Love

I haven't blogged in a while. Mostly that's because I reread everything I'd written in the past year and basically hated most if not all of it. And, because I've been busy. And because I make excuses. :)

However, I need to write today, so poor prose be damned- it's gotta go somewhere, might as well take flight into the deep void of the internet.

I went to church yesterday for the first time in five years- not a Mormon church, but a Unitarian church. I figure, any church that allows you to be an atheist and has accepted homosexuals for ages probably can't be half bad. The pastor (or minister or whatever they call him) read a passage from Ursula Goodenough who is an atheist (religious naturalist) who talked about how she wishes, during times of trouble, that she could believe in a god to call on; yet because she cannot, she must rely on human love in all its fragility and imperfection, to help heal.

I think about love a lot. What it means to love someone, what constitutes "love" verses affection, whether there really is a thin line between love and hate, how to love someone and not be in love with them, how love manifests itself through actions, whether love can "die." So many questions about this emotion/feeling, so few direct answers. No one seems to have concordant answers to the questions.

Is it love if you don't say it?
Is it love if you betray?
Is it love if you can't forgive?
Is it love if sometimes you feel it more than others?
Is it love if it ends?
Is it love if you choose yourself over someone else?

I don't have answers either. However, having suffered my fair share of life's slings and arrows, I do believe, at the end of the day, that love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken. I believe love comes with a price, like everything. It can be a heavy price, but at the end of the day, even while paying that price, I will say that I am not sorry to pay it. And so, come what may, I am thankful to have had the opportunity to have loved.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
   in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
   the simple sum of heart plus heart.

- Sylvia Plath

Why?

I've been thinking lately about the rarity of the question "why." My friend and I were talking about religion the other day and he mentioned the frustration that, as an atheist, he is supposed to be respectful of people's beliefs, that it is considered bad manners to question someone religious as to why they believe the things that they do. This idea has extended somewhat in my thinking- why don't we ask why more often? Why seems like a question that invites vulnerability. If I ask you why you believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, or why you don't return my phone calls, or why you believe that Muslims shouldn't be allowed to build a community center in downtown NYC, the likelihood is that I am asking because I disagree with your position or your actions.

I get the whole "vulnerability" aspect of questioning someone's actions or opinions, but it seems like we could get to know one another so much better if we asked why about seemingly unimportant things too- why do you like that type of coffee? Why did you buy this truck? Why do you think you like Brandy Carlile? And then the importance of giving thoughtful answers. Communication focusing on actual connections- "why" indicates an interest in one's inner workings. "Why" means that I care about you enough to be interested in your reasoning, your processes, your background, your history. Being brave enough to answer "why's" means that you are able to act with integrity- to question your own thoughts and beliefs and see if there's something solid underneath the actions and the impulses and the emotions.

The green elephant in the room.

So I've felt pretty boring lately- haven't had a lot to talk about in terms of politics, life experiences, realizations, epiphanies, etc. Which is not to say that there haven't been things to talk about; nationally, this has been a pretty brutal summer. I could talk about lessons learned in Thailand (the real question would be whether I could stop once I started). I don't know- none of it is giving me that buzz- the itch to just spill my guts via Arial font and smear them across my private corner of the internet neighborhood.

But I want to write today, so I figured I'd talk a little bit about money.

If you asked me to give you a run-down analysis of my experiences with money, it would probably go something like this: "I'm shit with money, I never have enough, I'm poor, I'm bad with money, I'm scared of money, I can never seem to get ahead" blah blah blah insanity. For the majority of my life (save a brief, rosy time when I was living at home and had no debt, before the car and the student loans and the credit cards), I have struggled with money. It has been a source of stress and fear and frustration in my life as long as I have been signing my name along the dotted lines of adulthood. I'd say my approach to dealing with this stress/fear/hate has been out and out avoidance. Classic denial, ostrich head in the sand, etc. Sure! Go right ahead and buy that! Why not! I have no money for it, but I'm NEVER GOING TO HAVE MONEY, so let's just keep on digging!

What this approach has essentially meant is that I will go for long periods of time with this vague, stressful feeling in the back of my head, and then one morning wake up in a cold sweat, spend hours of my day pouring over accounts, making plans, etc., until the panic settles down a bit wherein I return to my denial until the stress builds up again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

However, this past year has really been an amazing year. I have been happier, more productive, more focused, more in line with myself than I've ever been. Getting older sucks for the face, but it sure feels amazing to finally get to a place where you feel comfortable in your own skin. Anyway, so feeling good is sort of addicting, and once you start feeling so great in other areas of life, the temptation is to want that feeling in all areas. Crazy, I know. So slowly, I've begun to turn my focus toward the green elephant in the room.

I'm not feeling altogether secure on the wagon, but I figured I'd share some things I'm learning along the way. Here are some useful tools I've found:

• Bryon Katie. If you appreciate her rather Buddhist approach to reality and existence, you may find her work with money can help with cognitive hangups. I think in the past, many of my issues with money have stemmed from beliefs I have had about where I am supposed to be financially, fear stories that I have inherited from my parents (whose fears about money have always been a factor), and stories I have told in conjunction with the events of my life (like the classic one- "I have a degree, so therefore, I should make more money" hahahahahaha....aaaahhahahahahah.... soooo funny!). So much of our lives are spent story-telling. Living in reality is so much kinder. It's really helped with my underlying fears.
  
• I have a new goal (as of a few weeks ago) to spend a little bit of time learning about money every day. Whether that's reading through a few money blogs, reading the financial section in the NYT, getting books from the library on money, or what- I am committed to becoming more proficient in the vocabulary and terminology of money, finding tips that might help me out, finding people who give good advice, and following it. Doing it daily helps me to keep focus and it also helps me to remain motivated to stay on track with my own monetary goals.
  
• J.D. Roth, author of the blog Get Rich Slowly. I like this guy. He's practical and non-gimmicky and his information is, for the most part, helpful.
  
• ING.com- online banking. The best return rates for savings accounts, checking accounts, etc. I signed up because I was looking for a savings account that I can forget about. It was easy to sign up and, when I had a question, their customer service person was REALLY nice and helpful. I'm sold.
  
• The Simple Dollar- I like this guy too. Informative and not preachy.
• Mint.com- I'm pretty sure everyone already knows about this already. It takes a little time to set up, but once you're done, you have a complete, up to date, financial picture of just how screwed you really are. For me, while it's sort of depressing, looking at it helps me with my avoidance- I know exactly where I'm at. And, at the end of the day, it's not something that a little extra effort can't turn into a good situation.
  

What have I learned? The biggest thing I've learned is that, while I'm not perfect with money, I'm really not as bad with it as I'd thought. Hopefully, it just gets better from here on out.

Sluts

*Names and information have been changed

So, I thought it might be interesting to dissect an incident that occurred last week as a little vignette on being a woman in today's society.

Since I've lived in the same house for going on four years, I've taken certain pains to establish connections with the community around me. I make friendly conversation with my next door neighbor when I see him, I clean up other people's dog poop at the park when I have a spare bag, I try not to leave our trash cans on the street for more than a couple days after trash day, etc. I'm no Pollyanna paragon of gung ho community spirit, but I love the place I live and I take a certain enjoyment out of the little connections that accent my life.

A certain amount of these little connections are to be found at my nearby grocery store. I know that cervical cancer has traumatized one of the checkers and that she's now too frightened to get a colonoscopy for fear of what they might find. I know that one of the customer service desk women goes running by my house and has a baby poodle puppy. I like talking to these people and I like seeing them day after day, year after year. One of my favorite people has been a little checker boy that I will call Steve*. Steve is probably around 21, going to Salt Lake Community College, likes to hike, likes to help me with my grocery store problems (no more tilapia on display, all the avocados are overripe, can't seem to locate the fennel). I've looked forward to saying hi and having a brief 30 second chat with Steve whenever I see him.

So, it was no surprise that when I got back from Thailand, Steve asked me where I'd been since he hadn't seen me in a while. I explained about my trip and we talked briefly about the things I had seen there. He mentioned that he was thinking about applying for medical school and would I mind giving him my number in case he had any questions about public health? At this moment, little warning bells started ringing in my head, but I figured, the kid is 21, he seems earnest enough, why not? So I did.

That night, the texts and the late-night phone calls and the Facebook friend requesting began. It became apparent that Steve was not looking for a buddy to talk school plans with. So in the spirit of honesty, I sent him a quick email the following day. My email is as follows:

Hey [Steve]!

I figured I'd write you a quick note on Facebook, rather than have a text conversation. I hope you're having a lovely day today. :)

This is sort of weird, but I just wanted to clarify with you that while I'm definitely interested in being friends and activity partners and etc., I'm not available for a relationship right now. I apologize if I'm terribly narcissistic in even bringing this up- for all I know, you're just wanting to have another friend on Facebook and go for hikes occasionally! I just try to make that clear with people from the getgo so that there isn't any awkwardness or miscommunication between friends.

Anyway, from your pictures, it looks like you like to do stuff outside- camping, etc. Have you ever been to the San Rafael Swell? If not, may I just TOTALLY recommend it right now? :) It's one of my favorite places in the whole world.

Have a great day!

Not too harsh, right? Pretty direct? Writing emails of this sort gets tricky, as any girl can tell you, because while you don't want to be misunderstood, you also don't want to offend someone. However, I didn't have to wait long for the following response:

Thanks for clarifying with me what you want. I am not really looking for a relationship either right now. I would like to hang out and go do things with you. this may sound weird to ask but would you want to be just freinds with some benefits on the side that we just keep on the down low?hope your having a great day and would you want to hang out sometime?

WHAT?

There isn't enough space on the internet to describe what is wrong with this email (grammar? spelling? Not even going to GO there), so let me just take one thing.

I was IMing my friend when I received that email, so I shared it with him. His immediate comment: "Yeah, he thinks you're a slut or something."

Yes. He DOES think I'm a slut. My 21-year old grocery bagger Steve thinks I'm easy.

You might feel compelled to defend Steve against the imminent skewering that is about to happen. The whole, "he's young and stupid" argument, or maybe "what's so wrong with asking for what you want?" argument. Or MAYBE, deep down, you're thinking something more insidious, like "what did she do to make him think that she was open to something like that?"

And the shitty thing is that, even as a strong feminist, as someone who openly defends women's rights to sexual expression, to taking the lead in relationships, to making the first move, to swearing and talking frankly about sex, MY first thought was, "My god, what did I do to make him think that I'd be open to something like this?" I quickly scanned through my head, reviewing past conversations for any hint of inappropriateness on my part, trying to remember if I'd ever gone to the grocery store sans bra (definitely, but also sans makeup and hair brushing), trying to figure out anything that might have led some random dude to think that I was, basically, a slut. Because of course it's MY responsibility to control what men think about.

Apparently though, according to the results of a study done by a Christian website called, "The Rebelution" on women and modesty, a woman doesn't even have to dress provocatively or say provocative things in order to be considered a slut!







So let's see here- I'm pretty sure I've walked around the grocery store. Pretty sure I've probably stretched once or twice. I've definitely bent over in an attempt to retrieve rogue produce. And, no doubt, the scrub bottoms I've occasionally worn as pajamas have served their insidious purpose as the "technically innocent" outfit with naughty nurse connotations (no actual medical practice need be involved!). No wonder Steve was confused as to my slut-ness! I am basically a walking SEX FOR HIRE sign!

All Christian man modesty insanity aside, it was really disturbing to me to see the culturally reinforced stereotypical interplay in this interaction even though it was relatively harmless. Here is a man who knows next to nothing about me other than my first name, who believes that sexual proposition to an almost total stranger is completely appropriate. And the woman in the situation, me, upon receiving such an utterly tasteless and offensive proposition,immediately tries to figure out what it is that SHE did to mislead said asshole. Classic sexism 101.

It gets even worse because, rather than dealing with the situation as I would have liked to, with a big "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TALKING TO?" email, I hesitated. I didn't want to make waves or cause a fuss because I wanted to be able to shop at my grocery store without feeling deathly uncomfortable every time I saw Steve. And so I held back my indignant anger. I fell back on the most socially acceptable rejection excuse for a woman in today's society because, true or not, it's always easier to reject someone under the guise of a relationship than to reject them because they're a misogynistic disrespecting shitbag with no common courtesy.

Hey [Steve],

Unfortunately, perhaps I was not clear in my first email: I am not available because I'm seeing someone else.
-R

However, this little interplay of weakness only led to the following response:

Don't worry about it. I was just seeing if there was any possibility. we can just be freinds. and maybe if the oppurtunity rises if your not seeing anybody else just let me know and we could do stuff?

After which, I promptly deleted him from my phone and Facebook and thanked my lucky stars that I'd only allowed him "limited" profile access. But I'm angry. I'm angry at myself for not standing up for myself. I'm angry that I felt the pressure to be nice to him even in the face of utter disrespect. I'm angry that I didn't tell him that the real reason I wasn't interested in having "something on the side" was because he's a 21 year old checker at the grocery store who I'm not attracted to and who treated me like a sex object. I'm angry at the thought that he may still be under the impression that his attempts to solicit me constitute an appropriate way to address women. And I'm angry that all my compromising didn't help:

I still don't want to go to my grocery store.

Loss

Mikey is dead.

This is the second time I have written that sentence since it happened, though in the interim between writing it, I have said it (to myself, to others) what now seems innumerable times. I have been afraid to write it. Writing is so permanent. I am frequently paranoid about writing things down and destroy evidence of anything I write that may be particularly incriminating later. But with this, I cannot take it back. I cannot destroy it. Because he is gone.

And I need to write about it because writing, in part, is how I deal with the world around me. But I don't know what to write about. If I write about all the memories of Mikey, all of the love I have for him, and only tertially touch upon the fact that he is dead, it seems like a lie. If I delve too much into the pain of losing someone I loved so much, it feels unseemly- too expositional- too emotional- not enough Mikey too much me.

I cannot seem to write about him in the past tense.

Worden (2002), gives the four processes of grief:

1) Adjust to the reality of the loss. (He is gone. He will not return. After I found out he was dead, I called his phone and left him a voicemail telling him goodbye. As if I somehow expected him to receive it. )

2) Work through the pain of grief. (It feels like the ocean tide. The pain comes in and it overwhelms me and eventually, it recedes and I can move forward, knowing all the while that it will come again. I don't know how long it is supposed to take- I feel almost awkward trying to deal with time in this perspective- I'm sure some would say that time isn't the important thing here, that the pressure to grieve and move on is natural, but to stick with it through its natural cycle. I'm sure there are all sorts of rules for this- I just don't know them.)

3) Adjust to the environment without the deceased. (I find it terribly ironic that, in the lowest circumstances of my life these past three years, it has been Mikey who has stepped in and sat with me in my despair and my sorrow. And now, when I again find myself in this place, the one person who has always unfailingly been there, is the one person who cannot step in and say all those right things that he is so good at saying, or tell all those stupid jokes that he is so good at telling, or give those big, lanky, all-encompassing hugs, or sing all those beautiful songs that somehow made things a little easier. Adjustment indeed.)

4) Emotionally relocate the deceased and move on with life. (How can I take him with me into the present? How can I honor him best? How do I keep such a dear friend close in my life, despite the fact that he is no longer living? This is a process I have not figured out yet. Not being religious anymore, I do not have the easy out of supposing that he and I will again reunify in another life. I was reading Dawkins' book, The God Delusion, the other day and he mentioned that it is almost a certainty that in every person's life, they will, at one point or another, consume a water molecule that has passed through Oliver Cromwell's bowels. For some reason, I found this oddly comforting.)

It is a process. It is a process I did not anticipate and, if he'd given me the choice, I wouldn't have signed up for it. But here we are. He is learning how to be dead, and I am learning how to grieve. He loved me and I loved him and that certainty makes this very difficult time worthwhile. He is worth grieving for. He is worth learning from. He is worth remembering.

"The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love- the cost of commitment."

I am ok with paying that price.

On not being an A student

I'm not an A student. I am A, A-, B+ sort of student, meaning overall, I'm probably at best an A- student. I try not to let this bother me, try to realistically analyze the fact that while I may not get the best grades in the class, I certainly learn the material and in fact may just not be that great of a test-taker, have skills in other areas, blah blah blah. I can make all sorts of rationale for it, and in truth, if this were someone else's issue and they were telling me about it, I would definitely not feel it to be that big of a deal, but, unfortunately, I do feel like it's a big deal and it totally bums me out any time I get anything less than an A.

It doesn't have anything to do with me being a perfectionist or anything- anyone who has looked at my car or my backpack or my room will tell you that I don't suffer from any sort of obsessive compulsive tendencies. In life, I generally try to aim for the stars and feel pretty content if I hit the moon. If my bread falls, if my garden doesn't grow, if my Blockbuster calls about yet another movie I haven't returned, if I need 30 "breathers" while on a hike, I take it with a pretty even hand.

I think my total disregard for my standard "hey, may not have done it perfectly but at least I tried/hadfun/didn't totally suck" attitude has to do more with the fact that I really hate feeling so fucking average when it comes to academics. I'm that nerdy kid on the playground who doesn't really rock at sports, isn't popular, isn't rich, isn't particularly ANYTHING, but damn I can read a book. Funny how grades bring me back to that mindset. A-'s seem like the epitome of "Also Ran." I don't think I'm totally alone in wishing that I was the absolute rock star at something, ANYTHING. Books/grades/school have always seemed like my best bet at being above average (because it sure as hell wasn't going to be anything else). However, reality deems that I face facts: I'm not a rockstar in school. I'm solidly middle of the row.

So what do you do with a solidly middle of the row aptitude? How does one deal with the fact that despite an enormously inflated ego, you're just not as smart as you think you are? I guess appreciate the humility of it all? I really have no idea. I guess I should get started finding out.

The Middle Way

So I have some pretty negative thoughts on pornography. Negative as in, even typing the word makes my teeth grit together and my blood pressure rise.

The other night, I was at Piper Down with some friends. For some reason, all their television screens that night were showing porn. Not just boobs, but full-on female nudity, girl on girl action, etc. I'm not even sure what the show was about, but it seemed along the lines of some Girls Gone Wild action- except with full sex scenes, etc. When it first came on, I tried to ignore it and pretend it wasn't happening- tried to ignore seeing all the guys I was with watching it, etc. But as time went on and the seemingly never ending parade of boobs and sex kept coming, I just felt myself get angrier and angrier. I mentioned to my friend that I was thinking of asking Piper if they wouldn't mind changing the channel. Her response was just to "ignore it." Another friend of mine chimed in and said the same thing, that it wasn't that big of a deal. And I basically snapped a gasket. I told him OF COURSE it wasn't a big deal, to HIM, because he had a PENIS. I told him that it was impossible for him to understand the perpetuation of objectification and degradation toward women that comes in conjunction with pornography because he was a man. I was angry. Not at him, per say, but at the entire situation. Even now, I'm fighting back the urge to make this a post about the shittiness of porn.

Anyway, after my rant, I sat there feeling waves of anger just rolling over me. I really felt emotionally spent. I was worried that my friendship might be compromised due to yelling at my friend about his laissez-faire attitude. I wasn't having a good time. And the naked girl parade was still going on in full force. My anger had essentially accomplished nothing positive.

In Buddhism, there's talk about finding the Middle Way. As someone who does not identify as Buddhist, I apologize to those with more expertise on the subject than I have if I misinterpret the concept, but I believe it's the concept that in all things, balance is key. This applies to the normal, boring things like diet, sleep, exercise, sex, etc. However, it also applies to things like emotions, where allowing a particular emotion/mindset/belief to become entrenched is also a way to become out of balance. In fact, it seems like most of the focus on balance, regards this emotional upset that occurs when we attach to our thoughts. You see this focus on awareness and disattachment to thoughts in cognitive psychology too- I just think the Buddhist concept of the Middle Way is an appealing viewpoint.

Anyway, so I've been thinking about the concept of the Middle Way for a while. I think, for me at least, it gets tricky around things like politics and feminism and other ideologies that I subscribe to. How to be an effective proponent and supporter of things I believe in and yet not allow the beliefs about them to overattach? That's where it really gets tricky.

So for now, I'm practicing letting go with porn. Digging right down to the nitty gritty of it and admitting that, for as much as I utterly loathe it, all that loathing isn't going to stop girls from stripping for the camera in order to win "Most Sexy" or "Best Boobs." In fact, my loathing essentially accomplishes porn's initial intention- it deidentifies these women for me- I stop seeing them as individuals and can only see them in the context that they are displayed. I stop caring about them as human beings and instead feel resentful that they are playing active roles in supportive a sex culture that commodifies them- essentially putting them in the role of "other"- which then places me in a similar role to men who only see them as an objectification of sex. The only difference is how we each moralize it.

In other instances of successful letting go, I've noticed that it doesn't make me any less of an advocate. In fact, approaching things like this from a more positive, less attached position often times means I've been able to more strongly explain my positions without all the emotion. Hopefully, that means that next time, instead of becoming Mt. Vesuvius next time Piper does Girls Gone Wild night, I'll be fine with simply asking if they could turn the channel. And if they don't, that will be fine too.