R is for RRRRAAAAGGGE!!!

I like to think of myself as a kind and trusting individual. I think, for the most part, I do a good job of being a good friend and a genuinely lovely person. I have my muttering-curses-under-my-breath and rolling-my-eyes moments, but compared to my teenage years, they are seldom and, usually, for good reason when they do happen.

But every now and then, it's like Something overtakes me and is determined to make me look like the biggest jerk who ever walked the Earth. I describe It like a bubble of rage, somewhere in my diaphragm that lurks around within. It feeds off of every wrongdoing done to me (imagined or real) and prefers carbonated beverages. Confined to the torso region of my body, It doesn't get much exercise. Combine that with the number of soft drinks I consume, It simple grows and grows. I'm pretty sure this little Rage Bubble creature waltzes around my diaphragm, shaking one fist at the world and face-palming Himself with the other hand. 

I've never cared too much about Him freeloading; in fact, I avoid Him as much as possible. Being the "kind and trusting" person I am, I've never given much thought to evicting Him. I don't want to hurt His feelings, you know. But that has never stopped HIM from being a bit of a douche. It's like He never learned how to be socially normal or politically correct or even just nice. And when I least expect it, He jumps out of hiding and overtakes my body. Sometimes He makes me say things that I end up regretting, sometimes it's typing something that I should have thought through first. And sometimes He overtakes my actions ( a la dumping water on a friend, back-handing my sister, cutting someone off, etc). It's not a pretty moment and it's never nice.

Although I haven't evicted Him entirely (He has a lot of baggage, and it'll take sometime to clean up Hid mess), I've downsized His living quarters. I've given Him limited access and instructed Him not to act before running it by me first. He's not too pleased about the changes I've made, but I can say that I've had far less foot-in-mouth instances ever since! That doesn't mean I don't feeling Him seething around inside. Sometimes, I hear Him freaking out, yelling things that shouldn't even be thought of, and pounding against my heart as if to agitate me into action. But then I put down my Coke Zero, take a few deep breaths, and tell Him to get lost and watch TV or something. And life returns to rainbows and butterflies once more!    

And I'm not talking about poor eyesight...

So, I have this theory that there is a curse that hangs over every single person. It's the curse of the "double-take".

Let's not beat around the bush; we've all been there at some point, and I'm sure a few of my readers are still there with me. When passing by a member of the opposite sex, there is this sudden unintentional urge to turn back and see what you're missing. Sometimes you don't even walk by the person; you might simply be within eye-shot of said individual. 

Point-in-Case:
This morning, I was checking out a new church with my mother. Now, we were specifically checking out this church because of the large number of people my age in attendance. Seeing as how I'm still trying to find my place here, we thought we'd give it a whirl. I was not five feet into the building when I spot a dude on the sofa in the lobby. Had I been asked to describe him in that moment, I wouldn't have been able to answer, as I honestly had not gotten a good look at him. Now, I had a choice in that moment: I could have continued to walk towards the coffee bar with my mom, not giving the guy a second though...or I could sneak another "casual" glance in his direction. I chose the latter. Upon a double-take, I concluded that he wasn't my type. Now, was there anything overly repulsive or desirable about this guy? No, not that I saw anyways. Did I need to look at him a second time? Absolutely not. Would I have checked him out again if "he" had been a "she"? Nope. But why is this?

Now, this all may seem quite shallow to anyone reading this. I like to think of myself as not being a shallow person...but a person who, nonetheless, appreciates the human body (particularly of the male variety). I don't think this is wrong, but feel free to disagree with me. I want to talk about attraction, not lust here.

As a single, straight female, I am obviously attracted to men. As a single, straight, Christian female whose majority of friends are in relationships (dating, engaged, married, with children, etc), I am acutely aware of my singledom. There's this weird and, I think, unnatural pressure on Christian singles to get married off young (they don't call it "Bridal College" for nothing). And, from a "worldly" standpoint, it's pretty uncool to be single if you're not hooking up every other weekend. As I am neither hooking up or currently hitched, I'm in that awkward and uncomfortable stage of being simply single...
...which means I'm also very aware of any and all male activity in my presence. I think nearly all singles suffer from the overly acute awareness of the opposite sex. For some, it peaks in high school, others in college, and for some of us it really never ends until we tie the knot. 

So, is the double-take a natural phenomenon? Maybe so, but maybe not. Do I continue to stand by my belief that while I'm double-taking some guy in church, there's someone just as single as me doing the same to me? I certainly won't deny it! But cheers to the single life, however long it lasts. Though I pray that one day, that "double-take" turns into a slo-mo movie moment, complete with montage, cheesy 80's music, and a happily ever after finale!  

Family Portrait

I never fully realized how blessed I am to have the family that I have. Before England, I was living within thirty minutes from nearly my entire extended family for the first time since grade two. I lived in the same country as my family for most of my life, but nearly always lived far enough away from family that Christmas was a HUGE deal and birthday presents between my sister and I were always combined. 

This never bothered me. In fact, until recently, it been a bit of a relief to be apart from family that I honestly grew up not knowing very well. I would feel awkward during reunions because, as much as I love being part of a family, I never truly felt part of my greater, extended clan. I don't blame my parents for this; in fact, I've spoken about this to them on numerous occasions. I grew up rolling my eyes when people would talk about how much they missed their cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents, and the like. It just never made sense to me, never having lived close enough and been old enough to warrant a decent relationship with any of them.

After having finally come to terms with the fact that, yes, I don't fair well with long-distance relationships, which in turn leads to many unhealthy coping mechanisms, I can finally say, in all seriousness and joy that I love, and greatly enjoy my extended family!

I have the strangest, most lovable family ever! I have my mom's side of the family: a 101 cousins (all of who are more tech-savvy than me...and probably dress better), my aunt and uncle who built an entirely new house simply to fit even more people into the already bustling household, my grave-digging uncle, the uncle who introduced me to modern technology (aka. the DVD player), the secretly totally hip grandmother/free hairdresser, and "Waste Not, Want Not" obsessive gardener grandfather. My father's side of the family is a bit smaller, but no less lovable: my Shaggy-look-alike cousin (who has a tattoo, which instantly gives him more swag than me), my chicken-rearing uncle (who bought his wife a corvette), my aunt who I personally don't think has aged a day during my lifetime (and she drives a corvette), my not-afraid-to-call-you-out grandma who made me realize that my dad was once a kid too (also, she gave me aprons, so she's a winner in my books), and my adorable grandfather who, although he is nearly deaf, still knows how to crack a mean joke!

I love my family, immediate and extended. We are a quirky bunch of people who laugh and eat and eat and laugh together when we can. Though I still have that initial awkward sensation upon entering any given family scenario, I know that I will leave each gathering with a grin on my face and having gained about three pounds extra. C'est la vie!

The Big 5-0

This being my 50th post on this blog, I feel like this particular post needs to be a reflection of some kind, to evoke emotion in you, the great public and devoted readers of this blog. So, here goes. Try not to tear up. (Warning: use of language may offend some. Reader discretion is advised.)

Yesterday, driving from what I call my "new home" to what is now, quite understandably, my "old home", I was both excited and dreadfully frightened. I was excited to see sights which had at one point been oh-so familiar, to return to places that held much fond memories, and reunite with people who've played such a key role in my life. However, I was also freaked out of my mind for those exact same reasons.

Have you ever left a place that you think you can read like a book only to return to find that things are not quite how you left them? We are all familiar with this Paranormal Activity-esque horror scenario, though most of our situations don't involve ghosts (let's hope). There's a certain level of comfort about finding something the same way it was; it makes us feel at peace because we understand it, we have control over it. There's a beauty about certainty...because the unknown scares the hell out of us!

I have a very vivid imagination, but a relatively terrible memory. The only way I remember anything or anyone is by labeling them, whether by physical description ("Oh, you mean the lady with the Real Housewives of Texas hair?") or situational description ("Yeah, yeah...he's the dude who made farting noises in class and then got suspended for selling drugs on campus!"). I should let you know that both those scenarios were in fact made up. What I'm trying to say is that I remember places by the memories I has there; not by the name of the street or where a mall is located on a map, but my memories and the people that were there to share them with. But a memory is therefore tied to what a place has become and whether or not those people are there to reminisce with you.

Which brings me to reunions. I am terrible when it comes to any sort of reunion. I get awkward, look off into space, jumble and mumble my words, and am left scrambling for something, ANYTHING, to coherently say. I constantly feel the need to dredge up old conversations as a means of keeping the present conversation alive. This only amplifies the fact that I have a hard time not only keeping in contact with people, but emotionally reconnecting with old friends, a fault I am desperately trying to overcome. Apart from my family, I think I've skyped, like, three other people while I was away. I'm not proud of this and I'm very sorry to anyone I promised a skype date with and went back on my word. All this to say, I freak out about failing to rekindle friendships.

Now, you might be reading this thinking, "Wow, thanks for this uplifting and inspiring post. I think I'll go jump off a bridge now". Wait, this post has a happy ending! 

So, I went to my old town today to meet up with a friend for coffee. I was nervous and sweating like a pig the whole ride there, while trying very hard to regain control of the steering wheel. As I pulled off the highway, I saw the old Heritage Barn, where I went to the fair with a coworker and we rode the Zipper three times, screaming like maniacs, and then listened to a concert under the stars. I drove past my old house, where I first discovered the importance of following recipes and the frailty of handrails. I past my old workplace, where I had my first car accident but more importantly, where I met amazing people who work hard and laugh harder. I wound up outside Starbucks, where I was to meet my friend, Alexa. I walked in and looked around, then suddenly felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around only to end up in a warm, long overdue embrace from a good friend. We sat, drank our coffees, talked about life (the big things and little things). I stared out into space a few times and brought up a few old conversations, but you know what? We had a great time, as awkward as I may have made it (I'm sorry, Alexa!). 

I'm all about living in the Now, but the Now wouldn't be what it is without my Past. And though I wouldn't want to relive it, it's nice to visit every now and then!

Mediocracy at it's Finest.

So, my last post was, perhaps, less than "sunshine, lollipops and rainbows". I was about to apologize, but I think I did enough of that already. You get the picture; life is a bit different now. I do, however, apologize if anyone read my last post and went into crisis mode, under the impression that I have become a depressive homebody. This, is NOT the case, let me reassure you. Dramatic at times, yes, but far from an under melancholic existence!

With that written and done with, my days have somehow managed to fill up, despite unemployment and very little to do outside my apartment. I have been baking up a storm, which is perhaps not the safest thing to do while by yourself. Someone needs to tell me to quit sampling my creations and to start doing a few more crunches. But what kind of aspiring chef would I be without a taste here and there...and maybe a bit more here, and I think I need to try that again too! It has been an excellent week for baking, something I enjoy doing, despite my loathing of having to follow any given recipe. Granted, it always seems to taste better when I do stick to the recipe. Go figure, or rather, there goes my figure. See what I did there; yeah, I thought it was clever too!  

I've taken up practicing guitar a lot more now as well. I pity any of my neighbors who are privy to my constant failed attempts to properly play an F chord. "F" you, F chord, I say! It certainly is a workout for your fingers, moving up and down, curling in the most unnatural positions. How have I never noticed before the beautifully sculpted fingers of performing guitarists? 

 

 

As I was saying...

So, that's been a thing. Also, bought a ukelele, which I intend to master like a boss. Who says "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" won't give me the street cred I will eventually deserve? Everyone, but that's besides the point. Nah, it's been fun playing it, though I do need to re-tune it every time I bust it out. I can say one thing for sure, I am going to be a freakin' hipster babe this summer strolling around with my ukelele in tow. Take that, World!

Immensely looking forward to visiting friends and family this upcoming week. Trying to mentally prepare myself for a bit of a shock to return "from whence I came", but it shouldn't be as frightening as I'm currently envisioning it to be. 

Plans are up in the air right now. It's all a little bit hazy, the future. I know what I would like to do; it's how to get there that I need to figure out. But, there's still time for that. For now, let them eat cake! And what's dessert without a show to accompany it? Hang on while I find a song that doesn't use an F chord...

handshakes don't always do the trick.

Warning: This post is not a nice post, nor is it very light-hearted. Please understand that I do not wish to complain or point fingers or even look for sympathy. I simply want to write honestly.

We're warned constantly about coming out of a life-changing experience (namely YWAM) and what it may look like. I've endured the initial awkwardness and shift in habit, and, though I still refuse to say "trash can", I've re-adapted pretty quickly. However, one thing still bothers me, and that is my lack of friends currently.

Again, please no one take this the wrong way or get upset. Hear me out first. I have spent the past two years connecting with people from all walks of life, and going deep with them. I have cried, laughed, sang, and peed my pants in front of these people. I love them all so dearly and wouldn't change a thing about my relationships with any of them. However, it struck me yesterday afternoon. After yet another unsuccessful round of handing out resumes, I returned to my vehicle with a second coffee in tow for my mother at work. I got in the vehicle and froze. Now, understand that I love my mother and father with all my heart. I joke about them being old, but they are some of the funniest, most entertaining people I have ever come across. But that doesn't make them not my parents. They still are my parents, and I realized that the only human contact I've really had since coming "home" has been with my parents and their friends, who are in the same age bracket. I have had very little interaction with people my age, making me somewhat friendless right now. After two years of dedicated friendship-building, I'm back to square one with no one to even go for coffee with.

This isn't to say all is lost, nor am I saying that it's right to severe all past friendships. But let's face it; a relationship can only be maintained so well over a long distance. I'm leaving for Vancouver in two weeks time and plan to meet up with my friends in that are, something that I am thrilled about. But what happens when I come back here, without the familiarity of friends? 

I read a note someone gave me last year. This very dear friend wrote down different qualities they see in me and encouraging words for me. One words they wrote was, "Friend of God". Ironic that I'm yakking on about not having friends, and the One friend I've knowingly began to shut down to is Him. I suppose I won't know true friendship until I can learn to be a true friend. And if the only One around right now is, indeed, my Best Friend...then maybe I need a few lessons from Him.

Normal

Ok, so I'm reading a book that many of you have probably heard of (if not, I HIGHLY recommend it). The book is Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller and it is an excellent book which I am shocked at every time I pick it up. I secretly think Don is the subconscious part of my mind, bringing things to light which I was kind of ok with chillin' in the dark. Sadly, I have the mind to realize that ignorance is NOT bliss, therefore, it's time I confess a few things to you, my readers and the general public at large:

I am terrified of normalcy, of living an ordinary life. I'm petrified when it comes to committing to one thing, one time, one place, even one person. I hate the idea of a nice-to-five life for the rest of my time here on Earth, and nothing scares me more than never being truly known. 

I suppose you could trace back these fears to childhood. Before I say anything more, let me first say I don't blame God or my parents for the many moves we as a family made; as of late, I've come to terms with them and realize that each move had a reason, a purpose, and came at just the right time. Growing up, we moved nine times and my sister and I attended nearly a dozen schools. My parents were involved in different organizations and churches, and rarely worked the same job for more than three years. I had many different friends which lasted as long as I attended the same school or church. As a result, we didn't live "normal" lives and lasting friendships have been between far and few. With that in mind though, the friendships that have withstood the test of time have been amazing, encouraging, and such a blessing for me, particularly in times of serious depression and anger with the world.

I didn't live what the media portrays as "normal", and that has been a small comfort all these years. Call it pride, call it a defense mechanism; I enjoyed being, what I deemed, one of the few really different people. I would (and to my shame, still do) make known how different and odd I truly was. I suppose it helped me cope with the fact that I did indeed feel on-the-outs. A wanderer with few close friends and nothing overly profound about me, I felt the need to, in some way, stand apart from my peers. 

All this to say, normalcy is something I don't want to associate with, for fear that if I do, I'll lose what has kept me from being just another face in the crowd. I fear that if I commit to one place, one time, one person, I will suddenly lack the mystery and intrigue that I've pretended to have for so long. But is this just sheer independence and my own rebellious nature?

And THIS is where Donald Miller comes in. There's far too much in my mind to write it all down in coherent words and phrases, but he has certainly struck a chord, I'll give him (or God, or both) that. Here is an average guy, living a normal life, going to university, not overly "Christian"...and yet, I find his story fascinating. I love how God speaks to him and gives him such incredible insight into how God sees the world. I love how something as "normal" as going to university is turning out to be the Ultimate Faith Challenge and the people he meets constantly push him to believe in something, to go deeper in life. I love how he makes the exact same mistakes I make, making me feel slightly less like an idiot. I guess it's like the infamous Mom line says, "Everybody's unique", which I used to take as a load of bull (pardon me...) for meaning, "Everybody is useless and boring" but now I realize that God doesn't make "boring".

Ok...let me sum up my thought process: God made man in His image, we are made in the image of God. According to dictionary.com (yes, not the best reference), one definition of the word normal is "the standard". So, we agree that God is the Ultimate Standard, right? Which would make God "The Normal". Then, wouldn't being "normal" mean you are, perhaps not THE standard, but close to the standard, meaning Christ-like? Meaning that to be "normal" is to be the closest to who God made us to be? Just thoughts, and I haven't fully thought these through either. Simply writing scrawled on a blog where the world wide web can read it. 

Thoughts, anyone?