Connections

I was thinking today how everything is connected: in our bodies, and in our lives. As I did a light workout after putting a kid on the bus, I thought about how first one hip gets injured, so I go easy on it, and then the other hip starts complaining and feeling out of joint too. When one part of our bodies stops being used, the others all have to compensate. 

Okay, it was a medium workout. My back is still feeling it.

When I injured my hip/pelvis three years ago, it blew my mind at how sore my back was. I didn’t even realize it. Our backs bear so much of our burdens. I think a lot of us forget just how much the back connects the rest of the body, and then wonder why we end up with back problems. Like me, many people might forget that the abdominal muscles are there to support the back and spine, and fall into the trap of thinking that wanting a lean or muscled stomach is merely a vanity issue.

It’s not. We need to be strong. 

After stretching from growing three kids, I’m trying to care less about how flat my stomach is and more about how ready it is to bear the burdens of life. As I tensed and breathed and lifted very light weights, I tried to pull all those abdominal and pelvic muscles in, and I could feel them being used in every exercise. I try to work my whole body lightly and fairly quickly these days, because I don’t know when I’ll remember/be able to workout next, and I don’t want to neglect any vital part, which includes just about all of them! At the risk of going all hippie on you, I think workouts should be holistic: involving the whole mind and body. Awareness and peacefulness, focusing on control, letting in tension and releasing it, all of this should be a celebration of what your body can do.  

I don’t know what today will hold, so I tried to warm up everything. I tried to stretch long enough (even though it’s so very, very, boring) to avoid injury, and I tried to wrap it up in time to write this before my teething baby woke up (she just did. But she’s not crying yet. I have time). 

I just noticed today that just like everything in our bodies are connected, things in our lives are too. I think every good thing we do affects the rest of the things. If I work out in the morning (and don’t overdo it), I’m more ready and more happy for the day. If I pray and read scriptures first, I’m more focused on what matters. If I clean one thing, the whole house looks better. If I take care of scheduling that parent-teacher conference finally, I will stop stressing about it. If I'm kinder, that helps others be kind, because all people are connected too. With a more holistic view, hopefully I won’t be neglecting anything vital. But I’m going to do one good thing at a time, and then another, if I can. I heard somewhere that if there’s more water in the bay, all the boats rise. The more good things I do will hopefully make the rest of the things better, not just for me, but for my family too. Aaaaand I've gotta go now. She's crying.

I wish you success in your endeavors today. Be strong, and take care of yourself.

When Gratitude Makes You Grumpy

 So, it's that time of year when everyone is posting about how they are so blessed and how grateful they are. Maybe you are seeing their happy pictures and thinking as you roll your eyes, "Oh, good for you! I'm glad everything is so hunky-dory and perfect in your life!" And maybe you are annoyed because Thanksgiving is coming up, and you are not feeling thankful, and you are annoyed that people are telling you to be grateful. I've certainly felt like that. 

Well, to myself as much as to you, stop it. 

You know these people. Don't think for a second that they don't have problems. Everyone you know, at any given time, will have something that they're struggling with. Celebrating a good thing does not mean that's all there is to the story. Being grateful for something isn't lying about having no problems at all. Gratitude does not betray your sorrow.

Or does it? If someone asks you how things are going, it's probably a lie to say that it's all good, and that everything is fine. Usually when we say that, I think we're saying that we're handling our struggles. It may be a desire to look capable or pride in not wanting to admit things are not fine. It's a quick exchange, usually. We don't want to go into the complexities of our issues or sound like a bitter, complaining soul (that we feel like we are sometimes), especially if the person asking can't help us. You may not even want help. You may find that your struggles are chronic and view them as unsolvable. 

So, what then? Shall we just be grumpy this entire holiday season, feeling inadequate and un-festive while our communities throw jolly plans and decor at us? Shall we isolate ourselves further in this time of cold, dark, and viral infections? Am I just going to turn into Ebeneezer Scrooge a little more every year?!

Here's the thing which I'm sure you've heard before: it's all about perspective. Aaand that's probably annoying to hear again, but I think it's true. Two people can go through the very same circumstances and have vastly different versions of the story without lying at all. Two brothers and their families for example (See 1 Nephi 17:1-3; 20-21), suffered for eight years in the wild. One was grateful for their blessings, strength, and experience gained, and the other was mourning what could have been, counting their sufferings, and saying that it would have been better to die. That's a bit of a downer. It all depends on what they focused on. Look at any situation, like where you are now. There are bad and uncomfortable things, but I'll bet there are good things too, even if it's only a joke that still makes you smile. For me, there's the insomnia I still struggle with (which is not as bad as it was), and there was the kind lady who offered me her own umbrella when I were walking in the rain. What am I going to focus on? And you?

As I see it, there are always reasons to be unhappy, and the reverse is also true. There are just two ways we can go about it. Our memories are like a dinner we attend where the host gave us two drinks and we sampled both: one left a horribly bitter taste in our mouths, and the other is sweet. Drinking one won't make the other disappear. But which one will we decide to focus on?

Life is also like a blank page in a coloring book. It has harsh black lines that state the facts, and we didn't get to choose what the picture was. Maybe it was an octopus. Maybe you don't like octopuses. You didn't ask for it. But there it is. And here's the thing: you get to choose how to color it. My 4-year-old daughter decided her octopus would be a rainbow, so she and I colored a downright magnificent rainbow octopus with our markers. 

You color your world. I'm telling you that you are not helpless. If you're too tired, maybe just fill in the polka dots today. Even if you only have a pen or pencil in your life's drawing, you can get creative and draw mustaches and glasses. You can color with friends. The people you let in your life can add things with their different perspective that you'd never think of, in good ways and bad. My brother once took a Thumbelina coloring book and changed her eyes that were too close together into one eye, and renamed her "Cyclopsina." That still gets me.

This time of year is hard when you aren't happy and you feel like you should be somehow. And when you feel like things aren't getting better, when your goals are astronomically far away instead of just down the street like they used to be, and you wonder if you will ever be okay. When you feel like that, STOP. Things will get better. You WILL be okay. I care about you, and I do not want you to believe something so slimy and false that will destroy your happiness. Don't ever think that you'll never be okay. You will be okay. Even if you have to wait until the long, dark night is over. It will end.

The first Thanksgiving, as I learned it in school, was celebrated by Pilgrims and Indians--fine--Native Americans. The pilgrims had left everything behind in their old world and almost died their first year in the new one. The Native Americans helped them survive, a kind example of friendship that is not common. Were they celebrating perfect lives? Hecks to the no! They were celebrating having an actual harvest. Friendship. Survival. Improvement. They took those gloriously orange pumpkins with the bland squash flavor and turned them into pies. I mean, eventually they did. Probably not at the first feast, but you get the picture. Life can always be better, but you can still color yourself a mean rainbow octopus. You can taste the sweet drink instead. You can count the good things instead of the bad things. The choice is yours, every minute of the day. 

So, fine. I'm grateful for quiet time to write this morning, my own laptop, and WiFi. For that kind lady who offered me her umbrella. For you, since you're probably one of my friends if you're reading this.

Thank you for helping me color my world.

And if you want cheering up, Strongbad's kid's book. This still gets me too. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT4SGdq0ZyU

And another fun thing: the fantastic Poets of the Fall song "Choice Millionaire." The video is odd, so read the lyrics if you don't fancy it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biZpPNzt3II 

The inspiring and relatable scripture story of the two brothers that I referenced as well: https://abn.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/scriptures/bofm/1-ne/17?lang=eng&abVersion=V04&abName=GLOB88

When Change is Somehow for the Better, or Two Wise Suzannes

So, when Ron and I finally bought our first house, where I went to church changed because of where the borders were drawn for each congregation, or ward as we call it. I was just barely starting to feel comfortable where we were going, and this was a bummer. But when I was discussing this change with a friend from that ward--Suzanne, was her name--she told me that sometimes change is for the better. I didn't believe her. But sure, I accepted that it was a possibility.

It's a long name, but I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which I truly do believe was restored by the Lord through Joseph Smith, and has all the priesthood authority and saving ordinances necessary to change our lives for better now, and to enable us to return to live with God in heaven. That's why I've kept going to buildings full of strangers even though it's been uncomfortable. Our congregations meet in units called wards, and for the last 7 or 8 years now, mine has been the Eastmont Ward. 

I wish everyone had the chance to live in the Eastmont Ward at some point in their lives. I mean, it was awkward at first. It was slightly comforting to be greeted by a young, bald father when we came, since there was a young, bald father who'd been our friend in our previous ward. The bishop warmly welcomed us at a Christmas activity, and that was nice to be noticed and befriended so soon. For a while, I felt like I just kind of floated along without getting to know anyone well, but I was determined to get involved this time. As I sat next to people and talked to them, I got invited to activities and get-togethers, and I could barely tell the lifelong friends apart from the new move-ins like me. That was unusual. 

The change of wards was actually for the better! Sorry, old wards, but Eastmont is simply my favorite. It is where I've found acceptance. It's where I was entrusted with things that were difficult, and was lovingly and patiently encouraged to keep trying. I was praised even when I thought I'd flunked the whole thing. Is it entirely peopled with saintly grandparents? No, but the more I've gotten to know people there, the more they feel like family, and like true saints: sinners who keep on trying. I was asked to teach children in Primary and play the organ for the whole congregation, things that I had barely any talent or ability for. These things forced me to work hard to keep up with and get better, which has brought me more satisfaction than if I'd just gotten to sit still and listen. Working hard in the gospel is a good thing.

When my husband stopped coming due to his changed beliefs, I had to decide if I was going to go alone and sit by myself or not. By divine inspiration, they gave me reasons to come (and to come on time!). This strengthened my faith when it might have shriveled up entirely. Any anxiety that I felt with an upcoming lesson for a chaotic class of 7 and 8 year-olds and/or playing the organ badly in front of everyone--and I did feel anxiety--was overcome by the desire I felt to serve the Lord and these good people I was getting to know. Not because I'm so unselfish, but because I was needed. I just sang pleading hymns in the car while I drove there to keep from breaking down from nervousness. It helped. And then I sang thankful hymns on the way back. Lots of singing in the car.

One time I played the organ so, so, SO badly that I went to the women's bathroom to cry about it instead of going to Primary to sit with my class. I think it was another Suzanne, the one who showed me how to play the organ, that inadvertently found me, and instead of agreeing that I'd done badly, she just said something like, "Oh, there you are! Come on, we need you."

And that's what it's been like with pretty much everyone! You show up and try your feeble best, and they love you for it. They seem to accept that everyone has made mistakes, and through Jesus Christ's Atonement, you are forgiven. They accept that everyone still makes mistakes, and everyone is in a growing and learning process. And it's not like everyone who lives in the borders of this ward is the same. We all have widely different circumstances, hobbies, favorite sports teams, and political preferences, but two things unite us: the mere location of our homes, and more importantly, our faith in Jesus Christ. That's why we all go. Not because we're a tight group of friends, or that we need to pretend that we're perfect. What I've experienced there is solidarity, sympathy, and encouragement. With that atmosphere, I've been able to grow, learn, and contribute.

I don't know why this ward is different. Many people have come and gone, some of whom I'd call the backbone of our ward, and the borders have been changed at least twice. I still feel like it's a place of faith, acceptance, and love. I feel that everyone there is needed, even someone as bad at helping people as I am (seriously, my piano skills are not the best). I feel like it's a place where people actually, actively live the gospel of Jesus Christ. Where they accept you as you are, but encourage you to grow, and help you along the way. I couldn't even begin to list the people that have helped me. That list grew astronomically when I had a baby and I needed someone to hold her while I played the organ. She did not like being held by other people, either, so that was especially kind of them. So many of them have moved away, or are in another ward now, and it's so sad. I do know that where they are now is so much the better for their presence. Their new wards and communities are downright fortunate to have them. And you guys had better appreciate them! 

I still don't like change; it's scary and unfamiliar. It tears holes in our friendships and comforts. It can make our struggles--our needs--overwhelming. But I've learned that yes, sometimes it can be good, and even better than before. I've learned that our needs in life bring us closer to people we never would have gotten to know, and I wouldn't trade knowing them for any level of mundane comfort. The harder we try to serve and help others even while we are struggling has, oddly enough, made us stronger and better able to endure or overcome our struggles. The sweet overcomes the bitter somehow. Somehow. It's kind of a miracle. But then, we believe in Jesus Christ, who was born of a virgin, performed countless miracles in his life, and then rose from the dead. Our God is a God of Miracles, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Ice Cream Categories

 So, my daughter woke me up at 4:30 this morning because she had a bad dream. She didn't want to talk about it, apparently, so we just cuddled on the couch until she agreed to go back to bed. I wanted to lie down and snooze on the couch so bad! But I changed her diaper and got her a drink, and after using the bathroom myself, I got to back to bed, because she did not wake up her brother! In fact, he is still asleep. That's awesome. But me? I laid down and immediately my brain began cataloging various flavors and brands of ice cream. It's been a half hour already, and I'm still awake, so rather than being angry, I'm just going to go with it. We have five categories this morning! We'll go least favorite, meh, most disappointing, absolute favorite, and favorite chocolate flavor. Because chocolate is kind of a different category than fruit or other kinds of candy.

1. Least Favorite

Coffee ice cream was never on the table, because coffee is disgusting, so forget that. The worst ice cream I've ever had is Winco Brand Vanilla Bean. It was an awful, strong flavor that I unfortunately purchased in a gallon tub, and rather than waste the precious cold dessert, I just tried to drown it out with condiments and fruit. Blech. I even wrote a song about how I regretted buying it. Never again. You gotta be careful with vanilla flavors. French, bean, Farr's brand, etc. I've had vanilla beans flavors that I've liked, but I don't remember the brands they were, so it's just not worth it to me to keep wasting freezer space. Plain vanilla, Winco brand is a staple, though. There is pretty much always a gallon tub in my freezer. It's good by itself, but bland enough that I can add anything to it and the flavors get along nicely. 

Funnily enough, my mom's least favorite is Neopolitan. She says they just do a bad job on all three flavors and won't even bother to eat it, even if it's the only option. Makes me giggle, but I can't blame her, even if I actually like cheap Neopolitan.

2. Meh

I didn't think they existed for me, but there are kinds of ice cream that just aren't good. I think I'd still eat them if they were offered, though. Just to be polite. Or if it was a really hot day. First that comes to mind is Umpqua strawberry. Just not what I want, because the flavor seems off. Next up is Rocky Road. Ice cream with nuts used to be a type where I'd eat it and try not to grimace at the nuts, but... I'll actually crave those a little bit sometimes. I like a little salty with my sweets now that I'm older and have a lower sugar tolerance. Rocky Road was a flavor that as a kid I would avoid the nuts as much as possible, while mentally cheering "MARSHMALLOW!" but the last time I had it, it was a "meh."

3. Absolute Favorite

Right now? Keeping chocolate ice cream as it's own separate category? Orange-Vanilla Swirl: orange sherbet meets that plain vanilla in an amazing blend of tart and smooth. I don't know why it's better than just a scoop of sherbet and a scoop of vanilla, but they are my favorite combination, hands down. They are practically a match made in heaven, like Emmett and Wild Style--or Lucy, I guess--from The Lego Movie. They don't sell it very often, sadly. But any season, it's an all-time, absolute favorite. They sell orange creamsicles, and when I first had them, I deemed that they tasted like true love's kiss.  At least, how I imagined that would taste like, haha.

4. Most Disappointing

Tillamook is one of the best brands out there, which I did not know until I moved to Washington State and my husband got an amazing albeit miserable job so we can afford the tastiest brand. Usually they swirl delectable flavors into rich, creamy ice cream that has me digging for more from the carton when I really should have portioned out a modest serving into a bowl. I'm getting a little better about that, but anyway: Chocolate Peanut Butter. They dropped the ball on that one! I don't know what was going on. The chocolate wasn't rich and the peanut butter wasn't very salty. They just missed it on both counts! I guess I was expecting something as good as a Reese's peanut butter up, and this was just nothing close. It was especially disappointing because I was craving it a lot that night when my one-year-old was just not going to sleep.

5. Favorite Chocolate

Any brand of Chocolate Moose Tracks is amazing, but hands down, my all time favorite of choco, the one that satisfies the craving and makes me feel like a fat cat purring over my late-night snack when all the kids have gone to bed is... (drumroll, please) Tillamook Mudslide!

(The crowd of the imaginary audience cheers) It's an amazingly rich, dark chocolate ice cream that gets even better with this hard, fudgy swirl in the middle. The swirl is almost salty but so amazing. Even though it's tough to break it into manageable pieces with your spoon, it's so worth it because it just melts in your mouth and satisfies every last chocolate craving with ultimate success. I just love it so much. It's not even fair. How does anything taste that good?!

So there you have it. My brain just needed to get that out there so I could go back to sleep. We live in troubled times, my friends. It's the little things that we take joy in that make a difference. Finding our favorites out of these things is a worthy pursuit, especially if we can proudly say that we controlled our appetites for them last night and only got a modest bowl full. Find your version of a Tillamook Mudslide and treat yourself! Or even just the actual Tillamook Mudslide. Umpqua Chocolate Brownie Thunder is also amazing, because BROWNIES! 

I'm not even hungry right now, so I don't know why my brain had to go through this process. Yeesh. Okay, I actually am getting hungry now that it's after 5 a.m., but not even for ice cream. What the heck, brain?

Love vs Fear

I love people, but I'm also afraid of them.

They can be so fragile. Clumsy words hurt them, and they don't always say so. Honest feelings hurt them, and not even opinions, just feelings. Most of the time they forgive my clumsy words because they know I mean well, so I have to mean well all of the time. This is exhausting. 

Sometimes I long for the comfort of close friendship where you don't have to worry about what you say because you already know them well enough and they know you well enough not to misunderstand an offhand remark. I long for the comfort of knowing they know me and like me anyway. It is hard to take the risk, however. Being acquaintances or casual friends that don't intentionally spend a lot of time together seems safer. With the difficulty of scheduling around kids and such, it is more natural now than becoming close friends, but this is because I am a coward. The more frequent interactions we have, the more I worry that once they get to know me, my clumsy words will annoy them, or they'll find my laugh grating.

Do you ever feel like that? I have been on the other side of that where I thought I would like to be actual friends with someone, only to find that certain negative aspects about them were stronger than I thought. It is hard to describe without sounding petty, but perhaps because it is petty. There are behaviors that I do not like in other people, such as gossiping, or lengthy, repetitive lists of health problems, chronic complaining, or looking at life as if no one could understand how much more they suffer than anyone else. Some others include inconsistent honesty, one-way conversations, (long ones, too) and always needing something instead of ever wanting to just spend time together. These are tolerable in short doses, but not in close friendship. I value my free time too much to want those things to suck it all away, and sadly, would prefer to be alone instead of friends with these people. I don't want to behave like that, and I'm worried that I will become like that if I'm not careful. A while ago, I realized that what I dislike most about other people are aspects that I dislike about myself and have been trying to downplay. I don't like them because they're like me.

In short, I realize that I'm afraid that other people won't like me because they'll be too much like me.

Maybe that is why I am drawn to people who seem different, who are cheerful, energetic, loving, and enthusiastic. People who love to learn and grow, who are trying new things. People who know what they want, and accomplish their goals instead of giving up before their small project is finished. I want to be more like people who take care of themselves and their families and their lives without my failings--though I do take relief that my failings are not uncommon. I love having things in common. But perhaps I secretly hope they have solutions to these problems that I haven't thought of yet.

I want to be friends, but that includes taking the risk of coming out of my shell long enough to say, "I like you. Will you give up your free time and spend it with me?" and hope that they do not say yes just to be kind. It's as hard as dating used to be. It makes me nervous because I have to guess if the other person is liking or just tolerating me. There are many people out there that I would like to be closer to, especially when my closest friends are states away. I miss them, and it makes me sad to see others form close friendships around me so easily. They just call each other and decide to hang out on a whim, without any fear of rejection! How do they do that? Man, I want to be like you! I want to be less afraid.

I want to walk down the street to the park and let go of my fear that the other moms will think what I say is stupid or offensive, or that I'm judging everything they do. I promise, I'm not. If anything, I'm looking for tips on how to be a better mom. I want to tell the women wearing hijabs that I think they look neat and beautiful without worrying that they think I look wanton for showing my hair and my arms. I want to tell them that I admire that they live what they believe in. I want to feel comfortable around black people without worrying that they look at me and think that I can't understand them because I'm white. I want to tell them I love their Afros or neat, tight braids (my hair is always so messy, so I guess I'm a fan of neat hairstyles, haha). 

It's a pandemic right now, so socializing has taken a back seat in priorities, and I guess this gives me time to work up my courage. I don't know why I've become so closed-off and afraid of people. Probably 98% of all the people I've ever met have been kind to me, even if that kindness was just ignoring me instead of being unkind. This is the world I've grown up in, where you can't trust strangers, but most of them have been basically good. Where they don't know you, but they are still kind to your children, and will chase after you to give you back something you've dropped. I know it is not like that for everyone everywhere, but for me, 98% of them have, and I know that 100% are capable of it.

I love and believe in the scriptural phrase "I fear not what man can do; for perfect love casteth out all fear." (The Book of Mormon, Moroni 8:16) This is the sort of love I long to have, where I am no longer afraid of reaching out and loving others. The kind of love that is what it is, no matter what judgments, secret opinions, or prejudices other people might have. I want to be the kind of person who smiles at strangers everyday instead of just when I'm strong and gives compliments instead of just thinking them. One friend can make such a difference. One friend can make the world beautiful. One friend can be inspiring enough to cause positive change in another's life. Ah, I want to be that friend. 

I want to take the risk of admitting that I like someone and would like to know them better and take up some of their free time if they don't mind. But in order to do that, I have to become better at scheduling and asking people over to my house for a movie night, or on walks, or to go out for ice cream or pizza or pho when it's no longer frowned upon to socialize. With that perfect love in my heart, there would no longer be room for fear of rejection. Fear is about me. Love is about other people. If I truly love, then I am free from fear. Well, I'm not there yet. But if I reach out in love, I have nothing to lose; only something to gain, and there's nothing they can do to me that will change who I am. Well, strangers can't, but friends can change you, for the better, or for the worse. That's why they're so scary. And every interaction does have an effect on us. They can all change us, and be long remembered as bright spots or scars. 

Again, I tell myself, fear is about me. Love is about other people. Just choose to love. That's all you have to do.

Your Balancing Act in the Circus of Life

I always think of Qui Gon Jinn in Star Wars: Episode I when I hear the word 'balance.' https://youtu.be/ojXpHwhIqO8?t=89 "He is the Chosen One. He will bring balance." Did Qui Gon want Anakin to kill all those poor little Jedi? Was that a good kind of balance? He was dying, give him a break.

So how are we supposed to live balanced lives? The minute we start to do something that we need to do, something else clamors for our attention! The minute I feel like I've made progress in one area, something happens as a reminder that I've neglected another important area, and usually with all the gentleness of a swift kick to the pants. WHY?!

It occurred to me the other day that the best metaphor for balancing our lives isn't standing still while juggling. During my day, I have to move a lot from thing to thing, sprinting, stopping, changing direction, being delayed, and so on. I realized that in our lives we're mostly moving. And when you're balancing physical movement, even for something as commonplace as walking, you're constantly adjusting in order to stay upright. In order not to fall while doing yoga, you make frequent, if not constant adjustments to keep your balance. 

In Rachel Hollis's book "Girl, Stop Apologizing," she said that "Work-life balance is a myth." She followed up with,"the scale is never balanced; it constantly shifts back and forth based on what needs my attention right this second." That there was no answer to working toward your goals and having a perfect balance between your work life and home life seemed weird to me, but I think she was right. I think that there's no one setting that you can set and forget when it comes to balancing your life with all the responsibilities you take on. With all the people you have to take care of, and all the changes you have to make now and then or everyday, you're moving. So while you move, you evaluate. You write down what's working and what's not. You consult your confidants and respected ones. 

Ultimately, you adjust as you go. Like standing on one foot while you lift the other in the air and spread your arms out hopefully like some kind of wise, centered monk, you adjust yourself to keep upright. Frequently, if not constantly, you tweak things here and there. As long as you're watchful and humble enough to give consideration to warnings or advice you get, I think you'll be okay. I pray an awful lot that I'll receive guidance, and I need to work on listening afterward to get that inspiration from God, but a glimmer of understanding has percolated into my tired brain lately. I need to move forward, and once I'm moving, I can see what's working and what's not. Ears and eyes open, priorities set and reset, day by day, we can make little bits of progress that will accumulate like the soft, white cotton seeds that are floating in the air right now. Well, hopefully more like rain. But not too much rain. Haha, we want balance, not a flood. I hope you have the energy you need today, and that this helps a little! Now I need to get off my duff and start moving again because this chair is no longer comfortable. ^_^

"Netflix and Chill?!?!" Warning: Rant Concerning a Sexual Innuendo

I super hate that phrase: "Netflix and Chill." I thought it was exactly what it sounded like. As a date, it sounds like something a couple who's been together for a while would want to do at the end of a long, tiring day. A boring date when you have low energy and no good ideas. Just sit on the couch while cuddling, perhaps, watch something mindless, and maybe eat some snacks. Chill.

So, what, it means sex?!

Sex is not bad. I'm not against sex between two consenting adults, especially if they are married to each other. It's part of a biologically healthy relationship. BUT WHAT THE HECK?! Sex is NOT chill! It's a physical activity that requires cardiovascular endurance. At some points, every muscle in the body is tense. My husband has told me that it's the best full-body exercise for humans (and he would say that). So in what way is that chilling?

Worst metaphor ever! Not a good innuendo! How did it come to mean that?!?! I would be super-duper annoyed if a man suggested we watch a movie and chill when he really intended to make me work hard. It's really rude to say "Let's relax and not worry about anything," if you really mean "Now work really hard and please me to the point where you will want a shower."

Like, if a man (or woman) asked you on a hiking trip, and told you it was a mild hike of one or two miles with no elevation gain. And then you find out after you're on the trail that he or she lied to you, and the trail is really TEN miles, straight uphill, and when you say you didn't dress for that, or that you're not feeling up to it, they look at you like a wounded puppy, a soldier betrayed, or worse, leave you alone, in the middle of the woods, stomping off in a huff. Wouldn't you be mad? That example is extreme, but drastically different expectations can have the same bad emotional effect in a relationship.

It's selfish and dishonest to suggest doing one thing and mean the complete opposite. Sure, most people probably know what that is supposed to mean, but still! If my coworkers had not explained it to me, I would not have figured it out, because sex is the exact opposite of chilling. Maybe that's the whole point and it's supposed to be ironic. I don't know. I don't even care at this point.

In short, GOOD GRIEF, PEOPLE! JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN AND STOP BEING ALL COY AND DISHONEST WITH YOUR LANGUAGE!

Okay, rant over. It just makes me super mad.

The Meter of Attractiveness

The more TV I watch (especially Korean TV), the more I realize that there are a lot of beautiful people in the world, but not all of them are attractive. This is because it's not about looks.

Looks are initially important. Physical attraction is definitely important in a romantic relationship, but it is not about looks when you fall for someone. You've heard it before, but it is not about looks, guys; it's about personality. Your fundamental principles. How you treat other people. Your core. Who you are on the inside.

Korean dramas (other movies too, but lately that's what I've been watching) have made me fall for some guys, but not for others. Why was one handsome dude was more likeable than the other? It's what's on the inside that counts. I've found that it wasn't the staring into pretty eyes, the sight of a man's muscular torso, or romantic situations that made my heart go thump-thump, but certain aspects of a human's personality, such as:

• Thoughtfulness or consideration for others (way underrated)
• Being kind and gentle to children
• The ability to get through an argument or handle stress without resorting to personal attacks or swearing
• Doing the right thing when one's head or other people say to ignore it instead
• Being honest even when it's uncomfortable
• Being competent overall, which includes being skillful, intelligent, or hard to trick 
• Having a good sense of humor (I find love in the giggles and inside jokes)

For me, those are winning traits. After seeing so many pretty faces, that is what I care about. It's funny, because usually the male leads in these Kdramas do not start out with more than two of these qualities, but have to go through a changing process in order to become decent people. Maybe that could be a metaphor about every human and life, but I think it might be kind of lowering our expectations so we'll be satisfied at the end of the show. "Hmm, he's rich and handsome... if only he could be tweaked so he has a good personality too..." (5-10 episodes later) "Ah, there we go!"

Haha, it's not about looks, but they are just about the only place to start. To apply this to real life: What you look like is just what people see to form an initial impression of you. It does matter, but after talking to you for... maybe two hours or so, or better yet, seeing you overcome a challenge or handle a bad situation well, they should actually see you, and hopefully they will think better of you than they did at first.

Dating and finding a mate for life are tough in innumerable ways, but if you are going around thinking that you are just not attractive enough, you don't have to worry that much about your face or body. Sure, having minimal acne and a strong, fit physique do not harm your chances. Flattering clothing and haircuts certainly are good. But lots of people can and will see past any imperfections when they get the chance. Especially if they see that you regularly take time to try and improve yourself. You may even inspire them to work harder on improving themselves.

If you can't find other people that meet your expectations, take someone kind, free, and passably good looking and maybe try to get to know them by using a route other than the awkward small talk and dinner + movie dates. Instead, do things together in a group setting (you can see how this person interacts with other people too--a bonus). Play Ultimate Frisbee, or go clean some old widow's yard or help her paint her house. Go shopping, help someone move, play board or video games together. Whatever you do, do things that make you feel good about yourself, and if you can bring in other people, it gets better and better. And if you don't find a mate in doing these fun and rewarding things, you get friends, which are the next best thing and still a lifelong need.

People who attract me, friends and fictional characters alike, are those whose characters resound with me on some level. Those who make choices I'm proud of, who are kind, who are fighting to overcome their challenges and weaknesses, who care about the fundamentally important things in life, and take care of the people they love--as well as themselves.

It's tough to be an overall great person. What's important is that you try, and give other people room to try as well. Looks will fade, pretty faces will wrinkle, and in the end, what's in our souls is what will shine through our eyes and actions.

Random Social Encounter

So, I had another funny bit of college nostalgia light up the tired recesses of my mind at some point yesterday. Or maybe last night. Perhaps in the wee hours of the morning... in any case, I remembered it in the bathroom and it made me giggle.

For a little background, I remember it was at some sort of International event at BYU-Idaho, a dinner with the various cultural groups performing demonstrations of what they did in their clubs. The Russian Association were dressed in white and gold and did a dance-- I recognized a few members from Russian 101 there. That was a tight class, by the way. It was only due to meeting my friend David in that class that I was there at all. I'd seen him on a Saturday and he had pulled me into the Capoeira group. I was terrible at Capoeira, but it was so much fun, so I'd shown up with the other crazily amazing Capoeiristas, representing Brazil. Since it was a martial art/dance/game, to stay warmed up while we waited to perform, we were bouncing and cartwheeling around the lobby. (Well, we'd do that anyway. No one quite goofs off like a group of Capoeiristas.) Around us were members of the Japanese group with their white and red flag of the sun, and some other countries that have blurred in my memory. While catching my breath, I saw an Asian guy sitting in a chair lining the 2nd floor wall, and, in my bubbly mood, decided to accost him.

I asked him if he spoke Japanese. I'd loved the language ever since my brothers had shown me "Advent Children." He replied that he didn't. Right then, my friend David landed a cartwheel nearby, and I, as if it was some terrible shock, said, "David, this guy doesn't speak Japanese!"

My wonderful, quick-witted friend immediately responded with a mock frown, "I'm offended!" and bounded off again.

"I do speak Chinese," the poor Asian guy said.

"Oh, that's cool," I think I said, and sat down next to him. We had a friendly conversation, where I found out that one of his parents was from China, and he was majoring in Art, as an illustrator. So that was fun. A nice random encounter, and not without a sequel. I met him again some time later in Tomassito's.

Again, some background-- Tomassito's was a splendid little restaurant on the bottom floor of the Manwaring Center, the bottom floor of the same building as before, tucked away in a corner of the food court. I loved it. The dining room was so small that even if you were sitting alone, you were still sitting near other people. And even if you didn't share a table, the walls were mirrored so you could at least watch other people. That might sound creepy, but it was a wonderful place to be social. And the food was cheap. A lot of my lunches were just a little more than a dollar for a mini loaf with honey butter.

Well, I was probably scarfing down one of those mini loaves, when we happened to make eye contact as he sat down at a table really close to mine. We smiled at one another, as most students did back then, and then I was struck with the awkwardness of realizing how odd I must look, smiling with my mouth full. Cheeks bulging, crooked smile. After swallowing, I turned to his table and said, "You know how awkward it is when you see someone while you're eating, and then they smile at you, so you smile back, but your mouth is full, so you know you look weird? I mean, what can you do? I don't want to not smile." He just laughed. He nodded in a friendly fashion as I hurried off to class, but totally thought I was crazy. He had just happened to catch me twice when I had no problem blurting out exactly what was on my mind.

Later on, my roommate's boyfriend AJ told me that he worked with someone who'd met me-- apparently this same Asian guy, whose name I may have learned but don't remember. I don't know how I came up in their conversation, but when AJ told him that I was probably the most normal of all his girlfriend's roommates, this Asian guy looked horrified, and said, "Her?! The most normal???" 

That was the end of our story: myself and the Asian artist who was half Chinese and had interesting hair. I was much less reserved as a freshman in college, perhaps because I was anxious to make those college buddies I'd always wanted, or perhaps because only three people knew me there when I started out, and I had nothing to lose by a little embarrassment. Well, I've done plenty of stupid things. Appalling a random guy with my weirdness is nothing to regret.

The Unreachable Itch

You know that spot in the middle of your back that you just can't quite reach? No matter how you twist or contort your arms, you can touch it but not scratch it? It's the kind you can get with some kind of stick or back scratcher, but then you tend to scratch too hard, and now it just hurts. Oh, and now it itches over there too! And over there. Sound familiar? It occurred to me today in the shower (https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/) that there might be a reason for that terribly unreachable spot. I couldn't reach it today. I get the itches just remembering. Ughghgh.

I think it's why we humans need each other. Because no matter how many nice back scratchers we can buy, nothing beats a compassionate human touch. It's frustratingly difficult to try and communicate exactly where it itches to someone else, just as it's irritating to try and follow someone's directions in search of the traveling itch, but when it can be done: bliss. That would be where the phrase "you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours" comes from. I always found that phrase somewhat uncouth, like it's said by a fat man in a wife-beater who might have fleas. Putting that mental image aside, it's about a mutually beneficial relationship, and hopefully, never involving fleas! Friends helping friends and finding satisfaction when their needs are met. It's one of many reasons that our species forms communities and civilizations. We can't quite reach that one spot in the middle of our backs.

Why are we designed that way? Why, in a world where we have to be tough and independent to survive, do we have to depend on others to be truly satisfied? Who enjoys needing someone else? I like having someone there to do the things I can't do, but the unfulfilled need is quite dreadful. This is probably the very lightest of examples. I am only scratching the surface (hehehe) of the drawbacks of loneliness. I can't do more than mention how much it aches to be lonely, because so many have felt it much deeper and longer than I.

Why do we itch? Because we need a scratch. Why do we feel hunger? Because we need to eat. Why do we feel lonely? Because without that feeling, we would never know that we needed anyone. Without the need, we probably wouldn't take all the time and effort to seek out or maintain relationships that bring us the most happiness and satisfaction. We need each other. Even though I like being alone, I don't think I'm ever as happy as I am when I can be around other people, helping them and being helped. I don't know why we are designed this way, but man, I do enjoy a good back scratching.

I regret writing this. It's the most itchy I've been in a week.

Congratulations on Your Future Suffering

The thought of listing everything that I want to complain about is exhausting. It's such a broad topic. I will try to focus on only one thing: the congratulations I got-- and that everyone gets-- when they are expecting a baby.

Well, what else are you going to say when someone tells you that "happy news?" Of course you congratulate them! You can't very well say "I'm sorry," and "You're going to have a bad time," especially if you don't know them very well. It would be mean to forecast pain and suffering in their future, even if it's true. So congratulations on the creation of a thus-far healthy life are the best way to go. It seems nice to say you're happy for the new parents... until they are crying at 3am, desperate for more than 20 minutes of uneasy sleep at a time. Then they remember that sentiment and wonder why you must secretly hate them, to say such a thing.

Being a mother for two months now has probably been the hardest thing I've ever gone through-- and I thought that most of college was freakishly hard. But at least I had two hands during college. Now I have a daughter that requires at least one hand constantly. Typing with one hand only is agonizing. But wait. I did not come here to list all the complaints I have about parenting and how much it sucks at times. That list would be too long. I don't have long to type.

There, see? I had to stop just now so my baby would stop crying and not fall off my lap.

You and I have not secretly cherished thoughts of a new parent's pain when expressing our gladness for new parents. We are not closet sadists, for the most part. We are being nice and are wishing them well with every congrats. We are happy for them because we get to see this family grow. We get to hold the sweet, warm baby and then give it back. We get to give hard-earned, unsolicited advice. We get to help and serve. We get all the benefit without the struggle.

The call for celebration and congratulation cannot be denied. The only other thing we can do is help. To offer specific kinds of help, such as holding the baby while mom naps or cleans, or shops. Saying she can call you anytime. This can save those parents in danger of becoming psychopathic zombie slaves (like me). It's a sort of mix between congratulations and condolences. I personally cannot express how much I appreciate it. I did try just now, though.

It occurred to me just a few days ago that babies are a gift to everyone else. As a new mother, I don't feel joy as much as I feel responsibility when I see my little one, but when I walk by with her, total strangers smile. Their faces light up and soften involuntarily at the mere sight of her car seat. Elderly people especially. She brings joy to everyone who sees her, just by existing. It's the strangest thing. And I can feel proud, because I've somehow managed to keep her alive since the day she was born. Two months now. I'll accept congratulations for that. Whew!

Learning is FUN!

Don't you hate it when people say that learning is FUN? I really hate it too. But in this case, I randomly learned to write some basic HTML! And it was actually fun. Just look what I did with my learning! I don't know if any of the links will work. I don't really care, because I'm going to go to bed far too late and will certainly not stay up later to find out why if they don't.

This is My First Try

Here is the First List:

• Trying to Learn
• Learning to Type
• Getting a Tiny bit Faster

Historic Events that Happened on August 22nd

1. 1485-- The Battle of Bosworth Field (Click here to read about it)
2. 1941-- The Siege of Leningrad Begins
3. 1956-- Peter Taylor is Born
4. 2016-- Clarissa Moore Writes a Page of HTML after Ron Gives Her a Template

Click here to see an another applicable happy dance.

A Nostalgic College Paper

In my last few semesters, I took a Fiction class. I love reading fiction, so I thought it would be fun. Of course not! I hated it so much! The teacher was disorganized and opinionated, and his tastes (and opinions) were completely different from mine. We clashed quite a bit, but I did my homework, so he had to pass me. That being said, he brought blueberry muffins to class once, and they were divine, so he's not without his good points.

Anyway, I looked through my Google Docs trash folder, and randomly found this old paper that I was forced to write comparing two novels by the same author, Willa Cather. The caustic tone made me laugh, so I thought I'd share it. If you don't feel like reading the whole paper, you can skip to the emboldened summary at the end. And just so you know, it was really, really hard not to edit my grammar and punctuation. =(

ENG 351-01

Feb 28, 2012

Comparisons between My Antonia and O, Pioneers!

Considering the numerous similarities of these two novels by Willa Cather, I will only focus on three: the themes, which are basically the same; the plots, which are almost non-existent, and the characters, half of which are disappointing.

Both of these novels take place in Nebraska, during the early 1900’s, when immigrants and settlers were trying to tame the wild prairies into farmland.  The ongoing theme at times seems to be the grueling monotony of life as a whole. There is the struggle between man and nature in trying to farm the land, between a woman’s strength of character against society, a woman’s potential and ability to succeed as well (or better) than a man. There is the search for meaning or happiness that both Carl and Jim embarked on, only to return and wonder: what might have been. What Jim and Carl could have had, or could have accomplished if they had stayed and struggled with the women.

The plot for My Antonia was mostly exposition. Jim Burden rambles on about this memory, and that memory, and that one time he and Antonia did this and that, but it is a very long story, in which he does maybe two interesting things. Cather uses these memoirs as a foil to thrust Antonia’s stamina and spirit into the reader’s admiration. In O, Pioneers!, Cather focuses more on a present timeline, on how the heroine, Alexandra, finds security and satisfaction in life, loses it, and finds it again at the end.  More pertinent events take place in these specific chunks of Alexandra’s life, but as in the case of My Antonia, nearly two decades are skipped by without anything important happening during them. Life can be so very long, dull, and grueling in Cather’s books...

These two books seem to focus mainly on the women: Antonia and Alexandra. They are both strong, independent women who make it their business to succeed and to take care of their families. Alexandra took charge of her brothers as the eldest, and Antonia worked how and wherever she could. While working hard and sacrificing (Alexandra for her brother Emil, and Antonia for her children), they learn to love the land, and find most of their happiness and satisfaction in farming it. These heroines are tough, yet compassionate, smart, yet blind to those they love, and in spite of death, loss, and hardships, still find a way to continue living with joy and spirit.

The male leads in these two books are very similar; they are rather static side characters. In My Antonia, Jim Burden is merely an observer, relating his memories to the reader. He grows up playing like a child with his peers instead of struggling to get by like Antonia, and then he leaves his hometown and his Antonia for college and a career. By the time he is reunited with Antonia at the end of the story, as readers we know that he travelled around the world and married, but we are unaware that he has actually accomplished anything. He is merely a boring, complacent man.

Carl Linstrum in O, Pioneers! is also a rather static character. He also leaves, and then returns to Alexandra, having accomplished nothing. But unlike Jim Burden, Carl does feel a need to become something, and to find a place that feels like a true home.  Again, whether he accomplishes anything by the end of the book is not revealed, but he does conclude that his home is with Alexandra, and he is satisfied. Unlike the outcome of My Antonia, these two actually do snatch at their chance for happiness together, thus providing a more satisfying ending for the reader or audience.

In conclusion, there is just enough of a story in O, Pioneers!  to differ from My Antonia, but essentially both have the same messages in them: a tribute to land of Nebraska, and the satisfaction of an agricultural and meaningful family life. It loudly demonstrates the potential strength of a woman, and advocates her ability for authority and management.  These novels may be critically acclaimed, and made Willa Cather famous enough to be read by a university Fiction class a century later, but when there are far more interesting and better books to be read, all the effort of  thinking and writing a two-page paper on them was a waste of time. This may seem to be a harsh conclusion, but in the life of a struggling college student, trying to tame the old hourglass itself, time is so very precious.

About Romance

Big no-no! Never complain about your romance to you friends, and definitely not on the Internet where your significant other will definitely see!

While asking for advice and having someone to listen to you are important necessities, I think complaining about your spouse or significant other only makes things worse. Even if everyone is having a satisfying gossip party where they all divulge the metaphorical dirt, it's never okay to betray or belittle your spouse. It's just one of the worst ways to treat your marriage/relationship. That being said, a happy marriage is the envied state of most of the romantically-inclined population, and therefore, the expectations of it are set unrealistically high.

Marriage is disappointing. It's a host of innumerable other nouns as well, but disappointment is probably the one that gets the most attention. This makes a lot of people want to gripe to someone about it, even if the feeling will pass. I'm not immune to it, but I really hate having to listen to someone complain to me about their S.O.

That being said, here's my complaint:

So, I've been married to two and a half years now, and kissing my man for three. Kisses are not romantic anymore. Sometimes he'll lean in for a kiss (just like in movies or books), and then burp (involuntarily) right before. A few nights ago, he started kissing me in a new strange way, and then explained proudly, "Those were Turtle Kisses." (see this link for reference: http://www.gifbay.com/gif/baby_turtle_vs_tomato-18705/ )

This is fairly a common occurrence. I think it's hilarious most of the time. But sometimes he just does it to tick me off, you know? It's like he's thinking, "Here, let me turn you on slightly and then do something I know you hate, just because it's funny." I know I like kissing seriously more than he does. Funny kisses are pretty great and all, but I still want my share of breath-taking moments too. I don't want to feel like all that is behind me just because it's no longer a new thing. But sometimes, it's the harsh truth: romance is dead, and I'm only 24.

I was having these thoughts one night a while ago, and it was much worse than usual because I'd just read a manga with very romantic kisses. As we got into bed that night (that phrase makes you think it's going to turn intimate, right? Wrong!), he asked me to rub his feet, and obligingly lays  his head at the foot of the bed. His feet don't really smell, but they were a little too close for comfort. Yep, romance is dead. I thought.

But just as I was lying there, with his feet in my face, feeling that this is my lot in life, he started rubbing my feet. That's kind of aww-inducing. And then, unexpectedly, he brushed a kiss or two on my foot. That was enough to make any school girl sigh. See? Now you think that you're reading about an intimate scene with too much information, aren't you? Lo, the power of serious kisses!

Kisses are important. They can be the difference between life or death in a romance. Kiss wisely. (hahaha!) Lately, he often says to me "I'd better kiss you, just to be safe." to make sure that our love is alive and happy. He's a smart guy. I can't really complain, can I?

I don't think the balance between life and death of love hangs on a single kiss, but it's made up of many sweet moments of hugs, laughter, and that sense of relief when your trust is confirmed again. And since this is a two-way street, it occurs to me that I'd better try and remember to do little things like that for him too-- just to be safe.

The Fruitless Day

      Far, far too often, I realize it's after 4 pm, and I didn't accomplish anything. This shouldn't be a daily occurrence. I have no condition that excuses me from living a meaningful life. I don't suppose any of us have, since many handicapped and bedridden people have been known to possess incredibly positive attitudes and make huge differences in the lives of others, despite everything.
      I can't count my attempts and say that at least I tried. Not today. Today I feel the weight of my fruitless efforts, and it is quite heavy. I woke up from my drugged-like state of constant reading and realized (again, for the nth time), "Wait! What have I been doing with my life?! Nothing???" Pretty much. But negativity doesn't help, so I'll try a different treatment on my poor mind.

      Today I'll take a deep breath and count what I did actually accomplish.

1. I ate breakfast. Very important.
2. I read a chapter of holy scriptures and was slightly moved as I pondered its application to my life.
3. I got dressed and walked down to the leasing office, where I picked up the package (a printer!) that came yesterday.
4. I carried the printer back to my apartment without dropping it, and had a nice short walk.
5. During my walk, I lifted the box to my head to give my arms a rest, and somehow managed to suppress the urge to sing the natives' song from The Road to Zanzibar, which consists of the repeated words "Batum bamba!" while pounding on the sides of the printer's box.
6. I finally filled out the page of Russian Vocabulary-- from Russian 101, I think. Since I passed the class with flying colors, I must not have needed to fill it out then, but my, my... how my mind has changed since 2008.

      After that, it gets a little hazy. I wanted to set up the printer, go for a run, get an home insurance agent... shower... The day isn't over. There were a lot of results for the Google search "life is going nowhere", so I know I'm not alone, either.
      In the manga I was reading today (NG Life, by Kusanagi Mizuho) a character said: "I'm just packing my bag with the things I love until my allotted time's up. Time won't stop for us, right?" He saw the wonderful things of life as fleeting, and wanted to paint them all while he could. Today I was inspired by the very thing that has distracted me from my goals for months, and not for the first time, either. Funny, huh?
      I want to be a part of something great. I don't know how I will ever manage that, but I'll keep trying, and maybe my list of accomplishments will get better, longer, and more meaningful. Посмотрим (We'll see).

Being Social

So, you know how hard it is to be social? With strangers, people you do business with, your spouse's friends, your acquaintances, etc.? It's super hard, and I don't like doing it! The rules for what is polite and what is expected change with every person, place, and situation. And the internet isn't any better! No one minds hurting someone else over the internet. They're just throwing cruel words out for fun. You're a name on a page, not a person. They'll even go out of their way to be a jerk. Even to me! I'm an incredibly pleasant person! I have hardly any armor against unprovoked attacks!

Lately, I'm really, really fed up with the world in general. I think to myself that it's best to give up on everyone that I don't already love. I feel trapped in this crowded city of bad drivers, unfriendly strangers, and acquaintances that don't let me talk. I really hate people. I feel like Roy from The IT Crowd, when he is moved to exclaim (pardon the language): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVSlE28hOgI

Since I moved, I haven't made any friends. Acquaintances, yes, but no friends. I don't have enough regular meetings with anyone to feel that it's polite to invite anyone over. So I've been socializing mostly with my husband's friends, people he's known since high school. Most of them I like, and it's definitely better than not meeting anyone at all, but...

Well, we had two birthday parties this last weekend. I went to the party on Friday in very low spirits, but it was a complete BLAST! Mostly, we talked and played Cosmic Encounters until past midnight. No one drank (well, one guy had a single glass of bourbon) or spent a lot of money. The other party, which I looked forward to, since my last social experience was positive, consisted of an expensive dinner and drinks at a yuppie hotel pub. Despite the stereotypical funniness of drinking friends, they were more obnoxious than anything. The first party was merely an example of how fantastic it is just to talk with a mix of nerdy and intellectual people. The second party needed money and alcohol to have a good time, and failed (for me. Maybe if I did act foolishly and drank I would've had a better time).

I could complain more, and I want to, but... there's the problem. While I really want to hate people in general, I don't want to be hated. While I feel hurt and want to lash out, I guess I don't want others to be hurt. I don't know if I feel the need to put up a false front of being nice, or if I'm actually trying to be nice instead, but it's a struggle. If I can't be truly happy alone, then I'll have to struggle with my naturally ill-natured self, and try to be social.

My plea to mankind: Don't make it harder for others around you. Be nice. We don't want to go outside as it is.

The Shame After Complaining

Do you know that feeling too? Unless you are one of those wise, patient people who don't count their problems before they hatch, you've felt that sheepish, face-hiding shame of complaining about something that actually turns out fine, haven't you? It's quite the common occurrence for me, I regret to say. Something problematic happens, I flip out/grumble/groan, and then it solves itself after all.

"Why is the universe picking on me? I don't wanna! I'm already tired and miserable... Oh, it's cancelled? Okay, that's cool."

So, in my last post, I complained about driving through the city traffic to meet the Sister Missionaries, and of the prospect of having to do that again later that night. When my husband came home (right after I'd cleaned up those carrot peels), he decided to take me out to a Mexican restaurant within easy walking distance, not because I deserved it, but because he is AWESOME. When I told him of the 3rd trip I'd have to make around town, he simply said, "No, you're mine. They had their chance." But I still felt guilty at the thought of not keeping that commitment, so I knew that if they called, I would have to go, or run the risk of hating myself (more).

While we were at the restaurant, eating chips and drinking Horchata, I checked my phone and found a new voicemail. I groaned and listened to it, but lo, and behold, the lesson had been rescheduled! It was time to dance in my seat to the Latino party music on the radio.

Does this happen to you? Maybe this kind of situation is exclusive to my silly nature, or maybe God keeps doing that to poke at me, trying to get me to learn that He's not really that mean, and that I really need to stop over-reacting and worrying.

"Oh, you thought you had a reason to complain? Don't you feel silly now?" To which I hang my head and reply, "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." That's not really how I pray, but you get the idea. Whether you believe in God or not, have you ever felt like this sort of thing has happened to you too? It's not just me, right?

First: Is Complaining Good or Bad?

First of all, you probably have a good reason to complain.

I do not. I grew up in a loving family, I was able to graduate from a university without any debt, I love my husband, and he makes so much money that I don't have to work. I have my own laptop and a pretty good internet connection. In no way should I be allowed to complain to anyone, but... I still want to.

Complaining is both bad and good. It can be honest or exaggerated, accentuating negativity, or revealing the positive aspects of life. Some do it too much, others too little. Do you ever complain out loud, and then realize that your problems are very small and easily solved? Or, on the flip-side, find that your troubles compound and get blown out of proportion instead?

I'd like to complain about the really easy day I had. The only useful task I've accomplished is folding laundry, even though the kitchen is a stupid mess, with carrot peels left on the counter. I sat on the couch and watched animé all day. It was a weird show, so I'd only give it a C+. Some tv shows are like my mind lately. Too vague. The shows I've watched lately are not focused on concrete subjects, but on abstract concepts, like love, and they waste time with bad attempts at comedy and little to no plot progression. The loves stories aren't that good. They fail to draw me in, but I watch out of boredom. It's unsatisfying, like my life since I graduated.

After that, I was asked by the sweet Sister Missionaries from my church to attend a lesson with them at 6 p.m. I agreed, since I had nothing better to do. Now, Washington state has a cool breeze going, but does that reach you in a car? And will the air conditioner at full blast keep away the heat? Of course not! So my clothes stuck to me, and the house they told me to meet them at was so hard to find that I got lost several times, got caught up in the traffic going to the freeway, and was 20 minutes past the time I said I'd be there.

Why do they have those yellow islands that make turn lanes impossible?!?! Don't they know that it's insanely difficult to find a place to turn around as it is? "We're sorry, you cannot go where you want to at this time. Please drive a few blocks, and try again." Not to mention the commuter's traffic was at its height. It was a pain. I hate driving. I called them twice, but they only called back after I got back home. The man wasn't even there. They want me to go back with them later tonight. The third trip down there, yay!

It's not very far, and I'm not busy. How can I say no? They won't be off the clock when it's over like I will, however. These girls do this every single day, and they're so cheerful. Is industry, or service, the key to happiness? Probably. Purpose. Making the most of life, with purpose in your actions, and the joy that comes from serving your fellow human beings, that sounds happy, no?

You know, before I got up this morning, I wrote a To-do list, and intended to follow it. Am I allowed to complain about how my choices have made me the pathetic person I am today?

My sweet husband will probably come home soon. I'd better clean up those carrot peels now.