Our Obsession

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do--is to save every day, till eternity passes away, just to spend it with you"

 

Parts of "The Time Keeper" that made me cry: four

Number of times the word "time" is used in this blog post: 28 (if you're bored, or think this post is too long, try to find them all!)

Picture: from Google, that awesome time-saving database which saves my lazy butt every time I write a blog

 

One of my all-time favorite songs is the 1973 hit "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. No matter how many times I hear it, it still brings tears to my eyes. I guess what I love most about the song is the idea that time can be bottled up and saved, or given as a gift. It is especially appealing to me to think that time, which on the longest insomniac night or the darkest stressful day can feel like a punishment, can also be a blessing and a reward.

I think most people would like to have more time. We want to capture it. Chase it. Slow it down. Speed it up. Rewind it. Escape it. Use it wisely. Waste it. Even stop it. Every household has at least a dozen ways to measure it or display it, and our lives are dedicated to the process of checking time and scheduling ourselves around it. We are obsessed with time.

"The Time Keeper" is a novel by Mitch Albom which my mother gave me for my birthday, but I didn't have the chance to finally read until this week. It's beautiful. Just downright beautiful. It addresses time in all of its paradoxes, from those who spend their whole lives running away from it to those who spend their lives holding to it tightly. It addresses the very human fear of death, and how it began when men started measuring time and realizing that someday, each one of us would run out of it. The main character, who becomes Father Time, wanted to do the same thing that Croce sang of and my soul connected with--capture time so that a dying loved one could live longer. In doing so he is blessed/cursed to spend nearly an eternity listening to others lament about time, and has to help two people on earth break their obsession with time in order to return to his life.

We've all heard the cheesy phrases about seizing the moment and living for today, but Albom isn't on a soapbox telling the world to straighten up and toss all their clocks away. He's realistic enough to note that our modern society will probably never stop obsessing about time. But--and this is a big "but"--he urges us to be careful. To be mindful. To never stop believing that life is worthwhile no matter how long or short it ends up being, and how much time we think we deserve or felt shorted. To give 100% to this moment, every moment.

For myself, it was a reinforcement that I did the right thing by choosing life instead of the dark alternative. It put some things in perspective for me when it comes to relationships (have I ever given 100% to anyone? Ever? Is there time still to try?) It reminded me that the future is what I make it; I may never know how many people I've actually touched, or how many I have yet to meet and have the chance to make smile someday, but I owe it to myself to find out.

I urge you to reconsider your relationship with time. Be kinder to yourself. Slow down a little. And recognize that your worth is literally limitless as far as time is concerned.

The Weight of Worlds

The tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut at the Sandy Hook Elementary School has been in the hearts and minds of the nation this last week, and in watching all the news coverage and parts of the memorial service I felt many things, primarily horror and pain for the families involved. I thought about being a parent in that situation, and how on earth you could explain to your child what had happened to their friends. I thought about the teachers killed protecting their students, and how they remained calm enough in the face of danger to be heroes for the ones they loved. I thought of the children themselves, and how many years it will take for their nightmares to quiet and life to normalize, or if it ever will.

My thoughts also turned inwards, as thoughts tend to do when one is faced with an event like this. As a society I think we search for ways to make something so enormous and unfathomable personal--relatable enough to be felt, identifiable enough to be real. This week I thought a lot about my plans post-graduation, and how I'd really like to get some experience in counseling, to see if that is where my future career lies. I have a particular interest in school counseling, not just because I see a lot of need in that area but because in the last couple years I've worked with a lot of high school kids who could use extra support and guidance as they navigate growing up.

There was a point this week when it finally hit me: when a school experiences something like Sandy Hook, who ends up being one of the first responders in the aftermath? The school counselors.

How on earth do you prepare for something like that? How do you learn what to say, how to help? Where does the strength come from to be able to relive the event again and again through the eyes and stories of the kids and families that walk through your door?

So many people want to sensationalize this story for their own purposes--legislature for tighter gun laws, higher viewership for news stations, the ability to point fingers and stir up wounds--when really, this is a story of humanity that needs to stay human. Whatever happens next, whatever laws get debated, there is still a shattered community that needs to heal, and there are people at work to heal it. The heroes of Newtown, the police, the care-givers, the counselors, the responders...these are the people who deserve attention in the news. These are the ones who take on the weight of worlds.

The next few weeks are going to be hell for that town--God bless them and strengthen them all.

*Photo by Alex Brandon, of the American flags at the Washington Monument lowered to half-mast last Friday to commemorate Sandy Hook*

People Shine

It had been one of those days. One of the crazy, pre-holiday rush with a million-errands-to-do-and-I've-got-two-papers-to-write-still-before-I-can-pack-and-leave-town days. I'd picked this day to get my hair cut down at Fantastic Sam's, a hair salon between Nampa and Caldwell that I was drawn to not just because of the name (because really, who doesn't want to go someplace Fantastic?) but for the nostalgia. It was the place where I'd decided to be crazy and get bangs for the first time in a dozen years, and the place where I dyed my hair right before my wedding. It is a place of new beginnings.

The friendly woman who greeted me at the front desk introduced me to my hairdresser, a lovely lady with a short, red-dyed "do." In short order she pointed out two of my mistakes--I was wearing a hoodie (which made it difficult to cut hair) and I'd been abusing my hair too much with a brush, which she could tell immediately from the wealth of split-ends I'd acquired. I took off the hoodie and felt kind of sheepish about the brushing, wondering if she hated working with clients that had damaged hair.

Whenever I'm in a setting where something on my person is being "done" (think dentist, doctor's office, optometrist, etc.) I can't stand the silence. It seems strange to me to spend an hour or so in close proximity with someone else and not leave with a better sense of who the other person is. As the woman worked on my hair we chatted back and forth about random things. Finally I asked her my favorite question: "what made you want to be ___?" (In this case, a hair-stylist). Her entire face lit up as if she'd been waiting for that question since I walked in.

She spoke passionately about her love of hair, from the time she was a child and played with her cousin's hair or pretended to shave her dad's head to her days in college studying cosmetology. After a few odd-jobs she always came back to this--the one place that she never had to steel herself to go to each morning. "I get tired, but never worn-out," she said, and her eyes shone with the light of someone doing something they loved, and doing it well.

People shine. This is one of those moments that a journalist lives for in an interview; that a writer can't help but be inspired by. For the rest of the day I watched other people shine: the man at Jiffy Lube who wished everyone a Merry Christmas with oil on his hands and a grin on his face (while his coworkers scowled in the background). The woman making faces at her son in the shopping cart. The lady at the Salvation Army who volunteers her time every week. It's not a metaphorical light or a figure of speech.These individuals literally shine with an inner satisfaction and peace that the rest of us--the confused, the fuck-ups, the "I have no idea where I'm going in life but I'm getting there someday"--watch with awe.

Over the upcoming holiday break I invite you to pick out the people in your life who shine, and find a way to tell them you think they're pretty awesome =) Chances are, you might be shining for someone else right this moment

*image by myself*

Falling Behind

 Tonight some friends and I were lamenting together about the amount of work we've accumulated in the end of the term. The majority of it comes from classes that assigned us weekly journals or mini-projects. These assignments had vague due dates and an expectation (poor optimistic professors!) that students could be self-motivated enough to budget out our work time and actually DO four or so short essays a week instead of taking the procrastination approach of: "Oh, they're not due right this second, so I'll get to it when I have to." Trouble is, all this putting off has now doomed each of us to the snowball effect--literally dozens of essays, journals, and projects due in the next week and a half. It's insanity.


I know I'm not the greatest student when it comes to doing things last minute. Every year starts with the same thought--this time will be different! This time I'll be on top of all my deadlines and save myself the stress of all-nighters and caffeine hazes! ...yeah...that never happens. I've actually started to wonder if the only way I can pull off a decent research paper is if it's done during the wee hours of the morning, precious hours before class. (My professors would probably disagree).

Anyway, in addition to being poor with time-management I have a tendency to be in my own world during class, filling my notebooks with poetry, doodles, and random musings. I came across this "gem" from last Spring semester and was a little surprised at how it still rings true today. Apparently old habits die hard:

I was minding my own business, chowing down on my B.L.T. and chips with gusto—my cell phone face up on the table awaiting a reply text message and my backpack sealed shut in its Velcro lining. I opened my Naked juice and listened to the patter of voices around me, warping and blending softly together like the patter of rain that fell last night as I dozed. They were talking about the exam next Friday, the one I hadn’t begun studying for yet. I bit into my sandwich and vaguely pondered on the nearly ten chapters I was behind on, the notes and study guides I’d have to begin all too soon. Violently I shrugged these thoughts away and turned to more interesting cues: the buzz of my cell phone.

            It was at this moment that the girl slipped into the room, purple folder clutched tightly to her chest and walking swiftly to the back of the room. She was one of dozens of prospective new students scoping out classrooms for next fall, and her first view of ours? Me furiously texting with one hand and cramming greasy food in my face with the other. A far cry from how I imagined college classrooms in my prospective days—neat stacks of notes, pens moving furiously across the vast expanse of lined paper as the professors poured delicious truths and discussions into the souls of their students.

            Guiltily, I put my sandwich down and took my notebook out, trying to focus on the professor’s words. Yet his marvelous lectures dissolved in disjointed, slurred sentences with all the meaning wrung out of them. “Neo-classical hegemony…discourse…appropriation…substantiation…”

            Too many syllables with too many trains of thought. I only had one train, and it was stalled at the station. When did I become such a terrible student? When did I stop caring about literary theory? Or any of my classes?

            But I know when. I know the exact moment. It began with the decision to skip one reading, and miss one class, and choose sleep over homework. It snowballed into more skipped readings and more missed classes and an increased shift in priorities until the knot of apathy so innocently thread grew its own heads and marched forward, trampling on assignments; steamrolling work ethic. Until I became this: She Who Sleeps Through Lectures. She Who Puts Off All Projects Until the Night Before. She Who Doodles On Every Page of Notes, Recycles All Her Readings Untouched, and Spends Hours Writing Nonsense That No One Reads. 

I guess I can add one more title to the list from months ago: She Who Doesn't Learn Her Lesson. 

*image of our cat, Tiamat, "helping" me with homework*

Prove It

"You don't know you're beautiful

that's what makes you beautiful"

--One Direction

"She doesn't know that she's an angel in disguise

she doesn't know that we see heaven in her eyes

she doesn't know that she's alright

she might've been blinded by the light

of all the good that she does, but she doesn't know"

--Michael McLean

Of all the characteristics of people that we tend to admire in life, one of the most frustratingly endearing is humility. You know the kind: the parents who run themselves ragged providing for their families, juggling a thousand things on a to-do list that always places themselves dead last. The nine-to-fivers working the most unpleasant jobs because, well, someone has to. The people who just seem to give and give until there's nothing left and still find a way to count their blessings. The people who don't know they're beautiful, and beautiful in the sense that emanates from the inside first. It's maddening sometimes, to see these people and admire them, to wish to be like them, to constantly fall short of their natural altruism and sometimes hate them for it, to love them with all your heart and still hear them say I'm not worthwhile.

Over and over I've seen this play out--someone that I love and look up to incapable of seeing in themselves what is so clear to the rest of us. And it seems the harder you try to recognize them and show them a mirror of their accomplishments, the more their ears seem to deafen, their eyes turn downwards. Show them anything but this: their own worth. The only thing more heartbreaking than their selfless attitudes is their self-hatred, a never-ceasing attack from the inside out, the demons that whisper it's not true. You're not a good person. "You think I'm worth something?" these individuals may respond to the world at large, "then prove it."

Someone very important to me told me this recently, and at the time it hit me like a physical blow to the heart. I was furious. I was devastated. I wish I could have taken them by the shoulders and shaken sense into them. In the last few years of knowing this individual all I could see was beauty. Someone who shone from the inside-out, with a level of kindness and integrity that few of us ever witness. But their demons were louder than I ever was, and I ended up feeling like a failure.

Throughout college I've been told that if you want to enter the field of counseling, you have to make your own healing a priority. If you can't give to yourself, how will you have something to give to others? For someone with plenty of demons of her own, this is my own hardest task. To figure out how to give myself a fraction of worth--to say I'm not a bad person or a good person, I'm just me. And "me" is worthwhile. I'm beginning to see that this is one of the most pressing issues of our time. Depression and lack of self-esteem is rampant, squashing the confidence out of future leaders, future defenders, and future healers. How do you fight back? How do you replace the demons with reality?

Last weekend I took part in a "Rake Up Caldwell" project where teams of students set out to clean up houses with yards in major need of raking. Afterwards we were going to go to a pancake breakfast, put on by another organization on campus. After my team had finished our list we raced back to the college, the taste of imagined pancakes spurring us on. Our advisor stopped us in the parking lot with the news that one of the other teams was still on their first house, and we needed to go back out there and help them finish. Right as she spoke, it started to pour rain. We all looked at each other, heaved a sigh, and delayed the pancake feast to rake up two more houses. We found ourselves cursing at the sky out of frustration (not very charitable of us, but hey, it was the weekend before break and we were cranky) and then a member of my team said: "I wish there was a way to just put all the leaves back up in the trees." 

Many times I've reflected on this comment. The proposal itself is futile--we could no sooner put the leaves back in the trees than silence the demons in ourselves. But that's the point. We can't prove anyone's worth but our own. You fight back by giving the ones you love all the support you can, and then hoping that someday they have the foresight and the strength to prove to themselves what we knew all along. You are worth it. You are worth it all.

*images by me at the College of Idaho*

Impressions

 



If I've learned anything at college (and we can only pray I have) I've learned that our impressions of others should never, ever be immovable. We've all heard the cliche: "Don't judge a book by its cover," but this idea goes well beyond mere physical appearance, although too often we find ourselves judging others on this shallow level. Again and again people have surprised me and overturned all of my assumptions, either about a certain group or a certain mindset or just general personalities that I'd written off as "jerk" or "weird" or "intimidating."

Examples: there are two young men who have volunteered a lot with Food Bank for the first time this year that I'd never had much contact with before, and through several hours of conversation with them in one of our campus vans my eyes have been opened to their lives in ways I'd never thought to look before. I have been continually impressed with their compassionate points of view and surprised by the intensity with which they live their lives, when before I just assumed they were quiet because they were shy or had nothing to say. Maybe this is because service tends to bring out the best in others, or because those who travel together tend to connect to avoid awkward silences, but in any case I am grateful for weekly exercise in keeping my impressions open.

A couple weeks ago my literature class invited us to write on the subject of race and culture--all of the little things that make us who we are. The topic touched a nerve with each of us and when it came time to share our essays there was a shocking amount of emotion, ranging from anger to confusion to tears. I got to know each of my classmates that day in a deep and personal way, that in many ways increased my respect and appreciation for all of them. Writing has a way of doing this--of opening doors and windows to the soul that few other mediums can. How many times have I felt that metaphorical punch in the gut, that wrenching of my heart, for someone in my class as I read their poetry, or personal essay, or listened to them sing, or improvise a riff in jazz class, or glanced through their sketchbook. This is an incredibly talented campus, and I'm so grateful to be here and to be part of this exchange of hearts!

I'm grateful as well to all of those who have allowed their impression of me to be flexible as I've grown up. I've gone through so many phases, from the rebellious child and the flighty hippy to the severely depressed and back up to whatever it is I am now (I'd like to think, somewhere in the realm of healthy and whole again). I realize that I've been difficult to get close to these last three years, and at times this was on purpose. Freshmen year I transformed from the optimistic, cheerful and friendly girl into a kind of hermit, frequently staying silent when I wanted to speak and avoiding social situations. I'm not good with confrontation. I've played the martyr for years, overwhelmed with depression and anxiety and other things that should have made me reach out for human connection, but instead my defense mechanism kicked in and I chose to run. I didn't want others to see me crack, and in doing so I think I offended many of you by closing my communication with you. As a result I've lost a few friends, which was painful but important, as it taught me just how many people cared and how important it is to maintain close relationships.

Now I'm seeing the light. Thanks to many of you who saw my cracks and helped me put myself back together I am happier, I am significantly more "chilled out," and I'm more at peace with myself and the world around me. I don't run from social situations anymore. I'm better at public speaking and introducing myself to strangers. I'm better at talking about the things that suck to talk about, and doing it in a healthy way that doesn't bring me down into a "funk." In short, I've done some growing up. And I've got much, much more growing to do before I'm done.

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your support. Thank you for not writing me off! And to those who still feel awkward around me, who don't know exactly how to talk to the girl who last year was a moody mess, (yes you, I see you!) I invite you to meet me again. There is not a soul on this earth who stays the same from one day to the next. We are all nothing less and nothing more than the moments and the trials that shape us, and these moments are constantly changing.

*image by Google*

The Mind-Body Connection

When the mind is sick, the body follows suit.

Never in my life has this been more clear. This last week has been one of those rare "theme" weeks at school--where the majority of my classes accidentally and serendipitously collided in subject matter, leading me to wonder if all my professors didn't get together over the weekend and plot their material out over drinks. Besides the upcoming presidential election, my professors have shared one important idea: the health of the mind infinitely and strangely connects to the health of the body.

It started with my Abnormal Psychology class and researching anxiety disorders for a group project due next week. Things slowly began clicking into place and I found myself viewing my life with new eyes. My trip to the emergency room last spring, for example. I am now convinced that the chest pain and difficulty breathing I experienced then, which the doctors couldn't explain or provide evidence for, was nothing more or less than an intense panic attack. (I had experienced panic attacks before, but haven't had any attacks as serious as the E.R. one before or after this incident). As I read about panic disorders, agoraphobia, and general anxiety disorder (G.A.D.) I was reminded strongly of the times when my stress level skyrocketed due to school, work, or relationship pressures and I suffered physical repercussions (getting Shingles--a phenomenon more common to 60-year-olds, my immune system crashing, infections, insomnia, depression, gray hairs, and general fatigue, to name a few) that might have been avoided or reduced significantly had I learned to control for the stressors in my life.

Tonight a group in my psych class did a presentation on somatoform disorders, including hypochondria disorder and conversion disorder, all of which are physical manifestations of psychological distress. We watched videos of individuals who experience seizures or constant pain, real or imagined, to reflect in an outward way the damage being done on the inside. Many of these disorders are paired with anxiety, depression, behavioral problems, and abuse. This makes it not only difficult to diagnose but difficult to treat, as incredible damage control is needed when a patient is told that their chronic pain or condition is "all in their head."

My Zen class focused on an article by Paula Arai which spoke of therapeutic techniques to help individuals heal, particularly after trauma. The article includes a list of "Ten Principles in the Way of Healing," and number two on that list reads: "living body-mind." Arai writes

The women in this study view the mind and body as one, a fundamental assumption of their worldview. It is so "normal" to them it did not seem to warrant mention. Yet, this view of the body-mind as one is a significant component of their healing paradigm because it explains how they can turn to chanting and prayer in the face of terminal illness and believe those activities will help them heal. By not bifurcating the resources available to a person, they find avenues of healing that no allopathic doctor would prescribe: holding a rock that has the word "OK" painted on it as they are transported into surgery...(etc.)

Even my archery class joined in the spontaneous stream of cross-subject contemplation. Over and over my instructor reminded us to make the bow a part of our arm and the arrow's aim a part of our vision, connecting mind and body to be "one" with the sport we were engaging in.

I think, subconsciously at least, I always knew that this connection was significant. I just never realized how significant until I ended up in the E.R. All of the most difficult parts of my life have been the ones punctuated with an urgent need to meet unrealistic expectations: I hope that they like me...I want to get this part perfect...I don't want to look foolish (that one is big for me, and the reason that I don't ever dance in public or do well with confrontation)...What if I mess up this presentation/job interview/(insert your own stressful social situation)?

These anxieties are always paired with an incredibly harmful sense of dread or despair if I fall short of my own expectations. Over the last two years I have been engaging in the pursuit of peace of mind, of finding a healthier mindset--of generally "chilling out." Without knowing that my body was reacting to my problems with anxiety, I have been training myself to be flexible with my responses to difficult situations. And, to an extent, I think I've been successful. (I didn't, for example, have a panic attack when I saw a midterm grade of C- like I might have two years ago. I also didn't shake or feel light-headed during a recent presentation, which is improvement).

The moral of the story, folks, is to be kind to your mind. The longer you stew in regrets or unreasonable guilt, or set unrealistic expectations for yourself, or allow yourself to sink into depression, anxiety, or anger--the more your body and overall health will decline. You'll grin and bear it and pretend to be strong, but over time that stress will wear you down and affect your daily life.

Keep the mind engaged, think positively, engage in things you enjoy, surround yourself with support, and above all, stay healthy. Your body will thank you for it later.

Link to Paula Arai's article: http://muse.jhu.edu/books/9780824860134
*image taken by me, altered by BeFunky Photo Effects online*

Trying to Be Zen

Every time I see a spider now, my first instinct is not to run, or scream, or beg the closest male to get a shoe and squash the living heck out of it. The instinct is to get a cup or piece of paper, scoop it up, and carry it outside to battle for its life on its own terms. Is this Zen?

I look to the leaves tumbling around me each morning and think back to a poem our religion professor shared with us about the way falling leaves show their front and back side as they twirl to the ground. We should all be like leaves, she said, and show all our sides in our lifetime. Is this Zen?

My downstairs neighbors don't know how to maintain a reasonable volume on their obnoxiously bass-heavy rave music, and even though it vibrates through the floor and interrupts my study and sleep, I try to show patience. I try not to stomp on the floor in irritation too often. I try not to climb down the staircase to knock on their door and request a lower decibel unless the alternative is shooting someone. I try, in short, to tolerate the noise and just observe it instead of letting it dominate my day. Is this Zen?

Recently I lost a very good friend, and I forced myself to hold on to that friendship with an "open palm" so that it wouldn't be so hard and I wouldn't be so attached. Is THAT Zen?

I signed up for this Zen course at my school for three reasons: it was a natural continuation from the introduction to Buddhism course I took a year and a half ago, I love the professor, and I frankly thought some "peace and calm" would do me good. To my inexperienced mind "peace" and "calm" were synonymous with the practice of Zen. Boy was I wrong...

Zen is actually not meant to be peaceful. Every piece of literature on the subject is meant to stir up your mind to confusion, to increase anxiety, to further frustration, and in short, to make you think, harder than you've ever thought before. (Just read one passage from Nagarjuna and you'll know what I mean!) The class so far has been about seeing the world and yourself in new ways, with the ultimate goal of shocking you, even for a moment, out of your very attached, very emotional, human state of mind.

I have often thought that it would be very frustrating to be a monk, because almost every question that a Buddhist monk asks of a Master is answered with snark--often, for the purpose of making the monk realize their question was pretty stupid to begin with. For example, one monk famously asked his Monastic Master whether or not dogs have Buddhist nature. The Master replied, simply: "No." The monk was surprised at the direct answer and had to ponder it in a new way, finally coming to the conclusion that his question was flawed. It showed attachment to the dog and the Buddhist nature as two separate things, rather than one, connected entity. He did not understand Emptiness.

Emptiness is pretty key to Zen, and we practice considering it each day in class as we look at our various attachments and break them down into non-dualities. (For example, "hot" and "cold" are actually very relative qualifications for temperature, as they depend entirely on the environment felt beforehand to exist. Someone could walk into a room and consider it warm compared to outside, while someone else considers it cold after getting too used to the air vents--even though the thermometer remains at 60 the whole time.) Emptiness can make you feel pretty... well... empty if you think on it too hard. You lose your identity and sense of fulfillment, of purpose even, and that's hard to take for a young college student eager to make her mark on the world.

I guess the greatest thing I've taken from Zen so far is toleration. I'm a lot more tolerant and self-aware than I used to be. Whenever someone or something is really irritating to me (like the music shaking my desk at this moment or the spider that drops in for a visit) I can keep myself together, remind myself that there is much more to life than insects and neighbors, and get back to living. I'm also slowly learning to appreciate confusion. Not only is it good to be confused, it's essential. This election, for example, has made the whole country confused. And yet allowing that confusion to open me up to research on the candidates has allowed me to choose who I'm voting for with an open mind.

It is good now and then to slow down and see things without the self in the way. I can't really tell you what this class has done to me yet--I guess it's too soon to say. But it has definitely made me a healthier, more conscious person, and for that I am grateful.

*image by me, on campus*

Be Vulnerable

Have you ever listened to a TED talk before? One that stops your half-closed eyes from fluttering shut after a long night of driving and makes you sit up straight in your seat?

Tonight I watched two TED talks by a researcher and therapist named Brene Brown as part of my Abnormal Psychology class. Our professor presented them to us less as a supplement to our actual curriculum and more as a break from our regular talk of psychopaths and mental disorders--one of those "and now for something completely different" moments. Brene is one of those women who knows how to emphasize punchlines, pause in all the right places, and get a good laugh out of the audience. She was entertaining to watch and at first that's all I could take in about her videos, until the message suddenly hit way too close to home.

The first video was about vulnerability. Being able to be vulnerable, Brown asserted, was the key to creativity, empathy, strength, and courage. People who embrace the uncomfortable circumstances that most of us avoid or step back from become successful, healthy, and in general, understand more about living "whole-heartedly" than the rest of us. As we transitioned from the first video to the second, I found myself feeling anxious. I don't like to be vulnerable. I'm the girl who sings softly until I know that I've got the right notes, who waits to raise her hand until everyone else has said something first, who runs from confrontation rather than facing it with a plan. I'm the girl who just today said something totally stupid in class (it sounded good in my head, but then, I've never been good at saying with my mouth what my hands could write later, when I've had time to think) and then spent the rest of the hour with my head ducked down wishing I could die.

Our professor hit play on TED talk number two--this one highlighting shame. "Shame is an epidemic," Brene Brown said dramatically, emphasizing the way our culture drowns itself in numbing agents like food, alcohol, medication, and technology to avoid facing our mistakes and growing from them. We like certainty. We like cut and dry answers. No one wants to be confused, or afraid, or doubtful. Most of all, we don't want to be weak. And vulnerability is almost always seen as weakness.

As Brown spoke I thought of my life like a series of highlight shots in a sports replay. There was that time that I refused to apologize first because I didn't want to be "weak" and admit I was wrong. And the other time that I stayed silent instead of reaching out and embracing my friend who needed me most because I felt uncomfortable. And who could forget the thousands of times I've gotten in the car, cranked up the radio to full blast to drown out whatever emotions I was experiencing and drove until everything went numb and I didn't have to think about anything anymore.

Every single day of my life I seem to be waiting to become the perfect version of me, dormant somewhere inside and ready to spring, unrealistically, in my place on some future day so that I can finally start living and stop messing up my life and the lives of others. Every day I wish I were braver, smarter, better with words, more compassionate. I wish I could be a leader. I wish I had a backbone. And here is this lady telling me that the way to do all that, to grow into that person and finally stop being ashamed of who I am...is to be vulnerable?

As the videos ended and our professor confessed to us one of his most vulnerable moments in the counseling profession and the things he learned from way back when, my head was whirling... but something was also clicking into place. This seeming contradiction of bravery and vulnerability was one and the same. Think about it. Would any war have ever been won without sacrifice? Has any marriage lasted without compromise and the willingness to admit that neither partner knows what they're doing? Could any meaningful relationship be created or bloom without that first vulnerable hello?

I wish to God that I had been more willing to be vulnerable in my life. I wish I'd said "I love you" the moment that I felt it, every time I felt it, instead of waiting for someone else to say it first. I wish I'd tried more new things, danced more dances, and been willing to volunteer first. Most of all, I wish that I could stop wasting so much time doubting my own worth, believing there is something severely, fundamentally wrong with me, and obsessing over my mistakes so that I could finally start living.

Luckily, it's not too late to start, so this week--here's to vulnerability. Bend a little. Break a little. Say sorry first. Who knows what you might start by being willing to show you're not bullet-proof?

Link to Brene Brown's two TED talks: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame.html

*image by Google*

The Hard Way

My music was blaring at its regular floor-shaking volume as I passed a semi truck on the highway, rejoicing in the fact that midterms were over and I could now enjoy a week of sleeping-in with minimal homework. Around Mountain Home the scenery shifted from flat, yellow fields to flat, charred sagebrush as I entered one of many burned out sections of the country-side; unfortunate byproducts of the hot, dry summer. The song was just getting to the chorus when suddenly the floor shook with something other than sound waves.

A deep rumble echoed up through the bottom of my car, and I felt the whole thing shake and strain against my steering. I knew I hadn't hit anything, but I slowed the car as the shaking increased, waiting for the few straggling cars behind me to pass so that I could get over to the shoulder of the road and stop. As I flipped on the emergency lights and opened my car door I saw something rolling past my feet and had to run to catch my hub-cap, tumbling down the road like the weeds that might have been tumbling if everything wasn't ash out here. Totally confused, I walked back to my car, hub-cap in hand, and found this:

 

 

My rear tire, totally shredded, the metal wheel almost dragging on the ground, my car resting low on the highway shoulder. I panicked. My first thought was to call my parents. They walked me through how to call for roadside assistance and how to look for a spare. I found I had none. I didn't even have a jack or any tools in the car, so putting on a spare would have been tricky. Creeping anxiety began to seize me as I thought of all the things that could go wrong. What if there were no tire replacement places open at this hour? What if I couldn't get a ride back to Caldwell (an hour away) and had to camp the night here? What if my cell phone died and I got stranded?

 

But I was both lucky and blessed this time. I'd had the blow-out ten minutes out of a major town. The tow guy showed up quickly and got me to Walmart just before their tire center closed, giving us enough time to change out the two rear tires (the other was close to blowing too) and allowing me to talk with them about other car difficulties I was having, like the car's alignment. $150 later I made it home in one piece and got my car to a shop, where they found other things that needed repair and updating. Even though I had been woefully unprepared for this to happen, it could have been far worse. And now I know to keep a spare and tools, to make sure my car insurance is up to date, to set aside some money for emergencies, and most importantly, to act on my gut when it's telling me something is wrong with my car.

 

As I waited in the black fields for the tow truck to arrive it occurred to me that this is how I've had to learn all of my biggest life lessons: the hard way. I didn't learn to wear a helmet until I got hit by a car a year and a half ago coming back from the mall. I didn't learn to always back up my homework on my computer until my first power outage in the dorms wiped out my hard work. I didn't learn what a big impact I had on other people until I started to let them down. I didn't learn how hard it was to say goodbye until the goodbye came.

 

There are things I think we all have to learn the hard way, especially when it comes to relationships with other people and to issues with money. Despite all the things our parents taught and prepared us for, there will always be experiences we'll have to face alone, unexpectedly, beginning with the moment we step out the door and go off to college (or insert other leaving-the-nest option here). There is something very sinister about the unexpected, and sometimes we are very afraid to face it. But there is also something beautiful about it. How a disaster can spark heroes. People coming together. How it can make you stronger. Give you courage. Maybe even allow you to gain a skill that will someday help someone else on their way to learning something the hard way.

 

For myself, I'm grateful to know that good things can come out of the ash. And to any of you facing one of the hard things, have faith. Of all the things human beings are good at, they are the best at adapting and coming back from adversity.

 

*images via my cell phone at the scene*

Insomnia Is Just A Red Herring?

My super attractive sleep-starved self

I'm going on week four of my latest onset of quote-unquote: "insomnia," and at last I am prepared to say I have a problem. Each time I glance at the clock another hour of dawn has passed and still I find myself glued to the computer, typing and clicking away as though on deadline...overly aware of the fact that I probably could be sleeping if I tried...but I'm not trying. There is something wrong here.

Earlier this week I realized just how obnoxious it is when other people talk about how little they slept the night before. I recognized that my irritation with other coworkers, peers, and family members confessing their own struggles with sleep stemmed from my own odd desire to be the only victim of "insomnia." When we were younger staying up late seemed not only an admiral thing to do but a foreign and courageous act of maturity. We stood in awe of those who bragged that they'd "been up all night," speculating about the range of magical things that must occur between the period of our bedtime and the morning hours before school. It was all downhill, however, after we experienced the thrill of the first all-nighter, and then the second, and the third and fourth. In the adult years when sleep takes a backseat to homework, work, family, and other obligations "sleeping in" becomes the rebellious act. Never has the bed seemed so welcoming, the alarm clock so hated, as in the years of college and beyond.

As adults it's clear that the underlying reason anyone talks about their lack of sleep is not for bragging rights but for pity. We all want a little sympathy, a little leeway from our employers and teachers when our performance is not top-notch. An excuse to be a little less than what we could be if only we tried harder--if only we had a little more sleep. In this sense "insomnia" is just a red herring. (Yes that is meant to be read in the voice of Tim Curry from the movie "Clue"...communism was just a red herring!) What we are really saying when we talk about how we only got three or four hours of sleep, if we are saying anything at all, is that we need help.

I am prepared to make that confession. In the last month I have been averaging about three hours of sleep a night, and as my level of consciousness declines so does my motivation to do homework and do it well, to attend all my meetings and classes, and to take my time with the important stuff. I convince myself that this is the only time when I'm really productive. This is the only time I can write well, or have a moment to myself to watch my shows or read fun books, or really ponder the big questions in life. I blame it on my brain not being able to shut up or the stress being put on me from school.

Bull. Crap.

This isn't to say that I've learned nothing by living nocturnally...in fact I've learned many useful things! For example:

I have learned...

--Walmart is one of the few places where pajamas and wet hair is acceptable in public, and all those pictures from "peopleofwalmart.com"? They're REAL.
--Dutch Bros is an oasis of comfort for those seeking a friendly face and a warm cup of joe...no judgment here for sleep-starved students =)
--Kevin Smith and Jason Mewes (Jay and Silent Bob) are not only friends in real life, but doing comedies together has helped save Mewes' life from his addictions
--There exists a game called "Revenge of the Sunfish" (which made me laugh hysterically for twenty minutes straight) that will blow your mind at two in the morning. As a sidenote, it is probably best played stoned. There are also games like "Facade" and "Slender Man" which will give you nightmares if played alone at night
--Youtube is full of gems like He-man's Heyyaaayayayaa 10 hour video, Gangnam Style, the Kid History series, the comedic genius of Toby Turner, Rhett and Link, Felicia Day, Steve Kardynal, Ryan Higa, Ray William Johnson, and many others; and much much more. It is also a death-trap for someone with a lot of time on their hands and a fear of sinking into depression at any moment
--You can have long chats with an A.I. robot named "Cleverbot" from the Google search engine if you're so inclined and don't want to talk to a real person
--Steampunk is in fact a real thing. Also, bronies are apparently real
--It is considerably harder to focus on literature, psychology, philosophy, math, and religion at 3 am than at 3 pm
--As mentioned in a previous blog post, spiders are less scary to someone who hasn't slept in a while

Is any of this information relevant or important to daily life? ...probably not. Which is why I state again: something is wrong here. Am I addicted to the internet? Am I forcing myself to stay awake to prove something to myself or to avoid deeper issues that I don't want to deal with? Is my brain really more active at night or am I just so hyped up on caffeine that I think it is?



I am a little nervous to find out the answers to these questions...particularly because of what it might reveal about myself. BUT. I am going to try. Because one more semester like this and I just might explode.

...Thoughts?

*images by Google and myself*

Fear Is In The Eye Of The Beholder...From The Pages Of An Insomniac

My one and only picture of lightning, captured in Wyoming

This morning I had the unique experience of leveling with one of my greatest fears--not just facing it but holding it in my hand, at eye level, and letting it speak for itself for the first time. I discovered that fear is not all it's cracked up to be, and, not to go over the edge with this but--I also discovered that a lot of barriers can be dropped, a lot of new worlds opened up, and a lot of inner turmoil can be cleared when we let go of fear.

Half Dome, Yosemite Park with my brother

When I was younger I was afraid of several things, the main fears being spiders, heights, lightning, and the dark. As I grew older the fear of heights went away and I was able to sit on the ledges of mountains with my dad, an incredible joy I would never have known otherwise. The fear of the dark faded and I could go star gazing with my brother and family, another piece of natural wonder that fear would have stolen from me. That left me with two. The lightning one, however irrational, is still with me. In my love of photography I wanted desperately to capture a picture of lightning once and drove out into the hills on my cousins' ranch for that purpose. I was so overcome with paralyzing fear halfway through that I got part of a good shot and then flew like a bat out of hell home on the four-wheeler, a cloud of dust marking my way from a mile off. I know lightning isn't going to chase me down. I know I'm more likely to get hit by a fallen plane part then to be struck by it...and yet the fear remains, limiting my ability to enjoy a thunderstorm or dance in the rain as I've seen others do.

One of my lady bug shots from a later shoot

Insects, bugs, and other multi-limbed creatures are by far my favorite things to photograph. This kind of odd hobby came about Freshmen year of college when a ladybug snuck into my room and for the first time in my life, through the lens of a zoomed-in digital, I was able to see the jointed legs, the branch-like feet, the ribbed belly, the filmy laced wings, and even the tiny mouth of a creature that I'd always just thought of as "round" and "spotted." Details that I never knew existed proved to me again that this is a fantastic world we live in and there is artistry in the hand of every living thing, big or small. Since then I have taken every opportunity to get close to the creepy crawlies, including beetles, praying mantis, katydids, wasps, grasshoppers, and moths. But, like lightning, the one thing I could not photograph was my old nemesis, the spider.

My cousins on the ranch probably still laugh about the time I almost had a mental breakdown when a big hairy spider came around the toilet in the bathroom and all I had to kill it with was a piece of 2x4. (My cousin eventually squished it for me, as I lashed at the floor in a million directions and the spider just sat and watched me--mocked me--until I was almost in tears). Last year my fear changed somewhat: the house I lived in at college had a lot of crawling visitors including several species of spiders, and because of how numerous they were I eventually stopped screamed bloody murder at the sight of a hobo or a brown recluse. It was an easy and automatic process to find a shoe, take aim, and scrape the guts off on the sidewalk outside afterwards. There was even a fuzzy outdoor spider that made his nest above our front door, and as he earned his keep by eating all the bugs drawn by the glow of our porch-light I developed a kind of respect for him, and we lived in harmony.

Still I longed to capture a spider with my camera, and until this morning I never thought I would. The difference between the hobo that crawled underneath my door in the early hours today and the dozens of hobos I've destroyed in the past is simple: luck. The spider was lucky that when I found him that I was too tired to lunge for a shoe right away, and I was lucky that the spider chose to run into the little plastic bag I was prodding him out of a corner with instead of around it where I would be forced out of fear to crush the life out of it. I realized what had happened first and quickly taped the bag closed while the spider searched its surroundings, wondering what the dickens was going on.

For about an hour (my camera had to charge its batteries) the spider and I had a staring contest. Inch by inch I got closer to it, reminding myself that it couldn't escape and it wouldn't attack me. At last I could see the shape of its mouth, the stripes on its back, the hairs running along its body. At last I could look it in its eyes and realize that it was something beautiful, just like the ledge of a mountain or the sky at night. As I spent more time with it I came to respect it more, and when I let it go outside some distance from the dormitory I felt like some weight had been lifted from me.

Of course, this post is about more than spiders and photography. As I faced my fear tonight I thought of other fears I still have, that most of us have, as human beings making our way blindly through life. Fears of offending others, fears of acceptance, fears of failure or tragedy or death. I thought of how terrified I am to be a leader and how that has affected my ability to keep the food bank club running smoothly. I thought of how terrified I've been lately of my own heart and how it has kept me from focusing on the real issues at hand. Most of all, I thought of the future. I worry all the time about what I'll become and who I'll be this time next year, and as a mother, and as a grandmother, and when I die what will be said at my funeral. Why? What good is there in always looking forward or backward when all the time life is being lived right now?

There is a zen saying--"The only real moment is this moment." I wish that I could live in this moment more, realize that there is so much more out there than what's in here. This is my message for the week for those of you who read this, and I hope that you get the chance someday to stare your fear in the face and free yourself of it. You'd be amazed at the changes it brings

My friend, the spider (saved it for last so it wouldn't freak everyone out right away =P)

Crisis of Faith Part 2--What I Believe

"I think I might become a Buddhist," I told a fellow student in the twilight hours of campus yesterday. They were not totally surprised, since I'd been talking about my Zen class non-stop for the last twenty minutes, but I was surprised at myself as the words cut across the night air. It's only been a week since I've landed back in Caldwell and begun taking this Zen class, and yet everything we've discussed so far has had a direct and profound application to my life, right here and right now. Having had a similar experience over a year ago with the Buddhism beginners class I knew that this would be something I'd enjoy learning and studying again. Eventually my peer said goodnight and parted with these valuable words:

"Of course, you can do what you want. But don't just jump into something because it feels right in this moment. No one's going to agree to everything a religion has to offer, and maybe at the end of the semester, when you're no longer taking this course, your mind will change. Take time to think about what it is you believe, and then decide what church to follow. "

What it is you believe...

So what DO I believe? I ask myself in the dawning Sunday hours, having pulled another all-nighter with an over-active brain and a list of things to do by Monday. After a lot of thought, this is what I've come up with:

1. I believe that faith is about trust. You trust in something larger than yourself and you trust that that larger thing is not going to turn its back on you when you need it most. Whether or not that "larger thing" is God, a different deity, fate, the spaghetti monster, aliens, science or the stars is up to you. But when you trust in that thing you give it part of yourself and make yourself vulnerable to the possibility of doubt or failure. You have to hold to that trust to make you stronger as you live day to day. Let go and you lose yourself. That is kind of a scary thing, but a wonderful thing.

2. I believe that "church" does not begin with a building and a group of people. It begins with yourself. What you learn or take away from church starts with your own attitude and how willing you are to see things a different way, discover something you didn't know, and be open-hearted to the little whisperings of "this is true" or "this is right." If you decide to attend a church regularly do it for yourself and for your own desire to find truth, not because you are scared of hellfire or want to be social or feel pressured by family and friends.

3. "Gospel" and man's "law" are two different things. I have seen way too many good people be burned by the idea that they --must-- live a certain rule because the social pressure at church tells them so. Friends of mine have been told they are going to hell because they had one beer, or because they have tattoos, or because they work on Sundays and consequently they become consumed with guilt, anger, or isolating hopelessness; often leaving church for good. What bothers me about the "good" church-goers who take it upon themselves to "out" people in this way is that they are missing the entire point of having rules on conduct or consumption. Church leaders ask their members to abstain from certain things or pay particular devotion to certain things not because that's the black and white of it and they'll go to hell if they don't, but because somewhere in the gospel there is a higher law that, if followed, can improve your life and bless you as you continue to learn and grow.

Making mistakes does not make you hopeless and should never outcast you from your religion. It is difficult to ever learn the value of a rule if you never break it. In the example of the beer, many religions advise against drinking in excess because they recognize the harm that alcoholism can cause, and then Man took it to a higher level and said that NO alcohol should be consumed, to avoid the possibility of problems altogether. The higher law for working on Sundays dates back to Biblical times when that day was set aside to be reminded of one's faith and relationship to God, and so work was discouraged to eliminate the things that could distract from such worship. Man then took it one step forward and now many members look down on those who work on Sunday, or snub them in their social groups, or gossip about them behind their backs. Is this what God intended? I think not. The things that bother me the most about organized religions don't stem from the gospels, but from the people.

4. No one is perfect. We weren't created to be and we never can be in this life. It can be discouraging sometimes to think you are the only one who has made dumb mistakes, or had a shred of doubt about your faith. If I've learned anything in my three years of wandering it's that even the people I most admire for their steadfastness in their religion have made mistakes and learned and come back from them again, making them ideal teachers for others walking the same rough roads. I wish that every religious meeting was full of people who would be honest about their mistakes--and expel forever this idea that someone is "better" than someone else because they have not erred in the same way.

5. Repentance, or the idea of righting your wrongs and growing as an individual is a daily, deeply personal process, and it shouldn't be viewed as a checklist. One thing that appeals to me in Buddhism is the idea of karma, or the natural cause and effect cycle brought on by your actions. When you make poor judgments or act in a way that hurts others, you create negative karma and it returns to you in some form, whether in this life or another. When it comes back to you, you have the chance to response with more negativity or in a gracious, positive way, gaining good karma. In this way every day is an opportunity to better yourself, to embrace whatever life throws at you and to not sink in despair every time you make a poor judgment. It is daily living with hope. And hope is something I desperately love.

6. I'll just share one more. The idea of the afterlife. I don't totally subscribe to any of the ideas I've studied or heard before. Instead my view is simple--when we die, we are placed somewhere we will feel the most at ease, be able to fill the greatest amount of need, and ultimately, exist in a place where we can be happy. This idea includes being surrounded by those you knew and had connections with in this life, such as family, friends, peers, teachers, and coworkers. I don't believe that we are separated from these connections at death.

This is what I believe. It may not match what you believe (and isn't that a wonderful thing?) and it is in a constant state of change, just as everything that makes us who we are is constantly changing.

Suicide Prevention Awareness Day

 

I had two plans. One came to me as I was riding my bicycle over the bridge to get to the downtown Wendy's. Something about a thirty foot drop and the train tracks down below appealed to my poetic side--like the first flickering black and white dramas. The roaring train and the struggling heroin on the ties. The other plan was a little less morbid, and involved staring contests with a bottle of pain killers that always ended with the bottle looking away first, and me deciding to postpone my assault for another day.

These were my solutions to a chain of problems that felt so large, so big and dark and overwhelming, that I could see no other escape. It was Freshmen year at college and I had hit my hardest wall, and in the longest moment of those darkest days I concocted schemes that would end my life and end all the confusion forever.

Lucky for me, I never got the chance to try. In droves and pairs a network of support came to my rescue, including family, friends, peers and teachers, and not least of all my counselor--angels on earth. I worked through most of the problems and learned to see light where there was only darkness, and am happy to say I don't concoct schemes for my own destruction anymore. That is my happy ending, but I know that for an estimated 3,000 a day the ending is different.

World Suicide Prevention Day is something I just barely discovered. It is an international day sponsored by the World Health Organization and observed in countries around the world in various ways. According to the internet it's been around for over a decade, but I'd never heard of it until a friend posted on Facebook about it and asked us all to wear yellow or write the word "Love" on our wrists. I did so, and then immediately went to the web to find out more.

For me personally, in my little corner of Idaho, I'd like to commemorate WSPD by spending the day thinking of the people I know, old and young, family and friend and acquaintance, who have attempted, concocted, or succeeded in their own tragic plans during their darkest day. The threat of depression and suicide has played a very large role in my life the last three years, and it deserves our attention, our respect, and our thoughts. To all of the families who have suffered from the effects of suicide or suicide attempt and to all of you out there in a dark place today I offer my love and a few messages that helped me get out of depression and back into a sense of self:

You are not alone. No matter how lonely it gets there is --always-- the option to talk to someone. I believe in counselors and encourage visiting with them. I believe in teachers, neighbors, and coworkers who can surprise you with how much wisdom they have to give and how much love they can offer. I also believe that whether you are religious or not, when you offer your voice to one God or many, to the trees or sky or the universe in general, there is someone listening. Once you allow yourself to talk you allow light to come back into your life.

"It doesn't matter how long we may have been stuck in a sense of our limitations. If we go into a darkened room and turn on the light, it doesn't matter if the room has been dark for a day, a week, or ten thousand years - we turn on the light and it is illuminated. Once we control our capacity for love and happiness, the light has been turned on.”-- Sharon Salzberg

I want to share another blog I thought was pretty cool today: http://thebloggess.com/2012/09/today-and-forever/

Finally, a song by Shinedown helped get me through a lot lately and continues to help me today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-jzeZbS4sQ

Be good to yourselves <3

The Things I Learned From Food Service (And Other Jobs)Part 3

 The series continues with some highlights from my latest summer jobs:

15) Chill the F*** Out

This piece of advice, while a little rough, has become my mantra over the last year and a half. My junior year was the most difficult round of college I've had to date, and smack in the middle of all the stress and break-downs and crises a fellow student turned to me one day and gave me this gem: "Robyn, you just need to chill the f*** out."

Life changing. Not even kidding you. "Chilling out" was not really in my vocabulary back then. I tend to overload myself, especially at work, and there are many high-strung moments that I am not proud of that could have easily been solved had I just taken a few breaths, realized it wasn't the end of the world, and gotten back to work with a smile on my face. Case in point: at the beginning of the summer I was having a lot of drama in both my jobs with adjusting to my new coworkers. In my over-eager attempts to prove I was a good worker I focused too much on learning my job correctly and not enough on the environment I was in. As a result I came across as serious, aloof, and even kind of bitchy to my fellow workers as I raced around them, cleaning and laboring and cursing them under my breath when they got in my way. It's no wonder, then, that after a few days at my department store job I was still sitting alone in the break room with no one to talk to. And no wonder that at my fast food job I was having trouble connecting with those around me, the majority of whom liked to joke and have fun and couldn't understand my introverted work ethic.

I wasted a week or more in my "no friend" zone until I finally tried CHILLING OUT--allowing myself the time to relax at work and talk with coworkers, laughing at jokes and even offering some of my own. The transformation was instantaneous, and from that moment on I came to like my coworkers and be liked in return. By the time the summer was over the majority of my coworkers had developed into family; the quirky kind of family every good job breeds when good people spend hours laboring together. I wanted to cry as I hugged them all goodbye come September and it was difficult for me to remember why I ever thought any of them hated me when I started in May. I believe in the power of "chilling out," and knowing how to relax and be yourself at work is the first step to having a great experience there.

16) Socks are serious business

My first department store job taught me a great deal about the way people shop. I had to learn fast that customers come in all kinds and that every product, no matter how silly, has a customer somewhere in the world who would love to rip it off the shelves. There is something ego boosting about finding exactly what you want, claiming victory over it, and getting to take it home with you. Therefore, shopping is no laughing matter.

While I was sorting neckties in the men's section at Ross an older man approached me with his wife and asked if there were any knee-length dress socks in stock. I walked with him to the back wall where all the men's socks hung and helped him look, knowing in my heart that I knew next to nothing about socks and assuming (wrongly) that this wouldn't be a problem. The next ten minutes went something like this: I would point out a package of socks at random that seemed fairly knee-lengthy, the older man would shake his head gravely, and his wife would tsk in the background. Point. Shake. Tsk. Point. Shake. TSK. After a while the couple's agitation grew until the man finally burst: "Don't you know ANYTHING about socks?"

I felt like I'd been slapped. Was he serious? Was it a crime to not know anything about men's socks? How would HE like it if I asked him about women's hosiery? Briefly I considered being a smart alec and replying with: "Why yes, I actually graduated with a Masters in Men's Socks at college last spring--let me direct you to my professor and he can answer all your questions." Instead, I admitted that I didn't know much and offered to find him my manager. The man replied, a little snarkily, that he would just take his business elsewhere, and he and his wife marched through the automatic doors with a whoosh.

This experience taught me something about serious shoppers--they don't like being taken lightly. From that day on I treated any customer, whether it be the woman who destroyed nearly every package of men's briefs looking for the right size for her teenage son, or the children who trashed the backpack aisles scrounging for the bag that would define them at school, or the frazzled lady hunting down giant welded lawn ornaments, with respect and dignity. No matter how much I wanted to shake them.

17) A customer's reality IS reality

It doesn't matter what your intentions are; if a customer's perception about something you do is bad then their overall experience is tainted, no matter how good the food or service was before the "incident." I've been in food business long enough to know that you shouldn't clean up a customer's table as they are getting up to leave. This can be perceived in several negative ways--if you're a waitress and waiting on a tip, they may feel akin to roadkill being circled by a vulture who couldn't wait to swoop in and take their meat. If you are just bussing the table they can feel irritated that you are in their way, or put-out that you treat them like another dirty table, or, for a few, guilty about the mess they are leaving behind that you've made them extra-aware of. You wait until they're gone, or offer to take their plates or trays as they empty during the meal.

Customers have a couple of quirks like this. You don't hand out a drink with the straw partially or fully unwrapped, or they will think you took a sip of it first. You don't ever tell a customer their total is "six six six" when it comes to $6.66. Most people associate this number with evil, and will subtract or add something from their order to change the total. (I always say: "Six dollars and sixty six cents.") Don't ever take a customer's plate of food or cup to the kitchen if they ask for a refill or a change on the order. Bring them a fresh plate or cup, or they will suspect that you did something to their food while it was out of sight.

Be aware of what your customers are perceiving and take it seriously. They'll appreciate it.

18) Make sure the window is closed

There are few moments more embarrassing than when I forgot to close the drive-thru window and said something stupid within a customer's earshot!

19) Don't swear in front of customers. (Don't break into song either, unless you are prepared for weird looks)

20) No one walks alone

I am a firm believer in the buddy system. If one of your fellow coworkers gets off the clock at the same time as you and you know they don't have a ride, especially at night, don't let them walk alone. Give them a lift, and don't be afraid to ask for one if you need it.

21) Flirting

Every food service job I've had, without exception, has included some form of flirting. Whether it's coming from customers or coworkers, serious or joking, it is something you'll have to deal with. At Taco Bell the majority of what could be perceived as "flirting" came in the form of harmless pranks--filling each other's pockets with sauce packets or ice cubes, food fights, water fights, rearranging one another's station, etc. But a few of my coworkers ran into what we call "creeper flirting," which included stalking, cat-calling, asking for a phone number "for a friend," asking for favors, asking for hugs, and even sneaking a quick picture from a cell phone.

Be aware of this kind of stuff. Use the buddy system, tell the manager if you're getting a really creepy vibe, and don't be afraid to report someone who won't quit. Safety in numbers!!

Until next time--to be continued...

Hypo-Critical Thinking

Mankind has been, and always will be, a species of hypocrites.

Of all God's creatures we alone are the ones who make promises we can't keep, communicate things we don't mean, and rebel so fiercely against the very values we pursue all our lives.

I am no exception--this last week I experienced perhaps the hardest hypocritical tug of war of them all...the hypocrisy of the heart.

It's difficult to say exactly when and with whom the heart decides to play tricks on. My heart will decide daily to never hurt a loved one again, and then turn around and do exactly that by sunset. This last week I made a very interesting (and very dorky...excuse my inner nerd for a moment) revelation--and it was while I was watching a Starbursts commercial. The latest ad campaign of the chewy candy features an Asian man wearing a kilt chiming: "it's a juicy contradiction!" As my television program ended I kept thinking about contradictions (juicy or not) and how they seem to follow me in life. Here are a few:

I am a girl who needs others. I need to feel important and loved, like if I were to disappear, it might leave a small hole somewhere. I advise all my friends to "talk it out" when they are feeling alone and to always remember that there is help available.Yet when I am the most upset and desperately searching for someone to talk to, I will close up shop and camp out in my room, alone, wondering why I'm not important.

I am a girl who was blessed to be born into a family truly exceptional. Each and every one of my siblings, my mom and dad, my cousins and relatives and grandparents and great-grandparents are all people who lead or have led lives of service, love, and hard work. They are all people who have taught me something vital about character and about growing up, and they all accept me unconditionally. I know this, and have known it all along. Yet more often than not I find myself saying I'll visit more and then don't...saying I'll write more and forgetting...making the people that should be my first priority...somehow the last.

Finally, I am a girl who learns things the hardest way. I may promise to never make the same mistake, but I know by now that these promises are as thin as tissue paper. This last week showed me very clearly that I can make the exact same mistake multiple times, still hurting the same people, and that it takes something very large and very traumatic for me to finally get on the right track.

What is this tendency for contradiction? Why is it seemingly built-in to the very code of human DNA? (Or, at least MY DNA). I am beginning to understand that the duality of existence--what is said and what is done, what is thought and what is reality--is key to being able to have free choice. If I didn't discover the consequences of living in contradictions...I wouldn't understand the importance of living honestly. Making choices and sticking to them. Accepting truth as it is.

Whatever contradictions you have going on in your life now--embrace the lessons you learn from them. They just might make you stronger.

*Image from Google*

To Ease the Strain

Hell was breaking loose.

I'd just started my second job for the summer and it was not panning out the way I'd hoped. I was hitting 60 hours a week, I had difficulties connecting with a lot of my new coworkers, and every one of my paychecks so far had gone immediately to bills. I was starting to stress out about money, about transportation (I was borrowing my brother's car until my parents and I could find one for me) and, for a while, about my relationship. It felt strange to be living in the basement of parents who weren't my own and stranger to share a living space with my husband when we were so used to long distance. It didn't help that both Tim and I had busy work schedules and very little time to spend one-on-one.

And then came the day when everything seemed to crash down on me at once. Work was overwhelming, customers had been horrible and I just wanted to go home and take the longest shower on earth. When I opened the bedroom door I did a double-take. The room was CLEAN. The bed was MADE. All of our dirty clothes were dried and folded and, in the bathroom attached to my name-tag, was a sweet note Tim had written me before he'd gone to work that afternoon.

The tears began to fall.  I'd rarely understood it before--why it meant so much to my parents when someone else took a turn with dinner or washing dishes. Why sharing the load mattered. I flashed back to our wedding day, when Tim held my hand so tightly as everything inside me was flying in a thousand directions. It's what he does best. It's what love is all about: easing the strain.

For life is full of strain--especially with age. When you're young everything seems to be about YOU. Your concerns are with your social life, your grades, and finding out what "you" even means. As you get older everything expands: finances, health, insurance, maintaining a home, family, relationships, children, staying connected to friends, school, career, and on and on...Most of us feel that strain on a daily basis, a little at a time. But sometimes we feel the limits of it and we want to break--and that's when we notice and appreciate most those that help to ease it.

For me it's my husband and his little notes, the little girl in the drive-thru who told me I was pretty on a day I had no make-up and felt hideous, a good friend telling me she looks up to me, my manager letting me know I'm doing an ok job, my parents and all that they do for me, and the countless other interactions, big or small, thought-out or not, that have made my life as blessed and as easy to bear as it's been lately.

Thank you all for the little moments you've given me, and may each of you have a moment of eased strain this week, whether you are the one giving it or receiving!!! <3