Wanting

At every age, every point in our lives we have our obsession.

We have this here and now and only here and now and faith or fear or both and we obsess. We decide over and over that worry is useless, that we're not going to do it anymore, that we're done with resentment or depression or our selfishness. We decide over and over to give it up to God, to let things play out how they will and keep going. And each time we are on to the next, we start over, it feels new but it's different and the same. It's a fantastic mess. This progression is emotional Cirque du Soleil. Our palms sweat and we jump in our seats and marvel when it's over and want a souvenir. I love it. It's treacherous and rewarding and a mess.

At every age,

every point in our lives...

Walking, doing it ourselves, our bodies, growing up, becoming a rockstar, our bodies, getting a license, knowing your parents are morons, getting with that girl or that guy, getting into that university, our bodies, that hot professor, graduating, that job, getting married, the wedding, our bodies, being approved for the home loan, having a baby, our bodies, our major differences from our parents, the right childcare or babysitter, our parents' decisions, solving or avoiding marriage issues, our baby starting school, that breast lump, who our children are becoming, finding the meaning of our life... our accomplishments... our needs, our twenty-something boss at work, our baby driving, our children's bodies, our parent's mortality, our grandchildren, our distance even when we're close, our "backseat" feeling, how everything has changed...

The kids (and grandkids) not visiting enough.

Our loneliness.

Our bodies.

The decision to be happy.

And then.

All of it again.

All at once.

Decisions....

Wattage and Dendrites

I imagine my thoughts as amperes streaking around the ever shrinking "room" within this inscrutable cyberspace. There they are... bouncing around like a pinball, illuminating beacons here and there, if only for a second, causing a contained ruckus, where any points earned don't count for particularly much. But, when I approach the shiny box, I am sure that I have to put in my quarter.


While becoming grown-ups, we (some of us) learn to fight that desire to feel like our quarters hold more value than others'. What counts is what we are playing for. Are we playing because the blaring sirens and glistening lights have hypnotized us? When it's all over do we throw a fit because that's all we got out of our quarter?


I want to play to change the numbers up top.


I have noticed lambs to be far less noisy than sheep*.
I have noticed that using our hands seems a far better way to communicate now.
I have noticed that when we use our hands we don't need the lights and camera to record the action.
I have noticed that a voice is better heard when it's on paper.
I have noticed that we spend more time on building up places than building up people.




















"I've tried patience, but you always want a war."- Imogen Heap





* Noted with pride: former Northstar 4-H Treasurer and member of the Horse, Sheep, and Rabbit groups. Sadly, though, barnyard quadrupeds are so NOT conducive to all ALL-WHITE uniforms (but the green neck-tie was sorta precious).

Absorption

My ears burn with noise.

An imitation of music booming from closed windows, vibrating through the trunk, making the driver feel empowered, slowly sucking the magic of sound perception from his skull.

I hear the noise of false information, helping the distributor feel credible, intelligent even.

We are swarmed by 50,000 commercials per year while we are watching our 4 1/2 hours of television per day.

I hear more complaints than compliments, I witness more griping than good.

The voices of crickets, birds, and bullfrogs are covered by engine noise.

This guys modified muffler, that fellows Harley, that cowboys diesel, your impatient honking, and our friend there with his brain enveloped in Kanye so he doesn't have to think.

If only we had the freedom to think.

http://www.trashyourtv.com/

Conceit

When you criticize my enthusiasm, you are wrong. Perhaps you are fooled or confused by the plethora of other entitlements you have been privileged with since birth because of your endowment, your birthplace, the dowry of your nation.

I hope you are wiser than to believe you are owed something.

I hope you are wiser than to be predictable.

I hope you are fuller than to be empty.

My mother, husband and I sat next to a woman today in a restaurant not much unlike my sister. Though she was elegantly dressed and, to my “unfiltered” eye, exceptionally beautiful, she had one specific quality that would not be tolerated by the slaves of appearance enjoying their burgers under the same roof. When I look into so many judging faces and glance “covert” whispering, I am ashamed. The worst hurt I might experience today is that I look out into a sea of people and know what most of them are thinking.

Why are you so easy to be advertised to? Why are you so entitled? What makes your gifts, your shape, your perspective, your ability, your opinion so worthy… so much better? I hurt for you. I do not hurt for us that are unusual, you do well hurting us for us. We do not gain by your secret opinions or your social criticisms. We may even become more imperfect because of them. I do not get stronger because you are critical, but you give my soul purpose for turning to the true Perfect. For getting back up. For saying, “I acknowledge You. I hear them, but I choose You. I can keep going.”

If you are sick, I am not better because I am well. Because you are sick, the well become vulnerable. If you are sick, I will wrap my arms around you to show my true affection. If you are sick, you are not so forever. If you are sick, it is your choice. If you are sick, it is your choice.

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit

In humility value others above yourselves...

...not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.

Philippians 2:3

Who are you doing all of this for?

The Fool Builds His House on Sand...

Mr. Beck (and others, past and present),

I acknowledge your repetitive elucidation of the parameters of your country's Constitution, particularly your familiarity with your FREEDOM of Religion, Press, and Expression. As a fellow partaker in these GIFTS, I would humbly encourage you to choose another date and/or venue to demonstrate your long-term plan for such a diverse, resilient nation whom is merely in her adolescence. Perhaps it is not wise to tread on a great reverend's legacy. The only MAN with whom the wise will fully trust with their futures has yet to return. Until then, I am determined to love you anyway.

All of Our Nest

Seven years is a long time to be a teenager. It's a long time to be judged, a long time to have the pressure of your future on your shoulders, to be told what to do and how to do it, to desire independence yet still depend on your caregivers and educators. It's a long time to have the physical and emotional pain of growth and expectations. But, if we look closely, we can learn so much from them.

Remember what it was like as you judge this group of kids, try to understand that not all of what they do defines them yet. Not yet. Did you not forgot most of your time in this uncomfortable dimension? They are impressionable and malleable, defensive of their rights and privileges. They are absorbing their surrounding world at a rate we all experienced at infancy, a rate we all secretly envy.

Who is more flexible? Who do we expect more of? Who is more alive?

Who is going to pick up where we left off?

Who will they become if we're only showing them that they're not good enough?

The horizon begins to...

I like today. I think it's because today I am not feeling as selfish as I normally do. I'm not thinking 'by back hurts, again', 'I should go work out but probably won't', 'why do I act like I'm lazy? because I'm really not lazy', 'I wish I could see that guy I married for more than 2 hrs. in the evenings and on Sundays', or 'exactly what sounds good right now is not in my frig... ever'.

Today, I don't care about those things. I'm feeling like a kid playing house instead (which I did when I was 19 and moved out with 3 friends, and...eek, two were boys, and....double eek, I married one of 'em). Today, I'm playing "It's not so bad", because, really IT JUST ISN'T BAD AT ALL. My mom loves these square tins that I've been putting together since I was little. I write, "It's Not So Bad" on them and put little memories- movie tickets, postcards, seashells from Alaska, hilarious printed conversations from AIM or Google chat, a piece of drift wood we picked up at the beach in HMB while we were celebrating our 18 monthiversary. I'll keep these boxes for life. I'll probably help my babies make them, too.

Like I was saying, it's probably worth it to ditch self-pity and probably not because someone somewhere has it worse because that just makes me sad again, but because we just should. We owe it to our parents, to our partners, to our blood pressure... One of my friends* recently posted, "If you ran as much as your mouth, you'd be in good shape". Mortality comes with aches and pains and comfort comes with bills and love comes with hurt. You can stress about never getting a say about coming into this blasted place, but in all reality, you were, and probably still are, someone's gift. I'm going to be someone's gift even if I don't shut-up about all the junk, but I'd like to shut-up, it's easier and far more pleasant. Favorite shirts get ruined, husbands get too tired to wrestle, landscapers makes noise on early holiday mornings, someone catches you stealing their joke, and the barista is sweet as hell but always, ALWAYS gives you the wrong drink or simply forgets to put the coffee in it. So, Here I am looking back at what I've written and noticing how many I's are in this paragraphs. We're allowed. I'm allowed. We're allowed to sit in our chonies and write until our heart's content or until the cat is causing the loud, crashing sounds coming from the kitchen, whichever comes first.

*Thanks, Chris Brown, for your unrelenting sarcasm. It is needed like a rabies booster.