Madrid meltdown

Tonight I just want ed to take me. I'm so done with everything. I'm melodramatic and I don't care.

But it gets so exhausting. Being alive. I know I'm so blessed but I can't even use my blessings well. And I know there are plenty of people REALLY suffering out there who would trade places with me in an instant. I wish I could give them my life and my opportunities. I can't do this right.

I always imagine myself being held. Safety. Warmth. Security.

Even if I get through this, I can't help but think it'll only pick back up again on the other side. I'll continue to be chased. I'm always going to be running, out of breath.

I'm just a little girl who loves to smile and be in the light. I only came outside to smell the flowers. But I found weeds there too. They're poisonous.

I'm still pissed that I ever re-fed. Dear God, Ellie, why did you have to be the one to go? I still would give you my life instead. I just know I could've kept going if I'd never left Walden. I had death in my hands and I let it fall.

I'm disturbed and I know it. I've been this way for most of my life. Sometimes I could really see myself pulling a Van Gogh and just cutting off my ear or something. I understand this madness. It's a deep part of me.

I haven't cried like this in a while. But it's good, it's cleansing.

I have about 40 academic pages to write. In Spanish. The Spanish part doesn't bother me so much. It's the research and actually knowing what the hell I'm talking about that's pretty up in the air. Also, I have like 10 days to do this. I've never known screwed like I know it now.

Why can't I just write shit like this and get credit?

Por fin, my first equestrian encounter!

I am a firm believer in staying authentic and true to myself. I know without a doubt that what I value as an expat is establishing myself in this community and coming to know the city that I'm living in. I want to be active and involved. I want to be integrated and appreciated, at least by a few. But I also want to be a wide-eyed child and just explore. There is so much here that I don't get to discover on an average week because I'm busy with school and other activities.

I am thrilled, pleased, relieved, and blessed. Today I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams and longtime bucket list items: horseback riding! I know -- for those of you who know me, it's strange that this was my first time, since I'm from Vermont. But this experience is even more epic because I did it in Madrid, Spain! I'm proud of myself for persevering, because I almost didn't make it out there at all. I'm going to backtrack a little and give you the whole picture.

I was out late last night with some of my new madrileño friends. It was really nice to be out with locals and not be near any fellow Americans - in other words, truly on my own in a foreign city. I felt wonderfully and completely immersed. The beauty of it is that it was all natural and of my own doing - of my own initiatives since being in Spain. First I went to dinner with a friend I made at a language exchange meetup a week prior; later we went to a bar to catch up with a mutual friend and a German girl who's a student in Spain (and has practically flawless Spanish). During dinner, Alex and I laughed so much. It was extemely healing for me, despite the fact that I felt like a 5-year-old because I kept forgetting things and making mistakes with my Spanish. But I don't normally laugh that much with Spaniards, so it was totally worth the insecurity and frustration I have toward myself (I still struggle with the process of language learning...I just want to be 100% fluent already!). But this guy is pretty chill and smiles a lot, which is rare and refreshing around here. It was SO wonderful to be out of the classroom, completely away from the academic environment, to learn naturally and calmly through developing a friendship with a native speaker. These are the moments I cherish because this is what I have always dreamed of and expected from myself when I used to fantasize about living abroad; it wasn't necessarily about the number of places I was going to see, but rather the people I was going to meet and the depth and quality of my relationships with them. There's nothing like international friendships; we all have so much to share with, learn from, and teach one another.

Most of my classmates are gone taveling this weekend. I felt a certain excitement about having Madrid to myself (or feeling that way). Sometimes I just need that kind of space. I was originally going to be away as well, but only ended up stressing myself out a LOT over the last couple of weeks when I was trying to make travel plans. I felt a lot of anxiety and pressure...but what for? Nothing was working out as I tried making plans. I kept changing my mind and still felt unsure about the whole thing. I was creating way too much unnecessary anxiety for myself. At first I felt like I really needed to go somewhere far and exotic, because everyone else was. But then I realized that I didn't have any true desire of my own to do so. I mean, I'm an adult and I'm here in this Master's program pursuing my own goals, no one else's. I'm not paying thousands of dollars to just do what's popular. No, that's absolutely absurd. I want to be my own person and follow my own intuition. There's really nothing wrong with staying local on a long weekend. I can have just as many amazing experiences here in Madrid (or nearby) as the other people traveling in other parts of Spain or even in Paris. And it doesn't take much for me to prove it. The long weekend is half over and I've already accomplished what I feel are some amazing tasks.

One of the first things I needed from this weekend was to relax. I needed a vacation from all the emotions and tension I've built up inside over the last several weeks. I just wanted to chill out and breathe. I need tranquility. And the past couple of days have given me that. The silence of solitude can be lovely.

So before, when I was frantically trying to get a plan together for this weekend, one of my goals was to go to the country and ride a horse. I adore animals and have always, always dreamed of riding a horse. When I gave up altogether on reserving a trip, I thought I would have to postpone the horseback riding idea. Then, I was poking around on Meetup.com (super obsessed with this site), and God took care of me in an instant. There, before my eyes, was the page for a coincidentally brand-new horseback riding group in Madrid! I couldn't believe it. I hadn't expected to find anything right here in the city. I thought for sure I'd have to travel to another town to fulfill this dream. So anyway, of course I signed myself right up for what was plainly God's answer to my tumultuous ride of internal turmoil over the past few weeks. (You have no idea what the stress of planning for this weekend had been doing to me...I felt all sorts of shame and depression about not being able to get my act together and make something happen.)

During the week I didn't think much about planning for the riding lesson because the Meetup page said it was in Madrid. I assumed I'd just get on a metro and find the place fairly easily. But after I got home last night from my mixing with the locals, at about 02:00, I decided I should probably take a glance at the map to see where I needed to be in fewer than 10 hours. And joder, it looked as though it wasn't going to be feasible getting to the riding center by public transit alone. Great, I thought. JUST GREAT. Once again, my plans for the weekend had been crushed. And I felt kind of screwed because it was already so late and this woman who had organized the meetup was expecting me to be there. But I didn't have her phone number or anything...just the messaging page on the Meetup site. So I wrote her a message after 03:00 asking how I could get there without a car and hoped she would see it before leaving to meet me at the riding center.

Needless to say, since I went to sleep so late (or early, rather), I was still exhausted when my alarm sounded. I stayed in bed for a long time, contemplating whether there was any point in making an effort to go out today. I really doubted I could figure out how to get to this place. My exhaustion also made me feel depressed. I honestly felt like I may as well just sleep the entire day away. But then I thought about what it would mean to give up the horseback riding. Even though it certainly wasn't the only day I could ever possibly hope to do it, what would be the point in wasting a perfectly good opportunity? Also, I felt guilty at the thought of just not showing up and letting this woman, Barbara, down. Since she had just recently created the group on Meetup, I was the only person who had joined it and RSVP'd, so far. So I felt pretty much obligated to follow through.

By God's grace, I pulled myself out of bed. I checked my messages and found that Barbara had replied, telling me where the nearest train station was and that I could walk from there to the riding place. I looked at the clock and the map. There wouldn't be time to take a metro to the train and then walk from the train. As I threw on clothes and gobbled down some yogurt, feeling shitty for taking so long to get out of bed and for being in Madrid without any real plans (etc., etc. goes my silly brain), I decided to just take a cab. Fortunately (and divinely so, I'd say), there was a cab available sitting on the side of the main road by my street. Unfortunately, the driver had no idea where this place was, and we had quite some trouble finding it.

I felt awful when we started going in circles and then when the taxista had to turn off the meter because of it. It seems like this shit always happens to me. WHY ME?! I always want to shout out to the world. I'm always having a hard time with stupid, simple things. But this time I was legitimately annoyed because I didn't want to arrive late, miss the class, and have paid 30 euros in taxi fare for nothing (and then have to figure out how to get home after the taxi was already gone). BUT... As I got out of the cab, I saw a woman walking toward me. I looked at her and she looked at me. I think I made it a bit awkward because I didn't say anything. "Alissa?" she finally said. "¡Sí!" I replied. And that was that. I had finally freaking made it. The world hadn't ended.

Barbara was really sweet, and patient with my low confidence and awkward Spanish. She told me that the instructor was actually still teaching a class, so it was perfectly fine that I was a few minutes late. "He's Cuban," she said (in Spanish), "so he's on island time and very laid-back." Did she say CUBAN?! I thought. Holy shit, now I'm REALLY glad I got myself out of bed this morning and made it here!

It turned out that not only is Edgar from Cuba, but he's also very easy on the eyes! You've got to be kidding me, I thought. This day was just getting better and better! But then I quickly saw that he's a smoker. Thumbs-down in that department.

Anywho...the class was perfect. Barbara and I were Edgar's only students at that time, so it was nice and relaxed. The horses were sweet and calm. I was as gleeful as a child when I looked into the eyes of my horse that Edgar gave me. I really felt childlike in my soul when I took hold of the reins and Barbara and I began walking our horses over to where we would be riding. I couldn't believe this was finally happening. My only exposure to horses has been at the Champlain Valley Fair and Addison County Field Days once a year. Seriously, I think that's about it. I just love horses! I admire their anatomy, their beauty, and their strength. I used to diligently draw them as a child. These gorgeous animals have served humans for so long. What a wonderful gift to the world!

I felt real fear when it was time to mount. The horse's back looked very high up, as did the stirrups. I honestly did not believe I had the upper body strength to boost myself up with enough momentum. I thought I would almost certainly fall and either hurt my body or my pride in an instant. But Edgar thankfully helped me up, and it really wasn't so bad! Phew. First step down.

In my first moments in the saddle, sitting up high with no back support and not yet holding onto the reins (Edgar was, from his standing position on the ground), I felt insecure. I again felt that I would fall. But this feeling only lasted moments; after I had the reins to myself, I felt much better.

During the whole hour-long class we just walked the horses in small circles in a little sand-covered enclosure. We learned how to stop, start, and steer the horses. It was all very basic, but I loved every moment.

This one came out the best. Sorry the others are so dark!

Edgar and Barbara were also very pleasant to talk to. And guess what? I asked Edgar where exactly in Cuba he's from, and he said Matanzas. That's the same town where my maternal grandfather was raised!!! I love making these connections. The more, the better. Even though I'm in Spain for now, my goal has always been, and always will be, Cuba. My heart is there, even though I've never physically been, and even though my Cuban blood comes from my mother's side only. One day I will make to the island, and I will conduct the necessary research to learn about my grandparents and their family histories. Their stories must be known and must be told.

I was a bit sad when it was time to dismount and say goodbye to the horses. (I was also nervous to dismount! But Edgar helped me again.) At the same time, I now know that I'm capable of doing this, and I know that I definitely want to repetirlo.

Another blessing God provided me at the end of the day was that Barbara offered to drive me to the nearest metro station! Since I had arrived in a taxi, and definitely wasn't going to go back in one as well, I was a little anxious about figuring out how to get myself to a train station. I didn't know the area well, but I knew it would be a bit of a hike on foot. So I was extremely pleased that not only did I have a wonderful riding lesson, but I also was given the gift of peace about returning safely to the city. I mean, there's really no other way to see it; Barbara's kindness was truly a gift. Looking back on the stress of just getting to the place at the beginning of the day, I felt so relieved that the whole thing turned out so well. God just took care of me completely! Barbara even said that if I come back in the future, she would be willing to pick me up at the station and bring me to the riding center with her. How lovely!

A random tidbit to this tale: Part of my fantasy about riding horses came from the movie Titanic. I kid you not! You know why? Because I've always admired the way Rose continued to live her life after Jack died. I love the scene where she passes in her sleep and the camera moves to the pictures at her bedside, showing all the things she's done despite the tragedy she once knew. I love the picture of Rose on a horse. Something about that image is so signficant to me... It's like, I've had some of the same dreams as her. I know what it's like to be close to death, to even want it, and to come back from that with possibly more life than I ever had before. I have so many ambitions, dreams, hopes, and goals. I may never achieve them all, but if I can accomplish at least some of them, I will feel satisfied. I will feel invigorated, strengthened, and alive. When I engage in activities I have yearned for over a long period of time, I feel independent and capable. I feel like I've conquered the world of my fears and iniquities.

So I hope this entry may have inspired something in you, if you're reading this. I hope you get on that horse you've always wanted to get on, and pull yourself up even when you think you might fall. You'll never gallop if you don't get up and walk...

Woods and Whisperings

Read novels in a cozy chair
Watch the nature from my long window
Sip my mug of hot chocolate
Sing beautiful repertoire in Latin
Paint in oils on linen
Dance all night long
And walk through the trees, enjoying the crackles of leaves and melodies of birdsongs.

I see the mist, feel the chill on my cheek, and fear nothing.
My sweater is long and loose. There is a blue tinge to the air and I can smell the greenness of these woods. My heart beats powerfully with the thrill of intrigue and mystery. I am a little girl, stumbling through a forest, wondering what's about to happen next. It's a secret, it's an enchantment, it's a garden all my own.

I hum a new tune, thinking about Mozart and how I wish he were here so I could appreciate his genius and his struggle. Everything I see is a painting, or a potential one. I can't wait to get back to the studio and take this treasure before me into my own palette. I will recreate serenity in a medium that isn't quite permanent but still satisfies.

This solitude isn't loneliness, here in the dewy woods. I'm flattered to be here and I love exploring. Every tree, every stone or bush, is protecting and concealing. I want to know more.

I look up and can just see the distant sunlight reaching through branches and fog. It's my sign that I'm headed in the right direction. Inhaling, I close my eyes and relish the moment of earth and mist and freshness. I want to soak it into my bones.

I continue on and it's just a memory, that which is behind me. But I'm stepping on fallen branches and not trying to skirt around them. It's okay; I'm sure of myself here.

Horses and cloaks and carriage wheels. Tracks in the dirt.
Lanterns burning.
A child humming, stroking the yarn of her doll's head.
Whispers of fairies and stardust.
Nightgowns and stories by candlelight.
A braid over my shoulder, I carry my weight in firewood.
A violin serenades me with its delicate timbre. Chatter ensues.
Rough-hewn furtniture and dainty doilies. Handmade trinkets.
Tea and some biscuits, resting under dust, and a bottle of ink left uncorked.
The parchment stiffens, threatening to curl.
I made my home here, and I haven't gone back.

Stay alive...and live!

I had this thought the other day that I just have to write down. I don't think I can remember it exactly as it was in my head (and damn, it was so brilliant), but I'll try to flesh out the gist.

I was thinking about suicide. Not planning my own, but thinking about the idea of taking one's life and what it means. I thought about this while I was at a crosswalk in Madrid and watching all the cars and Vespas zipping by. One wrong move, one foot into the traffic and I could be killed in an instant. I thought about God and faith and that I can't believe that people who don't believe are just living their lives for nothing. How can so many people be on this earth and not know why they're here? I looked around at the people walking by on the city sidewalk and realized that this is exactly the problem - they don't know why they're living, so they're not really living. I scowled at all the people smoking (because practically everyone does here) and thought about the tragedy of how unhealthy it was; I thought about all the millions of other ways humans in general mistreat themselves on a daily basis. Drinking, hoarding, self-harm, and overall neglect are just a few. Cities make disease seem so prominent; I'm constantly taking note of people's skin, their facial features, their posture, and general demeanor, and I notice how indicative it all is of their wellbeing (or lack thereof). How truly sad it is that we waste our precious time, youth, and natural-born health destroying it all, and for what? We gain nothing.

I looked up at the scaffolding on a building under construction. I am terrified of heights, and every time I see construction way up high, I am in awe at the brave men working up there. How can they not be afraid? I thought. Don't they know they could so easily fall and lose their life? In one second? How are they not afraid of that possibility? It's not irrational or unrealistic, after all.

Then I realized this: the truth is that most of us don't actually value our lives. We're just afraid to die, so we keep on living, existing mundanely. We don't actually value our lives, in the grand scheme of things. And this scares me! We don't want to kill ourselves because we're afraid of what may or may not come afterward. If we didn't have that fear of dying, of the experience itself, and if we didn't think there would be any consequences, then maybe we'd all be jumping off buildings. Life is tough and unfair, and people can be cruel. We all experience struggle, and sometimes it can seem so unbearable it's just not worth living through. But we wouldn't actually go through with suicide as a means of taking the easy way out. Neither do we strive to look for God and meaning amidst the struggle and misery. So we settle for indifference, for apathy, and we just accept the fact that so many things in life suck. And we survive.

But if we valued our lives, we'd have a million times more of a reason to stay alive and live. If we actually knew, realized, admitted, acknowledged, celebrated the fact that there is no one like any one of us, and that God breathed life into each of us with our own unique purpose, then we might treat ourselves differently. But it's just so obvious that we don't care enough. Or we forget to care. There are so many other filthy humans walking around that it's easy to melt into the mix and forget that it is AMAZING that I or you even exist. I mean, there never has been and never will be another me. I am precious and valuable beyond anything I could imagine. Sure, I'm a sinner and I always will be one. But that doesn't make me or anyone else less special. Of course, I won't live forever, but that's only here. My body is on loan. My soul is eternal. What I do here does make a difference.

I've realized that no matter what I do in life, no matter where I am, no matter how many wonderful things could be happening for me, I can generally find something to feel depressed about on any given day. (It's just like that for me. I have always suffered from varying levels of depression.) But I also know that God is keeping me here for a reason. There's just no way that I could have gone through what I've gone through for absolutely nothing other than that's just the way life is. I believe that my struggles are all significant. I believe they're shaping me as an individual but that they're also affecting the world. I believe that God sent me here to change the world, because no one else can do it in exactly the same ways that I can, since there's only one me. I believe everyone else on the planet has a purpose to fulfill as well, not just me. We all can change the world because we are all equally loved by God.

The key ingredient here is believing in our own worth and the value of our lives as part of a greater context. My life isn't only important if I have family or friends who love me and make my time enjoyable, or if I have talents and hobbies that are interesting, or if I have enough money to donate to a cause and feed an entire village in Africa. No, my life is important because God made me. My life is important because it is human.

Humans are horrific and incredible beings. We're capable of so much (good and bad), yet our imperfect nature keeps us vulnerable. It should keep us humble as well, but interestingly enough, there still exist many humans who must face multiple trials in life before learning the key component of humility. I happen to be one of those humans. I didn't realize just how human I was until shit hit the fan. Thanks, God (no, seriously)! I really needed a kick in the butt. For real. I couldn't have gone on living so inauthentically because all I was doing was denying my own humanity for years, because I thought being a good person meant being a perfect person. Wrong!

I'm going to admit something to you (or probably just to myself, since I doubt anyone is reading this): I am afraid of mediocrity and the mundane. I want to be fabulous and famous (eek, it's horrible to write but I think it's true). I want every day of the week to feel special. I want to be on fire for God and for my life and its purpose at every moment. But that will never happen. We can't always feel that way, because the external world lets us down now and then. However, what I'm suggesting is that we at least think about this stuff more often. Remind yourself that no matter how lame or boring or difficult or distasteful or frustrating or unfair your life is, you will always be a priority for God. His love for you can never be defeated, and He always has your best interests at heart. He can never do you wrong. He is love, and He is all that is true and good.

I went to Mass last night here in Madrid, and the priest said something that really struck me during his homily (and I'm pretty psyched that I was paying attention at that moment specifically):

We shouldn't try to behave well in life (i.e. make good choices, do good deeds) in order to make God love us; instead, God's love for us should inspire good choices and good deeds.

Wow! Okay, it sounded much better in Spanish, but that is my basic translation and I think you can still get the point. I was dumbfounded and also not that surprised...I mean, this is a pretty simple and what should be obvious conclusion. Why do we think God will love us or help us more if we do something good for our neighbor? That is so backwards! Why isn't God's love for us (which is the biggest Love you could ever hope to find) enough? (Well, it IS enough, but we don't always realize it.) Why aren't we doing more to act on His Love? God's Love should be a springboard for us to change the world. Yes, I realize that not everyone has access or the means or the capacity or the health to do all the amazing things out there...but that is why He created you and me! If not someone else, then why not us??!

I'm grateful for the gift of writing. I'm grateful for the gift of language. I'm grateful for the gift of beauty and my ability to see it and seek it. I may seem quiet on the outside, but there's a rumble inside that I know God is helping me to hone so that I can change the world. And maybe I won't make the history books or receive any recognition whatsoever, but that won't undo what I'm going to achieve in this world. The knowledge of God's Love for me and His purpose for my life will be enough.

Singing Mozart's Requiem...then and now, there and here

AY. DIOS. MÍO. Me he enamorado...¡de la música sacra de nuevo!! Hoy fui a un ensayo del Réquiem de Mozart en la iglesia, pero era un ensayo completamente diferente que normal. Esta vez cantamos en el santuario (no en la salita arriba), que es hermosísimo en primer lugar...pero también cantábamos con ¡LA ORQUESTA!

I was quite literally singing in a HUGE choir amongst a sea of violins, cellos, oboes, piano, trumpet, etc. all filling the church, with a super intense conductor leading the whole thing. You just HAD to be there. I wanted to take photos but all I had with me was my crappy Spanish phone whose camera is horrendous. Anywho, I literally felt goosebumps! The whole thing was amazing. There were four incredible soloists, all my age or younger, and my heart yearned to be one of them, to have an opportunity as a soloist in a piece this important.

I looked up at the altar, at the beautiful, colorful and immense paintings, sculptures of Christ and the holy family, ornate golden furnishings, a bright-patterned carpet covering the steps, the high, stone ceiling of this old church (the oldest in Madrid), and I listened to the music we were making. This all feels so royal, I thought. But why "royal"? Well, I realized, we were singing a Mass for the dead, and Jesus Christ is King. It's only fitting that His music be powerful enough to evoke a sense of royalty.

I sang every piece in the Requiem, even though it was my first time with the score. When we got to "Lacrimosa" my heart was in Heaven. It is such a moving piece, and it's the one that originally made me fall in love with Mozart. I am so happy that I get to sing it again! I first learned "Lacrimosa" during my freshman year of high school, in the chorus directed by Sue Thorpe. That was a magical year for me, musically speaking. I was challenged but I really blossomed as a result.

Ms. Thorpe taught me how to read music, which changed my life. She encouraged me to switch from singing alto to soprano. I had started as an alto because I didn't know anything about music (except that I loved to sing), and I can still remember Ms. Thorpe's words when we discussed my moving to the soprano section: "Go for the gold!" she said fervently. I had always been very uncomfortable and timid in chorus class, partly because I couldn't read music, and partly because Ms. Thorpe herself was pretty strict and demanding (although an excellent choral director). But that moment struck the right chord in me. I was thrilled at being encouraged in such a way. It meant that someone actually believed in me, and saw the potential in me as a singer.

I wish I were still in contact with Sue Thorpe. I wish I could tell her how much her instruction influenced me and changed my life. She left my high school for another job after that one year, and my choral experience was never the same again. But if I could tell Sue Thorpe today what her class did for me, I would tell her that she was the one who planted the seed of desire in me to continue studying music. Because of her, I knew that I would pick music as my major in college. And I did. (Well, it was one of my majors.) The music major was extremely difficult, in both colleges that I attended, and although in the end I decided studying music was not my jam, I'm still grateful for the experiences and the lessons. I'm still grateful that Ms. Thorpe made me realize that music is a legitimate and vital discipline of the arts, and that my voice is an instrument I must not forsake in life.

Thank you, Ms. Thorpe for what you contributed to my life. Had I not continued studying music, I may not have continued participating in choirs. And without my musical literacy, I would not be able to sing in two choirs here in Madrid, Spain, like I am. Thank you for your knowledge, your insistence on making good music, and the inspiration you were to me. I wish you could only know.

"Lacrimosa" is a lament sung in a Mass for the dead, but when I sing it, my heart rejoices and my soul rises in nostalgia.

Tangled

I need joy, I need joy. Music is key. I need to feel tears of complete spiritual fulfillment and song within my heart. I need that magical, enchanted sensation flowing through my veins. I need color, texture, form, shape, and vibrancy.

I can't seem to stay in the present. Worry makes me work hard planning for a future I have no knowledge of. I'm always insecure. Where will I live? Will I have enough money? Will I be on the street? What if all this work, all this internal energy and turmoil, was all for nothing and I'm just a nobody in the end? I've got a major protector part who simply can't let that happen.

Love. It seems so rare. Yet so vital. And what ever is it? Sometimes I like to settle in to thoughts of love, not caring if I'm making it up or still completely clueless about what it really means. Who cares, when your imagination can make you feel good, even if it's temporary.

I am scattered and sprawled over too many passions, too many dreams, too many silly hopes and desires. My arms ache from the constant reaching and stretching. I hold on until they're about to fall off and when I finally rest, it's so comfortable I would rather just stay there and never make another move.

Once in a while, something comes up and I feel useful again. Life has some little meaning for me, reserved in a quiet place (and sometimes in a more boisterous one). I appreciate those moments. It's sad I can't predict them.

At the end of the day, maybe all I need is a long, tight, warm embrace.

Whose is this face?

I'm writing this on Cubanita Chronicles and not my other blog because it's in English... I should definitely be writing in Spanish, but I'm so full of emotions and frustrations that I need my mother tongue.

So I'm having a hard time. (What else is new?) In fact, I didn't think this would happen to me. I thought that coming to Spain would change a lot of things. I thought I would feel better. I thought I'd be awesome and engaged and actively involved in the culture and people of this amazing city. (By writing "amazing" I'm actually trying to convince myself that that's what I believe.) Granted, it's only been two and a half weeks, but I already have a head full of distress and ready to burst.

I don't even know what my problem is. I have some hypotheses, but that could be a load of bullshit. I do believe that life is generally what you make of it. Of course, we're all dealt different hands and some people legitimately have it harder to begin with. I can't honestly say I'm one of those people, since I am here in this program and have a loving family that supports me, so that adds guilt to my list of woes. I walk by people every day on the street who are definitely worse off and my heart cries out for them. But I don't know what to do other than pray.

It's like this: I know who I am, more or less, and I know she's pretty fucking incredible. (She's also become a bit harsh, if you can't already tell.) I look in the mirror and see someone beautiful. I look in my heart and see so much talent and originality. But somehow, I can't seem to get through a day truly believing and feeling that all at once. The woman in the mirror is another person, someone I desperately want to get to know. She's someone I'd aspire to be. She's confident and graceful and likeable. Her very presence attracts respect and admiration from others. She's the epitome of femininity and power (the positive kind).

The woman inside my heart is hidden and screaming. She's been out of the house before, but doesn't always get a chance. The silence is torturous.

When I recap in my mind what I've said to people, how I've behaved throughout the day, I am appalled that I still wear this face I see in the mirror. How could I betray her? How could I consistently sabotage a perfect opportunity to give her the limelight? What a shame. What a terrible, terrible shame.

And then I look out my window and see life. I see a view that's new and foreign to me. I smell smoke (oh, you know it) and hear cars and children that keep me awake at night. But I also hear Spanish. Lots and lots of Spanish. It's the language of my mother's parents that has always intrigued me so. This is my dream that I'm supposedly living, right here and right now. I'm living abroad. I'm an expat. I have arrived at one of the many places on my list.

But it doesn't automatically invoke a sense of fulfillment. What's actually out there, beyond the street I see from my window? Is there anything or anyone waiting for me? I've got to get it. Or I could just exist, become one with the crowd and sink into the masses with mundane sobriety. I could walk the streets, look up at the buildings, and never find the woman who truly owns the face I wear. I am a fraud, an imposter. And not even a good one -- as soon as I open my mouth, I am undone. All my ugly, crumbling infrastructure becomes truth and the world returns to its more important business. I resign to time.

It flies faster than the speeding Vespas and the more I think about it, the more I mourn what I know I'll have lost in the future. By then maybe I'll have met her, the woman to whom this face belongs. But maybe her body won't be worn out and tired and she'll no longer want the face because it still won't match. It never will. So I'll always be carrying what I don't own. I'll have to either learn to forget her or try to do her justice. Who knows what that looks like.

Ed is also a problem and he's everywhere. The Beautiful Woman is too strong to care but another part is weakening... It'll all be okay, though. It always is, in the end. God has a funny way of taking care of me when I least expect it.

The Woman of My Dreams

This is going to be my last blog post in English for a while.  Tomorrow I move to Middlebury College for six weeks of intensive Spanish immersion, earning the first nine credits of my Master's degree (or so I hope!).  It's unnerving, exciting, scary, and overwhelming, all at once.  Even though I still have my doubts, I can't help but think that the past several years that have been so difficult for me were all part of God's master plan to bring me here, to the beginning of this most important chapter of my life thus far.

My twenties have been anything but easy and full of sunshine and daisies.  Sure, I have experienced many, many wonderful adventures, met some amazing people, and grown immensely in some important ways, but none of it has been without struggle.  The road has been extremely painful at times; I have suffered from depression, anxiety, E.D., hopelessness, despair, frustration, self-hatred, low self-esteem, and a bounty of other mental and emotional ailments.

College was especially difficult.  I hated most of my experience (at two different schools over 5.5 years).  I honestly only went to college right after high school because I was following the prescribed path that society had set up for me and everyone else in my class.  Looking back on my high school self now, I have so much sympathy for her, and I wish I had had the strength back then to follow my own path and my own heart, instead of looking at everyone around me, which I was constantly doing.  I never felt comfortable in my own skin and I never felt like a valid, substantial individual capable of blazing her own trail.  My classmates were all excited to graduate and go off to their out-of-state colleges and start whole new lives.  Me?  While I was happy to leave high school, I was terrified of the unknown and the big decisions I was faced with, and I did not feel ready or very willing to go far.  I only applied to four schools, was rejected from one, and in the end had to decide between SUNY Plattsburgh and UVM.  I chose SUNY because at least then I could say I was going out-of-state (little did I know then that I would end up attending both schools anyway).

Academically, I did well at PSU during my two and a half years there, staying on the Dean's List every semester.  My perfectionist part kept me in line with two majors and one minor, in addition to leading the church choir back home in Vermont, holding a volunteer position in the Plattsburgh community, and maintaining my part-time job in Vermont as well.  When you look at things that way, I was pretty successful.  Too bad I wasn't also happy.

When I was twenty I started dating my first boyfriend.  He was charming and sweet and everything I wanted.  But before I knew it, the E.D. fire I was playing with at the same time caught up to me and I was forced by my college to take a medical leave of absence for a semester.  This devastated me.  It was already five weeks into the semester and I had completed so much work that I never received credit for.  My entire world changed during this time; I would never be the same again.  I broke up with my boyfriend and it was the best decision I had made at that point in my life.  I could not be with another person while I was engaged in such a deadly personal battle.  I only wish now that I had stayed single until I was at a more stable place in my recovery.  All my relationships after that first one were pointless, wrong, and damaging.

While I was on medical leave, I knew I couldn't go back to PSU where I had so many memories and triggers.  So I applied to transfer to UVM.  It's funny that things played out this way, because amongst all my anxieties and worries during college, transferring to another college had been something I'd wanted to do while I was at PSU (before the medical problems) but never knew how, and thought I could never be capable of doing.  Transferring had always seemed like an overwhelming process.  Well, it's funny that when life itself prompts you in a certain direction, you have no choice but to act.  So when I knew I could not go back to SUNY, I somehow figured out on my own how to transfer.  This in itself was a huge victory for me.  I know it may sound silly to most "normal" people, but for me I'm very proud that I achieved that back then.  At the time, of course, it did not necessarily seem like anything important, because I was doing it to get away from Plattsburgh and simply finish my degree.  I was glad for a fresh start and different surroundings, but I still did not actually care about school.  I was just going through the motions.

I cried on my drive to UVM on my first day of classes.  And I cried every day that first semester.  I was miserable.  Not because of the school, really, but because of everything.  I hated everything about myself and my whole life during this early period of recovery.  I remember just wanting to drop out, every day.  Every day, I wondered if this would be the day I would drop out.  I also remember praying to God to just let me drop dead, just take me out of my misery and out of this stupid world.  I had absolutely zero desire to live.  But my body was growing stronger, so I knew it wouldn't be as easy to disappear like it had been before, when everyone really did think I would die.

It's a miracle that I pushed through two and a half years at UVM, hating the entire experience.  I had no friends there; I just went to my classes and otherwise had no desire to be on campus.  But I know now that GOD got me through it.  His grace carried me all the way to graduation in December 2011.  I remember sitting in my seat during the ceremony, and feeling the tears sting my eyes at the moment I realized how much I had gone through to get to this point.  Even though I picked the wrong majors and the wrong schools, and even the wrong year to go to college, I had made it through and I was finally receiving my degree.  This was really happening.  I was free to go on to something new.

I spent most of my time since college working a paycheck job that I hated because it had nothing to do with me and my fierce heart.  BUT I also learned to salsa dance (and became really good at it), traveled by myself, performed in community theatre productions, performed local gigs and open mics around town, got to know Burlington like I never did before, made more Spanish-speaking friends, attended Spanish conversation groups, started a portrait business, applied to volunteer and mission service programs, made many mistakes and poor decisions, and finally stopped trying to figure out my whole life all at once.

Last summer, after I returned from a trip to Washington, D.C. for discernment with a mission service I had applied to (and was not accepted to), I wrote an email to the Middlebury Language Schools with interest in their graduate program in Spanish.  I initiated a campus visit, where I met with the graduate coordinator and assistant director, and sat in on a class (it happened to be the last week of classes, so my timing in writing to the school was perfect).  I got home and decided to apply, even though I doubted I would be accepted because of how my grades had plummeted from SUNY to UVM, and the mere fact that I haven't taken a single Spanish course since summer 2011.  In December 2013, I was accepted to the Master of Spanish program in the Middlebury Language Schools.

I am 26 years old and I still live in the house I grew up in.  I don't know how to do many things.  The world is big and scary to me.  People are awful and incredible and I often want to be a hermit because of them.  I'm definitely an introvert.  I'm also a singer, a visual artist, a writer, an editor, a lover of foreign languages and cultures, a passionate salsa dancer, an aspiring humanitarian, and a follower of Christ (or at least I try to be).  I don't know where I'm going to go in life but I'm trusting that the Lord will connect the dots for me, as he has already been doing my entire life.  I spent the last two and a half years hating my life situation -- hating my job, hating the fact that I still live at home, hating not knowing what to do with myself or where to go, hating that I should have achieved so much more by now.  I'm 26!  I thought I would already be successful, in some fancy career, living in some sweet apartment in a big city, being super confident and using all my artistic skills to their fullest and not wasting a moment.

Well it sure as hell felt like I was wasting countless moments.  But it only felt that way.  See, the truth is, none of it was for nothing.  Now that I'm about to embark on this truly special opportunity with Middlebury, the pieces are all coming together for me.

That job I hated?

1. I did make some really great connections and friends, which is always important in life.  These people quickly understood my free-spirited nature and longing to spread my wings, and I sincerely appreciate all their encouragement and support along the way.
2. I made MONEY -- first, to travel to figure out what I wanted and didn't want -- and now for school (for which I've already had many expenses).
3. I made major steps in PERSONAL GROWTH from all the skills I learned and the people I had to interact with in that particular environment.  Those skills are coming with me to Middlebury and abroad!

Living at home as an adult?

1. The obvious: I SAVED A SH*TLOAD OF MONEY.  This is money that I would not have had if I had been living on my own in some crappy apartment like all the other twenty-somethings around here, just for the sake of having my own place.  I would have been scraping by to make ends meet every month, and I would most likely NOT have been able to go to school simply due to lack of startup funds.
2. I chose not to arbitrarily move into an apartment in Burlington just to be near the job I hated because I already knew all along that I did not want to stay in that job or in Vermont.  I have felt called to make important change in the world all my life, and I want to do this on an international level, not by living in the same cozy little place and working a 9-5 just because it's all convenient (or the norm).  It's fine for some people, but if I can help it, I want to avoid this lifestyle at all costs for myself -- at least, at this point in time.  So I took my time figuring out what I wanted to do, all the while considering my living situation as temporary.  It's been challenging to overcome my shame or feeling badly about it, but when I look at the bigger picture I know that I'm okay :).
3. Flexibility, Support, and Independence.  Even though I didn't know where I was aiming or what I was really doing in the long run, during this temporary in-between time I organically created a schedule and lifestyle that provided the flexibility I needed to explore my options in life.  I couldn't be nailed down by a full-time office job schedule.  So I worked per diem, creating my work schedule around my life goals and interests.  Living at home also provided the support I needed to do this, both economically and emotionally.  My family has been great about giving me this option so that I can "figure out what to do with my life"!  I also have enjoyed some much-needed independence; taking vacations by myself has been a huge blessing in this department, and already living at home means I had the money to do this.  My "me" time is sacred -- I am a naturally solitary person.
4. I am seeing and spending time with my family by living with them.  This is important because I likely will not have this time again, or at least not as much of it.  I am very close with them, but I have always known I wanted to get out and see the world, and have a constantly moving lifestyle.  I don't want to settle down.  I want my work to take me around the country and around the world.  I want to BE the change I want to see.

Many days have felt mundane, bleak, and repetitive, but God has taught me over the last few years that following your dreams looks different than what we are made to believe.  It takes commitment, passion, struggle, suffering, and the very willingness to struggle and suffer in order to achieve our goals.  It has been extremely painful not knowing which path I'm supposed to be on, or how to get to the paths I want, but somehow, I have still been heading in a forward direction (even when it didn't feel that way).  

I am now following one of my many dreams by attending the Middlebury Language Schools: fluency in Spanish.  My desire to be fluent in Spanish has been with me for as long as I can remember.  Cuchara was one of the first Spanish words I learned.  I remember my mother teaching it to me in the kitchen when I was a little girl.  And I remember how I named one of my dolls "Lupita" because I wanted her to have a Spanish name.  The beauty and intrigue of Latin culture and Spanish language is what keeps my beautiful inner child alive, and I cherish her!  I love the fact that when I think of Spanish or anything Hispanic, I see the color orange in my mind, and I think of heat and palm trees and the circular movements of hips swaying in dance.  Spanish and all things Latin make me think of vibrancy, of what makes my blood flow and my heart pump and my soul keep trying, every day, to be the Woman of My Dreams.  

Who is this Woman?  She is the one who walks with her head held high, her back straight, and who carries an agenda she intends to see complete in life.  She's a powerhouse humanitarian by day, a singer and salsa dancer by night.  She never stops learning languages.  She connects with as many people as possible.  She trusts in God and believes His Way to be the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  She paints (literally) the beauty she sees and experiences.  She laughs genuinely and lifts up those around her with the joy and grace she wants them to feel, too.  The Woman of My Dreams has no age; she is timeless, limitless, and overflowing with love and light so that she must share it around the world.  She is reverent and observant, wise to the finite nature of her body and respectful of the unknown.  

She cannot predict the future, so she uses her earthly life to be well and do good.

May we all seek the best of life, strive to do and be our best, and aim to serve God and others to bring peace to this troubled world.

Jailbreak

I was talking to a friend who lives across the country yesterday.  She is probably the oldest friend I have, and we used to call each other best friends, but in recent years we've grown apart in many ways.  It's interesting to notice how a person can become completely unaware of what she's doing to herself when she begins to adopt a certain dysfunctional lifestyle.  It's always when you're in the middle of it yourself, and can no longer be objective, that it's the hardest to make a change.

I have to pray for this friend, and all others like her.  I was caught in a similar rut a few years ago, where I was making poor decisions but either didn't care or didn't notice.  I was kind of doing what I wanted but I was still sort of chasing something, I think.  Or maybe I was trying to run away from certain parts of myself.

When I was chatting with this friend yesterday, we began discussing morality.  In particular, sexual morality came up.  Of course, this is a huge topic and I'm not going to get into all of it, but my friend said something striking that I know has come across my own mind regarding my own personal choices many times.

"When I do [X] or when I'm with [Y], I'm not thinking of it as bad.  It doesn't feel bad at all.  Actually, it feels pretty good."

Okay, so I'm paraphrasing because I'm pretty sure those were not her exact words, but you get the idea.  Shortly after she said this, she had to leave and I did not have a chance to fully flesh out a response.  But there is so much I would have liked to say to her.

I watched the movie God's Not Dead in the theater, and there was a really good line or two that the character Mrs. Banks, an old woman in a nursing home suffering from Alzheimer's (or maybe it was dementia?) says profoundly:

"Sometimes Satan allows a person a life without trouble so that they won't turn to God."

"Sin is like a jail cell except it's nice and comfy and there doesn't seem to be any need to leave.  The door is wide open...until one day, the door slams shut."

Boom.  This is what I wish I could have said to my friend.  It's just so sad to me that she doesn't think she deserves or is worth truly loving, and instead she's just seeking pleasure or company or distraction or who the hell knows what, from a bunch of people who don't truly give a shit about her.  But in reality, as I look from the outside in, all I'm seeing is her wasting her life and not really getting anywhere.  It's disorder.  It's spiritual, emotional, physical, and mental chaos.  She's an intelligent woman with so much to offer, but all I see is pain and suffering.  At this point it may be numbing to her, so she's not actually recognizing it as hurtful, but I know for sure that she's not experiencing anything that is bringing out the best in herself or bringing her true joy.

Regarding the God's Not Dead quotes: If sin is so "nice and comfy," then wouldn't that kind of logic imply that nearly anything positive we do or experience is "sinful"?  How can you tell the difference or make any kind of moral basis for yourself if sin is disguised in something that feels good?  Well, I think the true, core definition of sin is anything that separates us from God.  "Feeling good" can actually be quite dangerous.  If we make all our judgments, belief systems, and decisions based on whether or not something "feels good," then we are setting ourselves up for that jail cell to slam on us at any moment.  You see, feelings, whether physical or emotional, are fickle.  They CHANGE.  They VARY from person to person, moment to moment, environment to environment, circumstance to circumstance.  We need something secure, stable, real, true, dependable, undeniable, and absolute.  (Yes, I realize that people in this century do not like the word "absolute," but in fact it exists in our vocabulary and therefore it has some significance.)  We need GOD.  GOD is our lighthouse.  He is there to GUIDE us.  And that is exactly what each and every one of us needs.  We really are like a planet full of Terrible Twos, just running around making messes and often being completely unaware.  Well the thing is, if we keep God, Christ, in the center of our lives, we're just Twos, not necessarily Terrible.  I mean, we're always going to be sinners, but if we aim for something Higher throughout our lives, we're playing the game of life at a whole different level.

I think we all suffer greatly from pride.  Pride keeps us from seeking out Christ.  It keeps us from thinking we need God at all.  We think we can handle everything, even our mistakes.  We think that there will always be a fork in the road where we can just turn right and fix everything along the way.  We think that jail cell is really just a cozy waiting room with no door.  But in fact, that door does exist (some people call it karma) and our lives are happening right now.  I really don't believe that any of us has any good reason to live our lives without purpose.  I don't care what that purpose is for you, but if it's something pure and good, something that makes your heart full and leads you toward God, instead of away from Him, then you have true liberty.  You are free to soar and live your life fearlessly, because you already know that God is the caretaker of your dreams and your reason to keep going.  If Divine Perfection/Love/Omnipotence holds your heart with all its human doubt and worry (along with that of every other human being in existence), then He certainly can take you out of that jail cell.  Don't settle for comfort and familiarity.  Chances are, there is SO much more waiting out there for you.

If you don't have the means or the circumstances to go halfway across the globe and feed all the starving children, then do something else.  Find your passion, your purpose, your reason, your unique lovability, and infuse it wherever and whenever you can.  Smile at the old lady in the grocery store and help her reach something on the shelf.  Ask the cashier how he or she is and look that person in the eyes as you say it.  Take any and all small steps toward greatness.  Greatness is not measured by size; it's authenticity.  

Start living your life from inside the heart outward.  Get OUT of your head.  Get OUT of other people's drama.  Use your body as if it were made of gold and studded with diamonds.  You won't get another.  You are a spirit occupying this body.  Think CLEAN thoughts - whatever makes your spirit glide on Cloud 9 needs to become your fuel.  For me it's the feeling when I sing; when I listen to music in Spanish; when I dance; when I travel somewhere completely new; when I have good, heartwarming, wholesome conversations; the expansion I feel when I'm exposed to a new experience or idea; when I look at beautiful art and admire what people can do.  Discard what isn't taking you forward to a new, wondrous, and magical place where you will find serenity.  Always, always, always search for beauty.  The more you CHOOSE to see things as beautiful, the more they will become so and the lighter your heart will be.

I could go on forever.  And I will - in the way I live my life. That is what we all must do.  You know, in a way, being a human on this planet, being born and placed here, it can really feel like a punishment sometimes...a suffering we must endure, since life really is difficult for most of us.  The imperfection of life demands a struggle at least once, if not many times, throughout the human experience.  BUT, there is Hope.  Hope is begging us, each and every day, to break free of that jail cell, to relinquish our pride, and just get up and walk.  The door is already open!!  What are you waiting for?!

Attraction, Physicality, Spirituality

Physical attraction.  What makes a woman attracted to a man's body?  I'm not going to get into the science of it, of course, as I'm no expert on that matter, but I'd rather express my personal belief/experience from a more intuitive/emotional/spiritual view.  (Yes, I really did include the word spiritual in there.)  I struggle with the subject of men and relationships for many reasons, but I often notice that no matter how annoyed or turned off I can be at every member of the male gender in a given moment, I still have the ability to physically see them as attractive.  And it makes me curious, because I know that I'm a human being, not merely an animal who behaves on procreative instinct.  I know that this attraction is higher, is linked to something beyond the simple fact that a man's body contrasts with my own.  The beauty in this contrast is most definitely a large factor for me, personally, but I want to share a revelation I had in my thoughts recently.

I am a visual artist, and my forte in subject matter is portraiture and figural work.  The human body has always fascinated me.  In high school, my concentration one year for my AP Studio Art portfolio was the male figure.  But even as a child, I was always pretty aware of people's bodies and how they all have different shapes and even exhibit different senses of character.  Everyone has their own unique gestures, postures, gaits, and manner of holding themselves physically.  It really is amazing that we humans are all mechanisms, structures, built to move and accomplish such a wide variety of tasks in life.  When I draw people from life, I relish the way an individual is physically recognizable by his or her natural body expressions.  No two pairs of legs walk quite the same way; similarly, no two pairs of hands rest or flex the same.  Weight is distributed differently.  Some bodies are softer and some are edgier, which affects how they move, how clothing drapes over them, and more.  Everybody simply holds themselves in a different way, and it's quite striking when you are able to notice and appreciate this.

What intrigues me initially about the male body, in addition to what I've noted above, is that it is so different from mine from the very basics.  I'll never know what it's like to be in a man's body, but to be aware of it is very important to me.  As a Catholic woman, I do believe that God designed and created us humans, male and female, with a higher purpose, but one that intentionally includes physical attraction.  So what is it that has always innately made me feel attracted to a man's body?  It can't be just that the male body is different from mine -- it just can't.  That's too simple.  And as previously stated, I know I'm more than an animal with basic instincts.  I'm an animal with a complex psyche, free will, and spirituality.  So I know there's more to it than the fact that a man is just "different".  But what?  Well, here's the thought I had the other day that finally enabled me to articulate what I'm acknowledging when I see a man as physically attractive.

A man's body is impressive.

What does that mean?  Why the word "impressive"?  (I really do appreciate the way some thoughts just appear to me as if they're not my own, and I get to watch them flow from one to the next...)  The more I stayed with this idea of a man's body being impressive in my thought process, the more I was able to follow it and break it down.

First of all, what do I admire in the male body, exactly?  What am I seeing when I think to myself, "Wow, look at his body"?  This is important to lay out first.

I see firmness.  I see strength that far surpasses my own (seriously, it's amazing to me how even a man who doesn't look much bigger than me seems to have about ten or twenty times my strength).  I see sturdines, rigidness, solidness, and grounded physical presence.  I see more lines, edges, texture, and variation in form with the male body than with a female's.  I appreciate the details: heavy brows, thicker necks, greater height, broader hands, fuller deltoids (I do think this is my favorite part).  As an artist, all of these things are exciting to me because I make a mental drawing of everyone and everything, constantly.  It's all a journey, an adventure, and a visual opportunity for me to study human anatomy (without having to take a class or actually know the scientific names of our body parts).

So you see, when reflecting on my reactions to a man's body, I reflect upon what appeals to me.  And this brings up the question of why "impressive" is the word that seems most fitting for my assessment of my attraction to the male body.  Here's what I think:  God.  It must be that the word "impressive" came to my mind in particular because I already believe that human bodies were intelligently and divinely created.  I believe that every function of our bodies is part of a supernatural design -- by our one and only Maker!  Therefore, I feel impressed when I admire a man's body because I am appreciating God's handiwork.

Wow.
Boom.
This hit me.  This really, really hit me.  I haven't read John Paul II's Theology of the Body but I know of it, and this revelation I had about men's bodies being impressive must have some correlation with JPII's writings...  Feel free to comment if you have anything to add about that.

I worry I may not be able to express the profundity loudly enough here...  It sounds too simple, but let me restate:  I feel impressed when I admire a man's body because I am appreciating God's handiwork.

WHOA!  Do you know what this means?  This is great news for you and me, male and female, all humans alike.  This has a direct significance for us on an individual and interpersonal level.  This idea is HUGE because it gives us a purpose and a reason to treat each other with unearned respect.

"Unearned respect"?  Maybe that's not the best phrasing.  But what I mean to say is, we don't have to prove anything to anyone to be respected as human beings.  God already designed our bodies beautifully, to do and be so many things.  He made us different, male and female.  He personally created you and me, with His own Intelligence that exceeds anything we here on Earth could ever attempt on our own.  And our bodies prove it!  The way I feel when admiring a man's body tells me something: it tells me that I acknowledge that man as one of God's creations.  One of God's creations.  God is holy.  Therefore, that man is called to be holy.  That man comes from holiness.  WOW!  And God doesn't arbitrarily create people to just fill up space on this planet.  Oh no, no, no.  If that were the case, we'd have no reason for living at all and it would be perfectly okay to murder someone on the spot for calling us a name or cutting into our lane on the highway or forgetting to give us our change in the convenience store.  Thankfully, that's not the case; we all know, somehow, that there is a meaning to our lives, even if we don't know what that meaning is.  God brings us here with tools, skills, personalities, gifts, dreams, and goals.  He gives us to each other to contribute something and make an impact of some kind.  So we are each pretty damn important.

I also need to restate that, by respectfully appreciating God's handiwork in another person's body, this is great news for the human race.  If we are capable of doing that much - of acknowledging that the people we feel attracted to were uniquely and intentionally created by God, who is Love, then we are capable of so much love and value.  We are capable of holding other people's lives in high esteem because they were specifically engineered by a loving Creator.

This blows my mind.  Being attracted to men's bodies makes me respect them physically but also now spiritually...  We are inherently linked in our attraction to what is different, what we do not know, because the work of Another is impressive.  It is something we humans cannot match, cannot recreate, cannot duplicate or originate.  A man's body is the impressive work of art that innately requires respect and value in this world (and the same goes for women's bodies, of course).

So men, although you will forever confuse, annoy, and frustrate me, you will also continue to impress me (at least physically, for now, ha ha)...  Maybe stop trying and start being, from your own artistic structures that can do so much for this world.  Maybe when you realize this, you will realize that your physical power is a gift and a wonderful responsibility.  You are called to be holy, inspiring, intelligent and awesome, just like the God who made you.

Cameo Ed

March 17-18, 2014

Grief is a funny thing, Ellie.  You can avoid it and it's easy for a while, then all of a sudden it can hit you like a ton of bricks.  I've never experienced this before.  Not really.  It's still so hard to believe that you no longer exist on this Earth.  I looked at your timeline on Facebook at work today, and could have broken into tears.  You were a real, living, fighting, stunningly beautiful girl.  Why, oh why, did you have to die?  I know this sounds a little crazy or whatever...but I hear a small voice say, "It should have been me.  I wish it were me."  And on top of that, your killer makes cameo appearances even now.

He came to me in the dressing room, Ellie.  The same dressing room as before.  (Well, maybe not the exact same room, but the same group of rooms in the same store.)  I'm shocked that he could appear like that, in the aftermath of your death and right when I'm trying to convince the world and myself that I'm all recovered and doing so well.  But yesterday, Ed made me feel awful and embarrassed.  I looked at my body and noticed its shape.  Everything was detestable.  I felt old and wasted.  I felt defeated.  I lost the game long ago, the one I worked so hard before to win.  I looked in the mirror and felt like no one should ever see my body nude -- like I could never even get married because of it.  And this was just yesterday.

I was ashamed, Ellie.  Ashamed because of this strange contrast...  I still remember coming into these dressing rooms with my mother in 2008 when she was visiting me at school and I had to get new clothes because nothing fit anymore.  I remember taking off my shirt and being very aware that my mother was behind me, seeing the bones trying to poke through my skin and feeling who knows what in her heart.  I remember what we bought.  She bought me a dark blue robe, fuschia slippers, and two sets of pajamas -- because I needed them.  There were fleece turquoise pants with blue polka dots and a matching turquoise waffle shirt, as well as a red waffle top with red longjohn pants that had white snowflakes on them.  They were the smallest size, of course.  I was excited to have warm, comfy clothes that fit.  I felt loved, but I felt guilty at the same time.  My mother sacrificed all her emotions -- all her anger, her concern, her helplessness, her sadness, her horror -- to provide for me, her daughter.

I remember crying inside.  Even in my sickness, I still had the Old Me inside that knew how much Ed was not only hurting me, but hurting my mother.  Yet I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that she was still willing to put clothes on my back, even though she was angry with me for my disease and obviously didn't want me to be wearing that size.  I didn't know what to do with this concoction of strange emotions.  I felt lonely, sad, and scared.  But I didn't want to let Ed go, either.  (I'm sure you know how this feels, dear Ellie.)  It's pretty much the most consuming beast imaginable when you're in the midst of it.

Ellie, I don't get it.  I still question every day if I'm overweight and should do something about it.  But I keep striving to be positive, assertive, and forward-moving (away from all things Ed).  The food thing is kind of ambiguous right now...  I'm not exactly healthy, but I'm not in any danger either.  I'm just kind of...getting by, I guess.  But I don't move enough.  Ed still tells me that I'm fat no matter what -- that my body shape is just BIG and unattractive and not fucking good enough.  I should be exercising like mad, every day.  I'm lazy.  I remember the weight that the doctors all said I should be, based on my height, when I was thin.  Obviously, back then they were trying to get me to gain weight, but even at the time I thought the number they told me was too low.  I had never naturally been that weight in all of my adult life.  I do look good at that weight, but I'd have to eat a very precise, rationed amount per day in order to maintain it.  I felt so much pressure and angst when they told me that number -- like it was easier to be underweight than try to be that perfect, ideal number they all mentioned (based off some stupid calculation of pounds per inch!).

Now the scale in my closet is collecting dust.  I'm definitely going to get rid of it because you know what?  It serves me no purpose.  I prefer to assess myself more intuitively -- by how I look and feel, rather than by a number that actually doesn't tell me much of anything about my health.  Ellie, I wish you could have known this for yourself.  And by "known" I mean experienced.  I'm sure your brain knew a lot of truthful information, but unfortunately it all conflicted with Ed's voice.

I don't know how much longer Ed will be making these cameo appearances, but thankfully they are so infrequent that he can't cause much damage these days.  I'm still going to walk on your team in Newton, MA next month and raise money for NEDA!  I'm still going to graduate school this summer.  I'm still hopeful that I will have a successful career in changing the world someday, and that I'll have the privilege of doing it in your honor, beautiful girl!  I'll not let Cameo Ed stop me, even if he tries.

Ellie, you know I could go on forever, but I probably should wrap this entry up.  I miss you, wish I could have been closer to you, and will continue to think of you and pray for your family.  Please be with us all who are grieving...

Surrender

Ellie,

I start graduate school this summer, which is only a few months away, and I'm nervous.  I'm nervous because it's been over two years since I graduated college, and I struggled in college (well part of that was due to You-Know-Who).  I'm also scared because my program requires I only use Spanish the entire time!!  Of course, I love Spanish and that's why I'm going to get a Master's degree in it, but I have a part that is terrified I made the wrong choice.  Or rather, I'm terrified I made this choice to go to school for the wrong reasons.  I don't know.  I have many parts surrounding this whole new chapter of my life.

I wish I could have called you like you suggested in your last message to me, and I could have explained these fears and heard your voice in response.  I just wish I had really taken the time to get to know you better.  But I always felt like I had to walk on eggshells when it came to you, because I could tell from your Facebook posts that you were still so sick.

You're not tied down by Ed anymore, so I guess I'm free to talk to you as I would have if we had been able to become close friends.  The thing is, I have been trying to somewhat prepare myself for school by reviewing my Spanish and practicing as much as possible, but I'm so afraid I don't have what it takes to be a good student.  I can't stay focused or disciplined enough to even read a book in Spanish!  I can't stay focused on a single task and simply see it through from start to finish, it seems.  I am too distracted by other things and I know I can't let these bad habits follow me on campus.  Ellie, I'm afraid of failure.  I'm afraid I'll only last a week or two and then have to leave the program because I'm just not cut out for it.  And then what will I do?

I feel a little silly expressing these fears to you.  You were only 21 and still in college.  Your illness was a huge part of your life and there's no way you'd have been able to give me advice on this stuff.  Or maybe I'm being cruel and underestimating of you.  You were a mature young lady with a lot of faith...

Aside from me and my worries about school approaching, I do have to tell you that I am kind of kicking myself now for not having visited you while you were still alive (oh I shudder inside...what an awful phrase to use regarding you).  That drive to your hometown yesterday was nothing!  I could totally have done that ages ago and we could have hung out and everything...  I met a friend of yours, a woman named Susanne, yesterday, and she told me that she prayed with you to help you find a friend and a church when you went to college.  Oh, Ellie, I could have been that friend!  I would have gone to church with you.  I would have done whatever I could.  But honestly, I was afraid.  I was afraid you would be too triggering.  But I'm not even sure that's true now.  I think I was strong enough to handle it.  It would have been hard, seeing you and being around you while you were still sick, but I think it still would have been worth all that.

So Ellie, can you do me a favor?  Please ask Jesus to help me with school this summer.  Ask Him to give me the strength to stay away from Facebook and all other distractions so that I can really put my all into this program.  Please tell Him that I need all the help I can get because I'm already unsure and feeling doubtful.  I need to surrender and put my trust in God.  (Remember that word, "surrender"?  You asked me in your last message to pray that God would help you surrender.)  Help me, Ellie, to surrender my fears and worries so I can be a diligent student.  Help me to succeed, sweet angel friend!  I'd like to lean on your wings a little, if that's okay.

Thank you, Ellie, for the light you brought into this world.  I want to carry your spirit and your unfinished work so that I can be your vessel.  I want to fight poverty and world hunger.  I want to explore foreign lands and meet new people.  I want to tell everyone about a girl I knew who suffered most of her life but had beautiful eyes and a heart for God.  And when I graduate from my Master's program, I'll squeeze you in my pocket and smile my brightest for you.

Beautiful Day for Ellie

Yesterday was beautiful, Ellie.  It's funny that the day before this huge snow storm was a wonderfully sunny and peaceful-looking day, but also the day of your funeral.  I wish it could have started that way (bright and beautiful).

My drive early in the morning was a bit scary for me, because it was so dark and no matter what I did with my windshield wipers or defroster, I felt like I could not see well enough to stay safe.  The roads were unexpectedly slushy in the southern parts of Vermont, completely different from the roads near my house.  I experienced a few very uncomfortable minutes (that felt like an hour) when I was trying to pass a HUGE tractor/trailer at the wrong time.  The road began to curve, and it kept curving.  I felt too close to the giant vehicle to safely pass.  I was in the left lane, right next to it, but there were cars directly behind me and the tractor/trailer.  It was so dark and I was afraid of going off the road if I didn't steer precisely enough.  Headlights from traffic in the opposite direction flashed in my face and the slush of the highway sprayed in my windshield.  I was going too slow, especially for being in the left lane and on the Interstate, and I was stuck in this clump of traffic that I had now created.  I knew all the other drivers must be furious with me.  I was probably the only one scared, the only one not confident enough to just speed up a little and pass the tractor/trailer already.

I prayed because even though I was not happy about driving in the dark like this, I still knew I had to get to you.  There was no turning back now.  So I asked God to give me the strength to pass the tractor/trailer so I could get back in the right lane and let the other drivers behind me go.  I deliberated but, eventually, I was able to pass!  I felt such a huge relief.  I also felt silly, embarrassed, and ashamed.  What was the big deal?  Why was I so fearful?  Why couldn't I just have the confidence that every other driver has, in the daylight or not?  I was very disappointed in myself, and felt like a child in that moment.

But I think you would understand, Ellie.  You know I wanted to be there for you and I had to make it to Connecticut alive.  I had to participate in the Mass and meet your family and friends, and hear what they had to say about you.  So I reassured my conflicted parts that by waiting to pass the truck, I was making what I thought was the best choice for my safety.  I did not want to cause an accident for myself or for anyone else.  I did not want to jeopardize saying goodbye to you.  And you know what?  After I passed that tractor/trailer, I continued on my journey and, though it took longer than I thought, the sky eventually grew lighter and lighter, and so did my mind and heart.  I knew I was still on the right path, and that perseverence had been key.

I felt victorious as I drove to you with patience and peace.  It was empowering to be in that car alone (well, you were there, but you know what I mean) and drive the long distance with a real purpose.  When I was approaching Coventry, I made a mistake and took the wrong road.  I began feeling anxious as I looked at the clock.  I could not be late to your funeral.  No way, that was not an option.  So I paid attention to the signs on the road.  I paid attention to how long I was driving until I knew for sure that I was going the wrong way.  Then I pulled into a side street and paused to gather myself.  I looked at the map on my phone, and studied where my blue dot was in relation to where I needed to be.  Okay, I thought, I just need to turn around and get back to where I was.  I hoped I had enough time, though.

I finally made it to the correct road and was heading toward the church, but you know what?  (I'll tell you this even though you were probably laughing at me from the passenger seat the whole time.)  I drove right past the church!  It was on the opposite side of the road from what I had been expecting.  I couldn't believe it.  I was so annoyed with myself.  But, as you know, when I pulled into the church driveway, a nice man told me where to park, and I entered St. Mary's with ten or more minutes to spare.  Whew!

I even had anxiety about whether I should stay for the cemetery part and the restaurant gathering.  I knew that no one there knew me personally (except from reading my other blog entry and contacting me on Facebook about it), and I felt like maybe I was intruding.  But I went to the cemetery, where I listened to a friend of yours from treatment read a beautiful piece she had written.  Then I watched your mother release the balloons that spelled out ELLIE into the air; they flew up, up, and away to who knows where.  I wanted to follow them to you.  It broke my heart to not be able to see where they went.  But I knew their brilliant colors would keep them safe.

I turned away from your coffin to leave the cemetery but I heard someone call my name, and...well, you know the rest.

P.S.  I blew you a kiss from my car as I passed your coffin on the way out; did you catch it?

The Bucket List: work in progress

I've had an ongoing bucket list for a while now...  I think originally I called it my "List of things to do before 30," but that was when I started it as a senior in high school or something.  I was inspired by Mandy Moore or someone like that who said in a magazine article that she had a list of 30 things to do before she turned 30.  Well, 30 is looking a lot closer to me now than it ever did before, so I'm not going to be that ambitious.  Many of the items on my list are either time-consuming or costly or both.  Anyway, I still have that first list I made on a piece of receipt paper while at work in a department store, and since then I come back to it every once in a while and realize how important it is to udpate that list.  A few of the items I can check off, but some of them don't seem as relevant or desirable or realistic as they maybe once did.  Now that I'm more mature and have more experience, I have a better understanding of how to construct such a list -- because now I put items on it that I can see myself actually doing someday.

These are in no particular order, by the way:

• Live and work in Havana, Cuba
• Road trip across America
• Attend Mass in the Vatican
• Hike part or all of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela
• Run a half-marathon
• ^ and if that goes well, then a full marathon!
• Own a dog
• Achieve fluency in French and Portuguese....and maybe Italian
• Write a book (and get it published, hopefully)
• Have an awesome map and globe collection
• Get a vintage Tiffany lamp
• ONE OF THOSE GREEN LAMPS!!!
• Do a vintage-style pinup photoshoot
• Visit every Spanish-speaking country in the world
• Speak British on the streets of London (i.e. visit the U.K.!)
• Do a mission/service trip
• Be a lector in church
• Find a new home parish where I can be really involved again
• Have a starring role in a theatrical production
• Eat Belgian waffles in Belgium
• Stand inside the famous Stonehenge (are you even allowed to do that?)
• Learn Latin
• Take a calligraphy class
• Be a potted plant parent : D
• Visit a real cowboy ranch!
• Run freely like a little kid on the wide open plains of Montana or somewhere-Western like that
• Give an inspirational talk (TED talk?)
• Visit the Redwood forest
• Meet a toucan in its natural habitat
• Hold a baby sloth
• Learn to (properly) swim
• SEE THE CORAL REEF!
• Find a freaking starfish - alive - in its natural habitat
• Make a masterpiece oil painting