tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21128040230766487382024-03-12T23:54:23.111-04:00The Logarithmic SpiralPirouetting through each spiral trajectory, embracing the dizzying swirl of life. The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.comBlogger104125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-59776442945406397022015-12-31T17:49:00.000-05:002015-12-31T17:57:00.338-05:00The Race Goes On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This time of year always finds me thoughtful and introspective; remembering the past year and squeezing the final lessons to be learned before turning my attention toward the upcoming months. At the end of last year, I remember thinking that 2015 would be "The Year of Rest." I coined it as such mostly because I was coming out of one of the most difficult and challenging years of my life and wanted to embrace self-love, self-care, and continuing the path of healing on which I had embarked at the beginning of 2014. However, this year has been anything but restful, 'though that's not to imply that it was not good. Candidly, anything after 2014 would be considered good. And yet, even as I write that, I know that if I had not spent so many sleepless nights in anxiety, had not spent so many days eating too much or not enough depending on my levels of stress, or fought so hard to keep my head high despite the crushing hopelessness, I wouldn't have experienced the light shining so brightly through the darkness.<br />
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In many ways, 2014 was the crucible after the three previous years of aimless wandering. Everything leading up over the past four years - from losing friendships with people I've known since child-hood, surviving an abusive relationship, moving across multiple state lines multiple times, and being falsely accused and dragged through the court system - taught me the deeper meaning of forgiveness, patience, self-control, truth-seeking, and gradually re-learning the beauty of vulnerability. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pr6rJkTY6JA/VoWwT4UGWLI/AAAAAAAAG8Y/u-jyJ6TCQgk/s1600/Year%2527s%2BEnd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pr6rJkTY6JA/VoWwT4UGWLI/AAAAAAAAG8Y/u-jyJ6TCQgk/s400/Year%2527s%2BEnd.jpg" width="400" /></a>My only response over this past year has been one of gratitude. Gratitude to the friends and family who never gave up on me and held my arms up for me when I was too tired to hold them up myself; for the amazing community here on the Cape who stood by my side; for the ever-faithful God who calls me beloved when I see nothing but fear and doubt. </div>
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Despite the ever-present busy-ness of the last 12 months, all I see when I look back is love, joy, beauty, and an all-encompassing peace that I am exactly where I need to be for such a time as this. I am who I am and equipped with everything I need for the tasks set before me. </div>
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So, what are my plans for 2016? I've been mulling this over in my mind for many weeks, and here are some of the answers upon which I've arrived:</div>
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<li><b>I have an important story to tell.</b> I once had a professor write the following at the bottom of one of my papers: "Miss Bologna, I've held off saying this for quite some time. Today is the day. I have no doubt that one day I will be reading your books in bookstores across the country....God willing. Let <i style="font-weight: bold;">Him</i> take the shade off the lamp..."<br />The time for fear and sadness over some of the chapters in my life is passing away. No longer do I want to be controlled by the ghosts of the past, but rather bring them to light, the better to light the way for others. </li>
<li><b>My calling has always been to serve others.</b> It's taken me awhile to learn that I can't serve others if I'm not serving myself. Part of that service is to participate in the things that make me come alive and fill me with joy. Serving others in drudgery does no one any good. The day is dawning to rediscover my passion and use it for the good of mankind.</li>
<li><b>Adventure is in my blood.</b> The adventure of the light in my soul recognizing the light in anothers'; the adventure of discovering new places, be it across the road or across the world; the adventure of learning new things and mastering new skills; the adventure of letting go and letting God; the adventure of love. </li>
<li><b>The Journey is the Destination.</b> To quote myself from last year, "my resolution is to continue on this journey - the journey of learning how to take care of me, while still taking care of the people in my life that I love; breathing deep to remind myself of the sweetness of oxygen; taking moments, both small and large, to enjoy the pleasures of life, both simple and decadent....Most importantly, I want this year to be filled with love. I want to open my heart up, inch by inch, until its doors are wide open – allowing in the joy and the pain, and embracing them both."</li>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DJxIOe2J0rg/VoWwVO34FcI/AAAAAAAAG8k/ZR4JfiI_mjA/s1600/2012-newyear-quotes-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DJxIOe2J0rg/VoWwVO34FcI/AAAAAAAAG8k/ZR4JfiI_mjA/s320/2012-newyear-quotes-1.jpg" width="320" /></a>I have set my intentions and lit my candle. As the slowly dying flame flickers and extinguishes on 2015, may the bonfires of the future ignite a la Lord of the Rings style from Gondor to Rohan, leaping from mountaintop to mountaintop, signaling <i>now! now is the time to awaken! now is the time to answer the call and to ride!</i><br />
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The race goes on.</div>
The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-12402897735050424822015-06-21T11:27:00.000-04:002015-06-21T11:27:29.510-04:00A Great LegacyThere are a lot of emotions tied up in this day. I know I have friends who feel nothing but pain today for the wonderful fathers they have lost. I know I have friends today who feel anger today for the wonderful fathers they never had. I know there will be many posts on social media today about "World's Best Dad," and "I have the best dad ever," but today, I wanted to share a few words about the emotions <i>I</i> have tied to this day.<br /><br />
Gratitude. Pride. Honor. Respect. Joy. Love.<br />
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<b>Gratitude. </b>Once upon a time, there was a little girl with wide eyes and a big imagination that was encouraged to grow, and learn, and explore, and be exactly who she was. Her dad taught her how to ride and repair her bike, climb a tree, play baseball, and to never stop asking questions. He read to her at night great stories about great people. But the best stories were the ones he made up about the Adventures of Enzio and his Magical Cat Oblio. In the lazy summer evenings, he played guitar and taught her and her sister to embrace music, and making their own music. They went on adventures together in the marshes and discovered the wonders of nature and nature's God.<br />
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<b>Pride.</b> As the girl grew older, she realized that she wasn't the only one who thought her dad was pretty great. "Are you John Bologna's little girl?" And the response was always, "Yes I am!"<br />
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<b>Honor. </b>Growing up, she saw the way he led by example, the way he had a standard for excellence, not just for those around him, but for himself as well. He worked hard to provide for his family, and chose their comfort over his own.<br />
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<b>Respect. </b>With the passage of time, mistakes are bound to happen, and life wasn't always perfect. In moments of disobedience, bad attitudes, and temper tantrums, all she needed was to get "The Look" from her father to know that whatever she was doing needed to stop. Yet, for each of those moments, there were even more moments of praise for a job well-done, quick forgiveness, and so much patience.<br />
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<b>Joy.</b> Even as an adult, she still finds joy in dragon fly wings, the roar of the ocean's surf, watching green things grow, the mystery of the stars, the industriousness of ants, and figuring out how things work. There were countless nights of star-gazing at Nauset Beach, watching the Perseid's and creating names for the different types of shooting stars: the Sparkler, the Fizz, the Fizzer, the Streaker, the Blip, and the ever-elusive Fourth of July. <br />There are memories of the one summer when every day after returning home for work, the two of them would grab towels and bathing-suits and rush to Chatham Light Beach to dive into the chilly waters of the Atlantic, washing away the heat and sweat and work from the day. And then they would sit and talk, and sometimes grab an ice cream, and sometimes not, but it was always good.<br />And how many times did they wake up at 4:00....3:00....2:00 in the morning to adventure to the beach to watch some astronomical event, only to be followed by a sunrise and breakfast at Larry's PX.<br />
Bike rides, canoe outings, road trips, hiking explorations. The Joy of Adventure all.<br />
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<b>Love. </b>They say that a life without Love is not worth living. Love has no limit; when love is given, it doesn't decrease, it multiplies. And so it is with a Father's Love. There is no limit. And within that boundless, endless, unconditional love, there is comfort, safety, and rest.<br />
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I know there are plenty of other father's in the world that are just as patient, just as wise, and just as loving. Perhaps they are even more so than mine. And I know my dad is not perfect...I know he's made mistakes. But, the thing about him that I will always admire is that he is so full of grace. Like his mother before him, there is a gentle intensity about him that is all-at-once inspiring and comforting. As I've grown older, I have come to rely on and seek out his counsel more and more. There have been times when I have leaned my burdened heart heavily against his, and it has never faltered.<br />
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I recently won an award, and during my few words in acceptance of it, I called my father out as my number one fan and greatest role model. I would not be the person I am today without his support. Through all the trials of my life - the lessons learned, the tears shed, the struggle and the mourning, he has been my rock, and always shows me who the true Rock is. His Source of strength is mine as well, and I can embrace the true Father Heart of God because of the example set out by my earthly Father.<br />
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Yes, I have many memories of joy and laughter, but it has been in the darkest night of the soul where the truth of his love has been a balm.<br />
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So, on this day....this day that hold so many different emotions for so many different people, I want to say Happy Father's Day to my #1 Best Dad in the World. Thank you for following in the footsteps of God, so I could follow in yours.<br />
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The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-21422434037920241662015-02-02T17:45:00.000-05:002015-03-04T17:55:09.393-05:00The First Step<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pMbbJCkcXVI/VNDl7aKk0hI/AAAAAAAAGiY/akVZF04DhF8/s1600/running%2Bat%2Bdawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pMbbJCkcXVI/VNDl7aKk0hI/AAAAAAAAGiY/akVZF04DhF8/s1600/running%2Bat%2Bdawn.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a>Last night, I sat on the couch with my dad, drinking cold ones and watching #SB15 replays on the NFL Network (it will never get old). And I don't quite know what motivated it, but I started thinking about running and how much I used to love it.<br />
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I started thinking about the year before I moved to Pittsburgh and how my morning runs helped me to figure it all out - my time of prayer and meditation; my time to clear my head and find clarity; my time with just me, the sound of me feet on the pavement, and that seductive ribbon of road.<br />
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And then I thought about my time in Pittsburgh and how proud I was when I finally started conquering those ubiquitous hills, the exultation I felt when I would crest the top - heart pounding, lungs burning, legs shaking - and keep pushing on past the hurt until I felt like I could fly. I thought about the searing anguish that I had while I worked through the grieving process that whole year knowing my Nonna was slipping away and how running helped me conquer that hideous strength.<br />
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Running has always been my escape; my way of working through any and all problems I may have. It has been a glorious release from the stress I carry in my shoulders and on my mind. It was the thing that was always there - like an old friend, the road didn't care how long I had been away, it was just happy to reconnect. It was the thing I could always return to.<br />
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Until I didn't. Until I overstressed my <a href="http://breakingmuscle.com/mobility-recovery/your-it-band-is-not-the-enemy-but-maybe-your-foam-roller-is" target="_blank">IT Band</a> and was crippled on the side of South Street in Harwich Port one August morning in 2011. Since then, except for a few disastrous attempts, I've mostly avoided running, scared shitless that that piercing pain will return and I'll damage my knee(s).<br />
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But, here's the thing, last night I got on my mom's treadmill and tentatively started easing myself back into it....a speedwalk here, a jaunty jog there, a full-on sprint for 30 seconds once I warmed up. I stayed on the treadmill for 45 minutes, covering a total of 3 miles. Yes, it's a slow start. Yes, that's only a fraction of what I used to be able to run. Yet, I wasn't discouraged. I was so thrilled that I got off the treadmill with no hint of the familiar tightening along the outside of my knee.<br />
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Who knows if the smooth crooning of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHHT7dTmw8U" target="_blank">Busta Rhymes</a> through my earbuds helped me to block everything else from my mind, but today I am thankful. Today I am strong. Today I am taking the first step.<br />
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<br />The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-56353869722838684372014-12-31T17:41:00.001-05:002014-12-31T17:41:38.173-05:00New Year's Ruminations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've thought a lot about New Year's Resolutions over the past couple of weeks. I've thought about how I don't really believe in them anymore...how it seems kind of trite to spout out all these high ideals that no one ever really follow through on past January.<br />
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And then I thought of this past year. And how hard it was. And how I coined it "The Year of Christina" because of all the self-care and self-love I wanted to give myself, because of all the ways I wanted to get healthy: physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. In some of those areas (physically), I failed terribly; in others, I attained momentary star power. But, in general, I have grown and branched out and become more "zen."<br />
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So, for this year, The Year of Rest, my resolution is to continue on this journey - the journey of learning how to take care of me, while still taking care of the people in my life that I love; breathing deep to remind myself of the sweetness of oxygen; taking moments, both small and large, to enjoy the pleasures of life, both simple and decadent; reminding myself to get out of my head and into my life; continuing to hone my craft and be excellent in my work; finding balance; remembering that the traumas of my past do not define me, but strengthen me; embracing creativity, innovation, excitement, and not being afraid of the failures that come along away that make the end product even better; investing my time in pursuits that are edifying; being gentle with myself; being gentle with those around me; abstaining from detrimental habits and activities.<br />
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But, most importantly, I want this year to be filled with love. I want to open my heart up, inch by inch, until its doors are wide open – allowing in the joy and the pain, and embracing them both. I want to continually eschew cynicism and bitterness. I want to press forward towards hope and joy and peace. I want to recapture the starry-eyed, idealistic dreamer I was before I encountered the dark side of humanity and allowed it to thwart my vision. Then I want to temper that idealism with discernment and grace.<br />
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As each page falls off the calendar, bringing us inevitably closer to the end of our days, I am more aware of what it means to live a <i>good</i> life. For truly, a life full of grace, truth, joy, and love will always be admired and celebrated.<br />
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Welcome 2015. May I live each of your days to the hilt!The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-89774795471943364802014-05-19T16:57:00.000-04:002014-05-20T13:31:24.373-04:00To Love is to be Vulnerable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Vulnerability. For those in the Christian faith, being vulnerable is touted as a virtue. "We need to be vulnerable with each other." I remember one time in youth group, my youth leader used the word so many times that I couldn't focus on anything else except how strange the word started to sound.<br />
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I'm not sure when I stopped wanting to be vulnerable. Stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve and buttoned up my lip. In ages past, everyone knew everything about me and I was quick to raise my hand, share a testimony, offer my opinion. It was a sort of cathartic release to air my dirty laundry - a throwback to stepping into a confessional and verbally vomiting on the priest. <br />
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Perhaps it was one too many secrets told in private that ended up getting shared with the general population. Maybe it was a feeling of always being just a little different than everyone else - a little too outspoken, a little too socially awkward, a lot too unfashionable in my clothing and my opinions. There was always a sense of being slightly on the outside looking in, despite the fact that I was a student leader in my youth group and always a social butterfly in my group of friends. Yet, even though there were other homeschoolers in the "popular" circle at youth group, I somehow still didn't quite fit. There was something within me that longed for <i>more</i>. While everyone was nibbling at the buffet table, I wanted to see the full menu.<br />
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But this isn't about the strangely-overly-confident-yet-weirdly-insecure-and-needy-for-approval girl I (am) was in high school. It's about the innate desire we, as human beings, long to have with those around us, yet so often fail to achieve because we, as human beings, are helplessly imperfect and flawed. But, before I go any further, let's actually define our terms.<br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">vul·ner·a·ble</span></div>
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<span class="lr_dct_ph">ˈvəln(ə)rəbəl/</span></div>
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<i>adjective</i></div>
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adjective: <b>vulnerable</b></div>
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susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.</div>
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"we were in a vulnerable position"</div>
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(of a person) in need of special care, support, or protection because of age, disability, or risk of abuse or neglect.</div>
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"employees must be better trained in how to deal with vulnerable young people"</div>
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early 17th century: from late Latin <i>vulnerabilis</i>, from Latin <i>vulnerare</i> ‘to wound,’ from<i>vulnus</i> ‘wound.’</div>
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Yikes. That does not sound pleasant. Actually, this sounds like something that should be avoided at all costs. Who wants to actively and willingly place themselves in a position that is susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm? In almost every type of definition, be it military, social, cognitive, or environmental, vulnerability is seen as a weakness, something to be avoided.<br />
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So why is it touted as such a lofty goal when it comes to human relationships? In <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Brene Brown's TedX</a> talk, "The Power of Vulnerability," she says,<br />
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To let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there's no guarantee; to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we're wondering, "Can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?" just to be able to stop and, instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say, "I'm just so grateful, because to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive." And, most importantly, to believe that we're enough. Because when we work from a place that says, "I'm enough," then we stop screaming and start listening, we're kinder and gentler to the people around us, and we're kinder and gentler to ourselves.</blockquote>
What are the things we feel vulnerable about? Our weight, our looks, our qualifications, our education, how many sexual partners we've had, how few sexual partners we've had, our jobs, our childhood, our family, our faith, our <i>every</i>thing. And behind all of it is <b>fear.</b> Fear of failure. Fear of being different. Fear of not being good enough.<br />
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And how badly do I want to make my life look so beautiful, so enviable really. Isn't my life nice? Isn't it perfect? Don't you wish you had nothing to hide, like me? But, we all have something (many things) to hide. My closet is as full of skeletons as the next person. And then it turns into revealing all so that no one can hold any of my secrets over me. "Why should I care if you told my secret to the whole world? I already did it." But, the problem is, they still judge me for it. And I know they do. So what is my defense mechanism? Try to even out the scale by piling more "good deeds" on the other side? Do I try to unearth other's darker secrets to make myself feel better? And where does it end? At what point do our hearts stop beating life and start beating self-hate, self-loathing, shame, bitterness, fear?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lho8smvxZd1qasxryo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lho8smvxZd1qasxryo1_500.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a>What is the solution? Do I just let it all hang out there? (For anyone who's read my blog...I let a good bit of it hang out there.) But, is there a point where we become too vulnerable? And how much are we really taking care of other people if we reveal more than they're capable of handling?<br />
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The famous Dr. Seuss quote, "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind," has become a bit of a mantra to me. But, the problem arises when those who mind <i>do</i> matter; whether it's because you're rising to a position of influence in the public spotlight, or maybe it's just because you're (I'm) so damn concerned about having the whole world like you (me). So what then? How do we embrace vulnerability, transparency without exposing ourselves to brokenness and pain? Like so many things in my life, I'm always seeking the balance point.<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2112804023076648738" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
When I was 15 I started learning how to play the violin. One of the very first lessons involved the proper way to hold the instrument between my chin and shoulder ("Suspension without extra tension) and how to hold the bow. "Find the balance point," instructed my teacher. "It's not where you think it is." The bow is weighted unevenly, so the balance point is where the bow is held, close to the bottom where most of its weight is. "Let the bow float in your hand. Don't grip it, just guide it where you want it to go."<br />
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Oh how I love these lessons in life. Sometimes the balance point is not where we think it is. So what is this balance point of vulnerability? Of allowing another human being to see our nerves exposed, raw and red?<br />
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<b><i>Grace.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Compassion.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Love.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Service.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
And for every scar that lingers- every story from our past of which we're ashamed- every gory detail we try to mask- such a small part of our lives- there should be a bow's length of displays of our gentleness, our graciousness, our gratitude that "to feel this vulnerable means I'm alive."<br />
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Like most matters of the human heart, vulnerability is not simple, and it certainly is not easy. But, in the ever-wise words of C.S. Lewis, "Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully 'round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But, in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken, it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."<br />
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So, when did I stop wanting to be invulnerable? When did I want to let the joy bubble up and drown out all the fear and regret? Well....sometime between dawn and dusk; the space between starting this post a month ago and ending it today; the moment between inhale and exhale; the semi-conscious realm between waking and sleeping.<br />
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To love is to be vulnerable.<br />
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I love.<br />
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I am vulnerable.<br />
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I am grateful to feel this alive.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-31412218469366783322014-02-04T12:07:00.000-05:002015-04-13T11:58:23.033-04:00"Religion often gets in the way of God." -BonoThroughout my 30 years of believing in a higher power—in the Great Creator, the Intelligent Designer....hell, the All-Powerful-Oz—I have never more strongly felt like perhaps the traditional religiosity that has been put before me to follow all my life is merely an empty shell of what true Christianity is.<br />
<br />
For many years, I have become increasingly turned off by the hypocrisy and condemnation I have found in organized religion. "I don't want to be judged, so why would I go to church?" I crave Truth, but I crave it with Love. I yearn for Passion, but I yearn for it with Discernment. I desire Justice, but I desire it with Grace. And as I look back on the different places I have lived and the churches I have chosen to attend while there, I start to see a pattern -<br />
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New Community<br />
<br />
The Jesus Fellowship<br />
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Church!<br />
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New Life<br />
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Churches that meet in empty lots on the South Side of Pittsburgh, the worship leader bedecked with piercings, tattoos, grace, compassion, and service; churches that set up a booth in Park Slope in Brooklyn for community outreach during a street fair...not one pamphlet in sight, but a member who quietly, gently counsels an abused woman who comes for help; churches where people show up in their best next to people whose best is a ratty pair of jeans and flannel; churches that are small and intimate and only spend 30 minutes in worship before rushing out into the community to serve...to love...to care for the fatherless and the widow.<br />
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And my heart was filled to bursting because, so often, I was the one who needed counsel, grace, love, compassion. I needed to know that even though my life was falling down around me, even though the decisions I was making were becoming increasingly toxic, even though my lifestyle looked nothing like the Bible-Quizzing-Youth-Group-Leader-Sunday-School-Champ girl I used to be, that there was still room at God's all-encompassing table for me, that I could approach the Throne of Grace despite being dirty and beaten, that I could still come broken without fear of condemnation.<br />
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And then I came home.<br />
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<a href="http://grist.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/hypocrisy1-carousel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://grist.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/hypocrisy1-carousel.jpg" height="261" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>It's interesting to me that people's idea of Christianity is so often wrapped up in "keeping each other accountable," when the reality so often means using that phrase to feel more righteous...to continue to propagate the lie that there is a sin scale and your sin is so much worse than mine so I have a right to call you out on it and help you to be more Christ-like... more like me.<br />
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And the reality is that we get so caught up in who's doing what and jargon and theology that we forget that the paramount mission of Christ was to create a bridge for us to God.<br />
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"Truly He taught us to love one another<br />
His law is love and His gospel is peace.<br />
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother,<br />
And in His name all oppression shall cease."</blockquote>
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Why do we forget that he did not come to heal the well, but the sick? When did it become a requirement that in order to go to church, you have to be "fixed?" Are we that uncomfortable with confronting the sin nature in ourselves, that we will turn someone away because they remind us of our own propensity for evil?<br />
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I have a love/hate relationship with the word "Progressive." I love the actual definition of the word:<br />
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Moving forward; proceeding onward; advancing; as progressive motion or course; opposed to retrograde.</blockquote>
As a church, we need to move forward, proceed onward, advance, progress in our course. We need to embrace our current culture and look for ways to renew it and not be afraid of it. However, I hate how the societal implications of the word marginalize those who proclaim it as feisty liberal upstarts who want to destroy the status quo. If anything, perhaps being progressive only means to get back to our roots.<br />
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Progressives believe that if we blindly pursue our own needs and ignore those of others, our society will degenerate. -What it Means to be Progressive: A Manifesto</blockquote>
This sounds very much like what a Man said over 2,000 years ago, to love your neighbor as yourself. I want the Christianity of Nelson Mandela, Bono, Pope Francis, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther King, Jr. I want to be part of an organization who follows the example of Him for whom we're named. I want to have the humility and strength to reach across brokenness with love, heal anger with grace, and embrace the sinner with compassion.<br />
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Because at the end of the day, are we not all made in the Image of God? Did Christ not die for all for the forgiveness of sin?The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-14697769850681397432012-11-02T11:11:00.001-04:002012-11-02T11:11:29.676-04:00Remnants of GriefIt came on like a wave driving home at eleven o'clock last night. Listening to "Murder She Wrote" station on Pandora....the hypnotic beats of reggae streaming from the speakers,<br />
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and the tears came altogether unexpected and unbidden. Like a torrent of unknown remnants of grief that will never completely go away, my body shook with the intensity of it.<br />
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No more music pulsing through the cab of Strider. I could no longer bear to hear anything else but the sound of my rasping sobs. And like a mantra, I kept repeating, "Nonna. Nonna. Nonna." How is it that I can function like a normal human being most days of the year, but now, so near the anniversary of her death, I am reduced to a hopeless mess?<br />
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Two years.<br />
<br />
Two years ago I was taking shots of rum every night just to calm my wracking cough and to calm my frayed nerves. Two years ago I was grabbing handfuls of minutes for sleep - on the immaculately maintained oriental carpet in the upstairs living room....on the 55-year-old sofa downstairs.....on the reclining chair....in my arms resting on top of the kitchen table made by my Nonno's hands so many years ago. Between the shifts of rotating Nonna with my father and uncles so she wouldn't get bed sores, the moments of choking back the bile and tears when changing her diaper, and the hours of desperation praying by her bedside, I lost all knowledge of the world outside 172 Marrano Drive. Occasionally the outside world tried to demand my attention: new landlords looking for a signed lease to an apartment in Brooklyn, an employer needing me to work remotely, friends and family checking in. To all of them I had the same reply, Later. Not Now. No. I'll call you back. What I really wanted to say was, Fuck off! Don't you know my world is ending?<br />
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During those last days, memories of Nonna failed to solidify and I was left with only the <i>feeling</i>, the <i>sense</i> of her in my life over the last 26 years. Nonna in the kitchen. Nonna sitting on the front porch. Nonna in the garden. Nonna's laugh. Nonna cleaning. Nonna singing. Nonna keeping the equilibrium in the family.<br />
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Her passing was like a thread coming loose on a hem that continues to unravel over time until the whole garment is undone. In some ways, it has brought everyone closer together. In others, the difference is palpable. In all ways, I still wrestle with the seeming meaninglessness of it all.<br />
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Tomorrow we will celebrate my father's birthday with somber hearts.....as we will for the rest of his life. And the mystery is this: life and death so closely intertwined that one cannot exist without the other....at least not in this world.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-27109573206851092752012-03-02T17:11:00.000-05:002012-03-02T17:11:15.073-05:00Ghosts of the TheaterSince being back on stage again, I've been reminded of all the little traditions and weird superstitions that go along with the theater. Little traditions and weird superstitions that were first instilled in me by my director at Waynesburg, Eddie. For all his <strike>occasional</strike> constant creepiness, I really do miss his opening night speech about being artists and how strictly he adhered to theater superstitions that aren't taken as seriously at the Academy. There have been many times when someone has walked whistling across the stage and I cringe inwardly and have to fight against screaming out, "No whistling on-stage!!!!"<br />
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So, since I've had to refrain from dumping my nerdy superstitions on my fellow non-aware thespians, I will do it here. These are some of the best, the worst, and the funniest traditions and superstitions that I hold near and dear to my heart. Enjoy!<br />
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<ol><li>No Whistling On Stage. This is extremely bad luck and bodes no goods-ville for the production. The superstition dates back to the old days of theater when the sets were still operated by men up in the rigging who would control the fly system. At the time, the counterweights used to "fly" components of the set (curtains, lights, scenery, etc.) between scenes were normally sandbags. Since the crew couldn't yell at each other during a show, they would use various whistling codes to queue when to release varies ropes and pulleys, normally resulting in the dropping of a sandbag. If an unfortunate passer by was walking across the stage and whistling a random ditty, the fly crew could mistakenly interpret it as a queue and release a sandbag on top of the unsuspecting bloke. Lights out for that poor fellow.</li>
<li>Never, Never, NEVER, Say The Word Macbeth Inside A Theater. Always to be referred to as "The Scottish Play" within theater walls and, to the more superstitious, everywhere else as well. Seasoned actors know not to utter the word of one of Shakespeare's bloodier tragedies. The reason? Plain and simply, it's cursed. So many strange and terrible events have surrounded the production of this show in theater history, including tales that one actor died in a fight scene when one of the prop daggers was replaced with a real one. If anyone ever, by accident or not, utters the taboo name, one must perform a "cleansing ritual." My favorite? Running outside, spinning around three times, spitting, and shouting "If we shadows have offended!" from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Here are a few other reasons why some (me) believe the tragedy is cursed:</li>
<ol><li>The spells cast by the three witches in one of the scenes are real curses Shakespeare "borrowed" from an actual coven of witches who were so offended when they found out, they cursed the play.</li>
<li>The character <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scottish_Play" target="_blank">H----</a> was not originally in the script and including her will intensify the curse.</li>
<li> There are a plethora of intricate fight scenes that are cause for accidents with or without a curse.</li>
<li>It is a financially draining production which could be the reason why many theaters went belly up after its production.</li>
<li>Shakespeare himself cursed the play so none but he would ever direct it. </li>
</ol><li>Never Wish An Actor "Good Luck." It's always "Break A Leg." Mostly because, again, theater people are superstitious, so if you say "good luck" you're just tempting the fate gods to rain bad luck down upon you. Another understanding is in the definition of bowing, placing one foot behind the other to "break" the line of the legs. To "Break Legs" would insinuate to have such a good show and the audience applauds so long, that one is required to take many bows. </li>
<li>Always Leave On A "Ghost Light." Practically speaking, this started for safety. If anyone has ever tried to navigate across a stage in the pitch black, it's near impossible not to hurt yourself. There is no way to get your bearings, no wall to run your hand along, just wide open space. Leaving a light (normally set downstage center) lit for the late night passer by is just plain courtesy. However, the story that Eddie always told us that I believe to my core is that we leave a light on so that the Spirits of the Theater can come and perform for each other long after the last cast and crew member has left the theater. Every play and musical has an energy to it and after the show closes, the spirits of that show remain and reenact it on their own. There's also the belief that when a great actor of a particular theater passes on, his or her spirit comes back as a benevolent force for that stage. <br />
Every theater has its own ghost story. Here are a few:</li>
<ol><li> The Palace Theater in London never sells two seats in the balcony as they are always reserved for the theater ghosts.</li>
<li>While rehearsals are underway at the famous Drury Lane Theater in England, it is considered good luck to see the Man In Grey. </li>
<li>Just the other night, one of the actors in Fiddler was talking about how he was there late at night and the lights kept flickering for not reason accompanied by strange noises. He finally had too much and decided to leave. As he was leaving he said out loud, "Ok, I get the point, I'm leaving now" only to get to his car and realize he left his cell phone inside. Upon entering the theater again, one of the light bulbs (that was off) exploded and rained glass over his head. He grabbed his phone and left. </li>
</ol><li>The Final Bow. I'm not sure how many people do this if Eddie and I are the only ones. The truth is that I adopted this tradition from him way back during my freshmen year after playing Agnes in the heart-wrenching three-woman show Agnes of God.<br />
On closing night at the end of the show, after all the lights are off (except the Ghost Light of course), after everyone has left, the last clap applauded, the costumes hung away, the last bow taken, there is one final bow. One Final Bow on a darkened stage to an empty audience. Bow Stage Left. Bow Stage Right. Bow Center Stage. And then right in the middle of that stage, in the very center, turn around and Bow Upstage, back towards the seats. It is a ritual of saying thank you - to everyone involved in the production - but mostly to the Spirits. A thank you for allowing me to partake in my character and share the joys and sorrows. It is the final touch to put the show to bed.<br />
Back in my Waynesburg days, it was a bonding moment for me and Eddie, a moment to thank the Spirits together and then sit on the top step and talk about all the highs and lows of the show. After West Side Story my senior year, it was a moment to say a tearful goodbye. </li>
</ol><div>It's hard to have this moment at the Academy since we strike the set immediately after our final performance. There's so much bustle that the Final Bow usually has to wait until the set is taken down and there are only remnants of the energy that lingers in the drapes, in the seats, in the curtains, in the very walls. </div><div><br />
</div><div>There's something very noble and beautiful about The Stage. And it's for all the little reasons above and so much more that I am so grateful to be able to participate in such an age-old tradition. Tradition. Tradition! Without tradition, our lives would be as shake as....A Fiddler On The Roof!</div><div><br />
</div><div>And on that note....</div><div><br />
</div>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-22230323502883686862012-03-01T16:52:00.001-05:002012-03-02T16:08:43.371-05:00Take My World ApartI used to listen to this song on repeat when I was in high school. This morning I was brought to tears listening to the Christian station driving into work. Obviously, my Pandora has been set to my David Crowder station all day, and World's Apart just came on. I couldn't help but put the volume up a few notches and sing along to <strike>a few lines </strike> all of it (my boss is out this week).<br />
I was just as struck to the heart by these lyrics as I used to be (emphasis mine):<br />
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"I look beyond the empty cross<br />
forgetting what my life has cost<br />
and wipe away the crimson stains<br />
and dull the nails that still remain.<br />
More and more I need you now,<br />
I owe you more each passing hour.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>The battle between grace and pride</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>I gave up not so long ago.</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>So steal my heart and take the pain</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>and wash the feet and cleanse my pride</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><b>take the selfish, take the weak,</b></i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><b>and all the things I cannot hide.</b></i></div><i><b>Take the beauty, take my tears</b></i><br />
<i><b>this sin-soaked heart and make it yours.</b></i><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><b>Take my world all apart</b></i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i><b>take it now, take it now!</b></i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
And serve the ones that I despise</div>speak the words I can't deny<br />
<i>watch the world I used to love</i><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><i>fall to dust and thrown away.</i></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I look beyond the empty cross</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">forgetting what my life has cost.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">So wipe away the crimson stains</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">and dull the nails that still remain.</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">So, steal my heart and take the pain,</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">take the selfish, take the weak,</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">and all the things I cannot hide,</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">take the beauty, take my tears,</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">take my world apart. </div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Take my world apart. </div>I pray, I pray, I pray.<br />
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<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Take My. World. Apart."</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Words to be meditated upon. </div>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-43257292723547505462011-12-29T13:48:00.000-05:002011-12-29T13:48:19.170-05:00The Dallas Woman's Guide to Gold-Digging With Pride"I'm fed up with the ramen-eating artist who can't work a real job because he must think about creating. I'm sick of the relationship-phobic professional who is great for the first month, then turns aloof and weird. He get angry at you because you assume he's your steady Friday-night date and rebels against cuddling. I'm disgusted with the emotional vampire, the guy who leeches on to your own reserves and demands that you validate his whole existence. <i>Yes, you are a great writer/lawyer/politician, and great in bed and very, very funny. </i>This kind of man is never generous in return, neither emotionally nor materially. I should add that in all these involvements there is some incident of cheating [....] I'm exhausted from the relationships I've endured, so I've decided to try it Aimee's way."<div><br />
</div><div>I'm beginning to see why this is my cousin's favorite book. </div>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-59108816900873390412011-12-20T12:15:00.001-05:002014-02-19T12:43:46.198-05:00The Ghost of Christmas PresentThe year is winding down. Days are ticking off the calendar like the small remainder of leaves ripped from the trees in this morning's wind gusts. It's strange realizing that Christmas is less than a week away. I used to have trouble believing how people could actually be depressed during the holiday season, but now it's not so far-fetched. And while this year the loss of my Nonna is easier to bear than it was <a href="http://logarithmicspirall.blogspot.com/2011/01/no-tribute-great-enough.html" target="_blank">last year</a>, it is still hard this time of year knowing that I won't ever again be able to make <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panzerotti" target="_blank"><i>fraitz</i> </a>with her bustling around the kitchen or listen to her high soprano singing old Italian Christmas songs.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thehomesitter.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/decorated-christmas-trees-285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://thehomesitter.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/decorated-christmas-trees-285.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Move over, Martha Stewart!</span></b></td></tr>
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It is becoming increasingly easier to hold her memory in my heart without sinking into the sadness of loss. Nevertheless, I still long for her - her very essence - especially on this most festive of months.<br />
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Considering my life last year and how far the past 300+ days have brought me, I can't really complain too much. I am so cozy in my Little Mansion with my Teacup Panther and my Giant Nova Scotian Balsam Fir all decked out in gold and red.<br />
I have loved decorating for Christmas this year. And, despite not being able to go to Buffalo this year, there's no other place I'd rather be than snuggled in with my family on good ol' Cape Cod, cooking and eating and drinking and watching Christmas movies together.<br />
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So no, I'm not depressed this year, but I understand the joy and peace so much more than ever before. Much to love, much to cherish, much to celebrate.<br />
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God bless us, everyoneThe Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-78255676512059538062011-12-16T13:55:00.000-05:002011-12-16T13:55:21.484-05:00Ernest Hemingway"From things that have happened and from all things that you know and all those you cannot know, you make something through your invention that is not a representation but a whole new thing truer than anything true and alive, and you make it alive, and if you make it well enough, you give it immortality. That is why you write and for no other reason."The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-81257765769325690382011-12-15T13:08:00.001-05:002011-12-17T09:02:15.927-05:00I Will Not Go Quietly Into The NightAt that moment I stood in the bathroom washing my face and hands. Not a single tear in my eyes. But there was no light in them either. I remember having the most mundane thought that we really needed to put a space heater in the bathroom because it was always so damn cold. I could feel it working its way through my feet, up my legs, around my heart. Somehow, as much as I hate feeling chilled, I embraced it at that moment.<br />
<br />
At that moment he stood there. He stood there next to me, watching my shaky hands wipe away the mess and the shame, mocking me for being upset. "You can't possibly think that I'm going to believe that you didn't want it." "Baby, you know I love you." "You've always liked it when I did that before." "I know you could've fought harder to get away if you really didn't want it."<br />
<br />
At that moment I felt nothing. And then there was another moment when I thought I would actually try to fight back. There was a moment when I thought I should try to win this battle of him always being right, of me always being too dramatic, of us always being "bigger than this." But, at that moment, I dried my hands and lost the war.<br />
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I wish I could say that I reported this crime to the police. I wish I could say that I left him after that night. I wish I could say that this was the only time I have had my dignity stripped away with my clothing. Unfortunately, I am not the only one that has been sexually assaulted by someone near and dear to me. Not all rapes are performed by a man in shadow in a dark alley. Actually, <a href="http://www.rainn.org/statistics" target="_blank">38 percent</a> of rapists are friends or acquaintances of the victim and 2/3 of assaults are committed by someone the victim knows. In fact, in the 30 minutes it's taken me to find the words and the courage to write this far, 15 women in the United States have been sexually assaulted. Chances are, if you are a man or a woman reading this who is blessed to be untouched, then you know someone who has been touched at some point in a way in which they did not want. Whether you know it or not. Sometimes not even the victims fully know it because they pass it off as no big deal. I still remember how shocked I was when I realized that throughout the 11 months of our relationship (11 months at the end of our seven year on-again, off-again relationship), I had been repeatedly raped by my boyfriend. But, I was 22 and had just lost my virginity, how was I to know that when I told him to stop because it hurt and he didn't - over and over and over again - that it was wrong? We were in love! And besides, he and I both knew that I'm dramatic and make too big of a deal out of things and I should stop putting our relationship through the ringer by "picking fights." Our relationship was worth more than my physical pain. After all, maybe there was just something wrong with me.<br />
<br />
Yes, there was something wrong with me. The image I had of myself as not being worth only the utmost respect and love was what was wrong with me. And yet, even as I'm typing this I realize that I still have to remind myself that, Oh yes, I <i>am </i>a Lady of Worth. Because this is the truly heartrending statistic: too many women have been <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/yashar-hedayat/a-message-to-women-from-a_1_b_958859.html?ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false" target="_blank">gaslighted</a> their whole lives into thinking that the problem lies within them. That, to paraphrase my dear friend,<a href="http://thelilredhairedgirl.tumblr.com/post/14052640841/in-the-room" target="_blank"> if you don't want to get raped then it's up to you to not make bad decisions.</a> And her blog post is really at the heart of why I am writing this. Because I want to be in the Get Shit Done room not the Get Over It room.<br />
<br />
And perhaps the reason why supposed strong, confident women stay in the wrong Room is because we've been told our whole lives that the problem inherently lies within us. If I wasn't such a flirt, if I didn't wear that outfit, if I wasn't such a good dancer, if I didn't take that particular way home, if I had only worn a robe over my nightgown around my grandfather like my grandmother had warned me. We've been told by society, by boyfriends, and sometimes by parents that if you act a certain way you get certain results. It's the same justification that passes over "lady of the night" murders; the "well, she was a prostitute, what do you expect" mentality that simply continues to perpetrate the lie that it is somehow our fault.<br />
<br />
However, I do want to say this and say it very clearly: there is something to be said for modesty and the fact that there are certain lifestyles that leave women more susceptible to abuse. Does that make it our fault? No. Do we need to be even more cautious? Yes.<br />
<br />
The summer of my 21st year, I went out a lot. A lot. To say my conservative Christian parents were nervous was an understatement. Yet, during all the repeated conversations I had with them, they always reiterated the fact that it wasn't that they didn't trust me, they didn't trust the other people out on the roads driving drunk at that hour; they didn't trust the creepy guys that congregate in bars and club looking for only one thing. My parents have been around the block quite a few times and are not naive. They are not conservative because they have always been so, but because they have lived on the opposite side and been burned too many times.<br />
<br />
I have been burned as well. But, I am not going to hide away from fear because of it. I am a woman and I have a voice. Right now it might be a small, scared voice, but, like the Who's kept alive so precariously on the speck on Horton's thistle, I AM HERE! And I will not go quietly into the night. So, thank you, Muska, for your post. It has reminded me, yet again, of why I am constantly inspired by your bravery and ability to use words to display it so effectively. More importantly, I am reminded that my purpose and vision for life has always been to effect positive change, to know that in my own way I am saving a small corner of the world. And that saving doesn't have to be overnight or to millions of people. It starts with one.<br />
<br />
It starts with each one of us telling the men in our lives what is and isn't acceptable. It starts with us claiming that we are Ladies of Worth. It starts by getting in <a href="http://thelilredhairedgirl.tumblr.com/post/14052640841/in-the-room" target="_blank">The Room</a>.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-82844310020009059862011-12-13T14:55:00.000-05:002014-05-20T14:14:57.668-04:00Faithfulness Is What I Long ForI've been thinking a lot about infidelity. Why people cheat, what causes it, how does it happen? For whatever reason, it's been rearing its ugly head in my life more often than not lately, so, as is my M.O., I am going to use the gentle clacking of my keyboard to work through some of this and use it as a form of therapy.<br />
<br />
I spent a good portion of last night researching the causes of infidelity. I used to think that before "The Artist" no one had ever cheated on me. And why would they? I'm beautiful, funny, intelligent, caring, an amazing cook, and a damn good kisser. But, apparently that doesn't matter because <a href="http://www.salon.com/2001/01/23/monogamy_2/" target="_blank">Homo sapiens find monogamy difficult</a> (I find this article ridiculous, by the way). Now I'm starting to rethink my original hypothesis of only some people cheat to maybe everyone cheats. Seriously. Does no one understand the sanctity of exclusivity anymore? And now I'm terrified at the thought that maybe someday I too will fall along the wayside of secret meetings and guilty conscious and "I had to work late" just because I cannot deny my animal nature.<br />
<br />
I had a conversation with one of my cousins while I was in Dallas for Thanksgiving about faithfulness and what it means to cheat. I believe that one does not need to actually have sex with someone else to cheat, although that is the ultimate culmination. Like all things, cheating begins in the heart and the mind. It begins by making a concious decision. For instance, if I go into work thinking, "Oh that project isn't due until next week. Maybe I'll work on it today." I most likely will not. However, if I go in thinking, "I will finish this project today no matter what!" I will finish it no matter what. Why? Because the mind is a powerful thing. The reason why I became a vegetarian and lost over 30 pounds three years ago wasn't because I thought it would be nice, but because I set my fucking mind to it.<br />
<br />
Everything worth something is worth the hard work. So I told my cousin....if this man that treats you like gold is the person you want to be with for the rest of your life, then you need to find a way to work through whatever needs to be worked through. If, for whatever reason, he's not, then you need to end the relationship for the right reasons with the dignity that your time together deserves, not for another man.<br />
<br />
Growing up, my parent's did not allow my sister or me to date. They were huge advocates of <a href="http://polynate.net/books/courtship/part1.html" target="_blank">courtship</a>. While I definitely don't ascribe to these rules in the strictest sense (and I most certainly didn't when I was 16), I do believe that most dating relationships do the opposite in preparing people for a lasting marriage. The way our modern society practices dating, it, in essence, prepares people for divorce. What do you do when you don't like/love/find the other person attractive anymore? Break up with your partner. What do you do when you find someone else more appealing? Break up with your partner. What happens when things get hard? Break up with your partner. Getting married does not mean that all of a sudden all those things that happened when you were "dating" disappear. If anything, they're magnified. It's just as easy for a married person to be attracted to someone else as it is for a single person. The difference is that there are vows and promises made (which really don't mean much today anyway). The point behind all of this is <i>commitment</i>. When you are committed to another person, it means that you are choosing to sacrifice your own needs and wants for the other's ultimate happiness.<br />
<br />
Marriage is a covenant, a solemn agreement between two people to do, or not do, something specified - namely, to be faithful....to promise to love, cherish, and honor the other person through the good and the bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer. These vows are sacred. I love the wording of the original marriage vows: "...holy matrimony which is an honorable estate, instituted of God, in the time of man's innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his church...and therefore is not by any to be enterprised nor taken in hand unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained."<br />
These vows are not only promises to each other, but in a sense they are law. And just as we are required and obligated to honor and obey the laws of our earthly governments, so we must honor and obey the law of marriage.<br />
<br />
Well that's all well and good for marriage, but what about pre-vow relationships? I believe that the same rules apply, though not as binding. One thing that I carried away from my break up with The Artist was when he told me that he wanted to have our end at least give honor to what we had. Yeah, I know, this coming from the guy who cheated. But, he had a point. I believe that it's important to be able to leave a relationship for the right reasons and "give honor" to what was shared. And, let's be honest, there's really only one reason why you should get out of a relationship: it's not ending in marriage. Because otherwise what's the point? If I cannot see myself spending the rest of my life with this person, what's the point? Unless you're just in it for sex, but that's a completely different topic (it's never <i>just</i> sex). And I trip myself up with this in my dating life <i>all the time</i>. It's not just a matter of, "He's hot and we have fun." At this stage in my life it <b>cannot be about that anymore.</b> But, I think this is where a lot of the problem comes from. This is why many people start dating in the first place and then days/weeks/months/years down the line realize that their non-negotiable's don't match up.<br />
<br />
My non-negotiable's?<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>That he have the same sense of spirituality/faith as I</li>
<li>That the vision/goals we have for our lives are complementary</li>
<li>That he is well-educated, hard-working, and ambitious</li>
<li>That he is constantly encouraging and making me want to be better</li>
<li>That there is a mutual respect, attraction, and selfless approach to loving the other person as they need to be loved, not how we want to be loved. </li>
</ol>
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So why would I even think about being with anyone that doesn't meet these key criteria? Because of stinking feelings and their funny ways! And feelings are funny because they are fleeting and we cannot trust them. Which is why love is so much more than that. It is the commitment that I spoke about before; it is a constant choice to love the other person as they need to be loved, not how you think they should be loved, or how you need to be loved yourself; it is a decision that starts <i>in the heart</i> to be faithful. </div>
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This is the way my conservative Christian parents raised me and this is why I'm not really afraid that I will give into some animal instinct one day and be unfaithful. I know because I have set it in my mind and in my heart as not even an option for my life. Just as it's not an option to do conscious, malicious harm to others, it's not an option to give up or to look back, it is not an option to break my promises. </div>
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It's not an option to live with anything less than the utmost integrity. </div>
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So no, I don't believe that we're hardwired to cheat. I think that we are, at heart, selfish beings and our society has become conditioned to accept the easy way, the fast way, the most convenient way as king. We are all tempted and herein is not where the sin lies. The brokenness comes from giving into the temptations, some with worse and harder consequences than others. I am far from perfect and have my share of battle scars, but I would hope that the consequences of my sins, no matter how grievous, are always born by me and me alone and do all that I can to spare others from the same pain to which I have been subjected. </div>
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But, I am coming to learn more and more that the foundations for all of this is laid early on in the home. And if it is not set then, when will it be established?</div>
The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-18951686609658888402011-12-12T13:38:00.000-05:002011-12-12T13:38:02.836-05:00InspiredI am stealing this idea from<a href="http://lifeismyroadmap.blogspot.com/2011/12/some-things-ive-been-heard-saying-to-my.html" target="_blank"> someone wonderful</a>.<br />
<br />
Things I Have Caught Myself Saying to my Cat:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>You are so much smarter than that (as he attacks his reflection in the mirror)</li>
<li>You are crazy if you think you're going outside after sundown</li>
<li>Chill out! You know you only get to eat twice a day</li>
<li>Snuggle in (this is said often)</li>
<li>Wipe your paws before you come in (he does)</li>
<li>Tokes! Don't be weird</li>
<li>I'm sorry I stepped on you, but you should know better than to swirl around my legs when I'm trying to cook. I'm not saying it's your fault, but.....</li>
<li>Yes, it's still as cold as it was 5 minutes ago when you wanted to go out but realized it was too cold the first time.</li>
<li>Bye buddy, I love you, have a good day! (every single morning)</li>
</ul>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-72527528632572247462011-12-12T12:10:00.000-05:002014-07-23T11:57:24.855-04:00Nerd FailI used to think I was a nerd. Took pride in it. Bragged about it. Embraced it. Why, you ask? Why-ever did a beautiful, charming, witty, fashionista such as moi stereotype herself as a nerd? I will tell you, loyal readers: for the mere fact that I was raised on Star Wars (Han Solo will forever be my perfect man....Oh Noble-Bad-Boy-With-A-Heart-Of-Gold-and-Killer-Good-Looks, where have you been all my life?) and SciFy, constantly had my nose in a book and actually enjoyed studying, and - most importantly - I was a beast at rescuing Princess Peach from the evil Bowzer a la 1988 NES 8-bit gloriousness.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Evil Mushrooms still look like owls to me</span></b></td></tr>
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But, <i>alas</i>, I have been sorely mistaken! Misinformed of what a true nerd is! What is this anime nonsense? And no I do not wish to partake! Play video games past the age of 11 on a system other than NES or Sega? Blasphemy! Graphic novels and and graphic-ier t-shirts? Don't make me give you what-for!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I'm sorry, I don't speak freaky deaky dutch!</span></b></td></tr>
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I have come to the realization of my non-nerdom over the slow course of time...so basically since this summer. It started with meeting <a href="http://logarithmicspirall.blogspot.com/2011/07/dog-days-are-over.html" target="_blank">TLGOE</a>. I foolishly believed that our nerdness was equal, but I soon learned that I was merely a minnow in the large ocean of NERD. This was the first inkling I had that my much-coveted title of Hot Nerd Chic might be false. The mass amounts of technology in his loft and superhero posters on his walls left me speechless with the epicness of it all. Unfortunately, things fell apart with TLGOE, although not because of the X-Box....perhaps because I just couldn't stop comparing myself to PowerGirl's effortlessly perky tits. Or maybe I was jealous of Ramona Flowers. The world will never know.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I mean, how do you compete with this?</span></b></td></tr>
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My second hint that not all was well in the "I'm-A-Fucking-Nerd" world was after Mr. LA Looks himself entered the scene. After our first conversation I knew - Oh boy did I know! - here was a fellow nerd on my level. We can talk about how the subtle sexiness of Leia's white robe outfit is <strike>so much better</strike> totally not as hot as<strike> the blatant sex she oozes in </strike>her slave girl outfit! We can dream of naming our first car the Millennium Falcon! He can show me a video clip of him and his friend....battling with light sabers....? Epic? Yes! A display of his mad crazy editing skillz? Indubitably! A sign that I was surpassed, yet again, in the nerd department? Without a doubt. </div>
<br />
Of course I comforted myself with the knowledge that yes, of course I can still hold onto my Hot Nerd Chic title. For a girl, I'm still a total nerd, it's just the men-folk that have the upper hand, right? <i>Right??</i> Ah, but here is where the proverbial nail in the coffin is pounded home:<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving 2011: South Lake, TX. Scene I: The disgusted look on Hot Cousin Number 1's face when I claim that I "know nothing of Harry Potter." Scene II: The copious amounts of excitement displayed by Hot Cousin Number 2 as she played her World of Warcraft version of Xbox for the first time and me not understanding it at allllllllll. Scene III: All of my Hot Cousins having some inherent knowledge of all things pokemon, internet cats, and random cartoons. I was humbled in the grandeur of their Ultimate Hot Nerd Chic-ness. I was merely flotsam bobbing hopelessly in the wake of their Nerdliner. I was utterly and completely destroyed.<br />
<br />
Until I realized that I can be ok with this. In fact, I am embracing NOT being a nerd. You know why? Because I am amazing at accessorizing the shit out of an outfit and looking hella tight 365. That's right, bitches, not only will I kill you on NES, I will also out-outfit you (except my hot-nerd cousins are total trend-setters. Blast!).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Seriously, what else do you need?</span></b></td></tr>
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And to top it off, the time I save by NOT playing video games and looking up <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGZiyj7i_iw" target="_blank">LOLZ Cats</a> I can use to learn another language, teach myself to play piano again, learn the choreography to my favorite scene in White Christmas:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ax66QU8pvtA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<b>Seriously won't get married until the man I'm with reenacts this scene with me. You think I'm kidding....</b></div>
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And I will get around to all those things right after this: </div>
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<b>You're Welcome</b></div>
</div>
The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-72341741980872023862011-11-30T16:14:00.000-05:002011-11-30T16:14:39.212-05:00The Dew of the Little ThingsI sat with my back so straight I remember consciously thinking that the other students were going to think I was some snobby dancer mocking them with how good my posture was. I slouched a little bit, but couldn't maintain it, I was that nervous. My right index finger started to ache with how tightly I was gripping my pen.<br />
<br />
"I don't belong here. There has been some terrible mistake and I am going to utterly disappoint everyone here and I will be a failure."<br />
<br />
"What were they thinking? I cannot compete with the other people here. I don't even know if I'm a good writer. Actually I do...I know I can't write as well as the people in here probably can."<br />
<br />
The "people in here" were a collection of twenty students from across the country. Only 20 students selected from the entire country to participate in a month-long internship in Washington D.C. with the World Journalism Institute. I was scared shitless.<br />
<br />
I don't remember much else from that first evening except for one crucial phrase. It was after the director of the Institute walked in the room, full of energy and excitement, announcing that, "Each one of you are here for a reason." My ears perked up. What? It's not an accident that they selected me-ME-out of hundreds of applicants to spend a month training with the top writers, researchers, journalists in the field? I am here for a reason. There is a purpose behind everything even if I don't know it yet.<br />
<br />
What I thought the purpose of that month was is different than what it has turned out to be. In my 20-year-old mind, the purpose of attending WJI was to hone my craft so I could eventually traipse across the world as a foreign/war correspondent the NYT. Obviously. Now, I'm starting to think that perhaps the main purpose was not so much about what I would do with the training I received, but how my life would be changed by the people I met. One person in particular.<br />
<br />
One person who I have not seen since that hot summer in DC seven and a half years ago. Until three days ago. For five glorious hours, <a href="http://lifeismyroadmap.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Holly </a>and I nestled ourselves into a back corner of a French Bistro in a part of the country neither of us have ever been before and talked. And talked. And planned. And dreamed. And had an altogether natural, no-where-near-out-of-the-ordinary, it-was-as-if-we-saw-each-other-seven-days-not-years-ago conversation. Maybe it was the Skype dates in the not-so-distant past; the long distance phone calls, the emails and Facebook messages, the blog posts that meant we weren't catching up on the last seven years of our lives, but merely updating since the last time we had an in depth conversation (probably about a month ago).<br />
<br />
I am more and more in awe of how I can call this woman my friend and that she's actually closer to me than some of the people who I have grown up next to despite the hundreds of miles that separate us. It's crazy to think that I would rather spend 16 days in a car with her this summer than with anyone else because I know <i>she gets it</i>. She gets me. She mirrors the passion I have inside to <i>do something</i>. To get up off our asses and affect change. To make a difference. <b>To live boldly and purposefully.</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EjVHVO3ACdE/TtaCC9q8K-I/AAAAAAAAAFA/HZ_TmW_Vmow/s1600/wji2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EjVHVO3ACdE/TtaCC9q8K-I/AAAAAAAAAFA/HZ_TmW_Vmow/s320/wji2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I Adore This Girl</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
In this crazy, beautiful, stressful, adventurous, unpredictable, sometimes fucked up life, it is so rare and difficult to find a kindred spirit; a twin soul who will journey through with you whether that means laughing at your own stupidity or crying over it. We have seen each other through college exams and graduations, first jobs, first times living alone, first heart breaks. We have been able to talk through despair and death and sorrow. We have lived through multiple moves to multiple parts of the country. All with about 3,000 miles between us. Yet, through all of this, we both have held on to an unwavering sense of hope. An understanding that there is a great need to be met and we <i>will</i> rise to the challenge.<br />
<br />
One of my favorite writers/poets, Khalil Gibran, wrote it so perfectly in his poem <a href="http://www.katsandogz.com/onfriends.html" target="_blank">On Friendship</a>,<i> "And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit....And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." </i><br />
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div>That is why, with her notebook, calendar, and smart phone in hand, we mapped out the route we will take on our<a href="http://logarithmicspirall.blogspot.com/2011/09/new-obsession.html" target="_blank"> road trip</a>, how many miles, how long it will take, what we want to do, what theme we will have. And while it's not going to be the entire country or the whole summer like we originally envisioned (we are, after all, responsible adults with jobs, pets, rent, and bills), I believe it will be perfect.<br />
<br />
After Holly dropped me back off at my uncle's house and we were hugging each other goodbye, she said, "There's no way we can go seven years without seeing each other again. We can't. We have June."<br />
<br />
We have June. Let the countdown begin. :)<br />
<br />
Oh, and for the record, I wasn't a failure at WJI. My writing skills were comparable (sometimes better) than the other students there. Yes, each one of us was there for a reason.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-5398674651074193332011-11-18T16:14:00.001-05:002011-11-18T16:16:06.476-05:00There are Some Days...There are some days when I feel a sort of sad nostalgia. It's almost as if the small child I used to be visited me in my dreams, looked into my soul and let the giant tears run down my former face. Do you ever have moments when you wish you could go back and take your 5-year-old self in your arms and just rock back and forth as you both cry together? Sometimes I think I was wiser as a child when I was content to just sit and play with a stick and a rock and maybe a matchbox car....when I would lie on "The Rock" - the giant glacier boulder in the yard of one of the houses in which I grew up - and just watch the clouds for hours until I almost forgot reality. My imagination was my playmate. It still is in so many ways and it's something I'm trying to instill in the little boys for which I nanny four nights a week. When I first started two months ago, they would cry when I turned off the TV. Now they don't seem to notice. Yes, I am proud of this.<br />
<br />
There are some days when I feel like this:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Open me up and you will see</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a gallery of broken hearts</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm beyond repair, let me be</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And give me back my broken parts."</span><br />
<br />
<div>Oh Ingrid Michaelson, please never stop writing amazing lyrics. </div><div><br />
</div><div>There are some days when I truly believe that if I do some weird combination of tasks, I'll unlock the portal into another world or another dimension where there are flying horses to tame and new adventures to be had. "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, I want it more than I can tell. And for once it might be grand to have someone understand, I want so much more than they've got planned." Yes that is from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Yes, I did watch it when it was on TV a few weeks ago....by myself. New mission in life: Find a Beast....</div><div><br />
</div><div>There are some days when I have a sort of indescribable ache in my heart and for no apparent reason I find myself longing for things that are not anymore and craving things that have not become yet. Am I the only one? </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Where are my angels? Where's my Golden One? And where is my hope now that my heroes have gone? Some are being beaten. Some are being born. And some can't tell the difference anymore. Amen."</div><div><br />
</div><div>Amen.</div>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-61459009127401454122011-11-17T11:02:00.000-05:002011-11-17T11:02:19.324-05:00It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love a fancy, color-coordinated decorated tree. Yes, I'm getting a real one this year. And by <i>a</i> real one, I mean <i>two</i>. Upstairs and downstairs, people, upstairs and down...just sayin....</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLjf5K9A3Fo/TsUvOKiWDAI/AAAAAAAAAE0/BIgzpFmcESk/s1600/IMG_0212-776370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLjf5K9A3Fo/TsUvOKiWDAI/AAAAAAAAAE0/BIgzpFmcESk/s400/IMG_0212-776370.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yes, I am already thinking about this</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-11256188653675834502011-11-15T11:14:00.000-05:002011-11-15T11:14:46.378-05:00Independent WomanI love my new apartment. <br />
<br />
I love not having any roommates. No parents. No one to take care of but me and Toki:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9_Vjkc6Op7Y/TsKE1aJbw8I/AAAAAAAAAEs/8I-qWSgji90/s1600/Mobile+Uploads+042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9_Vjkc6Op7Y/TsKE1aJbw8I/AAAAAAAAAEs/8I-qWSgji90/s320/Mobile+Uploads+042.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Toki is a magical cat who greats me every day at the door when I come home from work and keeps my lap warm when I'm watching a movie and my feet warm in bed at night. He wakes me up in the morning by sitting on my chest and placing a little paw on my cheek. This is Toki language for "Feed me." But, on days when I'm not feeling well (which have been a lot lately), he'll just stay curled up by my side, purring, and wait for me to wake up on my own. He's good that way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, this is not supposed to be about Toki even though I've totally <strike>turned into the crazy cat lady </strike>fallen in love with the majestic beast. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ultimately, I love the relaxation that comes from knowing that when I come home, everything will be the way I left it. I can be as clean as I want, but not stress if I leave my breakfast dishes in the sink. I can walk around naked. I can play the music as loud as I want. I can cook at one in the morning. I can dance like no one is watching and literally have no one watching. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love feeling like a big girl again. Not "I'm 27 and still living in my parent's basement." I love not living paycheck-to-paycheck and actually feeling like I'm working towards things that I want....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">....I just spent the last 15 minutes calculating debt-payoff and readjusting my budget. I figure if I cut my monthly allowance, I can be credit card debt free by May....just in time for and Epic Road Trip (please let it happen!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes it's still depressing realizing how far behind I am financially. I feel like I should have some $10,000 nest egg squirreled away somewhere at this point and already be five years into an IRA. Am I the only one who feels this way? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess technically I could be well on my way towards that if I had listened to my dad and stayed in his basement and not spent the extra money each month on rent. But (there's always a "but"), there is no price tag on independence and peace-of-mind. I think I would rather it take me a little bit longer to pay off the debt I racked up in Pittsburgh and Brooklyn and actually be content holed away in my Little Mansion all winter then pay everything off sooner but be in a constant state of pulling out my hair. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It truly is about the little things in life. And I am reveling in them right now.</div>The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-87422783732536319842011-11-14T14:40:00.000-05:002011-11-14T14:40:54.823-05:00Fifty two weeks to a year. Seven days to a week. Twenty four hours to a day. Sixty minutes to an hour. Sixty seconds to a minute.<br />
<br />
Three hundred and sixty five days to a year. 8,760 hours to a year. 525,600 minutes to a year. 31,536,000 seconds to a year.<br />
<br />
26 Years, 10 Months, 8 Days, 8 Hours, 49 Minutes of my life that I could call my Nonna mine.<br />
<br />
I meant to write and post this over a week ago on the anniversary of her death.<br />
The anniversary of her death.<br />
Her death.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's still not real to me. And perhaps that why I have been avoiding this post...because the reality is all at once acceptable and horrifying. After so much time has past, I <i>still</i> don't know how to embrace the inevitable.<br />
<br />
I was sitting with a friend on my porch while I was home from work sick last week and we were talking about signs and visitations from loved ones already passed. During our conversation, a chickadee - his grandmother's favorite bird - kept flitting in the branches of a nearby tree. Moments later a cardinal came and my friend was convinced it was my Nonna. While I don't know one way or another, I do know that her love and the life in her spirit continues to live on. I believe very strongly in the spiritual realm and I know that there is so much which we do not understand.<br />
<br />
Case in point: I had a dream about her on Saturday night. I was in Buffalo sitting on the front porch and Nonna walked out. I knew that it wasn't really her, merely an apparition. But, I told her that the one thing I wanted was to just sit with her and hold her hand. And that's what she did. She also told me some things that I wish I could remember specifically, but it was basically about how much she loves me.<br />
<br />
In the midst of horrible life decisions and not being anywhere near where I thought I would/wanted to be at this stage of my life, it is comforting to have her spirit remind me that I am loved unconditionally. However motivated I am to live a life that will bring her honor, I am also content knowing that no matter what I do or where I am, her love for me remains constant.<br />
<br />
Each step taken; each breath inhaled; each tear to trace its way down my cheek, dissolve in the crevices of my face; each smile that deepens the lines around my eyes is known...is loved...is significant. And that makes all the difference.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-1137825677862317572011-09-26T11:36:00.000-04:002011-09-26T11:36:23.695-04:00On The Up And UpIt's been a rough year. No where near as difficult as last year by any stretch of the imagination, but challenging all the same. However, I do feel as though I am regaining my ability to make more positive life decisions, which I was for sure lacking all of the last two years.<br />
<br />
<strong>Positive Life Decision #1:</strong> <strong>Moving Into My Own Place. </strong>While I am completely grateful to have amazing parents who gave me a place to crash, rent-free, during a really hard transition in my life, I'm at the point where I can financially afford to live on my own and I am in desperate need of my own space. Granted, I could pay off debt quicker of I didn't have to worry about rent, but honestly, I don't feel as though I was actually making the most noticeable of dents since I tend to spend what I have. I feel as though finances or kind of like time for me: <em>The less time I have, the wiser I spend it</em>. Besides, I've lived on my own enough to know how to budget at this point and my rent is way below half my monthly income which it never has been before, so points for me.<br />
<br />
<strong>Positive Life Decision #2: Being Boy/Drama Free. </strong>As much as I appreciated my time with TLGOE, I am convinced at this point that it is so much healthier for me to be single. That being said, I am actively searching for a husband. I don't want flings, I don't want rebounds, I don't want "he's nice, but..." I want a life partner. Someone who I am desperately in love with who shares all my goals and values and vision for life. Someone with whom I can start a family. No more settling. No more excuses. <br />
<br />
<strong>Positive Life Decision #4: Joining A Gym.</strong> Besides the fact that I am regaining much coveted muscle tone and endurance, endorphins do a body good. There are so many positives to working out, and if you don't know about them, then shame on you. I am feeling better, looking better, stronger, more energized, and on my way to becoming a BAMF with the boot camp I'm in right now. Also, it keeps me busy which is a plus.<br />
<br />
<strong>Positive Life Decision #5: Taking On A Second Job.</strong> I am working close to 70 hours per week between my full-time job (40 hours) and the new babysitting job I just picked up (25-30 hours). The joy of the sitting job is it is 4 nights a week - again, good with keeping me busy - and, I'm basically getting paid for feeding the kids and putting them to bed and then just curling up with my latest read and/or movie and/or sleeping. The kids are great: two boys, 3-years and 8-mos. And of course the extra income is fabulous. <br />
<br />
I've entered into a very busy time of my life, but I always tend to thrive when I have a tight schedule. So, if I'm absent on the blogosphere, you can blame the crazy, but good schedule.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-40726667207424453712011-09-01T09:46:00.000-04:002011-09-01T09:46:05.996-04:00New Obsession<em>"Expect the Trail to test you, both physically and mentally. Know your limits, and examine your reasons for strapping on a pack and tackling the Appalachian Trail. Part of the joy of hiking the A.T. is learning to deal with and overcome its challenges, to feel resilient and self-sufficient in a wild, rough place that has few of the amenities of civilized life. Don’t underestimate the Trail’s challenges — or ignore its timeless rewards."</em><br />
<br />
This is my new obsession: to hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. Because, of course, I grew up camping and hiking and I am at the peak of physical prowess. Oh wait...what? Is that date on the calendar correct? Oh, I'm sorry, my bad guys. Today is opposite day! <br />
<br />
Yeah, never been camping in my life and the extent of my hiking experience was climbing Mt. Wachusett one Columbus Day weekend when I was 15 and my family went apple picking in Western Mass. But, that doesn't matter, right? The lure of the wilderness is calling me! <br />
<br />
This all started because I watched this faux documentary about this girl who needs to escape the pressures of her reality and sets out to conquer the trail. It's called Southbounders (Southie's are people who choose the more challenging hike from Maine to Georgia). <br />
I found myself mesmerized by the beauty she saw, the fortitude she displayed, the challenges she overcame, and the love she discovered. I found myself thinking I want to find love on the A.T., go skinny dipping in a spring in New Hampshire, hike naked in the rain, and dance on top of a mountain. I found myself crying at the end of the movie.<br />
<br />
I felt such a deep longing to experience something so extreme that the end result is nothing short of miraculous: me finally being exactly the person I want to be. Whether it's the A.T. or jumping in a car and just driving across the country, something's gotta give. <br />
<br />
I talked to a dear friend of mine about this and about the cross-country road trip we've been planning for years. We talked about possibly incorporating a small part of the trail into our itinerary. We talk a lot about how we both need this trip and I'm starting to think that it's getting to the point where it can no longer be in the planning stages. We. Need. This. Trip! I need to cut all my ties and never look back and let the call of the open road take me to its bosom and draw all the poison out of my soul. I need to stand on top of a mountain with the clouds so close I feel I can reach out and grab one on which to float away. I need to see the beauty of this country first hand and the beauty of its people. I need to be reminded in the goodness of mankind and the kindness of strangers. I need to escape. <br />
<br />
I can feel the wind blowing through my hair...it's coming. To use the catch phrase of my college advisor: <em>Make it happen</em>. Whatever obstacle, whatever timeline, whatever deadline is in your way, there are no excuses. Figure out a way to make it happen.<br />
<br />
Spring 2012. I will make it happen.The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-56003199780554287022011-08-24T10:19:00.000-04:002011-08-24T10:19:24.100-04:00DecompressingI am not ready to be back at work. I am too used to sleeping without an alarm and not having any obligations to successfully accomplish anything. I <em>am</em> accomplishing things. Not efficiently and definitely under protest. Why is procrastination so appealing?<br />
<br />
I have been in a funk since returning from Buffalo. I hate that I can't shake this sense of exhaustion. Last week in Buffalo didn't really help in the "rest and relaxation" department. There were parts of the week that were more challenging than I thought they would be - like underestimating the amount of crying/complaining/bitching of which my grandfather is capable. There were parts that were every bit as challenging as I thought they would be - like the first time I walked into my Nonna's house - walked into her smell and her presence - without her being there. That part I knew was going to hit me like a snowball. It was more like a slab of ice. Walking downstairs to her kitchen....for some reason I knew that she would be there. I knew that I was going to step off the end of the stairs and round the corner and she would be putting a plate of freshly made zucchini patties on the table. But, she was not there. In the absence of her was just heaviness and loss.... <br />
<br />
....Parts like the first time I visited her grave at the cemetery. Another snowball and completely unexpected. For some reason, in all my emotional preparation for this trip, I completely overlooked preparing myself for visiting the place were the remains of her physical body rest. I stood with my head against the cool granite, my Nonno and cousin vaguely in the background, and wept. If I didn't know it would upset my Nonno, I would have fallen to my knees and allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of letting all my tears fall on her grave. <br />
<br />
Despite how cantankerous and stubborn, grumpy and depressed my Nonno has become, I don't think I was ready to leave. Or maybe it was not ready to leave the security of my cousin's presence. Over the last couple of years, Alyssa has become one of my best friends. Despite the fact that she is over five years my junior, I feel more of a connection with her than I do from friends my own age who I have known my whole life.<br />
<br />
There. Is. Nothing. Like. Family.<br />
<br />
Over the course of the week, we repeatedly told each other how thankful we were that the other one was there because neither of us could have endured the constant bitching on our own. It's amazing how much my Nonna calmed and mellowed him while she was alive. I hate that he lives a self-fulfilling prophecy: He is so sad and lonely because no one will come see him anymore, but no one will come see him because he drives everyone away. Alyssa and I joked in a not-so-joking-way that we hoped he would still like us, his favored grandchildren, at the end of the week. I'm not so sure since he was pretty upset with me for not eating meat, drinking coffee, or eating at least 50 pounds of food at every meal. <br />
<br />
We must have done something right, though, because he's called me twice this week already and talked about how much he misses us. There is nothing more heart wrenching than listening to your grandfather cry over the phone and beg you to come stay with him so he won't be all alone. <br />
<br />
During the week, I was convinced that there would be no way I could move to Buffalo and live with him as I have been thinking about and wanting to do since my Nonna passed away. Now, my heart is aching because all I want is to go back. I want to be surrounded by my family and all the love they have for me all the time. I want to go back to school and meet new people and study something about which I am so passionate. And yet, I don't want to have to worry that he's going to cut me out of his will if I forget to wipe down the tile walls in the bathroom after showering or leave a single glass in the sink.<br />
<br />
Ugh! I don't know what to do or what I want, but I know I don't want to be <em>here</em> forever. I know that there is something so much more for me and I am destined for something so much greater than this purposelessness I feel is consuming my life. <br />
<br />
I may not have all the answers, but I do know that something's gotta give. And soon. The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2112804023076648738.post-8549535695944521672011-08-21T10:49:00.000-04:002011-08-21T10:49:04.615-04:00Someone To Watch Over MeI want love. Deep, unconditional, utterly complete love. Knock me off my feet, take my breath away love. I want fearless love. Love that makes my heart ache from the beauty and security of it. Love that makes my stomach, cheeks, ribs hurt from the laughter of it. Unquestionable, unconquerable, unstoppable, unfathomable love.<br />
<br />
I yearn for this love with every firing of my nerve endings. But, I cannot even imagine how this kind of love is even possible. I have never had or truly seen what this kind of love can do and yet I still believe in it. I believe that one day I will turn around and it will be right there ready to take the next step with me.<br />
<br />
I want to be romanced. I want to be pursued because I am so precious and worthwhile. I want to work side by side and build a life together. I want a passion that is as deep as my own. I want to sweat and cry and laugh and bleed and run and dance and spin and plant and raise and grow and create and mourn and rejoice and lose and gain. I want to give all that I am and everything I have and not be afraid that it won't be reciprocated. I want to be cherished. I want to be protected. I want to be respected as strong and capable and intelligent and beautiful and funny. I want to be treated like a lady; treated like no other man has ever come before.<br />
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I want to hunger and thirst after God together. I want a man who is so strong in his faith that it is more important for him to please God than to please me. I want a man who wants me to please God more than I want to please him. I want a man who has so much zest for life that he is never content to stop learning, stop trying, stop attempting great things. I want someone who doesn't have to fight to make a point. I want a man who will fight for me. I want someone who is gentle, humble, kind, patient, strong, noble, hard working. Someone who has the same goal and vision for his life as I have for mine. Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who isn't afraid to cry. Someone who isn't afraid when I cry. Someone with a servant's heart and a king's wisdom.<br />
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I want someone who will just as quickly climb a tree with me as take me to the opera. Someone who is just as clean and neat as I am, but won't freak out if the house isn't perfect all the time. Someone who likes Do It Yourself weekend projects. Someone who gets excited for stargazing, rain dances, water fights, hiking through the woods, picnics, piggy-back rides, carnival rides, cooking, sailing, rolling down hills, swinging on swings, apple picking, bonfires, Christmas decorating, trying new things, being adventurous, camping, traveling, <i>living life to the hilt.</i><br />
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Does this kind of love even exist? Am I foolish to still crave this? I don't want him to be perfect. I just want him to be perfect for me.<br />
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The Logarithmic Spiralhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05338715645340112328noreply@blogger.com1