Hello 2019

You know that one stock photo image of the beautiful, fit, young woman sitting on a couch cradling a steaming mug in her hands as she smiles contentedly into the middle distance? She's wearing impossibly flattering athleisure wear and a chunky sweater, and her hair is in that perfect "I don't care" messy bun that still looks great. The couch is overstuffed, but roomy, and her long legs are folded up under her in a way that looks comfortable, but never actually is when you try it in real life. The lighting is usually warm and soft, and the house is spotlessly neat and decorated with understated sophistication. The whole thing exudes coziness and contentment.

I recently finished listening to Brené Brown's I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't) audiobook. At one point she talks about a particular advertising image that she has internalized and set up as a standard for herself and her life which she now struggles to let go of. It doesn't matter what it was exactly; the point is that as she was describing it I thought "that's kind of weird. I've definitely never done that."

Cut to this morning. I was sitting on my couch at 10am, holding my mug of steaming tea, and having a moment of intense gratitude as I luxuriated in the bright morning sunlight filling my living room. And suddenly I had the thought "this is it, Emily. This is that moment that you're always seeing in pictures and wondering why you never experience it in real life. You don't have the perfectly clean and decorated house, you don't look fresh-faced and effortlessly put together, and you don't have that beautiful lithe body, but this is exactly what you're always pining for. Those details don't negate what you're experiencing right now"

But no, Brené. I've definitely never internalized an advertising image and set it up as an unattainable ideal for my life...

I decided I wanted to post a status about what a great moment I was experiencing, but my brother called me and I had to block out the scarf I just knitted, and then my dog reminded me that I promised her we'd go on a walk an hour ago, so I didn't get to the facebook status.

I did, however, take Tess on her walk. We walked down around the cemetery, which is normal, and then crossed 9th and State streets to visit the little park behind the school, which is not. We crossed paths with a few humans and a couple dogs. We spent some time playing on the school's playground equipment (Tess adores playground equipment). We walked past the house I used to live in and looked at the other beautiful old homes on the same street. Crossing back over State street to finish circling the cemetery there was a woman stopped at the light who was watching us cross in front of her and smiling. It was sunny and breezy and there was snow on the lawns, but the sidewalks were almost all dry. It was a perfect walk in every way. When we were nearly home, I suddenly became aware of how much easier a walk like this was compared to when I first got Tess two years ago. I’ve long since given up on the idea that walking Tess was ever going to really improve my fitness, so this was an immensely gratifying realization.

As I walked I thought about my morning, what I really wanted to say about it, and what a beautiful day it was. I didn't even make the Brené Brown connection till I was halfway through. When I finally got home a little while ago and started writing, however, I realized I had more to say than would fit in a facebook update...though as it turns out, a lot of it is just context and narration.

I think that what most caught my attention was realizing that, at least for today, I’m ok with the places where I fell short of the ideal. I love my big, strong, soft body that is stubborn and slow to change, just like me...because it is me. I love my messy, eclectic home with dog hair in the corners. I am satisfied with my priorities, which don’t often include doing my hair and putting on makeup.

I guess what I really wanted to say is that today is a good day, and I am happy.

Day 5: Slightly emo musings on the politics of friendship

Last night I got a bit of insomnia and didn't go to bed till I think just before 5am. I didn't wake up this morning till 1. I did not get my blog post written before I had to get ready for work. So here I am at 1:12 am after work trying to write something. Alas, I am not in a particularly writerly mood. I guess this is a good exercise in writing even when you don't feel like it.

Today's prompt is supposed to be what my favorite of the lesser holidays is. But my problem is that I don't feel like writing silly posts like that. On the other hand, I also don't feel like writing something intense and requiring of much thought. 

I guess I'll just share a quandary with you all that I've been mulling over today.

What do you do in a relationship when you find your trust in the other person is called into question? 

One of the core tenets of my life philosophy is a firm belief that there are some aspects of a person's experience where they must choose their truth. I think that the clearest example of this in my life has been my relationship with the church. I chose to continue believing in it regardless of the fact that I never got that spiritual confirmation most people base their belief on.

But should this philosophy apply to relationships? 

I have been trying to develop a new friendship recently. It's so difficult to make new friends and I am so abysmally awkward at it. But I have been working hard to overcome the awkward and, more significantly, my natural assumption that all people everywhere find me unbearably annoying and I should not force them to interact with me. I think that I've been doing pretty well. This person seems to like me. They talk to me, sometimes even initiating the conversation. They share things with me that they know I'm interested in. They appreciate when I share things with them. They have done nice things for me. These are all signs that I have to remind myself indicate a good chance that the person I am trying to befriend does in fact like me.

But the other day I learned something about my relationship with this potential friend that could be interpreted multiple ways. It could be something completely innocuous and insignificant. Or, it could be something that is quite hurtful. Unfortunately, I do not know the person well enough to safely assume one way or the other. 

I keep asking myself...should I just decide to act as though I know nothing? To believe, whether it is true or not, that there is nothing questionable about what I heard? I would have been so much happier if I had never been told. It's too easy a thing for my insecurity to latch on to as a reason to shut down and close off. And I don't want to wonder if this person who I like very much is not a safe person for me to invest in emotionally. 

I decided to continue believing in the church because I decided that even if it wasn't true, I would be happier believing that it was, and doing so would not hurt me or anyone else. Do I decide to believe in my friendship with this person even if doing so opens up the possibility that one day I might get hurt? If someone is doing something hurtful is it better to know and be hurt, or no know and be happy? Is that answer still true if it is only the possibility that the hurtful thing is occurring? Really, I'm asking if it is better to be cynical or to be idealistic. 

I'm sorry, this post is ridiculous. It is vague and adolescent. But it is the question which has been plaguing me all day and I would appreciate perspectives. 

The Road Untaken and the Talk Not Given - musings on spousal selection

A couple weeks ago I was asked to speak in church.  I went through this process of writing out my whole talk, and then at 9 pm Saturday night I decided I wanted to talk about something else.  I mentioned this whilst I was speaking and a couple of my friends told me they wanted me to post my un-given talk on my blog.  So, here it is, more or less, adapted to secular blog instead of theological oration.

I want to talk to you guys about one of my favorite books.  I've written about it before on this blog, in my list of the five books everyone should read, but specifically every girl should read before she turns 20.  I'm rather proud of the fact that that is in my list of top 10 most popular posts, btw.  Anyway, I'm talking of Little Women.  I would like to assume that, as readers of my blog, you have of course, already read Little Women after I recommended it before, or you have already read it on your own because you have superlative taste.  But if neither of those things are true, I shall give a brief and incredibly inadequate summary for you.  Little Women, published in 1868 by Louisa May Alcott, tells the story of Jo March and her 3 sisters as they transition from young girls to women.  Jo, the penultimate child, is the classic tomboy bucking against the restrictions of gentility and societal expectations.  Early into the story she befriends Teddy Lawrence, the boy next door, and he is quickly adopted into the family as a brother.

Ah, wee baby Christian Bale...you did a pretty good job I guess

At this point I supposed I should warn of upcoming spoilers, but guys....the book has been out for 150+ years, not to mention made into at least one major film.  So I feel like you should probably get over it.

So anyway, Jo and Teddy grow up as best friends, sharing the same sense of humor, the same interests, and enjoying the same activities. And as they get older, Teddy starts trying to lay the ground work to take his relationship with Jo to the next level.

Here's the thing guys.  I just finished this book for the first time in many many years, only this time I listened to it as an audiobook.  I don't know if it was the woman reading the book or just my frame of mind this particular go through but for the first time I found I kind of had a thing for Teddy.  I never appreciated how funny and sassy he is before.  But I realized something else, too.  I've conducted 20-odd years of thorough study on this via film and TV and I can tell you definitively....Jo and Teddy are legit made for each other.  They are the text book definition of chemistry.  At least by modern romantic standards.  Think about it.  Isn't that what ever rom com tells you to look for?

Your perfect match.

I love puns so much

Love, and consequently marriage, is about finding that perfect match.  In practical terms that looks like someone who will validate you.  It's like "You watch the Great British Baking Show? OMG, I, too, watch the Great British Baking Show!!   At last I can stop feeling weird and just watch and love the Great British Baking Show with someone....which is all I really ever wanted."

In contemporary society, where long-term monogamous relationships are approved of at all, they are marketed as the ultimate bff validating relationship.  Your spouse is that person who will always be on your side, who likes what you like, and who reassures you of your place in the world because they occupy it with you......But guys.  Jo doesn't marry Teddy.

Teddy goes off to college and when he comes home he asks Jo to marry him.  He, like me this time through, believes in the idea of a perfect match.  But Jo says no.  She breaks his heart.  She breaks his heart because she understands that there is another way of loving and another way to choose a spouse.

Instead of a perfect match Jo wants a perfect complement.

eheheheheheh

She knows this because it is the marriage she has watched her whole life--that of her parents.  Early on Jo's mother talks to her about her hasty temper, explaining that it will cause her so much grief if she doesn't learn to control it.  Young Jo bemoans how impossible it is to remember and her mother makes a confession.  She, too, struggles to control her temper.  But her greatest strength in her efforts is her husband.  He knows her struggle and when she needs help he gives her a small sign to remind her of what she wants.  .

This was another aspect of the book I'd never really appreciated before.  Essentially it was a portrait of a much less common type of relationship, even back then, but it gave a whole different idea of what a marriage could be.  One person loving the other enough to patiently help them when it was needed, and the other person loving enough to humble themselves and accept that help.  In this sort of marriage the goal is not to comfortably validate you, but gently and lovingly push you towards progression and improvement.  In this marriage two people join together to share the work of becoming the best people they can possibly be.

I don't think it is a coincidence that the modern idea of love is the philosophy of matching and validation.  It is easier.  It asks so much less of us.  A complementary relationship takes work.  It requires humility and love and dedication.  But if you put in that effort you will have a partner who is as invested in helping you attain perfection as they are in achieving it themselves.  Can you imagine any greater or more valuable asset in our progression as individuals?

I do not love these actors as these characters, but what can you do?

Jo does eventually find her compliment in a really lovely gentleman named Professor Baehr.  He possesses the strengths she lacks and she provides for his deficiencies.  They form a partnership that is stronger together than  either of them were on their own.  And almost it is enough to help me overlook the creepiness of a 40+ year old man courting a 22 year old girl.  Almost.

1/3 Life Crises

This post is none of the nerdy and analytical posts I've been mulling over lately.  This one is a spur of the moment musing mainly to (as usual anymore) give vent to some of my life angstiety (do you see what I did there?).  Because tonight I finally forced myself to get back to that loathsome task of looking for a new job.  I got that interview last week and I sort of just stopped thinking about the job hunt.  But I was supposed to hear back from them on Friday and I still haven't, and even if I do and they decide to offer me the job I am deeply divided about taking it.  Which is all to say that I need to find some other options.

So tonight I decided to look for some other jobs to apply for.  Interestingly, I'm realizing I don't really want to continue in my current field.  To be sure, in the end I might not have any choice.  But I still have a little bit of time to look around, and so I found myself trying to find alternative employment to PCB Assembly (what you google if you want to find jobs like the one I currently have).

Of course, my immediate thought was "Ok!  Let's see what kind of jobs are available in the world of publishing!" because I have no grasp of reality.  After too much time wasted wandering around the internet, conducting penetrating searches like "publishing jobs" I had the brilliant idea to google instead "how do you get an entry level job in publishing?"  I came across this very interesting and useful article which, unfortunately, convinced me merely that if I wanted to get a job in the publishing industry I should have started the process in January.

Mulling over this failure of time management of course led me to consider my other planning-related failings, specifically, my absolute lack of life-planning.  Once again I looked at my trajectory in life thus-far and marvelled at the absolute lack of navigation.  It is astonishing that such a haphazard existence has not yet crashed into a metaphorical telephone pole and combusted vigorously.  It began as soon as I graduated high school with the selection of which college to attend.  And by "selection of college" I mean that I simply neglected to reply to any other schools which admitted me, and thus ended up at BYU without putting any real thought into it at all.  Once in my carefully selected school I proceeded to spend a very long time getting a very little education.  I did manage to score a degree...in a superlatively generic field of study.  And I did nothing else in my decade-long tenure as a student that might be useful to me now, like an internship or involvement in any campus programs. Despite my father periodically asking me about such things, somehow they still never registered on my radar of activities I should (or indeed could) actually do.

The thing is, even if it had ever crossed my mind to look for an internship or to get involved in some campus program, I wouldn't have had much idea which ones to pursue.  Because my ultimate problem is a lack of real ambition.  This is no new revelation.  I have known for some years now that I have no idea where I'm going in life because I have no idea what I want.  Or, those things that I do aspire to I immediately write off as unrealistic fantasies, and thereby avert the anxiety and hard work of actually pursuing them.

But tonight, reading about the process of wedging a toe into the publishing industry, I found myself experiencing a magical fusion of two previously entirely separate branches of my anxiety.  As I sat here thinking about my life and where I want it to go and how I need to find a goal...suddenly I had the mental equivalent of one of those creepy Vertigo zooms.  I leap-frogged right over picking a goal and started looking at the process of achieving that goal.  Specifically how long it will take.  And suddenly my 10 years of college became so much more of a waste than they've ever seemed before.  Most people my age have spent the last 5-7 years slogging through the initial stages of that process, but here I am literally starting from scratch and on the eve of my third decade.  Even if I start right now, by the time I get through the same things I could be nearly 40.

You could say that this job hunt, delayed and ignored and put off, is a microcosm of my life--when I finally decide to take it seriously I am on the verge of too late to find the right thing and may simply have to settle for the most expedient.  And I don't know which is worse: to continue drifting haphazardly through life or finally deciding on a direction only to realize that my chance to pursue it has come and gone.

TL;DR job-hunting and life-upheaval is stressful

I have been thinking with some guilt on my complete failure at blogging this year.  My general goal is to post at least once a month; this year I have fallen far short of that goal.  Partly I haven't had anything I want badly enough to write about and partly I just spend very little time on my computer anymore (phone and tablet have essentially taken over my internet needs).  But the urge to blog has at last returned to me, as it so often does, because I am having a lot of emotions and I need to vent them.  This is why my blog is so entertaining...

So what is going on?

What is going on is that it turns out I am kind of a major coward.  I do not like change, even when it is a change I have wanted for a very long time.  But, in the words of the immortal Lewis Carol, I shall endeavor to begin and the beginning and when I get to the end, stop.

The first issue that must needs be addressed is money, though I'll try to be quick.  Suffice it to say, I have none.  My finances have been dwindling since the beginning of this year.  I did that thing where I pretended like I was rich and carefree because I started the year not entirely broke.  It didn't take long for me to realize that was a horrible plan, and months later I'm still mentally slapping myself for it, but sadly the damage is done.  Things have been grim ever since, more or less.  My life now is a state of constant white knuckling from one paycheck to the next.

To be sure, I am aware of my good fortune.  I may not have any extra, but I have not yet come up short and I cannot begin to say how grateful I am for that fact.  But knowing that your life is the financial equivalent of that fork and toothpick trick and that the slightest bump will bring everything down around your ears is....wearing.

Perhaps this preceding stress will give me some excuse for my reaction, then, to the news Caleb gave me a few weeks back.

For over a year now Caleb has periodically come down to the basement to have a little chat with me about "the future of the company."  Every time he likes a different plan--release lots of new products one conversation, shift into high-end markets the next.  Then, about five weeks ago he comes to me again.  But this time his plan is to close CH Robotics down entirely.  This has always been listed in the possible options, but never seriously considered till now.  But it is all very vague.  He's going to look into selling, but maybe he'll just sort of go dormant, or maybe he'll officially close up shop.  He isn't sure.

Even though this sounded like another one of Caleb's ephemeral ideas--typically forgotten in a few days--it nonetheless sparked a pretty nasty anxiety attack.  That whole gratitude thing about always coming up flush no matter how close, it only works because I have this magical job that pays me really well.  Suddenly my rainbows and unicorns job has gone from anchor to...what is the opposite of an anchor?  The wind?  Sure, let's go with the wind.  Whimsical and dangerous to rely upon.

I prefer this sort of whimsy.  If you do as well, then might I suggest my whimsical pinterest board
where you shall find many more such whimsical images to make you feel happy

Things have remained in flux since then.  But slowly a picture has pulled together of what is probably going to happen.  Some time ago one of the components on our primary product was going out of stock with our supplier so Caleb bought out their entire stock.  The gyro/accelerometer IC.  This has become Caleb's countdown; as soon as I've used them all up he plans to shut down manufacturing.  At first he projected next spring, then February, and then this week he asked me if I could get them all built by the middle of November.  For those keeping track that means that the deadline of my own joblessness went from March to February to two weeks from now.  Though, I hasten to add that Caleb assured me that he will find things for me to do long enough for me to find a new job.  Bless his heart, he is doing his best to help me as best he can.  His deadline for closing the company entirely after we sell out our inventory is still the end of the year and from what he said I got the feeling he was assuming I'd stay till then as well.  Though I suspect he'll run out of things to keep me busy before then.

The thing is, objectively this really is not a bad situation.  I have been given plenty of warning of what is happening, and my boss is working really hard to help me out in every way he can.  It is a pretty decent bet that I could get another job doing what I've been doing at CH.  And then there's the fact that this is actually a great opportunity.  I have been dying to get out of Utah for years now and, since I finally graduated, the only thing holding me here theoretically has been this job.  Indeed, one could interpret the whole situation as a cosmic kick in the pants to get on with my life.

this is what came up when I googled "cosmic kick in the pants"
and I regret nothing

And yet...

Even though I know all of these things, the fact remains that I am, to use the vulgar expression, scared absolutely shitless about the whole thing.  I am terrified and anxious and perpetually on the verge of freaking out.  Like I said at the beginning, it turns out I'm a massive coward. But I feel like I need to explain why.  Like I need to justify my emotional response even to myself to prove that I'm not just a...a....a cotton-headed ninnymuggins.

First, know that above almost anything else I hate unsureness.  Which isn't a word, but you get the point.  To illustrate just how much I hate it, let me remind you all of the time I withdrew from BYU.  It was 2007 after my study abroad and I was broke.  I spent the summer trying to figure out how I was going to pay for school and taking my first steps down the road of churning anxiety with no outlet.  Ultimately I decided I was going to withdraw for a year and try to earn money.  At the time, if you didn't formally defer by a specific deadline then you were considered withdrawn and would have to reapply to come back.  I made this decision and I immediately felt better--I now had a solid point from which I could navigate further.  I then spent fall semester working, saving no money, and coming to the realization that I had made the wrong decision.  I should have gone back to school.  Nothing made this more clear than the moment BYU called me, a few weeks before winter semester was to begin, to tell me that their enrollment numbers were unexpectedly low so they were opening enrollment to students who had missed the deferral deadline instead of making them re-apply.  Now, I don't know the official numbers, but at the time that felt pretty dang specific to my situation.  Not quite a kick, but certainly a cosmic nudge in the ribs.  But I turned them down.  Because I had already made the decision. I so badly didn't want to have to revisit it, and consequently throw myself back into the marshlands of unsureness, that I consciously chose to continue making the decision that I very definitely knew was the wrong one (which, now I think about it, is possibly why the cosmos have upped their game to pants kicking).  So now apply that to my current situation and maybe you can catch a glimpse of my current unhappiness.  I don't know what is happening with the company and I don't know what is happening with my job and I don't know what is happening with my life and hate all of those thing.  So much.

I give up finding relevant pictures. I'll
 just give you more from my whimsy board

Second.  This one is kind of embarrassing.  As it turns out, I haven't actually had to search for a job in nearly a decade.  And before that I only ever really went through the process twice....eh....once and a half.  My last couple years of high school I worked but whatever...high school jobs aren't exactly critical.  After I graduated I moved to Portland to live with my dad for the summer before college with the vague idea that jobs would be more plentiful in the big city.  I proceeded to spend the entire summer searching fruitlessly until August when I was hired as the BB gun range instructor at a scout camp working 12 hour days for the astounding salary of $75/week.  That is the half.  The once was that same summer after my study abroad.  I was again living in Portland with my dad and I spent a month or two traipsing around Hillsboro handing out resumes (what was even on them??), falling down hills, and eventually getting a job at Target which I would hold for the next four years.  I spent a year in Hillsboro and then transferred down to Orem.  I cannot tell you how much easier it was to move back to Utah knowing that I had a job waiting for me there.  When I eventually left Target it was completely unplanned.  My brother had gotten a job at Vivint recently enough to suggest, in the glow of his employment honeymoon, that I too apply cause then we could work together and how great would that be?!  So I applied on a whim, was called in for a interview a couple days later, and walked out of that interview with a job offer.  Certainly not a change of necessity.  Then, three months later after I realized that the only thing worse than customer support in person is customer support over the phone, I was chatting with Caleb whilst he complained about putting many stickers on many sensors and I joked that he should hire me because putting stickers on things sounded like exactly my kind of work.  And a few weeks later he did just that.  In both cases jobs were basically handed to me.  I feel like I've forgotten how to find jobs, not that I was ever very good at it (BB gun range instructor for $75/week).  All I remember about the process is how ungodly awful it is.  And the couple of hours I spent peeking into the classified corners of the internet today only confirmed that impression.  How do you find jobs to apply for them???

actually...this is totes relevant

Third, and last...moving.  As I said, I've been dreaming of getting out of Utah for years now.  But dreaming of something is a lot different than being faced with the actual reality of it.  I've started thinking of exactly what a move would mean.  I complain about how few friends I have these days, but a few is definitely more than literally zero.  I learned this when I moved into my own apartment.  I told myself before I moved that my roommates were hardly ever home so it probably wouldn't be much different.  Once again, not many is distinctly more than none; rarely home is still more than never home because they don't exist.  If I moved to let's say Pittsburgh or somewhere in Michigan I would truly be alone.  I wouldn't even have acquaintances.  And the friends that I do have hear are dear ones.  I'd be leaving behind Caleb and Kara and Michelle and Taka.  And my brother.  There are all kinds of layers to my feelings about moving away from my brother and only some of them are social.  And as for the rest of my family, no longer would I be a comfortable day's drive away if I wanted to visit.  Add in the hassel of the actual process of moving, something I just went through a few months ago, and would have to translate into the greater trial of moving long distance... Suffice it to say, while I know that I don't want to live in Utah, I am becoming aware that leaving will not be an unequivocally happy decision.

this feels accurate....

So does that explain it?  Do I have a right to my perpetual anxiety and stress?  Do all these reasons add up to legitimacy?  I don't know.  Sometimes I think yes, other times I think I need to get over myself and realize that everything is fine and it will all work out.  Most of the time I am thinking both of those things at once.  But I do feel a little better having written it all out, which is usually the case.  I guess that's a point for Allen, my long lost therapist.  He'd be so proud to hear me say that sharing my stress, even with the vagueness of the internet, makes me feel better.  I do often think of him and wonder if this would all be easier if I could go and tell him all about it.  Who is to say.

But if anyone else has persevered and read through this whole thing, well, I thank you.

Several Peas in my Podcast

This week has been a headlong dive into the world of NPR podcasts.  Previously my engagement with the medium was limited to the occasional Wait Wait Don't Tell Me episode and Serial.  But since Monday they're almost all I have listened to all day at work.  I've listened to all of Invisibilia, and many hours of Radiolab, This American Life, 99% Invisible, and Theoretically Speaking (these last two are technically not NPR podcasts but definitely of the same genus).  I learned about the decline of the American automobile industry, filming on location in LA, infant organ donation (eyes in particular), the international American Visa lottery and consequent process of emigration from Kenya to the US, echolocation and the way it gives literal sight to the blind, the largest animals ever to walk, fly, and swim on earth (the blue whale, btw, is the overall winner of that game and amazingly still exists today), the Mau Mau uprising against British Empire, and the history and importance of the "Freudian couch" to the world of psychology.  These are a few of the things I have learned.  

this, by the way, is the answer to "what is the largest animal to ever fly?"
it is an azhdarchid pterosaur and they were comparable in size to giraffes
and I'm sorry that you won't be able to sleep tonight.

Traditionally I have helped myself pass the time at work with TV shows and movies.  I have been known to blast through entire seasons in one day if circumstances line up right, and I'm ok with this.  Y'all know I love stories.  And I'm sure I'll go back to watching all the different shows I'm working on (Buffy, Blue Bloods, ST:TNG, The Office, Ally McBeal, Boston Legal, Once Upon A Time, Bones, Supernatural, and Criminal Minds, among others) eventually.   

In my initial enthusiasm I tried out several additional programs that I quickly discarded.  I find that what I really enjoy are the shows that pick a specific idea, theme, or item and dig into it.  Though there are only 6 episodes thusfar, Invisibilia has become my favorite.  It focuses on "the invisible forces which influence human behavior".  Every episode was engrossing!

As I've steeped myself in them for the last couple of days, I have discovered that the podcasts I'm listening to are an entirely different experience than my usual TV marathons.  It must be admitted that I view TV passively.  I almost never break a show down and analyze it.  Rarely is my mind sparked by an interesting idea.  On the contrary, my brain has a tendency to simply shut off and I am mindlessly entertained.  In contrast, I have found myself invigorated by the shows I've listened to this week.  

It's a combination of several factors I think.  I have the initial enjoyment of learning something new, often on a topic I'd never have otherwise encountered.  My secondary enjoyment is in thinking further on the ideas I've just learned about--finding my own implications and possibilities not necessarily elaborated on the show.  And lastly, I am rediscovering my own love of information which has been dormant for kind of a long time I'm realizing.  I listen to these shows and I want to make my own.  Pick my own obscure topics to research and report on.  I'm remembering my interest in fairy tales and storytelling mechanics and wondering if I could put together a show about those things.  I'm writing this blog post after two months of blog neglect.

this has nothing to do with anything, but its funny and I couldn't find
a Heart and Brain about going to the gym.

Sometimes I see people on facebook posting statuses about how they've been slacking on their workouts, but they finally got back in the gym, and it feels so great!  I don't think I'm ever going to be one of those people.  Going to the gym will always suck.  But diving into hours of information for the love of information is reminding me that I do love working out my brain. 

And that I've been slacking on that for a while.  

And it feels really really great give my brain a little stretch.

Anne Shirley is my role model

Over the last week I've been rereading the Anne books.  Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, and I've just started Anne of the Island.  In one of the most popular posts on my blog I list 5 books I believe every girl should read before she is 20 (I neglected to elaborate in that post that I actually think every human should read those books even if they've already passed the age of 20 and/or male).  But despite my advice, I realized the other day that I hadn't revisited Anne in years and years.

Returning to Avonlea has been a surprisingly fraught experience.  Of course it has been in many ways delightful.  Anne is very much a Manic Pixie Dream Girl in the very best sense possible (particularly in that she is also a fully developed character) and stepping into her world is  like living the experience of the sad sappy guy in the typical MPDG movie.  You see the world anew through Anne's big, beautiful eyes and you remember how lovely it is.  You feel optimistic not only about the world, but about your potential within it.

And yet, that very optimism became a bit of a double edged sword for me.  This is the first time I have visited Anne, I believe, since before I graduated high school.  The last time I read these words I was not yet 20 myself:

[Miss Stacy] said we couldn't be too careful what habits we formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the time we were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laid for our whole future life.  And she said if the foundation was shaky we could never build anything really worth while on it.

I'm 28 now, and I confess that, though I hadn't put those words to it, essentially I worry if my foundation is shaky.  I struggle a lot these days with a feeling of pragmatic worthlessness.  Which is to say, sure I have the intrinsic value that all humans on this earth share, but beyond that my life adds very little to the world.  And I mean that very literally.  I produce nothing.  I give nothing.  I accomplish nothing from one day to the next.

Reading this beautiful story about a beautiful girl who walks through the world actively trying to enrich it in every way she can has made me sad.  Because at 16 Anne Shirley is more of a woman than I am at nearly twice that age. I grew up reading these books about these great women and I wanted to be one of them too.  But I am so far from being an Anne or a Jo or an Elnora.  It is difficult for me to believe I'm even on the path to become like them.   Honestly I'm not sure I can be, at this point.  So while I have loved visiting Anne and Marilla and reacquainting myself with their wholesome, beautiful outlook on life I find myself feeling...hypocritical and disappointed.

One of my coping strategies in life is to remind myself that I have plenty of time left and if I am not perfect today, I still have tomorrow and many days thereafter to work on it.  And that is true.  But 17 year old Anne is reminding me that time is also precious and once it is past I cannot get it back.  And I am regretting that I have spent 28 years accomplishing so little.

Therapeutical Musings

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. ~ Leo Tolstoy

I mentioned in an earlier post that I've started going to a therapist.   I've now been to see Alan 3 times. Each time has been unique, and at any given moment my mind might have changed about how I feel about the endeavor overall.  But if you all would indulge me, I’d like to share some of my thoughts about it.

My first visit I had no idea what to expect.  The Bishop told me to go so that we could determine whether or not I have anxiety and, if so, get me some medication to fix the problem.  I was pretty sure I didn't have clinical anxiety, but why not check.  I then proceeded to have one of the worst, most anxious and stressed out weeks of my entire life just a little while before going in for my appointment.  It was really superlatively awful, but it sort of primed me to think that maybe I DO have prescription-level anxiety issues.  So I went in incredibly nervous about so many things.  Alan was very nice, but nevertheless, I left feeling absolutely emotionally disheveled.  I felt as though I'd just spent an hour having someone poke and pick at me and try to break me down into my constituent bits and I absolutely hated it.  Full disclosure: I sat in my car and cried for several minutes afterward, and spent the entire drive down to work fighting to regain my composure.

I tried to figure out what made that first visit so stressful and unpleasant and I came up with a few ideas.  I kept fixating on this one moment as I was leaving when Alan patted me on the shoulder and said “you did great”.  The sort of thing you say to someone who is clearly on the verge of melting down (which, annoyingly, was basically what I did as soon as I left his office).  He had said it because he could tell I was barely holding it together.  But why was I barely holding it together?  Why had I been so nervous?  I decided that I shouldn’t be nervous.  I decided that I should take charge on my next visit.  I wasn’t a person who struggles to hold it together.  I’m not a person who cries in my car.  He hadn’t really seen the real me.  So next time I was going to go in there and make it very very clear who the real me is, and let him know that I’m really a normal, well-adjusted human.  And that is exactly what I did.  I told him I was fine, things were fine, the world was fine, and his time would probably be much better used helping people with actual real problems.  And at the end of the visit he basically told me “If you actually want to work on anything then I’m more than willing.  But if you don’t then why come in again?” 

That was a very good question and I thought about it for the two weeks till my next appointment.  And the more I thought the less I knew.  On the one hand, I am by no means so arrogant as to think that I am the one person on earth who wouldn’t benefit from going to therapy.  And I certainly do have my fair share of issues I’d like to figure out.  On the other hand, I was having a really hard time understanding how talking to a random guy I’d met twice before in my life was going to help me.  What was he going to tell me that I hadn’t already thought of?  In spite of these doubts, I decided to go back for my third visit.  And in deciding I also decided to commit to opening myself up more like my first visit.  I just saw an episode of Blue Bloods where Frank goes to see a therapist and after several attempts the therapist says “Frank, you’re a very intelligent man and I have no doubt you’d be able to successfully evade my questions all day.”  In my case, it proved nothing to sidestep questions, and refusing to be at all vulnerable would shut me out from any kind of growth.  So I committed to letting myself be at least a little vulnerable. 

And I did.  I went back for my third visit this week.  I talked through many of my concerns and doubts about continuing to come.  Alan was able to explain to me more clearly the format he adopts in his sessions.  He believes that there is value in simply experiencing emotions with someone, and then understanding the whys and hows of those emotions and growing from them.  Very very foreign approach to me.  But I figured that if I was going to try then I had to trust him.  And perhaps his style, so very very different from mine, will be good for me. 

Alan’s format is, rather than to ask specific questions or address “assignments” from before, to have me simply tell him about my life and my concerns and what has been bothering me.  I was kind of shocked by how hard that ended up being for me.  Some of my friends, like Matt or Kara or Caleb, know that I can definitely vent when someone or something is annoying.  But to simply start talking to a relative stranger about all the negative things that I had thought and felt for the previous two weeks?  It was unexpectedly formidable.  And even though I’m trying to trust Alan and his system, I am still having a hard time reconciling myself to the idea.  To me, it feels like I am indulging in the worst aspects of my nature.  The parts of me that I should be working to change.  If I give voice to them then that is giving them that much more legitimacy. 

When I brought this up to Alan he had some explanation, but he also said that I don’t have to worry because he knows I’m a good person and nothing I say is going to make him think differently.  When he said it I had one of those uncomfortable moments of realization that yes, in fact, I am exactly like every single other human out there.  Everyone worries about making themselves look bad.  You don’t share your secrets with strangers because you don’t trust that stranger to judge you rightly.  So Alan was giving me the assurance that I didn’t need to have that worry; that he was going to judge me rightly.

But on the other hand, that didn’t feel like the whole problem.  I understand that this is Alan’s job and that he knows how to listen to people without judgment. 

But what about me?

If I start telling someone else all my struggles and all my emotions then how can I continue believing that I am a good person?

You know that feeling that they say we all get, that we are pretending in a world full of people who actually have it together?  That voice, telling you that you are a pretender, it is the voice I am so afraid of.  It is the constant conscience who will not be silenced.  The one who evaluates everything you are and finds it wanting.  The one that hears other people praising you and whispers “but they don’t really know…” 

All of the things that Alan wants me to share, they are the fodder for that voice.  If I keep them locked up and never allow them the life of another person’s hearing then I can keep the voice quiet enough to ignore most of the time.  I can go on believing myself to be strong and intelligent and sensible and together.  Yes, I have this endless litany in my head of all the ways that is not true, but I never speak them, I never let them out.  I never dignify them with acknowledgement.  I am terrified that if I do I won’t be able to ignore them anymore. 

I’m not worried that Alan will think I’m a bad person, I’m worried that I’ll finally believe that I am. 

No one wants to think that there is something wrong with them.  We all want to be well-adjusted, fully functioning human adults.  But ultimately I don’t think there is any person so normal and so happy and so sensible that if you look closely enough you won’t find that they are a little bit broken somewhere.  I know this.  So I guess talking to a therapist is supposed to reconcile me to it in myself.  They say the first step is admitting you have a problem…

The Benefits of Debate

Guys, today was an exhausting day for me on facebook.

I expressed opinions.

Ironically, what I'm left thinking about is not at all the original opinion, but how I feel about the experience of hosting internet debate on my internet words.

you know what I like to do? Express my opinions on hot button topics, inciting endless debate, and then completely disengage. At least I attempt to moderate and have pretty dependably civil friends....

but very secretly deep down I fantasize about a world where just once I can say "this is what I think" on facebook and have everyone say "huh, that's interesting" and NOTHING else. Just once. 

That's the last thing I posted on facebook, and it is very very true.

But it was also so untrue that here I am writing this blog post at midnight when I really really ought to be going to sleep.

This is how I tried to explain it to Matt a little while ago:

 Matt:  Facebook should make a way for you do disable comments on a status

kind of like how some articles can do that

 me:  I think that very often

but on the other hand

once I think that

I then judge myself viciously for being one of those people who wants to simply exist in a vacuum where the only words you hear are people saying "oh yes!  you're so right!" and no one ever challenges your beliefs on anything

deep-down-core-beliefs-me thinks that it is really superlatively awesome that I have so many people with contrasting opinions in my life because that way I get to hear both sides. but superfluous-lazy-me sits on top of deep-down-core-me and says "but debates are harrrrrrdddddd!"

And really that's it.  I get exhausted by these things.  But then when I complain in my head about all the feedback I'm getting (when all I wanted to do was spit my opinion out into the void with no repercussions) I remember how I need this feedback because I don't want to be one of those dogmatic blindered people who can only hear what they want to hear.

So...thank you all.  Thanks for helping me to be more deep-down-core-beliefs-me instead of superfluous-lazy-me.

A Woman of a Certain Age...

So today was my 28th birthday.

All my life birthdays have been a big deal.  When we were little my mom would go all out.  You would wake up on your birthday and find the dining room decorated with streamers and balloons and a preliminary present waiting for you at the kitchen table.  Because mom wanted to make sure that we were always excited for our sibling's birthday, she would make sure that whoever's birthday it wasn't also had a small gift at their place setting (this remains to this day one of my mother's most brilliant parenting ideas).  She made us these intricate, amazing cakes that were works of art.  One year she constructed a whole clock tower for me, complete with columns.  I could not tell you a single birthday present I ever received but I still remember those cakes.  Of course we have no pictures.  We were the anti-hipsters before anti-hipsters were a thing...

I'm not even joking when I say that my first birthday at college was a bit of a blow.  Nothing quite made the point that I'd left home like waking up to a sad empty dorm room with no streamers in sight.  To be fair, I'm having a vague memory of a possible party thrown for me later that evening by the girls on my floor.  Maybe combined with other September birthdays?  Idk.  But still, that "first thing in the morning surprise that wasn't actually a surprise" hadn't been there and I'll be honest: I still wake up on the morning of my birthday with a teeny tiny hope that somehow there will be balloons and streamers, and every year that there isn't I am a very small, reasonable adult level of sad about it.

The early college years all were rather underwhelming like that.  It wasn't till I came back to school after my study abroad that birthdays began to regain their former glory.  It's amazing what happens when you start having friends...

When you have friends birthdays become a big deal again, even in the absence of breakfast streamers and balloons.

Fun fact: my first ever blues dance happened to be on my birthday.  I had no idea what a "birthday jam" was and I was terrified; when they announced it I kept quiet and thus missed out on one of the best parts of being a dancer.  Had to wait an entire year for my chance to roll back around.  Tragic.

I was the happy recipient of one not-so-surprise party, and another party that was such a surprise that I didn't even show up till I was called and frantically begged to come to Slab "because".  Both experiences were delightful.

I think it was at 25 that I started planning my own birthday party.  That year I asked everyone to bring me something wrapped.  I didn't care what it was, I just wanted to unwrap things.

that is me about to unwrap a sled and my own butcher knife

enjoying a birthday dance which I have never been so foolish as
to pass up ever again after that first poor decision

The next year I asked for flowers.  Fresh, paper, plastic...I would accept anything but those nasty craft store fabric ones.  I got some really silly ones and some really lovely ones and it was absolutely perfect.

Last year Anneke volunteered to throw my party.  She did such a good job!  All my friends stopped by and even though I hadn't asked for anything at all that year, several of them brought gifts (some less "serious" than others).  After the party we went to Red Robin.  Again, amazing.

But last year also felt a bit like an ending, at least in retrospect.  Between 27 and 28 the last of my closest dance friends moved away.  Other friends graduated and moved, or got married or made babies, or got adult-type jobs.  At 25 I had literally a crowd of people I loved and who loved me and bringing them all together was simply delightful.  I must confess that at 28 the crowd has, with all reasonableness, dwindled.  The currents of life have swept a great number of that crowd down different paths to different places.

So this year I didn't throw a party. It just didn't feel right, as idiotic as that sounds.

Instead I dressed up for work, makeup included. I clocked out early. Kara and I ordered pizza and watched some Gilmore Girls and then went to institute.  I ordered a slice of cake from The Chocolate, ate the cake and left the frosting, and questioned who I even am anymore.

And now here I sit at 12:30 am feeling apparently incurably contemplative and wondering if this is what people mean when they talk about "feeling old".  I've never dreaded old age.  My personality is, in fact, far better suited to an old woman than to a young adult.  No one tells grandmothers that they're wasting their lives because they prefer hot chocolate and a good book to an afternoon's hike.  But "28" keeps running around in my head knocking into the bookshelves and disturbing the cats.  "28" tells me I don't want a party this year because it will just remind me of how few friends I have left and how many I haven't made to replenish the pool.  "28" says that I should have, if not a solid plan for my life, at least a definite direction.  "28" says I should stop talking about being an adult and just go ahead and be one.  "28" says that old age might be something I'll enjoy when it gets here, but that the middle bit that I thought was annoyingly long is perhaps not nearly as long as I thought.

When you're little you experience finite eternity, measured in endless summer days.  I suppose "getting old" is the realization that school will come eventually, and each day, no matter how glorious, is NOT endless, but rather one day less before the end.  And 28 is the year that I am realizing that summer cannot last forever.  The day I thought would never come.

The day when I worry "I'm getting old"

Driving home...

One of my favorite parts of my day is the drive to and from work.  Especially going home in the evenings.  From Payson up to Provo I get such a magnificent view of the valley and in the evenings the light shines across from one side to the other and lights the mountains up so they glow.  Add in some clouds and you have some legitimately breathtaking vistas.

This evening was one such.  I worked a bit late tonight so I was driving home about 8 o'clock.  We've had much more rain this summer than I remember getting any other summer I've lived here, and today was another cloudy day.  The western sky was clouded over, with a small clear strip just above the mountains.  Mostly the mountains were dark, but right in the middle was a break that created a bowl full of pristine, clear orange light that spilled out and lit up the undersides of the clouds.  It was raining over the foothills, so the all that glowing orange was softly streaked with grey, and there were very occasional white flashes of far distant lightning.  Across the valley the east mountains were also dark through Provo, but up north the point of the mountain was all alight.  Around Spanish Fork I could see it was lit with these soft diffused rays shining out from behind the Lake mountains, also streaked with falling rain.  It was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen and trying to describe it here is so incredibly inadequate.

As I tried to stare at that sunset as much as I possibly could whilst also managing not to wreck my car, I thought about the conversation I had with my friend Bryan last night.  We were discussing an experimental opera he'd worked on with some friends this summer and how much he'd enjoyed attending the single performance.  I pointed out that, while I understand that the ephemerality (which is apparently a real word?) of something only performed once is a part of the art, I am nevertheless struck by the melancholy of such things.  Once they're gone they're gone and if you didn't get to experience them you never will get another chance.  Sure there will be other things and other times, but that particular moment is gone.

This is much the same feeling I have every evening driving home.

When I see something like tonight's sunset I feel like I must look at it for as long as it is there.  Once it's gone it's gone and if I don't watch it while it's there it might as well never have happened at all.  Somehow my experiencing of it adds value.  When I think about it rationally I know that isn't true.  A beautiful moment is beautiful regardless of observation. And even if it wasn't, surely there is someone else out there who looked up for a moment and noticed those rays of sunlight spilling through those clouds.

But I don't know that.  And that places an obligation on me to observe it all if I possibly can.  This awesome, gorgeous world has been given to all of us and the least I can do is to appreciate the beauty it provides.  I can be the eyes and the memory that record that sunset so that even though it will never happen just the same way ever again, it isn't gone without a trace.  Even though I know that doesn't really make any sense.  And even though I know, and mourn just a little bit, all the billions of moments that happen every day that I can never observe.  I did see this one.  I felt that ache in my chest that comes from an exquisite experience.

I looked and I saw and that moment is mine.

lacking an actual picture of this evening, this is a picture of a different
place at a different time that is sort of similar.
got the pic here:
 http://www.errant-ronin.com/PrudhoeBayUshuaia/PBU-Part07-Mexico-Down.htm

Gym Issues

I went to the gym today.  It was part of my ongoing struggle to fill my Saturdays with something...ANYthing worthwhile.  Filling my time successfully is a topic for another post, however.  My point today is that I went to the gym.  

Every time I go to the gym my "routine" consists of the exact same thing.  I head straight back into the comfortably dark "cardio cinema" room, where I walk (with the very occasional addition of 15 seconds of jogging) at varying speeds on the treadmill.  I do this for 20-30 minutes, 45 if I like the movie they're playing.  Then I stop the treadmill and walk right back out to my car.  I might stop at the water fountain on my way out.

About 60% of the time I have much more ambitious aspirations about my workout on my way in.  I'm going to do my 20 minutes of cardio, but then I'm going to use some of those fancy fancy machines that I pass every time going in and out of my friendly cocoon of darkness in the back.  I'm going to stretch.  I'm going to really get the kind of work out you're "supposed" to get when you go to the gym.

Do you know how many times that has actually happened?

none.  none times.

The first blow to my plan is all the bros.  As I walk into the cardio cinema room I will pass on average 5-8 swole dudes sauntering around.  These are the guys who you look at and cannot imagine anything else they do with their life besides work out.  Except maybe summer sales.  And the strange wandering they do around the gym when they're not actually working out in it.  I mean, where are they walking to?  Why don't they just go home if they are done working out? 

There is literally no human being on earth more incompatible with my personality than a bro.  I'm more than willing to admit that this is partially my fault, but the fact is, bros (and their attendant ladybros to a marginally lesser extent) don't really appreciate the things that make me me.  They tend not to appreciate my sense of humor, my interests, and they definitely don't appreciate my physique.  And the feeling is almost always mutual.

Which is fine, btw.  It is perfectly ok if the bros and I never really hit it off.  We don't exactly have anything to do with each other.

except at the gym.

Because the gym is their house.  Going to the gym and expecting not to find bros there is like going to the chapel on Sunday morning and expecting not to find Mormons.  It's stupid.  Unfortunately, like church, you're still expected to go to the gym.

The second problem is, of course, only a problem because of the first.  And that is my complete ignorance of how to actually use all of those aforementioned fancy machines.  Put me in a room by myself and I'll happily sit down and start pushing and pulling till I figure it out.  I'll quote Bryan Regan.  It will be fun.  

But as we've already established, you're not alone at the gym.  You're surrounded by an entire flock of the people you find yourself most uncomfortable with (to be fair, I'd probably find myself more uncomfortable with, like, a room full of neo-nazi militant ultraconservatives, or perhaps a room full of cracked out pimps).  That is not a situation conducive to me dropping my guard enough to look like an idiot as I figure out the machines.  

And lastly, there's always the problem of me being fat and out of shape.  After my 20-30 minutes of walking I'm tired.  When confronted with all those bros and all those crazy machines my tiredness says "eh....you can always use the machines some other day." and it turns out my tiredness, when united with my uncomfortables and judgies, is a super persuasive kind of feeling. 

Perhaps one day I'll conquer the weight machines.  Maybe I'll even do it in front of all the bros and conquer that issue too.  I'd like to think I will.  But definitely not today.  Nah, it can wait for another day for sure... 

Prompt 18: Something I Crave A Lot

Things I crave a lot:

• sleep
• sugar
• cookies
• ice cream
• otter pops
• white rabbit milk flavored candies
• Good'n'Plenty
• various other candy
• milk
• 2%
• chocolate
• random movies/books/songs
• long drives
• meat
• dancing
• movement
• connection
• good conversation
• affection
• alone time
• fall

that seems like a pretty good list for being right off the top of my head...

Prompt 7: My Dream Wedding

This post is a day late, but only because I really got into this prompt.  Planning a fantasy wedding when you don't have to consider constraints of money or your fiance's taste turns out to be a whole lot of fun (with just the slightest hint of bitterness because we're being honest and contrast makes everything taste better).

Perhaps this should have come first, but it wasn't till we'd both spent an unnecessary amount of time searching for the perfect dress for me that Kara asked me what the "essence" of my wedding would be.  Once I figured this out it really helped me settle some of the "but I like allllll of them!" quandaries.  Like what dress I would hypothetically wear.  So without further ado, the "essence" of my wedding: organic, dreamy evening wedding with touches of Southern Gothic.

This leads us first to the venue.  My ideal venue would be a southern plantation with a long avenue of southern oaks draped in Spanish moss, absolutely covered in twinkly glowy lights.

photo by Marc Walter

Imagine that just covered all over with glowy lights!

The tables would all be decorated with moss and flowers and vines and such.  And there would be tables because, as this is a fantasy, I can afford to put on a big dinner like we had at Ralf's wedding.  Full catered dinner for my close family and friends.  Delicious food...in fact, I'd be willing to have exactly what Ralf had, because that food was freaking delicious!  Anyway, I can't find any good pictures of what I'm imagining but imagine soft moss, candles, and windy twisty vines and woods.  And the dishes are all clear glass that catch the light and are beautiful.  This is where I would have it

Which leads to my colors.  Here is a link to look at them (ish).  It's hard to make exactly the right ones, but that's a pretty close idea.  The primary colors would be the orange and charcoal, with the blue, heather, and green as accents.  I deeply deeply long to have orange poppies involved in this, but I just don't know if they'll fit.  But I will absolutely have roses.  Because I love roses.

this is possibly the most perfect thing I could ever imagine

So we've got an evening wedding covered all over with lights, with the colors down.  As far as things go, I guess we're just missing the dress and ring.  Here you go:

I don't even want to know how expensive this dress is, but I could buy it here:
http://www.allurebridals.com/products/8901

I could buy this here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/96725424/lovely-elvin-organic-flow-band?ref=market

So, obviously the dress would need to have a sleeves of some sort.  I have some ideas, but I'm not sure exactly how I would do that.  Also, I would want the bodice to be less crusty, more embroidered.  And for the ring, I would just want to add a raw sapphire on the left in that space.  A dark blue one.

So that's that for things.  I also would say that my ideal wedding would also have a specific feeling.  My favorite thing about Ralf's wedding was the way every single person came there with the intention of staying and having fun and dancing.  It was literally a celebration.  Not like so many of the weddings I've been to here in Utah where it's more like a ritualized meet and greet where people come, eat some food, hug the bride and groom, sit for a set number of minutes, and then leave.  I want a real dinner, and I want actual dancing where all of the people dance, not just my dance friends.  I want us to party late into the night.  I want people to make new friends and talk to each other.  That is also one of the most important parts of my dream wedding.

prompt 8 is a song to match my mood...so keep your eyes peeled today for that

A Brief Thought About Presents

So I decided that, as I am newly graduated and free to bestow my time however I wish, I wanted to try a blog challenge where I post every day for a month.  I then promptly forgot to post anything yesterday, aka the first day of the month, simply, I presume, to prove to myself that I'm not the boss of me.  But it actually works out.  I have one serious (ish) post that I want to write, and then I have this blog-meme my friend Laura gave me one billion years ago with 30 days of prompts that I've wanted to do for said one billion years.  So this way I shall write my real(ish) post for yesterday as though it isn't actually part of the month, and then start with the goofy posts from there on out.  

So, without further ado, here is my non-prompted post of yesterday (just pretend like it's May 1st, ok?)

~~~

...

hm.

I wanted to write a post about gifts, and how I feel about them. Because I love them, and I feel like so many people have a really hard time with them. I had this big long post all written out and I kind of hated it. Then I was talking to Caleb about it and he said that he dislikes getting presents. When I asked him why he thought about it and then told me about a miniature ship his parents brought him back from a vacation, and the little wooden airplane stocking-stuffer he got one Christmas. He said those were his favorite gifts he's ever received. Gifts that were a physical representation of  people he loves and cares about thinking of him. I feel like this sums up everything I wanted to say. That is exactly why I love presents. They tell me that someone loves me and cares about me. They could be ridiculously over the top like a graduation iPad, or as small as a pint of chocolate milk for no reason at all. No matter the size or the cost, when they simply express someone's love they are literally the best.  And I guess that's all I have to say about that.

Current Events

Guys, I'm legitimately curious about something.  A while back I saw something about OKCupid calling on all of its members to boycott Firefox because of Mozilla's appointment of an "anti-gay" CEO (I have no idea what criteria they used to declare him as "anti-gay").  Today I saw a headline declaring that that same CEO has resigned due to that boycott, employee protests, and upper level management resignations.  This reminds me of the uproar over Orson Scott Card writing for Superman (not to mention the production of Ender's Game) despite his outspoken condemnation of homosexuality.  Again there were resignations and protests and calls for him to lose the job (I don't know if he actually did or not).

While I definitely appreciate that people have the right to withhold their business from those they find offensive, and I also appreciate that companies can hire and fire who they like, and I even agree with many of the underlying beliefs with prompt these people to protest....I can't help but feel uncomfortable with these stories.

Particularly when I see celebratory comments announcing that this is a win in the fight against hate.

Is it?  Because...I'm not exactly feeling a lot of love from the protesters...

This is the OED definition of "coerce"

To constrain or restrain (a voluntary or moral agent) by the application of superior force, or by authority resting on force; to constrain to compliance or obedience by forcible means; 'to keep in order by force'

It concerns me that when you cost someone their job because you disagree with their personal beliefs--beliefs that thusfar have had no demonstrable effect on that job--you are possibly crossing the line from expressing your own opinion to coercing those who disagree with you.  

So my question is, in the quest for equality are some lines being crossed that maybe ought not to be?  Or am I just suffering the pangs that all privileged individuals feel when their privilege begins to be taken away?  Is it coercion to actually stop someone working because you disagree with them?  Does it matter if it is?  I'm not sure...

What do you all think?