I'm a terrible tourist because old buildings, famous sites, museums, and historical facts aren't nearly as interesting to me as people. So, when I visited Washington D.C. last October, it took me a while to find something that caught my attention. My friends had to work so I explored the city alone.
Several museums later, I spoke with my father who said there was going to be a gathering of Republicans on the front lawn of the Capitol Building. I grabbed my camera and set off, finally having a mission.
I am not an extremely political person. Given my father's adoration for Rush Limbaugh, Fox News, and all things Republican, I have been inundated with political propaganda my entire life. I'm tired of it. Even things from the Democratic party. I don't take the time to research every topic deep enough to form my own opinion and I don't want to parrot newspaper journalists or talk show hosts.
I will admit though, I am mildly aware of the current hubbub over health care.
Due to a large amount of effort on my part, I have managed to avoid any hour-long, extremely heated and passionate lectures from my dad on the subject. My defensive maneuvering will definitely not last forever but I hope I figure out what I really think (with some solid facts to back me up) before he finally corners me.
The only thing I really have to draw from at this point is the rally I witnessed in October. I actually thought it rather horrifying. Below, I have posted a few of the photos I snapped while walking through the crowd.
Some people were dressed as Democratic politicians, bound with chains, and covered in blood, intestines and bloody babies. A few scary people in black with masks were whipping them and shouting through microphones, "You'll go to hell for what you've done! Repent of your sins."
Apparently, some section in the version of the health care bill they were going over at the time included government money to be used for abortion. I don't even want to get into that argument but, do you see the face of the child in the photo above? Whether abortion is always right, always wrong, or whatever conditions you want to apply, is it right that this little boy was exposed to something so horrifying? I feel sad when children get caught in political crossfire.
Even though I'm a vegetarian, I don't go around straping deformed chickens to my body and moan through the meat section in the Super Walmart about the horrors of factory farming. I would tell you what I know if you asked me but I wouldn't pick out a child in the grocery store and scare the pee out of him with what I know. It's not appropriate or very nice and that's what I thought about the gathering at Capitol Hill that day. It was a little too extreme to be the beginning of a civil conversation.
I recently realized I have a lot in common with the tiny space heater in our apartment. We keep that little guy going 24 hours a day. Unfortunately, if we leave it on high, it only lasts for about 15 minutes before giving an audible "click" and shutting down. This feature is supposedly to prevent fires because it shuts down the heater when it overheats.
I realized my commonality with that heater a few weeks ago. In the pilates room of our gym, Zach tried to show me how to do this side-bendy, love handle muscle exercise. It proved to be extremely uncomfortable and difficult for me and when he criticized me for the last time; I gave up. I said, "Okay, I'm just ready to go. You can finish up, just come get me from the couch area when you're done."
For some reason, I never learned how to mask my emotions. When I feel something, giant bold letters scrawl it across my forehead. Zach, of course, can see these signs. He asked me to wait and said, "Hey, what's wrong? Obviously something has changed in the last few seconds. Are you upset? Please, tell me what it is." I told him I didn't want to talk about it but he insisted. So, we sat down on a bench for a few seconds in silence and then I explained how frustrating it was not to be able to do that exercise correctly, how uncomfortable it felt for me, how I felt like a big whiner, and that I just felt extremely exhausted and his criticisms weren't helping.
He apologized for everything but I knew it wasn't his fault. I knew I had put so much into the workout, I didn't have much energy left for patience. I apologized for being such a dummy. We both laughed and then stretched for a bit. I began thinking about what happened and I realized something important.
I don't get angry very often but when I do, it's very difficult for me to verbalize it. For me, anger is this horrible rush of emotion, like a fizzing bottle of soda, that I cap just before it explodes. I don't like to say or do things that will be hurtful to other people. I also don't like fighting. When you say something in anger, sometimes the person will speak back out of anger and things escalate.
I've learned that if I quell my anger in the moment, I can usually talk myself out of it later. I'll put myself in the other person's shoes, realize more fully the situation, and feel glad that I didn't say or do something hurtful. So, sometimes, subduing my anger is a good thing. The only bad thing is when I can't work through it and stay angry for awhile.
With Zach though, he isn't easily offended and won't respond to my anger with anger of his own. Even though I have this stupid, emergency shut off switch (just like our space heater) for when I get too hot with anger, he always wants to work through it. He wants to know what I'm feeling so that we can make it right immediately. And I'm okay with that.
I dated a guy once who had a shut-off switch too but it always triggered like five rows of barbed wire, a few locked steel doors, a couple trenches and a ten-foot thick brick wall to drop down around him. I had to beg, sometimes for hours, to get him to open up again. I don't know if I learned this behavior from him or if it's just me but I'm just glad that it's different with Zach. It's nice to not have to filter myself around him.
I don't always know what I believe religiously or politically but I do know that I believe in Stephen.
I believe he will use his life to profoundly impact our world. I believe in his passion and power to make things happen. I believe he knows what it means to put 110% of yourself into something. I believe in him and the goodness of everything he chooses to do. I am inspired by Stephen and tremendously grateful for his friendship.
Last week when I arrived at the hotel, my co-workers informed me that a man had come in a few hours earlier and beat one of our guests with a gun. Apparently, in the afternoon a large man walked through the lobby, up some stairs and into the room of two of our female guests. He pulled a gun and demanded that they give him all their money. They refused so he began to beat one over the head with a handgun. The other girl began to scream and he ran out into the hall.
The housekeepers reported that they saw a black man running down the hall, pursued by a woman very scantily clothed. Another woman, bleeding profusely from the head, stumbled into the hall after them and collapsed; so they applied pressure to her wounds and radioed the front desk. At that point, 911 got called and everyone started looking for the man and his pursuer. The attacker ran outside and almost right into a maintenance man, who dove behind a small building because he knew the man had a gun. Within a few minutes the police arrived but the man had gotten away without a trace.
Neither of the women wanted to press charges and it seemed a bit suspicious. Shockingly, they stayed another night at our hotel. I would want to get as far away as possible, unless I didn't have anywhere safe to go. I reached a conclusion of domestic violence. How else would the man have known what room they were in and why would they let him in? I felt sadness for them because I can't imagine how life might feel when reasonable and legitimate fear of violence is added on a daily basis. I can't imagine being beat over the head with a gun. I'm not too far removed to not experience deep empathy and compassion for their situations.
Yesterday, I found out why reading the entire Nancy Drew mystery novel series in my childhood doesn't qualify me to be a detective. Even though I read all 56 of those books, they apparently forgot to mention the part where prostitutes get a hotel room, advertise themselves on Craig's List, and then get beat up on Sundays, when the drug addicts pose as clients or "Johns" to steal all the cash (which the women have earned during their lucrative Friday and Saturday nights) to buy drugs. What??!? I didn't believe my co-worker when she told me so my manager showed me the Craig's list ad that the detective gave him when they came back to arrest the women.
Either Buffalo is the most violent place I've lived or I'm just more aware of it here. I did some research on prostitution in Buffalo and found out it used to be a huge problem but because of a big change initiative in the late nineties, the streets have cleaned up a bit. Check out these diagrams.
Here's the map of reported prostitution in 1996. No lie, Zach in I live at the very center of the darkest red area or the highest concentration of 911 calls!
Here's after the efforts to clean up the community. The hotel that I work at is just off the map. I don't know what the map would look like for 2010 but I can only hope it has continued to improve.
I don't actually like the phrase "to clean up the community" that I used earlier. I think because it implies that prostitutes and drug dealers are dirt or scum that make the streets unclean. Maybe some people feel that way but I don't think anyone is born a prostitute or a drug dealer and just because I had parents who taught me that drugs are bad, doesn't mean that I'm any cleaner than anyone else. When I'm my best self, I try not to judge people because their life experiences have led them to different places than mine have led me. Sadly though, I'm not always my best self.
All through my childhood, I ended up as the innocent, naive, uniformed one amongst my friends. I remember sitting up late with cousins and girlfriends and hearing about all the things that boys and girls did together when they were alone; those secret moments of "intimacy" that are the beginning of understanding one’s own sexuality. I remember many conversations, pretending to know what everyone was talking about when truthfully, I didn't have a clue.
My innocence never bothered me. At the time, given my identity as an extremely devote Christian girl, I treasured it. I can see the situation very clearly now, ten years later. A natural and innocent curiosity burned within me and I suppressed it. I only allowed myself to listen to the exploits of girls much braver than myself, but to never follow in their footsteps.
I have never asked anyone what it was like for them their first time. For me, the only good thing was that I chose to do it with someone I loved. It definitely didn't feel good and afterwards an ocean of shame washed over me. In fact, for the entire second year of that relationship, I made love frequently with my boyfriend and almost never felt anything but discomfort, pain, and shame over these feelings. I thought sex was supposed to be the quintessential experience of pleasure and yet it never even came close.
I convinced myself that I was broken. Every time we made love, I told myself I was giving a gift to my lover. Self-lessly, I was doing something that made him feel good but almost always caused me pain.
The worst part wasn't the fact that I didn't like sex, it was the loneliness that came from not having a soul in the world to talk with about it. Not a relative, not a close girlfriend, or even my boyfriend (the man who I'd been more intimate with than anyone). This horrifying feeling of dread and embarrassment flooded my body and blushed my cheeks scarlet anytime I even considered that someone might guess that I was sexually active. Drowning in guilt, shame, confusion, sadness, and fear, I barely kept my head above the water and nobody knew. I absolutely could not, would not, talk about sex with anyone. For years I had listened to my girlfriends and their stories but never learned how to tell my own.
Most of my life, I believed that everything fell clearly into piles of black and white. Sex out of wedlock and alcohol (obviously abhorred by God) should be avoided at all costs. You are a bad person, who frankly might end up in hell, if you succumb to these temptations.
When the cracks began to appear in the perfection of the church and its' associated beliefs, my life fell apart. The sidewalk beneath me crumbled when I no longer could fit a place called "hell" into my belief system, when I realized that things like sex and alcohol should never determine if you are a good or bad person, and when I saw the grey piles of a million things the church and Christianity couldn't explain, understand, or accept.
Chains, in the form of rules, judgments, and fear about sex and alcohol bound my chest for years but recently broke after two separate things occurred.
My last semester of university, I went out for the first time to a few parties and drank with my friends. I needed to eliminate my fear and curiosity about it. Zach has a Buddhist tattoo on his chest that says, “Ehi Passika” which basically means, “Go and seek for yourself. Don’t accept things merely from tradition.” This is exactly what I needed to do because the things I had been taught were not accurate. As a result, I have shed those misconceptions and breathe more freely.
The experience to free me of my shame, fear, and judgments about sex came in the form of a Greek scientist in Barcelona, Spain. I slept with him. Twice. And I felt no pleasure from it. I realized that sex is not this horrifyingly heinous deed; it's just a physical thing people do with their bodies. An amazing thing occurred though, after I slept with this stranger: I felt no shame. As I walked to the metro listening to the sounds of Barcelona awakening, I remember trying to figure out the reason for shame's freeing absence. My thoughts rang clear, "I make my own rules now. Nobody can make me feel guilty for this. What I did last night freed me of my fear of breaking rules and provoking others judgments."
I went home that day and wrote an email about what I had done to some friends. Not because I’m some hussy that wanted to brag, but because I needed to sincerely shed my fear of their judgments and to do that, I had to openly share my life story with them.
If you don't share your life stories, their value depreciates enormously. All the beautiful, painful, interesting, educational, and wonderful things that happen to you will remain locked in the pages of a private diary, not doing anything good for anyone but yourself. I'm just learning to be brave enough to share my whole self with others.
I refuse to live my eighty or so years on this planet (like a speck in the enormity of space and time) pretending like I’m somebody different than me. If I keep all the important experiences of my life locked up, nobody will ever see my soul; they’ll only see this weird shell that houses it.
Zach knows everything about me and loves me more because of it. That is what I expect from everyone. Anything less isn't real love and I don't want it.
The most beautiful thing about our relationship is how openly we communicate. I can talk about anything with him, even sex, and never feel shame or embarrassment. At the beginning of our relationship, I shared with Zach about my brokenness and he told me we never had to have sex if I didn’t like it. The offer, amazingly sincere, wasn’t necessary because he helped me realize I’m not broken. I can’t believe how extraordinarily lucky I am to call him my husband.
I arrived back in the apartment at 7:30am after working all night. Usually I go straight to bed and stay asleep until 2 or 3pm but since I had only seen Zach for one hour the day before, I decided to wake him up and take him to breakfast. We snuggled into a couch at Spot Coffee with our breakfast burritos to watch three episodes of "V" on Hulu. We no longer have internet at our apartment so web time is severely limited. This also limits show-watching because we usually do that online since we don't have a tv either. But hey, we saved $120 by shutting it off three months before we move so it's well worth it.
After Spot, we ran errands, saw a matinee, and then oogled the flowers and seeds at Home Depot. I had been lamenting earlier in the day that the art show we had had been planning wasn't going to happen. We don't have enough artwork to do the whole thing ourselves and didn't get a call for work in the paper in time. We also can't afford to print and frame all the portraits from the photo shoots Zach has done. I always feel like such a failure when I have a great idea but don't get organized enough to make it happen. The other dream I've had, since living in Buffalo, is to create a community garden behind our apartment building in the empty lot. So, instead of dwelling on self-deprecation, we bought garden gloves and threw ourselves into clean-up mode.
That empty lot is a giant pile of brambles and garbage. We hauled all the rest of our garbage bags (which were filled with junk from the lot), two discarded Christmas trees, a few tires, a futon mattress, and mountains of weeds, vines, and dead sticks to the dumpster in the next parking lot. We spent about three hours and just barely put a dent in it but I feel pretty positive about the potential. Several people who live in our building and the one next to it walked by and said they would love to help sometime. We decided to make it a community project and make flyers to advertise what we're doing and when.
At about nine o'clock I laid down on our couch, with wet hair from my recent shower and scratches all over my arms and legs, and fell asleep for the night. Zach woke me up around midnight and moved me to our bed. All-in-all, it was well worth the sleep deprivation to spend a beautiful day with my best friend. The only nasty after effect from my 30 hour day is the caffeine headache I have today from the five caffeinated drinks I consumed yesterday to keep my eyelids open so long.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Our studio apartment in Buffalo!
It's our first place together and just the right size!
Today I discovered that I’ve lost 8 pounds in the last two months! What??! At first I was thrilled, but then I remembered how out of shape I’ve been feeling and realized it was probably mostly muscle. That would be fine (I guess) except that Zach and I have a trip planned this summer and it involves climbing two Oregon mountains (Mt. Thielsen and the South Sister). If I’ve lost 8 pounds of muscle, I’m not going to make it to the tops!
I’m pretty pumped about the events we have planned for the next 79 days before I start at Truman. Our plan first consists of working as many hours as possible at our jobs (me as a receptionist/shuttle driver at the Holiday Inn and as a hostess/server at Merge Restaurant and Zach as a barista at Chow Chocolat (a specialty chocolate shop)). About May 19th we head to DC to hang out with our friends Stephen and Ronajoy, then on May 23rd, we (Stephen, Ronajoy, Karin, Zach, and I) all have tickets to see HH Dalai Lama speak in NYC! To say that I’m excited about this is definitely an understatement.
The next day we head back to Buffalo to fit all of our belongings into our car (a Honda Element) and drive to Truman. We’ll stay there for one night, drop off our stuff, then drive to Independence where we’ll leave our car at my brothers and fly to Oregon! We’ll arrive in just enough time to have few epic adventures before our reception.
First we’re going to the beach to camp, rent sand boards and dune buggies and hit the dunes. Next we’re going to Central Oregon to raft the Deschutes River, climb Smith Rocks, and then the South Sister the next day! The day after that we’re heading to Breitenbush (a vegetarian full service campground with clothing optional hot springs) to relax the day before we head to Silver Falls, which is where the reception will actually be held.
Silver Falls State Park is absolutely gorgeous. Ten separate waterfalls can be found at the park, connected by many miles of trails. I have no problem with other people having traditional weddings but it’s not the right fit for Zach and I. Sitting around sharing stories, singing, and really connecting with the people we love sounds much better than getting all dressed up to sit in a formal ceremony. So we’re making it a camp out! Hopefully all whom we love will come camp, hike, laugh, talk, and eat with us.
After the reception, we’re driving down to southern Oregon to hike Mt.Thielson, cliff dive into Crater Lake (the deepest lake in the nation), and camp at Diamond Lake. Two days later my brother graduates from high school so it’s party time!
We won’t have any income from May 19th until the end of July when I will get my first paycheck from Truman so we’ve talked to my Dad and he’s going to employ Zach and I for about ten days. That will give us a bit of cash to use during our sweet cross country roadtrip with my brother Bo! He’s coming to Truman! Yessssss!!!!!!
So, June 23rd we drive from Oregon to Missouri, stopping at all the sweetest places of course. Bo is looking for a Roadtrip America application for his iPod Touch. We’ll meet up with Evan (and friends hopefully) in Independence, near the end of June. Then…WE MOVE IN!!!
Needless to say, my life feels as magical as a fairy tale…or maybe an action/adventure movie. I suppose it should since I’m filling in all the blanks with my favorite verbs and nouns.
Only once before in my life has something similar to this happened to me. Two years ago, I awoke at 4:30am from a terrible nightmare, my pillow was soaked with tears, and I couldn’t stop them from coming. My entire body pumped with a terrible anxious energy. After trying a few times to go back to sleep, I got up, put on my running shoes, and ran three consecutive 8-minute miles on the treadmill downstairs in the building where I lived. I felt like I was about to die afterwards but it was the only way I could think of to get that terrible energy out of my body and to stop thinking about my nightmare.
Today that happened again, except it wasn’t a nightmare: it was a really tough decision. My mind filled with, “What if?”s, and my body filled with this energy that popped me off the couch and paced me around the room. I put on my running shoes and walked to the gym. Since I started working crazy hours at two jobs two months ago, I’ve basically quit training all together but this was definitely a reason to end my descent into a sedimentary lifestyle.
Same as before, three consecutive 8-minute miles; then of course, lungs practically bleeding, stitches in both sides, legs about to collapse (man, I’m so out of shape!), I step off the treadmill. My mind had finally shut off at mile three and I felt much better…actually, no. My body definitely felt like crap. Funny thing is, the thing that brought me peace wasn’t the brutality I preformed on my body but the thought of writing out my thoughts. I began forming beginning paragraphs in my mind for this blog post (weird, I know) and I felt much better.
After running, I had to work dinner shift at the restaurant and then I hung out with my Zach for a while. At midnight, he fell asleep and I laid in bed for an hour awake. Awesome. Sometimes my mind is a terrible thing and the decision I made today certainly gave it a 15-hour energy drink.
So here’s what happened: Northern Michigan University called and basically offered me a position as a Resident Director.
Maybe this should’ve been an easy decision but I definitely put myself through the wringer over it. I don’t know why I made it so difficult…I absolutely loved Truman! I connected so well with the people and the campus/buildings are beautiful; the area feels like home and I already picture Zach and I there.
But…there’s all these other things that made Northern so appealing in the first place. Such as:
I would make the same amount of money but get 2 months off in the summer (or choose to work for about $4,000 extra dollars).
They have a Masters program I’m interested in and over half of their Resident Directors are full time grad students (while at Truman, I don’t think any are and they don’t have the program I want)
Tuition is 100% covered (while at Truman it’s just 75% covered)
Zach and I (and Bo if he comes) would all get free laptops (only I get one at Truman)
Bo is already accepted, has received financial aid, and feels excited about Northern (where as he hesitates about Truman and hasn't even fully applied)
Northern is in a sweet town on a beautiful lake with TONS of outdoorsy things to do (while Truman’s geographical location isn’t nearly as breathtaking)
And that's mostly it...
Anyways, I called Northern back and turned them down. Immediately afterwards I cried. Then I consulted my oracle and ran three miles of bubbling, terrible energy out of myself.
It comes down too this: if I pretend they are both monetarily equal, they have the same geographical attributes, that Bo will attend either one I choose, ignore the obligation to the one I already committed to (basically when I take away all confounding factors) and focus on closing my eyes and picturing myself at either place: Truman wins.
When I pictured myself at Northern, first I was rollerblading on a trail beside the lake. Next I was rock climbing in their rec. center with Bo and Zach. When I pictured myself at Truman, I was leading a group of my residents down the hill from our building to compete in some tournament (we were all painted up for some reason). The second time I was in my office there, talking to a few students.
I have no idea how a person is supposed to make a decision like this. Zach was no help at all. He said he knew we would be happy either place so it didn’t matter. Gosh! So, it comes down to the pictures I paint in my own head of my future. I think it’s important that I’m excited about my job at Truman, instead of more excited about extra-curricular activities (like at Northern).
So, there you have it. We're (still) going to Truman and (still) very excited! I just need to not play the “What if” game anymore. It produces way too much angst, uncertainty, and negative energy!
That's it! I'm not afraid of you anymore. I'm not afraid of your scoffing or your doubtful looks. Your gossipy whisperings or internal disbelief. Zach and I have a plan for our lives and no matter how impossible it seems, it's what we're putting 100% of ourselves into.
I think I've been a little nervous about sharing the whole thing because sometimes the implausibility of it likes to poke me in the eye when I'm not looking. And every time I hear that twinge of doubt in your voice, that little bugger gets in another jab.
It's a bit of an involved plan, which I'm sure will be modified thousands of times, but here's the general idea:
Step One: I have a blast being a Hall Director at Truman State University and support Zach while he completes a nursing degree.
Step Two: I get a job as a Hall Director somewhere that has a Spanish Masters program and hopefully a Public Administration (with an emphasis in international/non-profit management) Masters program. Zach gets a job in the same city and starts knocking out large chunks of our college debt. We also begin doing feasibility studies for a coffee shop/restaurant.
Step Three: I become a Spanish professor, Zach continues working as a Nurse, and we start our coffee shop. We want the business to eventually be what will fund a school/clinic in Central America that we will begin and run. So at the coffee shop, we'll sell fair trade items from the country the school will be in. We'll have it posted that all profits are to support a school/clinic. etc. Hopefully we will be at the stage where we are doing site visits in other countries, trying to find a place that has great need. We want to modify the school/clinic idea to fit the place, once we find it.
Step Four: All personal debt will be paid off, the business will be self-sustaining (hopefully with great managers like Zach's parents or someone we can trust to run it) while we begin making large progress towards starting the school.
Step Five: We move permanently. Start the school/clinic. Set up with doctors/dentists/nurses to create a sustainable system. Create quality housing and education for students. Hopefully we will be funded completely through the coffee shop/restaurant.
So...that's it and don't you judge me! I am a self-professed dreamer of extremely large dreams. I know it's a lot and it's a long way off but...we made this plan in January and we're on our way already!
Zach and I both put in over 150 hours preparing for the OPE job fair. We looked into every single one of +250 jobs/schools posted. I revised my resume and cover letter, spoke with professionals in the field, narrowed it down to my top 9 picks, called and emailed with those schools, and landed interviews with all of them. After that it came down to two on-campus interviews and I got the job at my top pick school. Who does that!??!??!!!
I think the sense of accomplishment was so great because we put in such a huge effort. It didn't just land in our laps. We worked really hard for that position at Truman. The experience has left me feeling like Zach and I can do anything if we put our full effort towards attaining it.
Below is a link to just one of the articles I've read as I've researched the problems of street children in Central America. It reports about a proposal to "ban street children" in Mexico City. There are over 100,000 children in Mexico City alone who are either homeless or supplementing income for their families by working on the streets as vendors.
Zach and I don't currently have the skill set to do anything effective to help these children but they are our focus. For the next few years, we will be doing everything we can to gain skills, connections, ideas, funds, and support to help them. I know our school/clinic idea is rudimentary but it's the seed we are planting. I have no doubt it will grow/develop into something wonderful.
I've noticed a slow, evolutionary alignment of my lifestyle and my values. I didn't sit down one day and decide to make what I do match what I believe, but it's sort of happening slowly, almost without me noticing.
I did suddenly become aware of the change when I was trying to explain something about my life to someone at Truman. I thought to myself, "Gosh, this is kinda making me sound like a weirdo." I wanted that person to understand who I am but not feel threatened by our differences. Sometimes that's hard because some of the difficult questions I ask myself, aren't ones that other people want to ask themselves.
One thing I can't even express how deeply I appreciate about Zach is that our values, desires, and dreams match. I'm not the only odd one who thinks living out of a car would be awesome. Or who thinks drinking is a waste of time because it costs too much and makes you feel like crap. Or who thinks weddings are large, unnecessary amounts of hassle.
I'm not trying to paint us as saints because we definitely aren't. I mean, if the booze is free, I have no problem having a few (but I have to stop after two or I'll feel awful the next day). And the truth is, I would rather spend ten bucks buying a pack of Pokemon cards for my little sister, than buying a cocktail. I try to measure how much goodness/joy/love I can milk out of that ten dollars (or ten minutes) and then I pick the larger glass.
So I'm an idealist. The last few paragraphs are the way I live my life when I'm at the top of my game. There are days when, of course, I only feel like laying on the couch for ten minutes and not saving the world. And that's okay. Everybody is doing the best that they can at any given moment. It's important to be gracious with yourself and others.
I want to mention the ring I wear on my left ring finger. Usually a person's wedding ring goes there but for me, it's an old ring I bought at a flea market in South Texas while I was doing an internship with a non-profit organization. I got it because it has the Star of David on it, which is the symbol of the house I was a part of at Graceland. I don't care if people think I'm Jewish. I don't care that it doesn't have a giant blingin' rock on it (in fact, thank goodness it doesn't because I would never want to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on something that would just sit on my finger and not do anything good for the world!). I don't care that it's made from cheap metal and looks like a circle drawn by one of my kindergarten students last fall. I only wear it because it makes me happy. Some days I forget to put it on and that's fine. Zach doesn't even have a ring and that doesn't matter to either of us. No piece of metal or piece of paper legally binding us would make us feel any differently about each other.
Now, before I risk offending every person on the planet, I bid you all adieu.
She comes in several days a week, sits at the bar, sometimes eats, but always drinks a large glass of red wine. Even though I brush past her with plates of food for tables all night when I’m serving, I’ve never spoken to her. All of our bartenders will serve her except for one and that is because she is about 7 or 8 months pregnant.
The things I know about her are very limited. She: used to work at the restaurant, accidentally got pregnant, decided to give it up for adoption, and apparently, doesn’t mind risking the physical and mental health of that baby by continually drinking during her pregnancy. That is honestly everything I know about her. I will admit I don’t know her at all but sometimes I feel very angry with her.
Something I’m proud of is the fact that I take the time to be self-aware. When I feel angry or sad, I try to evaluate the root of that feeling because it provides a better context for understanding situations. For example: I work with a girl who doesn’t split tables evenly and always ends up taking more than me. Not that big of a deal, I thought it might be accidental but then sometimes I also host, and she does this to other servers as well. Even taking tables that I’ve given to someone else!
Quite simply, my reaction was anger about this. But, upon self-evaluation it’s not because she makes more money than I do when we serve together but the root of my anger is the injustice of it. I like things to be fair. When I serve with her I talk myself out of anger saying, “If she asked for it, I would give her the twenty bucks more she’ll make tonight, so there’s no reason to be angry.” But with other people, I know they need the money just as much as her, so it bothers me more.
I recognize that when an unjust act occurs, irritated anger bubbles up within me and that is what happens when I see that pregnant woman who likes to drink at our bar. I’ve done research and most studies say that heavy drinking while pregnant is extremely dangerous for the baby but there have been almost no studies done on moderate drinking. According to the March of Dimes website,
“When a pregnant woman drinks, alcohol passes through the placenta to her fetus. In the fetus’s immature body, alcohol is broken down much more slowly than in an adult's body. As a result, the alcohol level of the baby's blood can be higher and remain elevated longer than the level in the mother's blood. This sometimes causes the baby to suffer lifelong damage.”
I’ve read pages of research on innumerable websites, heard a large amount of opinions on both sides, and learned a lot more than I knew about this issue before. It’s none of my business and I want to let it go but I can’t. I’m too selfish. I keep seeing her and feeling this bubbling anger and I want it to go away! I guess I’ve done all this research so I could convince myself that my anger is unreasonable and I should get over it. There are conclusive studies this woman must have found that say that moderate drinking is completely safe for the baby, right? She’s not risking it’s entire life on her own lack of self-control or care, is she?
Unfortunately, the research isn’t solid. There’s no way to know how badly the alcohol will affect the baby and to me, that is risking too much. If you decide to carry the baby that should include making healthy choices so it has a chance at a good life!
I feel like I only have two options: anger or apathy. Too bad the apathetic shoe has never fit my foot very well. Actually, I think I will add a third option and choose that: hope. The fate of the child whose mother sits at our bar several times a week is not within my control but I can be hopeful that it’s mother’s actions don’t affect it negatively. No matter how I choose to feel (angry, hopeful, sad etc), it won’t have any effect on this baby; the effect will be on me and hope is a lot easier on the insides.
For some reason I just let out an enormous sigh. There are so many sad things in the world that I let myself be deeply affected by. I feel like I've picked another one to add to my list of personal concerns.
Happiness
This photo might explain how happiness is for us... except that Zach is faking and I'm really about to pee my pants with laughter.
