Dear Creepy Old Men,
Stop looking at younger women; more specifically, stop looking at ME. Get a life. Stop sitting in the comfy chair at Panera Bread, hoping a hot young item will come sit in its counterpart. Because that hot young item is not your counterpart, has no interest in being your counterpart and really wishes you'd just leave her the hell alone so she could enjoy her coffee and few moments to herself.
You are weird, you are creepy and you have no shame.
Stop looking at me.
P.S. your leather trench coat is too big for you.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Gray Hair
My gray hair is really starting to get out of control.
I've had gray hairs-- a few, here and there-- since I was eighteen. I have very dark brown hair (nearly black, but if you call it black I'll be very upset). About a year ago, just after my twenty-third birthday, I decided to get low-lights for the first time, to cover the little eruption of silver that was appearing at the top of my forehead. I've since paid the ridiculous amounts of cash required to maintain youth about three times. The last time was eight weeks ago and darling Michelle, my most glorious and amazing hairdresser, painstakingly colored each and every gray strand on my head, often peering into my scalp as though it might contain the Holy Grail. Lord bless her.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of assuming my shampoo was for color treated hair. Yeah, not so much. I have been traveling constantly for work these past eight weeks and about four weeks into them, Michelle's masterpiece that is my hair began to show signs of wisdom again.
Wisdom is supposed to come with age, but in my case it's come a little early and lately, quite a bit more rapidly. The Bible says "gray hair is the splendor of the old."
HELLLLLLOOOO, I'm not old and I'd really prefer a different type of splendor!
I am exactly six days away from reviving my youth with chemicals and tin foil. Everytime I look in the mirror I feel like Christmas is that sixth day. But maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I really am gaining wisdom more rapidly than before, which at the very least should make me feel better about the fact that my life has been one big fat chunk of a bummer since July.
Sucky life = wisdom? No, I don' t like that at all. It's a more complicated equation than that. It must involve taking what sucks and learning from it, making it meaningful. For me that means writing it down and working it out with the composition of words on a page. So here you have a nice little exploration of the deeper meaning of my gray hair.
Here's a not-so-deep truth: I color my gray hair because I am vain and because I believe society when it tells me that my youth is more beautiful and desirable than my gray hair.
And also I like the way my hair shines after it's colored.
Vanity.
I've had gray hairs-- a few, here and there-- since I was eighteen. I have very dark brown hair (nearly black, but if you call it black I'll be very upset). About a year ago, just after my twenty-third birthday, I decided to get low-lights for the first time, to cover the little eruption of silver that was appearing at the top of my forehead. I've since paid the ridiculous amounts of cash required to maintain youth about three times. The last time was eight weeks ago and darling Michelle, my most glorious and amazing hairdresser, painstakingly colored each and every gray strand on my head, often peering into my scalp as though it might contain the Holy Grail. Lord bless her.
Unfortunately, I made the mistake of assuming my shampoo was for color treated hair. Yeah, not so much. I have been traveling constantly for work these past eight weeks and about four weeks into them, Michelle's masterpiece that is my hair began to show signs of wisdom again.
Wisdom is supposed to come with age, but in my case it's come a little early and lately, quite a bit more rapidly. The Bible says "gray hair is the splendor of the old."
HELLLLLLOOOO, I'm not old and I'd really prefer a different type of splendor!
I am exactly six days away from reviving my youth with chemicals and tin foil. Everytime I look in the mirror I feel like Christmas is that sixth day. But maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I really am gaining wisdom more rapidly than before, which at the very least should make me feel better about the fact that my life has been one big fat chunk of a bummer since July.
Sucky life = wisdom? No, I don' t like that at all. It's a more complicated equation than that. It must involve taking what sucks and learning from it, making it meaningful. For me that means writing it down and working it out with the composition of words on a page. So here you have a nice little exploration of the deeper meaning of my gray hair.
Here's a not-so-deep truth: I color my gray hair because I am vain and because I believe society when it tells me that my youth is more beautiful and desirable than my gray hair.
And also I like the way my hair shines after it's colored.
Vanity.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I Watch People
I watch people. I watch women with their infants sitting at café tables reading magazines and sipping tea, thankful to be out of the house. I watch them and I wish for their lives. I watch men in their business suits bustle into Starbucks and hastily order coffee to-go, thinking they really don’t have time for the barista’s chit chat. I watch them and I wish for their sense of purpose. I watch the wives of older men, reading books about Europe and dreaming of retirement and what traveling freedom will feel like. I watch them and I hope for the ability to do that before I am old. I watch two girlfriends chatting over cups of coffee, analyzing their relationships endlessly. I watch them and I long for my best friend’s loud voice. I watch the young man making coffee in the bookstore, checking his timepiece as he counts down the minutes until he can see his sweetheart. I watch him and I hope my beloved feels the same urgency for me. I watch the little girl with her father, batting her eyelashes and asking if she can please get two books, instead of the one he promised. I watch her and I remember myself, small and wide-eyed. I watch the old man in his button down shirt and corduroy jacket, brushing the long white strands of hair over to the side, hunting for the cookbook his wife keeps talking about. I watch him and I hope for such lasting love.
I watch people. I see relationships all around me, in this city where I am alone. My relationship to every person I see is stranger. That word is not so scary as it was once. When I think of strangers now, I am a little bit glad for my privacy. And then I’m suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness and wish someone would feel the need to meet me. See, I’m smiling at you; don’t I look nice?
The things that are most important to me are relationships. The things I enjoy watching most are relationships. The things I talk about most are relationships. My spirituality is a relationship. Eternity is based on a relationship. Human interaction in nature is a relationship. Our wounds that are deepest are all based in relationship, in frailty and failure. I find the human experience so very unique from person to person; then again, we are all so much the same. We all feel so deeply and long to be loved in a way that is not conditional. And so it is relationship that is always current, always the most important thing.
I have found, in the process of growing up, that relationships change. Sometimes that change is the hardest thing. The most difficult changes are the trees with the most brilliant colors, because they were given the most nourishment, the most rain, and therefore must change the most. It is my childhood that is falling away, and my innocence. As the cold winds are blowing through my leaves, my heart and my mind, I am coming to understand that the sunshine of summer, the verdant and lush prosperity, is not constant. The dreams I had as a little girl of riding off into the sunset on a white horse are only the beginning. It’s what happens when the sun is down, when the trees are bare, that defines a life. Growing up means facing the starkness of the seasons and learning that when we find someone to help us put our jacket on, walking beside them in the coldest storm can keep us warm. There will be different companions on different parts of the walk, but I hope for that one who is constant, even as others join us and depart.
I guess what I’m saying is, while I still dream of Prince Charming and long for the fairy tale, I understand now that my life will not be that way. There is no perfect man, no perfect life. This world, this tragic world, is full of the walking wounded. Everyone has hurt, everyone needs more love. Just as my parents’ wounds created new ones in me, I will create new wounds in my own children. I will bring joy to the life of my husband, yes, but I will also make his life more difficult in some ways. We will assume that there will be damage; we will undoubtedly inflict it upon each other. We will guarantee hardship, we will guarantee moments of regret, but we will also guarantee love in the midst of it all. Because that is the only hope there can really be—love.
My utmost purpose in life can be no greater than to bring hope, bring hope by love.
I watch people. I see relationships all around me, in this city where I am alone. My relationship to every person I see is stranger. That word is not so scary as it was once. When I think of strangers now, I am a little bit glad for my privacy. And then I’m suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness and wish someone would feel the need to meet me. See, I’m smiling at you; don’t I look nice?
The things that are most important to me are relationships. The things I enjoy watching most are relationships. The things I talk about most are relationships. My spirituality is a relationship. Eternity is based on a relationship. Human interaction in nature is a relationship. Our wounds that are deepest are all based in relationship, in frailty and failure. I find the human experience so very unique from person to person; then again, we are all so much the same. We all feel so deeply and long to be loved in a way that is not conditional. And so it is relationship that is always current, always the most important thing.
I have found, in the process of growing up, that relationships change. Sometimes that change is the hardest thing. The most difficult changes are the trees with the most brilliant colors, because they were given the most nourishment, the most rain, and therefore must change the most. It is my childhood that is falling away, and my innocence. As the cold winds are blowing through my leaves, my heart and my mind, I am coming to understand that the sunshine of summer, the verdant and lush prosperity, is not constant. The dreams I had as a little girl of riding off into the sunset on a white horse are only the beginning. It’s what happens when the sun is down, when the trees are bare, that defines a life. Growing up means facing the starkness of the seasons and learning that when we find someone to help us put our jacket on, walking beside them in the coldest storm can keep us warm. There will be different companions on different parts of the walk, but I hope for that one who is constant, even as others join us and depart.
I guess what I’m saying is, while I still dream of Prince Charming and long for the fairy tale, I understand now that my life will not be that way. There is no perfect man, no perfect life. This world, this tragic world, is full of the walking wounded. Everyone has hurt, everyone needs more love. Just as my parents’ wounds created new ones in me, I will create new wounds in my own children. I will bring joy to the life of my husband, yes, but I will also make his life more difficult in some ways. We will assume that there will be damage; we will undoubtedly inflict it upon each other. We will guarantee hardship, we will guarantee moments of regret, but we will also guarantee love in the midst of it all. Because that is the only hope there can really be—love.
My utmost purpose in life can be no greater than to bring hope, bring hope by love.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Airports & Small Children... & Small-Minded Adults
I'm in an airport right now, it's 8:30 AM and there is a very young child eating an ENORMOUS ice cream cone. So for those of you who might be thinking about having children in the future, let me give you a little bit of advice here: that is a mistake. Sure, sure, it makes the kid happy right now, but in 45 minutes when we all get on the same airplane and your kid is in the midst of a sugar high, screaming and laughing and touching my armrest with her sticky little hands and I start flashing you annoyed looks and sighing heavily while rolling my eyes in the general direction of your delinquent offspring, you're going to be sorry you shelled out $6.50 for a waffle cone full of stimulants that are legal to feed your six year old. Do you hear me, happy little family? You'll be sorry.
It's not so much the kids traveling that bother me though. Truly, I know kids will be kids and truth be told, I'd probably give them ice cream too. Heck, any kid that got up at 6:00 AM to catch a flight deserves something. But the trip to Disneyworld they are embarking upon should be enough.
But no, it's not the kids. It's YOU, Mr. Businessman in your perfectly tailored Brooks Brothers suit, argyle socks and black tassled loafers, it's you. You who felt the need to inform your neighbor about every last detail of your sleeping patterns for the past 48 hours, at a decibal so high, I could have sworn you were a politician on the floor of the House, advocating for anti-genocide funds for Darfur. Oh, but nooooo. You're not that savvy. I have to tell you, I feel SO enlightened to know that the bed you slept on in Cleveland last week was too firm for your taste, and that your wife, Susan, got home from work late last Friday so you went out to dinner and she had a steak, but you were way past hunger by that point so you just had a bowl of soup. (What?!?) But at least you were able to sleep in until 8:15 on Saturday. I agree with you, sleeping until that hour IS shocking.
Yes sir, my day is going to go by so much more smoothly now that you have fully disclosed to me and the entire Delta flight 6040, that you do, in fact, drink coffee in the morning, but have steered clear of energy drinks since that incident at the national conference last spring (one can only imagine this had something to do with your penchant for chatting up unexpectant strangers). Ya know, I probably could have helped you out there buddy. I could have told you that any additional morning boost isn't really necessary for a man who attacks the day with your level of zeal!
I bet any one of us on this plane could have told you that. Any one of us on this 6:45 AM flight, slowly sipping our coffees and reading our newspapers and ever so quietly day dreaming about what we would say to shut you up... if we had the energy.
It's not so much the kids traveling that bother me though. Truly, I know kids will be kids and truth be told, I'd probably give them ice cream too. Heck, any kid that got up at 6:00 AM to catch a flight deserves something. But the trip to Disneyworld they are embarking upon should be enough.
But no, it's not the kids. It's YOU, Mr. Businessman in your perfectly tailored Brooks Brothers suit, argyle socks and black tassled loafers, it's you. You who felt the need to inform your neighbor about every last detail of your sleeping patterns for the past 48 hours, at a decibal so high, I could have sworn you were a politician on the floor of the House, advocating for anti-genocide funds for Darfur. Oh, but nooooo. You're not that savvy. I have to tell you, I feel SO enlightened to know that the bed you slept on in Cleveland last week was too firm for your taste, and that your wife, Susan, got home from work late last Friday so you went out to dinner and she had a steak, but you were way past hunger by that point so you just had a bowl of soup. (What?!?) But at least you were able to sleep in until 8:15 on Saturday. I agree with you, sleeping until that hour IS shocking.
Yes sir, my day is going to go by so much more smoothly now that you have fully disclosed to me and the entire Delta flight 6040, that you do, in fact, drink coffee in the morning, but have steered clear of energy drinks since that incident at the national conference last spring (one can only imagine this had something to do with your penchant for chatting up unexpectant strangers). Ya know, I probably could have helped you out there buddy. I could have told you that any additional morning boost isn't really necessary for a man who attacks the day with your level of zeal!
I bet any one of us on this plane could have told you that. Any one of us on this 6:45 AM flight, slowly sipping our coffees and reading our newspapers and ever so quietly day dreaming about what we would say to shut you up... if we had the energy.
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Looming Future
Or, not so much looming. I'm anxious for it. It really wasn't that long ago that the peace I felt was deep inside me. I remember a moment of looking at the people around me in the midst of work and feeling such deep satisfaction. And I was making a sandwich in a little restaurant.
I can't imagine that the satisfaction I felt at that moment and for so many other moments around it existed as a result of my job. No, it must have been something more. That is the question then: what is it deep inside us that creates peace? Is it inside us? Is it external? Is it both?
So I search for a job or a location or a situation that will help me find that peace again. Perhaps it is a combination of all those things, all aspects of life that roll up together and create joy.
I think our lives change with the seasons and sometimes we aren't ready for that inside ourselves. But the colder winds force us to go back and grab a jacket, and maybe a scarf and hat too, and wrap ourselves up to keep what's inside us there, to keep the warmth a part of us. The atmosphere will undoubtedly continue to change, and so will we. But with each new season we step into, we bring a piece of each passing one, and so we grow.
I can't imagine that the satisfaction I felt at that moment and for so many other moments around it existed as a result of my job. No, it must have been something more. That is the question then: what is it deep inside us that creates peace? Is it inside us? Is it external? Is it both?
So I search for a job or a location or a situation that will help me find that peace again. Perhaps it is a combination of all those things, all aspects of life that roll up together and create joy.
I think our lives change with the seasons and sometimes we aren't ready for that inside ourselves. But the colder winds force us to go back and grab a jacket, and maybe a scarf and hat too, and wrap ourselves up to keep what's inside us there, to keep the warmth a part of us. The atmosphere will undoubtedly continue to change, and so will we. But with each new season we step into, we bring a piece of each passing one, and so we grow.
Monday, October 6, 2008
One-fourth
I suddenly realized recently that I have lived at least one-fourth of my life already. Most of that time was for "growing up." But the more I think about it, that's going to be the way life goes in general. When I'm eighty-five years old, will I look back and think, it was all growing up?
For the past several years, I've been waiting. Waiting to graduate college (done). Then waiting to be engaged (has not happened). Waiting for marriage and children (see previous). Waiting to have a real job (disappointment). Waiting to have my own place (I live with my parents--temporarily...right?). Waiting to get an idea and write a book (hmmm...).
When will I stop waiting?
I am not stuck. Repeat. I am not stuck. I spent my college years planning for a life where I would be happy, not sitting in an office, not miserable in my relationship, not living in a place I hate. I graduated, then spent a year of fun out west. And now with my "real" job and "grown-up" life, I'm unhappy. Strike that, let's call it "situationally depressed." I sit in an office most of the day. Without windows. Begging for more work because I'm so bored. I live in the town where I grew up, which is quite a bit more delightful when visiting. My relationship is the only happy place in my life, and still, it's hard.
Not stuck, not stuck, noooot stuuuuuuuck!!!
So, I'm looking for a new job, in a new town and trying to have a better attitude. Have you ever tried to change you attitude by sheer inner willpower? Does it work for you? Because for me, not so much!
I want to make decisions in my life that might be wrong. I want to risk making the wrong choice for love. I want to move to a whole new city because it's adventurous. I want to write a book.
And I will.
Because I can.
For the past several years, I've been waiting. Waiting to graduate college (done). Then waiting to be engaged (has not happened). Waiting for marriage and children (see previous). Waiting to have a real job (disappointment). Waiting to have my own place (I live with my parents--temporarily...right?). Waiting to get an idea and write a book (hmmm...).
When will I stop waiting?
I am not stuck. Repeat. I am not stuck. I spent my college years planning for a life where I would be happy, not sitting in an office, not miserable in my relationship, not living in a place I hate. I graduated, then spent a year of fun out west. And now with my "real" job and "grown-up" life, I'm unhappy. Strike that, let's call it "situationally depressed." I sit in an office most of the day. Without windows. Begging for more work because I'm so bored. I live in the town where I grew up, which is quite a bit more delightful when visiting. My relationship is the only happy place in my life, and still, it's hard.
Not stuck, not stuck, noooot stuuuuuuuck!!!
So, I'm looking for a new job, in a new town and trying to have a better attitude. Have you ever tried to change you attitude by sheer inner willpower? Does it work for you? Because for me, not so much!
I want to make decisions in my life that might be wrong. I want to risk making the wrong choice for love. I want to move to a whole new city because it's adventurous. I want to write a book.
And I will.
Because I can.
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