Strong Woman

Strong woman

Come walk with me

I want to feel the sun on my face

while I listen to your stories

I want to link my arm with yours and put my head on your shoulder

Strong woman

Be strong so I can admire you

Show me you are intelligent, articulate, and independent

I will scribble things you say on scraps of paper

You are a living example of who I could be

Strong woman

Please do the things that I am cannot

Let the wind be your hair dresser

Smile to show off your wrinkles

Hold your head high and don't wonder what your butt looks like in those jeans

Strong woman

Speak!

Don't tippy toe around and worry about offending people

Cut through the layers of what's culturally acceptable and what's real

Show me how to do this too

Strong woman

Let me spill my soul on you

Can you catch all the pieces and tell me what I mean?

Can you see me for who I really am?

Can you love me and hold me while I cry?

Strong woman

There's a place for you in my life

A place for brunch at the coffee shop

A place on my shelf for books you've recommended

A place in my heart for your warmth

Strong woman

Why am I a strong woman?

falling aslee...

I remember falling asleep in my 7:25am Chemistry class in High School frequently. In review of my notes, they always started out meticulous: each concept articulated well and every word perfectly formed. You could tell when the first wave of sleepiness hit because the quality of my handwriting always went first; then the ideas became more abstract, I started leaving out a few words, and the last few lines were more squiggles than sentences. My favorite part was when the pencil would start drifting down the page in the middle of a word. That faded pencil mark was visual evidence of the moment that unconsciousness overwhelmed me.

This is the way I feel about my spirituality.
My beginning was structured.
Meticulous.
Disciplined.

I took copious quantities of notes,
studied diligently,
prayed fervently,
believed wholeheartedly.

And then the first wave hit,
then another
and more after that.

Was it doubt?
Was it open-mindedness?

I feel as if I've told this story over and over.
That's because I have.
I've been reviewing the same notes.
Reflecting on all the same sad moments of my shattered faith.
looking at faded photographs of my former self...

I fell asleep!

I am conscious of my unconsciousness.
I am living 100% in the physical world.
And this is okay.

But someday it will be different.

a day like today

Even though there are:

379 emails in my inbox

11 half done to-do lists laying around my office, spare bedroom, and kitchen

and at least 3 people waiting for me to return calls to them

I used this evening to relax.

I played some board games.

I took some photos that are pee-your-pants funny.

I got my first tennis lesson.

I fessed up to an April Fools Day prank.

and I ate a brownie.

Sometimes a person needs a day like today.

on-duty

Last week I was "on-duty". This meant that anytime between 5pm and 8am, Monday through Friday, I was the person to call for any emergency in the six residence halls on-campus. Small things like a student locked out can be handled in the building by student staff. I only get called for the big stuff. Every night I got between one and three calls. Thursday I received seven.

The night didn't start out too bad, only a few fire alarms, but then came a call about a possible suicidal resident. After a serious heart-to-heart conversation and some consultation, everything was well again in the universe, which meant that immediately my phone rang. The next call I received was about some students who had been in a car accident (two of which were in the hospital). I took a trip to the hospital and confirmed that the students were in fact alright. I spoke with the families and other concerned residents for a while and just as I was leaving the waiting room, I got a call about a hallway smelling of marijuana.

When I got back to campus I headed to the troubled building. An hour and a half later, the situation was handled, the police had left, and I was just finishing up a conversation with the student staff when yet another call came through. This time a night monitor hadn't shown up. I made the trek across campus to call down the list of workers to find one to work that building's front desk from 3am to 6am. Maybe not the best shift ever invented, but thankfully someone was willing.

I rolled back into my office at 3:45am and began to write my reports about the evening. I finished at 6:15am and was passed out by 6:30am. Needless to say I sent an email to my boss requesting the next morning off.

Four hours later my boss came over to inform me of a motorcycle accident in which one of my colleagues was killed.

On Sunday a student died in a different car accident.

Today I feel...

disconnected

shocked

heavy

Today I sway between sad, happy, and melancholy

like some kind of strange disjointed dance

I take my place but don't know my part

I sway

I swing

When can I rest?

inspiration

Nothing I could say would introduce this woman properly...
her words inspire me
her name is Suheir Hammad

Hear her speak:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/suheir_hammad_poems_of_war_peace_women_power.html

some days...

I waste my minutes sometimes
on anger and sadness
on old hurts and things of no consequence
on other peoples imperfections

I make pets of petty offenses
that irritate my sense of justice.
I stroke their coats until they shine.
I feed them premium pet food.
I buy them cute sweaters and play toys.

My microscope gets a lot of use.
Any fault in character or deed
fills my lens to extreme proportions
but becomes unidentifiable when compared with the original object.

I use my focus to distort
I look closely at only the parts that justify my feelings and opinions
I see only what I want to see

My world shrinks infinitely
when I allow my attention
to be trained on
the empty glass.

some days
I see
that all my bad
would be better than someone else's good

some days
I see
and some days I don't

body image

I started doing a workout program called "Insanity". It's not as bad as the one called "P90X" by the same company. With this one I can actually get through all 30 or 40 minutes of it instead of stopping midway through because my body is shaking uncontrollably.

I've done it for a week and a half now. I skipped yesterday because my back felt like somebody sliced my muscles into strips, tied them in knots, and then placed them back into their original places. We'll see how things go today. Even though I'm sore, I feel stronger and that feels good.

I catch myself wanting to look like the women in my Women's Health magazine. Then I think, "To look like that, she probably has to work out five hours a day and never eat anything. She's a model, her job is to make her body look perfect." I don't want that to be my job.

I don't want to be some turtle who spends her whole life painting her shell. Or a tiger that spends hours dyeing, trimming, and styling her striped coat. Or a fish who endlessly shines her scales. That sounds stupid.

I have convinced myself that I work-out to feel and be strong, but sometimes I wonder... Is that the real reason?

When I was in high school, I tried a bunch of diets. I tried eating puffed rice cereal and nothing else for two weeks (which made me as lethargic as a sloth). I tried the Atkins, low carb, eat-as-much-meat-cheese-and-high-cholesterol-foods-as-you-want diet. I tried not eating any sugar. I tried not eating any fat. It wasn't until I: went to college, escaped all the junk food at home, started playing intramural sports, and became active that a healthy change occurred in my body.

A month ago my friend Kacey (who is also a Hall Director) was talking about all the college women she sees who have bad self esteem, all the women who truly believe terrible things about themselves. She told me she's asked a few of them, "Who convinced you that you're not beautiful or strong or capable?" I wonder that myself.

no pressure, right?

I really love writing.

I like the rhythm.

The typing,

the thinking,

the backspacing and typing some more.

The formatting and the way the words roll around in my head and come out straight,

like beads on a string,

when I pour them into my keyboard.

Sometimes I stop and I can't decide which bead comes next in the pattern.

I like things to be perfect.

Perfection creates a lot of pressure!

I have decided to start stringing again, perfect or not, and we'll see how it goes.

The root of all things

How can I dislike

another soul?

When I peel past the emotions

(mine and theirs)

lay aside the judgments

forget about what I think

and want

and know...

When I put in a new set of eyeballs

and forget how that person used to look

and the ways my old eyes mis-saw their actions...

When I place my sweet little toes

into their tattered workboots...

or their high heels...

I feel the miles they have walked

I see the things their mother taught them about the world

I hear their version of truth

And I understand.

But it takes so much time!

Understanding a soul,

excavating the truth about another person,

can take days...

weeks...

years...

lifetimes...

We would easily spend a lifetime getting to know the soul of a friend

but what about all those we don't hold friendly feelings for?

Reacting with anger

and dwelling on their faults

is much easier!

Bad mouthing them to our friends feels good

We even feel justified.

But this is not the root of all things.

That root could be ultimate truth

or love

but I can't quite reach it.

I keep dawdling on the surface and looking at the leaves.

Some day I will dig.