A Month On-

I went for a long walk last night and talked to my mom for a long time about our own selves and about how we become the people that we are. It is a good thing to do: talking to your mother about your person. I walked the 4.5 blocks to the community garden in the dark and I met a squashed snake on the road. There was blood everywhere and I cried after I got back home. Soemtimes death doesn't bother me, but last night I was feeling raw and exposed already.
I have been graduated for a month now and I have learned so much in that time. I feel fortunate to have time to recover from grad school and from academia in general. That sounds like I am ungrateful for the education I have, and I know that that's how it sounds. I don't mean for to sound that way because I am actually quite grateful for precisely that. But there must be a reprieve. Why isn't that in the scripture someplace? It feels like natural law.
I am working at a cupcake bakery, a thing for which I am also very grateful. The work is easy and mindless and allows me the time and space to have private Robyn dance parties. I am an introvert, but I like people. The cupcake shop is ideal. That being said, I have had more dates since I graduated than any month prior. It has led me to the conclusion that I am less intimidating (A problem I have often struggled with throughout my life) now that I have a silly job. I think boys are more interested in less promising women sometimes. I'm not sure what to do with that, and maybe I am missing something. Maybe they just like cupcakes, or maybe I have gotten more pretty since I graduated. Those things seem external.
Two Christmases ago, I was in Utah with my dad's family for to celebrate the holiday. I had just completed my first semester at Nebraska, and there was a distinctive flavor of intimidation and lack of interest from my family. I am the only person from either side of my family to receive a Master's Degree in at least three generations and I got the vibe that my membership in the pack was being called into question because of my education(not to mention my marital status). As though attending BYU for my undergrad wasn't enough, the Master's sealed the deal and I was perceived as something I didn't want to be. I told my sister about my thoughts and she advised me to act dumber. It was like a revelation when I did, because suddenly I was back into the adorable position I had been in before- beloved and wanted by my family. I don't think it's really fair to ask someone to be what they aren't. This last paragraph sounds so awful and complainy, but I want to say it so that I will remember to value the accomplishments of others for the future.
I can safely say that I am friends with my mother. It is one of the most rewarding relationships in my life right now. I am working really really hard to get to that place with other people too. Mostly my dad. I need to figure out how to be kind, but also to say what I need. I am learning a lot about temperance... Study it if you can. Then tell me what you learn, ok?
My sister and my brother are remarkable people. I learned so much about and from them. I am missing them sincerely lately... which doesn't really make sense. I saw my brother less than a month ago, and I will see my sister in less than two weeks. Somehow I  feel entitled to much more time with them that I am permitted. My sister is only 18 months older than me, and so growing up, she was never very distant. Our personalities enabled us to earn from and protect and lean on one another in a very close way. I don't think I have ever learned how to be very good at being alone yet.  My brother is the one who shines at that. I need to learn how to be better at that, I think. Most of my life is alone. I need to learn how to like it better.
The question on everyone's lips now is where I am headed next. People seem shocked at the capacity I have to uproot myself and fling my life across the country. It's funny to me, but also a little astounding how little people understand my position. I sincerely love finding roots and digging deep in a place. life-flinging is not my preferred mode of living, but there is just so much world to embrace. And so I do. Maybe I need heavier anchors.
My response is never as bold as it probably should be and I more than likely sound reticent than I need or want to. I’m not sure why I do that; react that way. I guess it’s because I’m still not certain that it’s what I should be doing. 

Mostly I want to be called somewhere and to some work. I want to be wanted and needed somewhere. So I’m a normal human. I keep telling people that I am working for now at a bakery where I peddle cupcakes, but I am moving to Maui to live with Kara at the end of the summer. And I am going to drive to California before I do it and I am going to see at least seven national parks along the way. The conversation always turns out the same way: When else will there be time for this? And the answer really, is always. I think we make time for the things we love. I don’t yet know how to use the things I have learned, but I am carrying them with me even still.
I feel like that dead snake a lot of the time. I don’t think it knew what was coming and it was bigger than it probably realized (It was certainly bigger than I realized at first. All of that blood.) it was. I sometimes catch myself thinking that I have my whole life ahead of me still, but that means that I forget that I will be 28 this year and being 28 this year somehow means that I don’t actually have all that much time left.  

“you can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.” -Frederick Buechner

okay, you guys. I don't generally enjoy gossiping about people on the internet, and factually, most of the folks I'mma talk about in this thing probably read this blog. But I need to put some of my thoughts somewhere. I need a place to vent. So here you have it. I am making the second New Year's resolution of my life this coming year, and I need to talk about a few things in order to succeed. I am just going to drop this baggage off in 2k12 and start over in 2k13. I have a good feeling about the coming year.

First off, I need to say that I am really sincerely trying to deal with all of this lightly and with patience and faith. I really am. Most days this results in me feeling like a terrible, insecure monster who cannot learn to be forgiving/kind/patient/humble/nice (yes, there is a distinction between nice and kind; another blog post, perhaps).  I am not good at dealing with things, and I feel guilty for my mistakes and frustrations 93% of the time. I am running on fumes and don't know where to go for help because the places I usually have turned aren't really helping all that much anymore. I am trying to maintain sanity and grounded kindness. I am wearing thin. I am also very wary in writing this, and I have experienced a lot of anxiety in deciding to post it. Please be kind with your judgement and gentle in how you handle the knowing of these things.

And now for the story.

My parents were married in the LDS temple in 1983. Essentially, this means that, according to Mormon practice, they were sealed as a married couple for time and eternity under the authority of the Holy Priesthood. It's a really big deal, you guys. It essentially means that they committed (among other things), to be together forever. The Mormon view of "together forever" is bigger than most versions I have encountered, and more intertwined and imitate than one might suspect. I don't know where problems began, and I am not writing this to condemn or judge anyone, but sometime in the course of their 27 years together, things went awry. The tipping point  came in the fall of 2007. I was home from school at BYU with dreams and prayers of serving a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I was so full of ambition and conviction. My application was submitted, and I was ready to go when I discovered that my dad had cheated on my mom. I am not going to give you graphic details, but essentially, I had irrefutable proof that this was the case. I saw things that have haunted me since then and things that I am trying to learn to let go of.

In a state of shock and panic, I decided that I wasn't in a healthy enough mental state to continue pursuing the dream of serving a mission for the Lord. I needed to go back to school, and I ended up keeping my knowledge a secret to myself. This has also haunted me. Looking back, on this phase in my life (up to the present), I am beginning to see that I may have been in a  state of Post Traumatic Stress, resulting from the psychological trauma of knowing the things that I have known. I carry them with me still. I also look at myself throughout the last 6 years with a lot of love and sorrow. I love that  21 year old girl and all of her pain and fear and struggle. I look at her loss of innocence and the abrupt end to her faith with empathy and compassion. I am continuing to try to love her more, to forgive her more, to nurture her more. I am trying to comfort her and tell her that what she saw was something that no person should ever have to see, that she didn't deserve that, and I am trying to convince her that she can find a healthy way to live after it. I am trying to tell her that she is worthy of being loved and that she belongs. She is a person who is very difficult to convince of certain things, and she deeply believes the precise opposite of most of those things deep down inside. She is a girl who is broken. But I want her to see how far she has come and how far she can still go.

By the summer of 2008, I was already back to Provo and trying to forget all of the ickiness I had known. I threw myself into social activities and school. I had the best semester of my academic career (which has generally been very good). I made many new friends. Of my some 1100 odd Facebook friends, probably half were made during this time. I couldn't bear to be alone or quiet or still. I hated everything during that year deep down inside, and I tried to douse the rage with a barrage of activity. I felt successful in taking control of my life and keeping myself occupied and my secret to myself until a gorgeous day in June when my mom called me in tears. She told me that she also knew the truth. I couldn't breathe. I remember sitting in my living room in that house on 500 north and trying to figure out how to tell her that I already knew, that I had kept my knowing a secret from her for the last 8 months. I just listened to her cry and mourn while I lay silently weeping on the floor. How could we go from here? How could he do this? How did we not know? What did it mean? Did we matter? What was next? Could we survive? Did we deserve to?

This was the beginning of a very very dark time in my life.It is interesting to me to read through my blog, because I began keeping this shortly after I returned to Provo, feeling abandoned and broken. It is interesting that I haven't ever written about it explicitly, but it shows up nevertheless.  I had a sincere wrestle with my faith and belief in God in this time. During patches of this time, I turned away almost completely from my faith practice, and there is still a thread that is woven through my religious practice which is informed by this period. I wear it as a battle scar.

I won't bore you with the details, but over the course of the next few years, my parents were divorced. Things were rough. I constantly doubted almost everything I had known to be true. I constantly questioned myself and doubted my ability to do anything. I was overly critical and convinced myself repeatedly that I didn't belong to anyone anywhere, and that somehow I was unworthy of love. In any form. I built a barricade around my heart that was very very strong. I couldn't feel love. In the end, I am convinced that I am unloveable and that I deserved to be excluded. This is a dark thing to write out and post on the internet. It is hard for me to admit that this is the narrative that I have written for myself. It is in such opposition to the beliefs I claim to espouse and that are taught to me (that I teach others!) in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I had a conversation with a very dear friend once, where we both recognized that we weren't fun like other people in our age and social group were fun. I wasn't carefree- everything had so much weight to it. I wasn't lighthearted- my heart was heavy and dark. I wasn't sarcastic or ironic- I was sardonic and bitter. I am hoping that in realizing and looking at this, that I will find a path to move forward. I believe that we don't talk enough about mental health and there are too many stigmas associated with depression and other mental disorders. I am writing this so that I can acknowledge for myself that this was and still is my reality. I deserve to be loved and healthy and free. I deserve to feel important and needed and loved by the people who are important and needed and beloved to me. I am starting to learn that this reciprocation is maybe what love IS.

2012 was a year that was earmarked from the start. In my first New Year's resolution of my life, I promised myself to be present in this year. I wouldn't say that it was a landslide success and, if you looked through the pages of a family album, you wouldn't know that I existed almost at all. I became a ghost for some of them. I wasn't present at or invited to my dad's wedding. I wasn't in many of the pictures from this Christmas. I wasn't really there in spirit or mind  when I visited my mom. I tried to be present when I went to the San Diego County Fair with my sister. I was, however being present and honest when my dad told me he was marrying a 27 year old. This had crushing results that have brought me to a place of estrangement. I was honest and present when I was her temple escort. I was fully there when I came to knowledge that she and my dad were dating, but not telling anyone at the time. I was there for the full weight of that. The year wasn't a total bust... I was deeply there when my brother returned from his full-time mission to Germany. I was fully there when I talked to my mom on the phone and listened to her tell me about how she was becoming a bigger person. She is becoming a person who stands on her own feet.

And this coming Sunday, the second to last day of the year, I will be present at my sister/best friend's wedding. It is insane and completely hilarious. She and her boyfriend of 5ish years will marry in the Graceland Chapel in Las Vegas, Nevada. I will bring my whole heart to the table and I will begin, on that day, a new chapter in my life. I am ready to stop determining my life by the pain of the past, and in 2k13, I am going to fight to keep my heart open.

The coming year carries a lot of uncertainty with it. I will be graduating from my Masters program and be expected to find a job or something of equal or greater value. Ideally, I would marry. I am declaring right now, though, that I don't care. My circumstances are no longer my master. My heart is freed and deserves to feel love wholly and deeply. I talked about it once before, and I mean it. This heart is strong and is now allowed to feel and know and return love. I pray only that it will be met with kindness and other hearts who are also seeking love and openness. I regret to think that I had shut out these in the past, but I will not be shaken in my resolve.

hell hath no fury

I have a lot of thoughts on a lot of things just now. I want to say them to you and record them here, but I feel stuck and self-critical and so I don't.
Two things quickly:
1. I am dating someone. He gives me a lot of space, and our relationship might be a tiny bit fake, but probably is real in equal measure.

2. I am mildly scared that I am too angry to have many of the conversations that I want and need to have. I don't know how to channel that fury and frustration into words. I am scared of being angry. I am scared of the implications of being furious and the possibility that I cannot overcome it. I do not want to be angry. I want to be kind and gentle and nourishing and fun. I want to pray and feel loved and receive answers. I want to be boldly kind and generous. I want to be unabashedly fun and kind. I want to love with an open heart, not one that is protected and defensive. I really do. But I feel like there are some major blocks which I need to address with my words... If only I weren't too angry and heavy to formulate sentences. 

 

Paul Klee

Double Tent

1923

Friday Night Lights

 

It's a Waning Gibbous Moon tonight. This happens after the moon is "Full", and has just begun to turn its face away from the Earth's in its rotation, relative to ours. Sometimes the Waning Gibbous is mistaken for a "Full" moon because of how large and tangible it appears in the night sky. I feel like I am a Waning Gibbous tonight: tangible and big, but not really filled.

  

   There are kids outside playing night games right now. I saw them on my drive home, catching fireflies and holding them like secrets, close to their bantam, pounding chests. It's 1:16 on a Friday night in June, and their older cousins are still in the bars two miles away, hoping that someone will think they are worth some heightened breathing. 

    I almost convinced myself, today, to purchase two things: A beautiful Schwinn Varsity bicycle in space-age sparkle green (you know the type that looks like it's brand new, even though it's probably older than my own parents). The other thing was a baby's high chair. It was wooden and obviously had seen the feedings of many, many children over the years, most of whom are now wizened old timers themselves. What a heritage. Neither of these two items would actually fit my (financial or emotional) budget, and neither of them was a real match for my life, but I spent a substantial time talking myself down from the nerves of walking away from them. I'm still thinking about them at 1:19 on a Friday night. They seem, somehow, to represent more to me than just objects.

..................................................................................

    There is a house up the block from mine where very fat women live. They wear boldly colored frocks and seem incredibly sweaty and full. They aren't particularly smart or friendly, except with one another. There are probably eight of them crammed into that tiny space that was built by and for small, malnourished German refugee immigrants in the early 1910's. That's what this place looks like with its history. 

     

    Every day, the fat women come out to their porch and sit for a few hours in the late morning. They always get hungry around 1:30, and they always convene in the shade of their fledgeling Chinese Maple that grows in the patch of grass between the road (which ends as a dead end at the railroad tracks two houses down). They have a picnic table set up there for their lunches. They are never outside after 3:00, unless it is after 6:30. They are usually back by then, all sitting around again, wondering aloud about the moon and their old stuffed animals. I have heard them. They seem to be extravagant women whose lives revolve around one thing: joy. It is remarkable to see such a gathering, really. I used to hate them for their bonds. Tonight, though, as I drove past the fat women's street, I saw those firefly gatherers on the other side of the road, and felt happy for them all. I looked down to the fat ladies' table, hoping (as I always do when I pass their street) to catch a glimpse of their clown-car life. They had apparently all gone to bed (afterall, it was 1:04 on a Friday night). But set up and gleaming on the table was a single, long candle set in a candlestick. It was miraculously lit, and blowing gently in the constant breeze that seems to be pregnant with impending storm. I was reminded of the advice that I was given about buying candlesticks, and then was forced (again) to re-revisit my thoughts about that baby chair and the bicycle. A professor told me before I went to Europe, to invest some substantial money into some fine Italian silver candlesticks, and that I would thank myself when I was an old lady with children who needed something to remember me by.

  

    But I don't want to be remembered for candlesticks. I want to be remembered for chasing fireflies at 1:16 on Friday nights in June with little legs, and for that well-worn chair, and for wanting to bike everywhere I could desire to travel.

    And then I let myself cry for the first time in too long to this song. I wasn't really sad, just sort of whelmed and needing to let something go. At 1:10 on a Friday night in June.

    And the crickets and cicadas have begun their music again for the summer.

reassess, re-envision

It's POURING rain outside right now, pounding hard on my double panes. I can barely hear the trains sporadically cutting through the tumult of weather. The thunder is absolutely deafening and the lightning shatters the dark of my bedroom and makes it look a little bit scary. I wish you were here to buffer the scariness. Nebraska in May, I guess I should have anticipated as much.

I never knew what a thunderstorm was, really before moving here, and I doubt I will ever un-know this.

Today at church, the teacher asked us to list places that we thought were beautiful, and I said, "NEBRASKA." Everyone laughed, and my ears grew hot with shame because I was completely sincere in my assertion. Earnestness met with ridicule is hard to bear sometimes; I've never learned the lesson from that. I think she wanted me to say "the temple" or something, but "NEBRASKA" was a more fitting answer for me then, and maybe now, I'm not sure. I didn't want to cover it up, so I just allowed myself to feel hot and ashamed. I think I heard one quiet utterance of agreement, but it's okay. You should come visit (again): I'll show you (again).

Sister friend was here for a week last week, and her absence makes the lonesomeness even more lonesomey and missing-y. So I spent the night at someone's house and had a really REALLY awkward morning.

It's hard to be by myself. I feel floaty in a detached, not-that-good, sort-of-lost kind of way. I had come to believe that I was getting good at being alone.

I'm not.

I need to remember what I am doing here. And where would I be if not here? I need a better system to lay down roots. I never learned that, really.

I think I would feel less like I had to convince myself of things every day if there were more feeling present. Prospects (so many) have shifted in dramatic ways lately, and things are different. I need to reassess and re-envision where things are headed. A relative stranger with insider information recently commented that she had heard that I "had some major life decisions to make". She was right, but I was annoyed that she would offer such an intimate assessment of my life, and the means through witch she received such knowledge about me left me completely enraged/frustrated/vulnerable-feeling. I didn't really know what to say to her, and defaulted a mumbled, "I think I would like to get married". Would I like that? It would solve nothing...

Maybe it would solve some thing(s), but I would still be this person. I love this person. But this person could/should/can/will/must be more/better/bigger/rounder/wiser/kinder/patienter/knowinger than present. How do I keep getting myself stuck here?

...make progress. make progress. make progress. make progress...

Mom comes for a visit next week. I hope that I will have figured some things out {by} then. I want to figure out some things with her, some things about her, some things about just me, and I want her advice on how to make myself not-alone. She is a pro at not-alone. Is she also good at not-alonely?

Is that a thing I can do? Surely.

And I force my dad to girltalk with me about every little emotional whim. I consider it payback for something, I'm not sure what, but it feels gratifying somehow. It feels like he's got my back, even if it's just because someone else now knows how I feel. He has a lot of hope invested in me, that is sometimes shocking to hear voiced. It makes me wonder how he sees what he does, and it makes me hopeful that he is right in his fullness and seeingness. Or maybe it's a lack of seeingness that is making him so hopeful. But even still, he thinks that I'm going to be okay.

I think wind is lucky because it can go wherever it wants. It's probably never lonesome. I think I need to learn to make plans, for the first time in my life.

I'm sorry if I make too many words up, but English is an insufficient language on its own.

Letter to My Future Child

Letter to My Future Child


The way you don’t exist is remarkable
When I have been hotwired, cobbled from
Spongy tubes specifically to birth. At least to bud

Would be preferable, shedding a child
Like petals drooping from a center.
I apologize profusely to you,
But I am content in my selfishness and
My love of this girl I’ve created.

Today I watched the bees graze,
The perfect mix of threat and song and binge,
And I felt I, too, could bob and maneuver.

I guess they reminded me of you:
Your toddling bumble, your absent suckle,
Your mere addition to the swarm.
You would be a plump grub in honeysuckle
Were you to be anything, but you will not

Be. This is something I’ve decided.
There is only so much life to go around; I’ll take
Two rations. The petal and the pistil.

And, hey, the calyx. The ability to share is mythic,
Like you, and who needs another creature,
Another sea monster? I already have the
Swooping vertebrae of my back, I have my bones

Diving above and below my skin
Filled with just the right amount of people:

One. How could I bring a child into this world
When I want it all to myself?
Life is that right and full of love, flowers, et al.
I’m sorry for me, sure. But most of all, Little Bee,
I am sorry for you.
-Megan Amram

 Heironymous Bosch

Beehives and Witches

ca.1515

Pen on Paper

I do my best when I shouldn't be.

I like driving. I sometimes think I like it more than normal people should, but I don't believe in should any more. Should breeds guilt and insecurity, and I'm not into that business.
It stays light for longer here than anywhere I have lived, except in Alaska, where the sun licked the shore for at least 20 hours. Those were the longest days and the incongruously best nights I have ever had. But Prairie light is different, it's diffused over the country and seems softer and brighter at once, and for so much longer. Tonight, it was light until 8m at least, and the prettiest juxtaposition of complimentary colors. Blue. Orange. Pink. Cyan.
The light of the world.
And then it all melted.
Into a backyard with a stream running through the middle of it and a waving neighbor lady. Big groups of us swarmed there, joking about fish, and forgetting the lesson, and exposing our secrets to one another. We are so tender. I've been so honest lately.

I declined the first hug in over a year and a half tonight, but I made up for it with all that honesty.

..................................................................................

Before I left, I drove for a while. I parked behind this apartment building and watched the prairie wind push the grass around and defy the dissolved stillness of that diffused light. It seemed like every piece, every blade was animated and it jumped around with ferocity in all directions. It reminded me of those fake candle lights that flicker until their battery runs out.

(Imagine this as a gif, where every blade is animated in a different direction. Spring is alright in the middle.) 

Horses made noises in the field down the road near where that body was found.

Who was it?

Who was it?

I thought about that body while I watched the grass dancing. I was reminded of that scene in that book I loved first, where the girl sees the wretched old man with holey shoes, and can only think about his mother kissing those same feet as a baby boy. Who kissed the feet of that body?
It led me to thinking about my own baby-foot-kissing-mother. I came inside and looked at that dress that was sent to me: She was so tiny! So full! What was she like? I used to spend hours and hours thinking about my parents. I used to wonder if we would have been friends and how they probably looked and what they liked to eat when they were my age. It's probably normal kid stuff, but I haven't honestly been so fixed on the idea of them in years. How many years? I remember asking both of them what they loved about each other first: she was a great conversationalist, and he was sincere. His hands were cold, and her smile was killer.

I tried on her gloves and then I put on some perfume and thought more about that body. I turned on the A/C earlier this week and then forgot about it; the heat is desultory here I am learning.  So tonight, the vents puffed out soft tufts of faux-chill.
Diffusion of light, diffusion of force (is that what wind is?), diffusion of chemistry in my bedroom, diffusion of a corpse in the field.

In my mind, it all looks the way broccoli looks from the top of the "tree" but with more colors. They are pastel and dusty and taste like chalk. Call me morose, I guess.

And now my hair smells like the last time she hugged me before I left, minus the scent of the beach and tobacco.


*oh, and in 100% unrelated news,  this is something I did recently. The "co" of "co-curator Amber Mohr" is me.

The Deli Aisle (for Now)

everything is packaged in family size
but I only need for one
that's the only thing that gives me pause
in the deli aisle
and there really isn't anyone to walk me outside
through the sliding doors.
sometimes I want to buy family size
just to pretend,
and I'm convinced I could convince the boys
at the register.
but instead I come home and write a free verse
about how all those granola bars
all that crunchy cereal
all those nuggets
pudding
the toothpaste (two to a pack!)
carrots
toilet paper
waxed fruits so refined
fish sticks
oatmeal packets
string cheese
cups o noodle
laundry suds
pickles
salad
shampoo and conditioner (with all their bonus ounces)
almonds
yoghurt
peanut butter
leeks and potatoes
the soy milk, original flavor
and the chips
would be wasted
because there is no tribe;
and from the corner of my eye
in the neon-lit, windowless box
I push so hard against pre-fab frozen entrees
called "meals for one"
so oppressively
and imagine a relationship
with the man buying them,
thinking about how much better I could cook
for him
with him.
and then
I go home
without big bags
because I only need for one.

Crossroads (But Not The Brittney Spears Movie)

  My mom keeps trying to get me to try online dating. The concept feels so inauthentic to me that I hardly give it a second thought. After telling her about my stresses about school, being awoken by gunshots at 4 AM, and the terror of having a human body found near my house, she wanted to know my romance-related woes. Could the demons lurking under bridges in my neighborhood and in my intellectual spaces not satiate her? She needed more. Like a soap opera to which she is addicted, She wanted me to tell her everything (about one narrow topic, hitherto only a small sliver of a [my] very rich life). 

  I told her everything there was to tell. I spare no detail with her sometimes.

  And then she (again...) asked if I thought online dating wasn't a good idea. After all, she found her last few boyfriends on various websites. My sister chimed in, for she too was an internet success story. They even offered to craft an online presence for me. While I think their concern is somewhat warranted and their offer indubitably kind, I'm just not convinced that a website will fit the bill.  Is this what we have come to as a people? Are we so replete with authentic human interactions that we are capable of boiling ourselves down to a webpage and advertising the hell out of ourselves, pimping our education and our favorite films, music and qualities about ourselves? I guess I just think some things require actual interaction. Some things must be felt.

We then got into a discussion about what was wrong with me. 

  The topic did not help me feel too nice.

  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!??! 

  Time to say farewell to my pride. Yet again.

 Historically speaking, my family hasn't really been one to put much pressure on us for not dating or being in a relationship or being married. I have spent time being grateful for the breathing space. This was especially poignant after my parents' marriage dissolved after 27 years. I too needed to give myself time and mental hiatus. But looking back, I think I may have stopped pushing myself, stopped progressing and learning how to trust and interact appropriately with the male sex. I have installed mental blocks that are making it really, really hard to jump beyond myself. I want to jump, but those blocks are making it hard for me to see that I might land on the other side. They make it hard to see if it's worth it to try. I am not interested in blaming others for my lack. I want to feel empowered to act on my own behalf.

  And maybe now, my parents are beginning to feel the fact of the time-lease that is their daughter's female body. My body. The prospect of progeny is an enticing one for them, it seems; perhaps I do not provide them with enough charm any longer as a 26 year old child.

  I read an article about the word gals. The word, as the article's author seems to understand, is... well... stupid. But she makes a point in saying that, 

that mantle of womanhood can be too heavy—many of us who are the right age to have sympathized with Britney Spears when she sang "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" in 2001 are still stuck in between (I was 16 at the time that song came out) . As a 20-something female, there are moments, romantic and professional and Shania-Twain-approved, when I feel like a woman. Other times, I really do feel like a girl (though not as often as I am called one). I never feel like a lady except in announcements made also to gentlemen and I only feel like a dame when I watch old movies. What I feel like most of the time is a guy. A female guy.

  This comes, appropriately, on the heel of hearing a lecture last week entitled "Guyland" at a gender studies conference at which I was a (grown-ass-woman) panelist. The lecture was largely casually written off as pop-sociology. But to some extent, my attention was caught in the idea of extended adolescence and the allure of irresponsibility, ad infinitum. The prospect of being a "forever-dude" is certainly an entertaining one that smacks of fountains of youth and promises eternal springtime filled with "going to shows, bro", and staying up until three AM eight nights in a row. Filled with the stuff of college and flexing your wings for the first time, rather than learning that wings were meant for long-distance, stamina- requiring flight. Wings are meant for adult things like paying bills on time and regularly brushing your teeth before going to bed. Wings that are meant to bear and teach babies.The guyland appeal fights with my determination to age honestly and gracefully into a wise, wizened, and self- actualized old woman one day. I can see myself as that: I'm old and wonderful and kind.

  But for now I am 26 years old.

  Today.

  And today I wrote a professor from my undergrad to see if there would be a teaching position for me in the summer. That's right. That's me today: actualizing real, grown ass-woman, careersy aspirations. I don't know if I will get the job. I will keep you posted on that, but I am making strides.  This is one of those "Shania-Twain-approved" occasions. My mom never asked about it. I didn't push the topic.

  I understand that my zeal for education and a career might seem antithetical to the accepted roles outlined here. I don't know to what extent I am prepared to submit to those fully just yet, but I think that I want a family. I sometimes see babies and want to cry at how much I want to touch them. I think I would be a good mom. I think I have the capacity to love small things and make real food for real small humans. I am good at comforting babies and helping them feel loved. I am good at teaching them about the world, how wonderful and full it can be; I am good at inspiring wonderment and imagination. I am good at playing with them and helping them laugh. I want to make real promises to a real man human and make real things happen with him. I want to do that in a certain sacred place, wherein we will incur the permission of Heaven. I really do want that.  I feel it very deeply and feel powerful in writing that down.

  But I also can admit and embrace that my career-related aspirations might be somewhat intimidating to real human men/potential marriage prospects (this isn't the appropriate place to discuss my opinions about men who are intimidated by successful women, but know that I have a few). And my object in clinging so desperately to the hope of career opportunities is not grown from subversion, rebellion or even in doubt or fear. It's rooted in the feeling of ability and control (it is somewhat vulnerable-making to explain this here). 

  My career is the only thing in which I feel validated to satisfactorily control. It is the one thing in which I feel a degree of autonomy based on my own abilities and skills; the arena in which I can thrive at being ambitious and definite in pursuing the thing that I want. I do not feel this validation in my relationships with men, nor in my friendships with human beings of either gender. I frequently take the role of passive acceptor. This role often leads to being alone, and sometimes (not always, but sometimes) being alone leads to being lonely. I am learning that I cannot be antonymous on a project which inherently requires the contribution of two. There is certainly pride tied up in the focus on education and career. Pride, of which I am leery, as I know the dangers and pitfalls of pride intimately well. I read stories about it every day from this book that I'm kind of in to. I need to move and be moved, see and be seen. Perhaps that is the key to finding a successful relationship; admission that I cannot control things/others/fate?

  It's time to say farewell to my pride again. 

  How do you submit to waiting?

  Is there a better location than Guy/Gal Land? My lease here might be up; rent certainly is cheap, but there are too many dead bodies showing up in ravines and shooters lurking in the neighborhood.

 

shout out

I love these people. 

Now back to homework.

Break.

Thanksgiving break begins in five minutes.
I haven't really thoroughly decided yet how I feel about that  fact. Mostly I feel unprepared for it.
I also feel like it will not really be a break at all. Hopefully I will be able to let you know about my projects throughout the week. There are a lot of them, and SOME of them are actually sort of exciting. Sort of.

Anyways, Here is the question:
Do I
a. Spend Thanksgiving at home with the 3/8 of the Brown siblingdom
b. Go up to Ogden to be fought over by adoring fans, or
c. Go to Heber with dear friend Jeff to have sup with his family.

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Any one of the options might be immeasurably awkward. I guess it all depends on what I wear.

My Baby Brother...

...has been called to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in the Germany, Frankfurt Mission.

God speed, buddy.

My mother understands trees

My mother is a master tree steward. She loves trees. I think she loves me too. I had a hard conversation with her last night- I am coming upon a time of great trepidation and nothing seems certain for me in the coming year. I look forward to it with hesitation and a sense of unknowing and frankly, fear. 

I walk in BYU's Summer term graduation ceremony in a week. I am terrified. It's the beginning of the end of this incubation which I am not ready to leave just yet. I don't know where to go- I have no home but this one.  will not have a job beginning in January (which seems like a long ways away, but really is rather pressing.)

My mom interrupted my tears and told me about trees. She said that it's so tempting to take a sapling that is just starting and plant stakes deep into the ground on its sides and tie it so that it will grow up straight and true.

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She went on and told me that those are the trees without substance- without any strength or soul. When trees are growing in the wild, they encounter a barrage of insults and challenges. They don't all make it- and they DEFINITELY aren't all perpendicular to the earth. And as wild trees are growing, the winds and storms that push them around cause tiny deaths within the pulp of the tree- micro fractures in their structure.  

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The good news is this: as these micro fractures heal, the tree takes what it has learned from the wind, from the death caused by its incessant pushing, and strengthens itself there. That dead material becomes strong wood that holds the tree against future storms. This old, fractured part moves outward to become a fortress of bark, and new material is allowed to grow within that stern exterior. 

New life flows from the ends of the branches.

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These are the trees that are strong. These are the ones with substance and soul- ones who defend themselves against dearth of water and against pestilence. 

My mother understand what it means to be wild- what it means to be grounded. I question her in so many ways and against so many things. I don't know if I know how to trust her, or anyone for that matter. I think I need to learn from the trees and learn again how to trust myself. 

No stakes.

Adventuretime 2010

This will be a dedication piece combined with confessional. Get ready.
In my last post, I promised to write more about my darling baby bro. Well here it is. This is dedicated to him.


Last night I called him after my film meeting. He told me he was headed to the Utah Symphony. I figured he was going with some friends who are taking a music class with him, but no... It turns out he was going alone, because he thought it was awesome. He was right. I have a secret love/admiration/ appreciation/ jealousy of people who are brazen enough to adamantly do things by themselves. I do my own thing a lot, but it seems like there's always some safety in numbers behind a lot of my activities, and I always seems to be able to find someone interested in whatever I'm doing. Maybe I'm too mainstream, boring, or not committed enough to my own self. These feelings about perfectly content lone wolves leads me to a deep seated desire to accompany them on EVERYTHING they do.
So I went and bought a ticket, and after a little finagling, I got a seat right next to him.



It was fantastic to say the least. The program was a beautiful rendition of two early (and underperformed in the long run) Beethoven pieces and an hour long Rachmaninoff. I was beside myself when the Rachmaninoff began, and for the subsequent hour of delight.
Confessional time. I secretly form inappropriate bonds and relationships with the unwitting performers on occasions such as this. I spent a lot of time imagining what the bald first chair violinist was like as a kid, and why the rotund tympani decided to get into percussion as a professional choice. I had a whole thing going with the Asian violist having secret rendezvous with the dashing bass clarinetist who was a guest at this performance. I know that it's inappropriate to imagine hanging out with the entire orchestra on a casual level, but I really can't help but wonder if the shockingly white haired granny makes delicious soup and knits.

So, thank you, baby bro. It was an excellent evening by any measure.

Afterward, I went over to my friend Joey's place and made preliminary plans and decisions for an upcoming project. Be ready to have your minds blown outta your heads (By which I mean, it's gonna [I can barely believe that 'gonna' is a real word...] be really good).

some thoughts to start the year off

First, a disclaimer: these are totally unedited, random thoughts. Since this post will not be a cohesive argument, I'll bullet things out for you, so as not to get things fuddled. Also, it might be kinda long. Sorry. Kinda. No- I take that back. Not sorry... you don't have to read this all. :)

• I love all the 'best of the decade' playlists currently running on the radio. since the CD player in my car doesn't work, I'm left entirely to the whim of the local djs. Fortunately for me, there is one singular saving grace in the state of Utah as far as radio broadcasting goes. Basically, their playlist for the past week has been my entire ipod sans a few country secret indulgences and some oldies I can't let go of. So, no complaints there. Excellent. Thank you, independent, local, PERFECT radio. I'll miss you if I ever leave the state.
• I have no idea what I am doing with my life. I've pushed graduation back an entire year to allow myself a little semblance of extra time. I hope that it helps and I don't get lost in the mire of day-to-day again. I hate that, and I am working on focusing on long term. If i were to say I had any, that would be my new year's resolution. Think long term, act short term. I've started that goal by editing and re-editing my class load for the coming semester, and quit Job 1. Next step: go to class.
• I love my house so much. Courtney just moved in, and Meghan is on her way. Our house is already crazy and it seems like everyone and their dog (sometimes literally) come here. ALL THE TIME. (more on that later...) this coming semester is going to be even more socially full, because these ladies, in addition to the ones that already inhabit, come with an entourage. I'm sure we'll be seeing some of you around much more.

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• Christmas was hard, expectedly so. I am grateful to my cousins and my brother for being such excellent support. I need to do some sort of dedication to my baby brother sometime soon. You'd love him if you met him. Promise.

More to come soon...

Such and stuff

It's been a long time. Sorry. I have been busy with finals wrapping up, and upping my hours at work. I'm giving myself two days off (being yesterday and today). I figured I ought to put something up here as a means of update and/or proof of the fact that I am alive still.

I am alive still.




That being said, I'd like to report that I made a 3.7 GPA this semester- my best semester ever. I don't know why... in fact, it seems counter intuitive if you understand all the baggage I've been carrying with me this semester. I am really happy about it, and I feel really empowered that I was able to come off so well. I feel strong and good for my efforts, and happy that my time was well spent.

I have good hopes for the summer.




My mom's coming into town in two weeks. She is wonderful.



I will admit that I am a little bit anxious about it- nervous about having to deal in great depth with our family issues, and feeling forced to take a hard look at myself as a part of that- see how things are effecting me. Mom's good at pointing those things out to me, and it can be really alarming and distressing at times. Overall, though, I hope that we will be able to have a good time and have some good catch-up. I am excited to take her to the Mona Lavender Farm because it's so beautiful and summery good there. I have always associated the smell of lavender with my mom, this excursion seems so natural. I am also (a little bit ashamed to admit) excited that she might be able to buy me some new shoes...



I have always had this problem of running my shoes into the ground. I distinctly remember in third grade, having to get shoes three times during the school year because I had walked holes into their soles, and fully ripped the sole off one pair. I am hard on shoes. My ma told me we could get some new ones when she's here. Thank heavens.

In other news, I wanted to update you on an artist that I have become an ardent fan of in the last few weeks. I think I'll try to inform you of some great contemporary artists every so often- It's what I study all the time- I may as well regurgitate that info for you!

So firstly, by way of background, I have to tell you that I am a growing fan of Jazz. I have really gotten the spirit of the Jazz of the mid- century genius. On a recent vacation to San Fransisco a few weeks back, I had a great education on the history and formal qualities of the music genre by my good friend Jamie.

She talked me into buying my first (of hopefully a long tradition) Dexter Gordon album. I also bought The Anatomy of Improvisation, a collaborative effort of impresario Jazz artists.

That being the background to my interest, I'd like to introduce you to San Fransisco based artist, Ian Johnson.



His work is beautiful- mostly images of Jazz musicians. I like what he says about exploring the "spontaneous nature of jazz music and the physical structure of the human form." (In BIO on website...) I guess I'm so impressed because I've been listening to a lot of Thelonius Monk and Dizzee Gilespie, Chalie Parker, Art Tatum, and of course Miles Davis in the past month. My roommates are probably annoyed, or just plain confused. Nevertheless, Johnson is intriguing, and his works are beautiful. This one is currently my desktop background. You should check him out here.

Hopefully this will be a more healthy summer for blogging. A lot of my closest friends are taking off for the summer- I should fing myself with rather abundant time to maintan a strong bogging habit- so stay psoted.