Having it All Together

A while back I was talking to one of my friends in her twenties.

We were walking along an alley in the city and there was a moment of comfortable silence.  A pause in our philosophical musings and conversational chatter.  Then she stared at the pavement longingly and sighed, "I can't wait until I'm thirty."

I stopped walking and stared at her, "Why?"  She looked up, a little embarrassed, her cheeks slightly pink,

"Because women in their thirties have it all together.  And I so don't."  She crossed her arms to brace from the chilly breeze and kept sauntering forward.  I stayed back,

"I don't have it all together."

She didn't contradict me, just stayed quiet for a few seconds than changed the subject to coffee or the environment or human sexuality - more comfortable topics for conversation between the two of us.

I went with the flow, but couldn't stop thinking about it.

Did I miss the boat somewhere?  Why didn't I have it all together.  I'm thirty-four for crying out loud!  I still don't feel like I even really know how to dress myself properly!

Today, months later, in the shower, I thought about that conversation again.  I remembered when I thought that by the time I was thirty-five I would be a real adult.  The kind that liked to dress in grown-up clothes and sip cocktails at high end parties and had clean children all the time and an immaculate home.  I would get up early in the morning, before the sun, and prepare a lovely gourmet breakfast and kiss my husband warmly on the cheek over coffee and the morning paper as he trotted out the door in a suit and tie on his way to his mysterious workplace.  I would be writing my own novel and my children would be reading chapter books happily on the sparkling clean, white sofa and we wouldn't own a television.

It's looking sort of bleak, since I'm only five months from my thirty-fifth birthday.  I'm sitting here typing a blog on a bare mattress with blankets strewn about the room.  My husband is at the laundromat.  I live in a school bus (with a television).  My daughter is running back and forth between here and the living room in nothing but Hello Kitty underwear and right now is quite literally chewing on an string of Christmas lights still hung in the hallway.  I have asked her for a few minutes of peace, to which she retorted, "BOOORING!"  I can see the tea I made for myself this morning, only half drunk, now cold, sitting on the desk across from me.  I'm wearing an old t-shirt and ratty yoga pants.  My son is having a jelly sandwich for lunch and the dishes are piled high in the sink.  While in the shower, I stood there for a few minutes, just breathing and feeling blessed that the kids respected the milometers between the closed shower curtain and the bathroom as a sign for privacy (most of the time).

And I think... when I look back at my life, that there are many times when I've likely had it far more together than now.

In sixth grade, for example, I was doing pretty well, especially at the beginning of the school year.  I had straight A's in school.  I was popular, self-confident, and still had a great handle on just who I was as a person.  I didn't give a rat's bottom what anyone thought of me.  I was writing fiction prolifically, reading voraciously, and playing third base on the rec. softball team.  Life was pretty great!  I knew who I was, what I was doing, and just where I wanted to go.  I had no trouble living in the moment, or marching to the beat of my own drummer, or telling someone to stuff it when they told me I couldn't do what I said.

If only life could continue this way forever.

In seventh grade I was awkward, bullied daily, sexually harassed, and depressed.  I never wanted to go to school again.  My best friends were my teachers.  I shuddered at the thought of having to go to my locker without adult supervision.  At the lunch table, I sat alone.

What happened that summer?

I could go back and psychoanalyze all of that for you.  Lord knows I've done it for myself.  But the point I'm trying to get at here is that we never really have it all together.

The moment we think we've really got it life throws us another curve ball and the best thing we can do is learn how to hit it squarely, and hard, or to back away from the plate and wait patiently for the next pitch.  We get better at judging this, the older we get, the more life we have under our belts, and by the time we're in our thirties it may just look to the outside world like we're hitting all the best pitches 100% of the time.  

I think it's more likely we've just stopped swinging wildly at everything.  

 

We've embraced our own quirks.  Realized that the whole "no one is perfect" thing is actually real.  And that people are just people - no matter how successful or how famous - everyone is just doing the best they can with what they have. 

We've also realized that the only big mistakes and decisions are the ones that will still matter ten years from now.  The rest are just bumps in the road. 

I guess it's sort of sad to know that there isn't some magic age where everything will suddenly click into place and we'll "grow up" or "figure it out" or "have it all together".  At the same time, it's kind of freeing too.

We can stop striving so hard for something that will never come, and start focusing on the important things - like embracing your passions, learning how to learn, nurturing friendships, and making sure your daughter doesn't electrify herself on the Christmas light cord.

Cut.

Today my daughter gave herself a hair cut.

I have heard that this is a normal sort of right of passage for a young lady, and since my daughter is just over four, it must be about that time.

I blame myself.

First of all, I left the scissors out after cutting my sons hair today.

Second...  well...  I don't exactly present an example of long flowing locks as being equal to femininity.  I don't even present with a cute bob as equal to femininity.  So who the heck am I to tell my daughter she can't have a super short haircut?

But I admit, I gave serious pause when she opened the bathroom door, beaming, and her lovely brown hair was strewn all about the floor.  She removed her bangs completely.  There were several random chunks out of the back and sides.  Nothing was the same length.  And it. was. short.

I am certain that shock registered all over my face.

"I cut my hair!"  She was elated.  Empowered.  Glowing.

And I get it.

When you're four years old you don't have a lot of say over many things.  You can't drive.  You can't leave.  You can't use the sharp knives.  You don't have a lot of spending power.  You can't read well.  You don't yet type.  You don't have many friends.

But your hair...well...  that's yours, isn't it?  Isn't it?

I bit my tongue and smiled back at her.

My husband neatened it up a bit, with her permission, and now she's got a pixie-do... minus bangs.

While I was cleaning up the pieces of hair on the floor she said, "Mom, it's okay.  It's just hair.  And it's my hair, so I can cut it if I want to, right?"

Bottom line?

She's RIGHT.

So many of us are horrified when our daughter's take ownership over something as little as their hair.  Something as meaningless.

Hair does not define a person.  It does not define their beauty, their intellect, their emotions, their talents, their gifts, their capacity for love.  Hair is JUST HAIR, Mom.  It's JUST hair.

I've been through the wringer and back about my own choices in hair style - and yet I could feel my voice catching in my throat when it was my little girl.  I thought about my parents' reactions to my hair and I understand it now...  you think... suddenly...  she's not as pretty.

And you HATE that reaction.

That hair DOES matter?  It kills you.  Because it SHOULD.  NOT.  MATTER.

And you'd best bite it back.  And you'd best allow your little girl to OWN that haircut.  And you'd best tell her she's beautiful.  And you'd best MEAN IT.  Because if we are to say that women are more than their bodies.  And if we are to say that women have OWNERSHIP over their bodies, then we'd better apply that to our daughters right now.  And their daughters.  And the girl at the grocery store.  And the older woman who shaves or dyes or cuts or whatever she wants.  We need to look beyond the hair, and see into the soul.

Pieces of Truth.

My husband and I run an inspirational website for passionate creators: artists in all disciplines called Patchwork Veracity.  We chose that title because we believe that Truth can be found all around us.  From the most unexpected sources.  And often, for creative types, in their work.  This whole idea has also led us to believe that Truth leads to More Questions - and so... art that evokes questions is the art that is most excellent, and really, in my opinion, the closest to God.

I see God as the Ultimate Creator.  The Master of the Great Academy of Earth.  He creates more and more for us - ways to see him, ways to connect to him - more evidence to collect in solving the Great Mystery of Who He Is.  We see the stars - we want to know how far away they are, of what they are made, if we can touch them, if anyone else is out there... and on into infinity.  We see a tree and we wonder if we could climb it, how it gets it's food, how it can help us, what we can build with it...  Endless possibility.  Endless questioning.  Endless sensory experience and wonder out there for the taking.

There are many things that have been deemed "unChristian" or "Anti-Christian".  Things like yoga, marijuana, The Tao, The Moon Cycles, The Celebration of the Seasons...  I grew up thinking I needed to stay far from these things.  Thinking they were dangerous.  Meditation?  You'd better be talking while you're praying because in all that silence something might come up from Satan!  Yoga?  Chanting???  That's only for Pagans.  Solstice Celebration?  Stick with Christmas and forget about that evil summer festival.

But the older I become...  The more I see of the world...  the more I read and grow and pray and connect... the more I realize - these things I've been told to steer clear of...  these are ways the people are trying to answer the question of Who God Is.  These are ways that we understand Him.  The Seasons have been put into place so that the Story of Resurrection is ingrained in our hearts - the growing things bloom and blossom and thrive...and then they die...  only to come back to life in the spring!  Cycles of living and dying - the seed giving way to the plant, the caterpillar giving way to the butterfly - All of Creation sings of The Story of Christ!  And so why shouldn't I celebrate the Solstice with Thanksgiving and laughter?  The acknowledgement of the Gift from God to aid us in understanding his magnificent plan?

I practice yoga.  I ADMIT IT!  And it is amazing for my back, for my mood, for my LIFE.  Namaste - the acknowledgement of a Divine Spirit living in you...  that's JESUS!  We believe that we HAVE a divine spirit living in us as Christians!  How touching to say Namaste to another in greeting, in farewell, in well-wishing when we see Christ manifest in them!  The Ohm?  There is POWER in the unification of tone, of voice.  There is true connection with something bigger than ourselves and saying that it ISN'T The God of the Universe is selling everyone short!

I know that not everyone will agree with me - but I urge ALL of you to really take a look at the things you've written off.  Might they be connections you've been missing?  Claim it.  Embrace it.  Sew it into your growing patchwork of truth.

...so why DON'T I?

I just finished reading this article in Whole Living Magazine about the Tao.

(cue freak-out from my religious friends who think I'll be a pagan/Buddhist/atheist/Jew at any moment...)

It's been awhile since I've read anything about the Tao. 

Last time, I was in college.

I was dating this guy who was supremely down-to-earth.  Not a boring down-to-earth, but a rich, soulful, grounded down-to-earth.

The kind of guy who sits up in his boxers playing jazz saxophone until three in the morning and tops it off with a joint, fine wine, and reading Anne Rice. 

He had the most interesting books, music, and philosophy piled in his cave-like basement bedroom, and introduced me to the wonders of Blues Traveler, Charlie Parker, Dead Poets Society, and The Tao of Pooh (did I mention the guy had an affinity for A. A. Milne?).

I read these books and listened to this music ravenously, and not just because I was trying to impress the guy, but also because I was genuinely interested.

And so...  long story not that much shorter, when I came across this article regarding the Tao in the magazine this evening, I was not wholly unfamiliar with the idea.

Of course, this time, I was approaching it as a married (NOT to this guy) mom of two who has her very own interests, a small-time career in the art world, and a shaved head.  Basically, I'm a far-cry from my nineteen-year-old self.

The first time I read, I took in the ideas, but this time, I nodded knowingly.  I embraced more fully.  I grasped more intentionally.  That fully developed frontal lobe has its benefits.

As I was reading I remembered how much the tao had to say about "going with the flow" and "trusting your instincts".  Those two things are catch phrases for nothing.  We really should much of the time.

It's funny.

There are so many times in my life where I look at something, or think of something, and think - I'd really like to do that right about now... but I don't.

I wrote these "mom goals" for myself a few years ago (I don't recommend this) and every once in awhile I visit them.  Mostly, they just serve for making me feel like a huge failure because the fact is, I really just don't do the things I set out to do there on that paper.  But... I want to.

One of those things is swimming every morning.

I can only imagine how much more amazing my life would be if I actually got off my butt and went to the pool every single day and started everything off with just a half hour of water awesomeness.  I love swimming more than just about anything.  I enjoy it more than running, hiking, walking, boxing, yoga - all that crap.  There's nothing that can compare to the water.

So why don't. I. do it?

Laziness?

I think about going to the water.  The thought thrills me.

And then something inside my body rebels.  It says "don't do it!  You'll get cold!  You'll have to shower after!  You'll be taking time away from your family!"  And those three things are enough to keep me home.

That...and the insane amount of busy-ness I've let accumulate in my life.

I haven't made any resolutions for this New Year.  And here I am writing something in January that you won't get to read until June... but I want to make this one promise to myself...  that I'll quit the busy-ness crap.  Seriously.  It's getting to me.

Most of you know I'm a theatre person.  I like that part of my identity.  It makes me special and different and associates me with a set of talented, intelligent, and creative people who are generally accepting, supportive, and fun.  The problem with being a theatre-person is that it is all-consuming.  During the rehearsal process and shows theatre trumps literally everything.  The longer I'm a mom and wife the more that bothers me.

Right now, I'm directing Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle.  I'm excited about the process and what will certainly be an exceptional product.  But when I looked at the schedule I'd made I realized that show week we trumped my daughter's dance class.  We knocked out my son's cub scout meeting.  We ditched swim team several times to make room for rehearsals.  And that's... well that's just wrong.  Selfish.  And wrong.

I have been so used to making theatre the Most Important Thing that I neglected to think about the ACTUAL Most Important Thing: the people I love.

Some show shouldn't matter to me more than spending time with my kids.  Than taking my kids to their chosen activities.

And this isn't me saying that parents shouldn't have their own interests, because trust me, it's a vital necessity, but it is me saying that for ME...theatre is probably going to have to go - at least until my kids are older - until I can approach it more on my own terms...until I can get to a place (if that place exists) where the craft doesn't own me...I own the craft.

And thus and so for the rest of my life.

Why should everything around me have so much power over me?

I get up in the morning and I WANT to eat an apple, but I eat potato chips because I feel a craving and I cave to it because it feels good for that moment even though I knew it wasn't what my body wanted or needed in that moment.

I don't go swimming because I've decided and programmed my brain to tell me every time I think on it that it's going to be more trouble than it's worth - forgetting the amazing pay-off for the follow-through.

Right now I'm in the throws of ...Chalk Circle and planning this bus trip with the fam. and trying to get out from under our house and taxi-ing our children hither and yon...  And it feels like this is not really the time to get out there and do the things I want to do...but if not now, when?

Now...  how to fit this into my already intensive schedule...  and which pool to try first.

What aren't you doing right now that you WANT to be doing?  What's holding you back?

Taking off the Mask.

I'm a Meisner Method actor.  Almost strictly.

The basic idea is that acting isn't putting on a mask, it's taking it off.

In acting, you are showing a piece of who you truly are, or all of who you truly are - baring yourself before the audience in a way that you could not or would not do in "reality". 

Since my first Meisner class (ten or so years ago...wow, I'm old...), I've been on this mission to just never put the mask on.  But there's this problem.

There are these factions of my life that don't allow for other factions, and I'm not sure what to do with that.

For example, on this blog, I try to keep my language clean, I try not to talk too much about my parenting struggles or familial issues, I keep locations and names to a minimum, and I try to focus on a specific audience.  I don't discuss all of the faith struggles I've had in the past two years, but I do talk about my haircut, my body image, my dealings with women and men and feminism and God and how those things might fit together.  I don't talk about my daughter having an ear infection.  I don't talk about my overdue books at the library.  I leave out my organic gardening triumphs...  Things are parceled. 

It's not just with this blog (the blog is just a good example), it's with everything.

I'm not sure how to avoid it and still maintain relationships, though I'm working on this.

I've been trying to surround myself with genuine people so that I can learn from them.

So MANY people in this world are not genuine.  I think that's what makes it tough for me to be genuine around them.  Often, when I feel I should say something I keep my mouth shut so that no one will be offended.  I don't raise my hand each time I have the answer because the teacher will get annoyed and stop calling on me. I don't wear short skirts around former students.  I don't cuss in front of certain church people and family and my children (I don't have any desire to cuss in front of my children).  I don't call people out when I know they're wrong if I feel like it would break them or start an argument.

But "worst" of all, I don't speak up for people who aren't there when someone else is bashing them.

This became glaringly obvious just yesterday.

I was at my studio and someone came in to talk to me about another artist.  There was some discussion about this person's work and discussion about how artists were vs. should be accepted into the organization and I sat quietly and even nodded and spoke in agreement about this other person, and about what "everyone" else had discussed the day before.

The thing about it was, the entire time I was keenly aware that I could be the artist in question.  That maybe my work wasn't up to snuff and "everyone" was talking about that behind my back.  But instead of that driving me to stick up for this other person and say that this judgement passing was uncalled for and something in which I would not participate, I joined in.  I criticized.  I pretending to agree.  All so I could fit in.  So that the other artists would like me.  So I could feel like one of the "worthy" people. 

So I could be a cool kid.

I don't think that the artist talking to me is a horrible person with horrible intentions.  I don't want there to be any sort of contention between people whatsoever.  As far as I'm concerned, it's just amazing to be a part of a community of artists and hang out with creative types on a more regular basis.

After artist #1 left, artist #2 came in to work. 

We talked about the situation:

"I don't know, I just said I hadn't really seen [artist's] stuff and didn't really have an opinion.  I liked [one of the pieces].  I didn't know what to say."

"I told [the other artists] that I was here for positivity.  This is a place of joy for me.  I will not be a part of knocking someone else down.  If that's how it's going to be, I will leave.  I want to spread positivity, not negativity."

This floored me.

Why couldn't I say that when confronted? 

Why couldn't I stand up for the other person/s in question?  Why didn't I come out with the things I know are on my heart?  Why isn't it natural for me?

I felt convicted the entire rest of the afternoon at my studio.

I brooded over it.

I painted two pictures while I tossed things back and forth in my conscience.  I felt sad and angry at myself and at the situation.

I thought back on other times where I joined in the gossip or joined in the tearing down of someone else because I wanted to fit in.

I thought about the times I censored myself so that people wouldn't be offended by my "out there" beliefs or thought patterns.

I thought through all of this and came out on the other side feeling...well...empty.

It's something I'm striving to change about me.  It's slow going, and it's mostly uphill.

I don't know that I should be "the complete me" in front of everyone.  I think out of respect for some I'll continue to censor myself sometimes.  But in the situations where it's about hurting someone else or tearing down something that's important to me, I will work hard to not stand idly by, even if it means the loss of a relationship.  I think this thought train is worth the ride to the end of the line.

Summer of Selfishness.

I've been told pretty much my entire life that selfishness is a gross quality.

No one wants to be called selfish.  Call me mean.  Call me a bitch.  Call me a jerk.  Call me stupid (okay...don't call me stupid...) but don't call me selfish.

To be selfish is to be ultimately the worst friend, lover, mother, Christian, teacher, or whatever you can possibly be.

We want to be seen as giving and self-less at all times.  Humble.  Compassionate.  Etc.

The thing is, reading this post by The Organic Sister today gave me a bit of a new perspective on the selfishness ideal and what exactly that means for me, as a person.

I've had a lot of guilt about this summer.

Guilt over the things I'm doing for me.  There are three huge things.

Three doesn't sound like a lot, unless you're a theatre person, in which case you will understand exactly what three things means:  I'm directing a musical at the local community theatre, I'm acting in an off-broadway playwriting fesitval, and I'm working at my newly opened art studio, where I'm teaching two acting classes every week.  These activities run from June through August: the entire summer.

I have margined my life enough to go on our annual family camping trip, do something nice for my anniversary with the hubby, and to do a weekend with my parents in July, but that's it.  Otherwise, literally every evening on my calendar is booked solid for the next three months.

Okay - right now you're probably thinking - wow, you SHOULD feel guilty!

But here's the thing - these things I'm doing now are opportunities that aren't going to come a'knockin' every day, nay, every year - some may be once in a lifetime.  I spend all morning and afternoon with both of my kids every day of the week.

My husband honestly isn't all that interested in quality time.

So while I leave the door wracked with guilt every evening after hugging my kids and kissing my man, the only person really suffering is me.  I'm the one who is losing sleep worrying about spending enough time with my family. I'm the one thinking about how my husband is doing with cooking dinner and wondering if he gave my daughter the antibiotics for her ear infection while I should be painting.  It's me who's taking the hit - not them.  My husband is the most supportive man on the face of the planet (I don't think this is an exaggeration), and kind of likes it when I do my own thing - that way he doesn't have to feel badly about doing HIS own thing (quality time IS important to me).  My kids are well-adjusted, mature-for-their-ages, fun, intelligent, creative kids who get to play with me all day long and will for years to come (we're unschoolers).  Guilt doesn't help them.  It doesn't make up for anything.  It just makes me feel like crap.  And that's just stupidity.

So I'm ditching the guilt for the summer.  Please hold me to that. 

Tomorrow I'm at my studio from 9 - noon.  I'm teaching a preschool art class and I'm working on two paintings and a colored pencil drawing.  Three glorious hours to bask in creativity and color.  When I get home, I will be energized and ready to hang with the fam.  I'll be a better me - and isn't that better for everyone?

Perspective Shift?

There are many women who feel that they are liberated when they have the ability to wear a string bikini.  Are they liberated?  Or are they buying in to sexism in an entirely different way? 

Is there a happy medium?  Should we want it?  What does it look like?

Inspired Monday...wait...

I made it!  I am actually writing an Inspiration Monday blog on Monday!

It is also No Make-up Monday.  Which, for those of you who don't know, is a day to just not wear make-up, and see what happens.  Will anyone notice?  (If you don't usually wear make-up anyway, then this isn't so much fun for you...sorry about that.)

Okay.  SO.  Inspiration Monday!  Here I am!

I had the greatest weekend of all time.

I know.  It sounds exaggerated.

But it is not.

So here are all of the weekend happenings that are still inspiring me today!

1.  My husband and I went to a local coffee shop for a date night on Friday.  It was so nice to be together and talk without interruption.  We stayed for 2.5 hours and it felt like twenty minutes. We haven't had a real date in months.  We MUST do it more often.

2.  I went to a Women's Wellness clinic at my church on Saturday morning.  It wasn't really a lot of new information, but it was really good for me to hear AGAIN that it is really good to take time for yourself.  It isn't selfish if it makes you a better person when you come back to your family and friends.

3.  Sunday.  I went to Vinyasa Flow Yoga.  It was fantastic and wonderful and amazing.  It was my second "flow" class, and it was just as great as the first one, maybe even better, because I knew what to expect and my body was much more cooperative.  I'm having trouble walking now...but it's worth it!

4.  My husband took the kids to the local Earth Day Celebration after my yoga class.  I hung out at the new Arts Center in town to hand out fliers for the acting class I'll be teaching this summer.  It's a Movement Class - always therapeutic, fun, and useful.

5.  We went out for Mexican as a family after the Earth Day Celebration.  I love going out to eat.  And I love hanging with the fam.

6.  We had an amazing service at The Refinery Sunday evening.  We sang hymns without instruments and had a brief Tenebrae Service and our pastor taught about the crucifixion.  I was wowed to hear about the dual meaning of some of Jesus's final words from the cross.  When he cried out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" he was referencing Psalm 22.  In Hebrew culture at the time, most everyone had the scriptures memorized.  When a rabbi wanted to reference a specific passage, he would call out the first line of the passage, and everyone would automatically know to what he was referring.  Jesus was doing this from the cross.

It was also interesting to really think about how tall the cross was, and how close indeed people were to the face of Christ as he was hanging there.  Since the cross was only about eight feet tall, and the head of a crucified person would be hanging far below his arms, Jesus would have been able to look into the faces of those at the crucifixion, including his mother.

7.  After The Refinery my husband and I discussed the possibility of me acquiring one of the studios at the arts center to do my art, writing, and teaching.  I was so excited I didn't but about three hours Sunday night.  I've since realized that I will probably be unable to commit the hours required of the artists to be in their studios, but it was a lovely thought, and something I will be keeping in the back of my mind for the future.

8.  ...whoa...I just realized...today is Tuesday...did I miss all of yesterday?  No, no...I taught an acting class last night and we did the farmer's market and went to the local organic market and got some local honey and organic lollypops and medicinal tea for my son's asthma.  Yesterday was fantastic and I didn't even realize it happened!

Energy giving activities - doing things about which we are passionate, that get us jazzed - when we do these things on a regular basis, even sleep becomes optional.  Today is one of those days where I quite simply love my life.

On Coolness.

So I wish that I could say I don't care about looking cool.  Or being cool.  Or anything about "cool".  But that would be a big fat lie.

So I will just say, that it's something I'm working on, and thinking about, and considering...  a lot.

I wonder where it comes from.  This...desire to fit in.

First of all I realize that our society, most societies, find it convenient for the general populous to have a desire to "fit in".  To "be cool".  Every advertisement is catered to something about being cool or looking cool or fitting in with a cool crowd at some level.  They play to our desire to be loved and adored.  It's how they work.  And I'm not saying that advertisers are evil - in fact, they're just doing their job, and they are good at it.  It works.  The companies make more money, and that's the point of business.

I don't fault the advertisers.  I fault us for going for it.

For giving in.

Giving in to the cool factor on so many things, at so many levels.

I care so much about what people think of me.

It's pretty pathetic, honestly.

Here's an example:

Last Thursday I was driving to the Thursday Night Supper Club, which is my women's Bible study and it was beginning to rain.  A very light rain.  Nothing torrential.  Just the beginnings of rain.  There was enough for water to have pooled in the street, and some of the water was splashing onto the windshield.  I thought about turning my wipers on while sitting at a stop light - but before I did that I looked around to see what all of the other drivers were doing.  Were their wipers on?  How fast were their wipers going?  What would people think of me if I turned my wipers to this speed now?

Insanity, right?

Is it?

Why did I care AT ALL what the other drivers were doing?  I should do what I needed to do and forget what they thought - because really, they didn't care AT ALL about me.  So I turned them on to the speed I needed and tried to forget about the other drivers.  I admit it STILL crossed my mind - even after all that.  Even after telling myself that it didn't matter.  I continued to think about it.  Insane.

Why does this happen?

I remembered, as I thought about it and continued driving, the my driver's ed teacher said once "If your not sure if it's dark enough to use your headlights yet, look around and see what the other drivers are doing.  If some of them have their headlights on, turn yours on too."  Apparently we can't think for ourselves.  Apparently, it's important to "do what everyone else is doing".  Maintain the status quo.  Don't do anything "weird".

I have done a lot of things in my life for which I have received criticism.  My hair cut.  The way I raise my children.  The way I taught when I was in the classroom.  The language I have used.  My political bent.  The way I feed my family.  The way I think about poetry.  I've been criticized for tons of things.  You'd think eventually I'd say "screw everyone, I'm going to do what I know is right for me and mine and they can all bite me!"

I hope I can get there one day.

It's a hard road.

Yesterday I took my daughter to church in her pajamas.

She did NOT want to get dressed.

I had a choice.

Get her dressed, have a fight, get frustrated, make her cry, and get to church late OR let her go in her PJs and get to church on time without a lot of frustration.

I chose the options that didn't include a lot of frustration.  And yet - the ENTIRE way to church I worried about what people would say about my daughter at church in her barefeet and pajamas.  How would they look at me?  Would they think I was disrespectful?  Would they think I was a bad parent?

Some people did comment.  They criticized with a smile.  Made it into a joke from which I was to learn a lesson.  But most people just thought she was the cutest thing ever and didn't mind at all that she was in pink monkey pajamas.

I'm trying to stop caring what they think.  What everyone else thinks really isn't all that important.  They can make fun or mess with me or tell me I'm stupid - but I've got to cling to the truth.  God loves me just the way I am.  He made me to be this person with these ideas and these physical traits and this set of parenting skills and this mind and these talents.  He loves his creation.  He loves me through my mess-ups and stupidity and stumbling block learning curves.  He holds my hand.  He nods with approval.  I'm His child.  My Father is the KING.  Nobody messes with the daughter of the king.

In light of this, I realize that I need to take greater care in my passing judgments.  It's something I've gotten better at as I've grown older.  Something I've gotten better at since shaving my head and receiving the harsher end of the judgment stick.  People are trying their best, in general.  And what we want more than anything else is acceptance and love right where we are.  It's not really about "being cool".  It's about being LOVED.  I hope we can all try harder to see through the hot mess we might think we are or the hot mess we see in someone else and see the prince or princess on the other side.  God loves us all.  Even the person with the wiper blades whirring at a million miles a minute when it's barely drizzling outside.  Even you.  Even me.

Ireland.

So I know I've talked a lot about my hair around here - the shaved head and the results of that and the whole spiritual growing it back out feeling and thinking and the dreads idea - but I wanted to talk a little bit more about where I think the dreads thing is coming from (besides that I've met a few women who have them and love the idea, the maintenance that would be perfect for my dream of hiking the AT with my family, and the whole naturalistic deal).

My heritage is mostly Celtic.  I've got some German tossed around in there, but in general, my ancestry, at least the parts that resonate with me most, are Celtic.  Irish, to be exact, and some Welsh and English, but the Irish is the part that has always struck me as most a part of my inner being.  My husband is Scottish, and both of us connect in a spiritual way with our Celtic roots.

It is relatively well know that the Celts had "hair like snakes" - which most people take to mean "dreadlocks".  It is generally thought that men and women of the early Celtic culture had dreads.  I'm interested in that sort of ancestral connection.  My Irish heritage has always been fascinating to me.  Perhaps that is the reason I chose to go to Ireland on a cross-cultural excursion during my junior year of college.  (That and I avoided taking another semester of Spanish by doing a cross-cultural.)

The journey to Ireland effected me in ways that I am sure I may never sort out completely.  The entire country pulses and ripples with spirituality, history, deep roots, pain, hope, music, and poetry.  It is a nation of people who, as Sinead O'Connor said, are much like children who have been abused by people they trust.

I spent much of my time in the North and had a home-stay with a lovely woman in the town of Baile an Chaistil (Ballycastle: Anglicized).  Experiencing the Irish culture in both Northern Ireland and the Republic was an insight into myself and my family and into a people largely misunderstood and improperly criminalized by citizens of the United States.  I learned much of Irish history and British oppression that simply isn't taught in American history books.  I found instant friends in pubs and on cliffs and beaches and listened to poetry drip from the tongues of the people amid every day conversation.  Heard yarns spun miles long in lieu of eating dinner because people are more important than anything else.  Music was spontaneous and joyful in spite of laws forbidding the public performance of it and outlawed songs were sung loud voices with raised glasses in the spirit of patriotism.


My politics were absolutely changed by my Irish friends and compatriots.  My views of our own government and that of our allies strangely interrupted, as I was forced to take a hard look at what it means to be the model of "freedom" in the world.  


But it wasn't only this that changed me, that turned my soul and twisted my heart in new directions.  


It was the outlook on life.  The deliberateness of caring for friends and family and the cashier at the supermarket.  The flirtatious exchanges between men and women of all ages that made everyone walk in a way that made them beautiful or handsome all the time, no matter their shape or size or age or status in society.  The beauty of language.  The mysticism that can be found in a place or in a gesture or in a poem or song.  Significance and meanings that have been lost in our constantly moving culture.  


I remember standing in a Druid hut and watching our guide, Brendan, as he smoked a cigarillo and passed them around to the boys in the group.  A few of us had our cameras in our hands, snapping pictures...  He laughed a little and said, with his sparkling eyes and handkerchief instead of tissues and wild curly hair and ruddy cheeks and generous belly:  "You're busy taking pictures and you're missing what's actually going on around you."  He had a lot to say about Americans and our inability to truly live in the moment.


It was one of the times in my life where I was forced to take stock of what my priorities had become.


I was documenting these things instead of living them in real time.  

In Rent, Roger accuses Mark of hiding behind his camera instead of living life - letting himself experience the moment - whether full of happiness or filled with pain.  Mark admits it's true - he hides behind his camera.  He hides behind his work.  How many of us do the same?  


Why does Rent resonate with so many people?  We see ourselves in the characters - especially Mark - who, while his life might be the least exciting, happens to be the truly main character in the piece.  When we look at our own lives, what do we see?  Who have we become?  


I think back on my time in Ireland - about the pictures I didn't take.  About the ones I can conjour in my mind:  a stolen hike and a glance through mysterious ruins.  Trekking with a friend on the beach and tea time in a Protestant woman's house.  Meeting "Patrick" in the pub and feeling lawless and patriotic and criminal at once.  Lighting moonshine on a silver tablespoon and watching it burn blue, fresh from the cauldron that steamed below the maps of England and Ireland with mysterious red and blue push-pins.  A poem from a fellow student who had chosen to leave the states and follow his heritage across the sea to Eire - his changing accent, his flaming red hair.  Singing Danny Boy over stew before a roaring fire while rain pounded down the roof and our German friends from the hostel drank their beer and swung their mugs with cheerful froth brimming over the sides and onto passersby.  Fish and chips in paper with vinegar and cheese from conservatives stands in the middle of town - melting in your mouth - a glass of whiskey you nurse all night and laugh at the Americans as they shoot the precious, hard-wrought grain down unthinking throats who seem to have no appreciation for the time and energy it took to grow that grain, to ferment, to flavor, to bottle and sell.  


My time in Ireland brought me home longing to savor life a little more.  To linger a little longer in conversations with family and friends.  I found myself frustration by our culture that seemed to move so fast and accomplish so little.  I missed the appeal of your fellow man.  Of dancing with friends you hardly knew to music played by locals on fiddles and guitars and accordions.  Of spontaneous drum beats and parades of fallen saints.  


Since my return to U.S. soil (and in spite of all my love for Ireland I was happy to be home - to feel familiar - to wrap myself in the warmth of a culture I understood - one to which I knew the rules and languages and turns of phrase) I have thought often about my time in Ireland and the things I learned there.  The way my life has changed since can most certainly be credited to those weeks spent dancing across swinging rope bridges and staring across a gray sea through misty rainbows at fishing boats and ferries and British soldiers in stagnate uniforms.  To murals of twelve year old girls shot for fun and sport on a man's twenty-first birthday.  I give pondering to my roots.  My heritage.  To those who crossed the sea so many years ago because of a potato famine - not because Irish people only eat potatoes, but because they were only permitted to eat potatoes.  I wonder about them.  I run my fingers over the few photographs I took so far across the ocean and I see the picture of Brendan and the boys smoking their cigarillos and the purple reflections dancing from the walls of stone and mud - some 800 years old at the least - and I try to remember that moments are fleeting.  That time is never still.  That I must grab the present and hold it fast - and at the same time, swim freely with the current.

Christmas Time.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

The "eve" has always held a special place in my heart - more special than the day, to be honest.

I love the candlelight service and the Silent Night singing and the anticipation you can almost taste hanging in the air.

My daughter is sick and parked on the couch watching Diego so I'm here contemplating.  I should probably be de-toxing the house, washing sheets, cleaning counter-tops, and the like, but downtime is sacred and contemplation is short-lived around here.

Tomorrow, I'm hoping to make a nice dinner and ring in the Christmas Tide with a full sanctuary and beautiful candles dancing in in chaotic unison.  Maybe tonight I'll bake some cookies and decorate them with icing.  I am thankful to have my husband home from work today and tomorrow, a warm home as I hear the wind beating at the back door, and hot food I can count on.  My heart is filled with gratitude from the year passed.  My life has been through so many sometimes painful but always beautiful changes.  I am learning to embrace this Wabi Sabi world.

Today, for example, my daughter threw up (several times in a row as I carried her to the bathroom) at McDonalds.  We were at the homeschool Christmas party in our area.  I was covered in vomit, she was covered in vomit, and we were altogether pretty disgusting.

When we arrived in the restroom, there were no paper towels, only automatic hand dryers.  I felt paralyzed, holding my sobbing, puke covered toddler, her puke covered lovey, and all in my puke covered coat.

There was another woman in the bathroom wearing one of those Christmas sweaters.  You know the ones.  She took one look at us and said, "Let me help you.  I'll get you some napkins."

I was so filled with gratitude I couldn't even thank her at that moment.

She came back from the restaurant with a handful of napkins and she handed them to me one at a time as I cleaned off lovey, coat, pants, hair, two year old, and floor.

"Thank you so much."  I finally said.

"It's no problem at all."  She said, "It could have been me in here with my grandson.  I've been where you are.  You needed help and I could help you.  It's no problem."

I wanted to cry.  She was so kind.

I thanked her over and over again and she smiled kindly and told me it was no trouble at all.  She even got an employee to come with a mop as I tried to clean the puke from the bathroom floor myself.

As I left McDonalds I wished I had an address so I could send her a thank-you card.

Speaking of love - that woman showed it to me and mine in a huge way today.  Kindness is a beautiful thing.  I can't get enough, and I want to learn to GIVE more. 

What will you do this Christmas Eve?  Who has shown you love this season?  How will you give kindness back?

Blessings to you and yours.  May your Christmas Tide be filled with laughter, hugs, kindness, and love.

Love.

Last year, at The Refinery, I chose "love" as my fruit of the Spirit star for the year.  It's a yearly tradition.  We have these stars cut out of poster board and on each star is written a fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control).  I have received peace and kindness in the past.

For 2010, my star was Love.

I was so excited to get this particular star.  And I have learned an immense amount about love this year.

I wanted to share it with you...

1.  God's love for me as His child is unconditional.  The part of me that sins and keeps on sinning isn't the part that God sees.  That's the part that Jesus covers.  Does that mean it's okay to sin? No.  Of course not.  If you love somebody back, you don't want to do things that separate you from them. If you fall back into your sin nature and embrace that, then you're essentially telling God you don't care about his Gift to you.  That's just wrong.  But when I screw up.  When I feel guilty.  When I feel ashamed - those are feelings that have nothing to do with My Father.  Those are feelings put upon me by my self or by The Evil One.  Not God.  Does God want me to ask forgiveness?  Yes.  Does God want me to put myself through some  sort of arbitrary period of pain and torture in order to receive absolution?  No.  Jesus paid the full price already.  I don't have to pay it again.  (For more on this, read: The Search for Significance by Robert S. McGee - we did a study of it in my small group this past spring.  It was a serious perspective changer.)

2.  The love God shows to us is the love that we need to show to others.  Unconditional love.  You can't just love your kids when they're behaving well.  You can't just love your husband when he's at his best.  You have to embrace those people where they are.  ALL people - but I think it's healthiest (and maybe HARDEST) to start with the people closest to you. 

This unconditional love road led me to unschooling, and it's where our family lives now.  We have never been better together.

3.  My kids have thrown challenges my way.  They've fought with one another and they've questioned everything and they've given me lesson after lesson in parenting and have truly tested that whole unconditional love thing.  I've grown to see them as people with aspirations and dreams and ideas and plans and talents just exploding from every place imaginable.  It's a beautiful thing.

4.  My love for my husband continues to grow and transform.  He's truly an amazing man.  We've been through so much together and to be able to lean on the knowledge that his love is unconditional for me - we might fight, we might bicker - but he's sticking around...  that's an immense relief, an immense measure of freedom.

5.  Love and freedom go hand in hand.  This was a huge revelation for me.  I've been thinking a lot about freedom and love this year, obviously (when it comes to love).  My son watched forty episodes of Liberty's Kids in three days (including one all night marathon) and I learned a ton about our country (in spite of taking American History three times - twice at the high school level - and NOT because I failed it once - I got A's both times, thank you very much (just moved between grades and guidance, in their infinite wisdom, thought I should take American History again and just skip World so I could be with kids in my grade), and once at the college level) and about freedom and what it meant to people during that time period.  I learned a lot about politics today and the whole freedom thing got me thinking about other freedoms.  Unschooling, Freedom in Christ - I wanted to explore all of this so much more fully - and I HAVE.  So many times I saw God speak to me or heard Him through others when it came to this idea of freedom and love walking together.  Love cannot exist without freedom.  The freedom to CHOOSE.  Love isn't love if there's no choice.  If you "make" someone love you - that's not love, that's slavery.  So that tree in the garden that God said not to touch - THAT was his GIFT to us.  The FREEDOM to choose.  REAL love.

There have been many more lessons, but I think these are the main points from the year. 

I'm sure there are so many more lessons to learn.  My heart is full to bursting and yet there is more room for it to grow- I think that's the final lesson - love is endless.  It doesn't run out.  It fills up and runs over, but there is always more of it to go around.

Crazy Journey.

This morning I attended and MC'd the my Studio Acting class's final performance.  I've been coaching and teaching them for the past thirteen weeks, and final performances are always worth it - regardless of the heartache beforehand - it's worth it to see something you've had a hand in producing going up before an audience.

When I got home from the performance this morning, I found a comment on my coaching page on facebook from my high school theatre director, saying that he was proud of my accomplishments.

This one comment meant more to me than a comment from anyone else could have possibly meant, when it comes to acting, directing, or anything to do with theatre.  He is the person who taught me what it means to be a part of a quality performance.  He is the reason I understand what it means to be a good director.  He is the reason I continued with the theatrical arts past my teen years.

The whole thing got me thinking about how strange life can be...  and how quickly time can pass.

Fifteen years ago was my first high school theatre production.  Fifteen years ago.  At that time I was, perhaps, the most clueless person on the stage.  I had no idea what was expected of me, no idea what I was doing, no idea what it meant to be serious about a role or production.  By the end of high school I was determined to become a teacher and my ultimate goal was to direct a high school musical.

I thought I might teach theatre someday.  Might get to direct something at the high school level sometime in my forties or fifties.  And now my first directing gig at the high school level seems long ago and far away.  I started directing in college - groups of my peers, high school students, adults - I had a professor who took me under her wing and turned the wheel of my life's vehicle from acting toward directing - where this beautiful field opened up to me...  I still never dreamed I would teach theatre to others, let alone coach actors independently.

I honestly never thought I would get a leading role in a production.  It all seemed very remote...  all the pictures from that period in my life are so vivid in my mind - it's as though I can reach out and tough the people and the things and I have come so far it seems like a dream...  An evanescent vision that will float away if I blink...

I no longer teach in the school system.  I quit a few years ago to stay home with my kids.  We're an unschooling family and life is good.  But...so strange.  The places you think you'll end up in life as not the places you ultimately go - often they end up even better.

There are things you think will never happen in life.

I never thought I was direct a high school musical.

I never thought I would have a production I directed with teenagers called "on par with professional" by people who know the difference.  I never thought I would perform at the State One Act Festival or play the lead in Proof or coach other actors or sing in the band at church or have children at a younger age than planned or live in Maryland or dream of setting off with my family for a year on the road in an RV.  Those things were smokey... remote...  and yet....here I am.

I think back to that first high school production.  I can smell the smells, see the people, feel the lights warm on my skin.  The memories are as tangible as the keyboard on which I now type.  I look back at that girl - with bangs and long hair and so many insecurities and I look at me and I wonder how it all came to be.  How I could travel so far in what feels like such a brief period.

Fifteen years.

Is it really so long?

The older I get, the shorter time seems.  My memories of ages past seem as yesterday.

This has been one crazy journey.

I know we can't know when we'll die.  It could be tomorrow, even today, even sometime before I finish this post.  We are but dust.  But I think about the life I've led so far and I can't even begin to imagine the possibilities that lie ahead.  Things I think are impossible today could be tomorrow's every day reality.

It makes me feel very small, and very safe, and reminds me of the need to be very brave.

Strange combinations of feelings.  A strange brew for an outlook on life.

I never would have believe myself if I would have gone back in time to tell the younger me what the point of it all was.  How it would all flesh out as time went on.  I look forward with anticipation.  With trepidation.  With awe at what futures can bring.

progress.

We spent a lot of time this weekend with my husband's parents. They are super good people and I enjoy them very much - however differently Michael and I were raised, we agree that both sets of parents are good people.

I told my mother-in-law about my blogs and she was especially interested in this one, wondering what it was about. I explained that it sort of started as a commentary on my haircut and how that was affecting my life - aside from the fact that I felt I had a lot to share on the subject of femininity and adolescent development etc etc. She was really curious as to how it might be affecting me.

When I explained the people treated me differently since the hair cut she was sort of confused. Why in the world would anyone treat me differently?

I didn't get to talk to her much about it, but I did want to say a few things I've noticed in the past few months.

People here, in my area, don't treat me as differently anymore.

I think that, at least in the places I frequent, most people have seen me around, and it's not so surprising. I thought for awhile that I was just more used to people staring blatantly, but I've realized that that's not really the case, since when we went on vacation to Niagara Falls I had several people staring (not in Canada, mind you, but in Northern PA and upstate New York). I even had a girl stare at me for the entire duration of our trip to McDonalds in New York City - and you'd think that would be a place where people had seen everything...

Apparently this is just that strange.

What's really weird is that it's sort of trendy in Hollywood, or at least it's had stints of trendiness in the recent past. Heck, even Britney shaved her head - granted people all decided that she was a complete nut job at that point... so maybe that says something about our American culture...

Either way, the point is, there has been some progress.

There are still stares in one key place: the pediatrician's office.

I think that parents are so afraid that their children will grow up to be weird, or gay, or trans, or anything out of the ordinary - they absolutely don't want them to be exposed to this out of the ordinary person in a place that ought to be "safe" from such people.

That place aside, there has been actual progress. People don't stare anymore. People don't giggle behind my back. People don't make comments. The clerks don't avoid eye contact at the store. It's really... nice.

Maybe there is hope for humanity. Maybe people can actually change, accept something new, add it to their paradigm or shift their paradigm and learn. I hope that's the case and I'm not just oblivious.

And I hope that eventually, if I can be strong enough and keep this thing up, maybe the parents at the doctor's office will embrace the whole thing. Hey, my kid can be different and that's OKAY. I can still love them if they shave their head or get a tattoo or decide to be an actor... That whole unconditional thing? Yeah, this would be where it applies.

Solo at the Grocery Store.

I just returned home from a solo trip to the grocery store.

I have an anxiety disorder, so this is a stressful proposition for me, but I've learned that if I just do it and take it slow it's worth it, so I fought off the anxiety sans medicine and I went. I even remembered the environmentally friendly canvas bags.

Because of the pain I've been experiencing in my back, today was a really hard day. I am pretty certain I only made it to the store because I had a back massage from my husband, a mug of green tea, and a bath before I ventured out. These are all things I highly recommend when it comes to holistic medicine - but this is all beside the point.

When I arrived, there was the whole - where in the world should I park, debate.

I am one of those people who always parks in the same general location. I have a lot of fears about not being able to find my car and wandering around the parking lot aimlessly for hours with everyone staring at me. I understand that this is somewhat paranoid, but it's how it is with me, and I know this, so I've found ways to cope. In this same way I order the same things from the menu at certain restaurants, etc. I parked in the general vicinity of my favorite spots, on the side of the store - which is an unpopular but relatively close location, and also close to the cart stall so that I would be able to return my cart with ease and know exactly where it should go. If you think that this is foolishness, you probably don't have any issues with anxiety - and this is a positive thing.

I decided when I got into the store that I was going to make this a positive experience no matter what and that I was going to try and savor the experience instead of freaking out about it.

I started with going to get something for myself, because it would be a decision I could make and feel good about, and that could empower me to keep on keeping on without losing my mind.

There were tons of staff persons in the store today - putting back tons of return items. It was sort of sad to see those carts full of returns being restocked: gifts no one wanted. What a shame. I hope the people who returned them got something nice with the money back.

I avoided them pretty expertly as I maneuvered my cart through the narrow aisles.

My purchase for myself was body wash. This is a simple thing, but we are extremely low on cash at all times, so I consider this a luxury item. After some debate, I chose the store brand of the ultra moisturizing body wash stuff and then moved on.

I stopped off at the magazine section and picked up a holistic health magazine to see if they had any ideas about naturalistic and cheap pain management - not normally things that go together, but a girl can dream, right? - and kept moving on.

I wasn't sure I could face the grocery section yet, so I went back to the arts and crafts, remembering that we still owed our daughter a few things for Christmas. I picked up some bathtub crayons and some big washable regular crayons and then just checked everything out. Aisles like that calm me down. They make me think about pens and big blank sheets of paper that can be filled with whatever I can think of, and this makes me happy. I imagined that if I had some extra money, I would buy some cardstock and scrap booking supplies and make cards for all of my friends.

After this therapeutic exercise, I made my way to the grocery section.

It wasn't all that bad.

When I got to my first stop (dairy), I noticed an elderly gentleman in one of those store-provided scooters asking a young stock-boy to hand him some butter. The man was really friendly, and the stock-boy was really nice back, and it sort of had that "restoring my faith in humanity" effect on the entire rest of the trip. I found a lot in the store to smile about.

There was this older woman with her granddaughter who was definitely breaking the shopping cart speed limit and just about ran me over, along with another woman. Instead of both of us getting angry about it and telling the woman off or flipping her the bird, we just looked at each other and smiled and ended up in a fit of laughter that had the old woman confused along with everyone else in the store aisle. A shared experience can open a whole new world of joy.

I took great pleasure in my choices at the store today.

I made sure to buy the least expensive items when possible and the most environmental items when thinking about cleaning and the healthiest of juices. I really read all of the labels and checked all of the prices and compared and weighed and measured and bought what was in season. I tried to be thrifty and shop quality at the same time.

All of it honestly made me feel good about myself.

The best part of the trip was the check-out line.

I refused to be in a hurry today. I just finished 29 Gifts in 29 Days by Cami Walker, and I learned a little something. I wanted to savor each moment and drink in the humanity around me for the positives rather than the negatives for once. It wasn't hard in the check-out line.

My clerk was an elderly Jamaican gentleman who was singing hymns in a beautiful Caribbean voice that seemed to jingle and flow at once while he scanned my items. He brought the heavy bags around for me so I didn't have to hurt my back lifting them myself and he scanned some items in the cart so I didn't have to put them on the conveyor. It was the best check-out experience of my life.

I include this because it really did work on my perspective. This morning I was so angry about my pain and my anxiety and my failures and my jealously of others and my bitterness. I wrote about it elsewhere and tried to do better, but often only found myself in tears of frustration and snapping at my children when they only wanted me to read them a book or play with them. Thank God for the grocery store and little perspective changers. May they be abundant in your life today and always.