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Those Dark Places

posted 31st May 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 4

I’ve been watching the cracks form around the edges of my little life lately. I’ve been waiting for them to become large enough for me to fall into. Part of me hopes that it would provide me a bit of respite. I know it won’t.

Molly wrote about feeling overwhelmed a couple of weeks ago. When I read it, I knew that we’d been living in the very same place; a place where everything looks sudden, urgent, and necessary. Everything becomes a top priority (therefore nothing is a priority anymore). And, while I’ve been busy treating everything as a reactionary cause, I’ve been losing sight. Again.

I’ve been told more than once that I need to slow down, settle into my new role of mamahood. “Enjoy these next few months because you’ll miss them when they’re gone?”

Part of me wants to believe them.

Sure, who wouldn’t want to be eight months pregnant, suffering through nasty bouts of heartburn coupled with abnormally swollen ankles and the onset of what can only be described as “Holy Shit Mood Swings”? It does seem rather enviable, doesn’t it? I’m bipolar. I’ve never been shy about that. It’s not what defines me but it is a part of me. Lately, everything makes me cry. Lately, I’m faced with dark corners that I hadn’t thought of before.

Friendships. Relationships. Inward reflection. External journeys. Doubts. Hopes. Dreams. Fears. Failures.

Standard stuff, really.

And while part of me wants to “slow down”, the other part is terrified to.

I have too much going on right now to even consider slowing down. I give pause and think about decorating the nursery from time-to-time only to turn my attention back to more important, pressing concerns (again with the reactionary). People inquire about my excitement levels all the time. I don’t know what to tell them anymore. Most often, I lie and say, “Oh, sure. Who wouldn’t be?”

Note the verb.

Lie.

I have to LIE.

In polite conversation, people want to know that my impending mamahood is the only thing that matters to me right now. In polite conversation, I have to grit my teeth and agree. My father and I have often agreed that we go around with blood in our mouths from just… biting back our responses.

So, am I excited?

Of course.

But not.

And then I get an overwhelming dose of guilt as I try to figure out why it is that I can’t seem to get excited about the baby’s arrival. It’s another one of those dark places, lovelies; a dark place where I’m convinced that I’m going to be a neglectful mother that would much rather run off to New York than attend her kids’ recitals. It’s a fucking hard place to be — this dark place — but I’m forcing myself to figure out why that place exists at all.

A few weeks ago, I watched a friendship implode. Violently. I was left reeling, in spite of my best efforts not to react. Or, at the very least, to make a conscious effort to react in a somewhat positive way. Did it hurt? Of course it did. Do I get a nasty pit in my stomach every time I think about this person? Damn straight. But was I going to sink into the same dark place this person was? No. I care about said person, in spite of the ire that was loosed on me, and it would serve no purpose (except some self indulgent rambling and raging) to hurl insults.

Inside, I was no better. I wanted to hurtle insults. I wanted to fall into that nasty place, too. It would’ve been easy — much easier than brushing myself off and saying, “I love you but I can’t do this. I wish you well.”

I was angry. I’m STILL morose.

But those cracks are starting to get bigger.

This person found a very apt way of making sure I knew that. Drawing attention to my rather sore spot of being oversensitive in the first place is an excellent way to locate a major fault line in my foundation. And then throw a stick of dynamite down it to see what happens.

Nothing says, “I love you” quite like a stick of dynamite, after all.

Our dark places are scary. Overwhelmingly so, even. It’s good to examine our dark places — in the mirror, on paper, during meditation. It’s even good to set up camp there once in a while.

I refuse to live in that dark place.

Tomorrow will be brighter.

I know it.

Image found via Image Spark.

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Guilt and Regret, Ugly Twins

posted 30th May 2011    Written by: Dee    CATEGORY: All Posts, Dee, Life Lesson, Love/Relationships, Money, Tips & Tools, What I've Learned

See that cupcake? Best cupcake I’ve ever had. Creamy Coconut with Buttercream Frosting. Drool. So good, I ate two.

Last week, instead of gluing myself to a chair at a coffee shop for the umpteenth evening in a row, I went to see a movie and grabbed a couple of beers with friends.

At work, I said no to a project that I just simply didn’t have the time to give my best.

Wanna know what I did last night? Ate chips in my bed while I surfed the web past 2 am. Yeah. Did it.

Wanna know what I didn’t do? Feel guilty.

But usually, I do. What I’m working through right now, among a million other things, is being myself, listening to my “inner Dee,” the friendly voice that gently guides me towards what I need and truly want, and training myself to let go of unnecessary guilt. Sometimes, what I need is a damn cupcake, chips in bed, or a night of watching Real Housewives in my underwear. Other times, my voice tells me that I need to close down Twitter and read that assigned scholarly article, pick up the phone and call my parents, or tackle the pile of dishes.

The trick here is letting go of the idea that perfection means eating healthy, getting 8 hours of sleep, tackling amazing projects, managing to squeeze in every social activities and family gathering all while wearing a polished outfit with a complementary shade of lipstick every day. Some days, perfect is sweats and leisurely reading. Some days, it’s throwing the schedule out the window and cleaning the closets. Some days it’s a real Coca-Cola Classic, you know? Other days, it’s shutting up the lazy voice and plowing through responsibility or gritting your teeth and doing what you said you’d do. I guess it’s all about listening carefully to what our souls are asking for.

I mean, the deal is, I’m going to do a lot of the stuff I do anyway. I need to embrace it and get rid of the constant feeling that I should have made a different decision. That’s me, that’s Dee. I’m a chipped nail polish, dust on my coffee table, stay out a little too late over wine kinda girl. I’m a sometimes chips and magazines in bed, sometimes careful vegetarian, sometimes greasy hair hidden in a ballcap, sometimes dolled-up, sometimes two cupcakes, sometimes long run kinda girl. One way is not always better than the other. One way should not be associated with negativity and fill me with guilt and regret. Right? They’re all me, all in response to the way I feel. Now, sure, everything in moderation is a key here. But, another key that I don’t usually use is the one that opens the door to allowing myself a break now and then because I just flat-out need it without the guilt, guilt, guilt.

Guilt, by definition, is associated with wrongness. What, I wonder, is so wrong with cutting myself some slack now and then? Nothin.

Besides, “perfect” gets boring. “Perfect” can get monotonous. “Perfect” is never spicy and juicy enough for me. I gotta have the days in sweats to feel beautiful in a dress. I gotta miss a night out in order to appreciate when I can hit the town. I gotta give myself some cushion so that I can appreciate it when I’m getting it all just right. And without the crippling guilt.

Furthermore, guilt is associated, for me, with my limitations. The limitations of time, the limitations of my body, the limitations that arise out of conflict. I could spend all day thinking about the zillion things I want to do with and in my life. There’s so much! There’s too much! And that, my friends, makes me downright sad sometimes.

Guilt can be good. Yes. In small doses. For the big stuff. But guilt about the small stuff builds into stress that destroys the rest of stuff.

 

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Reconnecting with Food, Letting go of Deprivation

posted 29th May 2011    Written by: Juliana    CATEGORY: All Posts, Juliana, Life Lesson, Season 4

I shouldn’t be impressed by a carrot. I mean, vegetables are probably one of the more mundane things in life, almost as common as dirt. But there I was, having my socks blown off by a root vegetable (and frankly, by the common dirt I was pulling it from as well.) I couldn’t believe how pretty it was, and how it seemed like a small miracle that this edible thing was sitting right there, underground, waiting for me to find it.

This is my third week volunteering at a local organic farm.  I’m working a few hours a week in exchange for a share of the harvest – every week we get to take home a big bag full of produce, most of which was harvested only the day before. The benefits of this work are exceeding my expectations.  Initially, I expected it to be good physical work, which it is — lots of tilling, weeding, bending, lifting, carrying — and a boost to my vitamin D intake.  What I didn’t fully expect was the immense satisfaction that comes with pulling your own food from the ground, cutting a leaf and eating it only moments later, sweating and working and feeling like you’re really earning your lunch. I’m finding myself not only actually fed by this work, but fed in a spiritual sense, too. And when I sit down and eat a huge bowl of salad made up of greens I picked with new friends and fellow volunteers, I feel completely satisfied.

I’m also celebrating two weeks dairy-free today. Yes, I said celebrating. I never thought I would be able to turn away from a delicious piece of cheese, but I am finding that, partly because of the farm work, I’m healing my relationship to food in more than one way. After some research and experimentation, it occurred to me that I may have low-grade allergic reactions to dairy. I decided to try to go for one month without it and see how I felt.   I was surprised after only a few days that I felt less sluggish, and my seasonal allergies seemed to disappear!  About a week in, I was doing really well, but I started to feel deprived. Images of a giant slice of cheesy, melty pizza started dancing in my head. One day, because I’d planned poorly and was way overdue for lunch, I impulsively stopped at the neighborhood pizza joint on the way home and got two slices. (Keep in mind I’m also not tolerant of wheat products, so pizza is like the ultimate forbidden food!) They tasted amazing, but my enjoyment didn’t last very long. Before the night was over, I had a terrible bellyache, and the next morning I woke up with a horrific allergy attack! Stuffy nose, sore throat, the works. I decided right there, in between helpless seizures of sneeze attacks, to get back on the wagon.

For awhile, even though I understood the health benefits of all of these dietary choices, it still felt like it wasn’t fair. It felt like deprivation, and that I didn’t “get to” eat the way everyone else did. It sucked that I was allergic to some foods and had to plan more carefully for meals than other people or else suffer the consequences. Many times, this feeling of deprivation led me to ignore what my body was clearly telling me and binge on the very foods that hurt me, all in the name of feeling “normal” and satisfying a temporary craving.

Today I ate a vegan lunch and felt full and grateful. I didn’t wish for a sandwich or a cheese sauce. As I ate, I admired the creativity and bounty of the meal (sweet potato tacos with cabbage and pineapple salsa, and a bowl of rice & beans. Yum.) Something has shifted in my thinking about being dairy and wheat free, eating mostly vegetables, and aiming for organic whenever possible. I am finally starting to internalize the idea that choosing the foods that make my body the happiest is the very opposite of deprivation – it is true nourishment. Connecting with my food on an intimate level at the farm fills me with awe and appreciation for the Earth and its ability to sustain us if we take care of it.  I see that same appreciation echoed in how I view my body, the body that works so hard for me every day and all it asks of me is that I take care of it.

I know it will take time before I stop being tempted by “forbidden foods”, but in the meantime I will continue to seek out the things that help my body be at its best, and with each day on the farm, I’ll be even more impressed with common vegetables.

 

 

[photo by bookgrl ]

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The Reason For Korea

posted 27th May 2011    Written by: Katharine    CATEGORY: All Posts, Katharine, Season 4, Travel, Travel/Adventure, What I've Learned

“Nothing else matters as much as the journey.”

It’s not about teaching English as a second language.  It’s not about running away from my unsatisfying life in the States.  It’s not about where I end up after this truth-seeking journey is complete.

It’s about traveling solo because I can.  It’s about pushing my boundaries to build more confidence.  It’s about meeting new people from all over the world because I’m fascinated with accents, cultures, and stories.  But most importantly, it’s about why I chose this journey back to my homeland.

Honestly, I can’t explain it.  Something deep in my heart told me that I needed to get here.  Why now?  Because I’m on this journey of self-discovery and I knew South Korea needed to be visited.

This country is truly amazing.  I didn’t have any expectations going into this.  I knew I would struggle with the language barrier and I knew that I would feel a wave of emotions about returning to a place where my life had once started.

Being here has been much more challenging though.  I can’t read any of the signs and, for the most part, I don’t know what I’m ordering at restaurants because Koreans like to eat weird things.  Like pig intestine and pork bowel.  I unfortunately ate both of these on two separate occasions and neither one of them were good.  American food (pizza, burgers, etc.) is Koreanized, meaning they add seafood (usually squid or octopus) to it or cook it in a different oil so it tastes different.

Two of the [emotionally] toughest things I’ve experienced here is: being mistaken for a Native Korean and being a foreigner.  I’ve had four different Koreans try to converse with me, thinking I speak Korean (for good reason).  I nearly broke down and cried in the middle of the Metro platform the other day when someone walked up to me and asked me a question in Korean.  I feel like a fake walking around Seoul sometimes. Native Koreans stare at me constantly while I’m riding the Metro or walking down the street because I look like a foreigner.  Maybe it’s the way I dress, or the fact that I speak English fluently (and without a trace of a Korean accent), or the fact that I really don’t look like any of the other million Koreans walking around.

But as emotionally challenging as this experience has been for me for the last week, I’m really glad I did this.  Something told me to get here, I listened, and I have no regrets. South Korea is a wonderful place full of rich history, culture, and palaces and I encourage everyone to visit at least once.  One thing I’m taking away with me from this trip (besides souvenirs) is that I feel blessed to have been raised in America. Koreans are abrasive.  Constantly yelling at you for no reason (or because you threw your empty coffee cup in their trash can because there are no public trash cans in Seoul) and always pushing and shoving you everywhere you go without apologizing.  I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened to me in the Metro or on the street.  Frankly, I. Can’t. Stand. It.

This journey back to my homeland has been incredible.  It’s opened my eyes up to what my life could have been like and how blessed I am to have been given a second chance at life.  Truthfully though, I’m not sure if I’ll ever return here again.  As much as I want to find my biological parents, perhaps there are some things in [my] life that aren’t worth knowing.  The fact that I had the courage to return in the first place is perhaps enough for me to finally close this chapter of my life.

{photo credit: taken at City Hall in downtown Seoul}

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Going to the Chapel

posted 26th May 2011    Written by: Bri    CATEGORY: All Posts, Bri, Events, Love/Relationships

I’m getting married tomorrow.  Married.

I am equal parts excited and pumped with a nice streak of freaking-completely-out thrown in there for good measure.  Completely normal, right?

When Mr. A and I first started talking about the future I told him that I was terrified of marriage.  Being a mother seemed like second nature, but marriage scared me.  What if I mess it up?

On the one hand, I’ve seen my mom go though two divorces.  I was eight when my parents divorced.  There was anger, sadness, depression, and lots of yelling (I still do not respond well to yelling); my brother and I were caught in the crossfire.  My Dad never fully recovered from the divorce.  For the past 20 years he’s never really dated.  I don’t think he believes in love or marriage anymore.  His heart was broken so severely he was never able to figure out how to open himself up again.  Marriages fall apart all the time, and some people never ever recover from it.  I don’t want that to happen to me.  Divorce is not an option.

On the other hand I’ve seen real love and lasting marriages.   My Grandparents have been married for 35 years and my Grandpa calls my Grams his soul mate.  After all this time, his eyes still sparkle when he talks about her.  He will tell anyone who will listen how lucky he got when she agreed to marry him. I have Aunts and Uncles who’ve gone though very real ups-and-downs and refused to give up on their marriages.  I’ve seen people fight for their marriages and succeed.  I hope that my marriage has the same endurance and fortitude.

Mr. A and I know that this is the easy part.  Falling in love with him and marrying him tomorrow will be as natural to me as breathing.  I know that we will have times that are really hard though.  My favorite line from The Notebook has prepared me well:

So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be really hard. We’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, for ever, you and me, every day.

I am going into this knowing one thing for certain: we are going to fuck it up. We are going to fight and have issues that seem unresolvable.  We will both have moments where we act out of selfishness and spite.  We will say things more out of anger that we know will hurt the other person.  We will probably go to bed exhausted and angry more than once.  We will lose our way at times and have to walk through the darkness to get back to each other.

If we’re lucky we’ll look back at our marriage in forty years knowing that we always found our way back to each other.  We will see the rough patches, but we’ll also see the relief we both felt when we’ve navigated successfully though.  If I’m lucky Mr. A’s eyes will still dance when he talks about me and I will still tell people how no one have ever made me feel more loved and secure than he does.  If we’re lucky we will have a life full of laughter and happiness that far outweighs the tears and heartache that are sure to come.  If we’re lucky we’ll never ever give up on each other and this marriage that we’re starting tomorrow.  If we’re lucky our child will make a speech at our 50th wedding anniversary confirming that we modeled real love for him/her.  If we’re lucky.

Wish me luck tribe; luck and a ton of love, grace, and determination.  We’re having a super tiny wedding tomorrow, but if we were having a huge ceremony I would have wanted this to be read.  It’s my prayer for our marriage.

On Marriage
Kahlil Gibran

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

 

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