It's been awhile since I've written anything. I've been entrenched in some deeply personal work -- but more on the heart of that another time.
A small part of this journey has been to re-evaluate how I view myself and my place in this world. I've changed a lot from my 20s to my 30s and much of that is how I treat myself and what I give myself permission accept. Like every other woman out there, I have plenty of thoughts about my physical appearance -- many of which are negative and I would never even say them about my arch nemesis (who, by the way has an over-geled, nasty pube-like haircut and is dark and evil on the inside). In my 32nd year, I began to wonder why. I wish I could say I have this brilliant and original answer, but I don't. Although, I do have a few thoughts:
-I came of age in the '90s when Kate Moss and heroin chic were the standard of cool. Since I didn't intend to stick a needle in my arm, skipping meals and snacks seemed like the most reasonable way to achieve this. Like most 18-year olds do, I had a fantastic body. But all I saw were the flaws. Now I look at photos of myself and think, "GEEZ! Where's that girl now?" Well, she's buried under the pounds of someone who decided she loved food more than the starvation, malnutrition and hours on the Stairmaster it took to achieve that body. So why isn't that okay? Yes, I need to lose some pounds, but most of America does, too! And I now have a phenomenal personal trainer who supports me and pushes me to lose the emotional baggage weight -- not the curves of my natural frame. It's going to take some time to get where I want to be, and that's okay. I'm working on it.
-I was perusing PEOPLE magazine a few weeks ago and there was a picture of the beautiful Bar Refaeli in a story about various star beauty treatments. She had red stuff smeared all over her face and I eagerly read about what berry-based facial this could possibly be. Maybe I needed one. Only, it wasn't berries at all. She had her blood drawn, then the platelets were separated and smeared all over her face because...well, I forget why, but it was something about them being oxygen-rich and leaving her with a glow, or some such nonsense. And I sat in stunned silence for literally several minutes just thinking, "Is this really our new standard of beauty?" Shooting botulism in our faces to get rid of any sign of emotions wasn't enough? Being impossibly thin didn't cut the mustard? Seeing celebrities who are already the most unfairly beautiful creatures then photoshopped to an unachievable perfection didn't give us enough insecurity? Now we're supposed to have blood drawn, separated and then smeared all over our faces for that "extra glow"??? (OH! And the best part of that little article was that this facial costs $1500. Child, for $1500, it better come with a new Louis Vuitton to hold while they stick that needle into your vein.)
And then it hit me: this is ridiculous. This is the definition of ridiculous -- this might be the very 2014 definition of ridiculous, but it is the definition of ridiculous. How could we possibly ever keep up with women who have deeper pockets than anyone working a real job, who are genetically blessed, and who have personal trainers, personal chefs and a private hair and makeup team?
The answer is: we can't. And why shouldn't even want to try.
Being comfortable in my own skin is still something I'm working toward, but it took a platelet facial to push me that much closer to realizing how asinine it really all is. Because, even with my own blood streaked all over my cheekbones, I'm still not going to look like Bar Refaeli.
And that's okay.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Saturday, July 20, 2013
The Light and the Dark
After a lengthy period of home renovations, I was thrilled last weekend to cap off a trying couple of months with a concert and dinner with my pal, Anje. We drove out of town about 30 minutes to reach the old Mandrell Estate and the stage that was tucked neatly back in the woods. We grabbed some drinks and set up our folding chairs amongst the crowd of mostly 30- and 40-somethings, giddy with anticipation to re-live the '90s with Guster, Ben Folds Five and Barenaked Ladies.
Sidenote: Being a selective cheapskate, I smuggled in a flask of mid-grade vodka in the zipped pocket of my vintage Fendi and purchased a small bottle of Sierra Mist for the bargain price of $4. But, seated right next to the bustling sound booth, I turned into a complete chickenshit and was paralyzed by the fear of being caught. I handed over my purse to the more rebellious Anje, who mixed me a grown-up soda.
The last time I saw Ben Folds Five was in the mid-'90s in Atlanta. They were fantastic then and they did not disappoint this time, either. Ben Folds is a genius on the piano and, as Anje put it after a few drinks, "They're probably just too smart for most people." I think she's right. They had a few radio hits, of course, but songs like "Alice Childress" never caught on with mass audiences, which is a shame because it's both haunting and impressive in its lyrics and composition. But counting everyone's favorite abortion song ("Brick") among your credits is nothing to sneeze at. "Can't you see, it's not me you're dying for, and she's feeling more alone than she ever has before. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly." Truly original.
One of my favorite moments that night came just as the sad, but overplayed ballad concluded. As the crowd cheered, Anje turned to me and said, in all sincerity, "What's that song about?" I love her.
When Barenaked Ladies hit the stage, their energy was palpable and I marveled that even 15ish years since the last time I saw them, their enthusiasm and ability to entertain the crowd had only improved with age. Despite the shock of Steven Page no longer being part of the band (where have I been???), Anje and I loved the improved songs and stand-up of Ed Robertson.They're such a talented group of men who seem to genuinely appreciate their fans sticking with them for so many years.
It was a surprisingly pleasant day for TN in July; the music was the perfect mix of old favorites and new ones; the setting was beautiful and the crickets serenaded the quiet between songs. Sitting beside my friend who has become my family, the world seemed so lovely and I was consumed more than once by a feeling of peace and incredible joy because life can be so very beautiful.
After dropping Anje at her house, I wound through the hills surrounding the now quiet mansions of Brentwood. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later that I finally came to a red light and decided to check the news and see if the jury had reached a verdict in the Zimmerman trial. Having been holed up in a crappy hotel room all week while my floors were being redone, I spent a lot of hours watching the trial and wondering how these slimy defense attorneys slept at night. (Attorney Don West's daughter tweeted a picture with her father the day Trayvon's illiterate friend, Rachel Jeantel, testified, saying "We beat stupidity," and there were a few hashtags, one of which read, "Dad killed it." Doesn't that say a whole lot about these people??? See for yourself here: http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/state/don-west-ice-cream-photo-daughters-mollywestttt-tweet-we-beat-stupidity-dadkilledit) I'll give Zimmerman's team this: they managed to bury the most relevant piece of information -- George Zimmerman instigated this fight by stalking and pursuing this unarmed child.
Staring down at my phone while a few random cars passed in front of me, I felt sick to my very core. Not Guilty. Of anything. This man, who openly admitted to following and shooting this unarmed child, was excused without so much as a slap on the wrist. Tears immediately stung my eyes at the injustice of it all. What does it say about us as a society that in 2013 an African-American child can be "justifiably" shot just for walking home because someone thinks they look suspicious? He's black. He's wearing a hoodie that's pulled up (couldn't possibly be because it was raining, could it?). It's late. He must be a criminal -- a thug. I am so utterly horrified by this notion that the state of Florida just validated. I feel sick that Trayvon's parents were sent the message that their child's life didn't matter, that he was somehow a second-class citizen. How are we not past this?!? How is it that we took a big step forward for gay civil rights, but we're taking another leap backwards when it comes to race?
A week has now passed since the verdict, and the country, thankfully, has not moved on. I think each day brings a new question as to what we're going to do about this. Even the President weighed in, though somewhat gingerly. The only people who seem not to be outraged are the people also anxious to distort or misreport the facts. (For example, Hannity said that even Trayvon's parents said this was not about race. That's actually a complete disregard for the truth, but who's surprised?)
I don't know what better way to illustrate what's still wrong with our country than this tragedy. Zimmerman is now in hiding and his lawyers say he'll have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, implying that we should somehow feel sorry for him. But what they are ignoring is that the uncertainty of his future is the direct result of his own vigilante actions. And even that bleak future is more than Trayvon will ever get to experience.
One moment, everything is beautiful and peaceful and the next a sense of right and wrong comes crashing down and justice seems to exist only for the few. There's so much I could say about this case, but nothing that hasn't already been said. I only hope that Zimmerman's legal battles continue and that there can, someday, be peace for Trayvon's family.
Sidenote: Being a selective cheapskate, I smuggled in a flask of mid-grade vodka in the zipped pocket of my vintage Fendi and purchased a small bottle of Sierra Mist for the bargain price of $4. But, seated right next to the bustling sound booth, I turned into a complete chickenshit and was paralyzed by the fear of being caught. I handed over my purse to the more rebellious Anje, who mixed me a grown-up soda.
The last time I saw Ben Folds Five was in the mid-'90s in Atlanta. They were fantastic then and they did not disappoint this time, either. Ben Folds is a genius on the piano and, as Anje put it after a few drinks, "They're probably just too smart for most people." I think she's right. They had a few radio hits, of course, but songs like "Alice Childress" never caught on with mass audiences, which is a shame because it's both haunting and impressive in its lyrics and composition. But counting everyone's favorite abortion song ("Brick") among your credits is nothing to sneeze at. "Can't you see, it's not me you're dying for, and she's feeling more alone than she ever has before. She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly." Truly original.
One of my favorite moments that night came just as the sad, but overplayed ballad concluded. As the crowd cheered, Anje turned to me and said, in all sincerity, "What's that song about?" I love her.
When Barenaked Ladies hit the stage, their energy was palpable and I marveled that even 15ish years since the last time I saw them, their enthusiasm and ability to entertain the crowd had only improved with age. Despite the shock of Steven Page no longer being part of the band (where have I been???), Anje and I loved the improved songs and stand-up of Ed Robertson.They're such a talented group of men who seem to genuinely appreciate their fans sticking with them for so many years.
It was a surprisingly pleasant day for TN in July; the music was the perfect mix of old favorites and new ones; the setting was beautiful and the crickets serenaded the quiet between songs. Sitting beside my friend who has become my family, the world seemed so lovely and I was consumed more than once by a feeling of peace and incredible joy because life can be so very beautiful.
After dropping Anje at her house, I wound through the hills surrounding the now quiet mansions of Brentwood. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later that I finally came to a red light and decided to check the news and see if the jury had reached a verdict in the Zimmerman trial. Having been holed up in a crappy hotel room all week while my floors were being redone, I spent a lot of hours watching the trial and wondering how these slimy defense attorneys slept at night. (Attorney Don West's daughter tweeted a picture with her father the day Trayvon's illiterate friend, Rachel Jeantel, testified, saying "We beat stupidity," and there were a few hashtags, one of which read, "Dad killed it." Doesn't that say a whole lot about these people??? See for yourself here: http://www.wptv.com/dpp/news/state/don-west-ice-cream-photo-daughters-mollywestttt-tweet-we-beat-stupidity-dadkilledit) I'll give Zimmerman's team this: they managed to bury the most relevant piece of information -- George Zimmerman instigated this fight by stalking and pursuing this unarmed child.
Staring down at my phone while a few random cars passed in front of me, I felt sick to my very core. Not Guilty. Of anything. This man, who openly admitted to following and shooting this unarmed child, was excused without so much as a slap on the wrist. Tears immediately stung my eyes at the injustice of it all. What does it say about us as a society that in 2013 an African-American child can be "justifiably" shot just for walking home because someone thinks they look suspicious? He's black. He's wearing a hoodie that's pulled up (couldn't possibly be because it was raining, could it?). It's late. He must be a criminal -- a thug. I am so utterly horrified by this notion that the state of Florida just validated. I feel sick that Trayvon's parents were sent the message that their child's life didn't matter, that he was somehow a second-class citizen. How are we not past this?!? How is it that we took a big step forward for gay civil rights, but we're taking another leap backwards when it comes to race?
A week has now passed since the verdict, and the country, thankfully, has not moved on. I think each day brings a new question as to what we're going to do about this. Even the President weighed in, though somewhat gingerly. The only people who seem not to be outraged are the people also anxious to distort or misreport the facts. (For example, Hannity said that even Trayvon's parents said this was not about race. That's actually a complete disregard for the truth, but who's surprised?)
I don't know what better way to illustrate what's still wrong with our country than this tragedy. Zimmerman is now in hiding and his lawyers say he'll have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life, implying that we should somehow feel sorry for him. But what they are ignoring is that the uncertainty of his future is the direct result of his own vigilante actions. And even that bleak future is more than Trayvon will ever get to experience.
One moment, everything is beautiful and peaceful and the next a sense of right and wrong comes crashing down and justice seems to exist only for the few. There's so much I could say about this case, but nothing that hasn't already been said. I only hope that Zimmerman's legal battles continue and that there can, someday, be peace for Trayvon's family.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
In Defense of Rationalism
Before you start reading this, I have two pieces of advice for you:
1) Stop reading right now if religion is so sacred in your life that you never even gave it a second thought because you never wanted to doubt what you'd always been taught. I'm really serious that this is not for you if you are double-dipped in Catholicism or Mormonism or something because there are many platforms for your beliefs, but very few for mine, and I'm through apologizing for them.
2) People who make the decision to read this (thank you, by the way) might be upset because I will be the first to admit my views are pretty extreme, compared to the mainstream. If I offend you, I'm sorry, but not really because you did this to yourself. It's like ignoring the warning at the beginning of The Human Centipede when Comcast tells you this movie is really gross and weird and are you SURE you want to order it anyway? You said yes. Just remember that...
Religion? I'm over it. Sure, I feel the need to offer the immediate disclaimer that I love/respect many people who identify themselves as Christian, Jewish, whatever, and I think everyone has the right to believe whatever they want to believe. What I am NOT okay with, however, is when your beliefs bleed into my everyday living space. I'm not talking about you going to church on Sunday or you volunteering your time at the annual church coat drive. That's all well and good because what you do on your own time is your business. The problem arises when two ladies (one who's a tween, and one who's old enough to know better) show up on the doorstep of my home and ask me if I believe in miracles. Well, little girl, I don't want to be rude, so what if I just say I think I see Justin Bieber over there and quickly shut the door when you turn to look? That way I'm not slamming the door in your innocent face, but I AM slamming it in the face of the 40-something woman wearing a sack-dress who's shilling religious propaganda to people who are just trying to watch The View. Instead, I say, "You know, I really appreciate you stopping by, but we're atheist, so I wish you the best of luck and have a great day." You could tell the young one didn't know what that meant. Judging by the somewhat sour expression the older one had, I'm guessing she did.
Or let's say you're at work and this nice person you've just met comes over to thank you for your help on something today and she ends the conversation with "Have a blessed weekend!" -- and you freeze like the proverbial deer in headlights because they must have forgotten to teach the polite response to that in Cotillion. So you just say, "OkayhaveagoodoneBYE!" in the nervous, squeaky voice of Jennifer Tilly all of a sudden.
Or what if you're in the copy room and the same otherwise nice individual is asked how she is today and her response is, "I am blessed!" and you know your whole day is just shot because you've had enough of this being forced down your throat?
If you're asking yourself why this one little statement would affect me so much, let me break this down for you:
The word "blessed" is just a shortened way of saying what? "Blessed by God" or something otherwise not secular, right? Okay, glad we can at least agree on that. So, if you take that seemingly benign response (benign to other people who already think like she does), it's quite offensive to me on many levels. First, she's already decided that I must think like she thinks and believe what she believes, or she's being even more offensive, right? But what I think is more likely (and even more frightening to those of us living in Logical Land) is that she hasn't even considered that anyone else might have different religious affiliations -- or, worse, NONE AT ALL! (GASP!) -- where that might not be an innocent little answer to what was only polite chitchat to begin with. Next, we are in the workplace. BIG TIME no-no there because god, your affiliation, my thoughts, etc. should never, ever, ever, ever be mentioned, unless you work for a church or some other religious network of some sort. That's just the way it is and I'm pretty sure it's in most employee handbooks across the nation to avoid lawsuits, if nothing else. It's just not appropriate to discuss such things -- in any context -- in an office. And it could have been avoided so easily by just saying, "I'm fine, thanks." "God" had no place in this conversation, so why'd you bring it up???
If you're still not sure why I'm offended by this, I'm a little puzzled by that, but okay. Look at it this way: If she's just innocently answering this question while simultaneously stating her beliefs, please consider what would happen if I did the same. Imagine this scenario:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"I am happy! There is NO god to bless us!"
I would be fired, or at least written up. But there is nothing different about me shoving my beliefs in someone else's face that way, except that my beliefs are not yet as widespread and accepted.
Think that's a little crazy? Okay, how about this one?:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"Praise be to Allah."
Ooooooooooooooooooh no. Don't say that! You're in the bible belt and they must be terrorists, right? NO! (In fact, let's all line up to protest the new mosque that's being built, and stall its construction every chance we get because it's a different god than we accept...true story in TN.) That's ridiculous, but again proves my point that if your beliefs are not the mainstream, you better keep your mouth shut.
Just think about that for a minute...I'll wait.
I can't speak for all atheists, but I can speak about my own experiences. For years, I have been bullied (there's that buzzword again) into just shutting up in casual social circles, or accepting the fact that some people might think I'm a bad person if I speak up in support of my beliefs when theirs are being thrust in my direction. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore. It's not my responsibility, nor my duty, to protect your thoughts about something just because you've decided it's sacred. Richard Dawkins points out that just because something is sacred to a group, the "non-believers" are then required to hold their tongues, rather than talk through why they don't believe the same, or why that belief may not hold water in a logical world. He reminds us that political discourse is healthy, but when it comes to religion, it's widely accepted that you can't pick it apart because you will offend someone. End of story.
So a lot of people just go along with mainstream religion and cherry-pick what they like and leave the parts they don't. I think that's even more messed up. Don't label yourself a part of a group, unless you actually follow (at least) the majority of its rules. For example, you wouldn't label yourself a triathlete just because you took swimming lessons when you were a kid, but haven't been in a pool in 26 years. So don't call yourself a Christian unless you're following the bible to the letter...and please don't do that because it would be:
a) impossible due to the crimes and mysticism
b) ridiculous.
(I'm just using Christianity as an example since it's the one that's prosthelytized the most.)
That being said, if you choose to go to church once a year and still label your beliefs "better" and "higher" than mine, that's cool, provided you don't mention them to me. (And I will grant you the same respect.) In that case, your religious world has nothing to do with me. But when it's brought up on a daily basis and others are able to just dismiss it, it's likely because they're already on board with some part of what you've said. And you need to know that that is offensive to me at my very core. It's offensive to my rationality and logic. It is offensive to my intellect.
If you think I seem pretty angry about this subject, but you're still not sure why, let me offer this last story. I was a sophomore at this small, private and very conservative college in MO. It was filled with really great, salt-of-the-earth kids from small, farm towns. The problem was that only about half of them were excited for new experiences and to learn from meeting people who were really nothing like them. The other half was only interested in beating their bibles and talkin' god and how many potato chips it would take to feed a cow. (I wish I were making any of that up.)
In the interest of keeping a long story short, I'll skip ahead a bit...
We were all required to take this religion class that was filled with great discussions and new ideas, if you were open to them. It came out that, along with only one other person in there, I was an atheist. I swear you could hear the gasps in this tiny room, and I knew immediately that I was never going to be viewed the same way by particular individuals. I honestly didn't care until I realized that I was now going to be treated like the Hester Prynne of this tight-knit campus. I suddenly had a Scarlet A of my own and it was all because I had been honest -- in an appropriate setting -- about my beliefs.
I was matched up with a frat boy friend for their Oktoberfest activities. I had met him several times, but we didn't know each other well. A friend asked me to go with him as a favor, and I just wanted to go to the weeklong party, so I accepted. Said frat boy's small-town-haired brother (small-town-hair is when boys comb those front pieces forward with extra gel in the comb, making them infinitely less attractive to anyone who's been to a city with a population larger than 700) was also in this frat and I was chatting with him late one night at a gathering. He said, "You've been quite the topic of conversation at my house lately!" I was shocked since his brother and I were just acquaintances, so I asked why and I will never forget his response. He said he's been talking to his mother and he said, "Mom, [brother] is going to the dance with an atheist." She cried, which is exactly what I did when I got back to my dorm late that night, but not because I was ashamed of the way I thought. I was ashamed of the way she thought. I'd never thought my whole person could be summed up in just one word: atheist. But that is what I had become to these people. I was the person who was SUCH A BAD individual that I couldn't even welcome "god" into my life. So that was that. That was all I'd ever be in their eyes, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't play a role in my decision to transfer schools the next year, because I never wanted to be around such closed-minded people again. It still sickens me and I honestly pity that guy who probably doesn't even remember any of this. I think he lives in Chicago now, and I hear he's king of atheists these days, from mutual acquaintances. ...isn't it interesting that exposure to "different" things educated him and he's now moved away from the indoctrination of his youth?
But it still stings, so excuse me if I've run out of patience for hearing everyone else's religious voices while mine stays silenced.
So, here's the moral of the story:
Religion is like teenage hands: better kept to one's self. Just trust me on this.
1) Stop reading right now if religion is so sacred in your life that you never even gave it a second thought because you never wanted to doubt what you'd always been taught. I'm really serious that this is not for you if you are double-dipped in Catholicism or Mormonism or something because there are many platforms for your beliefs, but very few for mine, and I'm through apologizing for them.
2) People who make the decision to read this (thank you, by the way) might be upset because I will be the first to admit my views are pretty extreme, compared to the mainstream. If I offend you, I'm sorry, but not really because you did this to yourself. It's like ignoring the warning at the beginning of The Human Centipede when Comcast tells you this movie is really gross and weird and are you SURE you want to order it anyway? You said yes. Just remember that...
Religion? I'm over it. Sure, I feel the need to offer the immediate disclaimer that I love/respect many people who identify themselves as Christian, Jewish, whatever, and I think everyone has the right to believe whatever they want to believe. What I am NOT okay with, however, is when your beliefs bleed into my everyday living space. I'm not talking about you going to church on Sunday or you volunteering your time at the annual church coat drive. That's all well and good because what you do on your own time is your business. The problem arises when two ladies (one who's a tween, and one who's old enough to know better) show up on the doorstep of my home and ask me if I believe in miracles. Well, little girl, I don't want to be rude, so what if I just say I think I see Justin Bieber over there and quickly shut the door when you turn to look? That way I'm not slamming the door in your innocent face, but I AM slamming it in the face of the 40-something woman wearing a sack-dress who's shilling religious propaganda to people who are just trying to watch The View. Instead, I say, "You know, I really appreciate you stopping by, but we're atheist, so I wish you the best of luck and have a great day." You could tell the young one didn't know what that meant. Judging by the somewhat sour expression the older one had, I'm guessing she did.
Or let's say you're at work and this nice person you've just met comes over to thank you for your help on something today and she ends the conversation with "Have a blessed weekend!" -- and you freeze like the proverbial deer in headlights because they must have forgotten to teach the polite response to that in Cotillion. So you just say, "OkayhaveagoodoneBYE!" in the nervous, squeaky voice of Jennifer Tilly all of a sudden.
Or what if you're in the copy room and the same otherwise nice individual is asked how she is today and her response is, "I am blessed!" and you know your whole day is just shot because you've had enough of this being forced down your throat?
If you're asking yourself why this one little statement would affect me so much, let me break this down for you:
The word "blessed" is just a shortened way of saying what? "Blessed by God" or something otherwise not secular, right? Okay, glad we can at least agree on that. So, if you take that seemingly benign response (benign to other people who already think like she does), it's quite offensive to me on many levels. First, she's already decided that I must think like she thinks and believe what she believes, or she's being even more offensive, right? But what I think is more likely (and even more frightening to those of us living in Logical Land) is that she hasn't even considered that anyone else might have different religious affiliations -- or, worse, NONE AT ALL! (GASP!) -- where that might not be an innocent little answer to what was only polite chitchat to begin with. Next, we are in the workplace. BIG TIME no-no there because god, your affiliation, my thoughts, etc. should never, ever, ever, ever be mentioned, unless you work for a church or some other religious network of some sort. That's just the way it is and I'm pretty sure it's in most employee handbooks across the nation to avoid lawsuits, if nothing else. It's just not appropriate to discuss such things -- in any context -- in an office. And it could have been avoided so easily by just saying, "I'm fine, thanks." "God" had no place in this conversation, so why'd you bring it up???
If you're still not sure why I'm offended by this, I'm a little puzzled by that, but okay. Look at it this way: If she's just innocently answering this question while simultaneously stating her beliefs, please consider what would happen if I did the same. Imagine this scenario:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"I am happy! There is NO god to bless us!"
I would be fired, or at least written up. But there is nothing different about me shoving my beliefs in someone else's face that way, except that my beliefs are not yet as widespread and accepted.
Think that's a little crazy? Okay, how about this one?:
"Hi, how are you today?"
"Praise be to Allah."
Ooooooooooooooooooh no. Don't say that! You're in the bible belt and they must be terrorists, right? NO! (In fact, let's all line up to protest the new mosque that's being built, and stall its construction every chance we get because it's a different god than we accept...true story in TN.) That's ridiculous, but again proves my point that if your beliefs are not the mainstream, you better keep your mouth shut.
Just think about that for a minute...I'll wait.
I can't speak for all atheists, but I can speak about my own experiences. For years, I have been bullied (there's that buzzword again) into just shutting up in casual social circles, or accepting the fact that some people might think I'm a bad person if I speak up in support of my beliefs when theirs are being thrust in my direction. I don't think I'm going to do that anymore. It's not my responsibility, nor my duty, to protect your thoughts about something just because you've decided it's sacred. Richard Dawkins points out that just because something is sacred to a group, the "non-believers" are then required to hold their tongues, rather than talk through why they don't believe the same, or why that belief may not hold water in a logical world. He reminds us that political discourse is healthy, but when it comes to religion, it's widely accepted that you can't pick it apart because you will offend someone. End of story.
So a lot of people just go along with mainstream religion and cherry-pick what they like and leave the parts they don't. I think that's even more messed up. Don't label yourself a part of a group, unless you actually follow (at least) the majority of its rules. For example, you wouldn't label yourself a triathlete just because you took swimming lessons when you were a kid, but haven't been in a pool in 26 years. So don't call yourself a Christian unless you're following the bible to the letter...and please don't do that because it would be:
a) impossible due to the crimes and mysticism
b) ridiculous.
(I'm just using Christianity as an example since it's the one that's prosthelytized the most.)
That being said, if you choose to go to church once a year and still label your beliefs "better" and "higher" than mine, that's cool, provided you don't mention them to me. (And I will grant you the same respect.) In that case, your religious world has nothing to do with me. But when it's brought up on a daily basis and others are able to just dismiss it, it's likely because they're already on board with some part of what you've said. And you need to know that that is offensive to me at my very core. It's offensive to my rationality and logic. It is offensive to my intellect.
If you think I seem pretty angry about this subject, but you're still not sure why, let me offer this last story. I was a sophomore at this small, private and very conservative college in MO. It was filled with really great, salt-of-the-earth kids from small, farm towns. The problem was that only about half of them were excited for new experiences and to learn from meeting people who were really nothing like them. The other half was only interested in beating their bibles and talkin' god and how many potato chips it would take to feed a cow. (I wish I were making any of that up.)
In the interest of keeping a long story short, I'll skip ahead a bit...
We were all required to take this religion class that was filled with great discussions and new ideas, if you were open to them. It came out that, along with only one other person in there, I was an atheist. I swear you could hear the gasps in this tiny room, and I knew immediately that I was never going to be viewed the same way by particular individuals. I honestly didn't care until I realized that I was now going to be treated like the Hester Prynne of this tight-knit campus. I suddenly had a Scarlet A of my own and it was all because I had been honest -- in an appropriate setting -- about my beliefs.
I was matched up with a frat boy friend for their Oktoberfest activities. I had met him several times, but we didn't know each other well. A friend asked me to go with him as a favor, and I just wanted to go to the weeklong party, so I accepted. Said frat boy's small-town-haired brother (small-town-hair is when boys comb those front pieces forward with extra gel in the comb, making them infinitely less attractive to anyone who's been to a city with a population larger than 700) was also in this frat and I was chatting with him late one night at a gathering. He said, "You've been quite the topic of conversation at my house lately!" I was shocked since his brother and I were just acquaintances, so I asked why and I will never forget his response. He said he's been talking to his mother and he said, "Mom, [brother] is going to the dance with an atheist." She cried, which is exactly what I did when I got back to my dorm late that night, but not because I was ashamed of the way I thought. I was ashamed of the way she thought. I'd never thought my whole person could be summed up in just one word: atheist. But that is what I had become to these people. I was the person who was SUCH A BAD individual that I couldn't even welcome "god" into my life. So that was that. That was all I'd ever be in their eyes, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't play a role in my decision to transfer schools the next year, because I never wanted to be around such closed-minded people again. It still sickens me and I honestly pity that guy who probably doesn't even remember any of this. I think he lives in Chicago now, and I hear he's king of atheists these days, from mutual acquaintances. ...isn't it interesting that exposure to "different" things educated him and he's now moved away from the indoctrination of his youth?
But it still stings, so excuse me if I've run out of patience for hearing everyone else's religious voices while mine stays silenced.
So, here's the moral of the story:
Religion is like teenage hands: better kept to one's self. Just trust me on this.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
When Life Continually Kicks You in the Ass, it Better Be Wearing Louboutins
It's been a helluva month. I'm pretty sure my ass is bruised from all of the kicks it's received from that bitch-goddess called life. I'm about ready to ultimate-punch it right in the beak.
First, I want to punctuate the chapter that I described in my last blog. My sweet Rilo girl is at peace now. I wish I could say the same for myself. A few weeks ago, I held her paw and looked in her eyes as she drew her last breath. It was the single worst day of my entire life and the guilt I felt (still feel) was unlike anything I've ever experienced. My heart thumped in my chest and knowing it was the right choice didn't do anything to make the tears subside.
In the weeks since, I've watched my other pets mourn (each in his own way), though I see a level of calm in them I haven't observed since our little girl joined our family almost 3 1/2 years ago.
Now her ashes sit in a little wooden box, on a shelf in our living room, so she can be with us as we relax at night -- just as she always preferred. When the time is right, we will let her join my husband's grandfather and uncle up at the family cottage on the lake. I think she would have loved it there.
I will remember her as a sweet, snuggly girl who would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect the two of us. I just wish we could have done the same for her.
So that was a giant finger from the universe. We are both still struggling with the quiet and the knowledge that she won't come barrelling around the corner at any second. But I know there will eventually come a day when I lie down at night and realize I haven't cried at all. Looks like once again today's not that day...but someday!
Next, I was rejected for a job for which I was ridiculously qualified. I thought I was tailor-made for it, so how could I not get it?!? I knew I was one of two candidates still up for it. I clicked with the people I needed to click with and my resume definitely supported that I could do this job quite well.
Despite being told they wanted to get this done quickly, the process drug on and on. And then they chose neither of us (Again, universe, I see your finger. No need to come any closer.) and are continuing their search. After the initial sting of "What the what?!? How did I not get this job???", I had the distinct realization that I wasn't upset. I lost out on a lucrative opportunity that I'd only really been excited about because of financial gain. There were some pretty major red flags (red flags for ME, but probably not for most normal folks who can get along in more conservative, religious environments) along the way, and I PROMISED myself that this move would be my pass to start something completely different in my career. It's time to start taking some risks if I'm ever going to attempt to get anywhere outside of the normal pitstops on the roadmap of life. Nothing against that company -- I actually think it's probably great for a particular type of person, and they were very nice to me -- but it wasn't for me. It's time to step up and really start going after the things I want in my life. The biggest risk takers are the ones with the biggest rewards. I'm a risk taker who's been masquerading as the safe 8:30-5 girl, and the timestamp on that persona has expired.
So I'm in a new job with a fantastic (and familiar) company, and I'm working three days a week. I have two days a week to take risks and see what's out there and to try it on for size. You never know what will happen and I'm feeling relaxed and grateful to this corporation for giving me the chance to continue to work with them in a different capacity.
But, seriously, universe, knock it off. I have Chuck Norris on speed dial and I'm not above calling in a favor if you can't stay in your own dance space. I've had enough of your spaghetti arms and I'm ready to dance the Cuban soul dance Johnny Castle suggested. I don't want any more of your Pachanga, thankyouverymuch.*
*If you do not have an unhealthy obbsession with Dirty Dancing, please disregard the last paragraph until you step up and take some responsibility for the cinematic influences in your life. Seriously. Turn off the superhero movies and watch this 1987 classic.
First, I want to punctuate the chapter that I described in my last blog. My sweet Rilo girl is at peace now. I wish I could say the same for myself. A few weeks ago, I held her paw and looked in her eyes as she drew her last breath. It was the single worst day of my entire life and the guilt I felt (still feel) was unlike anything I've ever experienced. My heart thumped in my chest and knowing it was the right choice didn't do anything to make the tears subside.
In the weeks since, I've watched my other pets mourn (each in his own way), though I see a level of calm in them I haven't observed since our little girl joined our family almost 3 1/2 years ago.
Now her ashes sit in a little wooden box, on a shelf in our living room, so she can be with us as we relax at night -- just as she always preferred. When the time is right, we will let her join my husband's grandfather and uncle up at the family cottage on the lake. I think she would have loved it there.
I will remember her as a sweet, snuggly girl who would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect the two of us. I just wish we could have done the same for her.
So that was a giant finger from the universe. We are both still struggling with the quiet and the knowledge that she won't come barrelling around the corner at any second. But I know there will eventually come a day when I lie down at night and realize I haven't cried at all. Looks like once again today's not that day...but someday!
Next, I was rejected for a job for which I was ridiculously qualified. I thought I was tailor-made for it, so how could I not get it?!? I knew I was one of two candidates still up for it. I clicked with the people I needed to click with and my resume definitely supported that I could do this job quite well.
Despite being told they wanted to get this done quickly, the process drug on and on. And then they chose neither of us (Again, universe, I see your finger. No need to come any closer.) and are continuing their search. After the initial sting of "What the what?!? How did I not get this job???", I had the distinct realization that I wasn't upset. I lost out on a lucrative opportunity that I'd only really been excited about because of financial gain. There were some pretty major red flags (red flags for ME, but probably not for most normal folks who can get along in more conservative, religious environments) along the way, and I PROMISED myself that this move would be my pass to start something completely different in my career. It's time to start taking some risks if I'm ever going to attempt to get anywhere outside of the normal pitstops on the roadmap of life. Nothing against that company -- I actually think it's probably great for a particular type of person, and they were very nice to me -- but it wasn't for me. It's time to step up and really start going after the things I want in my life. The biggest risk takers are the ones with the biggest rewards. I'm a risk taker who's been masquerading as the safe 8:30-5 girl, and the timestamp on that persona has expired.
So I'm in a new job with a fantastic (and familiar) company, and I'm working three days a week. I have two days a week to take risks and see what's out there and to try it on for size. You never know what will happen and I'm feeling relaxed and grateful to this corporation for giving me the chance to continue to work with them in a different capacity.
But, seriously, universe, knock it off. I have Chuck Norris on speed dial and I'm not above calling in a favor if you can't stay in your own dance space. I've had enough of your spaghetti arms and I'm ready to dance the Cuban soul dance Johnny Castle suggested. I don't want any more of your Pachanga, thankyouverymuch.*
*If you do not have an unhealthy obbsession with Dirty Dancing, please disregard the last paragraph until you step up and take some responsibility for the cinematic influences in your life. Seriously. Turn off the superhero movies and watch this 1987 classic.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
This One's Different
I haven't posted in awhile. But this one's different. I need your help. In fact, this is a desperate plea. And I know no matter how I phrase it, I'll still be that person, giving away her dog -- something I have never understood and have always found utterly disgusting. But here we are.This is Rilo. She's a Basset Hound/Pit Bull Mix. We think she's about three years old, though she's a rescue, so we don't know for sure. She found us a little over three years ago while we were still in Denver. From the beginning it was clear that she had some problems that just weren't her fault. When she came to us, it was clear we were her first proper home. She didn't know how to do anything -- our older Lab had to teach her how to go up and down stairs, how to squat to pee...everything. And she was probably one when she came to us. And she was terrified of the car, which makes me think she was just dumped by the side of the road somewhere, like she didn't matter. My husband (then boyfriend) and I were resolved to show her that all of that nervous energy could finally be let go and that she would always be safe and loved with us. It took a long time, but she learned to fully trust us and she started rewarding us with snuggles and good behavior whenever her overwhelming energy level would allow. She was a wild one in this previously mellow household (Lab was about 9 and Cat Cat was about 8 at the time), but she was sweet.
We knew we'd need extra training and patience because she's a different dog than either of us (longtime dog owners) had ever had. We housebroke her. We taught her to sit. We taught her that Cat Cat was not after her and, while it's okay to sniff, it's still best to let him do his own thing because she's like a bull in a china shop with all that muscle and force packed into such a compact 55-pound body.
We'd wake up at night to find Rilo snuggled in between us (Cat Cat on the pillow above me), on her back, feet in the air. And no matter how many times we'd politely wake her and tell her to get down, she'd be back up there again the next time we awoke. She was settling into our home, but there was still a lot of nervous energy we were working through, so we hired a highly recommended trainer. She came into our home and showed endless patience and understanding with this special doggie. She helped us understand what traits were just Rilo and which things we could work with her on. She gave us very detailed and specific instructions on how to get her used to car rides...and pretty soon, she loved them. We even drove about an hour down to this trainer's facility, where Rilo completed training courses and worked on not spazzing out while walking past other dogs. (I phrase it that way because she LOVED playing and running with our friends' dogs who would come over for play dates. But that was in her own backyard.) She did great. She was becoming our baby and everyone was getting along great. We still had to be cautious when people came into our home because her nervousness would surface sometimes, but we found that if we just let people know they should ignore her until she approached them, all was well.
Well, things have changed. Dramatically. We moved several states away about six months ago and Rilo's world shifted. I'm going to cut to the chase because my husband has made me painfully aware lately that I might talk too much for some people's taste: She's all of a sudden an adult dog and her Pit tendencies are showing more than ever before. She's going after the previously social and ALWAYS around Cat Cat, who now hides in the closet. She now splits her time between playing with the Lab and asserting her dominance by biting his neck. She's not broken skin, nor injured anyone, but she's showing us that she plans to -- I believe. She recently had a full bloodwork panel and is in good health, so it's not a medical issue. She's just doing what Pits do. And I believe we are in an imminently dangerous situation, having two other older and therefore vulnerable pets in the home. It's sometimes fine and sweet and sometimes really not. I know very well that if she really wanted to hurt them, she would have. But her warnings are not falling on deaf ears and I am frightened for the other two pets' safety...not to mention what could happen with strangers in and out of the house (everyone's a stranger in a new city...didn't mean for that to sound weird.).
So, after lots of conversations with anyone who would listen (vets, shelter managers, behaviorists, fellow animal lovers, the homeless guy on the corner who just didn't run away fast enough), we're at the end. WE NEED HELP. I can't wait until she does something to our other babies -- I could never live with myself. She needs a new home and she needs it within the next few days. I really believe she'd be fine in a home with only adults (as she is now), but no other pets. This home would have to be active (she's heavily terrier, so she has energy that has to be channeled.) and have NO POSSIBILITY of children because I don't think that would ever be safe with these new tendencies, and that's not something worth risking. She's a sweet girl and I would never ever ever just want to pawn her off on someone else to make this their problem. If I didn't believe that she could be okay in another home, I would never even ask for help. But I want to give her every chance (let's just say every freaking Pit rescue in this country is so overwhelmed and unable to help. And shelters can't take her if she's shown aggressive tendencies, for liability reasons.) for the happy life she could possibly have. We just have to try to create that somewhere else for her because she is practically screaming that she has to be the only baby in the house.
I hate myself. I'll just put that out there. I hate that I've reached the end of my rope and that I know this is a problem that more love and hope cannot fix. We've done everything from Melatonin pills everyday (recommended by her trainer. Human strength...they just make her slightly more mellow, not go to sleep.) to throwing the dang tennis ball (which excites her the way Chanel excites me) for an hour, thinking it will wipe her out. It does sometimes, but her wiring makes her the way she is, activities be damned.
Look, I don't want to paint her in a negative light. I hope it's painfully obvious how much my husband and I love her. But I have no interest in lying about the situation just to get someone else to take her. The bottom line is this: She is a good girl. She is hyper. She is a breed that needs to be on its own, which means she'll require extra attention from her new mom or dad because she very much likes to be right where you are. I think it's her way of protecting and feeling like she's doing her job, which she obviously values very much.
If you have knowledge of Bully breeds and are an adult-only household and might be able to help, PLEASE please please comment asap. We have to do something very soon because this is an escalating situation.
I have made peace that there may only be one solution left, but I want a happier ending. And I want to know if/when that day comes that we have left no stone unturned.
Please help, if you can.
Friday, April 20, 2012
This post won't give you pneumonia, but inhaling vodka-laced Jell-o can...
It's Day Four of feeling like a lung is going to pop out of my mouth at any moment. It all kind of started Saturday when I felt a little out of sorts, but put on my party face for another rousing Supper Club, only to spend all day Sunday on the couch, being lectured by my liver on the differences between 21 and 30. Monday was a bit crappy and Tuesday was full on miserable. Cut to today. It sux, too. I'm rocking some Betsey Johnson PJs, slippers from Restoration Hardware that just about have this atheist convinced that heaven does exist and it's manifested in unattractive, but dreamy footwear. I've showered, but I'm breaking my cardinal rule of "never be without mascara." I think one is less of a person without proper lash coating, don't you?
Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.
Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Tennessee -- who knew? (This one's a meandering mess)
"Tennessee: It's not just for rednecks!" I'm going all Greenburg and writing a letter to the Tennessee Chamber of Commerce to suggest the above as the new state motto. Let me tell you, I would have found that information helpful before we moved here. Frankly, I don't think I had any idea what this place would be like and now I understand what my friend, Darbi, has been raving about for years. But, in the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I've really only lightly explored the Nashville/Franklin areas of TN, and that's about it. Of course, I did drive through a little chunk of some of the rest of it on my move out here. And aside from the young man in the purple car who was driving in the left lane and going about 50 when the speed limit was 70, who flipped me off while finally changing to the right lane, I found it very pleasant. It was pretty, green (After about seven years in Denver, I'd forgotten that grass is supposed to be GREEN and not brown.) and reminded me a little bit of my childhood and college days in Missouri -- and it gave me that warm, humid feeling in my heart.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
Thus far, every single person I've encountered here -- and I do mean every single person -- has been incredibly nice. People thank one another about ten times in a single transaction. It was a little bizarre to me at first, but now I'm falling into it and it's almost becoming second nature. Don't look for any Southern accents in this household anytime soon, but maybe living in the South will make me a nicer person??? (Mom, I can hear you laughing.)
I have to say that it was a strange realization last week when I went, "Hmmm...maybe I can do the South. I might even like it this time." (A large part of why I didn't like it before was most likely thanks to the fact that we moved at the beginning of my seventh grade year, when I was sporting big glasses, big cheeks and frizzy hair. Seriously, Mom, I'm sure there was no polite way to transform my look without giving me an eating disorder, but holy guacamole, Batman! Nerd alert!!!
My life is really different at 30 than it was at 12 - thank hey-zeus. I (willingly) live in the suburbs (Never thought I'd say that.); I'm married; I'm trying to spend less time being so self-conscious; I'm no longer concerned with being "cool" or making tons of friends. I'm happy with the people I have in my life and anyone else who comes along is just a bonus.
And while it was a hugely important time in my life that I wouldn't trade for anything, I realized something about my NYC days: I loved it, but maybe it wasn't always good for me. I'm not going to elaborate too much on that because there were lessons learned that probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me. But it hardened me and threw me into a fast-paced frenzy that's lasted for quite a few years. I left that city in 2005 and I think I'm just now starting to shake that -- mostly because I've never wanted to until now. I think my blood pressure went up and just stayed there for 7 years. On the positive side, though, that city taught me how to be self-sufficient, the importance of being direct (people who don't like honesty are hiding something about themselves), and that if you want something in your life, you have to go get it yourself -- no one's going to bring it to you. They were the best days of my life, but maybe I need to create those days all over again, this time under the banner of being a 30-year old who's somewhat found her way.
Which brings me to my next point: I'm paraphrasing this, but I recently heard the following saying, "Decide you want something more than you're scared of it." I think that's where I am at the moment. I'm at a fork in the road and one direction is starting all over and pursuing new career dreams, not settling for misery, just because the security is appealing. No more being talked down to, no more passive aggressive digs that are absolutely not okay from someone who doesn't know how to do their own job and therefore looks to tear others down. No more backstabbing. No more muddling through. START ANEW and take the plunge. I'll make sacrifices; I'll work really hard and get cray-cray stressed. But I'll be working toward something I actually care about.
The other direction is going back to what's familiar and never really making an effort to see what's on the other side of that door. It's so tempting to plant yourself back in the middle of stability and complacency...but I'm hoping I have the strength to walk as far away from that as possible because it's just not me. The greatest risks produce the greatest rewards.
Of course, these are all "hypothetical phrases," but let's just say I never want to hear any of the following from someone in authority again:
"I could be in a meeting with 'the big man,' but instead I'm here with you guys."
"No seriously, no one cares what you think."
"I know you guys have put in a lot of hours on this project, but we're just going to present this, so you don't need to come to the meeting today."
"You focus too much on what everyone should be doing."
"You need to learn how to care less about your job."
"I've already heard this -- I don't want to hear it anymore."
"Sit down and shut up."
"You work for me."
"You speak with so much confidence -- I don't know where it comes from."
"Maybe you should ask your husband what you should do with your career. You seem a little lost."
I'm not saying I've ever had such ridiculousness spouted at me in a meeting with other people as witnesses, nor in a private conference room in an effort to hide the potentially lawsuit-friendly nature of these types of comments. (Of course not! Who would be stupid enough to say such horribly reprehensible things to their employees???) Of course, there are plenty of leaders who would never ever say these things. And there are a handful of people out there who even conduct themselves with integrity in the workplace because they know it's completely unnecessary to step on others or to lie just to get ahead. And I've had the good fortune of learning from a bunch of folks who prove that every single day they go into work (my dad probably being number one). I've learned tons of valuable anecdotes and skills from them and just as many crucial lessons of how not to conduct myself from people at the opposite end of the spectrum. But over my admittedly somewhat brief career, I've come to the conclusion that I just don't have enough seconds in my short lifetime to waste on people who, despite being full-blown adults, still haven't figured out the definition of integrity. And I'm not going to work for, nor with them.
But I digress. This entry really isn't about the bad behavior of others from past hypothetical jobs. It's about my new, fresh start and the beauty of having a blank canvas in front of me to paint however I choose.
My mind is a little cloudy at the moment because I'm bored and, frankly, pretty tired of not using my brain much during the day (needless to say, watching reruns of 90210 on SOAPNET and folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher doesn't exactly giving my synapses a trip to Jazzercize.). But my boredom is tempered by my gratitude for not having to take another potentially mismatched job that doesn't fit into my greater career goals. I'm taking my time in the hopes that I will find the perfect (or at least enjoyable) job. Let's hope it's out there! Because, in the end, no matter how great the company is (and there have been some...), you can't fit a creative peg into a Brooks Brothers hole. (But if you can figure out how to still collect the BB paychecks, let me know because that part's great!)
Side note: Just did a little research on General Nathan Bedford Forrest, for whom our neighborhood is named. Apparently, he made a shit ton of money selling other human beings and running his plantation. Like $1.5 million waaaaaaaaaaaay back before the Civil War. Then he was a General. For the Confederate Army, of course. And he slaughtered a bunch of African American soldiers. And then he was an early leader in the KKK. Outstanding choice of a person to memorialize through little boxes made of ticky-tacky.
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