My Tent on The Beach

Confession: I am a sucker for at-home workout videos.  And I’ve done them all.  It’s almost embarrassing…Rodney Yee–yep, I was doing Power Yoga with him before he was all, “I’m a big yoga creep.” Pilates–Ana Caban is still my girl with all the props.  Tae-Bo with Billy Blanks…yes and yes. And…my favorite…Budakon.  Supposedly, Jennifer Aniston said this made her lose those pesky 30 pounds…you know, the ones that kept her from looking like the skeleton with fantastic hair that she is now.

Anyway, I’ll kill myself to remember the Budakon guy’s name but he is amazing…he’s like some kinda black belt in Tae Kwon Do (I’m sure that’s spelled wrong) but super stretchy so he does yoga too.  This is not the point, however.  My point is he said something in one of the videos (that I basically did for 2 years straight) that has stayed with me.  He used to say, “When you concentrate on something, it expands.” What?

I had images in my head of swirling power energies and chakras and auras and things.  I felt I was out of my element.  It was new agey and weird.  But this little thought has followed me around like a nagging 2-year-old for years.  So finally, I stopped to give it its due and…I think he’s right.

If you concentrate on it, it expands.

Of course.  I’ve been doing this for years but I didn’t know it and actually I think it’s been killing me.  Allow me to demonstrate with…a cheeseburger.  Sorry all one of you vegetarians who may or may not be reading this…but one of the few things I crave hard in this world is cheeseburgers…like the, “I need it now” craving.  Once I’ve established that I need that cheeseburger…it’s all I can think about.  It consumes every other thought.  It’s always poking around from the dark corners of my brain, asserting itself mercilessly on my poor frazzled psyche…until I get it…and then happiness.  The same goes for misery and discontentment and loneliness…all that seem to be conditions brought on by reality but all that are actually my own mantras, allowed to form through the circumstances I’m in.

All of this is a long way to say, I’ve decided to choose happy.  It’s a very conscious decision right now because choosing unhappy is a well-formulated awful habit I’ve picked up.  But I ran a little test experiment not too long ago and, I’ll tell ya what, choosing happy works. I think the key for me was realizing that in my life, the opposite of happy is not unhappy, but worried.  I somehow roll around gloriously in my worry…if I’m not worried, I start to worry that I should be. Frankly, it’s ridiculous.  So, I’ve chosen strategically what and how much I’m allowed to worry about things…and I’ve actually started breathing again and everything.

Choosing happy is not easy.  I’ve been trained in worry.  And I’m good at worry…but it’s only taken about 17 years (alright, alright, 28 years) to realize that it’s not worth it.  There is a time and place for everything.

It’s time to give happy its due.  Thanks Budakon guy…whatever your name is.

So Kristine (of “Hey my friend Kristine…” fame) started a blog and this excites me for many reasons.  1) She’s funny.  2) She’s a fellow armchair philosopher. 3) It’s called Tomballery and if ever there was a topic to blog about, it’s Tomballery.  Of course, she provides an excellent definition of it over at the blog itself: http://tomballery.blogspot.com which you should definitely check out…all 3 of you…but I’ll provide the context of the name.  We were discussing a friend of mine who really struggles with confrontation of any kind who, in his avoidance of it, actually creates confrontation for me.  Through our conversation we said he was basically outsourcing his balls–completely ducking out of the way of his mess knowing that I’ll then get smacked with the effects of his problem and, because I’ll deal with them, I’m actually doing his dirty work.  Hence: Tomballery.  Similar to Tomfoolery, except we’re talking about guts (okay, balls) and not foolishness.

Anyway, I digress.  She wrote a very interesting post about relationships and the point in which a relationship crosses the line from mutual responsibility to me just letting someone else off the hook for not giving me what I need.  But the one thing that really made me think was her question about the “sunsetting” of relationships–the natural falling away of those who once served a very important purpose but have since grown more distant and, sad to say, less important.  At the very least, our relationship to them has changed significantly.   I have to say, this notion both terrifies and intrigues me.

I have always been something of a warrior princess.  If I think something is important or worthwhile, I will clamp on to it like a vise and fight to the  death to keep it.  What I often lose sight of is that the process of holding on generally turns it into a mangled, ragged version of what it once was while I’m standing there sweaty and out of breath.  It would have been better for the integrity of whatever I’m holding and  for me if I’d have just let it go and slip away quietly…and maybe beautifully. There’s a certain grace to letting things go the natural way.

On the other hand, if I’m being sunsetted…well, that’s just about my worst fear which I’ve come face to face with before…and it’s still my worst fear.  Being let go always feels to me like a total rejection with a side of shame.  In whatever way, I’m so disappointing in this relationship that they’re not even going to try anymore.  Personally, I’m scarred by this–yes, I’ve been sunsetted–and frankly, I’ll always be a little skittish when I suspect someone’s leaving me before their time.  Kristine knows.  For one day a couple months ago I thought she was moving to Tampa and I freaked.  No, sunsetting and I will never meet in a spirit of love and friendship no matter who’s doing the sunsetting.  But it’s not because it shouldn’t happen. It just always hurts.

I think we’ve become used to having our own comfort at our control.  We have things when we want them.  We have choices…lots of choices.  We can artificially sustain things as long as we want (except life, but we’re pretty close to that too.)  That kind of life has allowed us to lose touch with the natural cycle.  Birth leads to life leads to decline leads to death.  That’s how it’s always been.  And I think there’s a truly natural wisdom in that.  And if we let each stage have its moment and respect it, I think there’s something inherently beautiful about each.

Letting go, I think is easy.  Accepting that something’s run it’s course.  That’s just about the toughest thing we have to deal with.  I think because we’re all a little bit warrior princess.

I was talking with Monica a couple weeks ago…complaining, actually…complaining is what I was doing.  Once again, I found myself in the same exact rut that I always find myself in when I’m at personal perigee (I know, I’m trying out a new word), wondering why I’m there again.  Monica has been invaluable in diagnosing these low moments not as random, linear occurrences but as cyclical points…thus, once I get over one, it’s likely to come back around–and it sure always does.

So this time, I went ahead and gave myself a new little challenge (mind you, now, this was weeks ago).  Instead of just grabbing hold and weathering the storm as usual, my challenge to myself was to not get complacent, a stage that always results in such low tides.  In order to do this, I promised myself that every time I caught myself at a proverbial “fork in the road,” I would –as the cliche dictates–take “the road less taken.”  That is, I wouldn’t do what I was most comfortable doing; I would accept the challenge in hopes that it would not result in the usual “comfort-driven disasters” that have been piling up.

I’ll be honest…this logic is not bad.  It’s not easy, but it’s also not wrong.  I’ve found myself in several situations recently when I was at such a fork and chose the challenging route…it returned the gain I was hoping for…it was uncharted territory, that’s for sure.

But here’s the little catch I find interesting: it’s not always the hardest choice I’m making.  It’s the one that’s most uncomfortable.  So, for instance,  I found myself sitting in front of the computer, ready to write an e-mail that I was sure would “fix” the problem.  Well, this is a typical scenario in which I end up tortured.  So, I sat and deliberated for a good 10 minutes.  I even went so far as to write a draft…twice. Each time I went to send I said to myself, “Send it if you think this’ll really change anything.”  Each time, I knew it wouldn’t and I junked the draft.  It wasn’t easy…but it wasn’t the hardest choice either…that actually might have been turning off the computer and blocking the whole thing out.   It was the one that really left me squirmy…because it made me think about what I was really doing.  And I saw it.  And I didn’t do it.  And it didn’t kill me. And in fact, I think it paid off.  I think.

Another example: I was beside myself with anxiety on Tuesday–school-related.  My usual choices are 1) block out the anxiety and pretend it’s not there or 2) wallow in the anxiety.  The last thing I wanted to do was think about the anxiety…so I thought about it…I searched for the cause and realized it wasn’t stress but not knowing…anything.  So much was up in the air.  So Wednesday I woke up with one goal: “Get things settled.”  And I did.  I made phone calls (which I hate), I made office visits (also uncomfortable), I asked for firm, specific feedback on questions I needed answers to…and by god if I didn’t brace myself for the apocalypse every time a question came out of my mouth.  But I got answers.  And now I know.

The key to this game is vigilance, I think.  And to tread boldly directly into my fears, which are the essence of all of my discomfort.  If I sense I’m holding back because of a trust issue, I challenge myself to trust.  If I’m running away from a confrontation, I confront.  If I duck a hug, I hug back (that one’s for Meghan).  I think the only way to get out of a cycle is to turn around on it and look it face-to-face.

What I’m finding is that a little discomfort goes a long way.

Confession: I went to church twice today.

I know.  It might be getting out of hand.  But here’s the thing.  I went this morning for choir and that is a wonderful, fantastic thing…but it’s also become a little job-like.  I love jobs, don’t get me wrong.  But I sometimes find it hard to seek out my spiritual center when I’m trying to remember if we’re breathing on the 8th or the quarter, if ya know what I mean.

So this evening, I went to Loyola to just be there.  Not sing in the choir. Not be in charge of anything.  Just go and listen and think about this past week that was horrendous but very valuable in terms of lessons learned.  In some ways I needed to give a little thanks…that things had moved in the directions in which they were intended.  In others, I needed some guidance.  I always need guidance.  And here’s what I heard: “Wait. It’s Not Your Turn.”

It shocked me how much I’ve lost touch with the idea that 1) I don’t always get what I want right now and 2) that other people, rightfully, might get there first and that’s okay.  They’ve earned it.  There’s a funny reality about the confluence of doing graduate work and living alone.  It can be a black hole of humanity.  That sounds very melodramatic but I’m serious; I can go for literally weeks and not see more than a handful of people if I don’t work at it.  What this means is lots of time focused on me in my own little world.

In some ways, I’ve never been more relieved to hear it’s not my turn…mostly because it implies there are others around me…that I’m part of a bigger picture because, honestly, that truth can really get lost in this type of life.  Writing, thinking, writing, not eating, thinking, writing.  I haven’t even been watching tv…

Thank God it’s not my turn. I forget, in the midst of everything else, that I don’t always have to fight for my turn, hold my place in line, argue for my point of view.  I can let those things go every now and then and know that it’s not my turn and that things have to transpire before it will be my turn.  This is the craziest sigh of relief I’ve ever taken.

It’s not my turn.  It’s not my time. For some things.  If I need to wait, I can let them go and just hope that I don’t lose that little paper number when it comes time that it’s called.  Everything in it’s time.  Everything.

Wow.  Two weeks since the last post.  A lot’s been going on recently.  Andras left Chicago, I kicked out my dissertation proposal (yes, out of order…I’m not done with special fields yet), choir’s up and running, and today in Chicago, fall arrived.  Actually, with howling winds and a dramatic drop in temperature, it rampaged in.  And away we go.  Tomorrow will be Thanksgiving and I’ll wonder where the fall went.

But in all of this flurry of things, I’ve been looking for solace in the steadiness, or maybe steadfastness, of some things that never seem to change.  Nothing is ever static, obviously, unless it’s not animate.  But, since I’ve been fairly drama-free lately (and I have no problem with that), I’ve been able to stand as the outsider and look in to other’s life issues…and begin to see that they’re cyclical.  We’re happy then we’re sad.  We love and then we don’t…and then we do again.  We’re excited and then depressed. And when we think we’ve had enough of something, either good or bad, that something changes…but in predictable ways.  I’ve been re-fascinated by the cyclical ways in which we work even when we know it and we know what’s coming.  We are so predictable and yet never really seem to learn or to let go.

Yesterday I was at the Alpha Sigma Nu induction…finally, the Jesuits thought I was honorable enough to pay them $75 to wear a medallion at graduation…what can I say…it was a vendetta from my Marquette days.  Anyway, the speaker reminded me of a quote from one of the Jesuit martyrs that I think is interesting.  He said:

We are not human beings looking for a spiritual experience.  We are spiritual beings embedded in a human experience.

For some reason, it really spoke to me yesterday, especially in the light of all of these cycles I’ve been watching: some of self-destruction, some of loss, some of finding joy, some searching for love.  I think de Chardin is right.  The spiritual side of us, that which cannot be seen by observing us in our physical presence, is why we do what we do.  If it were all rational and logical, we’d never choose to repeat some of the things we do.

So I guess it’s funny that in all of these changes I see happening so rapidly, that it’s really just a coming around the mountain again.  In fact, I’ve probably written about this very thing already…several times.

We never really change.  We are the steady in a context that moves around us and carries us with it.  We respond. But do we change?

I bought a new car on Friday.  In my old car, the “check engine” light would go on randomly, oh I don’t know, every other week. So I chucked it and bought a new (but simple) car.  That was Friday.  Yesterday the check engine light when on.  In the new car. Holy shit.

And I lost my mind.

Blinding rage? Fury? No, just a quiet, growing anger manifesting itself as what became raging, fiery heartburn.  In a momentary out-of-body experience as I was digging through my closet for the Tums (which have Calcium, I realized, so at least I had my RDA dosage of that), I realized that this is not a healthy coping mechanism. So, over my coffee this morning as I’m piecing back together what are the twisted and broken shards of my mind, I’m trying to work my way through what might be going on here.

I don’t have an answer.  But what I know is that I’ve become prone to really flying off the handle, most especially when inanimate objects are involved.  I won’t lose my mind with people.  I almost never have gone loco on a person.  But when something crosses my path–take cover.  This has happened when the cable goes out, my computer malfunctions, my coffee maker bites the dust, MY CHECK ENGINE LIGHT COMES ON…you get the drift.  It’s a Thing thing.  And so, I wonder if this is my own craziness constantly creeping up on me or if it’s a symptom of a greater social condition.  What I’m wondering is if Facebook has done this to me…

Here’s the thing: I’ve become used to speed (not the narcotic, although there are days when I consider it) and functionality.  Usually I love it: I’m in love with being in the know NOW.  So, Facebook lets me see what my friends are doing now. Gmail tells me instantly when I get an e-mail.  I can pay my bills and have the total deducted from my account now.  I’ve grown completely intolerant of anything that 1) breaks or 2) takes more than 3.4 seconds.  Which I think is the root of my check engine rage.  (Also connected is that this is a brand new thing that has now, inexplicably BROKEN ALREADY which just exascerbates this whole thing.)

What I don’t know is how to reverse it.  Yes, I can unplug and not engage with the face-paced world of technology.  But then I’m left behind. FAST. I know people who’ve done this and it’s like they’ve become irrelevant…and if there’s one thing I live for, it’s being relevant (although, now that I’m this far into this post, I’m left wondering…).  Unplugging is extreme.  My current state of plugged-in-edness seems extreme.  So where is the happy middle in determining the speed of life?  And how much control do we really have over it? How do I get Zen with very expensive things breaking in the first 5 minutes I have them when everything is a thing that I’ve paid for.  And has been promised to work?

This is not new, I know.  Since the invention of things, things have been breaking.  But it seems like now, in this shiny world of things everywhere that do amazing things very fast, failure is becoming way less of an option.  Because if I had a little C4 and duct tape, at this moment, I’d strap it to that car and show it who’s boss.

But maybe that’s an overreaction.

I really hate to be that chipper, cheerful, “Look at the sunny side of life,” kinda girl.  In fact, it makes me want to flog myself for it. I’m much funnier when I’m wry and cynical.  But amazing things have been happening to me recently and I’m not sure why.  I suppose the smarter side of myself says, “Katie…what the hell? Why are you questioning it?”  But, you know, I like to live on the wild and stupid side.  So let’s dig in…

The goodness, I’m finding, is in the universal return.  Like Mars in retrograde, stuff keeps coming back to me at the right time, in the right place.  I’m making myself sick with my own giddyness about it.  “Like what?” you say, “Katie. What is mystically on the return?”

Like:

1. Chez and Patrick with whom I now share an office.  Previously I thought that would be a productive space.  Today, Patrick and I proved that it probably won’t be…academically speaking…but it was great.  My return to the sociology department is the return I was looking for.  Weird.  Couldn’t have seen that coming.

2. Katie and Andy visited on Tuesday.  For Katie, it was a return to Chicago. It was glorious.  For Andy, it was not a return, but he didn’t seem to have a horrible time, so maybe someday he will return.  Either way, though, it was wonderful.  I haven’t had that much fun in a long time…with adults who appreciate Harry Potter like I do.

3. Friday we returned to Book Club.  Another fantastic time.

4. A little bit of my zest for sociology has returned.  It feels right again when for a long time it did not.

5. I returned about 79423874 library books last week.  Literally a weight off my shoulders.  Also means…I read them.  Another weight off my shoulders.

6. Fall is returning.  This past week I literally curled up under my down blanket, had a beer (the RETURN of Goose Island Harvest Ale), and watched football.

I could go on but I’m getting nauseous.  Bottom line, the returns are so celebratory because it means I’ve been given a reprieve from waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting.  I guess I want to ask why…what changed?  Was it me? Or the Universe?  And how do I keep this table turned in my direction?

But, you know…questions are stupid right now.  I’m just going to go sleep while I can because with returns, here’s the thing: everything returns.  Even waiting.

I’ve been going on autopilot the last couple days.  My energy is low, low, low.  I’ve been stressed out to the point that it should be called, “stressed in” (in that much like backdraft, the lack of oxygen in a burning room will first suck everything into it and then blow it to smithereens).  It’s a phase…I think the natural valley after a month of high-energy “I’m moving and it’s summer and I got Active for the Wii.”  But it’s these times when I think some of the greatest things can happen because, for whatever reason, I’ve just had to let go of my strangle-hold on everything…and have found wonders on the other side of over-management.

For instance:

1. I sang in a concert last Sunday that turned out to be one of the greatest moments of my life.

2. I realized I like the world a lot better without my IPod.

3. The Madonna della Strada Chapel in the evenings is a beautiful place to be.

4. I’m much more capable and interested in my culture special field than I previously thought.

5. A friend of mine from years gone by appeared out of nowhere and apparently is now living in Evanston.

6. House guests can make life a little more worthwhile if even for a short time.

7. Transitions don’t have to be horribly painful.

8. Everything in it’s time.

I reflect on this all the time.  For some reason, the lesson of letting go takes time to sink in.  I’ve never trusted it.  And I think that’s precisely the problem.  I’m learning…slowly.

Ooh, I don’t know if you’ve all been following the big buzz: Archie finally proposed after all these years…TO VERONICA.

'Bout time, Arch. Good for you.

That’s right.  This comic book icon that’s been all over every medium from gum wrappers to online comics finally committed…the cardinal American sin.  And people are up in arms about it.

For those unaware of the story, here it is.  It’s the classic American love triangle: Archie loves Betty, Betty plays hard to get, Veronica (the vixen) is always there to throw a wrench into an otherwise bland boy-loves-girl story. Awesome.

But here’s what’s so interesting to me about this public outcry over the fact that the Archie Gang (now well into middle age) has defied convention…that Archie actually asked the “hot, slutty” girl to marry him after all these years of pining hopelessly (and fruitlessly) over Betty.  Betty has been the ungettable get for too long.  And now that she’s finally gotten what her coy little self deserves (Archie moving on to someone who’s openly wanted him for, well, ever), we’re angry.  We feel sorry for Betty.  Because that’s not how the story ends.  What else could Betty have done but what she did…we asked her to play that role and we promised her that in the end, she’d be happy.  And now Veronica is wearing her ring.

Good, I say.  Betty totally screwed this one up.  Maybe I speak from a standpoint heavily informed by the fact that I’ve never had guys falling all over me (far from it, actually.  Usually I intimidate them…which I will never totally understand) but, I look at this story (and the countless number of real stories that look exactly the same) and I think Betty’s been an ass.  Archie’s tied himself in knots trying to get her attention and she’s been stringing him along (for, like, 15 years now).  How long does she possibly think he’s going to put up with that?!?  Seriously. It’s embarrassing for him and heartless for her.  But isn’t it interesting that we side with her when he asks Veronica because Betty’s done what every “good girl” should do…we expect her to be rewarded for playing the part of  “ideal girl.”  We’ve done Betty a disservice in leading her to believe that messing with Archie’s mind for so long is something that will be rewarded with his love and loyalty in the end.  Only if Archie’s a total idiot would that happen.

Now, I know…you’re reading this thinking, “Kate…seriously…it’s a comic book…who cares?”  This story is not a comic book.  I talk to many men who are Archie and have chosen their Betty and regret it.  Why?  Because if we take Betty at face value (and put out of our minds “the ideal girl” idea), she’s a manipulative bitch.  And there’s nothing to indicate she won’t continue to be that.  Meanwhile, Veronica (the hot, slutty girl as we’ve cast her) has done nothing but show Archie how she feels about him.  Archie is the real winner here.  He’s chosen the girl (now woman) who has given him every reason to believe she loves him…for real.  Good for you, Arch.  Nicely played.

Of course, this isn’t the end of this story.  Archie Comics has already said there’s 5 issues left, which means they’ll totally bow to the crush of complaints from readers wanting the Fairytale Ending.  Veronica will be left heartbroken, (“As every slut deserves,” we’ll say) and Betty will be featured on the next episode of Bridezillas and we’ll all clap Archie on the back and given him that hang-dog, “Man…what are you getting yourself into?” look of satisfaction.  Because that’s how the story should end.

It’s a sad day for the girl next door…not because she didn’t get the proposal. It’s because she’ll never learn that what’s she’s doing is anything but “cute” and “coquettish.”  It’s actually kind of gross.  And we’ve all asked her to be that.

Oh no.

I’m having a PhD-cum-life moment courtesy of an exchange I had today with a friend of mine who is honest but exasperated…possibly honestly exasperated.  I can’t say I wouldn’t be either.

The specifics of the event are not important but the lesson here is something for me to think about.  Or actually, precisely not think about.  One of the serious problems I have in balancing life and PhD is the inability to shut my brain off.  It’s become an occupational hazard.  I cannot speak for all of academia; these results may not be generalizable.  But as I examine all of the reasons I was so hesitant to keep moving on this after classes were over, this theme of “overactive brain activity” recurs frequently.  I live in a state of hyper-thinking and it’s hard to manage.

I’m already insanely observant in a subconscious way.  I know this because I know whole songs that I’ve never heard before.  As they filter into the world as white noise, I hear and know them even when I’m not trying.  Same thing with tv…my knowledge of television would indicate that I watch it 24-7.  In fact, I do not.  But I can be doing 4 other things and still know every detail of a show, including the credits.  I think it’s this quality that makes me intuitive about people; I don’t have to study them to know exactly what they’re about and what they need.  In a lot of ways, I’ve always considered this a gift.

However, I’ve begun to see in the long term that this quality ramps up to dangerous levels when I do academic thinking.  I can think in the abstract all day long and feel wonderfully comfortable.  My brain chugs happily along just thinking conceptually.  But then reality hits.  It’s a different beast but my brain doesn’t make the accommodations necessary and I end up looking at real life situations in an analytical perspective that’s so narrow, I risk wrecking what’s real.

Need a “learning lab of life” moment? Sure.  Think about the last conversation you had with another person (sorry, dogs and plants do not count here).  Now, take just the last sentence of that conversation.  Next, imagine all of the possible ways that sentence could be interpreted, running the gamut from the best message ever to apocalyptic.  Now, run a quick analysis of the most likely meaning.  If you want to add in body language and facial expressions, do that here.  Do those observational clues match your earlier language analysis?  What inconsistencies stand out?  How do you feel about what you think the likely meaning of the last sentence was?

This is how I could very systematically watch all of my friendships explode.  Aforementioned friend gave me a pearl of wisdom that I’ve always told myself but that earns a new gravitas when received from someone else.

“Just stop analyzing it.”

Yes.  Yes.  I want to do that.  But I don’t know how when my whole focus (which I’ve fought months to regain) at this moment is analysis.  This is why, in the hallowed halls of academia you see frazzled, rumpled, wrinkled, obviously brilliant people who suffer from severe social arrested development.  They’ve chosen their path and I commend them.  They’ve chosen analysis.  On the other hand, there are the apparently blissful people thrilled to not analyze a single blessed thing, who hop through life just taking it as it comes. I commend them, too.  They’ve chosen a simpler but not unfulfilling path.

Ultimately, I have to figure this out or I risk becoming “that friend” that’s held at arm’s length because of apparent uncontrollable neurosis which is time consuming and, frankly, annoying on both sides.  And while I have a lot of answers to a lot of things, I am at a loss here.

How do I keep my analytical edge without turning it toward personal relationships? Any suggestions are welcome.  I won’t even analyze ‘em…I’ll just jump in and blindly try at this point.