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.