My Story...and why it matters

A long while ago, I learned of the anti-gay marriage bill being considered in the Ugandan parliament.  It actually wrecked me.  Being a liberal, lesbian, urban-dwelling, woman social worker in the third largest city in the United States (Chicago, for those of you who didn't know!) I'm usually pretty nonplussed about being OUTRAGEOUSLY opinionated and advocating for the rights of myself and others who are similarly marginalized and oppressed.  When I found out about this bill (see this recent article in the Huffington Post and/or google "Uganda Anti-Gay Marriage Bill"), I literally was speechless.  I barely, if ever talked about it, and felt generally hopeless about the situation.  When I fell in love with the country of Uganda, I started to build my life around the idea of being able to work, learn, live, and love there.  I eventually did just that for a summer in my undergraduate college life, and felt equally nonplussed about continuing my exploration of my sexuality there.  While there, I came to learn about the vast danger with this openness.  As a British colonized culture heavily influenced by the American Evangelical movement, they took these pastors doctrines as universal truths, and have since become what I see as the ultimate experimental ground (and thus highly praised in the evangelical church) for their beliefs.  I had no clue of this when I went there.  I thought I'd share my coming out story here after reading this article because I still miss the freedom and adventure of Uganda, but now I know I will not be able to safely go back there without massive structural changes.   Fair warning...this is a long post and I'm really sorry but I'm terrible at editing because (as stated earlier) I tend to feel like I have a lot to say!

Myself (right) and S (left) in Uganda, Summer 2009

*****

It was the summer after my freshman year of college.  I had come out to myself the semester earlier, after falling in love with one of my close friends.  I attended a Christian college in the Midwest known for it's non-acceptance of LGBTQ people, and I had bought into it while attending a small group Bible study that only furthered this non-acceptance in myself.  I told myself that I would never tell anyone about my feelings for women, and I would force myself to date men.  To please God, and my family.  I even promised I wouldn't write it in my journal.  That way, if I died (by whatever means), no one would ever know.  I had always wanted to go to Uganda, or more specifically, since I saw the documentary Invisible Children in my sophomore year of high school.  It became clear (to me) that the best time for me to go and fulfill that dream, was now.  So I went.  I raised the money all on my own, found an organization to volunteer with, and I went.  I remember my best friend (at the time, no longer) advised me to go "...and not think about boys.  Christian women go into the mission field all the time searching for a husband, go for yourself, and God."  I nodded and agreed, that would be easy.  But I also decided to try to forget about what I had learned about my feelings for women as well, and just focus on myself, what I was doing, and God.  

I arrived in Uganda in June of 2009.  For a month, I kept my pact with my friend, and myself.  I remember at the one month mark saying to myself, "wow, I haven't even thought about any of that shit!"  I absorbed myself into the culture (as much as I could) and fell in love with the country and friends I made there.  

Then, right at the one month mark, trouble came to Africa in the form of a woman: S.  One of the American volunteers who had been there starting in May told me that she had invited a friend of hers from college to come because she was a videographer and the organization wanted her to create promotional videos for the organization's website.  I paid no mind to this at the time, and just nodded and said I was excited to meet her.  She arrived on the day that the girl I had become closest with had left - so I truly didn't really pay much attention to her.  And, I learned, that she didn't pay much attention to me either.  At the time, my hair was plaited with an African weave in little braided dreadlocks and a hoop nose ring adorned my freckled nose, and she wasn't looking for love either.  This was a job for her.  

At first, I really disliked her.  I hadn't planned on going on safari while I was there, because I didn't raise enough money.  However, my mom offered to pay for it at the last minute, because I was in Africa, and when was that going to happen again?  So, I signed up to go with a group of people I had really connected with and everything seemed to work out fine.  Then I found out that the organization wanted S to go on safari too, to make a video, but there were too many people in the first group.  Because I was one of the last people to sign up for that weekend, they told me I would be going the next week, in the group with S, and none of my friends.  I made plans to room with one of the other girls so I could stay away from S, who I was very upset with!  

A few days before we were supposed to leave for safari, we were invited to be bridesmaids in one of the Ugandan women's introduction ceremonies.  (Basically an engagement party, but it is a MUCH bigger and more traditional ceremony than the wedding).  Per tradition: we were not allowed to have our hair in a weave.  So, my dreads had to come out.  I spent the night before with the whole house pulling fake hair out of my head and sleeping on my 80's rockstar style hair: crimped, frizzy, and greasy.  The next morning, I washed my hair for the first time in 4 and a half weeks and used a hairdryer and straightener.  S tells me this was when she really noticed me, and decided she wanted to pursue me.  Apparently it was one of those Megan Fox moments, where I walked out of the bathroom a totally different woman, flipping my hair back and forth wrapped in my towel, with the sunrise behind my head.  All of a sudden, S was at my hip the whole day.  Helping me with my hair, painting my toes, I helped her with her makeup.  I remember the way she looked at me made me want to know her better, and made me want to be around her all day long.  I decided to give her another chance too.

Throughout the ceremony, I felt her eyes adoring me, and I felt a familiar feeling rising in my gut, I desperately wanted more time with her, alone.  In the car ride home, she rested her head on my shoulder and I whispered in her ear, "do you want to share a room on safari with me?"  Yes, I totally ditched my friend.  I couldn't help it!  She nodded and smiled, and went back to resting on my shoulder.  

The weekend of safari was one of the most magical I've ever had.  (In efforts to make that sound less corny, it was magical for more reasons than just S!)  We spent the days sitting in the warm sun on the roof of safari vans roaming through the African plains, and the nights in an authentic African hut, our beds pushed together and our mosquito nets tied to drape over both of our beds.  She took the video like she was expected, but all the time with me by her side taking photos with my fancy camera.  I told her it was nice to have someone to hang back with as we did our art forms.  She told me she appreciated my help, and ended up putting me in some of her shots.  Then at night, we stayed up all night laughing and talking.  She told me everything, even that she was gay and had dated women before.  I told her that I understood, I had wondered some of the same things myself.  

After that weekend, we were inseparable.  Everyone knew that where one of us was, the other was too.  I moved into her dorm room, and chose to sleep in the bed under hers immediately when we came back.  At night, she would sneak down the bunk-bed ladder and cuddle with me under my green mosquito net.  One night, she kissed me on the cheek, and it sent shivers up my spine.  I kissed her back on the neck.  After a few weeks, a few people started being suspicious that our friendship was just "too close."  One even made a comment, "If you two were a lesbian couple, Emily would be the feminine lipstick one, and S would be the more masculine one."  We laughed half-heartedly, worried about being found out, even though we hadn't even talked about it yet.  

Finally, one night, I told S that I had wanted to sleep outside on the front porch since I got there, but hadn't been able to yet.  I told her I didn't want to do it alone.  She told me she would do it with me, she just wanted to be with me.  We put our pillows and blankets on the mattress on the porch outside and waited until everyone was asleep to go out there.  We watched the sunset over Kampala, and then I nuzzled my head into her collarbone.  She kissed my forehead and I reached my hands under her shirt, caressing her body underneath.  After a few moments of this, she stopped me, "We have to talk about this...do you have feelings for me?"  I was terrified of all the things I was feeling, so I broke down and cried while having a panic attack.  I told her I did, but I wasn't sure if it was ok for me to have those feelings.  She just hugged me closer, "I know."  I woke up and told her that I didn't believe it was ok for me to have those feelings, and she was heartbroken.  We continued to be inseparable, and doing the same things as before, because even though I didn't think it was ok for me to have those feelings - I did, and I couldn't help myself.  Neither could she.  

When I left a month later, she came to send me off at the airport.  We cried and looked at each other knowingly.  I told her we needed to talk once she got back to the States, she nodded.  After a month of skyping between Michigan and Africa, Michigan and Wisconsin, she came to visit me at my college.  There was so much left unsaid, but all those feelings came rushing back again.  The first night she slept in my lofted twin bed, there was so much tension, the air was full of it.  She held me as close as humanly possible, and I let myself fall into her.  Then, she kissed me, for real this time.  I thought to myself, now I understand.  This is what love feels like.  I also came to the realization of just how happy I was.  I had a clarifying moment spiritually soon after, I knew God was rejoicing at my happiness, and at the great relationship S and I had that was always supportive of the other.  It was going to be ok.  

After that, we continued dating long-distance.  I started slowly coming out to friends at school, many of whom are no longer my friends because of it.  I joined an underground gay support group and started meeting other people at my college who were like me, and who I could talk to about S.  S visited me, and I visited her all throughout the  year.  She even moved to my college town for a short while because she needed a way to get out of her hometown. She then got a job in the Chicagoland area, and that was when our long-distance relationship truly stabilized.  She was establishing herself in Chicago, finally being open about her sexuality with her new friends in her new city, and I was doing the same in my small-town college.  In August, we will have been dating long-distance for three long (and beautiful) years.  But this August will be different.  In May I will graduate with my Bachelors degree in Social Work.  A few weeks ago, I got my acceptance letter from the University of Chicago's Jane Addams College of Social Work for the Masters in Social Work program.  I sent in my "Intent to Enroll" letter and deposit immediately.  We've started looking for apartments in the neighborhoods we love in North Chicago, and she's started collecting furniture. In August, we will finally be together, in the same city, the same home, and sharing our lives like we've wanted to for three long years.  I'm coming home.

*The story that I've written above was submitted to What Wegan Did Next's "Love Stories" section, but has yet to be published there!  So, if you follow them and they post it in the future and it's word for word...now you know why.

1,095 - 20

August 1st will mark the 1, 095th day that I have been not living in the same state, or city as my girlfriend.  And it will also mark the day that the lease on the apartment we rented, together, starts.

In 20 days, (or less!) I will be finally living in the same city and state as her.  Not to mention, also the same apartment.  I've thought about this time in my life for 1, 095 days now, and I always thought it would feel surreal.  That I wouldn't even be able to imagine it because of how long we haven't had that luxury.  But, really, I mostly just feel like, "it's about damn time."

Looking back, I know distance was right for us.  (Try to find anyone else who feels that way and I think you'll come up empty!)  We needed to be forced to be alone with ourselves and work on our own hurdles alone, in order to be able to be together in a healthy, loving relationship.  We needed to learn that the best kinds of relationships, are one in which two individual people can come together and celebrate, and cherish the other for who they are on their own, and who they become together.  For that, I am so grateful.

But now, we're ready.  We are so ready to be together.  To come home to each other everyday.  I think that's the part that will be surreal (but maybe, hopefully, it's just normal), coming home everyday and seeing her.   I think after a week we'll be like, "ok, so...one of us is supposed to leave now" and then WE WON'T.  AH.

I've been getting a lot of texts, calls, and letters from friends.  Some of my best, and some who have reconnected with me after a long time.  They all keep saying they can't wait to visit me & S when we move in together.  The part of me that believes in "signs" and karma and, my favorite phrase my momma taught me, "the universe will bring it to you," believes that this is a sign.  My friends see that I'm finally getting to the place I want to be, and happiness and contentment tend to draw people in.  I can't wait to have them visit me, us, (WHAT?!) and be a part of this new part of my life.  To be actively a part of it.


So to any friends who still read this, you are always welcome in our home.  Thank you for being such a huge part of my life, and our relationship, for the past 3 years.  That time apart from S, but with you, are part of what make us as strong as we are now. 

 

This is going to be short and sweet, and yes, I also posted this on my Tumblr because I am that happy right now and I have too many online blogs

I've been taking a creative writing class that has fully and utterly changed my world.  I could (and probably will) write about it some more later, but for now:

I did it.  Tonight I wrote the poem that made me feel like a poet.  I wrote the poem that made me look up schedules for open mic nights knowing that I would one day (soon) get on a stage and read that poem with every fiber of my heart and the audience would snap along and say, "Girl, you got soul."  And tonight, I would believe them.  But tomorrow, I will take my prized words and I will put them in my binder, to be revealed to my class only on the day that they were meant to be revealed, and that will be it.  Because a writer cannot have too much ego, or they will never write another great poem again.

yoga inspires me

I know it is the new hip trend and all, and may be a little cheesy to say right out like that, but yoga truly does inspire me.  It makes me appreciate the simple things more, make healthier choices, and be just happier in general, more balanced.  I'm pretty sure I had one of the most emotionally exhausting days - one of those ones where shit keeps getting thrown at you and all you can do is wipe it off and smile.  Anyways, I was in the mood to not do anything involving human contact after that, but I knew I really wanted to go to this yoga class tonight since I'm leaving town on Saturday and won't have my beloved yoga studio to go to anytime I choose.  So, I went.

It was harder than I expected, but always as informative, inspiring, and empowering as usual.  After class, I walk out of there feeling hopeful, purposeful, and intuitive to people, things, and the environment around me.  I know it's not just allocated to my studio, but it is the practice and the spiritual discipline that defines yoga that allows me this feeling.  For those of you yogis out there, you will know that yoga always ends in savasana, or corpse pose.  It is a time to lay and reflect on the parts of your body that have been engaged and activated during your practice.  A scan of your chakras, to understand and absorb what you have done in that time that you chose to focus on your body, as well as what you have done when you have not focused on your body during your day.  It is also a time to just, release.

Tonight during our savasana after my short-form ashtanga class, just as I was sliding into corpse-esque release, a song came on the playlist for the night that sounded like a few buddhist monks chanting Psalm 23, and later the Lord's Prayer.  For any of you that have known me for the past few years, you will know that my connection to the God that Christian's claim as "theirs" has not been so pleasant.  My violet-crown chakra (if you will) is being under-used.  You see, last May I was fired from SpringHill Camps, a non-profit Christian camp organization, on the basis of my being openly gay.  For some reason, just saying that in itself doesn't lend itself to the pain I felt.  SpringHill Camps was my place to develop my spiritual awareness.  It was this place that jump-started one of my favorite qualities about myself - my ability to connect with others on a level deeper than the skin, and the ability to connect with a being greater than myself in a way that makes me feel better connected to my environment and my own self.  It was the reason I decided to go to the college that I now attend (Hope College), because I was hoping to find a similar environment there: one that would empower me spiritually as well as intellectually.  It would be an understatement to say that I was disappointed in what I found at Hope, but I remained hopeful (no pun intended) that I just hadn't found "it" there yet, and I needed to give it another chance.

By my sophomore year at Hope, I had come out as gay to my close friends and to my family and had been dating the same woman I am currently dating for a few months.  I always had a little hesitation to explore the reconciliation between faith and sexuality, but I did find a reconciliation that also supported spiritual beliefs that I have held since I can remember.  It was this reconciliation that made me feel comfortable in my own skin, even if I wasn't comfortable at Hope.  At Hope, the disappointment came from the lack of a community that truly sought out spiritual truth, rather than simply "Christian" truth.  I had a very hard time finding people who were willing to discuss anything but Jesus and what the more right-leaning Church preaches as "good, holy, and righteous."  I wanted spiritual diversity, mutual understanding and inclusivity, the passion for social justice, and the willingness to learn from those who are different, even those who are oppressed.  And I found, none of that.  Actually, one could argue that Hope, as well as much of West Michigan, is the furthest from that.*

All that to say, when SpringHill Camps administrators forced me into a room to discuss how we were to handle "difficult topics" with our teenage campers, proceeded to tell us "if you can't agree that one can 'pray' away or change their homosexuality, please don't say anything", then force me to come out, tell my coming out story to them, explain my acceptance of my sexuality, tell them that yes, I was dating someone openly, and proceed to "redistribute me to another camp site where I won't be a potential threat to campers" (but don't put any other co-workers in awkward situations, please!); it pretty much destroyed most of what I had connected to God, at least the one that Christians claim as "theirs"  (even though, I'm pretty sure (s)he doesn't "belong" to anyone one type of people), and it especially tarnished my view of Christians.  I spent the next year pretty frustrated at my place in life, still at Hope, a place I felt I didn't fit into anymore (and never really did).  Also a place that in the past couple years quite openly declared that they didn't feel comfortable with me being there, at least openly and with the ability to speak.  (For info on this, Google search "Hope College, Homosexuality Statement/Policy" and click any of the links that come up.)

Anyways, back to yoga and the chanting monks.  Because of my quickness to frustration/irritation at most things associated with Christianity (I do admit, not my best quality) I was immediately distracted by the ever-famous Psalm 23 being pronounced during my savasana.  My thoughts were along the line of, "Okay, this guy has studied Indian Philosophy for years, has been to India studying in an ashram, yoga itself is a Hindu practice of inclusive spirituality and wellness, and he's playing PSALM 23 and the Lord's Prayer?!  What the hell, why aren't they chanting from the Bhagavad Gita or something less...Christian?"  I was kind of tense for a few minutes about this, and then I softened up when I recognized that the monks were changing the more Western-recognized pronoun "He" in the verses to "She."  (Actually, I loved that).

When it hit me that I could actually appreciate the psalm, and the monks, and the she; the only way I can describe how I felt is that I felt as if I had realized that I had lost a profound piece of myself and was wondering how I had let it go.  I somehow let my irritation and frustration from Hope and SpringHill and seemingly constant misunderstanding between "LGBTQ" and "Christianity" take over more of my spiritual self than the beliefs that I love and wish to integrate into my daily understanding.  Still in a sort of, stunned, state, the teacher asked us to stretch and "awaken to ourselves" from the savasana and come to a comfortable seated position in order to dedicate our practice.  He asked us, as in the beginning of class, to sit and simply feel the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual activity of our bodies.  To appreciate the time and effort we had just put into them, and dedicate what we will choose to get out of our practice afterwards.  Dedicate the practice to something meaningful, purposeful that we hope to embody as a part of our daily practice.  I dedicated my practice today, to this:

"I dedicate this practice to the more positive pursuit and understanding of my spirit and that of (s)he who is greater than I.  The recognition of the way humanity distorts this vision, but the conscious effort to not let the world's distortion become my own."

Namaste, readers.

*postscript: Well, to be honest, I did find one thing (a class, Intro to World Religions) and an amazing professor who I will always cherish (shout out, Boyd H. Wilson) who was the one who truly led me (I, to this day, call him Guru) in my reconciliation of all these things I was seeking.  I continue to go to his office when I need some release from Hope and it's lack of those things I so crave in a community, or to just bounce ideas off of him.  He always affirms my intuition about the campus community and their lack of spiritual diversity and acceptance of it, but he also always reminds me that at least they take faith as a serious matter that they want to integrate into their lives.

I hope you know that I'm the lucky one.  I hope you know that on those days that I'm feeling "extra feisty," or when I'm not thinking about what I'm saying, and you bring me back down to Earth, I may not like it at the moment, but I say to myself: "remember this. remember to thank her someday, because even if I didn't want it, I needed it."  I hope you know that I know, deep in the depths of my heart, I have not missed anything that wasn't worth missing.  I hope you know that in you, you have given me something that most people will never know, and never understand.  And it is for that reason that I hold you so tightly, that is why I treasure you so much, that is why I do not feel the need to see what I am missing, because what I want is right next to me, holding my hand.  I hope you know that even on our "bad days," I go to bed remembering all the things I love about you the most, and I know we're going to be o-k.  We are different from most, and I like it that way.

salty, sweaty, beautiful

I think I have a gift for seeing the beauty in most things.  This is something I love about myself.  Right now, in life, I'm trying to just get to know me and then let the other friends in my life get to know her too.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm totally open to change; but this time it will be for me, not anyone else.  So, with that said, let me paint you a picture of beauty that I took part in tonight.

(For background information, I'm still home for Christmas break and decided to go to my first yoga class in a longgggg time.  I'm in love with my yoga studio at home, and I constantly (inwardly) complain about how I will never find another Body Language anywhere else I choose to live.)

The first thing I do when I step into the warm waiting area is slowly take off my coat and boots.  My bare feet touch the floor, and it's not even slightly cold, but it's still invigorating.  There are others waiting for my class - others that will join me in breathing, living, and working in solidarity together - all of them silently whispering to each other, so as not to disturb the massage and yoga class in session.  The door opens finally and people begin to greet one another.  I stay silent and move into the much more warm yoga room.  You can't even tell the yoga studio is located on the side of a very busy intersection because it is completely silent in the room except for the relaxing sanskrit mantra playing from the CD player.  I lay out my mat, straighten it out, and lay.  First on my back, eyes closed, hands folded on my chest and breath.  Then I hug my legs into my belly and rock back and forth, massaging my spine.  The instructor turns on the space heaters, making the room even more hot and I can already feel my muscles becoming more and more ready to stretch and work.  
Finally, everyone is ready and seated, laying, stretching on their mats.  My eyes stay shut, I'm not even the slightest bit self-conscious, and I notice it.  (That's a first.)  The instructor begins to speak, tells us to meditate.  That many people choose to separate yoga from meditation, and that's simply impossible.  Yoga is meditation, and so that is how we will begin.  She tells a story about our minds and how completely cluttered they always are and that this practice should help us to stop thinking about our minds, and focus on our bodies, come into our bodies.  I find this liberating and erotic, as escaping my mind has always been one of the hardest things for me to do - inhibiting me way too many times in my almost 21 years.  She ends by saying, "sometimes, it's good to lose your mind."  I giggle in my head, but oops, not in my head, out loud.  That's okay, I'm so relaxed and happy I don't even care.  Finally we begin the vinyasa flow.  A breath-timed transition from pose to pose as we stretch, lift, and strengthen all parts of our bodies.  I start to lose count of how many times I've completed the flow and scold myself for keeping count.  I take a deep exhale and forget.  The first drop of sweat falls into my tear duct, stinging my eyes, and I smile.  The instructor has been talking the entire time, but she's getting more and more passionate and so I listen closer.  She starts talking about how we are just bathing ourselves in self-love, and my heart flutters.  I close my eyes and focus on my face, "I love you, face."  Then my neck, "I love you, neck."  Then my chest, "I love you, chest."  Then my arms, "I love you, arms."  My hands, my fingers, "I love you."  My belly, my legs, my feet, my toes, "I love you too."  I feel a little silly saying these things to myself, but as I feel out each part of my body, I notice the sweat covering them and I really do feel as if I am bathing in my own love for myself.  It feels damn good.  By now I'm sweating so much, and feeling so much that I can't tell which salty drop of wet is sweat, tears, or snot.  I don't think I'm crying, but by now, who knows.  
I open my eyes for the first time in what I would guess to be 20 minutes, the first thing I see is a 40-something year old woman, fit as ever, stretching her arms up to the sky.  I can almost feel her self-love, and I suddenly feel connected to everyone in the room.  I listen to everyone else's breath and realize we are breathing at the same rhythm.  All of humanity is connected, and tonight I know that's true.  We continue this for a long time, and by the time we switch to balancing exercises my legs feel like rubber and I'm light-headed.  I head for the water bottle many times during this period.  I start to scold myself for not being able to do some of the poses and then I remember the key rule of yoga, do it at your pace, and do what feels best and right for your own body.  I praise myself for drinking water.  I don't even feel full of myself for it.  
We continue with inversions, 
more balancing, 
more vinyasa, 
more 
and more 
and more 
and sweat is absolutely covering me.  I touch my foot to the floor while in pigeon pose and it slides across the wood floor of it's own accord.  I feel as if we have just started our rest and meditation period, and it's already time for it to end.  I know I look a complete wreck, and I've never felt so beautiful.  As sweat falls from my face to my mat, I tell myself, "this is for you.  for all you've done, and all you haven't done.  I love you."  It doesn't feel like 10 minutes has passed but it has and it's time to awaken from the meditation state.  Before sitting up to end the practice, we roll over onto our side like babies and then sit back up in prayer position.  The instructor talks and I feel like she's speaking straight to me.  "Let go of your worries, and bask in yourself.  The light in me bows in gratitude to the lights in all of you.  Namaste."  Namaste.

une vie humaine

Here's a poem I wrote last year in (oddly enough) my french class.  I *ahem* struggled a little bit in this class, but this was the one assignment that I just knew exactly what I wanted to write about and how I would write it.  I really like how it turned out and it's a good descriptor of where I was at in life at that point and time.  I read it recently too and it is just a good reminder to myself that I need to let go of things, loosen up, stop being so hard on myself, so that I can actually live instead of constantly trying to think about, question, and ponder over my life and what is going well or not in it.

Je pense, je médite, je réfléchis,

Les pensées animent constamment mon esprit.

Ainsi est ma vie, je dois penser sans arrêter,

Afin d’apprendre davantage,

Mais à force, je suis épuisée.

Chaque jour je cherche des solutions,

Aux problèmes du monde, de la vie, de la foi,

Et je prends de nouvelles résolutions.

À la fin de la journée, je suis fatiguée

Car cela demande beaucoup d’efforts

De toujours avoir à penser.

Alors, aujourd’hui je dis que c’est assez

J’ai tout juste vingt ans,

Et j’en ai assez d’être fatiguée.

Je vois ma vie qui passe,

Dans le reflet que me renvoie ma tasse.

Je suis encore jeune et il me reste beaucoup à voir

Alors, est-ce tellement important de posséder ces savoirs?

Je pense que non,

En fait, c’est bien mieux

De laisser vagabonder ses pensées,

Et vivre intensément jusqu’à devenir vieux.

Le but de la vie,

C’est d’apprendre et de vivre intensément,

Mais en embarrassant trop son esprit,

On laisse s’enfuir les plus beaux moments.

one very special day(weekend).

After goofing around, we finally sit down on the squeaky sand.  She wraps her arm around my back to support me and I place my cheek in the crook between her neck and her shoulder, just touching her collarbone. (my spot) She asks,

"Why do you like being by the water so much?"

I giggle for a while, because really, who doesn't like being by the water?  Then I realize it's actually a question.  She means it.  I think for a second.

"You know, I think it's because it's so incredibly chaotic.  The constant sound of the waves crashing, and the little white tips on the tops of the waves that just tell you that this water is MOVING.  It's chaotic and I can't control it.  So I let it take my chaos away from me.  Each wave takes my internal chaos and I can be at peace."

somedays i think about the little bits of time we have together
and it makes me wish that when you were napping in my lap
i would have memorized your face and stayed there
just a little longer.

Forrest Gump.


It's one of my favorite movies.


I may be stating the obvious with this one, but there is something that I absolutely love about that movie that I don't think any story I've yet heard has ever captured.


I love the part where Forrest is just finishing up telling the people on the bus bench about his success with Bubba Gump Shrimping Co. and neither of the people believe that a millionaire would be sitting on a bus bench wasting his time telling ordinary people his life story.  Then he shows the lady a picture of him and Lieutenant Dan on the cover of Fortune 500 as the bus that she has just been waiting for passes her.  Forrest asks her if she's going to get on her bus and she says, "There will be another one in a short while."


I love that moment when she realizes that Forrest's story is something special.  Something that should be heard and listened to and remembered.  I love how ordinary he is, and yet incredibly extraordinary at the same time.


I wonder what it would be like if when we sat down to eat dinner with our families, or coffee with a friend, or even in our conversations with those we don't know very well (and maybe don't want to know very well), if we just realized that every person is worth being heard, listened to, and remembered.  I don't think I've been very good at that lately.  I have a tendency to want to be heard, listened to, and remembered so badly that I forget to hear, listen, and remember everyone else.


Also, I think I am so much like Jenny sometimes, and that's why I've always been more fascinated with the mystery of Jenny's part in the story than with Forrest's.  She spends so much of her time life trying to figure out who she is, and trying all these different things to try and fill her and make her into who she is.  In the past few years I tried picking habits and styles from people who I liked, and I did it because I wanted to be more like them.  I wanted those habits and styles because they intrigued me and I felt like I didn't have anything like that, anything that made me uniquely me.  The past year of my life has been trying to realize which habits and styles are actually mine, the ones that make me...me.  And just like we don't know what made Jenny stop doing things and changing herself with every new change in friends and locations, I'm not sure how or when I'm going to feel like I have myself figured out.  But I do know that something that is very different about me now, that I wouldn't be able to honestly say a few years ago is that I only want to be me.  Not an imitation of someone else.  


Side note:  this is my favorite quote of the whole movie.   


"I don't know if Momma was right or if, if it's Lieutenant Dan. I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time."

typical (or not) musings.

Something I've been thinking about lately:

as a whole, we have constantly compared ourselves to this insane, absolutely INSANE, dream of normalcy that

is anything but normal.

(does anyone know what i even mean?)

we all do it, whether we think about it or not. and the funniest part about it is, the very essence of our idea of "normal" is never normal. "normal" changes for each of our life stages.

when i was five, it was normal for me to want to grow up and be a ballerina. it was NOT normal that i wanted nothing more than to play with fairies (who were absolutely REAL) and eat dog bones and read every book i could get my hands on.

when i was in high school, it was normal (and might i add absolutely debilitating to my self-confidence and personal identity) to want to fit in with everyone. to dream of prom as "the best night of my life." (gag me.) it was NOT normal to not want to be myself so much that i started picking up other people's habits, and pretending that i was actually someone else.

now, people are saying it would be normal if all i wanted to do was live it up, have the "best years of my life" (i keep hearing a lot of that..."the best ____ of your life"...is that "normal"?) and not concern myself with topics, questions, feelings, desires, wants, and beliefs that are too hard, or too big, or too messy. it is NOT normal that these things are exactly what i want to concern myself with. that i am so scared of being ignorant that i don't want to ignore the things that are too big or too hard or too messy because ignoring them would actually drive me crazy, and make me unable to relate to the people who are different, NOT normal. (another of my biggest fears)

Oh no, THIS is not normal. DEFINITELY not normal for a twenty year-old.

it is also NOT normal that i have stopped trying to be everyone else and tried to understand myself, who I am. ( i can hear it in my head, "that is such a big thing to tackle. you have plenty of time to figure that out, when you're older.") it is NOT normal that i have stopped believing in "normal." that i think this fluffy, romanticized, American dream of normality (you know, those things that we're "supposed" to do, the dreams we're "supposed" to have) is actually unreality and a big fat lie that has caused so much personal hurt when we finally realize that we are, and never will live up to, the normalcy that has dictated our lives until that moment. because, let's be real honest here,

nothing

is

normal.