Mishmash

It has been an incredibly long time since I've posted anything on any type of online medium, save twitter. I don't have a reason for my hiatus; it just happened. Partly, I think I was overcome with fear of realizing I'm a horrible writer. Partly, I began to believe I am a horrible writer. Such a shame, really. My writing slowed to a dreary grind and I produced very little of substance. There have been a few short stories and a lot of pithy journal entries. But after a few years of producing highly charged emotional content, my more subtle and peaceful mindful meanderings seemed uninteresting. Non-essential.

Okay, and honestly part of the change came from graduating from college and no longer being required to search my soul for interesting creative non-fiction content. But what I've been realizing recently is that the transition I experienced/am experiencing is totally okay. I'm coming into a new way of being and a new way of motivating myself. I don't have the same kinds of guidelines and deadlines and ethical lines that I used to, but I'm finding that I'm (again, slowly) acclimating to this new way of experiencing and living.

But, since so much time has passed since my last post, here are a few updates:

- I'm married. That happened about 2 months ago. It's pretty decent.
- I'm a barista at Starbucks. And sleeping in now means getting to sleep until 6:30 a.m.
- I just (today) started a part-time ministry assistant job at First Friends Church.
- I haven't actually been to church since before the wedding.
- I live in a house, and it has furniture in it, and I think it's lovely.
- I've read a lot of good books (Lord of the Rings trilogy, several of the Wicked series books, etc.).

Anyways, I'm a lover of lists and goals, and as I was reading a friend's blog today, I thought, "Well, Sarah, it's time to begin again. The only way to get back into the swing of writing is to do it." And so I decided to begin again, or to continue. However you want to see it. I'm aiming (and stating my aim in writing so as to try and create some accountability) to write about once a week.

Cheers.

Here's to hope. Here's to growth.

for the love of fear

This past week and a half has been full of things. I’ve gone to so many different events and have seen a plethora of people, and the next few weeks are full of more of the same. There was a Goo Goo Dolls concert in Youngstown; a film fest at Malone University; a production of Les Miserables in Cleveland; birthday dinners (four, all for the same person); and soon there will be wedding showers, bachelorette parties, Easter services, graduation parties and dinners and ceremonies, and quite a few other things thrown into my days, as well. And these are all great things! I’m glad I’m able to enjoy time spent with friends, and I’m thankful I’m able to celebrate and participate in these things with others. It’s refreshing, after the dullness of winter, to take part in the awakening nature that is representative of spring.

Even though I know what’s going on in my life, relatively, for the next few weeks, there is coming a point in the near future where I’m really not going to know what “the plan” is. I don’t know where I’ll be in a month and a half, much less three or seven or eleven.

This freaks me out 97% of the time.

I was talking with a dear friend last night about issues with control and stability and fears, and he was saying to me that he’s finding even some of his admirable goals are driven by fears. I was able to relate with all he was saying, but his words have been making me think more closely about my choices for my life and what the predominant driving force is behind those choices, both the big and small ones (though let it be noted that I believe every choice and movement is consequential; nothing is ever void of impact).

I’m really good at asking the detail questions and about thinking through scenarios, but I usually take it too far. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few months. I’ve been hyper-controlling everything I can and trying to do the same with the things I really can’t control. And what I’m realizing is that I’m incredibly insecure and fearful. Beneath my desire for stability and order is fear. Beneath my desire to stay near those I love is fear. Not love.

It’s really strange to look at my life and see how many things are products of fear. And it’s difficult to think about ways to change. I keep returning to the idea of being present in the moment—not projecting into the future. And even though I’m saddened by what I can see in my life and in my motives, I’m also encouraged because I don’t believe anyone is ever stuck in any way of being. And I’m encouraged because there are so many redeemable things and relationships in my life, despite my fears and motivations—that grace is beautiful. So I just keep chanting to myself to take baby steps toward letting go of control and voicing the truth behind my motives and decisions, and I am trying my best to enjoy these times I’m getting to spend with my friends not because I’m afraid of losing them or our closeness, but because I love them. It makes a difference.

thoughts about love and god

About a year ago I finished my thesis. A woman, after reading it, asked me with tears in her eyes if I still loved God. I remember standing there in the foyer at church, looking at her with this blank stare on my face, thinking, “Well, I haven’t thought much about that recently, if I still love God. That’s an odd question.” It wasn’t a question of belief or of faith, but of love, and that question has stuck with me throughout this past year.

I don’t remember my answer. It was probably something like, “Oh, yes. I do. I just understand that differently now.” This was and is a true answer. But still, a year later, that question is in my mind, and I find I don’t have an answer except for the above; I just have more questions.

“I love God.” “I love Jesus.” I see these bumper stickers and t-shirts all the time. And I say, “Blah-de-blah.” Forgive me if I sound irreverent, but what do those statements actually mean? To me, they sound trite. Perhaps it is the use of the word “love,” because: I love burritos; I love the color green; I love autumn; I love Nick; I love my friends; I love God. Again, blah, blah, blah. (I think, much of the time, when I say “love,” I really mean “fond of.” i.e. I’m fond of burritos; I enjoy them.) The word “love” has lost its poignancy because it has been cheapened. It is used frivolously and carelessly and for far too many different contexts. There is the feeling, there is the action, there is the interplay between those two things, and love is a many-colored multi-faceted verb-noun.

Perhaps it is my understanding (or lack of understanding) of this “God.” Perhaps it is my belief in and questions about truth and Truth and god and God that makes this concept of loving him/her/it/them difficult for me to grasp.

In the statement, “I love God,” those two words “love” and “God” are tricky; they are bigger than I can understand, and to group them together like that makes me think I must be setting myself up for confusion. It makes me think that I am cheapening something or that I am stepping into disillusion about understanding and appreciating something as infinite and incomprehensible as love and god.

Or perhaps the problem lies in my lack of understanding of my own love or of my capability to love. Thinking about what it would actually look like, internally and externally, to love God makes me aware of all the ways in which my life doesn’t reflect that concept. At the same time, I can also say that thinking about the ways in which I cannot and do not love God make me more aware of and thankful for love and grace. But then my mind heads back toward definitions: what is love, what is grace? And I continue to weave little patterns in my mind around these questions.

After a few years of struggling with questioning, I’ve come to a place where I’m comfortable (not comfortable like sitting in an easy-chair rocking back and forth, but comfortable in the way that I’m not having panic attacks every couple of nights) with existing in an up-in-the-air kind of place. I’m okay with having questions and not being able to answer them. I think the important thing is to continue to think and to learn—and I think if I really am learning well, I’m going to have more questions.

The black and white swirl together and things become much greyer, but there is motion. Thanks be to God.

a few post-graduation thoughts

This would be my final semester of college, but I went ahead and finished that up a few months ago. During the past several months, I've thought about whether or not I would rather be in school this spring. Do I miss classes? Yes. Do I miss learning in that academic type of setting? Sure. Do I enjoy the time free from stressing over projects and papers? Definitely. Do I enjoy being able to choose what I read? Yup. Have I found myself lonely or stagnating? Nope.

It's just different, that's all. Working instead of going to classes is an adjustment. Having rent and bills to be responsible for is new. Not knowing what I'll be doing in the fall is both daunting and reassuring, in a way. This transition from college to post-college time isn't going to be completely comfortable, and I've experienced my own freak-outs along the way. But it's interesting, really, getting to live life outside of the academic framing (though I do miss it and look forward to being back in its warm, cradling arms once again).

But here are some really great things about not being in school anymore:

- weekends: these can now be dedicated to spending time with others or to pursuits of my choosing without having to figure out when to complete a paper or study for a test
- learning: it continues! It's been neat to see that my love of learning and my desire to continue to stretch myself didn't die when the classes ended. Instead, I'm able to focus my attention on learning about things specific to my interests, like food ethics, writing, and literature
- sleep: I get a lot more sleep now (though I was never one to deprive myself of this too much during college), and I can't remember the last time I woke up at 5 a.m. to finish a paper
- memory: I can remember what I did in an entire day! Before, I would come to the end of the night and not be able to remember what I had for breakfast, what I did after lunch, etc. My schedule was so crammed full of things that my mind couldn't keep up with it all. Note: this plays into the "sleep" factor--it's much easier to calm my mind at night and I no longer lose sleep because of my racing thoughts
- food: I have enough time to cook and eat normal meals now. Meals consisting of cheeze-its and an apple have desisted
- people: I'm able to concentrate on people and on enjoying my time with them a lot more now. In fact, spending time with others has become a staple in my day-to-day life and it's refreshing to be able to enjoy that time without worrying about other responsibilities

There are a lot of other things, too, but as I was writing this list and reflecting on things, I began to wonder how much of these changes are more of a reflection of a poor handling of myself and my time while I was in college. I wonder about the degree to which I allowed myself to be ruled by busyness and accomplishments.

I'm grateful for this time now, though. I'm grateful for a time of rest. I'm thankful for a time to reflect on my college experience. And I'm glad to have the chance to evaluate my modes of being in and out of school so as to better prepare myself for when I enter back into that environment.

mother nature is a bitch

Mother Nature enjoys this sick game, I think.

She allows her tantalizing rays to reach our cold, grey Canton, and I exclaim how beautiful they are! The sun! It hasn’t gone away forever! We’ve managed to appease Mother Nature, somehow, someway, and now—now there is light!

Oh, but Mother Nature scoffs at my childlike understanding. She is not so easy to appease.

One day, she will give us warmth and sun. But the next? She will give us the sun, but as I step outside, t-shirted and sandaled, she blasts me across the face with chilly, bitter winds. I mutter my hate as I pull my winter jacket back on, cursing the tossed aside capri pants. Into the car I go, deciding to drive to the gym rather than walk the short half-mile, as I had planned to do when I believed in the warmth. As I sit in the car, I become increasingly annoyed. The heat! I can feel the heat coming through the windshield, and now I am sweating! I roll down the window to let some of that cold air inside, feeling my face dry as the wind hits it.

Later, in the wellness center, as I move my legs on the elliptical, I watch the poor, misunderstanding students walking along the pathways, some heading to or from the library, some going to the cafeteria or to their dorms. Some are dressed well, with hats and coats, but some are wearing flip-flops—one boy is even daring to wear shorts! Perhaps he has decided to throw his angst back at Mother Nature, choosing only to believe in the sunshine. His legs will pay for his folly later, though, when he finds them dry and painful. Foolish boy.

In the afterglow of my workout, I decide to make the short trek to my car without my jacket on, and that actually feels quite nice; though by the time I make it back to my apartment, the walk from my car to my door is painful as the air hits my perspiring body, chilling the sweat and making me colder than I had been when I first left home. I mutter curse words under my breath as I climb my stairs, wishing for Mother Nature to make things just a bit more predictable. But that’s not the nature of Mother Nature. No, she likes to pull her little tricks, likes to keep us guessing, us poor little creatures, subject to her whims and fancies.

A vicious dictator, she is.

something that was beautiful

My boyfriend and I recently went to Cleveland and saw the stage version of My Name is Asher Lev. I don’t know how many of you have read or heard of this novel or its author, Chaim Potok, but if you haven’t yet picked up this book, I recommend you do so (or, hey, head up to Cleveland and watch the play—it’s phenomenal. Also, The Chosen is a wonderful read, too.)

I appreciated a lot of different things about this experience—from the beauty and pain within the story that was told, to the development of the characters, to the scene changes, to the ideas raised about art and life and truth. The play was superbly done, and I was impressed by how much this stage version accurately represented the novel. I was thankful for this moving representation of the text.

There were only three actors in this play, but there were 6 or 7 different characters. The actors had to quickly change both clothes and personas, and at the same time they were continually moving things around on the stage to create the different places in which the story took place. There were no blackouts; there was no intermission. The man who played the main character, Asher Lev, had to show the audience his growth from a young child into a young man. There was no young boy playing the ten year old Asher. For him to able to effectively communicate the nature of a young, precocious child was imperative to the story being told well. The older man who played Asher’s father also played Asher’s mentor and instructor. The two characters were starkly different, but he did a fantastic job of creating two completely different men. There was no overlap between the actions, voices, or nuances of the two characters. The woman who played the mother successfully portrayed a tormented woman, stricken with depression, with love for her son and husband and brother, with an allegiance to her faith and to her family, though her loves and allegiances threatened to tear her apart, though they did break her spirit.

The story that was told and the questions that were raised are ones that are relevant still. Themes of art and religion and the interplay between the two were prevalent. The idea of something coming from good or from evil sources was raised. The place of community, of constraint, of compulsion and of truth were questioned and enacted on the stage. They are beautiful thoughts, sorrowful thoughts, wrought with pain and joy and fear.

Also, for those of us who are not Jewish, it shows us a portrait of life within a different culture and religion. It shows the interior of the social interactions that we often only see from the outside—it gives the historical aspect of Judaism a place in the present and removes the abstraction from the knowledge we may have about Hassidism. At least that is what it did for me. And though Asher’s situation and experience was different than what many of us will have, there were still many fundamental ways in which the story had connections with all humanity.

The play was a beautiful representation of this story.

I don’t want to tell too much about the actual story part because I believe it is much more powerful and relevant when experienced first-hand, but I will say that it is beautiful. Perhaps what I appreciate the most about this novel and this play is that they help to remind me that what is beautiful is not void of sorrow and struggling. What is good and what is beautiful—these are the things which show truth, and that is not often a pleasant experience or a pretty picture.

how to teach an old dog new tricks.

I was in a writing class once where we focused on changing our perceptions of ourselves and the world in which we live. We would try to pay attention to things we normally overlooked, like how our feet felt at any given moment. Or we would brush our teeth with the opposite hand and then write about that experience. In class, we would stand in the middle of the room, everyone facing whichever direction they wanted, and that is how we would have class. We searched for different ways to word things and became much more intentional with our actions—this enabled us to write about those things in a clearer, more comprehensive way.

It’s really easy, and sometimes quite comforting, to be in a place where things are normal. And I do believe there is value in stability. But I also think there is much value in learning new ways of seeing and being. I think doing so can add to my ability to relate to all of humanity. I think doing so can give me a greater appreciation for this life. I find it’s good to not let myself become too comfortable, for there is always more to discover; comfort can encourage me to remain stagnant. And I believe one of the most important parts of life is the process—changing perceptions can keep that process in motion.

In my life, there are tons of little and big patterns that dictate my time and my choices. The little patterns—I go to the bathroom as soon as I wake up; I always put sugar and cream into my mug before adding the coffee; I fix my bed every day, even if that fixing takes place ten minutes before I get into it for my night’s rest. And then there are bigger patterns, such as the ways in which I interact with others and maintain relationships and make decisions. And there isn’t much inherently wrong with any of these patterns—but if I were to tweak one of them, even slightly, it would awaken my mind to a new way of being.

There are certain things, certain patterns, like buying my food from a grocery store, that if I were to commit to change would illuminate one of these other ways of being. If I were to decide to only eat food I could produce on my own, or if I were to commit to following my trash to the trash dump, or if I were to decide to drive through down-town on my way to work instead of taking the interstate, well, then I would be teaching myself something new. I would be entering into an act that would allow me to understand what life is like for many other people.

These changes are hard to maintain over long periods of time, but as I go throughout my days, I try to remind myself to be open to different perceptions and different ways of being. If given the opportunity, I try to make a decision that will show my mind and soul something different than what it is used to. Even if it’s through reading books and articles about these different ways of being, those words allow me a new context through which I can examine my own life. It’s only through this examination, I believe, that I can remain in motion.

Thankfully, it’s never too late to change and try something new, even if just for a few moments.