: old string, wire, springs, used tissue paper-nothing of value!

But sometimes I get so preoccupied with my recycling ethic that I move over into pathology. Friends don't want to tell me that their dog came from a breeder, that they own a pick-up truck, that they eat cheese. And I myself don't know where to draw the line, because it doesn't exist inside of me. I have to project it onto every situation: Will this drain me of energy? Do I really have the time to live with this?

So I don't have a personality disorder, as much as I want to believe that I do. I was sure raised to go in that direction, but by the grace of God go I. Cheers!

I can't ask for help

So in my fierce stubbornness, I am occasionally unable to ask for help. Usually it's for parental things (i.e. things that I couldn't ask my parents), like money, or help with a project, or a ride somewhere. Well, this is really never a good thing. I still have piles of boxes in my front room because I've reached the end of my own competence and I can't ask for help. So I'm just stuck.

This isn't entirely childish of me. I used to do everything by myself and never needed anything from anyone. Now, I realize that it's unhealthy for me to live that way, but I'm also still stuck asking the wrong people over and over again, people who don't actually help, who just give lip service to it. I don't know why I keep doing the same wrong thing.

It's so shameful to ask for help. It means that I'm weak, that I can't do everything, that I need other people. But when I ask for help, it means that in order to actually be helped, I have to listen to advice oftentimes, advice that I don't want to hear. So until I'm able to get over my own pride, I'm going to be miserable, being vomited on by a sick crying child, on a bus far from home, because I wouldn't accept the ride I was offered (ah, great metaphor).

"I'd rather be recycling"

I saw this Sport Chalet license plate holder on the freeway this afternoon (which I thought was weird; i.e. making recycling a sport). Also, I think the car was a nice Lexus, and I smiled because I do not drive anything resembling a nice car, and here was a kindred spirit in a Lexus of all things, next to my unwashed, broken oven of an old VW.

I was on the freeway driving home from a thrift trip out of town. I had a 50% off everything coupon for one of my favorite places, where I had a lot of success, and I was going to hit up their sister store on the other side of town when I realized how bad my soul was feeling, so instead, I stopped by the much smaller hospice thrift store on the way back to the freeway.

I love this place; I always find good stuff, and they have excellent prices. Unfortunately, they also have some of the crankiest women working there, so sometimes I don't go in there, because I don't want to listen to them complaining. It seems like they're always bemoaning the normal bits of being a thrift store: the customers, the disarray, the customers, people's piles. I am one for piles, and I got in trouble today for having a kitchen item outside of the kitchen area. A foulmouthed well-dressed woman behind the counter practically insisted that I hand her my stuff as I kneeled on the floor looking through magazines. I said, "I'll be there in a minute anyway," but she wouldn't have it.

Not every one is as easygoing as I am (for up to five minutes each day), but that doesn't mean that I have to dislike them. Yes, it annoys me when thrift store employees and volunteers are anally retentive about the state of the store, but those are usually the cleanest and most organized places to shop (unfortunately). And what's the opposite of anal-retention? Anal-explosion. Yeah, that's no good.

So here's to you, cranky thrifty ladies, for all of your diligence, determination, and plain ol' dourness: We couldn't sift through the trash without you.

And here's to me on my 29th birthday: May every year continue to be better than the last.

I am powerless, aren't I?

My best friend says that of all ethnicities, I probably shouldn't marry an Italian or a Latino, because there is no room in my person for machismo. I can get pretty fired up when men try to assert their implied power over me.

A while back, I got into a power struggle with an older (not by too much-ten years tops) Latin man. He felt ostracized by me and the group I was working with, and responded by impinging on my personal space, staring us down, expressionless. This made me feel so physically anxious that I demanded that he leave; he didn't, so I did. The other men in the group tried to get me to calm down, but I saw it as harassment and I wasn't going to back down and let him believe that what he was doing was okay. There was another woman in the group who felt similarly, not to as great an extent, but similarly.

Then, even though I'd left, I couldn't let it go. Suddenly, I was incredibly concerned about this person's ability to work with other people in a pastoral or therapeutic context; I kept ranting about it. It was like a switch got kicked on, and I had no control over my emotions.

Sometimes I react like that in situations where others are less affected by the same circumstances. Maybe it's a post-trauma response, but that's certainly not something I want to touch without the presence of a professional. When reactions are out of proportion to reality, there's usually something deeper going on. But when I'm in the moment, I don't feel like I'm overreacting. I feel like I'm reacting appropriately, that the situation warrants an extreme response.

This isn't the end of the road for me. I am not an emotionally whole person. I am stable, but not perfect. Sometimes I think that I need to be perfect to be lovable, that somehow even though everyone else is flawed, I need to be less flawed. I really believe that, even after all the work I've done. I still think I have to be better than you just to be okay. This totally sucks.

How stubborn is too stubborn?

My stubbornness is quite strong. It's like I don't think that giving up is ever an option. But it gets me into crazy difficult situations. How do you deal with someone who won't quit? How do you deal with someone who hangs around long after you've told them to leave? When is stubbornness just delusion?

When I love people, I find it very difficult to give up on them. I am also very bad at taking hints. In the past, I haven't read social cues very well. I'm getting a lot better at it now, trusting my instincts and all that, but I probably still fall on the lower end of the social intelligence spectrum. Sometimes I think everything should be simple. Life shouldn't be complicated; relationships should be easy. But that isn't the case, and I do my fair share of making it complicated.

I need some strong-ass hope right now to get through this rough patch. And my version of this is fierce stubbornness, an unwillingness to quit, and a impenetrable belief in a person's ability to change. When I do this to the extreme, I can find myself in the fetal position when all open doors are closed. Is this the best way to live? I don't know. I suppose I should look at the pros and cons of the issue.

When is God speaking, and when is life just sucking at one particular moment? When is a door shut and when is life just hard?