Wake Me Up, September's Over!

Humans are just meant to socialize. Have you ever eaten a meal alone in a restaurant? It's awkward, right? Or maybe you've seen a crowd having fun in the park. Don't you want to join in? It feels strange to stand there and watch, to remain isolated and separate from the rest.

I've been back from Ecuador 3 months now. Each 30-day period, I find myself reflecting on new ideas, discoveries, and improvements. I'm taking baby steps, but I can work with the slow-and-steady approach.

I'm working and I'm enjoying it. I'm meeting new people, and I'm enjoying that even more. Which brings me back to the socialization thing. It's not always easy to emerge from that comforting pace of life that feels so safe and stable. I understand that. It was much easier to curl up in my bed and keep company with books than to investigate and explore who and what is out there in the world. Well, there's the good, the bad, and the ugly. I'll be exposed to all of that. Yet, I've got a good head on my shoulders, a core group of friends who love me, and a God who loves me even more, so I know I'm going to be okay if I step out into the world and try this whole living thing.

I met a new friend this past weekend. I never would've met him if I stayed huddled up in my room all day. However, I took a chance, made the leap, and realized that there are decent people out there who share my values. I think that's one of the great things about humans; we are the same, yet different. We all know what fear feels like...and love, hope, pain, sorrow, happiness. We have interests that differ from each other, but we all understand what a smile means, we can sense when someone is in distress or feels anger. We can navigate some pretty intense situations! It's amazing! (If you're Eileen or Lynne, you get this phrase.)

So this new friend is great. He's a rare breed of human as well. No, he's got 2 eyes and his nose and mouth are in the proper places. He has no missing limbs either. What he does have is an actual family unit. I know I'm not alone in the fact that I haven't had a sit-down family dinner in ages, or that the parent who lives with me takes little interest in what I'm doing. And I'm not complaining about it; it is what it is. (Is this why I don't want kids?! That's for another time...)

Anyway, hearing my friend talk about his family got me thinking about “family” in the United States. In a society that rewards efficient schedules, no free time, and grab-and-go meals, and of course INDIVIDUALITY, is it no wonder that family has taken on a somewhat new meaning? I live with a father and a sister, but we're more like residents in a boarding house than a unit. I remember being so touched by the solidarity of families in Ecuador. People make it a point to sit down with each other and chat about the day's events. They cook with each other and savor the meal together, taking their time instead of rushing through it to get to football practice, or worse-watching it in front of a television while ignoring their relatives.

When you see someone you know across the street, in Ecuador it is very rude to simply nod hello or wave. You cross the street, kiss the person, and spend at least 5 minutes talking about their family and how they're doing. At first, this seemed like an awful lot of work, but I came to really enjoy it. I felt human again! My robotic sensibilities were melting away! It was OKAY to put down what I was doing and take interest in another human being. The world was not going to stop spinning if I tried something new and different. Actually, the world sped up and I enjoyed a nice ride. It wasn't me against the world.

These are things I think about as I end September 2014. Last year I was in South America, trying to be a teacher, traversing a land previously unknown. This year, I'm wandering about a land I thought I knew, and realizing there is so much more out there.  

Seahorses

-Did you know that seahorses are very poor swimmers? I'm among friends.
-Seahorses swim upright.
-Seahorses will court each other before breeding.
-They can change color very quickly to match their surroundings.

They flit about, up and down. Bobbing along, dusk to dawn.
I want to join the seahorses; I want to hug their necks and let them
carry me through the strange new world.
The seahorses are tiny, but I can get tiny, too. I can make myself smaller;
ever smaller. I'm a speck, I'm a bit of dust! I can trail along with the seahorses.
We'll be a little family gang.
Yellow, green, blue, and violet.
Indigo, red, orange, pink.
They are like mobile coral reefs; they are upper-class seaweed.
Oceanic ferns with trumpet noses. If I delve into the depths of the sea,
will I hear their siren song? With chests puffed out, and tails curlicued,
and papery skin stretched taut over bones; they are like delicate flowers.
Flowers that swim! They will teach me to maneuver the blue expanse
of vast wetness. My fear will dwindle and be smaller than seahorse bones.
And even more fragile. Together, we will break the wall of terror that pervades
my mind. Just like water, the fear will drip and trickle, then gush away.
I am free! I am with the seahorses, patiently floating; the marine life washing
around me. I am not drowning, I am buoyed by the seahorses. I hear their song.
I open my mouth; I breathe in life. I exhale and the bubbles surround us.
We flit about, up and down. Bobbing along, dusk to dawn. Together we
navigate the paths; together we are a colorful breeze passing through.  

Normal, Not Normal, Who Cares?

“Are you coming over today?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Good. It's feels normal when you come over.”

“I'm normal?”

“Having you in the house is normal now.”

Essentially, there is no 'normal.' Maybe there is an average, or a dominating trend in society, but who decided what is 'normal' and what is 'not normal?' Being someone who has been called 'not normal' for most of my life, I take pride in the fact that I tend to go against the norm. (Hey, look! My face isn't buried in an electronic device permanently attached to my palm!)

Getting back to the conversation above, it was between my sister's boyfriend and me. Having this 22-year-old male passing out in a food coma on our couch or discussing race cars and football in his booming voice with my dad gives me this strange feeling of comfort. Wow, someone outside the realm of my sister, my dad, and me can function in our house?! I am constantly bogged down by the insecurity that our house has this gross musty smell infesting the carpet that's older than me, and the dirt encrusted in random objects that no one bothered to clean is less-than-appealing. Even I found the house repulsive when I returned from a year away.

Yet, finally, it's not just Dad, Sister, Me. Dad, who goes to work all day and disappears on weekends to shoot pool. Sister, who is either at class, at work, and will act as if communication would kill her. And me, who works from home, finds refuge in my bike, and wonders how long I'll be living here.

Enter Sister's Boyfriend. Male. Talks of sports, cars, and can eat more than I thought humanly possible. Sister's Boyfriend, for whom I keep a bottle of TUMS in the cabinet. Sister's Boyfriend, who bought me waffles at 1am when I was having one of those nights. Sister's Boyfriend, who makes me feel like an actual person, not 'the sister, so I have to be nice her.' I believe he's my friend, and a gateway to spending more time with my sister.

I've come to terms with my family. There is no cookie-cutter family. No manual that says “Family does this at this time with this person in this place. They live here, and have this pet, and they name this pet this.” We live in our row home in Upper Darby; we make do with the neighbors who curse their kids out, and the death of the stray cat we tried to save. We are related by blood, but not interests. While it sucks to accept this, that's just what I'm doing. We are not all going to sit at the dinner table or hug each other. I love them, and they know that. And that's enough for them.

I've got to make it enough for me.

That's where Sister's Boyfriend comes in. And my other friends. I may not have loads of friends, but the ones I've got are pretty damn good. You can't choose your family, so choose your friends wisely. And even if all those friends just deserted me, guess what? I've got my Lord, who is the best friend you could ever imagine. So, I'm gonna be all right.

Still, it is nice to see a new face in the house. And even nicer when the new face decides to stay a while.  

Desensitized

     It is scary that we now live in a world where tragedy is no longer news; it's sports. As we eat our Cheerios and watch the daily newscast, we crunch away at the cereal while listening to tales of school shootings, suicide bombers, and civil unrest. We gulp down our coffee while gulping down the latest story of neighbors killing each other, and we do not for one second have a gag reflex.

     What is happening? It is now a world of brother versus brother. Brother in a larger context; not blood and family lines, but in terms of the human race. That person of a completely different ethnicity, economic background, or religion is your brother (or sister.) Language is only a small frog leap, yet many people make it (and other factors) huge mountainous barriers that separate us. If we accept the challenge to don some climbing gear and traverse that mountain, we will actually discover that it is nothing more than a hill, maybe with some weeds poking up from the ground.

     The language barrier has been broken time and again by many people (famous and little-known.) Religious differences have been set aside in those rare, beautiful moments when people just come together to love each other. To love one another not as a Christian, or a Muslim. Not as an American, or a Russian. Not as a “minority” or “one of the few who still has some class.” Individuals and groups of people have joined together to celebrate each other; that they all have a beating human heart.

     Everyone has fears, hopes, dreams, desires, strengths, weaknesses, talents, faults; experiences that can teach someone something. Everyone has a person that they love to pieces. At the end of the day, when the sun descends and darkness falls, everyone has the same thoughts of a goal they wish to achieve, or a person they would do anything for, or a fear that keeps needling at them relentlessly. So why do we tend to think that we are all so different?

     Look at the next stranger you see. What do you notice? Their race? What kind of clothing they are wearing? What language they are speaking? Can you look beyond that? Can you see the essence of the human being; that this person standing before you is just like you...a person with thoughts and feelings?

     If a person upsets you, do you blame it on their race or ethnicity? Do you blame it on some invented fault that you imagined for them? If you find a person extremely admirable, do you attribute it to their being so similar to you? Do you search for the ways that this person shares some kind of characteristic or experience with you?

     As you drink that second cup of coffee and skim the side-bar newspaper column about the raging fighting in some country thousands of miles away that you have very little knowledge of, can you step back and imagine that the people in this country are just like you? They get hungry and thirsty. They feel cold and warmth. They long to be comforted. They get angry and happy. They are capable of laughing and crying. They breathe in and out, just like you. They have emotions just like you.

Or is it easier to just turn the page and skip to the Entertainment section and read about some teen idol's latest DUI?  

08.21.14.

Things on my mind:

     In a world where we measure our happiness based on “likes” and the race to post our vacay photos, job promotion news, and status updates about our latest financial indulgence; is it a wonder it's so easy to get down in the dumps? I don't think more people are depressed these days than in the past, I just think it's easier for them to be depressed.

     Maybe good things happened to me today. Maybe they didn't. But either way, I don't need to post it on Facebook and clog the news-feeds of my 36 Facebook friends. Friends meaning: I would send a hand-written letter to you because I value the time we've spent together and I wish to keep in touch...and Facebook's an easy way to do that.

     I live in a world where the white-picket fence ideal is having 500+ friends and a bunch of likes on that uploaded photo of your day trip to the ocean.

     If you're on vacation, and you don't have a job, is it still vacation?

     I figured out my life the other day.

     Age 23-30. Build up the writing portfolio, sending submissions to various publications. Work job in museum setting and learn about art history. *Ideal: get a Masters in anthropology somewhere in this time frame.* Age 30: Get job with NatGeo; be their writer who gets sent to cool places like Polynesia to research the culture and write about it. Fall in love with my partner/photographer. We live the nomadic life as a pair of wandering sea turtles. Not sure why I chose sea turtles, since I hate being in open bodies of water. It just seemed very pleasant. So, the sea turtle scheme stays.

     Why didn't I think of this plan before?

     The cat is sitting in the windowsill, basking. Basking, basking. Tummy rises, falls. Fur is brown, then golden, then white, then golden; brown. Up and down. Up and down.

     A sound. Ears prick. A mouse! No, the wind. No...a fly. Rise. All four feet, padding on carpet. This carpet reeks! Sniff. No good. The fly! Buzz, buzz. Buzz. Must catch. Pad, pad, pad. There he is! Leap! Snatch. Miss. Pad, pad.

     A sound. Ears prick. The girl! The skinny one. Ah, yes, behind the ears, get behind the ears! What's this? She sees the fly. My name? She's saying my name. She's pointing to the fly.

     That is not my job.

I Write.

I started doing the online dating thing. But I think I'm going to stop.

Why does almost every guy want a quick sex buddy?

I mean, I get horny, too. I'm a 23-year-old virgin; in today's world I'm like a rare conch shell in the diminishing Great Barrier Reef.

I don't know what I feel right now. I miss David. I miss Cj. These are not former lovers. These are not current lovers. They are people who have made an impact on my life.

How is that some people just leave an imprint in you? As if you were made of wet cement, and this person came along and dipped a toe or placed their hand on the malleable surface. And the material hardened, and now you've got this person's print stuck on you. For better or for worse.

Is that how relationships are? Of the romantic and platonic and just plain friend varieties? What about relatives? They say you can't choose your family. I guess not. It's weird to think that those people who go to Disney World every year have some of the similar blood to me flowing through them. Or the sad-sack neglected adolescent in a poor neighborhood of Philadelphia. How much of our blood is the same? What if it were possible to take a sample of your blood and portion it into blood that belongs to your family and blood that is all yours.

Whoa, or what if when you gave blood, your family's blood went into the recipient's bloodstream, and now they were part of your family? But then, if you met this recipient years later and ended up marrying them or something, would you be marrying one of your own blood? That's so twisted up.

I have this intense urge to go sit in a coffee shop with my laptop and furiously write away. I hate the taste of coffee. It's also 9:30pm.

Sometimes I imagine that I am seeing myself from far away. I practice my facial expressions and my walk and my stance. Oh, I tucked my hair behind my ear here. And I my eye twitched there; what, am I on drugs? And I did a cool pivot move around that corner.

I'm so cool.

It's so weird.

I asked my sister if I would ever get married. She said “yes.” I asked my dad the same thing. He said “I don't know. You don't have to.”

Weddings are expensive and overrated. But it's kind of intriguing to fret over the color of the napkin holders.

Napkin holders are some of the oddest things I've ever heard of. I don't get it.

Why are napkins usually white? That only makes them look dirty before you even wipe your mouth on it. Black napkins are all sleek and elegant. I really like when I go to a restaurant and they have black napkins.

But then there's the question of whether the napkins should be cloth or paper. Because it's kind of creepy knowing someone totally made out with the cloth napkin I'm using right now. But paper napkins tend to look cheap when you're dining out. I mean, I would want to treat someone to a nice dinner with cloth napkins. Other times, I really couldn't give a crap.

Why is it that at whatever age I'm currently at, I imagine life in 2 or 3 years' time, and it always seems really nice. Years go by, but I never really feel older. I think my body stayed at 14 years old. My mind definitely grew, but I don't know.

Sometimes I get frustrated with the fact that I took a bunch of “half-ass” classes in college because I didn't feel like doing the “hard” stuff. I know nothing about business and economics. I don't know how to solve algorithms. Shit!

I can do the corpse pose. I learned deep breathing and the history of yoga. I know the basic Buddhist beliefs. I attended a class where I could use the F-word freely in my essays.

I like to eat hummus and make my own gazpacho. I'm terrified to go to some parts of Mexico after watching documentaries. I wrote a 60-page thesis in Spanish about a Catalan architect. And then I saw his works in person.

That makes me smile!

Sometimes I wish that people were like possessions that I could store in a little tupperware box and take with me everywhere. But then I guess the people would shrivel up and die.

Should I get a hermit crab or a turtle instead?

One summer I was staying in a beach house in Cape May with a friend. I remember a day when us two got locked out, and the Eastern European woman next door took us in and gave us old frumpy frocks to wear, because it was raining.

My friend swears this did not happen.

A Trip to the Shrink

There's a couch. And a box of tissues. Also a really nice glass sculpture in the window, which I admire vocally. I am paying someone to listen to my problems, to nod and “mm-hmm” and hopefully offer pearls of wisdom. The things we do in first-world countries.

My therapist is nice. He's got a beard and glasses and he wears a plaid shirt. I like him already. And the couch is a plus. I told him I'd probably lie down on it next time. Then I ask if that's okay. It is!

Ever since April, my blues have been pestering me, and they're not going away. I don't mind paying this man to listen to my life story. I feel better doing it. I will see him next week.

We talk about lots of things. I tell him about my trip to Ecuador and what I was doing; about important events in my life; about things that happened that might have caused these current feelings; about people in my life; about my thoughts. He “mm-hmms” a lot; more than I thought therapists actually did in real life, but it doesn't bother me. He writes on a notepad, and I can hear him underlining things and putting boxes around others. Hmmm...

I used to be really against going to “shrinks.” It was just a matter of GET A GRIP and THAT'S LIFE. Or best of all: MAYBE IF I IGNORE IT, IT'LL GO AWAY.

Nope.

Now I think it's good to get a professional opinion and to hear from someone outside my little social sphere. It's nice to just have someone all to myself for an hour who listens intently and absorbs what I'm saying and provides feedback on that. It's certainly a breath of fresh air.

The tissues weren't needed this time, but they probably will be in the future. That's fine. As long as the couch stays, we're good.