Spontaneously Not Spontaneous

I am spontaneous. I love going out on random expeditions at the drop of a hat, whether it be just out to a movie, visit family, or to scamper off to a foreign country (when the wallet permits). If a friend calls me up wanting to do something fun, I have no problem dropping everything to show up on their doorstep seven minutes later. And I'm adaptable. I can go with an itinerary or without.

Unless I have serious work to do. Then I either need a little extra cajoling or perhaps an hour or two to finish up and then head out.

I kind of like this part of my personality. It gives me freedom and variety in my life, and I think inserts a dollop of vivacity and fun in my otherwise reserved demeanor. If I had to write a Top Ten list of things I like about myself, this would probably be on it.

So it comes to my surprise and dismay when I learn that actually I don't always do well when there is no plan at all and I expect there to be one. This isn't true in foreign countries because...well, frankly, I generally expect things not to go as planned in foreign countries. But if I have notions that things will pan out one way and then everything is suddenly up in the air, I get frustrated. I seethe. Especially, as my husband points out, when the lack of plan gets in between me and the consumption of food within reasonable intervals. I get grumpy and sarcastic and am suddenly that old man grumbling incoherently at innocent passersby.

I don't think it's a control issue because I don't always feel I need to be in control or always have to have my way - though things going my way is, of course, desirable. But it might be true that the crux of the biscuit lies somewhere in the category of whether I feel the plan changes involved consideration of me. For example, if someone says they'll visit at a particular hour, but then calls 15 minutes after they were supposed to arrive to say that, actually, they'll be there in another half hour. And then this happens repeatedly until half my day is wasted waiting - because what can you do for half an hour when you're prepared and expecting to leave? - when I could have spent the time doing something else until the time the person actually showed up.

And this is when I face the fact I'm a self-centered curmudgeon who appreciates punctuality, and failing punctuality, at least an apology. Nothing big, just some token to show they realize they've been obnoxious. Because people should always be thinking of the effects their actions have on me, right?

...No? ....Oh. Darnit.

I mean, because that's the consideration I would show them.

...and I expect everyone to act like me.

Wait...no, that's not what I mean either.

So, yes. Self-centered curmudgeon. Must work on that. Oh, the failings of being an only child.

P.S. This post is my 100th post! I had actually hoped to celebrate with the unveiling of my blog's new location, but am still waiting for new location to be ready. It's thisclose to being ready, but alas, it is not. So I'll have to settle for Ugly-Truth-About-Self blog instead.

MaeKhun.

The yogini walked around the class dabbing essential oils in our palms; some mixture of roses, citrus, and yleng yleng. As I rubbed the oils between my hands and brought the scent to my face, I was hit, forcibly, with the scent of my grandmother. She died two years ago, and still her scent has the power to undo me. Overcome, I lay there, crying in shavasana.

My grandmother was the salt of the earth. Raised on a farm in Supunburi, Thailand, she knew what it was to till the soil and set ancient roots. She gave birth to five girls, and when her husband met an untimely passing, she raised them on her own. She was solid, heavy-boned. Her skin looked like worn, browned leather, but felt like soft butter cream. Barely 4'11", she was compact in size, but dynamite can come in small packages. She didn't talk much, but she never hesitated to tell it like it is.

She used to tell my father, who had quite inappropriately never paid a dowry when he married my mother, that proper Thai women will massage a man's feet when he comes home from work. My dad would eye my mother and say, "I don't get any of that." My grandmother would retort, "You get what you pay for."

Because we lived on two different continents for most of my life, I never spent much time with my grandmother, and most of the time we did have together, I was fairly young - around 7 or 8. She spoke only Thai, and at the time I spoke only English, so most communication revolved around sleeping, eating, and making funny noises at each other until we both heaved with laughter. With such little verbal communication between us, I don't suppose I can say I knew her in the way most people know others. But somehow I don't feel that I needed to. Because sometimes, when it comes to family, words are superfluous. I feel in her my blood, and in my bones, and it is there that I know her.

My Asian grandmother was like a solitary storm cloud hovering on the south east horizon. She was silent and steady, heavy with the volition of ancestral spirits. Though diminuitive in size, her presence was larger than life. She was hardened, tough, and weathered by the processes of time. But there was a depth to her; a depth so profound that one couldn't help but always keep her in the corner of one's eye, even when she was far away. She was the matriach. It was foolish to make a move without first considering her. All of life moved below her, under her watchful eye. When she passed, it was like the heavy storm cloud dissipating into the light. Though she is gone, the memory of her is an indelible imprint; like a footstep pressed into sand.

You Capture – You

I have a confession to make.
I'm a mommy blogger wannabe.

I want into that club. But no matter how badly I might want to, I cannot join that club because I am missing one key ingredient: a child. I want children. I want to hear the pitter-patter of little feet down wooden hallways. I want to read my kids stories, to see their first steps, hear their first words, and meet their first friends, favorites, and loves.

But since I cannot have children or even a house just yet, I have to soothe the beast that is my biological imperative by any means I can. So I embarked upon a project to take our tiny little shoebox apartment and upgrade everything I could to make it a home. (To see the results, you can go to my blogpost on it here.)

So this is me. Laying bare my heart's desire and my modest attempts to seek it.

This is my hand, painting my dream, that I may call it a home.

These are my feet, bearing me upon the precipe, that I might reach for the sky.

This is my face wishing, and my heart thrumming, that I might satiate the beast within...
... just one day more.

“I must obey the inscrutable exhortations of my soul.” - Calvin & Hobbes

For more self-portraits, check out Beth's website: I Should Be Folding Laundry and this week's You Capture challenge!

Things I Wish I'd Learned in High School

When I look back on my high school education, there's not much I can think of that I learned that's really stuck with me over the years. Geometry? Pssh. Biology? Ha! History? Doubt it. Most of what I know of history I learned after high school. Pretty much only some books I read in my Literature class and the lessons on how to write essays really stuck with me.

And really, I'm not feeling like I'm missing out on too much for not remembering most of those four years because in my daily life I just don't encounter such things often.

But what I do wish is that high school had a Life Skills class. This class might be similar to Home Ec, which my school actually didn't have. But a Life Skills class would be more comprehensive; not just cooking or carrying an egg around, pretending it's an actual child. It should be a year long course, senior year, when students realize that hey, maybe this stuff could come in handy. (Yes, I know, I hear teachers and administrators grumbling "Good luck finding resources for that.")

It would include segments on:
- How to write a business letter and resume

- How to do well in a job interview, and other professional etiquette

- How to change your oil & tires, and other basic car maintenance
Because you never know when you'll actually need this kind of information. Or at least, if you'd rather not spend the dough to have someone else do it for you (because pedicures are much more fun ways to use that money).

- How to use a sewing machine
I confess. For the life of me, I cannot use a sewing machine. I can sew well by hand, but that takes forever. So I borrowed my mom's machine and I got online instructions on how to thread it and of course it was step-by-step with illustrative pictures for mounting the spool and getting the thread to the needle. But then the complex bit with the bobbin was reduced to "you just put the doohickey in and around the thingamabob, turn and pull the loop up tight and there you go!" Wait, what? The more sure I was I had finally gotten it right, the bigger disaster I created when I actually tried to use the thing. In the battle between me and the machine, the Singer won.

- How to understand credit cards, mortgages, and manage them wisely
Credit crisis. Need I say more?

- A whole month could be devoted to conflict management
In college, I took a class on conflict management and it was definitely one of the most useful classes I've ever had in my life. People don't know how to deal with conflict, and often end up exacerbating the argument when they're just trying to resolve it. Little do they realize, their own actions are what fuels the conflict more than anything else. Learning how to stand up for yourself, listen to what the other is saying, and still find ways to de-escalate a tense situation is a lesson everyone can use. Might save a marriage or two. At least, people might come to understand that everybody has a role to play in creating a conflict and that we all must own up to our own responsibility when things go wrong. Nobody is only victim, much as we might like to think so.

- How to be a good citizen
More than just understanding the process and knowing the institutions (which is what your Government class is supposed to cover), students should be taught the importance of various civic duties like voting and charity & community service, as well as how to perform such functions. But they should also learn more about other roles they can perform as a citizen, such as: buying products in a socially conscious way, engaging productively in discussions with others about politics to learn about different points of views, serving in the military, and the myriad ways they can make themselves heard (not just once every four years at the ballot box). Not saying everybody has to do all these things all the time, but students should be encouraged to engage with society in deeper and broader ways.

- How to live in a more eco-friendly way
This is a huge topic, so maybe it would work best to be directed by class interest, beyond such staples as recycling and being product conscious. But it could cover anything from energy efficiency to urban farming, all in ways that are simultaneously cost-conscious. Ultimately, people are free to choose to live life how they want to, but I do think these things are becoming a big enough fact of life that people should know at least how to go about living in a more eco-friendly way, should they decide to do so.

True, we live now in the great age of the internet, where most of this information can be found online. But who wants to learn everything the hard way? (wink) Are there any life skills you wish someone had taught you, or that you think more people need to know?

Something's in the Water

The weirdest thing just happened today. I was thinking about things I just need to get up the gumption to go out and fight for. Things that require leaving the comfort of "I will do it someday" to actually go out and do right now. There will almost inevitably be frustration and disappointment...but the dream is worth fighting for.

And as I was thinking those thoughts, I strolled across a blog I read regularly that spoke right to me and told me to get out there and fucking fight for it, and what the hell are you waiting for, already? Pardon my french.

And I was thinking: What a strange thing to come across something I needed to hear when I wasn't looking to hear it. Was it fate? Was it coincidence? And as I was thinking those thoughts, I came across a blog I've never read before in my life that said, quite randomly, at the very bottom of its page:

I don't believe in coincidence.

Message received.

Nesting Pains Soothed

For those following the Nesting Pains saga, today we find its culmination. In the final fit of turning Shoebox Apartment into Home, I painted our kitchen cabinets and living room walls (landlord be damned). And the result is deeply satisfying.

I sought to try out a new aesthetic: something along the lines of vintage Victorian; classy, with a little funk.

These were my tools.
This was the coffee I cracked myself out on.
This is what the kitchen used to look like.
This is what it looks like now.
Instead of the drab old gray, I introduced a sunny, minty green. With cute little accents like these.
And these.
Then I took our boring, white living room walls and painted them a lovely, dove gray, which complements so nicely the new kitchen green.
And looks so elegant with the white trim, and blends so well with our new bathroom decor.
I especially love little details like this pink orchid against the gray wall.
And the gorgeous new pillow covers I found on Etsy (from seller Clee27).
I'm still waiting for my new table runner to arrive in the mail, but once it does, my renovations will be complete.

A little paint will go a long way towards soothing one's soul.

The Ballad of Jack & Rose

Watching this movie, for me, was something like watching an exquisitely produced and gorgeously rendered slow-motion series of train wrecks. It was so beautiful, and yet so traumatic to watch. The acting, direction, and cinematography were all absolutely superb, and the characters had such great - or at least understandable - intentions and desires, but they went about them all the wrong way. And you, the audience, know the travesty is coming and are powerless to stop it.

My husband and I got two very different readings of the movie. Or perhaps, more accurately, we came away from it with two very different messages. Honestly, what he got from it was probably much closer to the filmmaker's intent. It's as the film wanted to say "See? This is how it's supposed to be! Happiness is freedom from the corruption of others."

I wanted to shout "No! You've got it all wrong!" Because if that is indeed what the movie intended, then I disagree with it's basic view of human nature and the purpose and effects of human society, and I can draw evidence from it's own characters and plot to show why I disagree.

I realize at this point I'm not doing a very good job of selling this movie. But if you like independent films, films with multiple possible interpretations, or movies that make you think about where you stand in this world, then this is the movie for you. (Highly recommended for burners, artists, philosophers, and political and literary theorists. Burners especially will relate to the difficulty of moving between an ideal world and the 'default world'.) I don't want to spoil any of the movie for anyone, so I won't say exactly what happens in it. Beyond its premise, I'll only say what it made me think about.

Daniel Day-Lewis does an outstanding job of portraying an environmentally-conscious father, Jack, who raises his daughter, Rose, on a remote island where they are almost entirely self-sufficient. They live in near total peace and happy harmony until he becomes terminally ill and realizes he must work out some other arrangement to care for his daughter when he passes away. So he tries to introduce other people to their little happy commune and trouble ensues from there. Catherine Keener, Paul Dano, Jason Lee, and Beau Bridges also star in this film.

It's rather difficult to discuss without getting into specifics, but what I thought when I saw the movie was that it shows just how powerful socialization is in shaping us. Our parents and all the people around us have a very important role to play in shaping our beliefs, in how we interact with the world, and what we know to be right and wrong. And what I really thought when I saw it was that what is really important is to have a variety of people around us, to teach us right from wrong as well as how to interact well with others. Perhaps it's the Buddhist in me speaking, but what I saw was a need for balance: that going too far for one ideal means sacrificing others (and in this movie, it puts you in the awkward position of facing the question: is incest wrong because society says it's wrong, or is there something inherently wrong with incestuous relationships?). Growing up with only her father, Rose acquired all his ideals, but she also suffered tremendously because of his failings. Because he didn't know how to communicate, she didn't either - and her attempts at communication devolved into increasingly hurtful and dangerous actions designed to protect her self interest. I'm not saying she is wrong; only that she didn't know better. She had only ever been allowed to be with her father, could only know what it was to love him, which led to a sexual mess when it came to any positive feelings towards men.

We may not always like what people different from us do and say, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are indecent people. As different as people may be, we do share commonalities, and more importantly, there is often something we can learn from others. Ideology is important, having a set of values is what defines us as a people and as individuals, but sometimes ideological coherence is not itself ideal. Ideals taken to the extreme can lead to suffering, and ultimately undermine their own purpose.

Nesting Pains Continued

In the unending saga of desire to make a nest and call it home to fill with approximately two munchkins, I've decided that if I can't have a real nest at least maybe I can have a half nest and fill it with pretty things to help me pretend I have a real nest.

I recently visited a friend who lives with her husband in an apartment in San Francisco. It's a two-bedroom, but they've decorated with nice furniture. Furnishing we call adult furniture. Not college furniture. Not the fossilized hand-me-downs from parents. Not the Back-To-School sale items from Linens N' Things, and definitely not the lumpy old couch filled with beer stains, old farts, and that one sticky spot that nobody can quite identify ('Cuz really, does anyone even remember what happened that one night?).

I bought a townhouse when the market was good and I had a well-paying job, and I remember being overwhelmed with how much it would cost to furnish the townhouse with nice things. It seemed practically empty. But when I made the decision to go to grad school (what was I thinking?), I had to rent that one out, turn it in for a shoebox room in a (crazy) house, shared with other (crazy) people. Enter boyfriend-now-husband, I've upgraded to shoebox apartment. And now I'm stuck in a tiny space, with furniture crammed in without an inch to spare.

But the nesting pains are hitting hard, with no end in sight for the foreseeable future. And when it does come time to buy a house, I don't want to be quite so overwhelmed with all the stuff we'd have to get to fill it properly.

So I figure, in the meantime, it would be worthwhile to at least UPGRADE the stuff we do have. We can exchange the college things we have just because we have to have something to sit on/eat at/cook with, and turn them in for nice things in an aesthetic we actually enjoy (the wedding went a long way towards helping with this). We have nice dishes, stemware, and bedding we adore. We have a big ass flat screen TV (and pretty much everything Apple has come out with). I can't control the fact that we live in a shoebox, but I can control what a lot of our stuff looks like. With a few low-cost touches, I think we can make our place much nicer, much more OUR OWN, spread out the financial pain of getting stuff to fill a real home, and also try out different aesthetics to get a feel for what we like and what we'll tire of before committing whole-hog.

Step 1:
Upgrade the bathroom. Now, some of you might remember the fiasco that was our shower tile remodeling. For those who don't, you really ought to read this post: Construction Madness.

There's still not much I can do about the navy blue tile, but at least I can hide it behind a shower curtain. And not this one:

This curtain was a gift from Toby's stepmom (and I'm pretty sure she purchased it with an inordinate amount of glee from Ikea). The little dancing stick animal figures are not entirely my aesthetic, but it was a gift, kind of cute, and it has served us well for several years now. That rug has definitely served its time, having come from my old college roommate, Katie, back in oh-naught. Somehow, move after move, it has ended up in my possession, and I am very ready to retire it.

I saw a gorgeous satin teal and brown shower curtain (honestly, the picture doesn't do it justice) and had to snap it up immediately.

I got towels and mat to match, and am very pleased with the results. For a full two days afterward, I kept walking by the bathroom just to bask in the glow of excitement for pretty, new decor. (Yes, I am this domestic. Bite me.) I plan to add a couple more accents, but that is for a later post.

Step 2:
Renovate coffee table. We don't have a dining room; all we have is this coffee table that serves simultaneously as a work station, TV viewing spot, and dining table. It is a hand-me-down from my parents. I'm pretty sure it's approximately 20 years old, and given perhaps another 10 years, it might actually come back in style. But it is still a perfectly good table, and I think combined with our current living room furniture, would serve really well in a future office, den or game room. It's worth holding on to, but after 20 years, it definitely collected some dust, grime, and gunk.

So last night I spent a couple of hours scrubbing and sanding it down. I really wish I had the forethought to take a Before picture. But even just cleaning it was a marked improvement. It looked quite pretty.

But this morning, we hauled it out onto the front lawn and I whipped out my trusty little brushes and stained it.


And now it's all pretty. And shiny! Who knew it could shine? Not me. It just needs to dry a couple more hours, I'll slip the glass back on and ba-da-bing! Brand new old table. I'll cover it with this table runner, and our living room will have a much needed face lift.

Steps 3 & 4 will involve painting our living room walls and kitchen cabinets. True, our landlord would have a hissy fit if he found out, but we plan to paint it back when we move out. And I have officially decided I Say No to swiss coffee. I am so tired of that stupid wall paint. From henceforth, my walls shall have color! We have visitors coming this weekend, so next weekend I will continue the decorating extravaganza. So stay tuned! Same bat time. Same bat channel.

Because Maybe Accountability Works

I have been much less productive than I have wanted to be lately - and certainly less productive than I need to be, and I am seeing the result in my waistline and to-do lists. Why, oh why, can't conspicuous consumption and consummate laziness equal health and prosperity?

Truth be told, I haven't been lazy exactly. I've just been too lax about my priorities. A little too much socializing, too little work, too much eating, too little exercise, and so the story goes. It's so much easier to forget to do something, or to bullshit away the time than to commit to a project and see it through. I do have discipline and can be disciplined, but the past couple of weeks haven't really proven it.

So today begins a new day. I got up at a decent hour, showered, exercised, and created my list of things to accomplish today (because nothing is more satisfying than crossing of items from a to-do list - even if the item you crossed off is "create a to-do list"). The fridge is stocked with fruits and vegetables, and I'm re-committing to my healthy diet. I'm also restricting my socializing, at least for now, something I haven't had to do since the first few years of grad school. But socializing is cutting too much in to my time to get work done. Moreover being out with others also inevitably introduces food and alcohol that I shouldn't be consuming. And the more alcohol there is, the more food I am guaranteed to shovel into my mouth. Oh margaritas, how you mock my resolve.

But not today. Today, I've got my running shoes on, and I'm raring to go.

Happy for No Reason

Yesterday, while running errands, I tuned into a segment on NPR where Marci Shimoff, author of Happy for No Reason, was giving an interview based on her research into happiness. I only caught a brief snippet of the interview, but what stood out to me was that she said everybody has a happiness quotient. This is the baseline ratio or number of how happy a person is, regardless of circumstance. You could win the lottery and within a year, you'd return to this baseline number.

This happiness quotient is about 50% genetic, but the rest of it is largely up to individual choice: how one chooses to view the world and respond to it. True happiness has nothing to do with what happens to you, what things you have in your life or what things you don't have. That happiness is superficial and fleeting. True happiness comes from what you give out. So for example, one of the things she said is that being loved is not a cause for true happiness. But giving out love, in gratitude, forgiveness, doing for others, caring for others...that's what brings true happiness. She quoted a Chinese proverb:

"If there is light in the soul, there will be beauty in the person. If there is beauty in the person, there will be harmony in the house. If there is harmony in the house, there will be order in the nation. If there is order in the nation, there will be peace in the world."

It seemed from what I caught in the interview that much of what she said was based on scientific research, though when I went to her website, it seemed very commercialized, with very little mention of data or credentials. So that makes me a little skeptical. But what she says has a lot of face validity to me - it sounds logical and true on it's face. It certainly reflects my own particular perspective and experience in the world.

What really struck me was the notion that people have a baseline happiness quotient regardless of circumstance-and that that happiness level has an affect on the people around you. I have known people whose mere presence in a room can either brighten it, or suck all the energy out of it.

There is a very remarkable difference between happy people who fall on hard times, and truly sad or angry people. Even if the hard times are lasting for happy people, and they turn to others for support, it is never an encumbrance to help them and be there for them. But people who are naturally more negative can be intensely draining to be around, even when they are in a decent mood. With them, there is always a problem, always a drama, and in my experience, they always find passive aggressive ways to let you know they're upset. And while I have been known to be passive aggressive when I was younger, once I got old enough to really see what I was doing, I worked hard to recognize and change that about myself because I can't stand passive aggressiveness. It's weak and ultimately harmful because: 1) it makes solving the problem infinitely more difficult because you're never dealing with the real issue, only smoke and mirrors and symptoms of the issue, 2) the passive-aggressor is only punishing everybody else for the unhappiness they feel, instead of ponying up to their own responsibility, and 3) the passive-aggressor gets to pretend they're the victim, they're misunderstood or unappreciated. They're so good at pretending this, they can't see past their own bullshit. They martyr themselves for others and resent it all the while.

But I digress. You can see this is a pet peeve of mine.

I don't know if Shimoff's argument is appealing because it contains both an ability to blame unhappiness on something over which we have no control, and an element where we can tell ourselves we can change how we feel-that we do have choice and control. We can tell ourselves, "I'm not to blame, but I have the freedom to change if I want." It's the epitome of American dogma, isn't it? I have long believed that happiness comes from how you choose to respond to the hand life deals you, but maybe we are predisposed-whether through nature or nurture-to be more optimistic or pessimistic. But I do know, of the unhappy people I've known, some could benefit from a healthy dose of gratitude for what others do for them and the others could do with a little bit of forgiveness.

But then, perhaps, they don't want to be happy. This is something else I have observed: some people are actually genuinely and perfectly content to wallow in a cocoon of self-pity.

The Language of Love and Grief

Several years ago, I heard a theory that people give love in different ways and it is important to learn to speak each other's language of love so that your loved ones perceive and appreciate your tokens of affection and so that you can see when others are giving love in return. It is when we misinterpret or don't even see each other's efforts that feelings of hurt and under-appreciation arise.

According to this theory, there are five languages of love: quality time, words of appreciation, expensive gifts, acts of service, and physical intimacy. We all engage in all or most of these actions to greater or lesser extent, but we usually tend towards one or two predominant ones. We give love and expect love back in those terms (or at least recognize it most easily). Quality time people relish most the time spent in their loved one's company. The act of being together, even if not really doing anything, often is more meaningful than the finest diamonds in the world. Words of appreciation people love to lavish praise and verbal affection, and it is warm words that mean the most to them. Meanwhile, for others, words are not as important as other gifts. For some, love is measured in extravagance. These people love to spoil and pamper, and the cost of the gift is proportional to the act of love. For others, love is measured in gifts of devotion. Cooking special dinners, helping with various and sundry tasks, and otherwise doing for others becomes a demonstration of love and affection. And finally, physical intimacy and the need and desire to embrace, hold hands, or just be in touch with someone (literally) becomes a manner of expressing love and affection.

I would say my language of love is primarily acts of service, with quality time and physical intimacy as secondary traits. I do engage in the other two, but to a much lesser extent. My husband, however, I would say is primarily and "expensive gifts" person, with quality time and physical intimacy as secondary traits. I used to expect more acts of service from him, and felt slighted and undervalued when I didn't always receive them. It wasn't until I began to see all the little and big tokens of affection - anywhere from buying groceries, to taking me to dinner, to the fabulous, expensive coats - as all the ways he shows me he loves me that I could truly see and appreciate his devotion on the level it deserved recognition. But with quality time and physical intimacy as both our secondary traits, we speak easily in those domains.

However, I think what might be true of love, might also be true of stress and grief. I've been listening to various family dramas lately and it occurs to me that people deal with grief differently too, and if we don't understand and respect each other's way of dealing with grief, increased conflict and hurt feelings could result.

From what I have seen in my limited experience, I think there might be four languages of grief: sympathizers, bottlers, imploders and exploders. Sympathizers (of whom I would be one) reach out to others for empathy in their grief. They love to console and be consoled, and this constitutes a major part of the grieving process for them, as well as a way to bond with others. They see empathy in times of need as another way to deepen a relationship. Bottlers, on the other hand, shut people out. They may even act passive-aggressively in dealing with their grief, but they keep it close to their chest and much prefer to deal with grief and anger on their own terms. Imploders are similar to bottlers in their sense that they are better left to themselves when upset. They grumble in anger, they may even be spectacularly violent in their fury and perhaps destroy a few inanimate objects, but if left to their own devices, their pain is usually short-lived. Finally, exploders are those who deal with anger and grief outwardly. In more positive ways, they may insist upon dealing with problems and hashing out concerns with the targets of their frustration, working at a problem until it is resolved. In more negative manifestations, they may engage in accusations, argumentation and blame.

I think these categories may even fall along two dimensions: intimacy and time to deal, where intimacy refers to how inwardly or outwardly grief manifests itself in relation to other people. Time to deal refers to how long it takes to manage and resolve the grief.

While I'm a sympathizer, I would say my husband is an imploder. But I quickly learned to give him space and he learned that a warm embrace and a few sweet words go a long way towards me finding me inner peace again. Thankfully in doing so, both of us help each other deal with grief more efficiently so the bad times don't last any longer than they have to.

But this is just a theory based on my own personal observations. I would be very interested to know if this theory holds true in other lives. Also, being a sympathizer and married to an imploder, I feel I might understand these perspectives a little more clearly - and may have given short shrift to the other two personality types. If anyone feels they can elucidate those two perspectives better, I would be most willing to amend my little theory here. It's a work in progress. Please pardon my dust.

The Fidgety-Fidgets

I started off the week feeling blue, shifted quickly to anxious, relieved, happy and productive, and now I'm on to fidgety. I am so female. I suppose the fidgety-ness comes from the fact that it is FRIDAY(!) before a glorious holiday weekend that will be spent in San Francisco with fabulous friends. Some of whom are moving to Morocco (booo!...except that I might get to visit, maybe even as soon as next spring as my husband and I are talking about doing a trip to Syria and Morocco...YAY!).

I'm very much looking forward to festivities and good times with the friends. But a large part of me is very sad that I cannot be in Australia right now. Well, okay, I almost always wish I could be in Australia, but I do have a very particular reason today. My cousin, with whom I'm very close, like almost-sister close, is getting married. It's a quick and small wedding due to extraneous time and budget constraints. But all of her family is either in Thailand or California, and because of the timing, none of us can be there with her. I feel...displaced somehow, not being able to witness this moment in her life and stand by her side through it. I want to see her glow; I want to see her radiantly happy. And pictures, no matter how well-captured, are but pale imitations of the real thing. I feel a loss, not being able to be there, and I only hope she does not feel alone on that day. I will be thinking of her, as will all of our family.

But I can't succumb to the fidgety-fidgets for very long. I have much to do today! My manuscript is, I think, about 99.5% done. I have just one last read-through to do, mostly for cosmetic changes, and this makes me excited, nervous, and proud all at once. Even if it gets rejected, I feel proud that it is complete. (Well, I'm sure it will get rejected. Probably multiple times. But all it takes is that one yes, right?)

In the meantime, I also have laundry to do, survey data to enter, weekend items to pack, and a multitude of other various and sundry tasks to complete. So, as the French would say, "On y va!"

Happy Fourth everyone!

A Spectacular Fall

Night photo "Knapp's Castle Electrified", taken by my husband, Toby Keller.

Last night we went up to Knapp's Castle for a sunset picnic to celebrate my sister-in-law's 25th birthday. It's a gorgeous setting in the Santa Ynez mountains. The road leading up to it has fabulous views of both the ocean and Santa Barbara below on one side and of Lake Cachuma on the other. The "castle" is a ruined old property built by George Owen Knapp, founder of Union Carbide, in 1916. It was later purchased by Frances Holden in 1940, who invited her friend and world-famous opera singer, Lotte Lehman, to live in the property. But it caught fire soon afterward and was destroyed. Now it is a popular hiking destination as it has an air of mystery and sadness juxtaposed against the stunning backdrop of the Santa Ynez Valley, with Lake Cachuma below and exquisite sunsets above.

Excited we were, and thus, heavily laden with food, pots, blankets, and barbecue equipment, we trekked out to the spectacular spot. Little did we realize how treacherous our endeavor could be!

I happened to be carrying a pot full of boiled potatoes. I was trying to navigate a particularly steep little spot in the trail, when all of a sudden, zzyuuupp!, I slipped and fell plunk on my bum! It was a quite spectacular fall, yet ever so efficient! I barely knew what had happened before I was jolted on my ass, straight up through my head. I blinked. Then for lack of any other reasonable response, started laughing like mad.

I figure I must have slipped on some round stones in the path, because my legs had flown straight out from under me, and I landed as if I had just planned to sit down in the path. I even managed to not discombobulate the pot I carried. It was perfectly safe and sound, though I did splash potato water all over my arms and pants.

Unfortunately, as the night progressed, it became increasingly difficult to sit down on my poor thwarted tailbone. But after a little Icy Hot, a couple of Ibuprofen, and a good night's rest, it is feeling better--if a bit stiff--this morning. At least it wasn't one of those "Oh no, I am falling!" falls, where you can see it happening before your very eyes, and yet are powerless to prevent it. I much prefer to be surprised by my spills and tumbles.

P.S. For those who were following the "Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop" storyline, the proverbial other shoe has dropped. While we didn't talk about the situation quite overtly, the other person let me know in their own way that my message had been heeded and no ill-feeling was meant. Following their lead, I showed them too that, despite the criticism, I very much care for and appreciate them, and so our little to-do came to a very sweet and satisfactory resolution.

Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop

I am thankful to say I'm past the blues which plagued me yesterday. However, there is a certain bit of anxiety I still face today. Recently, I told a certain person off, something I almost never do because I tend to shy away from conflict. I tend to choose understanding and forgiveness, and tell myself this is the higher path; though if I am being honest, sometimes it is because I lack the courage to face the conflict directly. But I am trying to be better about facing conflict more honestly, and more maturely, with a level head, and fair mind. And I had quite literally reached the end of my rope with this person, and I felt I needed to stand up for myself, and not allow them to treat me with such little respect simply because they are used to treating everybody in that manner. I realize part of the reason I am so highly offended is related to some degree of cultural difference, but I think most people would agree the basis of my complaint is reasonable, even if they don't find it quite as offensive as I do. (I hope it is understandable that I don't divulge the particulars publicly.)

I tried to be as fair as possible without getting mean at all and even made several efforts to compliment them where I felt it was due, though let's face it, criticizing someone is never a pleasant prospect. Perhaps it wasn't my place to say some of the things I did, especially since there is a high probability that others might be affected by my decision. But I did feel it was fair to tell them that I did not appreciate their conduct towards me, whatever anyone else might feel with regards to themselves. I made a pact with myself that I would only say it this once, so that my feelings at least be made known, and this person can choose to consider them or not. At least I know I've made the effort, and the person will know why I might be distant and reserved around them.

But I told the person my feelings about a week ago, and I still haven't received a response. I'm not sure if the person will respond outright, but it's a bit nerve-wracking waiting to find out the consequences of my actions. I will try to face them honestly, whatever they are, and not back down simply because conflicts make me nervous. But the more time goes by, the more nervous I become waiting to discover the result.

The Monday Blues

I feel vaguely disgruntled today and I can't really fathom why. There is just this indistinct sense of irritation and melancholia plaguing me today and I can't pin down the cause. I have many blessings in my life that I feel grateful for, and no real dire concerns to speak of. Just a few petty inconveniences, but maybe they add up...

My husband has been out of town, and I'm not sure if he'll return tonight or tomorrow morning. I tell myself he'll return tomorrow, so that way I might be pleasantly surprised if he returns tonight. But in the interim, I have spent several days in near total solitude, which, while nice at first, tends to weigh on me after awhile. I enjoy my solitude, but I begin to miss the society of others. And friends I might normally have called upon, have also been busy and out of town for one reason or another.

I'm making progress on my work and projects, but it is going rather slower than I would like. Mostly my fault as my attention span is not quite what it should be. But at least I am making forward movement and feeling very ready to be productive today.

I have also been sleeping A LOT lately, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe I'm a little burnt out and need the rest, though I don't feel I should be burnt out. So it makes me think I really should nip that lethargy in the bud.

Looking through some recent photographs, I've noticed my face is starting to age. I've been lucky in that my face had looked pretty much the same from 15 to 25 or so, thanks to having inherited my mother's soft, youthful Asian skin. But age is beginning to creep up on me, and it wasn't until I did the facials this weekend and noticed the vast difference a little skin care could make that I realized it's time to amp up my skin care routine. I've been lucky so far in that I really haven't had to do much in the way of skin care. In my early 20s, I realized inexpensive makeup no longer cut it and I had to switch to higher quality products, but ultimately I needed very few products. But now, on the cusp of 30, I'm going to have to invest in a more extensive skin care regimen if I want to maintain any sort of youthful suppleness and glow.

So all in all, nothing really worth complaining about, but there you have it. Maybe I should go for a walk, get some fresh air to clear my head. Now I think about it, it is past noon and I haven't had my coffee yet. Perhaps that is the real reason lurking behind the suicidal tendencies...

TGIF, Mate...TGIF

Do you ever feel like you're hurtling through weeks, swinging from one anxiously-awaited Friday to the next? Where Monday through Wednesday is some lengthy abyss that seems never-ending, until suddenly it's Friday and you feel a glorious reprieve...only to have the next Monday come all too soon? It's like you're on a weighted pendulum, with the momentum all at the wrong end. Meanwhile, Fridays keep flying past you, 'til suddenly it's past mid-June, and you wonder where all the weeks went. They went the way of the endless roller-coaster of anticipation and dread.

Yes, I suspect some of you might be familiar with that feeling. It's called the rat-race, and it's probably the reason why every Friday I log into Facebook and half the words on the screen are TGIF. And I nod in blessed agreement every time I see it. I wish there were some way to slow it down and balance it out. To even out the time spent on work I don't want to do versus projects I love to work on.

I want a life where I can scale things back. Where I can bake my own bread and smother it in pesto sauce made with fresh herbs from my garden. Where I have a garden full of staples like bell peppers, onions, garlic, tomatoes, and a lime tree. Where I have the time to read and write books, and still work on artsy-crafty things for the house. A life measured more by pride in my little projects and less by convenience.

And this is why I feel so lucky to live in the States. We have the option to scale it back and still live luxuriously. We "can" bake our own bread (with ingredients from local farmers), not "have to". Or we can shop at Nordstrom's and Urban Outfitters, and have a night on the town, cocktail-style. We can choose between a mass-produced life or one wholly closer to home. We can even move fairly effortlessly back and forth between those options at whim.

The trick is to find a way to do more of what I love and less of what I don't and still have a sustainable income. I haven't figured that part out just yet.

Nesting Pains

I promise I'm not ready to have kids yet. I'm still very much enjoying the Simple Married Life, which is so full at the moment and getting fuller towards the horizon. So the thought of taking on the responsibility that is motherhood is something I'm just not up to tackling just yet. Plus labor pains. Oh labor pains. How I do not look forward to thee.

But I find myself spending increasing amounts of time thinking about what kind of mother I will be. Will I be strict and over-protective? Will I be haphazard and over-indulgent? Will I be the one my kids come to for advice? Will I be the one they ask for an extra special treat? I quietly observe other mothers with their children, mentally taking notes of what I admire and what I hope to avoid. I peruse blogs of families with their stories of pregnancy, childhood and the sweet things kids say. I'm constructing my little mental nest for my future chicklets, in preparation for what might become.

It's slightly dangerous to do this; dangerous to my emotional well-being because it might be quite a while before we really do have kids. And in my family, the women have a history of miscarriages. I might be prepping myself for a child who will never be. And what if...what if we are one of those couples who cannot conceive? I almost can't believe I wrote that down; a thought too unfathomable I feel I shouldn't have put it in words.

I shudder, try to rid myself of the thought.

And I go back to perusing blogs and imagining all the cupcakes I'll make, the sweet little party ideas. I imagine I'll be the kind of mother who bakes fresh soft chewy cookies, decorates the kids' bedrooms in super-cute creative yet classy ways, and throws birthday parties that look like this.

I imagine I'll be the kind of mother my kids know not to piss off. But I'll also be the one they come to when they skin their first knee, when they lose their first tooth, when they discover a best friend, and when they have their first heartbreak. My husband will be the one they go to when they want to ride their first bike, blow sh*t up, and explore adventure at break-neck speed. He'll teach them the value of independence and self-confidence. I'll teach them the value of family and taking care of one another. Together, we will take our kids to museums and libraries (and probably far-off places) and show them the world.

Musings on a Friday Blessing

There are a lot of things going on in my life right now that I could complain about: it's a rainy day, with plans thwarted, mini-stresses, and plenty of inconveniences that should make me grumpy. But when I woke up this morning, I felt inexplicably happy and at peace. Maybe because it is Friday, I feel more like celebrating than grousing. I have many reasons to feel blessed and thinking of those blessings seems to me like a good way to start the weekend. So, instead of the rain outside today, I take a picture of a sunflower rising.

Today I must focus on finishing my theory chapter of my dissertation. I've set a deadline for myself to finish it by Sunday night so I can give it and my Intro chapter (which is already more or less complete) to my committee. Such relief it will be to have that finished, because once it is complete, I'll be doing data entry for a (long) while. While that probably sounds tedious--and it is--it'll be a nice break from the craziness that has been this past year. Plus, it will also give me the requisite mental space for getting back to my manuscript in the evenings. One more set of revisions await completion, and once those are ready, I can send my manuscript off to agents and publishers!

On Saturday, I'm holding a Thank You BBQ for my students and I'm really looking forward to it. They've done fantastic work this quarter as research assistants and they deserve a little party in their honor. Plus, I really do enjoy my students as people. I'm looking forward to an opportunity to know them better as individuals, and let my hair down so to speak, so they can know me better too. At this stage in their careers, they should know I'm rooting for them and happy to support them any way I can.

I have an awesome, amazing, wonderful husband who brings me joy and giggles every day. This little slice of bliss has become even more important than I imagined. It gives me a safe foundation where when everything else in my life goes to sh*t, there is a space where I can come home and say, "Life isn't so bad".

I have amazing friends. Even though almost all of them are far away--and one is due to leave soon and another is going halfway around the world!--they are all incredible people to know and love. I feel extremely happy for them as they embark on their new journeys and I feel lucky to have them in my life. I'm looking forward to the celebrations in their honor, bitter-sweet though they may be.

Now that the data collection phase of my research is done, I can work almost entirely at home. This makes my little heart go pitter-pat. Working at home is the shiz-nit because you can wear whatever you want.

And last but not least, it's FRIDAY and I'm just about to enjoy a good cup of coffee. Sounds like bliss to me.

What Were Your Favorite Childhood Books?

I probably would never be able to compile a comprehensive list of all my favorite childhood fairy tales, stories and books. Being an only child, I read A LOT, and developed early on a love for reading and the way books can whisk me away to foreign lands and the lives of others (even if they're fictional). How does one choose between the likes of Shel Silverstein, Judy Blume, and Madeleine L'Engle? How many times did I re-read Ray Bradbury's Farenheit 451 or The Halloween Tree? Or Beverly Cleary's Ramona books and David Sobol's Encyclopedia Brown? Not to mention classics like Where the Red Fern Grows, Anne of Green Gables, and Charlotte's Web. (This, of course, does not include books like Harry Potter which I read later as an adult.)

But one story that always stuck with me, that is the one I always think of first when I think of childhood favorites is Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Match Girl. (Read the short story here.) The story is about a little girl on Christmas who braves the freezing snowy cold to try to sell matches. At the edge of her means, she strikes a match to warm herself. In the glow of the match's light upon the wall, she sees warm, wonderous visions—until the match burns out. She lights match after match trying to catch the visions, until she sees one of her beloved grandmother. She watches this vision until the last match dies. As the flame goes out, so does her life.

I think what draws me so much to this story is the little match girl's ability to find beauty in tragedy. It has so much to it: the plight of the rich versus the poor, life and death, coldness and warmth. But this theme of transcendence is one that inspires me. There is comfort in knowing that even in the depths of despair, we as humans can find the strength to rise from the ashes and learn to fly. Out of our deepest sorrows come our greatest joys, and I hope I should always have the will to find grace.

What childhood favorites stick with you?

Transitioning to Tweens

Yesterday, I attended a younger sibling-in-law's sixth grade graduation. The principal gave the typical speech about “the challenges ahead”, advising them to always think critically, be themselves, and not be pressured by their peers. As an educator and socially responsible person, I'm nodding “yes, yes, of course, sound advice that is”, but as someone who has suffered through and survived junior high, I found myself thinking I could have used an entirely different set of advice before embarking on that adventure/tragedy that is junior high. Oh, the social awkwardness. So this is the non-parent/principal-approved list of advice I wish I had gotten when I was 13. To the adults out there: what advice would you like to have gotten before going to junior high? Feel free to add your own to the list!

The (Alternative) Guide to Junior High School

1. Don't pop your zits – As satisfying as it is, you never know when you'll pick the wrong one and just get a bloody mess and scars for your efforts.

2. Yes, it's true. The social hierarchy does depend almost entirely on the clothes you wear. The sad truth is it is so easy to move up the hierarchy but the kids at the top almost never deserve it and yet the kids at the bottom don't realize how such tiny, inconsequential, superficial things determine their fate. It's not a matter of “following the crowd” like your parents warn about; it's a matter of social survival.

3. That said, it's not worth caring much about the social hierarchy in the long run. Most of the popular kids end up barefoot and pregnant before adulthood, and the nerds and geeks come into their own and end up being the really cool people you want to know right around college.

4. Avoid being in photographs at all costs. You'll only want to burn them later because a) hormones and braces are evil, and b) 7th & 8th graders are just not the best judges when it comes to make-up.

5. These are the years you discover sarcasm, rolled eyes, ineffable boredom, the joy of cussing and general negativity. Embrace it with your peers, but realize every one else finds it supremely annoying.

6. To the A students: If the choice is between doing homework and hanging out with your best friends, more often than not, opt for friends. You only need to test well to get into advanced classes in high school (and even without that, you can petition)...other than that, NOBODY looks at your grades from junior high. Fun times and hilarious memories are far more worthwhile.

7. Guys, as much as it might seem cool to act like a badass, you're not fooling anyone. Except maybe yourself and other wannabes.

8. Girls, ALWAYS have an extra tampon/pad, even if it's not that time of the month. You never know when emergency or disaster will strike you or a loved one.

9. Eighth grade dances are not like the proms you see on TV. Imagine all the girls on one side and all the boys on the other side, insert awkwardness and music compiled by people three sheets shy of cool, and you have the first half of an eighth grade dance. In the second half, when people start actually dancing, awkwardness increases exponentially as everyone realizes they have no clue how to dance. Successful slow dancing requires being able to rotate slowly in a circle, while weaving from side to side, without stepping on anyone's feet or dress. This can be hazardous when people's feet and arms are out of proportion from the rest of their bodies thanks to growth spurts and when boys are a head shorter than girls but girls must still find a way to rest their heads on the guy's shoulder.

10. Romantic relationships will probably be the most dramatic, soap operatic, and short-lived of your entire life. Two survivor rules: 1) Dating your best friends' (ex)boy/girlfriend is so not cool. No, it's not like they're not going to get married, but it is a code-of-honor issue among friends; 2) Don't freak out when your friend gets a bf/gf and spends less time with you. They'll be back eventually when they discover how much of a dweeb their bf/gf was.

And above all:
Nothing that happens in junior high is the end of the world (though it all seems like it), and so remember: This too shall pass.