I have moved into a place I do not foresee leaving for a while and I am amazed at the transformation of attitude I have experienced. At my sublet in NE Minneapolis I knew I was leaving and never unpacked or felt comfortable in the space. I put up with discomfort and awkward storage places. My personal affects were hidden from view. I know I breathed in and out there, but my spirit was not alive there. Now that I am in my new home in South Minneapolis, I know what it really means to breathe.
My room is spacious and the color soothing. The deep Madonna blue is not trying to hide itself away, but has its own presence in the room and I have a friend in this color. I am inspired to come out of my shell and really be myself with a color that vibrant. My purple room also is not trying to be white...this color wants to be itself without hesitation. I never realized how much I hated white walls...and I cannot wait to finish the hallway in the orange that I think will always be a fire for my spirit as I walk through. White helps one see imperfections and flaws, not only on the wall but also in oneself...and I need no reminders.
I was so scared to move here from Madison, to leave all those I knew and loved behind and make a life in a new city basically from scratch. But I left, needing to stand on my own two feet, and I am standing strong. When I moved from my sublet I felt some sadness at leaving the new friends who were also my roommates...they eased my transition considerably. By getting to know them, I was reminded of the good that is in people. But I hope to stay friends with them even as I leave them there. I feel like I have finally left the nest...since leaving my parents' house was so easy.
The move has not been the only change in my life of late. I recently have realized I have to let go of people who are pulling me back or holding me down. I carry so many people who I care about, but I have to make my own way without them any more. I am terrified of this even while I am so much more at peace. I am learning to say no all over again...and not feel bad. My feelings have not changed for these people, but my need to stay connected or to get comfort from them or to agree to do things I really do not want to do is gone. I am free and slightly giddy from this new sensation, but now I realize how to declutter one's heart. Mmm...mmm...good.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Some paint has found a home
This is my bedroom color and I love it! It goes really well with my brown bedding andI feel very calm with the blue. The color is called Madonna Blue.
This is the office/recreational room/whatever the hell I feel like room and the color purple is so fun and pleasant. You may not be able to tell by the wall by the window is a darker purple, and so it the brick chimney. The lighter purple is called Dancing in the Spring and the darker purple is Soul Train. I think Lilac and Deadly Nightshade are better names, but it is not up to me. There was a color from a different source called aplomb (light purple like color) and that name is my favorite, but this is not exactly that color.
So this is my new house and I feel like I now have a great amount of space to myself. I will keep you updated with more pictures and renovation reports as they arise.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Before the Paint Hits the Walls
This picture is in from in the hallway of my new living space looking into the room that will likely be my bedroom but I have not decided yet. I will take pictures after painting this weekend so you can see the transformation...and then I will add my things to the mix in a week or so!!
This is the best picture of the window in the bedroom space.
The hallway by the stairs down to the main floor. I cannot wait to seethe color I choose in this space!
This is the most adorable nook in the large room that I want to make into the office/living space room for myself. It has two windows and lots of space to move around. Maybe it will be my dance studio! The floors have paint on them and have been sanded but who knows what the finished product will look like as we may have to paint them until new floors get put down. Hooray for new places and new opportunities!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Trivials
Lately, I have been thinking of things that do not matter at all. Not all of them individually, but the collective group of things. Why do they not matter? Why do the "big" things matter instead? I looked up the definition of trivial and found it interesting. This is what I found:
Trivial [Latin trivi
lis, ordinary (from trivium, crossroads)]
Trivial [Latin trivi
lis, ordinary (from trivium, crossroads)]1. Of little significance or value.
2. Ordinary; commonplace.
3. Concerned with or involving trivia.
4. Biology Relating to or designating a species; specific.
5. Mathematics
a. Of, relating to, or being the solution of an equation in which every variable is equal to zero.
b. Of, relating to, or being the simplest possible case; self-evident.
I first noticed that the different definitions are contradictory. Specific and commonplace seem opposite, and self-evident and of little value do not quite equate. Of course, they do not have to mean the same thing in different contexts, but if you look at the root of the root, crossroads, you wonder how we possibly got to of little value.
Being at the Crossroads is a very interesting place to be. Which way do you turn, which way leads to where you need to be? Is it it better to turn around and head back to where you have begun? The more roads that cross the harder to choose, until you freeze. I picture a dusty reddish scene with no trees or buildings in sight...the road may be yellower and packed down harder, but as you walk it slowly returns to the color of everything around you and you are standing in the middle of nowhere with the sun beating overhead...which way to you go...which is better...which the "right" way? Is the choice trivial? Is it of little significance or is self-evident?
I am still standing there waiting for the answer, thinking about the commonplace curiosities of this world, like why my nails are so white and hard (and I don't care) while others strive to make theirs look like mine (and care too much), or why I want the kitchen clean so much that I will clean up other people's messes (knowing they do not care if it is clean and while caring myself more about doing the job well and not that a clean kitchen is more desirable) or why people are in such a hurry as they speed along the road (what is it that they care about?) or why people look at me strangely when I carry an open umbrella while the sun is shining (why do they care that I do not conform to their norm?).
These "trivial" things are so much more engrossing to me than wondering if god exists...I am so tired of that question. I would not live my life any differently...I would not find more meaning to my life...because I know that meaning is not external. It is easy to ask for meaning to be bestowed upon you from something you believe has the power to do so, but it is a challenge to create it yourself from something that NO ONE gave you. Everyone is trying to tell you how to define meaning, albeit inadvertently, and I want them to hush...
As I relinquish my beliefs about meaning and how things are supposed to be...as I stop identifying with these beliefs...while retaining them in my bag of tricks...I am trying to figure out what I have left. Some quote from a commercial went something like, "without dreams or beliefs you cannot act." I tried to imagine a Buddhist...letting go of thoughts...and I thought I knew why they stayed sitting in meditation for so long...because what else do you do? Meditation seems appealing but also like an escape from the feeling of what do you do with yourself in this life!? So I am still trying to do something...act even without a belief about what I should do. It is harder than it sounds.
I first noticed that the different definitions are contradictory. Specific and commonplace seem opposite, and self-evident and of little value do not quite equate. Of course, they do not have to mean the same thing in different contexts, but if you look at the root of the root, crossroads, you wonder how we possibly got to of little value.
Being at the Crossroads is a very interesting place to be. Which way do you turn, which way leads to where you need to be? Is it it better to turn around and head back to where you have begun? The more roads that cross the harder to choose, until you freeze. I picture a dusty reddish scene with no trees or buildings in sight...the road may be yellower and packed down harder, but as you walk it slowly returns to the color of everything around you and you are standing in the middle of nowhere with the sun beating overhead...which way to you go...which is better...which the "right" way? Is the choice trivial? Is it of little significance or is self-evident?
I am still standing there waiting for the answer, thinking about the commonplace curiosities of this world, like why my nails are so white and hard (and I don't care) while others strive to make theirs look like mine (and care too much), or why I want the kitchen clean so much that I will clean up other people's messes (knowing they do not care if it is clean and while caring myself more about doing the job well and not that a clean kitchen is more desirable) or why people are in such a hurry as they speed along the road (what is it that they care about?) or why people look at me strangely when I carry an open umbrella while the sun is shining (why do they care that I do not conform to their norm?).
These "trivial" things are so much more engrossing to me than wondering if god exists...I am so tired of that question. I would not live my life any differently...I would not find more meaning to my life...because I know that meaning is not external. It is easy to ask for meaning to be bestowed upon you from something you believe has the power to do so, but it is a challenge to create it yourself from something that NO ONE gave you. Everyone is trying to tell you how to define meaning, albeit inadvertently, and I want them to hush...
As I relinquish my beliefs about meaning and how things are supposed to be...as I stop identifying with these beliefs...while retaining them in my bag of tricks...I am trying to figure out what I have left. Some quote from a commercial went something like, "without dreams or beliefs you cannot act." I tried to imagine a Buddhist...letting go of thoughts...and I thought I knew why they stayed sitting in meditation for so long...because what else do you do? Meditation seems appealing but also like an escape from the feeling of what do you do with yourself in this life!? So I am still trying to do something...act even without a belief about what I should do. It is harder than it sounds.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Noise Pollution
Yesterday I sat in my room reading and I could hear the people outside my window talking, playing music, laughing...and it sort of bothered me. I tried to go to sleep and I couldn't for a while, because I was focused on the noises. But I can sit in my glider chair which has a very pronounced squeak as I rock, and not be bothered at all. So what is noise pollution? I was lying in my bed thinking is it my right to tell them they are being loud or is it their right to be loud on occasion? When did that get decided in favor of the one who is trying to sleep? Was the person ever trained to sleep in a noisy environment or were they babied with silence whenever they slept? Maybe they can only sleep in silence, but how many times were you shushed as a kid? How often are people told to be quieter in life? And why should that be the side that wins out? I think we should have our moments when we are allowed to be loud without censure or persecution. Although, there was a time when I thought people should really be aware of their noise pollution and respect others more.
I was a loud child and am loud now on occasion...and when my parents told me that I should be put on a fire engine in place of the siren, I was very upset. I thought that was mean...and I was not trying to be mean with my volume. I was just excited or happy or passionate...and I thought these things were good. And now still, when there is a discussion of whether someone is too loud or not, it is always the one shushing them that is unhappy or mad, while the loud one is usually having a good time. That seems like we should value being lout more than we do.
Air plane noise, recycling truck clanging, obsessive knocking, tapping, scraping or any other repetitive noise and the loud roar of a car sans muffler are all more likely to be classified as noise pollution. Or perhaps it is defined by the location you are at or the mood you are in, because surely the sound of a snore during a operatic aria is distracting and unwelcome. The sound of an arguing couple in the elevator is alarming and uncomfortable...but if they do not think it is noise pollution and I do, is it?
I can get used to a lot of things, like the squeaky chair or the air planes flying overhead...but what about my roommate arguing with his girlfriend on the phone...or the random faux-screams of a girl at night...I think that I can ignore them too
What I cannot seem to avoid is the noise pollution that goes on within my own head...the thoughts that just clog things up and do not do anything good. I cannot help wondering why does this person think that...or what do they think...or are they laughing at me, am I so self-centered I think they would be, boy my reality is all about me!...or what does my life mean. I find these to be polluting, but do not know where the source is and how to combat the pollutants or what the effects will be.
I think it just is all relative.
I was a loud child and am loud now on occasion...and when my parents told me that I should be put on a fire engine in place of the siren, I was very upset. I thought that was mean...and I was not trying to be mean with my volume. I was just excited or happy or passionate...and I thought these things were good. And now still, when there is a discussion of whether someone is too loud or not, it is always the one shushing them that is unhappy or mad, while the loud one is usually having a good time. That seems like we should value being lout more than we do.
Air plane noise, recycling truck clanging, obsessive knocking, tapping, scraping or any other repetitive noise and the loud roar of a car sans muffler are all more likely to be classified as noise pollution. Or perhaps it is defined by the location you are at or the mood you are in, because surely the sound of a snore during a operatic aria is distracting and unwelcome. The sound of an arguing couple in the elevator is alarming and uncomfortable...but if they do not think it is noise pollution and I do, is it?
I can get used to a lot of things, like the squeaky chair or the air planes flying overhead...but what about my roommate arguing with his girlfriend on the phone...or the random faux-screams of a girl at night...I think that I can ignore them too
What I cannot seem to avoid is the noise pollution that goes on within my own head...the thoughts that just clog things up and do not do anything good. I cannot help wondering why does this person think that...or what do they think...or are they laughing at me, am I so self-centered I think they would be, boy my reality is all about me!...or what does my life mean. I find these to be polluting, but do not know where the source is and how to combat the pollutants or what the effects will be.
I think it just is all relative.
Monday, August 3, 2009
First Love
Last night...my roommate was talking about the first time a girl hears that a guy loves her and cares about her...and how it stays with her...as she spoke, her voice took on a certain quality -it was personal, even though we were talking about another girl- and I knew what she meant and I think my other female roommate did too (I have no idea what my male roommate who was present was thinking...). I know a first love is special...and potentially so potent that it shapes you forever...at least that is what they say, right?
I have been in love with two people...I know how both experiences felt...and while they were similar in some ways...they were very different in others. But that makes me wonder if it is the first experience of love that shaped me...or if it was my first heartbreak. Is it really one's first heartbreak that influences one's perceptions about love? Love came easy the first time...and there were so many expectations of that relationship...some of which my roommate referenced when she spoke of first loves...you think it will be forever, you think no one could ever love you like this or that you could ever feel this again...you feel beautiful like never before...or for the first time...you feel special, like you matter...and you are so grateful for this person, this love, to have recognized it in you and rescued from the confines of your heretofore shriveled experience of adolescence. It makes you feel real, and part of the world, alive...grown-up.
I am not going to address the question of why we want to grow up and why we strive to live like our role-models or up to expectations, but I do want to address the feeling of being in love opposed to being out of love. When the person who was the first to hold you heart...decides to drop it and "accidentally" step all over it, perhaps while s/he says "it is not you, it is me" or "I just don't want a relationship right now" or any other variety of the worst news ever, you sink so much lower than you ever knew you could get. But I strongly believe we learn more from our suffering than from our moments of ecstasy.
Pain leads us to ask "why me?" or to believe the world as we know it is over or to begin to realize everything does not come easily or go our way. We experience pain like this from the moment we are born, but of course we process it in different ways...but love and meaning are so linked...that we continue to look for meaning through our loves and our relationships but do we find it there.
Someone told me that he was his own best friend and that any other person (including his wife) that ever came into his life was just a cherry on the top of an already delicious sundae (and none of you know this person, so do not ask). I would love to be my own best friend and be able to appreciate every moment with someone I like in this same way, but I do not think it can happen. I find meaning in a different way. I felt this person was actually not as liberated as he thought, because he is trying to live a life free from stressful thoughts and therefore there is an almost a sense of denial towards wanting anything in his life. He tries to prevent stressful thoughts from impeding his happiness, but if he would define the absence of something he wanted as stressful, wouldn't he cease to want? This borders on a religious notion of striving for acceptance of one's lot that I cannot deem more desirable than experiencing desire and embracing it and the pain it can bring. I think the pain we feel about the loss of something is the best indicator of how much joy we got out of it...it is like getting over a cold and being able to breathe again...it feels that much marvelous to breathe in...and breathe out...
I grow from the pain I experience and I risk feeling it again when I dare to open my heart to someone...the lessons I learned from my first love seem silly and juvenile to me now, but the tears I shed during that first breaking of my heart...oh my, are they ever the forces that have shaped the riverbed of my existence...and molded me as they desired...and all subsequent tears, sobs and sighs comprise the weather of my soul even as I search out the light from a new flame...
I have been in love with two people...I know how both experiences felt...and while they were similar in some ways...they were very different in others. But that makes me wonder if it is the first experience of love that shaped me...or if it was my first heartbreak. Is it really one's first heartbreak that influences one's perceptions about love? Love came easy the first time...and there were so many expectations of that relationship...some of which my roommate referenced when she spoke of first loves...you think it will be forever, you think no one could ever love you like this or that you could ever feel this again...you feel beautiful like never before...or for the first time...you feel special, like you matter...and you are so grateful for this person, this love, to have recognized it in you and rescued from the confines of your heretofore shriveled experience of adolescence. It makes you feel real, and part of the world, alive...grown-up.
I am not going to address the question of why we want to grow up and why we strive to live like our role-models or up to expectations, but I do want to address the feeling of being in love opposed to being out of love. When the person who was the first to hold you heart...decides to drop it and "accidentally" step all over it, perhaps while s/he says "it is not you, it is me" or "I just don't want a relationship right now" or any other variety of the worst news ever, you sink so much lower than you ever knew you could get. But I strongly believe we learn more from our suffering than from our moments of ecstasy.
Pain leads us to ask "why me?" or to believe the world as we know it is over or to begin to realize everything does not come easily or go our way. We experience pain like this from the moment we are born, but of course we process it in different ways...but love and meaning are so linked...that we continue to look for meaning through our loves and our relationships but do we find it there.
Someone told me that he was his own best friend and that any other person (including his wife) that ever came into his life was just a cherry on the top of an already delicious sundae (and none of you know this person, so do not ask). I would love to be my own best friend and be able to appreciate every moment with someone I like in this same way, but I do not think it can happen. I find meaning in a different way. I felt this person was actually not as liberated as he thought, because he is trying to live a life free from stressful thoughts and therefore there is an almost a sense of denial towards wanting anything in his life. He tries to prevent stressful thoughts from impeding his happiness, but if he would define the absence of something he wanted as stressful, wouldn't he cease to want? This borders on a religious notion of striving for acceptance of one's lot that I cannot deem more desirable than experiencing desire and embracing it and the pain it can bring. I think the pain we feel about the loss of something is the best indicator of how much joy we got out of it...it is like getting over a cold and being able to breathe again...it feels that much marvelous to breathe in...and breathe out...
I grow from the pain I experience and I risk feeling it again when I dare to open my heart to someone...the lessons I learned from my first love seem silly and juvenile to me now, but the tears I shed during that first breaking of my heart...oh my, are they ever the forces that have shaped the riverbed of my existence...and molded me as they desired...and all subsequent tears, sobs and sighs comprise the weather of my soul even as I search out the light from a new flame...
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Responsibility
We are all responsible. But what are we responsible for and to whom are we responsible? But then there are so many kinds of responsibility: to ourselves, to each other, to our society, our environment...and other things.
I believed or believe, I am not sure yet, that I am responsible for structuring my own experience. I have found this a challenge, and perhaps one I am unable to meet. There are so many forms of structure that culture imposes on us or that we allow to outline our experiences. I am sure many of these are unconscious or almost all for some people. I, however, am all too aware of them. The manner which we teach our children to follow these same rules fascinates me.
I wanted to just get this out on paper...or screen, but now I need to get ready to go see a performance and I have imposed the rule of punctuality on myself and must comply.
I believed or believe, I am not sure yet, that I am responsible for structuring my own experience. I have found this a challenge, and perhaps one I am unable to meet. There are so many forms of structure that culture imposes on us or that we allow to outline our experiences. I am sure many of these are unconscious or almost all for some people. I, however, am all too aware of them. The manner which we teach our children to follow these same rules fascinates me.
I wanted to just get this out on paper...or screen, but now I need to get ready to go see a performance and I have imposed the rule of punctuality on myself and must comply.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Mashed Potatoes
Tonight I made mashed potatoes. I did not make them like my mother makes them. I did not make them like my grandmothers...it was my own. I did not follow a recipe...I did not try to replicate something I had once....somewhere. But they were not simply mashed potatoes either...
When I was little, I liked cheerios more than anything and I used to say that I liked them because they were bland...and bland food made me appreciate the little flavor there was all the more. I would eat pasta without sauce...but a little Parmesan. I still prefer my pasta without sauce and if I buy cereal...I buy Rice Chex because the subtle flavor with cold milk is wonderful. Some people think it is odd that I prefer no sauce or that I do not add lots of spice to everything. Others tell me that salt makes all foods more flavorful...but I am glad of my range in taste. I can truly enjoy it all.
But in keeping with my experience of nothingness...why did I make fancier mashed potatoes tonight rather than a simpler, easier and more bland variety? The reason I am thinking about this...is in a strange context, but the only one I can seem to care about: what if I were making them for my family when I have a family. I have always liked the idea of learning to cook for the simple reason of feeding a family. I know simple foods that nourish me are sufficient to me...and I used to think it did not matter what I made for a kid or husband as long as they liked it and were healthy. As I have met more and more people during my life I have come to realize how important the question of "is it as good as your mother's?" can be for real. People always talk about their mother's cooking skills or lack thereof. I do not know what it does for a person...but I really like the idea of having my future kids actually like my cooking.
This wish aside, I found myself making these mashed potatoes without thought, no thinking about how much extra work it would be or how it would taste...and no thought about whether I was doing anything right. I was playing...having fun...experimenting...and this was pleasurable.
So as I boiled the baby red potatoes cut into small pieces but with their skin still on...I chopped some garlic and fresh rosemary...then I grabbed the milk and my Parmesan cheese from the fridge...I did not want to use my new carton of half and half (because I wanted to enjoy opening it as I made my coffee in the morning)...and then I grabbed the butter AND the olive oil...I probably was patting myself on the back for this idea...but I put the garlic and rosemary in a bowl with some olive oil...and then, what the heck, I added the Parmesan, some salt and some pepper...(I was also cooking corn on the cob and a cheese-curd brat at the same time, and they were all done at the same time...I was very happy with myself)...when the potatoes were soft, I strained them and pored some milk in the now empty pot...and threw in some butter...as it heated slowly I added the oil mixture...the sauce was a nice yellow color and I brought the potatoes back for a swim...I thought there was too much milk...but as I began to mash, mash, mash...the creamy texture that emerged was so beautiful...I think I stood up straighter...a little more salt on top...and they were heaven...I finished all of them...and couldn't fit the last bite of meat...which just seems so wrong!
I was pleased with the experiment...and hope to make them again for myself or others...I want to make it seem easy...do it with grace...poise...confidence and without thinking it is too much work. This means that I want quality to be an expectation that I uphold when doing things as simple as mashing potatoes! But it is so easy to create the boundaries of an experience when it is simple and short. I had potatoes...they may go bad if I do not use them...I paid for them...I should make them when I am hungry...and I am hungry (or at least in need of food) now...so it is a choice that seems easy...but there was an impetus that I felt was outside of myself for such an act. I couldn't choose to keep the potatoes in eatable condition forever...and my body wanted food. Something HAD to be done.
I want to stop...or should I say I want to stand up and go downstairs to get more wine...or ice cream or both? So I look forward to the next bizarre rambling of my mind...but just hope it is as inspired as mashed potatoes.
When I was little, I liked cheerios more than anything and I used to say that I liked them because they were bland...and bland food made me appreciate the little flavor there was all the more. I would eat pasta without sauce...but a little Parmesan. I still prefer my pasta without sauce and if I buy cereal...I buy Rice Chex because the subtle flavor with cold milk is wonderful. Some people think it is odd that I prefer no sauce or that I do not add lots of spice to everything. Others tell me that salt makes all foods more flavorful...but I am glad of my range in taste. I can truly enjoy it all.
But in keeping with my experience of nothingness...why did I make fancier mashed potatoes tonight rather than a simpler, easier and more bland variety? The reason I am thinking about this...is in a strange context, but the only one I can seem to care about: what if I were making them for my family when I have a family. I have always liked the idea of learning to cook for the simple reason of feeding a family. I know simple foods that nourish me are sufficient to me...and I used to think it did not matter what I made for a kid or husband as long as they liked it and were healthy. As I have met more and more people during my life I have come to realize how important the question of "is it as good as your mother's?" can be for real. People always talk about their mother's cooking skills or lack thereof. I do not know what it does for a person...but I really like the idea of having my future kids actually like my cooking.
This wish aside, I found myself making these mashed potatoes without thought, no thinking about how much extra work it would be or how it would taste...and no thought about whether I was doing anything right. I was playing...having fun...experimenting...and this was pleasurable.
So as I boiled the baby red potatoes cut into small pieces but with their skin still on...I chopped some garlic and fresh rosemary...then I grabbed the milk and my Parmesan cheese from the fridge...I did not want to use my new carton of half and half (because I wanted to enjoy opening it as I made my coffee in the morning)...and then I grabbed the butter AND the olive oil...I probably was patting myself on the back for this idea...but I put the garlic and rosemary in a bowl with some olive oil...and then, what the heck, I added the Parmesan, some salt and some pepper...(I was also cooking corn on the cob and a cheese-curd brat at the same time, and they were all done at the same time...I was very happy with myself)...when the potatoes were soft, I strained them and pored some milk in the now empty pot...and threw in some butter...as it heated slowly I added the oil mixture...the sauce was a nice yellow color and I brought the potatoes back for a swim...I thought there was too much milk...but as I began to mash, mash, mash...the creamy texture that emerged was so beautiful...I think I stood up straighter...a little more salt on top...and they were heaven...I finished all of them...and couldn't fit the last bite of meat...which just seems so wrong!
I was pleased with the experiment...and hope to make them again for myself or others...I want to make it seem easy...do it with grace...poise...confidence and without thinking it is too much work. This means that I want quality to be an expectation that I uphold when doing things as simple as mashing potatoes! But it is so easy to create the boundaries of an experience when it is simple and short. I had potatoes...they may go bad if I do not use them...I paid for them...I should make them when I am hungry...and I am hungry (or at least in need of food) now...so it is a choice that seems easy...but there was an impetus that I felt was outside of myself for such an act. I couldn't choose to keep the potatoes in eatable condition forever...and my body wanted food. Something HAD to be done.
I want to stop...or should I say I want to stand up and go downstairs to get more wine...or ice cream or both? So I look forward to the next bizarre rambling of my mind...but just hope it is as inspired as mashed potatoes.
Old men
Older men seem to find me approachable and I am not making this up...my friend noticed this last night. I am now curious about why that is. I have decided to brainstorm a few options.
1) My glasses: I wear glasses and therefore set myself apart from many other women which means:
(a) they think they have a better chance with me since the others seem out of their league
(b) they think glasses means I am more intelligent, going off stereotypes, and they find this more appealing
2) They overheard me speaking and they find my stimulating and attractive
3) I remind them of someone, perhaps their wife?
4) I actually do emanate some form of beacon that attracts them
5) I look old
6) My smell attracts them (and portrays me as older)
7) I have a gift that I do not want
8) All men are attracted to me, but I intimidate the rest in some way...and older men are more confident in themselves
9) Older men still remember how to approach a woman and speak with her
10) I make eye contact with people and do not pass judgment upon them before any words are exchanged
11) __________ (other)
I can talk to anyone and enjoy myself and make them feel they are important and being heard by someone caring and compassionate. I am both of those things. I love people and I try to do as much as I can for all that I can. But I want to understand more about my experience in this world...through the people that interact with me...and I am confused by the characters in my life.
1) My glasses: I wear glasses and therefore set myself apart from many other women which means:
(a) they think they have a better chance with me since the others seem out of their league
(b) they think glasses means I am more intelligent, going off stereotypes, and they find this more appealing
2) They overheard me speaking and they find my stimulating and attractive
3) I remind them of someone, perhaps their wife?
4) I actually do emanate some form of beacon that attracts them
5) I look old
6) My smell attracts them (and portrays me as older)
7) I have a gift that I do not want
8) All men are attracted to me, but I intimidate the rest in some way...and older men are more confident in themselves
9) Older men still remember how to approach a woman and speak with her
10) I make eye contact with people and do not pass judgment upon them before any words are exchanged
11) __________ (other)
I can talk to anyone and enjoy myself and make them feel they are important and being heard by someone caring and compassionate. I am both of those things. I love people and I try to do as much as I can for all that I can. But I want to understand more about my experience in this world...through the people that interact with me...and I am confused by the characters in my life.
An incomparably fruitful starting place
I am reading a book entitled The Experience of Nothingness by Michael Novak. I want to write about my perceptions and thoughts pertaining to this reading...and elaborate on them using other texts, teachings and trepidations that I have encountered elsewhere.
The book was written in 1970 and I really know very little about the author...but I recently looked him up and found out that he is considered a Theologian and has strong ties to religious teachings. I find this odd because I am not encountering that tone in this book, which is more philosophical and existentialistic. But I do agree that the experience about which he writes is a concern of religious individuals and leaders. Please look him up if you want more information on him or his other books.
Part of me feels his book is outdated in reference to "our time" because a lot has changed in 40 years. However, I am looking for a way out of my own feeling of nothingness...and this helps frame my thinking...even while I am staying aloof from the doctrine.
I started blogging about another idea that relates significantly, but I needed to change the title and do this blog for a while...until i can think more about the specific idea I was trying to address. Additionally...I want a private and a public forum for my thoughts. I am going to open this one up to others that I know in the hopes of having comments that make me think harder and deeper about the issues I address. I know it is very easy to spiral into your own mind and stay there. Of course part of me is sick with the idea that I am doing this for attention or to show people something about the inner workings of a mind that I deem to be highly interesting. I am not doing that...but I do have a small aversion to blogging because it implies that you think other people want to read about you and your thoughts. Why do we think that?
Perhaps someone can offer me insight into the reasoning behind blogging and help show me that it is not an actual symptom of THE experience of nothingness that I am talking about! If we all are looking for answers or feedback or connection through blogging...are we not also feeling a sense of loss or disconnect and that is what drives us? I have heard many opinions about our generation...and I mean mine...but this generation is the one that is doing the most blogging. I am actually almost more concerned about the older generations that have started blogging in droves...because I cannot understand their motivation in the same terms...and have not yet found a new vocabulary for what they are seeking. I am aware that it could be the same thing we all are searching for, but I cannot reconcile the idea of separating generations from each other and ascribing to them very particular problems, attitudes and behaviors if we are all really experiencing and responding in kind.
So I offer that up for interpretation...if anyone wants to read this far into a post by someone is aware that she is not the center of the world or even that important in the grand scheme of things...but I also do not find that disheartening in itself...we are all here and interacting with others, affecting things, and wanting to make an impression on the world somehow...but we are still small. Or big if you want...but we are all equally sized in comparison to others...but just feel our world is the world and struggle with the same questions. So, I do not what my next step should be, when there is so many places to put it down...and really none that are inherently better than others...there are just too may choices...and someone who is all too keenly aware that her choice does not inherently matter. The meaning of all actions is prescribed by humankind and so if we do right it is by a code that may have stood the test of time and been adopted by many...but it is still somewhat artificial. This is a very difficult realization to have and there are way too many people who could tell me what they think I should do and how...but their conviction that they are right in that makes me ill...and envious that they have a strong feeling...and all the more confused as to what my next move should be, or will be, or already is.
If you want to express a thought or a feeling that is about this post, I welcome it with open arms...but please do not respond with a joke or a silly piece of advice...I want this to be serious at least for awhile...use facebook for your humor in response to my status. Thanks.
The book was written in 1970 and I really know very little about the author...but I recently looked him up and found out that he is considered a Theologian and has strong ties to religious teachings. I find this odd because I am not encountering that tone in this book, which is more philosophical and existentialistic. But I do agree that the experience about which he writes is a concern of religious individuals and leaders. Please look him up if you want more information on him or his other books.
Part of me feels his book is outdated in reference to "our time" because a lot has changed in 40 years. However, I am looking for a way out of my own feeling of nothingness...and this helps frame my thinking...even while I am staying aloof from the doctrine.
I started blogging about another idea that relates significantly, but I needed to change the title and do this blog for a while...until i can think more about the specific idea I was trying to address. Additionally...I want a private and a public forum for my thoughts. I am going to open this one up to others that I know in the hopes of having comments that make me think harder and deeper about the issues I address. I know it is very easy to spiral into your own mind and stay there. Of course part of me is sick with the idea that I am doing this for attention or to show people something about the inner workings of a mind that I deem to be highly interesting. I am not doing that...but I do have a small aversion to blogging because it implies that you think other people want to read about you and your thoughts. Why do we think that?
Perhaps someone can offer me insight into the reasoning behind blogging and help show me that it is not an actual symptom of THE experience of nothingness that I am talking about! If we all are looking for answers or feedback or connection through blogging...are we not also feeling a sense of loss or disconnect and that is what drives us? I have heard many opinions about our generation...and I mean mine...but this generation is the one that is doing the most blogging. I am actually almost more concerned about the older generations that have started blogging in droves...because I cannot understand their motivation in the same terms...and have not yet found a new vocabulary for what they are seeking. I am aware that it could be the same thing we all are searching for, but I cannot reconcile the idea of separating generations from each other and ascribing to them very particular problems, attitudes and behaviors if we are all really experiencing and responding in kind.
So I offer that up for interpretation...if anyone wants to read this far into a post by someone is aware that she is not the center of the world or even that important in the grand scheme of things...but I also do not find that disheartening in itself...we are all here and interacting with others, affecting things, and wanting to make an impression on the world somehow...but we are still small. Or big if you want...but we are all equally sized in comparison to others...but just feel our world is the world and struggle with the same questions. So, I do not what my next step should be, when there is so many places to put it down...and really none that are inherently better than others...there are just too may choices...and someone who is all too keenly aware that her choice does not inherently matter. The meaning of all actions is prescribed by humankind and so if we do right it is by a code that may have stood the test of time and been adopted by many...but it is still somewhat artificial. This is a very difficult realization to have and there are way too many people who could tell me what they think I should do and how...but their conviction that they are right in that makes me ill...and envious that they have a strong feeling...and all the more confused as to what my next move should be, or will be, or already is.
If you want to express a thought or a feeling that is about this post, I welcome it with open arms...but please do not respond with a joke or a silly piece of advice...I want this to be serious at least for awhile...use facebook for your humor in response to my status. Thanks.
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